Soft Shock - Chapter One
Title: Soft Shock - Chapter One (1/3)
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Characters: Francis (France), Alfred (US), Matthew (Canada), Arthur (UK), mentions of others
Pairing: Francis/Alfred (with general easily shippable FACE as you see fit)
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter (NC-17 overall)
Warning: None?
Summary: Alfred has been stressed out lately, and Francis decides to help him in the best way he can think of. Of course, the aftermath doesn't go quite as he'd planned.
Summary for this chapter: Francis notes the problem, and sets the stage to solve it.
Notes: De-anon from the kink meme! The prompt was for France/America where France accidentally takes America's virginity, and when France finds out he has to do a "re-do". This is my first time writing the pairing without huge, UK-induced emotional baggage, so thank you everyone on the meme who always left such kind comments. ♥
Other installments:
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three
“It would appear,” Francis said, as means of making his presence known, “that you are, as you say, ‘under the weather.’”
It didn’t take an observant person to see that this was the case, for Alfred. Alfred gave him a long-suffering look before returning his attention to the wall where he’d currently been resting his forehead, slumping forward as if expecting the wall would swallow him up, or at least provide some comfort.
Francis sniffed at the dismissal, and slid up to Alfred’s side, his fingers curling around the boy’s shoulder. Alfred didn’t shrug off his touch, and under many typical circumstances (usually involving similar circumstances with Arthur or Antonio), Francis would take that as invitation to slide his hand down backs, to, as they say, appreciate the curves and nuances of bodies.
But Alfred just stared miserably at the wall, frowning, not even noticing that Francis was in prime position to grope him.
“Mon cher?” Francis asked, because really, it was no fun not to get a reaction from someone, and the boy’s lack of cheerfulness was a bit disconcerting on a few levels. The boy was sunshine on any given day, even on his off days, and seeing him in a mood that seemed almost reminiscent of Arthur’s rainy day moods did not sit well with France. He squeezed Alfred’s shoulder, in comfort, and asked, “Is something on your mind?”
“Oh, no,” Alfred said, Francis’ words seeming to snap him out of whatever thought he’d gotten stuck in. He blinked a few times and straightened his back, turning his head to look at Francis. He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach those wide blue eyes of his, and even if it had, Francis was not easy to fool. “I, uh,” Alfred continued, shifting almost uncomfortably. “I just got a lot on my mind, you know.”
“With your economy and politics, oui?” Francis asked, because upon closer inspection it did seem like the kind of mood Alfred got in occasionally-it was the only kind of disarray that could breach Alfred’s contagious cheerfulness, usually.
“Oui-I mean, yeah. Yeah,” Alfred said, and shrugged for some semblance of nonchalance. Francis, of course, did not miss the way that Alfred’s shoulders tensed, and the way that his jaw clenched when he smiled. For just a moment, but enough that Francis’ keen eyes caught it. “It’s not that big of a deal,” Alfred continued, and waved his hand in a dismissive manner, even managed a small laugh. “Just kind of tiring, you know?”
“But of course,” Francis agreed, hand still on Alfred’s shoulder. He shifted closer, placing his other hand on Alfred’s other shoulder. “You just seemed rather distracted, mon petit chou.”
“Did I?” Alfred asked, sounding rather mystified by this, and Francis could see the way even now his thoughts were wandering. They lapsed into a stilled silence, when Alfred continued to look far away, internally organizing and reassessing the shifts in economic flow and political power, something that often left many countries nauseous for weeks, but only gave Alfred mild stomach pains every so often. He’d grown remarkably adept at hiding it and bearing it, mostly, Francis reasoned, because the boy was so strong. But Francis hadn’t lived for centuries, surrounded by ridiculous neighbors, for nothing. He knew how to decode and translate such facial expressions and dismissals in his fellow nations, and no matter how strong, Alfred was no different. The boy was tired, weary, and most of all: discouraged.
And a discouraged Alfred was something that no nation should have to see. Even if the boy’s exuberance and bravado could be nothing short of annoying for other, well-meaning nations, it was still disconcerting to see a morose Alfred, of all things.
“Why don’t you tell your big brother all about it?” Francis said with a purr and a laugh, and squeezed Alfred’s shoulders.
Alfred, oblivious boy that he was, only laughed. Francis knew that the density of the boy’s mind was not due to stupidity, as Arthur often griped whenever the two were fighting during world meetings, but rather because Alfred chose not to pay attention, consciously. Francis could not fathom the reasons why someone would purposefully take on projected stupidity, but he reasoned that Alfred, intelligent, astute boy that he could be, had good reasons for it. That didn’t stop Francis from being frustrated when Alfred refused to pick up on hints that any sensible person would perceive at once.
So he massaged Alfred’s shoulders. Alfred just continued that slightly strained smile.
“I dunno,” Alfred said, and wasn’t stepping away from the way Francis touched his shoulders, so Francis kept doing it. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“You seem as if you are going through tough times, mon lapin.”
“I’m not a bunny,” Alfred muttered absently, as if not even aware that he’d translated the French. Francis didn’t say anything in reply, since it seemed that Alfred had more to say. Despite the fact that Alfred calling a rabbit bunny was oddly endearing. “I’m not. Going through tough times, I mean,” Alfred defended after a long enough pause that proved just the opposite, if the slight shift in Alfred’s eyes was any indication. “I’m just stressed out. Ha ha. Everyone goes through that, right? Right.”
The way Alfred was shifting from foot to foot was very much like a nervous rabbit. Francis had never found a pet name more endearing before.
“Mais, bien sûr,” Francis agreed. “But even so, mon lapin,” he added, and lifted one hand from Alfred’s shoulder to brush his thumb along Alfred’s bottom lip, “you are not very good at hiding when you are distressed. I believe it is so bad that even Feliciano may suspect something. And it would not do for you to worry Arthur and Mathieu, oui?”
“Arthur doesn’t worry,” Alfred said with a roll of his eyes. “And Matty’s got nothing to worry about, anyway. You don’t gotta be so insistent, Francis, geez.”
Francis just gave him a small smile. “Excuse my intrusion, then.”
He squeezed Alfred’s shoulders again, and leaned in close, his mouth near Alfred’s ear as he whispered, “But big brother is not easily fooled by your smiles. You are unhappy. Je crois que c’est vrai.”
And with that he stepped back, lifted his hand to pat Alfred on the cheek, and sauntered away. The meeting was going to begin soon. As he walked away, he could feel Alfred’s eyes on his back and he smiled to himself. Truly, the boy was silly to think that because of how the other nations combated his political style, they were somehow incapable of worrying over him. The last few years had been bad for Alfred, everyone could see it. It’d been bad for everyone. Even if they didn’t approve of many of his actions and his stand on things, that did not mean that they themselves were incapable of caring for the boy in question.
Shortly after Francis took his seat beside Arthur at the large table for the world meeting, Alfred toddled in, looking distant, but smiling when he was greeted by his brother, and shortly afterward by Kiku. Francis rested his chin against the palm of his hand, leaning against the table, and watched Alfred for a while. Once the boy seemed to have settled, and his conversation with Kiku seemed lively enough that he momentarily forgot his distress, Francis slanted his eyes towards Arthur, who was making a valiant, Herculean effort not to pay Francis any attention as he flipped through his notes. He was presenting today, and kept muttering things to himself.
But apparently Francis was staring at him for too long because suddenly Arthur looked up, his expression sharp. “What are you looking at, you damn frog?”
“And a good morning to you, too, Ma chère Angleterre,” Francis said with a sigh, giving him a sultry smile. “And it is quite obvious that I am looking at you.”
“Stop it,” Arthur said, his thick eyebrows slanting downward as he glared at Francis. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it at once before I punch that smile off your face.”
