Spice Up Your Life {Anty}

[Arthur Kirkland]

• SMILING DANCING, EVERYTHING IS FREE, ALL YOU NEED IS POSITIVITY •

COLORS OF THE WORLD SPICE UP
* - - - YOUR LIFE

There was clearly something wrong with him—it was the only viable excuse for his circumstances. Some tragic disease, to be certain. What else could have an English gentleman up at such hours? Yes, there was sure to be some nasty virus involved. A head cold, perhaps. Something to cloud his judgment and disorient him to the point of exertion.

Of course, all thought of excuses and the clear erroneous nature of what he was doing were but a distant memory now—prevalent only within his first hour at the club.

Arthur Kirkland was a reformed man; long had he given up his partying and piracy, content to live a busy, intellectual life. Yes, they were behind him—but there was a part of him that could never forget them. A part that would never forget the sensations of a pounding beat, of gyrating bodies in an interchangeable mesh, with no idea whose hips you might be pressed against next. It was a memory that would never fade—a hedonistic pleasure equitable to the cigarettes he so regularly took in; equal parts healing and destruction, mind versus bodily pleasures. He had resisted the craving for quite some time, only partaking in a few friendly get-togethers with partial friends to lose himself in the sweet embrace of intoxication. But clubbing? No, that had been something he had sworn off.

Until tonight, so it seemed. He couldn’t recall what exactly had led him to the choice (or, for that matter, much of anything else at the moment), but he had found himself slinking into the club and toward the bar, praying he would go unnoticed. It would only be a couple of drinks, he had promised himself. It would be completely observational, like a fisherman in a whaling museum. He could remember the times, be nostalgic, and be home by midnight.

Unfortunately for the youngest Kirkland, he so frequently thought of himself as a 300 pound man when it came to drinking when, in truth, he was the biggest light-weight he knew. It hadn’t taken much to get him tipsy, and even less after that to have him drunk. By midnight, when he had planned to be home, asleep in his bed, he found himself instead out on the dance floor, moving and grinding to the beat of some spicy Latin song.

Liquid confidence pulsed through his veins, destroying all thought of reservation or subtlety he had upon entering. No, the Arthur who considered himself a gentleman and logical intellect had taken a back seat for the night, replaced by the excitable man who only wondered what the next drink would be, where it would come from, and how long it would take him to down it. He was a man given only to his instincts, abiding by his bodily desires—simply put, his myriad of rules and morals had ebbed away and been replaced by one inscrutable law: have as much fun as humanly possible. Caution had long been thrown to the wind, along with the majority of his clothing.

His outfit on arrival had been reserved, to say the least: button-up shirt, suspenders, dress pants, and suede shoes. He had only planned for a short excursion, after all. Yet as the hours of the night had dragged on and he continued to pour more alcohol down his gullet, a number of exchanges had taken place. First went his shirt to a bartender he had inadvertently been flirting with, in exchange for the man’s tie. A fair trade, as far as he had been considered. Next came the trading of pants—that is to say, his pants for a Spanish girl’s short black shorts (bedazzled with a rhinestone butterfly across the back, thank you very much). And after that point, socks and shoes hadn’t quite felt right, and they had ended up tossed into some discrete corner—no doubt stolen, by that point. It was perhaps luck on his part that another woman (a tourist, no doubt) had stumbled up to him and, whilst muttering that he looked “like, sooooo sexy in those shorts!” stooped down to unzip her knee-high black boots and hand them to the drunken Brit. Perhaps she had only been kidding, or perhaps not; either way, Arthur wasted no time in donning those impossibly tight boots and continuing his night. A tie, suspenders, boots, and short shorts—as far as Arthur was considered, it was the perfect outfit for the night. It was fun and exhilarating—and hell, the wolf-whistles and flirtatious shouts in both English and Spanish were certainly doing a number in favor of his ego!

