"Well, wasn't that fun?" Alfred scoffed, as he and Braginski traveled down the corridor back to their room. "You two just can't get along, can you?"

"I thought it was pleasant." Crooned his armless companion, smirking.

Jones glanced over at him, unamused. He opened to room door and Ivan walked inside.

"Please, keep the crazy down to a minium tomorrow."

"Da." Sighed Braginski.

Alfred shut the door behind himself and un-pinned Ivan's jacket from his shoulders, placing it on the back of the desk chair. The man had a distinct scent that he had become accustom to. A mixture of musky wood and fermented peach. He reared back around and undid the buttons of Braginski's shirt, revealing his sunken abdomen. It caused Alfred's full stomach to turn.

Ivan sat on the mattress, kicking off his shoes.

" I do not trust Kirkland. I have been keeping eye on him, he is lying about his trip and I do not be knowing why."

"Maybe he just doesn't like you enough to tell you the truth." Yawned Alfred, sitting next to him. "I will ask him in private before he leaves."

"Do you trust me, Alfred?"

Alfred snorted.

"Do you trust me?" He asked, glaring over at Ivan.

There was silence.

"Alfred." Ivan spoke, near whisper. "Bring me a glass of milk and a piece of bread, please."

Alfred turned to the Russian in surprise. The elder man's gaze was transfixed to the rug, face sullen. Without a word, the youth stood and hurried off to retrieve his request. The dining table luckily had yet to be cleared. With haste, he poured a tall glass of milk. A wine colored napkin covered a brass bowl filled with plump dinner rolls.

"Still hungry?"

The voice startled Alfred, his outstretched hand frozen. Kirkland approached closer, smoothing the crochet table cloth with his finger tips.

"Mr. Kirkland." Sighed Alfred, calming. He dropped his arm.

"Did I give you a fright?" Asked the Englishman with a slight grin. "Also, is it so difficult to call me Arthur?"

"Huh, s-sorry."

Green eyes flashed to the bowl.

"Would you like those to be warmed?"

"No, its fine."

"Are you sure?"

Arthur took another step towards him. It was then, Alfred, noticed the man was intoxicated. His speech slurred and using the table for balance.

"Sir, uh, A-Arthur, I think you've drunken too much."

The drunk fell forward clinging to the other's shirt causing a button to pop off onto the floor. Kirkland laughed and peered upwards, the alcohol on his breath tinging Alfred's nose.

"You are a handsome young man." Spoke Arthur, a friendly hand finding its way to Jones' face. He rubbed his thumb over the youth's cheekbone in admiration. "Kiss me."

"I-I must return to my room."

Alfred pushed the man away, blushing. He snatched a roll and the glass of milk, nearly splashing the contents out as he made a hasty retreat. Ivan was sprawled out on his mattress, sitting up when his flustered comrade entered. The Russian observed him for a short moment.

"What did he do?"

"What?" Said Jones abruptly. "N-nothing! Who? Don't, worry bout it, just, here."

He placed the glass to Ivan's lips.

His mauve eyes closed as he took a small sip of the sweet liquid. With that, Braginski could not restrain himself. Greedily he gulped down every last drop til he licked at the rim as it was pulled away, yearning for more. Ivan's eyes flashed open, face hot with embarrassment. Alfred said nothing. Emotionless, as he broke off a piece of beard and held it in place of the glass. It was quickly devoured.

A lump sat in the Russian's throat. Ashy hair covering the shame. He searched for words to say, but, none were suited. Stomach full, the taste still lingering, he sat in silence.

Alfred stood and put out the desk light. He dropped his trousers getting into bed.