Why Don't We Just Dance Lyrics- Josh Turner
Baby, why don't we just turn that TV off? 315 channels of nothing but bad news on. Well, it might be me, but the way I see it, the whole wide world has gone crazy. So, Baby, why don't we just dance?
This little bitty living-room ain't gonna look like much, but when the lights go down and we move the couch, it's gonna be more than enough for my two left feet and our two hearts beating. Nobody's gonna see us go crazy, so why don't we just dance down the hall, straight up the stairs, bouncing off the walls, floating on air, Baby? Why don't we just dance?
Baby, why don't you go put your best dress on, with those high-heel shoes you love to lose as so as the tunes come on? On second thought, just the way you are is already driving me crazy. So, Baby, why don't we just dance down the hall, straight up the stairs, bouncing off the walls, floating on air, Baby? Why don't we just dance? (Aw, cut a rug)
Well, it might be me, but the way I see it, the whole wide world has gone crazy. So, Baby, why don't we just dance? Oh, Baby, why don't we just dance?
Why Don't We Just Dance?
"What'er ya doin', Sweetheart? Huh, Arty?" Alfred asks as he makes his way into the small, single family home, stomping the snow off his boots at the door. It's not much, but it's theirs. He hums a small tune and there's a spring in his step.
"I'm cleaning up a bit." Arthur's call is muffled by the wall separating the kitchen and den. "And what did I tell you about calling me that?"
The American just snorts in reply, a knowing grin curling the corners of his lips. Following Arthur's voice, he fixes his grip on the heavy boxes in his arms before heading into the living-room. He glances around the room, eyes landing on the back of Arthur's lithe frame. The Brit is reaching up on his tiptoes, intently cleaning the built-in bookshelves, his back turned to Alfred.
Not one to waste an opportunity, Alfred allows his eyes to wander as he leans against the door frame. They start from the top and work their way down. They take note of how the sunshine makes Arthur's light, golden hair shine and the way the tip of his rose-pink tongue sticks out due to his level of concentration. Alfred knows that Arthur's endearingly bushy brows will be furrowed, and the thought makes him smile. They slowly make their way down Arthur's back, stopping at the small patch of teasing creamy white skin that peeks out from underneath the Brit's sweater. They make one last lingering trip down to Arthur's fabulous ass before moving back up to his face. God, he loves it when Arthur wears those jeans. They frame Arthur's ass so perfectly it just about hurts Alfred to look.
"Are you just going to stand there and stare at me like it can magically undress me? Or are you going to help me unpack all the boxes of crap we own?" Arthur smirks, raising an eyebrow as he turns and places a hand on his hip.
"Don't know 'bout you, but that first suggestion sounded pretty darn good to me." Alfred winks, setting the boxes down on the floor.
Arthur snorts, "Now, don't be crass. I don't want to be up all bloody night unpacking all because Mr. 'Merica couldn't keep it in his pants." He walks over, opens one of the boxes, and starts placing the objects around the room.
"If ya don't want me to notice how nice your ass is, ya shouldn't wear pants that do magical things to it."
"Magical things?" Arthur asks, his eyebrow raised in disbelief.
"Yuppers. As magical as a gay unicorn with fairy wings running on a rainbow while farting butterflies." Alfred's smile never wavers, even as he wiggles his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.
"I... I don't even know how to respond to that. Just help me unpack, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am." Alfred chuckles as he helps unpack. Alfred:1 Arthur:0
Arthur just rolls his eyes and continues to organize the room. The two make light conversation about the cold-ass weather as Arthur tells Alfred how he wants the room situated.
Alfred appeases the older man, though he could care less whether the furniture matches or if things look perfect; however, he cares about Arthur's happiness, and that means having the house look nice. But seriously, could this get any more boring? Alfred thinks to himself. If only he could find some entertainment.
As if the world took pity on him, Alfred finds an old, beat up radio at the bottom of a box. He grins.
"What did you find?" Arthur asks, curious emerald eyes peering over Alfred's shoulder.
"That old radio I got at that garage sale for 5 ducks."
"Ducks? Really now, Love? I don't recall there being any feathered friends present." Arthur laughs.
Alfred throws his head back in laughter as his face heats with embarrassment. "You know what I meant." He defends lightly, scanning the room for an outlet. "How's 'bout we listen to some music?"
"I don't see why not."
