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“Come on! You must go to this wedding, mon ami!” Francis urged Arthur. The posh Brit pushed him off and then proceeded to straighten his blazer.
“For the last time, frog. No! Can’t you just leave me be?”
“Of course not, cher. You must come! There are going to be beautiful women and gorgeous gentlemen. You are simply going to adore it! Arthur sighed and scowled, wanting to rid himself of that stupid man.
“For the las-” Francis interrupted.
“I even bought you the loveliest suit. It certainly brings out your adorable angry eyes, chérie.”
“Alright, alright! Enough! I’ll go to the bloody wedding if it will shut your pathetic mouth!” Arthur scolded, storming into his kitchen to make himself some tea. He pulled out his Tardis mug and selected a bag of fine Earl Grey.
“Do you have any wine, black sheep of Europe? I am parched from the long journey over here.” The Frenchman fanned himself before making a move to tie his curly golden locks up with a silky piece of red ribbon.
“I told you not to call me that, frog face.”
Francis sighed loudly and dramatically, cuddling his old friend, “Such a lovely pet name you have for moi. One full of love, is expected, non? Our love is so perfect.”
“You only live two bloody blocks away, it is not so long to travel, you pig.” Nevertheless, the Briton began searching for one of the few bottles of French wine that the blonde-haired nuisance had left here or had given to Arthur as a gift.
Once he had found one, a red Château Gruaud-Larose, he poured it into one of Francis’ stupid crystal wine glasses (another gift and insult to his lack of fancy dishes (not counting teacups)) and brought it into the complaining Frenchman.
“Ahhhh! Merci, mon ami!” He took a delicate sip, sighing widely and gracefully.
After watching this, Arthur had came to multiple conclusions about his so-called friend, however, one in particular stuck out, “You are quite the peculiar moron, aren’t you?”
Francis pouted, “How rude, cher. Someone ought to teach you some niceties.”
“Someone ought to teach you some manners.” Arthur grumbled before taking a sip of his tea.
“Moi? Chérie, you wound me so. You are so mean.”
“If you are so offended and wounded by my words, then why don’t you chose some other place to sip your pansy juice?”
“Pansy juice? This is the drink of royalty! Kings and Queens partake of this magnificent drink. Much better than that dishwater you call tea.”
“How dare you sir!”
“Darling, I hate it when we fight. Let’s not today, oui?” Arthur rolled his eyes and sighed.
“Very well. Now leave. I do not want to see you until this blasted wedding.”
“Of course, petit lapin. Au revoir!” With that, Francis swept himself out of the room.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Arthur stood in front of his mirror, adjusting the tie of his grey suit. He didn’t even try with his hair, because really? Why bother?
“Darling!” He groaned as Francis’ voice rang through his tiny flat.
Francis had his golden blonde hair tied up with a silky purple ribbon, allowing the ponytail to fall in small, graceful ringlets down his back. His outfit was nothing shy of fabulous, a black tuxedo with a purple bowtie and vest to match.
Arthur rolled his eyes, “Let’s just go, frog.”
The two sat comfortably in the car, bickering, until they pulled into the parking lot of the location of the wedding, a glorious church. The reception was to be held outside of the church because of the beautiful weather, but that was beside the point.
“We’re late, you bloody animal.” Arthur grumbled as they both stepped out of the car.
“You say late, I prefer fashionably arriving in a style in which I can make a proper entrance.”
‘Unbelievable. You’re never going to find someone to put up with you for the remainder of your life, I can tell you that much.”
“Nonsense. If all else fails, I still have you, darling.” He winked, leading the scowling Brit into the church.
They walked in, moments before the wedding actually began and sat in the back, silently arguing to not disturb anyone else.
Yada yada yada, beautiful wedding, blah blah blah.
Now to the reception.
“Mon ami, I’m going to go fetch a drink. Try not to get into much trouble.” The Frenchman waved flirtatiously.
“I could say the same about you, frog.” Arthur replied, crossing his right leg over his left, picking up his butter knife and playing with it.
He was bored to say the least. Weddings were never his forte exactly and having to be stuck at one alone was obviously the last thing he wanted.
