Hurry. Hungry.

There had to be somewhere nearby where he could find a good meal. A bar or a club, somewhere that involved alcohol so he could feed as soon as possible. God, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd been this hungry. Why had he waited so long between feedings?

Right, because the lovebirds had convinced him to come to London with them and he hadn't even had the chance to feed during the last two days.

Should've fed off them. They wouldn't mind. They love it.

But he didn't like to feed off them. They were his friends and he didn't want to be dependent on them for food. Besides, they were so busy with each other that he felt selfish for asking to be included.

Hurryhurryhurry! Hungry!

His impatience and the overwhelming need growing, Alfred popped his knuckles as his gaze searched desperately for the telltale signs of a bar. This was London, for hell's sake! There should be a place to get a drink around here somewhere! Long legs carried him quickly down the sidewalk, almost but not quite jogging because, while he was about to go mad with hunger, he didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to himself.

There! Yes! A pub! Fucking finally!

Relief flooded him and he slipped inside the pub's front door, hands shoved into his pockets so that they wouldn't twitch for everyone to see. Blue eyes all but glowed behind glasses as they adjusted to the dim lighting and scanned the people already there. Alfred hadn't even taken his first step towards the bar when his breath caught in his throat and he froze, staring. There was a man sitting alone at the bar. His back was to Alfred and his shoulders were hunched up almost to his ears, but that didn't mean anything. Even wearing loose business clothes, he was obviously a very thin man and his blond hair looked like it would be amazingly soft. Al wanted to run his hands through it.

Him. Feed. Now. Hungry. Him.

Fixing a charming smile in place, Alfred straightened his jacket and ran a hand through his own ash blond hair to give himself a perfectly messy look, young and reckless and wild and definitely capable of giving someone a good time. He approached the blond sitting at the bar and gracefully slid onto the stool next to him—the stranger didn't look up or even appear to notice that there was now someone sitting next to him.

"Hey, there," Alfred greeted, his tone friendly with a slightly flirtatious edge. "What's your name?"

The man straightened slightly, looking around as if he wasn't sure who was being spoken to, then turned and stared straight at Alfred. "Are you talking to me?"

Immediately, Alfred's mind went blank. It was almost impossible not to stare like a star-struck idiot. Somehow, on his first night out in London, he'd managed to find a man with insanely green eyes set in a pale, elegantly narrow face. The blond hair was revealed to be multiple shades of gold and he had thick eyebrows that were drawn together in confusion. Then there was the accent, of course. Alfred almost didn't want to believe that this guy was human even though he knew that he was.

Beautiful. Perfect. Want. Need.

"Course I am. I don't see any other handsome guys sitting at this bar." He winked playfully, his smile turning into an outright grin that was borderline seductive smirk.

A light blush colored the man's cheeks and he lowered his gaze to the bar top. "H-handsome?"

Shit, that was damn fucking adorable. The man was shy and Alfred wanted to pull him into a tender hug, nuzzle his cheek and kiss his neck and whisper sweet nothings into his ear until the Brit was a blushing, mumbling mess for Al to take home and make love to for hours on end. God, yes, he wanted to do that.

"Handsomest man in all of London."

The blush darkened. "Flatterer," he accused, and Alfred laughed his usual charming laugh.

"But an honest flatterer. So, you gonna tell me your name or do I have to try to guess?"

"N-no, you don't have to guess." He offered a nervous smile and held his hand out. "I'm Arthur."

Arthur. It was the perfect name for this perfect man and Alfred shook his hand with only barely contained eagerness.

"Nice to meet ya, Arthur. I'm Alfred, but you can call me Al."

"You're American," Arthur commented as he took his hand back and wrapped it securely around the half-full glass sitting in front of him.

"Sure am! I've been to London before, but not for a while. Things have changed a bit and, well, I'm not actually sure where I am," Alfred admitted with an embarrassed chuckle. It wasn't entirely true. Yes, he'd been to London before, years ago, and yes, things had changed, but he knew his way around these streets well enough to find his way back to the hotel once he was done feeding. Besides, he wouldn't be going back until morning.

Maybe not 'til tomorrow afternoon. I could really take my time with this guy. He's probably a god in bed. He'd be like a feast.

"Are you by yourself?" The Brit was obviously only concerned for Alfred's welfare and didn't have any ulterior motives for asking, but Al wanted to make him blush again.

"I was, but I've decided that I'd like to enjoy your company for the evening," he replied, his voice dropping slightly so that Arthur knew what he was hinting at. As he'd expected, the smaller blond's cheeks flushed again. What he hadn't counted on, though, was the sudden frown he received.

