"Babe~," the radio setting on the alarm clock crooned as Arthur groaned and tried to find the snooze button. "I got you babe~." He blinked at the numbers and groaned again. "I got you babe~."
"Shut up," Arthur grumbled. His pounding head told him that the butterscotch schnapps the night before had been a mistake, but drinking seemed like such a reasonable response to being assigned to work on a fluff piece on silly American weather traditions in the backwoods of Pennsylvania. At least it was only one day, he reminded himself.
As Arthur began the arduous process of rolling out of bed, a chipper American voice giving a weather forecast followed the end of the song. "Rise and shine, folks! And don't forget your booties because it's cold out there!" the announcer said cheerfully. "Plan on icy roads later today because the National Weather Service is calling for a big blizzard thingie. But don't worry! The weather should be clear for the festivities this morning, so come on down to Gobbler's Knob to see our finest and furriest weatherman make his prediction. The big question on everyone's mind today―"
The relentlessly cheerful voice was too much for Arthur to handle. He knocked the alarm to the ground and grinned in satisfaction as the inane chatter finally stopped. The Brit stumbled to the bathroom. Ignoring the relentless drumbeats of pain in his head, he washed his face and scowled at his bloodshot eyes. He remembered drinking during his university days without any ill effects, but ever since turning thirty the year before, the hangovers seemed much worse. Or perhaps it was his drinking that had gotten worse.
The smell of bacon wafting in from the hallway made Arthur queasy, but he headed down to the dining room anyway after a quick shower and a change of clothes. With any luck, his bed and breakfast would have a nice cup of tea to help him feel human again.
It was a decent enough bed-and-breakfast. The rooms were spacious and the furniture was comfortable. It was certainly much better than the fleabag Motel 6 where his cameraman and producer were staying. And even though the decorations were a little old-fashioned, so was Arthur, so he didn't mind.
"Good morning!" the owner called, smiling at Arthur when he reached the ground floor. "Did you sleep well, Mr. Kirkland?"
"Tolerably well," he replied with a shrug.
"Would you like some coffee?"
"I don't suppose there's any possibility of a cup of tea?"
"Um," she frowned and glanced back toward the kitchen door, "I think we might have some iced tea mixes?"
"Never mind." Arthur shuddered at the horrific thought of powdered tea as he finished pulling on his coat. Perhaps there would be some sort of cafe in downtown Punxsutawney. Even a Starbucks would be acceptable.
"Will you be checking out today?" the owner called as Arthur reached the door.
"Definitely," he promised. There was no way he was going to spend a minute more than he had to in such a rusticated little town.
Even this early in the morning, the area around the town green was already crowded with slack-jawed yokels dressed in thick coats. Arthur fought his way through the cheerful throngs, only to discover that the closest coffee shop served nothing but coffee. How unfortunate. Still grumbling to himself, Arthur found his cameraman, Kiku, and his producer, Emma, waiting for him at the edge of the main stage.
"Arthur! Did you have trouble finding us?" Emma asked gently, her polite way of letting Arthur know that he was late.
He shrugged. "No, but I did have trouble finding a cup of tea."
All around them the spectators began to cheer and Kiku lifted up his camera to start filming. This was what they had crossed an ocean to see. A weather-predicting rodent. Arthur tried to contain his disdain as a group of men in top hats gathered with solemn dignity on the stage. The youngest one, a handsome young lad in his mid-to-late twenties, approached the fake burrow at the center of the stage. "It's groundhog time!" he shouted and the cheers grew louder.
Arthur plastered on a smile and faced the camera. "Reporting from Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, I'm here for America's oldest groundhog festival. Crowds as large as 40,000 have gathered since 1886 to celebrate this quirky holiday. Why, you may ask? Well, according to Germanic folklore, if the groundhog sees his shadow and returns to his burrow, there will be six more weeks of winter. It's very cold right now, so I'm sure the crowd is anxious to hear what this marvelous rodent has to say."
"Less sarcasm!" Emma whispered, pitching her voice softly enough that the microphones wouldn't pick up any of her words.
Arthur rolled his eyes. The chance of him giving up his dry wit was about as likely as the groundhog emerging from his hole, putting on a fedora, and doing the salsa. Fortunately, they didn't have to wait long for the main event. The groundhog peeked its head out of the burrow and promptly ducked back inside for cover, drawing boos from the crowd.
"Oh, dear." Arthur tsked. "It seems that winter will last another six weeks here. Something we would already know if we had looked at a calendar, seeing as how March 21 is the official start of spring."
