"Left or right?" Francis asked as they came to a stop light.

Arthur lolled his head over to look at Francis in the driver's seat. The French man seemed irritated, and Arthur had a hunch why, but his mind was foggy and continually slipped in and out of coherent thought.

"Arthur! Do we go left or right?" Francis repeated, turning to look at the drunken man in his passenger seat.

"A left…" Arthur drawled and pointed towards the correct direction.

Francis managed to pry the last few directions out of Arthur with some difficulty (he hadn't realized how easy it was to intoxicate the Brit; he'd have to remember that for future reference…) and managed to arrive to the Englishman's apartment complex safely. Francis parked the car, got out and went over to Arthur's side of the car. He opened the door and reached over Arthur.

"Don't squirm!" Francis hissed as fiddled with the seat buckle.

However, in his dazed mind, Arthur hadn't heard the command and continued to try and scoot away from the French man (who had suddenly become too close for comfort) only to be confined by some evil force. Oh. Oh yeah. He was wearing his seat belt. Had he been the one to buckle himself in? He didn't remember putting it on.

"Had I known you would have caused this much trouble, I wouldn't have bothered with the seat belt…" Francis muttered as he held Arthur's wrists in one of his hands.

Oh, so that was how the offending restraint found itself strapped across Arthur's chest. Hold on; was the Frenchman really able trap both of his wrists in one hand? Arthur stopped pondering his tiny wrists when he heard Francis heave a sigh. He had managed to finally unclick the seatbelt and he began carefully pulling Arthur out of the car. Arthur gathered enough sense not to fight the man and allowed Francis to help him out of the car.

Francis firmly wrapped his arm around Arthur's waist then slung Arthur's arm over his shoulders (which was awkward because of the height difference, but at least it steadied the Brit). They walked, albeit unsteadily, in the direction of Arthur's apartment. Francis was thankful that he lived on the first level and there were no stairs to climb.

"Give me your keys." Francis commanded, holding out his hand expectantly.

Arthur used his free hand to dig through his pockets and pulled out his key chain. He then handed them to Francis without any argument. Francis opened the door and led the drunken Brit inside.

He first sat Arthur down on the old sofa and commanded him to stay, and then he made his way into the kitchen. Francis couldn't help but pity the Briton; he lived in such small, scarcely decorated living space compared to Francis' lavish pent house in uptown New York (not to mention his real home back in France…)

The Frenchman didn't dwell on the living space long as his new train of thought consisted of finding food to give to the Brit in the den. Francis felt he responsible for making sure Arthur didn't wake up with too bad of a hangover; it was somewhat his fault… He opened the pantry door only to be greeted by a few canned fruits and vegetables. He tried the cupboards and only found some cereal and several (too many in Francis' opinion) boxes of tea. He finally found a quarter of loaf of bread and decided a sandwich would make a decent snack for the man on the couch.

He opened the fridge and frowned. It contained some leftovers, however, Francis wasn't even sure if they were edible; some of the contents looked like they would come to life and slither off if the lid was removed. Francis didn't hesitate to throw them out; Arthur could thank him later.

Francis grew more frustrated as he continued to scan the contents (or lack thereof) in the fridge. The man had no deli meat, no salad ingredients, nothing! How did he survive?! Francis went to slam the fridge door when he heard a clink. He looked in the door and recognized the familiar green bottle.

Gingerly, Francis removed the unopened bottle of wine that he had given to Arthur as a present. He smiled; he was glad that at least the Brit knew that the wine was best chilled, but he needed food, not more alcohol. However, Francis set the wine on the counter… just in case.

He then opened the freezer and exhaled a sigh of relief. Within the icy box were plenty of frozen dinners and though Francis would almost never stoop to eating something that was so processed, he decided it was his best and, consequently, only option. He pulled out two of the most appetizing sounding, rock-hard meals and prepared them in the microwave. When finished, he found Arthur's silverware and plates and scooped the contents from their plastic containers onto a plate. Maybe if they are on a plate, he thought, I won't feel like gagging after the first bite… He then pulled out two wine glasses; if Arthur was already drunk, then one more glass couldn't hurt.

Francis set the table then went back into the den to fetch Arthur, who had fallen asleep in a semi-upright position on the couch. The Frenchman took that time to study the sleeping Brit: his slim figure, narrow hips, and porcelain skin. He had a messy mop of blonde hair, but it made him seem edgy. The only flaw were those eyebrows… Francis made a note to convince him to get them trimmed.