One a.m., and Arthur had no plans of going back to his apartment. A smile was plastered onto his face as the music continued. His vision had long been blurred, not much help considering the ever-moving bodies already had him disoriented. It was catharsis, plain and simple—alleviation from the stress and worry that tended to plague the Brit on a near constant basis. He was free and loose and, most of all, happy. Here was not the scowling man who met pleasantries with sharp wit and cynicism; nor was he the man who acted with violence to the slightest degree of physical contact. One could not say if the man he was now could be considered better or worse—certainly in his sober state, he considered his intoxicated self a complete menace and embarrassment to himself.

It was whilst sandwiched between two people of indistinct genders that Arthur’s night truly shone. His ears perked when he heard it, one eyebrow quirked as if he truly couldn’t believe his ears. A moment passed, and there was no mistaking it. That beat, those heavenly voices—The Spice Girls. By some miracle of God’s good will, someone had decided that it was time for a break in the pounding Spanish music and to play that delightful British girl band. He grin broadened, turning to the man he had been dancing with (and, after focusing, he could tell that it was, in fact, a man). ”Oi! I love this song!" He shouted, attempting despite the odds to be heard over the divine song. His dance partner smiled back and grabbed his hand, pulling him across the floor. He briefly resisted, trying to inquire as to the reasons, but Arthur was hardly even in control of his own body, let alone trying to stop another. They made it to the stage in the center of the dancefloor. Arthur briefly recalled thinking, upon first entering the bar, how perverse it was for a club to have a platform with a stripper pole. Now. However, all Arthur could think was how fucking awesome it was, and how much he wanted to get up there and dance and sing with the group of girls who had mounted the stage once the song had begun.

Instant gratification—Arthur was beginning to love this place. The man who had dragged him pushed him forward, toward the waiting hands of two women who eagerly pulled him onto the stage. With a laugh and a smile, he quickly took to the act, dancing in that confident, awkward way that only a drunken fool could pull off, singing the lyrics to ‘Wannabe’ as loudly and empathically as the girls on either side of him. Shaking his hips and running his fingers up his exposed chest, Arthur certainly provided an interesting sight, to say the least.

And in his defense, he almost made it through the entirety of the song before misstepping and toppling off the stage. Altogether too pleased with himself, he laughed as he stood up, oblivious to the pain of the impact. Why worry now when it would bruise tomorrow?

words 1297
tagged Any Hetalia character, por favor. Ahaha, I'd prefer to thread with someone he knows.
notes Aaah. This may be the most cocaine I've ever been on whilst writing a post.
Music Bad Romance -- Lady Gaga

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[Antonio Fernandez Carriedo]

I'm your favorite enemy

And you're my favorite rival

The familiar beat of the room resounded through the Spanish man’s chest. He’d been here so many times before he could nearly walk around blindfolded. He knew most of the bartenders and DJs. They knew his name and favorite drinks; surely, this was a good familiar place to be. Antonio sauntered around the room, catching a few eyes of guys and girls alike. He of course then proceeded to wink, and smile at them and continue on. Sure, he was oblivious when other’s hit on him, said—or even in some cases Francis did something in general perverted. That didn’t mean he couldn’t flirt himself though. His people weren’t known for being passionate for nothing. That was clearly a stereotype he’d taken and made his own. There really hadn’t been any reason for Antonio to be out tonight. Of course, other then to drink, and party as he liked to do from time to time. The wine in his hand and the glasses before it had already made his head a little fuzzy. His smiles a little goofier, his footing a little off. None of it really mattered though; he was having a good time anyway.

The wine glass in his hand was cool as he danced, temperature rising. Antonio had effectively gotten a pattern of changing his dancing partner every few minutes or so. Even drunk he danced gracefully between people, all to willing to dance with the skilled man. What kind of stereotypical Spaniard would he be if he couldn’t dance? After an hour or so in the middle of the dance floor, and cup after cup of wine he wormed his way out of the crowd. Soundlessly leaving his partners behind, he made his way to the bar. Leaning against it, he pressed the cool drink the bartender had put in front of him to his forehead. “Gracias mi amigo.” Taking a seat on one of the available stool he panted slightly. More then definitely time for a break.

