God. Why. He should have said no. Drinking with Gilbert was never a good idea. The ache in his head and the bitter, thick taste that covered every surface of his mouth were proof that last night hadn't been a good idea at all. What had happened? They'd just gone for a drink, the four of them, and evidently he'd had more than just a drink.

Hell. What did I do?

Getting drunk with Alfred—who had barely drank because he was driving—was an awful decision. The American must think so poorly of him now. All the idea that went through Arthur's head must have come tumbling out of his mouth.

"No," the Brit mourned, curling around himself as the full brunt of his hangover hit him. Too much alcohol and no water. At least he hadn't gotten sick. He didn't think so, anyway, and he thought the taste would be different if he had.

Not in front of Alfred.

It was embarrassing and shameful and he'd probably humiliated himself and it was all Gilbert's fault. That damn Prussian knew how Arthur got when he drank and he'd probably done it on purpose, the git.

Alfred almost had to think the Brit was an ass. None of this had been fair to the American, none of it. Right from the off, Arthur had been temperamental and overly sensitive. He was practically a tease. Now Alfred would think he was a drunkard.

What had he said? What had he done? The memories he found of the leaving the Green Dragon were fuzzy at best. He vaguely remembered getting back to his apartment and was relieved that he was at least in his own bed, presumably alone, and he still had his pants on.

Could have been worse. Might have snogged him.

Snogging he could handle, since they'd kissed before, but it was much too early to consider anything else. It wouldn't surprise him to find out he'd tried to get Alfred to shag him last night. There was a good chance of that and Arthur was very, very glad that so far it seemed to not have happened.

But then…where was Alfred?

Probably left. I wouldn't stay to take care of me. At least he got me home.

Still, the thought of trying to contact the American after last night was daunting. The thought of getting out of bed was, too, and he didn't even want to think about going to work. Not if he was going to have to see Gilbert's smug grin. He had to go, though. It would be unprofessional to skip work because of a hangover and a dose of potent humiliation.

Groaning and grimacing, the blond sat up and rubbed his eyes. His stomach churned and growled, sending the sensations of nausea and hunger through him.

"God…"

His pulse pounded in his ears as he cracked his eyes open just far enough to peer around the room. The lights were off; it was silent except for the unhappy sounds emitting from his stomach. Ugh, he didn't know if he should attempt breakfast or not. It might make him sick but he wasn't likely to make it until lunch time if he skipped. Maybe if he showered first—which he definitely needed to do—and took some painkillers, he'd be able to manage some toast. But that required getting out of bed and going to the medicine cabinet.

With a resigned sigh, Arthur pushed the blankets off his nearly naked body and swung his legs over the edge of the bed so that his feet rested on the floor. He rubbed at his face with both hands, felt little crusty bits come away from the corners of his eyes, and ran his tongue over his teeth only to make a disgusted face. Brushing his teeth would come before his shower.

"Okay." He set his jaw and moved to stand, noticing at the last second that a glass of water sat on his nightstand. It definitely hadn't been put there by him, and the two pills beside it signified a mind much more capable of thinking ahead than his would have been before he fell asleep.

Alfred had left him water and painkillers.

It put a smile on Arthur's face to imagine the handsome American tucking him in and making sure he wouldn't even have to get out of bed before he started treating his hangover.

Perfect ruddy git.

Still smiling, he first sipped a bit of the water to help clear some of the foul taste out of his mouth before he took the pills. He finished the rest of the water in a few large gulps and left the empty glass on the nightstand before wandering into the bathroom. Undershirt, pants and socks were abandoned in a pile before he cranked on the hot water, letting it run for a bit to heat up before he plugged the drain and started adding soap. The hot water and steam should help clear his head, and the water had done him a world of good, too. So while the tub filled, Arthur combed his hair out and brushed his teeth, flossed them, and rinsed with mouthwash to remove anything that hadn't already been cleaned out. The minty taste made him feel more awake and he took advantage of it by getting himself another glass of water as the tub continued to fill. Refreshingly cold, the water soothed his throat and helped settle his stomach, and by the time he was finished with it, the tub was full.

With a happy sigh, Arthur climbed into the tub and slid down into the water until it lapped at his chin. Oh, yes, this was heaven. Baths really were one of the greatest pleasures in this world.

"Artie?"

Startled, the Englishman sat up in his bath and looked towards the open bathroom door. "…Alfred?"

Footsteps approached the bathroom and Alfred appeared, still dressed in his clothes from last night, though he'd discarded his blazer at some point. "Morning." He was grinning as he leaned against the doorframe. "How ya feelin'?"

"Better. Thank you for the pills and water."

"No problem. So, I figured I'd make us breakfast then drive you to work. It's almost eight; when does your shift start?"

"Not until nine. Breakfast sounds lovely."

