Author's Notes : I was reeeeally tempted to reference 'Soccer Practice', but that's going a little bit far into 'shameless campy humor' to ever recover this thing. x3 The rest is coming soon, I just felt like splitting it up to get it out faster.

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Spend My Time Dancing

Antonio

X's and O's
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Well there were seven years between us—
seems that all my friends were right.

Lovino Vargas was well known in university for being a foul-mouthed lazy ass. A black spot upon the cheery halls of their 'hallowed institution'. He pissed people off, but he ran like hell before anyone could manage to beat him down for it.

At first, people wondered why he didn't join the soccer team. Despite all of his negative B.S., the team captain seemed to like the guy. Then again, Antonio was practically a saint in his free time—going around volunteering extra time to other clubs, tutoring programs, and community service groups—at least, when he wasn't hanging around with his less-savory friends.

Perverts or not, Francis and Gilbert really cared about the guy. So when they came upon the normally-sunny Spaniard with his shoulders slumped and something dangerously close to a pout on his lips, they were naturally concerned.

"Vassup, Toni? Ya look like shit!" Gilbert, ever tactful, practically cackled as he slung an arm over his friend's shoulder.

Francis rolled his eyes in a long-practiced gesture, affecting both self-sacrificing weariness and stylish ennui.

Antonio waited for him to finish before speaking, "It's nothing, really, amigos. I asked Lovino to join up again, today."

"Ah," Francis choked back the urge to snort in disgust, "Zat would explain ze screaming." He couldn't be too scornful. It was beyond the Frenchman why, but Antonio really did favor the ill-tempered Italian. He might be attractive if he'd stop scowling, but for pity's sake—who was willing to gird their loins for that long?

"He missed, this time. Got me in the hip. It was probably him you heard."

"Man, I don't get vhad you see in de kit. He's a total arschloch."

There was the pout again, "No, he's not. Lovi's actually really nice! Last time, he took me to the nurse and everything. He kept blushing and looking at his feet. It was super cute!"

"Oh, yes. It iz adorable the way he goes right for ze groin."

Gilbert snickered, "You wish, Franny."

Francis narrowed his eyes at Gilbert, letting the meaningful 'You're a dick, we both know it, and it is only because this is an ingrained behavior that I will not bother beating your beer-batter liver straight out of you' look linger for a moment.

Then, "Perhaps it iz time to give up while you can still play, oui? Didn't 'e tell you he doesn't have ze time?"

Which was ironic, really, because Francis was well-versed in just how often that excuse was code for, 'I would rather think up five more excuses, possibly involving prison, to get you to leave me alone.'

Antonio knew it as well, but he didn't bother calling bullshit.

"C'mon, Toni. Ve can hit a gay club, if you're zat bent, but ve've got to get you laid."

The Spaniard had the decency to blush as his friends each grasped an arm, "N-no! That's not it! No comprenden! It's just that Lovi would be really good—"

"On the field. Of course, mon amie. Of course."

–

It was surprising that the remaining two thirds of the 'Bad Touch Trio' had been so ready to accompany their little Latin lover-boy to the nearest gay bar. Toni had never seen the men chase such familiar tail—not that he had been chasing Lovi's—but they didn't seem too affected.

...Well, really, in Francis' case, it wasn't all that surprising, but with Gilbert, it was a little off-putting.

The German just shrugged his shoulders, "You remember Lutz, ja? My bruder? He's banging anozzer guy. I haven't met the kid, but it's cool. I don't know how he does it, but it's almost like he's pulling the sti-..."

Gilbert paled suddenly when he realized just which part of his straight-laced brother's anatomy he was discussing, and just how accurate that analogy may have been.

It was doubtlessly traumatic, because Gilbert seemed much more hesitant to proceed out of the parking lot, but Antonio cracked a grin and laughed. Returning to their customary gestures, he rested a tanned forearm against his friend's shoulder.

Anything resembling an embrace would probably just freak him out.

"C'mon, Gilberto. I'll buy you a beer."

Gilbert pursed his lip, eying him sidelong as the trio slowly eased away from the car.

…

"No homo?"

Francis stumbled backwards, choking a few times before managing to laugh.

"Fuck you, Franny. It's a perfectly reasonable qvestion!"

–

Quite the opposite, really.

Inside the club, there was a whole lot of homo, but it wasn't exactly the stick-wielding bottom-harrying hell Gilbert had imagined. The place was pleasantly busy, nicely decorated, and the music was definitely danceable. Oh, how Antonio loved to dance.

It took him a second to realize his friends were watching him as if they were waiting for something. Well, Francis was. Gilbert was standing shoulder to shoulder with the Frenchman in a way that reminded Antonio of the little rope lead they'd held onto in kindergarten.

He smiled at them curiously, and the eye roll made a comeback.

"What, are you waiting for ze starting whistle? Go. Play."

If nothing else, you had to admire the Spaniard for his hustle.

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A/N : Lovi's up next, and seems to be quite a bit longer. The lyrics are from 'One Month Off' by Bloc Party. I'm about to have an italics aneurysm. -.-