Punch

“She’s beautiful isn’t she?”
Muffinz watched Her dancing from across the room.  The Hypnotic Pulse of the music had Her under its spell, and alone on the gym floor she gyrated Her hips, arms in the air, hair bouncing and writhing about Her head.  The Dancers, some alone, some with partners of three months or three days, traced their way across the floor, like bees all tracing out a complicated route to some lofty obscure flower.
“Yeah.” Ben leaned up beside Muffinz, a plastic cup in his hand.  Half empty of it’s punch, tiny drips still clung like determined soldiers refusing to surrender to the onslaught of gravity.  Ben’s lips were stained red, as if a rose had bled onto his lips.  He too was transfixed by Her, whirling unendingly.  
They both sighed at the same time, and then looked away at the awkwardness.  Ben remembered when Muffinz had once sighed like that while watching him dance, tho his music had been gunfire and his tap-shoes had ABXY buttons.  That had been two months ago, and both had moved on.  But it was still a point of awkwardness.  Ben had never known how he had felt.  He had only found out as the parabola of Muffinz’s crush was past the max-point, sloping down towards the line of indifference.  Before Ben had had time to consider pursuing it, Muffinz had moved on, changed the equation.
“So how long’s it been for you?” Muffinz asked.  
“About two days.”
“Nooo I mean how long have you liked Her?”
“Oh.  About two weeks, I dunno.”
Another song passed.  It was faster, and more synchronized.  Jocelyn shimmied up to Her and laughingly they bumped hips and twisted their feet together.  Muffinz, the melancholy of unfulfillment weighing on his thoughts, couldn’t even enjoy the faux lesbianism.  Ben had less reservations.  His crushing parabola was only just on the rise, he hadn’t got to the point of waking from dreams of Her to waking thoughts of Her face.  Muffinz had held there but the sheer force of gravity was trying to pull him back down.
“I thought you were over her.  Like, months ago.” Muffinz turned to him, a glitch in his understanding of the universe causing his query.
“I don’t know, it came back,” Ben said, slowly, choosing words gently. She was done with Jocelyn and was meandering over to the drinks table.  “Talk to Erin, she theorizes that once you like someone you never really stop.”
“Guess not, Hai!” he said, breaking off the conversation as She entered their midst.  The song now playing had less base, and sounded suspiciously like Miley Cyrus.  All the people who matter tried to survive thru it.
“Muffinz!” she said, giving him a hug.  Her long dark hair came dangerously close to dipping into the punch.  
“Oh fine, ignore me.  Huff.”  Ben said, and then smiled as she nuzzled into his stomach, her soft hands pleasing to the touch.  But he found that the touch wasn’t as wonderful as it could be.  
“Why’z you not dancing?” She clung to Ben’s arm and ogled at Muffinz.
“Because I don’t like dancing!”
“I just don’t’ care,” Ben said, shrugging.
“Come on!” She said, playfully dragging on Ben’s arm.  Rather like trying to get a tree to go questing with you, she had no effect.  A pout crossing her lips was transplanted by a devious smile, and she grabbed Muffinz’s hat from his head.  Spinning off into the riling crowd before he could grab it back.  “Boogie if you wanna get it back!” she shouted over the discordant techno.  
Ben watched, chuckling, as Muffinz tried awkwardly to beat to the music.  He wasn’t half bad actually, Ben noticed, and with surprise he found himself enjoying the sight of Muffinz more than the sight of Her.  His lip ring glinted in the weak light, jutting out on his lower lip, protruding out into the air, a landing pad for affection.  His eyelids allowed Ben to watch him, unnoticed and undisturbed.  He sipped his punch, his lips reddening again.  The song ended, and Muffinz pushed his way over to her to demand the return of his hat.  She held it above her head and he reached in vain to grab it.  Ben smiled, and slipped around behind them.  Calmly he grabbed the hat from Her hands and dropped it back on Muffinz’s head.  He squared it, tucking it down over the tips of his ears and directing a thank you at Ben.  She smiled like Loki himself was in her lips, and left them, wading away into the crowd, leaving them stranded in the middle of the dance floor.  A new song began.  For some reason the DJs felt it necessary to punctuate the modern music with an antiquated waltz.  All of the loners partnered up, and finding themselves the only ones in the immediate vicinity without a partner, Muffinz shrugged.  
“Do you wanna dance?” he asked, and Ben, returning the shrug, put out his hands.
“We’re so weird,” Muffinz said, and took Ben’s hand and waist.
They moved slowly together, but with intensity.  The waltz dictated that all it’s servants move strangely and sharply, taking abrupt turns and contorting in ways they wouldn’t usually, well certainly not in public anyway.  But there was a gentleness to it, and when it came to the tipping moments Ben had fun bodily lifting Muffinz up and over him.  He wailed in faux fear, flailing his legs as they were separated from the ground.  Not to be out done, once he regained purchase of the floor he twirled around on Ben’s fingers, extending a leg to finish before returning to the default position.  
“Were did you learn to Tango?” Ben asked, with an appreciative nod.
“From Justin, in our dorm room last year,” he replied, smiling.  “And you?”
“From Ceila Femdeleru, the pastors daughter, at my Church’s community center.”
“I’m sorry,” Muffinz said, turning his head slightly to the left.  The music was getting to him.  It slowed and he started to notice things, like the way he liked the warmth of Ben across his breast, or how well they moved together.  He looked up into his eyes, which called forth emotions usually reserved for the fireside in a wintry cabin.  Warm, safe, strong.  He leaned in a bit further, and Ben leaned in a bit deeper to match him.
They were very close now.  Ben’s breath barely cooled before it rippled across Muffinz’s face.  He blinked, but every time an eye closed he felt less and less need to open them.  Unbidden, he felt his head moving upwards, and tilting more to the left.  He couldn’t see that Ben’s head was doing the same, leaning down to the point where their noses were touching.  They stayed there, as the Waltz spiraled down and down, sharing smells.  Tiny vibrations the body is prone to made Muffinz’s lip ring shudder and twitch, so that it was gently massaging Ben’s lips, their redness fading slightly as the punch’s spell dissolved.  The last tiny drops, before they were nothing, were shattered and disturbed as another pair of lips came crashing into them.  Those drops found this new pair of lips intriguing, and decided to investigate them, their tiny crevices too smooth for the drop’s old host to notice them.  To Ben the lips were smooth, and sweet, and wonderful.  The song ended but that was by no means any reason for them to separate.  They went on, mostly unmoving, unperturbed by the Avril Lavigne that sought to torment their ears.  Nothing could touch them.  Everything was the moment.  They had eachother, and the moment had them.