[fanfic] the switch - 02
Title: The Switch - Chapter 02
Author: silentside
Characters: F/A/C/E
Note/Warning: Based on this very random update of the same title here and now few days later...orz
- This is really more on shopping. And Food.
- Some usage of french words (well, it is Francis)
00 - Prologue
01 - Don't Drink and Hex
Summary: In his drunken rage, Arthur placed a spell on Francis, causing him to de-age by half a millennia. However there is a side-effect: His son Matthew Williams matured 500 years ahead of his time. Hilarity and chaos ensue
The Switch
{ Chapter 02 - Makeover}
A/N: I think I need to place my notes in the beginning to give people fair warning. Uh, first, at least ¼ of this chapter is co-written by my friend Kat, who helped with ze French accents and the beta-ing while I type this. Which is why updates are kind of fast. I’m sorry if we butcher the romantic language in any way ;;
This chapter have lots of Francis x Matthew fatherly bonding. Next chapter will be the other half of the family.
Nobody shops like Francis. He is a man with impeccable taste and shopping to him is almost like a form of art, a mastered skill. It will take him hours just browsing through items, scrutinizing the quality between his fingertips and criticizing every detail and muttering how he could have done better---which is why Matthew avoids every chance to go shopping with his Papa, from clothes to groceries. However, because of the current bizarre and complicated situation, this time he couldn’t say no.
Getting him to wear his clothes proved quite difficult. Matthew insisted he wear something other than just a shirt and gave him a pair of slacks, long sleeves and a vest; clothes that he has outgrown ages ago. Francis stubbornly refused to wear them at first, commenting that they’re too ‘loose and frumpy’ for his taste until the taller blond firmly pointed out the time remaining before the shops open.
Matthew swore he never saw his Papa move so fast. In less than 15 minutes, he’s completely dressed from head to foot, and the poor lad had to run to catch up to him as he climbed excitedly inside his Jeep.
“What ez this?!” He heard him gasp as he got to the front seat, buckling himself. “Empty beer bottles? Why ez there grass?”
“I wasn’t expecting company, Papa.” Matthew grumbled, sitting beside him and inserting the key to the ignition. He turned it and the vehicle quickly roared to life. “And please, hold on tight.”
-- -- --
And Matthew thought his Dad, Arthur Kirkland, is a terrible backseat driver.
His Papa insisted that they hurry and he reluctantly obliged. They took to his jeep, since it’s the only vehicle near the driveway and as soon as they sped out to the main road, his Papa is already screaming out every colorful word in the French language.
It was a good thing though that his Papa has a thick blond mass of hair, as the wind blew it on his face, it muffled his screams. He tried to push his locks away, but as Matthew made sharp turns he kept falling backwards. By the time they made it to the boardwalk where all the expensive shops are, his ears have nearly fallen off his head and a purple-faced Francis looked like he was mauled by three hairdressers.
“ You...” He made an effort to keep from expelling something out of his system. “ Mon Dieu, do not drive like that again! Are you trying to kill us!? I never knew that sourcils taught you such murderous driving!”
Matthew sighed and tried to keep his little Papa from collapsing. He reminded him of those princesses in distress in some children’s movie. Only that he’s about to puke.
“ Papa, you were telling me to hurry. I was just following orders.”
“ I told you to hurry. Not try to ram us against everything we pass by. Mon coeur almost jumped out of my throat! Never do that again!”
“Alright..alright, I’m sorry.” Matthew said, helping his Papa to steady himself. “Now...” he looked at the string of shops lined up from across the horizon, he can see some people inside starting to draw the blinds from the windows and putting out displays. “Where do we go first?”
“ Tsk! I want to change your clothes first! We’re going to that shop where I buy my shirts and you will look every inch a man after I’m through with you. Hurry! It’s that shop! It’s open already!” And Francis pointed at the third shop across the street, pulling Matthew impatiently from behind him.
“Now remember, show ze owner my card and always ask for ze new collection! Do not forget!” Francis’s eyes were round and shiny and his voice can hardly contain his excitement. He is like a child eager to enter a brand new theme park.
“Look for the owner. New collection. Got it.“ Matthew nodded, “C-can I choose my clothes?”
“Nooon~”
-- -- --
The first shop they visited was an exclusive boutique by one of Francis’ favorite designers and the first thing that Matthew noticed was the room’s spacious interior: It’s large and almost completely bare, save for a selected row of clothes, fine opulent furniture and ornate mannequin displays. Matthew didn’t realize he was mumbling out loud how impractical everything looked until his Papa jabbed him lightly on his stomach.
“ Stop acting like Angleterre!” He whispered, pointing out to two salesladies who possibly overheard him. One of them snottily raised an eyebrow, gave Matthew a quick going over from head to toe, whispering something to her companion in French before taking a suit from the rack and approaching them.
“She called you another dumb tasteless American.” Francis muttered, biting his lip. Matthew looked almost apologetic when he saw how sad his Papa looked, knowing how much it hurts him as well that he is always being mistaken as his older brother. But he had to admit, he did stuck out like a sore thumb in his current surroundings: wearing a pair of loose cargo shorts, a bright red shirt and socks in strapped sandals. He was a far cry from the sophisticated clientele that the boutique catered.
“Bonjour~!” the saleslady flashed them a bright smile and Francis rolled his eyes. “Ez there anything in particular you are looking for, monsieur?”
Before Matthew could utter an apology, Francis already spoke.
“We would like a suit, please!” He replied brightly, much to Matthew’s surprise. Francis have neutralized his accent and his expression suddenly changed, smiling sweetly at the young lady in front of them. He never knew his Papa can mimic an English accent. “My Papa and I just came from a looong 7-hour flight from London and he has to meet up with his business associates in a few hours, it’s going to be some fashionable event and he needs to suit up real quick!”
“Oh, well zat would explain this I suppose.” The woman replied, charmed with Francis while eyeing Matthew critically with silent amusement. “Well, petite. I think we will let your Papa decide what he would want to wear, no?”
Matthew nodded and the lady presented the suit tucked in her arm, “How about zis? This just came recently, it’s part of our current spring collection!”
“Do they have that comes in uh...” Matthew tried to find words, “Dark gray?”
“What shade in particular, Monsieur?” the lady asked, signaling the other sales lady standing near the racks. “Charcoal? Dark Slate? Or should I suggest, Gunmetal gray? It’s a classic favorite among our patrons.”
“Uh..”
Poor Matthew look like he would faint at the choices being laid out in front of him.
“Well?”
