[Fanfic] In Our House Domestic Violence is Considered Foreplay
Title: In Our House Domestic Violence is Considered Foreplay
also known as: the reason Kelly should just stick with drawing comics.
Author/Artist: k3llyb3an
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Fruk; Arthur (England), Francis (France); Mentions of Alfred (America) and Mathew (Canada)
Rating: PG-13 should be good?
Warnings: Swearing... violence... allusions to sex... you know the usual from me, but now with more craptastic writing, craptastic characterization, and craptastic plot. :D
Summary: Arthur comes up with an idea to stay intimate with Francis while raising the twins, but the Frenchman will have nothing to do with it. God damn wanker.
In all his years, Arthur had never considered that that he would ever be in this situation.
"Francis, I'm not going to ask again."
"Non."
"Francis!" Arthur shouted, infuriated. He could feel the vein above his eye throbbing as he clenched his fist, "We have exactly 23 minutes and 17 seconds before the twins wake up from their nap-- less if Alfred has a nightmare.” He gestured towards the egg timer he’d set down on Francis’ end table. “I'll deal with whatever you feel like PMSing about afterward; now take off your fucking pants!"
The Frenchman frowned, "You told me that scheduling intimate time would "bring us closer together" and give us "that missing spark to our romance that we are lacking since we had kids." Francis brought his hands up to emphasize his points, using exaggerated air quotes.
Arthur's temple throbbed harder with each wiggling finger.
"Stop air quoting me! I did NOT say it like that! "
"You did too!" Francis shot back, "And you telling me to "take off my fucking pants" is not romantic," he folded his arms against his chest and pouted, "so I'm not in the mood."
"Do those god damn air quotes again and I'll break your fucking fingers!"
"Ohhh? Go on then." Francis smirked, lifting his hands up over his head, along with Arthur's ire.
"Break."
"My."
"Fucking."
"Fingers."
Oh THAT was IT.
Francis shrieked as Arthur barreled towards him and attempted to side step the attack and scramble to the other side of the room. Arthur anticipated the move and launched himself at Francis' legs causing both to crash to the floor.
"Get off of me!" Francis shouted reaching for the bed post to lift himself up, kicking his legs at Arthur wildly, "Non, means non!"
"I don't speak frog!" Arthur clung to Francis' legs tightly to avoid being kicked and tried to shimmy his way up to the French man's waist.
Grunting he made a grab for Francis's belt and tried to undo the clasp.
This was no longer simply about satisfying his sexual needs.
Oh no.
This was a matter of pride now.
He was Captain Arthur-motherfucking-Kirkland and those pants were coming off!
Francis thrashed his legs harder, managing to wrench one free and grinned when his designer sole connected sharply with Arthur's face. He laughed triumphantly and tried to scramble back to his feet while Arthur was temporarily disabled.
"Yeah we'll see if you’re still laughing when I shove my foot up your ass!" Arthur barked, grabbing Francis by the back of his dress shirt.
"Better that then your di--" Arthur violently pulled him back downwards, cutting him off before he could finish. He gasped as the fabric dug into his neck, his throat finding relief when the top button snapped off and clattered to the floor.
"You're destroying my good shirt!" Francis coughed, reaching for the button before it rolled any farther away. Arthur used the distraction to pin Francis to the ground and swung himself on top so he was sitting on Francis' chest, with his arms pinned behind his back.
"Oh stop acting like such a fucking bitch," Arthur spat, as he started to unbutton the rest of the silk shirt. He stopped abruptly; a shadow of a smile crossed his face.
"Don't you dare," Francis hissed, realizing Arthur's intent. "I mean it Arthur! Don't even think abo--"
KRRRRSSSSH!
Francis let out an anguished cry as the fabric of his shirt was torn open, buttons rolling all over the floor.
"Fucking asshole..." Francis muttered darkly struggling to free his arms from behind his back so he could throw Arthur off of him, but Englishman was impossible to move.
"That's the plan." Arthur grinned having finished undoing Francis' belt and the top button of his slacks. He leaned forward to initiate a kiss to shut the insufferable idiot up once and for all. That would be romantic enough, wouldn‘t it?
THWACK!
Suddenly he was forcefully struck in the head, disorienting him and knocking him off the other man entirely.
He moaned pitifully, clutching his forehead and was absolutely positive that it had been cracked open. He opened his watering eyes to see what had hit him, only to see Francis clutching his own head, rolling across the room away from him. "Did you seriously just head butt me, you wine bastard?!" Arthur stood up, checking his throbbing forehead in the mirror for blood.
"Auuuugh mon dieu," Francis groaned still sprawled out on the floor, "I thought your massive eyebrows would provide an adequate cushion for my forehead but apparently they’re just as useless as they are ugly!"
"I'm going to fucking kill you!" Francis' leg shot into Arthur's stomach when he approached, earning him a satisfying "Oof!" and sent the English man stumbling backwards into the dresser. Arthur stubbornly tried again, successfully avoiding Francis' flailing legs and eventually managed to grab hold of one. After tightening his grip around the wriggling ankle he dragged Francis across the floor and back towards the bed.
He ripped Francis' shoe off his foot and chucked it at him, only to have Francis catch it. He launched it back at Arthur, missing entirely and instead knocking the lamp off Arthur's end table with an unsettling crash. “God damn it, Francis watch what you're doing!"
Utilizing the distraction, Francis hooked his free leg around Arthur's foot, knocking him off balance and sending him crashing back to the floor.
“That… was… for… my… shirt...” Francis breathed heavily, smirking. Arthur leaned forward and prepared to launch his fist into Francis’ stomach, when suddenly the egg timer went off.
