Once again, school kept me from posting this as early as I'd have liked to, but at least I didn't have to put it off for too long. Also, long chapter is long because of reasons. Reasons that you can probably guess if you're observant.

Arthur ignored the castle guards as he passed the gates. He thought for a second that they might question him as to where he was going (perhaps going by his father's orders?) and prepared a retort in his mind, but he remembered within the next few seconds that they were pretty much required to mind their own business when it came to the royal family. So they were silent when he passed, and for all Arthur knew they might not have cared at all.

Except they must have been at least curious, as the Prince had never done anything like this before—he'd never just left the castle this late because of his father or for any other reason. But that row just now had been too much. Arthur couldn't handle all the frustration and anger and conflicting feelings—aside from wanting to get away from that awful man, he simply needed some air.

It was rather dark, he soon realized. When he had first stepped outside the castle, he'd still been able to see a little, but it was still getting progressively darker. Well… damn, he hadn't thought of that.

Another thing he hadn't thought of (though he really should have) was that it would start raining. Of course, it rained all the time in England—especially during this time of the year—but it somehow hadn't crossed his mind until the first few drops hit his head, to his surprise. He took no more than a second to decide that the prospect of rain prevalent in his mind wouldn't have kept him from leaving, anyway. He could deal with a bit of rain.

Although Arthur did know that he didn't want to get soaked. He had begun walking up the slope to get to where he could cross the path to get to the forest and find his spot, but the past minute hadn't led him terribly far. There seemed to be limited options for him, and he knew that getting under the cover of trees wasn't going to help him. And he obviously wasn't going back to the castle; his pride wouldn't allow him to do that.

The next (admittedly the first, actually) thing that popped into his head was Francis's home in the lower town. Arthur was suddenly very sure that he would be welcome there, and it was actually more his undeniable desire to see the man than it was his desire to not get so wet that overwhelmed his pride toward apologizing.

It looked like that was where he was going now, because his legs practically turned him around themselves and started back down, straight to the cluster of crudely built huts and sparse stone houses. Even at the fast pace he was walking (which was getting steadily more painful for his legs), it took him nearly ten minutes to get all the way down there—and that included the few times that he had to stop himself from slipping in the now-forming mud.

Arthur would have figured that Francis's house would be difficult to find in the dark, but his legs led him straight to the front, and he knew at once and without a doubt where he was. He had just walked here too many times—playfully antagonized Francis in front of this place too many times—to forget. The thought made him uncomfortable in a way that he couldn't quite describe—which was likely because he was feeling numb at the moment: He was, for the most part, only vaguely aware of where he had gone for a second. The cold and the rain (which thankfully hadn't been all that heavy) that had soaked through a layer of his clothes was probably the cause of that.

The numbness went away long enough for him to register that he was glad no one was outside of their huts right now and also for him to have to make the completely conscious decision to knock on Francis's front door.

Wow. Knocking and waiting for permission to enter. That was strangely new for him.

When the door opened slowly to reveal Francis on the other side, Arthur noticed his tired eyes widen and then his eyebrows knit together in what looked like confusion. He just looked at the man, taking in the sight of his face after a week of not having seen it, and didn't say anything.

After a couple seconds of staring back, Francis reached forward to grab Arthur's upper arm and pull him inside with unintentional force—but not too much—and then closed the door to shut out the rain. For a moment, there was a sort of resigned look on his face—a yes, you can come in, since it's raining and I don't want you to be out there in the rain face.

But before Arthur could do more than wipe a bit of the rainwater off his face, Francis frowned at him, still holding onto his arm so that he would look at him.

"…Why are you 'ere?" he said quietly, feeling his confusion overwhelm the relief. "I saw you ride back in tsrough ze town… but mon dieu, do you know 'ow late it is? If you wanted to see me zat bad, you could 'ave waited until morning—"

"Oh yes, I came because I missed you," Arthur snapped, stepping away and brushing off Francis's hand. Of course even now, Francis had to have that damn arrogance…. As much as he tried to hate the man for it, though, it all came back to the actual truth of those words and how the snark in his tone hadn't even worked to mask it. His voice had broken enough to make it obvious how true it was—even to Francis, though the fact that he'd tried to say it like that at all made him angry and annoyed.

