England x Reader: Goodnight Kiss 1/3

“Uh-oh...”

“What is it, mon ami?”

“Uh...” You looked down at the ground, embarrassed for him. You weren’t sure you wanted to tell him, but you did anyway, “You...seem to have sat in some gum...”

“Qua?” Francis twisted to try and get a view of his backside, but couldn’t quite get a good look.

Urgh, this is awkward. You were actually quite surprised at how calm he was. You would have thought he’d be scandalized that his clothing had been soiled. Not wanting to force him to walk around all day with gum stuck to his butt, you said, “You know what, I don’t live too far away, and I’m pretty sure we could get that cleaned up and still make it back in time.”

He flashed you a radiant smile, “Merci. Whatever would I do wizout you?”

“Probably be forever tagged with the name ‘Bubble-butt.’” You glanced at the people around them and said, “I’ll walk behind you so no one sees.” You took his shoulders and started pushing him in the direction of your house, “Let’s hurry though. I don’t want to miss this.”

He was still smiling pleasantly, but he didn’t say anything as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and continued to walk, his long legs making those long, swinging strides you’d never been able to keep up with.

His obvious pleasure in finding out where you lived suddenly made you kick yourself. What in the world am I doing? Who knows what weird things he’ll start doing if he knows where I live? But you had only been a couple of blocks away to begin with, and before you could change your mind you were already at the front door. He leaned against the wall as you fumbled with your keys nervously, cursing your clumsiness and considering just leaving him outside just for standing there and smiling at you the way he was.

Finally you got the door open and he followed you inside, closing the door behind himself. Before he could take a step into your house, you threw your arms up to block him, “You are restricted to exactly two rooms: the kitchen and the bathroom.”

Then you turned to walk into the kitchen to grab the dawn soap. While you were rummaging under the kitchen sink for it, you said, “I’ll lend you some sweatpants,” you found the bottle and turned on your knees to find him right behind you, “and you can change in the—WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” you shrieked, falling back on your butt and dropping the bottle. Francis had undone his belt and was in the process of unzipping as he smirked down at you, “Oh, amor, zere iz no need for you to be like zat. We are alone, after all.”

You squeaked and clapped your hands over your eyes, not knowing what else to do. He chuckled as he stripped and set the pants and the dawn soap on the counter. You cautiously peeked out at him from behind your fingers when you heard him take a seat at the kitchen table and were scarred with the image of him reclining on a kitchen chair with his French-flag-sock-clad feet propped up on the table and his head propped up with one hand. He smirked at your blushing face, “Enjoying ze view?”

You snatched the pants and the soap and turned your back to him, the image of his black briefs and long, naked legs forever burned into your retinas. You considered gouging your eyes out and washing them with dawn instead.

You managed to get the gum out without too much trouble, all the while a dark cloud of embarrassment continued to hover over you. Francis continued to watch you with his smiling face propped up.

At this point, he didn’t mind if you made it back in time or not. He didn’t even mind if the only thing he got tonight was the opportunity to watch you as you scrubbed at the kitchen sink. You really had no idea how truly adorable you were, or what a lovely figure you had. He watched the curve of your hips sway back and forth with the motion of your scrubbing, a secret, silent smile on his lips.

Presently, you held the pants up and nodded your satisfaction that the gum was out, “I think that should do it. I’ll just throw these in the dryer for a few minutes and then we can go.”

You had intended to make your escape into the hallway where the washer and dryer were while keeping your eyes carefully trained on the ceiling, but suddenly Francis had his arms around you from behind and he was nuzzling your neck, “Merci, mon petit,” he murmured in your ear.

You felt like you’d just been stuck with a cattle prod, and a shocked chill shivered from your toes all the way to the top of your head. The tickly hair of his legs were pressed to yours, and you found yourself wishing now that you had worn long pants instead of tights. You tried to shake him off, “What the heck are you doing?! Get off!”

But Francis wasn’t listening, and he simply chuckled under his breath and tightened his arms around you.