Matthew’s head reeled at the onslaught of options. He thought gray meant gray. He wasn’t expecting this at all.
“ How about red?” Francis piped in.
“You mean burgundy?” The saleslady frowned lightly, as if questioning his taste. Francis’s brow twitched.
Matthew tried to help, “It’s not really a formal suit it’s...”
“Something more casual then?”
“Uhmm...”
He is at a loss now. And the saleslady is growing a bit impatient.
“ Something like that wine, papa! You know...” Francis pulled Matthew’s arm with a knowing look in his eyes. “ The one you ALWAYS had when you went to PARTIES. I LIKE that color.”
“No!” his eyes widened, as if silently begging for Francis to stop. “That color is too loud, son. These are conservative people!”
“Monsieur, if you would want our recent collection also has--”
“Shush!” Francis suddenly cuts the saleslady off, lifting his right hand, commanding her to stop. “Stop giving us that selection. Let us choose!”
“I beg your pardon~?” she gasped, maintaining a strained smile on her face. “ Petit garçon, this have just arrived and it comes in an early bird discount of $ 5,000.00!”
Matthew felt a part of him just died. He can get himself something more useful and practical with that kind of money. Like a one-way ticket out of this mess.
“You are not fooling us!” He pouted, placing both hands on his hips, “How dare you present to my Papa last year’s spring collection, we all know zat’s already 50% off!”
The saleslady stepped back, trying to form words out of her mouth.
“I want to talk to ze owner of this establishment! This ez unacceptable! Mon dieu!” He lifted his hands in dismay, as the salesladies gawked at him. “And my Papa ez not a dumb American! He ez a French-Canadian! Don’t you dare...!”
Did Francis even realized his act is slipping?
“His Maman is French.” Matthew said, quickly covering Francis’ mouth before he said anything more. “S-she was a very... er... fashion-sensitive lady. She passed her... skills on to him, as you can see.”
“O-Oui.” The saleslady nodded, “So it seems.”
“I have ze privilege card for this establishment!” Francis struggled, pulling Matthew’s hand off his mouth and materializing a gold card, handing it out to the saleslady. “Show this to the owner! Now!”
She reluctantly took the card and quickly turned to her heels, clothing in hand, furiously calling her equally surprised companion to call for their supervisor immediately.
“ Papa, what are you doing!? You’ll get us in trouble!” Matthew whispered frantically.
“Non, with what she did, she will be the one in trouble!” Francis smiled impishly, “Just you wait, my dear. When ze owner arrive, we will be treated like Kings!”
“ Papa...” Matthew sighed helplessly. “ Don’t make this hard for them already! Let’s just buy the clothes and get going!”
They heard the door open, and a smartly dressed man in his late 30’s with a pencil thin moustache and slicked back black hair came in. He fixed his collar and saw Matthew, and just like those before him, gave him a quick going over with an unimpressed expression written all over his face.
“Ah, Louis, I’m glad ez you!” Francis cried, but the man just gave him a baffled expression. “Your staff ez giving me a hard time!”
“Pardon moi?” he was handed the gold card and takes a look at it. “But who are you?”
“It’s moi!”He tried jumping up, “Ez complicated but it’s Moi!”
It took a good few minutes for the information to sink in as Louis suspiciously glanced from the card and to the blue-eyed blond child standing in front of him.
“ When you were in London, August, 1997 you were ...” And Francis tiptoed to whisper things into the supervisor’s ear. His eyes widened and he looked at Francis, who was smiling smugly, from head to foot and he brought his hand to his mouth. Matthew was beyond curious as to what his Papa said to make the man react like so.
“Mon dieu!” He gasped, “Ez it you, Monsieur---? But why....”
“Shush!” He tugged his hand, leading him away from Matthew. “ I’ll explain everything. Let’s go over there so no one will hear us!”
Matthew watched as Francis and Louis talked and whispered. There was a moment when both looked at him and he felt like they were talking about him and he felt very, very uneasy.He saw Francis nod and glance at him one more time and gave him a sunny smile.
Louis spoke after what seemed an eternity.
“Ingrid! Stella!” he strode towards his staff, clapping both hands. “I will have a vord with both of you later--especially you, Ingrid.” he pointed out, rubbing his palms as his worried personnel approached him. “First, give Monsieur Williams here everything he needs!” He pointed at the surprised Matthew. “Take out the latest collection that arrived this morning! Stop gawking! Hurry! Hurry! Don’t keep him waiting!”
And the ladies quickly ran to the supplies closet to get the clothes they have yet to display. Amidst the rush, Matthew went to the impatient supervisor who warmly greeted him.
“ Oui, monsieur? Anymore requests?”
Matthew hesitated. “ Uhm... If you don’t mind sir. I... I’d like to ask you not to give uh... Madame Ingrid and uh... Stella...” Then he drew himself up. “ It’s not their fault really. So I’d appreciate it if we just let the incident pass.”
Louis was slightly surprised. “ But Monsieur, your father...”
“ Yes I know. Papa was slightly insulted. But it’s fine. Please. Just this once.” And he looked at the busy salesladies a bit sadly that Louis understood what he meant.
“ You are a kind man, Monsieur.” He gave the blonde a pat on the shoulder. Matthew smiled shyly.
Unknown to him, Francis watched quietly. His lips forming a fond little smile.
“ Mon petit bébé..”
“Everything is now ready, Monsieur.” One of the salesladies approached Louis quietly and the supervisor turned around.
“Monsieur Williams, ready when you are!”
Francis then leapt down from his cushioned seat, this will be his favorite part.
-- -- --
Remember those romantic comedy movies, when the protagonist will have the time of his/her life getting a makeover, trying different outfits and new clothes?
Well, it only works in movies.
Matthew felt uncomfortable having to try new threads with a fitting style that he is not used to wearing, with a very eager Louis there to assist him and his Papa sitting eagerly by the couch watching him as he strolled outside for the first time from the fitting room in front of three large life size mirrors.
“You have ze most beautiful eyes!” Louis exclaimed, and Matthew noticed he is wearing one of those large framed glasses. “Just like ze late great Elizabeth Taylor . Anything she wore complimented her beauty! And you monsieur, you might be a diamond in the rough, but with a little polish you can be as---magnifique!”
“Uhum, Louis...?”
“Oui, Monsieur?”
“You can like..stop squeezing my arms now.”
“Ah, my apologies!” And Louis stepped back from behind him. Matthew frowned, feeling like his own private space was invaded, with the man pressed against him from behind, his face over his shoulder and his hands running up and down his arms. If he went any further, he could have squeezed his buttocks.
