God damn it.

Keep it cool, Al. Don't let it get to you.

Easier said than done. It was irrationally difficult to stay on his own side of the table all of a sudden, and he was starting to feel uncomfortably warm. He wasn't hungry, though, which was good because otherwise he really wouldn't have been able to hold back all the comments running through his head. Hunger was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now.

On the other hand, Alfred wouldn't have minded dealing with the Brit sitting only a foot and a half away. Especially the little smirk dancing around the corner of that teasing mouth. He'd made the right choice in giving Arthur control of their date—the amusement in his emerald eyes made that obvious. Arthur liked being the boss and if Alfred was perfectly honest with himself then he couldn't deny that he liked it, too.

I'd let him order me around.

Yes. Yes, he would. Arthur would probably be fantastic—he could easily picture the golden blond hair pushed back out of his eyes, a cruel, sexy smirk curving his lips as he grabbed Alfred's hair and pulled his head back so their eyes met.

"Alfred."

Shit.

The warning tone Arthur had used put a guilty look on Alfred's face through he did his best to smile at the Brit. "Yeah?"

Arthur was staring at him with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smile. "What were you thinking about, just now?"

Letting you put a collar on me so I can do some really nasty things to you.

"Nothing," the bespectacled man lied smoothly, slipping into a calm, confident posture and expression. "I was just spacing off."

The eyebrow went higher. "Am I boring you?"

"'Course not, sugar." Flawlessly, Alfred shifted his accent from ambiguous American to a deep southern drawl. To his amusement, Arthur's face turned red and it looked like he was biting the inside of his lower lip or his tongue. Alfred decided to push his luck and winked at the other man. "I jes' got lost in yer purdy eyes."

Arthur looked away, his face practically flaming as he took a long drink of his ice water. It was funny to see the Englishman that had been teasing him only a few minutes ago so flustered just because of his accent.

"Somethin' the matter, Artie?" he asked, grin still firmly in place. "Ya look a little flushed."

Silent, Arthur nodded without look at him. "Fine." His voice was strained and the red was starting to creep down his neck.

"D'ya like this'n better? It's a right sight easier ta recognize."

"Knock it off," Arthur growled, finally meeting Alfred's gaze with an obviously frustrated expression, "before I do something I'll regret."

Alfred couldn't help but lean one arm on the table. "Ya sure ya'd regret it?" he purred, and Arthur's ears went as red as his face.

"Git."

The American laughed and dropped the accent as quickly as he'd picked it up. "Whatever you say, Boss."

Arthur glared as Alfred grinned, emeralds locked with sapphires. They both knew the accent had gotten to Arthur on a level that he wasn't willing to admit to. It was definitely something that Alfred was going to have to remember to use later. Maybe he'd even take advantage of it.

Wouldn't be the first time that accent came in handy.

Neither man had a chance to say anything more, considering that their waitress returned at that moment, a tray with two plates of food in her hands. "Roast pork," she set a steaming plate in front of Arthur, "and bangers and mash." The other was placed on Alfred's side of the table. "Can I get you anything else?" she asked politely and even a little hopefully, though this time she made sure to look back and forth between the two men so that she wouldn't be directed at Arthur.

Still grinning, Alfred opened his mouth to respond but didn't manage to get any words out before Arthur cut him off.

"Yes, actually," the Brit said, hooded green eyes on Alfred, "I'd like a glass of spiced rum."

Alfred watched the waitress' reaction out of the corner of his eye, sharing in her confusion but not showing it himself.

"Do you want it mixed with anything?" She seemed almost afraid to ask.

"No, thank you."

"All right." Confused and a little concerned, she wrote down the order then walked away. Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"Straight rum, huh?" It sounded like a really bad idea, especially since he didn't know anything about Arthur's drinking habits or tolerance or what kind of drunk he was. The apple cider he'd ordered was fine—that had very little alcohol in it so he wasn't at all worried about the green-eyed man drinking it over dinner. But rum?

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

That smirk was still lingering around his mouth and there was something in his eyes that made Alfred nervous. Who was this guy, that he could so quickly go from teasing to flustered to having a secret that made the American's pulse race slightly?

"You sure that's a good idea?"

Arthur smiled, his expression almost but not quite innocent as he picked up his fork and knife and began cutting apart his roast pork. "There's no need to look so worried, Alfred. One glass of rum won't be enough to get me past that giddy stage right before the tipsy stage."

So he was drinking rum to be giddy. Did that mean he wasn't happy with how their date was going?

"If you say so," Alfred replied, shrugging as he picked up his own silverware. "I guess I just didn't take you for much of a drinker."

"You met me in a pub," the Brit pointed out before taking a bite of pork.