He gently shook Arthur, who bolted upright proclaiming, "I'm awake! I'm awake!"

Francis chuckled at the display and took him by the arm then hoisted him off the old sofa and into the kitchen. Arthur looked at the food on the plate with dull confusion before deciding it wasn't worth the effort to figure out how Francis had managed to arrange a meal; he hadn't been the grocery in some time and usually went out. He had tried cooking several times, but his landlord threatened to evict him if he tried cooking one last time…

The two ate in silence. Arthur hadn't realized how hungry he had been and tried his best not to shovel the food into his mouth. He eyed the glass of wine cautiously before taking a sip. He nodded appreciatively after he took the glass away from his lips; the blend was exquisite and Arthur didn't even really like wine.

"Do you like it?" Francis asked eager to hear Arthur's response.

Arthur nodded, "Tell your brother it's very good. I don't even like wine."

Francis seemed to glow with delight, "Bon! I will be sure to tell him!"

Arthur smiled slightly; the kind of smile that seems genuine even if the one giving it is more than slightly intoxicated. Francis couldn't help but feel his heart melt at the sight. Arthur raised the glass to his lips again, and the Frenchman watched eagerly as perfectly smooth lips sipped the dark red liquid from cool, clear glass. Francis placed his elbows on the table and laced his fingers, then rested his chin on his hands and contently observed Arthur. It was interesting how different the man was when his mind was clouded with alcohol. The man Francis had hired was straight-laced and no fun and he appeared to be an introverted bookworm. Yet the man in front of him was completely at ease and oblivious.

"What are you staring at?" Arthur pondered aloud between bites, one magnificent eyebrow raised.

Perhaps he isn't oblivious… Francis thought at he composed a reply, "Oh nothing," he said, sipping at his wine with a smirk, "just admiring the color of your cheeks…"

At this, Arthur's face immediately darkened into a rosy plum color beautifully accenting his wide, confused emerald eyes. Francis chortled as Arthur desperately sputtered and scrambled for an intelligible response. However, the more he tried to redeem himself, the more flustered and unsure he became until he finally gave up with Francis laughing all the while.

"Don't patronize me, frog!" Arthur finally spat, his emerald eyes burning with humiliation and inebriation.

"And how do you plan to stop me, mon ami?" Francis asked, a hint of challenge laced his tone.

Arthur took the bait and his eyes narrowed as he tried to stand. Francis couldn't help but chuckle at the shorter man's attempt to look intimidating, yet he knew it probably wouldn't be the best idea to feed Arthur's growing frustrations. With a sigh of resignation, he stood and held his hands up in surrender.

"I see you're getting cranky, mon cher, so I believe it's time for bed." Francis stated.

Arthur seemed unsure for a moment, too slowed by his current alcohol levels to comprehend the quick change in atmosphere. He didn't resist when Francis took him by the arm and gently led him to his room.

"Shoes off." Francis ordered.

Arthur obeyed and fumbled with his laces until he was finally able to kick his shoes off. Francis then helped him shrug out of his coat. Francis then gently pushed him down onto the bed and pulled the blankets over him.

"Get some sleep this weekend. I expect to see you at work bright and early ce lundi matin!" Francis purred with a wink.

Arthur nodded slightly before a yawn escaped his lips and his eyes slid closed. Francis smiled slightly as he watched Arthur's face become peaceful as he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep. Quickly and quietly, he slipped out of the apartment and into his car. As he drove down the empty, dark streets in his sleek, royal blue, imported sports car, he imagined all the ways he could tease Arthur about the night the following Monday… and how he could make it happen more often.

Author's Note

Well it's been quite some time hasn't it my lovely readers? Yet here is a new chapter just in time for the New Year. I would say my resolution is to try to write more, but I would be lying because I'm about to start my second semester of college and sometimes my writing gets pushed back because of homework, writing blocks, and of course the occasional party.

I'm sorry if you believed this was a dead story and then realized it wasn't and were excited because I updated but now you are disappointed that it wasn't a very exciting chapter. I've been in and out of the fandom lately because I rediscovered how fucking awesome Transformers is. *huge deep breath* And that has been my life so far.

Again, I apologize for the long span between updates. I am a terrible person.