To Fall, To Be
"Your tie is crooked."
The words are enough to cause Arthur to pause in his pacing, to turn toward the other with lips pressed in a thin line, set together in their perpetual scowl. His fingers shake slightly as he reaches toward the offending article, feverishly attempting to straighten. Failing out of nervousness.
Francis's own lips twist into a smirk as he steps forward in response, noting the suspicions that flash through Arthur's eyes as fingers dance along the collar. Caressing—just a moment too long...
"There." And they draw back, a single faint brush along skin. Just the faintest shiver of contact.
And then the moment is gone and his roommate turns back towards the mirror, looking over the outfit with a critical eye. Searching for anything to criticize...
"Decent."
Francis smiles, knowing that that is the closest he will ever get to a compliment from his grouchy, sarcastic friend. His expression slips into a smirk as he slides behind the other, settling his arms over narrow shoulders. Laughter bubbling in his chest as he feels the body stiffen under his touch, as he gazes at their reflection. His own face, a golden halo surrounding a carefully-sculpted mask. Arthur's—open, honest. Filled with nervousness.
Unsure, open...
Francis can feel the heart beat against his palm. Can feel the warmth of breath against his skin
He steps back. Smiles again. "You'll tell me all about it afterwards, oui?"
Arthur nods once, reaching up to play with his collar again. Still nervous. As if he needs to be... As if Arthur ever really needs to be.
Francis laughs and playfully slaps the hand away, reaching up again to the throat. Redoing his work. And fingers brush again, a few moments too long. As if not wanting to leave. Not wanting to give up.
He steps away again.
"Go on. A gentleman doesn't stand their date up, non?"
Arthur starts at the words. Flush passing over his cheeks for a moment. And then it's gone as he passes away, fingers settled on the doorknob. He pauses...
"You—" A moment.
And then hurried. "Don't bother waiting up for me, frog."
Francis smiles. "Of course not, mon cher."
And then the door opens and closes behind.
A/N: Okay, I feel like I'm going to get lots of "what the heck was that?" because of this. Since it's A) a pairing that I don't usually write and B) stylistically different than pretty much anything else I write.
First off, this story has nothing to do with any of my other stories. Pairing-wise or any other way. It is completely stand-alone. And it will not be expanded or added to.
As for the actual story, I don't really want to do a lot of explaining, since it's a piece that I think should be read on an individual basis. I do have my own personal interpretation, but I'd prefer letting you guys read it for yourselves. If you really want to know what I was thinking when I wrote it, then feel free to ask and I will explain.
This story was written to the song "Scarborough Fair" as sung by Celtic Woman.