Finally he dropped the butterknife on the table and sighed loudly, grabbing his napkin and making it talk out of sheer boredom, having it transform into figures, just anything to entertain him.
“Well, howdy there stranger. Do ya mind if I sit here?” Arthur set the napkin back onto the the table and glance up at the tall, handsome American man.
He had on a black suit, perfectly matched with a straight, powdery blue tie. On his nose, he balanced a pair of rectangular glasses, that magnified his crystal blue eyes perfectly.
“Be my guest.” Arthur mumbled, examining the man before him.
The man was the stereotype of a military man with more of a laid back personality, so it appears. Except his hair would not be suitable in battle. It was all over the place, ish, and golden blonde with one semi-annoying strand of hair poking out. Needless to say that it outlined his sun-kissed face perfectly.
His muscles ripped out of his suit, which pulled tightly in all the right areas, resting against his body amazingly, making Arthur nearly moan from the sight of him.
He looked a decent man, one who could definitely provide all the basic needs to any man or woman.
Well, that’s what his character description read. For all Arthur knew, this man could be a rapist or a mass murderer.
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to let this stranger sit next to him…..
“So, what’s your name, cutie?” The stranger asked with a little wink, interrupting his thought process.
Arthur was taken back, “E-excuse me?” He stuttered.
“Why I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were a ladies’ man. I’ll be takin’ my leave now, sweet thing.” He began to stand up and leaven when Arthur stopped him, reaching up to touch the strangers forearm.
“I never said that.” He heard himself say, causing the man to sit back down with a smirk and lean closer to Arthur so that their faces were inches apart. “But, I have a strict rule. Never hook up at weddings.”
“I hear ya. Great rule. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little unadulterated fun.”
“And what do you mean by that, sir?” This peeked Arthur’s curiosity, more than anything had in a long while. At the moment, he was desperate for anything fun, and anything this man had to offer had to be decent. More so than sitting here, waiting for Francis to be finished with his latest conquest.
A permanent grin plastered itself onto his companion’s face, “Sweet talk the bar wench into handin’ over a bottle of bourbon and take shelter in the pews of the church. Whaddya say?” He winked, leaning on his fist. His blue eyes bore into Arthur, making him shiver from the attention.
“A good Rum would be nice, but that doesn’t sound too bad. Would you care to do the honours?” Why not? Arthur was feeling a little rebellious.
“Gladly.” With that, the man stood up and held out his hand. Arthur gingerly took it, not thinking about the situation he was thrusting himself into, and followed the man over to the bar.
After a more or less successful gaining of a bottle of scotch, the two quickly made their way into the church, laughing uncontrollably.
“What shall we do next?” Arthur asked as he fell into the pew. The incredibly handsome and fun stanger poured him a generous amount of scotch and handed Arthur the crystal glass.
“Whatever we want.” The other admitted, downing his glass and slowly filling it once again.
Arthur hummed.
“Now. A toast. To have some fun at such a lame ass event.”Arthur raised his glass and tapped it against the other’s, draining it. He then proceeded to burst into a coughing fit after the fact from the hard alcohol. “I just realized that in the brief moments we have known each other, I haven’t learned your name.”
“Oh and you wouldn’t want to know it either. It’s dreadfully awful.” Arthur spoke, embarrassed by his coughing fit.
“Oh come on! It can’t be that bad.”
“It truly is, I assure you.”
“Fine. If I ain’t gonna get your first name, I’ll have to make do with the middle. Tell me your middle name, gorgeous.” His sapphire eyes gleamed with determination, piercing through Arthur’s self-made shield and causing shivers to shake it body. Arthur blushed slightly.
“But my middle name is worst than my first!” He sighed as the stranger refused to break eye contact or let up on the idea of learning Arthur’s middle name. “Very well, if you want to know mine, I must know yours first.” Now Arthur was just being difficult. The stranger just gave a long, hearty laugh, throwing his head back and allowing the melodious sound escape through his lips and ring throughout the room.
“You sure are something.” He hummed, his eyes twinkling. “A’ight stranger. My middle name is Freedom. Now tell me yours.” His smirk returned to his charming face after the careless reveal.
