AN: Written for my intense love of the colour police. Originally I planned for this to be a smutty one-shot but I have half a mind to continue it...
It's my first fic so tell me what y'all think, I don't bite :)

The sun was setting over London city, not that you could really tell. The clouds overhead were thick as steel wool, heavy with water and blotting out the light like an errant stain. Fog licked at Arthur's boots as he stepped out of his squad car. Leaning over the seat to fish out his baton and holster, the blonde checked the time on his dashboard with a scowl. 5:50. Ten minutes and this'd all be over, he promised himself silently. He was less than ten minutes away from dragging this clown from his apartment by the skin of his ears and the mere idea was incredibly gratifying. For weeks this case had been eating through Arthur's time like fire through paper. It wasn't particularly high profile, just some geek that no doubt thought he was clever ferreting contraband tech in and out of the country for profit. It did however surprise Arthur how long it had taken this kid to first pique the awareness of the police. Apparently their target had kept this racket going for almost a year prior to actually being found out. On top of that it had taken them an embarrassingly large chunk of time to actually track him down, much to Arthur's frustration. He had higher priorities to attend to than babysitting some nerd gone rogue on his way to the station. Even so, the fact that he was so close to finally putting this case behind him was exciting. The radio at his hip crackled.

"You are sure you do not need backup, mon ami?"
A terrible, crinkly impersonation of Francis' voice purred over the line, which only served to deepen Arthur's scowl; the connection here was so bad it made the Frenchman sound like he was crumpling tinfoil between his teeth. It was hardly a little known fact that, despite having worked together for years (and, incidentally, having swung between close friendship and on and off fuck-buddies for even longer still), there was nothing quite like Francis Bonnefoy for pushing the buttons on Arthur's infamously trigger-happy temper. The Brit snatched his walkie off his belt as he left the car.

"Sod off Francis," he glowered.
"Ah, so unprofessional. I am wounded."
Arthur rolled his eyes and cocked his gun, fitting it to his holster as he walked.

"I've been at this long enough, I don't need you to come and babysit me."
"Do not roll your eyes at me Arthur," his partner admonished. "You are much too old to be acting like a surly child."
"You can't even see me."
"Oh but I do know you so well."

Arthur exhaled loudly, the military click and snap of his heels against the pavement grinding to a halt as he brought the radio to his lips.
"How I wish it weren't true. Now, I said sod off you frog. I want to get this over with."
"Ouch! Mon dieu Arthur, there is no need to shout."
The blonde smirked.
"I wasn't. Undercover remember? Now bugger off." He blew sharply into the receiver.
"Tabernac! Fine, fine! Je comprends alors, I will leave you alone." The man's chuckle was full of static. "Good luck my testy little rabbit."

"Yes yes, I know. Don't wait up."

Arthur tucked the radio back into his belt and circled around the apartment complex, giving a sardonic tip of his hat to the barely visible forms of Francis and Gilbert waiting patiently in their own car down the block. Were those Gilbert's feet on the dashboard? Arthur snorted: And here was Francis calling him unprofessional.

He trotted up the front steps and let himself in with the landlady's key; A miss Elizaveta Something-or-other who'd been only too happy to hand it over when told that London's finest had reason to believe she and her husband were harbouring a criminal. Arthur set off down the short hallway with an air of purpose, boots biting into the soft carpet. The apartment was tall and shallow in the regular inner-city architectural style, making it an easy search.
Only one of the rooms was shut. An ordinary little number on the second floor up that could possibly have been a bedroom, a study maybe.
"I'm in. Second floor, end of the hall and on the right," he muttered into his radio, not expecting a response but wincing as it connected with a loud crackle.

He raised a gloved hand to the door, giving it a sharp rap with his knuckle.
"Police. Open up."
Nothing, though the Brit was sure he'd heard movement on the other side. Arthur frowned and tried the door handle.
"Police," he said again frostily, clipped tone leaving no room for non-compliance. "There is reason to believe that this establishment is being used for suspicious criminal activity. We have a warrant to search the premise. If you will not open the door then I will be forced to break it down."

Again, nothing.
"… well then, suit yourself," the Brit murmured, more for himself than for whoever it was in the locked room. It was so very bothersome when they didn't come quietly but, truth be told, that's what made it fun. The thrill of the chase or some other such poetic garbage.

