HEATED PASSIONS

Hallo! This is my first real one shot! Please don't flame is a yaoi ( boy x boy)

Francis and Arthur have heated kisses and beautiful moments shared next to one another. This is their story….

Francis strolled down the street grimacing. It was rather late. Sighing, the French man strode quickly towards his home. Stepping up onto his porch he noticed a black town carriage standing placed out in front of his house. Silently he wondered who his neighbor Gilbert was entertaining tonight. His mind was filled of thoughts containing a certain British man. Smiling he swung up the stairs, fishing in his waistcoat pocket for his latchkey, glancing down as he did he could hear the slight jingles, then horse hooves clomping down the street, a carriage strolling down the street casually. He froze premonition snaking down his spine. He hadn't heard or seen anyone get out of the carriage, nor the door shutting- why the hell was it leaving? Raising a blonde brow he squinted his eyes in the darkness. Turning his body towards the carriage he sensed the oncoming rush of an attacker. Whirling completely around he came face first with a cloaked figure batting him with ….a baton?... In their hand. His brain froze, unable to reconcile what he was seeing. The figure was short, and the cloak covered over fancy black pants. And there was a glint of gold beneath the hood, at eye level. In a split second he recognized his assailant, registered that he'd come from the carriage that had pulled away. He glanced at the departing carriage- then saw, too late the cosh he raised. Smiling the man hit him on the forehead. Not all that hard, yet enough to make him blink and stumble over the porch stairs. Absolutely stunned. Speechless, he stared at him. The man grabbed his coat- apparently mistakenly thinking he's incapacitated him sufficiently that he needed to stop him from falling down further. If he had really fallen it would have been from utter disbelief. What the devil was he doing? He blinked again as the man stuffed the cosh in his cloak then looked into his face. Glaring the man slapped him over the head.

"Play along" Arthur hissed annoyingly. What the hell was his script? One hand still clenched onto his coat, he reached out and hammered on his door. he wondered if he should point out that his latchkey was in his hand, but decided against it. He assumed he was supposed to be incapacitated, so he slumped against the wall, eyes half closed. It wasn't all that hard to summon a pained frown. He could feel a heated throb where he had hit him; he suspected she left a bruise.

Arthur all but jigged with impatience. What was taking his damned butler so long? Then Arthur could hear footsteps advancing towards the door. He looked over at Francis.

"Help me! Quickly!" he glanced behind himself, down the empty street.

"They might come back" Arthur cried out a faint flush on his face.

The butler frowned at Arthur cocking a brow slightly.

"Who might-" he began then noticing Francis slumped figure weighing Arthur down.

"Oh my lord!" the butler cried out hands clasping his face in worry.

"Exactly!" Arthur grabbed Francis arm and dragged it across his shoulders. Slipping his other arm around his waist, he hauled him away from the wall. He staggered, and only just managed to right himself, and him, before toppling backward down the steps. Lord, he was heavy! But he could hardly complain, Francis was doing exactly what he asked him to do. He weaved for an instant before his butler- Yao, that was it- came to his startled senses and seized his semi-comatose master from the other side.

"There now- gently" Yao helped him shuffle Francis through the door.

"Oh my heavens" Yao screeched loudly staring at Francis large mark on his forehead. Arthur cursed under his breath; the man was an old woman!

"Shut up damn it and help me get him upstairs!" Arthur barked struggling to hold Francis all on his own. He was no longer certain he hadn't truly injured him; he was leaning very heavily on him. He told himself that he hadn't swung the cosh all that hard, but anxiety started to churn in his stomach. Yao rushed to close the door, the reappeared to take Francis other arm. Francis moaned as they headed for the stairs- far too realistically for Arthur's peace of mind. Damn! He had really hurt Francis. Guilt joined the anxiety in a nauseating mix.

"What happened, aru?" Yao asked gaining more and more control over his nerves as they started up the stairs in a slow agonizing pace. He had his story ready.

"I convinced him to go looking for the missing boys. They waylaid us not far away and coshed him over the head. He took a fearful knock- see the bruise?" Arthur stated blinking 'innocently'. That was all it took; Yao tut-tutted and carried on about the dangers his master never seemed to have a care for, how he'd often warned him that something terrible would one day come of his investigating… and much more in that vein until Arthur was extremely sorry he'd ever thought up such a story-adding lashings of more guilt to that already swirling through him. He had to bite his tongue against the urge to caustically defend Francis; he had to remember his own role in this drama- that of male accomplice seriously concerned for his knight's health.