“Freedom? Really?” Arthur was a bit hesitant at accepting that as an answer.
“That’s mah name.”
“Alright… Well…” He took a short breath, “Ignatius.” He was embarrassed by the complicated and foolish name. Arthur had never prefered to tell people what the ‘I’ after the ‘Arthur’ and before the ‘Kirkland’ stood for. He always bluffed, insisting that it stood for Irving or Ian. but never Ignatius.
“Ignatius. Means fiery one.” the man spoke with passionate flames dancing in his eyes.
“Something like that.” Arthur mumbled.
“I like it. The name suits you. But to make it easier, I’ll call ya Iggy.” Arthur arched one of his massive eyebrows, staring at the man with confusion in his eyes. The stranger chuckled, “Iggybrows!”
“If you even think about calling me that again, I will leave instantly.”
“Heh heh, okay okay. I can still call ya Iggy, right?”
“I suppose. Just don’t get too carried away.” The stranger smiled widely.
“Great! And you can call me the Hero!”
Arthur scoffed, “Freedom and Heros? What is with you?”
“My dad fought and died for freedom in every war he could. My ma named me Freedom after what he died fighting for. I joined the airforce ‘cause I wanted to be a hero like him, but unfortunately I got discharged for an injury and I haven’t been flying since.” His eyes sparkled with pride and wonder, causing Arthur to slowly, but surely, fall in love with this immature, childish, yet passionate stranger.
Of course, that was not all he loved about the stranger, but I don’t have enough paper to go on about the marvellous void in Arthur’s mind. And, of course, the fact that Arthur couldn’t speak these thoughts out loud.
“Oh.”
“Sorry ‘bout that, Iggy. Didn’t mean to drop all that emotional shit on ya.”
“Oh no, it’s quite alright. Nevertheless, I have decided to call you Little Hero.” The hero laughed.
“I can deal with that. Speak of which, how old are you? ‘Cause if I’m older, you should be callin’ me Hero.” When he smiled, Arthur noticed that he had absolutely perfect teeth. No joke. How odd, yet completely enchanting.
“Tell me your age first.”
“I don’t know how this relationship is going to work out if we keep on like this.” The hero ran his long fingers through his hair, looking at the ceiling thoughtfully.
“Why bother?” We are most likely never going to meet again.”
“Well then, I’ll have all these great memories and information on this adorable stranger I met at a wedding I was forced to go to. Let’s live for tonight.”
“Alright.” Arthur breathed, flushing bright red. The hero grasped his hand, smiling a wickedly deviant smile.
This was going to be a long night.
___________________________________________________________________________
Arthur let out a large and cheerful laugh as he played one of his favourite ragtime tunes, a fast and upbeat tune, while the hero danced wildly with a straw broom that he found in the priest's closet.
After learning that Arthur had a gift for dancing on the ivories, the hero begged, pleaded for him to fill the quiet and bleak Catholic church with music.
“Iggy, why don’t you join me? Dance with me, baby.” He winked, dropping the broom into one of the sunk-down light wooden seats and holding his hand out the the large-browed man.
Arthur shook his head, switching the tune up a bit and sticking out his tongue, “No way, darling! If I dance, the music stops and we have nothing to dance to. So it would be completely pointless.” He smiled widely, continuing on with his mad mood.
“Nonsense!” The hero pulled Arthur up off the piano bench and yanked him close. He placed one hand on Arthur’s waist and the other clutched Arthur’s small hand.
The pair started slowly, moving with each other, the world around them lost in that moment.
“This is odd. There’s no music.” Arthur pointed out, allowing the Patriotic American to lead.
“Then I’ll make music!” Without warning, he proceeded to rap some horrid tune that made Arthur want to sic the Beetles on him.
“Stop! Stop! Stoooop! Nooooooooooo! You’re awful!”
“Fiiiiiiine.” With that, he halted the awful attempt-rap and started humming something soft and soothing.
Arthur blushed and looked away, considering resting his head on the hero’s shoulder.
