The kitchen was so hot.
Sweat dripped down his neck, staining his starched white collar before flowing down his spine, the drop touching every vertebrae like an attentive lover. Idly, he wondered if he should remove at least his sweater vest or maybe his tie, but he decided against it. He was a gentleman and a gentleman suffered gracefully through any discomfort. Steam floated through the air and made his cheeks turn a pale pink. Arthur wondered what anyone would say if they saw him in such a state, dripping with sweat and flushed in this horrible heat. It was good that it was so late at night, he supposed. No one would be bothering him.
Using a silver spatula, he flipped the sizzling meat in the pan and watched as the butter bubbled and cooked the flesh. What had once been pink and red, dripping blood from rawness, was now quickly turning a even golden brown. It smelled delicious, but that was probably from the spices he had used. He doubted that the meat would smell so good without pepper and garlic. But with it, the dreadful heat tasted so good and made his mouth water. How had it taken him so long to do this? Years and years had passed and only tonight had this craving come to him.
The butter popped and drew his attention to the meat needed to be flipped again. It had started out so soft and squishy...He had held it in his hand before cooking and had been amazed by how tender it was. But now it was firming with cooking, the raw insides getting cooked from rare to medium well done. When he had started cooking, he had thought that he would be heating up a can of gravy as well, but now he saw that the meat was producing enough juices to make sure it wasn't dry. Arthur smiled at such a detail and shook his head a little, pressing down on the meat with the spatula so that clear juices poured out. Of course this piece of meat was juicy.
Arthur loosened his tie, forgetting for a moment his gentleman duties in the face of such heat. His late dinner/early breakfast would be delicious, he was sure. The best thing he would ever eat. Already, he was imagining wrapping his lips around the cooked flesh, feeling the heavy weight of it, the spices dancing on his tongue. His teeth would dig in the crisp, buttered outside to sink into the soft meat. Juices would spurt against his inner cheeks and he would chew so slowly, as to savor it, before swallowing. He would feel the heat of it go down his throat and inside of him...
Green eyes snapped open, not even realizing they had been closed, and he realized with embarrassment that he was breathing heavily now. He quickly blamed it on the heat and shut off the heat of the stove. There was the smooth sound of socks against tiles, though he had the misfortune of stepping into a small puddle right outside his freezer. He frowned at the dark shadow on the floor, the only light coming from over his stove. Lifting his foot, he found the white cloth to be stained. "Bloody hell..." he muttered himself and shook his head, pulling off the sock and then the other unstained one, as it would be ridiculous to walk around with only one sock, and buddled them in one fist. Arthur gave his freezer a annoyed look, feeling sparks dance up and down his limbs. Should he look again? It was so hot...It would feel so good to open cold box and feel the air flow over him. His sweating skin shivered at the thought.
Slowly he walked towards his freezer, unmindful to the puddle now. He put a hand in the middle of the door and took a deep breath, his heart thudding. The smell of cooked meat and spices and steam made him dizzy, his stomach ached from desperate hunger. And...and...and...He couldn't admit to it, the very thought made his cheeks fill with blood terribly, but with his stomach constant pangs, his pants were tight and the blood not filling his cheeks was lazily draining lower. Again, he was very lucky it was so late at night. Most would think him to be ridiculous to be so excited about cooking. Though...This wasn't exactly just any other meal...He stared at his freezer in the hot, dark kitchen and felt his heart flutter with a feeling that a poet would describe as love. This was the best meal because...
The door of his freezer was yanked open and cold air flowed over him, making him shudder. But it was when he got his eyes to open that a jolt of desire went through him. Frozen blue eyes stared at him, causing him to almost feel embarrassed, as though the eyes that had always mocked him could still see how flustered he was by the man. Silky, golden locks of hair were covered in ice and lips that were usually spouting out stupid French words about love, sex, and romance were blue and seared shut by the cold. The man in his freezer was naked, as Arthur had thought would be appropriate, considering the man. Only a frosted, dead rose covered was worn and that only covered a cleanly cut stump.
He smirked and reached a hand out to touch the French man, but pulled it back quickly. His food was getting cold...He didn't have time to bother with France's charms. With a firm snap, the freezer door closed and the heat returned at full force, as though the breeze had never been there. He stepped out of the pool of blood he had been forced to stand in and trailed footsteps to the cabinet where he kept his plates and silverware.
Soon, he was sitting at his small dining room table in the dark, blood coating his hands and feet. The heat was unbearable at the point, but his meal was set before him and like the gentleman he was, he would withstand any discomfort in order to enjoy dinner. His fork and knife scrapped against the glass plate and soon a piece of cooked meat was stabbed on his fork, ready to be devoured. Beads of sweat went down his forehead and he panted against the flesh placed on his lips, actually whimpering in anticipation. So slowly, Arthur slide the piece past his lips and bit it off the fork carefully.
A minute crawled by as he chewed.
"Ugh." Arthur wrinkled his nose and spat the piece into a nearby napkin. Disgusting. "Damn French food." Arthur left the rest of the long piece of flesh to sit on the plate and shook his head. Deciding that he had already wasted too much of the night with this failed experiment, he went up to his bedroom to get some sleep. It seemed France had been right...He couldn't cook, after all.