It made him more annoyed that Arthur decided to walk over and sit on his bed like he owned his house. Even though he had pretty much personally decided beforehand that everything of his was also Arthur's.

Or perhaps it had been Arthur who'd decided that.

Either way, Francis was suddenly very frustrated—frustrated about Arthur's constant rudeness and the way he'd left to Wales and the way he'd just shown up all of a sudden and the way all of this hurt him. He didn't know how he was supposed to please Arthur or if he even wanted to please him in the first place—he'd always held his ground and refused to be treated as anything less than an equal to the Prince, hadn't he?

Francis narrowed his eyes at the Prince sitting on the edge of his bed, partly because of his frustration, partly because he was trying to gauge what he was thinking, and then partly because the inside of his hut was dimly lit. He remained where he stood for a second or so, just staring at him and waiting for him to look up and say something, before he sighed in defeat and started walking toward him slowly.

"Hn… Why did I even let you in?" he said quietly and with as much contempt as he could muster. Francis folded his arms and frowned at the wall instead of looking at Arthur.

"Because it's raining," replied Arthur, unexpectedly. He hadn't been able to think of anything to do or say beforehand. Looking up from his knees and up to Francis, he went on, "And because you care about me."

That hit him in the heart. Granted, considering how passionate of a person Francis was, a lot of things hit him in the heart—but this was different. He'd never been a part of anything like this.

"You…," he started in a low voice, looking down at the dirt floor and shaking his head slowly, before turning his head back over to Arthur with a look that he'd never seen on him before. The Prince's eyes widened slightly at how much hurt was in that look, how close to a scowl it was and how Francis had never looked like this before. And he stopped breathing once the man sat down next to him but turned so that it was much more across from him—and the dim lighting made his expression look even darker.

"You hurt me!" His voice became even more of a shouting whisper—so much that his French accent went away a little, and he put his hands up in front of the middle of his chest to show just how much he hurt. "I…" He trailed off with his face still contorted into one of pain, shaking his head lightly again as he regained his focus on Arthur's eyes. "You pushed me away and left me like I was notsing, and I couldn't understand why. Ze… ze first night you were gone… I cried," he admitted, once again shaking his head because it was the only way to deal with the pain. He made a jerky gesture with his hand—but Arthur grabbed his wrist before he could let it fall back down to his side.

"So did I," said Arthur through nearly gritted teeth, his eyes locked on Francis and his legs suddenly shifting themselves so he could face him more. His voice and body were shaking now, too. And he was breathing too shakily to speak for another couple seconds. "You're not the only one who hurt, Francis!—I'd felt like nothing of the day before I left was real, and I—" His voice choked there, and he had to force it back. "—and I thought you were merely playing a game with me and I couldn't do that, Francis—"

"Zat is not true!" Francis said hastily and more huskily than before, now sounding desperate as his expression changed and he grabbed the shoulder of Arthur's tunic with the hand that Arthur didn't still have control of. "Zair was never a game, Arthur—what… what would make you tsink zat?"

They both paused a moment to register how suddenly concerned and sad Francis sounded, and Arthur unwittingly leaned forward a little despite Francis's grip not being that hard.

"You pushed me away," he said simply, at first. "You just pushed me away so easily when my father was about to come in—"

"I 'ad no ozzer choice!—Surely you know what your fazzer would 'ave done to us if 'e 'ad seen…." At the thought of them being caught, Francis felt something twist in the pit of his stomach, and he moved his hand up to clutch at the base of Arthur's neck instead.

"Of course I do, but—but I couldn't have possibly realized it then! I was—I was too…" Arthur kept his mouth open but couldn't get any words out for a moment, as he was embarrassed to say it out loud. "Lost in it. Clearly you weren't, because you were able to hear him—"

"Arthur…." His expression becoming more pained, he leaned slightly closer without realizing it and shifted his hand on Arthur's neck. "I'm not like you—I've kissed ozzer people before. I knew what it felt like already…. I swear to you, I was lost in it—but not so much zat I couldn't sense anytsing else. You should be glad…!"

Feeling that he'd explained it properly and thus fixed that misunderstanding that had caused all of this, Francis let out a breath and waited in silence, not moving any closer or any farther away.

