Re: [Part 3] Of Whores and Lovers (Moulin Rouge!AU with Franada, USUK, GerIta) (3/?)
anonymous
June 24 2011, 20:22:37 UTC
“You have a beautiful smile,” Francis says softly. It must be love. He doesn’t just want this dancer in his bed, which is what he has always felt. He wants this dancer to smile.
The dancer goes pink in the face. “Ah…thank you.” He’s…cute.
So, “Spend tonight with me,” spills out of Francis’s mouth. The dancer’s smile freezes and Francis hurries his words. “You are beautiful enough for a night of passion, but no, not that. Let me speak beautiful poetry to you over wine. That is all.”
The dancer is watching him curiously. Then the dancer helps him up and starts leading him to a back room. They sit in this little back room and drink cheap champagne. Francis’s poetry does not run out, but after a short time, they actually start discussing things. This dancer is not only beautiful; he is intelligent and clever and kind. He is…everything.
At the end of the night, Francis stands and pulls out his pocketbook. “I suppose you’ll be wanting this.” His stomach is twisting into an unpleasant knot.
The dancer stops him. Something is different about the blue of his eyes and the curve of his smile. “Don’t,” he says quietly. The words are hesitant. “Just…just come back?” The words are hesitant-but they are hopeful.
Francis leans close and brushes his fingers over one cheekbone. “Of course I will.” There is no way he can turn away now. “But, mon cher, I have not gotten your name.”
“It’s Matthew.”
“Enchantez, Mathieu. I am Francis.”
Matthew smiles shyly. “A pleasure, Francis.” He glances over to his shoulder to the lightening hallway. “I…I have to go though.” He sways into Francis’s personal space and the touch of his mouth against Francis’s is light. And then he’s gone.
Francis can’t stop smiling as he makes his way out of the dance hall and back to Arthur’s loft.
one day I’ll fly away
He’s going soft. That’s the only answer for this. Matthew leans against the door to his and Alfred’s room and tries to regain his breath. This man-this Francis-he really is nothing special. Matthew, for being so unnoticeable in his brother’s shadow, has had his share of lovers. He knows what working here means and he has fulfilled his role. He knows what his brother wants more than life itself and he will do his damnedest to make sure it happens. Then…only then will he be able to get away from this place.
Taking in a deep breath, Matthew actually looks around the room. The various make-ups and jewels and clothing are scattered, as per usual with Alfred. And Alfred…
Alfred is on his bed, pale, unmoving.
His regained breath stops and his stomach settles somewhere near his toes as he rushes over. There is the sheen of sweat on Alfred’s brow and there’s a raspy rattle to each inhale. Carefully, Matthew reaches out and shakes his brother.
“Alfred,” he says. Nothing. “Alfred!”
This time, Alfred wakes. He blinks up at Matthew confusedly, before a slight scowl turns his mouth down. “What, Mattie?” There’s a groan hiding in his voice and he lifts one hand to rub at his eyes. “Did you need something?”
Re: [Part 3] Of Whores and Lovers (Moulin Rouge!AU with Franada, USUK, GerIta) (4/?)
anonymous
June 24 2011, 20:24:22 UTC
There’s a dark love bite on Alfred’s collarbone.
Matthew holds back a sigh and goes, “Nothing.” He goes to his own bed and lies down, pretending he can’t hear Alfred’s coughs.
my gift is my song
Francis stumbles out of the room to the sound of very English cursing. His head aches, but all he can think is blue eyes-sweet smile-pleasant laugh. The English cursing cuts through the delightful thoughts.
Arthur is at the tiny table is what constitutes the kitchen, bent over sheets of paper. He’s drinking something that looks like mud. Maybe that’s the cause of the cursing.
“What are you doing, mon ami?”
Arthur does not look pleased at the title. “I have a play to be creating,” he says grandiosely, bitterly, with an angry grimace.
“I did not know you had a way with words.” The innuendo, it’s all there. This, this is routine, but there is none of the old passion behind it.
“Not with rubbish like this, I do not,” Arthur corrects and slumps in his chair. “But Ludwig-the owner- needs a play for the new theater. It’ll bring in more money,” Arthur explains with a scoff. “He sent Feliciano here to give me ideas.”
Francis picks a spoon up from the table and pokes it into the sludge in the cup. The spoon does not start smoking or melting, but still. He thought people knew better than to leave Arthur to cooking of any kind. “Who now?” he asks distractedly.
“Feliciano?” Francis nods. (It sounds like a particularly sweet foreign pastry to him, but French food will always be the best.) Arthur snorts. “Feliciano is Ludwig’s worst kept secret,” he says but does not elaborate. Francis can guess, though.
Arthur continues. “He does have some good ideas, I suppose. He was rambling on about something with India and…,” he stops, peers down at the papers, “…courtesans, I believe?”
“And that one man, the star dancer, he will be the courtesan, I presume?” These are just words, meaningless but pretty, while Francis pokes through the cupboards for food. These words, however, make Arthur bristle like a wet cat.
“It has nothing to do with him!” Arthur snaps and then stomps off without another word.
Francis is curious, but his mind wanders to Matthew and he is lost.
a very strange, enchanted boy
Candlelight is caught in Matthew’s eyes. Francis can think of no other place he’d rather be but here, a tiny room in the back of a roaring dance hall.
They are laughing quietly over wine and cheese (cheap, but still somehow tasty, here) when there comes a knock at the door. Matthew’s eyes flick over to him; they are nervous.
Quietly, Matthew asks him, “Please, could you…?” The thought is unfinished, but his eyes dart over to the curtain wrapped around the bed. Francis thinks nothing of slipping behind that curtain, lounging on the plump pillows there. He hears Matthew pad across the room, hears the creak of the opening door.
Re: [Part 3] Of Whores and Lovers (Moulin Rouge!AU with Franada, USUK, GerIta) (5/?)
anonymous
June 24 2011, 20:26:07 UTC
A faintly accented voice-German?-drifts over to him. “I am glad to see you are in, Matthew.” The voice is stern, formal. “You have probably heard from your brother about the new investor and the move to transform the hall into a theater, yes?”
“I…I have,” Matthew agrees. His voice is especially quiet.
“This is the investor, Matthew. He will be your…guest as long as he is here.” There is special emphasis on “guest” that makes Francis’s stomach turn.
Matthew also seems disconcerted by this. “M-my guest?”
The speaker doesn’t take this as an argument. “I’m sorry, Matthew, but this is how it will be.” There’s a pause, a clearing of the throat. “We can discuss it later if you wish, but you do work here.”
There’s the shuffle of feet and the door clicks shut. Francis thinks a second about moving out from behind the curtain, but then Matthew’s going, “Ah, h-hello. My name is Matthew.”
“I am Ivan. It is a pleasure to meet you, dorogoi.”
“Dor-?”
“Come, let us sit, Matthew. We can get to know each other better.”
It is uncomfortable there, listening to this investor and Matthew talk for hours. The man is interesting, that is true, and Matthew is wonderfully, horribly charming. The man finally leaves-with a quiet pause between “goodbye” and the door shutting, the perfect time for a kiss-and Francis slips out. Matthew hurries over and starts to kiss him, quickly, lightly.
“I’m sorry,” he’s saying. “I-I didn’t know Ludwig was going to do that. I…I’m not my brother. I don’t usually have a lot of…customers.”