Francis laughed and shrugged, far too used to Arthur’s reaction towards him. Should the day ever come when Arthur didn’t greet him with some kind of disdain, Francis would not know what to do with himself. In the meantime, he satisfied his daily dose of “being ignored by my cute neighbor” by sliding his hand beneath Arthur’s jacket and sliding down to cup his backside. The reaction was always half the fun, and Arthur’s reactions never failed to satisfy.
“YOU FUCKING-!” Arthur choked, and seemed unable to think of a proper insult as he flew to his feet and dove at Francis, wielding his pen as if he were about to stab Francis in the forehead (and he probably would, if Francis were not so adept at holding the raging nation off).
The North American brothers were naturally the ones to break them up, Alfred grabbing Arthur by the back of his suit, fisting his large hand around Arthur’s collar and pulling him away from Francis. Mathew, far gentler in his treatment of their former caretakers, helped Francis to his feet, and dusted off his suit jacket carefully.
Arthur, meanwhile, was seething, and it was a good thing it was Alfred who was holding him, because only Alfred who the capacity to hold Arthur back from flinging himself at Francis again.
“Whoooa, calm down, old man,” Alfred said, and even shook Arthur a little, as if that would pacify the red-faced man. “Save it for the bedroom or something, ha ha!”
Arthur shouted out some harsh words that were enough to make any sailor blush, and tried to break out of Alfred’s (very firm) hold. Francis put on great airs to cover Matthew’s ears. Matthew, for his part, didn’t seem surprised by Arthur’s words, and simply had that look of long-suffering he’d adopted since the middle of the twentieth century, when he realized that he had to put up with these three’s antics. His look was nothing short of deadpan.
“Alfred, dearest, gentle Alfred,” Francis said with a dramatic sigh, “You should know by now that our dear Arthur refuses to let me take him to bed. He cites his everlasting hatred for me, but even you should know it’s all a clever ruse.”
Alfred laughed again, probably just because Arthur’s reactions were hilarious, and at Francis’ words, Arthur began thrashing and making a grab for a chair that he could chuck at Francis’ head. Francis was not so cruel as to hide behind Matthew, but he did not protest when Matthew did step in front of him, trying to sooth Arthur’s many ruffled feathers.
“What did you even do to him?” Alfred asked over Arthur’s flailing shoulder.
“Stop acting as if I’m not here!” Arthur protested.
“Arthur…” Matthew said, holding out his hands in a pacifying manner. “You know that Francis doesn’t mean it…”
“Oh, but I do,” Francis said primly.
Matthew looked over his shoulder at Francis and the look he gave him could have withered fresh-cut flowers. Francis laughed and gave his most charming smile to the boy, who only rolled his eyes absently before turning his attention to Arthur.
“And you sweet brothers should know how cruelly Arthur treats me,” Francis continued before Matthew could resume his attempts to soothe Arthur. “I was merely looking at him, appreciating the advantages of his body, and he launched at me, completely unprovoked.”
“You groped me, you-!”
“Completely unprovoked,” Francis interrupted with a sad sigh.
Alfred and Matthew exchanged looks, that kind of hidden language the twins seemed to share. Francis envied it sometimes, but mostly he just thought it was cute the way the two seemed to intrinsically understand each other, even without words. Arthur, for the most part, seemed to be deflating in Alfred’s death-grip, only because fighting Francis was so exhausting. And he’d probably remembered that he wasn’t fully prepared for his presentation. As soon as he slumped in Alfred’s arms, the young nation released his former caretaker and Arthur dusted himself off, adjusting his lapels.
“I hate you,” he said, primly and with a disdainful sniff.
Francis laughed and slid up to Matthew and Alfred’s sides, curling his hand along Matthew’s lower back and pressing his hip up against Alfred. Neither boy retreated from the touches, mostly because they were far too used to Francis’ forms of affection.
“Your words hurt me, Arthur,” Francis drawled. “But luckily I have the love of these sweet boys to warm my broken heart.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes at Francis, collected his papers, kicked his chair in, and stalked off towards the podium-undoubtedly to speak with Ludwig about either his presentation, or permanently rearranging seat arrangements so he never had to sit beside Francis again.
“Did you really grope him?” Matthew asked, giving him a sidelong look.
“If you’d ever felt his backside, Mathieu, you would understand why I must always touch it,” Francis said with a sigh.
Alfred was giving him a slightly bewildered look. Matthew was rolling his eyes with another long-suffering sigh.
“Though,” Francis drawled, meeting Matthew’s eyes calmly, and smiling that sultry smile, before grasping Alfred’s hand and pulling him so that the two brothers stood side by side. “I am quite sure yours feel nice as well, shall big brother investigate?”
Alfred’s eyes widened, and it seemed that finally something settled in that head of his, because his cheeks turned bright red. Matthew, however, sighed and slapped Francis’ hands away before he could accost him or his brother.
“That won’t be necessary, Francis,” Matthew said, and touched his brother’s elbow. “We should probably get ready for the presentation.”
Alfred and Matthew exchanged another look, still no words passing, before Alfred nodded. “Uh. Right.”
The two walked away after saying their goodbyes to Francis, and Francis sighed. Such bad luck. He slanted his eyes away and caught sight of Antonio, and decided to pay him a visit. The visit was so lovely that Lovino took the time away from glaring at Ludwig standing so near Feliciano and directed his death glare towards Francis instead.
---
“Mathieu,” Francis greeted during the next break. Matthew looked up from where he was pouring himself some coffee.
“Hello, Francis,” Matthew greeted, and held out the cup to him. Francis shook his head and Matthew took a sip of the coffee instead.
“I wondered if I may have a word with you,” Francis drawled, switching to French as Arthur ambled by, giving them a suspicious look-the French always bothered Arthur, and Francis was never one to let an opportunity slip by. Even if he suspected Matthew preferred English. Francis’s hand touched Matthew’s elbow. Matthew didn’t quite react to the touch, but he did nod and take another sip of his coffee.
“What about?”
Francis tilted his head to the side, towards the emptying world conference room. Matthew understood his request, and they waited until the rest of the nations filed out before going back in, where they could be alone.
Matthew kept drinking his coffee, and the two stood in a comfortable silence.
“I wonder if you might spend more time with Alfred,” Francis said, without preamble.
Matthew looked up at him over the rim of his Styrofoam coffee cup, blinking a few times. He looked so remarkably like Alfred sometimes, or perhaps Alfred looked remarkably like Matthew. It was hard to know for sure, but Francis couldn’t help but smile at him, endeared by such a bewildered expression.
“He’s visiting me next week,” Matthew said. “Why do you say that, though?”
“I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Francis said with a small nod. “He is your twin, after all.”
“Probably,” Matthew said, cautiously, pressing the cup to his lips and tilting the cup up. He wasn’t actually drinking, though, just letting the coffee press against his lips-feigned drinking. He watched Francis. “You’ve noticed, too.”
“I believe Arthur has, as well, though he’d be loathed to admit he’s worried,” Francis agreed.
“Probably,” Matthew said again, taking the cup away from his mouth. He swirled the coffee around. “Alfred doesn’t really like to talk about it.”
“Is it his economy?” Francis asked.
Matthew looked down, and shrugged. “Partly. I think he’s overworking himself. He’s stressed lately-he works late into the night and wakes up early. He’s trying to do everything he needs for his own country, and juggling all the international meetings and policies, all while trying to woo his allies.”
Matthew paused, and looked up at Francis, gauging his reaction.
“Yes,” Francis agreed.
Matthew looked down again, worrying his lower lip. Francis knew that, even if Matthew downplayed it, he worried and cared deeply for his brother. There were many times when Francis had seen Matthew give his brother an encouraging touch during meetings, and whenever Alfred was overly stressed out, or in some kind of crisis, Matthew spent many long nights at Alfred’s home, taking care of him. It was the kind of brotherly love that could make any heart ache, and Francis, at least, was glad that the two had one another to look out for each other.