But with Arthur, the relief that he'd been wrong also came with the feeling that he'd known so all along and had just been a complete and total idiot. Which was accurate. And he couldn't find any forgiveness in him, since it now felt like there had been nothing to forgive in the first place. And so he was confused. The last scraped up bits of denial surfaced, and all at once Arthur was experiencing a whole new wave of feelings that all made him want to cry. And he just had to rationalize.

"You know…," he started, blinking heavily and looking down after several seconds of silence between them, "I am supposed to hate you."

The words came out thick, and the sound of his suddenly swollen throat interfering with his voice was easily noticeable. He swallowed, furrowed his brow, and looked back up at Francis, who had just made an effort to keep his face set. And he continued, slightly shaking his own head and holding back tears.

"It's as simple as it gets when I say that I'm English and you're French or that I'm the Prince and you're a peasant—but… then you're also insolent and narcissistic and you care too little about what's important and too much about what's not. And… and with how much you've wormed your way into my life, and how you take my heart in your hands and keep it from beating with everything you say and knock me down from my Princely title to merely a person with everything you do…"—He suddenly had to put forth more effort to maintain a relatively smooth voice, and for a moment or two his vision was blurry from the somewhat-forming tears—"…I believe I have every reason to."

That last bit was slow, even, and deliberate. And Francis could tell. He let out a breath and briefly searched Arthur's eyes for the answer he was about to ask for—

"Do you?"

That was it: short, breathy, and urgent—despite how calm he'd made it sound. His mouth had hardly moved, and he'd only raised his eyebrows slightly. It was because he felt as though, in the past few minutes, he had aged a thousand years and was now too tired and too sad. The Prince looked and felt the same.

There was a sudden pain in his chest, but no urge to cry out came to him. Arthur stared back and thought—and he didn't need to think hard. The only hard part about that was saying it. And then not even that was difficult once he'd gotten his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

"…No."

Both of their hearts skipped a beat. Quite possibly the same beat, because they also pulled on each other and moved forward at the same time so that their faces collided almost violently in a searing kiss—and their hands met each other's faces after their lips did.

It wasn't like the kiss they'd had before. It began hard and desperate and painfully passionate with them clutching at each other's faces with both hands and pulling as hard as they could because damn it all to hell, they needed it. They needed nothing but each other and every bit of each other, and every moment that any bit of air stood in between their mouths was one that was full of enough anticipation to fill up a year and then enough gratification a second later to last them a lifetime.

Arthur, as dizzy as he was starting to feel, could register that this was much different than the last kiss and that this was what he'd been waiting for and hoping for; and the fact that he finally had it was too much to comprehend in any other way than a warmth so hot it felt like it should have killed him enveloping his chest.

Neither of them moved their hands to the other's hair or neck until they had both shifted to have their legs fully on the small bed and overlapping with each other's if only to be closer—which neither of them realized they'd been doing until they already did. Arthur's chest—and every part of his body, really—was absolutely screaming from the closeness.

And then more, when there was a tongue that wasn't his own inside his mouth.

And then even more, when he was pulled by his lower back directly into Francis's lap.

With Arthur very nearly straddling his legs, Francis held his arms tightly and securely around his back and unwittingly let his lips slow down in their movement with Arthur's and then slide off and down the man's jawline. He pressed kisses to everywhere his lips could reach on the neck before him, not entirely coherent because of the passion muddling his brain but still aware that he was doing this well.

Half-because his skills in this area had been proven many times before and half-because it was very difficult to miss Arthur moving his hands involuntarily from his back to his hair and his audible, breathy moans.

Francis wasn't quite lucid enough to be completely aware of everything he was doing this time, though, for this was a situation where they couldn't get caught. He knew what he wanted and he knew what Arthur wanted, and he knew that in actuality they truly did need this—and that was all passion. He could most definitely do passion. Calculating things and trying to be precise was never a good idea. He knew they'd waited far too long for this, and with the damned planned marriage and the week spent apart and everything they'd gone through, all he wanted to do was give Arthur everything. He wanted to make him feel everything…. Finally. Oh mon dieu, finally.

