I went down and set the package -- uh, decupboarded the budgie? -- this afternoon! I have absolutely no idea how long said budgie will take to cross the Atlantic, but it is on its way!

Oh yeah, the crying. I've actually made guys cry, and I still can't usually deal with it in fic. And any kind of relationship where one side seems to have so much more power/agency than the other -- manly!guy/passive!guy type stuff. *hides in the collapsed comment*

Bradley would piss Arthur off, Arthur would piss Bradley off, but the power of narcissism could bring them together. They would both get really drunk, and then Bradley would say something like, "You can't tell me you haven't thought about it."

"I've... thought about it," Arthur admits, silently vowing never to touch anything stronger than the watered-down ale they serve in the morning, ever again. However, he also continues to think about it.

"Could be interesting," Bradley says, trailing a finger round the top of his wineglass, giddy and foolish.

"It could be terrible."

"Only one way to find out." Bradley grins -- Arthur has always taken a secret pride in the attractiveness of that grin. It has, in the past, been deployed to great usefulness. It never occurred to him to worry that it might one day be deployed against himself.

The grin moves closer. Arthur can see his own features -- his own gorgeous features: he likes his own looks, there's nothing wrong with that -- in far more gorgeous, living detail than he ever thought might be possible.

He's going to regret this in the morning. He foresees headaches, nudity, and both physical and emotional discomfort.

He empties his glass, swallowing quickly, and closes the distance between them.