Within the past two hours, Brian had hardly gotten a chance to dance with his sister. He had been twirling several ladies around the dance floor and despite her fears, several of the other blokes had asked Bets for a dance. Every now and then, they'd gotten back together for some fancy footwork or a slow dance, and now, he'd reunited with the Glamazon for a few drinks. He stood next to his twin now, facing the drink table. It was all but depleted. It seemed the X-Men could hold their booze. "Bottoms up," he said sweetly before placing another drink in her hand.
Sometime during one of their dances Brian's hands had begun to wander over Betsy, something that had begun subconsciously but was now causing a heat within him. After his last dance with her, Brit had loosened his collar and set free his throat from the bond that was his necktie. During their dance, his lips had found themselves against both her ear and the side of her throat, and once before when they had been sitting together, his hand had smoothed thoroughly up and down over the skin of her thigh under the cover of the table.
Currently, he was swilling back half of the bottom-of-the-barrel punch that he had poured for himself and Betsy, and his free, right hand moved to rest gently on the small of her gracefully curving back. Even through the strong smell of the punch he could sense her fragrance. He knew it too well, now. His hand fell and his massive fingers squeezed tightly against the curve of her butt while his head was still tilted back in mid-drink.