"Aren't you a cocky one." Arthur turned to face the bar again and took a drink from his glass. "Well, you can forget about that, because I'm not so easily wooed. What kind of man would I be if I got picked up by every good-looking git that swaggered through that door? No, I have my pride, so if you're looking for a quick hook-up, then you can shift your arse to the club around the corner."

Shocked, Alfred blinked wide blue eyes at the Brit and tried to think of something to say in response to that. No one had ever turned him down before.

"I…I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to offend you or sound like a…a git. You're just really good-looking and you seem nice and I don't have plans for the evening and I honestly would like to get to know you better."

Stop! Stop! What the hell are you saying?! Just accept that he isn't interested and go to the club, you moron! You don't have time for this "wooing" bull shit! It's time to feed and you know what'll happen if you don't hurry up and find someone!

He ignored the warning bells in his head, ignored the burning itch-like sensation in the back of his brain that was on the verge of driving him mad. Yeah, he could go to the club around the corner, but he didn't want to. He wanted Arthur and leaving now would only prove to the Brit that Alfred was just some asshole looking for a fuck buddy. That wasn't what he wanted.

That's what I am, though. I need food and soon and I can't afford to spend all night trying to win over some guy who might say no, anyway.

"Then quit trying to pick me up," Arthur muttered, glaring into his glass as if the liquid inside had personally insulted him. "I'm not some hussy looking for a good time."

Almost ashamed of himself, Alfred lowered his gaze. "I know. I'm sorry."

They were quiet for a moment as the bartender came and refilled Arthur's glass; Alfred declined to order anything.

"What are you in London for? Business?"

Alfred smiled in relief—he wasn't a lost cause just yet. "No, I'm on vacation with a couple of friends. I'm the third wheel, though, so I'm on my own for tonight."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Arthur swirled the golden liquor he'd been partaking of that evening then glanced at Alfred out of the corner of his eye. "Listen, I'm sorry for going off on you like that. I shouldn't get so worked up over these little things, but…well, not that you care or that it's your problem at all, but I've had a run of bad luck lately when it comes to romance so I'm a bit more defensive than usual. But if you're asking me out, not just looking for sex, then I do think it would be fun."

Yes! He wants to go out with me!

But you need to eat. He just said he won't sleep with you. What are you going to do?

Despite the blow reality had just dealt to his private victory, Alfred couldn't help but grin. "Great!"

The Brit chuckled at his enthusiasm. "You're a funny one, Alfred. I can honestly say I've never met anyone quite like you."

"That's cause no one is quite like me," Alfred replied playfully, leaning closer to the green-eyed man so that Arthur blushed again.

"Oh, shove off. Listen, I've had enough for one night, but," smiling slightly, he grabbed Alfred's hand and picked up an abandoned pen from the bar top then wrote on the American's palm, "you can call me, and we'll set up that date. All right?"

"Cool." Blue eyes examined the number and Alfred looked back at the Brit in time for Arthur to quickly lean in and kiss him. It startled Al enough that he froze, eyes going wide, until Arthur pulled away a few moments later, blushing darkly.

"See you around, Alfred," he mumbled, looking up at the taller man through his bangs so that it was green framed by gold and Alfred was left absolutely speechless. Then he slid off his stool, placed money for his drink on the bar, and quickly left the pub. Alfred's gaze followed him the whole way, watching how his hips swayed ever so slightly as he walked and the noticing the way Arthur glanced back at him just before he disappeared through the door.

I have a date with Arthur.

Just the thought made him want to let out a self-congratulatory woop. He didn't though, choosing instead to quietly leave the pub and set off down the sidewalk towards the corner. Hooking up with some stranger at the club Arthur had mentioned after meeting the Brit wasn't exactly appealing, but he still needed to feed and that kiss had only made him hungrier. He'd call Arthur tomorrow and set up their date. For now, it was feeding time.

XXX

He managed to keep his cool all the way back to his apartment. It really wasn't that far of a walk, but it felt like it took years just to make it those few blocks away from the pub. For that time, Arthur remained as calm, cool and collected as always. The moment his door was locked and he was safely alone in his apartment, though, he let out a groan and slumped against the wall, a hand over his eyes.

"Bloody hell…"

What on earth had he been thinking? Just because the git had big blue eyes and that cute little cowlick and did he really have anything coherent to say about that smile and that bloody accent? For no real good reason, he'd given his number to a complete stranger! A stranger he knew nothing about, who was in London on vacation! What exactly did he think was going to happen? He'd go on a date with the man, maybe even develop an attraction to him, and what? It couldn't turn into anything—Alfred would go back to America and Arthur would never see him again.

Ooh, he didn't like to think about that.

Sighing, the Briton pushed himself away from the wall and made his way through the apartment to his bedroom, clicking on the small lamp that stood on the nightstand. His room was small and rather plain, as was the rest of his apartment, but it was cozy. Neat. Well kept. It wasn't much, but it was his, and he was proud of it.

