Alfred sat at the bar counter waiting for Arthur to show up. The club lights were bright and the music was loud and blood pumping. The club was filled with young adults trying to party their life away by grinding on anyone that was around and drinking out of red cups. Alfred had thought he was getting used to this kind of scene but he felt a little lurch in his stomach that made him want to leave. The only reason why he was sticking around was because he didn't want another lecture from a thick pair of bushy eyebrows about manners. The strips of hair always made the lecture feel twice as long because of the way they would curve up and down depending on the expression of the Briton who owned them. Whenever Arthur got going his eyebrows always caught Alfred's attention. But, who cares since Arthur had often mistaken Alfred's concentration for attention to the speech.

As Alfred waited by himself he ordered a White Negroni. It was always a good idea to start off the night light. Plus, he wasn't too interested in the heavy liquor like Arthur was, he never thought getting wasted was fun at all. To be honest, Alfred was drunk only once in his life. The time where he turned 21, about a year ago, and Arthur had taken him out to a party.

Before then Alfred rarely ever sipped alcohol, he was the rare exception of American teenage boys who wasn't interested in alcohol. Sure there were a lot of his high school friends who went to parties and got wasted that tried to persuade Alfred into it. He often went to house parties with those friends at places where there was a keg in the basement. But, even then, he couldn't bring himself to bring the dark, sloshy liquid to his lips. No matter how much his friends teased or dared Alfred remained strong in his decision. Until one night when his neighbor, Arthur, who was a few years older than him, forced him into agreeing to go out drinking on his twenty first birthday. After the agreement Alfred felt like an idiot because Arthur was the biggest offender out of everyone he knew. There were countless nights where Alfred had to drive Arthur to his apartment trying to watch his shoes as he dragged the gagged body into the bathroom. Yes, the gags were necessary, that man could get so loud. His neighbors were sure to call the police once they heard the Englishman shouting about religion and French frogs.

So when the daunting day had finally arrived, Arthur took him to a house party with his other friends: Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio. Since it's always a wild party when the four got together Alfred couldn't help but get swept up in their energy. Soon they started to play short drinking games like beer pong and baseball. But the night got really crazy when everyone started playing King's Cup.

At some point in the game Antonio made up a rule where the first person to raise their hand in Heaven could dare someone. Soon after Alfred pulled an eight, declaring that he has never kissed a guy–there were a lot of girls at the table so at the time it made sense. And since Arthur was next to him, his turn was next. That's when he picked up a Queen and asked Alfred if he ever wanted to. You know, as a joke. But for some reason Gilbert had to take that joke a little too far and at the first chance he got dared Alfred and Arthur to kiss. Now, it would be a lie to say that the alcohol wasn't going to their heads but that was a ridiculous request from the start. Even as Alfred's face a warm and teary, he knew that this wasn't funny anymore. So what made him lean closer to the Englishman? Only the Lord knows, because to others it looked as if neither of them were opposed to the idea as they went at it for a while. They kept on sucking faces as the table cheered and Francis tried to pull them apart. Knowing that things went too far he took the drunks into a room upstairs to sleep it off.

Little did Francis know that when he threw what he thought were two knocked out idiots onto the bed, the two woke up and got hot and bothered all over again. Maybe it an on-going sexual tension or an "anybody-goes" situation but whatever the case was shirts were flying off. The soft plumpness of Arthur's lips and the defined curves of his chest were all Alfred could see. And as the room filled up with sweat and hot breaths, making out wasn't enough anymore. As Arthur was hovering over him Alfred had a strong desire to tear his belt off. And that's exactly what happened–or maybe not.

To be honest Alfred blacked out after that. But ever since that night he swore to himself to never get that drunk again. He was seriously lucky not to lose Arthur's friendship, although they didn't really talk about it after that. So the moral of the story kids is to drink responsibly...is what Alfred would have said if he weren't sitting at a bar right now, pouting.

As if on cue, Arthur waltzed in smiling down on Alfred in a way that suggested he already had a few drinks.

"Where the hell were you?" Alfred asked, miffed.

"Sorry, love. Did I make you wait long?" the Briton replied in a teasing tone.

"Hell yeah, you jackass."

"Pish posh. Don't pout about it. We're going to have fun tonight!" Arthur said in a devilish voice. "Because I plan on getting you drunk tonight." Alfred froze at the sound of those words but, for some reason, instantly relaxed.

"Let's see about that."