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Tina knocks back her drink, watching him laugh easily with Artie and Blaine. He’s sexier now, confident and more muscled (how the hell is that fair, she thinks). And he knows it. Studying with the Joffrey has done wonders for him, she can tell just by how he stands, leaning seductively against the bar. He had always moved beautifully, each action a dance on it’s own but there was always a hint of shame in it. Because men aren’t supposed to be beautiful. They aren’t supposed to have grace and elegance and they definitely aren’t supposed to want more of it.
He is watching her. She can feel it even though she’s turned back to her conversation with Santana about whether or not the hot blonde with the septum piercing tending bar is gay. It’s an after effect of having been together so long. She’s looking at Santana but she knows Mike’s eyes are drifting up the length of her legs. Glancing over her shoulder and catching his gaze proves her right.
The bar they’re in is much classier than their normal hangouts. It had been recommended by one of Mike’s friends that had gone to the School of American Ballet as a good place that doesn’t look too hard at fake IDs. Blaine and Kurt are dancing close as the jazz band plays something slow and sultry. Mercedes and Sam are tucked away in a booth in the far corner and Rachel is flirting with the other bartender, a handsome guy with tongue stud. It’s a weeknight and it’s late so save for whom Tina assumes are the regulars, they are the only ones in the bar.
“I’m telling you, that girl is gay or at least bi,” Santana insists, plucking a cherry from her drink and placing it on her tongue as she eyes the blonde who is refilling Artie’s gin and ginger.
“And I’m telling you, she’s screwing Tongue Stud but is bicurious and is secretly hoping for a threesome with him and Rach--”
“Would you like to dance?”
Mike appears just over her shoulder, hands in the pockets of his slacks and a playful smile on his face. Santana raises her eyebrows, sucking down her drink through a straw, an excited look on her face.
For a moment, Tina considers saying that she doesn’t feel like dancing. But she remembers being in Mike’s arms and how safe they are, even when they are just dancing.
No.
Tina doesn’t just dance with Mike.
Dancing with Mike is sex. It is intimate and passionate, even if it’s a poorly choreographed routine by Mr. Schue. One time, Puck told them that watching them dance together was almost as good as porn. At that point, they hadn’t had sex yet and it was still an abstract idea to both of them. Tina had blushed bright red and stammered as Mike gave him a confused look. She hadn’t been too sure of herself as a dancer, it was hard to be when Brittany was in the room. But while Brittany was a better dancer than her, she and Mike were better partners. They read each other’s bodies and could sense how the other was going to move.
So she nods silently, setting her empty glass on the bar. Mike offers her his hand which she takes as she slips off her barstool. Even this gesture, taking his hand and letting him lead her to the dance floor is sexy.
As she passes Santana, she hears her hiss, “Fuck yeah, get it!”
The music shifts. It is still slow and sensual but there is more of a rhythm for actual dancing, not the subtle groping that Kurt and Blaine are doing. He spins her around, pulling her to his chest, his other hand falling to the small of her back. He leads her around the dance floor, her cheek on his shoulder.
It’s familiar and lovely, being back in his arms, dancing with him. She fell in love dancing with him. Lust was sudden and passionate but love, real, wonderful, raw love had been slower. A dance that they both had to learn independently in order to come together and perform it as one.
And they had.
They had done it perfectly and honestly and now that she was pressed against him, she can’t for the life of her remember why they stopped.
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Blaine whispers in her ear that he’s happy to stay with Kurt for the night so she can have the room and she’s too... too... too something to refuse the offer. They slip out of the bar and pour themselves into a cab, heading home to Bushwick and whatever this is. He places a hand on her knee, a casual gesture but still intimate. Her other guy friends don’t touch her there.
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Lips. Teeth. Tongue.
His tie is yanked from around his neck and hung from the doorknob as a precaution before she slams her bedroom door shut.
Hands. Fingers. Nails.
Her dress falls to the floor with a soft ‘slink!’ as she yanks at the buttons of his vest.
Legs. Thighs. Knees.
She makes quick work of his shirt and pants as her panties slide down her hips, hooked by his long fingers.
Shoulders. Back. Ass.
He lifts her up and she winds her legs around his waist, gasping as her back slams against the wall.
Neck. Chest. Breasts.
She arches against him, mewling as he grinds against her.
Stomach. Hips. Cock.
They both groan, their lips and teeth searching for purchase as they press together without him actually penetrating.
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“You sure about this?” Mike pants, sucking lightly at the hollow of her throat. He has one hand on her ass, the other under one of her knee as he carries her to her bed. He doesn’t even have to ask to know which one is hers. The awful afghan is a giveaway.