Emma sighed. "I said less, not more."
"I'm afraid all of the sarcasm inhibitors in my brain require tea to function." He turned to Kiku. "Will you be able to take out the red from my eyes? I'm afraid my shampoo this morning didn't agree with me."
"Of course, Arthur-san," Kiku replied with a carefully blank expression.
This time it was Emma's turn to roll her eyes. "Maybe you confused it with the scotch bottle," she muttered.
Before Arthur could deliver a witty retort, a loud American voice practically shouted in Arthur's ear, "Hey folks! I'm Alfred! You ready to do the interview with Phil?"
Arthur jumped and whirled around to discover the young man who had handled the groundhog standing directly behind him. He had taken off his hat, leaving one hair sticking up at a ridiculous angle. Pausing to admire the lad's chiseled physique and bright blue eyes, Arthur decided that America did have a few good points. He offered his palm for a handshake and was pleasantly surprised that Alfred's grip was warm and firm without trying to crush his hand.
"Who's Phil?" he asked. He didn't remember making plans for any interviews, so Emma must have scheduled it earlier in the morning.
The cheerful American jerked his thumb towards the stage. "That little fella over there! Punxsutawney Phil is what we call him."
"This is an interview with the groundhog?"
Alfred's eyes widened. "Whoa, you're British!"
"Yes," Arthur rolled his eyes, "that would explain why I work for the BBC."
"Less sarcasm!" Emma insisted sotto voce. She turned toward Alfred and smiled as she shook his hand. "Mr. Jones, thank you so much for scheduling this with us."
"Sure, no prob! I love showing off the little guy."
"When did we schedule this?" Arthur asked Emma as they followed the American to a small area behind the stage.
"I scheduled it while you were on your third shot," Emma retorted.
"Ah." Trying to maintain his dignity, Arthur joined Alfred as he walked over to a carrier for a small animal. Through the metal wiring, Arthur could see an unhappy groundhog. He could sympathize; Groundhog's Day probably wasn't much fun for the groundhog either. After Kiku set up his cameras and some additional lighting, Arthur proceeded to interview a creature that was technically a type of squirrel. Of course, Phil didn't speak English, so Alfred 'translated' his little squeaks from 'groundhogese.'
"So... Phil... how old are you?" Arthur asked, starting with the basics.
The groundhog squeaked and squirmed in Alfred's hands while the American scrunched his eyebrows and did some quick math. "He says he's 129."
"Really. He doesn't look a day over three."
Alfred grinned. "He drinks an elixir of 'Groundhog Punch' at the summer Groundhog Picnic that adds seven years to his life each time."
"That must be some strong punch. Well, we all know what you do today, Phil. But what do you do the other 364 days of the year?"
"He stays in his burrow at the Punxsutawney Library with his wife, Phyllis."
"His wife." Arthur arched a sardonic eyebrow. "Do you mean to tell me that Pennsylvania has recognized marriage between two groundhogs for longer than it has recognized marriage between two people of the same sex?"
"Yeah, I guess it sounds kinda depressing when you put it that way. Phil says that it's better late than never."
"Fair enough. What are your thoughts on the holiday, Phil?"
The groundhog made another squeaky effort to escape Alfred's grip. The American just readjusted his handhold as he 'translated' the noises. "Yep! He says that if he had his way, every day would be Groundhog Day."
It was an utterly undignified experience that Arthur hoped never to repeat again in his life. He breathed a huge sigh of relief when it was over. As Emma and Kiku reviewed the footage, Alfred shook Arthur's hand and gave him another big grin. "How long are you in town? Let me know if there's anything you want to see here in Punxsutawney!"
"We're heading off right now," Arthur replied. "But thank you for the offer." As he turned his back, he missed the disappointed look on Alfred's face. Leaving Kiku and Emma to deal with the equipment, Arthur gratefully returned to the bed and breakfast, packed his bags, and checked out. He was more than ready to leave the sleepy little town behind.
The town had other plans.
As Kiku and Emma finished loading the car, it began to snow. Arthur watched the flakes fall with growing alarm. Although he urged Kiku to drive faster, by the time they drove past the city limits, snow and ice had already coated the road. After just a few more minutes of driving, Kiku declared defeat. The streets were impassable. They returned to the hotel and discovered that it didn't matter anyway; their flight had been cancelled.
Arthur sighed. It seemed he was stuck in Punxsutawney for one more night.
