Hedonism
He's in some kind of Underground rave, he thinks. There are dancing bodies pushing against him from all sides, the music's so loud that he can't even hear it, and there is MDMA in his veins that makes him feel fucking wonderful.
He loves the simplicity of it, the raw honesty. The mass of tangled people, moving as one to the deafening bass line, the utter freedom he feels in this darkened, dirty warehouse. It smells of sweat and cigarettes, of spilled drinks and weed and sex, of unadulterated hedonism, and he seriously thinks the scent could be bottled and sold.
The strobe lights are blinding, flashing blue and green and red, and Draco sighs, closing his eyes and allowing himself to be jostled in the undulating crowd.
He reaches up to adjust the mask covering his eyes, his fingers trailing absently over the raised patterns on the material.
Draco looks around and smiles, not giving a fuck that he's a wizard, not giving a fuck that there are non-magical girls grinding against him, not giving a fuck that he's drunk and high and hasn't got a fucking clue where he is, not giving a fuck about the Mark on his arm for the first time in over a month.
His hearing is returned to him, briefly, and he takes advantage of the noise, elbowing Theo and screaming his praise. "Good idea, mate. Seriously." Theo gives him a superior nod and disappears.
Draco thinks he should care, but he doesn't.
He turns, his eyes scanning through the gyrating crowd. He sees her, then, the girl.
Inky black hair flying out around her, fishnet tights, leather dress, leopard print combat boots.
She's pale and thin and oh fuck if she isn't the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his entire life.
Her kohl-lined eyes open and he stares – his molten grey burning into her glowing emerald – and she smiles, wanton and inviting, beckoning him over.
Her tongue darts out to moisten her painted red lips, she gazes up at him, her pupils blown. She's high, he knows, and he doesn't care. He holds her eyes, reaching to brush her tangled hair away from her sculpted face, his fingers trying to find the ribbon holding her mask in place.
She bats his hand away and wags a finger at him, smirking at his chagrin.
He lowers his hands to her hips and pulls her against him. He knows she can feel it – his sudden, aching erection – and he shamelessly paws at her, relishing in her hooded eyes, feline smile, and the knowing push of her derriere against his groin. She leans back into him, her fingers tangling in the hair at his nape, and she arches her back, tilting her head to press her lips against his.
She tastes like sin, he thinks; like weed and absinthe.
Sweeping his tongue over the crease of her lips, Draco drags a hand up her torso to cup her leather-encased breast. He squeezes lightly, grunting when he feels her nails grip his neck. She pulls away, biting her lip and gazing bemusedly up at him.
"Cigarette," she whispers, tugging him from the packed dance floor and out into the stifling August evening.
She somehow manages to pull his cigarettes out of his back pocket, lighting one up and blowing a smoke ring in his face. There's something about her eyes, Draco thinks, something that strikes a chord with him. It's as if he knows her, and yet he's sure that he doesn't.
She's like a little doll, he muses, a doll with wild hair and a dress that's positively sinful.
He lights up his own cigarette and leans back to watch her, his eyes grazing over her lustfully. The dress, he notices, is a leather-corset-tutu affair with netting under the skirt. Her legs are skinny inside the fishnets, and the huge boots on her feet – almost comically large compared to her willowy limbs – have neon pink laces.
The mask on her face is similar to his own; plain and black. It highlights her eyes – the pools of green perhaps too large on her face, lined in lashes too thick to be natural.
"You're staring," she points out, shaking her head. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a drag of his cigarette, looking away from her person for the first time since they came outside.
Her eyes errantly stray to the Dark Mark on his left wrist and narrow in recognition; a look of respect flits over her face and then it is gone, her emotionless gaze quickly reappearing. Draco notices, and ignores it.
She throws her cigarette to the floor, grinding it beneath the toe of her boot, and stares up at him expectantly, far more seductively than should be allowed, Draco muses.
She isn't disappointed. He takes a last drag from his cigarette and casts it away, pulling her into his arms and capturing her mouth with a passion he wasn't sure he possessed. She sighs against his mouth; winding her arms around him and standing up on tiptoe to align their centres.
He pulls away, breathless, and gazes down at her. "Your name..."
"...Is not important," she replies challengingly, her eyes flashing in warning.
He knows for definite, then; she knows who he is. Or, at least, what he is. She bites her lip, wondering if she's put him off, and smirks when his mouth descends on her neck. She tilts her head, allowing him better access, and moans when she feels him mark the skin of her shoulder.
And then he's pressing her against the wall, completely uncaring that they're outside of a warehouse in inner city Manchester, not giving a fuck that the sun's probably about to rise and highlight their actions to the reawakening population of the north.
He needs this, Draco reasons, groaning as her teeth find his nipple.
His hand snakes up her thigh, his fingers tearing the crotch of her fishnets and shoving aside the wisp of lace that covers her. He smirks at the feel of her pierced clit, toying mercilessly with the barbell.
She mewls against his shoulder, laughing throatily when he lifts her. Her legs wrap around his waist, his hips suddenly pinning her against the brick.
He's coherent enough to remember the condom, but barely; her insistent mouth on his neck is his undoing. He surges into her, swallowing her lustful cry in a heated kiss. He's being too rough, he knows, but she seems to enjoy it. Her long nails claw at his back and Draco absently notes that she's broken the skin in her urgency.
She arches her back and he groans, the sensation of being inside her tight little body suddenly washing over him. "Fuck," he hisses, "You have to tell me your name."
The girl shakes her head, moaning as he shifts her and resuming his thrusting. She allows him to take control of her; it isn't her usual way of doing things, but she's seen the Mark on his arm, and though she isn't sure of his exact identity, she figures he's probably got some issues to work out, and in any case, it's fucking amazing. She wants to care that she's fucking a total stranger in an alleyway, fucking a Death Eater in an alleyway, but the drugs coursing through her system make her worries evaporate and she closes her eyes, moaning loudly as his hands on her hips clench with a renewed intensity.
He flips her hair over her shoulder; his eyes narrowing at the music note tattooed behind her right ear, and pulls her lobe into his mouth. Her back is being ground against the wall – she'll be sore and probably bruised - but she can't bring herself to stop him.
Her climax is sudden and unexpected, she clenches around him and he groans. He's never felt anything like this, never experienced such intensity, such an uncontrollable desire to possess.
He follows quickly after her, wishing wholeheartedly that he hadn't bothered with the condom if only for the feeling of emptying himself into her body, and lowers his forehead to her shoulder. Their breath comes together in desperate gasps, and when he sets her legs on the floor, her thighs tremble. He rips off the condom and throws it over his shoulder, tucking himself back into his jeans.
Draco turns to look at her, blinking when the air around her suddenly swirls. She waggles her fingers and smiles.
He feels it, the magic, and opens his mouth incredulously as she disappears with a CRACK.
He turns his back to the wall and sinks down, lighting up a cigarette and shaking his head. He tears off his mask and stuffs it into his pocket. He looks around and smirks; the sun is beginning to rise, now, and the world seems altogether less bleak than it has in months.
I want to make this into a multi-chapter fic, but not too sure...