Abandoned industrial building, Mile End area, London
About 9-10PM

From the outside, the old abandoned building looked like it always did: decrepit, quiet, eerie and definitely uninviting. However, just for tonight, and maybe tomorrow too, depending how everything would go, the building had been turned into Lala's personal party crib. Courtesy of one absolutely fantastic (and Jesus H Christ, outrageously expensive) event coordinator, the place had been turned into the place to be! It was, honestly da actual bomb! Filled with colored lights and lasers, a smoke machine fogging up the floor, the place looked absolutely fantastic.

A free bar took one side of the room, filled with everything one could possible want—the dream of alcoholics everywhere! Especially shots. Any shot you could think of, it was here. The huge space in the middle was a seemingly never-ending dance floor, while the other side of the room and the top floor were taken by couches and tables. The music was booming, making you feel it right through your stomach near the dance floor, but low enough to hold a proper conversation in the sitting areas. And, for the last, absolutely amaze thing, the thing Lala had desperately wanted for her parties ever since she was 16—there were go-go dancers. Incredible, hotter than the sun, talented go-go dancers in skimpy outfits. JFC...

---

Lala had been at the location since five in the afternoon, getting everything ready, getting dressed... staring at the strippers dancers. Which, now that everything was set and ready for the guests, she was back to it. The staring. "Are you real?" she almost whined to one of the dancers in a skimpy fireman outfit. She didn't even like firemen. The guy looked down at her from the elevated tiny stage and snorted. Noticing some movement from the entrance of the building she sighed and let out another whine, staring back at the dude. "You're my favorite. I demand a dance... sometime, while I'm still sober" she said completely serious and the guy merely nodded way more amused than Lala would've liked.

The birthday girl turned to walk towards the entrance, nodding at the bartender which she'd stolen from some seedy little club for the night. He wouldn't tell her which, tho, just that he was happy to be off for a night, and she payed better. Which, good for you Blaise! And for her, 'cause hot damn. She passed by Arianne, who sat straight near the exit, overseeing her work with a pleased sort of expression and nodded with a smile. Damn money-grabber... They were supposed to be acquaintances. Acquaintances made discounts. Apparently not with one Arianne Desrosiers. Stuck-up Frenchwoman. Her mother smelled of elderberries, she was sure.

Lala bit her lip as she passed another dancer, a drop-dead gorgeous blonde police officer, with a rack that made her want to go in the bathroom and sob quietly. She shook her head and hurried towards the entrance. "YO!" she beamed at the first guests. "Coats to the left" she pointed towards the small cloakroom, where a really bored girl was inspecting her nails. "I'm going to be at the bar" she yelled after them. "Drinking shots off of Mister Fireman" she continued in a quieter voice, cackling to herself.

Dear Merlin it begun. Ever since he had met Layla for the first time, when she had named him Bacon (only a step further than Cynthia Bombay had gone with Ham) she had been joking to him about her nightlife, and how he clearly needed to experience a night a la Layla Styles.

It certainly trounced the noisy Leaky Cauldron gathering he'd had for his thirty-fourth. The building was lit with a rainbow of light with a throbbing, Muggle vibe mixed with the most artistic of magic. It was clear to see that the fantastic, inventive illustrator was reflected in every facet … well, perhaps… Johann wasn't quite sure how scantily clad men with large muscles was Layla, but had he heard her quieter statement, he'd have understood a little better.

This was the sort of place a recent significant other in his life would not have enjoyed, he was almost sure, which is why he had come alone, and worn that shirt that Colin suggested would tell the world if it was cold. Johann hadn't quite understood that his flatmate was referring to the tightness.

"Lala!" He greeted loudly, extending his arms to embrace her warmly if she wished, "Happy Birthday, this evening is absolutely you, I'm impressed!" He raised a hand to their surroundings, grinning.

"I thought I better get here before it got too late, so you remembered I came at all." Johann explained, "An owl will drop your gift round in a day or two, but more importantly, I'm here to hold you to your word that a night out with you would be an experience…" his gaze was momentarily distracted, "and full of men in not much clothing too…"

"Hey, D, you comin' or wot?"