“My dear, Louis is just helping you!” Francis chuckled, “ That’s just how he is. He always loves a challenge!”
“I know it’s just...” he mumbled. Can he help me without touching me? he grumbled internally.
“Now turn around~!”
Matthew slowly turned around and blushed a little when he saw the sparkle of amusement in his Papa’s eyes. He sat there in the small cushioned couch, pretty as you please, with his legs crossed, taking a delicate sip from his glass of juice. “Now turn again but remove your coat this time!”
“Papa, you just want to see my butt.”
He watched in dismay as his Papa and Louis laughed. “He is a blunt one, isn’t he?”
“Unfortunately, he takes that from Angleterre.” Francis commented, “Now don’t be stubborn, fils, just remove it and turn around so I can see how everything fits. S’il vous plait~?”
He sighed, “Alright.” and reluctantly removed the coat, slung it over his shoulder and slowly turned around, and rolled his eyes when he saw how his Papa’s eyes widen silently with delight.
“Zat eez more like it.” He almost purred, “The lilac shade of your shirt underneath the knitted deep mauve one compliments your skin tone.”
“It’s pink.”
“Lilac eez not the same as pink! Mon Dieu! I swear Angleterre just taught you basic colors and nothing more!”
“If anything Monsieur, you pulled off the look quite nicely~!” Louis followed, as Francis puffed his face and slumped back in the thick couch, sinking in it. “Not all men can pull of ze look and besides--” he stands up, approaching Matthew. The blond took a couple of steps back. “If you are worried about the color being too feminine, it’s balanced pretty well by the light khaki shade of your coat and your slacks.”
“Precisely!” Francis added, “I couldn’t have said it any better! Eez this the latest collection from last month’s Paris fashion week?”
“Why yes it is. The collection is fresh from ze runway!” and Louis approached him from behind, making Matthew jump a little. “You see Monsieur Williams, your Papa told me your style has always been refined casual. Now with your new ‘physique’ you will need more tailored pieces and zis collection is defined as ‘growing up’!”
“That’s a strange name for...a collection.” Is all Matthew can mutter, “I think it’s comfortable, it doesn’t have to look special, really. I mean...”
Louis interrupted him with a mirthful laughter that sent chills to the blond’s spine. It’s like his Papa’s laughter.
“Oh non~! Our ‘Growing Up’ selection you see, ez like saying, it’s about time to dress up! Scrub up, every day is an occasion to look your best!” Matthew can see the man’s passion about the clothing and was careful to avoid him a little as he moved around him, making emphasis on his words with his hands.
“Ez still a casual look, just like you wanted--but somehow more polished and cleaner!” He continued, until they’re already facing each other. “When did you last see young men in proper coats, a well-ironed shirt and neat trousers?”
“Last night, when I was at a party with Papa.” he answered flatly, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.
“Your boy is so funny, Monsieur!” He chuckled, before giving Matthew a quick slap on the rump.
Matthew bit his lip. Papa’s countrymen are so much like him that it’s almost painful.
“Mathieu, this is different from those pathetic excuse for fashion that you call clothes which most of you young ones wear during events!” Francis pointed out, “They’re just flashy but without ze taste and the art.” He stretch out his arms, making no effort to stand up as he gestured to Matthew’s form. “This kind of look conveys an aura of great elan and sophistication!”
“What do you think, Monsieur Bonnefoy?” Louis asked, folding his arms and rubbing his chin thoughtfully, seeking Francis’s approval as he looked at Matthew from head to toe.
“Hmm, mmm. It’s something I would definitely wear on a normal day.”
“This is what you wear on a normal day?” Matthew gasped, pulling the slim long collar of his coat in front of him.
“Why yes, mon petit~! Didn’t you notice that I always wear suits in ze conference meetings?”
“Yeah, mostly white ones though...”
Francis’ smile grew wider.
“NO, I’m not going to wear white! I-I’m fine with this selection!” Matthew argued, but Francis was not listening as he reached out from his couch to get himself another serving of fruit juice from a pitcher at the nearby table. Matthew didn’t notice that they serve snacks in high-end boutiques.
“As I was saying earlier,” he resumed, plopping comfortably. “I get to choose your clothes! Your physique and looks are so close to mine zat anything I wear, you can wear!”
“If not better~”
“Louis!” Francis snapped his fingers.
“ Oui?”
“ Since we are in a hurry, we’ll just be getting this for the time being, and maybe that red one you showed me a while ago. I might come back again soon if our situations remain the same.”
“ Ah, Papa!” Matthew almost whined.
“ Save it, Mathieu. We still have to buy MY clothes. And that would take a longer time.”
“ Oui Monsieur.” Louis agreed and clapped his hands at the salesladies which sent them running for the register and the stocks. Francis lazily handed Louis his card, which the latter graciously received. Matthew carefully padded back to the dressing room. But Francis saw him.
“ Where are you going, mon coeur?”
Matthew froze. “ I... uhm... I was going to change back to my clothes so these wouldn’t get dirty and...”
Francis rolled his eyes. “ Mon cher, you are wearing those NOW. There is no way I’m allowing you back into those monstrosities. It will be such a pity to hide such a wonderful frame behind such clothes. Now be a good boy and wear that and be fabulous. Make papa proud, s’il vous plait? With much amour?”
Matthew looked at his father and sighed in total surrender. Francis has driven him up a wall. The little Frenchman looked at him with such profound love and pride that he just COULDN’T bring himself to say no.
Curse this kind and gentle nature.
“ Y-yes, papa...”
He propped himself up on the mirror. When he looked up, he saw his father staring back at him with confused purple eyes. Oh what will Arthur say?
“Monsieur, I placed a phone call on ze other shops across the street.” Louis placed the receiver down. “So the both of you won’t have to suffer the inconvenience that happened earlier.”
“Ah, merci beaucoup~!” And tugging Matthew behind him, he waved at Louis, “I will be back later!”
Francis pushed the doors of the boutique wide open and was greeted with the most wonderful sight: All the shops across the street have, one by one opened their stores for the day, ready to receive Francis Bonnefoy.
“They’re waiting for us!” He squeezed Matthew’s hand, giddy with excitement. “Shall we start with that one...” He looked up and smiled naughtily. “Papa?”
-- -- --
As they entered the shops one by one, Matthew and Francis kept up with their charade of being Father and Son in front of store personnel: He is a French-Canadian divorcee living in London and Francis spent most of his summer with his ‘Maman’ in Paris, she is an editor-in-chief of a fashion magazine, which would explain his vast knowledge of fashion, his keen eye on clothes and his shifting accent.