The American's grin widened. "Great." He turned and left again, and Arthur put his hands over his face.

Bloody hell, Alfred was in his apartment, had spent the night and was going to make him breakfast and drive him to work. The man was perfect.

I don't deserve him one little bit.

But he'd cling to the blond model selfishly, greedily, if he had to. He'd put up a fight to keep him and stay in contact with him even when the American left at the end of the summer. If Alfred was willing to get him home safely when he was drunk and then stay the night to help him get to work the next morning, then he was worth putting in the effort of a long-distance relationship.

Yes, he wanted to be in a relationship with him. Up until he'd only let himself see these as casual dates, and they'd only been on two, technically, but this, this was something different. He'd never met anyone like Alfred Jones before.

Enticed by the idea of breakfast being made for him by the attractive tourist, Arthur hurried through his bath a little more than he normally would have, and made sure to comb his hair neatly after he'd dressed. His usual business clothes seemed boring compared to what he'd worn last night, but he knew he looked good in the fitted slacks and button-down and neatly done tie, so he refused to feel self-conscious about it. Alfred was still in his old clothes, after all, so there was no reason for Arthur to worry about how he looked.

"Artie! Breakfast ready!"

That was something he could stand to hear every morning as he dressed. Yes, he would be more than okay with waking up to those blue eyes and that smiling, bathing and dressing while Alfred made breakfast, eating with the American and kissing him goodbye after the short ride to the bank. Except those mornings when the taller blond was gone early for a photoshoot, and then Arthur imagined that they would both wake up a little earlier to share several kisses before the bespectacled model left.

Imagining it made Arthur feel warm inside, made his hear feel like it was swelling up with happiness. Living with Alfred was a perfect scenario in his head.

After taking one last look in the mirror to check his appearance, Arthur left the bedroom and headed down the short hall to the kitchen. He'd expected to find Alfred in the kitchen or at his small table with a couple plates of food, dressed in his rumpled slept-in purple shirt and slacks. He got the bit about standing in the kitchen right, and there was a plate in one of Alfred's hand that the American was piling food onto, but the rest of the image took him completely by surprise. Alfred's clothes from the night before were missing, and instead the tall blond was shirtless, a pair of Arthur's barely used grey sweatpants clinging to his hips. They sat low enough that the man's boxer-briefs were visible, along with the sharp points of his hip bones.

Mesmerized, Arthur swallowed hard as his eyes raked over the other male. So many muscles that rippled and shifted beneath perfectly tanned skin. The gel in his hair had been worked out, making his ash blond bangs fall in his face as he worked at the stove. His ankles showed because the sweatpants were too short, and they were too tight in just the right way to show off a firm backside and muscular thighs.

Arthur felt his mouth starting to water. The sight of Alfred sent his mind back to his imaginings of living with the man, but they were considerably different imaginings now. He imagined seeing Alfred just like that every morning, imagined hugging the American around his waist and kissing those muscular shoulders and that back that was sexier than a back really had right to be. It would make the model grin and laugh and he'd turn, hug Arthur close and kiss him with a whispered, "good morning." Sometimes, that kiss would be enough. Other times, though, Arthur thought he would need more than just a good morning kiss to start his day.

Still kissing the taller blond, the Brit sent one hand down to tug at the waistband of Alfred's sweatpants and felt the mouth moving against his own form a grin.

"Hungry?" There was a teasing light in those blue eyes.

"Yeah."

Hands held his waist and lifted him, the American using hardly any effort to pick Arthur up and set him on an empty section of countertop. More kissing as they both worked to unbutton his shirt and open his trousers; Alfred would take one hand away to free himself from his sweatpants. Touches on his chest and stomach and hips, everywhere but where he really wanted it because Alfred always had to tempt and taunt him before giving in.

"Arthur? You okay?"

Startled out of his daydream, Arthur jumped and blushed darkly to find Alfred standing just in front of him with a concerned look on his handsome face. His imagination had really gotten away from him, and being this close to the body he'd just imagined touching made his heart pound even harder.

"U-uh," he gulped and averted his gaze, "yes, fine."

Too soon, idiot. Don't imagine such things if you're not ready to do them.

Before Alfred could question him further, the Brit stepped to the side and moved around him so he could sit at the table. Two full plates of food sat waiting, accompanied by glasses of orange juice and a third plate with a short stack of toast on it. Salt, pepper, butter and jam sat ready off to the side. The plates bore strips of bacon and scrambled eggs that looked like they had cheese melted onto them. It all looked absolutely delicious.

"I didn't know you cooked, Alfred," he commented by way of starting a conversation on something other than himself. The images of his fantasy continued to plague him as Alfred sat down across from him and picked up his fork.

"I had to learn during those years I was on my own before I met Feliks," the bespectacled blond explained. "Fe can't cook for shit and Tor takes care of so many other chores that cooking is usually my job."

