A flurry of wet snow and freezing rain hit the vampire as he stepped out of the airport terminal in Bangor. "Bloody hell..." he cursed with a thick British accent, turning up his collar in a futile attempt to escape the winter elements. Arthur Kirkland had not come prepared, with only a light jacket and jeans to ward off the cold. Never had the blonde wished more for a hood, or at least an umbrella. Scowling, thick eyebrows drawn together in barely contained anger, he stalked off to walk beside the highway. Meals on wheels, he thought with a spark of amusement in his poison green eyes. Taking a deep breath out of long-forgotten habit, exhaust fumes, the crisp smell of rain and snow, and hundreds of liters of warm human blood assaulted him, eliciting a groan. Arthur was hungry, no doubt about it, but after nearly being caught in London, the old vampire was moving on to new hunting grounds and he didn't want to bring attention to himself. If nearly 1000 years of life; or undeath, rather; had taught him anything, it was that good things come to those who wait.
Turning up the radio, Alfred sang enthusiastically along to Bon Jovi, a happy-go-lucky grin plastered on his face. Tall, sturdily built, the blonde man was the picture of All-American masculinity, his rather scruffy appearance punctuated with a stray cowlick sticking straight up like an exclamation point. The silver frame of his glasses glinted from passing headlights as the storm poured down onto the cold, Maine roads. Turning onto the highway close by the airport, he drove on, quickly passing the busy terminal. About 10 miles out, he squinted through the windshield wiper's desperate attempt to keep the glass clear. Was someone actually out in this weather? He wondered incredulously. Pulling over to the side of the road a little ahead of the hunched over figure, he rolled down his window. "Hey kid! Ya need a ride?" he called into the storm. The slight man looked up, his pissed glare losing any menace when another car sped by, drenching the already soaked Brit. Cursing angrily, he walked up to the open window, the grinning American already unlocking the door even though he wasn't sure if the guy would accept help.
"...I would appreciate a ride, yes..." the young man said reluctantly, poison green eyes shooting up to look at Alfred. "And I'm not a kid, git."
Alfred shrugged. "My mistake. Hop in."
The Brit opened the door, getting in quickly, dripping with water and shivering like crazy. Alfred could have sworn he saw ice crystals glinting on the kid's eyelashes, but no one could be that cold. Rolling up the window and shifting gears, he drove on, turning the heat up. "How old are ya anyway?" the blonde asked curiously. "I'm Alfred, and you?"
The young man straightened, tilting his chin up proudly. "Arthur. I'm...23, not that it's any of your business." he answered in a tone that suggested he was used to being obeyed.
"And what are you doing in the great U.S of A?" he grinned, taking the exit that would take him to the motel he was staying at. "You have anywhere to stay?"
Arthur was silent for a moment. "...Well, I certainly didn't come for the weather. Bloody hell, is it always like this?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.
"Too cold for ya?" Alfred laughed. "It might be, I usually work in the Southwest, but I got a call that needed my expertise, so here I am in this godforsaken piece of land."
The Brit looked over, still shivering. "...Care to elaborate?" he asked dryly.
"I hunt supernatural creatures. Vampires, though, are my specialty." he said nonchalantly.
Arthur stiffened, fight or flight instincts kicking in instantly. Trying to relax so as not to draw attention, he forced a chuckle. "..heh..Seems a tad whimsical, doesn't it? Vampires don't exist, everyone knows that..."
The other grinned. "And that's where you're wrong, my little friend. They, werewolves, demons, ghosts, angels, spirits, shapeshifters...all exist. Angels are fine, but the rest of them... He drew a line across his throat.
The soaked blonde smiled shakily. "How interesting. Pray tell me, how would one spot a vampire? Or are you just killing people with a garlic allergy?"
"Oh, believe me, there's a lot of research that goes into my line of work. Our job is to protect the human race, not thin its ranks with misguided witch hunts. Vampires can be a bit difficult, though. First, body temperature. No heartbeat, so they are whatever temperature they're exposed to. Second, they don't need to breathe. Third, their eyes are always a vibrant color...not unlike yours, actually. Fourth, even when they're not about to feed, their canines are a little longer and sharper than everyone else's. And fifth...the stereotypical bite marks. On the neck, wrist...anywhere with a large vein could be a place where the scar lies." Alfred explained happily, seemingly oblivious to the reaction his words were having on the Brit. Arthur, smiled thinly, not daring to expose his teeth, turning his right wrist slightly so the underside rested on the cold, wet denim of his pants as he forced his chest to rise and fall. This American knew too much. Arthur would have to run, kill him, or turn him. Right now, he was favouring run. If he'd stood and fought every damn hunter he came across, he'd be a pile of ashes.
Alfred drove on, noting in his peripheral vision the stress his words seemed to be putting on the drenched blonde. Suspicions beginning to rise, he continued to act nonchalant and oblivious. "You're still shivering, you know..." he commented, deciding to test something out. Reaching a hand out, he placed the back across Arthur's forehead as if checking for fever. Before the young man jerked back, Alfred could feel the freezing chill of the other's skin, and was positive he had seen ice crystals earlier. They'd probably still be there if the car hadn't been above freezing.
