✖ !!~
【 ♕ ASK MEME ♔ 】 ⇨ STILL ACCEPTING three: my muse will leave your muse a note the morning after
It had happened more times than Arthur liked to admit.
It wasn’t the first time that he had awoken naked in Francis’ bed, swathed in his dirtied silk sheets and tucked possessively beneath a hairy, strong arm. It wasn’t the first time that he rolled over to admire a slack, stubbled jaw and the small flutters of closed eyelids. It also wasn’t the first time that he carefully rolled out of that wonderfully warm hold and stepped onto a chilled floor, feet bare and silent against the tiles. And it wasn’t the first time that he rummaged through Francis’ dressers to pull out a crisp, clean linen shirt that fit him just a tad too big.
It likely wouldn’t be the last time that it would happen, either.
Arthur dressed quietly, careful to avoid waking the Frenchman who lay sprawled inelegantly on his bed. He nearly had it down to a routine— he would wake, admire the sight of the Adonis beside him, dress in stolen clothing, and then search for a slip of paper and a pen. Francis had gotten crafty; he had taken to hiding his journals and pens. But Arthur was equally resourceful, and he wrote on the margins of a fashion editorial magazine.
❝Dear Francis,
I’m afraid I couldn’t stay for long. I have early business to attend to and couldn't afford to spend the morning. Thank you for last night Last night was not unpleasant, although some things we did were certainly a lapse of judgement. I’ll see you again soon, though not under the same circumstances.
Love Arthur. ❞