Francis curls his hands into the soft hair and makes the kisses deeper. “I do not care,” he says. He’s ignoring the hot, sick feeling in the bottom of his gut. (This, this is what many call jealousy, but he is Francis Bonnefoy and has not had to experience the feeling before.) It may be too soon, too fast, but all his poetry is gone in light of, “I love you.”
Matthew just looks down at him for a moment. Then he’s whispering, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” and kissing Francis as if his life depends on it.
another mindless crime, behind the curtain, in the pantomime
Ludwig is just looking over the play proposal Arthur has given him when there’s a light knock on the door. Peering over his glasses, he stares at the door. It’s early morning and all he wants to do is smile at the Feliciano-brand romance in this silly play.
Instead, because he is who he is, Ludwig says, “Come in,” and sets the proposal down.
Matthew slips in. There are shadows under his eyes. “I-I can’t do it,” he says quietly.
Ludwig pulls his glasses off, sets them down, stares hard at Matthew. “Do what?”
Matthew is staring at the floor now. “Ivan. The investor. I can’t…I can’t entertain him.”
This is new. Matthew has never complained, about anything. He was the one to come to Ludwig in the first place, propose the new star of the dance hall to be his brother. He has given everything, done anything. So, why now?
Ludwig almost shakes his head. It does not matter now.
“You must,” he says instead.
Matthew starts. He looks distressed. “Why? I mean, we can get somebody else, can’t we?”
“You were part of the negotiations for Ivan to invest. You are his, and he invests.”
For the first time, Ludwig sees anger creep onto Matthew’s face. “Break the contract then,” he says. His voice, it is still quiet, but there is a firmness there that Ludwig hasn’t heard before.
Strange, that this should come up now, when it is the worst time for it. “I cannot. I break the contract, the hall goes to him…he closes it down.” Ludwig has never wanted to be the owner of a dance hall; there are, however, so many people that are dependent it on it. He will not falter for his business, but he will take care of it, as best as he can.
That tiny spark of rage goes out. “Oh,” Matthew tells the floor hollowly. “I…I suppose I have to then, eh?” His smile is fake as he straightens and slips back out into the hallway.
Re: [Part 3] Of Whores and Lovers (Moulin Rouge!AU with Franada, USUK, GerIta) (5/?)
anonymous
June 25 2011, 01:13:42 UTC
asdfghjkajawidjk oh god. One of my favorite movies and my favorite characters/pairings - I'm on cloud nine. Your writing is wonderful and I'm adoring every second of this! A shame that it was over so soon. I can't wait for more! ♥
Re: [Part 3] Of Whores and Lovers (Moulin Rouge!AU with Franada, USUK, GerIta) (5/?)
anonymous
June 25 2011, 04:13:45 UTC
Oh PLEASE CONTINUE> Good law this is so amazing... I mean, the Franada is so perfect and sweet, not to mention the added Gerita and USUK. I'm just really interested.
Re: [Part 3] Of Whores and Lovers (Moulin Rouge!AU with Franada, USUK, GerIta) (6/?)
anonymous
June 29 2011, 02:59:32 UTC
I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE I'M GOING WITH THIS YAY. (Also, I am slow writer. Sorry!) But thanks everybody!
love is a many-splendored thing
It’s not easy to continually slip from Francis to Ivan and back again. All he can think about is Francis, all the time. It’s difficult to debate with Ivan about something or other, when he’s thinking about slipping into Francis’s bed.
It’s not easy, not all of the time, but it does become easier over time.
The structure of the dance hall changes, becomes something different. Ivan is there all the time, watching everything with a small smile. Matt spends his days at Ivan’s side. They talk quietly of chess, of literature, of music.
Arthur is always at the dance hall, too. He’s always in front of the newly built stage, watching as others choreograph and play music and sing. When there is chaos and everybody is running into everybody else, he’ll make some small comment, and everything will be fixed. Arthur’s eyes are always always always drawn to Alfred.
Matthew spends his nights with Francis. Sometimes, they’ll spend it in bed. Sometimes, they’ll spend it in a small room at the back of the dance hall. Sometimes, when the night is clear and the stars bright, they will walk together.
He kisses Ivan lightly, chastely, during the day and regrets every lie he must tell. He kisses Francis, deeply, passionately, in the dark and dreams.
does anybody know what we are living for?
Ludwig finally understands. He understands why Matthew, usually so compliant, had come into his office, had told him, I can’t.
On the upper balcony, he sees the Frenchman Arthur has been housing pull Matthew back into a kiss. Matthew is smiling as he presses a last kiss to the Frenchman; it reminds Ludwig of Feliciano. The Frenchman slides back into the shadows and Matthew hurries away in the opposite direction.
Ludwig meets him on the stairs. “What are you doing?” he asks quietly.
Matthew flushes and looks away from him. “I…I don’t know-”
“You know exactly of what I speak. Do not lie to me.” There is something like anger in his voice, and the last time he heard that was when his brother left with that dancer and that musician. “There are workers at risk here, including you and your brother. Have you thought of that at all?”
“I…,” Matthew starts, but the rest of the words seem to disappear. He looks…lost.
Ludwig feels the heat of anger drain from him. He only feels tired now. “End it,” he says sternly and turns away from Matthew.
all you need is love
Matthew doesn’t look happy when Francis comes into the back room that night. Francis is able to prattle on meaninglessly as he pours wine, but when he sits, Matthew is still quiet. Francis gets responses when he asks several inane question, but there is little more than that.
Francis waits a moment and then asks, “Is there something wrong?” He feels unsettled.
A pause and then Francis’s world comes crashing down with, “We have to stop seeing each other.”
Francis grabs Matthew’s hand, presses the soft fingers to his mouth in a kiss. “Why would you suggest that?” he finally gets out around the lump in his throat. He thought…they were…
Matthew closes his eyes. “Ludwig knows. And if Ivan finds out, the hall will close. All those people…”
Francis tugs Matthew into an embrace. “We can keep it secret. I will not come back to the hall. You can meet with me at the loft. But do not tell me we have to stop. Do not.”
There’s the sound of a sob and then Matthew’s fingers are digging into his shoulders. Matthew’s mouth presses to his neck. “We can meet elsewhere?” His voice is so very very quiet.
Francis starts to breathe again. “Yes. Anywhere else.”
Re: [Part 3] Of Whores and Lovers (Moulin Rouge!AU with Franada, USUK, GerIta) (7/?)
anonymous
June 29 2011, 03:01:47 UTC
love lifts us up where we belong
It’s still not easy, even with Francis no longer coming to the dance hall. Matt waits until Arthur is calling rehearsal to a close and then he pulls on a smile and presses a kiss to Ivan’s cheek and leaves to the loft as fast as possible.
When Matthew asks about Arthur, Francis goes, “I’ve told him that I have a guest.” He kisses Matthew. “He knows it’s someone from the hall, but he doesn’t know who.” They kiss again and lose themselves in the sheets.
we leave it all to chance
He can see Matthew’s silhouette in the archway of the hall. All he wants to do is reach out and steal Matthew away from here.
There’s the click of heels, the swish of heavy fabric, behind him. He glances over his shoulder. There’s a dancer-the one who keeps following him around. Her expression is neutral, but there’s a spark in her eyes.
“He always leaves,” she starts. “Don’t you wonder where he goes?”
This dancer, she introduced herself as Natalia. There’s a flash of something silver, something sharp, in the folds of her skirt, and Ivan takes a careful step back.
