[fanfiction] 50 Pence Love 1/?
Title: 50 Pence Love 1/?
Author: comptine
Rating: M
Genre: Romance/Drama
Warnings: phone sex
Summary: [kink meme fill] When Arthur picks up the phone to call a sex-line what he is expecting is a single night to help him in his dull life. What he does not expect is Francis Bonnefoy to be everything he wants. And for only the quiet price of 50 pence a minute.
50 Pence Love
Chapter 1
Arthur’s day goes a little like this.
By the time he wakes up, his brother is just getting back from work and they tag-team the bathroom, Ian coming out in a towel and flumping down on a bed while Arthur is just getting ready, slouching into the shower, bleary as there hasn’t been tea flowing through his system in over six hours.
The kitchen’s hardwood floor is covered in droplets of barely-rinsed water as Arthur dries his hair in the same action as grabbing the teapot. The towel rests around his neck as he prepares his morning and there is a light jingle near his feet and a small cat that more resembles a dog than a feline lightly jumps up onto the counter, the collar around its neck tinkling.
"Good morning, Reginald."
Two seconds later, Arthur’s opening the tin of tuna and the kettle is starting to steam as he rushes back to his room, pulling one dark jeans that are just a little-too long, leather shoes that are just a little-too worn and a sweater over a dress shirt that is not quite the same spiffy white it was the first day purchased it, nearly two years ago judging from a receipt stuffed into the desk, the desk Arthur is now busy himself while the kettle begins to whine and the cat finishes up the tin of food.
His messenger back is tossed carelessly against the counter as his right foot gently scratches the back of his left leg. It takes precisely one minute to have the tea prepared exactly as he likes it, in a to-go mug, an extra package of the kind of earl grey he can only buy from the shop down the way shoved into his back pocket, the can of finished cat food in the bin and a careful pat of the cat who gratefully presses back against his hand.
Scooping up his bag, Arthur is gone, down the stairs, closing the apartment door behind him and is up towards Kensington’s High Street, down to the Tube stop, pressed up against other passengers. He gets halfway through his tea by his stop and manages to not spill a single drop, a feat he takes as a sign for a brilliant day ahead.
The publishing house isn’t a very busy place and Arthur spends most of his day behind a desk either reading, thinking about refilling his tea, going to refill his tea, attempting to flirt with one of the temps and ending up mostly in a fluster and telling them to go make copies of some memo, and then promptly going back to his office and drown his embarrassment in a game of solitaire.
It takes him approximately four terrible manuscripts and one he wants to read more of before he decides to call it a day. Preparing another cup of tea (with the teabag he shoved in his back this morning) before he goes downstairs and walks a little way down the street to the Tube. It’s barely any time before he’s back on the High Street and down to a small pub on the corner where he picks up two orders of fish and chips just as it starts to rain.
When he comes home, his brother is pulling on shoes and bumps into Arthur as he hurries out the door, taking the box that’s already having the bottom soaked by grease, thanking Arthur and is gone. There is no companionship save the cat that more resembles a dog with its stubby little ears and tail that wags when you manage a fingernail right behind one of those short, scruffy ears.
So he sits himself down at his computer, turns it on and takes the time where the sleek silver laptop boots up to turn on the kettle and open a can of tuna. A familiar figure weaves through his legs before gently jumping up on the counter and licking its paw, pretending that is has no interest in the can Arthur is slowly, agonisingly slow, opening.
With the cat fed and kettle starting to boil, Arthur sits back down at his computer and stares.
Tonight, Arthur wants to feel something.
He glances at the clock, computer, trailing over the telly that’s off, the window, the kitchen, the cat scarfing down tuna and then his computer. Something… Google was his mistress this night as his fingers, usually typing away rejection letters to hopeful teens sending in novels about blood-suckers, brought rather unfamiliar words to the search bar.
Before he knows what he’s doing, ‘Top 100 Best Phone Sex Sites’ is reflected in his glasses and his finger was tracing down the trackpad, eyes scanning.
And then something strikes Arthur.
50 pence for a minute is far too expensive for his tastes.
The night, which had felt so natural, comes to a grinding, shuddering and awkward halt.