"Don't touch me!" Arthur hissed at the other, a spark of fear flashing in his eyes.
"Not much of a people person, are we?" he chuckled, turning into the motel parking lot. "It's getting dark, you can stay with me for the night. It's not like you have anywhere else to go."
"...Just don't f-g touch me and we'll get along fine." the Brit said darkly, wanting to get this over with. Once this stupid American was asleep he'd be gone faster than greased lightning. Hope these overcast skies kept up so he wouldn't get burnt. That idiotic Meyers woman... Vampires do not under any circumstances sparkle, they burn like tinderwood. Getting out of the car, he was relieved to notice that the storm had died down considerably. The cold didn't affect him, but it certainly wasn't pleasant. Faintly, he heard a slow heartbeat coming from the other side of a nearby gardening shed. Human. Dinner.
"Ya comin' or not, kid?"
Arthur quickly walked over to the open door of the motel room. In his musings over the potential food source, he'd forgotten about the more immediate concern at hand...Alfred. "I told you, I'm 23, you bloody wanker." he reminded the taller man imperiously before walking into the room with a regal air about him. Old habits died hard...
"You're rude." Alfred commented, not put off in the slightest by the Brit's acerbic tone.
"And you hunt supernatural creatures for a living." Arthur said dryly, making finger quotation marks around 'supernatural creatures' as if to show exactly what he thought about the American's job.
Alfred couldn't think of a comeback that wouldn't make him seem insane.
Two agonizingly long hours later, Alfred's heartbeat had slowed enough to convince the older of the unlikely pair that he was asleep. Walking quietly out of the room, he closed the door silently behind him, going over to the garden shed. A clearly ill man sat behind it, cadaverous hand clutching the neck of a vodka bottle that was nearly empty. Kneeling beside him, Arthur cocked his head slightly. "How long, old chap?" he asked softly.
Glassy brown eyes rolled over to look at him. "They gave me three months. That was seven weeks ago." the man slurred drunkenly. "Hurts like hell."
Placing a cool hand on his shoulder, the vampire smiled comfortingly. "Want me to take the pain away?" he asked, flashing kittenish fangs.
Regarding the blonde with a dull gaze, his eyes lingered on the small fangs. "It'll hurt, won't it?"
"A sharp stab of pain, then nothing. You might feel warm for a minute, but soon you'll be following the light." Arthur assured.
Silent for a moment, the man eventually nodded. "You need to be able to get at my neck, then?" he asked, pulling the collar of his coat aside.
"Your wrist will do just as well, poppet."
Shakily extending his arm, he smiled slightly. "I'm ready..."
Pushing the ragged sleeve back slightly, Arthur's fangs elongated slightly, his pupils constricting to mere dots. With inhuman speed he sunk the sharp teeth into the radial vein, letting out a slight moan as the hot, salty blood began to flow. The man groaned, going limp in seconds. After a few minutes, the Brit pulled away, sated. The body crumbled into a pile of greasy ash, and he stood up, swaying, with a hiccup. The level of alcohol in the dead man's blood had been high enough to get the vampire drunk as well. Giggling slightly he walked back to the motel room, quietly opening the door, closing it behind him. Suddenly the intoxicated blonde was pinned to the wall, slender wrists held above his head with one strong, tanned hand, instantly scared sober.
"Knew it...Vampire." Alfred growled menacingly, keeping Arthur back with a copper crucifix, slowly moving so he was cornered.
The American grinned darkly, pulling the Brit's sleeve back quickly to reveal two dark puncture scars. "Your temperature's gone up quite a bit, hmm? Almost human...how many years did you steal from some innocent? Or did you turn them?"
Poison green eyes were fixated on the swinging crucifix, almost eerily following its course. Arthur scoffed. "What the bloody hell are you talking about? He had weeks to live, stupid. I wouldn't kill someone with years left of their life, no matter what disease they had. Drunk, most likely homeless...he gave me his consent and I used his short life to elongate my own."
Alfred glared at the vampire suspiciously. He didn't want to believe the bloodsucker who still had a dead man's blood staining his lips, but Arthur's words held a ring of truth. "I'd almost like to believe that, kiddo. You're an old one, aren't you? Why would you move from your usual hunting grounds anyway?"
