latent predilection (and I say yes now)
It's just that I've been seeing him recently, - Mercedes tells herself when Andre makes a smooth joke and she laughs kind of sultry and amused even though her mind has fleeted to Sam's and Blaine's dork ass reenactment of that already iconic, very homoerotic scene from the latest Star Trek.
Andre doesn't try to order for her, instead easily offers suggestions when Mercedes asks what's best since he's the one who chose venue tonight, and all the while he's leaning into her, casually, subtly establishing physical contact by brushing against her side on the booth and touching her hand as he goes about pointing stuff out on the menu. His deep brown eyes are all sparked up and enticing when, wanting to meet his gaze, Mercedes tilts her head, her next smile becoming sort of absent because, though she likes how Andre's return grin is a gorgeous cocky curve, she finds herself studying that stare of his, trying to analyze and catalogue what's playing there. Sam was… - he's still is sort of scary good at the sneaky, far from disrespectful physical contact. And he always smirks a little, (so distinctly and absolutely unrepentant), when Mercedes fixes him with a look that silently establishes that she's on to every single one of his ninja tricks. The emotion caught in Sam's eyes somehow unfailingly serves to offset the whole reckless, oh-the-ungodly-things-I'd-do-to-you-if-you'd-let-me thing his smirks imply because it's so intense, so serious, so unabashedly sincere and just as unabashedly loving.
Mercedes swallows and puts down her menu, calling a measure of regret to her features through the disruptive, thorny knot that's materialized in her throat and her suddenly shaky hands. "Andre?"
"Arrived at a dish that caught your attention?" he asks, but his gaze loses its dark spark when he finishes cocking his head, his attention shifting so that it's back on Mercedes.
~oOo~
Sam is staying with Artie. Mercedes waits outside the building, snow falling softly around her as she distractedly chews on her bottom lip. She sent Sam a text, past relieved and overjoyed when he answered that, yeah, of course, hanging out with one of my most favorite people is something I'll forsake my Lord of the Rings binge for every time. She messes with the long, sexy waves she decided on for her big promising date, needing something to do with the jittery energy coursing through the whole of her being, self-consciously wanting to busy her traitorous, traitorous fingers.
Mercedes licks her bottom lip when, pushind the door open, Sam spills onto the sidewalk, her blood too blazing and fast inside her system, her heart beating like crazy (and she's an adult woman so maybe it's definitely kind of ridiculous but she still can't help feeling so glad for the set of embarrassingly strong reactions.) She drinks Sam in: the wide span of his shoulders, his self-assured walk, the so pleased smile as he goes about swallowing distance, steps trained in her direction.
Oh, God. She's really about to do this.
She really feels like she won't be able to go on existing if she doesn't.
Mercedes exhales long, forming a condensation cloud before she's rushing towards him over her dangerously high, swanky pumps as Sam begins saying, - "Weren't you on a date?" It's a predictably Sam thing to point out. And it's without a doubt a predictable Sam way of doing it, which explains why his tone sinks under Mercedes' skin, somehow both kindling and mellowing everything playing under her surface because he's just managed to make his voice come out like the most affectionate, most knowing of shit-eating grins.
She's unable to keep from chuckling as she enters his personal bubble, quickly reaching out and grabbing at his coat's lapel, her digits gone surprisingly steady now that she's moved into action. "I was. I was on a date."
Sam wastes not a fraction of a second in coming closer, encircling her waist as she looks up at him, and Mercedes sometimes thinks he's got galaxies hidden inside his body because he's so unfairly apt at generating the best sort of heat, the best sort of warm, inexorably strong pull. "And yet you're here now, …" he rasps, everything about his voice deliberate as he reaches up so that he's framing her face with one of his huge gloved hands.
Grabbing on to his other lapel, Mercedes doesn't break the look they're sharing, her courage bolstered by what she sees splayed across his expression, – that damn reckless smile offset by the way he's looking at her, the way he's let himself look at her for the past several years whenever he's been free to do so. Her hot, husky whisper, her honest reassurance ends up being brushed against his mouth when he swoops down on her, her smile melting into him, - "I'm here now, Sam."