After Alfred had kissed him, Arthur became aware of a lot of things. He became more aware of how much he actually watched Alfred, turning his eyes away before he could catch him. He noticed how Alfred seemed to smile more and his overall demeanor had relaxed from the stiff, stoic man he'd met at the diner. He was also now very aware of the little physical things.

The next morning they slept in and though they did, Alfred still wasn't alive without coffee. Arthur had more or less dragged him to the local Laundromat after they left the motel and had left to get them coffee. Reentering the Laundromat, he chuckled to himself upon seeing Alfred sitting on the bench, his head tilted back against the wall behind him. He looked rather dead.

Arthur sat next to him and jabbed him lightly with his elbow. Alfred's head lolled to the side with a slight furrow to his brow.

"I got coffee," was Arthur's simple statement.

Like the dead awakened, Alfred's eyes brightened and he eagerly took the cup, sipping from it contentedly.

Then he laid his head on Arthur's shoulder and resumed his light doze.

Arthur stiffened immediately, but forced himself to relax. The last thing he wanted was Alfred calling him out on it – though going by his semi-conscious state, he didn't think it'd be a problem.

Once he busied himself with twisting his paper cup around in his hands, he realized he didn't mind it so much. In fact, he caught himself feeling slightly disappointed when the coffee finally kicked in and Alfred lifted his head away.

.

Nevada - Alfred forced Arthur to pull into the parking lot of a non-descript liquor store. In a run-down, drive-thru town in the middle of Nevada at ten at night. Arthur would have questioned, but when Alfred had that glint in his eye it was best not to question and simply go with him.

"Stay here, I'll be right back," he said, sliding out of the truck with a scheming grin. Arthur was a little tired, and again, Alfred was on a mission, so he nodded and let him be.

He was in the store, hidden between the aisles, for ten minutes before Arthur watched him set more bottles than he was expecting down on the pay counter. The clerk's bored expression never shifted.

With a paper bag cradled in each arm, Alfred returned, still smiling. Arthur now looked wary.

"What's that?" he asked tentatively.

"Stuff," was the short answer. Bottles of various size and volume clanked against each other when Alfred set down the bags between them. "Now get back on the road. I saw a sign for a service entrance gate a while back."

Arthur rolled his eyes and did so without a word. In a short time they left the town limits and were once again surrounded by the flat expanse of Nevada desert, plateaus bordering the horizon.

"Where is the entrance?" Arthur asked in the quiet.

A quarter mile later, Alfred spotted the gate to the service road.

"Aren't these things private?" Arthur questioned.

Alfred shot him a look. "Does it look like they patrol here at 11pm?" He hopped out of the truck once again and unlocked the pitiful gate for Arthur to drive through, then hopped neatly back into the truck.

"Alright, drive a ways up the road and then pull out a little onto the dirt."

"Everything's dirt," Arthur grumbled exasperatedly. "And do you know what you're doing exactly?"

"Nope. Just trust me. It's going to be a good night."

Arthur was a little worried now. Instead of calling it quits though, they climbed the dirt incline to what seemed to be the top of the plateau overlooking the highway they were just on. Arthur stopped the car and turned to Alfred expectantly.

"Now," he began, answering Arthur's silent question, "We drink."

"You practically dragged me out here in the middle of nowhere so you could drink?"

"So we could drink. And I don't just mean drink – I mean drink."

Alfred procured bottles of vodka, whiskey, and rum from the paper bags and Arthur's jaw fell open.

"Are you expecting us to drink it all?"

Alfred shrugged and laughed. "Why not?"

"Because I don't want our corpses picked up by the police tomorrow morning."

"Come on, Arthur. I thought you were English."

That was enough for Arthur's pride to rear its head and with a huff he followed Alfred around to the truck bed, watched as he pulled down the tailgate, sat on it, and cracked open the bottle of rum, promptly passing it to Arthur.

"I'm going to kill you tomorrow."

"Can't kill me if I'm already dead." Alfred opened the vodka and took a swig, hissed and shook his head. He let out an enthusiastic shout and looked back to Arthur. "Now drink up, Artie. I refuse to be alone in this."

They finished off the rum rather quickly and with the last swig of vodka and a bit of scotch, Arthur couldn't give a damn about his earlier hesitations. Alfred was currently trying to run around him with the soccer ball balanced on his head.

More appropriately, Arthur was chasing him, drunkenly shouting to give it back before he sent the bloody thing over the edge of the cliff.

"You're accent gets so heavy when you're drunk, Arthur," Alfred laughed and almost tripped over his own feet.

"Yeah? Well look at you, prancin' 'round like a bloody ballerina."

"Then lift me!" Alfred shouted before launching himself at Arthur.

