As soon as they entered the backdoor of the speakeasy, the roar of music and conversation hit the detectives like a wave. Magnifique was packed, even more than a usual Friday night, and the air was thick with the smell of cigarettes and perfume.

"Ah, applesauce." Alfred muttered into Arthur's ear, trying to be heard over the music. "I dunno if we'll be able to get a table."

"Oh, don't you worry about that. Francis still owes me big time, the frog bastard can at least get us a good spot." Arthur grimaced when he said Francis' name. Alfred had always wondered how the two knew each other; whenever Arthur brought up the socialite it was always with a bitter tone. He knew they had known each other since they were teenagers, which he pieced together through all of Arthur's stories of his wilder days that sometimes involved Francis.

But the reason why Alfred kept wondering was he didn't know whether he should be jealous or not.

Alfred followed close to his friend's side as the two of them wandered through the crowds, Arthur's green eyes scanning the surroundings. Alfred wrenched his gaze away from the detective to look around himself. He'd never actually been to Magnifique before, and even all the dazzling stories he'd heard from his brother didn't amount to the chicness of the bar in person.

He was glad he'd worn his best suit, but even then he still felt underdressed. The women clutched glasses in shining dresses with ropes of pearls dripping off their necks, under the arms of wealthy men in expensive suits whose cologne seeped through the air. Dancers lined the stage, glittering as they swung their hips to the rhythm of the band. In front of them, couples were trying their hand at dancing to the fast paced music. Alfred looked on smiling, imagining Arthur and him pressed together, swaying to a slow song.

"Francis." Alfred looked over from the stage to see Arthur on the other side of him nod curtly at a dapper man with his golden hair tied back into a ponytail.

"Ah! Mon cher!" The infamous Francis cried, obviously more enthusiastic about seeing Arthur than Arthur felt. "So good to see you, old friend! Oh and you brought ton petit copain aussi!"

"Shut the fuck up, frog." Arthur glared at him, and Alfred wished he could understand French. He made a mental note to ask Matthew about that if he remembered. "We need a table."

"Oh, desolée, but it appears there's a line!"

"Listen, Francis. Need I remind you of the incident in Brooklyn?"

Alfred watched as the color drained from the Frenchman's face and Arthur smile smugly.

"Right, yes. One moment please! Angelique!" He waved over a dark skinned waitress, her curls held back by a silver band. "Donnés-vous le table a gauche de ces hommes. Et donnez ils leur intimité, ils sont amoureux."

"D'accord," She nodded, then smiled widely at a confused Alfred and a blushing Arthur. "Follow me boys!"

For the second time that night, Alfred wished he understood Francis Bonnefoy. Whatever he said to the waitress obviously involved Arthur, and made him blush. It could've been romantic, Francis could be hitting on Arthur!

But he took Spanish in high school, and from what he could connect from the similarities, Francis hadn't talked about himself.

"Here's your table, boys! Is there anything I can get you right away?" Their perky waitress Angelique piped as they reached a booth in a dark corner of the speakeasy.

"An Old Fashioned, if you please." Arthur said easily, waving away the list she held out.

"Uh, Cosmopolitan for me." Arthur replied after some thought.

"I'll be right out with those!" The girl chirped and bounced away, leaving the detectives alone.

"You've been looking awfully thoughtful tonight, Alfred." Arthur smirked, leaning across the table. "I thought you brought us here to, what were your words? Loosen up?"

"Artie, babe, when am I not loose?" Alfred laughed, enjoying the way Arthur flushed and pretended not to notice the term of endearment. "And this is the berries! Really a great change from sitting at home watching you stare at your evidence map until you pass out standing up."

"What? I've never done that!"

"Yeah you have," Alfred grinned. "I've just carried you to your bed every night."

Arthur turned bright red under his freckles and looked absolutely mortified, luckily, the waitress had chosen that exact moment to arrive with their drinks.

