La nuit est allumé avec l'amour...

[menudo_tomate]

who. The Frenchman and the Spaniard.
when. That regretful night on June 10th.
where. A quiet little gay bar called Allumé.
what. Toni needs a hug right now, but Francis is willing to provide a little extra.
rating. Rated F for Francis.

Comments

[menudo_tomate]

Antonio lifted his head just enough to give Francis an incredulous look.

“What?” he laughed shortly and shook his head in disbelief. “Are you serious?” Francis quirked a brow in response. The unamused expression on his face showed just how serious he was. Antonio swallowed hard and looked away.

“I don’t know what you mean...”

“Fourteen.” Francis was actually counting? He looked at the startled look on Toni’s face and sighed. “Oh, come on, Tonio. You know exactly what I mean.” The hand on his shoulder slid down slowly to his neck, emphasizing his point with a soft squeeze.

“Eleven.” Antonio smiled lazily, obviously taking the countdown as a joke.

“Hah, lo siento,” he apologized, but didn’t sound nor look very sincere about it. “I really don’t.” Francis’ thin fingers rubbed into his neck just right and he slumped back down to the counter with a content sigh

[menudo_tomate]

The next five seconds were chaos.

Antonio practically launched himself at Francis and made a grab for the phone, hardly noticing that he had knocked his glass over in his haste. The bartender who was stuck toweling up the watery alcohol gave them both a dirty look but made no move to break up the struggle, most likely assuming they were engaged in some sort of foreplay. This was a gay bar, after all.

“¿¡Qué coño estás haciendo?!” Antonio cried out in panic. He practically fell out of his stool trying to gain enough leverage to reach the cell, his rum-heavy breath fanning out across Francis’s face

[menudo_tomate]

Antonio snapped.

“No necesito nada de ti, ni de nadie!” he hissed, frustration written clear across his face. He shrugged his shoulders roughly to shake his hands off and spun the stool around again, intent on ordering another drink. That was what he had come here for, right? To drink until he couldn’t remember his own name?

But the hostile hunch of his shoulders wasn’t intimidating anyone. Francis glared at his back, brows furrowed in part anger and part annoyance, fists clenching tightly.

“So that’s it? You’re going to drink instead?” he asked the back of his head, feeling the anger escalate inside. “And this makes you so--” What did these blasted Americans say? “--cool, doesn’t it

[menudo_tomate]

“They’re keeping them from me, Francis... mis hermanos...” he whispered, hot tears of indignation welling up in the corners of his eyes. “If I marry Lovi I might...never see them again.” He inhaled shakily and pressed his face into the crook of Francis’ shoulder, biting his lower lip out of frustration. “What am I supposed to do? They gave me a choice. Th-they want me to fucking choose! How can I...?”

[menudo_tomate]

“It’s not alright, it’s not ever going to be alright...” Antonio groaned hoarsely and shook his head. His seemingly endless optimism was nowhere to be found; not even Antonio could find an upside to this situation. His head ached and his face felt hot and his eyes were stinging-but Francis was warm and smelled like familiar cologne. His slender fingers dug into his shoulders again to calm the trembling muscles there with a firm touch, and Antonio couldn’t help but think that it felt... nice, to be held like this. Safe.

[menudo_tomate]

When hadn’t Francis been there for him and Gilbert? It felt like he’d known them for his whole life. The heavy ache in his chest began to feel lighter somehow, the heavy sobs calming down to shallow, harsh breaths. Life still sucked, of course, and his parents were still assholes, but he was feeling a little better about it now.

“Okay...” Antonio sniffled and dried his eyes on his sleeve. If there was anything suspicious about the way Francis was acting, well, he certainly didn’t notice. He let himself be dragged up off the stool and they both staggered over to the plush-looking armchairs in the corner together.

[menudo_tomate]

“Of course not...” Antonio mumbled into his shirt, peering up at him blearily from the corner of one eye. Why would he? Francis was his friend. He yawned and nuzzled into his shoulder, feeling worn out from crying, his eyelids fluttering sleepily.

Encouraged by his mellow behavior, Francis began to work his fingers into his scalp, lulling him into a sense of security before pressing soft kisses along his cheeks and jaw. His other hand crept up to cradle his face as he kissed behind his ear. Antonio just chuckled and nudged him away with his shoulder.

“That tickles,” he mumbled drowsily. Not the response Francis was looking for, but at least he wasn’t being shoved off. Ignoring the affront to his ego and pride, Francis continued to trace his fingers down his chest and stomach, testing for a reaction.

[menudo_tomate]

Not even Antonio was that naïve or oblivious. His eyes snapped open with a start and he scooted away quickly, keeping his back pressed against the arm rest.

“Francis!” he hissed, cheeks blushing slightly. He glanced around the bar worriedly, but no one was paying them any mind. It was to be expected here, after all. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down, reminding himself that Francis had a twisted sense of humor.

“That’s not funny, okay? I’m really not in the mood for your little games right now,” Antonio explained, trying to sound stern-though he mostly sounded exasperated.