Based of an answer from a face book quiz asking, what would be the plot device you would use to, have PoT character A deflower character B. This is the plot bunny that then attacked me. ^^ Enjoy
Disclaimer: PoT is far from mine, do you not understand this?
Warnings: yes, M rated for a reason. It will contain light and strong yaoi from time to time.
A/N: Might be like three chapters long...depends where it goes after this. ^^
He could hardly stand it, the heavy bass pounding through his body, making his head swirl and causing his fifth drink to look heaven sent.
The music blared around the room, pounding each beat until it reverberated across the floor and back again, shaking the windows, pushing his breath. Each step, each muffled voice being blocked out by the upbeat tempo, something he would usually be dancing to himself, body swaying back and forth, grinding or gliding against the other dancers surrounding the floor, taking up all the room until it was suffocating.
Heavy lights traveled the room, flashing periodically and in time with every missed, mixed or half beat, flashing erratically as the music stuttered and rewound bouncing back with a loud beat, the middle toned sects being blasted out against the fast paced tempo, making his nerves spin evocatively, urging him to dance and release his inhabitations.
He ordered another from the bar tender, downing it almost as quickly as the last. Contrary to what people had and still think; he could not hold his drink. Even if his slightly rosy cheeks and ever smiling face made them think other wise. His grace stayed intact, he could walk almost perfectly. But the room was spinning, every light and strobe swirling, changing and melting into one blinding pulsing colour. Every person became another object in the room, moving, dancing, avoiding. He was going to be sick but still it wasn't enough. He could still think and hear and concentrate. He still knew and remembered.
He wanted to forget. Girls ordered him drinks from across the bar, looking sober as ever he accepted them gratefully, giving them a short dance and then ordering more.
It wasn't enough; he was still coherent though the room spun wildly, the music just a giant white noise pulsing through his ear, hurting his head. But nothing hurt more in comparison to his heart. Another drink, the bar tender looking confused, he downed it quicker than the last as if it was water. He asked for some thing stronger and the man skeptically handed it over.
Two drinks later and he headed for the toilets, throwing up over the less than pleasant seat, coughing, crying and hyperventilating.
The world was spinning faster, he stood up awkwardly and washed out his mouth, his face, uncaring that the neon glow paint would smudge, sending oddly streaked rivulets down his cheeks and neck, making his hair glow brightly under the UV lights he walked back into.
Back into the crowed once more; hands taking his arms and spinning him with the music, men and women alike, dancing with him, behind him and in front of him.
Clean and dirty, fast and slow, each rhythm flooding through their bodies as if high on ecstasy. Far from where he actually was, locked away in a deep despair as someone's tongue met with his in a drunken kiss, neon paint finding its way to odd places as the crowed once again moved full force to the tempo, jumping, laughing, and singing to the words they hardly knew.
One person after another, one drink at a time, each shot games and teasing dares. One disheveled top later and finally the club was beginning to close, sometime in the early hours of the morning. He had almost slept with nearly three people in the time frame of nine at night till now, the time unknown to him. Almost losing the only thing he had left because he wanted to forget, wanted to change and go against everything he knew. The guy in the cubicle didn't seem to mind as lips wandered lower until sheer pleasure and lust over threw all thoughts, neither had the girl at the back of club as she got what she wanted from him. But even still he had stopped before it went too far, washing out his mouth, joining another group as shots were passed around, another strip game in progress until he no longer knew where his top was, only to find out he had been sitting on it.
The morning air was cold, the world around him silent compared to the chaos and racing from inside those walls. Birds chirped in the early hours, few cars drove past and nobody was around. Shivering he pulled his thin top around him, redoing the buttons up, but not caring of his appearance. A bench nearby he chose, sitting down dizzily, leaning over to the bin to once again throw up, his stomach hurting not just for the alcohol, but the other fluids now inside him, making him heave once more as he thought how disgusting that was, wanting to get rid of it. Wanting to know why he had thought that was a good idea. He could still feel the alcohol that burned along the back of his throat, along with acid from his stomach. He groaned, wiping away the tears and the paint. New streaks of colour and mess staining his pale yet drunken red face; colouring his arm as he wiped them, not noticing the numbers of many admirers smudging along his arm.
He couldn't care for them any way. It was a distraction, a bit of fun to mess with, he smiled bitterly, and putting his head between his legs as nausea took over, ignoring the stains on his trousers.
The clubs beat still echoed dully in his head, pounding still in a faint memory of the horrible night, the many drinks.
His head swayed and he crashed to the side, coughing as he thought back the urge to puke again, making it back to the bin before he did so. He had never felt so sick or wretched, heaving into the filthy metal can and wiping his mouth. Holding tightly to the seat hoping his vision would straighten. He was a mess; a tired, unhappy, filthy and heartbroken mess.
For all of the world, he could no longer sit up, falling to the side and collapsing on the cold wooden bench, touched with the dampness of the morning. The tears that fell he could no longer stop, neon tears staining the brown wood work and his cheeks. It was over; he knew it, in the quiet of the early dawn, backed against the infrequent car driving by. He had had enough, and gave in, slumping exhaustedly and disgustedly into a tormented sleep, filled with bright colours, suffocating crowds and ear haunting music.
Not an hour later a sleek black, stretch limo pulled up at the curb, black one way, tinted windows rolling down as a pair of shade hidden eyes looked over across the pavement, up to the walk and then to the figure lying beautifully destroyed on the bench.
The door opened and a pair of smart beige trouser turned out, standing up in expensive Armani shoes which began their journey over towards him. Startling eyes peering over the tops of tinted sun glasses, unneeded this early in the day, to look at the colourful display with something akin to surprise.
A few steps closer and the brown, also Armani, blazer was stripped off, being chucked carefully over the almost frozen body, pale skin tinged green with sickness and red with oblivion, unmoving as a pair of fingers snapped, followed by an order barked out.
The next, two men exited from their doors, walking over and doing as instructed, lifting the unconscious boy from where he lay and transporting him inside the warmth of the sixteen seater, empty of the previous nights guests who now slept at home in luxurious beds, with grand head aches sure to follow on awakening.
The silver haired boy turned, back facing the now coloured and glittered seat, taking his own steps back to his leather seat inside. Once in, that casually nonchalant smile turned into a smirk of curiosity, moving a few strands of purple-pink stained hair from the ill boys face.
"Yare yare...what have you got your self into Fuji Syuusuke?"