Hetalia kink meme part 24
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hetalia kink meme
part 24
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But then he remembered. Rhys was in bed with him, and he was the slave he had taken last night, according to custom. He remembered everything.
He’d promised Rhys he wouldn’t touch him. He cursed himself, noting that Rhys was actually very stiff under his arm. Lifting his arm, he saw Rhys’s eyes flutter just a little, as if he were pretending to still be sleeping. How long had he been awake?
“I apologize; it was never my intention to grab you this way,” Francis said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Rhys’s eyes opened, and he looked at him uncertainly, as though he couldn’t believe that he hadn’t simply been lied to.
Francis looked away guiltily. Rhys was a person, and he didn’t deserve to be treated like his personal object. He hated that Rhys didn’t trust him, but he supposed he wouldn’t trust him if he were in Rhys’s situation.
Getting out of the bed, Francis headed across the room, going through the armoire for clothes. “Do you know where your clothes from yesterday are?”
Rhys sat up, hair tousled and one cheek pink from where it had been pressed against his arm. He shook his head, saying, “Scott took them with him.”
Francis sighed, saying, “I have some simpler clothes you can borrow. Let me see… Ah. Here.” He pulled out a lavender shirt with ruffled collar, as well as simple black breeches. They might be a little bit big on Rhys, but one had to make do with what one had.
Rhys shuffled over, arms tucked awkwardly against himself. He took the clothes from Francis without touching him. “Thank you, sir.”
Francis winced. “Don’t call me sir, please.” He couldn’t reconcile himself with a cruel slave owner, and the image such titles conferred.
“Mr. Bonnefoy?” Rhys tried quietly, eyes darting down towards the floor. It was as if he were testing out new waters with old tactics.
“Call me Francis,” Francis replied, stripping off his nightshirt without even thinking. He would wear his blue velvet suit and white linen shirt. A bow tie would probably pair nicely with it, since the shirt had a considerable amount of ruffles…
Rhys was cringing, though it appeared to be subconscious. “Francis? May I… May I change in the washroom?”
It occurred to Francis that his nakedness was probably making Rhys uncomfortable. He quickly assured him, “Of course you may. You don’t have to ask about that, all right?”
Rhys nodded, tucking the clothes against himself and heading for the washroom.
Francis sighed as soon as the door closed. Whatever had happened to Rhys, it hadn’t been an easy time. He’d heard of slaves who went mad after their obligatory sexual intercourse with their masters, struck silent or flinching at the slightest shadow. It was said they were wrong in the head.
At least Rhys was functional. Francis was thankful for that; as much as he wanted to help slaves, he wasn’t sure what he would do with one struck with madness.
He slipped into his clothes, and waited.
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Rhys stood behind and to the left of Francis’s chair, not uttering a sound, but from the turn of his head, Francis could see he was watching Hong. He wondered if it was with pity; it didn’t seem as though Hong were bothered, though, obediently doing whatever he was told. He must have been a slave a long time, Francis reflected with a shudder.
“Francis, dear, do tell us how your night was,” Arthur said, eating several grapes at once. His eyes seemed to trail over to Rhys, who, to his credit, stayed standing still and erect.
Francis frowned, saying, “It was nothing out of the ordinary.” As if it were Arthur’s business what happened with him and Rhys! It made Francis angry that he should even inquire, especially since he clearly knew of Francis’s abolitionist leanings.
And there was no doubt that had been his revenge, a lesson taught to Francis, as Arthur’s eyes sparked with malicious mirth. “He’s not the most pliable slave I’ve ever bedded, but hopefully he didn’t cry for you.”
Francis’ grip tightened on his fork. He wanted to stab Arthur badly, as he could see from the corner of his eye Rhys’s head ducking down. “It’s really a matter I’d rather keep private, thank you.”
Arthur laughed. “It went that badly? I understand wanting to keep it private then. Have you tried the cream and strawberries? They’re divine.”
Francis said, trying to affect the same careless attitude, even as he could see Scott scowling darkly across from him, “I haven’t had the opportunity, no. I prefer blueberries.”
“Then you haven’t had the opportunity to try our strawberries. They’re grown directly on the estate, and they’re the sweetest in the county. Try them,” Arthur replied, posture casual, but eyes watching Francis like a hawk.
Francis started to protest. “No, thank you, I don’t prefer strawberries.” They stung his mouth, and he suspected he was allergic. Of course, he wasn’t about to tell Arthur that; just one more thing for him to use against him.
“Please, I insist,” Arthur said, perhaps a little too forcefully, too much of a smile for it to be real. His eyes flicked towards Rhys, then back towards Francis.
Sighing, Francis said, “Very well, since they are clearly so dear to you.” He helped himself to some cream and strawberries, wincing as he placed the cold berries in his mouth. Yes, they still stung. “Very good,” he said, patting his mouth with a napkin and wishing he could scrub out the whole inside.
