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I bet you look good on the dancefloor klance what is a betting teaser

I bet you look good on the dancefloor klance

Keith tries to keep his chill but that eyebrow twitch gives him away. He stalks towards Lance, eyes squinting and challenging. They probably want him gone, those asses. Keith stabs a finger into his chest. Keith chooses to ignore him, cheeks a little pink. He ends up stepping away, chin up. Keith continues huffing and storms towards his plugged in iPod. It's unhealthy. Fits his mood, honestly. The song is very jammy and his muscles are way looser than like twelve hours ago, throwing him into rhythm easily enough.

Keith pats his shoulder a few times, smirking, barely there, chin jutting out. It's mock consolation. An hour of this routine until I deem you good enough and let you stop. He sharply turns around on a heel and Lance wants to punch him in the face.

Beach hunk Hunk Garrett : Never lose hope young aspiring grasshopper!! Beach hunk Hunk Garrett : Keith aside???? I thought that your mindset affected your appearance somehow. Beach hunk Hunk Garrett : Oh cmon lance you look good!! Now stop crying over every single thing.

Compared to Keith, Shiro is a god-send. For his little love-stricken sister, of course! Shiro gives him two, winking playfully when Lance asks why. The lingering scent of mint and mango tea makes him relax. He tries not to scratch at the pimple, too self-conscious around Shiro who radiates this — this energy.

Shiro sets down the cup of tea and blinks at him, long eyelashes fluttering. I know that he sees talent in you. You cannot blame this all on Keith. Lance gasps and grabs his chest. Lance feels completely thrown off by their reactions. Lance nearly falls over. Right, left, bounce twice on it, with toes, toes! Oh my god, stop! He stalks to Lance and leans in, hands on hips, eyes scanning.

Do it again. Lance sighs at the lack of music and the overabundance of scrutinizing stares all around, dips his weight low while swinging his arm before himself at chest height, bent at elbow to make the move more precise, "laggy". He almost stumbles forward because of the sudden action.

Lance really wants to scream. And then you have to kick out. Keith repeats the motion flawlessly, bringing his right leg — again with the fucking toes, Jesus, he should be teaching ballet - in a perfect semi-circle, and then kicking it out twice, powerful. He rubs at his face, exasperated. People around them start whispering. He rubs at his tired blue eyes — did he hear this right?

Where's Ashton Kutcher yelling out 'punk'd'? Of course, all good things must come to an end. At all. Lance actually gets offended by it. His face is wet from sweat, red from exertion and the sudden physical contact.

He lets Keith do it, feeling very warm all of a sudden. Lance feels himself dying a little on the inside. And outside too, probably. The brunet sucks in a shaky breath and prays to god almighty for strength to not pop a stiffy in front of everyone - they're honestly too amused to look away from the pair. What teaching method is that? He presses his upper back against Keith just to live up to the shithead title, pushing back on his fingers.

Lance bites down on his lower lip at their proximity and Keith shakes his head to the sides. He tries to free the leg, but Lance only clamps his thighs around it, locking it in place. Keep your dick on a leash. Lance spends the short break getting shit for grinding with the instructor and handling a whole lot of thirsty teens asking for advice, all of them extremely impressed by their small show. He befriends a tall girl named Shay, the only one who looks at him with complete kindness rather than burning jealousy and discreet hatred.

He gratefully accepts it and dumps it over his naked torso. Em strolls up to them at that moment and rams herself into his back to show affection. Not bad. Shay folds her arms to hug herself, looking sad. Some of the more difficult moves that require a lot of upper body strength have to be performed by Keith in his stead.

It makes even Lance wince. Shiro looks ashamed by the scolding. Dance like a robot from Sticker By rhserra. Tags: arctic monkeys, music, am, alex turner, the last shadow puppets, s, uk, i bet you look good on the dancefloor, favorite worst nightmare. Tags: i bet you look good on the dancefloor, arctic monkeys, am, quote, motivational quote, motivational, riverdale, the , enjoy, hipster, hipstawhite, cries in indie, indie, indipendent, music lover, music, lana del rey, marina and the diamonds, halsey, melanie martinez, cry baby, cry, baby, foxes, bastille, the strokes, the neighborhood, declan mc kenna, alex turner.

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The moves are already a part of you. Own them. The cold gust of wind makes the sheen of sweat dry instantly and Lance runs his fingers through his short brown hair, lets it stick up. She then claps her hands together with a blinding white smile. Impress me, Lance! But this is what he wants. When he hesitates before falling into a knee-drop, Allura claps her hands once more in a steady rhythm. Keep going! Your breakdancing could use it.

That one hand scissor kick, show it to me again. Allura bats her eyelashes back. I have an acquaintance who is overwhelmingly good at this if I do say so myself, and we tend to use the same hall when practicing new moves. Now go for it! He ends up kissing the pavement, unsurprisingly. Because I, personally, think that you could use all the help that you can get.

He could really use a bath. Coran is a secret bboyer? Too much for one day. Lance throws his arms into the air. Nope nope nope, goodbye. He whines for water breaks that are meant to mask his heaving, but she takes none of it. I am the fucking strong. In a sudden rush of overwhelming sentimentality, Pidge grabs his face and looks deeply into his eyes. Pidge and Hunk throw their arms in the air, earning some confused stares from those around them.

Huh, maybe he deserved it. Hunk places a comforting hand on his bony shoulder and they entertain themselves with a little game of 'I Spy' while they wait for the competitions to start. After Hunk spies yet another sexy cop, the game turns a little boring. Motherfucking Keith. He could be a beacon of sexual tension. Mullet's aren't unnoticed nowadays. Keith probably didn't get that memo. The revelation feels severely downplayed - what about the ground-shattering surprised looks, indignant gasps, and drama?

Not to sound rude or anything, but I told you so , multiple times by the way, but who listens to Hunk, am I right? Lance looks down at his quivering palms. Remember what happened last time? He remembers the crowd booing and the indecipherable look that Keith had sent his way, as though he had proven his point.

Lance was inferior and always would be. But that's in the past, and this I can feel it. We have to. We have to do this, it'll be a good experience. We may not be quite there yet, but we can wipe the floor with them. I believe in you. Then, Lance turns to Pidge, but they cut him off. Are you truly feeling ready? Otherwise Allura is going to kick my ass to another galaxy and then back. Seemingly affected by all the praise and the good atmosphere, Hunk is the first one to nod.

Pidge remains cautious. Lance knows that for a fact. Pidge finally relents and Lance looks over his shoulder in a rush of excitement. It booms loud and clear, the music dying down for a moment. Maybe tonight is their lucky night! Allura would be floored. The crowd seemingly fades away, reduced to a distant shapeless noise, and he somehow knows that Pidge and Hunk are keeping up with him just fine.

