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We dance for hours, periodically returning to the bar top to consume more alcohol. His hand never lets go of mine, always together. Climbing from the dance floor or standing behind me while I sit at the bar, his hand stays with mine. The bond is more than a little clammy. At one point I swear I hear a squish when we shift. It’s hot in here. Give me your sweat Din. I’ll drink it from this thin glass. Would you like that? All kinds of music play throughout our time on the floor. Hard , screaming voices, classy brass and hyper undulating beats. We match our movements to each of the songs to the best of our collective ability. … I have to pee. “I have to pee Din.” I shout past his ear. “I’ll be right back.” I look down to our hands. He squeezes my hand and shakes his head. His eyes are like a young hounds, bright, filled with emotion, begging. I’ve never seen his eyes like this “Don’t leave me,” he replies. Candid emotions flow from him, brought on by heavy alcohol consumption. “Please.” We both end up in the washroom somehow. I’m sitting in the stall while he leans against the wall, hand still laced with mine. Both sets of our boots are visible from underneath the stall door. Cold porcelain against my bare thighs. I don’t feel too good. Maybe we should. A rush of water. I don’t know how he’s managing to hold us both up. My right hand flies to my forehead to steady my thoughts. Water splashes my face and drips down my wrist. Shit. I’m washing my hands? He’s pressed into me, wrapping around my body. Din’s arms are held tight around my midsection and I feel his nose on the back of my skull. His body is hot and heavy behind me, I’m being pushed into the counter. “I knew, when I saw you there in the rain, surrounded by those thugs… You had your fangs out all the way, ready to tear them apart... I… knew it was you.” He whispers into my hair while we stand in the bathroom. Music pounds just outside the door. His words are slurring past my ears. What is he saying? I scrunch up my face, my brows crash together. Fangs? I don’t have fangs. I’m dizzy. The alcohol has taken both of us. We’re a proper mess now. Something else. Two words fly past my ears. Too fast, too quiet. I can’t make them out. We’re on the dance floor again. His blaster is in my hand. It’s heavy and warm. I lick the barrel, it tastes like him. His cock is hard against my ass. His hand tightens around mine like a vice. Yeah? Like that? Like it when I lick your blaster? Freak. He could be mad. I can’t tell. I’ll ask later. He twists me in his grasp. I see his face. Flashes. Our faces find each other. My hand goes to his throat, it’s wet. My lips try for his lips and he pulls back quickly. He shakes his head slightly. His eyes have a hard time focusing. Taking a second to find my face again. He’s leaning, heavy on my back. He’s nipping at my ear. Pulling on my earring. Getting me going again. He knows I love when he does that. Let’s go Din. Fuck me now. The music is throwing me for a loop, people keep crashing into us, sending me off balance. I fell many times earlier. Din looked like the one who knew what he was doing. Somehow he always is. ... The outside air crashes into us. I gasp at its bite. My skin recoils as the sweat on my skin drops in temperature. A hot slick turns into a frigid sheen. I hate this. I look to Din. He looks awful. His chin rests against his chest and he’s keeping himself up with his right arm against the wall. He’s swaying. We’re both drunk off our asses. How are we going to get home? My stomach drops. Bile rises in my throat. I remember the first time I made my way to his ship. The memory festers and poisons my mood. “C’mon I’ll get us home, be good.” I tug on his hand. My tone is cold. He grunts in response, his ability to form words long gone. We’re off, back into the night.