“I’m worried,” Matthew said. “He hasn’t worked this hard in a long time, and last time he practically collapsed from it all. You know how he can be.”
“Yes,” Francis said again.
Matthew nodded. “He just needs to slow down a little and relax. He doesn’t have to take everything all at once, especially since whenever he does this he tends to get sloppy and fool-hardy.”
Francis stroked his beard, and nodded, letting out a small sigh. “Of course.”
“It’ll pass, once these series of meetings are all over. Though winter’s coming… and you know how he gets in winter.”
Francis nodded. Alfred’s distaste of winter was well known among his allies and trading partners. It was a rare day indeed when Alfred even emerged from his house during winter, and it was through planning that world meetings were never held in winter.
The door to the conference room opened, and the Italian brothers walked in, speaking to each other in rapid Italian. They didn’t seem to notice Matthew and Francis in the corner, but it was just as well.
“It assures me to know you’ll be spending time together,” Francis said, and squeezed Matthew’s arm affectionately. Matthew smiled up at him and nodded. Francis continued, “He’ll enjoy that.”
“Yeah. Thanks for worrying, too,” Matthew said. “You know how dense he can be, but I know he appreciates it when you and Arthur look out for him, too.”
“And how could we not?” Francis agreed, and took a step towards the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, sweet Mathieu, I must go find that foolish brother of yours. He and I have something we must discuss.”
“Oh?” Matthew said.
“Just a way to have the little rabbit relax,” Francis said with a small smile as he left the room, weaving his way between Ludwig and Vash and leaving in search of Alfred.
---
“Mon lapin,” Francis purred in Alfred’s ear, pressing his body up against Alfred’s.
Alfred jumped, twisting his head around and blinking owlishly at Francis. Then he gave him a wide smile. “Oh, hey, Francis.”
“Bonjour, mon beau lapin,” Francis greeted, quiet smile and all.
Francis pulled away and settled beside Alfred. Alfred was in the process of pouring himself a cup of coffee, and by the smell of his breath, Francis could discern that it was not his first cup.
“What’s up?” Alfred asked.
“I am in need of your assistance,” Francis said.
Alfred brightened up instantly, and Francis smiled. If there was one thing he knew about Alfred, it was that he loved to be needed, and any excuse to play hero was fine by him. He seemed to stand up a bit straighter.
“Sure thing! What do you need?”
“Well, you see,” Francis purred, “I admittedly know so very little of your charming city, and would like to know where the best restaurant to go is, that is not-” Francis added when he saw Alfred open his mouth, “-McDonalds, but actually a place I may sit and order my food and enjoy the atmosphere for a few hours.”
“Huh,” Alfred said, and scratched at his cheek as he thought, his eyes up on the ceiling. He thought for some time, his brow furrowing in a rather endearing way, and then he began naming off some restaurants.
“Ah,” Francis interrupted just as the boy was about to pick up speed in his listing, “I was hoping that perhaps you would accompany me to one of them?”
Alfred blinked, then perked up. “Hey, good idea! My boss’ll be happy I’m spending time with you.”
“And you yourself will not be pleased?” Francis asked with a dramatic sigh. “Alfred, mon cher, you wound me so.”
“Ha ha,” Alfred laughed, and he shrugged one shoulder.
“Then it is settled,” Francis said, with a wide smile. “Shall we, once this meeting is over?”
“Sure thing,” Alfred said, cheerfully, whipping out his smart phone and typing up a quick text message, undoubtedly to his boss to let him know the good news, and wandered away, completely forgetting about his cup of coffee.
Francis watched his back, saw the familiar tension and insecurity that seemed to have worked themselves permanently into his muscles. Francis sighed. With Alfred, it was not one thing to walk up and offer one’s self, for it would completely fly over Alfred’s head. The trick was to get Alfred to admit that something was wrong, and then, logically, offer the solution.
And Francis was hungry, as well, and hopefully Alfred’s restaurants (and Alfred himself) would live up to Francis’ superb and, admittedly, superior tastes.
---
“You do not properly enjoy things,” Francis said, watching as Alfred shoved scalloped potatoes into his mouth as if he were a starving man.
“M’huh?” Alfred said, mouth full, blue eyes wide as he looked up at Francis.
Francis patted his mouth delicately with his napkin, and set down his fork so he could steeple his fingertips as he leaned forward, observing Alfred.
“You,” he said calmly, “do not properly enjoy things. You rush through it as if it will disappear, and then you’re left even hungrier than before.”
Alfred’s brows furrowed. “It’s just potatoes, Francis.”
“This time, perhaps,” Francis said with a nod.
Alfred stared at him, chewing his food, and a bit of potato at the corner of his mouth. Francis offered him a low smile and Alfred blinked a few times, as if trying to decode something and ultimately giving up.
“Savor it,” Francis advised. “Take a step back, take things slowly. Relax, and it’ll be much easier for you.”
Alfred’s brow furrowed further. They looked at one another for a long moment, before Alfred slanted his eyes away, stabbing his fork into his food.
“Man, I forgot how uptight you Europeans can be about food,” Alfred said to his plate.
Francis’ smile twitched just slightly before curving into something a little warmer.
“Yes, of course. I am speaking of food,” Francis said, absently. He picked up his fork again.
“Anyway, it’s not that big of a deal. I dunno how your people can get away with having such long lunch breaks or whatever,” Alfred said around another mouthful of food, though Francis noted that he was eating a bit slower. “I have so much work in a day that I’m lucky if I even get a fifteen minute break to eat a sandwich.”
“Oh mon Dieu,” Francis sighed. “Mon lapin, you torture me with your fast-pace lifestyle. You pain me.”
Alfred gave him a blank expression, and shoveled more food into his mouth, chewing loudly.
Francis sighed. Guiding the boy had always been more of Arthur’s approach, and he could understand at times why Arthur flipped tables over Alfred’s dense approach to things. But he was resolved to help the boy in the best way possible. The only thing that mattered was getting Alfred to open up, so to speak.
“You have food on the corner of your mouth, mon cher,” Francis said, pleasantly.
Alfred wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Then licked his lips. “Thanks.”
Francis just smiled. Despite Alfred’s many faults, Francis thought, he really was a very attractive boy. He watched Alfred lick his lips a few times, and let out a soft sigh. Yes, very attractive.
They ate in silence, and it was with a bit of satisfaction that Francis noticed Alfred trying to eat a bit slower. Still almost insultingly fast, but not as fast as before. Francis took his time in eating his meal, and reveled in the way that Alfred shifted a little uneasy when he finished first, and was forced to watch Francis eat his food and drink his wine. Once he, too, had finished, Francis footed the bill, tutting when Alfred made a grab for it and telling him that it was his pleasure to stimulate Alfred’ s economy.
If Alfred noticed anything lewd in that phrase, he didn’t let on. Which meant he hadn’t noticed anything, to Francis’ disappointment. Alfred being so willfully oblivious meant that when he actually got something, the result was always very lovely-Alfred’s blushing face was by far one of the sweetest blushing faces he’d ever seen.
As they walked outside, and Alfred went to work of hailing a cab, Francis stood beside him. “I would very much like for you to come back to my room with me. So that we may ‘catch up’, of course.”
Alfred blinked at him, and then grinned. “Cool, okay.”
It must have been a long time since Alfred had spent time with anyone other than Matthew, and perhaps Kiku. Having a house visitor must have been very nice for Alfred to hear. And Francis so hoped it would be a successful visit. His caring for the boy aside, it had been far too long since Francis had slept with anyone.
The cab ride, too, was spent in relative silence. Alfred seemed exhausted, despite the early time of the evening, and Francis decided that Matthew had not been exaggerating when explaining his brother’s work ethic. As carefree as the boy could present, as silly he could be at meetings, at the end of the day, he did take his work seriously. And the tension in the slope of his neck was testament to those long hours of work.
