[ does it really matter whose turn it was? it .. wait. it does. because york had been at a clear advantage given the whole ankle-hook thing and he'd barely managed not to topple right off of his stool, himself – but now he's scooting in closer, using north himself as an anchor, and there's some sort of joke to be made there that he's missing entirely .. but he's just going to chalk it up to his brain being delightfully muddled.

york leaning against him as he orders their next shots has him leaning a bit on the other man, himself. close enough that he can smell his soap, aftershave, all the junk he puts in his hair to make it do that ridiculous little flip in the front. and he inhales slightly, bumping his chin against his shoulder. ]

I'll remember, a bottle of Pine-Sol for your birthday.

[ oh and here are their shots, and he's all but rolling his eyes at that wink as it goes down. ]

.. To getting out of here without a couple-hundred-dollar tab –