A/N: Written for the HP Kinkfest. Prompt was "Clubbing / public sex. Any former Hogwarts student combinations in the Harry generation." Optional Prompt/Extras: "Magical club where anything goes. One option: some creative clothing, clothing optional, sex happening in the open or hidden in corners or behind masks or glamours. Both het and gay preferences welcome."

Blaise loved summer. London's skies were less grey and the clouds would part to reveal honest-to-Merlin sunlight. The heat caused his shirt to stick to his chest and the air wrapped around him like a blanket. June was not overbearing in that way, so perhaps that is why Blaise didn't put up much of a fight when Bastien showed up at his door and asked,

"Fancy a walk?"

They met Draco along the way and Blaise knew where they were headed before Bastien said a word. There was only one destination which put that look of unashamed delight on Draco Malfoy's face. Blaise never went of his own accord, always dragged there by Bastien or Draco. The streets of London were one of Blaise's favorite places, with so many crowds to blend into. The three men walked for awhile then subtly turned away; any passers-by would have presumed they vanished. They walked until they were standing outside a green door halfway down a back alley.

The Sugar Quill was one of the most exclusive clubs in the Wizarding world. Owned and operated by Padma Patil, six days a week it was a typical nightclub with all the acceptable forms of look-don't-touch debauchery. The club's primary allure was exclusivity since the cover alone was a week's wages for the average Ministry employee. Theo stopped going once he got married but he still loved to hear about theme nights. Blaise preferred to lounge at the bar and watch his friends make absolute fools of themselves. They teased him mercilessly, insisting it was only a matter of time before Blaise showed them how to properly engage with the more taboo of the club's offerings.

They were right.

Wednesdays, however, were theme night; double the cover charge and worth every Knut. Padma was one of the smartest people in their class but her creativity was often overlooked. Some themes were recurring and others so ridiculous Blaise had half a mind to Obliviate himself. There had never been a theme night that tempted him to participate.

Inside, The Sugar Quill were three stories of upscale depravity. The first floor was usually filled with pedestals for dancers so patrons would crowd around, sipping whatever fizzy drink they purchased from roving house-elves. There were three large windows on the left wall and three on the right, each a two-way mirror. If someone lost interest in the dancers, they could enjoy the show while the occupants couldn't see who was watching them. Draco had partaken in some delights on the other side of the mirror a time or two, and said it was one of the most intense orgasms he ever had.

"The not knowing is what makes it fun," he said. "Anyone could be out there watching. Anyone I want ..."

Blaise spent much of his time on the second floor at the bar. He could lean over the railing to watch the events down below, or tilt his head up to see the cages levitating on the third level. The third level was always fun because someone would inevitably try to break the no-sex rule. Padma was rigid—all sex was consensual and for performance only. "Draw a crowd or it's not allowed," was the Quill's unofficial slogan. Inevitably some couple would try to shag in a corner then get dragged out by security.

When the three of them entered on that particular Wednesday, the cages and tall pedestals were gone. There were no levitating sex performers to entertain everyone on the third level. There was a single stage set in the middle of the dancefloor with several dozen people gathered around, dancing to some over-bassed tune by the Dirigible Scums.

Before Blaise could ask why the shift, Padma emerged from the crowd.

"I love when you lot show up!" she shouted over the music. "You spend loads of money and I always get a good show."

"What is today's theme?" Bastien asked. "It looks like you've lost your touch." Padma laughed at him and gestured to the upper levels.

"Naked in Neon is the show. I have thirty models on levels two and three. Pick one, bring them onstage, and paint."

"Paint?" Draco asked, confused. Padma pointed toward the stage where they could only just make out the faint silhouettes of two bodies.

They all watched with rapt attention as the participant onstage pulled a paint brush from a small can. He ran the brush over the model's shoulder and it glowed bright green. He dipped the brush in another can and painted a yellow stripe between the model's breasts. All the audience could see was a basic silhouette of the bodies, while the highlighted parts of the model moved almost of their own accord.

"So we paint them like they're art?" Draco asked.

Padma nodded.

"The two of you at any rate. Merlin only knows what it would take for Zabini to participate."

"Is this performance art?" Bastien asked.

Another nod from Padma.