Dietrich Eisenberg loitered in the cold outside the abandoned building, where throngs of familiar looking faces were crowding to dive into the din on the other side. He glanced over at his group - coupla kids who worked at the Inkwell - and shrugged, taking out a freshly rolled joint. "In a sec-" the towering wizard mumbled as he stuck it between his teeth. "- y'go on, Imma light up first."

They fell into the streaming crowd and he watched while blazing the gillyweed blunt. Hell. He hadn't been a damn hour back from Frankfurt when they got him down here for this. Playing on muggle turf. Wasn't sure where Bai was either.

Drawing the cig away in gestures too smooth for a man his size, Dietrich released a wisp of smoke that pulled a few looks. Yeah. He wasn't gonna sit out here and wait for li'l shavers to bum a smoke. 'Sides, it looked like they were havin' a helluva a time. He joined the string of folk going in, a head higher than most.

And just like that they were inside. The joint in his lips shook at the force of music blasting through the space and Dietrich grinned, a hand on one ear as he turned his head away. He recognized the birthday girl, bein' social with a tall skinny lookin' guy.

"Hey, kid!" The artist called as he easily made his way, not towards but passing by her. He didn't make talk at these things, least of all with the gal of the hour. "Happy birthday yeah? Fuckin' love the decor." Dietrich threw her a wink.

"Bacon!" Lala beamed at Johann and gave him a short, tight hug. Well, she attempted it, anyway. It wasn't her fault she still barely even reached his shoulders, even with the heels. "Thank you very much, tho I still fail to see how getting older is reason for celebration" she muttered with a long sigh. "But it's definitely an excuse to get wasted out of my brains and receive pressies, so... there's that" she grinned clasping her hands, and balancing on her heels for a second. "And that was a very wise decision, sir" she nodded, seriously this time. "I intend to remember most of this night via pictures and various accounts of these other peeps" she gesticulated wildly around her.

She nodded and clapped her hands excitedly with a grin at hearing she'll be expecting a present, soon then snorted at his next words. "Well then, you shall receive" she grinned, wagging her eyebrows once. "The hot-like-the-sun dudes, are amaze, but, I'll have you know there's also some ladies" she said with a smirk, and pointed at a redhead in an outrageously tight latex nurse outfit. "I'm an equal opportunity sorta gal" she shrugged, and turned to signal Blaise, patting the counter. The bartender chuckled, shaking his head and pulled out two shot glasses, already knowing what she was going to order. "Four Horsemen, Johann" she said looking at the glasses, being filled with various hard liquors. "Guaranteed to get you up and ready to par-tay like Lala Styles" she gave a little fist-pump and woo-ed loudly.

"OMG, dude!" she basically screeched over Johann's shoulder, seeing Eisenberg strolling in. "Where ye been and thank you! Yes, it's fuckin' epic and it will only get more awesome" she said at an alarming speed, bobbing her head up and down. "Woah-woah" she suddenly quipped as she noticed something highly interesting, practically running after him. Fuckin' tall people, no mercy for the fun-sized people with tiny steps. She grabbed his sleeve, turning her head towards the bar and raising a hand to signal Johann to wait just a tiny mo'.

"You" she practically accused, hair flipping as her head turned back to Dietrich. "Birthday girl here" she pouted, both thumbs pointing at her chest, eyeing the blunt reverently. "Don't hoard the jay, man. Not cool. Puff, puff pass?" she batted her eyelashes, clasping her hands over her chest, puppy eyes at ready. "I mean with all of this" she pointed at the dancers "I'ma need something to stop me from hyperventilating."

Dietrich, drawing the joint away as the li'l witch came up, laughed.

He was laughing at the earlier impulse to avoid kids bummin' a smoke off him by coming in. No avoiding it, he guessed, and Styles had something; she was the birthday gal. This was the good stuff too, real mellow feel that'd help take the edge off all that booze she was surely getting into later.