Tugging his baton out of its position at his belt and holding it backwards like a dagger, he gave the spot just below the doorknob a solid whack, weakening the latch enough that a firm kick to the door itself was all that was needed further. Arthur's booted heel entered the room before he did, followed by the barrel of his gun, which he had drawn smoothly from its holster as the door broke inward on itself. Knocking the offending object out of his way with practiced ease, Arthur stepped into the room.

It was fairly small and Arthur reckoned that at one point it must have been a bedroom, as he'd suspected. Now, however, it was filled to the brim with knick-knacks. Computer knick-knacks, as it were. Wires surged forth in tangled streams, like vines crawling across the floor and looping out from the walls, and the soft blue glow of computer screens had plunged the room into eerie twilight; there had to be at least six or seven of them all crammed in there. The only window was covered by a thick blanket through which the weak grey light from outside barely seeped.

The Brit moved cautiously toward the center of the room, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the filtered light of the computer screens. It was bloody impossible to see anything in here… Was that a flash of light?
He froze, straining to see.

There. Movement.
Arthur swung around to his left, away from the blocked up window at the end of the room, gun cocked with a click and coming to rest right between a pair of very wide, very startled blue eyes.

"Shit shit shit, man, don't shoot!"

Bare hands shot palm up before him, letting a pair of chunky, brightly-coloured headphones clatter to the floor, and Arthur wrinkled his nose at the drawling American accent that was suddenly being breathed in his face.

"I didn't hear you guys, I swear it. Look, skull-candies, see? They totally block everything out. Pretty fantastic if you ask me, I mean- shit, just put that down already, would ya?"
Arthur gave the man in front of him a dubious once-over, lowering his pistol just a smidge.
"So I see… Very well, then. Your name and business, please."

The American relaxed slightly, letting his hands drop down to chest height but still keeping them splayed like a buffer between himself and Arthur, as though if worst came to worst he intended to stop the Brit's bullet to his skull with his bare hands. Arthur could see the brat's pulse throbbing in his throat, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously and smiled back at him, adjusting glasses that had been knocked askew in the kerfuffle. Arthur realized the flash he'd seen a moment ago must have been light glinting off the lenses.

Arthur sized up the man warily. Well, he revised on second thought, man was a relative term here really. How old could this whelp possibly be? He looked to be barely pushing twenty; his soft, square-jawed face framed by a shock of tawny hair and a wide-open countenance that gave him the air of an overgrown child. Of course, the superhero shirt and furry bomber jacket he sported weren't helping him out in that respect. Nor was the fact that other than the aforementioned articles all he had on were a pair of boxer shorts. Arthur couldn't help but purse his lips in frustration. This was the guy that had made a circus of their justice system for the past six months? There was no way in hell.

As he contemplated him, Arthur saw the American's eyes wander over his shoulder to the door, the grin dropping off his face.

"What the hell, dude! You busted my door in!" he whined.

One of Arthur's formidable brows twitched in irritation.

"With all due respect boy, I am not your 'dude'. Now answer my question."
"But-!"
The Brit cut him off before he could begin to complain. "I apologize, but it was quite necessary. I announced myself several times but you refused to answer. You gave me no choice."
The man pouted.

"Aw man. Elizaveta's gonna kill me."

"I am terribly sorry."

Arthur's tone dripped sarcasm, he couldn't help it; this kid had no sense of immediacy. The American made a face, apparently having the wherewithal to at least catch when he was being mocked.

"Dude, making fun. Not cool."
"I agree. Shall we both take each other a little more seriously, then?" Arthur gestured with his pistol. "Covering yourself up would be a decent start I should think. How am I supposed to take you seriously in nothing but your knickers?"

"Pfff, knickers?" The other's resulting giggles petered out quickly, withering under Arthur's level gaze. Did this big lump of a teen not understand his position at all?
"I mean, um, yes sir."
"Good."

While the other scrambled to make himself decent, Arthur holstered his weapon and strolled back to shut the splintered frame of the door as best he could, surveying the room in finer detail. It really was full to the brim with computers. Every screen seemed to be doing something different, running diagnostics in red, green, and blue binary codes that meant absolutely nothing to Arthur. As he leaned in to get a better look at one such screen, keeping a wary eye on the brat as he fumbled with a pair of jeans, the Englishman felt his foot knock against a pile of cases. They looked ordinary enough, like the kind one would borrow DVD's in, and there was a book or two mixed in. He picked one up curiously.
"The Holy Bible?" he muttered to himself incredulously. What the bloody hell could the American git possibly want with a Bible?

