The Dance

The heat between them is so palpable it makes him uncomfortable. He's been watching them for a while now—long enough to see the raw, almost angry passion that flows from one to the other, anyway. The man spins the woman out, brings her back in, and she hits his body with such force, yet neither seems fazed as he wraps his arm around her back and yanks her closer. Their eyes never leave one another's.

He shifts in his seat. Perhaps getting both of them drunk hadn't been the best idea.

She's spun from him again, this time pulling him forcefully towards her and she grabs his shoulder to anchor her leg around his. He dips her until her hair nearly touches the floor, her ankle locked around his the only thing keeping her flush against him. His hands roam down her back and find her thigh,and he usesit to whip her back up and around.
Definitely a bad idea to get them drunk. He hadn't intended to do that, but somehow they'd all found themselves at the bar, surrounded by drinks and laughing their asses off.

And then they'd taken one more shot and hit the dance floor.

She slithers down his body, raking her nails down his chest and thighs before sliding up again. He grabs her arms and slams her to him, backs her up until she's pressed against a deserted table. She leans up and catches his earlobe between her teeth, biting just hard enough until he growls a deep, animalistic sounds and drags her, still with her arms around his neck, back to the middle of the floor.
He'd always known there was something between them, but never something so primal, so angry and so sad and so passionate. When his boss asked her to dance, he assumed it was an innocent, quick little thing. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine the scene unfolding on the dance floor.

Drunk suits them.

He's spinning her again, grabbing her waist and pulling her towards him until her back slams up against his chest. Her arms reach up to pull his head down towards her, and he lowers his mouth to her neck, nipping at the soft skin. She hisses. He drags his hand up her thigh, up onto her stomach to splay his hand across the taught muscles he can feel under the fabric of her shirt.
He shifts again. The other two people they came with, a man and a woman, make their way back to the table from the dance floor, laughing. They obviously hadn't seen the couple he continued to watch.

But then they do. They freeze and watch as the two on the floor dance more angrily and more passionately than they ever could have spoken.

She spins around to face him, every possible area of their bodies touching when he dips her again, allowing the tips of his fingers to skate over her jaw, neck, collarbone and down farther still, in between her breasts and across her stomach. He pulls her up; they move again. Travelling around the floor, their eyes never leaving the other's as she hooked an arm around his neck to bring him flush against her, their mouths only inches apart.
He only partially regrets getting them drunk now. At least they're taking their bottled-up feelings out here, where they know virtually no one and run no risk of getting caught by the wrong people. He and his two companions watch as her leg comes up around him again, his hand sliding up underneath to grasp the soft flesh of her thigh and pull her impossibly closer. They can see her nails biting into his shoulder from where they sit.

They stare into one another's eyes. One arm is around his neck, the other grasping his upper arm as she lowers her head to bite at his neck and suddenly he loses it, tangling his fingers in the curls that cascade down her back and crashing his lips onto hers.

She gives in to the bruising kiss with her body wrapped around his, her hands slipping from their spots to roam over his body and under his jacket. Their bodies are on fire as they explore one another, the world falling away form their consciousness' for just that moment when their lips collide.

Her lips are perfect. His lips are soft. Her hands grip his shirt violently. His hands travel urgently through her hair to her thigh.

She loves him

He loves her.

They'll never remember this in the morning.

A/N: I'm really, really proud of this. It's been floating in my head for few days now, and I finally decided to sit down and right it. In case it wasn't apparent, Danny is the one watching Mac and Stella dance with Flack and Lindsay off dancing.

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