Never having known what such kisses were even supposed to feel like, Arthur was physically shocked into arching his neck backward and holding tighter onto Francis's hair for several seconds. He let out a soft "Oh" and let him keep doing what he was doing, breathing in gasps and slight moans and, a couple times, letting Francis's name come out in those breaths.

As the Frenchman's mouth slid over a particularly sensitive patches of skin on his neck, he arched back again with another, heavier gasp.

"Francis…," he breathed, louder than anything else he'd said since this had started. His hands quickly slid down to Francis's back, and he tightened his grip. And then his next words a moment later felt like more than a whisper or a moan—more of something from deep in his chest. "Touch me…."

He needed it. There had been so many times before when he'd just wanted it, and now he needed it more than ever.

Francis gave a small nod and let out a sharp breath against Arthur's neck as he slid his hands down to the end of his tunic and then back up, underneath it, to softly move his fingers up and down his back. He felt the Prince shiver underneath his touch and immediately wanted to feel more of him—so he brought his hands around and out to blindly find the belt around Arthur's tunic and undo the fastenings. He started to push it up and off of him, but Arthur realized what he was doing and was suddenly too impatient for more touches—enough that he leaned back and momentarily away from Francis so he could pull it off himself and then toss it to the side. He didn't care where it went.

And almost without meaning to, when he moved forward again, he started tugging upward on the ends of Francis's tunic. He had it halfway off when Francis grabbed the end and pulled it off himself as well. Arthur continued to hold onto it and help him, though, so when it was off and on the ground, his arms were already around Francis's neck again, and their mouths less than an inch apart.

For what felt like the longest time, and in a wholly good sense of the term, they resumed their kiss and gradually let it get more passionate as their touches continued, both sets of hands sliding across each other's backs and chests, occasionally stopping to appreciate a particularly nice-feeling tress and muscle because it suddenly occurred to them how little they'd felt of each other before and what a shame that was. It was suddenly the most important thing that they explore and know each other's bodies the way no one else ever would. And they only let their mouths break apart for gasping breaths and to sometimes kiss down each other's cheek and jaw for a couple seconds before moving back.

It took them a few seconds to realize when Francis grabbed hold of Arthur's legs to shift them and leaned forward to push the Prince onto his back. The bed they were on was a peasant's bed and therefore not very big or particularly comfortable (it was a luxury that Francis even had a real bed, actually), but that didn't matter to them. Arthur definitely preferred it to sitting up and trying to stay balanced on the other man's lap at this point.

More kisses were pressed down his neck and then back up as Francis unconsciously shifted himself over Arthur's body and slid his hands into the small crevice his lower back made with the bed. Meanwhile, it occurred to Arthur how he was the one underneath Francis and he was once again being the submissive one—but that suddenly didn't matter to him anymore. All of this wasn't making him feel like less of a Prince; it made him feel amazing. And… he was the one without experience in this. It wouldn't have made sense for him to take the lead.

Although, the thoughts made him want to be less of a receiver right now. Not necessarily because he wanted to prove his masculinity or his higher social status (as far as he was concerned, Francis was his equal in all states of affairs)—but because he realized how unbalanced and unfair this was.

So, with that sudden burst of confidence that he could do this without necessarily having to know exactly what he was doing, he pulled Francis up to kiss him on the mouth again, and then farther up so Arthur could reach his lips to the man's jawline and upper neck without stretching his neck uncomfortably.

Slightly surprised by the action, Francis let out a moan of mostly breath and moved his arms up to grip Arthur's upper back instead, so that he could hold himself up properly. He'd never been in this position while receiving kisses like that before, but he very quickly realized how good it felt to be briefly submissive even while on top—and at the same time having to be the one to turn and arch his neck to give Arthur more of it and letting himself be pulled in whatever direction Arthur wanted.

The Prince's lips soon made it back up the edge of Francis's jaw and to the bit of skin right below his ear—and out of nowhere, just as the man above him gave a small hum of pleasure from the pressure on that spot, a small but significant thought hit him.

There were now very important words building in his chest as he dragged his lips back across Francis's cheek to recapture his mouth. Arthur almost jerkily (as smooth and steady movements were somewhat difficult for him in his mind's haze right now) moved his grip from the man's upper back to his hair again, and he pulled his lips away from the enrapturing kiss to press his now-sweaty forehead against the other's.