He literally gave thanks when they reached the top of the steep single flight, and could lurch toward, then through, the doorway leading into a sizable room. It took up most of the second floor- a very large bedroom, with a very large bed plus a small sitting area with a desk and a comfortable armchair angled before the hearth. The fire was cheerfully burning, throwing heat and light through the room. A dressing room opened to one side; he glimpsed a bathing room of in the near corner of the back of the room. A pair of tall boys stood against the opposing walls, and matching side tables flanked the bed, but it was the bed itself that dominated the room- and fixed his attetion.

A four-poster in dark wood with barley-sugar poles, it was hung with figured damask the color of his cloak. The curtains were looped back with tasseled golden cords, revealing a massive expanse of blue satin coverlet, with gold-silk-encased pillows forming a small mountain against the headboard.

In unspoken accord, he and Yao teetered toward the bed. Yao managed to steer Francis- who emitted another dreadful groan- until his back was propped against the nearest pole.

"Sir- if you can steady him a moment ill ready the bed, aru" Yao warily said taking his hands from Francis, then dove for the head of the bed, but before he could grasp the coverlet and drag it down, Francis groaned, and staggered sidewise.

"Oh!" Arthur gasped trying desperately to hold Francis upright, but then he toppled backwards, nearly jerking Arthur off his feet and onto the bed with him as he sprawled on his back across the mattress; it was only because he lost his grip on his coat that he managed to stay planted on the ground. Eyes still closed, he winced, and then moaned. Weakly, he raised a hand to his head. Arthur dived to catch his hand

"N-no, don't touch it" Arthur cried out "Just lie there and let us get you out of your coat". Arthur concluded that he was either a really good actor or he was really in pain- he had no idea which.

Thrown entirely off balance, Yao fussed and fretted. Arthur shrugged out of his cloak and laid it aside, then rustled back to the bed. Between them, they managed to ease the heavy overcoat off Francis shoulders. The coat beneath, one of the beast creations, proved a great deal more difficult to remove; Yao supported Francis, holding him upright, while Arthur clambered onto the bed behind him and tugged the item off. He shuffled quickly aside as Yao let Francis back down- to the accompaniment of another excoriating groan.

His waist coat and cravat were much easier to remove, much to Arthur's relief. Arthur dispensed with those, tugging both free, while Yao removed Francis shoes and stockings. The instant Yao stood again Arthur snapped for him to fetch cold water and a rag. Yao couldn't help but hesitate, but quite genuine concern ringing in the Briton's voice had him running down the hallways in an instant.

Arthur watch the butler run past the cleaning station, but the doors leading in were open. Did he really hit Francis that hard? Sighing he watched as Yao came running back into the room. Time for his next step. Taking the basin from the butler, he set it on one of the bedside table, briskly wrung it out, then leaned over Francis and applied the compress gently to the reddened patch on his wide forehead. The spot wasn't raised or contused; it was probably just as well he was covering it, especially as Yao had moved around the bed to light the candelabra on the other bedside table. The candles flared, then steadied, spilling light over Francis as he lay sprawled across the bed.

Without looking directly at Yao Arthur dismissed him. it took a few moments for the words to really sink in. he looked a bit stupefied.

"I-I can't do that, aru!" Yao screeched holding his hands nervously over his thin cheeks. Slowly Arthur lifted his gaze and stared-down his nose- at him.

"My dear good man." Arthur spoke slowly, sternly.

"I do hope" he kept his voice low, yet his tone was incisive "that you are not about to suggest that there is anything improper in my tending to Mr. Bonnefoy in his current state, especially as it was in response to a request of mine- indeed, in protecting me- that he was injured". Yao stayed quiet simply frowning, before he had a chance to gather his wits, Arthur continued in the same, chilly, impossibly superior tone "I have quite a few adult brothers, and have tended their hurts often enough" it was a lie, his brothers would likely bash his head in if he even attempted to try to help him " I have live for more than twenty- and eight years in the haut ton, and never I heard it suggested that tending an injured gentleman in a state of incapacitation was in any way considered fast". Having lied once, he saw no reason not to compound the sin; Yao couldn't possibly know how old he was. Returning his attetion to his patient- who had remained silent throughout- he struggled to recall useful terms Mr. Edelstein employed in this certain situation, which occurred all too frequently at the Kirkland household.

