Dieu et mon droit

          alright y’all, the time has come. i’m gonna be moving arthur over to a new blog, && i’d love to still be able to write with some of you guys !! 

“As I assumed. See now,” Francis leaned forward, bracing his hands against what little of the seat remained uncovered by Arthur’s ass, “arrangements are so much easier when you listen.” Now he was just fucking around—of course, he had sort of been doing that before. It was hard for him to stay focused when Arthur was around. It was just too tempting to mess with him. How much of his life had been spent messing with Arthur purely for the joy of it? Quite a bit. And it continued to produce rewards.

          proximity is discomfort; a simple equation of cause && effect. francis’ hands are far too close to him for the blond to feel any sense of ease, another hue of ( embarrassment ) frustration rising to his cheeks. his hips shift, both to create some distance between his rear && the frenchman’s hands, but also in an effort to silently persuade the parisian to leave.

Everything about Francis seemed specially designed to irritate Arthur. And if it wasn’t, it seemed to do a great job regardless. If there were soulmates, perhaps there were enemy soulmates, to which end Francis served for Arthur.

“I was asking you, while you were so rudely ignoring me,” he said, “what you think about having our next pan-European meeting in Bordeaux. I mean, I know you’re into pretending you’re not Europe anymore, but I trust you’ll still be there to share your unnecessary opinion.”

          ❛ is that all ? ❜ he sounds more annoyed than he is. in truth, the englishman is a touch flustered - taken aback by the notion he may have been acting like a petulant child in response to something that genuinely required his attention. it was francis’ fault - if the bastard wasn’t always wasting his time with nonsense, arthur wouldn’t feel the need to ignore him.