They walked together through Francis’ hotel lobby, waited for the elevator. Alfred whistled absently to himself, rocking back and forth on his heels, in an attempt to keep himself peppy. Francis gave him a small smile, which Alfred cheerfully returned. But Francis could see the faults and fault lines in that smile, see the way that Alfred was trying to show Francis just how fine he was. He obviously had not forgotten their conversation earlier in the day. Francis, as always, remained unconvinced. But it seemed that that was also something that escaped Alfred’s notice.
Francis pulled his cardkey from his pocket once they reached Francis’ hotel room, and slipped it into the lock, waiting for the tell-tale buzz of the lock coming undone. He opened the door, and it swept inward, revealing the orderly hotel room within. The room service had come through while he’d been away at the world meetings, and the room was made-up and appeared completely unlived in. Francis’ bags were tucked away into the closet, and there was a mint on the pillow.
The mint was obviously the first thing Alfred spotted, and he bounded across the hotel room and hopped onto the bed, scooping the mint up and unwrapping it. He grinned at Francis as he popped the mint into his mouth.
Francis closed the door behind him and loosened his tie.
“Now,” Francis said, calmly, removing his jacket and hanging it up in the closet, his back to Alfred. When he turned around again, Alfred had his full attention on Francis. “Now,” Francis repeated, as he, too, sat down on the bed, holding Alfred’s gaze calmly, “we are completely alone, mon cher, and you do not have to put on such a strong front.”
“Huh?” Alfred asked, feigning confusion.
Francis, however, was completely patient. He was used to waiting around for people to realize what they wanted, and Alfred was no different. Alfred was not nearly as bad as he was as a child. As a child, Alfred would be tight-lipped, refusing to speak unless it was to Arthur, and very rarely would divulge any hidden secret to Francis. It was not until Alfred’s revolution that the boy opened up to Francis more, and their relations with one another had remained around the same, with minute changes, as well as the inevitable change of modernity, throughout the years.
“Mon cher,” Francis said again, “Surely you do not think me so oblivious as to think you have recovered since this morning. You, as I may recall, were slumped rather somberly against the wall earlier today.”
He leaned forward, and placed his hand on Alfred’s knee. Alfred, as always, did not seem to notice the intimacy of such a gesture, because he was doing his best to give Francis a blank expression as he processed his words.
“I know that it must be beyond simply working hard-yes, Mathieu told me of your hard work, lately,” Francis said, before Alfred could protest. “You are not overflowing with such sunny humour as you normally are. Your brother has noticed, Arthur has undoubtedly noticed, and I, as well, have noticed.”
Alfred blinked at him, and seemed to retreat, as was often his approach when he felt cornered. “I’m not-”
“I do not ask out of any reason to make light of your achievements, Alfred,” Francis said, quite seriously, “Nor to pity you, nor to laugh at your expense. I… we are concerned for you.”
Alfred blinked some more, and then turned his face away, his cheeks turning pink. It was a bit like how Arthur reacted, sometimes, and truly Alfred came by his personality honestly. Francis often lamented the adverse effects Arthur’s upbringing had on such a beautiful boy as Alfred, though he said this mostly in jest (and because there was nothing that got Arthur riled up more than eluding to British America).
“You got no reason to be,” Alfred muttered, cheeks pink.
Francis smiled. “And why not, mon cher? It is natural to worry over someone for whom you share affection, n’est pas?”
Alfred scrunched his face up, lips pursed like a fish’s. His face seemed to grow steadily redder. Underneath it all, Alfred did not seem to do well with affection. Attention, he could handle. Praise, too. But affection, legitimate concern, was something the boy was not used to. For a moment, Francis’ heart ached.
He reached out his hand, and cupped Alfred’s cheek, turning his face back towards Francis’. “Alfred,” he said, calmly, offering him what he believed to be a comforting smile, “You may tell me whatever you wish, and I will merely listen. I will not hold anything you say against you, nor belittle you for anything you want to, how is it you say it-get something off your chest.”
Alfred opened his mouth, and then closed it. He lowered his eyes, tilted his face in a way that the light reflected up onto his glasses, hiding his eyes completely. Francis knew to be patient, though, and even stroked his thumb along Alfred’s cheekbone. It was very slight, but he saw the way Alfred shivered at the touch-poor, beautiful boy, so lovely, and so unused to being touched.
“It’s stupid,” Alfred finally said.
Francis’ eyes twinkled. Ah, progress.
“I will be the judge of that,” Francis reminded.
Alfred nodded, and Francis pulled his hand away from Alfred’s face, pulling himself closer to Alfred and letting his hand rest on Alfred’s hip. Alfred, shifted, tugged at the shoelaces of his dress shoes, as if he wanted to pull them off but also not quite taking that step.
“I just… I always work really hard and it never feels like I do anything. Shit just gets worse. I make leeway in one thing, then I gotta focus on other stuff. No matter what I do, I feel like I’m in a hole and I can’t get out,” Alfred said, suddenly, and seemed rather taken aback when the words tumbled from his mouth-and how easily they tumbled.
“Go on,” Francis urged.
“I work and I work and I don’t get any thanks from the people I work with and for, and I don’t get any thanks from other nations and I… I dunno. I shouldn’t complain cause I’m a hero and heroes don’t complain and I take this stuff on for myself because that’s what heroes do, but… you know. I’m just working myself to the point where I can’t even do anything fun anymore.”
“You are stressed, it’s true,” Francis agreed, the hand on Alfred’s hip sliding to his back, and up, feeling the tension in the smooth arch of Alfred’s back. “You are tense. You have not relaxed in a very long time, mon cher.”
Alfred nodded, absently. Francis kneaded at Alfred’s back, and watched the boy slump, relaxing against his touch. He glanced up at Francis, and the older nation offered the young boy a smile, pressing his fingers into the flesh of Alfred’s back, through his bomber jacket, his suit jacket, his dress shirt, his undershirt… so many layers. Francis just wanted to peel them all way right that moment, but Alfred was delicate. He needed to approach him calmly, and then they could both get to something they would enjoy.
“And it’s hard to just keep being cheerful,” Alfred continued. “I mean. It’s not that I’m unhappy… I’m just tired. It takes energy. And no matter what I do, I get criticized.”
“You,” Francis said again, “need to relax.”
He placed a second hand on Alfred’s back, shifted so that he was behind him, kneading at his back, massaging weak muscles.
Alfred’s head sank forward, exposing the curve of his neck. Such delicate skin and bones. Francis wanted to lean forward and kiss at the skin. But, patience. Patience was key.
Francis’ hands snuck around Alfred’s front, pulling his jacket from his body. Alfred let him, and Francis adjusted Alfred’s lapels once he’d tossed the old bomber jacket aside. His hands settled back down onto Alfred’s shoulders, fingers brushing along Alfred’s neck.
“Anything else, Alfred?” Francis asked, purred into his ear.
Alfred stared at the wall opposite him, his face pink. “Um,” he said. He shifted. “Not really. I said it was dumb.”
“It is not,” Francis defended. He squeezed Alfred’s shoulders. “There is no shame in wanting acknowledgment. Even if I will not pretend you are unworthy of criticism, mon cher, you have done good things. You have done many things, and every nation knows the feeling of working so hard and feeling nothing come of it.”
“Yeah,” Alfred agreed, softly, slumping further.
“You are having a tough time,” Francis agreed, and leaned forward, so that his body pressed up against Alfred. “And for that, you do have my sympathy.”
“Thanks,” Alfred said quietly.
“And,” Francis continued. “I have a suggestion, for how to… relax. You are so tense, mon lapin.”
“What is it?” Alfred asked, twisting around to look at Francis.