"Old Fashioned for you, and a Cosmopolitan for blue eyes over here."

"Thanks miss." Arthur said, smiling politely at the waitress, then back at Alfred. "Cheers, kid."

It didn't end after one drink, and as the two of them got progressively drunker, Arthur's eyes began to glaze over and Alfred's words began to be less inhibited.

"So, Artie." He slurred, taking another sip of his manhattan. "How do you know that Francis Bonnefoy anyways?"

"Oh, he was my step brother. Is? Maybe? Fuck if I know." Arthur laughed, at some point he had ended up sitting on the same side of the booth as Alfred and was pressing up very close to him. "My mum's second...or maybe third husband's son."

"Oh, so not like..." Alfred felt the tips of his ears grow hot. "Like an ex boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend?" Arthur snorted and drained the rest of his drink. "Please. He wishes. I may have taken out a few regrettable men, but Francis was never one of them."

Even in his booze-addled state, two dim light bulbs went off in Alfred's head.

One- Francis was not a threat.

Two- Arthur was like him, he liked men.

"Oh, well. That's, uh, good to know." He said, distracted by the fact that Arthur's hand was now resting on his thigh.

"So not my type." Arthur sighed, but then he fixed Alfred with an unreadable gaze. "Not that I really have a type but..."

"So if you did have a type," Alfred grinned drunkenly. "what would it be?"

"Hmm, well... I have a thing for blondes." Arthur's voice dropped into a husky whisper, and his finger began to trace circles on Alfred's leg. "And blue eyes."

Arthur was drunk, Arthur was so drunk. But so was Alfred, and right now neither of them cared about taboo, or the fact that any scandal could throw them under the bus.

"Really?" Alfred inquired, slipping his arm around Arthur's waist. "I think I'm a green eyes person myself."

"Hmm, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were flirting with me, Jones."

"We all know I'm the people reader, Kirkland." Alfred winked at Arthur, who in return leaned in close, pressing a sloppy whisper to his ear, making him shiver.

"Why don't me and you go dance? I saw you staring at the dancers earlier."

"Arthur, but we can't-"

"Oh please, this isn't any juice joint. No one here gives a damn, and those who do are too buzzed to notice." Arthur purred. "Come on, love. We didn't put on the ritz tonight not to have fun."

Alfred spent a moment in an Arthur-like vision of what if. He imagined making a fool of himself in front of Arthur, who sobered up and pushed him away. His love exposed, and "Alfred F. Jones: Homosexual Detective" was printed in black and white in the Times.

But on the other hand, Arthur was smiling at him, half-lidded eyes sparkling in the dim lighting and the music was starting to get more and more entrancing. Besides, he thought as he surveyed the dance floor, he saw two women leaning their heads together in a more than friendly manner.

"Ah, applesauce. I don't see why not! Come on darlin!" He said, springing to his feet and pulling Arthur along by the hand.

They pushed excitedly through the glittering patrons and smiling cigarette girls to the golden lit space in front of the stage.

"Well, Artie, I'm not exactly a great dancer but..."Alfred, began but was cut off when Arthur pulled him close and clasped his hand.

"Then I'll lead, doll face." Arthur drawled, the words sounding sounding promising and dangerous in his accent. "Just don't step on my feet."

True to his word, Arthur pulled Alfred close by his waist and spun him under his arm, leading him into a smooth and graceful dance, perfectly in time with the roar of the jazz music.

"Where'd you learn to dance like this?" Alfred asked, his face so close to Arthur's that it would be so easy to close the distance between them.

"I'm not as stuffy as you like to believe." Arthur smirked in response, throwing Alfred into a dip, and the younger detective panicked at the sudden motion. "And I won't drop you, either."

They swept around the floor, paying no attention to the odd glances from the surrounding couples, nor did they notice Francis quietly observing them from behind the bar, tucking a wad of the day's stolen cash into his pocket.