Arthur woke up with a hangover as the chorus of Sonny and Cher's "I Got You Babe" filled the room. He wondered if he was going through tea withdrawals, because he certainly hadn't drunk any alcohol.
Before long the song switched over to a cheerful voice. "Rise and shine, folks! And don't forget your booties because it's cold out there!"
This time Arthur recognized the voice. It was Alfred. But that didn't explain why Alfred was repeating his forecast from the day before.
"...down to Gobbler's Knob to see our finest and furriest weatherman make his prediction. The big question on everyone's mind today: will Phil see his shadow or will we have an early spring?"
Arthur frowned in confusion as he turned off the alarm. He pulled on his clothes and headed outside, wondering if he could find a different coffeeshop. One with some tea.
As he stepped outside, he was surprised to find bustling crowds and streets clear of snow. Thinking there might be a post-Groundhog Day event, he wandered to the main stage. He noticed Kiku and Emma standing in the same spot as yesterday.
"Arthur!" Emma called. "Did you have trouble finding us?"
"I didn't realize there was something going on today as well," Arthur said, glancing around in confusion. He didn't understand why the spectators had returned.
"They're all waiting for the groundhog," Kiku explained politely as he finished preparing his camera for filming.
"Didn't we do this yesterday?"
Emma and Kiku shared a concerned look. "Are you still drunk?" Emma asked.
Their conversation was interrupted by cheers as Alfred once again opened the door to the groundhog's burrow. Watching in complete confusion, Arthur barely noticed as Emma nudged him to give his 'Groundhog Day' introduction. Still feeling dazed, he repeated the words from memory. If Emma and Kiku noticed a deterioration in his performance, they were too polite to say so.
When they finished filming, Arthur rubbed his temples. He wasn't sure if he was going insane or if everyone else was, but neither option sounded good.
He jumped as Alfred shouted from behind, "Hey folks! I'm Alfred! You ready to do the interview with Phil?"
"Oh, god. Not the groundhog again," Arthur complained.
"Whoa, you're British!"
"Yes, just as British as I was yesterday."
Alfred laughed. "Sorry! Bet you get that all the time."
"Quite often," Arthur agreed. It was one of the many things he disliked about spending time in the States. Americans always seemed shocked to discover that some people lived in different countries and spoke English differently (i.e. better).
Arthur briefly wondered if the entire town was pranking him as he once again sat down for an 'interview' with Phil. Although it seemed like far too much effort for one measly British journalist, he had seen how low American reality shows would stoop for ratings. Arthur surreptitiously glanced around for hidden cameras.
"Hey... you okay?" Alfred asked, giving him a worried smile.
"I'm fine. I was just wondering how long it will take before someone jumps out and tells me this is one big joke," Arthur replied. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Emma bury her face in her hands.
"Oh, no!" Alfred insisted earnestly. "We really believe in the groundhog here!"
The American's eyes sparkled with such pure honesty that Arthur found himself doubting his own memories. Perhaps he had just suffered from a particularly vivid dream as a result of the butterscotch schnapps? Or maybe it was a symptom of tea withdrawal.
He went through the motions for the rest of the interview and sighed in relief when Emma and Kiku decided that they had enough footage. At the end, Alfred shook his hand again and once again offered him a tour of the town's attractions. "Let me know if there's anything you want to see here in Punxsutawney!"
Arthur opened his mouth to decline and quickly changed his mind. "I don't suppose there are any places here that sell tea?" he asked.
"Um," Alfred wrinkled his nose in thought. "The County Market might have some?"
"Thanks." Arthur followed Alfred's directions to the grocery store and discovered that the only option was Lipton. He shuddered in dismay, but held his nose and bought it anyway. After a brief chat with the B&B owner to explain that no, one did not just heat up water in the microwave, he found himself sitting in the dining room with a cup of mediocre tea. The sad part was that it actually was the highlight of his day.
By that point, he had nearly convinced himself that his memories of the day before were just the byproduct of an amazingly vivid dream. But there was one other thing he wanted to check. If he was right, an oncoming blizzard would stop them from leaving the town. He wasn't sure if he preferred to be right (and stuck in Punxsutawney) or wrong (and on his way back to London). Actually, strike that, he knew he would rather be a bit crazy and in London, than completely sane and stuck in the States.
"Arthur! Aren't you ready to go?" Emma asked as she and Kiku carried their suitcases into the lobby.
He shook his head and took another sip of tea. "There's no point in trying to leave now, not with this blizzard."
Kiku glanced out the window at the fluffy flakes that had just started to fall. While Emma and Kiku waited for Arthur to finish his tea, the weather outside grew steadily worse.