"Do you one better." Dietrich handed over the newly lit gillyweed cig, "Don't smoke it all in one go, yeah? Share it with the tall fella or something-" he nodded once, friendly but plainly uninvolved, at the other wizard. "- start tonight on the right foot for Herr Storm." The german accent rolled off his tongue like a bitter gumdrop. It wasn't rusty at all, considering the three weeks just spent in Frankfurt with his sister.

Even if he did favor a non-specific american drawl, casual and comfortable.

Johann had been three or so years under him at Durmstrang- Dietrich didn't recognize the kid immediately on sight, they weren't friends or none, but placed the face now. It had been amid lots've others at the Yule Ball. You had to be good at faces when half the folk falling into yer parlour didn't give out a real name.

Gosh what a tight hug! His ribs felt crushed with her enthusiasm, but it was pleasant contact and the perfume she wore was lovely.

"Oh, are you?" He didn't want to necessarily impart the details that the men were catching his eye more than these ladies she mentioned, including the one who turned up a moment later.

Eisenberg, it had been a while. He'd heard of him and seen him in the country a while back but hadn't heard anything of him lately. Layla seemed particularly familiar with him, and they shared a smoke.

"Eisenberg." He nodded to Dietrich, though had no particular interest in the smoke. There was a certain, been there, not particularly enjoyed it type of feeling towards that particular way to alter a mood.

"No, not for me. All yours, birthday girl." Johann uttered, trying to make it sound polite and in favour of Lala's benefit of him declining. With all the gobbledegook he had to work with he didn't want to completely lose Sunday… besides, it was almost certain the drinking would give him a bad enough head.

"Been  while, but heard you were in these parts." He glanced to Layla, "Admittedly we didn't know much of each other back home. What are you up to these days?"

“Trouble!” CeeCee piped up from behind Johann, stepping to the side to reveal a lithe figure dressed up in shimmery purple-green and wreathed in a laughter-dimpled smile– and then forward, to sweep up the illustrator in a quick, earnest hug. The eclectic lights and smoke and careful lighting turned her into a tiny pillar of wisps and ever-moving bolts and spots. “Hey, birthday girl. I’m not late, am I?”

Layla. For all her craziness - and even abrasiveness - the writer was very fond of her—one might even say because of, since things with Layla were hardly ever boring. She was bright, and lively, with a bent for art and muggle things CeeCee could relate to (if not always, totally understand), and for all the animosity that crackled between her and Rick– not to mention the gaping age difference between her and CeeCee herself –she did have her moments that made it all worthwhile.

She was also very talented as an illustrator (and cheap), which certainly made things that much easier.

Turning around, CeeCee’s eyes lit on Dietrich like a beacon. The smile rippled across her face like a flag, bold and free. “D!” she greeted loudly– happily– as she lunged forward, wrapping up that great, looming figure into a hug as well. It was like hugging a brick wall. “Back already? Hardly knew you were gone,” and she gave him a condescending pat on the chest, before finally turning that very same, megawatt smile on Johann as well.

Merlin, weren’t those cheekbones familiar.

“CeeCee Donovan,” she beamed, thrusting out a hand. Ladies didn’t shake, but then, CeeCee had always been her own kind of lady. “It’s always excellent to meet another friend of Lala’s.”

---

Ellie had been there from the start— that’s what best friend’s were for, after all! And so the lights, the fog, the enjoyably tiny costumes had taken on the warmth of the couple of drinks she’d chased the view with. Nothing too wild— yet. Just enough to loosen up and get distracted by the crowd. She’d lost Sander in there somewhere. Oops.

The surprisingly huge number of tall people (dancers included), who were roaming and dancing and pressing into each other in their getting-smaller-by-the-moment costumes made it very hard to find him again. She hoped he had a drink to distract him. Maybe he'd found Leon, whom Ellie hadn't seen all night.