"Yeah, but you seemed completely sober to me. Or are you one of those people who can drink until dawn and act like you've never had a drop of alcohol in your life up until you're about to pass out?"

That made Arthur chuckle and he shook his head. "No, I can't hold my liquor quite that well, and I don't really drink very much. One or two small glasses in the pub on Friday nights is usually all I drink."

"So why are you ordering rum?"

"Because I trust you to take care of things if I do have a little too much to drink."

Oh, shit. This was not a good idea—Alfred was used to getting a meal from people who'd been drinking, not tucking them into bed and walking away. But it would be okay as long as he wasn't hungry. He'd just eaten last night so there was no way he'd start to feel hungry until at least tomorrow afternoon and he had no plans to be around Arthur when that happened. The Brit didn't need to be his chosen meal for a second time, and Alfred didn't know if he could handle being turned down for a second time, anyway.

"I'm flattered," was all he could say, because Arthur had turned his attention to his meal and Alfred still wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the golden blond drinking.

It'll be fine. He isn't going to get drunk and I'm not hungry. We're on a date and he doesn't have to drive so why shouldn't he have a couple of drinks? Relax, Al.

To distract himself, Alfred focused on his own food and took a few bites as an excuse not to say anything. Eventually, though, he decided he was tired of the silence that was only broken by the sounds of their silverware clinking softly against their plates, and looked up at Arthur again.

"So, you go to that pub for a drink every Friday?" he asked by way of starting up their conversation, and Arthur nodded as he took a drink of his water.

"Usually. First time I've ever been asked out by some handsome stranger, though."

The description made Alfred grin and he winked at the shorter man sitting across from him. "I find that hard to believe, but I'm glad I got to be the first one." He saw the slightly flattered embarrassment flit over Arthur's face and took it as encouragement. "You must work nearby, then, if you stop there for a drink so often."

"Yes, I actually work in this district, at one of the banks."

Leaning his elbows on the table, Alfred ignored his food in favor of putting all of his attention on his companion. "What do you do?"

"I'm on the advisory board to help the bank decide who to approve for loans and things like that," he explained with a small shrug. "It's not the highest or best paying job, but I'm content with my lot."

"That's good," Alfred commented, "as long as you're happy with your job then that's all that matters."

"What about you?" Setting down his fork so that he could focus on Alfred rather than his food, Arthur mimicked the way the American was leaning forward on the table. "You're a model, yes? What sort of modeling do you do?"

"Small stuff, mostly. Ads for magazines and commercials. I'm not famous or anything." He would be, but he couldn't. There was no point in being a famous model for a few years just to pretend to retire and fade out of society's notice for a while just to come back with a new name so that no one would notice that he didn't actually age. Feliks was more than willing to shove Alfred into the public eye and put his name on billboards, but he always refused. The nymph could go on designing clothes forever under different brand names and no one would ever notice that it was always the same person, but Alfred couldn't do that. He had to stay small-time or people might start asking questions, and that was just about the last thing he wanted.

Of course, he couldn't tell any of that to Arthur.

"Would you do a show, if someone asked you?" There was genuine curiosity in Arthur's green eyes and Alfred smiled in spite of himself.

"Sure, I guess, though I don't know how good I'd be at strutting down a runway. I'd feel sort of embarrassed to have so many people watching me."

"What, with a face like yours? You'd be the favorite—they'd love you."

Unable to help himself, Alfred blushed slightly at the compliment. "Thanks, but I'm okay with ads and commercials. Obviously it pays well enough for me to live a good life and, hey, if I hadn't started working for Feliks, then I never woulda met you."

Now it was Arthur's turn to blush and he averted his gaze for a moment.

"Flatterer," he muttered, and Alfred reached across the table to touch the other man's hand. The pale skin was soft and smooth and he reveled in it, knowing that he could easily hold onto that hand for the rest of his life and never be less fascinated by the way it felt against his own skin.

"I mean it, Artie. I'm glad I wandered into that pub last night," he murmured sincerely, not bothering to look up when approaching footsteps betrayed that the waitress was back with Arthur's rum, and ignoring her when she asked if he wanted anything.

Yeah, he wanted something, but not something that she could bring him on her black plastic tray. He didn't think she'd be willing to deliver Arthur up to him, anyway, and he didn't want Arthur on a platter—although he wouldn't necessarily mind it, either.

One day. One day, and I want to spend time with this man every chance I get. After just one day.

Hell. He couldn't be in love already. Could he? Would he know if he was? Love wasn't something he'd experienced before, at least, not that he could remember. His human years were a little fuzzy, after all, so maybe he'd been in love once before, but he didn't think so. This wasn't a familiar feeling.