…Matthew does always leave right after rehearsal. Maybe an invite to dinner? Matthew is his, after all.
This dancer, this Natalia, her gait is smooth as she walks past him. There’s a whisper, one that echoes after her: “Whores cannot afford to love.”
Ivan ignores the crazy dancer and goes to find Ludwig.
outside the dawn is breaking
Matthew is soft in his arms. His voice is even softer. “I have to stay the night with him.”
Something hot and furious slides into Francis’s stomach, but he ignores it. The feel of Matthew’s pulse beneath his mouth is much more interesting.
“Francis?” Matthew’s skin is warm. “Francis? You did hear me, right?”
Sighing, Francis pulls back. “I did.” He places his forehead against Matthew’s. His eyes, they are so blue, so expressive. “You. And…him.”
He…he doesn’t want this to happen.
The blue eyes, they are so sad. “I don’t want to,” Matthew says fiercely. “I don’t.”
Francis knows how this goes. “You do not want to,” Francis says. “But you must.”
Matthew pulls back, swallows whatever words he has. There is a last kiss and then Matthew is slipping out of his arms and out of the room.
you don’t have to sell your body to the night
Francis can’t help himself. He’s not supposed to, but he goes to the dance hall, to wait until the morning in the little room in the back for Matthew. The main hall, however, is still filled with people. Everyone looks at him.
Arthur stands from his spot on the steps and starts over to Francis. Each step seems deliberate, carefully controlled. “You damned fool,” Arthur hisses.
Francis tries for his usual smug smirk. It doesn’t quite work out. “Ah, Arthur, you must realize-”
“Everyone knows!” Arthur yells. His cheeks are flushed red, his body tense. “You’re…DALLYING with the one person who can bring this whole place down! Have you thought of that at all?!”
Francis looks away. All the dancers are there, dressed to the barest shifts and coverings. There is anxiety on all the faces. Even the main star, Alfred, Matthew’s brother, looks nervous. He should feel guilty for this, but he can’t.
“I love him,” Francis admits quietly.
This only seems to enrage Arthur further. “YOU DO NOT FALL IN LOVE WITH A WHORE.” His fingers are twitching, as if he wishes to wrap them around Francis’s throat. “They SELL love. With that, there can be no truth to a relationship.”
On the stairs, Alfred starts, stares. There is some raw emotion on his face, but everybody is paying attention to the two men in the center of the floor. No one notices him.
Fury, hot and fast, bubbles up in him. How dare Arthur… He sneers down at Arthur. “Silly Englishman, you know nothing of love.”
Arthur makes an enraged, incoherent noise and turns away from him. “Stay away from here for now,” Arthur says in a tight voice.
Usually, Francis would fight any order Arthur would try to issue, but Arthur looks like how Francis feels: ready to kill someone.
Francis turns back out of the hall and goes back to the loft.
Re: [Part 3] Of Whores and Lovers (Moulin Rouge!AU with Franada, USUK, GerIta) (8/?)
anonymous
July 1 2011, 00:48:38 UTC
why does my heart cry?
Shakily, Matthew sets the glass of wine down on the table. He should be used to pretending like this, faking his smiles and laughter, but it’s been becoming harder and harder with Francis. Ivan smiles from across the table and Matthew’s stomach twists into a knot.
He can do this.
Their plates are clean and Ivan stands. The balcony doors are open, the sky clear and never-ending beyond the frame. Matthew goes over, leans against the railing. The stars are bright and he can wish wish wish.
He can do this.
Ivan leans behind him, trapping him in. His breath gets trapped in his lungs, lingers there until he forces it out in a strangled exhale. Ivan’s hands look large and strong against the delicate curves of the rail. One hand leaves its place, draws up his arm. Ivan’s mouth is a light press to the back of his neck.
He...
(Francis Francis Francis-in his bed, in the hall, everywhere-kissing him, touching him, simply being with him-)
“I can’t,” Matthew tells the sky in a weak voice.
Ivan goes still. There’s a moment where Matthew is holding his breathe, whole body trembling, and then Ivan grabs him, hard, and turns him around. That small smile Ivan always has on is still there, somehow, but his eyes are dark, like a storm.
“What?” The smile goes a little wider, but there is something all wrong with it. “I will be one with you.”
Matthew’s heart is pounding. “I-I can’t. There’s…s-someone else…”
“You are mine.”
And then Ivan is kissing him, hard and brutal. Fingers are digging into his arms and he struggles, fights, presses against the broad chest. His thoughts are racing, scrabbling around to try and find a way out of this, but then Ivan freezes against him.
Ivan freezes and drops away from him.
Behind Ivan’s crumpled form, there is one of the guards from the dance hall. The man’s eyes are dark, but his skin and hair are white. The guard says nothing, just grabs his arm and tugs him out of the room.
please, believe me when I say I love you
Francis is just trying to read through the play Arthur left on the table, just trying to move his mind away from Matthew in this investor’s hands-arms-bed-when the door slams open. The strange man, tall and muscular, has Francis standing, but then Matthew is rushing around the man and slamming into him.
Matthew is shaking hard as Francis wraps his arms around him. “What happened?” he asks softly, rubbing one hand up and down Matthew’s spine.
“H-he…I…I c-couldn’t do it…h-he knows, Francis.” Matthew looks up at him and there’s the sheen of tears in his eyes. “H-he knows and h-he’s going to tell Ludwig...”
Francis presses a kiss to Matthew’s temple. There’s a thought rattling around in his head and he can’t help speaking it. “Let’s just go away. We don’t have to stay here.” Matthew pulls away, looks up at him. “We can go away-just the two of us. Don’t worry about the rest of the hall. They can manage.”
Matthew looks away. He looks tired, tired and sad. “I…I can’t…all those people…”
Francis cradles the precious face in his hands. “Do you really want to stay here, a slave to them? Or do you finally want to be free?” It’s selfish, but this is all about Matthew’s smile. It’s gone and it’ll stay gone with that investor.
Pressing a kiss to one palm, Matthew whispers, “Just me…and you?” Light is coming back into his eyes. “I’ll need to go back to the hall and pack.”
Francis smiles, kisses Matthew quickly. “Hurry.”
Matthew turns and leaves the loft with that strange man.
Re: [Part 3] Of Whores and Lovers (Moulin Rouge!AU with Franada, USUK, GerIta) (9/?)
anonymous
July 1 2011, 01:43:04 UTC
today’s the day when dreaming ends
There’s a bag on the dresser when Ludwig enters. Clothes are flying out of the closest. Finally, Matthew emerges, clothes in his arms. He pauses only a fraction of a second to stare at Ludwig and then he continues, placing the clothes into the bag.
Ludwig refrains from sighing. “Ivan told me what happen.”
Again, Matthew pauses. “I don’t care.” He shoves at the clothes, forces the zipper of the bag to move. “I’m…I’m leaving.”
“You’ll let the hall fail?”
Matthew spins around, a frown on his face. “Yes! Yes, I will. I am done with this place. I am done with being a whore.” He stops, glances up with an expression Ludwig cannot place. “I have someone who loves me and I love him. We’ll go far away from here.”
That expression, some may call it heartbreak.
“What about your brother?” The question is dry, inflectionless.
Matthew turns back to the dresser, opening drawers and going through them. “We’re no longer children. Alfred can take care of himself.”
