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Harry would like to say just for the record that this is not at all his usual scene.
He’s been legal for two years now but never in all of his two decades has he ever even considered going to a place like this. He wouldn’t even know where to find a place like this if weren’t for the fact that Liam is a bouncer. Sometimes Harry can't even watch porn without feeling like a creepy voyeur, so this, a bar where platforms with stipper poles were mixed in with the tables and scantily clad men danced there all night as entertainment?
No, this is definitely not Harry’s usual scene.
“Haz!” crows Liam in delight as the younger boy crosses the street towards the bar’s entrance. He collects the cover charge and checks the ID of a hipster and waves him through, then pulls Harry into a quick hug. “Finally. I thought you were going to chicken out again.”
He’s referring to the several other times Harry has promised to visit his place of work, only to back out at the last minute. Harry scowls as he hands over his bills. “It’s not- I didn’t ‘chicken out.’ I just… wasn’t in the mood.”
“I see. And tonight you’re, what, in the mood?”
Harry just gives him a shove and walks past so he doesn’t dignify that with an answer. So what if he is a little horny tonight? It’s nothing to be ashamed of. He’s a twenty year-old man with no significant other and he has needs, and no matter how much Liam teases him for that he will not be made to feel embarrassed for being curious and adventurous tonight.
(His face is beet red by the time he gets to the bar.)
The music is loud, the lights dim, people milling around everywhere. There are booths all around, some filled with couples, others with singles nursing drinks. Harry supposes that’s what he should do, get a drink and find a booth. “Can I have two shots of tequila and one strawberry daiquiri, please?” he asks of the bartender, downing the shots as soon as they’re on the bar. Maybe once they’ve reached his stomach he’ll actually be able to look at the live entertainment without feeling like his face is going to combust.
He and his daiquiri make their way to a booth over towards the center, Harry’s eyes glued to the floor. He looks up ever so slightly to check to make sure it’s empty, and then plops down to twiddle his thumbs and wait for this to get fun. Eventually the liquor does start to kick in, and Harry decides that maybe he can move his eyes from the tabletop and look at other things. Slowly he raises his head, and the liquid courage enables him to actually focus on one of the dancers before him without too much mortification.
It’s one of those guys who’s just illogically beautiful, with his caramel skin and dark hair and ridiculous bone structure. His arms covered in tattoos, slender body working the pole like he’s been doing this all his life, though there’s a sparkle in his brown eyes that suggests he’s still new enough to love his job.
This isn’t so bad, Harry thought as he sipped his drink. I sit and have a drink and listen to music and I get to watch beautiful men dance. How could it get any better?
“Free alcohol,” says a high voice right behind him.
Harry’s head whips around so fast he gets dizzy and has to grip the table and the back of the booth just to stop from falling over in his seat, which is probably a good idea anyways given what he sees when his vision stops spinning. There’s a platform right behind him, and right at eye level are a pair of legs with curvy calves and thick thighs. Things just keep getting better the higher Harry lifts his eyes, tattooed arms and tan skin and blue eyes a little hidden behind a playful fringe.
(He can’t be blamed in the least if he can’t tear his eyes away from the mouthwateringly curvy arse tucked into those too-tight gold shorts, though. He’s just a man. Some things aren’t in his control.)
“I- what?” he stutters after an embarrassingly long pause, blinking a few times so he can look away from the mesmerizing swing of those hips to glance up to the man’s face and make sure that this mythological creature had actually been talking to him.
“Free alcohol,” the man repeats calmly, like he gets this reaction all the time. He probably does. “It could get better, if they didn’t make you pay for the booze.”
The blush on Harry’s cheeks gets infinitely darker as he realizes that apparently he’d been talking aloud. Thanks, tequila. “Oh. Right. Yeah that would be nice,” he says lamely. Brilliant.
The man goes back to dancing, and Harry can’t stop watching. He’s so relaxed about it, spinning around the pole and wriggling his hips with as much concern as if he were doing it at home in front of the mirror instead of in a club with a crowd of people looking at him and barely any clothing on. Harry could never imagine feeling that comfortable knowing that everyone could see the swell of his bum, the outline of a bulge in his shorts.
