
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/647647.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      One_Direction_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Louis_Tomlinson/Harry_Styles
  Character:
      Louis_Tomlinson, Harry_Styles, Niall_Horan_(mentioned), Nick_Grimshaw_
      (mentioned), Zayn_Malik_(implied)
  Additional Tags:
      Dirty_Talk, Grinding, Roughness, Stripper_AU, Sub_Harry, Dom_Louis, Power
      Bottom_Louis
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-01-20 Words: 5819
****** But It's Better If You Do ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     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 had
     a fascination with one dancer in particular; Louis Tomlinson.
Notes
     UPDATE (5/9/16): i've decided to orphan all of my larry fics because
     1) they're old and generally not that good and 2) i haven't cared
     about the pairing for years. thanks for reading!!
     ORIGINAL AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is based on a prompt from the kink meme
     that demanded a stipper au with lots of dirty talk and grinding and a
     whiny sub!harry
     ok enjoy :-)
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.
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