"Hmm," Emma said as she watched the howling winds coat the road in snow and ice. "Maybe I should see if we can schedule a later flight."
"Make sure I have a first-class seat," Arthur replied.
Despite Emma and Kiku's half-hearted attempts to entice Arthur out to dinner once the blizzard ended, he insisted on spending the rest of the day curled up in his room with a good book and some terrible tea. He didn't care if it was Lipton's. It was still better than spending any more time in Punxsutawney.
"Babe~"
"No," Arthur groaned and curled into the fetal position.
"I got you babe~"
"This isn't happening!"
"I got you babe~"
"Not again!" Arthur crawled out of bed and looked for the box of tea he knew he had purchased the day before. It was gone. The streets were clear. And judging from Alfred's cheerful announcement on the radio, it was Groundhog's Day. Yet again.
Arthur flung the alarm against the wall and grimaced in satisfaction as it broke into pieces. There was no way he was going to spend another day in Punxsutawney. He packed his bags and went to fetch Emma and Kiku from their spot near the stage.
"Arthur! Did you have trouble finding us?"
He skipped the chitchat. "We need to leave."
"What?" Emma blinked in confusion. "But it's just about to start!"
"My mother's in the hospital," Arthur lied. "They're not sure how much longer she has. I need to get to London immediately."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Emma said sympathetically. "Kiku and I will fetch our bags and we can leave right away."
Kiku nodded. "I will call to change the flights."
"Thank you," Arthur murmured graciously.
This time they beat the blizzard and Arthur felt his heart race in excitement as he stepped into the Pittsburgh airport. Never before in his life had he been so happy to see such a crummy little airport. It even had a Starbucks with acceptable tea!
They caught a flight from Pittsburgh to Newark and soon boarded another headed to London. Arthur tried not to grin like a maniac. Fortunately, Kiku and Emma mistook his jittery anticipation for worry and left him alone for the flight.
It was nearly midnight by the time he reached his London flat. He fed his cat, fell into bed with a grateful sigh, and promptly fell asleep.
Arthur woke up in Punxsutawney to the irritating, repetitive chorus of "I Got You Babe." His hangover had returned and the clock was back in perfect working order.
"Fuck you to goddamn little pieces!" he shouted as he hurled the clock against the wall. Breaking it gave him vicious pleasure, even if he knew it was only going to repair itself again by the next morning.
This day, Arthur decided, he was going to do whatever the hell he wanted. He skipped the groundhog ceremony, got shit-faced before noon, stole a guitar from the local pawn shop, burst into a second grade classroom, taught the students the real lyrics to My Country 'Tis of Thee, and went to sleep in jail on charges of public intoxication. It was the most fun he had had since fresher year.
It didn't matter. He still woke up in his stupid bed at the stupid bed and breakfast at stupid o'clock while stupid Sonny and Cher sang a stupid love song.
Nothing he did mattered. He could (and did) TP the entire town and the next morning it was back to normal. After just a few days, even the drinking and petty crime sprees lost their allure. What was the point of stealing money if he couldn't keep it? Why set the groundhog free if it just reappeared the next day? He could do whatever he wanted and none of it made a lick of difference.
Arthur was stuck in his own personal hell and it was called Punxsutawney.
On the seventh day, he decided to turn the situation to his advantage. Repeating the same day over and over again gave him the ability to get to know someone very well. With that sort of knowledge, it would be easy to find the best approach to persuade that person into bed. And he knew exactly who he wanted to bed first...
Alfred F. Jones.
The American was handsome. He was friendly. And something about his eager boyish charm sent Arthur's gaydar senses tingling. So on the seventh morning, Arthur actually did the stupid groundhog interview again and this time he chuckled at Alfred's jokes to make a good impression on the cute American. By the end of the interview, the crowds had mostly dissipated, leaving Arthur alone with his tasty target. And, as always, Alfred gave him a perfect opening when he turned toward Arthur and smiled. "Let me know if there's anything you want to see here in Punxsutawney!"
"I don't suppose this place has a gay bar?" Arthur asked with a flirty smile.
"Nah. We usually just hang out at Cookie's on Wednesdays."
"Oh, that's too bad. I was hoping for a bit of fun," Arthur replied with mock-disappointment. He heard Kiku make a small choking noise and chose to ignore it.
While Arthur devoured him with his eyes, Alfred pursed his lips together thoughtfully. "There's a date auction at the community center tonight," he suggested.
"Are you on the auction block?"
