larry smut

it's my pleasure to introduce you

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124575

here's part one to 'the sex shop fic' so enjoy!

~✰~

Louis is surrounded by dicks. Swimming in them. Wading through them like a gay gangster through piles of brightly coloured cash. Literally, they're strewn all over the floor like a dildornado's hit the sex shop Louis works at.

It's not the first time he's bent over for dick, but he needs to believe there is a more dignified line of work destined for him, one where he doesn't have to pick up sex toys that some rowdy teenager knocked over.

He sighs, thinks once again about just getting a boring job at the tattoo shop Zayn works at across from The Craic. As always, he dismisses the thought. For the amount of ink he's got, he himself can hardly even draw a straight line, let alone be trusted with a needle.

Niall could never run this place on his own, anyway. Louis' very good at his current job, and gets paid accordingly. He prides himself on knowing what his customers want, when half the time they don't know it themselves, too nervous or self-conscious. Mostly though, he prides himself on bringing joy to people. He knows it's unlikely they'll go home and tell their friends about "that charming bloke from the sex shop", but he is essentially giving people orgasms. It's a comforting thought, on Saturdays when he's too knackered to go pull, or when Niall asks him when he's "last seen a dick not made of silicone" (out of genuine friendly concern. Niall's not one to judge. And the answer is never too depressing; Louis does just fine on the real dick front).

This, though, picking up discarded dildos and vibrators, isn't all that comforting. The one disadvantage of this place is that it's located in the middle of a busy shopping centre. Sure, it allows him to take smoke breaks with cool guys like Zayn and Liam, and therefore enables very convenient tattoo-for-whip deals, but it also means most of the people who come in are shitty teenagers on dares to "go into the scary dirty shop" or "touch a blow up doll" or "knock every fucking dildo to the ground just to torture Louis Tomlinson".

There was once a time he'd call security on them. Nowadays he chases the shitheads out wielding a huge dildo. Nothing terrifies a straight sixteen year old boy more than the thought of being impaled by a cock bigger than his own. (The first time Louis pulled that stunt, he got a raise. He loves his boss. One day he'll sell Niall a good arse tickler and they'll both be indebted to each other.)

This is all to explain why, when he hears someone clear their throat, he turns around and instinctively holds up the base of a ribbed plug like a sword hilt. Then he actually sees the someone and nearly drops the ten dildos he'd so carefully picked up.

It's a tall man, young and lean and curly, winter pale in his big crewneck and tight tight tight jeans. Louis does the mental "creep check-list". His boots are too expensive for him to still be in school, his big green eyes are twinkling and decidedly not glassy, his cheeks are – devastatingly dimpled – but decidedly not a deep, embarrassed red, his lovely mouth is set in a pleasant smile and not a condescending frown, and his huge hands are where Louis can see them. Like, he's actually holding them up defensively, probably to ward off Louis' potential plug whipping. He's all a bit gorgeous. Louis' completely thrown off, just standing here and staring like an idiot, until Mr. Runway Ready says in a low voice, "I promise I'm not a threat. Please lower the dildo?"

"It's a butt plug," Louis corrects immediately. He lowers his weapon as an afterthought. "And I thought the shop was empty."

"Sorry," the guy says, remorse clear on his face. Everything is clear about him – the worry that he'd actually scared Louis, the amusement glittering in his eyes, the ease with which he carries himself. He's an open book. Louis' got the last earnest man in London standing in his sex shop. "I didn't want to disturb you while you were handling the vibrricane."