“Let us sleep together,” Francis said primly.
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Characters: Francis (France), Alfred (US), Matthew (Canada), Arthur (UK), mentions of others
Pairing: Francis/Alfred (with general easily shippable FACE as you see fit)
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter (NC-17 overall)
Warning: None?
Summary: Alfred has been stressed out lately, and Francis decides to help him in the best way he can think of. Of course, the aftermath doesn't go quite as he'd planned.
Summary for this chapter: Francis notes the problem, and sets the stage to solve it.
Notes: De-anon from the kink meme! The prompt was for France/America where France accidentally takes America's virginity, and when France finds out he has to do a "re-do". This is my first time writing the pairing without huge, UK-induced emotional baggage, so thank you everyone on the meme who always left such kind comments. ♥
Other installments:
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three
“It would appear,” Francis said, as means of making his presence known, “that you are, as you say, ‘under the weather.’”
It didn’t take an observant person to see that this was the case, for Alfred. Alfred gave him a long-suffering look before returning his attention to the wall where he’d currently been resting his forehead, slumping forward as if expecting the wall would swallow him up, or at least provide some comfort.
Francis sniffed at the dismissal, and slid up to Alfred’s side, his fingers curling around the boy’s shoulder. Alfred didn’t shrug off his touch, and under many typical circumstances (usually involving similar circumstances with Arthur or Antonio), Francis would take that as invitation to slide his hand down backs, to, as they say, appreciate the curves and nuances of bodies.
But Alfred just stared miserably at the wall, frowning, not even noticing that Francis was in prime position to grope him.
“Mon cher?” Francis asked, because really, it was no fun not to get a reaction from someone, and the boy’s lack of cheerfulness was a bit disconcerting on a few levels. The boy was sunshine on any given day, even on his off days, and seeing him in a mood that seemed almost reminiscent of Arthur’s rainy day moods did not sit well with France. He squeezed Alfred’s shoulder, in comfort, and asked, “Is something on your mind?”
“Oh, no,” Alfred said, Francis’ words seeming to snap him out of whatever thought he’d gotten stuck in. He blinked a few times and straightened his back, turning his head to look at Francis. He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach those wide blue eyes of his, and even if it had, Francis was not easy to fool. “I, uh,” Alfred continued, shifting almost uncomfortably. “I just got a lot on my mind, you know.”
“With your economy and politics, oui?” Francis asked, because upon closer inspection it did seem like the kind of mood Alfred got in occasionally-it was the only kind of disarray that could breach Alfred’s contagious cheerfulness, usually.
“Oui-I mean, yeah. Yeah,” Alfred said, and shrugged for some semblance of nonchalance. Francis, of course, did not miss the way that Alfred’s shoulders tensed, and the way that his jaw clenched when he smiled. For just a moment, but enough that Francis’ keen eyes caught it. “It’s not that big of a deal,” Alfred continued, and waved his hand in a dismissive manner, even managed a small laugh. “Just kind of tiring, you know?”
“But of course,” Francis agreed, hand still on Alfred’s shoulder. He shifted closer, placing his other hand on Alfred’s other shoulder. “You just seemed rather distracted, mon petit chou.”
“Did I?” Alfred asked, sounding rather mystified by this, and Francis could see the way even now his thoughts were wandering. They lapsed into a stilled silence, when Alfred continued to look far away, internally organizing and reassessing the shifts in economic flow and political power, something that often left many countries nauseous for weeks, but only gave Alfred mild stomach pains every so often. He’d grown remarkably adept at hiding it and bearing it, mostly, Francis reasoned, because the boy was so strong. But Francis hadn’t lived for centuries, surrounded by ridiculous neighbors, for nothing. He knew how to decode and translate such facial expressions and dismissals in his fellow nations, and no matter how strong, Alfred was no different. The boy was tired, weary, and most of all: discouraged.
And a discouraged Alfred was something that no nation should have to see. Even if the boy’s exuberance and bravado could be nothing short of annoying for other, well-meaning nations, it was still disconcerting to see a morose Alfred, of all things.
“Why don’t you tell your big brother all about it?” Francis said with a purr and a laugh, and squeezed Alfred’s shoulders.
Alfred, oblivious boy that he was, only laughed. Francis knew that the density of the boy’s mind was not due to stupidity, as Arthur often griped whenever the two were fighting during world meetings, but rather because Alfred chose not to pay attention, consciously. Francis could not fathom the reasons why someone would purposefully take on projected stupidity, but he reasoned that Alfred, intelligent, astute boy that he could be, had good reasons for it. That didn’t stop Francis from being frustrated when Alfred refused to pick up on hints that any sensible person would perceive at once.
So he massaged Alfred’s shoulders. Alfred just continued that slightly strained smile.
“I dunno,” Alfred said, and wasn’t stepping away from the way Francis touched his shoulders, so Francis kept doing it. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“You seem as if you are going through tough times, mon lapin.”
“I’m not a bunny,” Alfred muttered absently, as if not even aware that he’d translated the French. Francis didn’t say anything in reply, since it seemed that Alfred had more to say. Despite the fact that Alfred calling a rabbit bunny was oddly endearing. “I’m not. Going through tough times, I mean,” Alfred defended after a long enough pause that proved just the opposite, if the slight shift in Alfred’s eyes was any indication. “I’m just stressed out. Ha ha. Everyone goes through that, right? Right.”
The way Alfred was shifting from foot to foot was very much like a nervous rabbit. Francis had never found a pet name more endearing before.
“Mais, bien sûr,” Francis agreed. “But even so, mon lapin,” he added, and lifted one hand from Alfred’s shoulder to brush his thumb along Alfred’s bottom lip, “you are not very good at hiding when you are distressed. I believe it is so bad that even Feliciano may suspect something. And it would not do for you to worry Arthur and Mathieu, oui?”
“Arthur doesn’t worry,” Alfred said with a roll of his eyes. “And Matty’s got nothing to worry about, anyway. You don’t gotta be so insistent, Francis, geez.”
Francis just gave him a small smile. “Excuse my intrusion, then.”
He squeezed Alfred’s shoulders again, and leaned in close, his mouth near Alfred’s ear as he whispered, “But big brother is not easily fooled by your smiles. You are unhappy. Je crois que c’est vrai.”
And with that he stepped back, lifted his hand to pat Alfred on the cheek, and sauntered away. The meeting was going to begin soon. As he walked away, he could feel Alfred’s eyes on his back and he smiled to himself. Truly, the boy was silly to think that because of how the other nations combated his political style, they were somehow incapable of worrying over him. The last few years had been bad for Alfred, everyone could see it. It’d been bad for everyone. Even if they didn’t approve of many of his actions and his stand on things, that did not mean that they themselves were incapable of caring for the boy in question.
Shortly after Francis took his seat beside Arthur at the large table for the world meeting, Alfred toddled in, looking distant, but smiling when he was greeted by his brother, and shortly afterward by Kiku. Francis rested his chin against the palm of his hand, leaning against the table, and watched Alfred for a while. Once the boy seemed to have settled, and his conversation with Kiku seemed lively enough that he momentarily forgot his distress, Francis slanted his eyes towards Arthur, who was making a valiant, Herculean effort not to pay Francis any attention as he flipped through his notes. He was presenting today, and kept muttering things to himself.
But apparently Francis was staring at him for too long because suddenly Arthur looked up, his expression sharp. “What are you looking at, you damn frog?”
“And a good morning to you, too, Ma chère Angleterre,” Francis said with a sigh, giving him a sultry smile. “And it is quite obvious that I am looking at you.”
“Stop it,” Arthur said, his thick eyebrows slanting downward as he glared at Francis. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it at once before I punch that smile off your face.”