Once he flipped the tome open, however, Arthur understood.

A deep square section of the Bible had been cut out, leaving a hollow space between the covers of the book which had been filled up with CDs and flashdrives. Several of which bore a striking resemblance to certain photos currently spread out over his desk and pinned to his corkboard at the station. He'd be damned if these little beauties were just furtively disguised archives of music or porn.

Clever.

The Brit's brows had arched slightly in surprise, picking out a flashdrive and turning it over in his palm; a little too clever for the idiot he'd just barged in on in his headphones and boxers.

"Pretty cool, huh," a voice commented cheerily. Arthur almost dropped the book full of contraband, taking a startled step back only to run up against the American's broad chest. Blue eyes smiled down at him unassumingly. How had he…?
"You like 'em?"

Arthur took a moment to compose himself, shutting the book and clearing a spot for it on the desk before turning to look up at the man, one hand on the gun at his hip. Oh how it irked him that he had to look up at the boy. Especially when he insisted on standing so damn close. Still, little alarm bells were starting to go off in the back of Arthur's head as he answered coolly.
"They're quite clever, yes. Now, your name and business here please. I believe you've managed to dodge the question long enough, boy."

The American flashed him a row of perfect white teeth.
"Alfred F. Jones, college rentee and sort-of-kind-of owner of this apartment at your service. And you are?"
More alarm bells. God damn it, Jones… he did know that name. He'd only been labelling folders with it for months, pouring over leads to highlight it when he could have been out drinking with Francis and Gilbert, kicking back at home with a cup of tea, working on something actually worthwhile to further his career… Of course he knew it. He was absolutely sick of it.

Either this kid was a ruddy idiot or his identity was being used by Arthur's target. All things considered, Arthur was leaning toward the latter. The Brit ground his teeth. He didn't have time for this; he wanted to be bringing in something concrete as evidence. Preferably something that would kick and scream as he did so.

"Well then, Mr. Jones," he said icily, savouring the way the other jumped slightly as he reached again for his gun. "I'm afraid I have to put you under arrest. What you have here is contraband technology and, on top of being very much illegal, it leads me to believe that you may be involved in certain other criminal activities that have come to our attention."
Pressing a hand against Alfred's chest, Arthur gave him a firm shove, freeing himself up enough space to step away from the other's desk.
"You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can and will be used against you," he continued as he grabbed the floundering American firmly by the arms and pushed him up against the wall. He allowed a little smirk to light up his face at the other's startled expression. Good. The brat was finally figuring out his position, and just exactly who it was he was dealing with. In his mind, Arthur already had him cuffed and was smugly ordering Francis to get his ass parked out front.

Truth be told, policing was often more of a desk job than it was field work, and it drove Arthur nuts. He had to admit that he did enjoy the chase. That little bit of power and triumph you got every time you brought in a target was worth all the lunacy you had to work through to get there; it was a battle of wills that Arthur enjoyed winning at regularly.

He hooked one side of the handcuffs around Alfred's wrist, a second away from squeezing it shut when he caught the other peering at him funnily over his shoulder.

"Hey."
"What," Arthur replied testily. "You have questions?"
How was it that the boy's surprise had faded so quickly into calm? Arthur had been hoping for something more like fear, cowed obedience maybe. At the very least, anger. But the American seemed to ignore him, still looking him over intently.
"You get off on this, don't you," he grinned suddenly.
What the fuck?

"I beg your pardon."
"This whole police thing! The power and shit, you're totally getting off on it right now."
Arthur sputtered. Oh how dearly he wished he could put a dent in that perfect smile. The audacity of the kid; it was unbelievable.
"That… that is exceedingly rude and completely irrelevant; how dare you insinuate such a thing," he managed, putting a deep, incredulous emphasis on the 'dare'.

"But you do, right?" Alfred pressed, undeterred.