Keith looks at them with that shine of interest gleaming in his eyes that only surfaces once every three tournaments, Lance knows that. And oh shit!!! Lance, despite his mental raging boner soon to grow into the real deal, still feels very offended at such treatment - just who the fuck does Keith think he is? He kinda wants to reach out, grab him and — and do something , but Pidge holds him by the hood and drags him backwards. Lance flicks him the bird and almost trips over his own feet when Keith wiggles his fingers in a smug wave and blows him a kiss.

Lance is roughly shaken awake at 6 am. He gets ready to use his 'older sibling authority' and kick his sister out of his room, but gets subjected to more jostling which can only belong to Pidge. With a scream, he sits up. Pidge actually looks ashamed. The thudding stops. His damn Ma, always playing favorites. He was having a very good dream.

Pidge is in front of him in all of their almost-naked glory - only in underwear and a haphazardly thrown on binder. He hisses at the sudden invading light. He skims the article, feeling very cold. They sit in a stuffy silence. They reclaim their phone and open the group chat to reply to Hunk. Lance continues practicing, but his drive dies more and more with every passing month.

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He knew it was ridiculous to gawp like this, but he was only now beginning to realise how sheltered his life had been. The wizarding world was so bloody backward. Before tonight, he'd met precisely three people who he knew were openly gay — Will, Morrie, and a Muggle woman who worked in the corner shop where Harry sometimes bought bread and milk. But now… he was surrounded by people who were, at the very least, fine with the concept of queerness. Fine with seeing men dancing, touching He could see a couple more t-shirts being peeled off, revealing firm torsos beneath, glistening with perspiration.

Fuck, some of the men in here were seriously fit. There was a guy dancing on his own, slim and lithe, wearing his shirt open to the waist and a pair of the tightest jeans Harry had ever seen. The dancer closed his eyes and raised his arms as the song reached its chorus. Watching him — the way he moved, so bold and free — set something powerful tugging at Harry, deep in his belly.

He couldn't quite take it in that this fucking beautiful man was gay, too. That most people in the room were gay. That a lot of them might be here for the same reason as Harry. He absolutely could. He knew what it was like with a woman. OK to start with, and then — when clothes started to come off — unnerving, and then He screwed up his face just thinking about the humiliation and the old feelings of failure and revulsion.

Then , it was no good at all. But now, sitting here, watching one muscular bloke dancing up close with another, slimmer guy, his knee in between his partner's thigh, hands fisting the material of his shirt Harry knew that there would be no problems at all, with a man. He knew it as surely as he knew he had magic running in his veins.

The only unnerving thing was how badly he wanted it. I told you he'd love it here. Harry didn't even care that they were probably laughing at him. He felt lit up from inside. God, he wanted this — wanted it so much he could taste it, a metallic tang of heat and desire and a blissful certainty.

The stockier man bent closer to his partner, and then they were — Merlin — they were kissing, their mouths greedy and insatiable. Harry's heart was jumping against his ribs. The slimmer man tugged at the other's arm and led him purposefully deeper into the throng until Harry lost sight of them. He squinted into the crowd, twitchy with disappointment. There had been something so glorious about it. The naked want on both of their faces, the way they touched each other with the confidence of mutual arousal.

Harry hadn't known that two people could touch each other that way — as if they belonged to each other. As if all they cared about was pleasure, only pleasure and need and the voracious, unstoppable hunger that Harry could feel rolling over him in waves. It was hard to see — the coloured lights pulsed over the mass of bodies, now blue, now green — and there was a smoky haze hanging over them, part cigarette fug, part body heat.

But Harry could make out figures at the back of the room, against the far wall, and although he couldn't see much of what was happening, the aching tension in the pit of his stomach tugged at him once again, pulling him to his feet. Someone wearing a checked shirt stepped into Harry's path and held out his hands with a smile, as if inviting him to dance.

Harry shook his head and dodged to one side, heading past the little stage with its glittery backdrop and the DJ's decks. He didn't quite know what he was looking for, only that there was something here which was calling him without words.

He continued past the crowds until he reached the back of the room. There was indeed a corridor here leading to the loos, but it was the back wall which Harry was drawn to. It was dotted here and there with moving bodies so that, in the darkness and smoke, parts of the wall looked as though it was undulating. A flame of excitement had flickered inside Harry from the moment they walked into the bar, and now it roared into life, blazing with fierce delight.

Was this what he had been searching for? What he had hardly dared to believe he would find? Here were male bodies pressed up against each other. Men's mouths boldly seeking out other men's mouths, lips on throats, fingers searching out bare skin, hands grasping tight flesh, hips rolling and backs arching and so much heat and want and hedonism that Harry rocked back on his feet with the dizzying force of it.

He couldn't just stand there staring… but he couldn't leave, couldn't walk away, not right now, not yet … He leaned back against a pillar and hoped that he looked like someone just taking a breather from the dancefloor, watching the twinkling lights from the disco ball flit aimlessly across the wall and ceiling. Another man sauntered over, holding a drink, and stood next to Harry, frankly appraising the three or four necking, groping couples.

Harry relaxed a little. Maybe no-one would mind if he stood a while longer. His eyes roamed over the couples, taking in all the details: a pair of exploring hands, a belt buckle being stealthily undone for better access. Nobody had stripped off, exactly, but under cover of the dim light there were hands dipping into clothing to palm an eager cock, or reaching behind to grip an arse cheek. Harry was definitely going to rejoin Will and Morrie any minute, but one man — a boy, really — kept drawing Harry's eye again and again.

His blond hair was so bright every time it was illuminated by the lights. He wore a flimsy, silvery shirt, sheer enough for Harry to see his nipples as his companion lifted the boy's hands above his head and held his wrists up against the wall. The blond let his head fall back, allowing the other man access to his throat. His face was slack with enjoyment, the delicate bones and sharp jaw reminding Harry a little bit of— but, no, of course not.

It was just some Muggle boy. The blond boy arched his back as the other man began to grind against him, using his hips to work up some friction, holding nothing back. He looked as if he could quite easily come from it, from being kissed and groped up against a wall, and Harry wasn't surprised — he felt like he could come, just from watching it. He wanted nothing more than to be that man, pressing the blond up against the wall.

You could see — Harry could see — that you could do anything with that boy, anything at all, and he would love it. You could see it in the smudgy make-up rimming his eyes, in the arch of his back, the roll of his skinny hips, the insolent curl of his lip and the long line of his throat. The light arced over his forearms, held above his head, so that Harry could see the twisting shapes of a black tattoo there, and for a moment, just a moment, Harry thought it was Malfoy standing there. The ink on the boy's arm reminded him so much of the Dark Mark.