Speaking of which, the longer Harry watches the harder his cock is getting. Which was not his fault, because this petite little sex god has skin that shimmers in glitter and Harry just wants to know what it tastes like. He wants to know whether the magnolia tattoo on his side that disappears into the top of the shorts curves in with his v line, and how far down the ink travels. He wants to know how those strong thighs wrapping around the pole would feel squeezing Harry’s head between them as he licked out his tight pink hole-
Harry chokes on his drink at the thought, lukewarm daiquiri coming out of his nose as he turns back to the table and attempts to collect himself like a normal human being. His neck twinges in protest as he mops up his face with a cocktail napkin, and he rubs at it absentmindedly with a wince.
“You’ve been craning your neck to look up here for almost an hour now,” the golden boy informs him. “If you were going to come in and stare at me all night you should have gotten a booth that faced me.”
“I didn’t- I wasn’t staring,” Harry protests with a flush.
“Yes you were,” he answers, not unkindly. “It’s alright babe, that’s what you paid for. Stare away, I don’t mind.”
“Right,” Harry replies, witty as ever. He thinks in the very small part of his mind still functional that it can’t be a coincidence, the way he starts rolling his hips against the pole extra suggestively just seconds after giving Harry a formal invitation to look. He’s going to have a wet spot on the front of his jeans soon, if the throbbing of his cock was any indication.
“Is this your first time?” the dancer continued conversationally. “I’m Louis, by the way.”
I am a grown man, I do not come in my pants from pretty boys talking to me. “I’m Harry and erm, yeah. Never been someplace like this before. Are you- is that your real name?” he blurts curiously.
Miraculously, Louis doesn’t seem offended. Instead he laughs. “I’m an exotic dancer, Harry, not a porn star. I don’t need a secret identity.”
Suddenly there are filthy visions of Louis spread out on a bed with cameras everywhere getting the breath fucked out of him dancing through Harry’s head, and god must be real because he’s saved from the painful twitch of his cock by the buzz of his phone on the table. He picks it up at once, grateful for the distraction.
(Liam, 1:58 AM) Share a cab back to our building? I’m just about to be done my shift
Harry agrees to meet him by the exit immediately, and as he stood and shoved the phone back into his pocket, his fingers brush across the wad of cash he brought along. He would blush if his face weren’t a permanent shade of dark red by now. Shakily he pulls the bills out and clears his throat.
“I have to go,” Harry tells Louis, feeling like an absolute moron. Were you supposed to tell the dancer you’re watching when you leave? Will he even care?
He pretends to, at least, pink bottom lip pushing out in a pout. “You’re leaving me? My heart’s breaking, Harry.”
“But th-this is f-for you,” Harry stutters, feeling distinctly lightheaded, and extends his arm with the offering of cash to this beautiful golden boy.
Louis hangs onto the pole with one hand and leans towards Harry with his hip jutted out eagerly. “Go on, then,” he says steadily, a smirk playing on his lips.
Harry looks at what’s being presented to him. There’s a little gap between his skin and the waist of his shorts right there by his hipbone, right next to where the magnolia tattoo disappears. He’s so close he can see the individual flecks of glitter on Louis’ skin, smell the sweat, see the delicate curves that look like they might erupt in goosebumps if Harry touched them just right-
He swallows hard, presses the money into Louis’ hand instead, and makes his exit so quickly that it’s nothing short of an escape.
When he gets home twenty minutes later, he’s still so hard that all he has to do is lean back against his door and palm himself through his pants a handful of times and he’s coming, just like that, breath moaning out of him and legs turning to jelly at last. He’s thinking about golden skin the entire time.
…………………
Harry steadfastly refuses to let Liam give him a hard time when he becomes a bit of a regular.
He barely even blushes anymore when he comes in, gets his drinks, and takes a seat. He even has a favorite booth now. It’s on the other side of Louis’ platform but facing him so that he doesn’t have to crane his neck, because of course it’s Louis that Harry keeps coming back for. It’s Louis that has yet to leave his mind, Louis whose hips or thighs or pink lips have been the image held in his mind as he spills over his hand countless times since that first night.
If Louis thinks it’s weird that this boy comes in here several times a week and sits in the same booth and drinks the same drink and plays on his phone a little but mostly watches him dance, he doesn’t let it show. He strikes up a little friendship with the lad; he confides in Harry at one point that, “At least you’ve never tried to put a move on me. Doesn’t anyone understand ‘look but don’t touch’ anymore?”