"It is very likely he has a concussion" Arthur stated with a nod. Alarm flared in Yao's eyes.

"Mulled win! My mentor always swore by it!" Yao cried out rushing for the door.

"No!- he shouldn't have any hot drinks!" Arthur cried out a little too quickly for his own good. Waving his hand he attempted to dismiss the man again.

"I'll sit and watch him over, and keep a cold compress on his injury. When he wakes, I'll ring for you" Arthur spoke out sitting next to Francis sprawled out body.

"But-"Yao exclaimed voice high pitched. Arthur sighed dropping the cloth in the basin then advanced towards Yao- who naturally backed away.

"I have no time for this discussion- I need to tend to your master" Arthur hissed balling his fists. He continued to march towards Yao till the Chinese's man hit the wall. Planting his hands on his hips he glared at the nervous butler.

"Now be gone with ye!" Arthur whispered harshly. Dramatically he pointed to the door the Chinese man eyes fallowing his point. Swallowing the man trudged towards the door glancing back before taking his leave. Arthur walked towards the door walking to it shutting it quietly. On a huge sigh, he locked the door not wanting to risk it. The sound of rustling behind him snapped him out of his thoughts. Opening his eyes he turned facing Francis.

"What" he asked "is this all about". His diction was precise- no slurring. The relief washed over Arthur as he relaxed. A spontaneous, delighted smile curved his lips, he started back to the bed.

"Good! You weren't really hurt" Arthur spoke quietly inches from Francis. Snorting Francis rolled his eyes.

"After that tap on the head? Fat chance" Francis spat puffing his chest out with much pride. Arthur couldn't help but grin more.

"I should have known that your bloody skull would be too thick for me to seriously dent it" Arthur laughed out.

"Perhaps, but what" Francis began unable to finish. Arthur bounced up to the bed; as he spoke, he bounced onto the coverlet, flung himself into Francis arms, and kissed him. Which was all very nice, but he was excruciatingly aware that they were in his bedroom, on his bed- and he'd locked the door. Compounding the problem, it was the middle of the night, and from all he'd witnessed, salvation in the form of Yao was unlikely to eventuate anytime soon. Certainly not soon enough.

Shifting his arms, Arthur pressed closer, wordlessly inviting. Unable to deny him, Francis leaned down planting a kiss on the others lips; closing his hands around his shoulders, he slid into the warm cavern of Arthurs's offering mouth, and feasted, feeding both their senses, letting the pleasure unfold.

Arthur was wearing dark green silk, a conservative, a severe shirt with black buttons marching from the raised waist to his throat, his long slender arms tightly encased, with even tinier black buttons at his wrists. The semifull pants thoroughly camouflaged his lower limbs. He looked forbidding. Instead, as ever, he looked like a forbidden fruit. The dark silk made his skin glow, porcelain fine, pearlescent pale. His hands moved to the lower of the others back, consciously possessive; the silk rustled dryly, a sensual sound, one suggesting surrender. It took a lot of will power to pull his lips from Arthurs own lips.

"Arthur" he rasped flushing slightly. Hugely satisfied Arthur drew back smiling beautifully at Francis. Smiling a bit more Arthur nuzzled against Francis neck taking in his rich sweet smell. Letting his lips turn up in a curve, Francis used his free hand to cup Arthur's cheek. Stroking Arthur's cheek a moment he let his hand fall back down to his waist, he held younger to him, rolled, trapping Arthur under him, he bent his head kissing the young Blonde roughly on the lips. He sank deep into him. The immediate response of every muscle he possessed to the sensation of having him beneath him was intense, revealing- and ravenous enough to have him mentally holding his breath while he wrestled his instincts back under his control. Arthur might have invited Francis to make love to him- he hadn't invited him to ravish him though. A distinction Francis civilized brain understood, but which his more primitive side- the one Arthur called forth- wasn't so interested.

Inwardly grim, Francis reined that less civilized self; only once he felt confident did he allow his hands to move. To slide From beneath Arthur, grasp his waist tensing… letting his possessiveness taste that much savor the fact that he was there, committed, his to take. It was a heady moment; in response, he pressed his lips wide and deepened the kiss, plundering in the languid, leisurely fashion that was a promise of intimacies to come. Having accepted his script- having once more, entirely unexpectedly, found himself following rather than leading- he had no lingering reservations; he would do as Arthur asked, take the lead and show him more, and introduce him to passion.

