But It's Better If You Do

Harry had been coming to the Masquerade Club since the night he'd turned fifteen, through the entrance in the back, secured by secret passwords and casual handshakes with bouncers that towered a full foot over whoever dared to step by them. They didn't card past the door, so Harry found himself content to stop by every Friday, telling his mum he was off to Niall’s to study (as if she believed it after the fifth week), and get smashed at the bar with a few mates while watching scantily-clad, beautiful men dance across the stage.

He sat down in his usual spot after grabbing a drink- prepared by the raven-haired bartender before he'd even opened his mouth to ask. "His" booth in the back was strategically placed so as not to receive immediate attention from the dancers, like the tables up front, but not so far-removed that he couldn't enjoy watching them.

Harry realized it was quite stupid to just sit there and drink and stare at guys in g-strings from afar, but even after coming there for a little over a year, he found the club to be pretty intimidating. Maybe it was the fact that there were few, if any, people close to Harry's age in attendance most nights- mostly older men, presumably married, liking to gawk at the pretty young boys that they could never have -or perhaps it was the masks that were required of everyone who entered the club to wear; beautiful, intricately decorated masquerade-style masks adorned both performer and spectator, Harry's own being white, the designs delicately carved out of the mask, revealing sinful slips of skin. "White, because you're innocent," His friend Nick said when presenting the mask to him on his first night.

Over the time he'd spent there, he'd gotten a few offers from older creeps to suck him off, wanting to feel his virgin come stain their cheeks, and more often than not, if he were drunk enough, he would take them up on it. Once in a while he'd return the favor if the man wasn't gross and if Harry was in the mood, and he found out eventually that he, for what it's worth, quite liked sucking off older men in the dingy bathroom, adorned with gloryholes and graffiti that advertised promises of anonymous sex. Soon it became a pattern: Harry would get smashed and watch the dancers a while, enough to get him up, and then wander into the bathroom and drop to his knees in "his" stall, his plump, glistening lips invitingly parting just so, whenever he heard the stall door next to his close. And sometimes they asked Harry if they could suck him off too, but more often than not, Harry wandered home with the bitter aftertaste of come in his mouth and his softening cock heavy his jeans.

There was one dancer he'd never, no matter how many men had wandered past his booth and winked at him that night, ever missed. He had a solo spot at exactly 11 pm every night, and his routine always ended with Harry palming his cock through his pants underneath the table, his cheeks flushed and eyes dark with lust. His name was Louis, and he always, no matter the routine or costume, wore a black mask, darker than the neon-soaked night outside of the club, with glittery patterns that highlighted his cerulean blue eyes, even visible from Harry's spot spot in the back. A brown, feathery fringe cascaded over the side of the mask and Harry always wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through it, to lightly tug on it when he came, sweaty and breathless beneath Louis's slight, dainty form. He moved with such grace onstage that Harry imagined he was forced to do ballet as a child. Or maybe it wasn't so forced; maybe he attended the dance program of the college in town, and he needed something to pay the bills as he worked on living his dream. Either way, some form of freak natural talent or polished dance experience shone through in the way Louis's hips swayed when he walked and the way he glided so effortlessly across the floor, each step and swing of his hips timed perfectly to whatever song was playing. Harry was deeply infatuated with him.

That entire day he'd been thinking about Louis; his firm, round ass that, no doubt, was the object of every gay man's fantasy, his piercing blue eyes that Harry pinned to see up close to drink them in, his toned body that was nowhere near obnoxiously ripped, like a lot of the other dancers, but showed an exercise routine with clear emphasis on his arms and legs- thinking about it then, Harry was certain that Louis was definitely a dancer. And Harry wanted Louis. He wanted every single part of him. He wanted his voice in his ear without the distortion of booming music and cheers from a crowd. He wanted his feminine hands to trail down his sides and leave shivers in their wake. He wanted those cerulean blues to meet his sea greens and their smiles to melt into an endless bliss of white. So white, so innocent and pure that it couldn't be described as anything but love. So white that it stood distinguished from Harry's mask and the feeling of tip-toeing up to his bathroom at three in the morning to scrub the taste of white-hot shame from the back of his throat.

