Huh. So apparently there is more. Go figure. Probably obvious, but this is set way before the previous one.

Same warnings as the first. Enjoi.

They meet at Alfred's bonding, when Arthur is still torn between thinking, thank fuck it isn't me up there with him, giving him everything he needs (everything I am that I don't want to give) and why, fuck it why wasn't I enough, why couldn't I be enough, why couldn't I get over it and be everything for him?

Of course, they haven't been dating for three years, so Arthur doesn't think of Alfred like that anymore (hasn't since he spent fifteen days getting trashed before he told himself enough and managed to stick to it- that was two and a half years ago now, give or take). But there's a small, masochistic part of him that wonders what could have been if Arthur had been willing to offer Alfred a bonding instead of a marriage; it's the same part that still loves the younger man, even as it isn't in love with him.

So. They meet at Alfred's bonding to his Canadian lover, who is sweet and trusting and giving, and tells Arthur more than anything else that he and Alfred would not even have made it in a marriage, because they were nothing like that together.

While Alfred and Matthew are secluded for the obligatory post-bonding session (required isolation to allow their souls to mix and meld and become one rather than two- Arthur briefly met the three people who live on the outside of town: the couple didn't listen, started partying immediately, and ended up accidently creating a tri-bond to the best man as well. Elizaveta has never got over it and spends her time between loving Roderich and hating Gilbert, and none of them are happy, except maybe Gilbert, who loves and hates both of them equally and has never been able to separate the two.), Arthur immediately hits up the bar and proceeds to order the most alcoholic thing on the menu. Another man sidles up and takes the stool next to him, and asks with the faintest trace of a French accent for an X-Rated Tart. Perhaps feeling Arthur's incredulous stare, the man then shrugs without a trace of embarrassment and says matter of factly, "Asking for Blow Jobs is becoming incredibly cliché. Not to mention bordering on sexual harassment when speaking to bartenders."

Knocking back the single malt (just to clear his throat, not because he thinks this a conversation he will struggle with stone-cold sober) Arthur somehow replies "And I suppose a Sex on the Beach just isn't adventurous enough for your tastes?"

The man laughs and flips his hair back with casual ease. "Rather too sweet. I like something a little... tarter."

Arthur blinks, but before he can censor himself, what comes out of his mouth is "A man who makes so vile a pun would not scruple to pick a pocket." The words seem to echo in the loud room, but before he can escape, an unexpected smile and a wink comes his way, along with a hand on his shoulder.

"Why should I pick pockets when any man in here should be grateful to buy me a drink?" Like that, the man picks up his (pink, of course it was pink) cocktail and makes his way back across the room.

Later, Arthur pesters Alfred about who the man was (I need a bit more to go on than a French accent, or did you forget that half of Matthew's family is from Quebec?). Matthew, thankfully, overhears and interrupts them, although it takes a few tries for him to be heard over their muttered curses.

"What did he look like?" the Canadian asks, sweet and smiley and genuinely pleased to help.

"Blond, flaming," are the two words that immediately come to Arthur's mind. Matthew bites his lip to hide a grin.

"Was he drinking a pink cocktail?" When Arthur nods warily, Matthew continues- "That was my cousin, Francis. He's not from Quebec though, he's actually French."

Questions answered, Arthur leaves them to it (he has no desire to be accidentally bonded, isolation taken or not, and has spent as little time with the pair of them as possible. Alfred looked a little sad, but more disturbing, he looked understanding). He misses Matthew's last comment, "Did he open a tab tonight? Has he checked what's actually going on it?"

Alfred takes only seconds to realise what Matthew means (two halves of the same soul, and it's breathtaking and awesome and everything he ever wanted with Matthew) and grins. "Don't worry about it," he reassures his bonded. "What's a bonding party without a scene or two?"

Later still, Arthur thinks enough is enough and makes his way (somewhat unsteadily) over to the bar to pay off his tab.

When the numbers come up, he freezes and double checks it's his tab the bartender has given him. Then he asks to see the full list.

X-Rated Tart, Passion Rouge, Naive Negligee, Between The Sheets-

-and the one, the one that tops it all off-

French Kiss-

-because it actually has a lipstick kiss and a merci, mon cher scrawled in beautiful cursive.

"That fucker," Arthur breathes, and knowing it will be too late, scans the room for any sign of the French tosser. As suspected, the man is either hiding or gone. Arthur can only laugh, because it's exactly the sort of thing he did to unsuspecting bastards in his university years, but never has someone managed to pull it off on him.

Anything he does now will be too alcohol fuelled and sleep-deprived to make the sort of impact he wants, so he simply pays the tab and makes a note of how much the French wanker owes him. Because Arthur will make sure he sees the bastard again, and collect in full. Plus interest.

More interest than he is comfortable with, if he is perfectly honest with himself.

He isn't.