Oblivious to the blatant flirting, Alfred just laughed and shook his head. "Nah. There's like one other single gay guy in town. Don't think it'd be much of a bidding war."
"I'm sure plenty of women would be happy to bid on such a handsome specimen." Arthur wondered if giving Alfred bedroom eyes would be too much. It was probably too much. He did it anyway.
Still wearing a winsome and oblivious smile, Alfred shrugged. "Maybe. But what's the point in going on a date if there's no chance it's gonna mean anything in the long run?"
Arthur paused, unsure how to respond to an attitude so foreign to his own. He loved one-night stands and found physical pleasure to be a joy in its own right. He didn't need a commitment to enjoy himself. It seemed that Alfred felt differently. But that was all right. Arthur wasn't a quitter and he had infinite tries to get his approach exactly right.
"The point of a date is to learn more about the other person," he suggested, picking his words carefully to appeal to Alfred's old-fashioned sense of courtship. "So... in the interests of getting to know you better, would you care to head over to that lovely little cafe for something to drink?"
Alfred blinked and seemed to realize for the first time that Arthur was flirting with him. His face turned an adorable shade of pink. "Uh... sure."
For the next few hours, Arthur learned everything he could about Alfred. All of his likes and dislikes, all of his hopes and dreams, anything that would help Arthur get into his boxers. Alfred was more than happy to share.
Alfred was born and raised in Philadelphia, but moved to Punxsutawney after finishing college to help take care of his grandmother. He had a job as a morning weatherman at the local radio station. He wanted to travel all around the world, but dreamed of settling down in a quiet town, finding himself a cozy house with a big yard for plenty of dogs.
Most of Alfred's life story and hobbies were intriguing, with the exception of his infatuation with aliens, superheroes, and Superman, whom he described as an alien superhero. Once Arthur managed to change the subject back to better topics, he found the handsome young American to be rather pleasant company. And unlike others, Arthur didn't have to worry about driving him away with biting wit because Alfred treated the snarkiest jokes as good-natured humor. Sure, he was oblivious and a bit naive, but he proved remarkably quick-witted on certain subjects and he was curious about everything.
"...it even has a cool display that lets you climb into a tornado!" Alfred said, his eyes shining brightly as he described the Punxsutawney Weather Discovery Center.
"Fascinating," Arthur murmured. "What else do you do for fun here?"
"Well, do you ice skate? We've got a real nice rink."
"I can't say I've ever learned," Arthur admitted.
"Would you like to?" Alfred asked eagerly. "I can teach you!"
And that was how Arthur found himself on the Punxsutawney skating rink, struggling to maintain his balance on the slippery ice. He wanted to hold on to the rink's walls, but Alfred coaxed him into the center of the rink by holding his hands and pulling him forward. Alfred provided the propulsion, while Arthur focused on staying upright. Still holding hands, they skated around the rink in a lazy circle and after a few near-tumbles, Arthur finally found his balance.
His calves ached after just a few minutes, but he kept going so he could continue to admire the way Alfred glided effortlessly across the ice. The American showed a level of graceful movements that he certainly didn't possess while walking on the plain ground. Arthur hoped that it was a skill that transferred over to his bedroom abilities.
"We going too fast?" Alfred asked cheerfully. "You look a little warm."
"No, not at all. This is lovely." Arthur had said it to be flirty, but he realized that he was actually enjoying himself. Despite the risk of landing on his ass, skating around in circles was rather relaxing.
They passed the entrance to the rink, and Arthur tripped as a couple cut in front of them. He tumbled backwards and braced for impact. Instead of landing on the ice, he fell onto something much warmer and softer. Feeling Alfred shift beneath him, he managed to roll over and slip his knee between Alfred's thighs.
The American shot up with an impressive speed and was still blushing as he reached down to help Arthur to his feet. "Uh, maybe that's enough for today," Alfred suggested as he led Arthur to the exit. "You did real good for a beginner."
"Thank you," Arthur replied a little breathlessly. "You're my hero for catching me," he flirted shamelessly, making Alfred's cheeks flame red.
As a 'thank you', Arthur proposed dinner and a movie for the evening. The food was bland and the movie was insipid American propaganda, but Alfred didn't seem to mind, so Arthur declared it a victory.
Their walk back to his bed and breakfast was delayed by an impromptu snow fight with some teenagers on the town square. They chased the teens away and then giggled like children as they rolled around in the snow and made snow angels. 'Accidentally' rolling too far, Arthur landed on top of Alfred's chest. They both froze for a moment, giving Arthur time to enjoy the solid warmth beneath him. Despite their thick jackets, he could feel Alfred's firm chest. He liked being on top of Alfred. It would be even better once they found a bed and lost their clothes.