"Do you all live together?" Arthur wasn't disappointed when he took the first bite of his eggs—they tasted just as good as they looked.

"Yeah. It's easier—Feliks keeps a studio-style apartment in New York near his office building where we all work. Having me close makes it easier for him to schedule last-minute shoots, plus he likes to use me as his personal Ken Doll to plan new outfits for shows."

Arthur sipped his orange juice. "I thought you said you don't do shows."

"I don't, but I'm still useful like a mannequin would be. Feliks just has more fun dressing me up than he does a doll."

"This Feliks sounds like an interesting man."

"He's definitely an unusual guy," Alfred replied, his tone amused like he was enjoying some private joke that Arthur wasn't privy too. It roused his curiosity and he felt the desire to ask what was so funny, but he resisted. Mostly likely, it was something Feliks had said or done once that the model was remembering. No reason for him to dig into Alfred's business.

The pair continued eating in silence until both plates were empty and Alfred was putting jam on the last slice of toast.

"That was delicious," Arthur complimented with a smile as he patted his belly. It was slightly distended from the amount of food he'd just eaten, which was more than he usually had for breakfast. But Alfred's cooking really was too good for him to pass up, so he'd barely noticed how full he was getting as he ate. Finishing the last bite had been both disappointing and satisfying.

"Thanks." Alfred grinned before starting to eat the toast.

Feeling full and sated, Arthur stood and took the empty plates to the sink. Normally, he would rinse them off and load them into the dishwasher before leaving for work, but he had only fifteen minutes before his shift started. If it weren't for Alfred, he would have been running out the door in order to walk there in time.

"I'll go change and we'll go."

"All right."

With half of the slice of toast still in his mouth, Alfred retrieved his clothes from the couch and went back to Arthur's bedroom in order to dress. Arthur slipped on his shoes and tied them to give him something to think about other than the American stripping down in his bedroom. What he wouldn't give to be the one tugging those sinfully tight sweatpants off Alfred's gorgeous frame.

No, no, none of that. He's an American model who's leaving in August and you're a respectable bank employee. You have a reputation to uphold and you are not going to lose it for the sake of shagging a tourist, not even one as desirable as Alfred.

Oh, but he wanted to. Seeing Alfred in his kitchen like that had awakened a part of himself that Arthur hadn't felt since he was a teenager. He hadn't wanted to have kitchen sex in years, yet here he was still recovering from a fantasy about Alfred putting him up on the counter and halfway stripping him for just that reason. And now he was on the verge of imagining being in the bedroom with him, forgoing work in favor of indulging his body. It was a struggle worthy of the old gods of myth and Arthur had to bite his lip to remind himself to stay in the kitchen.

Thankfully, his torture was cut short when Alfred appeared in the hallway, fully clothed and looking like he'd stepped out of a magazine.

"Ready?" he asked as he stepped into his shoes.

Arthur only nodded, afraid that he would squeak if he tried to talk. Smiling, Alfred took the Briton's hand into his own and pulled him towards the door. "Then let's go. I don't want to make you late."

They left the apartment and Arthur took a moment to lock the door behind them, then it was down the stairs and onto the motorcycle that was waiting by the curb. It occurred to Arthur that he might questioned about it if he showed up to work with the same man he'd brought to the party last night, especially since no one but Gilbert had even know Arthur had met someone until then. He was just going to have to deal with whatever came his way, though, because now he had barely ten minutes to get there and his pride wasn't worth being late to work for.

Now much more comfortable on the bike than he had been the first time, he settled comfortably behind Alfred and held onto the American's waist as they drove through the streets. There wasn't much traffic yet, especially because Arthur lived in a quieter neighborhood, but they soon reached one of the major commuting roads and joined the lines of cars. Even with the traffic, they arrived at the bank with a couple of minutes to spare, and Arthur climbed off the bike in an unhurried manner.

"Have a good day, Artie." Alfred helped the shorter blond remove the helmet then kissed his cheek. "See you later?"

Arthur smiled at the kiss and nodded. "Definitely."

"Cool." Another kiss, this one to his mouth as a large, calloused hand cupped his cheek, then Alfred let him go and Arthur headed inside. He could feel the American's gaze on his back all the way to the front doors, and for a moment had the irrational thought that Alfred might watch him through the walls like Superman with his x-ray vision.

To his relief, no one stopped him on his way to his office, and he settled into his desk at precisely nine o'clock. A strange night followed by a morning that could only be described as interesting put him in a good mood, or was that just the side effect of being around Alfred? He supposed it didn't matter. Either way, his headache was gone, he'd gotten one of the best breakfasts of his life, and Alfred didn't seem to have judged him at all for his behavior the night before. Even the half-formed fantasies he'd had weren't enough to dim the smile he felt lifting the corners of his mouth as he started working.

It was going to be a good day.