Arthur quickly pulls himself away from the computer and walks over to the cat and pets it out of nervous while he considers his situation. This is the definition of a bad idea, paying for sex? Was he really that desperate because the temp at the office was too dumb to accept his advances?
His finger manages right behind the cat’s ear and it meows quietly at him. Then again, loneliness was inexpensive so it was entirely within budget to buy this one night. Tea was easier when bought for one, same with take-out, tickets to the theatre and, well, one could always just take the Tube instead of buying a car to carpool with a loved one. So in reality, Arthur’s loneliness was saving him money and it was not wrong for him to splurge.
This thought, somehow, does not make him feel any better.
Turning off the kettle, he doesn’t bother to even prepare his final cup of tea for the night, knowing it will just get cold once he gets down to… business. He continues to scan down the site, not paying attention to the rates and instead finding his eyes drawn to the ads on the sides and, every so often, looking over his shoulder to make sure his brother wasn’t me from the bar early for some reason.
At this point, Arthur is sick to his stomach and he looks away from the screen to rub his face under his eyes, sighing heavily. This was going to be a one-time thing. A… A test of sorts. There would be no harm in trying. It was impersonal quick and he didn’t even have to get out of his jammies like he would with a, ah, proper worker.
There was no physical connection, which suits him just fine.
You can bloody do this, now just pick one and get it over with.
Scrolling to near-bottom, Arthur stopped on one that stands out.
Amour Fou
Ever want a French accent getting you hard? Want a hot and sexy accent getting you to come? Call and get the best selection of France’s phone sex and kinky fantasies.
He stares at the advert and before he knows that his mind with change, he snatches up the phone and holds it to his ear.
All at once, his body is cold with guilt, nervousness and utter terror and what he’s doing while fire starts to burn through his veins from a combination of the adverts on the side of the site and the utter wrongness of the situation. It makes him shiver in anticipation at doing something so unlike him.
Outside, the rain pours a little harder. Inside the cat leaps off the counter, going to curl up on Arthur’s bed and his mug of nightly tea remains on the counter, a bag of earl grey laying inside it while on the other end of the line-
someone answers.
Author's Note: I almost forgot how to post on this thing :U de-anoning... But I'll still be updating it on the kink meme. Just needed a little push to start writing again and I got it.
Author: comptine
Rating: M
Genre: Romance/Drama
Warnings: phone sex
Summary: [kink meme fill] When Arthur picks up the phone to call a sex-line what he is expecting is a single night to help him in his dull life. What he does not expect is Francis Bonnefoy to be everything he wants. And for only the quiet price of 50 pence a minute.
50 Pence Love
Chapter 1
Arthur’s day goes a little like this.
By the time he wakes up, his brother is just getting back from work and they tag-team the bathroom, Ian coming out in a towel and flumping down on a bed while Arthur is just getting ready, slouching into the shower, bleary as there hasn’t been tea flowing through his system in over six hours.
The kitchen’s hardwood floor is covered in droplets of barely-rinsed water as Arthur dries his hair in the same action as grabbing the teapot. The towel rests around his neck as he prepares his morning and there is a light jingle near his feet and a small cat that more resembles a dog than a feline lightly jumps up onto the counter, the collar around its neck tinkling.
"Good morning, Reginald."
Two seconds later, Arthur’s opening the tin of tuna and the kettle is starting to steam as he rushes back to his room, pulling one dark jeans that are just a little-too long, leather shoes that are just a little-too worn and a sweater over a dress shirt that is not quite the same spiffy white it was the first day purchased it, nearly two years ago judging from a receipt stuffed into the desk, the desk Arthur is now busy himself while the kettle begins to whine and the cat finishes up the tin of food.
His messenger back is tossed carelessly against the counter as his right foot gently scratches the back of his left leg. It takes precisely one minute to have the tea prepared exactly as he likes it, in a to-go mug, an extra package of the kind of earl grey he can only buy from the shop down the way shoved into his back pocket, the can of finished cat food in the bin and a careful pat of the cat who gratefully presses back against his hand.
Scooping up his bag, Arthur is gone, down the stairs, closing the apartment door behind him and is up towards Kensington’s High Street, down to the Tube stop, pressed up against other passengers. He gets halfway through his tea by his stop and manages to not spill a single drop, a feat he takes as a sign for a brilliant day ahead.
