AN: Frottage. Public sex. Swearing. Song lyrics from "She's So Lovely" by Scouting for Girls.

Word Count: 655

Disclaimer: No money is being made from this story. The rights of these characters belong to JK Rowling and all affiliated.

"I love the way you bite your lip,

I love the way you shake your hips,

I love the way you make me drool,

I think that you are beautiful."

Harry whispers seductively into Draco's ear as their bodies pulse and sway on the dancefloor. Hips grinding, hands wandering, fingers pulling, breath panting, hearts thumping, pulses quickening, lips sucking, teeth nipping, tongues tangling.

The buzz of alcohol in their bloodstream, flooding their bodies with toxins through blue veins scattered and visible on pale skin, makes their heads swim. Everything is fairground and dizzy, kaleidoscope vision, and thrumming voices.

Vodka shots leave a bitter taste in their mouth, a taste only extinguished by mint chewing gum and kisses exchanged with toothpaste breath and soft lips. Youth and pleasure and freedom. Invincible.

A wave of lust pushes through Harry's veins as he grabs hold of Draco's hips and pulls him in. The hardness in his jeans is like metal and he's the magnet.

He licks wetly into Draco's mouth as his hands wander down to Draco's arse, squeezing and dragging him closer so he can feel him more.

His hardness and Draco's hardness bumping together, sending sizzling sparks through his body. His nerves are alight, causing his body to jerk and pull.

And he can't catch his breath because everything is heat and fire and red and warmth and white and sparks and lust and wet and desire and fuck.

A whispered plea into Draco's ear.

"Fuck me"

He feels Draco shiver in reply.

Harry opens his eyes and is immediately assaulted by the flashing strobe lights. Colours everywhere. Lines of purple and red and green cross Draco's face and my god, he looks beautiful in every light.

The music pulses back into his ears like waves washing ashore. In his chest, he can feel the deep repetitive thump of the bass.

Around them, people dance and kiss and grind. They are two in a crowd of people doing the exact same thing. They blend in, yet stand out; a dash of monochrome and contrast in a blur of colours.

And Draco's pulling his hair. Itchy jolts of pain shoot through his scalp and descend along his neck and shoulders in shivers and he fucking loves it.

Their mouths clash together again, all slip and slide and soothe.

Their hips rock a rhythm. Denim scratches against denim, belts catching, cocks rubbing.

Harry feels the sharpness of Draco's right hipbone against the joining of his thigh and torso and he wavers as pleasure washes though him.

Draco's hands slip down to hold his neck; both hands clasped around his skull and joining thumb to thumb at the front of his throat.

Harry's heart jumps into this mouth with the flood of desire that surges through him.

With renewed desperation, he claws at Draco in a futile effort to pull him impossibly closer, nearer, into him, with him. Pushes him back against the nightclub wall they have somehow gravitated towards. Harry lifts up Draco's legs and Draco jumps, long limbs clinging to Harry's hips.

This new angle brings their erections closer and new heat grows in their stomachs and everything tingles and nothing matters but grinding and grinding and feeling that hot hard heat.

They're both leaking; wet patches appearing on the outside of their boxers, soaking through to their jeans and spreading out like ink on a page, and oh fuck, what Harry would give to have Draco's legs spread out for him right now.

The wetness makes the rub easier, slicker and soon they're reduced to panting in each other's mouths, mapping out their goal with little licks and muttered fucks and oh gods and oh please baby. And it's building in the pit of their stomach, that feeling. That buzzing, that fizzle, humming away and gathering and rising higher and higher until it explodes with a heightened awareness and a shrill sensation and a muffled groan.