"I do no such thing."
"No kidding? 'Cause I'm pretty sure that was an I-want-you-on-the-ground-licking-my-boots kind of a smirk you had on back there… Oh yeah, I saw it." The man grinned triumphantly, wider than the bloody Cheshire cat. Oh bollocks, not much longer and he was going to lose his temper with this one. Arthur's eyes narrowed dangerously, still pressed up against the American's back with the handcuffs dangling forgotten in his grasp.
"Shut it, yank. Do you have any idea the position you're in? Read the bloody atmosphere once in a while why don't yo- mmph!"
The moment he let his guard down to rant, Alfred was on him. Literally on him as Arthur found the stream of colourful language he'd been gearing up to cut short by the American's lips smashing against his own. Arthur balked. The fact that he'd had his mouth open in protest was no longer helping him as the insufferable geek took the opportunity to all but thrust his tongue down his bloody throat. The Brit made a strangled noise, trying to tear himself away with little success. Dear god, the man was built like a bear. Where the hell had he been hiding that kind of strength when Arthur had driven him into the wall?
Alfred kissed him tenaciously, licking his lips and tangling their tongues as though the thought of air didn't occur to him. Contrarily, Arthur's head was starting to spin from the lack of it. In a ditch effort to regain some form of his dignity Arthur bit down. Hard.

Alfred squealed and withdrew.
"Ow ow ow! The hell!" he whined, sticking out his tongue and running his thumb over it as though to make sure it was still there.

Arthur stumbled away from him, gasping, falling against the idiot's desk and setting a cascade of knick-knacks cascading to the floor. He hadn't been able to grasp why he couldn't reach out to catch himself until it was too late and he bounced awkwardly off the corner of the table with a hiss of pain.

"You… unbelievable… bastard," he panted venomously. "You've fucking bound me… with my own… handcuffs..."
"I know, right? I'm like a ninja… Jesus, that hurt," Alfred murmured reproachfully, managing to simultaneously ignore both the glare and the well-placed dig to the shins which followed. At the idiot's complete lack of concern Arthur snapped, lashing out at the American in a blind rage.
"Did it now? Bloody wanker! Bloody remove my bloody fucking handcuffs this bloody instant or I swear to god I will shove my pistol so far up your arse you'll be shitting bullets for the rest of your bloody life!"
The Brit panted, red with ire as Alfred slowly stooped down to his level and sat on his heels. The man was still looking over his tongue gingerly and he did so with all the wounded indignance of a child. There was something else there too, in his expression… something Arthur couldn't put his finger on just yet.

"And if I don't want to? It's your own fault for lettin' yer guard down, officer," the man drawled, accent grating on his ears. "And I don't think losin' your temper at me is gonna help you out too much."

Arthur jerked away, livid, as the American's hand reached for his chin, trying to tilt it up without success. The lad was stubborn though, he'd give him that, and a scuffle ensued. There was only so far the Brit could go with his back up against a cascade of wires and CDs, so when Alfred reached for him again, gripping his jaw with bruising force, Arthur found himself scowling up into smug baby blues.
"Unhand me," he said lowly. "You have no idea how much worse you have just made this for yourself."

Alfred laughed, a warm amicable sort of sound that reverberated through Arthur.
"Uh-huh, and you don't think I've figured that out already? Well, you already think I'm a complete idiot, so maybe you don't. But this is me doing a little damage control."
Athur snorted, and his scepticism must have been evident on his face because the American laughed again.
"It's Kirkland, right? I didn't think you boys would actually find me here." His eyes danced behind his lenses. "Consider me impressed?"

Arthur faltered, "You've known who I was all along?"
The American looked sheepish, letting go of Arthur's jaw for a moment.
"Well, yeah, I mean… sort of. It wasn't all an act. I legit didn't hear you come in."
The Englishman stared at him incredulously, earning a shrug for his troubles.
"But I'll have to make up for that now, huh. 'Cause here we are… I can't very well let you go, but I've never killed anybody outside of videogames and even if I hid you away instead I'd just be piling on the shit, so-"
Arthur twitched as one of those big hands slid down over his body.
"I have to get creative."

