Arthur always had cold hands.
It didn't matter if it was July or January, his hands were always cold.
Francis was sitting on the sofa, arms around a cushion in a vain attempt to stay warm. Despite the fairly enthusiastic fire burning in the living room, he couldn't get any warmer. Arthur had suggested he put on another jumper, but Francis wasn't having any of it. He was already wearing a very sexy jumper, OK? He didn't want to cover that fine piece of clothing up. Besides, he suspected Arthur was going to try and knit him a jumper for Christmas, so he wanted to make the most of his beautiful jumpers while he still cold.
Said Englishman entered the living room and crossed to the sofa, handing Francis a fragrant cup of coffee (drinks were the only thing Francis allowed him to make) before sinking on to the sofa beside him.
"Merci."
"You're welcome."
They held their drinks in silence, feeling the warmth slowly seep back into their bodies. Francis thought Arthur still smelt like outdoors from their walk that morning: cold frosty air and pine needles. Arthur thought Francis smelt unfamiliar: a mix of his new coat and a new shampoo brand. To reassure himself it was indeed still his Francis sitting beside him, he stretched out his hand and ran his fingertips down the side of his the Frenchman's cheek.
The result was chaotic.
"Arghh!"
"Bugger!"
Francis shrieked and flung his coffee everywhere, which in turn made Arthur jump and drop his tea.
"What did you do that for?"
"I only touched your face you tosspot." Arthur growled as he started to dab at the warm tea on his trousers with the tartan throw he kept on the sofa.
Francis laughed softly, and stood to assess the damage done to his clothes.
"What's so funny, Frog?"
"You can be romantic sometimes, mon ange, when you want to be."
"Ridiculous," Arthur muttered, and dropped the throw back on the sofa. "I'm going to change, this doesn't exactly feel pleasant." He stood and made his way upstairs.
Francis followed a few minutes later, to find Arthur in their room, shirt in hand, staring in distaste at the tea stain on it. He smirked and silently crossed the room, before gently running the tip of his finger down Arthur's back.
"Shit!" Arthur span round, and, seeing it was only Francis, hit him with his damp shirt. "You complete bastard. Was that really necessary?"
"Well, you are always making me jump with your cold hands, I thought I would return the favour."
"I do not have cold hands."
"There are several parts of my body that would strongly disagree with that." Francis pulled Arthur close to him, the latter wincing as his bare back met the coffee-covered fabric of Francis' chest.
"Idiot," said Arthur, but leaned back into Francis' arms anyway.
"But you know what they say mon ange," Francis spoke softly, just by Arthur's ear, "cold hands, warm heart."
Put this up on DA as a 'thanks for page views' thing, and peopled seemed to like it, so I thought I'd whack it up here too
Enjoy the fluff, cos my next fic includes some mildly depressing DenNor ahaha.
As always, these lovely men do not belong to me. Damn.