"All right, all right," Arthur mumbled, face red once more, "cut it out. You're embarrassing me."

Slowly, Alfred pulled his hand back to his own side of the table and smiled. "So, Mister Bank Administrator, what do you do for fun, besides sit in that pub waiting for someone like me to come along and sweep you off your feet?"

Despite still being a little red in the face, Arthur took a moment to carefully consider the question before answering. "I like to read, and I write a bit of poetry here and there."

That snagged Alfred's interest. "Can I read some of your work?"

"You…you really want to?" The Brit looked stunned, as if no one had ever taken even the slightest interest in his hobby before.

"Yeah. I mean, poetry is really expressive so reading yours should help me get to know you better," Alfred pointed out.

"Oh, well, yes, I suppose you could read some of my poems, but you have to promise not to laugh at any of them."

Alfred's usual grin made its appearance and he nodded enthusiastically. "Deal."

"All right, what about you?"

"I studied mechanics and engineering in college so I spend a lot of time working on my bikes, though I really enjoy cars, too. I won't say no to a party if I'm in the mood, though sometimes it's nice to sit down in a quiet spot with a good book and forget all about the world for a little while, y'know?" He was smiling as he said it, though his blue eyes had taken on a faraway look as he idly traced the pattern stitched into the table cloth beneath their plates and the centerpieces.

"Yes, I know what you mean." Arthur's voice had quieted as well and both men fell silent for several moments, lost in their own separate thoughts as they ate a bit more. "When did you first become interested in auto mechanics?"

He had to think about that one for a few moments. "During my teenage years, like most other kids. For a while, I rode this really old motorcycle that my dad had stored away on our farm. He told me that if I fixed it up and got it running then I could ride it as much as I wanted, so I did. Fixing up that old bike was somehow the most amazing thing I'd ever done and sometimes I wonder if I'll ever do anything better than that."

"So you studied to be a mechanic and ended up being a model, instead," Arthur summed it up, and Alfred nodded after giving a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Funny how things work out, huh?" The American went back to eating the meal Arthur had chosen for him so that he wouldn't have to look in the Englishman's eyes as he thought about exactly that—things don't always work out just the way people want them to.

His life was the perfect example. Fresh off the farm as soon as he was old enough to enlist, then right into the military because there was a war going on and it was a war that needed to be won, no matter what. But he'd only made it a couple of years as a soldier before his life was turned upside down. He'd met that stranger and, well, his memories of what happened were pretty fuzzy but the next day he'd woken up and discovered that he was no longer human and it had scared him to death. Or it would have, had he been able to die as easily as a human could. Now he was an Incubus and he had to have sex every few days or he'd waste away and die.

Not the sort of life story he thought Arthur would enjoy, especially during their first date.

"Your turn. Did you always want to be in the banking business?" A rather large bite of food disappeared into his mouth.

An embarrassed look came into Arthur's eyes and he looked down at the table top with a shy smile. "No, I, ah, well, I wanted to be a rock star, actually."

Alfred almost choked on his food. Arthur? A rock star? Not just a group singer or a background dancer or instrumentalist, but a rock star. "That's really cool."

The green-eyed man looked up at him in surprise, his face having been hidden by his bangs as he examined the few bites that were all that was left of his roast pork; a drink of rum left him licking his lips and Alfred had the overwhelming urge to lean across the table and kiss him. Again.

"I had a bit of a punk phase, if we can call it that."

"Did you have tattoos?"

The Brit's blush darkened and that was all the answer Alfred needed.

"You did! Awesome! Can I see?" he asked, speaking quickly in his excitement that Arthur, this man who seemed so proper and unflappable, was apparently the outcome of teenage years spent worshiping rock stars and celebrities.

"No, you may not see," Arthur eventually replied, a little bit indignant. "Not here, anyway."

"So, when I take you back to your apartment…?" the American let his sentence trail off suggestively, smirking a little to see Arthur flush and take another drink of his rum.

"If you think you're coming inside on the first date then you've got another thing coming, love," he replied, and Alfred laughed softly.

"I'm not surprised. But can I see them sometime? I bet they're pretty badass."

A certain amount of pride entered Arthur's bearing and he half smiled. "Of course they are."

It was an answer worthy of a grin. Then another possibility occurred to Alfred and he leaned across the table to whisper conspiratorially, "did you have piercings?" The only response from Arthur was a curt nod and Al couldn't help but grin. "Can I see those, too?"

"Maybe." Arthur let his half smile turn teasing as he sat back in his chair. "If you're good."

"Oh, I can be good." Leaning back as well, Alfred let a seductive smirk curl up one side of his mouth. "I can be very good."

