Theme #1: Holding Hands
Francis had comfortable hands, while Arthur's own were always icy cold, no matter what he did. It was part of the reason that he always had them stuffed deep down in his jacket pockets.
"You know what they say mon cher," Francis had said one day as they walked down the street. "Cold hands mean a warm heart~"
Arthur had heard that before, never directed towards himself of course, but he'd heard the saying.
"Bloody ridiculous..." He had responded with. Francis had simply smiled, laughed lightly, and given his fingers laced with his own a light squeeze.
No one had ever held his hand, at least in that way. Not before he had met Francis. Sure when Arthur was a kid he would hold his parent's hands, and he would hold his little brother's hand when they were out and about. But holding Francis' hand...it was different. It was gentle and commanding and made him blush like a fool every time. He didn't know that hands could do that, in such an innocent way.
Francis remembers the first time he tried to hold Arthur's hand. He had met the stuffy British boy at school when he had moved to the small English town. Arthur was...intriguing. One day he had run into him at the market place. They both stood in the produce section; the Brit scrutinizing the radishes and he himself glancing across the heads of lettuce, not caring so much of an ounce for the vegetables at all. Francis swung his arms lazily at his sides, occasionally grazing the others hand. Arthur had slightly pulled his hand away, as if by instinct. Then after a moment he had made a bolder move and slipped his fingers to fit around the others, seeming almost absentminded about it. Arthur had flinched and whipped his head around to glare at him. He tugged his hand away instantly, but it had set in motion something strange. Francis continued to try to hold his hand every time they encountered one another.
And at some point Arthur had stopped pulling away. Maybe he had just given up on the thought that it would eventually stop, or maybe he had grown to tolerate and, perhaps, enjoy the others touch and company. Either way, something had shifted. Hand holding lead from one thing to another. Now when they went to the market, fresh out of high school and hand in hand, there was only one basket between them. Only one house hold to cook for.
Arthur had never understood why, but Francis adored his hands. Always holding, caressing, kissing the knuckles lightly when he wanted to turn on the charm. Something about Arthur's hands were magical in Francis' eyes. Petit yet strong, talented.
Yes, it was all magic. The magic of patience and persistence. The magic of light scarlet blushes, French charm and British insults. The magic of progress, acceptance, eventual returned 'I love you' s. But more than anything it was the magic of hands, and of holding them.
/OOO/
So ran across this 30 day OTP challenge deal. This is the first of many little drabbles. I don't Think that I'll be able to do it all in the 30 day range, I simply don't think I have the time. But I'm gonna leave this one as Incomplete and add to it as I get from one theme to the other. Reviews? Follow if you're curious haha.
