[ Jim Kirk is rude, heard it here first. He earns a sharp, subtle inhale. The tail end of a shiver that runs up Finn's spine.

Finn stares back at him, intense and unblinking and suddenly feeling a little short on breath, fingers twitching like he's debating the pros and cons of pushing forward the rest of the way himself.

He wants to do that, with a wave of sureness that's almost dizzying. Wants to push in closer. Feel skin. He sways forward just barely before making himself stop short, chasing the impulse.

Even the strange, floundering novelty of having someone so straightforwardly interested, offering, isn't enough to break his focus. Finn has to mentally shake himself, distracted, and his answer comes a little on the belated side as a result.

Sometimes in life, an attractive person is more in your personal space than even you're used to and your brain short-circuits a little, and the only option it can scramble together is bluntness. Finn's found that zone. ]

If I didn't like it, [ he says with no small measure of earnestness, rehashing what he said about the party itself, ] I wouldn't be here.

[ His hands drift lower, just far enough to rest on Jim's hips. Travel back up almost absentmindedly. ]

So I'm pretty sure I'd like to follow you off the dance floor now, Jim. If you're all right with that.