The rich beat of the music vibrated in his head. Making it nearly impossible to think, especially with his current lack of oxygen as he continued to breathe heavily. He tilted his head back, drink still pressed to his forehead as he rotated it. Closing his eyes, he sighed in content. Tonight had been a good night so far.

Antonio could only chuckle when he head the song blasting on the speakers. The Spice Girls if he had remembered correctly. They had broken the chain of Spanish dancing music for this. They were… British right? He covered his mouth with a hand as he bent over in a fit of giggles. He could just imagine Arthur, dignified Arthur, secretly having their CD stashed under his pillow, or hidden somewhere in his computer. And when the British man was sure no one would be able to hear it, blasting it and singing along off key as he danced around in his boxers. Using some sort of brush as a microphone and jumping up and down on his bed, like a teenaged girl. He stomach started to hurt from laughing so much. Only abruptly stopping as he looked up to the stage. Maybe he was tipsier then he thought.

One could say the Spanish man’s jaw dropped when he saw Arthur stumble onto the stage. In…. what the hell was he wearing? Antonio stood shell shocked, somewhere between cackling and appalled—maybe because Arthur didn’t look half bad in that outfit, or maybe because Arthur was running around in said outfit (Dear god, was that a jeweled butterfly on his ass?). Then again, people did crazy things when drunk; Arthur was no exception it seemed.

Antonio couldn’t waste this perfect black-mail opportunity. Sure the two had made-up in a sense, they didn’t hate each other’s guts anymore, but that didn’t mean Antonio had no use for black-mail. Even if it was only friendly this time, besides they did still get in scuffles every now and again. He pulled out his cell phone from tight darkly colored jeans. The tomato and turtle phone charms clinking together in a soundless chime. He lifted the phone’s camera high enough to catch the dancing Brit in its eye. “Smile, you poor bastard.” He chuckled lightly as he took picture after picture. “He’s never going to know what hit him later. Going to have to do something big to make sure I don’t show this to Gilbert and Francis.” He muttered quietly and possibly drunkenly to himself in Spanish. Ohhhh, Antonio had gotten a big one over on the English man, he’d never let him live this down. Even if it meant randomly humming or playing this song around him, just to embarrass him.

If anyone knew how to put on a show, make a drunken spectacle of himself, it was Arthur. The British man just couldn’t seem to stop himself, when he wanted attention; he knew just how to get it. Surely most eyes were on him, after all, it wasn’t often that a man, dressed as Arthur was now, got up on the stage and danced so… enthusiastically to Spice Girls. Coming out alone tonight, surely, had been one of his better decisions. Who would have thought he’d have such luck. Such delicious payback this was. Antonio almost couldn’t wait for tomorrow, hangover or not, the Spanish man was going to rub it in his face.

He kept up taking pictures until he saw the other fall of the stage. There was no way Arthur was going to feel that with how drunk he was, so Antonio took his time carefully putting away his phone deep in his pocket, so as not to loose it. He then squirmed his way though the crowd, having no issues getting though the writhing bodies. “Hey Arthur!” He grinned widely, mischievously. “What are you doing here?” He gave the other a rather obvious look at the other’s state of dress, or maybe lack of. He looked ridiculous.

Tonight was going to be fun.

:Words 1007
Notes: lololol I so half-assed this. Sorry hunny! It’s been so long since I’ve written for Antonio. It’s probably a little off.
Music: Monster- Lady Gaga

[Arthur Kirkland]

• SMILING DANCING, EVERYTHING IS FREE, ALL YOU NEED IS POSITIVITY •

COLORS OF THE WORLD SPICE UP
* - - - YOUR LIFE

Arthur felt delirious—not that he acknowledged or even understood that he was feeling such. Yet as his laughter ended, a voice somehow managed to perturb his disillusioned thoughts…not to mention the pulsating music. His name—distinctly, he heard it. He snapped his head up, shocked to find a familiar, grinning face to greet him.

