dancebeat
Down down down to the rhythm and the beat slip-slide go go go and it's flesh against flesh, muscle against muscle, dancing to the music loud and proud and fuck it's great to be a Slayer.
Drumbeat matching heartbeat and barely even breaking a sweat, arms wrapped around each other, scars and tattoos gleaming in the strobelight, up and down and over and over because the music never stops, the beat just changes.
Slow and sexy and they go to the toilets, pressing each other up against the stall wall, back and forth, powershifts like water, like the droplets of sweat on their foreheads, licked off laughingly.
She has a hand down her pants and she has a thigh in between her legs and her lips are against hers and she tastes of cherry lip gloss and she tastes of cheap beer and both of them smell of girl lust and passion.
She throws her against the wall and she laughs and kisses her even harder, rubbing and grinding to the muffled beat from the dancefloor even as other girls walk in and out of the toilets, scandalized at the sounds coming from the one closed stall.
Up and down, left and right, circling that spot right there right here right now, and she's coming against her hand and she's coming against her thigh and it feels so much better than all the boys in the world and they kiss noisily and sweatily and don't give a damn who hears them now.