As one might have expected, Arthur let out an "oof!" and they toppled to the ground. If Arthur were sober, he would have been acutely aware of the situation and probably pushed Alfred off right away. But Arthur was far from sober and his drunken mind liked the feeling of his weight on top of him and his dazed gaze looking down at him. They were panting heavily for a while before Alfred pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand for Arthur. Arthur accepted and didn't even mind that Alfred kept his hand in his grip. Though he did notice when Alfred dragged him to the edge of the cliff.

"If you fall and die I won't get you," he said.

Alfred snickered. "I won't, I won't. But I've always wanted to do this."

"Do what?"

Alfred tilted his head back, took a deep breath, and yelled as loudly as he could muster, screaming into the empty night. Arthur calmly watched him yell with all the power he had in him. He managed a long while, finally stopping and catching his breath. Echoes of his shouting stretched over the barren land.

Arthur stared at him, mouth slightly agape. Alfred's eyes were heavily lidded, as if the energy from shouting like that already exhausted him. He swayed a little on his feet and lurched forward into Arthur.

He was prepared to catch him, thinking he'd finally passed out, but Arthur's hands landed on his arms and clenched the fabric of his shirt before Alfred grabbed his face and kissed him.

The kiss was a wet, sucking kiss, completely unlike the brief press of lips on the beach. It tasted of a cocktail of liquor and the heat of their breath fanned over his face, distinctly warmer against the light summer night chill.

It lasted longer than the beach kiss, and Arthur didn't know it if was the kiss or the alcohol finally making his head spin. But Alfred let him go and promptly yelled into the vast expanse of Nevada, "I kissed Arthur!"

Arthur's ears heated and he blinked a few times, watching Alfred pant again. On a surge of alcohol-induced courage, Arthur faced the world and yelled, "And I'm going to kill him!"

Alfred's grin was voracious. "Oh man, I'm going to kiss you again."

Mischief sparking in both their gazes, Arthur backed away as Alfred neared him. "No you're not. You taste like a pub floor."

"So did you, but I'm not complaining."

They proceeded to pick up where the left off: chasing each other around the truck and taking turns from the remaining bottle of scotch.

It was, in fact, the scotch that finally did Arthur in. He lay weak in the truck bed, legs dangling over the edge of the tailgate. The most stunning view of the night sky spun overhead like a time-lapse video.

"You out already Arthur?" he heard a voice say.

"If I get up I'm going to fall over," he said roughly, moaning in misery.

Alfred didn't answer, but he heard grunting as he shakily hoisted himself into the truck bed and shuffled around behind him. Arthur turned his head as much as his dizzy brain would allow to watch Alfred fiddle with the sleeping bag. He unzipped it and opened it up, laying it down over the bed of the truck like a mattress. Alfred stood and shuffled behind Arthur and before Arthur could stutter out a command to drop him, Alfred had his hands under Arthur's armpits and was dragging him onto the open sleeping bag.

"How can you even move around this much?" he slurred.

"Don't worry, I'm at my limit."

Now that Arthur was stationary again, he lazily watched Alfred sit and settle beside him on the blanket. For a while he remained seated, arms braced against his knees, staring out the back of the truck.

"Don't tell me you're an introspective drunk," Arthur said, though he had some trouble with the word.

Arthur was expecting a quick-witted comeback, but was mildly surprised (yet greatly pleased) when Alfred wordlessly lay down beside him. They were shoulder-to-shoulder, staring at the sky. Arthur's foggy brain started thinking; why Alfred decided to do this, why he was suddenly stoic and quiet, like he was before, what could possibly be going through his head. But the alcohol already beginning to pound in his head told him that deep conversation would not be successful tonight.

So Arthur flipped over onto his side and laid his head on Alfred's shoulder. His arm snuck around Alfred's waist and he hugged him closer like the little Paddington Bear he had as a child. In his last moments of consciousness, Arthur tilted his chin up and pressed a quick kiss to Alfred's jaw. He wasn't sure if he'd remember that he'd done it in the morning, but at the time it was irresistible.

Arthur snuggled back into his side and mumbled, "G'night."

Right before he was taken under by sleep, he thought he could hear a whispered, "Goodnight."

In the morning, Arthur knew two things. The first was that he woke to lazy fingers stroking through his hair, and his own nose pressed to a tanned throat that smelled woodsy, and tinged with liquor. The second, when he shifted and felt like he'd been hit by a bus, was that he hated Alfred with every fiber of his being.

.

Utah, Colorado - Things sort of changed after their night of drunken revelry. There seemed to be an unspoken understanding between the two of them, and frankly Arthur didn't see the need to address it aloud. After their night of drinking, neither mentioned the kiss or the way they slept wrapped up in each other. Arthur sure remembered it though and he was positive that Alfred hadn't forgotten either.

Utah went by in a blur. The most notable thing about it had been the way Alfred lounged across the seat of the cab almost the entire way, his head pillowed on Arthur's thigh, and his feet up on the dashboard or resting on the ledge of the open window. He alternated napping and talking about mundane anecdotes with Arthur. Arthur himself spent the miles of dusty road absentmindedly combing his fingers through Alfred's surprisingly silky hair with one hand, the other on the steering wheel.

