#frukhalloweenweek

It was almost closing time, and Francis couldn’t wait. The sun had set nearly an hour ago, and all he wanted to do was spend the night with his boyfriend.  Who was late, but that wasn’t uncommon.  When he left really depended on how soon he could leave the house, and it had been incredibly sunny that afternoon.  Francis could keep himself busy for a few more minutes while he waited.

 The bell jangled as the door opened, and Francis had to contain his disappointment when Ms. Descartes hobbled up to the counter.

 “Good evening,” he greeted, smiling brightly as he moved to get her usual order ready.

 “Hello dear,” she replied, leaning heavily on her cane, “how have you been today?”

 “Pretty good, I’ve been enjoying the sunshine,” Francis lied, bagging a baguette and setting it on the counter to ring her up.

 “It has been a lovely day, shame that its so cold out,” the elderly woman replied, digging in her purse for her wallet.

 “True, I hope it hasn’t gotten too bad since the sun went down,” he mused, glancing out the window.  He knew Arthur wouldn’t really be bothered by the chill, but he still worried…

 “Worrying about your Englishman?” Ms. Descartes asked with a knowing smile.  None of his customers had actually met Arthur yet (which was mostly due to dumb luck, they hadn’t been trying that hard to hide him), but all his regulars knew he existed and a few had heard Francis on the phone with him.  He gave a guilty shrug.

 “He never bothers to dress properly for the weather, you can’t really blame me,” he told her, accepting her payment.  As he was counting out the change the bell rang again, announcing a new customer.  Francis didn’t look up from the register until he heard Ms. Descartes gasp quietly next to him.  It wasn’t really hard to see why once he did – Arthur had walked through the door. And instead of looking like a librarian as he usually did, he looked like he’d stepped straight out of a Matrix movie. Or a metal music video.  Francis couldn’t really say he minded, but poor Ms. Descartes looked like she might faint.

 “Arthur!  There you are,” he said before she could get too concerned, smiling at his boyfriend, “I was getting worried.”

 “Sorry, love,” Arthur said, strolling up to the counter and leaning against one of the display cases to the right of the register, “The apartment above me managed to flood their bathroom.  I’ve been making calls and emptying buckets all day.”

 “Oh that’s terrible!” Francis exclaimed, handing his scandalized customer her order and wishing her a good day as she hurried herself out the door.

 “Its more annoying than anything else,” Arthur replied with a scowl, “There are going to be construction workers in and out all week now.”  Francis made a sympathetic noise – Arthur lived in a building that was occupied entirely with other vampires.  Most of the time they didn’t need to bother with humans if they didn’t want to – maintenance and cleaning were done by one of the occupants in exchange for free rent – but with the construction workers tramping in and out of at least two apartments the whole building was going to have to pretend to be normal while they were there.  

 “Do you want to stay with me?” Francis offered, moving out from behind the counter to continue the closing routine Ms. Descartes had interrupted.

 “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Arthur asked, watching him as he wiped down the five small tables around the bakery.

 “I can’t see why not,” he said with a shrug, “You’ve always been a perfect gentleman, and there are blackout curtains already.”

 “Keeping myself under control for most of a weekend is rather different than keeping myself under control for a week,” the Brit pointed out, crossing his arms.

 “And I’m sure you came to visit dressed like that with every intention of keeping yourself under control,” Francis shot back as he gave the floor a cursory sweep.  The bakery wasn’t terribly dirty – he’d swept it earlier during a lull in business so he wouldn’t have so much to clean that night.

 “Its different,” Arthur said firmly.

 “I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Francis said, putting the broom away and shutting off the lights.  Once they were outside and the bakery was locked up he laced his fingers with Arthur’s and lead the way back towards his apartment.  They got strange looks from the few other pedestrians that were out and about and at least one car slowed to take a second glance.  It wasn’t really surprising; Francis had put on a dark grey peacoat over his baker’s whites and wrapped a pastel pink scarf around his neck.  Arthur was mostly covered in leather or incredibly tight denim.  They didn’t exactly match.  Francis couldn’t bring himself to care, even if Arthur’s fingers were colder than ice.

 “You don’t mind if I shower before I start on dinner do you?” Francis asked as he unlocked the door and led the way inside.

 “Not at all,” Arthur said, “I’m not terribly fond of you shedding flour all over me.”  Francis rolled his eyes, elbowing his boyfriend.

 “Just for that you can’t join me,” he told him with a melodramatic sniff, tossing his coat and scarf over the back of a chair in the kitchen.

 “Fine by me, you smell like egg,” Arthur called from the living room, where Francis had no doubt he’d acquired a book and was settling in to read.  He rolled his eyes and headed up the stairs.

