❝ French Perfume ❞ - FrUk/UkFr Pirate Novella

Chapter 14

Francis felt the cold, dark water emerge around him. He glanced around in the murky water as he held his breath. He saw Arthur struggling against the bindings and swam towards the male, who's fight and determination slowly drained from him.

Francis grabbed the male who narrowed his eyes and then closed them, his life force seemed drained from him and Francis quickly grabbed the Brit and swam to the surface. The cold water pierced every angle of the male and Francis lifted Arthur's head out of the water before his and spotted a small, sandy beach that seemed fairly close by. 

This is going to be a long swim. Hang on Arthur.. Francis thought to himself as he began to paddle while holding Arthur. The coldness around the water darkened as they swam to the beach, the coldness intensifying with every paddle.

Don't give up.

Don't give up.

Francis thought to himself as his eyes began to wander and noticed a drifting plywood and on it, Arthur’s trusty sword. Looks like his sword had survived, he muttered to himself as he heaved the unconscious male onto the wood. His legs kicked out, propelling the plywood forward as he wanted to give up and give in to the water’s darkening call that called out like a siren to him. 

The beach began to grow and grow and the plywood and finally reached the comforting beach sand. Francis pulled the British-male off and pressed down hard on the male's chest, giving compulsions to the pirate. His eyes frowned lightly when he didn’t get a response and glanced down at the male’s lips. He took a sharp inhale and pressed his lips up against Arthur’s. Again. And again. And again. 

Arthur spat the water out in Francis’s face and hastily sat up, grabbing at the knife in his abdomen and let out a small wince. Arthur rubbed his sore eye and spit sand out of his mouth. Sand had collected to him like a parasite would to an organism.

Arthur glanced and then finally spotted Francis sitting alongside him, Francis' gaze held steady and then Arthur shifted away from Francis, obviously angry about what Francis had done.

“Great,” he muttered to himself. He kept his hand pressured to his abdomen and began to stand up, only to fall down to his knees and curl over his injury. “I’m stuck on the other side of St. Pierre with a bloody wanker.” 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Francis asked, his voice soft and quiet. "We are partners."

"For the last time — we aren't partners by law. You were just someone helping who shouldn't have been." Arthur stated simply, his voice grumpy and irritated, he glanced over at the Frenchman who’s bottom lip began to quiver. “You don’t know when to get a hint, do you?”

"But, that doesn't explain why you didn't tell me about your identity, or you saying goodbye before going off to England, you broke your promise — "

"My death was staged and I didn't go off to England. I pointed to the sea to make it seem like I went off to go back to England — if you were actually my partner, you would've known that I can't swim and hate the water which is why I'm stuck here!!" Arthur stood up, his voice raising a bit. Francis thought back to the time where Arthur’s eyes wouldn’t leave the turbulent sea and felt a pit grow in his stomach.

“Frankly, I wish I could go back to England so I am not stuck with a wanker like you.” Arthur’s black glove was stained red as his clothing sloshed behind him. He felt for his sword and noticed the plywood with his beautiful blade on it. He leaned down, groaning in agony as he picked it up. He turned his eyes back towards Francis who had decided to stand up as well. The death glare began to bother Francis as he couldn’t help but give into the temptation of arguing.