The name's Irish, yes. [Corry confirms this with a bemused smile, swirling the ice in his glass and watching the stranger -- watching Danny grin. Normally Corry's much more of an ass or legs kind of guy, and while he has some scientifically-formed assumptions about what might be hiding under Danny's loose clothes, he finds his gaze drawn again and again to the young man's mouth instead. Smiling, talking, sipping his drink, flirting?]

Would you, then? Enjoy a mouthful? [Corry teases it back with a wicked grin of his own. Oh, yes. Definitely flirting.

It's enough encouragement that Corry feels bold enough to reach out, thumb away a drop of bright green liquor resting on Danny's lower lip after his most recent sip. He lets his hand linger, fingers callused and warm, easily cradling Danny's chin, something deeply possessive in the gesture.] Danny. Pleasure to meet you. I'm not much of a dancer, but I have a feeling if I'm with you, nobody will be looking at me.