OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD I love you people so much. I got favorites and reviews and alerts and I'm still on a happy high! This happy high will carry me into gym class tomorrow, until I have to actually start doing stuff, because physical activity that doesn't involve a pen or a keyboard is my enemy. But anyway. Thank you all again!

Title: Postprandial

Pairing: USUK. No really. I'm serious.

Rating: T, for safety

Genre(s): Romance, Humor, a slight bit of Angst at the beginning

Dedications: AlchemicKeyblader and Lovely Hikari, who gave me awesome reviews that made me giggle with happiness. And of course, everyone else who favorited and alerted.

Inspiration: The word 'postprandial', which means 'after dinner'. Just hearing it made me think of some very special postprandial activities, and it evolved into this.

Warnings: Arthur's cooking, Tony's mouth, and the disgusting inhalation of cakes.

Summary: They haven't been eating dinner together very often lately, and they're both getting lonely. So Alfred goes to Arthur's to surprise him, and the result is much more than just a friendly dinner.

They didn't eat dinner together very often lately. Alfred refused to let Arthur cook in his kitchen, fearing toxic fumes, and Arthur hated McDonald's with a burning passion, and, as it was all Alfred would eat nowadays, that was certainly a problem.

However, seeing each other at meetings only was proving to be a bad idea. Even when they were apart, Arthur found himself going out of his way to do things for Alfred, only to realize he wasn't there, as a force of habit from when they were closer. And without his very best friend, Alfred found himself feeling lonely, so lonely that not even the combined efforts of Tony and Kiku could cheer him up.

But, being the hero he was, Alfred knew he had to accept the loneliness. What if Arthur got hurt if he was with him? Tony and Kiku didn't understand that, though, and the alien was constantly shouting at him to take some Mickey D's to the over to the fucking limey's house and eat dinner with him. He even invaded Alfred's dreams, and by that point was just annoying. So, he picked up several Big Macs for himself and headed to the Brit's house in London.

Arthur was surprised, to say the least, and, being the tsundere he was, blushed furiously and yelled at Alfred for coming over uninvited, now he'd have to make extra dinner and set another place! Alfred paled considerably and made it quite clear that Arthur would not have to cook anything for him, it was quite alright, please please please you don't have to go to all that trouble, it's fine!

Finally, after some very thorough convincing, Alfred awkwardly took his seat at one end of the table, directly across from Arthur. The American wrinkled his nose. That table was way too long for anything, he decided, especially a dinner between two best friends. He huffed and moved his chair as close to Arthur as he could, at the other end of the table, a corner in his way of the Brit. Happy with this new arrangement, he started to shove Big Macs into his Big Mac hole.

After that, dinner was unusually silent. Alfred was usually the one to chatter incessantly about everything and absolutely nothing at all, but it seemed he was too focused on his food for that. Arthur had never been great at making conversation—it was never a skill he'd really needed. After all, his only friends were Alfred, Francis, and Kiku. The first two always started the talking, and Kiku preferred silence to mindless talking, which had always suited Arthur just fine. But now, the silence was suffocating.

The American was too lost in thought to speak with the Englishman. He tended to stay away from thinking most of the time, as it unnecessarily dangerous business, but this matter was urgent, and safety was not his priority.

What was he thinking? you may inquire. Why are you guessing what we're inquiring? you may ask. Well, as you may have guessed, it was the Englishman he was sitting just a foot or so away from. When did his eyes start to gleam like old bottles of Coke? Did his cheeks always tint that (attractive) pink shade when he was spoken to? Did his fingers used to tremble like that when he did normal things like bring his fork to his mouth?

In a rare burst of intelligence, Alfred realized that maybe asking Arthur these things wouldn't be the smartest thing to do. So, to make sure he didn't accidentally blurt them out, he didn't speak at all.

It wasn't like Arthur didn't appreciate the American's silence, but it was a little unsettling, at least for Alfred. He himself didn't say anything until the end of the meal, when he rose from his chair. "I've got some cakes, would you like some?" he asked politely.

"N-No, that's fine, I mean, I'm sure they're delicious, but the cakes you like to bake often give me gas and severe digestive problems and—"

"Oh, sod off, I bought them earlier today. Didn't have time to make my own…" he muttered sadly. Alfred perked up.

"Oh, well, in that case, I'd love some!" he replied cheerfully. Arthur rolled his eyes, then disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he emerged with two small plates and forks in one hand and a white paper box in the other. He gave Alfred his plate and fork, then set his own down, and started passing out cakes. Alfred took a bite and grinned.

"This is really good, Iggy!" he said with difficulty in mid-swallow. "Who knew someone English could cook so good?" He started shoving more into his mouth.

"Chew your food, git!" shouted Arthur. Alfred just closed his eyes in content and kept eating. "Bloody fool…" He reached for one of his own cakes, only to discover Alfred had already worked through those as well. "Ah—"

"Oh, sorry, Ig! They were just so good! I couldn't resist." Alfred smirked devilishly, and Arthur blushed.

"W-Well you still had no right to take them, stupid wanker!" retorted Arthur. Alfred just laughed. "I didn't even get to taste them…" he mumbled sadly. Alfred's smile did a total 180. Suddenly, a thought struck him, and it flipped back up again.

"Still want to?" he asked softly, slowly inching towards Arthur, who was slowly inching away.

"W-What? What do you mean?"

Alfred, not being the sharpest crayon in the 64-pack (even if it did have a sharpener, which it did), couldn't come up with a response sexier than a wet, sloppy kiss on the mouth. And as the hero always does the sexiest thing (in)humanly possible…

Well, that opened up some very exciting postprandial activities.

AN: So this one wasn't as good as the other one. I'm sorry…*hangs head in shame* But it was either this or something super angsty. So, you take your pick. Of course, the chances of the next one being super angsty are about 147%, so brace yourselves. The only way it won't be is if I manage to write one that isn't angsty in the space of now to tomorrow when I'm typing it up. So.

Thanks again for all of the reviews! I like getting those, if you hadn't noticed. And please vote on my poll! Like I said last chapter, it doesn't refer to this, it's referring to something much more confusing and sad…but don't let that get you down. If you want more information, just message me!

Thanks again!