A/N: Greetings from the Kinkmeme again! This will be a slightly longer fic, split into about four chapters (hopefully). Enjoy!
Francis had begun making eyes at him over dinner, when they were sitting around the table with the rest of his siblings eating noisily around them. It came completely out of the blue, and it took Morgan a few minutes to realize what was happening. One minute he was innocently tucking into chips and steak; the next he was being…stared up? He couldn't call it being chatted up, as Francis was hardly talking to him. In fact, the Frenchman was hardly talking at all. He added into the conversation a few suggestive hints, so very subtle, always combined with a loaded look across the table.
At first Morgan was surprised; they'd known each other for years, and Francis had never shown any interest in him at all. It had always been Arthur when they were younger, when Francis had liked to tease their younger sibling and give him bad hair-cuts. Then for ages it had been Alastair he liked, what with their constant renewals of the Auld Alliance and their glee at anything they could do to sabotage or annoy Arthur. Then, after the Union of Crowns, Francis had seemingly hated both of them equally (though how much it was love/hate in Arthur's case, only those two could say). That had lasted until the Entente Cordiale; though even when they settled their differences Arthur and Francis had never had anything concrete, and Morgan had often wondered (among others) if Francis actually wanted anything more formal with his younger sibling.
It now seemed the answer to that was a definite no, because the most sure-fire way to earn Arthur's undying enmity was to pass him over for someone else.
Which was what Francis was doing, wasn't it? He was being fairly understated; though, if he had been any more obvious, the others might have noticed by now. Or not, Morgan thought to himself, glancing down the table to where Arthur and Alastair were bickering. Maybe he's taking advantage of the situation.
Was that a foot? Morgan blinked and looked directly over at the Frenchman, who was already grinning back at him. Seductively. That was definitely a seductive grin. Morgan blinked as the foot brushed teasingly against his calf, trailing softly, then disappeared. Across the table, Francis raised a single brow in what was obviously invitation as he finished off the last of his meal.
Morgan glanced down the table again. Arthur would be annoyed…Morgan grinned. When wasn't Arthur annoyed? Anyway, if he had wanted to make some long-lasting claim on Francis, he had had ample opportunity to do it. They weren't at all exclusive. He looked back across the table and gave Francis a grin, one that obviously said, 'Yes, why not?' and the Frenchman beamed back at him.
"Have you two finished with your plates?" Erin asked grumpily.
"You eager for dessert, sis?" Alastair grinned at her, instantly switching his attention from Arthur. "You know all those cakes and tarts and…waffles…are just empty carbs, right?"
Erin slammed a hand down on the table. "Don't you dare talk about my hips!" she yelled.
Alastair laughed. "I didn't even mention your hips!" He paused and then grinned nastily, "Even if they are the width of the Emerald Isle!"
"Yeah?" Erin yelled, "What about how your cock is about as monstrous as that newt you call a Loch Monster?!"
The grin fell from Alastair's face and he stood from the table with alarming speed. "You wanna insult Nessie? Is that the way you wanna play this, woman?!"
Morgan rolled his eyes and got up from the table, holding out a hand for Francis' plate, which the Frenchman handed over to him while suppressing chuckles. With the way things were going, Morgan would definitely rather be with him than his family tonight. When things got round to insulting their patron magical creatures, it was best for those not involved to quickly leave the room. Morgan observed this hurriedly, followed swiftly by Francis, Arthur, Seamus and Peter, all escaping the screaming row brewing on the other side of the door.
"Did you get all the plates?" Peter asked cheerfully, hopping up onto the tiny stool that allowed him to reach the sink. For some reason, he was always insanely cheerful about and eager to do the dishes.
Morgan dumped the plates he was holding on the drainer, then moved aside for the others. "I think we got everything," Arthur nodded, moving around to Peter's other side and grabbing a drying up cloth.
Morgan stepped back and glanced in Francis' direction, and found him already looking his way. He raised an eyebrow suggestively, and Morgan excused them with a quick, "Well, looks like you guys can handle this," and they left quickly before too many protests could be made.
He gave Francis a small smile when he turned from shutting the bedroom door behind him. "You're aware of how much this will piss off a certain someone, right?" he asked, coming closer to the bed that Francis had perched himself on the edge of.
The smirk that graced Francis' face was his own particular brand of smug. "There is nothing formal to worry about," he said airily. "We've never been a couple. And besides, now…" Francis' smirk became wider, but he didn't say anything else.
"Don't worry," Morgan snorted, "I'm quite up to date on that particular saga."
"All he can talk about, non?" Francis asked with a devious smile.
Morgan raised an eyebrow. "You really wanna spend all night talking about Arthur?"
Francis' look became predatory. "Goodness, no," he grinned, an almost feral look, and pulled Morgan down by the front of his T-shirt.
And the Welshman couldn't say he was dissatisfied with the offering. Francis hadn't got his reputation for nothing, after all. The sex was hot and just the right kind of messy and all over the bed and Morgan was probably being pretty loud but Francis was matching him in that department. There was a lot of kissing (on the mouth and elsewhere), and Francis seemed to take inordinate delight in slipping his hands over the well-defined chest he uncovered under Morgan's thin T-shirt (he knew those gym workouts had been good for something). Then there were no clothes at all and everything was a tangle of limbs and slight keening as Morgan slipped wet fingers into Francis, who bit his shoulder and growled something unintelligible into his ear. The Frenchman was challenging but giving, and he gasped very prettily when Morgan nipped his neck and thrust fast into him and just god.
The clock read only 10:32 when they finally lay quietly side-by-side, a soft orange glow from the streetlight outside seeping over the bedclothes from the open curtains. Morgan didn't say anything; he was no stranger to these one-night encounters, but that had never made it any easier for him to find a subject to talk about, if one was needed.
Francis, though, seemed to sense this about him, and turned on his side to face him. "Would you shut the curtains?" he asked softly. "I'd quite like to sleep, if you don't mind going to bed early. It was a long drive this morning."
"Sure." Morgan got up and pulled the thick curtains closed. When he came back to the bed, Francis seemed to already be asleep. He smiled to himself; of course, the drive from Paris took about five hours, and since he got here at noon Francis must have started at seven this morning. He contemplated going to another bed for the night, but then decided against it and lay down. It was warm and comfortable, sharing the bed with someone else for once. He slipped into sleep with a small smile gracing his lips.