Alfred grins, his teeth flashing bright. He carries the radio over to the side table, setting it down gently before plugging it in. At first only static is heard, but after a few minutes of fiddling with the darn thing and mangling a clothes hanger, Alfred manages to find a radio station. A soft country ballad plays in the background as Alfred returns to Arthur's side. Country music isn't really Arthur's favorite, but he can make due because it makes Alfred happy.
Arthur tries to hold back a smile as he watches Alfred hum along and smile like an idiot. Alfred gets caught up in the music- once he even pretends the broom is a horse. They work for another few hours just like that; Alfred being an adorable idiot while Arthur tries not to get to distracted. By the time the sun starts to set, they are down to the last box, and Arthur's down to his last wind. His back aches, and he's exhausted. Quite frankly, he just wants to be done.
"We're almost done. This is the last box." Arthur sighs, gesturing to the large box labeled 'pictures'.
"Praise the Lord!" Alfred laughs. "I thought them boxes were gonna kill me."
Arthur gives Alfred a pointed glare. "Them boxes?"
Alfred groans in exasperation. "Fine. Those boxes."
The Britt just smirks as Alfred grumbles about stupid grammar Nazis and gracelessly flops onto the couch.
Arthur:1 Alfred:1
"We can hang the pictures up tomorrow. I'm too tired for that tonight." Arthur says, his tone leaving no room to argue (not that Alfred is going to argue against no more work). He sits on the couch, lifting Alfred's head so it now rests on his lap. Alfred only grunts his approval, closing his eyes in blissful rest.
"Do you want to watch the telly? Perhaps a film?" Arthur asks, reaching over Alfred for the remote.
The American shakes his head, "I don't wanna watch TV right now." His hand reaches out to Arthur's, gently prying the remote from the Brit's hands, and places the remote on the coffee-table from whence it came. He then slides his hand down Arthur's arm, finding his hand, intertwining their hands together, and curling their arms on his side.
Arthur occupies his time by running his other hand through Alfred's hair, loving how soft his golden locks are. Alfred hums in appreciation, revealing in the soothing motion. He loves Arthur's hands, how smooth and warm they are. They stay like that for a few minutes, content to just be together.
The radio continues to pour soft music into the cozy room. Alfred hums along, tapping his foot in time. Arthur listens to the lyrics. Country music is starting to grow on the Brit. It is a song telling the story of a man traveling down the east coast to see his wife once more. It also has something to do with wagon wheels, which sort of throws Arthur for a loop. The man's voice carries well, having a buoyant happiness to it. The two sit in companionable silence as the last notes fade.
After a few minutes of loud advertisements, a soft intro to a happy song starts playing. A smile crosses Alfred's lips, and he tries to sit up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He falls back onto Arthur's lap, but succeeds in standing on his second attempt. Before Arthur can process what is going on, Alfred has already pulled Arthur to his feet. Alfred hurriedly pushes the coffee table to the wall, creating a sort of clearing.
"Bloody Hell, Alfred. What are you doing?" Arthur demands.
Alfred only continues to smile and drag the furniture away from the center of the room. Within seconds, Alfred is satisfied with his work, and he walks back over to Arthur's side. He grabs Arthur's hands, guiding the Brit to the center of the room. He pulls Arthur close, wrapping his arms around Arthur's waist.
"I really like this song." Alfred whispers into Arthur's ear, sending shivers down Arthur's spine. He then starts swaying to the music, moving Arthur in time with him. It is then that Arthur finally understands what Alfred wants. Alfred wanted to dance.
Arthur tries to listen to the song. A deep base voice sings the words long and low. The song is upbeat and happy, but in a relaxed way. Then a different voice joins in, out of tune, but earnest and full of childish joy." This little bitty living-room ain't gonna look like much, but when the lights go down and we move the couch, it's gonna be more than enough for my two left feet and our two hearts beating." Arthur realizes that Alfred's singing, not just singing, but singing to him.
"I swear, you are the worst singer I've ever had the displeasure of hearing." Arthur scowls, trying not to smile.
"You don't mean that." Alfred says between lyrics, his breath ruffling Arthur's blonde locks. Arthur complains about his singing, but Alfred knows that the Brit finds it endearingly adorable- no matter how much Arthur may deny it when he's asked. He knows it by the faint blush on Arthur's cheeks, and the way Arthur's words start to jumble in embarrassment.