"As much as the models will permit. Pick one from the display, bring them onstage, and play Picasso. If you're feeling particularly naughty, the paint is edible," she said with a wink. As Padma disappeared into the crowd of gyrating bodies, she shouted, "Tip well, gentlemen!"

Blaise never understood how anyone could get caught up in the club atmosphere. The loud music with lighting so low it was damn near impossible to see. It was never something he enjoyed, it was something he tolerated. Blaise always thought intimacy and privacy went hand-in-hand. Then he realized that was what made Naked in Neon so thrilling. On any normal day at the Quill, sight was a secondary sense. For this particular night, however, it was the focus—and it was restricted.

Blaise saw Lee Jordan and Roger Davies fucking Romilda Vane in one of the windows. He shouldn't peek in on his friend, but his eyes found their way over to the middle window on the left wall. LJ had stripped down to his knickers and was using one finger to prepare Romi's ass. Davies was stark naked and already had his cock in her mouth.

Bastien grabbed Blaise by the shoulder, smiled wickedly, then said, "Let's go shopping!"

They took the stairs to the second level, Bastien hopping them two at a time. The moment Blaise stepped onto the second floor, he felt a pair of eyes land on him. They passed a blonde woman with huge tits, followed by a woman covered in tattoos with short black hair. As they perused the available goods, it appeared to be primarily women so Blaise's eyes kept wandering to the paint show down below.

From up top he could see the model was Gabrielle Delacour and her patron was Graham Montague. Blaise muttered empathetically, low in his throat. He knew from experience that Graham was well-endowed but cared little for his partner's pleasure. Blaise had sucked him off more than once at school, but Montague had never so much as considered reciprocating. Blaise looked up to see someone across the club staring at him. A model, but Blaise couldn't see him and shook the thought away. Graham alternated between painting various parts of Gabrielle and tugging at his dick like a goddamn neanderthal. Gabrielle pushed his hand away and wrapped her own fingers around him, so Graham tossed his head back and groaned.

Blaise thought perhaps with the right partner something like that could be rather fun. Thrilling, even. He glanced up to see the model's gaze had not wavered, and smiled. Draco pointed out Pansy Parkinson across the club, then Bastien asked one of the models,

"How does this work?"

"Twenty Galleons up-front," the woman answered. "Then you pick up the paint tray and bring us downstairs." Blaise tried to listen, but a pair of eyes toward the far corner turned in his direction. He turned his back to whomever it was, attempting to distance himself. He was perfectly content as an observer. "Anything more is negotiated between the model and the patron, but must be done onstage."

"Oh," Draco observed, smacking Bastien on the arm. "Padma is sneaky, isn't she? Today she doesn't even have to coordinate the show. How much does she take, five percent?"

"Ten," the model replied. Draco nodded.

"She is a bloody brilliant businesswoman."

If he said anything more, Blaise didn't hear it. He had to know who it was, whose gaze was blanketing him in a warm embrace. Blaise walked down aisle, turned at the first corner and walked past five more models in a beeline toward that man. The bartender shouted after him expecting the usual order, but Blaise waved him off. Someone stood in the way, blocking his view. Blaise felt something tug at his chest … Something Bastien would describe as envy. Blaise did not recall telling his feet to move any further, but by the time he realized his hand was on the man's shoulder Blaise had pushed him out of the way.

"What the hell?!" the man yelled.

Blaise glared at him and said, "You are finished here."

The man scurried off, leaving Blaise alone to survey the model in front of him. The moving lights quickly danced off him, but Blaise could see enough. The man had loose black curls and kind eyes, dark and hopeful. He was thin, but he had a lot of muscle for someone so lean. Blaise stared at his abs for an unreasonable amount of time, wondering what hobby could possibly warrant them. Blaise had to focus on keeping his hands at his sides, for fear he would reach out and touch before they had an agreement. The model was about two inches taller than him, wearing a white cloth that only just covered his nether region. It skimmed the tops of his thighs and when Blaise looked up those eyes were practically begging him to make a purchase.

"What is your name?" Blaise asked.

"Dean," came the reply. He had a nice voice, soft. Blaise made the connection almost immediately; he was one of Potter's friends.

"Dean," Blaise repeated, enjoying how the name felt on his tongue. "May I touch you?"

