Re: Whose Clueless Now? USxUK part 2b
anonymous
December 24 2009, 02:07:14 UTC
He felt Arthur’s eyes on him and he turned slightly to see the man’s wide green eyes, his mouth slightly parted, and Alfred had to keep himself from remembering a look very similar to that in his dream.
Francis merely shrugged at his reprimand. “Then tell me, Amerique, mon cher. What in partular is not-ugly about Angleterre?”
Alfred stared at the Frenchman as Francis smiled back innocently. Alfred could still feel Arthur’s eyes on him and he frowned.
That conniving bastard…
There was no way he could get out of this, and it didn’t take a brain surgeon to realize that he had been played…and that somehow, Francis knew his secret, after only seeing him once. Was he that obvious? Or was Francis just that observant? He was hoping that it was the latter, because he didn’t want Arthur to figure it out too. Arthur would surely reject him outright for even thinking that way about him. And besides, he already knew Arthur could never feel the same - by all accounts, the man had hated him since the revolution, and before that they were practically brothers.
Alfred wanted to hit his head against a wall several times. He had no idea why he had started to feel this way. The dreams had started months ago and at first it was easy to deny that they existed or that they meant anything, but as time went on, the desire just grew until it was impossible to calm himself down with just a cold shower. And that was when he hadn’t even been in contact with Arthur to begin with. It was so much harder now that they were actually in the same air space. He couldn’t even look at the man without that familiar thrum of heat bubbling under his skin.
He had never felt this out of control before, and certainly never about Arthur. Every time he looked at the man he wondered what would happen if he just leaned over and kissed that strip of muscle showing beneath his shirt collar between his shoulder and his neck or how Arthur would feel against him as he pinned him to a wall, hands grasping at his back. He swore any more of this was going to kill him. Especially with the expectant way Arthur was looking at him now.
Alfred shook his head and attempted another chuckle to lighten the mood. “Ah, you know, Francis. Those eyebrows may look like dead caterpillars, but they aren’t that bad.”
Francis, however, didn’t join in on the joviality. In fact, the man was frowning over at him in disapproval, and Arthur looked positively mutinous.
Alfred’s smile became strained, but he held up the act. He wasn’t going to let Francis make him say anything that would incriminate himself. He really didn’t know what right the man had to be disappointed. He wasn’t some kid at the back of the classroom getting a ruler on the wrists and Francis certainly wasn’t his teacher. Suddenly, Alfred was feeling even more angry and morose than before, and it was easy to blame Francis for all of it. It hurt less than seeing the hurt expression on Arthur’s face as the man pointedly looked away to watch Ludwig as the German called the meeting to order.
Alfred refused to beat himself up about it, even though he wanted to, and he refrained from curling his arms in front of him and burying his face in his arms, because that would be uncharacteristic of him even on his worst days. He had to act as he always did until the meeting was over. He would make it through this and Arthur would never be the wiser.
He watched Arthur taking careful notes from the corner of his eye. The man looked calm but the tip of his pen was digging into the notepad with more force than necessary and Alfred could easily spot that wrinkle between the brows that Arthur only got when he was angry or frustrated.
Alfred let out a slow, inaudible breath. He would remain strong, even if it hurt them both. At least that way, things wouldn’t become even more awkward between them. That would be the worst.
Francis merely shrugged at his reprimand. “Then tell me, Amerique, mon cher. What in partular is not-ugly about Angleterre?”
Alfred stared at the Frenchman as Francis smiled back innocently. Alfred could still feel Arthur’s eyes on him and he frowned.
That conniving bastard…
There was no way he could get out of this, and it didn’t take a brain surgeon to realize that he had been played…and that somehow, Francis knew his secret, after only seeing him once. Was he that obvious? Or was Francis just that observant? He was hoping that it was the latter, because he didn’t want Arthur to figure it out too. Arthur would surely reject him outright for even thinking that way about him. And besides, he already knew Arthur could never feel the same - by all accounts, the man had hated him since the revolution, and before that they were practically brothers.
Alfred wanted to hit his head against a wall several times. He had no idea why he had started to feel this way. The dreams had started months ago and at first it was easy to deny that they existed or that they meant anything, but as time went on, the desire just grew until it was impossible to calm himself down with just a cold shower. And that was when he hadn’t even been in contact with Arthur to begin with. It was so much harder now that they were actually in the same air space. He couldn’t even look at the man without that familiar thrum of heat bubbling under his skin.
He had never felt this out of control before, and certainly never about Arthur. Every time he looked at the man he wondered what would happen if he just leaned over and kissed that strip of muscle showing beneath his shirt collar between his shoulder and his neck or how Arthur would feel against him as he pinned him to a wall, hands grasping at his back. He swore any more of this was going to kill him. Especially with the expectant way Arthur was looking at him now.
Alfred shook his head and attempted another chuckle to lighten the mood. “Ah, you know, Francis. Those eyebrows may look like dead caterpillars, but they aren’t that bad.”
Francis, however, didn’t join in on the joviality. In fact, the man was frowning over at him in disapproval, and Arthur looked positively mutinous.
Alfred’s smile became strained, but he held up the act. He wasn’t going to let Francis make him say anything that would incriminate himself. He really didn’t know what right the man had to be disappointed. He wasn’t some kid at the back of the classroom getting a ruler on the wrists and Francis certainly wasn’t his teacher. Suddenly, Alfred was feeling even more angry and morose than before, and it was easy to blame Francis for all of it. It hurt less than seeing the hurt expression on Arthur’s face as the man pointedly looked away to watch Ludwig as the German called the meeting to order.
Alfred refused to beat himself up about it, even though he wanted to, and he refrained from curling his arms in front of him and burying his face in his arms, because that would be uncharacteristic of him even on his worst days. He had to act as he always did until the meeting was over. He would make it through this and Arthur would never be the wiser.
He watched Arthur taking careful notes from the corner of his eye. The man looked calm but the tip of his pen was digging into the notepad with more force than necessary and Alfred could easily spot that wrinkle between the brows that Arthur only got when he was angry or frustrated.
Alfred let out a slow, inaudible breath. He would remain strong, even if it hurt them both. At least that way, things wouldn’t become even more awkward between them. That would be the worst.
Or so Alfred told himself.
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Can't wait for the next part! XD
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