The Inconveniences of Powdered Sugar
Arthur loved it when Francis baked. He loved the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg that circulated throughout the small apartment. He loved the sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows, warming his back. He loved the sight of Francis, his sleeves rolled up and hair pulled into a hasty bun, an image he could easily recall from his childhood. He loved the dough, the way Francis's expert fingers kneaded and folded. He loved the flour that spread over Francis's forehead when he brushed away the stray hairs that escaped his bun. Everything about baking, Arthur loved.
Sleepily, he watched Francis delicately dip his fingers into the bowl of whipped cream, tasting it before adding a touch of sugar. The warm afternoon sun was putting him to sleep. He rested his head against the table, tired enough to eat a slice of strawberry right from Francis's fingers when it was offered to him. Francis laughed at him softly.
"Worn out, petit lapin? Why don't you go to the room and sleep?" Skilled hands worked deftly with the sharp knife, slicing the strawberries and tossing them in a waiting bowl. Francis gave him a quick smile, eyes glowing with amusement. Arthur sat up a little as if to prove that he wasn't tired at all.
"No. I want to watch." He put his head back down, noticing the way Francis's shoulder blades moved as he flattened pieces of dough and spread them out on his baking sheet. He followed Francis's fingers as they dipped into the strawberry sauce, licking the sweet liquid red, tongue darting out to taste before drawing the finger into his mouth. He blushed and looked away, studying the line of Francis's back. He liked watching Francis bake. It was Francis at his most natural. At his most beautiful.
"Would you like to lick the spoon?" Francis presented him the spoon with a flourish, grinning as Arthur took it and licked the whipped cream that clung to it. He wasn't as sexual, not as perfect, but hummed in pleasure as the whipped cream melted over his tongue. "You're always so messy, petit lapin." Francis reached out and wiped cream from the tip of his nose, before continuing to dust his strawberries with powdered sugar.
He shoved one tray of tart shells into the oven, and pulled out another tray of golden crisp shells, baked to perfection, shutting the oven door with a bump of his hip. Arthur closed his eyes, imagining the sweet taste of juicy strawberries with whipped cream piled on top of them, snuggling into his arms. The kitchen was cozy and comforting, making him feel safe in the haven of his arms.
"Arthur, Arthur, wake up. The tarts are done." Francis prodded at his shoulder, smiling at him as he woke slowly. Arthur rubbed his eyes groggily, looking from Francis to the tart balanced in his hand, strawberries glistening with sauce, cream artfully plopped on top of that, drizzled with the same sauce.
"Looks yummy." Arthur reached out for it, pouting when Francis moved it from his reach. The stupid frog was teasing him. "Gimme!" he made another grab at the pastry, frowning darkly when Francis once again pulled it back. "Stupid frog!" The strawberry tart seemed to sparkle, and blue eyes glinted with mischief. "Stop teasing me!"
"You see, mon petit lapin, there's this magical thing that you need in order to win this from me." Arthur glowered as Francis's lips spread in a wider grin. The Frenchman looked absolutely devious. Arthur sighed, leaning back in his chair, arms crossing defiantly. Francis paused, and licked the remnants of powdered sugar from his finger tips. "This tart looks very delicious, doesn't it, petit lapin?"
"Fine, fine!" Arthur adopted a cute smile, the picture of innocence. "May I have that tart please, Francis?" Francis let out a laugh, but didn't give him the dessert, instead pulling him off the chair into his arms. "What now, stupid frog? Give me the damn tart already." The strawberries were a tempting sight, glistening in the after noon sunlight. He reached for it, struggling against the arm around his waist.
"That was a very sweet routine, petit lapin, but not exactly what I was going for." Francis grinned easily at him.
Arthur sighed. "You're sick." He leaned forward, just enough to brush their lips together, just enough to taste the powdered sugar that remained on full pink lips. Francis let out a happy sigh, pressing their lips together firmly, breaking away a moment later. With a wink and a cheerful 'voila!', he handed Arthur the tart.
"God." Arthur mumbled, restraining the groan that wanted to escape as he bit into the tart, whipped cream gathering at the corners of his mouth. It didn't matter that his pride had been shot to death. The strawberry tart had been totally worth it. What was worse, the blasted frog knew it. "The things I do for your cooking."
Francis gave him a soft laugh, but otherwise, they fell into comfortable silence. Arthur licked his lips, and tried not to blush as he vaguely recalled the taste of powdered sugar on a mouth he was so painfully familiar with.
Owari