[The more they enjoy themselves the less likely they'll let the subject go later, although Chase doesn't apply the same logic to himself because that would involve deciding whether or not this is pleasant, and he's discovered, for the sake of his own sanity, that it's best not to dwell. It's a curse. The thing that has him curling a hand in Bones's collar and resting the other on his shoulder to compensate for the difference in height is all down to the mistletoe above.]
[ As far as he's concerned, that cursed mistletoe is the same reason he's sliding a hand into Chase's hair. Part of his brain is mentally taking note of the thickness, texture, length, and color -- but that's better than the part of his brain that wants to focus on whether or not it feels good under his fingers and whether or not he could pull him closer by it. Luckily, McCoy doesn't try. ]
[It's very lucky, because Chase thinks he's made enough awkward noises he'll have to try to forget later for one encounter. Bad enough that he's slightly breathless as he finally manages to pull away, eyes dizzy, unfocused blue. Just give him a second for the curse to really let go.]
[ There's a moment where he stands there, blinking slightly, mind trying to prod him into doing things like grabbing Chase and kissing him again. Then, however, the curse loses its grip and he swears. ]
[And Chase drops his gaze, clears his throat, and hits the button for straight black coffee with a little more force than is strictly necessary, snatching the small plastic cup it pours into from the machine and taking a burning, bitter swallow.]
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Goddamn mistletoe--
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Don't worry about it.
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Right.
[ And a glare at the mistletoe, for good measure. ]