At that point in Arthur’s stage of inebriation, it didn’t quite matter who it was that knew him. Chances are, it could have been either of his blood brothers whom he so dearly abhorred—he still would have done what he did next. Antonio was a familiar face, someone within the crowd who was more than a nameless, shapeless entity to shove ones’ body against. With a pleased laugh, and his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline as they rose at his surprise, Arthur threw his arms around the Spaniard enthusiastically. Wasting no time at all, he hoisted Antonio in the air, spinning around once before setting him back on the ground. “Blimey! Will ya look at tha! My favorite fuckin’ Spaniard!” He nearly shouted, his voice and accent carrying a striking difference from their usual pristine Oxford English. It held a stark resemblance to cockney—something that only came out when the man took a few too many.

Had he heard Antonio’s question, he made no move to respond to it. He was far more interested in the scrutinizing glance Antonio had given him. Though, scrutinizing wasn’t the word Arthur could use. Perhaps it was the drink in him, or perhaps the fact that he was perpetually horrid at reading and understanding other people, but the ‘look’ Antonio gave him did not come across as one of judgment or amusement. No, is misconstrued in his mind to be simple ‘the look’, that universal, suggestive look of attraction. And as far as Arthur was concerned…well, it was about bloody time.

Taking a few steps back from the man, Arthur looped his thumbs around the black suspenders. Lifting an eyebrow, he grinned. “Oh? See something you like, faggot?” He picked up on the beat easily, ears easily tuned for such practices. And with an ease and grace one certainly wouldn’t expect out of Arthur Kirkland, he began to shake his hips in time to the beat, bearing a self-satisfied grin as he danced…and danced damn well.

Though shamed to admit it, Arthur wasn’t ne to dancing with the intent of seduction. Not that he had used it for said purpose—no, Arthur’s own fear of his inexperience had led him to stray away from anything even vaguely flirtatious for years. It was only within the realm of dancing on a stage with his band that leant him the skills and knowledge of just how to tantalizingly sway one’s hips in a fluid motion. It was a certain way of rubbing ones’ hands over their pelvic bones, fingers barely trailing over the peachy flesh. It was a knowledge that Arthur never utilized—he was a dignified gentleman, after all! At least…he usually was.

Though there were many subsets of his personality to deal with whilst drunk, there were two that stood out as most prevalent. When drunk, Arthur tended to be one of two ways—either exceedingly emotional, or vicariously wanton. And, if you were unlucky enough, a mixture of the two.

Easily, and still maintaining the beat, he slunk forward, arms lifting and wrapping their way around Antonio’s neck. His hands both curled into Antonio’s hair, pulling the man’s head closer to him. Pleased smile never leaving, Arthur placed one of his legs between Antonio’s, thus forcing their hips together—Arthur wasn’t about to allow the man any breathing room, that was for certain. He wanted Antonio’s eyes on him, and him alone. Whether horny, depressed, or happy, there was one universality of Arthur’s drunken state—he wanted attention. Though such could be said in his everyday life, it certainly wasn’t to the extent with which he tried now. No, this was not his usual method of one-upmanship, of witty, scathing critiques within verbal banter; this was purely ”Look at me and only me, I’ll make you want me no matter what it takes.”

With their bodies flush together, Arthur resumed his dancing. Hips swaying, thin fabrics rubbing against one another, Arthur’s eyes refused to move from Antonio’s. They nearly dared, with his eyebrows knit together and his grin never once faltering, for Antonio to deny him—to deny his gaze. His fingers lightly pulled on the Spaniard’s hair, as if to remind him who was in control with a bit of pain. He smirked, tongue running over his own top lip once—slowly, alluringly. "Aren't you dagos supposed to be good at dancing?” He chuckled, never once ceasing in the grinding dance. He pulled his head forward and, once side by side with Antonio’s, whispered directly into his ear, “C’mon then. Dance.” As if to emphasize that Arthur wanted Antonio’s compliance immediately, he nipped at the man’s ear-lobe, lightly tugging on the flesh with his incisors.

