Work Text:
There's a change in pace of fantasy and taste.
"Flesh for Fantasy," - Fiction Company
It was their first time at the club. The first time Sam got to see Bee's holoform somewhere other than behind the wheel of the Camaro
Sam sat near the bar, watching Bee make his way along the dance floor, hips moving in a very distracting pattern. Men and women both followed him with their eyes; the bolder among them reached out, ran fingertips along whatever they could touch: an arm, the length of Bee's back beneath the slick, taught fabric of his shirt, a tendril of dark hair.
But Bee's eyes were on Sam the entire time and when his pale pink tongue darted out to wet lips that Sam had once thought looked far too soft to belong to his best friend, Sam shuddered and left his seat, moving through the crowd to the lithe figure as though being pulled by some invisible chord.