The French Equivalent of Raspberries

Arthur giggled breathlessly, slapping Francis's hands away from his sides and flailing around as he tried to control himself, bursts of laughter still erupting whenever Francis managed to escape the prison of his hold to tickle him again.

"St-stop! I can't breathe!" He kept on laughing, his tiny feet kicking out, fists clenched in Francis's linen night gown, squirming, squealing even though it was long past bedtime and they were likely to wake up all their nurses in the other room. That didn't matter much though, he was having too much fun.

"Qu-est que ce? Les sourcils monstrueux?" Arthur squirmed in annoyance as Francis whispered the words with a smile, kissing each 'monsterous eyebrow.' He hated it when Francis made fun of his eyebrows, no matter how cleverly the other disguised the insult. Even if he said it in his godforsaken language.

"No kissing me you pervert!" he whined, trying to kick away, face flushed. Partly from his laughter and partly from the embarrassment of being kissed. Though he couldn't restrain another giggle as Francis continued, tickling him and kissing his face, blowing wet raspberries against his cheeks that just made Arthur squeal all the more.

"Et ces beaux yeux?" Francis kissed each eyelid, staring into deep eyes, green and glowing and enough to drown, smiling so serenely that as always, Arthur was reminded of angels. Arthur blushed and huffed, only half under standing his words, giggling as Francis kept tickling him. For moment, he was able to forget how pretty Francis always looked.

"Et... Un petit nez?" He kissed Arthur's nose, making the other sniffle in amused irritation, scrunching his face to wiggle it. He laughed breathlessly, sleep tugging at their small bodies, the night heavy and dark as possums chattered and owls hooted. A lullaby of sorts. "Petit lapin, je t'aime."

Francis snuggled into his neck, an arm and leg slung over Arthur, body curling around Arthur protectively, a way they had always slept, as though it were Francis's job to keep guard through night. He smelt like lilies, a scent that clung to Arthur's pillows almost as much as the smell of heather blossoms clung to Francis's own.

Arthur watched his face, eyes closed and mouth still turned up in a slight smile, stomach clenched tight from his previous amusement and from a blind adoration that was always with him. "One nose." he mumbled, tracing his fingers along the line of Francis's nose to the tip. Francis opened his eyes to watch him. "And two eyes." Blue and deep and enough to drown. Fairy eyes.

Francis laughed softly, letting Arthur's small fingers explore his face, half asleep, breathing slow. "Est que une bouche rouge?" Gently, Francis leaned forward, kissing Arthur's mouth. "Bon soir, petit lapin."
Blushing madly, Arthur closed his eyes, fingers curled in silky hair. "G'night, frog."

Owari