Spare My Sins [Francis]

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

There was a multitude of reasons why Arthur avoided contracts. Feeding into the broken system was the most important one. He also didn’t want to be reminded of the things that he could never have, or of his status as a thing to be bought and handled. Coming back from his first contract held that same nasty feeling. He’d managed to stave off getting a contract for his first four long years while in the Underground, and then he was bought by some wealthy man who had far too many mutants in his household to begin with, in a mansion that smelled of powdery pastries and sweet wine. Though Arthur wasn’t treated badly, he’d give the man that much; it was still a veiled world of the privileged that existed for few. He had been given clean, fresh clothes to wear, was able to properly wash the grime from his skin, and had even seen the city. It wasn’t terrible, he hadn’t hated it—and that’s what he was the most upset about. He was human, just not exactly same, so he viewed it as his damned right to not be caged as an animal and treated as chattel. And that is exactly why he was relatively cheap as far as contracts went; 'poorly trained' they labelled him. 

Arthur was brought by his contract holder back into the Underground when it was already past sundown to be exchanged back into the cells, once more into the dull, hellish life of the Underground—right back into the world of frost, cement, iron, and blood. He hardly offered a glance at his former contract holder, not necessarily wishing him ill will or fortune. The guards that placed the restrains on Arthur looked just as thrilled to see one of the troublemakers return to their care just as he was. No words were exchanged, but Arthur felt the unforgiving pressure of their hands as they secured the restraints, tighter than was necessary. He didn’t move, he didn’t resist. It was useless; he’d learned that lesson long ago, far too many times in the past. His mind was still on the lush green of the earth, how the sun felt on his skin, how delicious the food was that he’d tasted, the spice of the tea that he’d tasted, and the warmth of friendlier company outside the confines.

He had indulged in quite a bit and had met quite a few unexpected allies on the outside during his contract; and despite his attempts to ignore the ache in his chest, it hurt to know that he couldn’t savour them again whenever he pleased. On the plus side, he was much cleaner than he had been leaving the Underground. Though he knew that likely wouldn’t last long, not down here. The guards decided to place him in an empty cell, muttering something about rotating the mutants around so that they would get different cellmate assignments. Arthur hardly heard them, half stumbling into the cell when they shoved him, the restraints removed. ”Filthy sods,” Arthur muttered beneath his breath, though the guards were already moving onto the next cell after shutting his.

The irritating fluorescent lights were ever present, though only a little dulled to signal that it was late in the night. Late usually met less guards and a tendency toward less vigilance. If the appropriate guards were on duty, that was. Arthur tended to keep quiet tabs on each of them, a result of not having much else to do in the four years he’d been confined. For now, he simply waited, seating himself at one of the bunks while the guards seemed to be assembling the other mutants.

Sitting on the thin, uncomfortable mattress of the bunk, Arthur started to feel that familiar chill creep into his bones once more, the ever present chill of the Underground. Goosebumps spanned his skin, and he crossed his arms closely for warmth. Perhaps he’d gone a little soft, having quickly grown accustomed to the luxury of heat, warm bedding, and thick clothes while out on his first contract. He barely even glanced up when the guards came back, unlocking and unbolting his cell door to drag in his intended roommate for the next night or so.

. . .

tag: Francis L. Bonnefoy
words: 713
notes: -u-

[Francis L. Bonnefoy]

If there was one thing that Francis truly hated, it was these shackles. No matter how much he behaved and proved he wasn’t a risk of hurting the guards, they always treated the mutants all the same. Francis couldn’t really blame them, everyone one of the inhabitants here had proven they had fighting spirit, whether or not they had the chance and opportunity to use their powers or just through skin to skin contact. The shackles on his writs always hurt, and not because he had sensitive skin like a lot of people thought. His skin was well cared for yes, but some of these guards seem to take pleasure in causing the mutants pain. These guards however, whenever they got a chance, they fastened the cuffs too tight, and perhaps trying to take him down a peg since it was known that he was popular for contracts. Though Francis hated it, he stayed quiet. There was nothing voicing his displeasure could do with these guards, at least not in the mood he was in.

