Cold Fingertips

'Oh well the devil makes us sin
But we like it when we're spinning, in his grin'
- Massive Attack

For some reason, and Francis couldn't fathom why, Arthur Kirkland seemed perfect. Not for him, definitely not, but for the person he had in mind; Arthur would make the ideal gift. After all, the Frenchman was known for being ceaselessly generous, maybe shameless and arrogant as well, but hosting parties in his lavish homes and effortlessly matchmaking his associates were also a part of his reputation. Only moments after passing his old acquaintance, ideas had already begun forming in his head.

"Ah, bonjour Arthur! I have not seen you for so long," Francis called before the Englishman could retreat too far. The blond man turned around curiously, narrowing his eyes at Francis.

"Well, what were the chances of meeting you here," Arthur said huffily after a long pause, holding himself in a way that conveyed both severity and respectability, he retraced his steps back towards where Francis stood, smirking. He hasn't changed at all then. Not that Francis had expected a great difference in the man; it had only been two years since they had last seen each other and Arthur would probably always remain stuffy and grumpy. They both unconsciously shifted nearer to the buildings on their left as to not obstruct the busy paths of New Orleans.

"It is good to see you as well, mon cher! What brings you to New Orleans?" Francis queried, noticing how Arthur defensively folded his arms and raised those questionable eyebrows. Arthur was an intelligent man, but his boundaries were easily pushed which made him rather temperamental. "It is only a polite question, my friend, not an interrogation."

"Hm, well, if you must know I'm here on a business trip." As if to validate this, he patted the briefcase resting against the side of his body. "It's a shame it had to be in America, this dreadful place is too warm for my liking."

"Well I suspect anywhere too warm compared to that dismal little country you reside in," the taller man scoffed with a roll of his eyes. Then he remembered this was why Arthur and himself had never got along and most likely drifted apart – Francis could already hear the curses of 'bloody frog' and such Arthur was about to reply with so he beat him to the chase. "We should catch up over drinks!" Francis suggested excitedly, ignoring Arthur's expression of 'I want to get away from you, and anything French, as quickly as possible'.

"I don't think so, I have to work – unlike some – I don't have the time to gallivant around and needlessly flaunt money," the smaller male replied, obviously glad that he was able to insult Francis in some way.

"Oh no, this is a dilemma," Francis mused, comically tapping the stubble on his chin. "Hmm… Ah, I know! Which hotel are you staying at?"

Arthur appeared hesitant, before answering, "The Windsor Court."

"Perfect, I will pick you up at nine o'clock tonight and we shall, eh, as you say, gallivant around then," the Frenchman said with a chuckle, gauging the indignant line of Arthur's lips, before hurriedly turning around and departing, confident that his plan would follow accordingly.

"This is sure to be repayment enough, dear Alfred…," Francis muttered to himself deviously. The stars must really be in his favour, indeed, what were the chances, Arthur.

-/-

Unbelievable. That Frenchie thinks he can just demand my presence whenever he pleases.

Arthur didn't want to go to whatever dubious place Francis planned on taking him, but he knew if he didn't get ready – most likely, the Frenchman would hunt him down and kidnap him whilst he was in his jammies and dressing gown. Meaning, he had no choice in this.

That idiot hadn't even advised him on what type of outfit he should wear: formal, informal or a bit of both? Moreover, Arthur could wind up in any manner of social gathering with the oddest people going, it was no secret Francis was a millionaire, and in the past he'd jetted Arthur off to Masquerade Balls in Paris or strangely themed parties in New York. Which was one of the reasons Arthur had been so glad when their 'friendship' had ended, Arthur had to dedicate himself to work therefore cutting himself off from any socialising.

Well, getting lost in thought certainly wasn't going to help. It was half past eight and Arthur was still rummaging through his suitcase for something decent to wear. He hadn't brought anything particularly special since he hadn't been planning on doing anything other than working on this trip. Drat, why did he tell Francis which hotel he was staying at? Besides, how low were the odds of the two crossing paths in a foreign country? It was entirely unfair, Arthur decided.

Thinking back to their brief conversation earlier this afternoon, the Englishman also decided that he hadn't liked the look in Francis' eyes – it was like he had some sort of price tag over his head. They may not have seen each other in a long time, but that didn't mean Arthur didn't know that look was a bad omen.

When the time reached nine o'clock, Arthur rushed down into the foyer, hoping black suit trousers and a casual dress shirt would be acceptable. Before reaching the entrance, Arthur could already see Francis leaning against the side of his limousine, silky shirt, dark trousers and glittering rings all in place. Francis always overdressed so that helped him feel a little better.

