The night of the hunter

Chapter one

Interesting. But not as interesting as it could be. Francis looked around in the dimmed hall, bringing his glass of wine to his lips with deliberate slowness and sipping the red liquid. A satisfied smile curved on the Frenchman's lips. Everything was like it should; the orchestra was doing great job, food and drinks were perfect, and his house was filled with fancy people. All his guests were wearing gorgeous dresses as well as masks that covered their eyes. Naturally, Francis was wearing one, too. His mask was deep and dark blue, so dark that it was almost black. Indeed, this was a party to Francis' taste. But still, something was missing.

A young lady approached the Frenchman. "What a wonderful night you have arranged, Mr. Bonnefoy," she said, smiling charmingly.

Francis bowed slightly. "I'm honoured to have the star of Paris shining in my house."

The compliment made her giggle. "Oh, Mr. Bonnefoy, you are exaggerating as always."

"Not at all, my fair lady."

Another young woman joined them. "Oh, Mr. Bonnefoy, how mysterious mask you have!" she exclaimed. Francis could hear from her voice that the glass of wine she had was not her first one. "It makes me want to see what you are hiding behind it..."

Francis laughed politely, inwardly snorting. That kind of women he had already had enough of. "My simple mask is nothing compared to yours, my lady! It's simply something to cover my dull face."

The Frenchman knew as well as the two ladies that his face was anything but dull. Elegant, beautiful and handsome all described him well, but there was something more to it. Francis possessed something that made men and women kneel in front of him, look at him with eyes filled with lust and literally fight for his attention.

Just like now. Mentally wincing, the Frenchman excused himself and walked away from the two ladies, who had started nagging to each other. A lazy, half-hearted smile tugged on Francis' lips. He knew that probably most people attending his party would agree to come to his bed without any resistance.

Not any kind of challenge at all.

Boring.

Francis sighed, a little disappointed. In the invitations he had sent, he had encouraged his guests to bring with them few of their friends that the Frenchman didn't possibly know. But hardly anyone had brought somebody.

Francis looked at dancing, chatting and flirting men and women around him, ignoring all the admiring and wanting looks he got. He had no interest in those people – and one or two times should be enough for them, too.

Boring.

"Heya, Francis!"

Francis turned around to see a pair of crimson eyes behind a white mask. "Oh, Gilbert."

"Awesome party, buddy!" the Prussian laughed. "Chicks are dying to get near me!"

The Frenchman gave a smile to his friend. "Oui, here even you can get someone."

Ignoring or just not noticing the insult, Gilbert emptied his glass. "You look bored."

"I am," Francis replied. "Look at these people! They are playing hard to get, but ready to do anything in order to get my attention."

"And you are complaining?"

"It's just... They are so monochrome."

The Prussian smirked. "So, it is challenge you want?"

"Exactly."

"If that's the case," Gilbert's smirk widened. "I have a present for you."

"Is that so?" the Frenchman said, not convinced. He already knew Gilbert and his...presents. "And what would that be?"

His friend threw an arm around his shoulders and turned him slightly. "Look there. No, not at that -oh shit, look how sexy chick there is standing!"

"She is not that special when you get to business," Francis said, unimpressed.

"Oh. Well, anyway. Look there, further."

Francis followed Gilbert's pointing finger and saw a young man standing near the wall, aloof.

"You see him? Good. That's Arthur. He's my cousin. Not too social, he doesn't appreciate this kind of things too much. Not much into parties, I guess. But maybe you can make him open up a little." The Prussian grinned. "And he is definitely not an easy one."

"Oh?" Francis looked at the young man. Gilbert tapped his friend's shoulder. "Good luck," he said, grinning widely. "You'll need it."

The Frenchman laughed, taking the dare. "We'll see about that."

"Have fun," Gilbert said before heading for the woman he had seen earlier. Francis, in turn, started to make his way towards the man the Prussian had introduced as Arthur.

The young man was standing apart from chatting groups, sipping his wine with a scornful expression, his appearance clearly warning to stay away. Well, as if that would stop Francis. The Frenchman smiled. Interesting...this Arthur seemed to have some potential.

Time to hunt.

The young man had his back to Francis, as the Frenchman approached him.

"Good evening," Francis said with a low voice almost right into Arthur's ear. He was amused to see how his...prey jumped slightly and swung around. "What the bloody-" Realizing how close the Frenchman was standing, the man took a quick step back. Francis smiled at the reaction.

"Good evening," Arthur said coolly, quickly regaining his dignity.

Francis eyed him. Arthur was standing proud, slim body straight. His appearance was very sure and ...arrogant, somehow. And how... piercing emerald eyes he had behind his deep purple mask, sharp and, Francis noticed, aware. He smiled, satisfied. For once, Gilbert seemed to be right.

"I don't think we have met before, have we?" the Frenchman said. "May I know your name?"

"Kirkland," Arthur answered coldly, clearly not willing to continue the conversation.

"Nice to meet you," Francis said softly. He took Arthur's hand and brought it to his lips, but the other man snatched his hand away. Francis didn't let it bother. "I am Francis Bonnefoy."

"I know."

"Oh?"

"I find it rude not to know the name of the host whose party I'm attending."

Francis raised his eyebrow with a teasing smile. "Mm, but you don't find it rude not to bother come and greet the host?"

"I saw you were busy with other guests and figured that you didn't want to be bothered." Arthur kept his voice unimpressed. "Which I understand very well since I feel the same."

The Frenchman resisted the urge to laugh and pretended not to notice the hint. "I see." Casually he leaned little closer, just little enough to make his victim feel slightly uneasy, but not enough to step back. "So, I can hear you are English."

"I am." Arthur sipped his wine, not looking at the Frenchman.

