How Arthur had managed to get so drunk was beyond Alfred. Here dear ol' Arthur was, flushed and babbling nonsense, button-up shirt undone and loose around his sides, tie around his forehead like some sort of bandana; and, of course, the best part - his pants were missing, leaving him clad in only his underwear.

Hell, even his shoes were kicked off God knows where.

And of course, of course, Alfred was the one stuck peeling him from his seat at the bar all while throwing his bomber jacket over his shoulders, hoisting him onto his back, and carrying him out of said bar whilst the brit laughed merrily at who knows what. Did he mention that Arthur was only in his boxers?

Alfred couldn't have been more grateful it was dark outside by now; people weren't walking the streets, and it gave him a bit more of his pride back due to the fact he was carrying around a drunk, half-naked british guy on his back. He lifted Arthur a bit more up onto his back, because he was moving around so much that he couldn't keep a good grip on him without feeling him slide.

"Iggy, for all the love of all that is holy, will you stop wiggling your ass so much so I can actually hold you up?" Alfred interjected into the laughter and inaudible slurs from behind him.

"Mm, love, you enjoy my wriggling, I can see it written on your face..." Arthur said, voice slurring in what Alfred guessed was intended to be a seductive tone.

"Dude, you can't even see my face from this position. You're on my back." He restrained the urge to roll his eyes, a smile quirking onto his mouth until he suddenly felt an intruding leg lift and wrap around his waist, going lower, and lower...

Alfred almost dropped the brit, sputtering.

"A...Arthur, get your hand off of my Florida or else I'll seriously whoop your ass when I get home."

He heard a worryingly devious snicker near his ear, but yet, the fingers did not slide away from their place on his pants. "Have at it, my dear boy," He heard Arthur whisper againest the shell of his ear; he could feel a grin quirked on his lips. "I've needed a good whipping lately, you kn-"

"Spangle my banner," Alfred interuppted, "how much did you have to drink..." Alfred said lamely, continuing to walk on, feeling his patience fall drastically. He was used to Arthur being drunk, since he usually was always the one to haul him home, passed out or not. He stopped whenever he felt that hand shift and - Lord help him - he heard the sound of his own fly being unzipped.

Well, this was just awkward.