That was when the doorbell rang.

The unexpected interruption took Francis by surprise, which gave you the opportunity to break away and dash for the front door. Your hope of escaping halted like a slap in the face the moment you opened the front door. It was Arthur.

“Oh helllll–o...” You couldn’t even think of anything to say to him, but now your heart was pounding even harder.

“Well, lovely to see you too,” he smirked slightly, “Sorry for dropping by unannounced,” he suddenly smiled nervously, “Are you busy tonight?”

“What?” you felt breathless. You hoped your face wasn’t too red.

“Well, I mean, there’s a festival going on in the park, and I was thinking that it would be more fun if I went with–” he stopped abruptly and his eyes focused sharply on something behind you, an angry squall suddenly darkening his face.

You already knew what was wrong before you even turned around. Francis stood in the hallway, still in his underwear and grinning triumphantly at Arthur.

You squeaked again and suddenly jumped to hide behind Arthur, “Will you put your pants on already?” You clung to the back of Arthur’s shirt and begged, “Please do something, he’s been tormenting me!”

Arthur was rigid and didn’t even look at you; partly because he was a bit awkward, but the other and more important reason was because his entire being was wild with jealousy. Why had you allowed this Frenchman into your home, and yet you had as of yet to invite him inside? Had Francis barged in on you and tried to attack you? Or worse, had you invited him in?

“Arthur?” You shook him slightly by his jacket, but he suddenly felt angry with you. What had you been doing with the frog anyway? Was this who you had been with all day? You’d told him you would be out shopping today. Had you lied? Were you embarrassed to tell him about some budding relationship between you and Francis? Or did you think he was too stupid to understand?

Arthur was trembling with fury now. What did he care? You were nothing but a silly little girl anyway. He didn’t care about the foolish affections of some gawky country girl. If you were stupid enough to fall for the tricks of that womanizing cheese-eater, fine. Francis could have you with his blessing.

By this point, you had crept out from behind Arthur - completely oblivious to Francis now - to peer up into his face, “Are you okay? Your face is a little red.” You reached to feel his forehead but Arthur immediately swatted your hand away, and suddenly he had plunged through your front door and thrown a sharp jab to the Frenchman’s face, giving him a bloody nose.

You watched, stunned, as the two men rolled around just inside the door, punching, biting, kicking, swearing, and pulling one another’s hair. You finally shook yourself out of your shock and dove in after them to try and break up the fight, only succeeding when you got caught in the scuffle and were knocked back into the wall where you bumped your head and cried out more from surprise than pain.

Both men ceased fighting immediately at your cry. Francis looked guilty, but Arthur looked positively stricken. The thought that something he had done - that anything he had done - might have hurt you tore at his insides. To make matters worse, Francis cut him off just as he was saying, “________! I’m so--” and took your hands and said, “Merde! Je suis desole, ________! All you alright?”

“I’m fine, you twit!” You growled, getting to your feet, “Okay, that’s enough. Francis, go put your pants back on before I cut off your favorite appendage.”

Francis blanched.

“And Arthur,” you turned to him to deliver another helping of your wrath, but you softened when you noticed that he’d sustained a well-aimed blow to his eye, which even now was beginning to darken and swell. Your voice softened as you extended a hand to him, “Come with me.”

Arthur looked up at you uncertainly, feeling increasingly ridiculous for letting his temper get the better of him, but took your hand and reluctantly followed you. The three of you assembled in the kitchen, but when it only took a few seconds before the two men were slinging insults again, you told Arthur to go sit in the living room and wait.

In the kitchen, Francis (at last wearing his pants again) washed his bloody nose in the sink. You briefly looked at it and concluded that it wasn’t broken and that he would be fine before returning to the makeshift ice pack you were assembling out of a frozen bag of peas and a dish towel.

“Okay, now just sit in here for a minute and cool off. I’m going to go check on Arthur.”

