This wedding was rather dull if he was honest. The colors, the ceremony, the people...it all just left Amycus bored. Wandering around the catering he figured he could make poke fun at the soft and squishy caterer. It was all fun and games but he did so much love making him fluster.
Call it a sixth sense but the moment Fletcher walked close enough he knew that something cursed was nearby. Turning he spotted the item in question. It just so happened to be walking around tucking tarts into what Amycus could only assume was a inner pocket, making the treats just as cursed.
He tailed the other for a little bit, not being subtle about it. "Why fuck off, there is a spare room around here somewhere we could fuck in," he grinned as he came closer. "Though if I had to bet anything, your suit will be doing the fucking and not in the fun way."
"Fuck're you-?" Fletcher's brows furrowed, frowning and eyeing Amycus up and down as he tried to make sense of what he'd just said. Something about wanting to fuck his suit? What kind of weird kink was that? He didn't like the way the bloke was almost looming over him. "What're you saying, you want t'fuck my suit, or fuck me... In my suit? The fuck're you talking about?" "I won't fuck in some broom closet," he scoffed. He was lying through his teeth, Flether would fuck around anywhere the opportunity happened to present itself, wherever the person who managed to find him appealing wanted. But he couldn't tell what Amycus was actually getting at, let alone if he was actually being hit on. So he wasn't going to make an idiot out of himself by taking the bait.




















