It was an idea Mike had had while he’d been walking home early, far too early this morning, having been booted from Allie's due to vampire and daytime reasons. It was an idea that had still been in his head when he'd woken up at home some hours into the afternoon, and even though he could feel the island's pull on his hormones beginning to lessen
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Mike would've been lying if he'd claimed hearing that name didn't feel like slipping into a different skin, a familiar and comforting form he'd supposedly left behind. As Ginuwine's Pony began to play - also an old, comfortable favorite - he stepped into the lights, the cap on his head shading his face. The moves came almost automatically, smooth and precise, perfectly in time with the music. Yeah, still got this.
Mike was a dancer. He knew his body and he knew how to move, and he knew how and when to shed clothes. Hoodie? Yeah, he could give that up early. Tight t-shirt? That stayed on until he'd been a showoff with a flip, and given ample demonstration of the kind of control he had over his hip movements. Pants? Not before he'd been grinding the stage (you were welcome, anyone ( ... )
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What? What.
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Then she'd seen the sign on Caritas. And there went her sleeping plans for the evening.
What? The only difference between pollenated Tamsin and normal Tamsin was that normal Tamsin was slightly more inclined to be an asshole instead of hitting on you.
She ordered a Bloody Mary and sat down at the bar, waiting for the show to start.
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So she ordered a drink like she'd been planning to do anyway, and then sat down at the bar to watch the show.
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She held up her Bloody Mary - complete with celery stick - in cheerful greeting.
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