“Bonjour, ma chèrie!” Francis slipped a rose into your lap. “I have just returned!”
Interrupted whilst you were in the middle of your book, you exclaimed, “Oi! I was reading, you wanker!” Swatting away the handsome Frenchman, you scowled as he attempted straddling you, lips seeking yours. “Hey! Hey!” Your protests were to no avail, however, and Francis was victorious as he planted a kiss upon your flustered lips.
Immediately, you gave in and kissed him back, rivaling his passion.
Sinking deeper into you, Francis pulled back briefly to smile and say, “Aha! I have tamed the shrew, non?” Rolling your eyes, you shut him up with another kiss. He chuckled, subtle stubble brushing against your cheek as he eventually lifted his head to kiss your forehead. “Actually, I have a proposition of sorts for you tonight.” His frisky eyes danced over you and you suspected it was sexual.
“Oh?” Interested, you propped yourself up. “And what exactly is that?”
Francis snorted, teasing you, “Silly, that would ruin la surprise!”
Resisting the urge to conk him upside the head, you folded your arms. “If you say so, Frog.” You pouted as he stood and strode away, but was pleasantly surprised when he returned with your favorite tea. Cheeks flushing, you accepted it and muttered, “Thanks.”
“Anytime, ma belle.”
Sipping your tea carefully, your nose crinkled at the slightly harsh taste. Something wasn’t right. You glanced up at Francis, who was watching you without any amusement; of course you were suspicious. Skeptical, you cynically asked, “Pray tell, you didn’t put anything in my tea, did you?”
Francis raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know,” a smile crept onto his lips, “did I?”
Gingerly pressing the rim to your lips, you muttered, “Better not have, or I’ll have your head.”
Francis was delighted and his accent grew heavier. “Really? Where will you have it?”
Spluttering, tea spewing, you exclaimed, “Not like that you pervert! Dear God, won’t you go elsewhere?” Francis murmured something about God doing as he pleased and you gulped down the rest of your tea and irritably clinked it onto the nearest table. “I thought you had a meeting to attend?”
Francis chuckled, “Yes indeed, Mademoiselle Kirkland,” a favorite nickname for you, referring of course to his bushy-browed friend, “but I came back to warn you that you should get some rest before tonight.” Suspicion immediately invaded your glare. “Now, I must be off.” Before you could respond, he seized a lock of your hair and tugged you into a parting kiss, winking as he pulled away. “Adieu!”
“Bye,” you murmured as he reached the door. For reasons unknown, you added, “I love you.”
Francis paused at the door, golden locks fanning over his shoulder as he turned to blow you another kiss, “Je t'aime, ma chèrie; je t'aime.” And just like that, he was gone and you were alone again. Sighing, you closed your book, finding that you were unable to focus. Stupid Frenchman was always flying in when you least expected him to.
As you scooped up your teacup, you felt suddenly tired and lay back down.
Francis’ dodgy warning played through your mind again.
“…you should get some rest before tonight.”
Remaining skeptical, you leaned your head against the pillow. Maybe some rest wouldn’t be such a bad idea? With all your nightly activities, courtesy of living with Francis, you didn’t get as much sleep as you used to. But going to sleep now would only disappoint you when you awoke; you loathed waking up without Francis beside you.
Your mind skidded to a halt.
That thought did not just pass through your mind.
Blushing in frustration, you slammed your eyes shut. You definitely needed more sleep. Mind drifting, you were grateful when sleep claimed you, hoping that your memory would be erased for a couple hours. Dreams eased your former irritation, though you tossed and turned, subconsciously seeking the warmth that was Francis. How you had fallen so deeply in love with him, you really didn’t want to know.
It was hours before you regained consciousness.
“Mmm,” your eyes meshed as gentle exhales fluttered against your cheek, “kiss me, Francis…”
Warm lips were suddenly against yours and you groggily opened your eyes only to be smothered by darkness. Confused, you pushed at the chest on top of yours, but were alleviated when you heard his gentle voice: “Hush, it is only me, ma amour.” Kissing you more passionately as you calmed, Francis claimed you with his lips, hands tracing your prone body, hips moving against yours.
When he pulled away, you reached up to tangle your fingers in his wavy locks.
“I missed you,” Francis smiled, kissing you. “Now, you are ready, oui?”
“R-ready?” Your eyelids fluttered, entranced by the Frenchman’s spell. “For what, love?”
“Why, to say yes in my language,” Francis chuckled, “the language of l’amour.”
Pursing your lips, you sat up as Francis removed himself from the couch and lit a candle. The room smelled heavenly. As you glanced towards him, you noticed that rose petals embellished the floor. When your gaze found Francis again, however, he was kneeling and presenting a little red box to you. With love reflected in his beautiful pools of blue, he sighed.
Francis met your eyes. “Though I may flirt with far more creatures than I should,” you grimaced, “and though there are times that I may smother you to the point where you lose your adorable temper, I want you to know that je vous adore.” He stared sincerely into your eyes as he flipped open the box, smile overwhelmingly beautiful. “L’amour that I possess for you belongs only to you and I want your amour to be mine and mine alone, so…” He leaned forward to kiss you. “…marry me?”
Choked up, being quite the romantic behind your tough front, you started to shake.
How could you stop yourself from crying?
Hand curling as you rubbed your eyes, you whimpered, “I l-love you, y-you stupid git. So,” your voice was thick as you tried to form words in English, but since you couldn’t, settled for maligning the Frenchman’s language instead, “o-oui, Francis.” Before you could wipe the tears from your eyes, Francis was upon you and kissing your lips so feverishly that you swore you’d never been happier.
“You ‘ave made me so ‘appy!” Even Francis’ words were overwhelmed. “Embrasse-moi, ma amour!”
Heeding his request, you kissed him. Sweeping you up from the couch and into his arms, he carried you up the stairs into the bedroom, never breaking the kiss. Tumbling onto the bed between sheets and more rose petals, the soft smell of linen lulled your lips into a hum as Francis’ mouth met yours. All things considered, he was the best thing that ever happened to you. Though, as Francis’ hands started wandering, as they would, an amusing thought entered your mind.
Smiling, you pulled away; you just had to make at least one cynical remark.
“So, will we refer to you or me as Madame Bonnefoy?”
Francis rolled his eyes, chuckling as he shushed you accordingly with a kiss. “I’m about to prove that the male one here is moi, Madame.” You laughed into the kiss, knowing full-well that this was exactly what you wanted. Hey, for a Frog, he really wasn’t that bad—but you kept that comment to yourself.