"I love this song!" Alfred laughed, far past tipsy. "Really love it...'S Benny Goodman I think."

Arthur just smiled at him and brought Alfred into one last dip as the song ended. Alfred stared up at Arthur, his cheeks flushed and his lips parted, his golden hair a mess that Alfred wanted to thread his fingers through.

"One more dance?" He asked as the band struck up a slower tune and one of the dancers started crooning into the microphone. He didn't quite want to let go of Arthur yet.

"I don't see why not," Arthur replied, sweeping Alfred back upright and shifting so his arms were wrapped around his waist. "Slower songs are easier, I'm sure you can manage this one."

Alfred draped his arms around Arthur's neck, and all he could think about was how pretty Arthur's eyes were and how much he wanted to kiss him. Honestly, the Vargas brothers could show up and shoot up the whole place and the two of them would be too inebriated and too enamored to even notice.

When the song ended, Arthur slumped in Alfred's arms, yawning.

"Let's go home, Alfie." He mumbled into his ear. " 'm fucking tired as shit, love."

"Yeah," Alfred said, realizing just how tired he was and leading Arthur back to their table. "I'll drive home, you... you're so wasted!"

"No, you bloody idiot, I'm barely drunk! I'll drive!"

"Pardon, but I won't have either of you two drive, there's no way I'm letting you out on those roads." Francis suddenly appeared, slamming his hand down on the table, startling both of them. "If two prominent detectives die from driving drunk, they will absolutely trace it back to me."

"Fine." Arthur sighed. "Then what do you suggest we do, genius?"

"Well, I have a spare bedroom in my apartment upstairs, I'd be happy to lend it to you tonight."

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"Why are you being so nice?"

"Arthur, mon cher, we are friends, no? I do not wish to see you dead, much less your pretty little one, here." Alfred bristled when Francis winked at him, but all the same Arthur nodded and asked for Francis to bring them up.

The duo followed Francis through a door behind the bar and up a darkened staircase to a corridor bordered on either side by doors.

"This one closest to the stairs is yours." He gestured. "When you wake up go right back down the stairs. Don't you dare go exploring. I have guests."

"You can't mean-disgusting Francis, as usual." Arthur scoffed.

"Well, what's the point of a speakeasy if you have to drive all the way home with your conquest? That's what's made my joint so popular!"

"Am I your conquest, baby?" Alfred whispered to Arthur, who turned bright red and stumbled to the door of their room.

"Alright, um." Arthur stuttered. "We're going to go. Bye."

Alfred, who had been leaning on the door fell in when Arthur shoved it open. The room was fashionably furnished, but there was one glaring feature.

Only one bed, but fortunately, the two of them were too drunk to care.

Alfred immediately shrugged off his suit jacket, letting it crumple to the floor, and flopped onto the bed.

"Aw, man, Artie! This bed is so comfy, come check it out!" He called out to Arthur, who came to sit down beside him on the huge feather bed. "And look at all these pillows!"

"Y-" Arthur started while removing his own jacket and tie, but was cut short when Alfred hit him square in the face with a pillow.

"Bastard!" He cried and reached for another pillow as Alfred snickered.

"You should have seen your f-" Arthur extracted his revenge by throwing his pillow into the American's face.

"Oh, so that's how you want to play?" Alfred said, his blue eyes twinkling manically, as he launched another pillow at Arthur, who caught it and threw it to the ground, opting instead to pounce on Alfred, pinning him to the bed.

"Surrender, Alfie?" He smirked, but Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur's smaller frame and flipped him over.

"Never give up." Alfred smiled sweetly, straddling Arthur's hips. "Didn't ya tell me that?"

"Mm..." Arthur said, his eyelids drooping. "Alfred, be a dear and turn out the lights."

Alfred obeyed, wandering to the other side of the room to reach the lightswitch by the doorhandle.

"What the hell," Alfred mused, rattling the doorknob. "why'd your friend lock us in?"

