bitchprince | Room 303, Saturday Afternoon

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Room 303, Saturday Afternoon

Last night hadn't been anywhere near bad, if somewhat confusing in how up front it was (and Arthur had thought he'd gotten used to, and appreciative, of how straightforward the island was) and so by the time Arthur finally reached his room, he wasn't in too bad a mood.

It was slightly hampered by the fact that his roommate wasn't around (... all right, he had to admit, something might be off if he was thinking that) but he chose not to think much of it.

Rather, he took a perch on his bed and flopped back, idly rubbing at his own stomach.

[[ for two people, please! ]]

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Someone would really like Someone's Boyfriend to be in his room, but Someone's Boyfriend was not in his room. This was because Someone's Boyfriend was busy elsewhere being an idiot, but thankfully for him, Someone's Boyfriend's Girlfriend was unaware of this fact.

When he wasn't in his room, though, Someone had a short list of places to go looking for him, and she'd already hit the stables. No joy. So, still rocking the trophy shirt that wasn't - it really wasn't, not really - Someone knocked on Arthur's door.

Edited 2009-06-06 18:38 (UTC)

Arthur sat up a bit. Who was going to be here and knocking? Not Leto, and certainly not Merlin.

At least he was still decent, although he did shoot his trousers a slightly maligned look. "Enter," he called.

Such a polite boy, our Arthur.

Francine pushed the door open a little less shyly than she normally would, because see above re: really wanting Merlin to be in his room, but she still gave Arthur a dubious wave once she was far enough in to see him. "Is, um." Dammit. "He's not, is he."

Edited 2009-06-06 18:52 (UTC)

"No, he isn't," Arthur started, which slid quite organically into, "Are you wearing one of his ridiculous shifts? I should be lucky he hasn't tried to lend you his neckerchiefs."

... And now he was looking at her neckerchief area. Brilliant.

Yeah, there wasn't a neckerchief there. Or much else. "He gave me one for my birthday. It's too hot for it now." Way too hot. And the looking didn't escape her. Or help.

A lot of breasts, there, though, Arthur thought, vaguely.

He wondered why those had never quite jumped out at him before. In a manner of speaking.

"Of course he did," Arthur muttered, "Rats know how to dress themselves better than he does. Come in."

That was probably not a good idea.

Merlin wasn't here, so there was no reason for her to come in. Then again, it was a royal command. Sort of.

Francine let the door fall shut behind her. "It wasn't one of his. It was a girl one. It's pretty." She frowned, but less in defense of Merlin's taste and more because seriously, boys. His bed was a mess. She walked over and started poking at the crumpled edge of the blanket.

Edited 2009-06-06 19:11 (UTC)

Of course his bed was a mess. Merlin hadn't been in all morning. Bloody rubbish servant, all in all.

"I'm sure it was," Arthur said, with a magnanimous roll of his eyes.

What? This allowed him a better look at her--

He was fairly sure he wasn't usually this improper, but the curve of her breasts under that shirt really was distracting.

What part of them was actually under the shirt, you mean? And again, not immune to the noticing. You couldn't be Francine Peters for the last five years and be oblivious to men staring at your breasts, even if you were ... Francine Peters.

"He obviously hasn't been here all day; your bed's a mess," she said unnecessarily, leaning over further to tidy one of the pillows.

"You're telling me," he said, his voice lowered.

And now he was reaching for the collar of her shirt. It was entirely too distracting and his mind wasn't solid enough on lucidity to really think about it (if he had, he would've recoiled).

Not, properly, her shirt, which might have been part of the distraction, but yes. Francine frowned a little, but... somehow she couldn't entirely remember why she was frowning. Must be the messy bed. "Something on my shirt?"

"It's a shift, more than a shirt," he offered. "You could probably do with something more flattering."

He hadn't taken his hands off the fabric yet.

"It--" Reminds me of him, which helps when whatever is going on around here makes me want to jump every boy that crosses my path. And also keeps me from heading up to Room 505. "I needed something to wear back from his room. ...Yesterday."

"And you haven't gotten changed?" Arthur asked, rubbing the collar between his fingers.

And, well, her jaw wasn't far from that, and now something in him was telling him that maybe making the jump would be very nice.

He was staring at her cleavage again. "Your tolerance is admirable." Really.

"Of course I've--" What was the question again? He was really, really close. And he was, well. Arthur. Who wasn't unreal in the fairies left her in the crib way of Morgana. Just way, way out of Francine's league. "I just. Put it back on."

Arthur would resent that. He was every bit as ~~pretty~~ attractive as Morgana was, thank you. "So I see," he said, idly, and shifted on closer.

It seemed a better idea than reaching out and touching her cheek, yeah.

Really really really close. And yes, every bit as pretty as Morgana. Just male. Really, really male. ...And blond. And confusing. "What do you see?"

"We'll see about that."

It made sense. Somewhere. Arthur wasn't bothered enough to do anything but lean in and try to kiss her.

Tomorrow, he would probably smack himself for pulling a bloody Leto. He had more class than that.

It made perfect sense to Francine. Being kissed by a boy made the Most Sense ever. That it was a breathtakingly hot boy was just a bonus. That it was Arthur... well, okay, the sense thing kind of fell apart there, but she was willing to work with it.

Arthur had his own ideas about sense, and they involved an awful lot of sense should do as I tell it to, so he saw no problem at all with curling his fingers into Francine's shirt, over her breasts, and pressing on closer.

Some tiny part of Francine's brain that was still operational filed away last time was totally the spell, oh my GOD so not a wet fish -- or perhaps that wasn't her brain. Anyway, the rest of her leaned into Arthur's touch because damn she liked that. The do as I say of it all.

So, really, when was a better time for Merlin to arrive upon the scene? Oh yes.

Now.

Never the kind to knock on Arthur's door, especially not now, and just having come back from turning someone into a mouse for doing this, Merlin couldn't help but stare for a moment or two.

Dear god this was not helping that heat.

Unaware that there was anyone at the door just yet (maybe Arthur was just too used to the lack of knocking) Arthur tangled his other hand softly into Francine's hair, deepening the kiss with every scrap of experience in his body.

Not a wet fish, no. His hand smoothed over the fabric over her breast.

Whatever Arthur's opinion on the matter as concerned Merlin, Francine won the title of the Girliest Girl Who Ever Girled, and she was currently experiencing a combination of at least three early high school fantasy sequences, one of which had only ended when she was smacked in the face with a volleyball.

Which is to say no, she did not notice Merlin in the doorway.

Edited 2009-06-06 20:36 (UTC)

"Arthur?" His brain kicked in a moment later. "Francine?"

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