And he shall be called...Lundy [1/2]
anonymous
June 5 2009, 11:53:38 UTC
Arthur knew that something was wrong the moment he returned home to find Francis dressed in leather.
“..Francis.” It took him the better part of thirty seconds to process this image in his mind. Not that Francis usually looked bad in tight leather, but he was nine months pregnant and with that stomach the normal, fashion-conscious Francis would have known what a faux-pas he was making. “W - what are you doing?” Arthur dared ask.
Francis pinned him with a glare that made Arthur stiffen. “What am I doing, mon cher? I thought that would be obvious. I am obviously preparing to go out!” he replied hotly.
“Like that?”
“What is wrong with how I dress?” Francis swept a hand across his attire and Arthur really had to do everything he could not to tell him that he looked like a gay bondage slave. A very pregnant, gay bondage slave.
“Well...you’re pregnant,” Arthur replied with as much tact as he had sanity to spare. “Besides, those clothes don’t really fit you anymore.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Arthur sharply stepped back from the flames of pure hate radiating around Francis at that very moment.
“Are you calling me fat, rosbif?” he all but screeched at Arthur.
“N - No!” Arthur stuttered. This was the first time since the Battle of Hastings, since seeing crazy Francis during the French revolution, that he was actually, genuinely terrified of him right now.
The flames of hatred quickly sunk, extinguished buy a sudden tide of depression. Francis turned to the wall for loving support, leaning his forehead against it.
“You hate me don’t you? You can’t stand the sight of me! Am I really that disgusting to you? I - If I knew you were so shallow I would never have - never have - damn you and this baby!” he cried, and begun flailing like a child.
“..Francis.” It took him the better part of thirty seconds to process this image in his mind. Not that Francis usually looked bad in tight leather, but he was nine months pregnant and with that stomach the normal, fashion-conscious Francis would have known what a faux-pas he was making. “W - what are you doing?” Arthur dared ask.
Francis pinned him with a glare that made Arthur stiffen. “What am I doing, mon cher? I thought that would be obvious. I am obviously preparing to go out!” he replied hotly.
“Like that?”
“What is wrong with how I dress?” Francis swept a hand across his attire and Arthur really had to do everything he could not to tell him that he looked like a gay bondage slave. A very pregnant, gay bondage slave.
“Well...you’re pregnant,” Arthur replied with as much tact as he had sanity to spare. “Besides, those clothes don’t really fit you anymore.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Arthur sharply stepped back from the flames of pure hate radiating around Francis at that very moment.
“Are you calling me fat, rosbif?” he all but screeched at Arthur.
“N - No!” Arthur stuttered. This was the first time since the Battle of Hastings, since seeing crazy Francis during the French revolution, that he was actually, genuinely terrified of him right now.
The flames of hatred quickly sunk, extinguished buy a sudden tide of depression. Francis turned to the wall for loving support, leaning his forehead against it.
“You hate me don’t you? You can’t stand the sight of me! Am I really that disgusting to you? I - If I knew you were so shallow I would never have - never have - damn you and this baby!” he cried, and begun flailing like a child.
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