It is now when Ludwig sighs. He’s known these two for years. He has an idea of how Matthew will respond to this. “Matthew…Alfred is dying.”
(Matthew will stay. Death may rip them apart, but Matthew will stay until that last moment, just because Alfred is his brother.)
Matthew freezes. “…What?”
“He collapsed a few weeks back and the doctor realized.” Ludwig stares hard at him. “He’s been coughing a lot, has he not?”
“What…what does that…”
“Consumption.”
Matthew gasps like he’s been hit. His head bows and his hands clench into fists. Ludwig waits and is rewarded after a few minutes with, “If I stay, Francis will fight for me.” His voice is shaky, unsteady.
Ludwig’s voice is composed, clear. “If Ivan realizes who this ‘Francis’ is, your lover will be killed.”
Their eyes meet in the mirror. A pause, and then Matthew crumples. There’s the sound of a sob.
“Get rid of him,” Ludwig advises. “Get rid of him, and he will live.” Ludwig turns and walks out of the room.
but my smile still stays on
It is growing light out when the door to the loft opens. For a second, Francis thinks it may be Arthur, finally back, but it’s Matthew on the other side. Matthew…and nothing else. Francis steps forward. “Where are your things?” They must go, and soon.
Matthew is dressed in a clean suit. He looks pristine. His words, when he speaks, are calm. “My things are in my dressing room.” A slight smile appears. “I am staying here, Francis.”
Francis’s stomach drops into nothing. “What do you mean by that?” He takes another step forward, and now Matthew is in reaching distance.
“Ivan found me after I left. He’s willing to offer everything to my brother and me, if I stay.” His voice, it is mild. “What more can I ask for?”
Everything about this is wrong. Francis takes that last step, curls his hands around Matthew’s arms. “What about love? He cannot buy you that, can he?”
Matthew rips away from him. “Love does not matter,” he responds fiercely. The emotion slides back to wherever it came from. “Only money does.”
Francis can only watch as Matthew walks back to the door. “I am sorry, Francis.” This is wrong wrong wrong. “It was…amusing.” The door clicks shut quietly after Matthew and Francis’s heart breaks.
Re: [Part 3] Of Whores and Lovers (Moulin Rouge!AU with Franada, USUK, GerIta) (10/?)
anonymous
July 1 2011, 05:38:43 UTC
the stairway up to la butte can make the wretched sigh
It’s growing dark. The buzz from the cheap wine is gone already and he can see the lights of the dance hall in the distance. He wants to jump into the Seine, like any good romantic hero, but…the lights of the dance hall are like stars.
His heart is still beating, somehow. Perhaps…perhaps…
Money is the only thing that matters? (But something…something is wrong. He doesn’t know what, but something is very very wrong.) There is money still left in his pocket.
Francis lets the empty bottle drop to the gutter and makes his way along the street.
no words in the vernacular can describe this great event
Matthew watches as Alfred coughs into his hand for a moment and pushes aside the curtain, stepping onto the stage. The music starts and he leans against the dresser, waiting out the scene. He feels…empty, hollowed-out. Alfred is dying and Francis is gone. He thinks he should be crying and maybe he will, once some time has passed, but now he only feels…distant.
A hand grabs his arm, spins him around, and that distance is suddenly gone, all the hurt flaring anew. Francis does not look happy. “Ah, mon cher, the play looks like it is going wonderfully.” There is an attempt at a smile, but Matthew’s only thinking Ivan Ivan Ivan.
Matthew takes a step back, out of Francis’s space. “You need to go. Right now.” He actually sounds firm, for once, but that doesn’t matter because Ivan can be anywhere.
“No,” Francis admonishes lightly, as if this is some game. “I need to pay.”
Matthew takes a break from his search to go, “What? Pay?” He needs to get Francis out of here.
With a grim smile, Francis digs in one coat pocket. He produces a handful of notes with a flourish. “You said that only money matters. Here, then, is your money.”
Matthew’s hands are weak and shaky as he tries to push the notes away. “No, no…” But he can’t get the rest of the words out. He can’t say anything about how the money really doesn’t matter, how this is all a lie, how Francis needs to go before he dies.
“And,” Francis starts with that same grim smile, “I have more.” More notes get pulled out. Francis leans in close and Matthew curls his fingers into his palm, hard, as a distraction, in order not to lean right back in Francis’s space. “Be with me,” Francis breathes. His eyes are bright. “It is not as much as this investor, no, but I-”
Matthew squirms out of the too-comfortable space. “No. No, I don’t want your money.” His eyes are not on Francis anymore, but searching searching searching. He knows Ivan’s somewhere backstage, but where? “I want you gone.”
He sees Francis flinch from the corner of his eye. “I will-”
Matthew turns away and blinks as the world goes all blurry. “No! Just…just go. Now.”
For one moment, it seems like Francis really is going to give in and Matthew’s heart breaks all over again.
Re: [Part 3] Of Whores and Lovers (Moulin Rouge!AU with Franada, USUK, GerIta) (11/12)
anonymous
July 1 2011, 06:25:10 UTC
I MAY HAVE RAPED THIS MOVIE. It's been fun though and I hope everybody enjoys!
I will love you until the end of time
Ivan the investor is pointing a gun at him. The man’s smile is small and cruel. “So, you are the one, yes?” The dark eyes go up, down, up. “I thought you would be…more.” There is a dismissal in his tone that has Francis sneering, but then Matthew is moving, speaking.
“Please, Ivan.” He slides a step, two. “I didn’t tell him to come here. H-he’s only…only an idiot. I just want you.” He slides another step, so that he’s between the gun and Francis. “Please.”
Ivan stares blankly at Matthew for a moment. Then his smile widens. “If you just want me, then you will move, dorogoi. Then he can be gone.”
Things are clicking together too easily, too fast, for Francis’s liking. Everything snaps into place when Matthew shakes his head. “Put the gun away and…and I’ll come with you.”
Francis wants to interrupt, but all his words, all his poetry, are lodged in his throat. He wants to shake Matthew.
Ivan’s smile becomes brittle. “Move, Matthew,” he orders. “He must be gone for us to be one.”
Shaking his head again, Matthew goes, “No.” It’s a simple enough word, but it is conflict, disobedience, and rebellion.
The brittle smile snaps, and then there is just frightening blankness facing them. “He must be gone, Matthew. Do you want to be gone too? For him?”
Matthew lifts his chin. “I-I would.”
Darkness descends on Ivan’s expression. “Goodbye, dorogoi.” Ivan shoots, there’s a bang, and Matthew falls to the floor as fire rips through Francis’s shoulder. Black spots start dancing across his vision as he stumbles, falls. He can see Matthew, just out of his reach. There’s blood pooling beneath his still body.
Ivan the investor watches them for a second, expression childishly, cruelly, curious. Then he sighs to himself and turns away. There’s the creak of floorboards as he walks away, the last glimpse of his coattails, and he’s gone, as if he has never been.
Francis takes a staggering step and falls instead. Matthew…Matthew…Matthew is right beyond his fingertips. The last of his strength fades and his hand drops to the ground.
Beyond the curtains, the music comes to a screeching halt and the screams begin.
Re: [Part 3] Of Whores and Lovers (Moulin Rouge!AU with Franada, USUK, GerIta) (12/12)
anonymous
July 1 2011, 06:26:16 UTC
come what may
The dance hall closes. The combination of Ivan removing his funds and the play turning into a complete disaster means that Ludwig cannot support the hall anymore.
