In Silk
"Following his bath,
I gave my handsome lover
my best purple robe
to keep him from the cold.
He blushed, and was beautiful."
— Yosano Akiko
Arthur's hair still dripped, the blonde locks darkened with water. Francis let his eyes follow the path of a stray water droplet, watching it slide from behind Arthur's ear, along his neck, down his pale chest, before it's journey was abruptly halted.
His eyes refocused on the now flushed red face. "Stop staring at me you pervert." Arthur groused heatedly, his glare uneffective against someone so used to it. Francis smiled gently, gripping Arthur's hips and dragging him closer to where he sat on the edge of the bed, still gloriously naked. His hair tousled by sex, sweat drying along his back. His breath brushed over Arthur's skin where he lay meaningless kisses.
"Are you telling me I shouldn't appreciate beauty?" Arthur sputtered wordlessly, face hot, fingers tangling in soft blonde waves. Electricity raced down his spine, tingling where Francis kissed, lips warm and dry and well practiced. It was odd for Francis to call him beautiful.
The spring breeze drifting in through the open window fluttered the curtains, and he shivered, not entirely out of cold. His skin was chilled, Francis felt like liquid fire, heat and lust pooling between them until it burned.
"Are you cold, L'Angleterre?" He stopped trailing kisses over Arthur's stomach to look up into glowing green eyes, committing the sight of flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips to memory. No matter how many times he saw it, it was still a novelty, that expression.
Arthur nodded weakly. Anything to get away from those fingers before he came undone. Anything to deny how much he enjoyed it when Francis touched him, when Francis took him past the point of caring.
Francis let him go, moving over to his wardrobe to dig through it for something Arthur could wear. Their meeting hadn't been planned like other nights. Sometimes, that happened. Sometimes, they just needed to see each other, just to touch, just to remind themselves of why they wanted the other so desperately. Arthur had brought nothing with him.
His fingers touched something soft in the back of a drawer, pulling it out, it unfolded to be a simple purple night gown, lacking the usual ruffles and ribbons that was typical of his clothes. It was pure silk, vibrant and soft against his skin. He smiled while looking at it.
"Here, Mon Cher. This should suit you just fine." Arthur's face flushed, slipping into the gown. He knew there was no point in asking Francis for normal night clothes. The stupid frog probably didn't own any. The silk was smooth over his bare thighs, and felt more embarrassed knowing there was nothing under the night gown.
Francis crawled into bed beside him, an arm wrapping around his waist, smiling at him, eyes glinting in the dim light leaking in from outside.
"You look beautiful." He whispered against Arthur's shoulder, glancing up meaningfully. The other looked anywhere but his eyes, refusing to believe his sweetened words.
"So long as you don't molest me during the night, Frog, I don't care what I wear." It was a lie. After all, he could have just slept naked, flesh rubbing flesh, feeling each other. But he would never admit that was what he wanted.
"I can't make any promises." His laughter was breathy and soft. And in the dark, Arthur allowed a smile of his own. It was okay so long as Francis couldn't see it.
Owari