His eyelids drooped in his recovery from the shock of the raw passion between them suddenly stopping, Francis stared into Arthur's eyes and moved his own hands up to his face. He understood that the passion was still there—but he was curious as to what the man below him was going to do, or if he just needed a breather.

Arthur did have to breathe, but he wasn't going to wait until he had gotten all his breath back before speaking. He knew the words his entire body was urging him to say, but he was somehow still above that. Something just wouldn't let him do it like that, and it was far different than any sense of pride. Perhaps a bit of insecurity, though. And so the breathy words that slipped out of his mouth as he held Francis's heavy-lidded gaze and felt their hearts beat together were a bit different than he'd intended.

"Do you love me?"

For a moment, Francis couldn't respond because he was suddenly so full to the brim with feelings that he thought he might have been about to burst. It wasn't as though he'd had a past anything like Arthur's and had sought to avoid having feelings at all, but he'd never experienced them like this. Not with anyone else he'd been with.

Feeling his chest along with the rest of his body grow even warmer, and suddenly finding himself slightly shorter of breath, Francis nodded and gave a somewhat gasp-like "Yes."

And then he conveyed a questioning look through his eyes, moving his face slightly farther away from Arthur's to make it easier for him to see his eyes. But he wouldn't have had to, anyway, because he'd known Francis would want to know the same of him. He could simply feel the question in the air.

This took a little longer, though—not because Arthur really needed to think about it, but because he felt the need to slide one of his hands down to Francis's cheek first.

"My heart belongs to you, Francis," he whispered, and at once their bare chests rose together and pushed their hearts closer. It really did belong to him.

The reconnection of their mouths was so quick that neither of them were quite aware of when it had happened. But that didn't matter to them. They were spilling their souls out to each other through all the intimate touches, and there were no consequences on their minds.

It wasn't long until the touches were no longer restricted to the upper halves of their bodies, as a single brush of Francis's hand across his chest had caused Arthur to make the first involuntary roll of his hips up into Francis's, and now they were both rolling their hips and Arthur was grabbing his backside to pull him down and harder. They could both also feel their trousers growing tighter—Arthur especially because he wore two layers on his lower half—and it was starting to become unbearable.

Through all the touches and caresses and kisses, there wasn't any conscious thinking. That's what passion was supposed to be: no thinking, just feeling. They had both spent far too much time thinking about what and how they felt and were supposed to feel about each other to waste time thinking now, when they just wanted to feel everything. Arthur felt Francis tugging at the top of the outer, loose layer of his trousers and went along with it, moving his legs up to make it easier to get them off. He felt the desire to rid Francis of his trousers and made the move to do so without hesitating—of course, he needed help.

When both of their shoes were also kicked off of their feet and their bare bodies were pressing into each other, there was an involuntary, sharp breath from the both of them. Francis took a long moment to look straight into Arthur's eyes, as though to confirm that this was real and not any sort of hallucination or illusion or the work of magic. The Prince stared back in his haze, unable to register much in the sudden, burning feeling all over his body, but still able to give him a look that was just slightly questioning—…Are you feeling the same thing I'm feeling…?

Yes, of course ze answer is yes….

Another kiss, and it's relatively short, but it's followed by more kisses that last longer each time and gradually include longer spans of time for which their tongues slide together. Another roll of Francis's hips downward, and of course it's followed by more, and now it's directly pushing their erections together and causing them to moan inside each other's mouths. And it didn't stop.

Until Francis moved his hand down Arthur's side and in between his legs and started to slide his fingers into the gap: At the first bit of pressure in that spot, Arthur let out a gasp of shock, and his eyes shot open as well. Noticing it, Francis stopped and looked at him with concern, his conscious thinking coming back and his brow furrowing into a small frown.

"That's… that's sodomy," Arthur said in a rasp, staring up at the ceiling in what looked and felt like panic and still catching his breath. Everything had just come to him all at once, and he suddenly wasn't sure if he was ready for this or if he could do it at all because he—he just didn't know…. "It's illegal, it's…"

And now he felt like he had ruined it all. All of his muscles seized up, and he simply didn't know what to do. Those didn't even feel like his own words—they were his father's words, words of noblemen and words of executioners about to hang a man for such a crime and words of priests and words of anyone he may have heard as a child, and they were coming out as though he was being forced to recite them. He'd heard and read them so many times that they were haunting him, and he suddenly couldn't forget how, in the eyes of what seemed to be the whole of England, everything he wanted was wrong.