Francis laughed and shrugged, far too used to Arthur’s reaction towards him. Should the day ever come when Arthur didn’t greet him with some kind of disdain, Francis would not know what to do with himself. In the meantime, he satisfied his daily dose of “being ignored by my cute neighbor” by sliding his hand beneath Arthur’s jacket and sliding down to cup his backside. The reaction was always half the fun, and Arthur’s reactions never failed to satisfy.
“YOU FUCKING-!” Arthur choked, and seemed unable to think of a proper insult as he flew to his feet and dove at Francis, wielding his pen as if he were about to stab Francis in the forehead (and he probably would, if Francis were not so adept at holding the raging nation off).
The North American brothers were naturally the ones to break them up, Alfred grabbing Arthur by the back of his suit, fisting his large hand around Arthur’s collar and pulling him away from Francis. Mathew, far gentler in his treatment of their former caretakers, helped Francis to his feet, and dusted off his suit jacket carefully.
Arthur, meanwhile, was seething, and it was a good thing it was Alfred who was holding him, because only Alfred who the capacity to hold Arthur back from flinging himself at Francis again.
“Whoooa, calm down, old man,” Alfred said, and even shook Arthur a little, as if that would pacify the red-faced man. “Save it for the bedroom or something, ha ha!”
Arthur shouted out some harsh words that were enough to make any sailor blush, and tried to break out of Alfred’s (very firm) hold. Francis put on great airs to cover Matthew’s ears. Matthew, for his part, didn’t seem surprised by Arthur’s words, and simply had that look of long-suffering he’d adopted since the middle of the twentieth century, when he realized that he had to put up with these three’s antics. His look was nothing short of deadpan.
“Alfred, dearest, gentle Alfred,” Francis said with a dramatic sigh, “You should know by now that our dear Arthur refuses to let me take him to bed. He cites his everlasting hatred for me, but even you should know it’s all a clever ruse.”
Alfred laughed again, probably just because Arthur’s reactions were hilarious, and at Francis’ words, Arthur began thrashing and making a grab for a chair that he could chuck at Francis’ head. Francis was not so cruel as to hide behind Matthew, but he did not protest when Matthew did step in front of him, trying to sooth Arthur’s many ruffled feathers.
“What did you even do to him?” Alfred asked over Arthur’s flailing shoulder.
“Stop acting as if I’m not here!” Arthur protested.
“Arthur…” Matthew said, holding out his hands in a pacifying manner. “You know that Francis doesn’t mean it…”
“Oh, but I do,” Francis said primly.
Matthew looked over his shoulder at Francis and the look he gave him could have withered fresh-cut flowers. Francis laughed and gave his most charming smile to the boy, who only rolled his eyes absently before turning his attention to Arthur.
“And you sweet brothers should know how cruelly Arthur treats me,” Francis continued before Matthew could resume his attempts to soothe Arthur. “I was merely looking at him, appreciating the advantages of his body, and he launched at me, completely unprovoked.”
“You groped me, you-!”
“Completely unprovoked,” Francis interrupted with a sad sigh.
Alfred and Matthew exchanged looks, that kind of hidden language the twins seemed to share. Francis envied it sometimes, but mostly he just thought it was cute the way the two seemed to intrinsically understand each other, even without words. Arthur, for the most part, seemed to be deflating in Alfred’s death-grip, only because fighting Francis was so exhausting. And he’d probably remembered that he wasn’t fully prepared for his presentation. As soon as he slumped in Alfred’s arms, the young nation released his former caretaker and Arthur dusted himself off, adjusting his lapels.
“I hate you,” he said, primly and with a disdainful sniff.
Francis laughed and slid up to Matthew and Alfred’s sides, curling his hand along Matthew’s lower back and pressing his hip up against Alfred. Neither boy retreated from the touches, mostly because they were far too used to Francis’ forms of affection.
“Your words hurt me, Arthur,” Francis drawled. “But luckily I have the love of these sweet boys to warm my broken heart.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes at Francis, collected his papers, kicked his chair in, and stalked off towards the podium-undoubtedly to speak with Ludwig about either his presentation, or permanently rearranging seat arrangements so he never had to sit beside Francis again.
“Did you really grope him?” Matthew asked, giving him a sidelong look.
“If you’d ever felt his backside, Mathieu, you would understand why I must always touch it,” Francis said with a sigh.
Alfred was giving him a slightly bewildered look. Matthew was rolling his eyes with another long-suffering sigh.
“Though,” Francis drawled, meeting Matthew’s eyes calmly, and smiling that sultry smile, before grasping Alfred’s hand and pulling him so that the two brothers stood side by side. “I am quite sure yours feel nice as well, shall big brother investigate?”
Alfred’s eyes widened, and it seemed that finally something settled in that head of his, because his cheeks turned bright red. Matthew, however, sighed and slapped Francis’ hands away before he could accost him or his brother.
“That won’t be necessary, Francis,” Matthew said, and touched his brother’s elbow. “We should probably get ready for the presentation.”
Alfred and Matthew exchanged another look, still no words passing, before Alfred nodded. “Uh. Right.”
The two walked away after saying their goodbyes to Francis, and Francis sighed. Such bad luck. He slanted his eyes away and caught sight of Antonio, and decided to pay him a visit. The visit was so lovely that Lovino took the time away from glaring at Ludwig standing so near Feliciano and directed his death glare towards Francis instead.
---
“Mathieu,” Francis greeted during the next break. Matthew looked up from where he was pouring himself some coffee.
“Hello, Francis,” Matthew greeted, and held out the cup to him. Francis shook his head and Matthew took a sip of the coffee instead.
“I wondered if I may have a word with you,” Francis drawled, switching to French as Arthur ambled by, giving them a suspicious look-the French always bothered Arthur, and Francis was never one to let an opportunity slip by. Even if he suspected Matthew preferred English. Francis’s hand touched Matthew’s elbow. Matthew didn’t quite react to the touch, but he did nod and take another sip of his coffee.
“What about?”
Francis tilted his head to the side, towards the emptying world conference room. Matthew understood his request, and they waited until the rest of the nations filed out before going back in, where they could be alone.
Matthew kept drinking his coffee, and the two stood in a comfortable silence.
“I wonder if you might spend more time with Alfred,” Francis said, without preamble.
Matthew looked up at him over the rim of his Styrofoam coffee cup, blinking a few times. He looked so remarkably like Alfred sometimes, or perhaps Alfred looked remarkably like Matthew. It was hard to know for sure, but Francis couldn’t help but smile at him, endeared by such a bewildered expression.
“He’s visiting me next week,” Matthew said. “Why do you say that, though?”
“I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Francis said with a small nod. “He is your twin, after all.”
“Probably,” Matthew said, cautiously, pressing the cup to his lips and tilting the cup up. He wasn’t actually drinking, though, just letting the coffee press against his lips-feigned drinking. He watched Francis. “You’ve noticed, too.”
“I believe Arthur has, as well, though he’d be loathed to admit he’s worried,” Francis agreed.
“Probably,” Matthew said again, taking the cup away from his mouth. He swirled the coffee around. “Alfred doesn’t really like to talk about it.”
“Is it his economy?” Francis asked.
Matthew looked down, and shrugged. “Partly. I think he’s overworking himself. He’s stressed lately-he works late into the night and wakes up early. He’s trying to do everything he needs for his own country, and juggling all the international meetings and policies, all while trying to woo his allies.”
Matthew paused, and looked up at Francis, gauging his reaction.
“Yes,” Francis agreed.
Matthew looked down again, worrying his lower lip. Francis knew that, even if Matthew downplayed it, he worried and cared deeply for his brother. There were many times when Francis had seen Matthew give his brother an encouraging touch during meetings, and whenever Alfred was overly stressed out, or in some kind of crisis, Matthew spent many long nights at Alfred’s home, taking care of him. It was the kind of brotherly love that could make any heart ache, and Francis, at least, was glad that the two had one another to look out for each other.
