Arthur licks his lips, realizing that his mouth seems to be watering, and thinks that maybe he should do something, too. His hands go to the fastenings of his suit, but stop when Francis takes one of them.
“Non. Let me do this. Please.”
Arthur’s protests die at the look in Francis’ eyes; it’s a pleased, happy look, one that’s glad to do this because he wants to, because Arthur wants him to. For a moment, Francis’…affection is so tangible and real that Arthur reaches up a hand to try to touch it.
He only gets to touch Francis’ jaw, peppered with stubble, but that’s not a bad compromise. It’s worth it to see Francis turn to kiss and nip at his fingertips as he undoes the buttons to Arthur’s jacket and shirt.
Francis’ fingers are warm and solid as they part his shirt, and Arthur sits up for a moment to help Francis shrug off his shirt and jacket. He’s about to tell France to stop so that he can fold them, but Francis’ lips are on his and he’s being pushed back down to the bed, and the clothing becomes a moot point.
Francis’ finger trail up his arms, across his shoulders, and down his chest. Arthur feels himself sigh as Francis bows his head to kiss a nipple. The sigh becomes a startled sound as Francis licks at it, and Arthur’s arms come up to encircle Francis and hold him close.
“Do you not like that?” Francis asks, and Arthur finds himself blinking into those blue eyes.
“I – I. Uh. No.” Arthur blushes and glares as Francis grins at him. “J-just shut up and go back to what you were doing. Um, please.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Francis murmurs, and presses his lips to Arthur’s nose before ducking his head again and molesting Arthur’s other nipple.
Arthur’s gaze alternates between the ceiling and Francis’ gold hair, made messy and brilliant by the afternoon sun. His fingers come up, tangle themselves in it, and he hears Francis hum in approval. Arthur shivers as that hum vibrates on his nipple, echoes through his body, and he closes his eyes and tries to remember these things.
Tries to remember the way Francis’ tongue moves, so he can try it next time; tries to remember that tugging on Francis’ hair makes him gasp and sigh; tries to remember this tremulous, tentative thing blossoming through his body so that he can reduce Francis to this next time.
Francis is silent as he kisses the dip of Arthur’s pectorals, traces his tongue and lips down his abdomen, bites the edge of his hip as fingers curl in his pants. Francis grows hard and hot against Arthur’s knee, and the thought makes him feel dizzy, makes him pant.
He suddenly thinks that he wants to hear Francis say something.
“H-hey,” he murmurs. When Francis pays him no heed, he reaches down and cups the side of his face, making Francis look up with a quizzical look.
“S-say something,” he mutters, and he’s blushing again, but he can’t help himself for some reason.
Francis looks up at him, his gaze neutral. Just when Arthur thinks he’s said something wrong, Francis smiles, turns his head and kisses Arthur’s wrist. “I love you,” he whispers, and the blood starts pumping quicker at the touch of his wrist.
Arthur feels his body grow numb, then hypersensitive. Hearing that in French – well, that’s one thing, because to Arthur their language differences were a bridge, something that kept them distant and comfortable.
It’s an entirely different thing to see Francis traverse that bridge and make him face that truth.
Francis pays no attention to this, instead opting to undo the button of Arthur’s pants with his fingers. He ponders the zipper for a moment – then reaches out, grabs it in his teeth, and pulls it down with his mouth.
The vibrations thrum along his sensitive cock, causing him to cry out and buck into the feeling.
“You like that?” Francis asks, and Arthur just frowns down at him, making Arthur chuckle. “No need to be so coy~” he trills, and tugs down Arthur’s boxers and pants to get at his erection.
Arthur shuts his eyes and moans when his cock meets the air, when Francis’ breath comes warm and soft against the underside.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
A Lack of Notion [12/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-03-13 02:50 am (UTC)(link)“Non. Let me do this. Please.”
Arthur’s protests die at the look in Francis’ eyes; it’s a pleased, happy look, one that’s glad to do this because he wants to, because Arthur wants him to. For a moment, Francis’…affection is so tangible and real that Arthur reaches up a hand to try to touch it.
He only gets to touch Francis’ jaw, peppered with stubble, but that’s not a bad compromise. It’s worth it to see Francis turn to kiss and nip at his fingertips as he undoes the buttons to Arthur’s jacket and shirt.
Francis’ fingers are warm and solid as they part his shirt, and Arthur sits up for a moment to help Francis shrug off his shirt and jacket. He’s about to tell France to stop so that he can fold them, but Francis’ lips are on his and he’s being pushed back down to the bed, and the clothing becomes a moot point.
Francis’ finger trail up his arms, across his shoulders, and down his chest. Arthur feels himself sigh as Francis bows his head to kiss a nipple. The sigh becomes a startled sound as Francis licks at it, and Arthur’s arms come up to encircle Francis and hold him close.
“Do you not like that?” Francis asks, and Arthur finds himself blinking into those blue eyes.
“I – I. Uh. No.” Arthur blushes and glares as Francis grins at him. “J-just shut up and go back to what you were doing. Um, please.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Francis murmurs, and presses his lips to Arthur’s nose before ducking his head again and molesting Arthur’s other nipple.
Arthur’s gaze alternates between the ceiling and Francis’ gold hair, made messy and brilliant by the afternoon sun. His fingers come up, tangle themselves in it, and he hears Francis hum in approval. Arthur shivers as that hum vibrates on his nipple, echoes through his body, and he closes his eyes and tries to remember these things.
Tries to remember the way Francis’ tongue moves, so he can try it next time; tries to remember that tugging on Francis’ hair makes him gasp and sigh; tries to remember this tremulous, tentative thing blossoming through his body so that he can reduce Francis to this next time.
Francis is silent as he kisses the dip of Arthur’s pectorals, traces his tongue and lips down his abdomen, bites the edge of his hip as fingers curl in his pants. Francis grows hard and hot against Arthur’s knee, and the thought makes him feel dizzy, makes him pant.
He suddenly thinks that he wants to hear Francis say something.
“H-hey,” he murmurs. When Francis pays him no heed, he reaches down and cups the side of his face, making Francis look up with a quizzical look.
“S-say something,” he mutters, and he’s blushing again, but he can’t help himself for some reason.
Francis looks up at him, his gaze neutral. Just when Arthur thinks he’s said something wrong, Francis smiles, turns his head and kisses Arthur’s wrist. “I love you,” he whispers, and the blood starts pumping quicker at the touch of his wrist.
Arthur feels his body grow numb, then hypersensitive. Hearing that in French – well, that’s one thing, because to Arthur their language differences were a bridge, something that kept them distant and comfortable.
It’s an entirely different thing to see Francis traverse that bridge and make him face that truth.
Francis pays no attention to this, instead opting to undo the button of Arthur’s pants with his fingers. He ponders the zipper for a moment – then reaches out, grabs it in his teeth, and pulls it down with his mouth.
The vibrations thrum along his sensitive cock, causing him to cry out and buck into the feeling.
“You like that?” Francis asks, and Arthur just frowns down at him, making Arthur chuckle. “No need to be so coy~” he trills, and tugs down Arthur’s boxers and pants to get at his erection.
Arthur shuts his eyes and moans when his cock meets the air, when Francis’ breath comes warm and soft against the underside.
“Arthur, open your eyes.”
Re: A Lack of Notion [12/?]
(Anonymous) 2009-03-13 03:58 am (UTC)(link)