 After passing through his room and dumping his work clothes into the hamper, Francis headed into the bathroom and took a quick shower. He didn’t need one that badly, but there was some flour in his hair and had spent the day near a hot oven.  After scrubbing himself down he took care of his hair – which really was the bulk of his shower no matter how good he got at taking care of it – and then hopped back out.  His hair was the longest portion of drying off too, even though he didn’t bother styling it properly.  He’d be going to bed before he went out again, so there wasn’t much point in it.  Arthur certainly couldn’t tell the difference between a proper styling and a quick blowdry unless he recognized the smell of the product.  

 Francis let his hair do what it wanted once it was dry, and was pleased that it decided on soft waves that didn’t fall into his face.  He swept it back into a low ponytail before getting dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a soft maroon buttondown. After rolling the sleeves up to his elbows he headed downstairs and into the kitchen.  Nothing had changed since he left that morning, which meant that his boyfriend was probably still curled up on the couch.  Which was good, because Francis barely trusted him to boil water. He gladly started going through the familiar motion of making himself dinner.

 Said dinner had just been set on the counter so he could grab a plate when arms wrapped around his waist and Arthur’s chin rested on his shoulders.  The smell of leather mixed with that of his dinner, but he couldn’t really find himself minding.

 “Yes?” Francis asked, plating his food without dislodging the Brit.

 “Finished my book,” Arthur explained, “Thought I’d see what was taking you so long.”  Francis doubted that was it, but he didn’t comment.

 “I do need to eat,” Francis told him with laugh, “And it’ll only take longer with you hanging off of me.”

 “So do I,” his boyfriend replied, kissing up his neck. Francis leaned back into the embrace.

 “You didn’t tell me you were so hungry,” he said, but his voice was far too breathy to actually reprimand the Brit.

 “You should eat first,” Arthur mumbled against his skin before reluctantly pulling away, “and stop teasing me.”  Francis smiled, looking over his shoulder to bat his eyelashes.

 “But teasing you is so – oh!” he cut himself off with a startled yelp when he suddenly found himself holding nothing and looking directly at Arthur’s chest.  He’d taken the plate from Francis and sat on top of the counter faster than the baker could process the motion, and was holding a slice of chicken to the Frenchman’s lips expectantly.

 “I’m sure the main event will be much more interesting,” Arthur said, smirking at the shock on his boyfriend’s face, “We should get dinner out of the way.”  Francis recovered quickly and obediently took the bite offered to him, stepping closer to the counter to stand between Arthur’s legs.  He was entirely motivated by the fact that it would make life harder for Arthur, and not at all by the fact that it gave him the chance to run his hands over the incredibly tight jeans his boyfriend was dressed in.  This earned him a mildly annoyed look and another forkful waved in his face.  Francis laughed and accepted it without comment.  If anything, the fact that Arthur had decided to feed him made dinner take longer.  For some reason he didn’t seem too upset by the fact that his plan had backfired. Once the plate was finally clear Arthur set it aside and nudged Francis away.

 “You really ought to sit down,” he said as he hopped down from his perch on the counter.

 “I’m sure I’ll be as fine as I always am,” Francis replied, rolling his eyes when the only response was a truly spectacular scowl.

 “Fine,” he sighed, heading to the couch and sitting down in the center.  The book on the coffee table seemed to indicate that Arthur had been reading The Fellowship of the Ring.  If he’d finished it there was no way he would have simply gone to the kitchen out of boredom. Either way, Francis didn’t have time to dwell on it before his lap was full of Arthur.

 “Much better,” he said, easily undoing the top three buttons on Francis’ shirt.  Francis rolled his eyes but let it happen – he had spent a bit longer making dinner than usual, and Arthur hadn’t been able to visit him last week.  Even if he’d found someone to feed on in the meantime, he was probably starving.  Usually he’d at least get a proper kiss before the Brit went after his neck, but this time all he got was a peck before Arthur kissed along his jaw and down to his neck.  When he got to the pulse there, he paused.

 “I would have told you before now if I had a problem with this, mon pamplemousse,” Francis said, settling his hands around Arthur’s waist. When there still wasn’t any motion one way or the other he tilted his head to give his boyfriend more room.

 “Do it,” he said, more firmly this time.  There was more hesitation, but before Francis could think of anything else to do or say there was a piercing pain as Arthur bit him. Francis’ breathe caught in his throat as he began to suck, and a hand came up to support his head.  Or hold him still.  

 It was far shorter than it should have been, given how long Arthur must have gone without blood since the last time he fed on Francis.

 “Are you sure that’s enough?” he asked, careful not to move too much as Arthur lapped at the last drips after he’d closed the wound.

 “I’ll be staying here all week,” Arthur replied, licking his lips before starting to kiss his way back up Francis’ neck, “I don’t see much point in making your night harder when I can just have smaller meals over the course of it.”  Francis grinned, sliding his hands up under Arthur’s shirt.