Arthur did not think over the situation—as far as he was concerned, there was no need to. It was not an actual, innate desire for Antonio to touch him that inspired his actions, after all. He wasn’t actually looking to seduce the man to sexual action—despite what his own actions might have entailed. It was merely a game to Arthur, to see if he could fluster the man. It was not homoerotic in his eyes, then, to be ‘grind-dancing’ against a man. Nor was it wrong of him to tease the poor man’s ear-lobe. He was too far gone to think of repercussions; Arthur wanted instant satisfaction. And forcing a reaction out of the Spanish man seemed like a roaring good time to him at that moment.

words 1060
tagged ANTONIOOOO
notes ...this didn't start out as seductive dance time in my eyes. Srsly.
Oh, and 'dago' is a derogatory term used in the UK to describe a Spaniard. :B
Music Some French song about rabbits. Or, one rabbit in particular :B

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[Antonio Fernandez Carriedo]

You'll be the death of me

Even as fuzzy minded as he was, Antonio had still expected some sort of scathing remark from the English man. So really, if the look on his face was anything but surprised when the other so willingly hugged him, and not only that, swung him around, well it would have been a downright miracle. Still Antonio was a man rather adept to reacting quickly, so in a few moments he had thrown his arms around the other’s shoulders, clinging to him, and laughing loudly--Overjoyed by the other’s apparent delight in seeing him. Even if had only been the alcohol, Antonio didn’t mind in the least. “Favorite?” He laughed again. “I had no idea I was your favorite!” Antonio had no qualms about showing how happy he was to hear such a thing. It was always a nice thing to be someone’s favorite, even if it was Arthur’s and even if it was only his favorite Spaniard.

The elder man had nearly broken out in a fit of laughter at the other. Arthur was so obviously drunk all he could really do was laugh in response to the other’s question. Really, how could he be attracted to tha—the hell? Antonio sputtered as his mind reeled, he couldn’t even do a double take. Arthur was, the hell was he doing? Sure he was dancing; rather well for that matter (Arthur was capable of grace? Who knew?) But Antonio never expected him to be able to dance like that. To be able to move his hips as such. Dear god in heaven, maybe the man… was actually somewhat attractive like this. Antonio shook his head. Hell no, the alcohol, must be taking a bigger affect on him then he thought. He gave a sideways glance to the bar behind him, as though it had betrayed his trust. How dare it give him something that makes him even consider that possibility for even a moment. His mind snapped back into gear. Arthur was obviously, playing a game, duh. “Nope.” He grinned brightly, hoping to bruise the other’s pride slightly. “I only see a drunken Brit. Nothing of interest.”

Despite their many years of knowing each other, Arthur never ceased to surprise the Spaniard. Never. Whether it was a new scathing remark, some spontaneous act of semi-kindness, or… this, Arthur was a lot more surprising then what was normally expected. Antonio could only wonder if Arthur really meant to be as surprising as he was, or if he was really just like that. Arthur was a confusing man to figure out. Antonio had been at the blunt end of the man’s hatred and anger for more of his life then not. He had seen—what he only presumed, to be one of the English man’s uglier sides, but he’d also seen him well, kind. Not normally to him, oh no. Even if they were on civil terms now, Arthur was never particularly nice to him. Not consistently, not in the way one was used to anyway. It just wouldn’t be Arthur otherwise. In a way, Antonio wouldn’t want it any other way. It’d just be weird.