The owners of the boutiques who were informed much earlier knew immediately who they were, and wasted no time preparing their best collections, all freshly released from last month’s Paris’s Fashion Week.
“I didn’t know you can speak with an English accent!” Matthew whispered once, as Francis eagerly tried a pair of deep navy blue shorts. “Does dad even know about it?”
“Oh, bloody yes~!” He giggled, mocking Arthur’s tongue. “The best way to know ze enemy is to act and think like the enemy and as much as it hurts me to speak that horrible accent, it always works to my advantage!”
“Yeah, so you can annoy him endlessly.”
Francis laughed, “Ah, true...true”
Then they went to look for shoes. Matthew was already carrying almost a dozen packages by then. He hoped against hope that Francis would just buy at least three pairs. But knowing him, that would never be enough. Especially now that he has reverted to that age when children can wear any type of shoe that came in all shades of numerous colors.
“ Mat... Papa! Please get those blue ones on the third top shelf. They’re a bit... to high for me.”
“ Which type of blue are we talking about exactly, mon fils?” Matthew shuddered a bit when he said the last two words.
“ The prussian blue one next to the light cyan one, Papa. No, not that one. That’s navy blue. The one next to... Non, zat one, papa. Over zer, see? Ze one with ze blue rose. There, that one. Ah, but wait, that one looks better zan zis. Ah mon cher papa, that one! C’est beau!”
Matthew groped and picked every shoe that Francis mentioned. And he was so confused by all the types of blue that he made a mental note to memorize all the different types of colors when he gets home so he wouldn’t have to deal with this any longer.
“ Merci, mon cher papa.” And Francis kissed Matthew’s cheek when the latter bent to strap one of the shoes to his foot. Few feet from him, he can hear some of the female personnel sigh.
“They think you are so sweet.” Francis whispered to Matthew, “It’s not everyday they zee a father helping his son shop for clothes!”
Matthew merely nodded curtly as he felt the blush burn in his cheeks. His Papa just had to choose a shoe with such thin laces on them.
“My Papa has one of the biggest in zee world!” Francis exclaimed, waving his hands. “--if you all know what I mean, mademoiselles~”
Matthew gave the lace a tight pull, “Aiee! Papaa, that hurts!”
“I’m sorry, cher fils.” Matthew looked up, his brow twitching. Even in his child-like form, his Papa still finds it funny to crack lewd jokes. “But what is it that you were saying to the nice ladies, hm?”
“I’m not finished!” he pouted, “I’m telling them you got the biggest heart in zee world!”
He rolled his eyes as the women giggled and were instantly charmed by Francis ‘sweet and innocent’ demeanor.
-- -- --
About a good 3 hours and a dozen shopping boxes and bags later, Matthew was about to collapse from exhaustion. And yet, Francis is skipping happily and ever as bright as day, resembling a child model right out of a fashion magazine spread in his shiny deep blue loafers, high-high argyle socks, dark colored pair of shorts that matches with his coat and a tiny beret cap. The owners of the stores feel a light dash of dread and excitement at the sight of him, having been informed of what happened and knowing who he is. And there are those who don’t know, mostly young women assistants or the local clientele dropping by, finding him quite an irresistible darling: a flaxen blond, blue-eyed charmer with an extensive knowledge on haute couture and who also happened to completely adore his rather shy and quiet father.
Matthew has gotten so used to being ignored that he found it hard to be himself with all the people watching and observing them.
“Dad told us not to draw too much attention!” Matthew pointed out, as they headed to eat at a classy cafe downtown, watching helplessly as Francis had another serving of a rather large slice of cake. As much as he wanted to have one, his little Papa happened to also know the chef of the establishment and strictly told him that Matthew can only have a small serving of sweets and a sandwich. There is a fancy name for the sandwich, but with all the information overload he received earlier, it escaped him. All he knew is that there are so many leafy greens in it.
“ The healthier the better, mon coeur.” Francis pointed out with his fork as Matthew glumly took a bite. “When you got zat type of body, you need to maintain it with good food. Not too much sweets.”
“Not too much sweets, but lots of wine.”
“As I said earlier, ez healthy. Rouge vin ez good to the heart!” he reminded him, noticing the dour expression on Matthew’s face. “If you have at least two slices of this--” he pointed at what seemed to be a two-layered cake slice, “You will have unwanted expansions in your territory in a week and we won’t want that won’t we?”
“You mean I’ll get fat.”
“ Such a bright boy!” And he forked a large piece. “But with this young body? I can burn ze calories easily and eat lots of zis without the feeling the guilt!” and Francis took the large piece in his mouth, chewing it slowly and rolling his eyes towards the heavens, eliciting a low moan that is almost orgasmic in nature. “O-oh mon dieu, it’s been ages since I had this many! I...I can almost hear the angels sing! A-aahhh...!”
Matthew facepalmed, the cafe’s patrons curiously turn towards their direction, as Francis’s moans becomes increasingly louder each time he consumed a bite.
“ Oh my! Oh my!” Francis gobbled up the cake in wolfish bites.
“Would you like another slice again, Monsieur?”
Matthew almost jumped, he even didn’t notice that the chef is already standing behind him.
“Oh, oh! I would like to try something different this time!” Francis licked his lips, pausing wistfully “I would like to have some...Tartelettes de Framboises au Mascarpone~!”
“Raspberry Tartlets?” Matthew looked up and faced the chef. “I’d like to have some as well...”
“Oh, no..no Monsieur!” The man chuckled, “Your Papa strictly told me zat you can only have ze White Crème Brûlée. Here have some more of our finest wine!”
And Matthew sighed, resigning to his seat as the Chef filled his glass for the third time.
His Papa is clearly enjoying this, so much so that he’s already making a mess of himself, with smeared chocolate icings on the sides of his mouths and cheeks. Matthew got his napkin, reached out to his Papa, tipped his chin lightly and dabbed his mouth before he can reach for his tall glass of water.
“Oh, merci~!” and Francis moved his face closer, letting Matthew clean his face. The taller blond can almost hear the sighs coming from the patrons behind them.
“After this, we go home...right?” His tone is almost pleading when a delicious plate of raspberry tartlets is served in front of Francis. It smelled so delicious. Matthew nearly fainted at the wonderful smell wafting in his direction when suddenly Francis dove his fork on the tartlet and gobbled a piece.
“ Bien sur, mon cher. We must not keep your FATHER waiting.” Francis smiled naughtily as he munched on the sweet treat.