"Allo!" Francis greeted with a wave.

"Hello," Arthur stressed, "you know it would have been marvellous if you'd have actually asked for my opinion on these plans."

"Ah come on, I will show you a good time." Francis winked.

"Yes, well," Arthur murmured, his stomach turning a little, "that just makes this evening sound even less appealing."

The Frenchman places his palms on his chest and morphed his expression into one of heartbreak, "You wound me, Arthur."

"Oh hush with your melodrama," Arthur frowned, batting at Francis' hands. "At least tell me where we are going." The taller of the two gestured towards the vehicle and Arthur reluctantly slipped into the seat, scowling at the glossy, leather interior. Honestly, the man was so extravagant. The door was slammed shut behind him and then Francis joined him on the other side, ordering the driver into action in rapid French.

"Just this little bar around the corner."

"Around the corner? Could we not have walked then?" Arthur snapped while gazing out one of the tinted car-windows.

"Would you stop complaining?" Francis sighed, squeezing Arthur's thigh. He twitched in distaste but didn't move away because he knew Francis was just trying to aggravate him.

-/-

The bar was elegant; the designs within it gave the location a dark grandeur. Chandeliers adorned the ceilings and the actual bar was styled from black glass, atmospheric music thrummed throughout the room, making the air seem sensual and enigmatic. All of the patrons were dressed crisply, expensively, in dusky colours and weaved between each other stealthily. It smelt of sharp-sweet alcohol, liquors and spirits that were by no means cheap, Arthur immediately connected two and two together – Francis had brought him to a private bar, invitation only. His company led towards a table nearby the bar and mumbled something about getting drinks.

Arthur felt a pulse of nervousness run through him as he looked at the faces of customers. All of them seemed extraordinarily beautiful, women wearing heavy diamonds and slinky dresses, and each man had one of these women at their arms, smiling sumptuously. There was something chilling about environment, something suspicious and a little off about the crowds, all of them so pale and self-assured, so frightfully perfect. His eyes searched out Francis and found him with his head inclined towards a tall, fair-haired man, whispering something to him.

Watching the two interact for a few minutes, Arthur started when the stranger turned around to stare at him. His gaze instantly flew somewhere else but he knew the man's eyes were on him. When he finally re-gathered himself enough to look up, Arthur was greeted by the newcomer, and Francis holding a drink in each hand.

"Arthur, this is Alfred Jones, a friend of mine. He wanted to say hello to you," Francis said chirpily, setting a glass in front of the Englishman who worriedly noted this Alfred had sat down but Francis hadn't. "I got you a gin and tonic, mon ami, I know that is what you like. Unfortunately, I have to go and speak to someone but I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself with Alfred." There was that glint in Francis' eyes again, almost like a wicked laughter sparkled within them.

Arthur sensed his temper rising, this git had dragged him out to an obscure bar and was now abandoning him with a strange man. "Francis-" Arthur begun irately.

"Bye bye!" Francis interrupted loudly so it drowned out the sound of Arthur's voice, and with that he turned his back and Arthur yet again. The Englishman fumed, shakily wrapping a hand around his cold beverage – Christ, he would be needing alcohol. Watching him vanish within the masses of pale-faced people, the sight of a woman with her head thrown back and her lips parted captured his attention. A man's head was tilted into the crook of her throat. Arthur's breathing quickened. Where had Francis brought him?

"Hey," said a voice in a decidedly American accent, not surprising since he was in America, "I can call you Arthur, right?"

Arthur cleared his throat and moved his eye-line towards Alfred, though something about his stare was off-putting – unwavering, the blue of his irises far too intense and his bright grin took on an edge of something slightly sinful. He was a handsome man, very handsome, but not that Arthur really noticed this, his skin was an enviable tanned tone, he was tall and Arthur could tell how the suit jacket he was wearing highlighted his masculine stature. He brought a russet coloured liquid to his lips while he waited for Arthur to respond, quirking one of his slender eyebrows in amusement.

"Right, yes, Arthur is fine," Arthur forced out sharply, smoothly setting his drink back on the table, "and you're Alfred?"

"Yeah, that's me," the American laughed cheerfully, "So you're British?"

"English," the smaller man corrected, trying to sound polite rather than displeased. "Um, yes, I'm from Winchester."

