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Alfred floated up to the world of the living, cradled by downy pillows and wrapped in silky linens. He smiled goofily, patting the space beside him in search of a cold hand.
Finding himself alone, he blinked his heavy eyelids open and froze instantly, a thick bubble of panic building in his diaphragm. The four poster bed was familiar, but where there should have been a canopy of navy and silver, there were instead ruched curtains of orange and gold.
This was not their bedroom.
He sought out a peek of what should have been a dark oak ceiling above, but found a light pine dotted with whorls.
This was not their house.
Most alarmingly of all, in lieu of the smell of his go-to recovery breakfast (bacon and eggs) he smelled something light and buttery, an aroma which grew stronger as the curtains were parted to reveal a man bearing a crystal tray stacked with crepes.
He was tall and stunningly handsome, his statuesque face framed by smooth, golden curls. A pleased smile slipped into a pout at the sight of Alfred’s shocked expression.
“Mon lapin, not to worry. You are perfectly safe. Do you not remember? I had you over for…dinner.” He winked at him, blue eyes shining with magic.
But the thrall wouldn’t take, it couldn't take, and Alfred was not lulled into relaxation. Instead, he launched himself out of the other side of the bed, scrambling for a means of defense. He latched onto an empty ceramic basin, heaving it from its stand and throwing it as hard as he could toward the man’s pretty head.
He dodged it easily, the pile of crepes still perfectly plated as he lowered the tray to the bed.
“Please, try to stay calm. You need to rest. Come, come - all is well.” He tried to mesmerize Alfred again, arms outstretched, moving slowly toward him.
Alfred picked up the wooden basin stand itself, holding it in front of him like a circus performer baiting a lion. “For fuck’s sake, that isn’t gonna work, dude! I know what you are!”
As the stranger sputtered at him, Alfred turned to the ornate mirror behind him, tilting his neck in the low light. He found them - two tiny pricks. Huh. That was a much neater, gentler bite than he was used to. Maybe he and a certain vampire needed to have a talk.
“– and are you even listening to me?” The other man’s voice broke through Alfred’s muddled thoughts at last. “Let’s try again - I am Francis Bonnefoy, you joined me for dinner yesterday evening. We met at La Caverne Rouge. I did not hurt you. We did not sleep together. Now–”
“You fed from me!” Alfred interrupted with a shout, and he growled with frustration as he realized just how annoying this whole thing was. “That’s not cool - you didn’t even ask me first!”
The man - Francis - covered his face with his hands and whimpered. “You’re someone’s thrall already, aren’t you? Why are you not properly marked?!”
Alfred’s blood was returning to his cotton-filled head, and a few very pertinent questions were beginning to emerge.
But first, breakfast.
“Those crepes got anything weird in them? Since you stole my blood and all, I’m starving.”
Francis glared at him in disbelief. “My crepes - something weird - you are out of line!” He pushed the platter toward him anyway. “I am the very model of an éthique vampire. Unlike your master, apparently.”
Alfred dug into the cooling crepes, appreciating just how crunchy and delicious they were even in the height of his agitation. “First,” he muttered, popping a strawberry into his mouth, “I don’t have a master and I ain’t a thrall.”
An out-of-place wrinkle appeared on Francis’ flawless forehead. “Then what are you? Who taught you the…things you know?”
Alfred polished off the fruit and sniffed at the mug of coffee.
“You heard of the House of Kirkland?”
When Alfred stopped slurping the coffee, he realized that Francis had fallen silent. He lowered the mug with a clack that snapped the man out of his trance.
“You - are - a…” Francis’ hand trembled. “You belong to the house of - and so, are you Connor’s?”
Alfred shook his head, scooping honey onto his finger and popping it into his mouth. He was feeling much better now. Sort of amused, actually. Except, what were those questions that had been on his mind?
“Liam’s, then? You’re Liam’s, surely?”
Alfred shook his head again. Yeah, this was funny. Silly, now that the tables had turned. This guy was so going to get it, was in so much trouble for taking what wasn’t his.
“Y-youuu arrre?” Francis croaked, and he was outright shaking now. “Alistair’s?”
Alfred snorted at that. “Nope! I’m–”
Arthur’s.
Oh, no.
Francis had taken what was Arthur’s.
“Oh, uh-oh!” Alfred laughed, just as a dark shape exploded through the covered window in a cloud of pulverized glass.