Can We Dance

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NO POV

She was sprawled against the couch; the jungle of boys around her pouncing around the hotel room that, she had figured out, was too small for all four of them. They all lingered childishly, prolonging their words in an attempt to make Parvati pity them.

"Please, please, won't you come to the club with us?" Chaz begged, his knees scraping the wood paneling when he dropped to them. 

"No! So you can ditch me for some blonde bimbos? No way!" Parvati snapped, lunging her exotic face back into the book that smeared ink prints on her pinkie.  

It was Justin's turn to beg now. He plastered the biggest puppy dog face he could muster and then shot it right into her guilty face. "Please, P, can't you come to the club? I won't ditch you. I promise. I pinkie promise."

Who was Parvati to say no to one of the hottest stars on the globe? And that is the beginning of day seventeen, people, the day where Justin was determined to make her let loose and dance all the stiffness away.

Parvati's POV

The lights bashed against my corneas all at once, leaving me almost blinded and defenseless. A strong arm slithered through mine and we thrashed past fans and clubbers that wanted to meet Justin. Of course, I had many thoughts in my mind — like how and why I wanted to kill Justin Drew Bieber for dragging me along this hell ride. Clubbing wasn't my scene — it never was my scene. And yet, here I was, being pushed and shoveled to the side while Kenny Hamilton caught me every time a hyper fan decided that exceeding the boundaries and knocking me over seemed alright. All my past hatred towards the dirty blonde haired boy came washing back like a tidle wave and the only thing that was catching my eye in the nightclub was the bar. The silky smooth counter tops that would be holding my beer as it slid across the granite. I never was

an alcohol type. But I never was the clubbing type, either, guess there is a new time for everything.

NO POV

Her tight fitting curves were radiant underneath the black spandex dress that warped to her every crevice. Glasses spanned out in front of her, all ladling red lipstick that used to be splattered against her voluptuous lips. Her eyes were glossed with a film of alcohol, making her eyesight stupor and faint. Justin was in the middle of the dance floor, blonde hair whipping at his face ever so often when a too skinny, plastic surgery experiment decided to grab his attention. But it was no use. Because only those eyes, that were the lightest of russet and yet the darkest of chocolate, seemed to never waver from the strewn beauty that sat intoxicated at the bar. Finally, he strode off in the direction of the bar, the blonde's voice the background music to his treading heart. 

"Hey," he breathed out onto her neck. Parvati jumped out of her skin; the glass radding the ice that sat at the bottom. 

"Hi J-justin!" She giggled, a colossal grin cheekily warming up her face. "This stuff is soooo good!" 

"Hey, aren't you eighteen? You're not supposed to be drinking," he whispered, fanning her earlobe with a pleasant wind.

"S—stop! That tickles me!" She hiccuped, swatting her ear like a baboon. Justin huffed, grabbing onto her hips so she would get up from the bar. If anyone had seen her drinking, under aged, who knew what could happen to his squeaky clean rep. "But I wike that drink, Justy, I like it a whole lot!"

"But you're underage, Parvati," he huskily replied into the crook of her neck. 

"Can we dance? I want to dance!" Parvati gasped, intertwining her hands together behind his neck. A fast song was pumping through the club and bodies erratically swayed to the bumping rhythm that was cased in by the walls. 

Anything to get her away from the bar, he replied sure, leading her into the mosh pit of people that moved along with the music. Parvati automatically turned around, her butt pushing into his lower area immediately. 

So she's done this before, he thought as he watched her hips sway perfectly from side to side, grinding into him at a sinful pace. He grabbed her hips, squeezing his fingertips into her so he could contain the moans that gathered in the back of his throat. She suddenly reached her arms up, placing the crown of her head on his chest where his heartbeat was picking up and thundering like a drum in his chest. He was thankful that he didn't bargain for a drink; he wanted to remember this moment for ages and what it felt like to see her so comfortable in a setting he thought she'd never get caught in. His eyes were rolling back in pleasure and a premature bulge was forming in the knit of his pants. 

"P—parvati," he moaned into her ear so silently, so the club around them wandered in awe at what he said. 

"Justin, mmmm!" Parvati's moan brought Justin's bulge to twitch, his mouth to drop, and his abdominal to twist.

Parvati spun around and suddenly all he felt was her soft lips battling against his. The taste of beer lingered in her breath, making the kiss almost sweet. He licked her lips dry of the excess alcohol that laminated her chunky lips.

Even due to the dancing that coursed adrenaline through their veins — it was the last cause for their palpitating heartbeats that night. It was their lists that moved in sync of each other that made their hearts spiral incontrovertibly. 

Her body weighed nothing; like a feather in the wind. He quickly pushed their floor number, Ryan and Chaz's eyes bulging whenever it would ding from floor to floor. 

"I miss Huckleberry," she spurred, playing with the tiny buttons that were sewn in his shirt. 

"Who's Huckleberry?" Justin questioned with a smirk.

"Her cat," Chaz grumbled, rubbing his temples to sooth the ear splitting headache that lingered in his skull.

"You cute!" She half shouted, running her palms against Justin's defined chest.

"Ugh, shut her up! My head is banging!" Ryan shouted, cradling his head. 

And then suddenly, her half awake eyes slowly slipped shut and tiny snores pulsed through her half open, chapped lips. 

It was then that day seventeen ended, and early in the morn when she was awaken with a hangover, did day eighteen start. 

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