Arthur was sitting uncomfortably on your sofa with his hands between his knees. It was obvious that he wanted nothing more than to leave, but for whatever reason he had chosen to stay for the time being. He glanced at you when you came into the room, but didn’t raise his head and quickly returned his gaze to his shoes.

You stood and watched him for a moment, trying to calm your fluttering heart before you went over to him. Even when you stood right in front of him he didn’t raise his head to look at you. He didn’t dare to, for fear that you might see what he had kept so carefully hidden all this time.

When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to look at you, you sighed and knelt in front of him, crossing your arms over his knees and looking up into his face. The slightly pink dusting on his cheeks darkened, and he avoided your eyes.

You reached up and pushed the hair away from his eye where it had definitely begun to swell and brought the ice pack up to it. Arthur winced slightly, but he finally met your eye when you did this and mumbled, “I’m sorry for behaving like that in your home. You know how I get around that bloody frog.”

The ghost of a smile hinted around the corners of your mouth, “What I’m curious about is what exactly set you off like that.”

Something in Arthur’s eyes hardened and he looked away again, “It’s nothing.”

“Liar.”

Arthur said nothing.

You sighed and patted his knee, getting to your feet again and then taking a seat next to him on the sofa and dropping your head back. He kept the ice pack applied to his eye and leaned back on the couch to do the same.

After a few more moments of silence, you said, “Wanna know a secret?”

“Hm?” He turned his head slightly so he could see your eyes.

“Whatever it was that made you snap like that, the way you went all gung-ho on Francis like that was...pretty hot.”

Your eyes met briefly, and you looked away quickly. Arthur stared at you. You always made him think one thing about how you felt, but then you would turn around and make comments like that that would leave him puzzling over them for days.

There were so many moments your eyes would meet or there was some subtle touch or teasing words between you that left him more and more confused each time of how you felt about him.

What was he supposed to make of this comment now? Were you implying that you genuinely found him attractive, or had you just been trying to make him laugh?

He suddenly wondered what you would do if he held your hand. Glancing down, he could see it was only a few inches from his own, and his fingers itched to reach out and touch you.

He never got around to working up the courage to try, however, because it was at that exact moment that Francis came into the room and caught a fleeting glimpse of Arthur staring at you and you looking away blushing before you both looked up at him. It had been as quick as a flash of lightning, but Francis had seen all of what he had begun to suspect for some time now.

You seemed somehow put out and yet relieved at the same time, “I thought I told you to wait in the kitchen.”

“Oui, but we are missing ze festival!” Even as he spoke, Francis was concocting up a new scheme as he took in the two nervous young people and smiled to himself. He knew all too well what was going on, and he also knew that if he played his cards right, he could ensure that it was him and not Arthur whom you would fall for.

“Oh, that’s right!” You jumped to your feet, “I completely forgot. Let’s hurry over there.” You grabbed Arthur’s hand, sending tingles shooting up his arm, “Come on, we can all go together.”

“I’ll pass.” Arthur glared at the Frenchman, who returned the glare with a smirk.

“Well you can’t just stay here by yourself.”

“I’ll go home, then.”

“That’s not what I meant, you dunce. I meant you can’t just bum around doing nothing all night. Anyway, didn’t you come here to ask me to go with you in the first place?”

Arthur’s cheeks burned with furious embarrassment, “I’ve suddenly lost my taste for it. All this smell of wine and cheese has put me off.” He stood, “I’m going home.”

He didn’t make it two steps before you had him by the ear, “You seem to have forgotten something, Artie dear,” you used the loathsome nickname he always refused to respond to, “You owe me.”

“I owe you?” He demanded incredulously.

“For the disgusting way you and Francis both behaved a few minutes ago in my home.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, silently, stubbornly refusing.

You suddenly let your face fall and you touched the back of your hair, “My head kind of hurts, you know.”

And with that, you had won. There was no argument to be had. They had both hurt you, and now they had to pay for it. When you could see in Arthur’s deflated features that you had won, you hurriedly grabbed his hand, threw your other arm through Francis’ elbow, and marched the boys out of your house toward the festival.