"…If you don't want to do it zat way, we can just lay 'ere," Francis said softly, moving a hand up to gently hold Arthur's face. He could understand—the Prince hadn't lived a life anything like his. And he couldn't honestly say that he was disappointed, either, for a reason he couldn't really explain. Arthur's expression started to soften, but he still didn't say anything; and when he'd gone several seconds without speaking, Francis figured that this was how it was going to be and began to lower himself to just lie down normally—

But Arthur then realized what he was doing at once and suddenly knew that he didn't want that at all. It hit him even harder that all the qualms regarding this, what he was about to do with Francis, weren't even his—and he quickly raised one hand to Francis's shoulder to keep him up there.

"Wait—no, no, I'm sorry…." His voice came out differently now—desperately. Though unaware of it, Arthur almost sounded like he was begging. "I do want to—that was just… shock, I don't know—but don't stop, I want this, I want you, I—"

Considering the lack of disappointment he'd felt before, there was most certainly a lot of relief in Francis at that. He cut Arthur off with a nod and a kiss, and in the sudden return of passion, he nearly forgot that he would need something to ensure Arthur wouldn't be in pain. Being the sort of man he was, though, he always kept that sort of thing in his home—even now, when it was a few months since he'd had anyone in his bed and when he certainly hadn't expected Arthur to come.

"'Old on, just a second…" he whispered, and it would have been completely inaudible if his lips weren't so close to Arthur's ear. The Prince didn't have time to even register that this was something he should have been confused or curious about before the weight of Francis's body was no longer on him, but instead up and walking over to the very small kitchen on the other side of his house. It was hardly ten seconds before he returned with a small jar, though, as he'd organized things well and his house wasn't exactly big.

At once, he set down the jar on the ground (which was easy, considering how low his bed was) and resumed his position on top of Arthur, who looked slightly curious but all too impatient to continue at the same time.

He gave him one more kiss before inching downward until he could spread Arthur's legs easily and prop them on his shoulders. Arthur crossed them involuntarily and clutched hard at the bed when he felt the first bit of pressure at his entrance again.

"What…?" he half-gasped, arching his neck to look up at Francis a little. It had felt good, but in a way he couldn't understand. This was still new to him.

"Making sure zat it won't 'urt, mon amour…," whispered Francis, suddenly hating that this part was necessary. Of course he never wanted to hurt any of his partners, least of all Arthur, but it took extra time and it required a break from not having to think. And it was animal fat that he was using—he wasn't going to tell Arthur that, though. But that was really all he had. "Zis will make it easier…. Just—just relax…," he added, noticing that he was tensing up a little.

He tried his best to do that, but it was a little difficult when he was so impatient. Arthur let out another groan each time Francis added another finger and the pressure inside him increased, but he was trying not to express any of the slight pain that came with it.

"Hurry up," he moaned through gritted teeth after a couple minutes or so, gripping the bed harder and tightening his legs around Francis's neck. "I can handle it, just—please…."

Though he didn't quite believe he had prepared him enough, Francis nodded and pulled his fingers out, then wiped them on the edge of the bed before shifting his body back up so that his legs were underneath Arthur's, and Arthur's legs were wrapped around his back. He would have gone slower with entering if Arthur hadn't grabbed his hips and pulled him deep inside without warning, at which he let out a rather loud, involuntary moan that Arthur couldn't believe he'd caused.

"Arthur…"

Hearing his name moaned like that along with feeling himself being filled with Francis's erection made Arthur want to burst with all the heat that had built up in his chest. He let out a gasping moan and immediately moved his arms up to wrap around the other's man's shoulders, arching his head back into the pillow that would have been uncomfortable if he were doing anything else. He was in too much pleasure to register it.

Francis started slow, thrusting at an even pace and getting Arthur used to the feel of it, loving every gasp and moan that the man below him made. His arms remained at Arthur's sides for a while to hold onto him, but sometimes moved back up to hold his upper back just as Arthur had his. Sometimes he stayed above Arthur just enough that he could run his hand over his chest and elicit more sounds of pleasure out of him, and at other times he bent down far enough that he could have their chests nearly (if not fully) pressing together, and he could press a few brief kisses to his mouth or neck.

