Disciplinary Actions
The idiot tapped on the glass, as if Arthur hadn't realised he was there and hadn't just pulled over because of him, and waited until Arthur rolled the car window down. "Sir, are you aware you were driving on the wrong side of the road?"
"My apologies, I was distracted by the imbecile in my passenger seat. It won't happen again," Arthur quipped.
Honestly, between having to deal with the aftermath of Francis guzzling sour French wine all afternoon, the 'look at all my tall, blond perfection with my better-than-Captain-America's-abs' policeman and the Saharan heat, Arthur thought he was going to have a meltdown. Or at least have to start making up excuses as to why he had the body of a Frenchman in his boot, after he inevitably murdered the frog.
"'Allo police officer. I apologise also, on behalf of my unfortunate friend, he is a little… eh, sexually frustrated. When he saw you he was dazzled by your attractiveness and completely forgot which side of the road to drive on. These silly English, non?" Francis decided to add, leaning over Arthur to get a better view of the American peering into the car.
Arthur spluttered and the policeman, the name tag pinned to his form-fitting uniform read 'Jones', gave Arthur a strange once over. His eyebrows had risen above his aviator sunglasses in, what Arthur guessed, was surprise. He couldn't see the policeman's eyes behind dark glass but he could feel them roaming.
The back of Arthur's neck reddened. Damnit, Francis was asking to be utilised as a human sacrifice and this American was unjustly attractive; it was impeding Arthur's rational thought.
"I'm sorry, that isn't what happened at all! Please don't listen to a word he says –"
"Has he been drinking?" the American asked. Arthur tried not to watch the man's lips as he spoke.
"Yes, yes he has. Which is precisely why you shouldn't listen to him –"
"Have you been drinking?"
"No! No, of course not -"
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle and follow me," the police officer instructed, stepping aside so Arthur could get out of the car. Arthur's stomach lurched at the tone of the American's voice, it wasn't at all playful, and Arthur really didn't want anything on his criminal record. It had remained, shockingly, pristine up until now.
"Oh, bloody well done, you odorous pest," he spat at Francis before getting out of the car.
Arthur followed the man until they reached the police car parked next to Arthur's car on the hard shoulder. It took every ounce of Arthur's will to not stare at the man's arse as they walked. He was resentful, after all, that the officer who was about to tarnish his record had such a lovely backside. Such was the cruel nature of this world.
"Take a seat, please" the policeman said, gesturing to the backseat.
Arthur huffed, sat down and was then promptly sealed inside the car with the officer in the driver's seat. Bloody fantastic.
A bizarre contraption was passed back to him and he was asked to breathe into it. The American had swapped his aviators for a set of wire-frame glasses, revealing gold-flecked blue eyes. And of course, this only served to make him all the more gorgeous which Arthur didn't think was possible.
"This is absurd. I told you, I haven't been drinking."
"I know," the officer countered with an easy grin. Arthur was stunned. "It's just a precaution. You did drive on the wrong side of the road after all."
The machined beeped and a green light appeared, green was usually positive. Arthur passed the machine back. "Yep, you're fine. I'll need to take some details, if that's okay?" The man asked needlessly. Did Arthur actually have a choice? "Your name?"
"Arthur Kirkland," he supplied nervously.
"And your contact number?"
"Am I in some sort of trouble?" Arthur blurted out.
"No," Jones said with another boyish grin, turning his body to Arthur and looking up from the notebook he was jotting in. "You're not in trouble. This is mandatory."
Arthur surveyed the policeman distrustfully. He nearly fell off his seat when the man winked. Arthur recited his phone number; it had taken him two years to remember that string of numbers by heart. He was quite proud of himself for that, despite his brothers insisting his lag with regards to technology made him 'prehistoric'.
"Okay, that's great. And do you like Mexican food?" The question was posed so seriously that Arthur didn't comprehend what had been asked at first.
"I've never had Mexican food – wait, what has that got to do with anything? That doesn't seem like a very professional question!"