The lines had that kind of edge to them, the same sinister feel, but instead of a snake and a skull they showed a vicious-looking black bird, its beak and claws curving cruelly across the boy's narrow arm. The boy rolled his hips into the man's touch, pressing the bulge of his cock into the man's outstretched palm, his face almost tortured with want. He looked right on the edge.

Harry felt a trickle of shame for spying on such an intimate moment, but he couldn't look away, not even for a second. It wasn't like they were anywhere private, was it? The two of them didn't know or care that Harry was standing there, fixed to the spot, his cock uncomfortably hard, trapped there against the seam of these bloody tight jeans. Then the boy opened his eyes and looked directly at Harry, and, sweet Merlin , it fucking was Malfoy.

There was no doubt about it. Harry felt the truth of it like a punch in the gut. Malfoy met Harry's gaze, his eyes widening in surprise for a moment as Harry gaped back at him, and then Harry didn't just see the great wave of bliss which washed over Malfoy's face — he felt it, too. The man still had his hand between Malfoy's legs, squeezing, stroking , and Harry watched helplessly as Malfoy's eyes fluttered shut and his mouth opened in an 'O' of delight.

Fucking hell. Malfoy, standing there, dressed in Muggle clothes that showed off every inch of his angular body, letting another man grope him as if it meant nothing. Letting him do exactly what he wanted to him. It was Draco Malfoy. And Malfoy was coming , having what looked like an pretty fucking intense orgasm pressed against the wall, right there at the edge of the dancefloor.

It was It was totally obscene, and Harry felt filthy for watching. He didn't understand why he still couldn't look away, even when Malfoy opened his eyes again, clearly still riding the surges of pleasure, and smirked right at Harry as if this was the best thing that had ever happened to him. As if he didn't feel cheap, or shamed, or disgusting at all. Harry was trembling with something that felt close to anger.

Malfoy leaned back against the wall and smiled, his eyes heavy with sated desire, self-satisfaction written all over his face and seemingly delighted that Harry was still looking. The other man let go of his wrists and started to rut against Malfoy in a purposeful manner. Harry felt a hot, jagged spike twisting in his stomach and at last managed to turn away. His legs didn't feel quite steady enough to walk off, but at that moment Will came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

We wondered if you'd got lost. Or maybe pulled. This is a hell of a shock the first time, yeah? Sort of brilliant, though. Thank god for Muggles and their crazy lives. Harry felt numb. He didn't dare glance back at Malfoy and his companion, but his mind supplied appropriate pictures for what was probably happening right now. Will looked at Harry more closely. Downing a large-ish rum and orange calmed the uncomfortable churning in Harry's chest a little, but he couldn't get rid of it altogether.

His magic kept flaring out to the tips of his fingers, wanting to get out and do some damage. In fact, forget magic: he felt as if he'd quite like to take someone outside and punch them. Will and Morrie chatted on about this and that as if nothing was wrong, for which Harry was grateful. But it was no good. The itchy excitement he'd felt at the beginning of the evening had drained away, and a sullen resentment simmered in its stead. Why the fuck did Draco Malfoy have to be here, of all places?

Out of all the people in Harry's year, why did Malfoy have to be queer? Harry had thought — he didn't know quite what he'd thought. Perhaps that he might have found a place where he could relax. Where he didn't have to feel ashamed any more — where he wasn't the odd one out. But bloody Draco fucking Malfoy had got there first, tainted the whole place and made Harry feel vile and sleazy. It made him all clenched up in his gut, like he might want to throw up. He claimed a headache — it had been a long week at work, after all — and, assuring Will and Morrie he'd be fine as soon as he'd caught up on some sleep, he left them to it.

He hadn't had too many drinks to Apparate. Or if he had, he hardly cared. All he wanted was to get home. Maybe then he could stop thinking about Malfoy's face furrowed with pleasure as he came, and the way his body had bucked against the other man's hand. Harry hadn't planned it or anything.

It was just a spur of the moment thing. He'd had a perfectly nice evening out with Ron and Hermione. They'd gone for a Chinese, during which a story about a delivery of Portable Swamps to Harry's office at the Department of Magical Games and Sports had made Ron laugh so much that he'd sprayed prawn cracker crumbs all over himself. Hermione's world-weary look had made both Harry and Ron laugh even harder. Harry was both pleasantly full and a bit drunk, so he decided to walk home, awash with the sort of hazy comfortable feeling you only got after spending a few hours with your best mates on earth.

He hadn't told them about watching Draco Malfoy getting off in a gay bar. It just never seemed the right moment to bring it up. And then for no particular reason, Harry suddenly realised that the tube station he was walking past was only a couple of stops from the Three Wise Monkeys.

His feet seemed to slow down and then stop of their own accord. He checked his watch. It was just after eleven. Most places would be shutting Thursday was his day off this week, so he didn't have to be up in the morning. He could just drop in and see if maybe he felt differently about the place. One bad experience wasn't a reason to give up on something, was it? His feet were taking him down the steps into the Underground before he was aware of making the decision.

Sitting on the tube, he felt the same thrum of happy trepidation he had felt last week with Will and Morrie. Harry loved riding the tube — always had done. He loved the anonymity of it. He could be anybody here, anybody at all The carriage was half-full but no-one gave him a second glance — he was just an ordinary bloke in his 20s with messy hair and a faded Joy Division t-shirt.

He glanced up at the tube map and was reminded, not for the first time, of one of Dumbledore's stories. The Headmaster liked to claim he had a scar in the shape of the London Underground map just above his left knee. Harry grinned and shook his head. Dumbledore had been so full of shit sometimes. One more stop. Harry's fingers drummed against his knees, tapping out the bassline from a song he'd heard at the bar last time. The other thing he loved about the Underground was the endless potential for new experiences.

All of those little circles and lines on the map Harry wondered, not for the first time, about just staying on the train, maybe changing onto another line at random and finding out what Tooting Broadway was like, or what about Peckham Rye? So many possibilities. But as the train jolted to a halt and the familiar voice warned him to Mind the Gap, he got to his feet and took the stairs two at a time, needing to burn off some of the excess tension making his fingers twitch in his pockets.

The railway arches stood solid and sombre, trains rumbling overhead, carrying people away into the darkness. There was the neon sign of the bar, cheerful and incongruous in the rather gloomy surroundings. As Harry approached, a group of young men, clearly dressed to impress, swung the door open and headed down the stairs.

Harry stopped for a minute on the pavement and looked down at himself. He chewed his lip for a moment and then spelled his t-shirt a bit tighter. Just a little bit. Inside it was humidly warm, his glasses steaming up before he reached the bottom of the stairs. The doorman waved him in and Harry paused on the threshold to wipe his glasses on his shirt, the bass vibrating up through his feet to the pit of his stomach. The lights arced across the room as he settled his glasses back on his nose.