The publishing house isn’t a very busy place and Arthur spends most of his day behind a desk either reading, thinking about refilling his tea, going to refill his tea, attempting to flirt with one of the temps and ending up mostly in a fluster and telling them to go make copies of some memo, and then promptly going back to his office and drown his embarrassment in a game of solitaire.
It takes him approximately four terrible manuscripts and one he wants to read more of before he decides to call it a day. Preparing another cup of tea (with the teabag he shoved in his back this morning) before he goes downstairs and walks a little way down the street to the Tube. It’s barely any time before he’s back on the High Street and down to a small pub on the corner where he picks up two orders of fish and chips just as it starts to rain.
When he comes home, his brother is pulling on shoes and bumps into Arthur as he hurries out the door, taking the box that’s already having the bottom soaked by grease, thanking Arthur and is gone. There is no companionship save the cat that more resembles a dog with its stubby little ears and tail that wags when you manage a fingernail right behind one of those short, scruffy ears.
So he sits himself down at his computer, turns it on and takes the time where the sleek silver laptop boots up to turn on the kettle and open a can of tuna. A familiar figure weaves through his legs before gently jumping up on the counter and licking its paw, pretending that is has no interest in the can Arthur is slowly, agonisingly slow, opening.
With the cat fed and kettle starting to boil, Arthur sits back down at his computer and stares.
Tonight, Arthur wants to feel something.
He glances at the clock, computer, trailing over the telly that’s off, the window, the kitchen, the cat scarfing down tuna and then his computer. Something… Google was his mistress this night as his fingers, usually typing away rejection letters to hopeful teens sending in novels about blood-suckers, brought rather unfamiliar words to the search bar.
Before he knows what he’s doing, ‘Top 100 Best Phone Sex Sites’ is reflected in his glasses and his finger was tracing down the trackpad, eyes scanning.
And then something strikes Arthur.
50 pence for a minute is far too expensive for his tastes.
The night, which had felt so natural, comes to a grinding, shuddering and awkward halt.
Arthur quickly pulls himself away from the computer and walks over to the cat and pets it out of nervous while he considers his situation. This is the definition of a bad idea, paying for sex? Was he really that desperate because the temp at the office was too dumb to accept his advances?
His finger manages right behind the cat’s ear and it meows quietly at him. Then again, loneliness was inexpensive so it was entirely within budget to buy this one night. Tea was easier when bought for one, same with take-out, tickets to the theatre and, well, one could always just take the Tube instead of buying a car to carpool with a loved one. So in reality, Arthur’s loneliness was saving him money and it was not wrong for him to splurge.
This thought, somehow, does not make him feel any better.
Turning off the kettle, he doesn’t bother to even prepare his final cup of tea for the night, knowing it will just get cold once he gets down to… business. He continues to scan down the site, not paying attention to the rates and instead finding his eyes drawn to the ads on the sides and, every so often, looking over his shoulder to make sure his brother wasn’t me from the bar early for some reason.
At this point, Arthur is sick to his stomach and he looks away from the screen to rub his face under his eyes, sighing heavily. This was going to be a one-time thing. A… A test of sorts. There would be no harm in trying. It was impersonal quick and he didn’t even have to get out of his jammies like he would with a, ah, proper worker.
There was no physical connection, which suits him just fine.
You can bloody do this, now just pick one and get it over with.
Scrolling to near-bottom, Arthur stopped on one that stands out.
Amour Fou
Ever want a French accent getting you hard? Want a hot and sexy accent getting you to come? Call and get the best selection of France’s phone sex and kinky fantasies.
He stares at the advert and before he knows that his mind with change, he snatches up the phone and holds it to his ear.
All at once, his body is cold with guilt, nervousness and utter terror and what he’s doing while fire starts to burn through his veins from a combination of the adverts on the side of the site and the utter wrongness of the situation. It makes him shiver in anticipation at doing something so unlike him.
Outside, the rain pours a little harder. Inside the cat leaps off the counter, going to curl up on Arthur’s bed and his mug of nightly tea remains on the counter, a bag of earl grey laying inside it while on the other end of the line-
someone answers.
Author's Note: I almost forgot how to post on this thing :U de-anoning... But I'll still be updating it on the kink meme. Just needed a little push to start writing again and I got it.