Hello! For those of you that don't follow me on Tumblr, there's been quite an absence of my fics on here, and for that, I'm very sorry! I have been writing, quite a lot actually, but I've been posting all my fics on my Tumblr account and neglecting this one a little! I'm very sorry! If you would like to read more of my fics when I post them, rather than me forgetting to re-upload them here, definitely go check out my Tumblr which is on my profile for you! If you like this fic, Like and Reblog it on Tumblr as well~! All my fics are organised by pairing in the 'Fic Master Collection' link on my blog! Big smooches, and sorry for the delay in fics!

So I've seen some really cute and interesting asks sent to kirono recently, and I couldn't help myself and really needed to write a little Red Velvet Pancakes fic for French teacher Matt and his substitute teacher boyfriend Matthew. I hope everyone enjoys it! Smooch smooch!

The great big lumbering dork had forgotten his lunch. Again.

Granted, this time, it was partially Matthew's fault that it was still at home, and he was willing to admit that. He really was to blame with the way that he'd crawled into bed—though Matt would insist that he had more like prowled in, predator gleam in his eyes—and pressed aside the book that had been in calloused hands, seated himself in Matt's lap and began slow, tender kisses along his neck, softly mewling for attention like a cat. Matt was too easy for him to manipulate into doing whatever he wanted, because he knew the man gave in so easily, always. His resistance was about as equivalent to a lit candle being dropped into the ocean. Rather, it was a lantern, when he thought about it—having resistance for all of a few moments before there was a few bubbles and then water rushed in with a pop and it sank, the flame within extinguished.

Matt was hopeless at saying "no", though he enjoyed it just as much as the other. He loved feeling wanted, and even though his face was so stern outside of their home, when lying side by side with Matthew, or above or beneath, his lips tugged ever so slightly upwards between kisses, passionate and loving.

They had stayed up far too late the previous night, not making love, but simply kissing, pressing close, and trailing the pads of their fingers along skin, tracing maps they had long ago memorised full of ridges of muscle, long trails of scars, and dips and valleys of curves. The two Canadians preferred it this way, slow and sweet, rolling onto each other back and forward to shower attention evenly.

Time was of no concept to them, finally dozing off towards the early hours of the morning, and as of consequence, they had overslept. Matt had rushed getting ready, trying on shirt after shirt as Matthew watched from the bed, hair tousled and eyes half mast and adoring as he waited for Matt to choose the right one that would cover the blossomed marks he had made perhaps a little too high above the collarbone and trailing up onto his neck. Matt accused him that it had been on purpose. Matthew merely gave a cat like smile and stretched, tilting his head and exposing the mirror marks on his own neck. It had been revenge.

Once dressed, Matt had kissed him hastily, and then flown out the door, hair still being brushed and tied back into a messy ponytail that sat low towards the base of his neck, desperate to get to work on time.

It was their late start that had made the food go by forgotten, and by the time Matthew had found it after crawling out of bed and to the kitchen for breakfast, his fingers curled on the refrigerator door, eyeing off the little box full of homemade foods specifically put together to keep Matt from starving at work that day, or having to grit his teeth and buy a cafeteria lunch, or even risking sneaking out of school grounds to buy a decent meal, it was already nearing lunch time. Already so close to the time it should be being eaten, and yet it was there in the centre of the fridge, with a little stick-it note in his hand writing saying "Good luck at work! I love you!" exactly where it had been left the previous night, and not in the staff kitchen fridge.

With an exasperated sigh, and a muttering of relief that his own class didn't start until after lunch, Matthew showered and dressed himself as quickly as he could, snatching up the keys to his own little car as well as the packed lunch, and drove off. The school where Matt worked wasn't too far away from their home—a mere fifteen minutes—so after parking and signing in with administration as a visitor, and greeting sweet little Miss Arlovskaya who he met every so often when he came in as a substitute for the school's English class when not working in the Home Economics block, he was approaching Matt's French class, food tucked away in a bag, along with two dozen essays left behind on the counter that had been graded and forgotten.

"Sir, sir! How do you say 'Will you marry me?' in French?"

The voices of students were already becoming loud, and Matthew smiled, able to spot his boyfriend through the classroom windows, leaning back against his desk, burly arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, an ankle crossed over the other.

"The verb 'to marry' in infinitive form is 'épouser'," he replied, voice deep, far more accented than Matthew's, gruff and heavy in English, "To ask to marry, you say 'Voulez-vous m'épouser?' But you are getting married, so use informal French. 'Veux-tu m'épouser?'"

Slowing his walk, Matthew tilted his head a little, the little bag held comfortably in his hands near his chest, listening to the giggles that echoed about.

"So why haven't you asked yet?" another girl asked, cheeky grin on her young face.

Matt turned a light pink at this, frowning and giving the class a stern look, turning to the blackboard and picked up a stick of chalk, beginning to write the phrase, his typical block handwriting looking much too harsh for the beautiful language. Matt had always said Matthew's handwriting made the language look prettier.

"Why have I not conjugated the verb épouser to épousez or épouses?" he asked, knuckle tapping at the blackboard.

The girls giggled again.

"I'm sure if you ask him, it won't matter if it's conjugated, sir."

The giggles had Matt's ears slowly starting to glow red, turning his back to the class, continuing to write on the board.

"Because we used vouloir, we must use infinitive form and only need to conjugate vouloir to voulez or veux."

