Chapter 10: Bed

A/N- I AM SO SOORY FOR THE WAIT. I had tests and a cold and ugh I feel bad now.

Oh, I'm not pregnant-! I can't even get a boyfriend, let alone a baby...Not that I really want either at the 'mo... I'm a bit young...well, for a bay anyway- But on the boyfriend front I think I'm just FOREVER ALONE.

THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS AGDASGDHSGFJSDHG

THANKYOU EVERYONE AND I LOVE YOU TO PIECES, NEVER STOP BEING AWESOME

Tl;Dr I'm sorry for the wait...I love you.

Watching a horror movie after Mean Girls was a horrible idea, really.

Alfred was known for over-reacting when it came to stuff like that; like climbing through Arthur's window at 2AM, or breaking into the Brit's house or-

In all honesty, the American only really went to the Brit for comfort, which was quite sweet, but a little bit creeper-ish at the same time. Arthur had once- a long time ago (or was it only two years ago? My, time flies) resorted to locking every possible entry to the house, but he had given up doing that after when he saw Alfred after the American's failed trespassing attempts, he always looked really down and tired. Arthur had felt sorry for him.

he didn't feel so sorry for the American now...

The Brit suddenly wished he was anywhere, anywhere but Alfred's bed- because not only was it hard to keep his hands to himself, but it was pretty bad knowing that Alfred was sound asleep while he was not. He had also never done this before- sleep in a bed with Alfred. They had slept on a couch together, and the floor, and once a kitchen counter, but never-NEVER- in a bed.

It was pretty intimate.

The second the word 'intimate' flooded Arthur's brain, he flushed madly, and thought of Francis's sex-talk, and the sombrero...the Brit's

hands flew to his face, and covered the heated skin in the dark.

Arthur felt horrible for thinking about Alfred in this way (even though the American had already openly confessed to thinking about Arthur this way) and- oh my god- He kind of wanted to run his hands across the American's torso, and down to-

Arthur gave a quiet gasp, and sat up abruptly, catching sight of the clock on Alfred's bedside table- it was just past half-three in the morning. Arthut groaned and rubbed his eyes. He turned to face the American.

"It's your fault" The Brit whispered. "I just can't sleep next to y- oh!"

Alfred's eyes had snapped open.

"You were faking sleep too?" He inquired, stretching leisurely.

"I-I...Yes..." Arthur mumbled, and lay awkwardly back down, not quite sure if he was meant to leave or not.

The dilemma was solved once Alfred rolled closer to him, and flung an arm round the Brit's waist, and snuggled his face into Arthur's neck.

The Brit squeaked in a very manly(Arthur told himself) way, and then relaxed into the intoxicating heat that radiated from Alfreds (extremely close) body.

"I wish I'd done this six hours ago" Alfred murmured into Arthur's ear "That way we would've both been fast asleep by now..."

Alfred's voice trailed off softly, and like clockwork, Arthur too felt sleep engulf him.

He expected to wake up feeling headachy and tired, but instead the Brit woke surprisingly chipper- a rarity, even when he'd had a full nights sleep. Arthur credited this to Alfred, who was still snuggled up to him and snoozing steadily.

Arthur shifted, and rolled over so he was facing Alfred, and promptly snuggled into the taller man's bare chest and inhaled the musky, sweet scent that made him slightly lightheaded, He was in a strangely huggy mood, it seemed.

Alfred gave a sleepy groan, and removed his hand that was curled round Arthur's waist to rub his eyes. He looked down at the brit with hazy orbs of blue and a sweet smile.

"Morning" He murmured softly, hugging the Brit firmly to his chest, and kissing atop his head. Arthur murmured in incoherent approval.

After a few minutes of snuggling, Arthur tilted his head, so he could kiss Alfred on the lips.

The American eagerlt returned it, and soon the had rolled over so that Alfred hovered above the Brit, leaning on his elbows and assaulting the Brit's lips with his own.

After a few minutes of fervent making out (that Arthur knew he'd regret a bit later- he barely understood his feelings as it was. He really didn't need an impromptu make-out session complicating things further)

Alfred eventually pulled away, making Arthur want to whine at the loss of contact.
"I'm gonna go make toast" The American said, breathless "I'm starving."

He jumped off Arthur and too his feet in one fluid movement, and rocked back on his heels to admire Arthur, who was lay back, blushing, with swollen lips and love bites adorning his neck.

Alfred whistled lowly "I wish I had a camera...God, Artie..."

"Don't call me that." Arthur grumbled, and swung himself up, and his legs off the end of the bed- if he didn't feel tired when he woke up, he sure did now.

Alfred had already raced downstairs, and Arthur could hear him pottering about in the kitchen.

'Really'The Brit thought, as he grabbed Alfred's dressing gown from where it hung around the bedpost and slung it around himself 'That man and his stomach'

The sound of the toaster being popped up and the kettle boiling greeted Arthur when he reached the kitchen.

Watching Alfred's bare, muscled back, work on buttering the toast did funny things to Arthur, as did wearing Alfred's dressing gown; it gave him a funny, fluttery feeling in his stomach.

He couldn't decide if he liked it or not.

Then Alfred turned to grin at him, his face illuminated by the sunlight that streamed though the gaps in the blinds.

And Arthur decided that the funny feeling was worth it, if it came in a package with Alfred.