Feeling bold and a little frisky, he pressed his chapped lips against Alfred's warm mouth. Alfred kissed back sweetly, clearly a little unsure what to do when Arthur slipped a tongue between his parted lips. They exchanged kisses in the snow until Alfred shivered and suggested that it might be time to get Arthur back to his room.
Arthur readily agreed, walking hand-in-hand with Alfred the short distance back to the bed and breakfast. After a day of shy glances and lingering touches, he was more than ready for a passionate embrace. Eager to return to his bedroom, he tugged Alfred toward the front door and was a little surprised when Alfred didn't follow him.
"This was great," Alfred said earnestly. "I had a lot of fun."
"Yes, so did I."
"I hope you have a nice trip back to London!"
"You're... you're not coming up?" Arthur asked in surprise. He hadn't realized that Alfred wasn't including himself when he suggested going back to Arthur's room.
Alfred shook his head and smiled. "Nah, I'd better be getting home. My grandma gets worried if she doesn't have someone around the house at night.
"Oh, of course," Arthur said weakly as Alfred waved goodbye. Arthur sighed longingly and kept his gaze focused on Alfred's tight rear as the American began to walk away. He hated to see Alfred leave, but he loved to watch him go.
When the taut buttocks disappeared from view, Arthur closed the front door behind him with a loud thump. So close and yet so far. But at least the day wasn't a complete waste. With everything he had learned about Alfred, he would have a head start as he repeated the day again. Alfred would be his. He just needed a few more tries.
A few tries turned into ten tries and then twenty. Eventually, Arthur settled on a strategic plan. He attended the groundhog festivities each morning and delivered all of his lines from memory. After the interview, he asked Alfred to show him the ice-skating rink and let Alfred teach him how to ice-skate. With each repeated day, he improved and Alfred began to remark that he was really good for a beginner. After ice-skating, they took shelter from the blizzard in the cafe, where they sipped hot cocoa and chatted.
For the latter part of the day, Arthur tried a number of different stratagems. He took Alfred to different restaurants, watched all the movies at the local theater, and even went to visit the Weather Discovery Center. (As it turned out, the museum was worth it just to see the way Alfred laughed and raced around like a kid.)
They even tried to go to the date auction, but Arthur discovered that it was cancelled at the last minute because the organizers couldn't manage to get everything set up in time and didn't have enough volunteers.
No matter what Arthur tried, the night always ended with Alfred walking him back to the bed and breakfast and wishing him goodnight on the sidewalk. Sometimes he didn't even get a goodnight kiss.
As his hopes of luring Alfred into his bed gradually dwindled, Arthur finally settled on booze as a measure of last resort. Yes, he knew how he acted when he was drunk (even if he didn't actually remember, he still heard the stories later), but it was worth a try. It wasn't like Alfred would even remember if Arthur ended up humiliating himself. And maybe Alfred also acted differently when he was a bit tipsy. After all, there was nothing better than a little Dutch courage to lower inhibitions.
Cookie's Caboose turned out to be a charming bar with stained glass lights and dark wood countertops. Colorful bottles and glasses lined the back wall, giving it an elegant air. Alfred took both their coats and hung them up by the door. Arthur found himself moderately impressed, until he tried to order a drink.
"I'll have a Cosmopolitan," he said.
The bartender gave him an apologetic look. "We mostly serve beer. I've got some hard liquor, but I don't have the ingredients for a cocktail."
"Not even a Martini?"
"Yeah, make him one of those!" Alfred agreed eagerly as he planted his butt on the stool next to Arthur's. "I wanna hear his James Bond impression!"
"Sorry, no vermouth. Usual for you, Al?"
While Alfred nodded, Arthur scoffed at the other man's suggestion. "Don't be absurd, my accent sounds nothing like Sean Connery."
"Okay, but what about one of the other Bonds?"
"There is only one Bond and his name is Sean Connery."
"Here you go," the bartender said, interrupting their spat by setting a beer in front of Alfred. He turned toward Arthur, "I've got some OJ in the back if you want a Fuzzy Navel," he offered.
"Fine." Arthur decided it was the best he was going to do. He glanced over at Alfred's drink and arched an eyebrow. "I can't believe you're drinking beer."
"What's wrong with beer?"
"Nothing. I just thought you'd prefer a fruity drink."
