"What is it?"

Dom unwrapped the foil square, leaning further into the huddle he and Billy created. "It's nothing heavy," he explained, showing the gold-colored powder that formed a tiny mound under the foil flaps. "Sort of...just makes you tingle all over."

"You sure about this? I don't wanna, you know..."

"It's not addictive. Just gives a rush. It's a one-night kind of thing."

Billy shifted, scrunching his nose up. "How do you...?"

"Put it on your tongue, let it dissolve. It doesn't fuck you up, so long as you don't take too much," Dom answered, eyes on Billy's. He thought it'd make the night of clubbing they had ahead of them a little more interesting. "If you start to feel messed up we can crash at a table. No problem, yeah?"

"Yeah," Billy said. "Fuck all, why not? Le's go."

They decided on no drinks; didn't want to mix alcohol with it. They plotted a quick course towards the nearest exit, if need be. Dom picked a table and they drank down a bottle of water each before he broke out the packet.

Dom licked the tip of his finger, touched it to the powder, and then smeared the fingertip over his tongue. Billy sat forward, all set. But Dom just repeated the process and held up his finger.

"Be a good lad and show Doctor Dom your tongue..."

Billy snorted and stuck out his tongue. Doctor Dom his arse. Felt bad for those patients. He ignored the fact that Dom's fingertip going over his tongue elicited a tingle that he was sure had nothing to do with the powder on it. He ignored the fact that beyond the bitterness of the powder Dom tasted like salt and lime.

Moments ticked by and Billy felt nothing. The wild streaks and sprays of neon-colored light danced off he and Dom, indecisive and bright. He closed his eyes; the familiar rumbling wash of the music danced in the pit of his stomach with its root embedded at the base of his spine. And then there was a sudden warmth.

"Dom."

"Mm?"

"You feeling anythin'?"

"I...think."

Billy didn't notice it at first. It was not the sudden switch from normal to not-normal that he thought would happen when it hit him. It was subtle; he wasn't sure whether there was a warm breeze in the room that curled over his skin and brought a flush over him or not. A flush that was all at once blood and sparkles just under his skin. And a second later he accepted that it was possible and that the drug was doing something.

"Fuck," Dom muttered, sitting back in his chair. He could feel every stitch of cloth on his body—from the collar of his shirt brushing the sides of his neck, to the way the denim rubbed his knees, and even the way his toes fit snugly in the front of his shoes. It was very much like overheating in a tight space—only the club itself wasn't that hot, so it felt unnaturally good, and lacked the claustrophobia of being trapped in a small room.

And it wasn't disorienting in any other way, Billy thought. He felt fine; the overwhelming sensation was mostly on his skin and in his veins and made him...made him want to...move and touch, when he gave it further thought.

He let himself get used to the feeling before suggesting they get up and sink into the crowd on the dance floor. He had to have something pushing his clothes onto his body; wanted nothing more than for a pair of hands to grip any part of him.

So bloody warm! Was like applying a warming pan to first his fingers and then allowing it go slowly inward from each limb, Dom thought, as Billy nudged and steered him into the mass of dancers.

Billy took a deep breath of the hot, sticky glitter that had become the air around his skin—and he guessed that maybe it wasn't entirely physical, because he had stopped thinking normal thoughts and only wanted to—dance. Sure.

Was kind of like a fever, Billy went on mentally, a huge sigh of relief welling up in him—nothing more than a fancy—as a set of small hands grabbed at him and drew him into a gyrating rhythm. He couldn't tell much about her; streak of dark hair and glowy pale skin caught his eye, but there was dampness all around his eyes and when her hands touched his forearms—ooh yeah.

He'd never felt a shiver like that before. Sodding hell, it wasn't just a shiver—it was a shudder that took hold of strategic points all over his body and connected them somewhere in the middle, sending a thrum of heat so—fuck, it had this unstable base, almost cold at the edge, and it built on that real hot and steady up through to its crust, which was blazing hot and so heavy—

The girl wriggled until she was bound to every curve of his body, her face a vision of twisting and flashing ivory set to the beat of the music. The edges of her hair tingled Billy's skin until it was almost as keen as torture; every little strand seemed magnetically enhanced to bring up his blood.

A pulsing strobe of white colored shape danced under his eyelids and the girl was breathing in his ear. He whimpered and twisted away from it because it was all at once too much and not enough. Her soft skin and light grip was just not—

The crowd jostled them again. Automatically he reached for her, his body burning, his fingers feeling simultaneously useless and overly talented. His back bumped someone and he turned, pushing towards the gap to his left, thinking he could find another girl or maybe even spot Dom.

