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Random snippets of AU ickle Francis LOL

Francis Kirke

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So these are just several random AU scenes I have floating around in my head. They're random scenes from all "what-if" scenarios Francis has had floating around his head of what life would be like if his father lived, if Buckingham knew about him from various points, so they're not all the same AU.


They're just fun little things surrounding Francis as a boy.


From Francis V's POV if he lived and married Bess


It was always a lively event whenever his elder brother decided to grace them with his grace-ly presence; never one to stay overly long in one spot, and determined that if no one else would do something to advance the King's cause, he surely would. That was their dear Bucks.


It always left him as the mediator in exile. They had all be raised with their roles to fulfill and Francis was gentler than George and had more patience. George was the protector, the one to be fully honest with the King and speak his mind, and Francis was the one to smooth it all over when this caused quarrels. Though he had gone back to England with his brother a few times, he largely stayed near the King and kept the mantle of watching over what little they had and heading the family; the arrangement suited them well enough. George could not handle Hyde, and Francis had a family, made larger by his mother in law and little brothers-in-law.


So the moment Buckingham came through the door, exuding some strange finery despite his rag-tag and worn clothes (for a Duke's standards), he had the interest of every small child in the house as their favorite plaything. Everyday playthings like Francis were not such commodities.


Little Frank (as his boy was called) was walking, amusingly so when he tried to run, which he did, without any pause for a greeting. He pulled on the Duke's breeches and reached his little hands up high.


"Up Bax! Up!" Bucks, Buckingham, or anything sophisticated was quite out of the range of his tongue.


"My my Brother, you have raised quite the rude little minion!" Buckingham declared gaily.


Francis gave another little tug and then clenched his fingers open and closed expectantly.


"My little lordling, tell me, are you a Duke," Buckingham asked, squatting down some and trying to put on some sort of serious face, though he was clearly enjoying this little game.


"Duke!" the boy proudly declared, pointing right toward his uncle's nose. Then he blinked sweetly and said, "Now up?"


Francis chuckled, "Stop teasing him, George." He pat the little blond head, ruffling his hair. "What do we call dukes, Frank?"


Quite insistent, the little blond cherub bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, "Yo Grays, up! Uppppp! Peasss~!" He reached his arms up again.


Chuckling he finally plucked his nephew up and stood again.


The boy promptly rewarded him by kissing his cheek sweetly and declaring, "Yo Grays have a big head."


Francis roared with laughter, several things that wanted to rip from his mouth, but he was unable to breathe for the hilarity. Thankfully, with her perfectly apt timing, Bess declared, "I think your nephew just commented on your massive ego, George."


"Har har," Buckingham said, to the pair of them.


"Big head," the boy in his arms echoed, holding his hands up far apart to indicate the width of the Duke's head. What he was really commenting on was that his head seemed bigger being so close to it when in comparison it seemed much smaller from his former spot much further away, but a child's words were often quite funny that way.

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  • 1 year later...

(sometimes, I just need a little bit of cute.)


More randomness if everyone had lived. From Bucky's perspective during exile times)




Buckingham had arrived back late and settled on the chaise with a glass of cognac, mostly in the dark, with just the flicker of a low-burning fire in the hearth. When he was in England, the three boys used his room in their cramped little suite in exile. He figured to get some sleep when they awoke in a few hours, because he had no desire to either deal with waking them or sharing the bed with them. The floor would be more comfortable, and he was simply too tired for any of it.


Instead of waiting out morning, though, he fell asleep from sheer fatigue before he'd even finished the glass. His valet had taken it from him and thrown a blanket over him, and that was where he sleep quite peacefully.


He stirred only when the dog settled on him, almost a welcome addition of warmth, really.


We do not have a dog... his half asleep mind supplied.


The smell of cinnamon was his answer. His nephew loved hunks of bread soaked with milk and sprinkled with cinnamon, mostly peasant fare but for the addition of the spice.


"What are you doing, Francis?" he sleepily whispered to the boy, half opening one eye.


The high voice of a small boy whispered back half-asleep, "Mama and Papa are...making noise...and Will snores." There was a pause for a yawn.


"Making noise?" The duke fought back a chuckle.


"...as man and wife..." the boy supplied, taking the lack of 'get off me' as an invitation to get comfortable, pushing up further and laying a curly head against the crook of the duke's neck and sneaking a little hand inside the neck of his shirt.


"How lucky for me," the duke chortled sleepily. How was the world so on its head that a duke ended up in simple clothes sleeping on a chaise for a lack of a bed, with a toddler on top of him! He had to laugh at the domesticity of it as he laid there with both eyes closed and a small smile on his face. Such was the life of poverty and exile!