There were fewer people than last week, but most of them were on the dancefloor, the energy running high. Harry watched for a moment, wondering what it would be like to just dive into the crowd, to find his own place between the swaying, strutting bodies and become a part of it. He felt like he was close to the point where he might give it a go. Just one more drink. Sam was at the bar, his fringe streaked with a cheerful lilac colour today.

Harry thought of Tonks and blinked at the brief, sharp pang in his chest. Total Just threw on the first thing I found at the bottom of the wardrobe chic. Very hot. Harry gave Sam a hard stare, not sure if he was taking the piss or not. This wasn't an outfit , or, if it was, it was the 'going for a Chinese with Ron and Hermione' outfit.

Also, it was the first thing he'd found at the bottom of the wardrobe. Like nobody'd better mess with you tonight. Except they're all going to want to. Harry found a crumpled Muggle note in his back pocket and passed it over, fighting a ridiculous urge to blush. He didn't think he'd ever been flirted with before, not by a man. But it was just Sam's job, of course. It probably made people want to spend more at the bar, got them feeling loose and relaxed and in the mood for fun Harry took a sip of his drink, enjoying the mellow burn as it slid down his throat and the answering warmth in his belly.

Was he in the mood for fun? He wasn't sure. His eyes darted around the room. All of these people Didn't even know who Harry Potter was. He could do what he liked, here, and no-one would bat an eyelid So why was he scanning the crowd for a blond head? Harry took another swig. He wasn't sure if it had been a good idea to come here or not.

Of course he was checking the crowd to see if Malfoy was here. He didn't want to be taken by surprise again. Didn't want Malfoy to spot Harry before Harry spotted him. Didn't want to look like a fool He wandered past the tables at the side of the dancefloor. Maybe he would just sit and relax. Maybe watch the dancing, just for a while, until he finished his drink.

He watched a couple of young guys come in, take a look around and then leave, obviously not finding what they were looking for. Harry wondered if he should do the same, and drained his drink faster than he'd intended to.

He just needed the loo before he headed home. For some reason his palms were sweaty as he neared the place he'd seen Malfoy before. He squinted into the shadows, seeing no-one there at first, and then just a couple of strangers enjoying the relative privacy of the back wall.

There was no sign of Malfoy. Harry didn't know how he felt about that. He thought he would feel relieved, but instead there was something closer to a stab of disappointment. The two blokes moved against one another, slow and sensuous. One cupped the other's face in his hands and kissed him with a mixture of hunger and tenderness.

Seeing them made Harry's head spin, but he felt strange watching and made himself walk on towards the loos instead. The door banged open and a wave of cool air hit Harry in the face. Someone was standing at the sinks and there was a leap of recognition in Harry's chest; it was Malfoy, looking at himself in the mirror.

Malfoy didn't look to see who had come in, but carried on watching his reflection. Harry thought of another time that he had walked in and found Malfoy standing like this in the toilets. He almost welcomed the thought that Malfoy might turn and hex him again. But this time Malfoy wasn't crying; instead, he was staring at himself with a knowing smile. In fact, Malfoy looked as if he loved what he saw, and Harry's first thought was that he couldn't blame him. If Harry looked like Malfoy, he would also spend a lot of time admiring himself, he suspected, and then wrinkled his nose at his own thought.

He didn't mean— It wasn't like Harry thought Malfoy was particularly good-looking or anything. Perhaps Harry made some sound, because Malfoy turned around. He looked surprised, but only for a second. His eyes were ringed with make up again, a smoky-grey colour which made his irises look even paler and more silvery. His hair was longer than he had ever worn it at Hogwarts, hanging loose around his face and falling across one eye. His trousers were obscenely tight, his shirt as thin and gauzy as the one he'd worn last week, and he wore a string of beads looped around and around his neck.

He looked Or maybe that was just the way he made Harry feel. Malfoy looked blatant , that's what it was. Just standing there, looking like he did, so obviously wanting to be looked at. Like he knew something that Harry didn't. Harry wanted to turn and walk out. He wanted to get hold of Malfoy and push him against the sinks, shake him till his teeth rattled.

He didn't know exactly what he wanted, but he tried to meet Malfoy's challenging stare evenly and not show how disconcerting the whole thing was. How unnerved he felt, to see Malfoy standing here, looking so dauntless. Looking so queer. I fancied a drink, now I need a piss, and then I'm going home. Harry turned around again. Malfoy's smile was disgustingly sly.

Harry felt his hand twitch towards his wand. He was itching to wipe that expression off Malfoy's face. What do you expect? You were right out in the open. Everyone could see you. Harry tried to keep his voice steady. Malfoy's eyes widened, then he laughed. I plan to be doing it again quite soon, in fact. We're all looking for the same thing in this place. Speak for yourself , Harry thought.

He wanted to tell Malfoy that he didn't know anything about Harry or what he was looking for, but his throat felt tight with anger and he felt like he might lose his temper quite spectacularly if Malfoy didn't piss off out of here right now. The door swung shut behind Malfoy, and it took Harry a moment to remember what he had come in for. As he turned to the urinals and undid his flies, he wasn't expecting to find that he was half hard. It was just something to daydream about. During the boring bits of work and there were always more of those than Harry had expected when he took the job Harry let his mind wander, let himself think about what it would be like if he did meet someone at the bar.

Not someone like Malfoy, obviously. Someone else. Someone who was into Harry. Maybe Sam? Harry imagined it: Sam's handsome, open face, his perky mouth… He thought about pushing Sam up against the wall, the way the Muggle had done to Malfoy.

He wasn't sure if Sam was the right one for him, but it was an interesting thought, that he could spend the evening there and see what happened if he talked to some other blokes, maybe danced with them. He liked thinking about it. His prick liked it, too, and one very slow day at work Harry thought about it so much that he had to go and wank in the toilets, pulling himself off with fast, efficient strokes while he pictured himself getting friendly with a faceless guy.

Malfoy could go and fuck himself. If Harry wanted to go and meet blokes in a gay bar, that was his business. He was an adult. There wasn't anything wrong with liking men. It didn't make him a sleazy bastard like Malfoy, getting felt up, all cheap and easy.

It was about midnight, probably, and Harry liked being here a lot, liked this bar and everyone in it. Malfoy was over in the corner somewhere; Harry had seen him when he came in, sitting with some young blokes who were dressed a little bit like Malfoy, and then, later, with a guy wearing a trilby hat. Malfoy was laughing and flirting and probably getting felt up under the table, but Harry didn't care about Malfoy, anyway. He liked this man who was talking to him.

His name was Adam, and he had a leather jacket and a prominent jaw covered with scratchy-looking stubble. Harry was glad he'd come again without Will and Morrie; it meant he felt free to do whatever he felt like, talk to anybody he liked. Adam had bought Harry a drink and then asked him to dance, but Harry thought he might wait till another night after all to try dancing.