There were always light on down here, meant to make them uncomfortable, or so it seemed to Francis. Man made light, with the annoying hums from the bulbs and the random blinking from that that threatened to go out at any moment… or at least that’s how it was in the last cells that Francis was in. He was honestly glad to be moved; though he could only home it was with someone he could get along with. Footsteps echoed slowly around him, he looked straight ahead of him, watching other cells past. He had been down here for a while now, unknown exactly how long as there was no real way to tell how many days had past, and Francis wanted out. He was past restless, he was more in the acceptance phase that this was how things worked, that he would be stuck down here until someone decided they wanted him for something. It was never fair that he had to wait for someone to buy him, it wasn’t fair on all of them that just because they were born a bit different that they couldn’t have the same sun at any time they wanted like the so called normal people, but it was just the way it was. Sighing internally, he stumbled over his own feet before catching himself and continued walking. Stopping when he was told, he waited for the cell to be unlocked along with his cuffs. He didn’t even try to look in to see who he would be rooming with. Frankly, he didn’t care. It was hard for him to care about a lot these days. Staying clean was mostly a force of habit now. He was hiding something, and that was mostly because making it known wouldn’t change things, and might actually hamper his chances of getting out anytime soon… which is what he actually needed. He needed sunlight on his skin, to feel the warmth of its gentle caress over his body as it provided him with its ever renewing life force.

Entering the cell when the door was fully opened and before he could be pushed in, he could only blink at the man who sat on the bed before him, curled up upon himself as the ever present chill and dampness settled in. It was odd they all never got sick more than they did, but perhaps it was something that came with being a mutant. The locking of the door sounded in his ear and he knew they wouldn’t be disturbed for a while, even if the guards were ever present. Taking a moment, he looked at the lithe form on the bunk, traced how the muscles could be seen beneath his friends clothes. It had been a while since they had seen each other, and who knew how much things could change with one person. Leaning back against the wall, he forced a smirk on his face and one eyebrow to raise at the sight before him. This was sure to be interesting.

“Didn’t think you’d be back this soon Arthur. Did you get in trouble or did you just miss me too much?”

And that sounded lame even to Francis own ears. He could do better than that and he knew it… hopefully Arthur didn’t notice that wasn’t quite the usual taunt that was normal for them.

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

When he heard the shuffling of feet as the guards likely brought someone over, Arthur glanced up from his huddled position on the bunk, still attempting to conserve what little warmth he had left before being shoved into the cell. Once the guards unbolted the door and brought in the mutant who would be rooming with him, he was somewhat surprised (as this one in particular seemed quite popular with the contracts), but not too terribly unpleasantly so, that it was Francis. The two of them were familiar with each other, having known each other and been through various events together from Weeds. Arthur's lips pressed firmly together, refraining from speaking until the guards had left. Even so, he kept his attention focused on the other. There was something off with him—perhaps it was his expression or the way that he carried himself, almost as if he were weary. Most mutants appeared to carry that heaviness when they were in the Underground for too long without a contract, without filling their lungs with the fresh air, or tasting different food. Arthur sometimes wondered if Francis was particularly sensitive to the confinement in the Underground, given that he seemed to always be out on contract to frequently enjoy the taste of false freedom.

Arthur noticed it, but he wasn’t going to make a conclusion about it quite yet. His eyes wandered up, resting briefly on the other man’s face, the attractive contours. It's little wonder he was popular among the contract-holders. He noticed Francis staring at him similarly for a moment, almost feeling the way that his gaze seemed to trace his form. His cheeks burned and Arthur wondered if the other man was just attempting to rile him. Arthur was the first to break the connection, staring ahead at the cement wall, while the guards continued to unshackle Francis and slide the door closed behind him. His arms wrapped a little tighter around his body and his gaze travelled back over at Francis when the man finally spoke to him.

He snorted softly at Francis’s words. ”Aren’t I always getting into trouble? That’s one of my finer qualities. Pity the contract holders don’t seem too amused with it.” Of course, the sarcasm was brittle between his statements. He quite enjoyed making himself an undesirable purchase, as most everyone knew. Though, the corners of Arthur's mouth seemed to drop a little with the other half of Francis’s jab. His eyes wandered to the other side of the cell, simply staring forward, pulling his knees a little closer to himself for warmth. ”There's not much to miss when you never seem to be around in the first place—the humans just adore you, don’t they? The perfect, domesticated pet.” There was a hint of bitterness that clung to his words, but he was too worn to add any real sting to his words. He’d seen the outside, and he knew that he wanted more, he just didn’t know how far he was willing to compromise for that second taste.

”Speaking of which, I thought you’d be the one on contract? I don’t see you much anymore, so that’s what I had assumed anyway—“ There were other reasons, such as not having the chance to pass him by, whether it was on their way to the arena, being switched between cells, or not catching each other in the dreaded community shower room. Still, Arthur had kept his eyes open for any appearance of Francis whenever he’d gotten the chance. Feeling the prickle of the constant chill running through his body, Arthur moved over on the bunk to make room for the nearest body of warmth. ”Maybe I’ve already gotten used to a warm bed while out on contract—l’ve forgotten how bloody cold it gets here.” His fingers and nose were somewhat numb, as well as his slightly chapped lips. He wet them briefly as he curled into himself once more.

