callipygos | holiday party post

Aphrodite's New York loft is done up to the nines.

The first good look as one enters is of twinkling Manhattan through the big windows, lights bright against a dark winter sky. The windows take up most of two walls; the rest of the space is largely empty, the star of the show a glowingly polished hardwood floor perfect for dancing.

There's a cluster of low-slung couches and chairs at one end of the room, velvet and leather and very inviting. They're situated by the fireplace, which lends them a cozy glow-- though it isn't cold anywhere in here, despite the windows.

Aphrodite is very proud of a few things about tonight:

1) The music, which spans a decent range of time periods and tempos, and will be playing for most of the evening.
2) The decorations, understated but quite lovely: softly glowing lights, silver and gold ribbons wound around columns and draped from the ceiling ... the occasional strategically placed bit of mistletoe.
3) Her dress.

And yes, darlings, there is a very well stocked bar and counter full of snacks.

That's what happens when you enlist the Three Graces to help you plan your shindigs.

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She returns her eyes to him, a little wide, a little surprised. She hasn't reached the saturation level yet where she blurts out everything as it comes to mind, so she doesn't tell him she was seeing Sam sober, neither does she start apologizing for getting them on a subject Tommy is all too intimate with himself. She just purses her lips, and softens into a smile.

"You're right. T'be honest, I'd very much like t'be able t'kiss you later, anyhow," she whispers, apparently just tipsy enough to think she's being subtle. "It's — nothin' I ain't used to. An' it's a party. I'll worry 'bout Voodoo later. He looks like he's havin' fun."

She sighs, subtly slipping her hand under his jacket, rubbing his waist soothingly.

"I came over t'check on you, anyhow. Not the other way 'round."

Off her initial expression, for a moment he thinks that he might have said something wrong (again), and an apology is on the tip of his tongue. But it's still just very a sensitive area for both of them -- sure, it's been breached, but it's not exactly something that either of them delight in casually discussing.

Her soft smile reassures him that no harm has been done, and her whispered admission makes him smile in return, as does her touch. The contact is definitely welcome.

"'M fine. Really, I am."

A beat.

"I'm prolly not gonna dance to this music, but that buffet table is awesome."

"I found it a li'l intimidatin', myself."

She chuckles. She'll try giving it another shot later on. Putting something on her stomach might even do her some good. She has every intention of staying as long as Tommy wants to, and enjoying the festivities. Though, if she continues to see Sam, she might take that as a sign to throw in the towel.

"The music I ain't so scared of. I'm gonna try my luck, see if I can't get somebody t'dance with me."

Shooting him a teasing smile, she withdraws her hand and clasps it in front of her demurely, returning her attention to the city skyline.

"It really is beautiful."

At her teasing smile, he slants her a sidelong look and a slightly raised eyebrow. The corner of his mouth ticks upward. Abandoning all notions of subtlety, he slings his arm around her shoulders and draws her in close against his side.

She can dance with whomever she wants, but she's still going to be leaving with him.

Looking back out the window at the skyline, he takes a sip of his ginger ale.

"Yeah. It is."

Surprised, she looks between the hand on her shoulder and the body suddenly pressed against her.

"Tommy."

Her voice is half-scolding, half-amused. She pokes his side, and shakes her head, glancing around the room before returning to the window.

(She doesn't pull away.)

"Thank you. Not jus' for bringin' me here, but for bringin' me t'your New York."

What? As far as he's concerned, an arm around her shoulders is far more casual than if he'd held her around her waist. This is him being discreet.

He glances down at her, at her eyes, at her lips, the way her hair frames her face, and he glances away again to take another sip of his drink.

"You're welcome."

He gives her a light squeeze.

Thanks for coming with me. Thanks for being with me. Thanks for putting up with me.

She lets the moment linger, despite whether or not it's discreet.

(It's not.)

"All right," she sighs, finally pulling away from him. "I'm gonna dance off somma these nerves. Try not t'pick a fight with John? An' try not t'get too melancholy."

She squeezes his hand, and — quick as a flash — gives him a peck on the cheek.

"I mean t'abscond with you when the shindig's over."

"I won't. And I ain't gonna pick a fight with anybody," he insists, as his arm slips from her shoulders, his palm pausing at the small of her back for but a second.

Abscond? What does abscond mean?

"'Kay." He smiles anyway as his cheek warms with the brief kiss. "Don't you get too melancholy either, alright?"

She grins at him, and this time it's sincere, reaching all the way to her eyes.

"Sugar, jus' you mind my tailfeathers on the dance floor. They'll be shakin'."

It's hard to be sad when you're dancing.

Her warm grin is infectious, and it does a lot to lighten his spirits.

"In that dress, honey, you bet I'll be minding your tailfeathers."

It's hard to be sad when she looks as good as she does right now.

"Go on, then. Have your fun."

Her smile is brilliant.

She hesitates just a single moment more, searching out his eyes. Nothing more needs to be said; he knows she's near if he needs her.

She winks, and turns, making her way to the dance floor.

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