The two danced quietly, not speaking or moving. Arthur was way too proud to let his guard down and show his unwanted emotions, instead looking around at everything else but his hero. Every once in awhile, he would “subtly” glance at the Hero, trying to guess his name, but it was a subtle thing, nothing more.
Suddenly his companion stopped humming and looked concerned, “What’s wrong? I didn’t do anything to upset you, did I?”
Arthur shook his head, “No, of course not. I was just…” He trailed off as the hero leaned in closer, his lips hovering near the other’s. “Little hero, I’m not going to kiss you.”
“You don’t have to kiss me, I’ll just kiss you.” Arthur pulled back, shaking his head. To be honest, they were both probably feeling pretty disappointed (Arthur at himself, and the hero at the situation).
“You may call me a sap, but I don’t want this spell to break. I don’t want reality to set in just yet, can’t we enjoy this, just for a little bit longer?” He rambled.
The hero looked down, his face falling.
“Alright. I understand.” Things were silent between the two of them when Arthur’s phone began to ring. It was Francis’ ringtone (self set, mind you) which was “Francis” by Coeur de Pirate.
“Hello?” Arthur asked into the phone, glancing at his hero, who was now silently pacing and constantly looking up to stare over in Arthur’s direction.
“Arthur! Mon cher! Where have you dis -hic!- appeared to? We should leave, it’s much too late and I fe- hic!- ll asleep. Come and get me or I will come find you~” The frog mumbled seductively. Arthur scowled.
“Right. I’ll be right there.”
“Fabulous!” With another hiccup, Francis hung up. Arthur set his phone on the piano, taking his finger and thumb and massaging his forming headache.
“Well, I-” The hero cut him off, pressing his lips firmly to Arthur’s.
“Screw it. Just damn it all to hell. I probably ain’t going to see you ever again, but I will never ever forget you.” He breathed against the other’s lips, gripping his waist tightly.
“That was..” Arthur was stopped once again by this handsome stranger.
“Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Alfred F. Jones, at your service.” He winked, lifting Arthur’s small hand to his lips and kissing it softly.
“Arthur Ignatius Kirkland. It’s a pleasure.”
“My Prince Arthur.”
They stood in silence, smiling at each other. So this is what love was? Or at least the beginning of it.
“I should really be going. Francis will go bloody mad if I leave him for too long.” Arthur finally spoke, breaking the beautiful silence.
Alfred’s face fell a bit, yet he still smiled at his Arthur (self declared, mind you).
“Oh okay, I mean, like, if you have to. I just, ahh, well, shit.” He trailed off, unable to come up with an intelligent statement. Arthur smiled and rested his palm on Alfred’s cheek, leaning closer and staring into the taller man’s gorgeous eyes.
“I really enjoyed tonight. It’s a shame it had to end, but I am grateful for your company.” Alfred remained silent, his eyes boring into Arthur’s green grass eyes. “Very well, goodbye, little hero.”
He pulled his hand away from Alfred’s face slowly and began walking away, grabbing the door handle and unleashing the cool night air.
“Arthur, I’ve fallen for you.” Arthur froze, hearing his hero’s voice break the silence. He stopped and turned around to see Al walking over to him.
“That’s absurd.” He lied. He’d done the same, “You hardly know me.”
“Does it matter? Give me your number, or take mine. Just so you can call me, only if you want to. And if you ain’t feelin’ it, then just say so. All I’m asking for is a chance. Let me show ya. ‘Cause I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up.”
Arthur’s breath hitched in his throat, causing him to lose every thought that chose to invade his mind, “I... I... Oh..” He stopped and breathed deeply, dropping his face in his hands and answering, “I can’t believe you would use such a damn line.”
Alfred laughed, pushing Arthur’s hands away from his face and embracing him in a breathtaking hug. “God Arthur, I think I might be in love with you.”
This is ignored as Arthur pulled out of the strong man’s grasp, “I honestly have to go. Do you want my number or not, git?” His face flushed once he realised that Alfred was gazing at him, a small smile brightening his handsome features. “What? Seriously, what? Have I got something on my face?”
“No. But I’m gonna kiss you.” Alfred, once again and without warning, crashed his lips to Arthur’s, holding him tightly around his waist.