The person he bumped into—and he sort of worried, because the urge to feel something on him was getting kind of bossy—grabbed his arms. He looked up into a pair of dark eyes that broke through the messy neon-green ivy-tangle inside his head.

"Dom!"

"Thought I'd—" And then Dom felt Billy's hands on his upper arms and became significantly distracted. Lost you, he finished silently.

Dom's fingers branded—hot lengths of velvet-coated steel, God, those fucking hands—around the width of Billy's biceps. And in searing reply, Billy's skin leapt. Shit. Billy—

Billy's hands squeezed hard on Dom's shoulders—fuck yes, hard, like that—and clamped on his neck, bringing him hunched into Billy's chest. Everywhere their skin touched it flared and whispered with a crackling, dry heat that was slippery sharp—could strike a match off that, you could. But it was so short-lived, seemed to fade after the initial contact, or needed time to recharge or...do it again. And again and fucking again.

Dom's brain wasn't working. And he was quite sure Billy's wasn't, because Billy's hands were in his hair. Dom shook, the roots of his hair scraped the wrong way sending a wave of feeling through him—the sensation trickled down his neck, hot-cold-hot-cold, and back again.

"Billy..."

"Don't go." Against his ear, more breath than words: fucking hot, fucking yes.

"Mmph."

They were sucked into the next song together and began to move. Billy was all eager smallness as Dom held him; hands zipped, like a static-charged balloon over dry hair, bringing it all up and stinging until Dom was choking on the fumes. The excess was Billy's cologne and Billy's sweat and Billy's hard body.

The thing dribbling over Dom's skin wanted. It wanted the curve of Billy's neck, the flat plane of Billy's stomach, the rough dig of Billy's belt buckle, the sneaky curl of Billy's fingers. He was twitching and dying a little under its strain; a strain slimmed only by the brutal crush of his friend's body against his.

Let me have you.

Gradually the line between his pulse, Billy's pulse, and the pulse of the music became blurred. Dom couldn't tell how hard his heart was pounding and he judged that Billy was just as driven. Those fingers were digging and pushing—collarbone, chest, stomach, hips. They dug into his hips, rubbed the juts of bone on either side.

Dom couldn't breathe. Those hands were suddenly in his back pockets, claiming a handful of backside each. Fuck. Dom ground his hips into Billy's thigh as they whirled and turned ever deeper into the crowd.

Something came between them and Dom grabbed—don't you fucking stop you goddamn wanker. His hand closed on shoulder. He pulled until Billy's back hit his chest. A rush went from Billy's chest when Dom's fingers twisted into the front of his shirt, finding the wide space between buttons and the fevered skin just inside.

"Dom..."

Dom didn't hear his name. His fingers pushed, managing by sheer luck to undo several buttons. His other hand found purchase on Billy's waist; pushed away the shirt, found the jean waistband hanging damp and low on Billy's hip, and slid into the pocket there, curling deeply. When he pinched down on one of Billy's nipples, Billy whimpered.

Billy's knees were going to give. He knew that just as sure as he knew that Dom was fondling him under his shirt, just as sure as he knew that Dom's fingers were in his pocket right next to the screaming hard-on Billy sported. The rolling tingle of the touches was bubbling under his skin like a fever gone bad—evil bad, fucking sex bad—

And if he wasn't too messed up, that had to be a bulge rubbing the curve of his arse.

Shit.

He clamped a hold on Dom's arms and rode out the pulse of the music, unaware of how he even managed to stay upright. Dom's fingers busily unbuttoned his shirt to the very last annoying plastic circle. They were now pressing his belly, squeezing the shape of a rib here and there.

And then they were in his pockets again, controlling his hips and so fucking close to grinding the ache between them that Billy felt like falling on purpose. He could feel the sweat trickling down the sides of his nose, around his eyes, down his neck, down his back and leaving a slick there between shirt and skin.

Dizzy, he lay his head back onto Dom's shoulder to steady himself. And he made the mistake of looking up at Dom, whose mouth was so close that—Billy closed his eyes as Dom kissed him. Just like that, Billy thought, after all the weeks he'd spent wondering if Dom would ever get the hint.

A whimper and a tilt of his chin and Billy was drowning in gulps of kisses, the sort of kiss that was not just lips and tongue but the entire focus of the mouth and the body—the sort where you didn't hesitate to push your tongue into someone's mouth because they were already sucking it like it was your cock.

