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"what's on your mind?"
"are you gonna tell 'im or am i gonna have to?"
it's keith's voice, posh and slurred in your ear as you dance to the in-house band. he grabs your hips and pulls toward you, syncing your movements and giving you a nuzzle that makes you giggle.
"let me go," you whine and push at the strong arms bracing you to his chest.
"not until you answer me question, m'lady. shall ol' johnny boy be mine or yours?"
keith smells like gunpowder from fireworks, face paint, and bourbon. this year, he's dressed up as a clown for halloween.
"mine." you struggle against him until he finally lets you go and laughs and laughs, his cheeks crinkling at the corner of his eyes, white paint blurring the red. you give him one last push and part from the dancefloor, looking for john.
it only took you a few weeks of being around john to develop a crush on him. as chris and kit's secretary, you saw the band nearly every day and nearly every day your eyes made contact with his — deep-set, blue-toned, intense enough to sometimes make you lose a breath.
you hustle past a dancing group of girls and find a figure at the bar, smoking. that's all you need to recognize john. you slide down beside and set your hand between the two of you, on the bar top.
john turns to look at you with a grimace, but his face softens and his eyes search you.
"why aren't you dressed up?" you ask and pick at the heavy fabric of his dress jacket.
he places his hand over yours, slowly taking your grip away. "'cause i didn't care to. why aren't you dancing?"
you draw away and laugh. tonight, you're a black cat, wearing a bodysuit a la eartha kitt (keith had practically lost his mind when he saw you) and you hope the makeup you're wearing will somehow do your flirting for you. "i was. moonie threatened me."
"threatened you?" john gives a comical gasp. you've missed seeing him. he's dressed smart, as usual, in a dark outfit with italian leather shoes. his black hair is combed and staying in place for once. he stubs the cigarette in the ash tray and waits for you.
you nod, "we have a sort of dare going on."
"oh," john raises his brows. "what kinda dare?"
"hard to explain," you fumble and watch as he orders a drink for you. you're about to interrupt and tell him what you want, but he takes the words from your mouth. the bartender passes the glass to you and you stare at the swirling ice cubes. "how'd you know this was my favorite?"
"i'm a great listener. now, spill up." a nudge to your elbow.
you shake your head and sip carefully. you can't help your smile; he remembered your order from the last time you two went drinking together. a flame of giddiness goes to your cheeks. should you tell him?
the first few sips leave you with a buzzing warmth that blooms in your chest. you play with the fabric of your costume. john, you realize, is still glancing at you with a question in his eyes.
you sigh out loud and turn to him. the low light of the club gives him an eerie look, highlighting the bridge of his nose and dampening the shadow cast by his brows.
"what's on your mind?" john asks and reaches to you. the shadows shift, he's closer to you now and your heart is beating faster at the weight of his palm against yours and the deep, spiced smell of his cologne.
you've always found it easy to speak with him, due to his still demeanor and watchful glances. roger complains too much, pete wants to give you advice, and keith rarely takes you seriously.
"john..." you feel your brows furrow and your tongue catch. the music turns into a low drawl behind you. your pulse rabbits. his thumb takes a searing trip up your index finger. "john, i really have feelings for you."
his tired eyes meet yours instantly and he smiles, pushing his fingers between the spaces of yours. his hand is large; his grip overtakes and warms despite the nervous brimming acid of embarrassment. "yeah?" he asks. you open your mouth. "good. it's good. i fancy you too."
a wave rushes through you at the sound of his voice and you feel gooey suddenly, pooling against the bar counter. his other hand makes contact with your thigh. "really, johnny?" you ask.
he laughs. the pitch is low and hot near your ear. he's so close to you now, cheek brushing yours. "since i first saw ya."
you have no room to respond when his lips cautiously brush yours and press firm. you're not sure what you were expecting, but he tastes like spiced rum and tobacco. your free fingers curl at the collar of his jacket, bunching the stiff fabric. goodness, you think. it's exactly what you wanted.
john pulls away to take a breath and stares at you, unlinking your hands, readjusting the sparkling clip in your hair.
he hums. "feels like i've had to wait a long time."
you're a smiling girl with a crush. a laugh jumps from your throat and you crumble into him, breathing deep to catch his smell. john grunts on his seat, but holds you against him, laughing too: a rumble in his body.
