[Arthur doesn't know why he's nervous. There's always the normal reasons--like all the complications, for example. Dating humans can't ever last more than oh, five or more years, whether or not they know who--what--he is. So much time spent with a nation takes its toll on them; they begin to age more slowly, and then depending on exposure, they lose their sense of time and their minds start to degrade....

He snaps himself out of that utterly depressing train of thought. He's enjoyed himself and Q makes for excellent company, and there's absolutely no good reason why he ought to spoil his own mood with matters that are both irrelevant in the current moment and inevitable in the far future.

Casual dating is definitely not on the list of things to avoid. As for jumping right into the sack? He's not drunk enough to not pretend that's what he's hoping for. The lad's got such a brilliant mind and wonderful looks and great taste in cardigans. How can Arthur possibly resist?

When Q speaks up, Arthur peeks over his mug of tea and tries not to smile. His cheeks go a little pink, though.]

So did I. Don't think either of us have enough interruptions from work.

[...Idiot. Say something else!!] Er, you know. We should. Do this more often. I like it.

[...quite passionate, aren't we Arthur?]