"Does he speak French too, sir?"

Matt's expression grew strained, and Matthew paused in the doorway, watching him turn to the class and heave a slow and deep sigh, nodding, the giggles seeming to wash right off his back, as though he was used to them.

"Does he speak dirty French?"

"Your assignment is going to become mysteriously lost," he warned softly with a growl, pushing some hair back from his face, though the students merely smiled sweetly. Matt wouldn't do it; he was too much of a soft pushover, despite his large and sometimes frightening appearance. His scowls no longer intimidated them, and quickly turned into embarrassed or disgruntled expressions soon after at their persistency for prying into his romantic and intimate private life.

"Sir, sir! I have a question!"

Lifting deep lavender eyes, Matt raised a single eyebrow in questioning.

"Does he know you keep his jumper in your desk drawer?"

"Bonjour."

The class all silenced with their giggles at Matthew's greeting, smiling as he rapped on the door to bring more attention to his presence at the door, holding back a chuckle as Matt nearly slid from where he was leaning in shock, straightening up, droopy and annoyed eyes widening a little bit, dropping both hands to grasp at the desk behind him for support, straightening his posture a bit.

"I hope I'm not interrupting, I have some items to deliver to the professor," Matthew spoke, entering the classroom confidently, daisies sprouting about his smile and Matt just knew that he'd been caught with his boyfriend wearing such a fake innocent shit-eating expression, feeling his cheeks heating up slowly, "I believe I also have something of mine to pick up as well, eh?"

Violet eyes met lavender, the smile never faltering as he stared expectantly, holding out the documents.

"Graded papers were left behind; I thought I'd deliver them to be returned to the class."

Realisation dawned on Matt's face, looking down and accepted the papers, quickly looking through them, counting them one by one to make sure that they were all there. Yes, all twenty three papers were there and graded. What a relief. Now he didn't have to make up an excuse for why they couldn't be returned today. Though, having to make up an excuse as to why the substitute English and Home Economics teacher was delivering French graded papers was going to be a bit hard to cover up.

"Also, the packed lunch I made for you," he added, holding out the little bag.

"Hey, that's not okay!" one of the students objected, slamming her hands to the table and stood up, frowning angrily at Matthew, "He's taken; you shouldn't be bringing him lunch! His boyfriend will get mad!"

"Boyfriend?" Matthew asked, turning to the class, a look of faux surprise on his face, Matt's face now glowing a bright cherry red at his side.

"Yeah, he's got a boyfriend, so you shouldn't be involved Mister Williams!" another student added, a little more meekly, but loud enough to be heard clearly.

"Oh. Has Matt been cheating on me?"

A heavy silence fell amongst the students, and Matthew's look of innocent surprise turned into a sly smile, turning to look to Matt who was shrinking in size, his height and broadness looking so much more minuscule beneath his boyfriend's gaze.

"You are his boyfriend?!" one of the girls cried out in shock and realisation.

A collective gasp echoed throughout the classroom as Matt gave a single nod in confirmation, reaching out to timidly accept the lunch, looking like a dog that had done wrong as he skulked back behind his desk, slowly sitting himself down and placing the lunch amongst the clutter littering the surface.

"Mister Williams, did you know that he keeps your love notes and lunch notes in his drawer!"

Matt's eyes rose slowly, narrowing in a fierce glare at the student's sudden confession.

"Oh?" Matthew hummed out, looking far too amused, one hand on his hip, the other rubbing at his chin.

"Your jumper, too!"

"Does he really now?" Matthew pressed, looking down at Matt, daggers being speared through the air from the French teacher's eyes to his students icily, face a dark red.

"Do you know why he hasn't proposed to you yet? You've already been together almost ten years now, right? Why don't you get married?"

Looking to the students, and then to the blackboard when it was gestured to, Matthew smiled softly, looking down at his boyfriend's hunched over form, head having slammed to the desk, hair fluttering down to cover some of the red skin.

"Well, if he ever asked, I wouldn't say no," Matthew began, reaching out to gently rub at Matt's back, feeling the tension there and the slight flinch from being startled by the touch, "But I don't think either of us are ready quite yet."

"What's he like outside of class? Does he talk at all or is he always quiet?" one of the boys asked, deciding to join the bandwagon, teasing the French professor.

"He's usually quiet, but he's sweet, considerate, thoughtful. A big friendly teddy bear," Matthew replied, enjoying teasing the other.

"What were your first impressions when you met him?" another student pressed.

"Those thoughts aren't really appropriate for school."

"Do you understand him when he speaks in grunts and stares?"

"I'm still here," Matt grumbled out sourly as a reminder, Matthew laughing and tucking some hair behind his ears.

"I have my own classes later this afternoon, so I should be getting ready, I'm sorry. Make sure to ask Matt these questions in French to help you study," Matthew encouraged, moving towards the door, pausing in the entrance, tilting his head a little and giving the other's weak glare a teasing wink, "I can confirm that he specialises in loving and romantic French. A natural, I'd say. Especially his poetry."

"Poetry?"

Matt glared in disgruntled disgust as Matthew sauntered away suppressing a grin, much too proud of himself, leaving him to deal with over excited students shooting off question after question about their relationship and his poems. That night, he'd make sure that Matthew would need to make up excuses for his own class as to why his neck would be so marked up—he'd get his revenge.

He refused to be the only one suffering with the 'Matt and Matthew Marriage Fan Club'.