Really, it would not matter anyway. Alfred’s on-stage collapse caused scandalous whispers of diseases and many of the patrons would not have stepped foot in the hall for some time. Arthur, now stuck in his inherited home instead of the city, grumbles (good-naturedly) about Alfred living there; the doctors say the country air is doing the former-dancer good.
He may actually have a chance.
Francis is stuck in bed for a while. They’re a pair, one not allowed to move from bed, the other not allowed to move his arm. Matthew laughs and says that it’s only one arm so he’s better off.
Neither of them mention Ivan, but the rest-the contract and deed-Ludwig’s message-the lies-spills out. There’s some guilt there, on Matthew’s part, about the failure of the hall and the lies, but some of that guilt is eased because he gets letters from the dancers with news from the city.
One dancer tells him that Ludwig is using all his power to get them all jobs. Some as flower girls, other as laundresses, one even as a servant in a good household. Another dancer tells him about the dance hall being bought and torn down. No one knows who the buyer is. Yet another dancer tells him about Ludwig working with Feliciano at the tiny Vargas fruit stand. Supposedly, there’s much giggling going on about that one, mainly because none of the dancers knew Ludwig could look so cute when he blushed-or that he could blush at all.
For the lies, Matthew tries to apologize, only once. Francis kisses him and says, “Do not be sorry. You did what you thought right.” When Matthew starts again, Francis goes, “It was for love.” Matthew cannot argue with that and the matter gets washed away, forgotten, in light of better issues, like breakfast and visiting Alfred and Arthur and possession of sides of the bed.
The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.
The dancer goes pink in the face. “Ah…thank you.” He’s…cute.
So, “Spend tonight with me,” spills out of Francis’s mouth. The dancer’s smile freezes and Francis hurries his words. “You are beautiful enough for a night of passion, but no, not that. Let me speak beautiful poetry to you over wine. That is all.”
The dancer is watching him curiously. Then the dancer helps him up and starts leading him to a back room. They sit in this little back room and drink cheap champagne. Francis’s poetry does not run out, but after a short time, they actually start discussing things. This dancer is not only beautiful; he is intelligent and clever and kind. He is…everything.
At the end of the night, Francis stands and pulls out his pocketbook. “I suppose you’ll be wanting this.” His stomach is twisting into an unpleasant knot.
The dancer stops him. Something is different about the blue of his eyes and the curve of his smile. “Don’t,” he says quietly. The words are hesitant. “Just…just come back?” The words are hesitant-but they are hopeful.
Francis leans close and brushes his fingers over one cheekbone. “Of course I will.” There is no way he can turn away now. “But, mon cher, I have not gotten your name.”
“It’s Matthew.”
“Enchantez, Mathieu. I am Francis.”
Matthew smiles shyly. “A pleasure, Francis.” He glances over to his shoulder to the lightening hallway. “I…I have to go though.” He sways into Francis’s personal space and the touch of his mouth against Francis’s is light. And then he’s gone.
Francis can’t stop smiling as he makes his way out of the dance hall and back to Arthur’s loft.
one day I’ll fly away
He’s going soft. That’s the only answer for this. Matthew leans against the door to his and Alfred’s room and tries to regain his breath. This man-this Francis-he really is nothing special. Matthew, for being so unnoticeable in his brother’s shadow, has had his share of lovers. He knows what working here means and he has fulfilled his role. He knows what his brother wants more than life itself and he will do his damnedest to make sure it happens. Then…only then will he be able to get away from this place.
Taking in a deep breath, Matthew actually looks around the room. The various make-ups and jewels and clothing are scattered, as per usual with Alfred. And Alfred…
Alfred is on his bed, pale, unmoving.
His regained breath stops and his stomach settles somewhere near his toes as he rushes over. There is the sheen of sweat on Alfred’s brow and there’s a raspy rattle to each inhale. Carefully, Matthew reaches out and shakes his brother.
“Alfred,” he says. Nothing. “Alfred!”
This time, Alfred wakes. He blinks up at Matthew confusedly, before a slight scowl turns his mouth down. “What, Mattie?” There’s a groan hiding in his voice and he lifts one hand to rub at his eyes. “Did you need something?”
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Matthew holds back a sigh and goes, “Nothing.” He goes to his own bed and lies down, pretending he can’t hear Alfred’s coughs.
my gift is my song
Francis stumbles out of the room to the sound of very English cursing. His head aches, but all he can think is blue eyes-sweet smile-pleasant laugh. The English cursing cuts through the delightful thoughts.
Arthur is at the tiny table is what constitutes the kitchen, bent over sheets of paper. He’s drinking something that looks like mud. Maybe that’s the cause of the cursing.
“What are you doing, mon ami?”
Arthur does not look pleased at the title. “I have a play to be creating,” he says grandiosely, bitterly, with an angry grimace.
“I did not know you had a way with words.” The innuendo, it’s all there. This, this is routine, but there is none of the old passion behind it.
“Not with rubbish like this, I do not,” Arthur corrects and slumps in his chair. “But Ludwig-the owner- needs a play for the new theater. It’ll bring in more money,” Arthur explains with a scoff. “He sent Feliciano here to give me ideas.”
Francis picks a spoon up from the table and pokes it into the sludge in the cup. The spoon does not start smoking or melting, but still. He thought people knew better than to leave Arthur to cooking of any kind. “Who now?” he asks distractedly.
“Feliciano?” Francis nods. (It sounds like a particularly sweet foreign pastry to him, but French food will always be the best.) Arthur snorts. “Feliciano is Ludwig’s worst kept secret,” he says but does not elaborate. Francis can guess, though.
Arthur continues. “He does have some good ideas, I suppose. He was rambling on about something with India and…,” he stops, peers down at the papers, “…courtesans, I believe?”
“And that one man, the star dancer, he will be the courtesan, I presume?” These are just words, meaningless but pretty, while Francis pokes through the cupboards for food. These words, however, make Arthur bristle like a wet cat.
“It has nothing to do with him!” Arthur snaps and then stomps off without another word.
Francis is curious, but his mind wanders to Matthew and he is lost.
a very strange, enchanted boy
Candlelight is caught in Matthew’s eyes. Francis can think of no other place he’d rather be but here, a tiny room in the back of a roaring dance hall.
They are laughing quietly over wine and cheese (cheap, but still somehow tasty, here) when there comes a knock at the door. Matthew’s eyes flick over to him; they are nervous.
Quietly, Matthew asks him, “Please, could you…?” The thought is unfinished, but his eyes dart over to the curtain wrapped around the bed. Francis thinks nothing of slipping behind that curtain, lounging on the plump pillows there. He hears Matthew pad across the room, hears the creak of the opening door.
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“I…I have,” Matthew agrees. His voice is especially quiet.
“This is the investor, Matthew. He will be your…guest as long as he is here.” There is special emphasis on “guest” that makes Francis’s stomach turn.
Matthew also seems disconcerted by this. “M-my guest?”
The speaker doesn’t take this as an argument. “I’m sorry, Matthew, but this is how it will be.” There’s a pause, a clearing of the throat. “We can discuss it later if you wish, but you do work here.”
There’s the shuffle of feet and the door clicks shut. Francis thinks a second about moving out from behind the curtain, but then Matthew’s going, “Ah, h-hello. My name is Matthew.”
