[He drums his fingers again. France tilts his own head back, regarding England with a strange expression of hunger shaping his features. He contemplates and savors that sweet tension between them. In a very odd sense of the word, speaking with England in person will be a kind of sick comfort. Political leanings rattle his bones and war undermines his skin, but that rival is a glorious constant France cannot deny himself.
A long, slow intake of breath has him seem as though he's taking in the smell of freshly baked bread. The resulting sigh is no less content; he will take his sweet time and let England watch him.]
1/2; video;
A long, slow intake of breath has him seem as though he's taking in the smell of freshly baked bread. The resulting sigh is no less content; he will take his sweet time and let England watch him.]