A small gasp of surprise left his lips as the other pressed against him, arms around his neck. After a moment of surprise, he smiled softly in pleased exasperation. Why not cater to the drunken man’s want to dance? He placed his hands lightly on the other’s bare waist, dark skin easily contrasting the pale Brit. Green eyes matched the other’s, refusing to back down from the obvious challenge. The Spaniard could never refuse a challenge, could he? Not from Arthur at any rate. He seemed to thrive off of it in a way, someone he could go all out on. Their competition could go as far as they wanted—well almost. There were a few lines to be crossed. But they were few and far between. So barring those lines, they were free to do to each other as they pleased. To Antonio, their new more civil interactions only proved this. That, no matter what happens they could go back to being… well in a sense of the word, friends. That, though all of their bickering and animosity, no long term grudges would really be held. Maybe in his anger past mistakes would be brought up, if only to rub salt in wounds, but at least to Antonio all was forgiven.

He acknowledged the hair pulling with a slight wince, not actually in pain, but to let Arthur know he felt it, and understood. He could only smile and shake his head, in a way Arthur seemed childish to him. It didn’t matter how he dressed, the fact that he was currently grind dancing against him. No, the light hair pulling, the desperate want for attention, Antonio could have sworn Arthur was simply being childish. It was endearing, and so, Antonio continued to cater to the other’s will. Letting him lead the way with no resistance, or maybe that was the alcohol talking. His fuzzy mind actually wasn’t quite sure about that one.

The sudden feeling of the English man’s teeth on the lobe of his ear made him freeze. No no, Arthur wasn’t just surprising. He was shocking, hell maybe not even that, more then shocking. The nip to his ear sent the Spanish man completely off guard. That is to say, before his mind completely snapped back into gear. So Arthur wanted to play? Hell, why not play his game?

“Si. Quite good at dancing actually.” He grinned in a wolfish manner, beginning to sway his hips in time with the other. He wouldn’t lose to Arthur, hell no, not in dancing. Dark hands gripped the other’s waist a little tighter, letting the beat control his movements. He ground his hips against the other, trying to out do him. Another competition, or so he thought. To his drunken mind, Arthur could have started pukeing and Antonio would have assumed he had challenged him to a pukeing contest. Sensually, he rubbed up against the Arthur. He leaned in close, mimicking the earlier actions Arthur so easily preformed. “Very good at dancing mi amigo.” He chuckled, exhaling softly right next to the other’s ear. “Can you handle it?” His chuckle turning into a drunken giggle. Arthur wouldn’t make a fool of him tonight, he’d beat the other.

:Words 1061
Notes: FFFFF so late! D: I'm sorry I'm such a failure. ;w; I'll try to respond faster.
Music: La Roux- I'm not your toy

[Arthur Kirkland]

• SMILING DANCING, EVERYTHING IS FREE, ALL YOU NEED IS POSITIVITY •

COLORS OF THE WORLD SPICE UP
* - - - YOUR LIFE

One couldn’t quite precisely state what facet of Arthur’s personality it was that made him jump at every challenge (or, for that matter, what part of his mind made him perceive the most basic of actions as ‘challenges’), but when issued, Arthur rarely backed down from a legitimate challenge. If he could see some gain in coming out the victor, some pride in being able to rub someone else’s face in their defeat, Arthur would put his all into it. Antonio, whether or not he realized he had fully instigated the Englishman’s competitive side, had set the rules and standards when he had ground back against Arthur. Whether it was the drink finally clouding every fiber of his reservation, or simple lust courted with exhilaration, but something in Arthur was shouting at him to take it farther—to make sure that he left that damned Spaniard breathless. He grinned at the question; who did Antonio think he was talking to? Whispering huskily into the man’s ears, “Don’t ya worry about me, dago. You just worry about trying to keep up.” As he pulled his head back, he lightly nipped at Antonio’s cheek, fingers softly pulling at the hair. There was something in him, something terribly sadistic, that simply loved causing pleasure through pain. He loved the little nips and bites, the feeling of dominance over another. It was all a game, after all, and causing pain was but one of the casualties to be expected.