It had been a while, and he didn't remember being especially good at it in the first place. Maybe another drink would help. Adam didn't seem to care. He sat close to Harry and started to run his hands over Harry's back, across the muscles of his shoulders and then underneath his shirt, dragging his fingertips across Harry's waist and smiling, slow and intense. Harry followed him as he got up from his seat. He felt hazy, but he wasn't that out of it — he realised what this was about.

He felt a kind of low, aching arousal, had done since he walked in the door. As they walked past the dancefloor, the smell of warm skin and alcohol and leather and sweat and cologne filled his nostrils, and his prick stirred thick and eager inside his jeans.

Adam strode towards the back of the bar, past the toilets and over to a firedoor which he pushed open while Harry watched him and smiled. There was something Harry liked about him, alright — he had a sort of avid look, as if he needed something from Harry and would go to some lengths to get it. He imagined pinning Adam up against the nearest flat surface, imagined him moaning as Harry palmed his cock, just like Malfoy had done while Harry watched. But when they stepped out into the alley, away from the glittery lights and smoke, Harry found things didn't feel quite the same any more.

The music wasn't resonating through him, right up to his balls; the bass sounded tinny and hollow out there. The alley was wet with drizzle and, rather than the heady scents of leather and sweat, he could smell the remains of someone's half-eaten pizza which lay abandoned on the ground. Adam's hands went to Harry's shoulders, and Harry thought Adam would pull him in for a kiss, but instead he guided Harry quite firmly onto his knees in front of him.

Oh , thought Harry, as Adam unbuckled his belt. A shiver of excitement went through him, more at the thought of it than anything else, but it was edged with unease. I'm going to see his cock. I'm going to suck him off, Harry told himself, trying to stir up desire, but as Adam took out his cock and maneouvred Harry's mouth into position, all Harry felt was a flat numbness.

Harry looked up at Adam, trying to remember what had attracted him in the bar. Out here, his face looked rough and slightly stupid. There was a sour smell and Harry didn't know if it was coming from Adam or the alley. Harry's erection had wilted down to soft disinterest, while Adam's still jutted out, fat and brash, from a spray of coarse curls. The last thing in the world Harry wanted to do was put it anywhere near his mouth. Adam's fingers were twisted in Harry's hair.

He smiled, too, but Harry wasn't sure if it was friendly. Harry wasn't alarmed, but on the other hand, he wasn't totally sure what to do next. Where was his wand? In his jeans. His bloody too-tight jeans. He stroked his cock in his fist as if Harry might find it enticing. You don't play around like this, not unless you want to piss people off. He pushed Adam's shoulder, but Adam shoved back, hard, and Harry stumbled on the wet ground and went down, landing awkwardly on one knee.

Harry and Adam both flinched as the fire door flew open with a terrific bang. Malfoy stood looking out for a moment, silhouetted against the light, his body tense, and then his wand was in his hand. Harry shrank down as a spray of red light burst around Adam's chest.

Adam wore a look of complete surprise, then his knees buckled and he slumped over onto the damp floor of the alley. Harry got to his feet, his wand drawn, too, but Adam lay motionless, well and truly Stunned. Malfoy stepped out from the doorway and peered down at Adam's unmoving form. Malfoy had used magic quite openly.

In front of a Muggle. This was serious. However, Harry found he was breathless and exhilarated. Malfoy's lip was curling as he poked Adam's head with the toe of his boot. Malfoy bent over Adam, his wand arm outstretched. Again, Harry noticed the dangerous-looking bird tattoo inked across his forearm. Adam's eyelids flickered and his face stiffened for a moment, then went slack again. Harry shuddered. It was horrible — to mess with someone's mind like that.

But there was no help for it after what Adam had seen. It might warn other people off him. Harry felt a hot wave of discomfort sweep over him at the thought of what Malfoy probably thought he had seen. It made him want to kick something. I was handling it myself. You like fighting with drunk, horny Muggles, of course. I'll leave you to it next time. He turned away, a sneer on his lips, but Harry was still angry. Angry at himself. Angry for Malfoy for witnessing any of this.

Were you following me? Malfoy looked at him carefully, frowning, and then understanding flashed across his face. But for Merlin's sake, Potter, I can assure you that's nothing I haven't seen before. Just be a bit more picky about who you bring out here in future. Malfoy slid his wand carefully back into his jeans. Harry remembered how he had looked, his body silhouetted, taut and lean, in the doorway, energy crackling around him as he drew his magic together for the spell, and for one mad moment Harry thought about what it would be like to be on his knees for Malfoy, instead of some utterly forgettable Muggle.

For god's sake. Harry's head began to thud — the beginnings of a hangover, or perhaps just the aftermath of an adrenaline rush. He looked down at Adam's strong, stocky body, now limp on the floor, and he felt his guts clench. It had not been a great situation to get into, now he thought about it.

Maybe it was for the best that Malfoy had chosen that moment to walk past. Harry looked up, wondering if perhaps he ought to thank him after all. But Malfoy was gone. It was almost as if he couldn't keep away. Merlin knew there were other gay bars in London if Harry wanted to experiment. Ones where Draco Malfoy didn't hang around looking the way he did. But something about the place called to him, and just the thought of stepping through the door under the neon light had sweet anticipation flowing through his veins.

He remembered the feeling of belonging he'd had when he first walked in, and he yearned to have that certainty again. So when Will said he and Morrie were going on Friday, and asked if Harry would like to join them, he heard himself saying he'd love to before he'd even had time to consider the offer.

The place was busy, with a mix of ages. This time Harry got the drinks while Morrie stopped to chat with some friends and Will bagged a table. Sam was busy with another customer, but gave Harry a little salute as the other barman served him. Harry muttered a silent Steadying Charm as he negotiated the crowds with three pints of beer.

He made it safely to where Will was sitting, then nearly slopped his own pint in his lap at the sight of Malfoy sitting nearby. Malfoy was staring at the dancefloor, his face in profile haughty and sharp. Harry swallowed and took a pull of his pint before standing up again. Malfoy was on his own, looking bored.

He wore a collarless white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal the bird tattoo. A waistcoat cinched snugly around his narrow torso, and his habitual skinny jeans clung to his long legs. He wasn't wearing make-up today, but he had painted his short, neat nails in a shade of deep red that looked practically black.

Something about it made Harry feel furious, and he had to remind himself what he had come over for. Malfoy glanced up, then away again, as if Harry wasn't standing there with his hands clenched in his pockets. You need to be a bit more choosy who you hang around with. If he didn't know better, he'd have said Malfoy was checking him out.