"You're supposed to pay first," Dean said. Blaise glanced down to the paint cans at Dean's feet. Four were filled with bright liquid but the final can was empty. Blaise rummaged through the pocket inside his jacket and tossed twenty Galleons inside the can.

"And now?"

"With pleasure," Dean said. A hint of lust snuck into his tone.

Blaise hesitated a moment before pressing his fingertips against Dean's abs.

Dean laughed and teased, "That is what you go for?"

"I am impressed," Blaise admitted. Dean's muscles tensed beneath the pads of his fingers and he smiled. Blaise ran his first finger down the seam of Dean's abdomen, then slowly traced the outline of each abdominal muscle.

"We do not need to go onstage," Blaise said. He savored the way Dean's breaths shortened as his fingers ran along Dean's ribcage. "I just wanted to touch you."

"I want you to keep touching me," Dean admitted. "And I didn't agree to this for twenty Galleons. When I signed up I was hoping to make forty. That's—uungh," Dean trembled as Blaise ran his hand down the side of Dean's thigh. "That's nearly three months' rent." He groaned, dissatisfied when Blaise removed his hand.

Blaise pulled a velvet pouch from the pocket of his trousers, which Dean eyed hopefully. Blaise generally used the Extending Charm to ensure he had enough money for the bar, but found it more suited to this purpose. He tossed thirty additional Galleons into the paint can, five at a time. Dean's eyes widened as each one fell and clinked against the others until the paint can had been filled more than halfway.

"That is for going onstage. Make me come and I double it."

Dean hesitantly replied, "I don't know about this. I don't think I'm worth this, Mr. …?"

"Zabini," he answered. "Blaise Zabini, and you are a bargain to me right now."

"Then I'll lead the way," Dean said.

He smiled bashfully and Blaise was smitten. Part of him wanted to Apparate home and have Dean all to himself. He would make it rain Galleons, pay Dean's rent for a year just to watch him come undone once. But Dean Thomas was a proud man; Blaise could see it in how he held himself. Dean was not ashamed of this, but he would be if Blaise offered a simple cash for sex transaction. The novelty made it tolerable, and Blaise would have Dean any way he could get him.

Dean knelt to pick up the tray of paint, and Blaise watched as the small cloth crept up his ass. Blaise adjusted himself in his trousers and smacked Dean lightly on the bum as he passed. He laughed and Blaise followed him downstairs, breezing past Draco and Bastien to say,

"I am no spectator tonight."

They did a double-take when they saw him follow Dean, stuffing the coin purse in his pocket. They nearly fell downstairs, their own desires forsaken in favour of curiosity.

Blaise tentatively brushed his fingers against Dean's as they waited for the couple onstage to finish. He was pleased when Dean didn't pull away. Montague came with a loud shout, nothing but a silhouette in the dark and unconcerned with Gabrielle's pleasure. Blaise rolled his eyes, determined Dean would not be treated to the same misfortune.

Security motioned for the couple onstage to leave, then Blaise and Dean were helped onto the stage. He was surprised his confidence did not wilt once he was onstage. The loud music and body-blocking spell surrounding them was more than enough to quell his reservations. Dean, however, was a little stiff as he placed the paints on the floating shelf beside them. The lights moved too quickly for Blaise to get a truly good view, but he could tell Dean was lovely. He stood to his full height, never even offering to bend closer. There was a gentle confidence about him, even as second thoughts clearly ran through his head.

"Are you ready?" Blaise asked.

"I—God, you're really pretty," Dean blurted out. Blaise laughed and Dean covered his face with one hand. "There wasn't as much light upstairs, I thought maybe you wouldn't be quite so gorgeous and you're ... You're the most beautiful person I've seen in my goddamn life, so let's do this, Zabini."

Blaise took a small paintbrush between his fingers and dipped it in the yellow paint.

"And you must be the sweetest man I have ever met," he said. He tilted Dean's chin downward before slowly painting the curve of his upper lip. Dean's eyes fluttered closed, not that either of them could see much of anything. Blaise liberally covered Dean's lower lip in yellow, just as slowly, then pulled him down into a kiss.