To the heat that swelled beneath his hand as he slid it in one slowly heavy stroke from Arthur's waist, up his silk-clad side, to the edge of his chest. Arthur gasped through the kiss; he'd caressed him in similar fashion as before, yet this time, with the certainty that he wouldn't stop with just one caress blazoned in his mind, the touch seemed more potent, infinitely more powerful.

Every touch was a promise, every sweep of Francis palm and fingers both exploring and claiming. A delight to Arthur. Warmth welled, and soiled through him. More definite heat- flames filled with pleasure- flared grew and raced through Arthur. His nipples were hard with want of touching from the French man. The nipples were pointed out in sharp delight. He would have told Francis how he felt but his mouth was currently being occupied. The older blondes tongue evocatively tangled with the younger blondes, he never had the chance, the ability, nor the wits to form words.

Words- reasons, rationality, and logic-no longer seemed relevant, not in this world Francis waltzed Arthur into, a world were desire had so swiftly risen he thought he could taste it- sharp, addictive. Compelling.

Francis responded, but with an unhurried calm, a lack of urgency that had Arthur spiraling. Pressing one hand between them, he deflty slipped the buttons undoing Arthur's shirt exposing his chest and flat stomach. Francis ran his fingers over the swollen buds squeezing them slowly not in any hurry. Gasping Arthur clung to him his breathing becoming hitched. He pressed his palm down a bit then kneading them. Arthur's hands drifted down Francis shoulders stifling a moan. Francis tested; tortured Arthur's senses- explored and learned of him, of his responses. His other hand remained at Arthur's waist. Anchoring him, holding him. Now, once more pressing beneath him, he slid the shirt of working on the Briton's pants. After sliding them off he cupped the younger's plump bottom, then slowly cruised over it, assessing, not yet possessing but with promise that would come. His weight above him, on him, held him down, bore him down, pressing his bottom into that questing hand, his touch sent ripples of heat down Arthur's spine, skin flushing darkly.

A strange restlessness grew in Arthur and spreaded like a wild fire. Like the opening of a well, a void, a hunger. Arthur could taste Francis desire in his kiss, feel it in his touch. Was this passion, rising in response?

Raising his head, Francis looked down at Arthur. Both their eyes were heavy lidded, the cerulean of Francis sapphire eyes intense. Then the elder's lips turned up in a dangerous smile, and he rolled taking Arthur with him.

Gasping Arthur clung onto Francis shoulder as he was placed at the top of the bed head resting on the pillows, back placed on the soft sheets. Drew to him, Francis captured Arthur's lips again. Once Arthur was captured in the kiss, the cage of Francis arms eased. The new position left Arthur senseless. Francis consciously spreaded Arthur's legs pressing hard against the others body. For a moment Arthur was content with the new position, to the solid, muscled heat of him between his thighs, to the hardness against the others own hard organ. Then Arthur felt Francis fingers sliding in the hem of his boxers. Impatience ran through him as he jerked the boxers off swiftly. He rolled them over yet again, Arthur's chest eyelevel with his head, just how he wanted it. His lips curved in anticipation as he raised his hands and ran a finger down the Briton's chest. His hands stroked, slowly, over the bud, fondling, caressing. Lightly stroking, circling his peaked nipples until he closed his eyes and shifted, restless, upon him. he took his sweet time, and savored, noting the rising tension that bowed her spine, that fractured his breathing and hand his pressure forward, seeking….. Just one more tantalizing touch.

Arthur's eyes were closed, a line of concentration etched between his brows as he drank in every tiny sensation. Lips curving in a predatory smile, Francis leaned forward, and licked. Arthur could hold back his gasp that faded into a slight moan, but didn't open his eyes. The sound nearly drove Francis over the edge. He licked again, then laved the tight the tight bud until Arthur's fingers dug deep in Francis shoulders with desperation. Only then did Francis lean closer yet and take the throbbing flesh into his mouth, and suckle roughly.

Arthur's moaned the sound trapped half in his throat; again the simple sound put Francis on the edge. Gasping, mentally reeling, Arthur didn't know how much more he could take. Francis continued feasting at his pecks, the lancing pleasure his hot, wet mouth, his raspy tongue pressed on him struck deep, sending flaring through him, outward to his fingertips, down to the hard organ that was leaking pre cum. He felt hot swollen, the flesh between his thighs ached for release.