"I like beer."
"Well, at least it gives good head," Arthur deadpanned. He chuckled as Alfred spit out some of the beer in surprise. The bartender gave Alfred an exasperated look and handed him some napkins to clean off the counter as he set Arthur's orange-flavored cocktail in front of him.
Arthur took a sip and smiled. "Mine's better. Nice and stiff."
While Alfred choked on another sip, Arthur continued to smirk and enjoy his drink. Despite the lack of cocktail options, the bartender was certainly generous enough with the amount of booze he added to the drink. It was good. Arthur drank one, and then another, and then spent some time contemplating his navel while Alfred prattled on about the local sports teams, appropriately called the Punxsy Chucks. Apparently he helped coach one of the high school "football" teams. It was a tidbit Arthur hadn't heard before, but it fit in with everything else he knew about the handsome American.
"...and that's when I suggested changing the name to the Punxsy Whistle-pigs," Alfred said with a grin, finishing a long-winded story that Arthur had started to ignore halfway through. Arthur felt pleasantly warm and comfortable. It was easy to just let the words swirl around his head as he smiled at Alfred and draped his arms on the counter.
"Whistle-pig?" Arthur asked, wondering if he had heard correctly.
"Yep! 's another name for a groundhog. They make this alarm noise thingie."
"Ah," Arthur replied, finding it hard to keep track of their conversation as he felt the world tilt disconcertingly to the left. A hand reached out to catch him before he slipped off his stool and he suddenly found himself much closer to Alfred. As he lounged against the American, it felt like his plan was going swimmingly well.
"My gram says it kinda sounds like an old-timey kettle."
"What kettle?"
"No, the groundhog," Alfred corrected him. His face suddenly brightened with a mischievous grin. "I could show you if you want. We sneak in, scare him, and you can tell me if it's a real kettle sound!"
"What?" Arthur blinked. "We've got electric kettles now."
Alfred sighed. "No, I'm talking about the groundhog."
Deciding that the American must be drunk because he wasn't making any sense, Arthur turned back to the counter and found his drink empty. He didn't remember finishing it off. In fact, many of his memories were a pleasant fuzz. All of his angst about being trapped in a never-ending time loop had disappeared in the warm glow of delicious booze.
"Arthur?" a voice broke its way through the gentle fog. "You up for it or not?"
Given his amazing tolerance, Arthur decided he could easily handle another Furry Nasal. "I drink I'd rather have another think," he replied.
"I 'drink' you've had enough. Come on, it'll be fun!" Alfred tossed some bills on the counter and pulled Arthur to his feet. The Englishman would have protested, but it was so nice to lean against Alfred's warm body that he immediately forgot what he was complaining about. He rested his head on Alfred's shoulder and let his eyes begin to droop in relaxation.
"Where we going?" Arthur asked as Alfred wrapped an arm around his waist and led him out the door. They stumbled together along the sidewalk, pulled forward by Alfred's long legs and enthusiasm despite the snow, the ice, and Arthur's boozy lack of balance.
Alfred grinned excitedly. "The groundhog, remember?"
"'Course I 'member th' little bugger," Arthur slurred angrily. Even alcohol couldn't make him forget the stupid squirrel he had to deal with every bleeding morning.
"We can sneak in like a Bond movie!"
In the cold evening air, Arthur felt a smirk cross his face. Despite the alcohol sloshing around in his brain, he still remembered the standard Bond plot. The dashing spy seduced a sexy henchwoman to learn the villain's secrets. "I could do that," he offered, letting his hand slip closer to that lovely American ass. "Pull some bird to get my way in."
Alfred gave him a blank look as they passed by the town square, now covered in a fresh layer of snow. "What do birds have to do with anything?"
"Not a damn thing," Arthur agreed with a laugh.
Before he knew it, they were crouched in front of the library's main window. On the inside, Arthur could see the groundhog exhibit. One of the creatures stared back with beady, evil eyes. Its mouth moved and Arthur could imagine hearing a diabolical chuckle.
His eyes widened with sudden realization. What if the groundhog really was a 129-year-old small mammal that drank an elixir of eternal youth? He would be capable of all sorts of devious magic. In his drunken state, Arthur decided it was the only logical explanation for his predicament. "It's the groundhog's fault!" he shouted. "Bloody groundhog!"
"Wait, what?" Alfred held him back when he tried to pound his fists against the window. As Arthur struggled in the American's arms, everything suddenly tilted ninety degrees, leaving Arthur to stare at the darkness above... or was it below?