And Matthew suddenly dreaded going home.
Author: silentside
Characters: F/A/C/E
Note/Warning: Based on this very random update of the same title here and now few days later...orz
- This is really more on shopping. And Food.
- Some usage of french words (well, it is Francis)
00 - Prologue
01 - Don't Drink and Hex
Summary: In his drunken rage, Arthur placed a spell on Francis, causing him to de-age by half a millennia. However there is a side-effect: His son Matthew Williams matured 500 years ahead of his time. Hilarity and chaos ensue
The Switch
{ Chapter 02 - Makeover}
A/N: I think I need to place my notes in the beginning to give people fair warning. Uh, first, at least ¼ of this chapter is co-written by my friend Kat, who helped with ze French accents and the beta-ing while I type this. Which is why updates are kind of fast. I’m sorry if we butcher the romantic language in any way ;;
This chapter have lots of Francis x Matthew fatherly bonding. Next chapter will be the other half of the family.
Nobody shops like Francis. He is a man with impeccable taste and shopping to him is almost like a form of art, a mastered skill. It will take him hours just browsing through items, scrutinizing the quality between his fingertips and criticizing every detail and muttering how he could have done better---which is why Matthew avoids every chance to go shopping with his Papa, from clothes to groceries. However, because of the current bizarre and complicated situation, this time he couldn’t say no.
Getting him to wear his clothes proved quite difficult. Matthew insisted he wear something other than just a shirt and gave him a pair of slacks, long sleeves and a vest; clothes that he has outgrown ages ago. Francis stubbornly refused to wear them at first, commenting that they’re too ‘loose and frumpy’ for his taste until the taller blond firmly pointed out the time remaining before the shops open.
Matthew swore he never saw his Papa move so fast. In less than 15 minutes, he’s completely dressed from head to foot, and the poor lad had to run to catch up to him as he climbed excitedly inside his Jeep.
“What ez this?!” He heard him gasp as he got to the front seat, buckling himself. “Empty beer bottles? Why ez there grass?”
“I wasn’t expecting company, Papa.” Matthew grumbled, sitting beside him and inserting the key to the ignition. He turned it and the vehicle quickly roared to life. “And please, hold on tight.”
-- -- --
And Matthew thought his Dad, Arthur Kirkland, is a terrible backseat driver.
His Papa insisted that they hurry and he reluctantly obliged. They took to his jeep, since it’s the only vehicle near the driveway and as soon as they sped out to the main road, his Papa is already screaming out every colorful word in the French language.
It was a good thing though that his Papa has a thick blond mass of hair, as the wind blew it on his face, it muffled his screams. He tried to push his locks away, but as Matthew made sharp turns he kept falling backwards. By the time they made it to the boardwalk where all the expensive shops are, his ears have nearly fallen off his head and a purple-faced Francis looked like he was mauled by three hairdressers.
“ You...” He made an effort to keep from expelling something out of his system. “ Mon Dieu, do not drive like that again! Are you trying to kill us!? I never knew that sourcils taught you such murderous driving!”
Matthew sighed and tried to keep his little Papa from collapsing. He reminded him of those princesses in distress in some children’s movie. Only that he’s about to puke.
“ Papa, you were telling me to hurry. I was just following orders.”
“ I told you to hurry. Not try to ram us against everything we pass by. Mon coeur almost jumped out of my throat! Never do that again!”
“Alright..alright, I’m sorry.” Matthew said, helping his Papa to steady himself. “Now...” he looked at the string of shops lined up from across the horizon, he can see some people inside starting to draw the blinds from the windows and putting out displays. “Where do we go first?”
“ Tsk! I want to change your clothes first! We’re going to that shop where I buy my shirts and you will look every inch a man after I’m through with you. Hurry! It’s that shop! It’s open already!” And Francis pointed at the third shop across the street, pulling Matthew impatiently from behind him.
“Now remember, show ze owner my card and always ask for ze new collection! Do not forget!” Francis’s eyes were round and shiny and his voice can hardly contain his excitement. He is like a child eager to enter a brand new theme park.
“Look for the owner. New collection. Got it.“ Matthew nodded, “C-can I choose my clothes?”
“Nooon~”
-- -- --
The first shop they visited was an exclusive boutique by one of Francis’ favorite designers and the first thing that Matthew noticed was the room’s spacious interior: It’s large and almost completely bare, save for a selected row of clothes, fine opulent furniture and ornate mannequin displays. Matthew didn’t realize he was mumbling out loud how impractical everything looked until his Papa jabbed him lightly on his stomach.
“ Stop acting like Angleterre!” He whispered, pointing out to two salesladies who possibly overheard him. One of them snottily raised an eyebrow, gave Matthew a quick going over from head to toe, whispering something to her companion in French before taking a suit from the rack and approaching them.
“She called you another dumb tasteless American.” Francis muttered, biting his lip. Matthew looked almost apologetic when he saw how sad his Papa looked, knowing how much it hurts him as well that he is always being mistaken as his older brother. But he had to admit, he did stuck out like a sore thumb in his current surroundings: wearing a pair of loose cargo shorts, a bright red shirt and socks in strapped sandals. He was a far cry from the sophisticated clientele that the boutique catered.
“Bonjour~!” the saleslady flashed them a bright smile and Francis rolled his eyes. “Ez there anything in particular you are looking for, monsieur?”
Before Matthew could utter an apology, Francis already spoke.
“We would like a suit, please!” He replied brightly, much to Matthew’s surprise. Francis have neutralized his accent and his expression suddenly changed, smiling sweetly at the young lady in front of them. He never knew his Papa can mimic an English accent. “My Papa and I just came from a looong 7-hour flight from London and he has to meet up with his business associates in a few hours, it’s going to be some fashionable event and he needs to suit up real quick!”
“Oh, well zat would explain this I suppose.” The woman replied, charmed with Francis while eyeing Matthew critically with silent amusement. “Well, petite. I think we will let your Papa decide what he would want to wear, no?”
Matthew nodded and the lady presented the suit tucked in her arm, “How about zis? This just came recently, it’s part of our current spring collection!”
“Do they have that comes in uh...” Matthew tried to find words, “Dark gray?”
“What shade in particular, Monsieur?” the lady asked, signaling the other sales lady standing near the racks. “Charcoal? Dark Slate? Or should I suggest, Gunmetal gray? It’s a classic favorite among our patrons.”
“Uh..”
Poor Matthew look like he would faint at the choices being laid out in front of him.
“Well?”
Matthew’s head reeled at the onslaught of options. He thought gray meant gray. He wasn’t expecting this at all.