“Sander!” She called, intermittently between shouts of “Lala!” Here and there she’d stop and get roped into a conversation— or rope someone else in. There were so many friendly faces, it was hard not to get distracted on her hunt. She bumped glasses with an old dormmate and took a lengthy sip before continuing to wind through the path of people, a familiar camera hanging from her neck. She’d already gone through three roles of film (which were tucked neatly in a case beneath her coat in a back room). Lala was going to have mountains of photos to choose from to remember tonight, even if the drinks and other choice party favors left many of her guests wonderfully hazy.

The shimmery back of a familiar figure popped up ahead, and suddenly there was a huddle of several familiar-and-not-familiar faces. “Ceecee!” Ellie chanted, rubbing her back and shoulder as she joined the circle. “You look great.” She really matched the party, in a way that was entirely unique to the sweet and vibrant barista. "Ah, there’s the birthday girl. You are in demand,” she accused lovingly, roping an arm around Lala and kissing her cheek for the twelfth time that night. Eight more to go, and there would be one for every year the brilliant artist had graced their presence. Ish. Ellie was a month younger. Which hardly counted. “It feels like I’ve been looking for you since your last birthday."

The witch looked around the group, noting that tattoo artist she’d seen a couple of times in Diagon Alley, and another tall guy turning down Dietrich’s gillyweed. More for Lala, it seemed. Ellie smiled. Raising her camera with one hand, and giving barely a warning (“smile!”), she took a snap of the circle just as Dietrich handed off the cigarette. She had dropped the camera casually around her neck again before anyone could protest. Not that anyone really had that night, so far— the crowd seemed to be the kind who didn’t mind or expected it. The camera’s flash just added more color and smoke to the night.

Sander did not want to be here. Sander hadn't wanted to be here as a guest, let alone as a slave. Lala had dragged both him and Ellie in here since the afternoon to help set things up. He had his nice clothes on and she'd made him lift and move things around. He just wanted to give her the cake and go home, but Ellie seemed to want to actually attend so he didn't he much of a choice, now did he?

After they were released from their BFF duties, as the nutter put it, Sander had mostly kept close to Ellie, glowering and muttering as she took pictures, but then he'd lost her and he went out for a cigarette and came back to find her. Which he'd been attempting to do for a while now. Unsuccessfully. Until—

Somewhere around the bar, here were girls... basically squealing, and he knew one of those was Lala. You couldn't not memorize that voice with it screaming profanities at her laptop monitor for over half the night right beneath their apartment. But as he approached, taking in Lala's hair, indeed, as she was jumping about someone a joint in her hand, and—oh, look! Ellie, right next to her and then when Lala stopped hugging the other person Sander froze on the spot an almost dropped his glass.

Oh, no. No. This was not happening. The two most annoying women in his life in the same place, at the same time. What the fuck had he done to deserve this? He tried to quietly turn on his toes and get the hell out of Dodge when—"Sander, you neaderthalic little shit, get your ass here." Oh God, why?

Walking dignified and stiff toward the group, his eyebrows drawn at the middle and a weird twitch at the corner of his mouth he finally stopped, and nodded curtly at the two men. He turned his head around, slowly, so slowly, as if hoping that something would happen and he wouldn't have to do this. Through clenched teeth he realized no bell would save him now. "CeeCee" a vein throbbed almost violently at his temple. "Nutcase" he glowered at Lala for a second and then moved as close to Ellie as possible, practically plastering himself to her back. "Please save me" he almost whined in Ellie's ear.

"I heard that, you creep" Lala said bitingly, throwing a hand around CeeCee, and the other practically slapping him in the face as she curled it around Ellie. "Ladies. Gentlemen. I decree shots! Also dancers" she added beaming at them and Sander rolled his eyes. Lala's face did a thing, like the light had finally went on and she grinned brightly. "I decree shots off the dancers!"

Oh, sweet Jesus Christ, someone needed to put a bullet through his head and save him the misery now. "Or you know, shots off somebody, anyway"she added, glaring at him and Ellie as if it was their fault for every wrong in the Universe. And then she turned, skipping to the bartender and talking animatedly with him for a second. She turned to look at them, ridiculously pleased with herself and gestured for them to approach. He was having a nightmare, right?

