[ 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.]
no subject
Goddamn mistletoe--
no subject
Don't worry about it.
no subject
Right.
[ And a glare at the mistletoe, for good measure. ]