larry smut

i can feel you take control

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23330311?view_adult=true

~✰~

The room doesn't smell of sex. Harry finds himself surprised about that. It smells of people – perfumes, aftershave, musk, sweat. It smells like any other party Harry has found himself stumbling into throughout his life, and for some reason he thought this one would be different. The people surely do look different, many have substituted their denim jeans and cotton shirts for latex trousers and leather harnesses; there are boys in heels and men in masks. That Harry has expected, and yet he feels a little out of place in his cream-coloured, textured blouse, tucked into black leather shorts that barely cover his tiger tattoo, matched with white high socks and fishnet stockings. It's a bold choice even for him, but it felt fitting more than anything else he's found in the depths of his closet. After all, he hopes that by the end of the night he will be naked, anyway.

It's a Tuesday night in downtown Los Angeles and the most prestige BDSM club he could find is packed with people. He doesn't know where to look – to the lesbian couple frantically making out on one of the couches (with an ample audience) or the gorgeous dominatrix showing off her partner on a leash, who is kneeling on the floor to her feet. It's intriguing, it's raw, but it's not what Harry came here for.

He feels his mouth get dry, so he heads over to the bar. They don't serve alcohol here, so Harry settles with one of the alcohol-free cocktails. The bartender, a young boy who's not wearing more than a pair of tight golden briefs – very Rocky Horror – shoots him a second glance as Harry gets his black AMEX card out of his wallet. He was told the club was legit, nothing said or done here would ever leave the establishment, and he sincerely hopes it's true. The boy gives him back his card with his drink, and that is that.

More people keep coming in, even though it's already past midnight, and the more Harry studies his surroundings, the more nervous he gets. There's an electricity in the room that everyone can feel, sexual tension between anyone who so much as locks eyes. Harry holds his drink in his hand and watches the ice cubes move as he swirls it around. The pink paper bracelet on his wrist feels like a beacon to him, an invitation as much as a warning. Everyone in this room knows what they're in for, knows what everyone else wants to be in for, just by the ring of colour around their wrist. It doesn't have to spell it out, but there's a sign at the entrance that explains it anyway. Pink: Submissive. Looking for a partner. It might as well say 'desperate'.

Harry's drink is half empty when he feels a presence next to him. He looks up from the melting ice cubes and finds a man looking at him. Intently but not intrusive. Kind but certain. No names, he remembers. In this room, his black AMEX might be the only tell-tale thing about him.

"Hi. I saw you staring down at your drink like it's the most interesting thing in the world. In this room, some people might take that as an insult."

Harry puts his drink down and a smile on. He's unsure about how to act, even though he's read enough about clubs like this to know how things usually go. Although, using the word 'usual' in reference to this room might be a paradox.

"Yeah, I was lost in thought."

"I bet."

The man leans a hand on the counter, black like almost everything else in this room, and the red of his paper bracelet sticks out against it like a solar eclipse. Red: Dominant. Looking for a partner.

"Your first time?" the man asks, his deep voice reaching Harry through a cloud of testosterone and aftershave. He's the first person Harry's seen who's gone for a casual look, black muscle shirt and jeans. Only the way he's eyeing Harry up and down reveals his intentions. Harry supposes subtlety gets you nowhere in this place.