Arthur's emerald eyes look up at the American, trying to convey faux boredom. "I assure you that I am being completely s-serious."
"Oh, really?"
"Y-yes."
"Then why're ya smilin' like that?"
Arthur just huffs, not having a comeback for once. There's no way he can acknowledge the question with a dignified answer.
Alfred laughs, knowing that Arthur won't answer the question. Silently, Alfred considers the Brit's wordless state a victory.
Alfred: 2 Arthur:1
"You can't lie to me, Arthur. I've known you too long for that BS to work."
All in all, Arthur's having a hard time concentrating on the song while Alfred's hands become more relaxed, sliding ever so slightly lower. "On second thought, just the way you are is already driving me crazy." Alfred's voice flows over Arthur, causing goose-bumps to rise on the back of Arthur's neck. Alfred's head lowers just a little as well, bringing their lips just centimeters apart. Arthur has half a mind to kiss his idiot breathless; however, Alfred decides to start dancing a little bit more than just swaying together with the music (the damn tease). Arthur has no choice but to follow the American's lead.
Alfred brings them together and pushes them apart, occasionally stepping on Arthur's feet.
"Watch where you're stepping, You Brute." Arthur hisses.
Alfred mouths the words, "I'm sorry", with an apologetic look and smile.
As they continue dancing, Arthur starts to give in. He smiles, his pink lips curled at the corners and his white teeth on display. There is a sparkle in his green eyes, a joy that can't be described by words. His body becomes lax and moves easily with Alfred's.
Alfred grins in mischief. He lets go of one of Arthur's hands, steps back, and...
"What are you..." Arthur never finishes his question as he is twirled and then dipped.
"Alfred. Alfred, stop!" Arthur complains, trying to stomp Alfred's feet in retaliation.
Alfred throws his head back in laughter, easily sidestepping all of Arthur's assaults, and still managing to sing most of the lyrics. "-Dance down the hall, straight up the stairs, bouncing off the walls, floating on air, Baby? Why don't we just dance?" Alfred's still a little sharp, a goofy grin on his face.
Arthur flushes at the words and the hands on his waist. His breath is coming in faster, and he can feel the sweat beading on his forehead. Alfred looks down at Arthur and grins. He knows what his words and hands are doing to Arthur. The blush is in embarrassment, but the glint in his eyes is nothing but pure affection.
"Why don't we just dance?" As the song draws to a close, Alfred pulls Arthur flush to him, burying his face in the crook of Arthur's neck.
"I love you." Alfred murmurs on the sensitive piece of skin under Arthur's ear, the place Alfred knows Arthur likes to be kissed.
Arthur hums in acknowledgement as he closes his eyes, breathing in the scent that is completely and uniquely Alfred, and revels in Alfred's touch. After a moment, Arthur pulls away, places a hand on Alfred's broad chest, and looks up through thick lashes. Emerald green meets cobalt blue in a sea of affection.
The look of love and adoration on Arthur's face just about breaks the American's heart in joy. It swells to the point Alfred believes it will burst in any moment. He can't contain himself any longer, and he presses his lips against Arthur's. The kisses are innocent at first, just a brush of lips, slow chaste kisses.
Then an urgency over comes them both, and the kisses deepen to the dancing of tongues. Arthur's hands slide up Alfred's strong chest, over his shoulders, and his fingers tangle themselves in Alfred's golden hair. Alfred's hands trace light circles and patterns on the small of Arthur's back, causing Arthur to shiver. His hands then slide a little lower to tease the Brit's ass. Arthur moans into the kiss, his grip on Alfred's hair tightening. Alfred smirks as he puts his hands back on Arthur's back. He's pretty sure he heard Arthur mutter "tease", but he can't be sure. They pull apart when they both need air, eyes locked.
Arthur's tongue swipes over his kiss swollen lips before he can speak. He smiles a small, shy smile. "I love you, too", he pauses with a smirk, "My beautiful, crazy, idiotic American."
Alfred's eyebrows furrow. "Hey!" He shouts indignantly. Before he can say anything more, Arthur's lips are pressed on his, effectively shutting the American up.
When the kiss is over, Arthur laughs a beautiful, breathless sound. He then leans in close, lips brushing Alfred's ear. "And I wouldn't want it any other way."
-The End