Dom's knuckles turned white in Billy's pockets in their effort to push that small arse back into his aching, stifled erection. Billy tasted like the bitter powder and like salt and Billy and Dom's concentration was skewed around the shaking that followed Billy's mouth touching his mouth.

Struggling to breathe, he lifted his head. Billy groaned and tried to recapture his mouth, but he couldn't. The sensation was nearly pain now, wrapped around his muscles and constricting them: demanding. He buried his face in Billy's hair.

"Dom..." Pant.

"Mmm." Exhale.

Billy slide one of his palms, damp and trembling with the effect of the drug, and covered the lump of Dom's fist in his right pocket. He tugged at the wrist and Dom let his hand slide free. Nose on Dom's jaw, he pressed Dom's wide palm two inches to the left, between his thighs, and closed his fist around their tangled fingers.

A twitchy jerk of arousal sucked straight down the Dom's cock. He went still for a very brief second before closing his fingers around Billy and squeezing. He felt a sudden expulsion of breath from Billy's lips onto his neck. Fuck.

"Fuck, Dom, please..."

"Billy, you're—"

"Monaghan I swear to bleedin' Christ..."

Dom groaned. The hell was he arguing for? Even if it was just the powder—well, fuck, he had taken it, too! They were both—shut the fuck up already!

He squeezed his fingers between the sweat-slick surface of Billy's belly and the rough, damp jeans. They were riding so low that getting his hand between them and Billy's skin was effortless. He wriggled his fingers against the urgent pulse of Billy's cock as leapt against his palm.

Pleasurable relief turned Billy to jelly in seconds. He sagged into Dom's body—and those arms came harder around him, keeping him safe and vertical. Dom's mouth was breathing unevenly near his ear, dropping sporadic, desperate kisses on his throat.

Slippery, experienced fingertips found the opening it needed and had Billy's cock wrapped firmly in fist seconds later. Cradling Billy's shoulders, Dom closed his eyes and squeezed a long pull. Billy sobbed, once and desperately, into his neck.

"We have to—"

"Yeah..."

"Do they have—"

"Bathrooms. Fuck. Now."

They more or less fell through the crowd. Billy felt cold in the spots where Dom's hands had been even though heat continued to flush his skin. He felt the ghost of a grip when Dom snagged him now and then through the crowd to keep them together.

There were several restrooms, luckily, and he and Dom only had to wait a minute or two for the one at the end of the back hall to be empty. Once inside, Dom threw the lock and turned on Billy, crushing them together in the general direction of one of the stalls.

Billy flung out an arm behind them, bumping them safely against one of the stall doors, then back off it for purposes of getting it actually open, then inside, bringing it loudly bouncing shut and locked behind them.

Fingers around Dom's shoulder, Billy slammed him into the rickety stall wall, a dull thud announcing its resistance to their combined force. The urge for more and more and still more was spinning like a zombified top on the surface of his brain. His mouth crushed Dom's; only those huge swallowing of kisses would do.

Dom panted into Billy's mouth between each hard suckle of those boyish lips. He shoved the open shirt off Billy's shoulders, and the kiss stuttered drunkenly when Billy felt the rough skim of Dom's hands on his shoulders, his back, and his sides.

Breaking apart with a smack of moisture, Billy gasped for air against Dom's lips, his fingers seeming disconnected from his thoughts as they gripped Dom's wrists and slowly brought either one of Dom's arms up over his head. He pinned those wrists there on the wall and pushed into Dom's body, grinding his painful erection into the flat plane of Dom's pelvis.

The stall wall creaked in protest. One knee between Dom's thighs, one hand pinning his arms and the other hastily jerked the button of Dom's fly and then the zipper; the sweat-soggy denim sank to the floor. Dom's head was laid back on the ugly beige wall, eyes closed, Adam's apple bobbing, body twitching with the harsh pull of Billy's movements.

Billy watched that face as he slid his fingers under the elastic band of Dom's boxers—the material gave way hotly, revealing its stinky imprint of red lines. But that became an afterthought the moment the offending material was around Dom's ankles. And then Billy was sinking to his knees, sable-brown hair brushing Dom's chest and stomach on the way down.

The thickly yellow overhead lights sent shards of color through the spiky mess of Dom's hair as his head shifted anxiously back and forth. Bits of bright and dark blocked Billy's line of sight—until he directed his eyes downward. His hands were all over those hips and that belly, palms on fire with sensation, mind burning with the very real need bob-nudging his cheek and chin as he moved closer.

