The Numerous Uses of Closets

"Our meetings are brief —

kisses stolen in closets.

People love to gossip

like the Yoshino Rapids

love the crash and roar of water."

— Anonymous

There's nothing between them, just harsh breaths, the rustle of clothes dropping to the cluttered floor, pushing away anything that fell against them. Francis let out a breathless laugh, shoving off a broom handle, kissing along Arthur's skin, down his chest and stomach to the line of his slacks until he was on his knees before him.

"You're a horrible perverted bastard." Arthur hissed sharply, gripping long blonde locks, his head tilting back to stare at the bare light bulb rocking back and forth, just centimeters above him. "Teasing me in the middle of a meeting like that. Only a nuisance like you would come up with something like that."

Francis grinned up at him, dexterous fingers unbuckling his belt, unzipping the fly. "Like you didn't enjoy the show? If it was so annoying, L'Angleterre, you wouldn't be here with me now." His breath was warm over his exposed hip, laying a kiss on the sharp angle of his pelvic bone.

It wasn't like it was the first time. They had met in the same closet many times before, past remembering, good memories as they were. To taste, to touch, to kiss, to tear at each other's clothes because addiction was addiction. And it was undeniable.

Arthur's pride wouldn't allow them to be open about whatever it was that they had with each other. It didn't matter how much he wanted it. How much he craved it. How often he thought about it. It didn't matter that he'd been horribly turned on by Francis's show in the meeting. Flashing eyes and coy smiles and thin fingers making all the right motions, suggestive and elegant, pure sex.

And what was worse, this happened too often. Too often to just be chance. Too often to be called a mistake. Too often to say that there was nothing between them, too often to be just carnal lust, too often for there not to be feelings, whatever those were.

So they met in the closet. Between nights spent together and odd hidden kisses, they had to have something to keep them going. Francis didn't care either way. Sex in a closet was too entertaining an idea to turn down. Arthur thought it was absolutely mortifying that he'd been reduced to an animal, craving Francis to the point of dragging him forcefully by his navy blue tie, locking the door behind them. He dutifully ignored the fact that it was always him to initiate the encounters in the closet.

"I blame you for all of this." Arthur grumbled. His fingers tightened in the blonde waves. No more teasing, he silently warned. Francis's laughter was still breathy, quiet, ghosting over his skin. "This is all your bloody fault." his breath hitched, body tingling, sensations burning.

"Of course it is, L'Angleterre." Francis whispered, hiding his smile against Arthur's hip.

"Never again." Arthur ordered, pulling the soft strands of hair tangled in his fingers. And they both ignored that the promise would be broken. There would be another time, and a time after that. After all, the closet was used for more things than just storing brooms.

Owari