"CeeCee Donovan, it's always excellent to meet another friend of Lala's."

"Likewise," Johann replied taking her firm handshake, though wondering for a split second whether he had been meant to kiss it. "Johann Storm. Forgive me, have we met before?"

He held CeeCee's hand a beat longer than was perhaps natural, staring into her eyes, and then let go, his lips forming a little 'oh'. Perhaps it had been behind a mask...

"No, my mistake. A pleasure to meet you, CeeCee. Did you say Dietrich has been up to trouble?" He pointed towards the other wizard, but maintained his eye contact with the shorter witch.

He was about to ask "With you?" when the witch was greeted by yet another guest, and there was  flash of light from a camera. Undoubtedly the group had been caught in semi-preparedness, and Johann was sure that when the film developed his photographic self would be looking a little awkward amongst the gillyweed group.

As was the habit with parties, conversation was frequently interrupted and confused and misheard over the music. The group broke, reformed, headed to the bar, calls of shots and others joined the group. Johann, for all this quick mind, found himself a little out of sync with the whole party vibe a moment, and lagged a step behind. He had wished Layla a happy birthday, his required duty done, it would now be up to him as to how he helped her celebrate it, but it appeared she was in no shortage of good friends her own age.

He had meant to say hello for only a sec, just an itty bitty sec.

Opening his big fat mouth to Herr Storm had obviously afforded fate the moment it needed to snag the plan. Like daisies, these faces popped up! Dietrich didn't have a chance to reply: first lovely li'l CeeCee and then a pair of familiar heads he couldn't place- not that there was time to anyway. A bright flash from a camera blinded him as he left off the gillyweed to Lala, free hand raised to his eyes automatically. Geeze. Pictures. What was it with kids and pictures?

The moment shots off bodies were decreed, the wizard took it as a cue.

And he tried, as sneakily as anyone with such build or height could, to drop away from the increasingly jubilant group- pausing only to give the sweeter Donovan a quick parting wink. The witch wasn't beyond calling him out on the callous retreat. She was sharper than her lurid grin testified. Storm wasn't a burnt bulb either, Dietrich noted.

"Not downing a barrel tonight?" he slowed to the other man's pace, losing the others ahead in the jostling bar crowd. "I woulda pegged you for a hard partier when yer not on business." The Frankfurt accent stubbornly refused a reappearance. "Don't think I'm wrong yet." Dietrich dug into his pockets, wrenching out another (kinda flattened) joint. "Ink, by the way. S'the trouble. I needle people."

He lit the cig, peering over the tip at Johann. "Sure you don't wanna smoke?"

"Not downing a barrel tonight? I woulda pegged you for a hard partier when yer not on business."

"Some nights I thrust my head into the damned barrel." Johann agreed, hands sliding into his pockets and giving a shrug to his fellow countryman.

"Really?" Johann asked, surprised at the artistic leanings of a man who had arm muscles like a gorilla, he looked as if he lifted the aforementioned barrels on each arm daily instead. "I can't say I remember that being a promoted career at school." His remark was with humour, poking fun more at Durmstrang's rather set goals of government, business and high magic over arts.

"Sure you don't wanna smoke?" Johann paused, eyes fixed on the end of it for a beat.

"Oh go on then…" He reached out a long-fingered hand. He would fleetingly partake in all manner of strange things to smoke or take in his twenties while he was away. Some of them made the hallucinations of voices that frequented him worse, and the alcohol and the potions were two that kept him sane.

The tang brought back instant memories of being away and a different heat, and his eyelids closed almost completely as he took a drag.

"Merlin that takes me back," he cleared his throat, holding the rollup away for a moment, one last puff and he handed it back with a nod and a mutter of thanks in the most masculine way the weed of a man could manage against the well-built former classmate.

"Ink then?" He asked, eyebrow raised, "are you a walking advertisement of your skills beneath those clothes?" The hand that had returned the smoke gestured to Dietrich's attire. His question might or might not have been influenced by the fact the rest of the group were lining up shot glasses on the stomach of a dancer with comparable physique to the man he was engaging in conversation.

