Oliver's eyes hadn't left Harry's face through most of their dance, except when they'd closed due to the overwhelming sensations of their bodies pressed together. Harry's hands on his chest had almost proved his undoing. He'd had to grit his teeth to stop himself from moving the dance straight into improper. At least, improper for a dance floor.
Almost of it's own accord, his head lowered again. This time, it wasn't with a caress of breath to his ear. This time, his mouth was heading straight for Harry's, tongue darting out to moisten his own lips, already anticipating tasting him.
He came to his senses just before their mouths touched and paused. He wanted to kiss Harry, wanted it more than he wanted his next breath, but Harry didn't know who he was. To Harry, he was some random stranger at a party and Oliver wanted more from their first kiss than that. When he kissed Harry, he wanted him to know just who he was.
And in that moment, he realised just how much he wanted that kiss. But it wouldn't be tonight.
Instead, he squeezed Harry tightly to him before releasing him, whispered "thanks" for the dance against his mouth, then stepped back and melted into the crowd.