“Yes, fuck, Mike--” she stammers, nails digging into his shoulders. He kisses her top lip, reaching between her breasts to unhook her bra. His lips drag down her face and neck and he breathes in the sweet smell of her perfume and shampoo and her.
“Should we talk about this--unggghhh--” he groans as she pushes his boxers off with her big toes and she strokes him with both hands.
“We can talk later,” she purrs in his ear before wriggling away to get a condom from Blaine’s stash in his dresser drawer.
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But they don’t talk later. They spend the rest of Mike’s trip together, wrapped around each other at every possible moment. Sunday morning comes all too soon and while neither are willing to move from Tina’s bed, it has to happen. Mike has to get back to Chicago and his life there. He has roommates and friends and dance pieces to learn.
He finally disentangles himself from her still naked body and begins collecting his things from around the room. After the night at the bar, they collected his bag from Artie’s dorm room without a second thought. Artie didn’t mind though, he had hit a groove with editing his documentary and needed peace and quiet. Tina rolls onto her side, pulling the afghan over her more for warmth than modesty.
“What time is your flight?” she asks, resting her head on her hand.
“Three forty. I should probably try to get there by one. Lots of people heading out today.” He kneels on the floor in his underwear, folding up the shirts he had worn during his visit. An ‘I <3 NY’ shirt is a new addition, a cheesy souvenir Tina had insisted on buying for him. It hadn’t seemed so cheesy when he came into her room from the bathroom and she laid on the bed, wearing only that t-shirt. “So... um... this week was incredible, Teens.”
She smiles softly as him, willing herself to not cry. “It was. Unexpected but wonderful.”
“I’m sorry I have to go. I wish we had more time together,” he says, zipping his suitcase shut and standing up to dress.
“Do you want me to come with you to the airport?” she offers, but she doesn’t move to dress. It’s an empty offer. She doesn’t really want to go with him to JFK and he can’t bear a saying goodbye to her there. It would seem so final. And he not ready for that. Not yet. Not when he can still smell her on his skin and taste her one his lips.
“No, stay here. Enjoy your last day of freedom.” He smiles warmly at her, sitting beside her as he puts on his shoes. Her fingers traces over the bare skin of his back and she sits up, pressing both kisses and her breasts against him. “Tina...”
“I want you again,” she whispers, and he can hear her sniffle. “Just... I need you, Mike. One last time. Then I’ll let you go and--”
“I don’t want you to let me go and if it were to be our last time, I don’t want to remember it as something weepy and sad.” He turns to her, cupping her face in his hands and wiping her tears away with his thumbs. He kisses every inch of her face, tasting her tears. A lump formed in his throat and he gasped, trying his best to stay strong. But as Tina’s hands wrapped around his wrists, a low sob escaped him.
They both knew they would probably never do that again. The last time they had had sex before breaking up, before Mike left for Chicago, had been tender and loving but not mournful because they had both thought that it wouldn’t be the last time for forever. But now it was over. Really and truly.
He still loved her.
She still loved him.
But as compatible as they were, they weren’t right for each other right now.
In Tina’s fantasies, they would meet again in several years and start over. A combination of nostalgia and chemistry would keep them linked and they would figure out how to make the distance work. But she knew that was unlikely. She would have her life and Mike would have his. Neither expected or wanted the other to wait around just on the off-chance that they could make everything work.
“You know I love you, right?” she sighs, looking up at him.
“I know. And I love you.” He kisses her, their faces wet and sticky from crying.
They kiss a few more times, both afraid that each kiss could be their last before Mike finally pulls away and puts his shirt on. He tugs on his jacket, afraid to look at her because he doesn’t know if he can leave if he does. Finally, he does and he sees that she has rolled away from him, back shaking as she cries silently. He leans over her, planning only to say ‘goodbye’ but her name on his lips and she launches herself at him, arms clinging to him. Her hair sticks to his face but he doesn’t care. He sits on the edge of the bed, holding her tightly, committing every bit of her to memory before he has to go.
With a heavy heart he pulls away from her, eyes still wet and stinging. He gulps for air, trying his best to put himself together as he picks up his suitcase and leaves her room. The others are there but he pays them no mind because he barely notices them. He goes down to the street, still choking back tears as he climbs into a cab.
Back in the apartment, Tina lays on her bed, bawling her eyes out as Blaine attempts to comfort her with tea and cuddles but to no avail. She’s still naked but she doesn’t care if he sees her. Mike’s gone. Probably forever.
She’s lost him.