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Mier felt masterful, felt like he'd hit milestones and marks, and had given himself all gold stars for it. Caught a bus, and what a novel experience that was over walking places. Took it down until it hit an area that he would've deemed 'less then reputable'. Thrilled at the excitement for that, nervousness that heated and made his heart race with anticipation for the unknown.

That something as simple as an outing on his own in downtown, dressed the way he was? Nominal to some, but for him? After four years of what bordered on military school - boarded and boxed into neat uniformed lines and molded into fine form - it felt like a thrill to him after that. To have heels, and to let his hair grow longer than nape length, dyed softly pink at the ends like a tease of something he wanted to portray.

To look soft - be inviting - try and get free drinks off of that and see how to play those types of games. To have sharp little claws under it and hone it this way, because he was to impatient to wait. Not two more weeks or two more years. He'd hyped himself up too much for it, had impulsively dragged himself together and just done the thing he'd had marked on his calendar for weeks out still.

The place - and the large man out front had hardly looked at his brief little flash of id tucked neatly beneath his shirt - but the place - throng of bodies and thrumm of sound. Cloy and choke of people who didn't care if one smoked indoors or not, nor if they did a great deal many other things that deep beneath the concrete and sloped steps that led into a basement like venue. It was still a thing to get used to, shocked him a little, rocked him on his sharp little heels and made him shiver at the feel of it.

Mier tried his very best - to weave this time - had learned that going with the flow had it's benefits. Sidled up and made a spot for himself at the edge of the bar, liked the looks he got for it. questionable, contemplative, some straight up leers. Sharp little tap of nails across lick marbled surface as he tried to figure out what - if anything - he would ever drink at such a place. Wanted sweet over strong. Would figure out how to ask without sounding like some mewling milk seeking thing who was very much in over his head.

The voice had him flinch, clutched at the countertop with pretty nails as he straightened up in an attempt to cover his reaction to the noise. Glanced over - up - *and up* - and holy ********> where did they grow them like that!!? Pert little mouth parted, pink glossed sheen caught in the light as he stared openly.

Made himself look away and swallowed over the ‘holy mother’ of thoughts that filled his head. Here he’d thought he could reasonably Pass for grown - or ‘barely legal’ - nearly 21 even, but if grown looked like that!!?

It was the order too that he took note of, watched the bartender hastily make it. Looked pretty - looked massive - and he wondered if he could tolerate something like that? Sounded sweet, and he was entranced as he watched them grab various bottles for pouring. Had read things, grenadine for sweetener and fruits and —- had thought to open his mouth to ask for something similar, if only him sized, when a small shot glass was plonked messily in front of him.

Clear liquid that smelled like cheap fire - burned his nose with the strength of it as it sloshed and wet his fingers.

A stranger at his hip said “For him” made his presence at Miers side a known thing. Hand on the small of his back and Mier was very careful about playing at coy as he pushed it away with a pair of fingers - because rude…

Still…

Mier smiled prettily for the drink. Hadn’t even asked, but he was getting something, felt it would be childish to turn it down a gift. Mimicked the way he’d seen others drink and nearly choked on the burn of it.

How did propel drink that absolute swill?! Oh - with chasers- finally something colorful and sweet to follow it and that made the whole experience of it infinitely better than guzzling straight fire.

Was slid another, held it in delicate fingers and narrowed his eyes at the man curiously - supposedly shots were cheap though - thought to himself that it couldn’t hurt to have just one more, that maybe it was an acquired taste? Like malt liquor which he absolutely could not stand to ever try again - and then there was a dance floor…

“Thank you~” louder to be heard over the din and pulse of music and conversations, polite because it was how he knew to be. One more and then he was leaving the bar to go dance before he was given any more, could only stand so much - what was in it - vodka, apparently?

Bronze Coffee

Shots, he’d decided, were absolutely wretched, and even having something to chase it with didn’t erase the burn at that point. Left his lips numb and color high on his cheeks - the flame shot sear of it was - *decidedly* - not to his liking.

The whole of the thing made him shudder, and he was done with *that* for the moment. Would’ve slid away except the body of the man offering drinks was there, ready with the gentle press of another chilled shot glass of clear - *<******** how the ******** did other adults decline bad drinks exactly? s**t..

“Ah, no than—eek!” A squeak of escaped sound as the glass found the wet bartop and that same hand found his personage again.