"How did you get into that then?"

Tongue in cheek, CeeCee gave Sir Grumps-a-lot a jaunty salute, the twist to her smirk very nearly mean. “Sander,” she cooed– just as Ellie swept her up in an exuberant hug. “So do you!” she returned, and happily looked on as Ellie greeted Lala as well.

And then there were hugs all around—basically a knot of squeals and flashes and kisses on cheeks (as Sander glowered on), until Her Royal Birthdayness was leading them to the bar, leading them through the crowds and lights like a manic pixie Moses. Because, shots.

With vast, bottomless amounts of appreciation of the dancer’s dedication to a job well done, CeeCee spared a moment to admire the man’s high quality abs. They were very nice abs, all chiseledness and oiled to perfection. Very… shapely. “You’re very handsome,” she twinkled down at him, the unending sweeps of light speckling her in dots of oranges, reds, aquas and greens, and gave him– and Lala– space before he could so much as twinkle back in reply.

Handsome, but not quite her handsome—who was waiting for her back home, curled up under their cats with a pair of reading glasses settled on his godly-looking nose.

As Lala readied herself for the first shot, CeeCee leaned in close to Ellie, resting a hand on the photographer’s shoulder. “Leon said he was coming,” she shouted, just loud enough to be heard over the pounding music but not enough to distract the pair. A grin tugged at her lips, different from the others of before in a gleeful, very smirky way. “With Rick,” she added, and she waggled her brows–

Before spotting a familiar head of carefully styled hair, expression considerably less pissy to be here– in the same space as Lala– than it normally would have been. “Oh my god,” she half-laughed, half-groaned, tossing her head back before lurching forward, arms already outstretched for a hug. “Glad you could make it!” she dimpled at Leon. “Lala’s over at the bar.”

And then smacked Rick on the arm. “You’re a horrible person,” she told his smug face, pecking his cheek.

Eleanor looked over her shoulder. She couldn’t mistake Lala’s command; she knew who she would she find when her eyes took in the “neanderthal”. Amidst his glowering and muttering, Ellie’s hand reached out to graze Sander's, offering some small (if obviously humored) ticklish comfort while her favorite patissier anchored himself behind her. Save him? Ellie’s smiled widened, and she was somehow half endeared by his antisocial plea, even if she was also on the verge of rolling her eyes. That was what happened when one dated Lysander Blackwell, apparently.

But she wasn’t endeared enough to give in to the request, or drag him off to some dark corner and abandon the birthday girl. He was doing fine. Having to put up with his favorite people was a good look for him.

Tangled in the pretty knot that was her best friend, her boyfriend, and friends and acquaintances of varying levels of familiarity, Ellie dexterously secured her camera on its strap around her neck before letting her arm wind further around the birthday girl. “Shots,” she echoed, trying to catch Sander’s eye. As if she could brag him with shots. She didn’t see his face as the word made its way around the circle. But surely everyone had to succumb sooner or later. Even Sander and

Off of dancers… Ellie wasn’t quite so sure about that part. She detangled herself enough to more properly grab Sander’s hand, wherever it was, behind her or beside or… well, it was dark and bright at the same time. She followed the procession of the tiny hostess/guest of honor, dragging Sander along and motherishly touching her camera now and then. “You can have your shots with a side of me,” she shout-whispered to the tall thing behind her.

She grinned as the tattooist managed to get the guy with the photogenic cheekbones to smoke. Something told her he could use it.

Turning to CeeCee, Ellie only grinned wider. “I bet your brother knows all kinds of dance moves.” Leon had picked a good one for this party. And in general. If Ellie knew that CeeCee’s brother was both impressively bendy and capable of looking good in all sorts of light, it was in a strictly professional manner.

Speaking of calendar boys.