"What made you come visit Paris, if I may ask?"

"I fail to see how that would be any of your business."

Francis cursed Gilbert inwardly. To have challenge, that was one thing, but a grumpy, haughty Englishman... That was something else. Oh well. A slow, sly smile curved on his lips. I will get that little Englishman to his knees.

"Then, what brings you to my place tonight, mon cher?" he asked. "That is an appropriate question, isn't it?"

Francis could see that his companion was getting as irritated as the Frenchman was. "My cousin asked me to come," he said, frowning a little. "And I would prefer you addressing me by my name and not in ...French." The Englishman's voice and the small pause he made between the last two words, together with his scornful face, made Francis want to hit the man. The little bastard.

He smiled charmingly. "But how could I do that when you have not told me your full name..." Voice low and alluring, he continued. "...Arthur?"

How good it felt to see the Brit stir a little. "Mr. Kirkland will do just fine," he almost hissed.

The smile on Francis' lips widened. "There is no need to be such formal here..." He shifted closer to the Englishman, placing his hand on the wall near the Englishman's shoulder. I'll make you moan my name... Satisfied, he saw how uncomfortable his prey looked like feeling.

Then, Francis heard the music changing to tango. Perfect – the dance of passion. "Would you dance with me, mon cher?" he purred, offering his hand, and not waiting for the answer he took the Briton's glass and put it aside with his own glass.

"I am sorry but I hate dancing."

Francis grabbed his hand tightly, pulling him closer. "Oh but you can't say no when the host is asking."

"I bloody well can." Arthur tried to pull away, but the Frenchman clasped their hands together, having his other hand on the Englishman's waist. "Non."

"Or perhaps it's that you can't dance?" he continued daring. "In that case you should just have told-"

The Briton took the bait. "Of course I can dance," he snorted. Francis saw the green eyes flash and grinned. He started to feel excited; despite his lousy attitude Arthur had something in him. Something daring, tempting... dangerous even.

"That's what I thought." The Frenchman took the first step, leading the Brit. Arthur uttered a laughter. "You bloody swollen-headed wanker. You really think you are the one to lead?"

"Isn't that an improper way to address somebody?" Both of them moved, sharp, fierce movements, both attempting to lead. "And yes. I'll lead." To that, Arthur just snorted in response, again.

Oh, I'll make you scream...

The music was getting to both of them, and Francis was pleased to see that the arrogant expression of the Englishman was replaced with more passionate one. After a while their dance started to resemble a duel; they encircled each other, threatened, persuaded and tantalized, moving further just to come closer again, to cling to one another. The blue eyes didn't look away from green ones for one second and the green ones watched back, not breaking the gaze.

For few long, hot minutes neither of them spoke aloud, leaving the communication to their moving bodies. Finally, when the music died, both men stopped. They stood inches from each other, both panting and sweaty. How delicious the Englishman was looking...

Francis smiled slyly. "You dance pretty well for one who hates dancing."

The Englishman didn't answer. He just stood still, flushed and still breathing heavily, looking at the Frenchman.

"In fact, to me you seemed to enjoy it quite a lot." Francis lowered his face a little closer to Arthur's, looking in his emerald eyes and realizing that he wanted this man. "Perhaps we should continue...elsewhere?"

"...You are despicable."

"How come?"

The Englishman turned on his heels and followed by Francis walked to his previous place to take his drink again. The Frenchman leaned casually against the wall, crossing his arms on his chest.

"I have been here in Paris for one week, and already I have heard about your...reputation more than I would have cared to." When Arthur spoke his voice was cold and indifferent, but despite his mask Francis did notice a new shade of red appearing to his face. "But now you..." He snorted and shrugged.

"And what is my reputation like, then?" Francis spoke, his voice low. "Tell me." His smile widened. Danger, it announced, but Arthur either couldn't read it or then took it as a dare.

"You know that well enough." The Englishman uttered, not looking at the Frenchman. "People like you are really getting to my nerves. Party there, another here, wine, music and some sex - and the night is perfect. But, nothing more can be expected of a simple Frenchman, I guess."

I'll make you plead...

"Really?" His voice seductive and teasing, Francis narrowed the gap between himself and the Brit a little more. The other man didn't try to regain the distance between them and the Frenchman smirked. Got you. "But you came here knowing perfectly well who I am, non?" As he saw the Brit losing his words, he smiled triumphantly.

"...True." Arthur looked with his fascinating eyes straight into Francis'. "I came here knowing perfectly well who you are." He raised his glass, absently looking at dancing people through the red liquid. "And I was disappointed," he added slowly.

Elegantly, Francis raised his eyebrow. What was this scornful Briton muttering?

The green eyes turned back at Francis. Slightly haughty smile returning to his lips, he uttered: "You didn't really live up to your reputation tonight."

What? Francis uttered a laughter. This Englishman...

Merde, he was right! It was Francis who was desiring Arthur, and the Briton was actually standing up to the Frenchman. At the moment it was the Englishman who was ruling the game; and it looked like he was used to it.

Francis smirked.

"I can see that this," Arthur continued, gesturing around the hall. "Paris, is not enough for you. If you want to...experience truly something, you should visit London."

As he had said that, the Englishman bowed politely. "Well then, I shall go preparing my tomorrow's return to London. Good night, Mr. Bonnefoy." His green eyes dark, daring and mysterious in the dim lighting, Arthur threw one last glance at the Frenchman before walking away, firm and proud.

The Frenchman followed the Englishman with his eyes, still leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest and amused smile on his lips. This was truly interesting; for the first time, Francis had lost. He smiled and emptied his glass of red wine.

The first round had ended to his defeat, but the game had just started.

To London, then.

X