Alfred was leaning over him now, supporting himself with one hand and exploring with the other, their faces almost level, and the Englishman stared at him with dawning comprehension.
"You're not serious…"
There was a calculating little flicker in Alfred's eyes when he smirked that surprised him.
"But I am! I've been reading up on you, Arty, you've made enough enemies in these parts for there to be talk. For instance, I know your on-track record is spotless… but how about off the books? You're not immune to a little ego-stroking, huh? I've heard you'll cut a guy a break for the right price."
Arthur shuddered as the other's touch dipped lower, cupping his groin and stroking him through the rough fabric of his pants. The Brit glowered, trying to buck him off; He was angry, god damn it, and he was not about to let the cocky little upstart get to him. What he did off the clock was his own goddamn business.

"Lies, the lot of it," he bit out, breath hitching a bit in the back of his throat.
"Really? Because you've got yourself one hell of a rep around here."

The twat slipped his fingers under Arthur's waistband with a cheeky grin, making the Englishman swallow his retort with a strangled gasp; the hand was flush against his naked skin, fondling and massaging in a way that made the blonde want to roll his head back and groan.
"Bribery," he sang softly in Arthur's ear. "And sexual favours…"
The Brit writhed under his touch.
Fuck.

"It gets you hot, don't it?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck-

"Having people in the palm of your hand."

"Ahh."
Even as he felt the sound escape him Arthur snapped his teeth together with a click, reddening, but the damage was done. Alfred was radiating smugness like his own personal, goddamn sun.
"Thought so," he purred.

He didn't give Arthur enough time to save face, deftly unbuttoning the front of his uniform. The smaller blonde grit his teeth and looked away in shame as the shirt was tugged as far down his arms as it could go, baring his pale chest and stomach.
"Let's see whatcha have here," Alfred announced, rubbing his palms together gleefully as he began to relieve Arthur of everything on his belt- the other tacitly refusing his gaze. The blonde's baton, keys, radio and pistol all hit the ground one after the other and, finally, so did the belt itself. The American gave the leather a crack for good measure, still grinning like a fool.
"God, that is so badass," he hummed. It took him a moment to realize that the half-naked cop beneath him had paled, eyes betraying his reproach as they flitted from the American to the belt stretched taut in his hands and back. Alfred chuckled, wrapping the leather strap around Arthur's shoulders and using it to pull the other man closer, like a lover might in the snow with his scarf.
"So you can dish it but you can't take it, huh? Don't worry, I won't hurtcha darlin'."
"This is assault you blooming lunatic, and I don't trust you for a minute," the Englishman snapped. Then a little quieter, as though it pained him to do so he said, "let me go, Jones. Neither of us can possibly benefit from this… if you back out now, I promise to overlook everything save for what you were involved in prior to arrest. It's the best I can do."
Alfred tutted.
"Nuh-uh, that's not enough, I still might get put away. Life means nothing without freedom in it. Besides, you're gonna help me out in ways you can't even imagine officer."
Arthur suppressed a shudder as the American's tongue trailed thickly over the shell of his ear.
"You'll see, I'm the hero. I always come out on top."
The Brit could no longer tell whether Alfred was being cryptic or just making tasteless sexual puns.

The American's hands were roaming his body again purposefully, rubbing little circles around his nipples and dipping down the small of his back. Arthur breathed sharply through his nose, refusing to give this imbecile the pleasure of hearing him moan. From what he'd seen already if he gave the man an inch he'd take a mile. The whole situation was ludicrous and Arthur disgusted himself only further when he allowed his eyes to roll back as those cheeky fingers were replaced with a hot mouth. He could feel Alfred's lips curl in a smirk around one sensitive nub, hands once again southbound and slipping under the band of his pants, and he smacked the back of his head against the floor in the hopes that pain would remind him to stay frigid and silent.
"Come on now. I know ya wanna moan for me," the American chuckled.
Arthur writhed as the hand currently messing around inside his pants started to grope him.
"You want to," he bit out.
"Huh?"
"T-the proper… way… to say it is… 'you want to'. Your accent… is atrocious…" Arthur managed, face screwed up in a scowl with the effort of holding back.

That insufferable grin was back as the American leaned in close, his breath tickling the older blonde's ear and making him shiver involuntarily. Fuck that was his weak spot- it felt so good.
"Ooh, you're a toughie ain'tcha?"
"S-… sod off."
He felt the boy withdraw, quickly followed by the soft clink of dog tags as the other shrugged off his jacket. Arthur froze at the sound of a zipper being undone. Jones wasn't seriously planning to go through with this, was he? He hissed as the other hooked a hand over the waistband of his pants, tugging them down around his ankles along with his boxers and exposing his half-hearted erection. He waited for the American to ridicule him but strangely was met with silence. Arthur's ears burned with his embarrassment as those same hands gripped his thighs and spread them apart. Any second now and he'd feel the other's fingers invading him, pulling him apart. Arthur wasn't sure he could handle such a gross violation of his dignity.

