A.N: So I saw a trailer for this movie called Two Night Stand, and even though it looked absolutely ridiculous, it did inspire this fic. XD

Also I needed to write UsUk. I just needed to.

Arthur awoke with a start, his eyes fuzzy and adjusting to the unfamiliar surroundings. He sat up, his head reeling, and he glanced over at the man lying beside him.

What was his name again? Oh, right, Alfred.

Memories from the previous night flooded him; scotch, Francis persisting they hooked up with strangers to blow off some steam, Arthur resisting, Ivan dunking some poor Polish guy's head in a keg, all jumbled and messed up.

But he remembered Alfred now. An American, with shiny blue eyes who was loud and called him 'babe', as if he wasn't a man. Arthur remembered the fairly decent sex and snorted, smiling a little to himself at the glorious afterglow feeling.

He pushed the blue blankets off his legs, stretching his shoulders and readying himself to leave, when he heard a hum from beside him.

"Mornin', Artie." Alfred greeted, smiling sleepily up at him with a cocky sort of expression. Arthur frowned at him.

"It's Arthur, and good morning, Alfred."

Alfred snickered, "Alright, I can tell last night was just a usual fling for you, but at least let me give you some coffee." He sat up, reaching for the bedside table and grabbing his glasses.

"I'm sorry- 'usual fling'?" Arthur repeated, scowling something awful as he scanned the floor for his trousers. "I don't normally hook up with strangers and abandon them, you know!"

Alfred, grinning, rolled his perfect blue eyes. "Riiiight, mister stamina. And I'm one hundred percent straight."

Arthur glowered at him, "You called me babe, you wanker."

"Oh-Em-Gee, you actually said wanker!" Alfred laughed, throwing on a 'Captain America' shirt. "You're so British!"

All the older man could do was point at the shirt, grouchily hiking up his pants. "Says the man with the bloody American flag boxers."

"You were so into them," Alfred sneered, still beaming at him like a ray of sunshine. Arthur stomped into the hallway, grateful to find his sweater.

"I don't need any coffee, I'll just be going." He pulled it over his head, accepting the warmth with joy as he stepped over the empty pizza boxes lacing the floor of Alfred's flat.

Alfred poked his head out of his bedroom, still laughing. "It was nice sleeping with you!"

Arthur flipped him off.

That really should've been the end of it. Arthur should have walked out that door, taken the next cab back to the east of town, called Francis to talk about the sex, sat down on the couch and sipped some tea while watching Downtown Abbey, and taken a nap. He really should have.

Unfortunately, real life is cruel and decides to have one of the most brutal hailstorms in the history of New York City when you try to make an awkward escape from a one night stand.

The Englishman got one look at that huge-ass hail and turned around, climbing back up to Alfred's apartment and knocking on the door.

"It's hailing, let me in you arse." Arthur called, and Alfred lazily opened the door.

"Back for more?" He joked, and Arthur pushed past him.

"I'm waiting out the hail, I don't need a bloody concussion during the walk of shame." He frowned, crossing his arms bitterly. "I suppose I'll take you up on that coffee."

Alfred smirked, rolling his shoulders. "Dude, did anyone ever teach you manners at Hogwarts?"

Arthur felt his eyebrow twitch, and his glare deepened. Why he'd ever bothered letting this guy screw him, he knew not. He did know he'd beat that grin off his face if he continued looking at it, though.

"Shut up and get me some coffee."

Although Alfred chuckled, he followed the order with a sarcastic salute, retreating into his kitchen. Opting to at least try to be comfortable, Arthur sat in the armchair with the ridiculous star spangled throw pillow.

He texted Francis, begging for a ride, but the dumb Frenchmen was also trapped, apparently with his Hungarian conquest from the night before, who was now threatening to kill him with a frying pan. Arthur would have tried Ivan, but he was quite sure he'd be at Yao's place right around now, and disturbing him would be a dire mistake.

The only reliable friend he had left was Michelle, who was visiting her family in somewhere in Africa at the moment.

Though he was never really religious, Arthur prayed to whatever god he could think of to stop the storm and free him from this nightmare.

