Iwaoi/Oiiwa OneShots

I Bet You Look Good On The Dance Floor (1/2) 🍞

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He peeled himself off the hard, leather seat and headed back to the bar, needing another drink. He tried to tug his shorts down some, because God, the entire building could probably see his ass hanging out right now. It was useless though, either way he tried to position the overly short shorts there was some unwanted skin showing. He was so going to kill those two idiots for this; this was the last time he let them convince him to come anywhere - especially some shitty night club under the promise of "it'll be fun Hajime." And to make matters worse, he'd let them dress him up in... whatever sorry excuse for an outfit this was.

Hajime tried to tug his shorts down again, hoping that they weren't as revealing as they felt as he walked over to the bar and plopped himself down on a stool to ordered another drink, something stronger this time because dammit, he didn't want to be in his right mind at the moment. For the time he had to be here, he might as well get too drunk to remember the overwhelming scent of sweat and alcohol - or the visual of his two best friends grinding against each other on the dance floor.

He ordered two drinks.

With alcohol in him, Hajime could almost understand why people thought it was fun to come here, almost.

The dance music that was pulsing through the whole club and had been so annoying earlier was nothing but a haze of overly pitched vocals and synthetic basses that was almost comforting to Hajime's intoxicated mind. The tight, overly revealing clothes that had felt uncomfortable and embarrassing felt almost empowering with his newfound drunken confidence and he was almost happy to be flaunting a little skin. Besides it wasn't like everyone else wasn't dressed just as revealing as him if not more so.

Hajime swiveled the bar stool around, holding his drink in his hand as he turned to face the dance floor; he was growing bored of watching the bartender mix drinks. Luckily, it seemed Makki and Mattsun had left the overcrowded, sweaty dance floor to do something probably more fun than drink away their time out. Then again, with those two, probably not. Hajime should know better, they were probably just as shitfaced as him right now... wherever the hell they were.

He couldn't even think about his friends for more than a fraction of a second before his eyes were drawn to something on the dance floor, or rather, someone.

All perfect brown curls and pale, smooth looking skin that Hajime could see plenty of in that outfit (seriously? Was this guy wearing a crop top with a giant cartoon alien on it?) he couldn't take his eyes off of this man. This couldn't even be considered dancing - the way this man seemed to just cut through the crowd of dancers, hunting down his desired prey as his hips gyrated to the beat and his lips parted and turned up in a way that made Hajime realize he knew exactly how alluring he was. It was almost frustrating to watch, the way he could so easily pull anyone under his spell and then just walk away moments later, already onto his next victim.

Stupid alien shirt and all, he couldn't take his eyes off of the stunning brunette as he made his way around the crowded dance floor, dancing and grinding and flirting with what seemed like every goddamn person in the room, female or male. He wanted to be out there. He wanted this stranger to touch him the way he was touching those other people. Briefly, Hajime let his mind wander to how it'd feel to dig his nails into that pale skin, leaving angry red marks across the expanse of his perfectly pale body. He thought about how it'd feel with their bodies pressed together, and he thought about those perfect lips, travelling across every inch of his body until he was nothing but putty in this man's hands--