If you know France at all, you know he's so obviously up to no good by having called the break. It was to last 30 minutes, so he wouldn't have much time to work his magic on the Nordic, but he was sure he could do it. Or at least set the wheels in motion.
"Ah, bonjour Denmark." Francis smiled softly at the blonde he had forced himself through the crowd to stand beside. The Dane was quick to put up a facade at the man beside him.
"Det, France."
"You know," the Frenchman motioned toward the window, "it's awfully chilly outside. How about a little, ah liquor to warm up our bones?" Denmark perked up at this prospect.
"That sounds good. Franzis, ja?"
"Oui. And what am I to call you?" He watched the Dane's brow knit for a moment, then relax back out into a smile. He grinned and closed his eyes as they made their way to the seats they would claim. Francis made sure they got a stool farther in the back.
"Denmark iz fine."
After a couple shots, both were rather impressed with the others' ability to hold their alcohol. They must have been a sight, their blonde hair is tousles, neither opting for the smooth and pristine look, laughing loudly, their faces red from beer and wine. Denmark brought his glass down on the counter in time with France, smiling like a madman. He noted the wild spark in the Frenchman's eye. So he was competitive?
"Ey, FRANKRIG, I bet I can drink more than you."
"Before passing out? Oh, Le Danemark, you will lose."
"Ve'll see. Ready?"
"Set."
"Go!" The men began putting away the shots, letting the alcohol sting the back of their throats as they flung their heads back, gulping at the harsh liquid slamming into their mouths. France could just make out the hands on the clock face as they blurred in and out of the haze. The meeting had convened once more almost an hour ago.
Arthur would chew him out later. Oh well.
Denmark laughed loudly and slung an arm over France's shoulder, much to his pleasure. Forgive him, but as the alcohol flirted with his system, he had began to start imagining ways to take the Dane home. He had started wondering how much better the shots would taste when mingled with Denmark's mouth. He brought his arm around the man's waist as they took another shot. Denmark lost his balance halfway through the swig and toppled his stool. France halted his swallow as he had himself dragged to the floor atop the blonde, the loud bar didn't cast a glance at them.
"Ah, Den. I think we've reached our limits. I doubt you'll have the legs to make it back to the hotel." The laughter from the man beneath him sent France's body shaking with a chuckle that was not his. He forced himself off the man, not trusting himself after feeling the muscle rolling under the pale skin, after having the deep giggle reverberate through his bones. Denmark really was very sexy, the attraction was primal. He lifted himself off, but couldn't seem to find his other leg very well, and ended up more so rolling over the Dane and onto the floor.
"Ve can sleep right here! Zis a bar! People pass out all ze time!"
"Ah, vrai, vrai, but this is England and wouldn't trust myself asleep in the bar if I were dead." He turned on his side, propped his head on his fist, and gazed at the man. He had an idea, "Hé, Den, why don't we attempt to get ourselves back to the hotel? My room is terribly comfy." It was relatively quiet – save for the sounds of the other bar patrons and the Dane's breathing – as he thought about the offer.
"Orden, let's go." They scrambled to their feet and – much to the Frenchman's delight – used each other for stability. He couldn't say he was helping the Dane much, he was much stronger than Francis, but the other man said nothing to the effect. He began to think about exactly how to achieve the goal he couldn't remember setting: getting Denmark in bed. Well, the getting him there part would be simple, but the turning him on and getting his clothes off might prove as a bit of a challenge. Merveilleux. Francis liked a challenge – at least a sexual one.