“I am Ivan. It is a pleasure to meet you, dorogoi.”
“Dor-?”
“Come, let us sit, Matthew. We can get to know each other better.”
It is uncomfortable there, listening to this investor and Matthew talk for hours. The man is interesting, that is true, and Matthew is wonderfully, horribly charming. The man finally leaves-with a quiet pause between “goodbye” and the door shutting, the perfect time for a kiss-and Francis slips out. Matthew hurries over and starts to kiss him, quickly, lightly.
“I’m sorry,” he’s saying. “I-I didn’t know Ludwig was going to do that. I…I’m not my brother. I don’t usually have a lot of…customers.”
Francis curls his hands into the soft hair and makes the kisses deeper. “I do not care,” he says. He’s ignoring the hot, sick feeling in the bottom of his gut. (This, this is what many call jealousy, but he is Francis Bonnefoy and has not had to experience the feeling before.) It may be too soon, too fast, but all his poetry is gone in light of, “I love you.”
Matthew just looks down at him for a moment. Then he’s whispering, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” and kissing Francis as if his life depends on it.
another mindless crime, behind the curtain, in the pantomime
Ludwig is just looking over the play proposal Arthur has given him when there’s a light knock on the door. Peering over his glasses, he stares at the door. It’s early morning and all he wants to do is smile at the Feliciano-brand romance in this silly play.
Instead, because he is who he is, Ludwig says, “Come in,” and sets the proposal down.
Matthew slips in. There are shadows under his eyes. “I-I can’t do it,” he says quietly.
Ludwig pulls his glasses off, sets them down, stares hard at Matthew. “Do what?”
Matthew is staring at the floor now. “Ivan. The investor. I can’t…I can’t entertain him.”
This is new. Matthew has never complained, about anything. He was the one to come to Ludwig in the first place, propose the new star of the dance hall to be his brother. He has given everything, done anything. So, why now?
Ludwig almost shakes his head. It does not matter now.
“You must,” he says instead.
Matthew starts. He looks distressed. “Why? I mean, we can get somebody else, can’t we?”
“You were part of the negotiations for Ivan to invest. You are his, and he invests.”
For the first time, Ludwig sees anger creep onto Matthew’s face. “Break the contract then,” he says. His voice, it is still quiet, but there is a firmness there that Ludwig hasn’t heard before.
Strange, that this should come up now, when it is the worst time for it. “I cannot. I break the contract, the hall goes to him…he closes it down.” Ludwig has never wanted to be the owner of a dance hall; there are, however, so many people that are dependent it on it. He will not falter for his business, but he will take care of it, as best as he can.
That tiny spark of rage goes out. “Oh,” Matthew tells the floor hollowly. “I…I suppose I have to then, eh?” His smile is fake as he straightens and slips back out into the hallway.
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Also, loving the structure of little connected bits. ♥
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love is a many-splendored thing
It’s not easy to continually slip from Francis to Ivan and back again. All he can think about is Francis, all the time. It’s difficult to debate with Ivan about something or other, when he’s thinking about slipping into Francis’s bed.
It’s not easy, not all of the time, but it does become easier over time.
The structure of the dance hall changes, becomes something different. Ivan is there all the time, watching everything with a small smile. Matt spends his days at Ivan’s side. They talk quietly of chess, of literature, of music.
Arthur is always at the dance hall, too. He’s always in front of the newly built stage, watching as others choreograph and play music and sing. When there is chaos and everybody is running into everybody else, he’ll make some small comment, and everything will be fixed. Arthur’s eyes are always always always drawn to Alfred.
Matthew spends his nights with Francis. Sometimes, they’ll spend it in bed. Sometimes, they’ll spend it in a small room at the back of the dance hall. Sometimes, when the night is clear and the stars bright, they will walk together.
He kisses Ivan lightly, chastely, during the day and regrets every lie he must tell. He kisses Francis, deeply, passionately, in the dark and dreams.
does anybody know what we are living for?
Ludwig finally understands. He understands why Matthew, usually so compliant, had come into his office, had told him, I can’t.
On the upper balcony, he sees the Frenchman Arthur has been housing pull Matthew back into a kiss. Matthew is smiling as he presses a last kiss to the Frenchman; it reminds Ludwig of Feliciano. The Frenchman slides back into the shadows and Matthew hurries away in the opposite direction.
Ludwig meets him on the stairs. “What are you doing?” he asks quietly.
Matthew flushes and looks away from him. “I…I don’t know-”
“You know exactly of what I speak. Do not lie to me.” There is something like anger in his voice, and the last time he heard that was when his brother left with that dancer and that musician. “There are workers at risk here, including you and your brother. Have you thought of that at all?”
“I…,” Matthew starts, but the rest of the words seem to disappear. He looks…lost.
Ludwig feels the heat of anger drain from him. He only feels tired now. “End it,” he says sternly and turns away from Matthew.
all you need is love
Matthew doesn’t look happy when Francis comes into the back room that night. Francis is able to prattle on meaninglessly as he pours wine, but when he sits, Matthew is still quiet. Francis gets responses when he asks several inane question, but there is little more than that.
Francis waits a moment and then asks, “Is there something wrong?” He feels unsettled.
A pause and then Francis’s world comes crashing down with, “We have to stop seeing each other.”
Francis grabs Matthew’s hand, presses the soft fingers to his mouth in a kiss. “Why would you suggest that?” he finally gets out around the lump in his throat. He thought…they were…
Matthew closes his eyes. “Ludwig knows. And if Ivan finds out, the hall will close. All those people…”
Francis tugs Matthew into an embrace. “We can keep it secret. I will not come back to the hall. You can meet with me at the loft. But do not tell me we have to stop. Do not.”
There’s the sound of a sob and then Matthew’s fingers are digging into his shoulders. Matthew’s mouth presses to his neck. “We can meet elsewhere?” His voice is so very very quiet.
Francis starts to breathe again. “Yes. Anywhere else.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
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It’s still not easy, even with Francis no longer coming to the dance hall. Matt waits until Arthur is calling rehearsal to a close and then he pulls on a smile and presses a kiss to Ivan’s cheek and leaves to the loft as fast as possible.
When Matthew asks about Arthur, Francis goes, “I’ve told him that I have a guest.” He kisses Matthew. “He knows it’s someone from the hall, but he doesn’t know who.” They kiss again and lose themselves in the sheets.
we leave it all to chance
He can see Matthew’s silhouette in the archway of the hall. All he wants to do is reach out and steal Matthew away from here.
There’s the click of heels, the swish of heavy fabric, behind him. He glances over his shoulder. There’s a dancer-the one who keeps following him around. Her expression is neutral, but there’s a spark in her eyes.
“He always leaves,” she starts. “Don’t you wonder where he goes?”
This dancer, she introduced herself as Natalia. There’s a flash of something silver, something sharp, in the folds of her skirt, and Ivan takes a careful step back.
…Matthew does always leave right after rehearsal. Maybe an invite to dinner? Matthew is his, after all.
This dancer, this Natalia, her gait is smooth as she walks past him. There’s a whisper, one that echoes after her: “Whores cannot afford to love.”
Ivan ignores the crazy dancer and goes to find Ludwig.
outside the dawn is breaking
Matthew is soft in his arms. His voice is even softer. “I have to stay the night with him.”
Something hot and furious slides into Francis’s stomach, but he ignores it. The feel of Matthew’s pulse beneath his mouth is much more interesting.