Tonight, instead of sitting down in his usual booth, Harry scooped up his drink and took a seat at a table up front, the tips of his toes touching the stage. It took an extreme bout of courage for him to do this, but he decided that, for once, he was going to experience Louis up close. Perhaps he would gather the will to move his lips and tongue in a way that formulated words against the thick drawl of wanting in this throat, and ask to take the dancer to a private room. He'd seen Louis slip into the back with countless men before, the same sly, seductive smile on his lips every time he would brush past Harry's booth with his slender fingers wrapped around the wrist of a middle-aged man, until the door eased shut behind them. A couple times they'd even locked eyes, and Harry could have sworn that the smirk grew larger, like Louis was mischievously bragging, dangling himself just beyond Harry's reach.

Harry needed him. He'd jerked off so many times to visions of Louis gripping Harry's hair and growling filth into his ear as he shoved his cock down his throat that it was about due time for Harry to speak to him. He knew that Louis was just a dancer, a mere tease to get his imagination going and nothing more, and Harry was fine with that. The lad just needed a voice to place around the filth and a level of softness to wish his own callused hand to be as it worked his cock into oblivion.

After a few drinks, enough for a comfortable buzz, the announcer proclaimed the arrival of Louis, and the crowd went insane with cheers, whistles, and cat calls alike. Harry bit hard on the inside of his mouth and gripped his glass tightly, eyes fixed on the man who stood, illuminated by a single spotlight, his back to the audience. He was clothed in a black trench coat that fitted at the waist and tied with a string belt. His legs were left bare, with only fine, light hairs covering them. The arrangement was topped off with a fedora to match the coat. Harry gulped.

A blast of big band sound shook Harry from his trance. During this intro, Louis sauntered downstage and took a seat sideways in the chair that sat in the center, leaning back with his legs stuck out scandalously in front of him, one knee slightly bent in front of the other. His toes were pointed and Harry marveled at how he was able to keep a pose like that so long without trembling, the expanse of his feminine legs remaining perfectly still until the faint, whimsical sound of the piano, brought him back upright, with one arm around the back of the chair and the other inching the hem of the trench coat up his thigh as he looked over his shoulder.

Louis' mouth moved but a female voice came out, and Harry was momentarily surprised, before remembering that Louis quite liked to mouth along to his songs as he danced. Harry recognized the song currently playing from the collection of records he'd listened to as a child with his grandparents; it was a Marilyn Monroe song. It seemed absolutely fitting of Louis to pick that song; his graceful movements and over-the-top facial expressions that flowed from behind the mask told the cheeky story the exact same way as Marilyn, and Harry wondered how he would look singing "Happy Birthday, Mr. President" to him, perched in his lap and leaving hot, wet kisses down his neck.

"I walked in and asked a gentleman," Louis mouthed, his blue eyes locking with Harry's and his toned legs carrying him forward, slowly, his hips swaying with every step. "Could I plea-ease keep warm?" Louis sang to Harry as flipped off his fedora and set it on top of Harry's curls, sitting down on the table next to him and crossing his legs. Harry's heart was pounding in his chest. He was so close to Louis now. Their hands brushed as Louis sat down and it sent shivers down Harry's spine. His touch was soft, even in that one moment, and he felt his cock throb at the realization. And Louis smelled heavenly, like expensive cologne. If Harry weren't frozen to his seat, he would have had to work to keep from touching Louis, from trailing his fingers over the soft skin as he continued to sing to him.

Harry found it horrifyingly erotic, being able to look, but not being able to touch. He found the feeling of scalding hot want in the pit of his stomach a tantalizing, yet welcome sensation. Harry loved being teased. When he jerked off, he would imagine being forced to watch, handcuffed to the bed, as Louis pleasured himself and looked him in the eyes as he came over his stomach, Harry's name leaving his lips, while Harry's own cock stood angry and ignored, even through the foreplay that followed before Harry could find his own release.

