I am posting this in the hopes that it'll motivate me to write faster than a snail's pace. We shall see how it goes.
~~~
The first time Francis met Arthur, Francis was fourteen and Arthur was nine. Francis had knocked on the front door of his friend James' house and it had been opened by a scrappy, scowling little boy with messy hair and messier eyebrows. Francis had taken it in his stride – he'd been expecting the new arrival – and explained that James was waiting for him and asked if he could come in.
Arthur had given him a long, evaluating look, head to toe. Then he'd said 'fuck off' and slammed the door in Francis' face.
It was this first meeting that Francis thought back to immediately upon hearing that James had been summoned back home last minute for some babysitting. James then ensured that Francis would be coming with him before he leapt headfirst into ranting and raving.
“They couldn't ask Sean, could they? Oh, no!” James stirred the soup with a vengeance. “Sean's on another island; it would be far too hard for him to get on a plane and fly home. But me? No, no, it's fine to make me take the ten hour coach journey--”
“We're not going by coach,”said Francis as he gently took the soup from James' care, before all their lunch ended up being cooked onto the hob.
“But it's cheap!”
Francis closed his eyes and breathed through the involuntary shudder those words now provoked from him. “No.”
“Fine.” James huffed and then continued where he'd left off. “It's fine to make me get on a plane and fly down, but Sean couldn't possibly!”
“Doesn't Sean have a job?” Francis commented.
“I have a job!”
“Stacking shelves at Tesco's, yes. I'm sure you'll be crying for days if you lose that one.” Francis smiled to himself. A perfect boyfriend probably would not provoke their beloved like this, but James was being so childish as he paced angrily around the kitchen, it was hard to resist.
“That's not the point!”
“Weren't you saying, just last week, that you wanted to go home and see your family?” asked Francis almost innocently, glad that James couldn't see the expression on his face.
“My family, yeah, but this is just Arthur,” James said as he slumped into a chair, “It's Mum and Dad's anniversary so they're going on that two-week trip to Majorca we bought them. David's off backpacking in Argentina, but Arthur's arrangements apparently 'fell through' at the last moment, so I have to go 'keep him company'. How old is he now, anyway?”
Francis did a quick calculation. “He must be seventeen.”
“Seventeen!” cried James with disbelief. “Can't he look after his own bloody self?”
“Perhaps you're there to look after the house more than Arthur.”
James hmphed.
“Anyway,” said Francis as he served up lunch, “I think it'll be nice to go back home for a couple of weeks.”
“Sap.” James took up his spoon.
Francis grinned. “We can see if the springs on your bed are as good as they used to be.”
All Grown Up (1a/?)
~~~
The first time Francis met Arthur, Francis was fourteen and Arthur was nine. Francis had knocked on the front door of his friend James' house and it had been opened by a scrappy, scowling little boy with messy hair and messier eyebrows. Francis had taken it in his stride – he'd been expecting the new arrival – and explained that James was waiting for him and asked if he could come in.
Arthur had given him a long, evaluating look, head to toe. Then he'd said 'fuck off' and slammed the door in Francis' face.
It was this first meeting that Francis thought back to immediately upon hearing that James had been summoned back home last minute for some babysitting. James then ensured that Francis would be coming with him before he leapt headfirst into ranting and raving.
“They couldn't ask Sean, could they? Oh, no!” James stirred the soup with a vengeance. “Sean's on another island; it would be far too hard for him to get on a plane and fly home. But me? No, no, it's fine to make me take the ten hour coach journey--”
“We're not going by coach,”said Francis as he gently took the soup from James' care, before all their lunch ended up being cooked onto the hob.
“But it's cheap!”
Francis closed his eyes and breathed through the involuntary shudder those words now provoked from him. “No.”
“Fine.” James huffed and then continued where he'd left off. “It's fine to make me get on a plane and fly down, but Sean couldn't possibly!”
“Doesn't Sean have a job?” Francis commented.
“I have a job!”
“Stacking shelves at Tesco's, yes. I'm sure you'll be crying for days if you lose that one.” Francis smiled to himself. A perfect boyfriend probably would not provoke their beloved like this, but James was being so childish as he paced angrily around the kitchen, it was hard to resist.
“That's not the point!”
“Weren't you saying, just last week, that you wanted to go home and see your family?” asked Francis almost innocently, glad that James couldn't see the expression on his face.
“My family, yeah, but this is just Arthur,” James said as he slumped into a chair, “It's Mum and Dad's anniversary so they're going on that two-week trip to Majorca we bought them. David's off backpacking in Argentina, but Arthur's arrangements apparently 'fell through' at the last moment, so I have to go 'keep him company'. How old is he now, anyway?”
Francis did a quick calculation. “He must be seventeen.”
“Seventeen!” cried James with disbelief. “Can't he look after his own bloody self?”
“Perhaps you're there to look after the house more than Arthur.”
James hmphed.
“Anyway,” said Francis as he served up lunch, “I think it'll be nice to go back home for a couple of weeks.”
“Sap.” James took up his spoon.
Francis grinned. “We can see if the springs on your bed are as good as they used to be.”
James snorted into his soup.
~~~