Everyone has something that they adore about their lover. Sometimes it's their eyes, sometimes their lips. For Arthur, it was his lover's beard, his stubble, his "face fur", as he liked to affectionately call it behind Francis' back. Arthur adored his lover's beard. He loved how it tickled his lips when he'd kiss his cheek, loved how it sent shivers down his neck when Francis nuzzled against the back of his neck. He loved how it felt under his palms when he caressed Francis' cheeks. He loved how Francis sighed out when he lightly scratched the thick hairs on his cheeks.

He loved Francis face fur. Of course, he was also fond of the rest of his lover's body hair. He loved that his lover was a man, looked like a man, and acted like a man. He never was one to be attracted to men like himself. He was too feminine for his own tastes, and so, the fact that Francis was covered in body hair pleased him immensely. He liked his large, rough hands, and his un-pedicured toes.

Francis was a man. His man, and there wasn't anything about him he didn't like. Well… maybe that was a lie. If Arthur thought hard enough he could come up with loads of things he didn't like about Francis. He was lazy, gruff, and crass. He cursed and he smoked too much, and Arthur hated when he drank. He was a man that didn't know how to express himself, and Arthur sometimes felt as if he was more a bother than a lover to Francis.

But it was moments like this when he knew otherwise. Francis' arms were tight around his waist, his body spooned against him, and that stubble tickled his neck just the right way. Arthur wasn't sure if the man behind him was awake or asleep, but it didn't matter either way. He loved being held by Francis. He could lie here for hours, in the arms of his lover, with the moon pouring in through the window.

It took Arthur a moment to notice the soft kisses being placed on the back of his neck, and when he did, he couldn't help but sigh in contentment. Francis loved him, that was obvious to him at times like this, and it filled his heart with joy, love, pride. Pride that he'd won this man's heart.

Francis beard was rubbing against his neck, making him shiver. A soft moan escaped him, and he blushed. He'd never told Francis just what that sensation did to him, but it seemed that Francis had similar thoughts in mind, as his hand slowly wandered down to squeeze Arthur's ass. His touch wasn't frantic or hurried, as usual. Francis was taking his time. It confused Arthur. Slow sex was usually something he had to ask for.

Another moan, as Arthur felt teeth lightly graze down his neck. His boxers were getting uncomfortable, and he could feel Francis' hardening length against him. He gripped the blankets around him, squeezed them tight as he couldn't resist the urge to roll his hips, just once. "Francis…" It came out a husky whisper.

The Frenchman didn't respond, instead began to slip Arthur's boxers down his thighs. His movements slow and determined. Arthur shivered as he felt himself being bared. He shuffled his feet, kicked them off and licked his lips. Francis hand trailed up and down his outer thigh, his lips still teasing the sweet spot on the back of Arthur's neck.

A sudden memory struck Arthur, of the first time he and Francis had made love, how rushed and passionate it had been. They had both been so desperate for each other, and had gripped and rutted hurriedly as their hearts beat together. Francis had been atop him that time, and Arthur remembered how afterward, he'd had to clean the scratches he had made down Francis' back. He remembered how he'd screamed Francis' name as he came, and how his toes had curled in his pleasure.

That time had been so different than now. There were no frenzied touches, there was no scrambling for lube. It was slow, precise, a dance they had practiced before, so many times that Arthur didn't even flinch when a slicked up finger pressed against his entrance. Francis never ceased to amaze him with his fingers, and Arthur was writhing in only a few short moments of being prepared. "Please… Make love to me…."

Arthur felt Francis tugging at him, and he complied, let himself be rolled onto his back, his lover quickly moving to settle between his legs. Arthur couldn't quite read the look in Francis' eyes as he pressed his length to his entrance, it was a look he'd never seen before, as if Francis was just seeing him for the first time. It made him tremble.

Francis moved inside him slowly, steadily. There was no wild passion tonight, no screaming each other's names. They watched each other, and when Francis leaned down and captured Arthur's lips, Arthur's arms slid around his neck and held him there, held him close.

It took longer than normal for them tonight, but neither wanted to speed up the pace, orgasm wasn't important this time. It was about the two of them, enjoying the pleasure of each other's hearts and bodies. It was about being in love, and trust and being complete in each other. There was no need to break their kiss as they came, Francis first, Arthur a few moments later.

Neither of them moved for a long while, Francis content to be buried inside Arthur's heat, and Arthur savouring the feeling of his lover's weight atop him. This was as it should be, just the two of them, together. Of course, Arthur couldn't help but wonder if Francis felt the same way. He knew Francis loved him, and that was enough to make him happy. He knew that Francis wasn't the type to think about such sappy things, and that didn't bother Arthur one bit.

They didn't speak as Francis rolled off Arthur, and plopped beside him on the bed, or as Arthur scooted close, and snuggled up beside him. There was no need for words. They'd spoken all they needed to say with their bodies, just moments before. Arthur closed his eyes, draped his arm around Francis' chest, and smiled when he felt a protective arm around his waist, tugging him closer. Yes, Francis loved him, even though he wasn't a perfect man, he was still Arthur's man, and he loved him.