💋💋💋 - Arthur
Send 💋 for a mistletoe kiss!
England is like a winter wonderland compared to his own home... Though without the snow itself, only the misery of stiff sea breezes that somehow managed to find you no matter how far from the coat you were on this island— gales made from pure ice that sinks into his bones with every step. It's pure misery— and João hasn't stopped complaining for the last hour: his cold fingers, the ache of his hip, it's too windy. He's only quieted down due to the misery, as if he's too chilly to do much more than press as close to Arthur's side as he can get and trudge (read: hobble) through the streets.
The streets are quiet and quaint, most people bustling to their next destination to get out of the cold. Arthur has insisted upon one last stop, some bookstore that he claimed was on the way back. João is positive it's the long way home, but he refrains from much more than a couple of grumbles in his native tongue.
The door chimes as the Englishman pushes it open, the Portuguese man fast on his heels. An exhale of pure relief leaves his lungs at the warmth of the store, looking at his red, stiff hands as he flexes and relaxes them again and again, trying to warm them up. They rub together as he follows the Brit like a loyal dog, looking up as they pass through the romance section.
Then, he spots it.
The mistletoe, lovely green and wrapped in a neat red bow. His hand shoots out to grip the Englishman bicep, twirling him around before pressing him into one of the bookshelves with a grin that is downright naughty.
"You took me here on purpose, didn't you?" He breathes out huskily, accent thickening as his eyes dart up to the plant then back. He watches those lovely, forest green eyes follow his own gaze, the cute red flush that starts to creep across his skin. Arthur's lips part, likely to deny it, but João doesn't give him the chance.
Their lips connect, for the first time in... Well, quite some time. It's almost juvenile, like two teens sneaking off to make out in the library. But João keeps it chaste, and sweet. A rhythmic push and pull of mouths, the moon pushing the tides. He can't help the way he smiles into the lips lock, at the nostalgia that an innocent kiss stirs in his chest.
He pulls back, just a hair— and then he kisses him again, hungrier and needier, pressing him more into the shelves until they're flush from chest to waist. His hands snake around that thin waist of his, pulling him impossibly close. His fingers drag slowly back and forth against the small of his back through his jacket, just enough pressure to be felt minutely through the jacket. When he pulls back this time, there's a soft smack of their lips, João's hazel eyes fluttering open to gaze down at his... Whatever it is they are.
"Feliz natal, leãozinho."