“I’m worried,” Matthew said. “He hasn’t worked this hard in a long time, and last time he practically collapsed from it all. You know how he can be.”
“Yes,” Francis said again.
Matthew nodded. “He just needs to slow down a little and relax. He doesn’t have to take everything all at once, especially since whenever he does this he tends to get sloppy and fool-hardy.”
Francis stroked his beard, and nodded, letting out a small sigh. “Of course.”
“It’ll pass, once these series of meetings are all over. Though winter’s coming… and you know how he gets in winter.”
Francis nodded. Alfred’s distaste of winter was well known among his allies and trading partners. It was a rare day indeed when Alfred even emerged from his house during winter, and it was through planning that world meetings were never held in winter.
The door to the conference room opened, and the Italian brothers walked in, speaking to each other in rapid Italian. They didn’t seem to notice Matthew and Francis in the corner, but it was just as well.
“It assures me to know you’ll be spending time together,” Francis said, and squeezed Matthew’s arm affectionately. Matthew smiled up at him and nodded. Francis continued, “He’ll enjoy that.”
“Yeah. Thanks for worrying, too,” Matthew said. “You know how dense he can be, but I know he appreciates it when you and Arthur look out for him, too.”
“And how could we not?” Francis agreed, and took a step towards the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, sweet Mathieu, I must go find that foolish brother of yours. He and I have something we must discuss.”
“Oh?” Matthew said.
“Just a way to have the little rabbit relax,” Francis said with a small smile as he left the room, weaving his way between Ludwig and Vash and leaving in search of Alfred.
---
“Mon lapin,” Francis purred in Alfred’s ear, pressing his body up against Alfred’s.
Alfred jumped, twisting his head around and blinking owlishly at Francis. Then he gave him a wide smile. “Oh, hey, Francis.”
“Bonjour, mon beau lapin,” Francis greeted, quiet smile and all.
Francis pulled away and settled beside Alfred. Alfred was in the process of pouring himself a cup of coffee, and by the smell of his breath, Francis could discern that it was not his first cup.
“What’s up?” Alfred asked.
“I am in need of your assistance,” Francis said.
Alfred brightened up instantly, and Francis smiled. If there was one thing he knew about Alfred, it was that he loved to be needed, and any excuse to play hero was fine by him. He seemed to stand up a bit straighter.
“Sure thing! What do you need?”
“Well, you see,” Francis purred, “I admittedly know so very little of your charming city, and would like to know where the best restaurant to go is, that is not-” Francis added when he saw Alfred open his mouth, “-McDonalds, but actually a place I may sit and order my food and enjoy the atmosphere for a few hours.”
“Huh,” Alfred said, and scratched at his cheek as he thought, his eyes up on the ceiling. He thought for some time, his brow furrowing in a rather endearing way, and then he began naming off some restaurants.
“Ah,” Francis interrupted just as the boy was about to pick up speed in his listing, “I was hoping that perhaps you would accompany me to one of them?”
Alfred blinked, then perked up. “Hey, good idea! My boss’ll be happy I’m spending time with you.”
“And you yourself will not be pleased?” Francis asked with a dramatic sigh. “Alfred, mon cher, you wound me so.”
“Ha ha,” Alfred laughed, and he shrugged one shoulder.
“Then it is settled,” Francis said, with a wide smile. “Shall we, once this meeting is over?”
“Sure thing,” Alfred said, cheerfully, whipping out his smart phone and typing up a quick text message, undoubtedly to his boss to let him know the good news, and wandered away, completely forgetting about his cup of coffee.
Francis watched his back, saw the familiar tension and insecurity that seemed to have worked themselves permanently into his muscles. Francis sighed. With Alfred, it was not one thing to walk up and offer one’s self, for it would completely fly over Alfred’s head. The trick was to get Alfred to admit that something was wrong, and then, logically, offer the solution.
And Francis was hungry, as well, and hopefully Alfred’s restaurants (and Alfred himself) would live up to Francis’ superb and, admittedly, superior tastes.
---
“You do not properly enjoy things,” Francis said, watching as Alfred shoved scalloped potatoes into his mouth as if he were a starving man.
“M’huh?” Alfred said, mouth full, blue eyes wide as he looked up at Francis.
Francis patted his mouth delicately with his napkin, and set down his fork so he could steeple his fingertips as he leaned forward, observing Alfred.
“You,” he said calmly, “do not properly enjoy things. You rush through it as if it will disappear, and then you’re left even hungrier than before.”
Alfred’s brows furrowed. “It’s just potatoes, Francis.”
“This time, perhaps,” Francis said with a nod.
Alfred stared at him, chewing his food, and a bit of potato at the corner of his mouth. Francis offered him a low smile and Alfred blinked a few times, as if trying to decode something and ultimately giving up.
“Savor it,” Francis advised. “Take a step back, take things slowly. Relax, and it’ll be much easier for you.”
Alfred’s brow furrowed further. They looked at one another for a long moment, before Alfred slanted his eyes away, stabbing his fork into his food.
“Man, I forgot how uptight you Europeans can be about food,” Alfred said to his plate.
Francis’ smile twitched just slightly before curving into something a little warmer.
“Yes, of course. I am speaking of food,” Francis said, absently. He picked up his fork again.
“Anyway, it’s not that big of a deal. I dunno how your people can get away with having such long lunch breaks or whatever,” Alfred said around another mouthful of food, though Francis noted that he was eating a bit slower. “I have so much work in a day that I’m lucky if I even get a fifteen minute break to eat a sandwich.”
“Oh mon Dieu,” Francis sighed. “Mon lapin, you torture me with your fast-pace lifestyle. You pain me.”
Alfred gave him a blank expression, and shoveled more food into his mouth, chewing loudly.
Francis sighed. Guiding the boy had always been more of Arthur’s approach, and he could understand at times why Arthur flipped tables over Alfred’s dense approach to things. But he was resolved to help the boy in the best way possible. The only thing that mattered was getting Alfred to open up, so to speak.
“You have food on the corner of your mouth, mon cher,” Francis said, pleasantly.
Alfred wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Then licked his lips. “Thanks.”
Francis just smiled. Despite Alfred’s many faults, Francis thought, he really was a very attractive boy. He watched Alfred lick his lips a few times, and let out a soft sigh. Yes, very attractive.
They ate in silence, and it was with a bit of satisfaction that Francis noticed Alfred trying to eat a bit slower. Still almost insultingly fast, but not as fast as before. Francis took his time in eating his meal, and reveled in the way that Alfred shifted a little uneasy when he finished first, and was forced to watch Francis eat his food and drink his wine. Once he, too, had finished, Francis footed the bill, tutting when Alfred made a grab for it and telling him that it was his pleasure to stimulate Alfred’ s economy.
If Alfred noticed anything lewd in that phrase, he didn’t let on. Which meant he hadn’t noticed anything, to Francis’ disappointment. Alfred being so willfully oblivious meant that when he actually got something, the result was always very lovely-Alfred’s blushing face was by far one of the sweetest blushing faces he’d ever seen.
As they walked outside, and Alfred went to work of hailing a cab, Francis stood beside him. “I would very much like for you to come back to my room with me. So that we may ‘catch up’, of course.”
Alfred blinked at him, and then grinned. “Cool, okay.”
It must have been a long time since Alfred had spent time with anyone other than Matthew, and perhaps Kiku. Having a house visitor must have been very nice for Alfred to hear. And Francis so hoped it would be a successful visit. His caring for the boy aside, it had been far too long since Francis had slept with anyone.
The cab ride, too, was spent in relative silence. Alfred seemed exhausted, despite the early time of the evening, and Francis decided that Matthew had not been exaggerating when explaining his brother’s work ethic. As carefree as the boy could present, as silly he could be at meetings, at the end of the day, he did take his work seriously. And the tension in the slope of his neck was testament to those long hours of work.