“Francis?” Matthew’s skin is warm. “Francis? You did hear me, right?”
Sighing, Francis pulls back. “I did.” He places his forehead against Matthew’s. His eyes, they are so blue, so expressive. “You. And…him.”
He…he doesn’t want this to happen.
The blue eyes, they are so sad. “I don’t want to,” Matthew says fiercely. “I don’t.”
Francis knows how this goes. “You do not want to,” Francis says. “But you must.”
Matthew pulls back, swallows whatever words he has. There is a last kiss and then Matthew is slipping out of his arms and out of the room.
you don’t have to sell your body to the night
Francis can’t help himself. He’s not supposed to, but he goes to the dance hall, to wait until the morning in the little room in the back for Matthew. The main hall, however, is still filled with people. Everyone looks at him.
Arthur stands from his spot on the steps and starts over to Francis. Each step seems deliberate, carefully controlled. “You damned fool,” Arthur hisses.
Francis tries for his usual smug smirk. It doesn’t quite work out. “Ah, Arthur, you must realize-”
“Everyone knows!” Arthur yells. His cheeks are flushed red, his body tense. “You’re…DALLYING with the one person who can bring this whole place down! Have you thought of that at all?!”
Francis looks away. All the dancers are there, dressed to the barest shifts and coverings. There is anxiety on all the faces. Even the main star, Alfred, Matthew’s brother, looks nervous. He should feel guilty for this, but he can’t.
“I love him,” Francis admits quietly.
This only seems to enrage Arthur further. “YOU DO NOT FALL IN LOVE WITH A WHORE.” His fingers are twitching, as if he wishes to wrap them around Francis’s throat. “They SELL love. With that, there can be no truth to a relationship.”
On the stairs, Alfred starts, stares. There is some raw emotion on his face, but everybody is paying attention to the two men in the center of the floor. No one notices him.
Fury, hot and fast, bubbles up in him. How dare Arthur… He sneers down at Arthur. “Silly Englishman, you know nothing of love.”
Arthur makes an enraged, incoherent noise and turns away from him. “Stay away from here for now,” Arthur says in a tight voice.
Usually, Francis would fight any order Arthur would try to issue, but Arthur looks like how Francis feels: ready to kill someone.
Francis turns back out of the hall and goes back to the loft.
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Shakily, Matthew sets the glass of wine down on the table. He should be used to pretending like this, faking his smiles and laughter, but it’s been becoming harder and harder with Francis. Ivan smiles from across the table and Matthew’s stomach twists into a knot.
He can do this.
Their plates are clean and Ivan stands. The balcony doors are open, the sky clear and never-ending beyond the frame. Matthew goes over, leans against the railing. The stars are bright and he can wish wish wish.
He can do this.
Ivan leans behind him, trapping him in. His breath gets trapped in his lungs, lingers there until he forces it out in a strangled exhale. Ivan’s hands look large and strong against the delicate curves of the rail. One hand leaves its place, draws up his arm. Ivan’s mouth is a light press to the back of his neck.
He...
(Francis Francis Francis-in his bed, in the hall, everywhere-kissing him, touching him, simply being with him-)
“I can’t,” Matthew tells the sky in a weak voice.
Ivan goes still. There’s a moment where Matthew is holding his breathe, whole body trembling, and then Ivan grabs him, hard, and turns him around. That small smile Ivan always has on is still there, somehow, but his eyes are dark, like a storm.
“What?” The smile goes a little wider, but there is something all wrong with it. “I will be one with you.”
Matthew’s heart is pounding. “I-I can’t. There’s…s-someone else…”
“You are mine.”
And then Ivan is kissing him, hard and brutal. Fingers are digging into his arms and he struggles, fights, presses against the broad chest. His thoughts are racing, scrabbling around to try and find a way out of this, but then Ivan freezes against him.
Ivan freezes and drops away from him.
Behind Ivan’s crumpled form, there is one of the guards from the dance hall. The man’s eyes are dark, but his skin and hair are white. The guard says nothing, just grabs his arm and tugs him out of the room.
please, believe me when I say I love you
Francis is just trying to read through the play Arthur left on the table, just trying to move his mind away from Matthew in this investor’s hands-arms-bed-when the door slams open. The strange man, tall and muscular, has Francis standing, but then Matthew is rushing around the man and slamming into him.
Matthew is shaking hard as Francis wraps his arms around him. “What happened?” he asks softly, rubbing one hand up and down Matthew’s spine.
“H-he…I…I c-couldn’t do it…h-he knows, Francis.” Matthew looks up at him and there’s the sheen of tears in his eyes. “H-he knows and h-he’s going to tell Ludwig...”
Francis presses a kiss to Matthew’s temple. There’s a thought rattling around in his head and he can’t help speaking it. “Let’s just go away. We don’t have to stay here.” Matthew pulls away, looks up at him. “We can go away-just the two of us. Don’t worry about the rest of the hall. They can manage.”
Matthew looks away. He looks tired, tired and sad. “I…I can’t…all those people…”
Francis cradles the precious face in his hands. “Do you really want to stay here, a slave to them? Or do you finally want to be free?” It’s selfish, but this is all about Matthew’s smile. It’s gone and it’ll stay gone with that investor.
Pressing a kiss to one palm, Matthew whispers, “Just me…and you?” Light is coming back into his eyes. “I’ll need to go back to the hall and pack.”
Francis smiles, kisses Matthew quickly. “Hurry.”
Matthew turns and leaves the loft with that strange man.
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There’s a bag on the dresser when Ludwig enters. Clothes are flying out of the closest. Finally, Matthew emerges, clothes in his arms. He pauses only a fraction of a second to stare at Ludwig and then he continues, placing the clothes into the bag.
Ludwig refrains from sighing. “Ivan told me what happen.”
Again, Matthew pauses. “I don’t care.” He shoves at the clothes, forces the zipper of the bag to move. “I’m…I’m leaving.”
“You’ll let the hall fail?”
Matthew spins around, a frown on his face. “Yes! Yes, I will. I am done with this place. I am done with being a whore.” He stops, glances up with an expression Ludwig cannot place. “I have someone who loves me and I love him. We’ll go far away from here.”
That expression, some may call it heartbreak.
“What about your brother?” The question is dry, inflectionless.
Matthew turns back to the dresser, opening drawers and going through them. “We’re no longer children. Alfred can take care of himself.”
It is now when Ludwig sighs. He’s known these two for years. He has an idea of how Matthew will respond to this. “Matthew…Alfred is dying.”
(Matthew will stay. Death may rip them apart, but Matthew will stay until that last moment, just because Alfred is his brother.)
Matthew freezes. “…What?”
“He collapsed a few weeks back and the doctor realized.” Ludwig stares hard at him. “He’s been coughing a lot, has he not?”
“What…what does that…”
“Consumption.”
Matthew gasps like he’s been hit. His head bows and his hands clench into fists. Ludwig waits and is rewarded after a few minutes with, “If I stay, Francis will fight for me.” His voice is shaky, unsteady.
Ludwig’s voice is composed, clear. “If Ivan realizes who this ‘Francis’ is, your lover will be killed.”
Their eyes meet in the mirror. A pause, and then Matthew crumples. There’s the sound of a sob.