"Awesome. I'm originally from San Francisco," Alfred answered enthusiastically, taking another sip of his drink. Arthur hummed in acceptance, feeling awkward and skittish around this man, and occupied himself with gulping down some of his gin and tonic. Alfred let out a little chortle, and unless Arthur's eyes were playing tricks on him, the man scooted a tad closer. The hair on the back of Arthur's neck began to rise, spreading goosebumps across his skin. "It's sexy, y'know? The accent."

"I-I beg your pardon?" Arthur's wide eyes must have been hilarious because Alfred chuckled again.

"I like your accent, it's hot," the American suavely, his lips curving daringly and his eyes positively swallowing Arthur. "Not that I'm saying that's the only thing hot about you," he quickly added, doing a once over of Arthur, who almost let out a squawk at the suggestive actions and burned red in the cheeks.

"Are you flirting with me?" he bit out indignantly.

"Is that okay?"

God, this American was so overly confident – arrogant even – with his charming smile and perfect teeth. This had to be the worst night ever. A shiver crawled itself along Arthur's skin, one both of attraction and wariness. There was something about Alfred Jones that was… dangerous, cleverness swathed behind coolness and bravado.

"No it certainly is not! And I am not interested in men… that way, thank you very much." Liar, liar screeched across Arthur's made and the way Alfred smirked made Arthur think maybe he could hear it as well. Arthur's heart rate increased and the insides of his palms were suddenly damp. "Besides, we don't know each other, it's hardly appropriate," Arthur said primly, regaining back as much composure as he could. This time, Alfred definitely shuffled closer because his arm was almost touching Arthur's, surprisingly, there was a lack of body heat accompanying Alfred's proximity and he smelt rather… odd, like iron and aromatic spices. All of the Englishman's body tingled and he felt extremely angry with himself for letting this man affect him so.

"How would you know if you've never tried?" Alfred whispered seductively, directly into Arthur's ear, and the light-blond man jerked away from him. The American grasped his arm before Arthur fell off his chair and brought him in closer.

"I'm leaving," Arthur announced, flushing from the embarrassment of nearly crashing to the floor and from Alfred's forward attitude.

"No you're not," Alfred replied, tugging Arthur back into place. His voice sounder lower, commanding and possessive but when Arthur turned to face him he was his smiling self again. "I was only messing around with you, man. So, how'd you and Francis know each other?"

Arthur blinked, shocked. Alfred was acting as though he hadn't rudely invaded Arthur's personal space and sent him toppling over his chair. His teeth glinted dauntingly in the shadowy lighting and Arthur, in that moment, he'd been guided into trouble and his expression hardened.

"Who are you? What has Francis said about me?" Arthur demanded, determined not to be afraid of Alfred's sinister aura and overly gleeful smiles with contrastingly intimidating eyes. They regarded Arthur like he was… Alfred's property, or some sort of conquest. He hated Francis, good Lord; he'd been led into some sort of business transaction.

The American finished off his drink and the smile vanished from his face. "How much do you know about Francis, Arthur?"

"I know him well enough," Arthur said, bristling and fidgeting in his seat.

"What about these past two years?"

"Well, ehm, well we haven't been in touch. In fact, we bumped into each other this afternoon and he suggested having a catch-up over drinks, which I suppose is why I'm at this ridiculous place speaking to you," the Englishman hissed, scowling at Alfred.

"Hm," Alfred half-chuckled, half-snorted. "Seems like you walked back into his life at the perfect time. Y'see, Francis owes me – I got him out of some nasty debts, I don't know why," he continued, with a roll of his eyes.

"And how is it that I have anything to do with this?" Arthur interjected, desperately trying to keep his voice down. The temperature of the room had dropped a little, Arthur noticed, which was abnormal because the busier a place became usually the warmer the surroundings became.

"Francis said I would like you, and he's right." He was grinning again, but it was so unlike before, this grin was predatory and shameless, it made Arthur's heart beat rapid and his breathing shallow. "I do like you. I like you a lot, Arthur," Alfred murmured gently, leaning in audaciously close and grazing two fingers underneath Arthur's chin, and Arthur could only sit still, frozen, as if under a spell – a cold, foreboding spell. Arthur legs jolted into motion and he went to dive away from Alfred and run but instead he was pushed back into the chair and ferociously kissed.

Arthur struggled, smacking a fist into Alfred's shoulder but shocked to find the flesh underneath the clothing was colder than stone. He struggled and struggled until he felt a horrible twinge against his tongue then a rush of hot dampness. Blood. Alfred tilted Arthur's head back and hovered over him, devouring his mouth, a droplet of red slithered from the corner of Arthur's lips and trickled along his jaw. And then, Arthur went limp, his body filling with a soft, static ecstasy. It was like venom had been injected into him, a poison that made his mind fuzzy as if he were blissfully drunk yet still aware. Alfred was sucking on his tongue, drawing away more and more blood until Arthur had to break the kiss to take a deep breath.

