AirFrance costs less than British Airways. That's a matter of fact.

Français- English: J'sais pas - Dunno

Never-given Kisses

The silence falling heavy like pouring rain and the liquid greyness of the asphalt and of the cement enveloping their bodies, watering their brains and reducing their insides to an achromatic mass of rotting meat were the good-bye London had saved for them. Or at least, that was what Arthur thought when a sharp screech came from the engine on parking, right before the radio stopped lamenting.

The air felt cold and humid, grey and sticky. It stained on Arthur's cheeks, tarnished his sight, taunted his lungs and robbed every colour of its brightness. The uneasy sensation of being deprived of oxygen caused him to inhale deeply and even more deeply when the same smothering feeling did not disappear. A cold flame was blazingly burning his insides, ceaselessly torturing him.

"Arthur..."

Francis' voice called him. It seemed so distant, lost in some unknown faraway land. Arthur swallowed, unable to turn his head. He bit his lip, sucked it, breathed laboriously. But Francis wasn't calling him for real. His name was nothing more than a bridge connecting reality and daydreaming. In the last two days, they had tasted Life, the purest form of it and Francis' mind kept on revolving round the idea everything was just too perfect to come to such an end.

He shook his head from side to side, slowly and uncaring. Only his waving hair retained the last brilliancy left, for his eyes were shadowed by a dark sombreness.

"Arthur... I don't want to go."

His liquid eyes stared at Arthur's trembling frame. He wanted to cry. Francis could see that. Taking his hand in his own, Francis pressed his lips on its smooth skin, kissing right above his wrist. Swirling his hand, he placed another gentle kiss on the base of his fingers, whilst moving to the center of his palm. Warm steam left his mouth as he breathed in his hand.

From the corner of his eyes, Arthur could spy every movement. There was a ticklish sensation coming from every spot touched by Francis' mouth and there was the warmth, his warmth, and the lovingly, desperate way he kissed every fingertip before blowing on his palm slowly, but fervently.

He tilted his head to the side like a curious child, encouraging the other to continue by delicately caressing his cheek. His stub felt itchy under his touch, but he did not care. The way Francis' lips were pressing on his wrist, sucking in every heartbeat was far more alluring.

Peeking from behind his half-lidded eyes, Francis ran the tip of his tongue along the lines of Arthur's hand, up till it reached the end of his finger. Biting it charmingly, he waited until Arthur was close enough to move nearer to his mouth.

He waited. Impatiently, he waited until they were breathing the same moisty air. He could feel Arthur's uncertainty in that same air. He could feel it on his quivering lips, when he gently touched them with his own.

They parted and met again, with Arthur 's hands clutching on Francis' clothes to keep him there, to keep him close, to draw his heat in. Don't go. His mind repeated as he opened his lips enough to suck on Francis', enough to go on loving, enough to keep silent.

Francis' body was strong but heavy now that he was sitting on his lap, scratching his chest with his fingers, asking to enter his heart. His mouth lowered to kiss his chin, followed the fine line of his jawbone and lavished attention on his neck, whilst his hand slided down to pull the lever of the front-seat.

Suddenly, Arthur felt himself falling down, and Francis with him, stopping only when his eyes could see nothing more than the inner top of his car and some bands of Francis' blonde hair. His lips were still there, sucking with torrid passion, and Arthur's mind couldn't but scream Stop stop stop, not the neck, stop! as he bit down on his lips to retain his gasps.

Pulling on the back of his head, he managed to get him to glide up to his mouth again, gladly smiling in every kiss. He let his heat enter his body, twirl into his mouth and skilfully swirl around his tongue. Francis knew how to kiss, he knew far too well where to touch, he knew that he wanted him to stay, to release the pressure building up in his body at every stroke, at every spin, at every twist of his tongue.

But that was not the right time.

Lifting up on his arm, Francis affectionately smiled, caressing the frail frame of his face with his fingertips. Arthur was panting, unmoving, staring at him with pleading eyes. Don't go. repeated the voice in his head. He was dizzy, confused, overwhelmed by the rapturous sensations soaking his brain and yet, in the background, a sad monotonous chant kept murmuring: He has to go.

He swallowed, staring into his ocean-coloured eyes. He must've looked pathetic, with his hair all tousled, his clothes dishevelled and his skin unusually on fire. Trying to regain his composure, he averted his eyes in pulling a strand of his hair. Francis was still smiling, when a tear rolled down his cheek to wet the skin of Arthur's hand.

He immediately recoiled, slapping his face on trying to whip away that single watery trail. He didn't want Arthur to see him like that. He couldn't cry in front of him, he just couldn't. When he turned, Arthur had already lifted himself up on his elbows, looking at him with sorry eyes. He tended a hand towards him and drew him closer to his chest. They hugged, silently, filling the empty silence with the rhythmic beating of their hearts.

"It's time." One of them said, but with such unnatural voice, that they couldn't recognize it as their own.

Arthur nodded in unwrapping his arm from around Francis, lifting up. They didn't look in each other's eyes. A single glance and they wouldn't be able to make it.

Francis reached for the handle. It felt like cold stone under his touch and the world outside, that was even greyer. Closing his eyes, he pulled it. A clack, the door opening, the frost entering. He exited.

When he heard Arthur slamming the door closed, he eventually turned. He smiled faintly, he got a faint smile back. They wished the plane to be cancelled, but that was only a fantasy.