On the contrary, Harry is on his best and most polite behavior, and Louis rewards him by treating him like his favorite and most valued customer. “Harry, watch this,” he’d say when he got bored, before launching into some acrobatic move that involved him upside down sliding his cock against the pole in one of his many pairs of tiny shorts in a way that made Harry whimper.
Other times he’d strike up a conversation like it was completely natural to do so with your arse less than a meter from someone’s face. “You see the dancer over there?”
“The one with the anklets?” Harry asked, eyes falling on the dark-haired lad he’d noticed his first night here. “What about him?”
“That’s Zayn. And that blonde boy at his feet- yeah, the one that’s drooling a bit- that’s his boyfriend. Like they’re an actual item, and Niall comes to watch him all the time.” Louis never stops dancing, dropping low and rising up again with a contemplative expression. “I think it’s sort of like foreplay for them, except there’s half a dozen other guys, and Niall has to pay for it.”
Harry chokes on air and Louis laughs like that was his goal. It probably was.
There’s no real valid reason for Harry to come back over and over again. It’s not like he comes to hook up with any of the other single guys milling around, or because he particularly likes small dark places full of sweaty drunk people. It’s just that there’s something magnetic about Louis, something that makes him want to keep coming back here to empty his wallet and feel his cock filling up his jeans until it hurts from how bad he needs a release. Maybe he’s a masochist or something, but there’s something satisfying about the way that Louis can make him feel so out of control just by watching him dance.
Louis knows it, too. Harry can tell by the way that Louis looks at him sometimes, with these knowing smiles that say, is that all for me? Other times he’s bolder, looking down between Harry’s legs and licking his lips, like there’s some parallel universe where his mouth would go anywhere near Harry’s body. The little teases only serve to make Harry harder.
Sometimes he stays until closing, watches Louis sit down on the edge of the platform and gently scoot off, suddenly looking like a soft little human padding across the club floor in his bare feet instead of some divine being taking command of the room. He’s no less beautiful, but maybe a little more tangible, and the fact that he’s still unattainable is so agonizingly good.
“Don’t you have a day job you have to wake up for or something, Harry?” teases Louis on one such night, sitting on the edge of the platform with his legs dangling as the bouncers usher the last of the stragglers out. “It’s awfully late for a respectable man like yourself to be out and about.”
“I come to a place like this, how respectable can I be?”
“Excuse me,” Louis protests with false haughtiness, fixing his fringe. “I happen to work at a very respectable establishment.” He then launches into a delighted spiel about how me makes more than any 22 year-old he knows, laughing at the look of shock on Harry’s face when he pulls out the tips he earned from just that night.
The fewer people there are in the room, the more breathless Harry feels, because Louis was making no move to leave him. Like he actually wants to stay and talk with Harry. Soon it’s just staff left besides them, and lights were getting clicked off as dancers and employees trickle out, too tired after a long night to want to stick around. “Louis, you coming?” asks a manager, lingering by the door.
“Just a minute,” answers Louis dismissively. “I’m talking.”
The manager looks irritated and tired. “Louis, I don’t feel like waiting around all night while you have a chat, come on-”
“So lock the door on your way out, I’ll shut it behind me when I leave,” Louis calls back in exasperation. “Christ, Mark, you’re killing me. I’ll be out in five minutes.”
Mark looks displeased but does as Louis suggests and then the two boys are alone in the building, the once energetic space silent except for the hum of the AC and dark but for the emergency lights glowing overhead. Harry’s just sitting there completely still, waiting for someone to tell him to leave or realize that he should have been shooed out fifteen minutes ago.
“He’s a fucking prick,” Louis whispers conspiratorially with a roll of his eyes. “Thinks that just because he’s the owner’s favorite he can be an arsehole to everyone that wo-”
The rest of his complaint is cut off in a gasp as Louis slides off the platform but lands shakily, teetering on the side of his foot for a second before starting to crumple to the floor. Harry moves before he even thinks, snaking his arm around Louis’ waist and breaking his fall, setting him upright again. “Sorry, sorry,” he immediately apologizes, withdrawing his arm from Louis’ overheated skin. “Sorry.”
Louis just blinks at him dazedly. “What are you apologizing for? You just stopped me from breaking my ankle. I’d be out of a job, mate, no one likes a dancer in a cast.”
I’d pay money to see you in anything. “Right. Well. I just know that I’m- you know, ‘look, don’t touch,” Harry stammers nervously, face heating up.
“Ohhhh, yes, you’re right,” Louis replies slowly, dragging out the syllables. “If any of the bouncers saw that they’d throw you out for touching me.”
“Yeah, that’s what I- sorry,” Harry repeats lamely.
Louis takes a step closer. “Do you see any bouncers here, Harry?”
“N-no?”
A smirk and a nod. “Just you and me. So who do you think makes the rules about who gets to touch me?”
Harry’s definitely feeling lightheaded and it probably has a lot to do with the way he can feel Louis’ body heat warming the shrinking space between them. “You do.”
“Mm-hmm.” Louis takes another half-step forward and presses their bodies together boldly, holding onto Harry’s belt loops as he whispers, “I want you to touch me, Harry.”
The words don’t quite make it to Harry’s brain and his hands just hover nervously in the air near Louis’ waist. The message probably just got lost somewhere in the vicinity of his dick, which twitches at the very thought. “I- I, erm-”
Louis has to have felt the movement in Harry’s pants, because he grins and grinds his hips in a figure eight like he does on stage, except now it’s making friction on Harry’s cock and he’s moaning before his brain can catch up. “It’s not that difficult,” Louis murmurs in his ear. “If you see something you want, take it.”
One delicate hand sneaks down to ghost across the bulge in Harry’s jeans and something inside of him breaks.
His mouth is on Louis’ in an instant, kisses needy and hands roaming. They run over that curvy waist, the wide hips, finally coming to rest on that impossibly beautiful bum. Louis keens and Harrys squeezes gently, feeling the fabric bunch up beneath his fingers as he kneads the soft flesh and pulls Louis to him. “Oh, fuck,” he croaks in between fevered kisses. “This is way better than I imagined it.”
“Yeah? You think about this alot?” Louis pants, pulling back for just a second before going in for more kisses. “Think about fucking me in this empty club?”
“Fucking you?” Harry echoes, voice a little higher than before as his eyes fly open in shock, but his hips keep grinding lightly against Louis’ anyways. He’s not sure he could stop that if he tried.
This time when Louis pulls back he takes the time to tilt his head and smirk at Harry. “Well you didn’t think I came onto you so you could grab my bum and kiss me all night, did you?”
Harry can’t think of a single damn response.
“Sit down,” Louis instructs when he gets no answer, nudging Harry back into his seat at the booth. Harry immediately obeys, still a little too stunned to argue. Louis leans over to give him a long kiss and time to gather his thoughts, then stops to ask, “Do you want to?”
“Yes, I do. I- yes very much a lot,” Harry answers at once, then moves forward to palm at the front of Louis’ shorts. “Jesus, yeah. Since the first night I saw you. Wanted to know what it would feel like to have my face between your thighs.”
He can feel Louis getting hard through the thin fabric, and when he whimpers Harry pulls his hand away to admire the sight. “That’s absolutely obscene,” he says breathlessly, eyes greedy as they roam over the outline of a hard cock in those tiny gold shorts, the same ones he was wearing on that first night. His mouth may or may not be watering.
“Took a lot of practice not to get hard on stage,” Louis informs him conversationally as Harry continues to play with him through the shorts. “It’s hot, to have all those eyes on you. Hard to dance when you’re just thinking about getting your brains fucked out, though.”
Harry should probably ask permission first but he doesn’t, just pulls Louis’ shorts down and watches them pool around his ankles before glancing back up. The magnolia does curve with his v line. Harry takes Louis into his mouth at once.
“Ah, fuck,” Louis just swears, hands gripping either side of Harry’s head as his own is thrown back. It’s a good thing he’s got the strong body of a dancer, because the enthusiasm with which Harry is sucking him down would probably have a lesser man on the floor by now. As it is, he just lets Harry have at it for several long minutes, encouraging him with gentle tugs at his curls and breathy whimpers to the tune of yes, baby, please, just like that.
Eventually, though, he has to push at Harry’s head until he releases Louis’ cock reluctantly. “Harry, Harry,” he pants, “want you to fuck me. Please?”
“Yes, god, yes,” Harry breathes. “Have a condom in my wallet, but I don’t- shit, I don’t have any lube-”
Louis comes to straddle his lap, then opens his mouth wide and gives Harry’s fingers a long, deliberate glance. Harry catches on at once, placing three of them into Louis mouth- and moaning as Louis starts to suck. “Wish you could suck me off,” he says feverishly, watching Louis’ filthy slurps. “Wouldn’t last though.”