Harry's thoughts were lost on him when Louis placed two fingers beneath his chin and lifted it to meet his eyes, leaning dangerously close to him, Harry being able to smell the crisp mint of his breath as he continued to mouth along, slowly, dramatically. "He asked me how come a baby doll, has no comfy place to go?"

All Harry could do was swallow, eyes half-lidded as his cock throbbed in his trousers from Louis's touch, completely enticed by his smells and his eyes and just Louis. "So I told that kindly gentleman, my tale of woe." But as soon as had appeared in front of him, he was gone, back onto the stage in front of the chair, playing with the tie of his belt.

"Every baby needs a da-da-daddy, to keep her worry free."

After a while of prancing across the stage, he let the belt slip out of the belt loops, revealing a slip of his toned stomach and sinfully small, tight black shorts that lay beyond the coat. He worked his way back to center stage and eased himself into sitting sideways Harry's lap, no doubt feeling how hard he was in his jeans. Louis even pushed his ass against him with a cheeky smirk, taking the belt and draping it over his neck.

Cheers and shouts of obscene comments hit Harry's ears from all sides, and Harry fully realized that this was happening in front of an entire club of middle-aged men, getting an absolute thrill out of seeing two young, pretty boys together. Harry found this voyeurism both alarming and hopelessly, sickeningly erotic.

Harry wondered how ridiculously pathetic he looked to all of those people with his cheeks flushed crimson, pupils blown, and his plump lips agape. And still Louis continued to sing to him, as if he not only knew what he was doing to Harry, but he was bragging about it.

The song moved into an instrumental solo and Louis leaned down, his lips brushing against Harry's ear, causing shivers to erupt up his spine.

"Room number three in fifteen minutes."

Louis's voice was every bit as delicate and sexy as Harry imagined it to be, and the thought alone was enough to illicit a small, strangled moan from Harry's throat. Taking that as a yes, Louis climbed back onto the stage with a smile, disposing of the coat that once covered him. Harry bit his lip hard as he stared at the prominent bulge in Louis's shorts, mentally kicking himself for not choosing to sit close like this before.

Louis spent the rest of the song sauntering across the stage with a near cat-like prowess, accenting each sentence with a swish of his hips. He dropped to his knees center-stage and leaned back, trailing his fingers down the obscene, convex curve of his torso, to the waistband of his shorts, playing with the elastic that sat upon his hip bones as he worked his way back up.

"Yes we feel just like Red Ridin' Hood, ‘cause the wolves are awful hungry in our neighborhood."

Louis's eyes went dark as he locked his gaze onto Harry again, beginning to crawl forward, slowly, his ass jutted up into the air invitingly as he pulled himself to the edge.

"Could my da-daddy be you?"

Harry found himself having to hold back the urge to frantically nod, because, shit, he'd be Louis's daddy, his slut, whatever the fuck he wanted him to be. Louis grabbed ahold of the black belt that lay on either side of his neck and pulled gently, beckoning Harry forward. Harry rose, standing eye-level with Louis. His fingers traced Harry's jawline as he sang his final line, his eyes only momentarily straying from Harry's to glance down at his lips, raw and red from biting down so hard.

"Could my da-daddy be you?"

Louis pulled away and skipped off of the stage with a grin, somewhere in that motion slipping the belt from Harry's neck and plucking the fedora from the top of Harry's head. Harry had to grip the edge of the stage to keep from falling over as his legs fully realized his weight. He stared after Louis for a long time, long enough for the house lights to brighten and for everyone who was seated along the front of the stage to move back to the bar for a drink.

Eventually, Harry joined them, shrugging off the crude comments about Louis's dance that came from the mouths of these drunken men as he got his drink and went back to his usual booth. Louis had said fifteen minutes; he figured he had a good five to go, so he sat down and began sipping his drink to quell the stirrings in his stomach. Never would he have imagined actually getting to be alone with Louis. He didn't even know what it meant, that the dancer had asked him, rather than it happening the other way around.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a forceful tap on his shoulder. He slowly turned around to see Louis standing over him, still in performance attire, eyes twinkling even in the dim light.

"Did you decide to stand me up, kitten?" Louis asked with a playful smirk, reaching down to run a hand through Harry's almost childlike curls, nails scraping lightly along his scalp. Harry leaned into the touch, prompting a soft chuckle from Louis.

"No..." He replied, his voice rough and broken from both the alcohol and Louis's general presence.

"Let's go, then." Louis wrapped his hand around Harry's wrist, coaxing the younger boy onto his feet. Harry didn't even know how his brain convinced his feet to move with Louis, but he was thankful that it didn't end in Harry stumbling over the dancer, or running into a wall. He wasn't even that drunk; he was just nervous about being in a room alone with the man who was, quite possibly, the most gorgeous person alive. What if he said something dumb? What if Louis wanted to fuck him and he did something wrong? Despite Harry's recent experiences with other guys, he was clueless. And it was all because of Louis. Harry had always been a charmer, always able to say the right things to get his way, but now he contemplated simply keeping his mouth shut.

Louis pulled the door to room three closed behind them and flipped on a light switch, illuminating the room in a pink neon glow, coming from bars of light that snaked their way around the room. Harry took a look around, seeing a chair immediately in front of him, facing a small stage with a pole in the center.

Louis instructed Harry to have a seat in the chair, and Harry did so hesitantly, his heart beating wildly in his chest as Louis disappeared behind a curtain at the back of the stage. The dancer returned a few moments later, his hands held behind his back with a devilish glint in his eye.

"I have a 'no touching' policy." He explained, producing a pair of handcuffs from behind his back. Harry's green orbs widened at the sight, and while he inherently wanted to touch Louis, he couldn't help but think, "Yes, yes, yes," as Louis secured Harry's hands behind the back of the chair.

Harry felt exposed, despite being fully clothed. There was an embarrassing bulge in his jeans that he could no longer hide, which Louis eyed with a smirk after stepping onto the stage. He was standing at the stereo system, one hip jutted out, putting his perfect, clothed ass on display. Harry swallowed hard, his eyes traveling up Louis's legs, over his bum, and up over his toned back, then back down again, taking him in as he punched song titles into the stereo.

With a small hum of approval, Louis moved to the pole center stage and leaned against it, glancing Harry up and down. "What's your name, love?" He asked, placing a hand on his hip.

Fuck, what was Harry's name again? In that moment, he'd completely forgotten, which left him mumbling until he finally spit it out. "Harry." He said. "It's Harry."

"Harry," Louis hummed with a small smirk on his lips. Harry nearly let out a moan at how fucking good his name sounded coming from Louis in his effeminate drawl, sweet and gentle, yet completely sexy, doused in filth. "I'm Louis." And with that, he went back and hit 'play' on the stereo, a heavy bass beat booming from the speakers. The dancer locked eyes with Harry again, moving back to the pole center stage. He swung around it once, letting his ankles lock around the silver pole as he dropped down, planting his feet before uncurling his body, his crotch pressing to the cold metal.

He moved to the back and pressed the bar to his ass, gripping behind his head and dropping to a squat with the music, popping back up with a tantalizing smirk. Harry watched with his brows furrowed in concentration as the action was repeated, this time just in front of Harry. He could see the outline of Louis' cock in those tight black shorts, and Harry wondered if he really got off on this, if he really enjoyed dancing and making men cream their pants just at the sight of him. Harry was achingly hard again in his trousers, his cock begging for attention that Harry couldn't give to it. Harry bit down hard on his lip as Louis stood with his back to him, sliding down the pole and arching his back so that his head dipped back, eyes fluttering shut and his mouth opening and emitting a sinful moan.

Harry's tugged at his bindings, finding that the handcuffs were locked, secure and tight around his wrists. He let out a small whimper that he figured Louis wouldn't be able to hear over the music and pressed his hips forward, pathetically, trying to get some sort- any sort -of friction. Louis noticed this, his lips curling into a smirk before he stepped off of the stage and approached Harry slowly.

"What's wrong, kitten?" Louis cooed, feigning concern as he bent down, eye-level with the younger lad, and traced his jawline with his fingers. "Hm?"

When he didn't get a reply- not that he expected one, anyway -he dropped a hand down, using two fingers to trace the line of Harry's cock in his jeans. Harry let out a pathetic moan, his hips pressing forward again to get the most out of Louis's touch. Louis quickly pulled away and eased his way into Harry's lap, his hips continuing to twist until they came to rest on top of Harry's. Harry moaned out loud at the feel of Louis's cock pressing against his own, the fact that they were separated only by a few measly pieces of fabric, turning Harry on beyond belief.

"More..." Harry breathlessly insisted, his hips moving against Louis's for more friction.

Louis smirked and gripped the back of the chair, leaning in close to Harry's ear. "Why should I give you more, slut?" He asked with a growl, met with only a strangled moan from Harry. "God, you're so fucking dirty." He said with a small moan of his own as their hips gyrated together. "I bet you're thinking about my cock in your mouth, yeah? Just fucking filling you up," Louis's teeth grazed the shell of Harry's ear, earning another groan from the younger lad. "Like all those guys in the bathroom."

Harry didn't have the time or attention span to dwell on how he'd made a reputation for himself. He was going to make a comment back, or, more likely, moan again, but his words disappeared in his throat when Louis leaned back, his hips maintaining a delicious pace against Harry's, keeping with the song. He rested one hand on the floor behind his head, arching his back and putting more pressure on their crotches, while the other hand ran through Louis's hair, and then down his bare torso, closing his eyes and moaning at the feel of his own touch; he was showing Harry what he was missing out on, being a slut with his hands bound behind him.

He rolled back up into Harry's lap and locked eyes with him, pressing down harder on his crotch, causing Harry to throw his head back and moan, loud and long, to the pink glow of the ceiling above them. Louis ceased his movements with a smirk and stepped off of Harry, standing just in front of him.

"Look at you, moaning like a slut just from me grinding on your cock." He slid a hand down his torso to grip his own length through his impossibly tight shorts, letting out an exaggerated gasp at the contact. "Fuck, I bet you could come just from that." He said, Harry's eyes meeting his again. "You could, couldn't you, Harry?" Harry nodded profusely. He would regret the rugburn on his cock for sure, but he could. His cock was throbbing from the recent neglect and he bucked his hips forward again, perhaps even more pathetically than before.

"You want to come, whore?" Louis asked, sitting down in Harry's lap, moving his hips against him again, but not nearly as quickly. Harry let out a moan in reply, but it was not good enough for Louis.

"I asked you if you wanted to come." Louis growled forcefully into his hear. "Beg me to let you come in your trousers like the little slut that you are. My little slut."

Harry moaned out loud as Louis' hips hastened their pace on him. He wanted to come. He was teetering on the edge and he knew Louis's words would set him over. Harry needed release. He needed to come under Louis' hips and let his name slip from his lips at that last possible moment before he was pushed into bliss.

"Louis, please." Harry moaned, bucking his hips once more. "Please let me come." He bit his lip hard, his eyes, moving up and down Louis' toned torso. "Fuck. I'm your slut. I need your cock. I need you. Just, fuck, Louis, please let me come. I need to come. Please." Harry was babbling in desperation, on the verge of tears because it ached so much to hold it in. His balls were hard and tight and he could barely take anymore of Louis' stimulation.

"Come for me, Harry." Louis commanded, grinding his hips against Harry's as quickly as possible, moving heated kisses down Harry's neck until he reached Harry's pulse point. He latched his teeth onto a spot there as Harry began to come, pulling hard at the handcuffs, his hips pushing against Louis's frantically as Louis's name slipped from his lips.

Harry felt absolutely disgusting coming in his pants for some stripper, making the orgasm all the more powerful. He eventually let his hips stop with a heavy sigh, prompting Louis to stop as well, pulling back to survey his work on Harry's neck. He'd produced an angry purple mark at the base of it. It throbbed and Harry knew he would have that reminder of Louis' lips for a long, long time. Louis kissed back up Harry's neck and smirked at the sight of him- his entire body lax, head tipped back and his eyes fallen shut, his breath coming out in small pants from behind his swollen, red lips, similar in color to his rose-tinted cheeks, flushed from his orgasm.

"I don't do that often, kitten." Louis said with a smile, shattering the silence with his voice. Harry realized that the record that was playing had long since cut off. He opened his eyes when he felt Louis's fingers in his hair again. He gazed up at the dancer, unable to do anything but grin. Though it wasn't exactly his fantasy, he had finally done it.

Harry's jeans were soaked through with a wet spot- as were Louis' shorts, causing Harry's' spent cock to twitch at the thought of his come soaked through to Louis' cock -but that was the least of his concern. Louis was still hard in his trousers.

"Let me suck you off." Harry offered, though it sounded more like a command. Louis' eyes darkened again, and Harry figured that he was recounting the- hopefully -wonderful things that he'd heard from the men in the bathroom.

"You want my cock, slut?" Louis asked, tugging hard at the curls at the nape of Harry's neck. Harry responded with a gasp.

"Yes sir.” Harry replied, his eyes falling shut.

Louis pulled off without another word and released Harry’s wrists from the handcuffs; in a moment of mischief, he pressed his thumb hard into one of the new bruises on Harry’s wrist, making him yelp. Harry wanted to shove Louis down and completely ravish him, but he knew better. He would wait until Louis instructed him to move.

Louis pushed Harry to his knees and stood before him, sliding the painfully tight shorts down to his ankles, and then kicking them off. Harry licked his lips as he watched Louis’ cock spring free. It was thick and red and the tip was glistening with precome. Harry was mesmerized by it; it was riddled with thick veins and the head looked smooth and delicious and Harry just wanted. He needed.

“May I?” Harry asked, peering up at Louis through his lashes. His curls were damp with sweat, matted to his forehead, and his perfect lips were slicked and red and parted in anticipation.

Louis took a seat in the chair, but kept a firm grip on Harry’s shoulder when he leaned forward to proceed.

“Ask me the right way,” was all Louis had to say. Harry was so consumed with want that it didn’t even matter; he was completely broken; putty in Louis slim fingers. He would do anything for him just to get his mouth on his cock.

“Please let me suck your cock, Louis,” Harry begged, his electric green eyes rimmed with desperation. Harry needed Louis. And that got Louis off. “Please,” Harry whined. “I need it.”

Louis nearly let out a moan at the boy’s words; his tone was broken and desperate and he could only imagine how fucking wrecked he would be after Louis was done with him. Louis had completely demolished the fourth wall, the line of professionalism that stood between stripper and underage onlooker; he was no longer a sultry dancer, aiming to tease; he was Louis, and he wanted.

Louis released Harry from his grip and nodded, allowing him to continue. Harry did so eagerly, his tongue immediately moving to swirl around Louis’ swollen head to collect the fresh beads of precome, moaning obscenely at the taste of him. And all the while, those fucking doe eyes were staring up at Louis, desperate for approval even though Harry already knew that he was good at giving head. He needed something from Louis.

And, thankfully, Louis was good at giving. A low groan escaped his throat as Harry begin to take him into his mouth, eyes falling shut in concentration as he worked at taking more of him. His hand worked what his mouth couldn’t reach. After a while, Louis tangled his hands in Harry’s hair, forcing him down on his cock. Harry gagged violently upon the intrusion, eyes filling to the brim with tears, but he knew he could take it. His throat complied eventually and Harry, guided by Louis’ hands, began to bob his head, taking Louis’ length, tip to base, each time he went back down. Louis was moaning liberally now, tugging hard on Harry’s curls and thrusting his hips up to meet Harry’s mouth.

Harry was moaning too, each time Louis’ tip scraped the back of his throat and dropped a bead of precome on his tongue. Harry didn’t mind that he was choking and gasping and drooling down his chin and nearly crying because Louis was touching him and he’d been dreaming of this for a year and it was perfect.

“’M gonna come on your pretty little face,” Louis grunted, standing and gripping Harry’s curls to keep his head held back. Harry offered the expanse of his virgin white mask to Louis, mouth parted to take his come.

The first spurt of come landed on Harry’s cheek and the warmth seeped through the holes of the mask. The next few landed in and around his mouth, dripping from the plump red confines of Harry’s mouth, down his chin, as Louis groaned and fell back into the chair. He worked his spent cock lazily as he looked Harry over; his eyes wet and bright and rimmed with red; his curls matted and in a fucked-out disarray; the rest of his face was stained with come and Louis thought it was beautiful.

“So good, Harry,” Louis sighed, letting his softening cock rest on his thigh.

Harry swallowed the come he’d caught in his mouth and licked around his lips and mouth, groaning softly at the indescribable taste of Louis. He gathered what come he could from the mask with his thumb and licked it off as well and Louis watched with interest, slumped against the back of the chair.

“Can I kiss you, Louis?” Harry asked, peering up at him tentatively, looking immensely smaller than he really was.

Louis nodded and Harry climbed into his lap, mindful of his still sensitive cock.

Harry’s hands shook slightly as he reached up and took the sides of Louis’ mask between his fingers, sliding it off of his head. Louis didn’t protest; he only studied Harry’s eyes for a reaction as the black material fell to the floor. Harry was breathless. Louis was even more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. His cheekbones were feminine and defined and Harry wondered why anyone would ever want to hide such beauty behind a mask.

Harry slipped his own mask off too, letting the plastic drop behind him. Louis gazed at the flushed cheeks he’d revealed, along with the angular nose and eyebrows and now he saw how it all fit together. Harry looked so much younger like this; like a child, almost, and Louis loathed the fact that this kid had gotten himself mixed up in underground strip clubs and masks and booze and dry humping with seedy strippers. He hated it. He hated Harry’s reputation for sucking off men old enough to be his father in a bathroom through a hole in the wall. Louis was seldom ever so maternal, but he knew that Harry deserved better. He saw so much of himself in Harry that he had to look away for a moment.

Harry’s hand cupped Louis’ jaw as he leaned in, kissing the dancer slowly, timidly. Louis could taste himself on Harry’s lips. He let Harry deepen the kiss when he was comfortable and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist, pulling him close, almost protectively.

Louis wasn’t one for kissing his clients. Nor did he ever let them touch him like Harry had. But Harry was a kid. He was pretty and innocent and Louis liked him that way. So he kissed him. He kissed him hard to keep the innocence in. He licked into Harry’s mouth and tasted come and whiskey. His fingers ran through Harry’s hair the way he liked and Harry purred, low and slow, deep in his throat.

Louis let Harry kiss him as long as he wanted to. A tear rolled down Harry’s cheek and Louis pulled back to see another fall. He frowned, speaking for the first time in what seemed like hours.

“What’s wrong, kitten?” Louis asked, pressing his forehead to Harry’s.

“Tell me you love me, Louis.” Harry said softly after a long pause, his eyes wide and indescribably sad. “You don’t have to mean it. I just want to hear how it sounds.”

“I love you, Harry.” Louis said with conviction. And in that moment, he felt it. Not necessarily love in the way that makes one want to get married and spend their life with someone else, but in a way that Louis knew was real and true. And in that moment, it was enough.

Notes