“Hey!” She waved both arms at Leon and Rick, and would have offered hugs if her hands weren’t occupied with Sander and… a shot. Because Ellie had taken the last few steps to the bar and squeezed in beside Lala. But before she could really get ahold of the tiny glass, the bartender reminded her. Body shots. Dancers loomed, ready to be objectified. Ellie took it as a yield. “Either I’m doing this off of you,” she said, turning to the birthday girl. She turned around face Sander. “Or you.”

The party was well under way as Leon paused outside the door, turning to give Rick one last check. There were still some signs – the more colourful shade of his lips, the disarray of his hair – but overall, it wasn’t much of an indication, and he definitely looked more… presentable now, although he preferred what he’d looked like earlier.

“All we have to do is say hi,” he promised, not for the first time, then, “do I look okay?” He stilled under Rick’s slow, deliberate gaze, resisting the urge to fidget even though he was taking far too long about it, and Leon was flushing by the time Rick’s gaze met his, mouth set in a confident smirk and definitely appreciative.

”You look fine,”, Rick said in what was technically reassurance, but really just made Leon want to forget all about going to the party. The kiss that followed – the very reassuring kiss, the pressure of Rick’s hands gentle enough to resist easily as he pulled Leon closer. Instead, he angled his head as he went with ease born of practice. The slow start wasn’t what he’d expected, but then, when did Rick ever do that? He smiled against Rick’s mouth, before an insistent press had him returning the pressure, his lips already sensitive from earlier… kissing. He placed his arms around Rick’s neck, his response slightly more reserved than usual, aware that they were already late. But it was hard to maintain, their lateness seeming less and less important as the kiss drew on and Leon relaxed into it, humming his approval. The hand that was still there clenched in Rick’s hair, but didn’t pull, slowly relaxing until long fingers were running across his scalp, undoing their earlier efforts to neaten it.

The scrape of teeth wasn’t deliberate, but Rick took it as permission anyway, returning in kind and making Leon grab, needing something to keep him balanced, or as balanced as he could be. Rick made him feel unbalanced, the world curving slightly whenever he was in the room, and that was without Leon being able to feel the heat of his hands through his top, sliding down to hold his hips, not moving from there. Instead, he tried to pay attention to Rick’s tongue, brushing against his lips before Leon opened them, trying to press closer and failing for want of any space between them. The kiss was, while not chaste, far more temperate than usual, but that wasn’t a bad thing, at all, not when Rick was adjusting his stance so that Leon was stood between his legs, tugging on his bottom lip as he did so.

The kiss slowed rather than stopped, the pressure diminishing until Rick was returning Leon’s smile, barely centimetres away from his face. “Not what I meant,” he insisted, but the protest wasn’t even half-hearted. His lips were already parted when Rick began to lean back in, but it was only their noses that touched, Rick rubbing his against Leon’s. A kiss of a kind. His smile grew, and he leant in quickly, the kiss lasting longer than he’d intended; a common occurrence since they’d started dating. It was still relatively brief, mouths staying shut, but when Leon spoke again he was still more than a little breathless, “okay.”

His hand moved to Rick’s wrist, pausing before he slipped it into Rick’s, “let’s go.” By the expression on Rick’s face, they were going to face a dragon in unarmed combat.

When they were inside, he tightened his grip on Rick’s hand, smiling when he felt his boyfriend’s fingers threading through his, he began to lead him through the mass of people, headed towards the bar. It wasn’t easy going, and the route was somewhat circuitous, but he kept his grip tight and was almost there when he saw the one person at the party who he least wanted to see – which, honestly, was nothing personal, C.C. was a great friend, it was just that Rick was her brother. And they’d done a pretty good job of neatening up, but clearly not good enough to escape her notice. Great. That was not embarrassing at all, even if she seemed happy to place the blame on Rick. That was fine, he was happy to do that too. “Hey CC,” he said, sounding cheerful even though he would have happily avoided the encounter.

“Isn’t he,” he agreed, and since CC was well aware of Rick’s opinion of their host, “Guess we’re not getting drinks just yet.” His smile was resigned as he said it, but he moved on quickly, oblivious of Ellie’s wave, “who else is here?”