At this Nils just laughed and careened into Francis, then sang the chorus into his clenched hands, smirking at Francis the entire time through a bloody split lip and that terrifying face paint. Francis laughed so hard he was probably crying - the normally stoic man was singing “Ga-ga oo-la-la” right to him - he yanked Nils closer, and belted out the second verse in return. The chorus came along and they were both alternately singing into each others’ faces, cracking up, and dancing against one another. The bridge came and they paused - stared at each other, panting - and then Francis shoved Nils into a nearby column and they were having a fierce contest to see who could stick their tongue further down the other’s throat.
The song died down and they stumbled their way into deeper, darker, more isolated corners of the warehouse space, clawing at each other the whole time. Nils tasted and smelled of beer, sweat, blood, and smoke - his hair was sticky and matted with spilled alcohol, sweat, paint, and blood mixed and ran down his face - Francis licked down his neck, and Nils turned him around and shoved him into the back wall, grinding against him and groaning. Francis idly noticed that the song he requested had come on, laughed at the irony, and shoved his hands up Nils’ shirt, testing fingers at odds with Nils’ harsh grip on his hip and hand fisted in his collar.
Nils was ripping off his tie, marking up his neck and collarbone with furious kisses - “Christ, s’been ages since ‘ve been with someone,” was slurred harshly against his chest. Francis moaned and wedged a leg between the man’s thighs while reaching an arm up to try and shove off that leather jacket -
- he looked up to see Antonio paused in mid-step, looking at them with a wondering expression. Something seized up in his chest for a moment - Nils didn’t notice Francis freeze against him - and Antonio broke the trance by waving them on and vanishing.
Hands at his belt snapped Francis out of it. “Hey, Nils,” he called softly, grabbing his hands.
Nils looked up, confused.
“I...” Francis looked to the side, called himself a coward, took a deep breath, and looked Nils in the eye again. “We’re both really drunk. This is a bad idea, dear. I’m afraid we have to stop.”
Nils just stared at him with an unreadable expression for a minute, then threw up his arms, said “Fine,” and stormed off.
---
Francis walked up to Jens and Roderich on the sidelines, still attempting to straighten his tie. “Have you seen Antonio?” he asked.
They both looked at him, and he could tell they took everything in in one glance - his mussed clothing, flushed appearance, the paint smeared down his neck and jaw - but they made no comment. Only said that they hadn’t seen him in quite some time, though both of their eyes told him he’d have to explain what was going on later. Even drunk, they were both too polite to ask in the middle of a crowd, and he gave a wan smile in appreciation.
He decided to try his phone out back, again laughing darkly at the irony of the song playing. Don’t feel like dancing, indeed.
---
“You don’t like dancing?”
Ludwig looked over. Natalia was sitting next to him on the floor, beer in hand, leaning in and smiling kindly.
“I can’t really. I mostly mosh, ‘s fun. Guess if I had someone to dance with...” he trailed off, eyes flickering up to the dance floor, then over to where he knew Kiku was. Off near the refreshment table, talking to an obviously drunk steampunk lady.
“Oh,” she smiled, “you like him?”
Ludwig blushed and ducked his head. “He’s nice. We went to an ex...” he stumbled over the word and gave himself a second - “exhibit the other week.”
“I know.”
He looked at her with both normal confusion and the type that comes from being really, really drunk.
“You mentioned it earlier,” she stated matter-of-factly, sipping her beer. She turned to him then - “you like him,” she smirked and hit his arm. “Go talk to him! I know he’s been with guys before, go hit on him.”
LATFF [4h/?]
The song died down and they stumbled their way into deeper, darker, more isolated corners of the warehouse space, clawing at each other the whole time. Nils tasted and smelled of beer, sweat, blood, and smoke - his hair was sticky and matted with spilled alcohol, sweat, paint, and blood mixed and ran down his face - Francis licked down his neck, and Nils turned him around and shoved him into the back wall, grinding against him and groaning. Francis idly noticed that the song he requested had come on, laughed at the irony, and shoved his hands up Nils’ shirt, testing fingers at odds with Nils’ harsh grip on his hip and hand fisted in his collar.
Nils was ripping off his tie, marking up his neck and collarbone with furious kisses - “Christ, s’been ages since ‘ve been with someone,” was slurred harshly against his chest. Francis moaned and wedged a leg between the man’s thighs while reaching an arm up to try and shove off that leather jacket -
- he looked up to see Antonio paused in mid-step, looking at them with a wondering expression. Something seized up in his chest for a moment - Nils didn’t notice Francis freeze against him - and Antonio broke the trance by waving them on and vanishing.
Hands at his belt snapped Francis out of it. “Hey, Nils,” he called softly, grabbing his hands.
Nils looked up, confused.
“I...” Francis looked to the side, called himself a coward, took a deep breath, and looked Nils in the eye again. “We’re both really drunk. This is a bad idea, dear. I’m afraid we have to stop.”
Nils just stared at him with an unreadable expression for a minute, then threw up his arms, said “Fine,” and stormed off.
---
Francis walked up to Jens and Roderich on the sidelines, still attempting to straighten his tie. “Have you seen Antonio?” he asked.
They both looked at him, and he could tell they took everything in in one glance - his mussed clothing, flushed appearance, the paint smeared down his neck and jaw - but they made no comment. Only said that they hadn’t seen him in quite some time, though both of their eyes told him he’d have to explain what was going on later. Even drunk, they were both too polite to ask in the middle of a crowd, and he gave a wan smile in appreciation.
He decided to try his phone out back, again laughing darkly at the irony of the song playing. Don’t feel like dancing, indeed.
---
“You don’t like dancing?”
Ludwig looked over. Natalia was sitting next to him on the floor, beer in hand, leaning in and smiling kindly.
“I can’t really. I mostly mosh, ‘s fun. Guess if I had someone to dance with...” he trailed off, eyes flickering up to the dance floor, then over to where he knew Kiku was. Off near the refreshment table, talking to an obviously drunk steampunk lady.
“Oh,” she smiled, “you like him?”
Ludwig blushed and ducked his head. “He’s nice. We went to an ex...” he stumbled over the word and gave himself a second - “exhibit the other week.”
“I know.”
He looked at her with both normal confusion and the type that comes from being really, really drunk.
“You mentioned it earlier,” she stated matter-of-factly, sipping her beer. She turned to him then - “you like him,” she smirked and hit his arm. “Go talk to him! I know he’s been with guys before, go hit on him.”
“...hit on him?”
“Okay, finish your beer, and then hit on him.”
Ludwig frowned and nodded, determined.
---