Steal Your Soul They Say

"God dammit, frog! How many times have I told you to keep that freaking camera out of my face?" Arthur spat, covering his face with the folder in his hands, effectively hiding the blush that stained his cheeks all the way up to his ears. "I hate having my picture taken!"

Francis hummed happily, going through the hundreds of photos he already had of Arthur. He enjoyed looking at all the different sides of him. Frowning at his desk as he worked on a particularly difficult report. Reclining in his favorite armchair by the fire as he sipped his tea. Singing softly to himself as he worked on embroidery. Bristling with frustration as he fished destroyed scones from the oven. Beautiful and blushing and naked, peaceful as his breathing rasped through his parted lips, red silk sheets contrasting with his skin. Arthur, when no one was looking.

And he had taken that for himself.

He had gotten the camera for his previous birthday, but had never really thought to use it for anything but his blog. Really, he had never thought that anything as simple as taking pictures of Arthur could be so fun. How was he to know that he could capture such a heavenly image, immortalize it?

Arthur sighed and began skimming through his folder, pointedly paying no attention to Francis as he fawned over what was no doubt more pictures of him that he had taken when Arthur hadn't been looking. "I don't get it with you. Can't you just do as I say?" Francis laughed, holding up the camera to take another picture, smiling as Arthur scowled adorably at him.

"But petit lapin, you're my favorite subject!" It was true. He write poetry on Arthur, with his amazing fussiness and cute blush. Could write endless odes to the way his eyes averted when Francis called him beautiful. On how he squirmed impatiently beneath him, gasping out pleas for greater pleasure. On the way he glowed when they kissed in the morning. Francis sent Arthur a sincere little smile, hoped that Arthur would recognize it. "You're my artistic muse." Arthur growled, warning, trying not to be taken aback by the rare show of heart.

He opened his mouth to comment.

Whatever he might have said was cut off when Francis pressed him against the desk, one hand at a familiar position on his hip, to kiss him. The click of the camera was barely audible.

Later, Arthur would log onto his blog account to see that Francis had uploaded a new picture. He would click the link to it, and blush until it seemed that all the blood in his body had rushed to his face. He would be in the picture, eyes clenched shut, not pushing Francis away from the kiss he loathed to admit was delicious. Francis himself gave him a coy smile from the picture, eyes glinting with mischief.

He would call Francis immediately and rant about what a pervert he was, about taking his photo without permission, but never tell him to take the picture down.

Owari.