@governmentofficial continued from X
Practically sprawled across his armchair, Mycroft could only laugh at that statement. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or perhaps he was simply cocky, but he highly doubted that Francis would be carrying him anywhere at all.
“No, you won’t,” he stated with another laugh. “You’re a tiny man; there’s no way that you could pick me up.” Or, then again, perhaps he could… Sailors had to be strong, no? Hm. Strong was impressive. Suddenly, the idea of Francis picking him up seemed rather appealing.
Wait. Had he called him an arsehole? How rude! The fledgelings of kind thoughts that had begun to form in Mycroft’s mind were forced out again as he finished off his drink - one of many that night - with a grumbling noise. What a terrible, nasty, little man. Why did he like him again? Oh yeah, because he was good company and had nice clothes.
Francis glared at him when he laughed at his threat to carry him, it was playful in its own right but he knew Mycroft was laughing because he doubted him. No matter, many people did and he often proved them wrong. He pushed himself to his feet, a little unsteady himself but he was quite determined in his challenge.
“You’ll swallow your words yet.” He warned him and went to position himself to lift Mycroft properly as he finished his drink. One arm went under his knees and the other went to get behind his shoulders. “Up you go!” He said before he went to lift him, practised enough to know to lift with his knees and not his back, oblivious to Mycroft’s offence or not caring at all about it.
