A shiver ran up Arthur's body, right from the tip of his toes all the way to the back of his neck. His eyes snapped open, only to slam shut again in frustration.

"Francis." His voice was sleep-rough but still had an air of anger. Opening his eyes again, none too gently he prodded the wall of blanket in front of his face, warm and cosy Frenchman on the other side.

"Francis," he said again and again, accenting his irritation with more prodding, increasing with power and depth into Francis's back each time. "Francis, y'ponce, gimme back the blanket."

Sleep-slurred as his voice was, it seemed as though Arthur's words managed to penetrate the barrier of fabric and reach Francis's ears, because he let out a sighed "No" and promptly tightened the blanket around his body.

Arthur bunched a lump of the blanket and yanked as hard as he could, teeth grit, huffing and grunting when Francis's hold would not give. He pulled and pulled, twisting this way and that, and even kicked Francis in the back and bottom for good measure, but still the blanket was not released.

If every other night had taught Arthur anything, it was that he was fighting a losing battle; Francis had the blankets by a death grip, and even prying them from his cold dead hands would probably cause him trouble. So there was only solution.

Arthur tightened all the muscles in his body and relaxed, rolling out his shoulders and disturbing Francis enough to garner a mumbled 'shtop'. He sighed and gathered up the will until he finally rolled over and swung his legs over the bed and stood up in one motion.

He plodded over to their wardrobe, feet heavy, not caring at all at the dull thuds that filled the dark and empty room. There was no sign of sunlight through the blinds and no sound of birds, and through his barely functioning brain, Arthur made a mental note to decaffeinate Francis's coffee at a saner hour. Eyes half closed, he opened the wardrobe with just as much callousness, and he blindly felt around for the extra duvet they had for the colder months, grabbed it, closed the wardrobe and plodded right back to bed.

He fell into bed like a rag-doll filled with stones, sweeping the duvet over him until it settled neatly over his body. Happily sighing, Arthur snuggled into bed and went back to sleep-

Francis mumbled and half sat up in bed, only to twist mid-motion and fall back down, this time facing Arthur, and threw an arm over him. He hugged Arthur closed to him forcefully, frizzy hair styled by the bed going up Arthur's nose and poking him in the eye. Francis sighed and nuzzled into Arthur's shoulder.

All this would have soured Arthur if Francis didn't look so darn cute and vulnerable while doing it. He decided to let it go, shifting slightly to accommodate Francis, and even reached under the blankets to touch Francis's other hand.

"Mmmm'Arthur, it's so hot," said Francis, and kicked off the blanket Arthur had wanted back before. He then snuggled his way under Arthur's duvet, and began rolling away from Arthur in strangely measured intervals.

If Francis didn't get any coffee at all in the morning, it sure as hell wouldn't be Arthur's fault.