The two drunk boys stood in a sea of people laughing at only God knows what. And once Wes was able to breathe, Ariel pushed the loose hair that had fallen back into his eyes and put his free hand on his hip as the football player rejected his idea that dancing and the sport were alike. He raised his eyebrows, waiting to be convinced of his wrongness, and while he listened, he drank from the red cup, grinning at the suggestive comment.
When the other boy finished speaking, Ariel just shook his head, only managing to weaken the gel's grasp on his wild hair. He felt his cheeks flush. The room felt suddenly several degrees warmer than it had moments before.
"I dunno. Dancing can be pretty hardcore," said the smaller boy, distractedly pulling at the buttons of his shirt. He smiled and unconsciously swayed in time with the music that drowned out most other sounds. If they kept standing and talking for much longer, he would end up dancing, drunk or not (he would be drunk). If music was playing, he had to move to it. It was a simple law of nature. "Depending on the choreographer and style, there can definitely be tackling involved. I would demonstrate, but I don't want to hurt you. Or spill my drink."
Ariel smiled cheekily and leaned in to speak into the boy's ear. "I'm Ariel, by the way."