It was hard and slow, Blaise unable to hold back a smile as Dean's lips moved tentatively against his own. Dean wrapped his hand around the back of Blaise's head to pull him closer. The crowd oohed, intrigued by this new sort of show. Apparently the first few patrons hadn't been creative. That was fine, since Blaise always fancied himself the best part of someone's night. He felt Dean tense up, so Blaise kissed a trail down his neck and muttered,

"Relax." He bit down on Dean's collarbone, which elicited a delightful moan. "I promise you will enjoy this just as much as I do."

Dean allowed the tension to fade from his body. His hands were no longer fisted by his sides and he widened his stance a bit. He said,

"Your lips are yellow now, too."

"So they can see them," Blaise replied, nodding to the audience on one side. Dean moaned as Blaise circled one nipple with the tip of his tongue.

"Shouldn't I be focusing on you?" Dean asked, breathless. Blaise tossed the paintbrush in the general direction of the tray.

"Yes," he agreed. "So unbutton my jacket."

Dean obliged him, long fingers beginning with the top button and working their way down. Dean pushed the jacket off Blaise's shoulders and it fell to the floor. Blaise grabbed a larger brush and dipped it in the pink paint, covering each of Dean's shoulders in turn. Blaise reveled in the crowd's attention. Some shouted, "Fuck him!" while others yelled, "Too slow!" He had both of Dean's arms painted a minute later, though Blaise lingered a bit on his biceps because sweet baby Merlin it was as if this man had been pulled straight from his naughtiest fantasy. He Summoned the yellow paintbrush again and demanded,

"Open your mouth." Dean looked at him skeptically and Blaise repeated, "Open your mouth and stick out your tongue." Dean reluctantly obliged him, and he painted Dean's tongue yellow to match his lips. Blaise took his time with it, sticking the paintbrush a bit further back with each stroke to see if Dean's gag reflex was particularly sensitive.

It wasn't.

"What good does it do to paint me there?" Dean asked, smacking his lips once Blaise finished. "No one can see it."

"Not yet," Blaise teased.

The corner of Dean's mouth ticked up the slightest bit, so tiny it might have been a trick of the light. Blaise switched again to the pink paintbrush. He ran his first and second fingers through the bristles, making sure they were well-covered before tossing both brushes back onto the tray. He held up two pink fingers for the audience to see then pressed them against Dean's lips.

"Suck."

Blaise didn't truly believe Dean would go for it. There was innocence hiding behind those eyes, too much for him to do something so depraved. But he turned his head toward the crowd for a moment.

"Fuck his mouth!"

"Suck him!"

"Enough of the bloody foreplay!"

Blaise rolled his eyes and whisper-shouted, "We can go as slowly as you like."

Then Dean opened his mouth and yellow swallowed every bit of pink. The audience went mad for it. All they could see was two bright pink fingers disappearing between a set of yellow lips. Dean pulled up a bit then slid back down, head bobbing in imitation of how he would suck a cock. The mere thought was all it took for Blaise to start tenting the front of his trousers. Dean's mouth was comfortably warm and his tongue did delicious things to Blaise's fingers, his gaze unwavering the whole while. Blaise pulled his fingers from Dean's lips with an obscene popping noise. Blaise gasped, forcing himself not to push Dean flat onto the stage and fuck him senseless.

He slid his fingers between the tie of Dean's modesty cloth and threw it off to the side. Blaise stared, then stared some more. He had never truly enjoyed riding a dick before, and while Dean certainly had the ability to change that, it was not in Blaise's plan for the evening. Dean was already half-hard and the more Blaise looked, the more it twitched.

He Summoned the green paint can and said, "The paint is for them, not for me." He dipped his entire hand in green then tossed the can onto the floor. Green paint probably spilled everywhere but Blaise couldn't be bothered to care. He wrapped his hand around Dean's dick and stroked it slowly. Dean threw his head back as Blaise wanked him, the colour rubbing off his palm with each pass. Blaise cherished the feel of it beneath his fingers, watching them interrupt the bright green glow. Dean tossed his head back, grabbed Blaise's shoulder and groaned loud enough for the first few rows of people to hear it over the music. They shouted, "YEAH!" and egged him on. Dean thrust a couple times into Blaise's hand.

"They will see your dick disappear between my lips," Blaise said, punctuating every couple words with a stroke. "They will see your hands on my chest and maybe they will even see my come across your mouth."

"God, yes," Dean moaned. Blaise smiled and removed his hand.