"Happy to..home...May I sleep...tomorrow...too?" the boy was obviously falling back asleep.


What luck he had, indeed! His welcome party was a little, blond cub, who not only wished to sleep with him at that moment but the next night as well! Buckingham was unsure if it was simply because he was a far preferable sleeping companion (for the lack of 'noises'), the bed was simply less populated, or if the boy really missed him so greatly.


The alternative thought was that the boy was getting to the age where he more properly understood that, sometimes, one did not return. The Duke hoped Francis was still far too young to fully understand that.


Soft breaths announced he did not need to answer. The boy was already asleep again.

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  • 10 months later...

(This is a random little thing that came to me as the result of wondering what might have happened if Francis' mother had told Bucky right away that she was pregnant. In this AU scene, Bucky married her in his brother's place)


The cacophony coming from down the hall was seriously disturbing his ability to write.


Must I banish them from this floor of the house?! He hated nothing more than being disturbed when things were flowing very well. He wished to have the next act ready for Sprat.


Unlike the silver-blond with shorn hair he would become, Buckingham still had a full head of loose, golden curls at thirty-three. Simply wearing his breeches, shirt sleeves, and a velvet robe, never having dressed fully that morning, he sauntered down the hallway and entered the parlour emanating the sounds.


The sight was bizarre, disconcerting, and amusing all at once. Elizabeth had young Francis by a fistful of hair and was hitting him wherever she could find purchase, a fine "SMACK!" resounding through the air as she finally got him in the cheek and mouth.


"What IS this!" He bellowed. God's Blood. Ugh, the theatrics.And when I wish to work!


"George!" Elizabeth said sharply, almost as if he had done something. Her breath was quick, her sharpness almost short of breath.


He was fairly sure he had not done anything despite her tone, he had not even had the hand in making the boy, whatever the youth had done! He raised an eyebrow as if to dare her to blame him.


The moment of her shifting her attention was enough for Francis to extricate himself, and most of his hair, and take a few giant leaps closer to his father. George had (some days stupidly, some days intelligently) married her in his brother's place, so for all purposes, the boy was his. Francis knew no different and never would.


It was some sort of comedy of errors that a son was more afraid of his mother than his father, but Elizabeth was...a Villiers woman. Right now she did look far more frightening, especially as she dropped a long, blond ringlet to the parquet floor. Typically children feared their fathers more, and even at his tall height, Bess was more threatening than Buckingham. At least to the boy.


She's not going to calm down until the object of her ire is not here to stoke the flames. Buckingham was interested in getting this over with as quickly as possible, though he gave up the idea of writing, despite the temptation to not give a fig about this argument. Who could with the war-zone in his parlour. Or harpy lair? he thought, his lips shifting to the side. He could have thrown a sigh five leagues long at that moment.


He gave the wide-eyed twelve-year-old a nod and jut his head toward the open door, dismissing him. This seemed to increase the boy's terror momentarily, torn between the parent he knew to obey and the parent who had just torn a bit of his hair out.


Elizabeth seized the moment, "Oh no, do not you dare leave this room!"


"Frank," the Duke said sharply, repeating the gesture with his chin. That seemed to set the boy's feet to moving no matter the threat of his mother.


"Go practice Latin with your brother in his rooms," the Duke said in a surprisingly calm voice, as the boy came toward him to get to the door.


Those young blue eyes had the most grateful look at being allowed an escape with only a handprint across his face and a small bald patch.


George gave the boy a look as if to say if he truly deserved it, he truly was going to get it afterward. Disturbing a perfectly good stream of writing to boot! However, there was no reason to be assaulted by a harpy, and he could not let his dear duchess pull all their heir's hair out by the time he hit majority. It was better the boy left so he could ascertain just what was going on.


His head turned to watch Francis leave and the door close before he turned back to Bess.


"Why are you screaming so, there is no cause to rock the house with your screeching in such a way, whatever he has done!" he brazenly scolded her, still annoyed at being disrupted in his writing.


"As if you have never rocked it with your bellowing, you hypocrite! For matters far less worthy than your son!"


He huffed and abandoned that battle. Buckingham had rocked the house for idiocies numerous times. Instead, he tried a more reasonable tactic. "Well, what has he done that is so very bad? You know I am writing."


"Forbid anyone disturbs your legacy of words to make you deal with the legacy of your damned family, George."


He rolled his eyes, "What's he done that you are pulling his hair out? You look deranged."


