If we were alone right now. Those words snap him out of his tunnel-vision, of the false sense of security brought on by the sensory overload in the club. Suddenly, he's very aware of the crowd around them, the fact that others might be watching. The fingers in his hair and the heat in his lap make it difficult to pull away, but he does, his hand splaying against Klaus' chest to separate them with a little more force than necessary. He gets rough when he's uncomfortable.

"We should find an empty room."

Preferably with a lock on the door, though he hasn't thought quite that far ahead yet. He is not a person with much experience in sneaking off to get handsy.

"We're not gonna have sex, but we can keep doing this."

It's an interesting thought though, sex with Klaus. A future where he'd ever feel up to that seems impossibly distant, but he lets himself entertain the idea for a moment:

There's the provided scenario, Klaus on his knees with Harlan's cock down his throat—no, too much, but they could reverse it. The thought of Klaus begging, more of those heady moans tumbling out of his mouth, skin slick with sweat, legs shaking... Somewhere along the way, the fantasy turns red, the begging sharpens and low moans are torn into ragged cries, a blade flutters against soft flesh—

He swallows thickly. What the hell has gotten into him lately?