Green eyes landed on the bed and for a moment he considered collapsing onto the soft mattress without bothering to undress and just sleep in his clothes. Tempting, tempting. Somehow, the energy he'd had when he went to the pub had abandoned him, but he supposed he could just be feeling a little drained due to his run-in with the American. Falling asleep right at that moment would be easy. His upbringing didn't allow for that, though, so he ignored the bed for now and changed out of his work clothes, tossing them into the hamper, then put on his pajamas. He brushed his teeth, washed his face and combed his hair like any other well-raised Englishman. Then, finally, he crawled into bed and snuggled under the covers.

I gave my number to an American tourist and he's going to call me and we're going to go on a date.

Arthur buried his face in his hands as an anguished groan escaped him. "Ugh, what was I thinking?"

And I kissed him. I bloody kissed him, after telling him I'm not a hussy. The poor man probably doesn't know what to think of me now.

None of what he'd done in that pub made sense. It was supposed to be a regular Friday night. Get off work, stop for a drink on his way home, then come back to the apartment and go to bed. Spend Saturday relaxing, read a book and have some tea, maybe go to the park and feed the birds. Now he was going to spend all of tomorrow waiting for Alfred to call him, and he knew he'd be upset if the blue-eyed man didn't call for a few days. He'd flirted with a complete stranger, which was completely unlike him. He'd also lectured that stranger, admitted to that stranger that his love life hadn't been going very well lately, gave his number to that stranger and then kissed him before walking out as if that was how he spent every Friday night!

"I'm such a git. What am I supposed to do about this? I can't very well tell him that I've changed my mind and don't want to go out with him, after all."

Besides, he didn't want to do that. No one in his right mind would turn down the chance to go on a date with Alfred, not after having that smile aimed at them, not after being called "the handsomest man in London" by the handsomest American tourist that ever existed. Alfred had been so confident and suave, so sure of what he wanted and sure that he could get it. But the moment he thought he'd been rude, the suave stranger disappeared. He'd become a kind-hearted, sweet young man who was looking for someone to spend his time with. It had been rather cute.

But this is bad! He's good-looking and charming and if I was so attracted to him that I kissed him already then how am I supposed to keep my distance so it doesn't hurt when he goes back to America?

Intimacy had never been something that Arthur was good at. He was terrible at being intimate, at flirting and being playful with his partners. It was always a shock when someone actually took an interest in him, but never surprising when his usually cold demeanor drove those people away. What had he been called? Cold. Uncaring. Distant. His relationships had been described as "convenient" and "boring" and "stale." Partners asked why he couldn't be a little more adventurous, why he never tried anything new. And Arthur never had answers for them.

Now, though, now he'd done something new. He'd kissed a stranger he'd met in a pub, and given the man his number. Even better, that stranger was handsome and charming, the kind of man that Arthur would never have thought he had a chance with. Yet Alfred had chosen him. Out of all the men in the pub tonight, Arthur had been chosen. It made a small balloon of pride inflate in his chest. Alfred thought he was handsome.

"This will be good for me," he told himself firmly, finally coming to terms with the situation enough to stop hiding his face. "I'll go on this whirlwind romance adventure, and even if it doesn't pan out, well, at least I'll have the story to tell of the dashing American who swept me off my feet. For once, I'll do what no one expects, and I'll come out better than I am now. Alfred's different, somehow. Any fool can see that, and until he goes back to America, well, I'm going to enjoy the fact that he's in London."

That made him feel better, thinking of this as an adventure, something to spice up the life that everyone else considered to be so dull. Alfred was anything but dull, and he seemed to think that Arthur was special, too. If anything, Arthur meant to live up to the American's expectations. He was a well-off man with a good job, he was intelligent and, despite what everyone else seemed to think, he could be spontaneous and fun. He'd had his rebellious teenage years, after all, and still bore the evidence of them.

"I'll show them. I'll show them how much fun Arthur Kirkland is. No one will ever call me 'boring' again."

Feeling rather smug now, the Briton settled more comfortably under the blankets and let his eyes fall closed. He took a deep breath, letting the relaxing scent of lavender fill his nose, then sighed. Already, sleep began to creep up on him, and his thoughts of Alfred began to blur together until it was a jumbled mess of impossibly blue eyes and dazzling smiles.

"I'm going on a date with a gorgeous American," he mumbled to himself, smiling, just before he drifted off. It was the best thing he'd fallen asleep to in a long time.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Happy birthday, Foofie! I hope you like your present :) If the time zone difference means that it's not your birthday for you anymore, then I'm really, really sorry for being late. I hope you had a fantastic birthday!