They've gotten drunk together before, but Matthew's never seen Alfred dance like this.
Alfred crouches down, bends low, and brings his body up from the floor like a snake being charmed. His hips move in time with the club's thudding bassline, arms winding above his head. Eyes closed and head tilted back, lips parted and shiny from habitual licking, America is in a world of his own. When the music changes, a new beat rattling through the dancefloor, Alfred trails his hand down his chest and back up again, twists to sidestep a person's attempt to dance with him.
That makes Matthew look around, tear his gaze away from the place where Al's shirt and pants no longer meet. Instantly he sees that he isn't the only person compelled to stare at the sway of his brother's hips. No, not when Al swivels again, freeing himself from the press of bodies that all want to touch.
He is the only one, however, that can sidle up behind Alfred, take the blonde by the hips, and pull them flush together. Matt rocks in time with Alfred, slides his hands up Al's side as Al turns in his embrace, throwing his arms about Matthew's neck. Alfred's eyes finally flutter open, sky blue focusing hazily on violet, darkened by the alcohol burning through his system.
"Everyone's watching you, you know," Matt says, leaning in so his mouth is only millimeters from Al's ear. He slips his hands into the back pockets of Alfred's jeans, molding his palms to the curve of his ass.
"I know," Alfred responds, breath puffing out hot on Matt's neck. He rolls his hips forward, grinds against Canada, pushing his fingers through the curls at Matthew's nape. "Let them."
Matthew can feel the imprint of Alfred's cock against his own, can't help the way he grinds back, gropes Al's ass. Can't help his breathlessness when he says, a little incredulous and a lot aroused, "This is turning you on."
He can hear the grin in Alfred's voice when he says, "Mmm. Maybe."
The DJ seamlessly blends the current song into the next, and pressed together from cheek to thigh, their core rhythm barely changes. Matthew lets himself be pulled into America's world, where the music thuds in time with his heartbeat; the rock of his hips; the throb of his cock as Al tries his best to fuck him fully clothed on the dancefloor. Alfred is panting in his ear, body hot with exertion, and Matthew only has to turn his head a little to get his mouth on Al's.
Alfred goes with it, moans straight into Canada's mouth. It's swallowed up by the music and Matt's tongue, but he feels it on his lips, in the way Alfred tries to get closer, as if they possibly could be any closer. He sucks on Al's tongue, nips at his lip when the blonde breaks to take a breath.
It's Al that leans in this time, presses his tongue to the dip behind Matt's earlobe. His tone is teasing, baiting. "Now who's getting turned on?"
Matt grips Al's ass hard in response, feels the blonde's cock twitch. There's a touch of satisfaction in his voice. "I wonder, eh?"
They're left hot and jittery when the music dies down and the bar announces last call. The crisp night air is like a slap to the face when Matthew stumbles out of the bar's back door with Alfred, but he's still drunk-lust-warm and he welcomes the chill on his overheated skin. He allows Al to tug him into the backseat of a taxi they manage to flag down, doesn't protest when Al leans half on top of him, presses neat little kisses to his throat.
Matthew's not sure how he manages to unlock the door with Al's mouth sealed over his own; he's even less sure how he manages to not come the instant come on, Matty, tell me you're gonna fuck me leaves Alfred's lips.
Canada takes it for the blessing it is, fucks America over the back of their sofa until the blonde leaves cracks in the wooden frame.
He can't wait to see Alfred dance again.