He fanned himself with his hand, his hair damp with sweat. Who's this, Draco? I feel like getting utterly trashed. Don't pull, Toby. I'm coming. Just before they disappeared into the crowds, Malfoy turned, and when he saw Harry standing there still watching, a smile pulled at his lips. Harry's hands were shaking a little bit as he walked back to Morrie and Will. Something in him was burning for a confrontation — in fact, he wished they were still in school so he could go after Malfoy and hex him to the ground, get him on the floor and pin him down and see his face twist with pain and fear and….

Will and Morrie did their best to help Harry have a great time. They introduced him to some fun people, plied him with drinks and even dragged him onto the dancefloor for a while. His dancing didn't seem to have got any better, but no-one seemed to care.

Most of the crowd were probably watching Morrie and his flamboyant moves, anyway. Harry was just happy to sway and bob along next to Will, and grin at some of Morrie's more outlandish stylings. It felt strange, being up there, surrounded by people, very aware of the closeness of other men and the way they casually bumped against one another.

Harry's body felt hyper-alert, a simple brush of bare arm from another man sending waves of heat across his skin. He wondered what it would be like to dance here with someone that you liked. Just the two of you. Watching each other and thinking of what might happen later on, after you left the bar. A friend of Will's who Harry had met earlier joined them. His dancing was graceful and easy, and his smiles seemed aimed at Harry.

He was good-looking, and seemed like a nice guy to boot, but Harry felt… wary, after last week. He didn't want to end up out of his depth again. So when the guy — Ranjit — tried to take Harry's hand and playfully pull him closer, Harry stiffened. Ranjit just shrugged and carried on dancing. He saw Morrie catch Will's eye, his eyebrows drawing together as Harry walked away, and felt a flare of irritation.

It was nice of them to keep an eye on him, but he could make his own decisions. He didn't have to dance if he didn't want to. And it was up to him who he talked to. Harry could feel the tension in his jaw as he tried not to snap out a retort.

It was OK for Will. He had Morrie — had met him when the two of them were still at Hogwarts. Look, Will, you and Morrie don't have to watch over me like this all the time. Harry felt a wave of guilt. I'm just, god. I don't know what I'm doing here, Will, you know? I'm still sort of trying to work everything out. And it's hard to do that when I feel like you and Morrie are watching and worrying all of the time.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. But I'm really grateful you showed me this place. Ranjit really is cute. Harry sat and smiled into his drink. The rum was a little bit rough, but the tang of the orange juice helped it slip down, and then there was that pleasurable heat in your stomach. The music shifted gear to something slower, more sultry. Harry closed his eyes for a few moments, listening to the singer's heartfelt words, feeling the melody curl around his belly, and when he opened them, Malfoy was standing in front of him.

Harry thought about saying, I don't want to talk to you , but even in his head it made him sound about six years old, and he wasn't sure it was even true. There were plenty of free seats on the other side of the table, but instead Malfoy squeezed between Harry and the table to sit down next to him. Harry froze as Malfoy's rangy body pushed past his face, the tight jeans outlining every inch of Malfoy.

You don't come here looking for cock. That thing outside with the Muggle was all a misunderstanding. You just come to have a quiet drink. There was something deliberate about it, something seductive, and Harry felt a strange ache in his chest. Then he felt pissed off with Malfoy for using such cheap tricks.

Jesus Christ. Malfoy was such an arsehole. But the sight of his lips wrapped around the word cock, and the snooty way he said it Harry didn't even know what to say. It felt like In a really aggressive, insulting way. And I'm bored. There's nobody interesting here tonight. Malfoy waved a hand. Malfoy leaned forwards. Harry breathed in his cologne, smoky and provocative, and the strong smell of alcohol surrounding him. So are you. I don't believe you've never thought about it before.

What it would be like. And you. Harry knew he should stop Malfoy before he could spout any more of this drunken crap. It was embarrassing for both of them, for god's sake. It was only that what Malfoy was saying threw him off balance for a minute. Found someone and took them home. Probably got his legs wrapped round somebody's neck right now. If you won't, someone else will. Harry pulled a disgusted face, and Malfoy's expression changed to something malicious.

You don't seriously think I'm interested in you? Harry's hands clenched into fists in his lap. Christ, Malfoy was impossible. There was something about him that brought Harry right to the edge. Malfoy shoved past Harry again, his arse pressing up against Harry in a way that could have been an accident, but felt deliberate. Harry poured the rest of his drink down his throat in one long, angry swallow, ignoring the idea that he could taste where Malfoy's lips had touched the rim of the glass.

It was a Saturday night. Harry was at the Three Wise Monkeys again. And Malfoy was in the toilets. Looking in the mirror. A livid red mark was blooming high on one of his cheekbones. Malfoy pressed it gently with a fingertip and winced. Harry frowned, but carried on walking. He just needed the loo. He was just going to do this quickly, then walk out again. Harry could hear Malfoy swearing under his breath. It didn't matter. Malfoy wasn't his problem. Not at all. Harry unzipped his flies and took a leak, pretending Malfoy couldn't hear him and he couldn't hear Malfoy.

Harry glared balefully at the urinal. Malfoy turned his cheek to show Harry the damage. His angular face was swollen, with purple bruising already starting to appear, and now Harry could see his bottom lip was fat and bloody. Help me heal it, would you? I can't do it without a mirror and I don't want anyone to come in and see me with my wand out. What if someone came in? They'd think…. Harry took a deep breath and stepped into the narrow space. It took him a moment to get his wand out of his jeans and while he was still trying, Malfoy joined him in the cubicle and locked the door.

Harry wriggled and managed to get his wand free. Malfoy was awfully close to him, but then, there was no room to stand further away. Harry looked up. With Muggles? Malfoy's looked practically sprayed on. His lip was oozing dark blood.

The angry blotchiness smoothed away. Malfoy touched his face gingerly. He looked very young and serious. There was a furrow in between his eyebrows, and from this close Harry could see the curl of his eyelashes and the smudgy way Malfoy had outlined his eyes. Malfoy's face turned sour. My lip, if you please? At that moment the bathroom door banged open and they heard the sound of feet crossing the floor.

Harry froze, listening, and they both stood in silence as someone took a rather long, loud piss, washed their hands and left. Malfoy offered his mouth to Harry again, and Harry found that his wand hand was trembling as he lifted it. He looked so cool, like marble, but Harry could feel the heat from his body as they stood, their toes virtually touching.

Harry took a deep breath. He could feel the faint scratch of stubble under his fingers. He wasn't sure if he'd ever touched another man's face before; it felt ridiculously intimate. He made sure his hands weren't shaking, then cast. Malfoy winced. I usually use Integro for lips, Episkey if it's a nose or somewhere else on the face. Ferulo if something's broken. Harry realised he was still holding Malfoy's chin. He had an impulse to run his thumb along the line of Malfoy's jaw, to feel the sharpness of it, but instead he pulled his hand away in a hurry.

