RP Open Post

[goddamngrenades]

Smut, Gen, Angst, Fluff, Anything, Everything.
PFL era, Post war, Pre Canon, AU, whichever
Brackets or Prose whatever you're comfortable with
Tag and go, baby!

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[goddamngrenades]

"Redheads." He'll leave it at that. Anything more seems a little excessive. Still- asking someone to dance sounds like an amazing idea. He downs the last of his beer and slips off his stool. "Wish me luck?"

[tactical_alert]

"I'll hang about and make sure no elbows go into unsuspecting faces." Wingman, after all, keeping the left side safe. Or at least, so he'll try.

[goddamngrenades]

"Thanks Mal." He claps a hand on Malcolm's shoulder as he weaves his way through, keeping his good eye on the target- the dancing blond with the illegal hips, all soft smiles and gesturing words as he earns himself a dance.

[tactical_alert]

Malcolm stays at the bar for a few moments longer to finish off his drink before following. Not too close. Just to have a visual on York's left, as promised, and where he can be seen or heard if need be. Dancing to club music is...not really something he's good at, but he vaguely grooves to the beat. Maybe later he could get that redhead's number. Or someone else's.

York's getting better about his blind spot, even if it's still literally blind. There's a time or two he has to signal to watch out so nobody gets smacked or clipped. But all in all, not a disaster.

[goddamngrenades]

It's fun. It's thorough and fun and good in a way he hasn't really had anything since they fell. Mal's keeping an eye out for him and the press of a body is good and hot and close and he needs it to be okay. THe song lulls and there's an offer of a drink that he can't accept. But another song, sure- after they wander back to the bar and he waves down for a glass of water. Just water.

[tactical_alert]

Good, that means York has some self-control and that Malcolm might not have to mother hen at him all night long. "Going to get his number?"

[goddamngrenades]

"I'm going to get another dance out of him and- yeah. I think a number. He's pretty chill." Might be good for a night or two. Not that he expects it to be a thing or not a thing- he takes what he can get.

[tactical_alert]

"Excellent. See, you didn't need me at all." At least here, out of the dome, Malcolm seems more relaxed. More like a person when he's at least attempting to appear social rather than the stern officer.

[goddamngrenades]

"Nah, there are like three times I would've elbowed someone in the face if you hadn't given me a heads up." He downs most of his water in a long swallow before hooking a hand around Malcolm's wrist. "He's gonna rest up a bit before the next dance. Wanna go for this song?"

[tactical_alert]

He starts a little at the touch. "Me?" he asks, blinking stupidly. "Us? Dance? Is he going to get, ah, jealous?" Malcolm adds with a little laugh.

[goddamngrenades]

"Nah. Come on, Mal. You need to loosen up a little." He gives Mal's wrist a little tug. "Besides, he's drinking."

[tactical_alert]

"I don't really--" Oh, but Taylor's tugging him along. "--dance. I don't dance. I'm not any good at it, honestly. I'm going to look like an awkward teenager vaguely bopping along."

[goddamngrenades]

"Try to have some fun, alright? Just move with me." It's a little like sparring, the give and take- at least once they hit the floor.

[tactical_alert]

"This isn't exactly a session," he grouses. But all right. He can try and go to a club and actually act like he's in a club rather than hang about like a wallflower.

[goddamngrenades]

"Nope, but you can still dance." There's some space when they finally hit the dancefloor and the beat is strong, rolling through York's bones as he steps up into Malcolm's space. "I bet you got some moves."

[tactical_alert]

Malcolm takes half a step back, but space is usually at a premium at places like these. He tries to feel out the beat, sort of. A kind of tap, a small awkward bop in his knees. Lord, he will never get any numbers or one nights out of this. At least York's getting play. "I have moves that could clear this dance floor, yes, but they'll cause quite a bit of injury. And nobody wants the authorities called."

[goddamngrenades]

"You're thinking too hard." He snorts, stepping in to hook his arm around Malcolm's waist and tug him close. "Just- roll with it. Lean a little and-"

Less a demonstration and more of a full body walkthrough, nudging Malcolm's legs in the right position, showing him how to lean and roll.

[tactical_alert]

This is embarrassing, he starts to think. And it is, it is very much so. But he's also in far too close proximity to Taylor, their bodies rolling together. Malcolm is a quick enough study in combat, which is just a way to move the body. This isn't so different, save for how it isn't meant to defend, no offense, no evasion or striking. There's something else, too. He's just not sure what it is.

"I think I get the idea, Mr. Murray."

[goddamngrenades]

"See? You got it." He takes the half step back to give them both their own room, rolling with the beat, leaning and rocking and twisting more than he did with any other dancer- but Mal will keep him from hitting anyone, or getting hit in return.

He trusts Malcolm to have his back out here.

[tactical_alert]

He's not just copying York, is he? He's worried that he is. Should be able to pull his own damn moves together, right? But no, he can complement the moves. Predict what's coming even if he can't quite predict the music. Yes. This can work. He finds a place to toss his jacket (hell, he doesn't wear it that often that he can't just get it dry cleaned) and moves.

In fact, he moves to tug York's arm, to spin them around to avoid smacking some half-drunk dancer, and he makes it look like just another dance move rather than something that belongs more on the training room floor. He can learn. Pick up a few things, incorporate others.

[goddamngrenades]

A spin that he twists into a pirouette of sorts, darting back into Malcolm's space for the next line of base banging through. It's like sparring and it's not- for the first time since they fell? York feels like himself. Like Taylor. Like the cocky jackass that met Carolina in a club. The weight's lifted and the year melts away leaving him bright and young and grinning.

[tactical_alert]

No backing down now. His body moves more smoothly than expected, given how he doesn't dance. Matching and assisting York with his own style, the look that they know what they're doing, together, rather than two random souls that happened to drift by each other. There's even a smile on his face when he tries to stop concentrating so much. Stop thinking. Thinking too much. Feel it, or try to, and feel his lighthearted partner have years of pain lifted from him.

[goddamngrenades]

Now that's a good look for Mal. Taylor grins and hooks an arm around his waist to draw him in close for the next turn, somehow avoiding whacking anyone around them or making shit, well, awkward. They're just- dancing. In synch.

[tactical_alert]

York leads, but Malcolm is right there with him, in time. York avoids collisions by being aware, and part from Malcolm inching them one way or another. Here they are. There is a moment where it is them, enjoying the music and each other and them, only them, close heat and synchronous rhythm. They haven't quite reached that point in sparring, though they're getting there. Here is different. Here they move together as two halves of a whole.

It's enough to feel Taylor's pulse, in time with his own, and that alone is...different. Not wrong. He can't say wrong, but it's different, and he's becoming aware of this. He has the good sense enough to wait until the familiar beat dies down for a different one to wind up before he pulls himself away and says nothing, just makes a straight line for the bar.

[goddamngrenades]

It feels right. There's no logic to it, no reason, it just- they fit. THey fit here like they don't on the mat and Taylor doesn't think a damn thing of it other than Mal can really move when he wants to, Mal's got a good swing to his step and it doesn't click as anything odd. Even when he eases away to- well. York just keeps dancing because the music's good, the company is fine, and that pretty blonde from before is wandering his way back.

It's fine. They don't need to fit here, he and hte blond, they can fit somewhere else.