"Jus' get the fucking light, Alfred." He heard Arthur groan from the bed.

Alfred frowned. If his head didn't feel so damn fuzzy, he might've been able to think back to any details about Francis that seemed odd. But try as he might, he couldn't remember anything about that night but the smell of Arthur's cologne and how strong his arms felt.

He shrugged and flicked the lights off, stumbling his way back to bed.

"Arthur?"

"The bed's over here, idiot." Alfred reached out and finally grasped the edge of the bed and pulled back the sheets.

"Why is it so damn dark?" He whined, pulling the covers up to his chin and turning to face where he assumed Arthur was.

"You turned out the fucking lights." He heard Arthur mutter, then felt arms pull him close to the other man. "G'night bastard."

"Night." He yawned. "You're real cute, you know that? A choice bit o' calico, babe."

"You too, bastard. Now sleep. 'M fucking tired."

XxXxX

The money had been divided between the four of them, with an extra pile for Francis, and the gin half gone when the phone rang. Lovino, the closest to the phone, groaned and pushed himself off the floor and away from the warm embrace of Antonio to pick it up.

"Ciao? Who is this?" He asked, holding the phone to his ear.

"Hey Lovi!" Lovino could recognize that voice anywhere. He pursed his lips, sending a look at Antonio as he replied coldly.

"Matthias."

"Heard you guys were up to some nasty things today! Is your alcohol business going downhill? Need a little extra cash?"

"We're doing fine, actually, you pig-headed asshole." Lovino said, grabbing the phone receiver off the table so he could return to his seat next to Antonio. "No thanks to you, apparently. I've heard you've been coming onto our territory lately. Trouble in Queens?"

"Plenty of business. Your customers just seem to be... richer. We like richer over here."

"And we like people who know their fucking place. Stay in Queens. Unless you think your little Norwegian boyfriend would look good with a bullet between his eyes." Lovino let himself flop down so he was laying across Antonio's lap. Antonio smiled down at him and gently began brushing Lovino's hair with his fingers.

"No need to be so violent. We can settle this like gentlemen. It's not like we're taking a lot of business from you. And from your recent bank heists, I figured you'd be rolling in dough. Couldn't you allow us just a few of your customers, lower end ones even?"

"I didn't get to where I am from being fucking generous, Kohler. So keep your stupid ass in Queens and you'll live to see another day."

With that, he hung up the phone and sighed as he relaxed back into Antonio.

"Fucking asshole." He muttered, closing his eyes.

"Aw, Lovi, do you wanna go to bed?"

Lovino moaned, placing his hands over his face.

"Si." He said finally, sitting up. Antonio smiled and helped him to his feet, wrapping an arm around his waist and giving a little wave the Feliciano and Gilbert as he led him to their bedroom.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Lovino wrapped his arms around Antonio's waist and buried his head his his shoulder.

"I hate those Scandinavian dickbags."

"I know, mi amor." Antonio said, hugging Lovino tightly. Lovino grunted and pulled away.

"Don't try to speak Italian. You're shit at it."

"I- That was Spanish."

"What's the difference?" Lovino asked, a cocky smile spreading across his lips. Antonio smiled and pressed a kiss to Lovino's lips, something that still made both their hearts flutter. Antonio pulled away, gently brushing a few strands of hair away from Lovino's face.

"Hey Lovi... We're criminals, right?"

Lovino rolled his eyes.

"Tonio, we robbed a bank today. Even you should be able to figure that one out."

"No," Antonio laughed, "I mean we don't follow the rules. So... um... we aren't allowed to get married. But," He reached into the pocket of his shirt and produced a golden ring. "I was wondering if you'd want to anyway?"

Lovino stared at the ring, then at Antonio, then down at his feet.

