Constantin d'Orsay/De Sardet, 2.2k, PWP, Fluff
De Sardet is trying to work, but Constantin is being particularly distracting.
De Sardet dips his quill in the inkpot, and prepares to write again, when Constantin finally runs out of patience and snatches the paper from his hand.
“Constantin,” De Sardet says warningly, turning in his seat.
“Yes, dear cousin?” Constantin says in a sing-song voice, hopping away from him.
“Letter? What letter?” Constantin dashes around the desk when De Sardet gets to his feet. “There’s nothing here. You must be dreaming.”
Though De Sardet's brow knits in a furrow, his honey-coloured eyes gleam with interest. “That letter, there. The one you've got behind your back.”
“Me? Liar.” Constantin evades his cousin's grasp with a grin. “I detest such accusations.”
“Then give it back here.”
Constantin holds the piece of parchment above his head as he is chased around the office, cackling wildly all the while.
“Lord Mallard will be very cross, you know,” De Sardet says, eyeing the crinkles on the parchment from Constantin's fingers.
“Then he should choose a better name.” Constantin jumps over the couch, but he doesn’t get to go very far before De Sardet's hand closes over his wrist and pulls him back. He presses him against the bookcase lining the wall, and pins Constantin's hands above his head, caging him in.
“I shall also be very cross,” De Sardet says, his voice dangerously low, and his lips tantalisingly close to Constantin's own. Constantin's heart is beating hard and fast, both from the exertion and their proximity. “I'm hard at work, and here you are, distracting me.”