In a sense, Alfred saved him from this, but it had the Brit wondering whether or not he might have preferred getting finger-fucked by some American whelp on his bed of cords and cables. Because instead of drawing out his torment, and without any further warning, Alfred thrust into him. Balls deep. Arthur let out a choked, guttural sound as his insides were stretched mercilessly, and dear God Almighty it burned! He heard Alfred groan with pleasure and cracked an eye open just enough to shoot the other an acidic glare.

"Bastard… you t-took me… dry," he hissed in disbelief, voice a pained gasp.
"Hmm," Alfred simply hummed in acquiescence and rolled his hips forward. The Brit threw his head back, bound hands clawing at the floor.
"Aagh no! Bloody pull… out!"
To his initial surprise the American complied, only to slam back inside of him fully.
"Uhn!"
Arthur's breath left him in a whoosh and Alfred repeated the movement, slowly at first, but quickly setting a rhythm. He grinned impishly at Arthur over his glasses, the frames sliding down the bridge of his nose a little as sweat started to bead his skin.
"Sorry old timer, couldn't hear ya."
The Brit grit his teeth against a scathing retort, panting raggedly. If he opened his mouth to spit venom at the other man now, who knew what might slip out? Maybe he wouldn't walk away from this with his dignity intact but god fucking damn it, he had his pride. Arthur simply set his jaw grimly and tried to block out the lewd slap of skin against skin, refusing to look at his American aggressor. This, however just seemed to egg him on.
"Don't be so cold, Arty," he purred into Arthur's neck. "Let me hear you."
The boy was lucky he wasn't a bloody virgin or no amount of coddling would have gotten him over that rough penetration. As it stood, a groan escaped Arthur as the younger blonde's fist curled around his prick and started to pump him, infuriatingly out of sync with his thrusts.
"N-No…"
Alfred looked down at the other (body flushed a dusky pink, face twisted up in guilt and pleasure, a bead of sweat rolling down his collar) and smiled almost gently, pressing a firm kiss to the blonde's tightly closed lips.
"Yes."
Arthur whimpered angrily, feeling his cock twitch in the other's hand. Humiliating. This was so fucking humiliating. Groans and gasps were slipping past his iron defence, muffled by Alfred's mouth and when the American began to move away Arthur lunged at him, their teeth clacking jarringly for a moment as he fought to keep the other's lips on his. He could feel Alfred stiffen with surprise, glasses knocked askew again as Arthur attacked his mouth, all teeth and tongue and desperation. The surprise melted into an amused chuckle that Arthur could feel in his own body once he realized that Arthur intended to use him as a gag to muffle his own embarrassing sounds. He broke the kiss with a wet sound, moving back until the Brit, with his hands bound on the floor, could no longer follow him, a thin strand of saliva briefly connecting Arthur's tongue to his lip. Defeated, Arthur groaned and fell back, thrashing under the American.
"No, uah, no, no, ahh god damn… it… no-!"
Alfred licked his own kiss-bruised lips, grimacing as the Brit's wild expression threatened to push him over the edge.
"God, Arty you're so tight," he growled.
Arthur was too far gone to be angry at the butchering of his name, thoroughly disgusted by his inability to keep silent and sparks bursting behind his closed eyelids as the American hit his prostate.
"U-uh, ahh, aaah fuck!" he moaned loudly, nails scraping over the carpet. "There!"
Alfred obliged him, the shit-eating grin blessedly wiped off his face as his thrusting grew rough and erratic. He was nearing his peak, Arthur could feel it. The knot of guilty pleasure in his own stomach was threatening to uncoil at a moment's notice and all he could think about was how fucking good the boy's calloused hands felt around his dick, how much he hated it.

All at once Arthur heard the radio at his hip crackle and the fire in his gut reached a peak. Something inside him snapped. He threw his head back and came, screaming as Alfred filled him, to the sound of Francis' garbled voice popping and fizzing over the line.

Please R&R~