Arthur leaned into Alfred’s shoulder, shoving his nose into the crook of his neck and inhaling into his lungs. Cigarettes, cologne, floral body butter and fast food. Distinctly Alfred. Arthur hummed, content, and nuzzled the spot, the man beneath shifting before settling back down.
“How sweet, Angleterre,” Francis chirped from above them, fitting a hand on Alfred’s chest and beginning to lower himself onto the other side of the unoccupied couch.
Arthur slapped the offending hand away, drunk and to the point, “Sod off, frog. Go find some other poor soul to impress yourself upon.”
Francis had already taken his seat, though, and blatantly ignored the Brit’s sentiment. Taking a blond lock between his fingers Francis bemoaned, ”I cannot find dear Canada, rosbif. He has snuck away and left me without a body to hold.”
Alfred snored in his sleep and Arthur reached up to smooth his hand down the American’s nape, taunting France wickedly as Alfred unconsciously leaned further into the touch.
“You are a petty man,” Francis observed candidly, calling over a server and taking a glass of sparkling champagne from the silver tray. He took a sip and closed his eyes, leaning back.