"Lov-"

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes, I'll marry you, you fucking idiot." Lovino said, raising his eyes to Antonio's. Antonio was struck speechless by the look on Lovi's face. He had the gentlest and most genuine smile Antonio had ever seen on him and his eyes were wet with happy tears.

"Lovi," Antonio said softly, "You're crying."

Lovino laughed.

"So are you, stupid."

Antonio reached up and touched the corner of his eye. He let out a half laugh, half sob.

"Yes I am." He gently took Lovi's hand in his and placed the ring onto his finger. Lovi stared at it a moment then frowned.

"Don't you have to have one too?"

"Oh! I forgot!" He fished into his pants pocket and produced a second gold ring. "Would you do the honors?"

Lovino took the ring from Antonio and pushed it onto his finger.

"There." Lovino smiled. Antonio felt tears coming into his eyes again, so rather than standing there like an idiot and letting them fall, he pulled Lovino into another kiss.

A loud rapping on the door made them both pull back.

"Hey, Tonio! You ask him yet?!" Gilbert shouted from the other side of the door. Antonio shook his head with an exasperated smile.

"Yeah, Gil!" He called back, not taking his eyes off of Lovi.

"And?!"

"I said yes dumbass! Leave us alone if you want to have a face tomorrow!" Lovino shouted, blushing furiously, but still smiling. Antonio's heart could have melted.

Lovino wrapped his fingers around Antonio's tie, pulling him down and pressing their lips together once more. They began to stumble their way over to the bed, but right as they were about to fall down onto it, there was another knock at the door. Lovino sighed in frustration and stepped back, his hands still lingering on Antonio's chest.

"Deal with your idiot friends. I'm gonna take a shower."

"My friends? How do you know it's not-"

"Ohonhonhon. Tonio~"

"Fine. What is it Francis?" Antonio called, watching regretfully as his future husband disappeared into the bathroom. Francis cracked the door open, peeking his head in with a hand over his eyes.

"Is it safe?"

"I can see you peeking."

"Oui, so I am." Francis replied, taking his hand from his face, "But I don't see your little Italian in here."

"He's in the shower. What do you want?"

"Oh! Right! Those detectives downstairs-"

Antonio rolled his eyes.

"Are they still drooling on each other?"

"When I left they were getting up to dance," Francis giggled, "But that's not why I came up. They're both pretty drunk, I can't let them drive home."

"What are you saying?"

"I have to offer them a room."

Antonio stared at him in disbelief.

"Francis. Lovi's here. Feli's here. I'm here. Gil's here. We're all here tonight. And you want the two people who are hunting us down to sleep across the hall? No way!"

"Come on, Toni! He's my step brother, I can't let him die in a drunk driving accident!"

"What's Lovi going to say about it?"

"What am I going to say about what?" Lovino asked, stepping out of the bathroom wearing pin-striped pajama bottoms and rubbing his damp hair with a towel.

"Ah, you see, petit homme, Detectives Kirkland and Jones are downstairs and they are, you might say, half-seas over. As you know, Detective Kirkland and I are half brothers-"

"You just said step brothers."

"Something like that. In either case, I can't let him die in a car crash caused by him and his intoxicated lover. So I was going to put them up for the night."

"Here?"

"Oui."

"Tonight?"

"Oui."

"Are you fucking insane?"

"I'll lock them in a room. I'll have them leave first thing in the morning. They'll never know."

Lovino plopped down onto his bed, running a hand through his wet hair.

"And... What am I getting out of this?" He asked slowly, an idea forming in his head.

"I-"

"Tell you what," He said, leaning forward, "They can stay. You lock them in the room, get them out in the morning, whatever. But. You make sure they're in a room with one bed. And I want a picture."

"A picture?"

"Let's call it a... get out of jail free card. Just in case."

Francis smiled and nodded.

"I can do that." He turned to go, pausing as he opened the door. "Oh, and felicitations."

"So," Antonio said, as the door clicked shut behind Francis, "Should we pick up where we left off?"