The walls of the dimly-lit bathroom vibrated with the band's music.
The room was hardly soundproof, but it held out most of the noise from the drunken crowd on the dance floor. Every time the door opened, the room would temporarily flood with cheers and guitar riffs.
For these brief moments, the music would drown out the frantic panting coming from the far stall. Moans slipped from the mouths of the occupants, shameless in their volume.
Francis had started frequenting this establishment when he heard others talking about their incredibly cheap drinks. Rumor had it that one could get completely wasted for less than a bottle of halfway decent vodka at the liquor store. As far as Francis was concerned, this was a win. Plus, the atmosphere certainly beat drinking alone in his apartment. Not to mention the company..
The young Frenchman's hand slipped down the side of the stall, sending his upper body tipping to one side.
"Merde.."
His vision swam as he blinked rapidly, struggling to right himself atop the toilet. He felt like he was falling, although that was probably just the alcohol. The slight blond man in his lap kept him from toppling over, a reassuring weight on his thighs. Francis braced himself against the walls, blue eyes meeting the unfocused green ones above him. He breathed shakily, struggling to stay present.
His body could hardly keep up with everything flooding his senses.
Nausea roiled as his abdominal muscles clenched. The muffled music from the next room pounded in his head. He could swear the tempo was dictating his heartbeat.
His hips flexed upwards, straining to bury himself deeper inside his desperate partner and center him in the moment. Arthur's hips worked faster, his fingers tightening their grip on Francis's thighs. Nails coated in chipped black polish threatened to break skin as he frantically approached his own completion. Francis groaned, letting his head fall back, waves of thick hair tumbling over his shoulders, as pleasure escalated. The harsh slapping of skin filled his ears, becoming more erratic and replacing the consuming beat of the music.
Almost..
He kept his eyes wide open and focused on the ceiling, covered in graffiti, as tremors racked through his body. A yell erupted from his lips as he felt his cock pulse uncontrollably with his orgasm.
His grungy partner moaned his own release along with him, ejaculate spurting across Francis's flat stomach. Arthur rested on his lap while riding out his orgasm high, steadying himself with his hands on Francis's chest.
After what felt like hours, Arthur unsteadily got to his feet and bent down to don his jeans. His eyes were still unfocused, surrounded by shadows that seemed to grow darker with each passing day. His facial piercings glinted more than his eyes did now.
Francis shouldn't be surprised, though. Arthur was spending more time on various substances than he was sleeping, too busy seeking the thrill of his next high. The Frenchman had no place to judge, though. He didn't have the mental power to think right now.
He was sure neither of them would remember this night, as was their routine at this point.
Running his hand through his long hair, Francis sighed. He leaned forward, wiping his stomach clean with toilet paper before unsteadily drawing up his own pants and fastening them around his waist. Threading his shaking fingers through Arthur's badly dyed hair, Francis slanted their mouths together in a clumsy kiss. Arthur sighed into it, letting his knees go weak as they leaned against the bathroom stall.
Francis drew away, unlatching the door so they could both stumble out and rejoin the party. They would meet up again later, that was certain.