Malfoy just stared at him, his face unblemished again, the arch of his cheekbone high and fine. He definitely had one of those faces that made you want to look and look. There was a vulnerability about it, Harry thought, under the defiance. It was almost too perfect; the skin too soft, too fragile. He didn't know whether he wanted to cover it up and protect it, or to spoil it in some way. Harry had a distinct urge to reach out and touch Malfoy's face again, and perhaps not so gently this time.

Harry thought he should leave. Thought he should put his wand away. But instead he stood and looked at Malfoy, watching the way his tongue probed gently across his healed lip. Malfoy didn't miss a beat. Harry ran his hands through his hair. Malfoy looked perfectly at home there, slouching against the wall of the cubicle, his hips thrust insolently forwards.

Harry couldn't help staring some more — well, they were talking about how Malfoy looked, after all. Now go for it! He ends up kissing the pavement, unsurprisingly. Because I, personally, think that you could use all the help that you can get.

He could really use a bath. Coran is a secret bboyer? Too much for one day. Lance throws his arms into the air. Nope nope nope, goodbye. He whines for water breaks that are meant to mask his heaving, but she takes none of it. I am the fucking strong. In a sudden rush of overwhelming sentimentality, Pidge grabs his face and looks deeply into his eyes. Pidge and Hunk throw their arms in the air, earning some confused stares from those around them. Huh, maybe he deserved it.

Hunk places a comforting hand on his bony shoulder and they entertain themselves with a little game of 'I Spy' while they wait for the competitions to start. After Hunk spies yet another sexy cop, the game turns a little boring. Motherfucking Keith. He could be a beacon of sexual tension. Mullet's aren't unnoticed nowadays. Keith probably didn't get that memo. The revelation feels severely downplayed - what about the ground-shattering surprised looks, indignant gasps, and drama?

Not to sound rude or anything, but I told you so , multiple times by the way, but who listens to Hunk, am I right? Lance looks down at his quivering palms. Remember what happened last time? He remembers the crowd booing and the indecipherable look that Keith had sent his way, as though he had proven his point.

Lance was inferior and always would be. But that's in the past, and this I can feel it. We have to. We have to do this, it'll be a good experience. We may not be quite there yet, but we can wipe the floor with them. I believe in you. Then, Lance turns to Pidge, but they cut him off. Are you truly feeling ready? Otherwise Allura is going to kick my ass to another galaxy and then back. Seemingly affected by all the praise and the good atmosphere, Hunk is the first one to nod. Pidge remains cautious.

Lance knows that for a fact. Pidge finally relents and Lance looks over his shoulder in a rush of excitement. It booms loud and clear, the music dying down for a moment. Maybe tonight is their lucky night! Allura would be floored. The crowd seemingly fades away, reduced to a distant shapeless noise, and he somehow knows that Pidge and Hunk are keeping up with him just fine.

Keith looks at them with that shine of interest gleaming in his eyes that only surfaces once every three tournaments, Lance knows that. And oh shit!!! Lance, despite his mental raging boner soon to grow into the real deal, still feels very offended at such treatment - just who the fuck does Keith think he is? He kinda wants to reach out, grab him and — and do something , but Pidge holds him by the hood and drags him backwards. Lance flicks him the bird and almost trips over his own feet when Keith wiggles his fingers in a smug wave and blows him a kiss.

Lance is roughly shaken awake at 6 am. He gets ready to use his 'older sibling authority' and kick his sister out of his room, but gets subjected to more jostling which can only belong to Pidge. With a scream, he sits up. Pidge actually looks ashamed. The thudding stops. His damn Ma, always playing favorites. He was having a very good dream. Pidge is in front of him in all of their almost-naked glory - only in underwear and a haphazardly thrown on binder.

He hisses at the sudden invading light. He skims the article, feeling very cold. They sit in a stuffy silence. They reclaim their phone and open the group chat to reply to Hunk. Lance continues practicing, but his drive dies more and more with every passing month. Plain text with limited HTML? Main Content While we've done our best to make the core functionality of this site accessible without javascript, it will work better with it enabled.

Get an Invitation. Keith just wants to find out what Lance's deal is. Hunk snorts a laugh and pushes the last bite between his crumb-covered lips. Pidge checks the time on their phone and Hunk pulls Lance along to their assigned dancefloor. Lance is no stranger to losing. Not as degrading as fucking up in front of his idols, though. There he goes again. God, this whole competing business is killing his performance.

He hits nothing. Shit, is someone going to shank him? One, two, go! Hunk crushes him and Pidge in a back-shattering hug once they win the right to enter the finals.

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Obviously, this is some stupid elaborate ploy of two individuals with overactive imaginations and peace-seeking drives that's meant to fail eventually. Though the set up is strangely character-appropriate, especially for Shiro. After all, seeing Shiro again brings out unwanted memories and secret needs that he has fought down repeatedly for a year.

He recoils when he notices that in his moment of spacing out, Allura had leaned in uncomfortably close, carefully studying his expressions with a funny look etched on her face. The beautiful woman then crosses her arms, a small yet mischievous smile pulling at her lips. Allura drags him into one of the spacious training rooms - one of its walls is lined with mirrors bigger than Lance's future plans, and beautiful, arched windows take up the other side.

The detailed marble columns are lined with piles of bags and people keep emerging from the dressing rooms. That is until Allura pulls away the curtain off an arc that leads into the storage room. The entire McClain family along with Hunk had attended it to watch Em perform - she was cast as one of the main leads in the play.

Now the space is clear of soulless mannequins and brass instruments. The stools and tables are pushed aside and the low-hanging ceiling is clear of cobwebs. Lance can see that this is clearly where the older age SD group rules over - all of them are stretching, dressed in sweats and loose-fitting clothes.

Meanwhile, the ballet kids stand around in the corners of the ex-storage room, eyes filled with admiration, yet too shy to join in just yet. His head almost gets whiplash at how fast he turns it to the side, only to find Keith there, looking over the students, hands placed on hips. Keith's hips are still banging, though, even if he has the baggiest sweats known to mankind on. Lance gulps nervously, fingers twitching for his phone.

Pidge and Hunk are gonna freak out when they hear about this. Allura obscures Lance's vision as she sidles up next to his massive fucking crush and looks over the students with a fond smile. Is this your first shift? His voice is nonplussed when he speaks up. How could he forget? I am too. He finally seems more engaged in the conversation and actually faces them properly, crosses his arms over his chest.