His tongue lashed out, capturing salt and sweat on its tip, fingers winding a hold to steady the throbbing pink cock before pursing his mouth around it—out softly again, flick of the tongue—then back again, suckle, back out, in—and again. Dom's hands were in his hair, pulling, tugging, and begging.

Billy tucked his lips and dropped his jaw and sank forward, nostrils full of breath and Dom's sweet scent until the tip of his nose touched Dom's belly and the scatter of fuzzy hair there. His cheeks were velvet fire around that pulsing cock.

"Oh, fuck," Dom groaned, face constricted with the feeling of being buried in that wet heat all sudden; the feeling multiplied because of the drug that was still racing hectic tracks down his body.

Sweaty fingers pried Dom's thighs apart and a palm cupped the heavy, tight sacs of flesh there, rolling them softly and rubbing fingertips just beyond it. The motion was timed with Billy's long strokes. Blood spilled up against Dom's skin and he found himself slowly thrusting into Billy's mouth.

There was a vague relation between Billy's hard swallows and rubbing fingertip, Dom's chest sharply hitching, and the rhythmic throb of Dom's cock. The limbo between those three carried away the minutes as Billy's face swiveled and bobbed into Dom's pelvis. Billy's free hand wrapped around Dom's hip, pulling him in again and again.

All was silence besides Dom's grope for breath—and that sound bounced off the walls with an echo that drove Billy on. His jaw and lips ached, but he was halfway to heaven—he's under my control—and the closer Dom got the more determined Billy became.

Dom tugged on his hair and Billy looked up, slowing to a natural stop.

"Gonna..."

Of course you are. Billy licked a slow circle around the head of Dom's cock.

"Just in case y—"

Shut up already, would yeh? Billy gently and thoroughly sucked that quivering length to the back of his throat.

Dom's lungs filled slowly: restraint. The force of Billy's head pinned his hips back into the stall wall, eliciting another creak from its rusty hinges. The hand that was on his waist slid down and gripped his saliva-slick cock, squeezing a helpful pressure.

Billy's mouth slurped wetly around the head and his hand blurred rapidly along the length, coaxing Dom towards letting go. Dom's body was still and Billy knew it wouldn't take long. There was a sudden grip of fingers at the back of his neck, pulling him in.

"Billy," Dom breathed.

Five seconds—motions continued—and the soft breath drew in, thigh muscles clenching rebelliously. Shaking in the form of rattling lungs that extended through from inside to skin level, a trembling that Billy could feel. And then the brief raise of a whimper and it crested, spilling over Billy's tongue in front of writhing hips, hot and rushed like bitter honey, and then on his lip and just at the corner of his mouth, pearly and too much.

Billy pulled back, licked it off quickly, and then brought out whatever else there was with a lazy roll of his wrist. Going soft, Dom slid his fingers through Billy's hair. He brushed a thumb along Billy's lip, feeling the slickness.

The primary heat on Dom's skin was replaced with the cool temperature of the bathroom and he realized where he was standing, pants round his ankles, with Billy Boyd on his knees in front of him.

Option number one: freak out. Option number two: return the favor. Huh.

Roughly a minute passed. Dom's fingers remembered themselves; tugged Billy to his feet. Decisively, his mouth covered Billy's. He pulled away and met Billy's eyes just before backing the Scot up against the other side of the stall.

Dom's fingers were lightly petting Billy's hair. They'd been silent for over twenty minutes now: more drained than awkward. The whatever-the-hell they'd taken was flushed from their systems—or, at least, gone to the point where they no longer felt anything.

"Bill?" Dom began, an amused edge to his tone.

Billy laughed silently into Dom's thigh.

"Right then," Dom said.

"Sorry," Billy uttered, on the verge of more giggling. "Just...sor' of. Yeah."

Dom patted Billy's head consolingly. "Well, this isn't how I pictured it."

"You pictured it?"

Dom shrugged. "Yeah." He smirked. "This was much more creative, though."

"Creative?" Billy asked, snickering.

"Bleeding hell, Boyd. You know that I had no idea that shit was going to do that..."

"What was it?" Billy rolled onto his back with much grunting and resettled his head on Dom's thigh.

"Some upper. Or it was supposed to be. Dunno. Really weird."

"Accidentally swiped Lij's Spanish Fly."

Dom choked on a laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, shit." He blinked, realization dawning silver-gray in his eyes, and slowly looked down at Billy. "Oh. Shit..."