love me until i love myself / l.s

8

Harry did not see Louis for one and a half months. No contact, no phone call, no message, whatsoever. He was such a dick. Harry did nothing wrong, but to remind him why they did what they did. They weren't going to fall in love or become best friends.

Harry did not fucking care what was going on in Louis' life and Louis shouldn't be giving a damn about what was happening in his. The only reason why they succeeded in just being fuck buddies is because they did not care about each other.

The moment they started asking each other what was going on, was the moment it all went to absolute shit.

So yeah, Louis was such a fucking dickhead for treating Harry like he was nothing.

(Even if Harry did not want Louis to care. It's all very confusing.)

The next time Harry did see Louis, though, he was at work on the fucking pole and saw the older man in a suit entering the packed strip club. Harry was supporting his body, by his thighs flexing and he was looking at Louis from upside down. He was just wearing light blue, lace panties, his cock cleanly tucked inside and his tattoos on display.

''A scotch, neat.'' Louis told at the bartender and the man nodded, going to prepare his drink.

Louis titled his head to the side, smirking with a drink in his hand, as he watched the younger man literally fucking dancing on a pole. Louis did not know, if he had a public kink or whatever, but he knew that he wanted to fuck the boy on that stage, just take him on all four, for everyone to see that Louis was the one making him moan like that.

All the time he had been to Spain, he will admit that he had slept with other people too, but no ass was like Harry's. No one felt how Harry felt. Sex with Harry was absolutely...mind-blowing and familiar. He was so fucking addictive.

Louis did not text or contact Harry all those weeks, because frankly, Harry had pissed him the fuck off and he did not want to see his face. After coming to think about it, though, maybe (just maybe) Harry was right. They weren't friends or in love. They just fucked, so that's what Louis was going to do. He's going to fuck that boy senseless and then go home and sleep in his bed like a fucking baby alone, 'cause that's what people who just fuck do.

*

''I want a private lap dance.'' Louis slapped Harry's ass, before letting his hand rest on it and Harry buried his face in Louis' neck, literally fucking purring.

''Yes, just go in the room and I'll be there. Dressed or undressed?'' Harry asked, taking a step back from the man.

''Dressed. I want to see you taking everything off just for me.'' Louis said, getting up from the stool and headed towards the room, where private laps were given.

Harry got into the room where the strippers were getting dressed and looked at the men and women glaring at him, jealousy evident in their eyes.

''What?'' he asked and they all turned their backs on him, scoffing. Harry shrugged his shoulders, pulling on a baby blue skirt and lace blue stockings. He also put a white shirt on, letting the top couple of buttons open, displaying his chest and shallow tattoo on his collarbones.

''Does he pay you?'' Mariah, a stripper that Harry worked with asked her and the young man raised an eyebrow.

''Excuse me?''

''Does he pay you to fuck you? Are you his whore?'' she elaborated and Harry felt his neck flushing.

What the hell? Was that what they were all thinking about him? Fuck, this was so freaking humiliating, the young boy wanted to cry. He had never accepted money from Louis for sex. Never, ever motherfucking ever.