A young, French aristocrat has escaped France to live in England until the Revolution is over. The son of the family that takes him in is childishly devoted to him. But things take a turn for the worse when a vampire comes into play. Francis cannot contain his desires and thus distances himself from Arthur. But Arthur is persistent; by the time he is of age, he presents himself to his beloved, unknowingly offering up his mortality. The centuries pass like a blur as they move from place to place to avoid detection. They are happy for a time, but Francis's philandering ways drive Arthur insane. Arthur is tired of life, pining away for death to take him, when he meets a mortal by the name of Alfred. He learns from example and beds the dashing, young soldier, with no regard for the consequences of his actions. Then, there were three.
The carriage jolted along the uneven country road. A storm had immersed the entire countryside in thick sheets of rain the week before, leaving the network of dirt roads littered with puddles and potholes. On the upside, the constant showers had washed away the grime and dirt and blood of the war, leaving the countryside looking brilliant and vivid and refreshed with crops shooting up in the fields, tree leaves glistening with morning dew and flowers blooming gaily in the weak sunlight.
A boy, half illuminated by the sunrays that alighted on the carriage windows, watched the scenery rush away with a thoughtful expression on his face. His impeccable clothes, luxurious flaxen curls, bony features, and nearly translucent pallor, were the marks of an aristocrat. The eyes, animatedly regarding the progress of two birds as they tried to outrace the carriage, were brilliantly blue. Yet his nose was the most prominent feature—lofty and straight, slightly pinched just above the perfectly symmetrical, oval nostrils. It was an altogether handsome face.
His companion, an elderly man with a set facade and wearing the universal dress of butlers, sat nearest the door across from him. Nothing was said throughout the bumpy ride.
When the ivy-covered corners of a great, stone mansion began to show itself through the thick foliage of the surrounding forest, the boy visibly perked up. He sat up straighter in his seat and fussed with his light blue velvet overcoat. It was a gift from his grandmother—specially tailored to his tastes—with hand embroidered lace on the cuffs, gilded buttons, and a lavishly decorated hem and collar. Under it, he wore a white satin dress shirt and a deep blue cravat sewn with a gold trim. After making sure that his coat was perfectly buttoned, he rubbed his hands against his breeches—which were tight and also the same shade of blue as his coat—to straighten the imaginary wrinkles in it. He glanced down at his silk stocking to check that they smoothly fit over his calves, then, at his shoes to make sure that they were not scuffed. Satisfied, he leaned back against his seat.
By the time he finished with his primping, the mansion was in full view. The carriage went past the iron-wrought gates, which opened as they approached, and came to a slow stop in the rounded courtyard, where a large fountain served as a centerpiece.
The butler habitually opened the carriage door and fixed the collapsible steps for his master. The boy, after running a hand through his fashionably tousled hair one more time, stepped down.
The carriage sped away and the boy's attention, temporarily alighting on the graceful arcs of water that sparkled in the sun, came to rest on his butler. "'zey were informed 'zat I would arrive today, non?" he asked, voice lilting with an undeniable accent.
"Yes, young master," the butler replied, in perfect English.
"La, I am very disappointed. I would 'ave thought that he, at least, would come to welcome me…"
Almost immediately after he said this, a blur of blinding white appeared at the threshold of the house and barreled straight into him, with a gleeful exclamation of, "You came!"
A smile tugged on the boy's lips and, momentarily forgetting that his butler was present, he picked up the child that had come out to greet him, and kissed him chastely on the lips. "Salut, mon petit lapin," he murmured, words easily rolling off his foreign tongue. "Je te ai beaucoup manqué."
"I missed you too, Francis," the child replied, flashing the boy an affectionate smile.
The boy named Francis kissed the child again. "Let us go in. We can talk inside, oui?"
The small, blonde child nodded and happily wrapped his thin arms around Francis's neck, shivering in his thin slip.
.
Once inside and sufficiently tended to by half a dozen maids, Francis deemed it okay to relax, allowed himself to be divested of his overcoat, and sat in the parlor to wait for Arthur, who had been taken away by his nanny, undoubtedly being chided, as of this moment, for running out in nothing but his nightgown.
He was served tea and crumpets, which he refused to touch as he waited. Instead, he set his sights on the maid carrying the tray and amused himself with her to pass the time.
When he heard Arthur's light steps descending the stairs, Francis abruptly stopped his exploration of the maid's lips and watched her scamper off to the kitchens. He stood and went to greet Arthur, who was dressed in a loose-fitting, open-neck shirt, and tidy, white shorts. "Ah, you look très adorable!"
The child flushed and grabbed on to Francis's shirt, before bashfully demanding to be carried again. Francis acquiesced, more than happy to use any excuse to be as close to Arthur as possible.
.
"I want to be a bride when I grow up!" Arthur chirruped, throwing his arms out as he leapt from the bed into Francis's arms. He giggled childishly and looked up at the older boy, his brilliant green eyes wide and imploring.
"Ah," Francis sighed, as he carried Arthur to the windowsill, seating himself on the embroidered cushions with Arthur on his lap. "And who is 'ze lucky groom, hm?"
Arthur bit his bottom lip and coyly lowered his eyelashes. "Why, you, of course," he shyly declared, idly toying with the ruffles of Francis's dress shirt.
Francis laughed delightedly, amused and pleased with the response.
.
Arthur asked Francis to read to him, so they sat on the windowsill with Arthur cradling the book as he snugly nestled between Francis's thighs, and Francis loosely holding Arthur around the waist as he softly read the words over the smaller boy's shoulder.
It was a tale Francis had read to him many times before about a princess, unicorns, dragons, fairies, and of course, a prince charming. Francis did not particularly like it, but it was Arthur's favorite, and he could bear anything, even reading a senseless story repeatedly, if it meant Arthur's happiness.
When they finally reached the end of the book, Arthur sighed happily and leaned back, hugging the book to his chest, as if savoring the story.
After a while, Francis broke the comfortable silence to ask, "What would you like to do now, mon petit lapin? A game of chess, per'aps? Cards? Or would you like to play 'ze piano avec moi?"
After a moment of through, Arthur exclaimed, "I want to paint you!" He scrambled off Francis's lap and dropped to the ground, his bare feet sinking into the plush, maroon carpet. After carefully putting the storybook back in his substantially-packed bookshelf, he rummaged around his toy box for a set of paints and brushes.
Once he had it, he plucked a few sheets of paper from his desk and plopped down on the ground in front of Francis. "Don't move," he cautioned as he busily opened the tubes of paint and smeared a small amount of each on a palette. Once satisfied with his selection of colors, he picked up a paintbrush and began painting, casting Francis furtive looks every now and again.
Francis, pretending to look indifferent, hid his smile behind his hand as he watched Arthur seriously go about painting a likeness of him, his adorable face the picture of perfect concentration.
(a/n: More stuff in my hard drive I wanted to get out. I'm somewhat hoping that if I publish them, I'll be more motivated to finish them.)