"The sky's on the ground!" he shouted, throwing his arms around Alfred's neck. The world was spinning and moving in a disorienting way. It was like ice-skating, but dizzier. Arthur rested his head against Alfred's chest and promptly lost his train of thought as he noticed the firm muscles beneath his hand. "Ooh, nice."
"Thanks! You're a lightweight, you know that?"
"I'm not!" Arthur protested. "I got toler... er... wossit..."
The muscles moved up and down as Alfred chuckled. "God, you're so hammered."
Arthur grinned and meant to ask if Alfred wanted to get nailed, but the words ended up as an indecipherable mumble as he buried his face into the delicious chest.
Not long afterward, the cold air changed to warmer surroundings. A woman's voice asked a couple of worried questions, but Arthur barely noticed as he cuddled against his cute American. Before he knew it, they were in his bedroom. Arthur grinned in satisfaction; the booze had worked! For once, he had successfully brought Alfred back to his room.
Before he knew it, he was reclining on the bed and Alfred had started the process of taking off his shoes. It was a good start, until Alfred wandered off to the bathroom and Arthur had to finish undressing himself. He barely managed to kick off his boxers when Alfred returned with a glass of water and a couple of pain killers.
The glass made a satisfying shattering noise as it hit the floor.
"Holy shi... is that a tattoo?" Alfred asked as his gaze dropped down to the sweet six-string inked on Arthur's hip.
"Do you like?" Arthur arched his back into the bed and rolled his hip to the side to give Alfred a better view. The tattoo artist had done a good job, even if Arthur didn't really remember how he got it. Like many of the most interesting parts of his life, it had happened while he was drunk.
The American must have been descended from the bloody puritans because he blushed and averted his gaze. He took off his own jacket and tossed it on top of Arthur.
Seeing a perfect opportunity to make the sweet lad blush even more, Arthur wrapped the sleeves of the jacket around his waist and climbed out of bed wearing the jacket like an apron. It was too bad Alfred wasn't going to remember it, because, judging by his wide eyes and red cheeks, he would never look at his jacket the same way again.
"Watch out, the glass!" Alfred shouted, leaping forward to push Arthur back onto the bed.
They landed together in a heap of limbs, with Arthur's legs draped over the edge of the bed and Alfred lying on top of him. Arthur smirked to feel a bulge pressing against his thigh. He had been starting to wonder if Alfred actually found him attractive. "Is that a woodchuck or are you ready to have a go?" he purred.
"No, I shouldn't," Alfred said, but he changed his tune to a lustful moan when Arthur bucked his hips upward. "Ahh."
Alfred ground their hips together and kissed him roughly. He abused the Englishman's lips until they were swollen and red all while Arthur happily tangled his fingers in the American's soft hair. What Alfred lacked in technique, he certainly made up for with enthusiasm. Eager to get on with it, Arthur slipped his hands down to Alfred's shirt and tried to pull it off, then grunted in frustration when Alfred pulled away.
Alfred wiped the saliva from his lips and gave Arthur a glum look. "No. You're drunk and you're leaving tomorrow."
"I'm not the one who leaves! You always leave!"
"What?" Alfred asked in confusion.
"Don't go," Arthur pleaded, feeling the tears well in his eyes. He couldn't bear it anymore. Each day they grew so close and each day Alfred slipped away. "Not again."
"I think you're thinking of someone else," Alfred replied gently.
"I'm not! It's you! It's always you!"
"Hey, hey, it's okay. You should go to sleep. You'll feel better in the morning." After a moment's pause, Alfred added, "Well, maybe more like the afternoon. I hope your flight ain't early."
"Not gonna leave," Arthur mumbled, finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. The rush of adrenaline from the kisses had rapidly faded, and now his body wanted to slumber. It felt like his body was drifting away from him.
"You're not?" Alfred asked with a hopeful tone.
"No." Arthur shook his head and closed his eyes as the ceiling started to spin. "Please stay with me." He barely noticed as Alfred moved him to a more comfortable position in the bed. Arthur sank into the pillow as Alfred pulled the blankets around him. A moment later, Arthur felt a dip in the bed as warm arms wrapped around him.
"Just until you fall asleep, okay?" Alfred promised.
Arthur nodded and curled up against the other man. Even the warmth couldn't change the hollow feeling in his chest. "Won't remember it anyway," he murmured. He wasn't sure if he meant Alfred or himself.
He fell asleep in Alfred's arms and woke up alone.
To Be Continued...