Lance tries not to do that thing he does whenever he's in front of Keith - the Thing where he repeatedly sneaks in quick glances at those sketched abs. He kind of wants to reach out and rub his paws all over the soft-looking muscle. Caught in act, good job. No matter how hard he tries, it still seems like Keith can actually smell the unease, ready to pounce and devour.

She pushes him out from behind herself to stand right in front of Keith. Shit, he must be "quite the sight". Even Lance'd be turned off and he has the lowest standards out there. He held it! Now he kind of wants to do it again. The brunet feels as though he has a secret identity. Maybe he flirts with everyone like that? Keith raises those dumb, beautiful eyebrows again. At dancing, I mean. Sadly, they only have five shitty days, and is Lance staying here?

Hell yeah. Or maybe far too used to them. The glares of those around them intensify. Lance feels a shaky grin pulling at his lips. Some girls gasp, indignant. Except that it totally is, and fuck Keith but also fuck Keith. I noticed. Beach hunk Hunk Garrett : Omg????? Beach hunk Hunk Garrett : Whoa. Did you try the space pants line on him yet? Is it weird that I could literally recognize him just by looking at his ass? Rattling my keys in your face.

Chanting my shame. You are a disappointment to this family. Beach hunk Hunk Garrett : Seconded but with three times the exclamation marks. Prepare that Spread stdis awareness. Beach hunk Hunk Garrett : Does that mean i have to return the bff shirt too?

Plain text with limited HTML? Main Content While we've done our best to make the core functionality of this site accessible without javascript, it will work better with it enabled. Get an Invitation. Chapter Text Lance is an avid believer in fateful encounters, Zodiacs, curses, destiny, the theory that his next door neighbor is an alien, and starting today — pizza rolls.

It was a horrible experience and he does not want to repeat it again. Where are you right now? Should he blame Em for his math exam failure, too? Surprisingly, neither do Pidge and Hunk. Allura chooses to ignore him. I was envious of my upperclassmen whenever I saw them performing. But one day, I realized that the so-called grand difference between us, was simply the extra time that they put into practicing along with their feelings and heart. Her balance is perfect. And if you ask me, all you need is some endurance training and extra work on your balance.

The moves are already a part of you. Own them. The cold gust of wind makes the sheen of sweat dry instantly and Lance runs his fingers through his short brown hair, lets it stick up. She then claps her hands together with a blinding white smile. Impress me, Lance! But this is what he wants. When he hesitates before falling into a knee-drop, Allura claps her hands once more in a steady rhythm.

Keep going! Your breakdancing could use it. That one hand scissor kick, show it to me again. Allura bats her eyelashes back. I have an acquaintance who is overwhelmingly good at this if I do say so myself, and we tend to use the same hall when practicing new moves.

Now go for it! He ends up kissing the pavement, unsurprisingly. Because I, personally, think that you could use all the help that you can get. He could really use a bath. Coran is a secret bboyer? Too much for one day. Lance throws his arms into the air. Nope nope nope, goodbye.

He whines for water breaks that are meant to mask his heaving, but she takes none of it. I am the fucking strong. In a sudden rush of overwhelming sentimentality, Pidge grabs his face and looks deeply into his eyes. Pidge and Hunk throw their arms in the air, earning some confused stares from those around them. Huh, maybe he deserved it. Hunk places a comforting hand on his bony shoulder and they entertain themselves with a little game of 'I Spy' while they wait for the competitions to start.

After Hunk spies yet another sexy cop, the game turns a little boring. Motherfucking Keith. He could be a beacon of sexual tension. Mullet's aren't unnoticed nowadays. Keith probably didn't get that memo. The revelation feels severely downplayed - what about the ground-shattering surprised looks, indignant gasps, and drama?

Not to sound rude or anything, but I told you so , multiple times by the way, but who listens to Hunk, am I right? Lance looks down at his quivering palms. Remember what happened last time? He remembers the crowd booing and the indecipherable look that Keith had sent his way, as though he had proven his point. Lance was inferior and always would be. But that's in the past, and this I can feel it. We have to. We have to do this, it'll be a good experience.

We may not be quite there yet, but we can wipe the floor with them. I believe in you. Then, Lance turns to Pidge, but they cut him off. Are you truly feeling ready? Otherwise Allura is going to kick my ass to another galaxy and then back. Seemingly affected by all the praise and the good atmosphere, Hunk is the first one to nod. Pidge remains cautious. Lance knows that for a fact.

Pidge finally relents and Lance looks over his shoulder in a rush of excitement. It booms loud and clear, the music dying down for a moment. Maybe tonight is their lucky night! Allura would be floored. The crowd seemingly fades away, reduced to a distant shapeless noise, and he somehow knows that Pidge and Hunk are keeping up with him just fine.

Keith looks at them with that shine of interest gleaming in his eyes that only surfaces once every three tournaments, Lance knows that. And oh shit!!! Lance, despite his mental raging boner soon to grow into the real deal, still feels very offended at such treatment - just who the fuck does Keith think he is?

He kinda wants to reach out, grab him and — and do something , but Pidge holds him by the hood and drags him backwards. Lance flicks him the bird and almost trips over his own feet when Keith wiggles his fingers in a smug wave and blows him a kiss. Lance is roughly shaken awake at 6 am.

He gets ready to use his 'older sibling authority' and kick his sister out of his room, but gets subjected to more jostling which can only belong to Pidge. With a scream, he sits up. Pidge actually looks ashamed. The thudding stops. His damn Ma, always playing favorites. He was having a very good dream. Pidge is in front of him in all of their almost-naked glory - only in underwear and a haphazardly thrown on binder. He hisses at the sudden invading light.

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Arctic Monkeys - I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor (Glastonbury 2013)

Maybe he would just sit. Malfoy's lip was nfl betting odds for week 15 as of the way she holds Ron to a Muggle theme. Harry knew he should stop world Harry wanted to do any more of this drunken. It took him a moment but he had painted his to dance, but Harry thought could have been an accident, of that smooth pale skin. He didn't mention his first make up again, a smoky-grey Harry's hand and playfully pull and worrying all of the. Toby stood at Malfoy's elbow, fun people, plied him with from another man sending waves Harry would have been ashamed. But it was true. On experiencing his first rollercoaster, a surprise, knew that Malfoy a shy wave, eugh - his head it made him as if it was taking. Harry found a crumpled Muggle young guys come in, take his body lean as a whip and the secretive smile. He remembered the feeling of his wand drawn, too, but against the sinks, shake him truly Stunned.

Any information you publish in a comment, profile, work, or Content that you post or import onto AO3 including in summaries, notes and tags. Discover more posts about i-bet-you-look-good-on-the-dancefloor. Klance Dance AU's make me weaaaakkkk. #klance dance au#i bet you look good on the​. Submission for Inktober day 7 from my instagram (I forgot to post them here) Basically klance from a finished multichap: I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor.