Chapter Text
Through fluttering eyelashes, Harry sees an ocean of gold. Golden thongs cling to fit bodies as they twirl around golden poles. In such a dirty, grungy place, the glitter and glam distract customers from the club's flaws. The dim lighting does a nice job of hiding the peeling wallpaper and cracked floors. The air smells like sweat and smoke, but Harry doesn't mind. He's used to it by now.
His mind feels numb. As he grabs his crotch and grinds against the nearest pole, he feels no emotions. Not arousal, not guilt, not disgust, not anything. He stopped caring years ago. His brain seems to go on autopilot as he continues his routine, the spotlight burning his eyes.
A large hand reaches out to grope Harry's arse before slipping some money into his waistband. Harry forces out a smirk and wraps one leg around the pole, sinking down slowly, teeth biting into his bottom lip. The greasy pole sticks to his palms.
Harry flips his hair as he cranes his neck, oiled torso rolling against the pole. Across the room, complete strangers gawk at him, eyeing him like some sort of zoo animal. His wild green eyes scan the crowd, licking his lips slowly.
The golden light feels hot against his skin. The glitter that coats his body glimmers as he spins around the pole. He extends one arm as he slides across the stage, dipping his head down, his long hair falling in loose curls. He feels a few more hands slap his bum as the song ends. He lets out a sigh of relief.
He smiles weakly and drops down to snatch up a few notes that lay on the stage's edge. He tucks them messily in his thong, crinkling the bills in the process. The spotlight dims and he walks down the steps, eyes squinting through the sudden darkness.
"Good work," his boss, Liam, says and gives him a slap on the back.
"Thanks," Harry murmurs. "I'm gonna go freshen up, if that's okay."
Liam nods, brown eyes flickering towards the dressing room. "Sure. You've earned a break."
Harry bites his lip as he stammers towards the dressing room that's hidden behind a red curtain. He pushes it aside with an annoyed grunt. The air reeks of marijuana, causing him to wrinkle his nose. A lot of the dancers prefer to get high before performing. It takes the edge off.
He sits down in front of a large vanity. A circle of light bulbs around the mirror provide the only source of luminescence in the room. He grimaces at his messy reflection, distorted by several cracks and smudges.
Abruptly, the curtain rips open. Harry spins around in his chair.
"Styles," one of the strippers greets with a short nod.
The oil on his olive skin draws attention to his marvelous tattoos. He's been given the nickname "Angel" thanks to the angel wings tattooed on his chest, right below his collarbones. Wrinkles fill his golden thong as he plops down on the nearby sofa. Harry thinks it's a size too big, but he doesn't say anything.
"Hello, Angel," Harry smiles back.
The stripper scoffs. He reaches over to the overflowing ashtray and grabs a discarded blunt. He lights the end with a translucent blue lighter before sticking it between his lips. He inhales sharply.
"Don't call me that," he drawls and breathes out the smoke. His dark eyes look hazy, rimmed with red. "How'd you feel if I called you Rose? That's your strip name, yeah?"
Harry snickers. "Right. Sorry, Zayn," he laughs.
Liam gave him that name when he first started working at Fool's Gold two years ago. He saw Harry's gigantic rose tattoo on his arm and it just stuck. Liam has a habit of naming his dancers after specific features. For instance, he calls another dancer "Star" because of the five-pointed birthmark on his left shoulder.
"You've smudged off your eyeshadow, mate," Zayn notes.
He steps over to the vanity. Bottles of hairspray and makeup scatter across its wooden surface. With the joint hanging between his lips, he picks up the pallet of sparkly eyeshadow. He dips his thumb in and smears it across Harry's eyelid. He giggles underneath his touch.
Harry stares at his reflection. The gold makeup overwhelms his facial features, but he knows it's all part of the dress code. His long eyelashes flutter, still heavy with mascara.
"There," Zayn announces, closing the eyeshadow pallet. "Now you look like a true Fool's Gold stripper."
Harry sighs, taking the money out of his thong. He cards through the wrinkled bills with a frown on his face. It's not enough. It's never enough. He picks his bag off the floor and rummages through its contents. He finds his wallet and shoves the money inside.
"Rose?" Liam calls, poking his head through the curtain.
"Hm?" Harry answers, eyebrows raised.
"Your break's over. There's a nice man out here who would fancy a lap dance at table three."
Harry nods. "Okay."
With shaky legs, Harry saunters out towards the main room. He wonders if the customer will be a shy twink, an older man, or perhaps someone his own age. Harry never wanted to work at a gay stripclub, but he was never able to keep "normal" jobs for longer than a few weeks. He always fucked something up. But dancing around practically naked? He's quite good at that.
He glances at table three. A young man sits there, probably in his mid-twenties, sipping a lime margarita. His thin, pink lips curl around the glass's edge. He wears a loose black t-shirt and dark jeans that cling to his thick thighs. The minimal lighting carves shadows into the hollows of his cheekbones. His light brown hair is styled messily with bits and pieces flying in different directions.
Suddenly, his piercing eyes meet up with Harry's. He's never seen such beautiful irises. They're light blue, almost silver, with his pupils blown wide.
Harry wastes no time straddling the stranger's waist, swinging his thighs on either side of the chair. He's usually the least flexible person alive, but the thong helps him maneuver quite nicely. The man grunts out of surprise and latches his hands around to the small of Harry's back.
"Hello," Harry greets, whispering into the man's ear. "You having a good time?"
Whilst the man sputters to answer, Harry rocks his bum against his crotch. To the beat of the music, he rotates his hips and runs his hands down the man's ribcage, fingers dancing over his sides.
"Yeah," the man huffs. "How about you?"
Harry chuckles darkly. "Well, it's my job," he purrs.
The man stills for a few seconds. He squeezes Harry's arse. "Cheeky one, aren't you?"
Harry smirks. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"What's your name?" the man asks abruptly.
Harry ignores his inquiry and flips around on his lap, turning the opposite direction. He dips down to give the man a better view of his arse. Cold fingertips trace down his spine, feeling the ridges.
"You're not going to answer my question?" the man presses, squeezing one of his bum cheeks. The palm of his hand feels freezing, like ice, but Harry assumes that's because of his frosty margarita.
"It's Rose," Harry mumbles, grinding down on his lap.
"Rose?"
"Yeah."
"Did your mother give you that name?" the man laughs. Something about his voice seems off. It's very sophisticated and ancient-sounding.
"Maybe," Harry teases, leaning his head against the man's shoulder. "What's your name?"
The man pauses. "Louis," he answers, feeling up Harry's tattooed torso.
"Well, it was nice meeting you, Louis," Harry says. He stands up from the man's lap and holds out his hand. "That'll be £15."
Louis's eyes flicker to Harry's hand. "Y'know, I could offer you a lot more than that."
Harry knows exactly where this is going, but he decides to play dumb. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Louis echos. "It's been awhile since I've had a proper fuck."
To be honest, it's been awhile since Harry's had a proper fuck, too. He's slept with customers before, but it's not a regular thing for him. He's a stripper, after all, not a prostitute. But he can't deny that Louis is very fit. Plus, he could really use the money.
Harry hums. "There's a room for that, if you're interested."
Fool's Gold is a stripclub, but sometimes customers hit it off with dancers and need a place to take care of business. It's a gross room, however, and the bed is anything but sanitary. Harry usually refrains from using it, but right now he really wants Louis's cock. Or rather, he wants the money. Taking cock is just an added bonus.
"I'd love to," Louis says, silver eyes locked in a piercing gaze.
Harry gestures for Louis to follow. He nudges through the crowd, pushing past the mob around the stage. Zayn's busy with his routine, rutting up against a chair while the audience throws money in his direction.
The private room is located in the back, hidden behind a heavy door. He winks at Liam before opening the door and pulling Louis inside.
The circular bed sits in the center of the room. Messy sheets cover up the stained mattress. The air smells thickly of sex and sweat. He tries to suppress his inner disgust. After all, it's his job to please Louis.
"How do you want me?" Harry asks directly.
Louis doesn't give a verbal response. Instead, he pushes against Harry's oily chest until his knees knock against the bed. His hands still feel frozen, sending a shiver down Harry's spine. He presses him downward until he's sprawled out on the bed. Louis hovers over him, hands on either side of his head.
"I like your tattoos, by the way," Louis compliments.
Harry pauses. He doesn't know why he's still talking. Usually customers just fuck and leave without saying a word.
"Thanks," Harry says, but it comes out like a question. "I quite like yours, too."
"Who's Anne?" Louis asks, poking the tattoo on his bicep. It's just "Anne" written in cursive, surrounded by a red heart.
"My mum," Harry replies. "And this gem is for my sister, see? Gem for Gemma. The butterfly on my tummy is for my niece because she really likes butterflies."
Louis looks startled. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
" 'm sorry," Harry apologizes, cheeks flushing red. "I ramble a lot. You can, like, gag me if you want."
He expects Louis to crack a smile at that, or maybe kiss him to shut him up, but he doesn't react at all. He just stares.
"Seems like you have a close family," he says eventually.
Harry furrows his eyebrows. "What? Were you expecting a sob story?" he chuckles.
"Well, sort of. I mean, you're a stripper."
Harry dismisses the stereotype with an eyeroll. "You know, I'm charging by the minute. You might want to fuck me already," he grumbles.
Louis breathes heavily as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of Harry's neck. Harry's hands travel to Louis's back. His dull fingernails scratch at his skin whilst Louis presses a gentle kiss to his collarbone. Even his lips feel icy cold.
Harry whimpers a little, so Louis reaches downwards, hands falling on Harry's love handles. Two fern tattoos trail down towards his crotch, drawing attention to his beautiful hipbones. Louis hooks his fingers around the hem of Harry's thong. He pulls them off, sliding easily thanks to the large amount of body oil.
Harry's half-hard cock springs free, and he immediately ruts up so his erection rubs on Louis's clothed stomach. He wants Louis to get undressed already. He's used to feeling exposed, being a stripper and all, but this feels different for some reason.
Louis rolls up the thong and stuffs it in Harry's mouth. He moans around the fabric, voice muffled. Louis grins and roughly grabs Harry's throat, pushing his head up. He licks his neck once again, eliciting a quiet whine from the green-eyed boy.
Harry hears a tick. He looks around for the source, but finds nothing. A sharp feeling of pain cuts off his train of thought.
"Fuck!" Harry screams, but it comes out like "fu" around the gag.
He tries to push Louis off, but he's strong. Stronger than he expected for such a small man. He continues to suck his neck, sharp teeth digging into his skin. His teeth feel like needles. For a second, Harry wonders if Louis's pressed a knife to his neck. He hears Louis suck out the blood and dig his fangs deeper.
Suddenly, Harry feels paralyzed. He can't move, but the pain is still there. Louis injected his vampire venom in order to immobilize his prey, Harry. He's hungry for blood. So hungry that he can't think straight. He hasn't drank human blood in weeks.
Louis has a special diet. He doesn't kill normal humans, per se. He prefers to kill humans who won't be missed. Humans who have no real connections to the outside world, like helpless drug addicts or past criminals. He considers it doing a favor for society— to get rid of the undesirables.
He thought Harry (or Rose, rather) was the same way. He assumed that, because Harry worked as a stripper, he couldn't possibly have a beloved family and friends. But clearly he was wrong. Harry has a mother called Anne and a sister named Gemma and a niece and— fuck. Louis can't do this.
The guilt hurts more than the hunger.
"I'm so sorry," Louis rasps, licking the fresh wound. "What have I done?"
Harry's already passed out, though. His body twitches as the venom begins to spread through his veins.
Now Louis has two options. He can either continue to suck Harry's blood until he stops breathing, killing him entirely, or he can leave him and let the venom saturate his cells. Louis doesn't know which will be a better fate. He looks down towards the bite mark on Harry's neck. It's red and swollen, teeth marks etched into his ivory skin.
"I'm sorry," Louis whispers, even though he knows Harry can't hear him.
He leaves Harry on the bed, twitching, convulsing, blood boiling. He thanks every godly being that the club's cameras won't be able to catch Louis leaving. He's invisible to them, anyway.
Perks of being a vampire.
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Harry awakes with little recollection of the night before. He doesn't know why he's in the club's "sex room," as they call it. He doesn't remember taking drugs or drinking an excessive amount. His head is pounding and his eyes feel sensitive to light.
The bed is sticky with a mixture of body oil and sweat. He grimaces as he peels back the sheets.
"Morning, Rose," a familiar voice says.
Harry looks up with confusion. Zayn stands under the doorway with a glass of water in his hand. He's not wearing his costume, though. Just a pair of jeans and a band shirt.
"What happened last night?" Harry croaks, voice wrecked.
Zayn chuckles. "You got lucky. You came in here with a really fit bloke after giving him a lap dance," he clarifies.
Harry grabs the glass of water from his hand and takes a slow guzzle. After swallowing, he asks, "What?"
"You don't remember?"
Harry shakes his head. "I don't recall drinking a lot— not enough to fuck up my memory."
Zayn hums. "Maybe you were drugged?"
"I don't— I don't remember," Harry grumbles, rubbing his temples tiredly. "What time is it?"
"Seven in the morning," Zayn answers.
Harry's eyes widen. "What are you doing here? The club doesn't open until nighttime."
"Well, I checked on you last night whilst Liam closed up the club, and you looked like you were sleeping. I tried waking you up, but you wouldn't budge, so I stayed until I knew you were okay," Zayn rambles.
Harry grins weakly as he sits up properly. "Thanks, Angel," he teases.
Soreness plagues his weakened body. When he reaches his hand towards his face, he feels smeared makeup across his puffy cheeks. Zayn's eyebrows furrow as he points to Harry's neck.
"Ouch, mate. Sick hickey."
Harry looks at his collarbone. "Fuck," he curses.
Part of the skin is torn off. He can see traces of dried blood on his neck. Whoever he fucked last night, he must've been kinky. When he touches the bite, he winces.
"Why don't you go home, yeah?" Zayn suggests. "You need a shower."
Harry nods in agreement. "I'm really hungry, too," he admits. He's craving meat. Red meat.
He says goodbye to Zayn and thanks him again for watching after him. On his way home, he stops at the market to buy steak. For some reason, he can't shake the feeling that he's being watched.