"So, we're going to meet on Saturday." Said Francis when they were already half-way through. Saturday meant two nights alone. Only two nights and then Arthur. He did not care for the days. Being at work, he would have something to occupy his hands with, but the nights, those are hard to spend, when you're alone in the dark and no-one's there to wish you good-night.

"Yeah." I would've preferred to have you here till Saturday. Arthur kicked a stone, trying to walk the closest he could next to Francis. Maybe he wasn't holding his hand, but he still wished to stay the nearest possible to him.

"I'm looking forward to it." He smiled, elbowing him slightly. His imagination was already working on a catastrophic scenario in case he would not show up. He would punch the wardrobe until his knuckles bled. That was a good idea. Painful, but good nonetheless.

"What time will you call me tonight?" There was still that beer with Ludwig in program. And a punch to his face, if possible.

Francis thought over for a moment. "J'sais pas. Shall I text you before?"

"That would be nice, thanks." That would be extremely nice. Have you the foggiest idea of how much time do I need to prepare psychologically?

But Francis did not know and they were already in the building. They went to a British Airways information desk, had Francis' ticket changed, walked to a AirFrance information desk, bought Arthur's tickets, slowly made their way to the gates. They hugged.

Francis' humid wheeze stained the crook of Arthur's neck, while Arthur's cracked breathing moisted Francis' golden hair. They clasped, clinched, clinged to each other's body digging their nails into the fabric of their clothes. They wanted to scratch the skin underneath, to scrape it until they could feel the blood on their hands. They would laugh at that indelible mark, laugh and cut again, for there was a blade carving its way inside their chest, a wound they knew would hurt even more once Francis was gone.

A padded inhuman voice called. It was time to go.

"Arthur..."

But Arthur held him steadfastly, tightening the grip around his chest to the point he couldn't breathe any more. Francis' hand stroked his scalp reassuringly. I love you. He was not sure whether he heard that for real or not , but the warm pearls running down his cheeks, they were real, real as the knot he felt in his throat.

Another call. It was high time to go.

"Francis..."

By loosening his grip, Arthur could tilt his head to face him. I love you. Say it, fool! Francis, I love you! Yet, he did not speak. But for Francis, those sincere red puddles were enough. Enough, to hurt and scare him at the same time. He faintly smiled, cracked out a 'I'll call you' and dashed to the gate. When he turned, he could see Arthur's hand closing in front of his lips begging for their last never-given kiss.

Arthur ran out of the airport. He didn't need to hurry, but the air in there was stifling. Seeing Francis leave had turned him into the pitiful corpse of himself. He needed to get back on his feet or he would go mad. And he could not go mad, not before 10 PM. Was it the time Francis planned to call him?

His mobile vibrated. A text.

*Up for a beer?*

Looking at his figure reflected in someone's car, Arthur saw no more than the ghost of himself. What was happening to him? Was this Love, sucking life out of every fiber of his being? Was this Love, causing him to weep for someone he was sure to meet in two days? Was this Love, blowing fog in his brain and confusion, uncertainty and dizziness at the same time?

"Is this even a question?"

He'd just opened his car, when his mobile sent yet a vibration through his arm. *I'll pick you up at 8.00. BTW, Are you alright?*

Arthur sighed in annoyance. What was he, his nanny? "Do I sound alright?" He texted back, before reaching for the handle. Only when he was about to pull it, he noticed the front-seat was still reclined. Francis.

He grimaced, swallowing hard to keep the sorrow inside, well-caged under the mass of useless flesh and blood right under his lungs. There was his scent in that car, he knew. That persistent scent of man, smoke and vanilla that never left Francis' skin or... mouth. Arthur bit his lip, licking the moisty inside. It was still there, the taste of tobacco and mint of Francis' mouth. At every swirl of his tongue, his brain became filled with hormones and nicotine. He loved it. He wanted him. He wanted more. More. More.

A new text. Ludwig was really getting on his nerves. Deciding to ignore it, he pulled the door open, took a deep breath and got in the car, reached for the lever, adjusted the frontseat and closed himself inside. Time to go.

He started the engine and hurried out of the parking, ready to hit the road. Music had already filled the air with some popular song, when curiosity poked his side. What did that jerk reply?

Perfectly knowing he wasn't supposed to use his mobile while driving but firmly decided to ignore every rule for the time being, he hid it below the steering wheel and pressed the "Read"-button.

*I love you. You're the best thing that has ever happened to me in the whole of my life-time. You're wonderful, Arthur, and it's still an understatement. I sincerely love you.*

Arthur had to slow down and stop to the side to finish reading. Holding the mobile in his hand, his eyes examined every word, analysing it fully, slicing it into pieces before placing it down again. Beaming, he kissed the display and replied. "Now I'm moved, bastard. I hate you so much that I wish that plane would never take off."

After having sent it, he opened the "Received texts"-folder and read Francis' message another time. And another. And another. And another again. He just couldn't get enough of that. Who cared if tears were streaming down his eyes? He was in love!

And Love hurt him in an odd, affectionate way.

-End Ch.19

Guys, in two weeks my exams will start, but I felt bad leaving you hanging for a whole month so... Here you have the 19th chapter! Hope you enjoyed it!

Wish me good luck! If any of you wished to leave a comment or a critique, please, do so. I appreciate reviews a lot and always reply, someday or another. ^^

To all of you whose PMing is disabled: Thank you for your comments. I wasn't able to contact you personally, but that does not mean I did not appreciate your words. Everyone else: Hell, I love you guys!

IMPORTANT NOTICE: The 100th reviewer will have a wish granted. Mmmh, sounds nice, doesn't it?