“ How about red?” Francis piped in.
“You mean burgundy?” The saleslady frowned lightly, as if questioning his taste. Francis’s brow twitched.
Matthew tried to help, “It’s not really a formal suit it’s...”
“Something more casual then?”
“Uhmm...”
He is at a loss now. And the saleslady is growing a bit impatient.
“ Something like that wine, papa! You know...” Francis pulled Matthew’s arm with a knowing look in his eyes. “ The one you ALWAYS had when you went to PARTIES. I LIKE that color.”
“No!” his eyes widened, as if silently begging for Francis to stop. “That color is too loud, son. These are conservative people!”
“Monsieur, if you would want our recent collection also has--”
“Shush!” Francis suddenly cuts the saleslady off, lifting his right hand, commanding her to stop. “Stop giving us that selection. Let us choose!”
“I beg your pardon~?” she gasped, maintaining a strained smile on her face. “ Petit garçon, this have just arrived and it comes in an early bird discount of $ 5,000.00!”
Matthew felt a part of him just died. He can get himself something more useful and practical with that kind of money. Like a one-way ticket out of this mess.
“You are not fooling us!” He pouted, placing both hands on his hips, “How dare you present to my Papa last year’s spring collection, we all know zat’s already 50% off!”
The saleslady stepped back, trying to form words out of her mouth.
“I want to talk to ze owner of this establishment! This ez unacceptable! Mon dieu!” He lifted his hands in dismay, as the salesladies gawked at him. “And my Papa ez not a dumb American! He ez a French-Canadian! Don’t you dare...!”
Did Francis even realized his act is slipping?
“His Maman is French.” Matthew said, quickly covering Francis’ mouth before he said anything more. “S-she was a very... er... fashion-sensitive lady. She passed her... skills on to him, as you can see.”
“O-Oui.” The saleslady nodded, “So it seems.”
“I have ze privilege card for this establishment!” Francis struggled, pulling Matthew’s hand off his mouth and materializing a gold card, handing it out to the saleslady. “Show this to the owner! Now!”
She reluctantly took the card and quickly turned to her heels, clothing in hand, furiously calling her equally surprised companion to call for their supervisor immediately.
“ Papa, what are you doing!? You’ll get us in trouble!” Matthew whispered frantically.
“Non, with what she did, she will be the one in trouble!” Francis smiled impishly, “Just you wait, my dear. When ze owner arrive, we will be treated like Kings!”
“ Papa...” Matthew sighed helplessly. “ Don’t make this hard for them already! Let’s just buy the clothes and get going!”
They heard the door open, and a smartly dressed man in his late 30’s with a pencil thin moustache and slicked back black hair came in. He fixed his collar and saw Matthew, and just like those before him, gave him a quick going over with an unimpressed expression written all over his face.
“Ah, Louis, I’m glad ez you!” Francis cried, but the man just gave him a baffled expression. “Your staff ez giving me a hard time!”
“Pardon moi?” he was handed the gold card and takes a look at it. “But who are you?”
“It’s moi!”He tried jumping up, “Ez complicated but it’s Moi!”
It took a good few minutes for the information to sink in as Louis suspiciously glanced from the card and to the blue-eyed blond child standing in front of him.
“ When you were in London, August, 1997 you were ...” And Francis tiptoed to whisper things into the supervisor’s ear. His eyes widened and he looked at Francis, who was smiling smugly, from head to foot and he brought his hand to his mouth. Matthew was beyond curious as to what his Papa said to make the man react like so.
“Mon dieu!” He gasped, “Ez it you, Monsieur---? But why....”
“Shush!” He tugged his hand, leading him away from Matthew. “ I’ll explain everything. Let’s go over there so no one will hear us!”
Matthew watched as Francis and Louis talked and whispered. There was a moment when both looked at him and he felt like they were talking about him and he felt very, very uneasy.He saw Francis nod and glance at him one more time and gave him a sunny smile.
Louis spoke after what seemed an eternity.
“Ingrid! Stella!” he strode towards his staff, clapping both hands. “I will have a vord with both of you later--especially you, Ingrid.” he pointed out, rubbing his palms as his worried personnel approached him. “First, give Monsieur Williams here everything he needs!” He pointed at the surprised Matthew. “Take out the latest collection that arrived this morning! Stop gawking! Hurry! Hurry! Don’t keep him waiting!”
And the ladies quickly ran to the supplies closet to get the clothes they have yet to display. Amidst the rush, Matthew went to the impatient supervisor who warmly greeted him.
“ Oui, monsieur? Anymore requests?”
Matthew hesitated. “ Uhm... If you don’t mind sir. I... I’d like to ask you not to give uh... Madame Ingrid and uh... Stella...” Then he drew himself up. “ It’s not their fault really. So I’d appreciate it if we just let the incident pass.”
Louis was slightly surprised. “ But Monsieur, your father...”
“ Yes I know. Papa was slightly insulted. But it’s fine. Please. Just this once.” And he looked at the busy salesladies a bit sadly that Louis understood what he meant.
“ You are a kind man, Monsieur.” He gave the blonde a pat on the shoulder. Matthew smiled shyly.
Unknown to him, Francis watched quietly. His lips forming a fond little smile.
“ Mon petit bébé..”
“Everything is now ready, Monsieur.” One of the salesladies approached Louis quietly and the supervisor turned around.
“Monsieur Williams, ready when you are!”
Francis then leapt down from his cushioned seat, this will be his favorite part.
-- -- --
Remember those romantic comedy movies, when the protagonist will have the time of his/her life getting a makeover, trying different outfits and new clothes?
Well, it only works in movies.
Matthew felt uncomfortable having to try new threads with a fitting style that he is not used to wearing, with a very eager Louis there to assist him and his Papa sitting eagerly by the couch watching him as he strolled outside for the first time from the fitting room in front of three large life size mirrors.
“You have ze most beautiful eyes!” Louis exclaimed, and Matthew noticed he is wearing one of those large framed glasses. “Just like ze late great Elizabeth Taylor . Anything she wore complimented her beauty! And you monsieur, you might be a diamond in the rough, but with a little polish you can be as---magnifique!”
“Uhum, Louis...?”
“Oui, Monsieur?”
“You can like..stop squeezing my arms now.”
“Ah, my apologies!” And Louis stepped back from behind him. Matthew frowned, feeling like his own private space was invaded, with the man pressed against him from behind, his face over his shoulder and his hands running up and down his arms. If he went any further, he could have squeezed his buttocks.
