Bottom Harry Smut

Get you off with a touch dancing in the dark

[harry drives louis crazy in a club and then they do things]

By : ballsdeepinjesus on ao3

The club is dark and noisy, stuffy with too many overheated bodies writhing on the dance floor in tandem with the music. There are flashes of red and blue lights illuminating the tables lining the walls, and every few seconds Harry can see Louis' eyes boring into his as Harry dances with the tall man – Freddie he thinks his name is – behind him.

It's not that Harry's trying to make Louis jealous, it's just – well. Yes, yes he is.

It's payback of sorts for the weekend before when Louis stood at the bar getting their drinks and flirted with the bartender for far too long, leaving Harry grumpy and irritated at the table he'd snagged for them. From his seat at the table, Harry watched with narrowed eyes as Louis giggled and touched the bartender's arm and then observed as the other man slipped Louis his number. When the bartender turned his back and Louis walked back, he casually tossed the number onto the floor behind him and returned to Harry, but, like, still. Harry was nearly buzzing with outrage when Louis got back and sat across from him, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. He'd gotten the drinks for free, of course, that had been the goal all along, but Harry saw how much Louis enjoyed riling him up. Harry very nearly rode Louis in the back of the taxi on the way back to their flat in a rather caveman-ish attempt to reclaim his territory.

So, yes. Payback.

They'd danced with each other earlier in the night, giggling and half-drunk, until Louis stated he was thirsty and needed a break. He'd turned to walk back, expecting Harry to follow him. But Harry merely watched as Louis reached the table and turned to take Harry's hand before spinning around in confusion. Louis spied Harry back on the floor and cocked his head in confusion as Harry smirked and turned to a tall man beside him, grabbing him from his partner and starting to dance.

And now they're here, watching each other through hazy lighting across the room.

Harry grins and closes his eyes, grinding back onto the solid mass of muscle behind him. He's harder than Louis, more solid and imposing and he smells vaguely of sweat and beer; Harry prefers Louis' soft curves and his intoxicating smell, some mixture of cologne, cheap soap, and occasionally weed. But that's not what matters. What matters is the flash of light that had showed Louis' knuckles gripping the edge of the table, his feet tapping underneath.

Harry bites his lip and moves faster.

***

Louis' jealous. More jealous than he thinks he's ever been. He wants to stomp over and rip Harry's body away from the obnoxiously tall man behind him who seems entirely too excited to have Harry's lanky body writhe against him. He wants to rub himself against Harry and show that twat who Harry belongs to, whose initial Harry has tattooed on his body.

But he doesn't. He stays there, watching the man's hands grip Harry's hips, one of Harry's arms reaching behind to twine around his neck. He can see the sheen of sweat on Harry's skin and the hungry gazes of men and women around him. Everyone wants a piece of Harry. Louis knows that better than anyone.

But it's like – it's hot, is the thing. Louis' been hard in his skinnies since the second he saw Harry shake his hips against the other man. It's the knowledge that so many people want to touch the curly-haired boy, want to take him back to theirs and fuck him, that sends a thrill of arousal down his spine. They all want, want, want, but Louis -- Louis gets. He's the one who feels Harry grind against his arse at night. Who knows how he tastes in his mouth and his tongue, who knows how tight he is around his fingers, who gets to feel the vice-like grip around his cock when Harry comes with a shout, nails digging into his biceps and thighs clenched around his hips. It's always Louis and it's always going to be Louis. Not any of these hungry leeches at the club.