“Another time, babe,” Louis promises as he pulls off the now slick fingers. “For now, will you please just open me up?”
Harry can’t deny him that- can’t deny him anything, really, but that’s neither here nor there- so he reaches between Louis’ thighs and presses two fingers in right away. “That okay?” he asks quickly when Louis gasps, but Louis only nods enthusiastically and pushes himself down. “You’re sure? I don’t want to hurt you-”
“Jesus Christ, would you stop worrying and start moving your fingers?”
Harry does, working the digits slowly but firmly in and out until he could work a third in. “Good?” he asks, but the flush on Louis’ chest and the bite of his lip serve as answer enough. It feels filthy, that Harry’s still fully clothed and nearly untouched when Louis’ naked and falling apart on his lap.
Louis must be thinking along the same lines. “Enough,” he says finally, pushing Harrys hand away and pulling a little face at the loss as he climbs off his lap. “Get your kit off. Please,” he adds as an afterthought, reaching into Harry’s back pocket for his wallet.
“If you’re going to rob me,” Harry teases as he shucks his shirt and starts unfastening his jeans as quick as he can, “you should know that I’ve already spent all of my money on watching you dance.”
“I’m getting your condom, smartass, but that’s sweet of you to say,” Louis fires back. “And to think, you could have had that and more for free if you’d just asked.” He tosses the wallet on the table and presses the condom into Harry’s hand, stepping back to watch him fumble to get it on. “Can I ride you?”
Harry takes exactly half a second to think about all of the toned muscles and sensual movement of Louis’ body before blurting out an enthusiastic, “Fuck, yes!”
“So eager,” Louis laughs, climbing back into Harry’s lap. “You sure you don’t wanna wait? Don’t wanna let me tease you a little more? I could go back behind the bar and get us some water, we could take a little breather if you’re not ready-”
“Stop teasing, Lou, I wanna fuck you,” Harry whines.
“Alright, baby, alright,” Louis soothed, reaching down between his thighs and lining Harry up at his entrance. “I’ll give you what you want, I promise.”
And then he does, sinking down onto Harry’s aching cock so slowly that the boy’s breath stops and his back arches up off the seat. Harry finds himself digging his fingers into Louis’ hips just in an effort to hold on- literally and figuratively- as he feels pleasure rising up in his gut.
“Hey, careful with the merchandise,” Louis pouts, albeit a little breathlessly, extracting Harry’s fingers from his flesh to lace them with his own and rest them upon his thighs. “This body makes me money and I have nowhere to hide bruises.”
“That body has been getting me hard for three hours now, so I’m not sure how long I’m gonna last,” Harry says honestly.
Louis kisses him gently and starts moving his hips up and down steadily, faster with every drop. “I know, baby. I’ll have my fun quick.”
He’s every bit as graceful on Harry’s lap as he is on the stage, all rhythm and rolling hips and breathy moans, and Harry is only a little embarrassed when he mumbles a warning that he’s close, because Louis’ cock is dripping with precum, too. “Fuck, Harry, touch me,” he says quickly. “We’ll come together, yeah? Fuck, you feel so good-”
Harry gladly wraps a hand around the cock between them and starts jerking Louis off quickly, taking slow breaths and trying to hang on until finally, finally Louis moans in his ear, “Fuck, Hazza, come for me, babe.”
But he’s made it this far and Harry grits his teeth and holds out just a few moments longer, working Louis’ cock and thrusting up into him so that Louis can come first, so that he can feel Louis clutch hot and tight around his cock and hear the wild shout of his name and watch the come spilling over his fist as he works Louis through it. Then he lets go, then he buries himself deep inside of Louis and comes with a low groan, hips pressed up into him in a way that’s far better than any of the countless times he’s dreamed about it.
Louis’ head drops onto Harry’s shoulder as he heaves for breath, little shivers still shaking his body from time to time. “I thought I told you to come,” are his first, petulant words.
“I did.” Harry nuzzles into that delicate neck, wants desperately to leave a mark there, wonders if he finds Louis some really good coverup for nights when he’s working if that can be arranged. “I just waited a bit.”
“You’re terrible at following directions.”
“You told me to fuck you, and I did!”
“Yeah, well,” Louis murmurs as he lifts his head and moves his mouth in search of more kisses, “next time follow them faster, yeah?”