Save The Last Dance For Me
The marble floors glowed under the chandeliers, the room filled with high classed nobles in all their finery, soft music drifting between the quiet conversations. Pompadour styled dresses swept the floors, draped in jewels and lace and feathers, silk and satin top hats cocked to the side, black shoes clicked against the stone. This was his element. The ball was in full swing, the wine delicious, the food perfect.
But Francis was not happy.
He wondered briefly if Arthur was drunk or something. He'd never seen the Englishman look so happy. In some (satisfied) part of him, he knew that smile was Arthur as a fake, when he was presented with two-faced nobles with their wiles and airs and had to match them. When all he really wanted to do was throw glass in their eyes and tell them a little something about being proper 'ladies and gentlemen'.
Why did he feel so happy knowing that Arthur didn't have to be fake with him, didn't have to reign in the urge to throw glass in his eyes? He would do it. Arthur Kirkland was no gentleman around Francis Bonnefoy.
In any case, while normally he liked being at these parties, flirting and deflowering young debutantes, he was strangely annoyed now. Perhaps it was because there was a young fair brunette hanging off Arthur, sending him flirtatious glances, touching girl simply wouldn't leave him alone! Francis seethed.
Arthur was his, and there was no changing that.
But, because his cute L'Angleterre hated for him to touch him (or talk to him, he said, but Francis figured the Englishman was just exaggerating) in public, Francis was left just watching. He was obeying Arthur's wishes because his lover got quite annoyed at these parties and often took it out on him. He refused to sleep on that uncomfortable chaise again.
The girl had lovely silky curls piled atop her head attractively, and her low cut dress showed off her ample bosom, pale skinned as a young lady's should be. He didn't doubt that she smelled like a woman should either. She had a small beauty spot on the back of her neck. She was a pretty, rosy cheeked angel, and Francis hated her with all the negative energy a healthy man could generate towards a lovely thing like her.
Arthur must have said something amusing, because she flicked her fan open, hiding her face as she giggled. Francis noted with a smirk, that she sounded like a maddened hyena. Arthur didn't seem to mind. Then again, he doubted Arthur even viewed the girl as a ready partner, desiring him. His L'Angleterre was quite oblivious to things like that.
Francis tried to put it all out of his mind. When they got home, he would make love to Arthur until he couldn't stand, until he remembered that he was only allowed to have Francis, that he would never let Arthur go.
There was a beautiful red haired creature, more mature than the brunette with Arthur, giving him suggestive glances. And he wouldn't have minded having his way with her too, his arm around her thin waist, were it not for the hyena giggles that he heard every few moments.
So he charmed her, hoping that Arthur would see them and become jealous, storm off so that he could follow and seduce the Englishman all over again. No such thing happened. Arthur was cheerful and bright, a proper gentleman was he guided the girl out to dance. Francis did the same, gliding and twirling until he was near Arthur, staring intimately into the girl's (Catherine, he recalled) eyes.
Arthur barely restrained a scowl. "Was there something you want, sir?" He hissed, pausing in his dancing to fix him with a venomous look. Francis smirked, winking before dipping Catherine, pulling her closer, laying a kiss on her neck. Arthur couldn't hold the frown now. "Francis, you're being a little rude, don't you think?"
"Did you think so, mon cher? I'm just enjoying a night of amour, non?" He stressed the words, feeling vindictive, eyes glowing with barely veiled lust. With a sweet, apologetic smile to Catherine (he'd come back for her, she wasn't really like the others), he bowed to the brunette. "Would you mind, mon belle fille, if I stole him for a while?" He kissed her hand, his eyes staring right through her, faking adoration. Stunned, she nodded.
Before Arthur could protest, he was dragged off to an unlit corridor, sputtering but unable to voice the swear words he wanted to yell, not while he was surrounded by civilized people. Francis grinned as he pressed Arthur against the wall, arms and body trapping him there. The Englishman let out a huff, not pushing him away just yet, even though his cheeks were flushed red.
"What's your problem?" Arthur asked, turning his face away as Francis leaned closer, the hand on his hip warm and distracting. The Frenchman gave him a soft chuckle, his breath brushing across his ear, laying kisses on his neck. He was going to ask again, when his lips we caught in a searing kiss. His hand reached up to tangle in the blonde ringlets at the back of Francis' head.
He let out a heavy, shaking breath when Francis pulled away, grinning at him, eyes shining with triumph.
"It's all fine if you feel like throwing yourself to hyenas, just remember that you're mine." He pressed his lips against Arthur's again, teasing him with his tongue, Arthur letting out a low groan. "These lips are mine. These hands. These eyes." He kissed each eyelid, each hand to prove his point, smiling serenely. Arthur watched him lazily, emerald orbs half lidded. "I won't let hyenas eat them."
"Shut up, bloody frog." Arthur grumbled, snapping out of the spell Francis placed over them, glaring half heartedly. But Francis smiled. Arthur pushed him away easily, cheeks still hot with a blush, mortified that he had let Francis kiss him just like that. "I was dancing with someone before you cut in, you git."
"Oui. Dance with her if you'd like." He paused long enough to purr, nuzzling the sensitive crook of Arthur's neck, enjoying the shiver he got as a response. "But you must promise, before we leave, to dance with me as well." Arthur didn't reply, merely left a smirking Francis leaning against the wall.
They both knew he would do it. Because Arthur was his.
Owari