Alfred eye's had darkened to a blue-black, his teeth were crimson-stained and his canines were sharp and long.

A glass shattered and someone screamed. A woman rushed past Alfred and Arthur, her dress ripped and blood oozing from two holes in her neck.

Oh my god… Arthur knew vaguely, somewhere in the rational part of his mind, that he was in a lot of danger. He tried to will his legs to move, tried to flee in the same way that woman had. But she was thrown into a wall before she could reach the exit, and two men pressed their teeth into her, holding her down until she went limp and unseeing.

In his dazed state, Arthur could no longer hear the music or see beyond Alfred as he turned back to face the monstrous man. His world swirled and reeked of metal and spices, images of that woman flashing in his mind's eye. He felt weightless as Alfred stood him up and led him behind the bar, his skin was prickly cold and his tongue tingled. Though he was conscious of what was happening, aware of where Alfred was probably leading him and mindful that this was insane because the man clearly wasn't human and Arthur had known him for just over ten minutes. But his thoughts sang with 'to hell with it', Alfred was stunning and wanted him. Giddiness thudded inside him and vaguely Arthur knew he wasn't himself but couldn't be bothered to focus on it. He couldn't even take a second to think; vampires aren't real though… are they?

Barging into a room, after marching up a flight of stairs, Arthur was hauled in by the grip he had on Alfred's icy hands.

"Arthur," he growled, slamming the door shut and stepping across the room, pushing the smaller man down on to the bed Arthur hadn't registered was there. Alfred immediately crawled on top of him, his skin appeared to be paler in the gloom, almost white and his eyes were sublime – hypnotising. They commenced kissing once again, Alfred seizing Arthur's hands, then pinning them above his head.

"What have you done to me?" Arthur gasped out as Alfred kissed across his throat, running those razor-edge teeth across a vein.

"Vampire bite, you humans are suckers for them, plead us into killing you every time then you're dead before you've even realised," Alfred answered, chuckling darkly and working at the buttons of Arthur's shirt. "Sad, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically, sadistically. Faux sympathy for 'humans' clear in his voice.

"Bastard," Arthur sneered. "So this is the only way you can seduce others, are you not attractive enough without the bite?" the blond challenged, disbelieving of this man's story about set on the theory that his teeth were probably theatrical, but his head was such a mess and everywhere Alfred touched seemed to crackle divinely, addictively, so Arthur couldn't really think it over.

The taller man pressed his lips against Arthur's chest, lulling his tongue across the skin the gently blowing across the tender spot, causing Arthur to shiver. "Francis said you were feisty." Alfred returned to suckling, the flesh blushing and holding marks that would surely be bruises the next day. The American's thumbs brushed across Arthur's chest, with just the perfect amount of pressure, circling his stomach then skimming across his nipples. Arthur thrashed at the sensitive sensation that created – the chill and the stimulation making his spine arch into Alfred. "Am I not attractive enough?" Alfred questioned innocently.

-/-

There was a thudding sound somewhere in the background, it was relentless and annoying. Arthur finally decided to acknowledge it and stumbled out of bed towards where the noise was coming from. He swung the door open angrily; his temper ignited further when he saw Francis waiting outside.

"Mon ami! Where have you been? It is almost ten o'clock! We were supposed to leave an hour ago," Francis cried, talking with violent gestures of his hands.

"Sorry?" His mouth dropped open with confusion. He glanced back to the clock and saw that Francis wasn't lying… but how could that be?!

"We were supposed to meet at nine, for drinks? You do remember?"

"But we already… Alfred…," Arthur mumbled to himself. That had happened, surely? It couldn't have been a… dream. He remembered Alfred so clearly, the bites, the kisses, the smile and the eyes.

"Alfred? Who is that?" Francis enquired, his eyebrows lifting as he stuck his head inside Arthur's room and glanced around. "You have company?" he said lewdly.

"No, bloody frog, I do not! And I'm not going out with you, so goodnight!" Arthur slammed the door on his face; he wouldn't admit aloud how satisfying that felt.

So he must have fallen asleep… and it had all been inside my head. Good God, vampires… what was I thinking?!

"You daft git, Arthur," he hissed under his breath, unable to see the two puncture wounds on his neck, reflected from the mirror on the dressing table.