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It was a lovely tea party.
"Oh, Alfred, darling! Would you be a dear pass the scones?"
The small, circular table was adorn with a beautiful pure crystal vase with long-steamed tulips gracefully emerging from the small amount of water in the basin of the work of crystallized perfection. He made it with his own two hands, you know. Arthur Kirkland was quite good with his hands – small crafts were his absolute favorite.
"Oh, butterscotch! Where are my manners tonight?"
He chuckled to himself and placed his hand-painted tea kettle back upon the embroidered cooling pad that sat to his right side – he made that cooling pad, too. It nearly took him three hours to get the stitching right! Gosh, he was so finicky when it came to this kind of thing.
"Alfred, my friend. I know it seems rather forward to request you out to my flat at such short notice, and at night, no less, so I understand if you feel…on edge a bit."
There was a pause, waiting for the blonde young man's reaction; but he sat in her chair, tea cup in his lap and his gaze almost holding a glossy distance to them – as if his mind were wandering greener pastures elsewhere. Arthur's mouth curled a grin and he took a sip from his own cup – pinky out, of course.
"Come, come, now; no need to be shy, you can say anything you want to, luv! I won't bite!"
Still no response.
It was almost like he wasn't listening to him, maybe even ignoring him.
Mister Arthur Kirkland sighed and shrugged his shoulders, his smile grew gentler and his eyes slid shut for a moment or two. He really was a tough egg to crack when it came to social gatherings, he began to feel as if he was nervous around Arthur – perhaps he had a small, school-girl crush on the lad? Ha, the thought was just laughable. Of course Alfred thought of him that way! Why else would she come to his apartment at nine o' clock in the evening?
"No matter, I would just like to say you look rather dashing tonight, my dear. Or are my eyes deceiving me? Oh no, of course not. Is that a new jacket? Ah, too bad I spilled a little jam on it."
Again, Arthur chuckled.
His eyes opened and his cup was placed on the saucer, his fingers reached to his pastel blue bow-tie and adjusted the satin a bit. A gentleman had to look his best in the presence of anyone, these days; merits would be high for someone of his background to impress his company. He straightened his collar and leaned back in his chair.
"Oh my, you've got a bit of jam on your lip, aren't you going to get that?"
Alfred remained practically motionless.
"Oh never mind, I'll get it for you."
Swiftly and with a gentle flick of his wrist, Arthur pulled his stark white handkerchief from his sweater-vest pocket and leaned across the small span of the tea table, carefully dabbing at the soft edges of the glossy-eyed man – removing jam, as he previously stated. The red, almost liquid-like, substance would horribly stain his handkerchief, but there were plenty more where that came from.
Judging his strength a bit too much, Arthur lost his balance for only a moment and the heel of his hand gingerly pushed the left side of Alfred's chin – his head begun to fall.
Rolling off of his neck on the crease of a thin red line, his head tumbled to the floor and tumbled only a few inches from the table – a thick trail of jam following behind him. Alfred's body slumped out of the seat and lay sprawled out on the floor beside Arthur, arms in disarray and legs only bent in the slightest.
"Oopsie Daisies."
Stepping over his lifeless body, Arthur picked up the red-drenched young man's beautiful head and admired it for a moment. He was one of the most handsome young men he has ever had the pleasure of meeting in a while. After several hundred thousand years of being alive, he was almost the prettiest. Almost.
His rough thumbs smoothed over Alfred's pale cheeks and he smiled almost adoringly at him.
Arthur leaned himself closer and kissed his dead, frozen lips.
"Now, now, dear. No need to be losing your head."
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