Again Francis seemed to know. His hands left Arthurs buds sliding slowly down the chest to the abs then down fastening around the hips. He slid his fingers down the naked thighs relishing the feeling. He moved even more slowly up them. Thankfully for the position they were in he could do as he pleased without having to move too much. He continued to minister Arthur's nips, pressing unrelenting, distracting delight. Although his eyes were closed, as the caressing grew more and more explicit, as his long, elegant too-knowing fingers slipped between Arthur's thighs and took one long stroke of the hardened organ. He could feel it twitch as his hand caressed it slowly.

Arthur could feel the touch of his gaze, burning and he couldn't help but shutter. Then he took the peak of one bud into his mouth again and suckled-more fiercely. Arthur cried out head throwing back slightly at the feeling, he tried desperately to fill his lungs with air. He all but lost control when he felt one long slim finger enter him. Francis plunged it deep in stroking the hard organ with his other hand. He gasped as the sensation blossomed anew, on a wholly different plane. One where the heat expanded, yearning growing within, tangled and twined, desire and passion seamlessly melding, the flames of one and the heat of the other building to a conflagration. One Francis orchestrated.

Francis gave him so much, stroking the fires high, only to ease him back from releasing. From the point beyond which he knew he would simply be consumed and die. Again and again, he took him to the edge; each time the surge of heat increased and battered at his senses. At his mind. At his will. Forcing open his eyes, from beneath his heavy lids he glanced down at Francis- as he suckled at his breast. What he saw in his face was so stark. It shook his mind free for one brief moment of lucidity- to wonder if he knew what he was doing, if he truly understood what he'd invited.

That Francis wanted him. Desired him, he had absolutely no doubt, but that Francis too wanted him. He saw the raw want buried deep wanting the French man's face. Arthur suddenly understood the purpose behind Francis repetitive stimulation, each time taking his senses to new heights, opening his desires to new depths of need. On the thought, Francis hand shifted between his thighs and he pressed, worked adding a second finger to his entrance-blatantly readying him.

Gasping Arthur held back a moan squeezing his emerald green eyes shut. Francis withdrew his fingers leaving Arthur with the weirdest sensation in the world. Before he was able to protest Francis gave him a big long deep kiss. Francis was burning with want- beyond anything he'd ever known. If he didn't have Arthur soon…. But he was a virgin; he had to go slowly. Gently. Even if slow and gentle were no longer in his vocabulary. Greedy, rapacious, primitive need clawed his gut, filled his veins.

It was all he could do to, with one hand, reached out and grasp the man's waist suppressing the urge to bend him over the bed and fuck him till his brain fell out. He rolled back over Arthur lying beneath him once again. Bending his head he took hold of Arthur's precious lips, thoroughly, reacquainting himself with the wonders of the younger's mouth- ensuring on the way that he was acquiescent, unable to argue, even to talk. Or it should have been, but when he drew back and lifted his head, his next goal shining like a beacon through the sensual fog wreathing his mind, he realized Arthur was wriggling, tugging….

He blinked and focused on him. Arthur saw, and frowned.

"Your shirt" Arthur stated. Raising a brow Francis stared swiping back a few loose strands of his hair.

"What about it?" Francis answered blandly. Arthur all but glared at the French man.

"I-I'm naked- and you're not, I want…..you to be" Arthur whispered with a blush slowly starting to form.

Francis nearly glared back, but…he did not want him to want precisely that. Biting off a muttered curse, he rolled off him; it took exactly ten seconds for him to rid himself of his shirt and trousers. Then he rolled back, and pinned him. Looking down in Arthurs eyes he searched for any questions that might be looming.

"Satisfied?" he asked sarcastically. Arthur's eyes grew wide. Francis wasn't sure how much he had glimpsed, but the look suggested he'd seen more than enough.

"Ah…" Arthur began, voice failing him "I suppose". The throaty whispered saved his control.

"Don't think about it mon cher" Francis growled kissing him again. Deeper, more ravenously, letting his more forceful, ruthless instincts free enough to ensure that this time when he lifted his head, he was in no condition to distract him again. The sensations he pressed on Arthur- fighting, he knew, for a degree of control he knew better than to let him seize.

