A few weeks later, Morgan was wandering the streets of Paris. He knew that at any moment he could be intercepted by a certain blonde-haired personage; in fact, he had been expecting it from the moment he had set foot on French soil. The longer time that elapsed between his arrival and Francis’ appearance, the more certain he was that it would occur.
It didn’t seem logical, but he disregarded that.
At random he chose a small café and ordered a coffee, and sat down at one of their outside tables. The day was mild and fairly warm for early May, and everyone around him seemed in a good mood. He leant back, lit a cigarette and began to read a newspaper, and feigned nonchalance when a familiar figure took the seat opposite him. “Took you long enough,” he commented, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
“I am a busy man, darling.” Francis hummed over the menu before asking the waitress to bring him some kind of sweet cake. When she’d left the table, he leaned over it and asked, “So, it’s not often I see you here.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never been here before.”
“In Paris,” Francis laughed, “not in this café, silly.”
Morgan shrugged. “Occasionally even I feel like a change of scene.”
“You got tired of daffodils and sheep?” Morgan gave him a slight glare and he laughed. “Forgive me, mon ami. Daffodils are beautiful flowers.”
“Damn straight,” Morgan muttered, returning to the newspaper. “So, what made you decide to show up?”
“I had a free moment.” The waitress returned with the cake, and Francis began to pick at it with a fork. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here, though.”
“Always enjoyed a little cultural appreciation.”
“Hmm.”
“No need to sound so sceptical.”
Francis laughed. “Not to be rude, but you don’t seem the type to spend hours in an art gallery.”
Morgan shrugged. “Maybe not hours, but I can do a little while at least.”
“I’ll need to take you out sometime, then.” Francis waved his fork at him, grinning mischievously. “Want a taste?”
Morgan raised his eyebrows at Francis’ suggestive look, but accepted the mouthful anyway. “Very nice. Lemon?”
“Lemon sponge.” Francis nibbled a bit more before leaning back in his seat and giving Morgan a long look. When the Welshman raised a questioning eyebrow, he said, “I think I have figured out why you are here.”
“Oh, do tell,” Morgan snorted.
“You’re simply here for the cheap booze and cigarettes, aren’t you? Mon dieu, I am so unloved.”
“You know me, wave around a bit of cheap booze and I’ll come running.” When Francis gave him an offended look, Morgan laughed. “Honestly, don’t take that literally.” Then he smiled mischievously. “I actually came just to see a certain pretty face.”
That made Francis look interested. “Oh really?” he asked, spearing a piece of the cake and eating it…slowly…from the fork. “Now that sounds like a much better prospect for me, non?” He winked, and they grinned knowingly at each other.
A Casual Engagement, Part 2b/?
It didn’t seem logical, but he disregarded that.
At random he chose a small café and ordered a coffee, and sat down at one of their outside tables. The day was mild and fairly warm for early May, and everyone around him seemed in a good mood. He leant back, lit a cigarette and began to read a newspaper, and feigned nonchalance when a familiar figure took the seat opposite him. “Took you long enough,” he commented, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
“I am a busy man, darling.” Francis hummed over the menu before asking the waitress to bring him some kind of sweet cake. When she’d left the table, he leaned over it and asked, “So, it’s not often I see you here.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never been here before.”
“In Paris,” Francis laughed, “not in this café, silly.”
Morgan shrugged. “Occasionally even I feel like a change of scene.”
“You got tired of daffodils and sheep?” Morgan gave him a slight glare and he laughed. “Forgive me, mon ami. Daffodils are beautiful flowers.”
“Damn straight,” Morgan muttered, returning to the newspaper. “So, what made you decide to show up?”
“I had a free moment.” The waitress returned with the cake, and Francis began to pick at it with a fork. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here, though.”
“Always enjoyed a little cultural appreciation.”
“Hmm.”
“No need to sound so sceptical.”
Francis laughed. “Not to be rude, but you don’t seem the type to spend hours in an art gallery.”
Morgan shrugged. “Maybe not hours, but I can do a little while at least.”
“I’ll need to take you out sometime, then.” Francis waved his fork at him, grinning mischievously. “Want a taste?”
Morgan raised his eyebrows at Francis’ suggestive look, but accepted the mouthful anyway. “Very nice. Lemon?”
“Lemon sponge.” Francis nibbled a bit more before leaning back in his seat and giving Morgan a long look. When the Welshman raised a questioning eyebrow, he said, “I think I have figured out why you are here.”
“Oh, do tell,” Morgan snorted.
“You’re simply here for the cheap booze and cigarettes, aren’t you? Mon dieu, I am so unloved.”
“You know me, wave around a bit of cheap booze and I’ll come running.” When Francis gave him an offended look, Morgan laughed. “Honestly, don’t take that literally.” Then he smiled mischievously. “I actually came just to see a certain pretty face.”
That made Francis look interested. “Oh really?” he asked, spearing a piece of the cake and eating it…slowly…from the fork. “Now that sounds like a much better prospect for me, non?” He winked, and they grinned knowingly at each other.