Imagine if you will. You're sitting at the bar alone at a crowded nightclub. A hand reaches out from the sea of bodies and taps you on the shoulder. Armed with an insult, you turn around and are drawn in by a pair of jade like orbs. You know who he is, as the black streaks in his hair are a dead give away. You place your hand in his, a slow song permeating the dance floor. He wraps his arms tightly around you, your head resting upon his shoulder. The beating of his heart in tune with the beat of the song, slow and sensual as your bodies sway gently back and forth. Only you and he exist, no one else matters. His lips find their way to your ear. Barely whispered, he tells you how beautiful he thinks you are, his breath tickling your senses as he speaks. His words, mixed with the heady scent of his cologne intoxicate you. With a will of its own, your hand raises up to brush a lock of hair out his eyes, the one that always somehow manages to escape its confines. You tuck it behind his ear and let your finger barely graze his earlobe. A tremor of desire courses through his body, his heartbeat accelerates. He brings you even closer, what little space that was between you two now nonexistent. Your one hand rests on his waist; the other behind his neck, behind his neck, loosening the tie that captures his hair into one flowing mane. It tumbles down, burying your fingers in its silky texture. Your hand lingers on the back of his neck, softly tickling him with a few strands of his own hair, causing another tremor. Your head still on his shoulder, his scent continues to wreak havoc with your senses, enlightening you to the man he is. He nuzzles your neck, tenderly nipping at your skin just hard enough to leave a mark. The stinging is replaced with a luscious feeling of wantonness when he laves it with his tongue. Your hand is now firmly placed at the back of his neck, pushing him to do other things to you, almost as if in a silent plea. Encouraged by your actions, he slides his tongue to your earlobe, the tip barely grazing it. A soft moan escapes from your throat before you can catch it. How sexy you sound, he says to you, then continues to whisper sweet nothings in your ear that have your world spinning around you. Much to your disappointment, the song ends. Reluctantly, he pulls away, mouthing "thanks for the dance" before disappearing into the crowd. Making you're way back to your drink, you're left alone to wonder if it was all but a dream.

The End (for now)