When a soft moan escaped Arthur, when his clenched fingers slackened in his curls, he knew he was safe. He moved lower still, trailing his lips down the center of his body. His tongue delved into Arthur's navel; causing the Briton to gasp and clutch Francis head again, too rocked by the novel sensation to even think. Forming thoughts- coherent ones- was far beyond him. His wits were overrun. Francis used sensation to completely overwhelm him.

All Arthur had left to himself was feeling. The most glorious panoply of cresting sensations that built and crashed over him, then washed through him in waves. Delicious, illicit, dangerous perhaps, yet without thought or reservation he gave himself over to all Francis offered, all Francis wished; he'd wanted to know and Francis was teaching him- more than he'd ever dreamed to learn.

Francis moved lower still, his hard body sliding down between his legs forcing his knees apart so he could lie comfortably; Arthur accommodated him without thought. Hot, openmouthed kisses punctuated with gentle nips peppered his stomach; Arthur squirmed, the hot ache flaring all around. The sensation of Francis skin sliding against his was a curious, surprising, distracting delight. Tougher and rougher, dusted with crinkly abrading hair, stretching over flesh and muscle much harder than his own, his skin played against his, in comparison so soft and delicate, a primal physical manifestation of his maleness and his own maleness.

Francis lips slid to the crease between his thigh and torso, refocusing his attetion. With the tip of his tongue, he traced inward, a hot line like an arrow leading to….

Arthur inwardly frowned. What….? His 'what next' had him swallowing a shriek. At the second, more intrusive brush of his lips over his entrance, he struggled, then tried to grab his shoulders, but his arm was across his waist held in down firmly- while his other hand gently stroked his aching member. He then removed his tongue from his flesh leaning over more engulfing the hard member. On a breathless gasp, Arthur shrieked his name, tried desperately to twist away, failed, grabbed his head, fingers locking in his golden hair, felt his entire body jolt as the sensation of him running his velvety tongue across it. Licking, sucking, and nipping at the sides of the pulsing member. He felt as if a wild fire was racing through him. He lay back on a moan. Eyes squeezed shut, he had no choice but to lie there and let him show him what he wished to know- to let the sensation ride him, let them fill his mind and overload his senses.

To where desire ruled and passion held sway, to where nothing mattered beyond their heat, and the rapacious, ravenous need that fallowed in its wake. Francis tongue lapped, stroked his lips caressed, and the heat within his coalesced. With every touch, the fire burned brighter. Tighter. More intense. Until it became his all, the only thing that in that instant mattered. A true consuming. A real surrender.

But the fiery tension only grew more intense. Until he couldn't breathe. Until the strands of desire, all fire and heat, wrapped about him so tightly he felt himself release. His mouth was filled with the white hot liquid but Francis did not stop there. With his tongue he moved lower mimicking what he had done with his finger, a slow, languid penetration, and retreat. He shattered once again. Fractured into a million shards of heat and light and glory. He gasped, rode the moment- greedily absorbing all he could. But the brightness faded, leaving him dazed, yet strangely empty. Oddly expectant, as if there should be more. Every muscle in his body felt liquefied, all tension released, yet…he still hungered. Opening his eyes, he looked up at Francis. Francis lifted his head, and was watching him.

Francis studied his eyes, and then shifted, rising like some powerful god over him. Raising his hand, Arthur rested his palm on Francis chest. Even through the gentle touch he could feel the steely tension coiled within Francis. Feeding entirely too powerful- knowing that the tension was because of him, was born of desire for him- and he found the strength to arch his brows.

"Is that it?" Arthur asked knowing perfectly well it wasn't. From under heavy lids, his eyes met his. He'd set his thighs wide; now he wedged his hips between Arthur's, and found the entrance; it was hovered there, and he quivered.

Bracing his forearms on the pillows, Francis caged Arthurs head, as he bent down and took in Arthur's lips- took his mouth in a slow, deep, soul-stealing kiss that once again had his wits whirling, that when Francis finally lifted his head he left him breathless. From a distance of mere inches, Francis met his gaze.

"That was the prelude. This-"He thirsted in slowly, powerfully, and steadily, deep into his slick heat-" is the beginning of the main event". He felt the restriction of Arthurs body, tested it, then withdrew and thrust sharply, more powerfully, breaching the barrier and riding deep into his luscious body. Shock lanced through Arthur; his features pinched, reflecting pain.

