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Red lights flash through the darkness. Signs left and right are blinking rapidly. The floor beneath is completely black. Rooms on each side of the long, thin hallway are marked with numbers. Moans fill the deafening silence. Louis jerks his head away as they pass a glass door where a muscular man strips for another man, probably double his age.
The guy leads them through a wooden door into what Louis assumes, the actual bar and nit whatever sex dungeon they passed a minute earlier.
Amidst the warm, inviting illumination that envelops the expansive, circular space, a sultry, crimson spotlight converges directly above the bar, casting an enchanting, almost otherworldly glow. This striking contrast to the dimly lit hallway is like a siren's call, drawing him deeper in.
The light caresses an eclectic assortment of bottles, their colorful contents creating a mesmerizing display that beckons connoisseurs. Each bottle holds a promise of unique flavors waiting to be discovered. Especially after an ungodly stressful week.
Circular tables, elegantly adorned, dot the area around the bar, their polished surfaces reflecting the rich hues and glittering lights. They are surrounded by sleek bar stools, their design an invitation.
The rhythm of the music pulsates through the room, an irresistible beat that syncs with the graceful movements of the two young women in their resplendent golden bikinis. Their dance is a seamless blend of artistry and mixology, a captivating performance that brings an extra layer of excitement to the lively ambiance of the bar. With every twirl, shake, and pour, they beckon Louis to come closer. Harry follows.
As they get closer, one of the ladies dances around the counter, and before Louis can really verbalize what happens, she is attacking Harry with kisses. "Cherí!" She exclaims happily, her arms wrapped around Harry's neck.
Louis clears his throat awkwardly. The music is drowning everything out except for the unusual anxiety he feels. And something else, a creeping monster in the pit of his stomach. Harry's eyes light up while he talks to the thin girl. He's stroking her arm, and he laughs, and he does everything so effortlessly hot. Louis picks at his nailbed. He wanted to discuss boundaries, and now he can add PDA too.
"Chi è il tuo fidanzatino?" She gestures to Louis. Harry follows her gaze, smiling a little.
Louis self-taught italien does not disappoint. "Excuse me?" He says angrily. "Sono Louis e non il suo ragazzo!" He spits.
To his dismay, she swings her arm around Harry and laughs. "I like you." She winks and extends her hand, "Kayla."
He accepts her handshake indignantly.
"Come on, free drinks." She smiles from ear to ear. Kayla makes her way back behind the bar, kissing her co-worker on the cheek. Kissing must be mandatory here, jesus christ. Louis feels like a nun.
Harry swings his arm around Louis from behind. Louis flinches. Harry smiles at the girl mixing, "Two 'Shiny Bottoms', please!" He laughs, and Louis goes bright red. Harry's warmth is radiating. His strong arm around Louis makes him all dizzy.
"I'll get the drinks. You sit down wherever you fancy." Harry directs him, a leading hand warm on his back, ushering him away.
The room isn't too tremendous. On each round table, there are people sitting and chatting, most of them men. Louis navigates through the dimly lit, smokey area near the bathroom. He sits down on the plush, velvet cushion of the barstool. His eyes scan the room. Opposite him sits a guy with dark blond curls, his vest hugs his muscular body gracefully. If he isn't going to get mudered by Harry tonight, he surely will let that fine nan rearrange his guts for hours. Days. Months. Years.
Harry looks around like a lost puppy. The flickering lights illuminate his sharp jawline and his flushed cheeks. His bright eyes scan the room. He is holding two glasses with his big hands. Louis can almost hear the clicking of his rings against the glass. The drinks look magnificent, with lots of fruit swimming in the sparkling clear liquid. Harry's eyes land on Louis. He smiles briefly, then makes his way over to him.
"Right next to the toilet?" He questions, sitting down.
Louis grins, "Yeah. I like it here." He swiftly takes, what he assumes, his glass and takes a concerning gulp. He almost spits it right back out. The strong liquor burns his throat.
"Careful." Harry warns, his cheek dimpled. He takes the glass from Louis and reaches out to swipe a few drops from his lip. Louis freezes. His eyes are locked with Harry's.
"Thanks." He mumbles. Gobsmacked. He must be ovulating or something because why does he feel his dick hardening in his, now, very tight pants. There is no way in hell he is that sexually frustrated.
Harry looks at him expectantly, as if Louis does not have any bigger problems right now. His floppy, perfect curls and those big eyes and his obscene mouth oh and his abs flexing and his collarbones? Louis feels like he's in ancient greek and just saw an ankle for the first time. His long eyelashes make it impossible to hate him. He's got no right to look this good in a bunker bar. Louis wonders what he would look like. With his tattoos all on display, chest heaving up and down, and his pretty hands above his head.
