Not Quite Juliet

Though Arthur had retired, he was not asleep. The butterflies fluttering in his stomach were making him sick with worry and nervousness. The next day, the school's first night of Romeo and Juliet would be showing. And though he was only playing the part of Tybalt, he was still nervous. The last school play he'd been in had been a Christmas pageant. That was nearly ten years ago, and he had been a sheep.

As the lay there, he noticed the sound of tapping at his window, irregular and quiet. Like pebbles being tossed at the glass. So he ignored it, preferring to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling, wondering how he had gotten himself into such a mess. He hated being the center of attention like that, hated public speaking even more.

"Arthur. Arthur dammit, wake up!" The voice was hissed, but carried through the glass. "Arthur, wake up!" Frowning, Arthur got out of bed, just enough to open the window and stare out at Francis, who grinned up at him from the front lawn. He raised one eyebrow. What the hell was Francis doing on his lawn in the middle of the night, throwing pebbles at his window like an idiot?

"But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!" Francis proudly proclaimed the words, one hand to his chest, the other stretching out as though to beckon him. Arthur's face flushed, unsure of wether or not he should be embarrassed, but a smile still tugged his lips upwards. "Arise fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief."

Arthur let his smile grow, holding in a snort of laughter, surprised that Francis was getting so into his role, more surprised at the look of love he sent him. It was a look he would always adore. He pushed back the fact that, in reality, if Francis wanted to practice, he should have gone to Elizaveta's home. She was the one playing Juliet. He buried his stab of jealousy. Would he have given her that same look of love?

"That thou her maid are more fair then she, be not her maid, since she is....." Francis paused, taking a moment to remember the next word, brow crinkling in a frown, one slender finger tapping his bottom lip. Arthur restrained a laugh, resting his chin on his fist and leaned against the window sill to watch him, thoroughly entertained. "envious!"

Francis grinned charmingly, his eyes sparkling even in the darkness to state his pride, hands finding his hips as though to say 'take that!'. He'd been struggling with that line all throughout rehearsal. In all truths, he was the perfect Romeo. And Arthur didn't doubt for a second that he would die for love. Not when he so passionately ranted about the importance of love in one's life.

Francis blew him a kiss and winked, before disappearing beneath the eaves. Arthur frowned as he heard clambering, scratching and the occasional curse. Within a moment, Francis was on the roof of the porch, holding out a delicate rose, smiling at him. He slipped once, and Arthur would have seriously panicked were it not for the sheer humor of the situation.

He leaned through the window and tossed the rose onto the bed on the otherside. Gently cradling his face in his hands, he kissed him chastely. Just a soft gentle kiss, long thin fingers tangling in his hair, stroking the back of his neck. He sighed into it, wrapped his arms around Francis to pull him closer. He registered that Elizaveta would be getting the same kiss. Tomorrow night.

"That wasn't in the script." Arthur mumbled against warm pink lips, studying Francis's face from the new vantage point. His eyelashes were nearly invisible, the street lamp at the corner of the street making the cerulean eyes glimmer. Francis smirked, pressing a kiss to his nose and forehead.

"I thought, as a romantic, I was allowed to take artistic licence." His whisper was just as quiet, as though trying not to break a spell that had been cast, voice filled with mirth.

"And also, I'm not Juliet. Shouldn't you have gone to Elizaveta?" Francis laughed, a charming breathy sound, before kissing him again, the same gentle kiss that he adored. He couldn't help but sigh in pleasure, letting himself melt, jealousy be damned.

"You wanted me to sneak up to Elizaveta's room in the middle of the night and kiss her? Clearly you wish for me to die." Arthur snorted and very easily imagined a miffed Elizaveta tossing a cast iron frying pan at Francis with deadly accuracy. Smirking in satisfaction, he pulled him down for another kiss. He wasn't unhappy with Francis's decision in the end. So long as he was the only one Francis kissed. It was okay.

"Besides, petit lapin. You would make a lovely Juliet. In fact, you should help me practice. We'll start with the scene where he sneaks into her room and they make love, sound good?" Francis pushed past him to climb in the window, all crocodile smiles and breathy laughter.

Arthur snorted, but allowed Francis to slip past him into the room. "I think that's a part I can play well."