They'd stop throughout the day for meals and snacks, and somehow they were still always touching. In restaurants and at rest-stop picnic tables, they sat across from each other, but with the sides of their feet pressed together. They stopped once more at a Laundromat and reminiscent of the day before – which felt like a year to Arthur – Alfred rested his sleepy head on Arthur's shoulder. This time, Arthur didn't hesitate resting his cheek on the top of Alfred's head.

Colorado was when they were lifted from the daze of effortless coexistence.

They'd driven a ways in silence, Arthur's silent companion gazing contentedly out the window. They'd ceased conversation an hour ago, an easy, comfortable silence taking over and the radio playing low in the quiet.

Arthur had a plan. It had come rather spur of the moment only hours before at a rest stop where he looked up the information he needed on his phone.

He drove a little further until he saw the large sign indicating the turn off. Alfred didn't catch on yet, didn't even glance at Arthur in curiosity when he took the exit. Arthur smiled to himself.

Into the dense woods, the road transitioned from asphalt to gravel. Alfred perked up and there was the curious look Arthur expected.

"Where are we going?" Alfred belatedly asked.

"Surprise."

He yawned. "As long as there's food."

Arthur threw him a dry look. "We just ate lunch two hours ago."

Alfred arched his back and flopped against the seat. "And I'm hungry again."

Arthur rolled his eyes, as he seemed to be prone to doing in his presence, but the disdainful action was neutralized by the smile that twitched to his lips.

Finally, Alfred sat forward in his seat, eyes wide, when the billboard-sized sign naming the place came into view.

"An archery range?" Alfred asked. Arthur couldn't name the look in his eyes. It was something between bewilderment and interest.

"Yeah." Arthur shrugged. "I used to practice a little when I was younger. Have you tried it?"

"No I haven't," Alfred replied quietly. He didn't say anything else. He remained speechless while Arthur parked in front of the building. He took Alfred inside and being around familiar equipment again pulled at the longing for this childhood activity. Arthur showed him around and explained what various gadgets and supplies were for. He saw genuine interest in Alfred as they discussed bows, arrows, targets, and various attachments and accessories.

Arthur felt joy stirring inside him. It had been a long time since he held a bow.

The clerk led them out the back of the shop to the long range. Thick trees bordered the stretch of grass where targets were set up at various distances. He then left them to it.

Alfred sat on a bench while Arthur geared up. He entered concentration mode and Alfred didn't speak all the while. He vaguely took note of Alfred's wondrous expression.

Arthur nocked the first arrow and took a deep breath. He came to a full draw; proper stance, lines of his arms straight, a furrow in his brows as he concentrated. Then his fingers released the bowstring and the arrow sailed fast and clean into a 50-meter target.

Only when the arrow imbedded itself just off-center of the target did Arthur lower the bow and take a deep breath.

"That was amazing," Alfred breathed.

Arthur looked over, blinking the haze of concentration away. He had momentarily forgotten Alfred was there.

"Thanks," he said low.

"You never mentioned it before, that you did archery," Alfred started, rubbing his forearm, "Before we got out here, when you told me you used to practice… I guess it takes seeing it in person to really understand."

Arthur smiled a little. "It's been longer than I'd like to admit, but it is like riding a bike."

"When was the last time?"

His gaze went soft, remembering those long-ago years. "Ten years ago."

"Why did you stop?" he asked carefully.

Arthur brushed the fletching on an arrow, eyes downcast.

He sat beside Alfred with a sigh. Alfred waited.

"University. My father." He looked up and out across the range. "I didn't have time for it when I went to uni. I had pressure to succeed, to devote myself to my responsibilities. Insignificant extra-curriculars were out of the question." Arthur laughed deprecatingly.

"Can I ask?" Alfred began hesitantly. "About your father?"

Arthur hummed, his brow creasing. Silently, Alfred took his hand where it rested on his thigh and laced their fingers, palm to palm. Arthur's instinctively twitched tighter in his grasp and Alfred waited.

Finally he shook his head and said, "He was just a practical man, too practical. Cold, more often than not. I was but one of his five sons and none of us were to be the weak link. Mum was pretty passive," Arthur smiled thoughtfully, "She never went against him outright."

Arthur looked down at their hands, tan against pale. When Arthur lifted his gaze, he was met with sapphire blue.

Arthur's smile grew, and he tugged Alfred up from the bench. "Come on, it's your turn."

"Me?" Alfred sputtered.

"You didn't think I was going to let you get by without trying it?" he laughed.

"I've never pulled a bow in my life."

"Great time to start. Don't worry, I'll help you. Oh, stop pouting." Arthur pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle at Alfred being childish.