“God damn it...” He groaned, letting his head fall back onto the wood floor, in defeat.
also known as: the reason Kelly should just stick with drawing comics.
Author/Artist: k3llyb3an
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Fruk; Arthur (England), Francis (France); Mentions of Alfred (America) and Mathew (Canada)
Rating: PG-13 should be good?
Warnings: Swearing... violence... allusions to sex... you know the usual from me, but now with more craptastic writing, craptastic characterization, and craptastic plot. :D
Summary: Arthur comes up with an idea to stay intimate with Francis while raising the twins, but the Frenchman will have nothing to do with it. God damn wanker.
In all his years, Arthur had never considered that that he would ever be in this situation.
"Francis, I'm not going to ask again."
"Non."
"Francis!" Arthur shouted, infuriated. He could feel the vein above his eye throbbing as he clenched his fist, "We have exactly 23 minutes and 17 seconds before the twins wake up from their nap-- less if Alfred has a nightmare.” He gestured towards the egg timer he’d set down on Francis’ end table. “I'll deal with whatever you feel like PMSing about afterward; now take off your fucking pants!"
The Frenchman frowned, "You told me that scheduling intimate time would "bring us closer together" and give us "that missing spark to our romance that we are lacking since we had kids." Francis brought his hands up to emphasize his points, using exaggerated air quotes.
Arthur's temple throbbed harder with each wiggling finger.
"Stop air quoting me! I did NOT say it like that! "
"You did too!" Francis shot back, "And you telling me to "take off my fucking pants" is not romantic," he folded his arms against his chest and pouted, "so I'm not in the mood."
"Do those god damn air quotes again and I'll break your fucking fingers!"
"Ohhh? Go on then." Francis smirked, lifting his hands up over his head, along with Arthur's ire.
"Break."
"My."
"Fucking."
"Fingers."
Oh THAT was IT.
Francis shrieked as Arthur barreled towards him and attempted to side step the attack and scramble to the other side of the room. Arthur anticipated the move and launched himself at Francis' legs causing both to crash to the floor.
"Get off of me!" Francis shouted reaching for the bed post to lift himself up, kicking his legs at Arthur wildly, "Non, means non!"
"I don't speak frog!" Arthur clung to Francis' legs tightly to avoid being kicked and tried to shimmy his way up to the French man's waist.
Grunting he made a grab for Francis's belt and tried to undo the clasp.
This was no longer simply about satisfying his sexual needs.
Oh no.
This was a matter of pride now.
He was Captain Arthur-motherfucking-Kirkland and those pants were coming off!
Francis thrashed his legs harder, managing to wrench one free and grinned when his designer sole connected sharply with Arthur's face. He laughed triumphantly and tried to scramble back to his feet while Arthur was temporarily disabled.
"Yeah we'll see if you’re still laughing when I shove my foot up your ass!" Arthur barked, grabbing Francis by the back of his dress shirt.
"Better that then your di--" Arthur violently pulled him back downwards, cutting him off before he could finish. He gasped as the fabric dug into his neck, his throat finding relief when the top button snapped off and clattered to the floor.
"You're destroying my good shirt!" Francis coughed, reaching for the button before it rolled any farther away. Arthur used the distraction to pin Francis to the ground and swung himself on top so he was sitting on Francis' chest, with his arms pinned behind his back.
"Oh stop acting like such a fucking bitch," Arthur spat, as he started to unbutton the rest of the silk shirt. He stopped abruptly; a shadow of a smile crossed his face.
"Don't you dare," Francis hissed, realizing Arthur's intent. "I mean it Arthur! Don't even think abo--"
KRRRRSSSSH!
Francis let out an anguished cry as the fabric of his shirt was torn open, buttons rolling all over the floor.
"Fucking asshole..." Francis muttered darkly struggling to free his arms from behind his back so he could throw Arthur off of him, but Englishman was impossible to move.
"That's the plan." Arthur grinned having finished undoing Francis' belt and the top button of his slacks. He leaned forward to initiate a kiss to shut the insufferable idiot up once and for all. That would be romantic enough, wouldn‘t it?
THWACK!
Suddenly he was forcefully struck in the head, disorienting him and knocking him off the other man entirely.
He moaned pitifully, clutching his forehead and was absolutely positive that it had been cracked open. He opened his watering eyes to see what had hit him, only to see Francis clutching his own head, rolling across the room away from him. "Did you seriously just head butt me, you wine bastard?!" Arthur stood up, checking his throbbing forehead in the mirror for blood.
"Auuuugh mon dieu," Francis groaned still sprawled out on the floor, "I thought your massive eyebrows would provide an adequate cushion for my forehead but apparently they’re just as useless as they are ugly!"
"I'm going to fucking kill you!" Francis' leg shot into Arthur's stomach when he approached, earning him a satisfying "Oof!" and sent the English man stumbling backwards into the dresser. Arthur stubbornly tried again, successfully avoiding Francis' flailing legs and eventually managed to grab hold of one. After tightening his grip around the wriggling ankle he dragged Francis across the floor and back towards the bed.
He ripped Francis' shoe off his foot and chucked it at him, only to have Francis catch it. He launched it back at Arthur, missing entirely and instead knocking the lamp off Arthur's end table with an unsettling crash. “God damn it, Francis watch what you're doing!"
Utilizing the distraction, Francis hooked his free leg around Arthur's foot, knocking him off balance and sending him crashing back to the floor.
“That… was… for… my… shirt...” Francis breathed heavily, smirking. Arthur leaned forward and prepared to launch his fist into Francis’ stomach, when suddenly the egg timer went off.
“God damn it...” He groaned, letting his head fall back onto the wood floor, in defeat.