By the time Alfred emerged, Arthur was in the middle of considering asking Satan for some help. He immediately calmed down once he got some coffee in his frazzled, hungover system. Alfred may be a brat, but the kid could make a decent French vanilla.

"S'good," Arthur lament complimented him, slurping the drink down.

With a shrug, Alfred took a seat next to him. "I hope so, dude. I make coffee for a living."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, you're looking at proud owner of Liberty Café just off the edge of Brooklyn."

Arthur almost spat out his drink, "Wait, wait, wait, you're the owner of that snazzy little shop a few blocks away?" When Alfred nodded, Arthur paled. "Wow, uh, I go to your shop all the time... Great atmosphere for writing and all."

Those damn blue eyes sparkled at his words, "You write? Cool, what genre?"

Arthur blushed, turning his face away to avoid eye contact. "I'm just an editor now... But I'm working on a detective novel."

"Sweet!" Alfred chirped, "I love a good mystery. Does it have any good heroes?"

"The main character's a bit of a prat, actually." Arthur confessed, staring into his cup. "But he gets better throughout the story, finds love and whatnot."

Alfred snickered, "Typical. But, seriously, good luck man."

"Thank you," Arthur murmured, then hastily added: "I'm sorry for being so rude, earlier."

"Bro, you're hungover. No worries." Alfred waved his hand, and it was only then that Arthur remembered his muscular forearms and flushed. "Besides, I'm told I'm a huge pain in the ass, too."

"You are a little loud." Arthur offered, sipping the last of his coffee.

With a smirk, Alfred leaned back in his seat. "That didn't seem to bother you last night."

Arthur could feel his face burning, but he shot Alfred a glare anyway. "You were moaning so much I thought you'd pass out!"

"Ha! What about you, that scream at the end sounded like you were being stabbed!" Alfred was snorting, and even Arthur had to admit it was kind of funny to argue about this.

He gestured to Alfred's crotch. "I was! That thing of yours is bloody pointy!"

Alfred barked a laugh, waving his hands around for emphasis. "I can see the headlines now: DEATH BY POINTY PENIS!"

That was when Arthur lost it, and he allowed himself to giggle. And that giggle became a guffaw, and he was soon hunched over clinging to his gut while Alfred came up with more obscene newspaper headlines, grinning at him the entire time.

Suddenly, Arthur found that the miserable awkwardness of his shameful, drunken decision had become completely and utterly hilarious. And despite himself, he also found that maybe Alfred wasn't such a brat after all. Damn git was annoying, but his heart was in the right place.

The hail, unfortunately, didn't stop. Alfred willingly let Arthur lounge around his place, pulling out a James Bond movie and saying "It's just enough action and just enough British."

And so, Arthur found himself curled up with his one-night-stand on the couch, sipping some more coffee and arguing about James Bond's choice in women.

"Dude," Alfred said at one point, smiling kind of shyly in Arthur's direction. "You're really cool, y'know?"

With a blink, Arthur reddened. "Wh-Where the bloody he'll did that come from?"

Alfred grinned, "I was just thinking how glad I am that the storm kept you, because I almost let someone so freaking cool walk out that door."

Arthur gave him a nudge in the leg, "Okay, prince charming, what're you getting at?"

"Go out with me again," Alfred said, beaming with pride. "And I'll treat you like the best fucking boyfriend, one hundred percent guaranteed!"

As the suggestion settled in, Arthur couldn't keep the grin off his face. "Oh, I don't know. You're kind of obnoxious."

"Who, me?" Alfred snickered, draping himself on Arthur's lap and peeking up at him with those ridiculously blue eyes. "You're crazy, man."

"No, I'm not crazy yet." Arthur muttered, and then he leaned down and kissed Alfred square on the lips. He tasted like fish and chips. "Now I'm crazy," he whispered, pulling back.

With a blissful sigh, Alfred sat up straight and smiled as confidently as possible. "Give me your phone number."

After a beat, Arthur shook his head. "I'll regret this, but fine."

And as 007 defeated yet another criminal mastermind, Arthur and Alfred punched each other's numbers into their phones.

They may or may not have made out, afterwards.