As time went on, the thrusts got gradually harder and faster when Francis figured Arthur could definitely handle it—and so did their kisses. Well, more passionate. That was the better word. It was slightly straining on Francis's lower back, but it was worth it, since he knew this would be sore for the both of them in the morning, anyway. The kisses were erratic and everywhere, and any time their faces were within kissing distance, they didn't stop. They went along as smoothly as the thrusts—they weren't punctuated or calculated or planned, and Arthur and Francis were hardly aware of exactly what they were doing. All they registered was the closeness and their bodies being so intimately together, and it was all there, all just moving and smooth and constant and burning and amazing.

One thrust seemed to hit something inside of Arthur that had him practically screaming Francis's name and then Francis bending down at once to swallow his moans and almost jerkily moving his hands to find Arthur's and intertwine their respective fingers together. He pushed their joined hands down into the bed and held tightly as they went on thrusting and sliding and kissing—and moaning out each other's names. Eventually that spot inside Arthur was hit again, and Francis felt it in his heart when he heard his name moaned like that a second time.

Arthur could never have imagined that being thrust into would feel so amazing, and if he'd had any ability to think rationally at the moment, he would have been baffled by the fact that he hadn't actually and literally burst from all the heat and pleasure in his body yet. And he actually was surprised that his pleasure could possibly increase at this point—when Francis bent down and started whispering things in French to him, it sent shivers down his spine that didn't go away. It didn't even matter that he didn't completely understand all of it. He thought that he might have whispered something back, but he wasn't quite sure.

The whispering was punctuated by moans from both of them, and eventually Francis spoke louder, just for him to say one thing in English that had somehow gotten through the haze to his conscious—

"Hn—Arthur…. If… if zis is wrong, zen love must be a sin…."

He captured Arthur's lips again and moaned into his mouth, which he returned in his pleasure and agreement. It wasn't long before Francis arched his back to create more space between them so that he could let go of one of Arthur's hands and slide it down his stomach and take his erection in his hand.

He'd hardly realized how neglected it was, but when Francis finally had hold of it and pumped it in time with his thrusting, Arthur almost couldn't handle it. Deprived as he was of this sort of thing, he could hardly hold off for a minute before reaching his limit and releasing hot liquid between them—and giving a loud moan of "Ah—Francis…!"

That pushed Francis over the edge fairly quickly, and he involuntarily wrapped his arms tightly around Arthur's upper body as he did. After a few seconds of him breathing heavily with whispers of "Arthur, Arthur…," he slid himself out and pulled himself a bit up the bed so that he could lie halfway on top of Arthur (which was necessary because his bed wasn't very wide), keep one arm around him, and bury his face in Arthur's neck, still catching his breath.

There was a minute or so of nothing but the sound of both of them breathing, in which the heat and pleasure gradually died down but left a warm feeling that didn't seem like it was going to go away anytime soon. Once he could think clearly again, Arthur tried to wrap his mind around the fact of what he'd just done—what he'd finally done. It was almost surreal, how difficult it was to believe it. But exhaustion hit him and Francis pretty quickly, and it took a bit of effort to grab the blanket that was now wadded up at the end of the bed and pull it at least somewhat over them.

Arthur weakly slung one arm around Francis's back and brought the other up to his own chest so he could join hands with the one Francis had on him, and he let his head lull over to the left so that his nose was in his hair. He felt a small kiss press into his shoulder, and with a kiss of his own that technically didn't even touch Francis's head, his exhaustion dragged him all the way into sleep. Nevermind the cold.

/DIES FROM THE OVERWHELMING SATISFACTION OF FINALLY RESOLVING ALL THAT SEXUAL TENSION

/comes back to life because there's still several chapters left to write

Actually, this is only about half of the whole fic, based on what I've planned. So don't go thinking that the story's nearly over. And this is the part where I thank all of you who have reviewed and followed and favorited the story so far, because you guys are awesome and it feels so good to have so many people who love what I write.

And as always, I'd love it if you reviewed and gave me feedback! :D