It was a bit erotic in a way, where it not over Francis. Her chest was still heaving, her cheeks pink...


Now he truly had to focus.


"He was..." She seemed truly disconcerted in that she could not even say the words. George had heard Bess say many things he had never thought a woman could say or would say or dared say, so he was beginning to fear he was truly going to have to birch the boy silly for whatever it was. His wife was no timid, sequestered woman to not speak something. So there went the hunting later in the week if it was going to be thus. Inconvenient.


Finally, she finished, jolting him from his thoughts and moving his eyes from her heaving breasts.


"...going to...." she rolled her hand in front of her as if hoping him to guess the word. Her loudness quieted a bit as she said, "...with the servant girl!"


Buckingham was perplexed for a moment. She could have used a more apt mimicry than rolling her hand if she expected him to guess swiving immediately from all that, but it did come.


"Swiving? You are tearing his hair out, because he's a boy, and he was diddling about with the maid!" the booming laugh that escaped him might have actually reached the boys. He tried to breathe and stop laughing if only not to make her more angry.


Meanwhile, his eyes were forced shut with hilarity, she had closed ranks against him, and he opened his eyes to a whizz.




Ooohh, she slapped me! Had he been quicker, he might have grabbed her hand and trapped her against the wall, too bad he had missed it. Opportunity wasted... he lamented.


"I do NOT want grandchildren sired out of scullery maids and stable-boy's sisters and whores!" she harped at him, with a stomp and a look that dared him to ask for another slap. His look replied that he might just want one. He would not miss it this time.


George noted immediately she did not say that she did not want bastards, because that was what Francis technically would have been had they not married before he was born. He knew far better than to say that. Not precisely because he would not say it to her, but because he would never risk Francis overhearing. That entire situation had forced the duke to grow up a little, foolish or fortuitous it was still his mental pennance for his beloved brother's death.


George had lived his entire life not knowing what it was like to have an actual father and had oft wondered what a regular father, instead of a king as a foster father, would have been like. He would not risk taking that from Francis just because his mother could be a Siren.


"He is twelve, Bess. He is becoming a man. You cannot stop that. Let us be real." It was not like this was too crass for her. George knew better. Besides, she had swived his brother before they were married, so she could hardly claim NOT to understand what the impulses of youth did to one's better senses. "How old were you when you first wished to see more of my brother? Better yet, how old do you think my brother was before he wished to see more of you? Shall I tell you?" George chuckled, and then licked his lips.


His brother probably would not have found this all quite as entertaining, but alas, his brother had the easier fate.


Buckingham continued, "Did you think it was a coincidence the age we were when we were sent to Cambridge for much of the year?" He was tittering at her even more. THey had been Little Frank's age.


"NOT the maids, George!" she hissed in protest. "YOU might have your parties and your whores, and I understand..."


He held up his hand to stop her before she went into a monologue about his deeds or, God forbid, his example. "I understand you as well."


He sure did understand. Bess was very accommodating in a variety of ways, and that was likely why they had a number of their own children. And unlike the King, who spread his seed far and wide, Buckingham was a bit more selective over who he might allow to carry his illustrious seed. It was likely more ego than any sort of propriety, because he was far from monogamous, but still. He did not want his twelve-year-old popping out babies with the help; not only was it just unsavory, but it created a manipulation and political dynamic in the house he was not about to invite. Nor did he wish his wife such silly distress. How she mistrusted him! "You feel I must give the boy his limits, but there is a far better way of gaining my attention that sounding bloody murder to me." He paused. "Darling," he added, with a smarmy smile.


"You had better give him a whipping," she demanded. "He was a hair's width away, in the hallway." She crossed her arms over her chest.


"In the hallway!" He had to bite his lip not to laugh again. Oh Frank!


"George, this is not funny. Do you want me..."


He held up his hand again, "Oh no, no. Truly, I am not the one who did wrong here, save me your punishing tongue if you please. I shall handle it. You shall not have such in the house again, yes?" He smiled at her and tilted his head down as if to ask if that was what she wished.


"Yes, and his mother need not hear of it," she reiterated, raising an eyebrow to his attempt at a look of boyish accommodation to her demands. He was so dramatic. Is he drunk?


"Indeed, and then his mother had best leave his bedchamber to privacy lest she see him cock in hand doing another thing youth are very prone to," he said, sweetly, with the most benign smile.


He IS drunk!"Oh George," she sighed, and then laughed. "Do not play, I am serious, and you are in your cups." He oft added drama to his words like an actor. It served him well at court, and George always was amusing.


