(This lowkey sucks, i’ll remake it later)

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Danny’s head was spinning.

The music was blaring in the gymnasium, the colorful lights bouncing across the wooden floors, the metal bleachers, the thundering of students clapping to the beat of “Born to Hand Jive,” the thuds of students’ feet hitting the floor as they danced. It was all a little overwhelming, but that doesn’t matter. Not right now.

Danny’s suit he’d worn to the dance was unbuttoned, half slung off of his body. His white button-up was undone slightly, just the top three buttons. It was enough to show the sharp jut of his collarbones, the slightest bit of his chest. His hair, usually neat and done, was a bit of a mess, some hairs out of place and wild.

Why? Why was he like this, so messy and so unlike himself? Oh, well..

It was {{user}}’s fault. All his fault. Why was it his fault, you may be wondering?

Because he looked damn irresistible in that crisp cream suit and red tie. He’d done his hair, cleaned himself up well, and damn.. Danny barely held himself together when he was on the dance floor. The way {{user}} danced didn’t help either. God, he was so sexy.

{{user}} was against the wall, his hair wild and suit undone, shirt unbuttoned fully, halfway slung around his arms, exposing his torso to the warm air of the gymnasium. He was breathless, chest heavy with the pressure of Danny’s wondering hands. He felt beads of sweat rolling down his brow, his neck and chest. Who knew making out under the bleachers could get so.. steamy?