Arthur rolled his eyes as the Frenchman stalked lazily into the kitchen. "Afternoon, more like," was his curt reply.
Francis gave a wry chuckle at that, moving to wrap his arms around the Brit's waist from behind. "It's not that late."
The Englishman's only response was to roll his eyes again, though he couldn't fight back the smile quickly overtaking his lips. Try as he might to deny it, he adored being held like this. Swallowing his pride, Arthur leans back into the other's embrace, his hands still submerged in the cloudy water filling the sink.
Hands drifting from Arthur's waist down to his hips, Francis leaned in to press his lips to the other's neck, smirking a bit as the other's body tensed. That smirk quickly vanished, though, when he took notice of the fact that that familiar golden gleam decorating the Englishman's left hand was not visible through the water in the sink.
"What...?" Catching the Frenchman's gaze, Arthur smirks. "Oh, I see," that sexy, teasing lilt appearing g in his voice. "You want to see the ring, do you?"
The smirk widened when Francis refused to reply, instead biting down rather harshly on the pale skin beneath his lips, eliciting a pleasured gasp.
"Stop that!"
"When you stop teasing me and show me the ring," Francis purred, running his tongue along the rapidly bruising flesh, "I'll stop."
"I've every right to tease you," Arthur said, straightening himself up as best he could with his hands still submerged. "You aren't even man enough to pull my hands out of the water. Much too dirty. Those beautiful hands of yours are only good for jerking me off, it seems."
"Is that right?"
With those three little words, Francis slipped his right hand beneath the waistband of the other's trousers, slipping into the Union Jack boxers he had practically ripped off last night.
"Not now," Arthur hissed in response, tossing his head back onto the other's shoulder, arching his back and grinding back against Francis' hips. "The house needs cleaned and you're obviously not going to be the one to do it."
"Take your hands out of the water."
Rolling his eyes again, Arthur popped the stopper out of the drain, the sink quickly emptying.
Francis glared down at the now-visible left hand. "Where's the ring?"
Unable to hold it back any long, Arthur chuckled. "On the sill."
Glancing up at the little window above the sink, Francis groaned, resting his forehead on Arthur's shoulder. "It was there the entire time, wasn't it?" the Frenchman asked, his voice soft and shamed.
"It was." Arthur shrugged his shoulders, jostling the other man slightly. "I didn't want to dirty such a beautiful thing." Tossing that beautiful green gaze over his shoulder, he adds, "You have a predilection for beautiful things, don't you?"
"I have a liking for you, don't I?"
Arthur scoffed at that. "I'm not beautiful, Francis. Men aren't beautiful."
"Au contraire." Francis' right hand retreated up Arthur's hip, circling to the opposite side while his left snaked its way to the other's shoulder, pulling him back into a tight embrace. "You're gorgeous."
"And you're a liar."
"Would I be willing to marry someone who isn't beautiful, Arthur?"
"Hmm..." Arthur turned his eyes to the ceiling in thought. "No, I suppose not."
"That ought to be proof enough for you, cher."
"Mmm."
"The ring is a beautiful thing, though, isn't it?"
"It is."
"But do you know what's more beautiful than that ring?" Francis asked, his voice a deep, husky purr beside Arthur's ear.
"What's that?"
"I d rather see my mark on you than a ring, even a beautiful one." Francis lifted two fingers to trace the purple bite mark marring the other's shoulder, and Arthur shuddered in response. "You're more beautiful than a piece of metal anyway."