"Fine, but don't blame me when you end up with an arrow in your eye."

"You're so melodramatic. It's simple." Arthur handed him the bow, showed him how to hold it, and then gave him an arrow. "Now nock it. Good. One finger above it, two fingers below. Make sure they won't slip."

Alfred let him ramble on his instructions, following orders to lift his elbow – not too high, not too low – and Arthur found the process of assisting him calming; Arthur's hand touching the elbow on the arm that was drawn and the other hand loosely wrapped around his fingers gripping the handle.

Arthur was standing behind him, guiding his arms up and voice hushed in the rather intimate space between them, telling him to draw.

"Take a deep breath before you release." Even though Arthur wasn't touching him anymore, letting him focus on the shot, he still felt the remnants of his skin's warmth. "Hold it. And… now."

Arthur felt a thrilling shiver race up his spine when the arrow jetted into one of the outer rings of a 30-meter target, like he was feeling the exact sensations Alfred was.

With wide, still unblinking eyes Alfred looked at him.

Arthur grinned. "Nice job."

Alfred swallowed and lowered the bow. "That was," he licked his lips, "exciting."

"It never really stops. Try another one."

"You bought these. Have at it." He tried to return the bow to him but Arthur shook his head firmly.

"I brought you here for you to try it."

An unsure, endearing glint came to Alfred's eyes and it made Arthur chuckle.

"Don't worry about it, it's a gift," he said.

With an eagerness that betrayed his attempt to decline, Alfred prepped another arrow.

Alfred had been a little listless and it wasn't that Arthur minded when he was less talkative, but it was nice to see his Alfred in the state of boyish wonder he'd become used to.

Arthur then flushed furiously and quickly took his seat when he caught himself thinking of Alfred as his.

For the rest of their time at the range, Alfred was happier, lighter, and his sense of competition had come out. Though Arthur didn't know who he was competing against – there was no one else there.

They laughed and joked, returned the rentals and made their way back to the truck. With a hand on his arm, Alfred stopped him at the tailgate.

"Arthur." Brightness, sincerity had returned to him in that moment. "Thank you," he said.

Arthur smiled. He slowly flipped through the keys on his keychain, isolating the truck key. He took Alfred's hand and placed the keys in it.

"You drive," he said, watching Alfred's eyes widen slightly. "I'm a bit knackered. Think I'll nap."

Arthur walked around him to the passenger side. Alfred remained still, staring at the keys in his hand. Then he clutched them and moved to the driver's side.

Arthur settled himself, leaning against the window like Alfred had done. He said nothing while Alfred started the truck and began to drive. They said nothing for a while, even as the sun began to dip behind them as they drove east. Arthur fell asleep soon after they got back on the freeway.

He woke up to pitch-black night, headlights on the open road, and the dim light of the dashboard. He looked over to Alfred. His face was peaceful. The radio was a low murmur. Arthur couldn't make out words.

"We just crossed into Kansas," Alfred said softly.

Arthur rubbed his face. "How long have I been asleep?"

"About three hours."

Arthur expected to nap for an hour tops. Perhaps he had been more tired than he thought.

"There's a town coming up," Alfred said. "We'll stop there for the night."

"I can switch with you," Arthur replied, still groggy.

"Three hours of sleep isn't sufficient enough, especially at night."

Any other protests died on his tongue. He was tired.

Alfred found a motel easy enough – it was one of the two in the town. The room could have been any motel room they'd rented thus far. Two double beds, bland carpet, bland walls, TV on top of the dresser, bland curtains. However, what made it different were Arthur's thoughts bouncing around the room.

He thought of that day, the archery range; the feeling of holding a bow again, the way he helped Alfred shoot his first arrow. But what he found himself coming back to was their conversation. He replayed it in his head, thinking of the things he'd told him. About responsibilities and his own father. He hadn't expected to divulge those kinds of things, hadn't really thought about them himself. All the while Alfred listened like his words were more important than breathing. Arthur found himself wondering where the man laying in the bed across from him would be had he not come. Arthur had to admit it to himself; he couldn't imagine taking this trip without him.

Bloody hell he was growing fonder and fonder for him.

Arthur idly watched him go through a routine of brushing his teeth, slipping out of his shoes and socks, lifting his shirt overhead. Finally he removed his glasses and cleaned them with his shirt, giving Arthur a full view of his profile and the rebel strands of hair that fell over his forehead. Had Alfred always had long eyelashes?

Arthur only flushed a little now, which he thought was an accomplishment given the person involved and the circumstances.

Alfred collapsed onto his back on his bed with a deep sigh, unaware of Arthur's previous ogling. He lay there quietly for a while.

Arthur closed his eyes, and perhaps not two minutes had passed before he heard the other bed creak. The sound of feet across the two-foot wide separation between their beds. Alfred braced a knee on the mattress beside Arthur's hip, a hand on each side of his shoulders.