“Get rid of him,” Ludwig advises. “Get rid of him, and he will live.” Ludwig turns and walks out of the room.
but my smile still stays on
It is growing light out when the door to the loft opens. For a second, Francis thinks it may be Arthur, finally back, but it’s Matthew on the other side. Matthew…and nothing else. Francis steps forward. “Where are your things?” They must go, and soon.
Matthew is dressed in a clean suit. He looks pristine. His words, when he speaks, are calm. “My things are in my dressing room.” A slight smile appears. “I am staying here, Francis.”
Francis’s stomach drops into nothing. “What do you mean by that?” He takes another step forward, and now Matthew is in reaching distance.
“Ivan found me after I left. He’s willing to offer everything to my brother and me, if I stay.” His voice, it is mild. “What more can I ask for?”
Everything about this is wrong. Francis takes that last step, curls his hands around Matthew’s arms. “What about love? He cannot buy you that, can he?”
Matthew rips away from him. “Love does not matter,” he responds fiercely. The emotion slides back to wherever it came from. “Only money does.”
Francis can only watch as Matthew walks back to the door. “I am sorry, Francis.” This is wrong wrong wrong. “It was…amusing.” The door clicks shut quietly after Matthew and Francis’s heart breaks.
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It’s growing dark. The buzz from the cheap wine is gone already and he can see the lights of the dance hall in the distance. He wants to jump into the Seine, like any good romantic hero, but…the lights of the dance hall are like stars.
His heart is still beating, somehow. Perhaps…perhaps…
Money is the only thing that matters? (But something…something is wrong. He doesn’t know what, but something is very very wrong.) There is money still left in his pocket.
Francis lets the empty bottle drop to the gutter and makes his way along the street.
no words in the vernacular can describe this great event
Matthew watches as Alfred coughs into his hand for a moment and pushes aside the curtain, stepping onto the stage. The music starts and he leans against the dresser, waiting out the scene. He feels…empty, hollowed-out. Alfred is dying and Francis is gone. He thinks he should be crying and maybe he will, once some time has passed, but now he only feels…distant.
A hand grabs his arm, spins him around, and that distance is suddenly gone, all the hurt flaring anew. Francis does not look happy. “Ah, mon cher, the play looks like it is going wonderfully.” There is an attempt at a smile, but Matthew’s only thinking Ivan Ivan Ivan.
Matthew takes a step back, out of Francis’s space. “You need to go. Right now.” He actually sounds firm, for once, but that doesn’t matter because Ivan can be anywhere.
“No,” Francis admonishes lightly, as if this is some game. “I need to pay.”
Matthew takes a break from his search to go, “What? Pay?” He needs to get Francis out of here.
With a grim smile, Francis digs in one coat pocket. He produces a handful of notes with a flourish. “You said that only money matters. Here, then, is your money.”
Matthew’s hands are weak and shaky as he tries to push the notes away. “No, no…” But he can’t get the rest of the words out. He can’t say anything about how the money really doesn’t matter, how this is all a lie, how Francis needs to go before he dies.
“And,” Francis starts with that same grim smile, “I have more.” More notes get pulled out. Francis leans in close and Matthew curls his fingers into his palm, hard, as a distraction, in order not to lean right back in Francis’s space. “Be with me,” Francis breathes. His eyes are bright. “It is not as much as this investor, no, but I-”
Matthew squirms out of the too-comfortable space. “No. No, I don’t want your money.” His eyes are not on Francis anymore, but searching searching searching. He knows Ivan’s somewhere backstage, but where? “I want you gone.”
He sees Francis flinch from the corner of his eye. “I will-”
Matthew turns away and blinks as the world goes all blurry. “No! Just…just go. Now.”
For one moment, it seems like Francis really is going to give in and Matthew’s heart breaks all over again.
Then he hears the cocking of a gun.
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I will love you until the end of time
Ivan the investor is pointing a gun at him. The man’s smile is small and cruel. “So, you are the one, yes?” The dark eyes go up, down, up. “I thought you would be…more.” There is a dismissal in his tone that has Francis sneering, but then Matthew is moving, speaking.
“Please, Ivan.” He slides a step, two. “I didn’t tell him to come here. H-he’s only…only an idiot. I just want you.” He slides another step, so that he’s between the gun and Francis. “Please.”
Ivan stares blankly at Matthew for a moment. Then his smile widens. “If you just want me, then you will move, dorogoi. Then he can be gone.”
Things are clicking together too easily, too fast, for Francis’s liking. Everything snaps into place when Matthew shakes his head. “Put the gun away and…and I’ll come with you.”
Francis wants to interrupt, but all his words, all his poetry, are lodged in his throat. He wants to shake Matthew.
Ivan’s smile becomes brittle. “Move, Matthew,” he orders. “He must be gone for us to be one.”
Shaking his head again, Matthew goes, “No.” It’s a simple enough word, but it is conflict, disobedience, and rebellion.
The brittle smile snaps, and then there is just frightening blankness facing them. “He must be gone, Matthew. Do you want to be gone too? For him?”
Matthew lifts his chin. “I-I would.”
Darkness descends on Ivan’s expression. “Goodbye, dorogoi.” Ivan shoots, there’s a bang, and Matthew falls to the floor as fire rips through Francis’s shoulder. Black spots start dancing across his vision as he stumbles, falls. He can see Matthew, just out of his reach. There’s blood pooling beneath his still body.
Ivan the investor watches them for a second, expression childishly, cruelly, curious. Then he sighs to himself and turns away. There’s the creak of floorboards as he walks away, the last glimpse of his coattails, and he’s gone, as if he has never been.
Francis takes a staggering step and falls instead. Matthew…Matthew…Matthew is right beyond his fingertips. The last of his strength fades and his hand drops to the ground.
Beyond the curtains, the music comes to a screeching halt and the screams begin.
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The dance hall closes. The combination of Ivan removing his funds and the play turning into a complete disaster means that Ludwig cannot support the hall anymore.
Really, it would not matter anyway. Alfred’s on-stage collapse caused scandalous whispers of diseases and many of the patrons would not have stepped foot in the hall for some time. Arthur, now stuck in his inherited home instead of the city, grumbles (good-naturedly) about Alfred living there; the doctors say the country air is doing the former-dancer good.
He may actually have a chance.
Francis is stuck in bed for a while. They’re a pair, one not allowed to move from bed, the other not allowed to move his arm. Matthew laughs and says that it’s only one arm so he’s better off.
Neither of them mention Ivan, but the rest-the contract and deed-Ludwig’s message-the lies-spills out. There’s some guilt there, on Matthew’s part, about the failure of the hall and the lies, but some of that guilt is eased because he gets letters from the dancers with news from the city.
One dancer tells him that Ludwig is using all his power to get them all jobs. Some as flower girls, other as laundresses, one even as a servant in a good household. Another dancer tells him about the dance hall being bought and torn down. No one knows who the buyer is. Yet another dancer tells him about Ludwig working with Feliciano at the tiny Vargas fruit stand. Supposedly, there’s much giggling going on about that one, mainly because none of the dancers knew Ludwig could look so cute when he blushed-or that he could blush at all.
For the lies, Matthew tries to apologize, only once. Francis kisses him and says, “Do not be sorry. You did what you thought right.” When Matthew starts again, Francis goes, “It was for love.” Matthew cannot argue with that and the matter gets washed away, forgotten, in light of better issues, like breakfast and visiting Alfred and Arthur and possession of sides of the bed.
The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.
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