What exactly the game was, however, was another matter entirely. Had he even the slightest control over his incoherent thoughts, Arthur might have questioned whether he just wanted to out dance the man, or whether he truly wanted to see if he could seduce him. Without an answer to this question, Arthur decided to settle for a mixture of the two. With his body still following the pulsating beat and hips still flush to the other’s, Arthur released his vice-like grip on the man’s hair. Slowly he let the digits travel down the man’s back, pressing against the body to feel every curvature of muscle harbored beneath the skin. His finger-tips trailed down, lightly pushing to assure that the man had no breathing room. Finally they found their target, trapped behind the stifling entity known as ‘pants’. Surely this was no match for Arthur’s agile fingers, though! Darting his hands beneath the fabric of both pants and underwear, Arthur gave Antonio’s ass a firm squeeze. His plan had initially been ‘squeeze and retreat’, yet his hands lingered. Giving a scowl and a slightly pouted bottom lip, his eyes met Antonio’s again. “…Oi! Since when has your arse been this…” His voice trailed off as he gave yet another squeeze, fingers reluctantly moving back outside of the pants as he laughed aloud. What exactly Arthur was going to label Antonio’s ass as, no one would ever know. With his cognition lost amongst the fray of dancing bodies and liqueur, even he had no idea what might come out of his mouth next.

Of course, his inebriation had led to more than a loss of control over his cognition; with a sudden gasp and arched back, Arthur’s body could take no more of Antonio’s grinding without it instinctually reacting back. Without the control of his mind to thus control his body, Arthur could truly only act off of base instincts. And despite adamant assurances in his daily life that he was as homophobic as they came, Arthur found himself softly shivering in excitement as they danced. Simply put, it felt good—damned good, in fact. It hardly helped that Antonio did, in fact, know how to dance and utilize and shake his body in such an alluring way. Suddenly lowering his eyes, he gave Antonio a look…no, not merely a look—the look. That universally accepted wanton gaze that could display only one emotion: want. It was desire, it was need, and, most of all, it was the heart slamming in his chest feverishly. His lips parted into a smile as he took one pace backwards, reluctantly breaking their gyrating bodies.

His hands reached out, grasping Antonio’s shoulders. Bending his knees twice to allude to his attention, he suddenly jumped onto the Spaniard, quickly wrapping his legs around Antonio’s midsection and holding himself firmly to the man’s front. Oh, how his sober self would balk at such a display of depravity! How he would scowl at their position, of his utter lack of grace and etiquette! But Arthur now…now, he couldn’t see himself doing anything else. He had a contest to win, after all, and a Spaniard to seduce.

With his brain only working on a single-wave frequency and vision completely clouded to anyone outside of his direct attention, Arthur continued to ‘dance’. His hands wrapped around the back of Antonio’s neck, upper-half continuing to sway into the music. There was no prevalent thought in his mind beyond closing every gap between their body, and making Antonio watch and feel him. Childish, perhaps, acting as a little boy who crawls onto his father’s back for the comforting security of closeness it brought. He brought his head down, lips finally meeting lips as he brushed them over the Spaniard’s. He grinned, lightly opening his lips to envelop Antonio’s bottom within them, sucking softly on the pink flesh before letting it go with a soft popping noise. He smirked, nuzzling the tip of his nose against the other’s. “You taste…fruity. ‘Ave you been drinking fruity drinks? Faggot.” He laughed, bringing his lips down to capture Antonio’s lips again—despite his jest, they really did taste delicious.

words Nine four one
tagged ANTONIOOOO
notes Hurrr. Excuse my brief god-modding in assuming that Antonio wouldn't immediately keel over backwards as Arthur jumped onto and koala-clung onto him. Equally, excuse my utter nonsense. Drunk!Arthur just wants attenshuns and kissies.
Music Crazy Bitch--Buck Cherry

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