Inwardly cursing, he held still, jaw clenched with the effort to deny his raging impulses- his primitive side that wanted immediately to plunder and ravish unrestrained; despite having been more than ready, he was small- and Francis was not.

Head bowing muscles bunching and flickering, his breathing harsh in his ears, he fought to give Arthur time to adjust. He did. In tortuous increments. As if unsure how far he should go, how far it was safe to relax. Arthurs muscles unclenched in stages.

Gritting his teeth, Francis gave Arthur as long as he could, then looked at him- met his eyes.

"You all right" Francis said more than asked. Blinking up at him, eyes dark, lustrous pools in the candlelight. Their expression grew briefly distant, as if he were checking the validity of his statement, then she refocused on him. And there was wonder in his eyes.

"Yes. You're alright" he stated watching Arthur's lips curve. The last of Arthurs panic floated down the drain. Tension of a different sort returned to fill the void, and called to Francis. To every instinct he possessed. The sudden glow in Arthur's eyes, the subtle deepening of his siren like smile, the way his hand slid up to cradle Francis nape, sensed his worth- said he knew it, knew the effect he had on him, knew exactly what Francis wanted to do and approved. Wholeheartedly. On a groan, Francis surrendered to Arthur's urging and lowered his lips to him, and gave them what they both wanted. He took his mouth in a soul-deep kiss, anchoring them. Then he withdrew and thrust again, whirling them into a landscape he knew well, one of sensual pleasure, every deep, forceful penetration. As they waltzed, Arthur fallowed Francis lead, his body undulated beneath him, complementing, matching receiving, taking, giving, the pleasure swelled, welled, swirled through them as they danced, growing even hotter, ever more insistent, ever more intense.

Francis refused to rush, and wonder of wonders Arthur didn't press him to, rather he matched him, readily rode with him, his curiosity and delight apparent in every gasp, every encouraging murmur, every evocative touch of his fingertips on Francis skin.

Wherever Arthur touched, Francis burned, but that was nothing- no comparison to- the fiery heat of his sheath. It gripped him, drew him in; scalding and hot, he took him in and plainly gloried in the act. Beneath him, Arthur writhed; as the tempo inevitably increased, he clutched, nails digging in as he held tight and urged him- drove him-on.

Francis dragged in a shuddering breath and complied. The sensation that surrounded him, his lush body, his passion, his readily offered desire, colored his familiar landscape more brightly, more laden with feeling. Tactile sensation, true, yet it carried something deeper, something finer- something other. Some intangible part of them both. As if on this familiar landscape they'd somehow shifted onto some higher plane and were communing at a more elemental level. He couldn't think about it, define it now. His mind was too awash with whatever he was feeling. The intensity alone, the heightened sensations, battered at his mind. He wouldn't have believed it if he'd been told- that Arthur, an innocent no matter how well they could read, could so easily and completely and utterly engage with him, with his sensual side, one so very experienced- more, with the primitive passions he normally suppressed, normally kept on a tight leash so he wouldn't shock his partner.

He-patently- saw no purpose in any leash. As their passions rose higher, as locked together, arms banding, hands grasping, they rode the moment wildly, far from falling back from him, Arthur grew more demanding. Until Francis simply surrendered, let the leashes fall, and let them both revel in his- and his own- unfettered desire. Arthur gasped; without direction, he lifted his legs and wrapped them around Francis hips, and took him deeper. Urged him deeper still. Until he felt as if he touched the very sun. On a smothered scream, he shattered. And took Francis with him, his contractions calling on his climax, his powerful, unrestrained release unchanging his, setting it- for what in that glorious instant felt like the first time in his life- totally and utterly free. In the instant he emptied himself into Arthur, he felt like he'd given him his soul. Uncounted heartbeats later, he cracked open his eyes and looked down- at Arthur, sprawled beneath him, eyes closed, features passion-blank, except for the glorious smile curving on his lips.

Francis felt his own lips come up in a smile. He withdrew and collapsed besides Arthur, reaching for him to hold him ever so close. As satiation spread its soft wings about them, he prayed that if he had indeed surrendered his soul, Arthur would agree, at some point soon, to reciprocate and surrender his.

So what did you think? Not too bad? Horrible? I hope you enjoyed. Feel free to leave a comment if you so desire. I had to look through many romance books to really get the feel. I have never used so much freaking details in my life! Anywase I really hope you enjoyed… till next time goodbye3