"Really. Well, you're going to have to prove that, you bloody American," the Briton stated, his tone borderline playful, and Alfred was about to say that he wouldn't mind doing just that whenever Arthur had the time for a demonstration, but their waitress returned before he could get the words out.

She has really shitty timing.

"Are you gentlemen ready for your bill or will you be ordering desert tonight?"

Green eyes met blue as Arthur and Alfred considered each other.

"We're done," the golden blond decided after a few moments, and the woman set a thin leather booklet on the table top.

"Thank you for dining with us tonight."

It was quiet after she left, and Alfred reached into his pocket for his wallet. He counted out enough notes to cover the bill—plus a little extra as a tip—and tucked them into the booklet as Arthur watched in mild curiosity. Paying for such a large meal with cash was probably odd, but he didn't carry credit cards and he never would. They were just another one of those things that he would have to get rid of after so many years then get new ones under a new name to avoid attracting unwanted attention. He, Feliks and Toris all paid for everything in cash to avoid leaving a paper trail with their names plastered all over it.

"Ready?" he asked, standing and straightening his jacket. Arthur nodded and stood as well, and Alfred reached over to take the smaller man's hand without even realizing it. But Arthur didn't complain, and they walked all the way back to where the motorcycle sat waiting for them without letting go of each other.

This time, Arthur put the helmet on by himself and easily settled onto the bike, though it was obvious that he was still a little nervous. Alfred brought the machine to life, loving the rumble of the engine and how alive it felt underneath him, how powerful. It was only made better by the arms wrapped around his ribcage and the knees that pressed gently against his hips, the helmet resting against his shoulder.

"I'm ready!" Arthur called, just loud enough for the American to hear it over the motorcycle, and then they were off down the street back towards his apartment.

The few minutes went by much too quickly for Alfred. He would have liked to spend a good half an hour or so with Arthur holding onto him like that, but he couldn't very well just drive around London without telling the petite blond about it first, so he contented himself with the few minutes he had. Still, disappointment colored his thoughts when they pulled up to the curb and he shut off the bike as Arthur carefully climbed off onto the sidewalk.

Without wasting a moment, Alfred stood up as well and helped the smaller man remove the helmet, then tucked it under his arm.

"Thanks for going out with me, Artie," he said with a smile, and Arthur nodded.

"I had fun, even though we almost got kicked out of a tea shop, and the waitress at the restaurant wanted you to ask for her number."

Alfred couldn't help but chuckle a little sheepishly at the description of their date. "Yeah, well, what's life without a few unexpected twists?"

"Safe," Arthur replied.

"Boring," Alfred corrected, then pulled the smaller man into a hug before Arthur could stop him. "I had fun, too."

To his satisfaction, Arthur returned the hug before pulling away just enough for their eyes to meet; they were silent for just a moment.

"You're bloody ridiculous," the green-eyed man murmured, and Alfred gave a cocky grin.

"Why d'you think that?"

A red tinge came into Arthur's cheeks, though he didn't look away. "Because I find myself wanting you to kiss me again."

"Ah." Victory rushed through Alfred's veins. "I can do that, you know."

He could see it in Arthur's eyes that he wanted it, and he'd be lying if he said that he didn't want it, too. That was all he wanted in that moment, to pull Arthur flush against him and kiss him as if he'd never see the shorter blond again. Maybe pick him up and carry him into the apartment they'd pulled up to and show him that Alfred really was perfectly capable of behaving himself. But he didn't do any of those things.

Instead, he waited for Arthur to give a small nod, then he kissed the Englishman, softly and carefully so as not to lose control of himself like he had in the tea shop. Damn, though, the Brit tasted good. Even though he only tasted those pale, pretty lips, he could tell that, if he ever really got to taste Arthur, that he would want to drown in the flavor of honey, the lingering warmth of rum and apple cider that he found. And when Arthur kissed him back…it was perfect, the way their lips moved and fit to each other. It would have been so easy to give into the temptation that was this quirky little Englishman, and Alfred had to use all of his self control to break the kiss after several long moments in order to stare into amazing green eyes.

I think I love you.

"I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" he whispered, pleased that Arthur was staring right back at him, that there was a light pink dusting the Brit's pale cheeks; they were both slightly out of breath.

"You'd better, you kissable git."

Alfred chuckled quietly and kissed Arthur's nose just for the hell of it. "I will. Promise." Then he released the smaller man and waited until the golden blond had vanished inside the apartment before getting back on his motorcycle and driving off down the street, back towards the hotel where he was sure Feliks lying in wait for him in anticipation of hearing all about how the date had gone. And Alfred knew he wouldn't mind telling him every little detail because that had been the best date of his life. Besides, who better to share in his excitement than the nymph?