Mishka sure spent a lot of time in clubs for someone who didn't even like them.
He was fine with the dancing and drinks, but it was the environment he preferred to avoid. Thundering music and flashing lights consumed them the moment they stepped inside, all of it so loud that he could barely hear himself think. Hundreds of strangers filled the space, with even more dark corners dotted between them.
Out on the street, nobody could catch him by surprise. There were ample escapes and ample cover; whichever he needed at the time. Even with all his training and experience, walking into these places still felt like losing his senses: blind from the sheer number of people and patches of darkness to watch at once, and deaf from music that obscured the sounds of bodies moving, fabric rustling, words whispering.
Which was why he remained firmly glued to Sasha's side during their journey to the bar, sharp eyes darting over his head to scan their path. The leg that hooked him was hardly necessary, but the encouragement of it made those deeply possessive parts of him preen in delight. A gentle laugh was lost to the music. Slotting between Sasha's stool and the next, he kept an arm slung low around his waist, idly toying with the bunched fabric above his waistband.
"More like it's why you're full of shit," Mishka teased back, but it didn't land when his voice was so full of affection. No, Sasha's little ploy was much more effective, and the assassin rolled his eyes as the bartender set about making the intentionally gross order. But Sasha posed an all-important question before he could comment.
He couldn't help but hesitate, however briefly. There hadn't been any complications with his latest target (unlike the last time or two), and he'd already told Dima where he could shove it if he so much as thought about contacting him tonight. It should be as safe as it ever could be for him to indulge.
"Yeah, yeah," he assured. "Your drink doesn't even count when it's that much alcohol—" his free hand pinched his thumb and index finger the tiniest width apart, "—to a whole glass of other shit." Still, the moment the bartender set Sasha's drink down, Mishka snatched it first and took a long sip...only to make a scrunched face. "Yep, that's just liquid sugar." After pushing the glass towards his companion, he dipped down to murmur (or what volume could pass for it, in this place) in Sasha's ear, "Somehow, though? You're right: you taste even sweeter than that."
Only then did his gaze lift to the waiting bartender. "I'll take a vodka soda—heavy on the vodka." He gave Sasha a pointed look as the bartender gathered more ingredients. "See? You can get something with soda and actual alcohol." Regrettably, he retracted his arm so he could retrieve his wallet from his back pocket. "I'm not paying for that, by the way." With a nod to Sasha's glass, his expression clearly read: you know what you did.