[Stephen is at his usual spot in the kitchen at The Blue Light today, apron and baseball cap on. He's working fairly quickly, chopping vegetables and periodically checking a few pots on the stove and something in the oven. The radio is on (not playing Christmas music, thank god) and he's humming along occasionally. What he has failed to notice is
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[ooc: I tried to resist, but I failed.]
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Hey man.
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Hello.
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Haven't seen you here before.
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[Of course.]
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[And trying to avoid that mistletoe which, sonuvabitch, is creeping around inside.]
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[Going to get him another one, though.]
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[He's not too picky, really.]
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[Coming back with your beer. Aaaaand there's no one else in the bar, so he might as well sit down.]
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Taking a gulp or two.]
You putting up with--
[He points vaguely at the mistletoe growing from the ceiling. Stuff's too damn close.]
--all this all right?
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[...and it's creeping right overhead... Damn. Not this again. And he can't stop leaning in--entirely too close, entirely at the wrong angle (or the right angle, if one prefers), with entirely too much purpose...]
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He leans in closer, close as he can, too close. One hand gets itself tangled in the collar of Stephen's shirt (habit more than anything) to drag him just a bit closer (if that's at all possible by now). His eyes fall shut, and he swoops in to close the last distance between them and catch Stephen's mouth in a kiss...]
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