Arthur smiled. “I told you, they’re marvelous. We have the best gardeners in all of the United Kingdom.” He untucked his napkin from his neck, adding, “I believe I’ve had enough. Many things to do today, and I wouldn’t want to be full for teatime. You’ll be joining me.”
It wasn’t a question. Francis nodded, faking a smile. “Of course, Arthur.” He hated him more; it would be just them and the slaves, knowing him. Hong’s distant eyes didn’t promise any help in uncomfortable situations, and Rhys was probably shy of the sting of a whip.
Arthur left then, wishing the whole table a pleasant meal before he was gone. Hong disappeared with him.
Francis could see Rhys relax just a little. However, as he observed the table, he could see several people were still clearly uncomfortable. They kept their eyes turned from him, or Rhys, he wasn’t sure which. It must be because they knew how Arthur would treat him, and that he would have no power or respect.
He lost his appetite, and put his napkin on the table. He stood, and Rhys followed him. The look back at Scott did not go unnoticed by Francis, though Rhys quickly snapped his head back forwards.
“Shall we go to the garden? I hear this estate has beautiful daffodils.” Francis wasn’t that entranced by flowers, especially something as simple as a daffodil, but he led the way to the place. It was a warm summery day, and the flowers were all in bloom. He took a seat on the garden bench with a sigh. “Rhys? You can sit down if you want to.”
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Francis sighed again. “I’m not going to let anyone punish you for sitting, Rhys. It’s all right.” Really, what did Rhys expect would happen? He belonged solely to Francis; no one could touch him. Could they?
Chewing on his lip, Rhys shook his head, but his bluish-gray eyes looked down at his shoes instead. “Francis, I can’t be seen sitting down. Not unless I am doing an activity that requires sitting.”
From the uneven shift from foot to foot, Francis guessed that Rhys had learned that lesson the hard way. He looked out over the flowers, saying, “Would you like to make a flower crown with me, then? It’s simple, I’ll teach you.”
Rhys nodded, though it looked like he thought he had no other choice. It made Francis feel guilty, but he suspected standing there doing nothing was more torturous.
Standing, Francis walked around the garden, picking flowers and handing them to Rhys. Rhys followed obediently, ever growing pile of flowers cautiously carried in his arms.
Then they settled down on the bench again, and Francis smiled softly. This was an entertainment he had loved as a child; surely it would help soothe Rhys. He picked up a purple flower, and started to weave it in with two others. “It’s not so hard, once you get the hang of it; if you have enough flowers with long stems, then you can weave them together like so…”
Rhys began bending stalks and weaving them like he was shown. His face was at first stolid, eyes vaguely troubled as he stared at the flowers; it grew increasingly distracted, however, as the complexities of the task took over his mind.
Francis smiled, seeing that he was at least occupied. He worked at his, but since he was well-practiced, he was able to think of other things.
What day would be appropriate to free Rhys? He figured a month at the least, but Arthur was a stodgy old toad, and he was sure to watching for the slightest sign of disrespect. Perhaps after the wedding, he could release Rhys; that was in two months. In the hustle and bustle of moving him in permanently, he was sure Rhys could be released unnoticed.
The crown sat in Francis’s lap, and he watched Rhys work. Rhys’s crown was coming along nicely, evenly, as though he were accustomed to making things, to using his hands for intricate tasks. It was also patterned, purple, yellow, white, and blue.
Francis gently put his crown on Rhys’s head, in a moment of impulse.
Rhys looked over, shocked, reaching up to immediately feel what was on his head. The expression on his face turned soft, however, when he realized it was just the flower crown. He looked positively relieved, finishing the last weave on his crown, and then handing it to Francis.
Smiling at him, Francis said, “You look darling.”
“Thank you,” Rhys said automatically, promptly standing and looking anxious. Francis wished he could wipe that look from his face; it felt as though if he were able to make Rhys unanxious, he could stop being anxious himself.
If only things could be so simple. He would marry Arthur and live a loveless life, bitterly watching his peers marry happily. And Rhys would be a poor man, free but surely unable to find work that wasn’t taken by a slave.
It was a bitter system they lived in. Francis only hoped that someday, things could be made better.
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It bothers me a bit how completely evil Arthur is here, even though I know it's just required by the story. It's not that it's bad in terms of the fic universe, it's just that I like England and I don't like seeing him as the villain. x); (Even though he's a bit of a bastard in canon too. But then again, so is France.) Well, it is nice that it's not France that's made the evil perv, though.
It occurred to me, though, that this society probably approves of rape within marriage... I have a feeling Arthur is going to make it nasty for Francis once they're married. Even if Francis was okay with having sex with a guy he doesn't like... (Am I a horrible person for kind of wanting to see that now? =3= It would be interesting to see how that might affect Rhys and Francis' relationship (whatever the relationship is by that point.))
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