*Handsy* - rouge colored eyes gone wide, glassy, and the blush on his face was a scald that quickly became narrowly pointed anger, because —

*No* - and maybe he hadn’t said as much in words, but he was saying it now. With his nails in the back of the mans hand and the liquid of the shot splashed onto the intrusive partygoers crotch.

Except that maybe wasn’t very *adult* of him to do, he maybe wasn’t very good at adulting - the mans cussing and glower suggested that he had made a severe sort of mistake. Refusing free drinks like *that*.

Realized he might have been at a disadvantage - in the wrong - and -

Mier drew blood regardless, quick little rake of nails across the back of soft flesh - shot out of the barstool like his a** had caught fire and made for the dance crowd.

Looked for something that screamed ‘exit’ - except ******** *basement* full of *bodies*- and was caught up short as a decidedly large and unpleasant hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked - “********!”

Swallowed as the grinding grip around his wrist lessened and lessened - and he couldn’t have paid it one single sharp little <********>, with how his gaze had shot up - over the halted mans *head* - up higher than that to lock on a flash of teeth and snarl that would've made him piss himself if it'd been aimed in his direction.

As it was though; safely burning holes into the face of someone not him? He could admire it. Dutifully. Ignored the thrum of hurt in his wrist as he thought of climbing redwoods while he was prized free of the overly zealous creeps grip. Mier didn't hear a word the other spoke at first - couldn't even think beyond the fuzzy concept of *'big'*.

Oh, and the thrill that could’ve been terror as the people parted around them like the Red Sea. Felt like a catered to little princess of a thing for a moment - and didn’t mind that at all - far better than being handled by - ugh.

This, was how he'd thought to be treated! Tended to by an absolute man of a man, and he could have his wits about him to do more than stare up and blink at the soft spoken - crouching tiger hidden giant type - someone who had a soft touch, with an interesting name. Which Mier could reply to if he could remember how to*speak* around the stupid gape of his mouth and flush of heat that he was absolutely blaming on the alcohol - the words 'light weight' came to mind, had him wondering if he qualified as such given the circumstances.

"Mier! Ah, it's Mier, and I'm fine Gilmore!" tasted the name and was only fine thanks to him. Mier hadn't figured out how to offer that gratitude up yet, didn't want to owe someone. Shouldn't have needed rescuing in the first place, even if he'd appreciated it beyond words.

"That - that's ah... " a pause because those were many-many questions and he didn't quite have the answers to any of them. Rubbed his wrist gently as he looked between the man who'd stepped in to his rescue and the crowd beyond that, then to the large blue saccharine looking drink plunked on the table between them. Sidetracked and stepped around all the questions at once to land on "Is that drink any good?" a ploy of words as he craned his head back and flashed a soft pink limned smile.

Wanted to say thank you, wanted to stay, wanted to try the soft blue drink that almost matched the coloring of his hair. At least before he was shuffled out for being caught out, because he'd put sooo much work into trying - to not make it even halfway through before his little plans had shattered around him and earned him a quick bus trip home...

He promised himself he wouldn't pout, wouldn't be disappointed over a little hiccough in his plans. Pursed his lips instead because he was used to being *expressive*, and hadn't quite figured out how to school his features into something more desirable.

That? Sounded absolutely delightful, slightly slurry thoughts that automatically agreed that he absolutely should have a sip, because he was being offered it by someone who was pushing something other than swill~

Because the color of the drink matched his hair, that was surely a good enough reason to try something?

Wrapped his lips around the straw and pulled at it. Shivered pleasantly at just how *Strong* and was all alcohol like that?! "Mleh, it's not terrible!" sucked the lingering sweetness from his tongue, overripe fruit tang, as he swiped it over his teeth. Bit his lip for the shiver of that - because strong - but the overwhelming sweetness masked the rough twinge of burning enough that he could stand to have it in his mouth at least.

"I'm sorry you..oh...you're very handsome" the slightest scrunching of his features, surprised at himself for saying such, and he decided his blush wasn't fading anytime soon "Ahm, I just wanted to stay a little longer, maybe?" offered the man who must have surely been a bouncer for how mountainous he was a slight little shrug - thought to weasel his way out of some perceived trouble for having caused - well, trouble?

"I'd wanted...well..drinks, obviously! Drinks and then, uhm..." wide eyes that slid over back to the crowd, and dancing looked looked like sweaty, chaotic, fun. If loud, but the noise provided a nice little reverb, that made Mier humm with the way the air sort of vibrated pleasantly. A more pleasant sensation almost than the alcohol, surely.

With the exception of Gilmore's drinks, which were more than just tolerable. Good enough that he needed another sip of it, tropical candy type twang, and surely the man wouldn't mind - large man with a large cup - his little sips wouldn't put a dent in it.

"...and then other things? Oh! Yesss, I need to thank you - he was - I was rude, but he was being, handzsy.." bit his lip as the word slipped terribly past teeth and tongue, cast a sidelong glance back out at the crowd and thought maybe the tilt of it was his own vision and not in fact the actual reality of the thing.

“Yes!” Enthused high sigh, because *finally*, a mind reader, and Gilmore must’ve been one. Mier took his hand greedily, a sway to his step as he found his feet, clung at the arm as he caught himself with Gilmore and told the room openly to cut its s**t out with the tilting - he had dancing to do and that required *standing*.

It was something else, to marvel for a moment at his own fingers splayed across the large ashen palm. Pretty enough that he made an appreciative noise for the way his own appeared so delicately small when held within it; because those hands spanned wide enough that they likely could’ve crushed his skull, the absolute image of that!

How dangerously large they were, the appealing visual contrast of them simply holding his own like a gentleman. “Seeee? If only people could be like you!” Scoff of sound because who needed good, he hadn’t come looking for good, or perfect or prim-

“Stahpit~ good can go-can go ********** off. Fun is what I’d like, ah, please?” Glanced up with a sheepish grin, remembered his manners, because he could have those; could try to remember what polite sounded like even as he made demands of the man. Pet nicely at the warm hand that held his because - ooh big - and even the deep lines across the palm within it were something of a sensation.

Freeing, the whole of it, to be led in and around, and pulled into graceless wash of movement, because he didn’t have to be exacting at all times. Could titter like someone clearly drunk and Amrit at his own boisterousness because he had a shield maiden of a man at his neck and call, barrier to all who would burst his buried little bubble of happiness.

For however awkwardly he’d started his night, fledgling foolishness and like a braying hissing a** for how his plans had scattered, because getting drinks was a complication, but - this? This was a culmination of good, and in the morning he knew he’d take notes, make adjustments, figure out where he’d gone wrong so that next time he could do it right -

With the exception of the one moment where he was dancing. Easily led leaf on the other winds. How he made being surrounded by bodies that much less intimidating, because Gilmore was ‘the body’ -

How he didn’t worry if he were attractive or sexy or idealistic, just for a moment, because clearly the man who’s grip engulfed his hand didn’t give a single ******** if he was anything other than fun.

Bright spot of joy in a haze of warmth as the liquor seeped and made him stumble, let him cling to Gilmore on occasion like a man weathering a storm, beat lost to him entirely, but he was smiling, so it was all good.

All the world a stage, and Mier felt like he was at the center of it. Drank up every clumsy press and freeing glide, gasped as he was so easily handled and wondered why it should’ve surprised him at all? How absolutely nothing - weightless he was to the other, and -********- the way he*fit*. Engulfed by wrapping of firm hands, and rough presses of large fingers.

Mier even kept his nails to himself, for all that there were ‘touches’ - it was dancing - *invited*- and they didn’t linger overlong nor trail lower than they should. Didn’t make him feel like he had to be indulgent of them to get a good time out of the situation - the only price was his smile, and that cost him nothing at all.

Nearly asked for more of said same brushes of warmth before he was pulled back, away and the press of a gorgeous blue cylinder that was set into his hands, cool and perfect looking liquid.

The table was suddenly very much his friend - held him up against the heavy tingling pull of gravity, the slick glide of sweat and normally he would’ve chaffed for being ‘messy’, panting and overheated with exertion - couldn’t have cared less in this one instance, where he leaned against it with his hip, gave Gilmore a glossy grin and batted heavy lashes.

“Haahh, yess?! Yes! Oh this is, mmn, like a toast, right?” Snippets of laughter lost between the words, held up his glass in equal measure to ‘toast’ his - gentleman of the night - dance partner? Friend? “I-it sounds good. *All the words*~” and his forehead found Gilmore’s chest - or was it his stomach - all hard, so little give, and he nuzzled over the cloying sweat soaked cloth that hid the man from him. Breathed a giggly soft laugh before he made himself look back up - sucked down the shot in a most agreeable way; tongued the rim to chase every sweet blue droplet from the vial.