"Perhaps they'll see your lips around my cock, or maybe I'll paint your ass so they can see me fuck you. But your abs and your eyes are for me alone. I want to keep that much of you to enjoy alone, something only I will have. Something I am going to wank to for weeks to come."

Dean's legs shook at the double entendre and, for a moment, Blaise thought he might collapse from need. Dean's cock was at attention against his torso, so Blaise turned around to find his jacket. He scooped it up, his fingers drenched it in green paint, then tossed it at Dean's feet. Blaise fell to his knees and he would savor the look on Dean's face for many nights, haunting his fantasies in perpetuity. Afterward, however, there was a moment when Dean looked melancholy. It was nothing more than a flicker across his face, but Blaise didn't miss it. He tilted his head up and asked,

"What troubles you?"

"I, um ... I just had a moment when I realized you were paying me for this."

"It is my goddamn pleasure to do this," Blaise insisted. He pressed the pads of his fingers to the underside of Dean's bollocks and watched his knees tremble in response. "I would pay triple what I will owe you at the end of the night just for the privilege of snogging you."

"You don't need to flatter—"

Blaise licked a thin line from the base of Dean's dick to the tip before pulling back to see Dean gazing down at him in disbelief.

"I … I … Fuck!" he moaned. "Mr. Zabini, I am not going to last very long if you keep looking at me like that!"

"For fifty Galleons, you better call me Blaise."

And then the audience shouted obscenities as they saw a bright green dick disappear between Blaise's yellow lips. Dean threaded his fingers in Blaise's hair and guided him to the appropriate speed. Blaise wrapped his hands around Dean's thighs and casually grabbed a cheek. Dean threw his head back again and his thrusts became increasingly erratic. Blaise popped off for a moment and bit into Dean's thigh. He was desperate to leave a mark, something to prove he had Dean in this position. Something to remind Dean just how badly he wanted Blaise when he woke up the next morning. Blaise had little time to wonder why he'd become so possessive as Dean shoved his dick back into Blaise's mouth. He worked his throat open and took Dean nearly to the hilt. He cupped Dean's bollocks with gentle fingers and the hold on his hair tightened.

"Fuck—Blaise!" Dean shouted, his movements quickly losing rhythm. Blaise watched as his stomach bobbed with each thrust, the moving lights glinting off his abs just frequently enough for it to be a distraction. Blaise gripped Dean's thighs, right below the cheeks and squeezed hard enough to bruise.

Dean came with a soft sigh, one Blaise felt more than he heard. Once Dean's release coated Blaise's throat and his dick had softened, Blaise pulled away with a squelching pop. Dean reluctantly released his hold on Blaise's hair.

"Blaise?"

"Yes?"

"Fuck the Galleons, I'll make you come for free," Dean insisted. Before Blaise could reply, Dean fell to his knees. Dean's hands were on his cheeks and then he was snogging Blaise so hard their teeth clacked together. Blaise moaned and wrapped his arms around Dean's waist as his tongue forced its way into Dean's mouth. They kissed for a few moments before Dean pulled back and said,

"You are overdressed."

"A fixable problem," Blaise breathed out. He cursed himself for having worn a button-down. It took what felt like ages for Dean to open his shirt, and Blaise watched those nimble fingers, thinking about how they would feel on his cock ...

If he didn't come in his fucking trousers. Merlin's fucking arse, every part of Dean was something to be savored. Blaise wished to see him in real light. Natural light. The light over his bed as he shagged Dean into oblivion.

The light of Diagon Alley while we are on a date.

When his chest was finally bare, Dean gently pressed his hand against Blaise to guide him backward. Dean grabbed Blaise's jacket and used it to pillow his head, cradling it all the way down to the floor. Blaise felt his dick straining against the top of his trousers and instinctively arched up against Dean.

He chuckled and teased, "Needy, aren't you?"

"God, yes ..." was all Blaise stammered out. He closed his eyes, knowing he would come if he had to see Dean's fingers anywhere near his cock. He felt the buckle of his belt come undone, then the pressure of fingers unbuttoning his trousers. Dean pulled down the zipper and patted Blaise's thigh, so he lifted his bum off the floor. Dean pulled the trousers and knickers down in one quick motion, bunching them around the ankles. Blaise shimmied out of them in a way he knew wasn't sexy but goddamn he needed Dean's hands on him as quickly as possible.