Arthur's eyes blinked open, looking up at Alfred's face hovering over his.

"Arthur," he said purposefully.

"Yes, Alfred?" he replied, calmly, coolly, despite the thudding beat of his heart.

"Thank you."

Arthur regarded him a moment. "What are you thanking me for?"

Alfred swallowed. "For telling me what you told me today. It's probably not worth all this… but I appreciate it."

Arthur said nothing. Instead, his eyes roved over Alfred's face, trying to think of something, anything to say in response.

He was about to, but then Alfred whispered, "Can I kiss you?"

Arthur almost hadn't heard him. He blinked, then a wry smile spread across his face and he laughed. "Considering the fact that you've kissed me twice now without warning, I didn't think you felt the need to ask anymore."

Alfred's cheeks flushed and he laughed at the truth of Arthur's words. "Does that mean I have your permission, then?"

"Yes, you tosser," Arthur answered, affection tingeing his hushed voice.

Alfred lifted an eyebrow at the name, but his gaze was already flickering from Arthur's eyes to his lips. He brought a hand from his side and gently traced the line of Arthur's jaw with feather-light strokes of his fingertips. His fingers trailed up his cheek to push back and thread through the choppy hair that spread over the pillow. Alfred's hand radiated warmth and Arthur tilted his cheek into it. His eyes closed in contentment. He opened them when the pad of Alfred's thumb brushed at the edge of his lower lip.

A finger curled under his chin was Alfred's final silent request for permission. Arthur followed the pull of his fingers and without hesitation tilted his chin up until their lips were a breath apart. Arthur wanted Alfred to meet him, so he waited with faintly parted lips.

Alfred's rare hesitancy seemed to have left him, because his hand slid around to tangle in the hair at the nape of Arthur's neck and he surged forward that slight amount to finally touch their lips together.

All at once, Arthur knew this one was different. The first had been quick and carefree. The second had been drunk and careless. This, their third kiss, filled everything Arthur yearned for. Firm pressure told him not to pull away yet, and he wouldn't dream. At some point, Arthur's hands came up to cradle the sides of his face, which only made Alfred press closer. And once he got that first small taste of him, when Alfred's tongue danced across his upper lip, he dove in with an eagerness to finally taste what he'd wondered about since California.

It was better than he'd imagined. There was the mint from his toothpaste, but that soon fell away to the deep earthiness that was solely Alfred. He was attuned to every piece of him, and Arthur anchored a hand in his hair so he could touch the other to the side of Alfred's neck. Hot skin beneath his fingertips lit a whole new flame and Alfred pushed further, increasing the pressure of his lips until hunger was the only word he could describe it with. His fingertips spread across Alfred's collarbone, across his chest and down his abdomen where he felt muscles twitch. This was the first time Arthur was able to touch him, explore him in this way, and he was enjoying every minute.

Alfred's hands were now curling at the hem of Arthur's t-shirt and dragging it up and over his head, tousling his hair. Arthur took the momentary separation to look down at the rich skin his fingers were stroking over. Without thinking he pressed his lips to hollow between Alfred's collarbones and secretly thrilled at the desirous hum that vibrated through his chest. A few times prior Arthur had been close enough to catch his earthy scent. Now he was fully enveloped in it.

He was taken by surprise when Alfred suddenly grabbed him and flipped him around until their positions were switched. The arm that had been supporting him falling weakly across his stomach, though not abandoned as Arthur's hand found his and laced their fingers tightly. He himself supported his weight on his forearm and Arthur was acutely aware of the shrunken space between their bodies.

Though he was more entranced by the heady look in Alfred's eyes, shadowed by wisps of golden blond. It was Arthur's turn to weave his fingers through it and he was delighted by the response. It was like scratching a puppy behind the ears, or in this case a wolf; his eagerness from minutes before returned tenfold and Arthur was swept up in Alfred's lips prying his open and leaving him breathless.

Arthur was panting when Alfred's nose pressed to the place just below his ear, his heavy breaths hot against his skin.

"I've been wanting to kiss you like that since we were on the beach," Alfred breathed.

"I should have spilled my story sooner then," Arthur replied, voice rough, managing to default to deadpan humor even in a moment like this.

Alfred turned his head until they were nose to nose. "If anything, waiting 'til now gave me the courage."

Arthur watched him, their breaths evening out. "And how do you feel now?"

Alfred smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Fantastic."

He stole a number of sly, playful kisses more, chuckling when Alfred nipped him back in retaliation.

Alfred hooked his leg around Arthur's and brought him down next to him. Arthur dropped onto the pillow and left their legs tangled together, Alfred's fingers absently drawing designs on Arthur's pale chest. Sleepiness was descending once again and he took full advantage of molding himself to Alfred, unabashedly curling his arm around his waist and keeping his warm body close.

Alfred's rhythmic breathing lulled Arthur to sleep.

.