. . .

tag: Francis L. Bonnefoy
words: 663
notes: -u-

[Francis L. Bonnefoy]

Francis could barely keep from sighing in relief as the chains from around his wrists were removed. It was such a relief to not be as confined as they could make it. Each layer of confinement that he was placed in felt like another layer of clothing on his skin, another level he would have to try to break through to achieve even a fake, temporary sense of normal. Carefully lifting his hands, he rubbed his wrists, hoping that bruises weren’t left this time. It was the bruises hat added another mark of captivity to him, another shot taken out of his pride, another light burnt out in this dark world. Skin rubbed against skin as Arthur spoke, uncaring that he was showing a fellow mutant a potential weakness that could be used against him if the other so chose. Francis trusted him, trusted him more than he probably should really, but he didn’t care. They were all in this together, and alliances had been made and Francis would keep this one strong no matter what happened.

“There’s not much to miss when you never seem to be around in the first place-the humans just adore you, don’t they? The perfect, domesticated pet.”

If Francis didn’t know Arthur as well as he did, that statement would have hurt, but as it was, he could see the hurt in that statement, the feelings that Arthur was releasing by pitting words against him, goading for a rise and a good bicker from him. He could also tell that Arthur wanted more of the same life, but he didn’t want to get it at selling himself. Really, Francis couldn’t blame him. If he were different…. But no, things worked out how they did and that was how the story went.

“A domesticated pet that hides the feral for the right moment, Mon lapin. It’s about knowing you could do something, knowing you have an inner strength that they don’t have. These normal people…. These humans…. They’re mostly weak and wouldn’t survive a moment down here like we do. They’re hearts are too soft, they haven’t learned to build a wall to protect themselves from the real pain that it is down here. We’re the strong ones, the ones that build the wall, but also build a door to let a few select others in, to share the hurt we feel, to take comfort in a warm embrace stolen during the uncomfortable, metaphorical night within these dirt packed halls. Frankly….. They need us more than we need them. Most of us could survive if the world went to merde, but not the human… we have been trained to fight and survive. We merely perpetuate the illusion that they are the real ones in control.”

And with that said, it might have become clear that it was possible that Francis had taken reality and slightly twisted it to his own way of thinking to make it easier on himself to take on his own role of a mutant pet for the people who wanted to use him day after day for various activities. Sometimes, Francis even doubted his own metal stability, but he knew he would keep on surviving, living on the change to get what he craved. His friends and the sun on his skin.

“I thought you’d be the one on contract? I don’t see you much anymore, that’s what I had assumed anyway—“

Looking away from Arthur, he worked hard to keep his head up and to not look at the floor in front of the man. He knew that Arthur didn’t have much to keep himself occupied down here, especially since they didn’t allow them much entertainment of a kind. Really, it was no wonder most of the mutants down here chose to find a way to have entertainment with each other. All that he could do here was shrug. He wasn’t quite sure how to answer him, though he did feel bad leaving his friend alone as much as he had.

“It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been out on contract… No one needs an arm companion to make them look that much better at high functions right now…. No one seems to need a companion to keep them from getting too lonely.” Looking back over at Arthur from where he was looking at the wall, he kept himself rooted to the spot, as much as he would like to go over to him. There was no sign to come closer, and for that he would wait. “I’ll spend as much time with you as I can, Mon Cher”

He watched as Arthur moved over and curled in on himself more. His nose was red and he could see the cold bumps rising on his arm. Francis knew from firsthand experience how cold the underground could feel when it came to the first few days back from being outside, even if the temperatures weren’t that different.

“Maybe I’ve already gotten used to a warm bed while out on contract—I’ve forgotten how bloody cold it gets here.”

And that was the signal he was waiting for, an indirect invitation to join him and warm him up. Chuckling softly, he pushed off the wall but just kept looking at Arthur for a moment, waiting.

“If you wanted me in bed with you mon amore, you only needed to say it instead of dancing around the topic. Besides… it isn’t the first time we’ve shared a bed, though usually it’s for other activities besides warmth~.”

Moving swiftly now, he sat on the bed next to Arthur and pulled him into his embrace, letting his head rest on top of Arthur's. This was only the start, and frankly, Francis needed this too. Not the slight chill he could feel radiating off of Arthur’s skin, but the contact with another living being. Sighing, he moved his hands to run along those thinner arms, trying to brush a bit of warmth into cold body near him.