A/N: Dedicated to sonofon, on lj. :3
Mi querido enemigo
x
He didn't even know why he had come here.
No wait; he did know why he had come here. France had suggested it, and he had followed along, as always.
What he didn't know was why he was still here.
Francis had disappeared after some pretty girl into the bathroom a while ago. Antonio didn't even question what exactly they might be up to in there. He knew.
Normally he would have done the same, but something was off about tonight. It seemed as if this night was meant for something special; he could feel it in his blood.
x
Turning around to study a painting on the wall of the club, something caught his eye. A flash of red and gold.
He looked closer.
Was that... was that Arthur?
A dry British accent: "Can I have a brandy on the rocks please?"
Apparently it was.
Antonio could only stare as his old enemy swaggered down over to a leather sofa. He was dressed in what looked like his old captain's clothes, far back from the time of his Queen Elizabeth I. A loose, blood-red shirt opened at the collar, tight leather trousers and high boots. Spain could see the flash of gold in his ears and on his fingers. He looked exotic and bizarre, terribly out of place in this high end, modern club.
People stared and whispered, some even pointed fingers.
But surprisingly, no one laughed.
Perhaps they didn't dare to. He did look intimidating, after all.
Arthur didn't even appear to have noticed Spain's presence. Antonio looked down at his own plain black shirt and dark jeans. Now he felt irritated.
England possessed that ability to always make Spain feel irritated.
He slipped into the shadows of the club and sat down, just watching him. Arthur made no move to speak to anyone, but sat there with the air of a king, and that little smirk he often gave.
Antonio remembered the first time he had seen that smirk.
x
The Treaty of Nonsuch, 1585
His territory, making deals behind his back with the English. It had infuriated him. He had visited Arthur in private, informing him that his actions were a declaration of war.
And Arthur had simply given that slow, lazy smile.
"So be it."
x
He shook his head back into the present. Arthur had gone from his seat.
Spain whirled around, only to come face to face with Francis, drunken and disheveled.
"Mon ami... I think we should go now. I er... had some trouble with my partner for the night."
Antonio glanced at the new bruise forming on France's cheek. No doubt he had overstepped his boundaries again.
"You go. I have something to do."
Francis wobbled out of the club, only stopping briefly to take a drink out of someone's hand with a merci beaucoup and a strange little bow.
Antonio glanced around for England again, and sure enough there he was, standing quite by himself in the middle of the dance floor. The DJ, who had probably been tipped for it, began playing a flamenco piece.
Now Antonio was standing. Was he deliberately trying to provoke him? Did Arthur even know he was here?
Arthur began dancing. His movements were perfect; sharp, succinct.
It was to be expected. After all, Spain was the one who had taught him.
x
The wedding of Felipe II and Mary I, 1554
England had always been against this marriage, wanting to have nothing to do with Spaniards, but his grumbles had been drowned out, and now here he was, standing in a crowded ballroom, surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of overdressed and rather sweaty people.
Several ladies had asked him to dance in faltering English, but he had turned them all down, until suddenly he was dragged into a wild dance with the one person he had hoped to avoid all night.
Antonio smiled down at him, his teeth burning white and his skin a deep brown. Evidently his exploits in the new world were doing him good.
"I am glad to see you here, Inglaterra."
"I'm not here because I want to," Arthur hissed back, "you know we have no choice but to attend this kind of event."
"Well... let me make it more enjoyable for you.
...do you know how to dance el flamenco?"
x
Antonio walked over to the DJ and whispered in his ear. The man nodded, and from somewhere (Spain didn't stop to wonder where exactly this DJ got all of his unique music from) put in a recording of a slow, sultry tango.
Arthur stopped. Spain came to stand behind him. He put his hands on England's hips and spun him around. The look in Arthur's eyes was one of simple understanding and contentment; he knew Spain was here all along, he had planned for this.
"...Spain, tonight is like old times, yes?"
"Only if I lead."
Arthur could only grin at that.