"It's not, so don't tell anyone I asked," the American said mischievously. "You need to try Mexican food. I'll call you, Arthur."
A strange fizzle of pleasure travelled up Arthur's spine at the sound of his name of the man's lips, and perhaps because the penny had finally dropped about the officer's intentions.
This must be a joke.
"Are you... asking me out on a date?"
Arthur stared stupidly. Being asked out on a date was perfectly normal, but being asked out on a date by an unlawfully attractive policeman in the back of a police car wasn't something that happened in everyday life to everyday people. Especially not to Arthur. He was dowdy and cactus-like.
"What if I don't want to go on a date with you?" The words left his mouth before they'd even entered his brain and Arthur did consider smacking himself. Then again, the policeman was wearing an all too cocky expression.
The expression didn't falter.
"Then I'll charge you with reckless driving and you'll get a fine and points on your licence," he responded casually. Arthur's mouth worked uselessly in shock, and then rage pooled in his belly and his entire face scrunched up in preparation for a seething lecture. A lecture that was halted at the sound of the officer's laugh. "Sorry, that wasn't a funny joke, was it? I'm kidding. I'm not charging you for anything, just as long as you don't drive on the wrong side of the road again. And if you don't want to go on a date with me, that's fine, I probably should have asked first. Though it would be a shame since I think you're really cute. I'm actually really glad you Brits do things backwards and drive on the wrong side of the road, if you didn't I wouldn't have gotten the chance to pull you over."
This man is a pain in the arse.
Still recovering from that 'joke', Arthur tested the door handle and was pleased to find the door unlocked. He got out of the car and slammed the door before knocking on the front window, similar to what the officer had done to him only minutes ago.
The cocky expression had scuttled away to some unreachable hole by now and it was Arthur's turn to be smug, satisfied with the affect he'd had on the American.
"Firstly, we are not backwards. I have lived in this godforsaken country for six months now and I have encountered aerosol cheese, an abundance of incorrect spelling and tea served with ice! If that is not backwards I'm not quite sure what is." The officer was as white as a sheet by now. "Secondly," Arthur continued, his voice cuttingly unforgiving. Jones flinched. "For you to have the audacity to trick me into going on a date with you, well, you'd better believe you're paying for the entire evening. Good day to you."
Marching back to his car, looking sad and small on the hard shoulder of the vast American roads, Arthur could have sworn he saw Jones do a fist pump from the corner of his eye. Most likely it was just a trick of the light. The Englishman smirked; glad he'd at least been able to dress the officer down even if he had accepted the date.
Francis was waiting keenly as Arthur buckled himself into his seat and started up the engine.
"Well? Did you get a number? A date? A quickie?" The last question was whispered directly into Arthur's ear.
Startled, Arthur exclaimed, "Keep that snail breath to yourself! And no there was no quickie, you vulgar man." Arthur's skin flushed at the imagery of the American above him, having to cross Arthur's ankles over his shoulders to accommodate the two of them in the small space and not even having chance to take off his uniform... don't get distracted! "I'll have you know nothing of that sort happened, it was a simple misunderstanding."
"Are you sure, rosbif, because your phone has just received a text requesting your address, signed 'Alfred F. Jones' with a plethora of kisses."
Alfred F. Jones. That's quite... handsome sounding.
"Give me that!" Arthur snatched his phone from the sniggering Frenchman, almost swerving into the opposite lane. "It's not a date; it's a... social call, for a friendly chit chat, that's all."
"Mmhmm," Francis responded with a wide, Cheshire cat grin. "I'm sure you'll both have a very interesting tête-à-tête once he has you handcuffed to his bed."
Later that day, Arthur contemplated that his little, English mini pulled up on the hard shoulder with the two squabbling men inside must have looked quite unusual to other drivers. Not that it mattered, Arthur had a date and Francis had a black eye. Things were looking up.
Not sure if having a stab at writing the date would ruin this or not.