“My dear, Louis is just helping you!” Francis chuckled, “ That’s just how he is. He always loves a challenge!”
“I know it’s just...” he mumbled. Can he help me without touching me? he grumbled internally.
“Now turn around~!”
Matthew slowly turned around and blushed a little when he saw the sparkle of amusement in his Papa’s eyes. He sat there in the small cushioned couch, pretty as you please, with his legs crossed, taking a delicate sip from his glass of juice. “Now turn again but remove your coat this time!”
“Papa, you just want to see my butt.”
He watched in dismay as his Papa and Louis laughed. “He is a blunt one, isn’t he?”
“Unfortunately, he takes that from Angleterre.” Francis commented, “Now don’t be stubborn, fils, just remove it and turn around so I can see how everything fits. S’il vous plait~?”
He sighed, “Alright.” and reluctantly removed the coat, slung it over his shoulder and slowly turned around, and rolled his eyes when he saw how his Papa’s eyes widen silently with delight.
“Zat eez more like it.” He almost purred, “The lilac shade of your shirt underneath the knitted deep mauve one compliments your skin tone.”
“It’s pink.”
“Lilac eez not the same as pink! Mon Dieu! I swear Angleterre just taught you basic colors and nothing more!”
“If anything Monsieur, you pulled off the look quite nicely~!” Louis followed, as Francis puffed his face and slumped back in the thick couch, sinking in it. “Not all men can pull of ze look and besides--” he stands up, approaching Matthew. The blond took a couple of steps back. “If you are worried about the color being too feminine, it’s balanced pretty well by the light khaki shade of your coat and your slacks.”
“Precisely!” Francis added, “I couldn’t have said it any better! Eez this the latest collection from last month’s Paris fashion week?”
“Why yes it is. The collection is fresh from ze runway!” and Louis approached him from behind, making Matthew jump a little. “You see Monsieur Williams, your Papa told me your style has always been refined casual. Now with your new ‘physique’ you will need more tailored pieces and zis collection is defined as ‘growing up’!”
“That’s a strange name for...a collection.” Is all Matthew can mutter, “I think it’s comfortable, it doesn’t have to look special, really. I mean...”
Louis interrupted him with a mirthful laughter that sent chills to the blond’s spine. It’s like his Papa’s laughter.
“Oh non~! Our ‘Growing Up’ selection you see, ez like saying, it’s about time to dress up! Scrub up, every day is an occasion to look your best!” Matthew can see the man’s passion about the clothing and was careful to avoid him a little as he moved around him, making emphasis on his words with his hands.
“Ez still a casual look, just like you wanted--but somehow more polished and cleaner!” He continued, until they’re already facing each other. “When did you last see young men in proper coats, a well-ironed shirt and neat trousers?”
“Last night, when I was at a party with Papa.” he answered flatly, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.
“Your boy is so funny, Monsieur!” He chuckled, before giving Matthew a quick slap on the rump.
Matthew bit his lip. Papa’s countrymen are so much like him that it’s almost painful.
“Mathieu, this is different from those pathetic excuse for fashion that you call clothes which most of you young ones wear during events!” Francis pointed out, “They’re just flashy but without ze taste and the art.” He stretch out his arms, making no effort to stand up as he gestured to Matthew’s form. “This kind of look conveys an aura of great elan and sophistication!”
“What do you think, Monsieur Bonnefoy?” Louis asked, folding his arms and rubbing his chin thoughtfully, seeking Francis’s approval as he looked at Matthew from head to toe.
“Hmm, mmm. It’s something I would definitely wear on a normal day.”
“This is what you wear on a normal day?” Matthew gasped, pulling the slim long collar of his coat in front of him.
“Why yes, mon petit~! Didn’t you notice that I always wear suits in ze conference meetings?”
“Yeah, mostly white ones though...”
Francis’ smile grew wider.
“NO, I’m not going to wear white! I-I’m fine with this selection!” Matthew argued, but Francis was not listening as he reached out from his couch to get himself another serving of fruit juice from a pitcher at the nearby table. Matthew didn’t notice that they serve snacks in high-end boutiques.
“As I was saying earlier,” he resumed, plopping comfortably. “I get to choose your clothes! Your physique and looks are so close to mine zat anything I wear, you can wear!”
“If not better~”
“Louis!” Francis snapped his fingers.
“ Oui?”
“ Since we are in a hurry, we’ll just be getting this for the time being, and maybe that red one you showed me a while ago. I might come back again soon if our situations remain the same.”
“ Ah, Papa!” Matthew almost whined.
“ Save it, Mathieu. We still have to buy MY clothes. And that would take a longer time.”
“ Oui Monsieur.” Louis agreed and clapped his hands at the salesladies which sent them running for the register and the stocks. Francis lazily handed Louis his card, which the latter graciously received. Matthew carefully padded back to the dressing room. But Francis saw him.
“ Where are you going, mon coeur?”
Matthew froze. “ I... uhm... I was going to change back to my clothes so these wouldn’t get dirty and...”
Francis rolled his eyes. “ Mon cher, you are wearing those NOW. There is no way I’m allowing you back into those monstrosities. It will be such a pity to hide such a wonderful frame behind such clothes. Now be a good boy and wear that and be fabulous. Make papa proud, s’il vous plait? With much amour?”
Matthew looked at his father and sighed in total surrender. Francis has driven him up a wall. The little Frenchman looked at him with such profound love and pride that he just COULDN’T bring himself to say no.
Curse this kind and gentle nature.
“ Y-yes, papa...”
He propped himself up on the mirror. When he looked up, he saw his father staring back at him with confused purple eyes. Oh what will Arthur say?
“Monsieur, I placed a phone call on ze other shops across the street.” Louis placed the receiver down. “So the both of you won’t have to suffer the inconvenience that happened earlier.”
“Ah, merci beaucoup~!” And tugging Matthew behind him, he waved at Louis, “I will be back later!”
Francis pushed the doors of the boutique wide open and was greeted with the most wonderful sight: All the shops across the street have, one by one opened their stores for the day, ready to receive Francis Bonnefoy.
“They’re waiting for us!” He squeezed Matthew’s hand, giddy with excitement. “Shall we start with that one...” He looked up and smiled naughtily. “Papa?”
-- -- --
As they entered the shops one by one, Matthew and Francis kept up with their charade of being Father and Son in front of store personnel: He is a French-Canadian divorcee living in London and Francis spent most of his summer with his ‘Maman’ in Paris, she is an editor-in-chief of a fashion magazine, which would explain his vast knowledge of fashion, his keen eye on clothes and his shifting accent.