Dean was in no rush to comply. Instead, he straddled Blaise's midsection and leaned down for a kiss. It was sweet and tender, completely at odds with everyone around them shouting,

"Fuck him!"

"Suck him!"

"Do something!"

Dean lightly pressed his fingers against Blaise's cheek before pulling back. The strobe lights still jumped off and back onto Dean, Blaise still left to wonder what he looked like in the light.

"What do you want?" Dean asked. "I can ride you or I can suck you off or—"

"Oh, Merlin, no—" Blaise groaned. "I would never admit this, but if your ass gets any closer to my dick, I will come. Just ... I dunno, surprise me."

Blaise should have been worried by the amused glint in Dean's eyes. He should have wondered why Dean suddenly needed the blue paint can. But all Blaise could think was, Oh, God, please don't let this end too soon, followed quickly by, Part of me wants this to never end.

Blaise sat up on his elbows as Dean dipped his full hand into the blue can of paint. He placed the can on the stage floor before pressing his hand to the centre of Blaise's chest, right over his heart. Blaise closed his eyes and tossed his head back, putting his hand over Dean's to keep it there for another moment.

"That one's not for them," Dean whisper-shouted, "it's for me."

And Blaise nearly came undone right then. Dean dipped his left hand in the paint as well and palmed Blaise's oblique. His arms shook with the intensity of being claimed in front of everyone. Dozens of the wealthiest people in the Wizarding world were looking on, and all he could focus on was the feel of Dean's fingers against his chest. He fell onto his back and closed his eyes, afraid that any more visual stimulation would cause a rather embarrassing situation. Then Dean used his left hand to palm Blaise's dick. Blaise arched up instinctively and closed his eyes, moaning at the sensation of paint coating his cock.

Dean's strokes were slow, ignoring the roar of the small crowd to go faster. They kept egging them on but, contrary to their words, the audience seemed to appreciate delayed gratification. Blaise did not share the sentiment; he knew what he looked like. They could see his lips, coated in yellow paint, partially open to beg Dean for more. They saw two fingers of his left hand coated in pink, grabbing at the stage for purchase and finding none. There were two handprints on his chest, and streaks of blue on his left side where Dean kept resting his fingers.

Then there was the pink-blue-purple hue of Dean's hand running over Blaise's blue cock. He thumbed at that spot on the underside, just below the head, and Blaise's back arched completely off the floor.

"Like that, do you?" Dean teased. Blaise kicked at him with one foot.

"Why torment me where are far better things you could be doing with your mouth?" he asked. He felt Dean scoot down his body, but was not prepared for the warmth of Dean's mouth around his cock.

"FUCKING HELL!" Blaise shouted. He raised himself up to rest on his elbows and opened his eyes. Big mistake.

Dean's lips shine bright yellow as they moved up and down along Blaise's cock. There were hints of green where the yellow transferred to the blue of Blaise's dick, and he let out a sharp breath. Dean looked up, concerned. Blaise shook his head and mumbled,

"Continue."

"Are you not enjoying—"

"For the love of Merlin get your mouth back on my dick, please!" Blaise shouted. Dean obliged and Blaise lost it, falling so his back was flat against the stage. It felt so good that he lost himself in it, thrusting up into Dean's mouth.

The crowd cheered, and Blaise's hips kept lifting up off the floor. He threaded his fingers in Dean's curls and forced him off. Blaise stood up on shaking legs and insisted,

"Finish me off. I want to see my come on your face."

"So demanding," Dean teased as he sat back on his knees.

"You have no idea," Blaise said. Words failing him once Dean wrapped his hand around Blaise's cock. Dean opened his mouth and it took three strokes before strings of Blaise's release shot across his lips. Blaise's breathing evened out a few seconds later as Dean licked away what he could. The crowd cheered for them.

"I'd pay to see that again!"

Dean laughed and Blaise joined him soon after, scooping his clothes off the floor. His jacket was more paint than fabric so he tossed it aside. Then he tossed his entire coin purse into Dean's payment can. Dean glanced at it, still on his knees, then looked up at Blaise.

"Can I take you out on a date? Dinner's on me."