At the first hint of calm from her, he moved in for his disarming move: the embrace. He was much larger, though she was tall, and he easily enveloped her.


"Seriously then, rest assured, none of our other sons shall ever make that mistake, because after this he will tell ALL of his brothers every last horrid detail of his discomfort in ways we can never imagine," the Duke joked. He knew how it worked with brothers. He was the eldest, he knew. The eldest appraised all the rest of everything, right down to masturbation technique. He saved Bess that description. There were very good reasons he and Charles were so close.


"Thankfully, I was alone, but what if there was company..." she muttered from his shoulder.


Buckingham snorted. Well, the King would have found that insanely amusing. The King found most things involving sex insanely amusing. However, his wife's friends were probably not similarly crass in their sense of humour.


"Yes, yes, I get it, Bess. Forgive me if I sympathize with him. Being raised with the expectation of a great household is both necessary but stifling." He had lived it more than she. Exile, too, made it difficult to transition back. "He knows to act his part, but I will remind him seriously. Now, let him stew over what you are telling me. He shall imagine all the more doom. It will make my piece far easier. Besides, my dear lady wife, I am more concerned by your distress than putting him back in line. One is far easier than the other." There was a hint of seduction in his voice. "What shall I do to calm you?"


It did not take very long for the notion to find purchase, so it was some hours later before he finally emerged the victor of one battle and went to squish the mini-rebellion in his heir's breeches that was so offensive to his mother.


Fatherhood was a comical thing. You said and enforced a great many things that you did not give much a fig about. Buckingham did not care at all if Francis wanted to fuck his brains out. He was the heir to a duke, let him be one with all the perks. Blind obedience and strict, moral formality were not Buckingham's ways. Yet, it did give him some degree of pleasure to hear his valet's report that Francis was reading Latin together with his younger brother. Some degree of obedience was a necessary constriction to exist at court, so the duke did not fall into the pit of negligent parenting, if only because he was too ambitious for it. Plus, his only blueprint for fathering was from an overly formal, highly religious and intelligent king.


The culprit of the day soon appeared after being summoned, bowing with that perfect deferential deepness that was a confession of itself that the boy knew he had been very stupid and was going to have to answer for it.


"I think you know better than to set your lady mother to screaming, Frank," he said, with the hint of an amused smile.


"Am I going to get a beating?" his cub blurted out.


Buckingham chuckled, "My you are direct." He looked at the very twin of his younger brother but with his own blond hair and his mannerisms. He would have the boy think he was staring him down.


After a few minutes, he let out an amused huff and then sat.


"You will learn, my boy, ladies get upset by men much of the time. It doesn't always mean very much, although it must seem so, because that is gallant. If you are to stay at court, you must be more responsible over your actions. I do not have time to mediate squabbles between you and your lady mother, nor to find my day disturbed because you wish to dip your wick. If you are not smart enough to hide it, you should not be doing it, and never with the help. I swear I shan't repeat myself to you on this."


And the boy nodded at him.


"Do not tempt me to send you and your mama to the country," he added. Threats, even empty ones could be well-employed. The boy was still somewhat gullible.


"No, Your Grace." Francis' tone sounded as if he had just been told he'd be sent to one of Dante's circles!


Buckingham almost laughed at the gravity of the response. He could not blame the boy for not wishing to be stuck in the country with his mother.


"Now, have you laid with a woman yet?"


Francis looked at him with wider, cautious eyes. "No..."


"But you wish to?"


The boy seemed to think it might be too good to be true by the shock on his face, "...Yes?"


"Then there is a way to go about it that is not under your lady mother's nose, so if you ever let her see you that way again, I shall tell your grandpapa and let him beat you. The ball is thus in your court as to whether you someday earn a good birching or not. Up to you."


Dinnerplate eyes were a good sign of complete understanding. The Colonel was far more apt at discipline than he was, but sometimes he did it himself out of pity for the boy.


"Now, when we go back, we will go have a drink in my study, I will have the birch brought, and when I send you back out, you shall pretend to be very discountenanced like I gave you a sound beating."


The boy blinked. The duke raised an eyebrow and waited for it to all sink in.




"Truly," the elder promised. "There is nothing wrong with needing a fuck as a man, but spare your mother's presence so I need not hear her." He would have to find the boy some nice, young widow who wished to give Francis the proper education in the bedchamber. One day he wanted heirs, not ginger-haired freckled things with the housemaids that were only a drain on the purse-strings and of little use at all.


The duke then added, "And do not forget to live up to the act so that your dear Mama does not go harpy on us both, again, for deceiving her about your punishment. You shall find you have no need to act if that happens."

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