“Alfr-” He tried to break away, but his hero’s arms clutched him tightly, pushing his body into Arthur and making the two hit the middle threshold.
They kissed passionately, hands gripping desperately. Alfred was breathing deeply out of his nose, the hot breath brushing against Arthur’s face, warming him in the cold night.
“Arthur! Mon ami! Ma cherié, mon tout, mon, er… I forgot honhonhon! I have found you!” The two jumped apart, Alfred’s hands still resting firmly against Arthur’s face.
The Brit groaned, pulling away from Alfred, “I guess I must depart.” He looked at the stumbling drunk who was most likely poisoned with something. “Francis, did you find the car? You did not attempt to drive, did you?”
“Of course not, ma cher. Do you think me a great fool?” He slurred. He then turned to blink at Alfred, “Ohonhon. I see you’ve been quite busy. So this is why you chose to abandon moi? Mon bébé, je suis si fier de toi! Quand est le mariage?”
”I don't understand you. Why don't we get you home, or at least to mine so you can sleep off your alcoholic future.”
“I’m sleepy. Carry me, mon cherié.” Francis rested his cheek on the back of Arthur’s head.
“Carry yourself, you frog.”
“Je T'aime darling.” Arthur glanced back at Alfred and sighed deeply, murmuring a gentle goodbye before dragging his drunk friend to the car.
Now you may think that this is a sad ending for the two lovers. However, remember, or at least cease to forget, where an important piece of technology was left and to whom it belongs to.
Arthur somehow managed to haul the drunk Frenchman to the couch and cover him in a blanket, without any incident. Hell, he even managed to take off the uncomfortable clothing and shoes that Francis wore, throwing them in Arthur’s chair before making his way to his own room.
He stripped out of the suit jacket, setting it gently on the bed. He peeled off the shirt and everything else while stepping out of his trousers.
Arthur was utterly exhausted, and when it came time to search for his phone, well, let’s just say that his desk took the beatings from his tantrum.
He irritatedly made his way down the stairs, hoping to find it, or in any case, steal Francis’ phone to call it.
After tearing apart his living room and car, he decided to grab the Frog’s phone.
However, he was not expecting it to ring. The ringtone was ‘Prince Arthur’ by Coeur De Pirate, which was Arthur’s ringtone. Damn that French froggy wanker.
“Hello?” Arthur whispered, moving away from Francis so that he wouldn’t wake the frog up, although hilarious as that would be.
“Hi! This is Alfred F Jones and I am currently in possession of Arthur’s phone. This is Francis, yeah?” The loud, booming voice on the line made the more than tired Englishman jump.
“Alfred!”
“Oh! Hiya Artie!” You left your phone.” Arthur rolled his eyes.
“I noticed. Tomorrow can we meet somewhere so I can get my cell phone back?”
“No can do, babydoll.”
“What are you implying sir??”
“Look outcha window.” He ran over to his window, not even caring about waking up Francis anymore, and threw open the blinds.
Alfred leaned against a blue pickup truck, his legs crossed and Arthur’s phone next to his ear.
“You….” Arthur dropped the phone and ran out the door, nearly slamming himself into Alfred’s arms.
“It’s only been an hour and I missed you so much.” Al murmured, burying his nose in arthur’s neck. The two stayed that way for a while, embracing in the night air, holding each other as if the other would disappear if their grips would loosen even a bit.
And the Arthur pushed him away.
“You git!”
“What! I didn’t do it!”
“God, you made me fall for you!” He mumbled, shaking his head slightly.
Alfred smirked, “Oh yeah, that I did do.”
Arthur ignores his sentence, burying his head in Alfred’s chest, taking in his scent, “Would you like to come in?”
“I don’t know. I think you got something with that drunk Frenchman. Is he gonna be mad that I’m stealing his boyfriend?” Arthur slapped his hero, making a grumpy face.
“Shut up. Do you want to come in or not?” Alfred nodded. With that, Arthur snatched his phone out of his grip and stormed into the flat, tugging his hero after him.
The two made their way to the door, hands intertwined. As soon as they both stepped inside, they disappeared, the door shutting firmly behind them.