The owners of the boutiques who were informed much earlier knew immediately who they were, and wasted no time preparing their best collections, all freshly released from last month’s Paris’s Fashion Week.
“I didn’t know you can speak with an English accent!” Matthew whispered once, as Francis eagerly tried a pair of deep navy blue shorts. “Does dad even know about it?”
“Oh, bloody yes~!” He giggled, mocking Arthur’s tongue. “The best way to know ze enemy is to act and think like the enemy and as much as it hurts me to speak that horrible accent, it always works to my advantage!”
“Yeah, so you can annoy him endlessly.”
Francis laughed, “Ah, true...true”
Then they went to look for shoes. Matthew was already carrying almost a dozen packages by then. He hoped against hope that Francis would just buy at least three pairs. But knowing him, that would never be enough. Especially now that he has reverted to that age when children can wear any type of shoe that came in all shades of numerous colors.
“ Mat... Papa! Please get those blue ones on the third top shelf. They’re a bit... to high for me.”
“ Which type of blue are we talking about exactly, mon fils?” Matthew shuddered a bit when he said the last two words.
“ The prussian blue one next to the light cyan one, Papa. No, not that one. That’s navy blue. The one next to... Non, zat one, papa. Over zer, see? Ze one with ze blue rose. There, that one. Ah, but wait, that one looks better zan zis. Ah mon cher papa, that one! C’est beau!”
Matthew groped and picked every shoe that Francis mentioned. And he was so confused by all the types of blue that he made a mental note to memorize all the different types of colors when he gets home so he wouldn’t have to deal with this any longer.
“ Merci, mon cher papa.” And Francis kissed Matthew’s cheek when the latter bent to strap one of the shoes to his foot. Few feet from him, he can hear some of the female personnel sigh.
“They think you are so sweet.” Francis whispered to Matthew, “It’s not everyday they zee a father helping his son shop for clothes!”
Matthew merely nodded curtly as he felt the blush burn in his cheeks. His Papa just had to choose a shoe with such thin laces on them.
“My Papa has one of the biggest in zee world!” Francis exclaimed, waving his hands. “--if you all know what I mean, mademoiselles~”
Matthew gave the lace a tight pull, “Aiee! Papaa, that hurts!”
“I’m sorry, cher fils.” Matthew looked up, his brow twitching. Even in his child-like form, his Papa still finds it funny to crack lewd jokes. “But what is it that you were saying to the nice ladies, hm?”
“I’m not finished!” he pouted, “I’m telling them you got the biggest heart in zee world!”
He rolled his eyes as the women giggled and were instantly charmed by Francis ‘sweet and innocent’ demeanor.
-- -- --
About a good 3 hours and a dozen shopping boxes and bags later, Matthew was about to collapse from exhaustion. And yet, Francis is skipping happily and ever as bright as day, resembling a child model right out of a fashion magazine spread in his shiny deep blue loafers, high-high argyle socks, dark colored pair of shorts that matches with his coat and a tiny beret cap. The owners of the stores feel a light dash of dread and excitement at the sight of him, having been informed of what happened and knowing who he is. And there are those who don’t know, mostly young women assistants or the local clientele dropping by, finding him quite an irresistible darling: a flaxen blond, blue-eyed charmer with an extensive knowledge on haute couture and who also happened to completely adore his rather shy and quiet father.
Matthew has gotten so used to being ignored that he found it hard to be himself with all the people watching and observing them.
“Dad told us not to draw too much attention!” Matthew pointed out, as they headed to eat at a classy cafe downtown, watching helplessly as Francis had another serving of a rather large slice of cake. As much as he wanted to have one, his little Papa happened to also know the chef of the establishment and strictly told him that Matthew can only have a small serving of sweets and a sandwich. There is a fancy name for the sandwich, but with all the information overload he received earlier, it escaped him. All he knew is that there are so many leafy greens in it.
“ The healthier the better, mon coeur.” Francis pointed out with his fork as Matthew glumly took a bite. “When you got zat type of body, you need to maintain it with good food. Not too much sweets.”
“Not too much sweets, but lots of wine.”
“As I said earlier, ez healthy. Rouge vin ez good to the heart!” he reminded him, noticing the dour expression on Matthew’s face. “If you have at least two slices of this--” he pointed at what seemed to be a two-layered cake slice, “You will have unwanted expansions in your territory in a week and we won’t want that won’t we?”
“You mean I’ll get fat.”
“ Such a bright boy!” And he forked a large piece. “But with this young body? I can burn ze calories easily and eat lots of zis without the feeling the guilt!” and Francis took the large piece in his mouth, chewing it slowly and rolling his eyes towards the heavens, eliciting a low moan that is almost orgasmic in nature. “O-oh mon dieu, it’s been ages since I had this many! I...I can almost hear the angels sing! A-aahhh...!”
Matthew facepalmed, the cafe’s patrons curiously turn towards their direction, as Francis’s moans becomes increasingly louder each time he consumed a bite.
“ Oh my! Oh my!” Francis gobbled up the cake in wolfish bites.
“Would you like another slice again, Monsieur?”
Matthew almost jumped, he even didn’t notice that the chef is already standing behind him.
“Oh, oh! I would like to try something different this time!” Francis licked his lips, pausing wistfully “I would like to have some...Tartelettes de Framboises au Mascarpone~!”
“Raspberry Tartlets?” Matthew looked up and faced the chef. “I’d like to have some as well...”
“Oh, no..no Monsieur!” The man chuckled, “Your Papa strictly told me zat you can only have ze White Crème Brûlée. Here have some more of our finest wine!”
And Matthew sighed, resigning to his seat as the Chef filled his glass for the third time.
His Papa is clearly enjoying this, so much so that he’s already making a mess of himself, with smeared chocolate icings on the sides of his mouths and cheeks. Matthew got his napkin, reached out to his Papa, tipped his chin lightly and dabbed his mouth before he can reach for his tall glass of water.
“Oh, merci~!” and Francis moved his face closer, letting Matthew clean his face. The taller blond can almost hear the sighs coming from the patrons behind them.
“After this, we go home...right?” His tone is almost pleading when a delicious plate of raspberry tartlets is served in front of Francis. It smelled so delicious. Matthew nearly fainted at the wonderful smell wafting in his direction when suddenly Francis dove his fork on the tartlet and gobbled a piece.
“ Bien sur, mon cher. We must not keep your FATHER waiting.” Francis smiled naughtily as he munched on the sweet treat.
And Matthew suddenly dreaded going home.