French ballet

Francis breathed slowly in Arthur's sandy hair. It smelled like peach flowers, and spring. And sun, fresh rain, and green leaves and happy afternoon and good companies and tea, whisky, gin, long nights and endless skies. He kissed his hair and straightened up his back. Arthur turned slowly in his arms and wrapped his arms around him caressing the cotton of his black T-shirt, his waist, his back, leaning against his head against his chest. He rubbed his cheek against the soft fabric and sighed. The other's arms protected him carefully, while his hands were stroking his hair gently. Arthur moved his head to the side to face his taller friend. He smiled faintly and with closed eyes, he turned again in their embrace with new strength in his body. Looking back with eyes glistening with gratitude, he spoke softly.

"Let's murder something else, shall we?" A smile danced on his lips.

Francis took the tomato halves in his hands and directing the other's hands, they sliced it vertically and horizontally into small red cubes. Raising his head, Arthur grinned satisfied. He had cut something without cutting himself. That was remarkable, Arthur. Really, you might even manage to cook something all by yourself! He thought tilting his head from side to side.

Smiling gladly, Francis reached for an onion and guided their fingers along the blade, then, pressing hard, they peeled it until it was reduced to a white smelly globe. Returning the hands to the light wooden handle, they chopped it, enjoying the pungent smell.

Pressing his body against Arthur's back, Francis stretched to reach for a frying pan, which he then placed to their side. Holding his friend's hand in his own, they both clenched the white china jug and poured golden oil into the pan. After carefully putting it down, their fingers moved to hold the glimmering chopped onion in their hands heedfully like it was new found gold and let it drop like silver rain into its oil bath.

Now their hands moved together to hold the green plastic handle and together they danced backwards to accompany it to the cooker. Their gaze moved from the cooktop to the gas handle, turned with a firm movement. The warm heat hit their faces, but Francis couldn't see Arthur's was already burning.

Waltzing to a drawer, they looked for a plastic bowl and got it in their hands, they shifted together to the table to place it down and fill it with some tomato cubes. Glancing to his watch, Francis directed them both to the stove where the pot full of boiling water fumed.

Reaching for a fork, he stretched his arm forward and bathed it into the hot water to let it emerge after a few seconds, holding a couple of golden spaghetti thin like angel's hair. His hands slowly moved to the Englishman's face, stopping a few inches away from his lips.

"Blow."

Arthur kept stiff. Yet, when Francis tilted his head to the side slightly concerned, he let out a soft blow. Behind him, he could hear his lips pursing into a glad smile.

"Taste it." He ordered gently, moving his hand forward. Arthur couldn't help opening his mouth and let the bland taste invade his senses. He sucked on the golden strings to have them all in his mouth, sighing deeply at the plain flavour.

"Ready?"

Ready? He really didn't know. For him, he could've lived on that only one pot, but Francis, Francis was used to high French cuisine. Reaching for the silver fork himself, he immersed it in the steaming hot liquid, almost burning his pale fingers. After many efforts he managed to get a sun-coloured string and turning carefully to face his companion he offered him his prey. Francis furrowed his eyebrows in surprise, but accepted the gift. He blew on the other's hand and took the fork head in his mouth greedily. Munching silently his face wriggled in a grimace, pushing his lips back and forth, then to the left, then to the right and in the end forward again, he let them form a smirking stain on his face.

Smiling brightly, Arthur turned again and raised his hands to fit together with Francis' in order to be puppeted again. They moved them together to put down the fork, close the gas, handle the pot, pour the salty water into the colander and the pasta into the frying pan. Adding the left tomato cubes, they quickly mixed it all together with a long wooden spoon. Then, clenching the plastic handle, they danced to the table and blended all into a hot mixture.

Trembling with excitement, Arthur stared contently at the steaming mass under his eyes, when Francis entangled his fingers with his own and moved them to get the fork and the spoon each in one hand. Diving the silver utensils into the heated steam, they mingled together all the ingredients until it turned into a red golden mixture.

Leaving them into the bowl, Francis guided Arthur to take two porcelain plates and placed them on the table. Then, handling the two utensils, they served each other a half of the mixture. Emptied the bowl, they placed it with the other forgotten items in the sink and opened a drawer to get a couple of forks, another one for two napkins, the cupboard for two glasses and the fridge for two beers.

Shifting back to a seat, they pulled out a chair gently and dancing slowly around it, Arthur sat down and let the pleasurable warmth of Francis' palms leave the back of his hands.

End Chapter 4 - Short, but intense.

By the way, if you're wondering: Francis added salt when the water was boiling and added pasta afterwards. This doesn't take much time if the water is already steaming hot, that's why when Arthur climbed down the stairs they didn't need to do that. Moreover, if you're wondering why Arthur's fridge is somewhat full, it'll be said in the next chapter. Thank you :* And why this recipe? Well, that's what I'm cooking tonight! ^^