"I am nearly 1000 years of age, you git, don't call me kiddo. My coven was slaughtered by your kind, I was lucky to escape at all! You call us monsters?! We merely kill the sick and weak, letting the strong of your kind thrive...You hunters murdered all of us...They killed the children!" he snarled with rage, tears of blood spilling and leaving scarlet trails down milk-white skin. With a twist of his arms, he was free, held back only by the crucifix Alfred held in one shaking hand. Body shaking, he straightened up, tilting his head back slightly with an ancient authority. "I've fought back Norse invaders, raised an orphaned Russian werewolf cub, advised kings and queens, broken free of prison, convicted of witchcraft, fallen in love and felt the pain of losing it, endured tortures your puny mortal mind couldn't imagine. I've fought in the Hundred Years War, drank the blood of rebellious colonists during the American Revolution, seen good men die in World Wars and occasionally was the one to kill them. I sailed the seas when you were naught but a twinkle in your ancestors eye as Captain Arthur Kirkland of the Sparrow Wing... How dare you judge me?" he hissed menacingly. Reaching out, he clutched the crucifix with one hand, the sizzle of scorched flesh audible as he grinned manically, blood beginning to run down his wrist as he yanked away the once gleaming necklace from the shocked American. Tossing it to the side, he advanced on the taller man, fangs lengthening. With a burst of inhuman speed, he tackled Alfred to the ground with an animalistic snarl, eyes dancing with insanity. "I could drain you of every last drop of blood, and you couldn't stop me, bloody Yank."
"But, you wouldn't do that because you're not a monster, yes?" Alfred said quickly, playing the first card he thought of.
Arthur froze, staring at the American with wide eyes. If he killed him...everything he stood for, centuries of trying to establish himself as a welcome bringer of death would be gone in an instant. Scarlet tears still falling from his eyes, he released the death-grip he had on Alfred's wrists as the fangs slowly shrank back to mere kitten-like points as the bloodlust faded.
"...No...I can't kill you." he replied bitterly, a wry smile twisting his lip. "It looks like you're stuck with me until I find new hunting grounds, hmm?" he frowned "Try to kill me and you'll be dead faster than you can say Jack Robinson though, let me assure you." Standing up, he assessed the situation aloud, disgust tinting his tone. "Clothes still wet, stuck with a hunter, only one godforsaken bed in this damn room..." looking at his still bleeding hand he tutted. Grabbing the crucifix had been a poor idea. "This won't heal for a while, stupid holy cross. Better clean it up..." he growled, stalking off to the tiny motel bathroom. "Don't you move a muscle!" Arthur called over his shoulder at the still sprawled out American. "I will hunt you down and kill you!"
"Cheery guy..." he muttered. After losing the element of surprise, Alfred had been almost positive he was done for. Luckily Arthur had just fed, or we might have had a very dead American on our hands...he almost felt a little bad about the wound the cross had inflicted. He was very surprised how the vampire had just given him that information, but he supposed the bloodsucking fiend would have said anything to save his skin. However, the ring of truth in his claims had unnerved the blonde quite a bit. If he was telling the truth... how many of Alfred's assumptions were wrong, and how many of his successful hunts had been murders? Looking at the clock, he sighed. 10:30 pm. Disregarding the vampire's threat, he got in the bed, determined to stay up and confront the Brit when he'd finished.
Arthur walked in 10 minutes later to find a lightly snoring Alfred under the covers. He facepalmed, laughing quietly. "Can't believe I thought you were a threat..." he muttered, walking over to the side of the bed and kneeling on the mattress. He shivered slightly at the chill; having taken off his shirt to allow to dry but leaving on his only slightly damp pants. He considered the sleeping form for a moment, thinking of how easy it would be just to put a pillow over his face and be done with this irritating hunter. Reaching over, he absentmindedly tucked a stray strand of sunny blond hair behind the American's ear, only to get his wrist clamped in a vice grip and the extremely surprised Brit pulled down onto the bed, his arms held to his sides by the still sleeping Alfred who was hugging the still warm vampire. "Let go of me, you bloody wanker!" he hissed angrily. Struggling for another couple minutes, he eventually gave up, going limp with a resigned sigh. Glaring up at the ceiling, he decided to sleep. This was going to be a long night...
A month later, the two were still traveling together. No matter how many suitable territories they passed on their endless journey, there was a silent consensus between them not to mention it, to just keep driving. Alfred accepted the older vampire's feeding habits, and in turn Arthur tolerated the American's obnoxious attitude; even going to far as to seriously cut down on the insults except when he truly deserved them. Such as one fateful day in February...
Alfred braced himself for the impact of the furious Matriarch demon's staff, and instead was greeted by a shower of blood. Cautiously opening one eye and looking up from the corner he was backed into, a stinging slap connected with his face. "You bloody idiot!" Arthur snapped, letting the demon's corpse drop to the ground as he kneeled next the sprawled out American. "Never attack a nest of demons in the night! You could have died! Telling me to go off and have dinner and then trying to attack the nest yourself?! Are you as stup-" the furious Brit was cut off mid-rant by Alfred's lips pressed against his in a gentle kiss that nonetheless left the vampire breathless...or would have, anyway, if he breathed. When the American finally pulled away, Arthur looked at him for a moment, shocked, before smiling slightly. "I'm still mad at you, git." he said matter-of-factly, his hand-print still blazing red across the younger blonde's face.