The night he asks her to marry him, they make eggs for dinner.
She comes home after he does, smiling when she sees his bag and coat by the door, his shoes lines up on the mat. The light is on in the kitchen, drawing long shadows across the floor through the crack in the door. She can see his lean body moving across the kitchen, a quick flash of golden hair, jeans and a button down shirt rolled to his elbows. The Black Keys are playing over the radio and she can hear him singing softly under his breath. He hasn’t heard her come in just yet.
She slips into the kitchen carefully, ready to wrap her arms around his waist and pull him close to her.
But Francis seems to have other plans as he sets down the knife and turns to face her, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Hi,” she says, setting her purse on the counter. “You ruined my surprise.”
“You could never sneak up on me,” he says and she pouts because it’s true. He’s always been able to sense when she was breathing the same air as him and she’s always been able to feel his presence. It’s just the way they are.
“What are you making?” she asks, walking towards him and looking over his shoulder on tiptoes. He’s always been taller than her. He steps to the side to block her.
“Surprise,” he says, his eyes flashing.
“I can smell the tomato sauce, you know that right?” she says, laughing behind her hand. Francis’s smile suddenly disappears and is replaced with a pout that is hopelessly endearing.
“No you can’t!”
“Then how else would I have known what you were making?”
“I don’t know, you can read minds!”
“I can read minds?” she asks, bemused. “What am I thinking right now?”
“You really really want me to kiss you,” he says, stepping closer and putting his hands on her hips.
“Nope, that’s not it,” she says, pretending to think about it.
“Then you really really want to kiss me.”
She shakes her head.
“You really really want me to tear off your clothes and push you into this counter until you see stars,” he breathes, his voice dropping an octave. Well. she didn't see that coming.
“Nope,” she says, swallowing. “That’s not it.”
Francis narrows his eyes before leaning in and saying, “You want me to fuck you so hard into a wall you won’t be able to walk the next day.”
“There it is,” she says before crashing her lips to his. Their tongue tangle immediately in a hurried, open-mouthed kiss. He pushes her backwards until her back hits the counter, their lips fused together still. He lifts her with ease, resting her on the counter and she wraps her legs around his hips, rubbing her pelvis against his. His blond curls are flying everywhere as she tangles her fingers in them, tugging and yanking. She can feel herself heating up in the stuffy kitchen, though it has nothing to do with the water on the stove.
The air is static, hot and hurried as he takes her lip between her teeth and tugs. Her hands fumble at the buttons of his shirt, refusing to take her lips away from his. It finally gives way and she pulls it off of him, letting it fall to the floor. Her hands run down his torso, trailing fire down his skin. It seems he’s decided her shirt is unneeded as well and he pulls it quickly and easily over her head, returning his lips to her neck, sucking on the skin. Her head falls back, hitting the cupboard behind her and her eyelids close once more. His mouth is traveling down her skin and he kisses right above her breast lightly, his hand going to her back to work at the clasp.
