by Katleaf
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Original
Author's Notes: I'm playing with a couple of characters I created a few years ago. I'm in the midst of a longer project with them (which this probably won't be a part of: at least not in this guise) and wanted to let them have some fun on their own.

"Are you sure you feel up to this," Michael asked, slightly breathless, as they darted across Market Street to the Café.

Anthony scowled. "You've asked me that question. Twice. Since we parked the car. I feel like I want to go out; I feel like I've been trapped in the house for days. And I feel like I want you to stop asking me stupid questions."

Michael blinked and looked away. "Just checking."

"I'm getting better," Anthony said, stifling frustration. The cold and lingering feeling of general crapness wasn't Michael's fault. Take care of someone for days on end and get paid back with shit? Way to be an asshole, Ant. He shook his head at himself, but didn't apologize.

They queued up behind a small knot of people waiting to pay the cover and get their ID's checked. One of the girls was smoking a clove and the smoke set his nose and throat itching. He ducked his head and pinched his nose, stifling two sneezes in a row. "huhnnt... nxgt!" He glanced at Michael, but he was studiously looking the other direction.

"You okay," Anthony asked softly, refusing the urge to sniffle.

Michael shrugged, but said nothing.

Anthony sighed. "Come on, Michael-man. Let's have fun tonight, yeah? I'm finally feeling better and I want to celebrate."

Michael shrugged again, but they had reached the bouncer. And then - in the press of people going up the stairs to the bar and dance floor – Anthony found himself separated from Michael. Well, if he was going to be that way there was nothing he could do about it. Michael could go pout, but Anthony was going to have a good time.

He threaded his way through the crowd to the bar and ordered a slammer. The bartender nodded, pouring a shot of tequila and a splash of Sprite into a shot glass and slid it across the bar. Anthony paid, nodding his thanks. He stepped to one side before cupping his hand over the glass and slamming it onto the bar. He tossed back the shot in one motion, before it foamed over. The liquor burned the back of his throat slightly and he coughed once, then ordered another. It didn't take long before his head was buzzing and all the tension that had gathered in his shoulders melted away. He was ready to dance.

The pulse of the music washed over him, tugged at him, and he allowed it to draw him across the club to the dance floor. And then he was in the midst of it and the music was flowing through him, bass thudding deep in his body, in his blood, in his heart and he moved with it, expressed it, sent it from him and into those around him and they took it in and sent it back to him, energy expanding and contracting until they were one throbbing organism moving in sync.

He danced until his shirt stuck to his chest and his hair was damp with sweat. He danced alone, as the crowd swelled and shrank around him. And then, as though he had heard a voice through the driving bass, Anthony opened his eyes and caught Michael's gaze from across the room. He had a beer in one hand and he hovered at the edge of the dance-floor, his eyes shining with desire and his shirt slightly askew. Anthony grinned, inviting Michael to join him with a tilt of his head. Michael tipped back his beer, finishing it in one long swallow and then he wove his way to Anthony's side.

Anthony reached out and slid his hand over Michael's bare head, sending sparks of energy through himself, as though transmitted by the contact. He leaned close, "Dance with me," he whispered in Michael's ear. It wasn't a request and Michael didn't answer, but Anthony felt him shiver.

Alcohol still singing through his body, Anthony felt like he could dance through the night and through the day. The blood flowing through his veins beat in time with the music, banishing all lingering traces of sickness. The rest of the crowd in the club faded, leaving only himself and Anthony together, yet separate, dancing fiercely. Bodies pressed against him and he moved with them, flowed into and around them. Hands moved over him, lips, legs and he responded though they were not Michael's hands, not Michael's lips, not Michael's legs. Michael swayed before him, just out of reach, gaze glittering, smoldering, setting Anthony to a slow burn.

Suddenly Anthony found himself mirroring Michael's movements. They moved in tandem, gazes locked. Even from a distance, Anthony could feel the heat radiating from Michael's body, bridging the gap between them. His own heat reached out to it, touched, became one, as the energy flowed between them.

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