They walked together through Francis’ hotel lobby, waited for the elevator. Alfred whistled absently to himself, rocking back and forth on his heels, in an attempt to keep himself peppy. Francis gave him a small smile, which Alfred cheerfully returned. But Francis could see the faults and fault lines in that smile, see the way that Alfred was trying to show Francis just how fine he was. He obviously had not forgotten their conversation earlier in the day. Francis, as always, remained unconvinced. But it seemed that that was also something that escaped Alfred’s notice.
Francis pulled his cardkey from his pocket once they reached Francis’ hotel room, and slipped it into the lock, waiting for the tell-tale buzz of the lock coming undone. He opened the door, and it swept inward, revealing the orderly hotel room within. The room service had come through while he’d been away at the world meetings, and the room was made-up and appeared completely unlived in. Francis’ bags were tucked away into the closet, and there was a mint on the pillow.
The mint was obviously the first thing Alfred spotted, and he bounded across the hotel room and hopped onto the bed, scooping the mint up and unwrapping it. He grinned at Francis as he popped the mint into his mouth.
Francis closed the door behind him and loosened his tie.
“Now,” Francis said, calmly, removing his jacket and hanging it up in the closet, his back to Alfred. When he turned around again, Alfred had his full attention on Francis. “Now,” Francis repeated, as he, too, sat down on the bed, holding Alfred’s gaze calmly, “we are completely alone, mon cher, and you do not have to put on such a strong front.”
“Huh?” Alfred asked, feigning confusion.
Francis, however, was completely patient. He was used to waiting around for people to realize what they wanted, and Alfred was no different. Alfred was not nearly as bad as he was as a child. As a child, Alfred would be tight-lipped, refusing to speak unless it was to Arthur, and very rarely would divulge any hidden secret to Francis. It was not until Alfred’s revolution that the boy opened up to Francis more, and their relations with one another had remained around the same, with minute changes, as well as the inevitable change of modernity, throughout the years.
“Mon cher,” Francis said again, “Surely you do not think me so oblivious as to think you have recovered since this morning. You, as I may recall, were slumped rather somberly against the wall earlier today.”
He leaned forward, and placed his hand on Alfred’s knee. Alfred, as always, did not seem to notice the intimacy of such a gesture, because he was doing his best to give Francis a blank expression as he processed his words.
“I know that it must be beyond simply working hard-yes, Mathieu told me of your hard work, lately,” Francis said, before Alfred could protest. “You are not overflowing with such sunny humour as you normally are. Your brother has noticed, Arthur has undoubtedly noticed, and I, as well, have noticed.”
Alfred blinked at him, and seemed to retreat, as was often his approach when he felt cornered. “I’m not-”
“I do not ask out of any reason to make light of your achievements, Alfred,” Francis said, quite seriously, “Nor to pity you, nor to laugh at your expense. I… we are concerned for you.”
Alfred blinked some more, and then turned his face away, his cheeks turning pink. It was a bit like how Arthur reacted, sometimes, and truly Alfred came by his personality honestly. Francis often lamented the adverse effects Arthur’s upbringing had on such a beautiful boy as Alfred, though he said this mostly in jest (and because there was nothing that got Arthur riled up more than eluding to British America).
“You got no reason to be,” Alfred muttered, cheeks pink.
Francis smiled. “And why not, mon cher? It is natural to worry over someone for whom you share affection, n’est pas?”
Alfred scrunched his face up, lips pursed like a fish’s. His face seemed to grow steadily redder. Underneath it all, Alfred did not seem to do well with affection. Attention, he could handle. Praise, too. But affection, legitimate concern, was something the boy was not used to. For a moment, Francis’ heart ached.
He reached out his hand, and cupped Alfred’s cheek, turning his face back towards Francis’. “Alfred,” he said, calmly, offering him what he believed to be a comforting smile, “You may tell me whatever you wish, and I will merely listen. I will not hold anything you say against you, nor belittle you for anything you want to, how is it you say it-get something off your chest.”
Alfred opened his mouth, and then closed it. He lowered his eyes, tilted his face in a way that the light reflected up onto his glasses, hiding his eyes completely. Francis knew to be patient, though, and even stroked his thumb along Alfred’s cheekbone. It was very slight, but he saw the way Alfred shivered at the touch-poor, beautiful boy, so lovely, and so unused to being touched.
“It’s stupid,” Alfred finally said.
Francis’ eyes twinkled. Ah, progress.
“I will be the judge of that,” Francis reminded.
Alfred nodded, and Francis pulled his hand away from Alfred’s face, pulling himself closer to Alfred and letting his hand rest on Alfred’s hip. Alfred, shifted, tugged at the shoelaces of his dress shoes, as if he wanted to pull them off but also not quite taking that step.
“I just… I always work really hard and it never feels like I do anything. Shit just gets worse. I make leeway in one thing, then I gotta focus on other stuff. No matter what I do, I feel like I’m in a hole and I can’t get out,” Alfred said, suddenly, and seemed rather taken aback when the words tumbled from his mouth-and how easily they tumbled.
“Go on,” Francis urged.
“I work and I work and I don’t get any thanks from the people I work with and for, and I don’t get any thanks from other nations and I… I dunno. I shouldn’t complain cause I’m a hero and heroes don’t complain and I take this stuff on for myself because that’s what heroes do, but… you know. I’m just working myself to the point where I can’t even do anything fun anymore.”
“You are stressed, it’s true,” Francis agreed, the hand on Alfred’s hip sliding to his back, and up, feeling the tension in the smooth arch of Alfred’s back. “You are tense. You have not relaxed in a very long time, mon cher.”
Alfred nodded, absently. Francis kneaded at Alfred’s back, and watched the boy slump, relaxing against his touch. He glanced up at Francis, and the older nation offered the young boy a smile, pressing his fingers into the flesh of Alfred’s back, through his bomber jacket, his suit jacket, his dress shirt, his undershirt… so many layers. Francis just wanted to peel them all way right that moment, but Alfred was delicate. He needed to approach him calmly, and then they could both get to something they would enjoy.
“And it’s hard to just keep being cheerful,” Alfred continued. “I mean. It’s not that I’m unhappy… I’m just tired. It takes energy. And no matter what I do, I get criticized.”
“You,” Francis said again, “need to relax.”
He placed a second hand on Alfred’s back, shifted so that he was behind him, kneading at his back, massaging weak muscles.
Alfred’s head sank forward, exposing the curve of his neck. Such delicate skin and bones. Francis wanted to lean forward and kiss at the skin. But, patience. Patience was key.
Francis’ hands snuck around Alfred’s front, pulling his jacket from his body. Alfred let him, and Francis adjusted Alfred’s lapels once he’d tossed the old bomber jacket aside. His hands settled back down onto Alfred’s shoulders, fingers brushing along Alfred’s neck.
“Anything else, Alfred?” Francis asked, purred into his ear.
Alfred stared at the wall opposite him, his face pink. “Um,” he said. He shifted. “Not really. I said it was dumb.”
“It is not,” Francis defended. He squeezed Alfred’s shoulders. “There is no shame in wanting acknowledgment. Even if I will not pretend you are unworthy of criticism, mon cher, you have done good things. You have done many things, and every nation knows the feeling of working so hard and feeling nothing come of it.”
“Yeah,” Alfred agreed, softly, slumping further.
“You are having a tough time,” Francis agreed, and leaned forward, so that his body pressed up against Alfred. “And for that, you do have my sympathy.”
“Thanks,” Alfred said quietly.
“And,” Francis continued. “I have a suggestion, for how to… relax. You are so tense, mon lapin.”
“What is it?” Alfred asked, twisting around to look at Francis.
“Let us sleep together,” Francis said primly.