The next day, somewhere along the way, Alfred stopped at a supermarket and bought supplies. Upon returning to the truck, Arthur asked what he'd bought. Alfred refused to answer.

That night, following their euphoric breakthrough, Alfred stopped the truck in the middle of a wide-open, deserted field miles from St. Louis, far removed from the highway or any city limits.

Arthur remained skeptical, even as Alfred spread out the sleeping bag over the ground. He laughed and Arthur finally took the hint when Alfred latched onto him and kissed him deeply.

"Do you want to?" he murmured against Arthur's lips. He nudged the plastic bag with his foot. Arthur glanced down at it, saw the shapes of a bottle and a box.

He could only laugh. "Only if you want to," he replied, and a low growl spilled into Arthur's mouth and made him shiver.

Alfred tackled him to the ground. Clothes were in various states of removal and flung to the ground and hands resumed where they'd left off the night before, and much more.

Time slowed and they spent a whole day in each state after that night.

.

Illinois – Arthur took to tracing patterns in the palm of Alfred's hand. He did it most of the time without thinking; across the seat of the truck when they took turns driving, walking around whatever city they stopped at for food or gas, and in the middle of aisles in supermarkets.

In a Laundromat late at night, Arthur continued his idle tracing, never seeming to get enough of Alfred's hands. Hands that manipulated metal, that had their fair share of tiny scars, that managed to draw a bow with strength and gently caress his skin.

Suddenly Alfred's hand clenched into a fist and Arthur was alert again, looking up to find mild irritation drawn tight across his face. Out of the corner of his eyes, Arthur saw the only other person in the building sitting against the far wall. She was an old woman, and her shrewd eyes and pursed lips were directed straight toward them.

Arthur understood immediately and drew his hand away, but Alfred stopped him. Easy, and without missing a beat, he re-laced their fingers. Arthur held on and nothing needed to be said.

The second double bed sat superfluous and untouched in their room that night. Alfred felt the need for some sort of apology and after a cautious kiss, Arthur developed a concerned tilt to his brow.

"Don't be sorry," he said.

Alfred sighed. "I'm not."

"Good. Now kiss me."

Alfred obliged.

.

Indiana – The short amount of time they spent in the small stretch of southern Indiana was filled with private moments. They elected to stay out of the towns as much as possible, therefore most of their time was spent off the main roads, where only the cloudless blue sky above saw them and the clear night sky covered them while they slept.

.

Kentucky – In Kentucky, they argued. Their first spat, Arthur thought wryly, mildly surprised they hadn't fought until that point. He couldn't even say what it'd been about later. It seemed so petty after the fact.

In a moment of regrettable petulance, Arthur had stormed into the motel room knowing he had both room keys, effectively locking Alfred out. Right as the door slammed behind him, Alfred's fist pounded once and Arthur could almost feel his vibrating anger through the door.

He had only been locked out for an hour, but it felt like a day. And Arthur felt horrible when he considered that their days were sorely numbered. So when Alfred came back, and Arthur heard a calm knocking, he rolled off the bed and answered.

He opened the door and they held each other's gaze for a full minute before Arthur curled his fingers around Alfred's and pulled him in.

Alfred touched his forehead to Arthur's and breathed deeply. Arthur's fingertips traced over his palm.

.

West Virginia – Realization was setting in. Cold, hard realization – a nauseous twist in Arthur's stomach. They had stopped talking about anything to do with the future. Arthur could admit it might have been a childish way to handle the situation. What did he expect would happen once he and Alfred got involved? Hell, he should have known it from that night at the hidden spring in Oklahoma. That night where Alfred finally showed a side of himself that interested Arthur, that made him want to keep him around. It seemed like months ago.

You've dug yourself a hole, Arthur, he thought to himself. But he couldn't help that it happened. He couldn't help seeing the first genuine smile and laugh from Alfred after he'd jumped from that rock and feeling his heart skip a beat. He couldn't help that the more he got to know him the more he found him attractive. He knew he was doomed when Alfred kissed him in California.

"So what are you going to do now, Arthur?" he mumbled to himself in the truck cab. They'd parked in front of an old-style burger drive in. Alfred was getting them food. Arthur could see him speaking to the cashier, watched him lean nonchalantly on the wooden railing as he waited. Then he stepped forward, retrieved their paper bag and turned back to the truck.

"I got you the Bacon Pepperjack Deluxe. American obscenity at its finest," he said. He also waved two shakes in his hands. "I also got shakes. Vanilla for you," he said with a sly smile, "and chocolate for me."

Arthur simply took his and sipped from the straw. He put it in the cup holder while Alfred began to attack his sandwich.

Alfred noticed him. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he replied idly. "I'll eat in a bit."

Alfred shrugged. "Alright."

Arthur resumed driving, telling himself he'd stop at the next rest stop to eat, and maybe formulate some words.

The sun was starting to set when they got to the next rest stop. It hadn't taken long; his burger was still warm. But the more he thought of it, the less hungry he felt. Alfred had certainly wolfed his down, along with the shake, and now he was chewing on minty gum.

Arthur made the excuse of using the restroom and slid out of the truck. He did use it, but he didn't return to the truck right away. Instead, he walked around the back to where the edge of the grass met the dimmer, wilder forest. He stood with his hands in his jean pockets and watched the dark get darker.

"I can tell you're thinking too hard," he heard Alfred say behind him.

"I'm fine," Arthur mumbled.

A sigh, and then Alfred draped his arms around his shoulders from behind. His chin rested on the crook of his shoulder. "I can practically hear everything that's blowing through your mind."

"Can you?" he retorted with perhaps a little more venom than was necessary.

"Its nothing to worry about." Alfred kept his voice level.

Arthur whirled around, his hands clenching into fists. Alfred's dropped to his sides. "So what? You just expect me to say 'Nice knowing you' and hop on a plane? Thanks for the memories?"

Alfred's eyes sharpened, unable to keep from outwardly challenging him. "Of course not, but I think you're getting ahead of yourself."

"I'm being realistic."

"Yeah, well it doesn't have to be now."

"When, then?" Arthur's voice was steadily rising. "When I'm all but driving into the Atlantic?"

"No." Alfred's own voice was risen and stern. "You seem to think you're the only one who's concerned."

"Because I can really tell you are."

Alfred's upper lip twitched and he stepped forward, grabbing the front of Arthur's shirt and crushing their lips together. It was the suddenness and the intensity that made Arthur react despite his anger. The first instinct he had was to push Alfred away – how dare he kiss him when he was angry with him. But even when he had his hands on his chest ready to do just that, something, perhaps his resolve, crumbled and his lips parted for Alfred. Instead of pushing, Arthur's fingers curled into Alfred's shirt.

Glad for the response, Alfred eased up a little. His lips were softer now, less aggressive. Arthur didn't say anything when they parted, still wary. Their faces were inches apart.

"Don't pull away from me now," Alfred whispered. "Not yet."

What little resolve Arthur had left shattered. His fingertips brushed gingerly across Alfred's jaw, over his cheekbones and the sides of his face. It was in this feather-light grip that Arthur pulled his lips back to his. Haste and aggression gave way to slow and sweet. He knew he wasn't doing any favors for his heart, but he didn't care. Neither of them wanted it to end. Arthur figured he could spend a long time kissing Alfred, feeling him out. So he let himself for a few minutes more. The only sounds between them were soft breaths.

Arthur leaned away just enough for his lips to barely hover over Alfred's. He licked the trace of mint from the inside of his lips.

"Not yet," Arthur assured.

.

Virginia – "Would you visit?"

"What?"

Arthur scuffed his shoe in the gravel. "London. I'm not sure when but…"

The smallest smile crept onto Alfred's face. "Arthur."

"I mean, I'm not sure how long they'll have me in Amsterdam-"

"Arthur."

"But spring is lovely, if a little more rainy than you're used to-"

Arthur was abruptly and efficiently stopped by an earnest press of lips on his. When Alfred pulled back, Arthur's face still locked between his hands, he saw the smile blooming.

"Arthur, shut up."

He blinked and swallowed.

"I would love to visit you on your turf."

He thought his heart might skip a beat and let out the breath he only just realized he was holding. "That's… wonderful."

In all his giddiness, Alfred leaned back in and kissed Arthur. He was still grinning when they continued to stand in the circles of each other's arms.

"I don't want you to go."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "It's late. And I still have to get to D.C. by morning." His flight was in fact tomorrow, and Arthur scrunched his nose. "We made it just in time, huh."

"Yeah," Alfred sighed.

But neither moved for a few minutes more. Reluctantly, Arthur withdrew his arms from around Alfred's neck.

"Don't worry," Alfred said softly. "I'm in this, with you."

A wistful look flitted across Arthur's face. "I know. Me too."

In a last attempt to stall, Arthur remembered the soccer ball in the back of the truck. He took it out and handed it to Alfred. "Keep it," he said.

Alfred spun it in his hands and Arthur shuffled back to the truck door. Opened the door, hoisted himself onto the seat, was surprised when Alfred hooked his arm around Arthur's neck and pulled him down into one last kiss. Arthur wasn't sure yet when he'd next see him, so he made this kiss count. It seemed like Alfred had the same idea. One more chance for passion, for promise, for feeling Alfred's hot skin under his fingers.

It left him breathing heavily but it was enough for the moment, it'd have to be enough. Though Arthur had a sneaking suspicion that in an hour it wouldn't.

Alfred stepped back and picked up the ball and his duffel bag from the ground. Arthur watched him fade in the rearview mirror.

And Alfred watched him leave until the truck was out of sight. With his bag and the ball under his arm, he turned around with a heavy sigh. The bright neon yellow of the Denny's sign welcomed him. He steeled himself, and trudged forward into the place he had known for years.

The place was practically empty, like always. Alfred could pick out the greasy cook reading off to the side. His gaze wandered for Matt and he saw him standing behind the bar. Talking. With Gilbert.

Fuck.

He would have whirled around and walked right out, content to walk home, but Matt and Gil suddenly heard him. The way Gilbert spun around with that shit-eating grin almost made him flinch.

"Oh, Al," he sang, hopping off his stool to come behind him and physically push him over to the bar. "We've missed you so much, you know. The nights are boring here without you glaring into your coffee."

Matt didn't say anything, but he still had a knowing smile on his face.

Gil pushed him onto the barstool next to him and watched him gleefully with his chin in his hand.

"Stop staring at me like you know something," he said, hoping the nervousness he felt had been masked.

Gil shrugged. "Oh, I know many things. I know how to take apart and rebuild a Harley, I know that your truck does off-roading extremely well…" the dangerous glint in his eyes kept him from interrupting about his truck. "And I know that you were sucking the face off Eyebrows just a few minutes ago."

All he could say in his defense was, "I was not sucking his face."

"Matt, you owe me fifty dollars."

"What the hell? You had a bet?"

Gilbert unashamedly nodded. "You're going to tell us that you hopped in a weirdly attractive stranger's car for an impromptu road trip and didn't end up making out with him by the end? Next I'm going to find out you had sex with him too."

Alfred cursed his friend and his brother to hell, and especially cursed the heat that most certainly brought a flush to his cheeks.

"Oh my god." Gilbert's mouth dropped open. "Matt are you hearing this?"

"I didn't say anything!"

"You didn't need to, Goldilocks." The shit-eating grin returned and Alfred wanted to die in a hole in the ground.

Matt, always the mediator of the two, shot Gilbert a look and said gently to Alfred, "You really like him, don't you?"

Alfred ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. He couldn't help the small smile that pulled the corners of his lips up. Suddenly he was calmed, gaze growing soft as he thought of Arthur's offer. Him. In London. He didn't even think he'd make it out of Virginia, let alone the North America. He glanced up at the men in front of him. Matt was gentle, rational in his emotions, but he knew how and when to crack the whip on him as his brother. Gilbert was loud and spirited, but he never made light of his problems, even if he teased him a bit first. He sighed and said finally, "Yeah, I do."

.

.

Heathrow

Arthur waited at arrivals, admittedly anxious. People began pouring out of the gate at all different speeds looking tired, bored, or searching for others.

Arthur tried not to look as anxious as he felt. They'd been talking since he left the states – they talked right up until Alfred boarded his flight. Late night calls because he would wait up for Alfred after he finished work in the shop for the day. Video calls when Alfred was coming home from a long night in the shop and Arthur talked with him until he fell asleep with the morning light warming the side of his face.

A year had passed. It was August and Alfred had blazed through his client roster. Arthur was bummed that he still hadn't seen Alfred's creations, but Alfred reassured him that they were just a bunch of simple tweaks and generic designs anyway, and that he'd make something special for him. He wouldn't tell him what kind exactly, but the thought that he'd make something for Arthur warmed him.

He was almost too caught up in his thoughts and he suddenly saw that flash of golden blond hair. As he grew clearer and clearer through the crowd, trademark bomber jacket and thick-framed glasses, the grin grew on his face. Alfred looked much the same, but it was what Arthur loved.

Finally, Alfred was standing in front of him. His fingers itched for him.

"Welcome to England," he said.

"You know, I've never been to England."

Arthur could laugh. "And now you're here."

Alfred grinned. "I am. We are."

Arthur threw his arms around Alfred's shoulders and pulled him close. He breathed in his scent – lightly earthy, sunny sweet. He'd missed it.

"I brought you something," Alfred said.

Arthur pulled back and watched him take the soccer ball out from his carry-on duffel. His brows rose.

He gave it to Arthur and upon examining it, he found that words were written in the hexagons. California, Virginia, Nevada… All the states they'd travelled through. Alfred took a marker out of his bag next and quickly wrote inside another hexagon, "London".

"I figure we should keep this," he nodded toward the ball.

"Tell me, Alfred," Arthur said, turning the ball in his hands. "What do you want to do now?"

Alfred shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well, it'd be a shame to leave your passport so empty." Arthur grinned at the knowing twinkle in Alfred's eye. "What do you say about round two? European edition."

Alfred's answer was an enthusiastic sweep of his hand at the back of Arthur's neck and his warm lips on his. Christ, did Arthur miss kissing him.

Alfred brought their foreheads together and laughed. "Well what are you waiting for? You've got a continent to show me."

I'd forgotten how long this story was T_T I'm such a sap I wipe myself out.

Thanks for reading!

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