One For The Money (Two For The Show)

Part One

It's not often that Harry goes out to clubs, he'd much rather relax at home, watch tv and have a few drinks. But sometimes, when the stress of work gets to him, he likes to go somewhere a little “sleazy,” have a few cheap drinks and find someone to fuck.

Today is one of those days. He drags himself out of the office at about 8pm, being the owner of a company is hard work, and it shows through the bags under his eyes, and the grey hairs glittering amongst his head of dark curls.

He loosens his tie as he rounds the corner, presented with perhaps his favourite car, a sleek, silver Jaguar. He stares at it for a moment, contemplating going straight home, but when he rolls his shoulders he feels tense, prickly, and the cure for that is a night out.

He nods to himself, cracks his knuckles and climbs into his car. Maybe he'll get lucky and find himself a new toy.

~*~

Louis is definitely not having a good night. In fact, he's not really having a good year. He's 18, has been for about 4 months now, and he's got a shitty job as a bartender in a shitty club. The pay is shit, and the customers are shit and he hates it. But it's money, money that his family needs, so he puts up with it.

Yet sometimes he wonders if it's worth it. Today, for example, he's had three creepy assholes asking him if he “wants Daddy to give him a real good fuck,” and one that quite literally reached across the bar and grabbed his ass.

Needless to say, he is not impressed.

He's two hours off the end of his shift when someone new turns up, and he's.....well.....perfect.

He's wealthy, Louis can tell, not only by the way he holds himself, but the suit he's wearing must cost at least 400 pounds, twice what Louis earns in a week. He's broad, and tall and toned and his movements are graceful, almost regal, as he approaches the bar. He reeks of power and class.

“Evening, darling,” he murmurs, and his voice has Louis' knees knocking, deep and gravelly, it has him wanting to get down on his knees and beg to be fucked.

“E-evening,” he squeaks, then flushes, averts his gaze, because really? He must look ridiculous.

“Can I get a Black Velvet Cocktail, kitten?” He asks, Louis nods, a little too quickly, biting his lip. He goes to speak, but decides against it and turns to mix the drink.

He feels stupid, he's literally melting to a puddle of mush in this man's presence, and he doesn't even know his name. He can feel his eyes boring into his back and he shivers a little, swallows thickly, he doesn't understand why this man is affecting him so much.

His hand is shaking when he picks up the glass, and he takes a second to compose himself. He's kind of annoyed at himself, if he's honest, for acting so stupid.

“Your drink, S-sir,” he says, cursing himself when he stutters. The man smiles, warm and friendly and Louis is frozen, just staring at him.

“Y'alright, darling?” He drawls and shifts a little closer. Louis nods, smiles. “What's your name, sweetcheeks?”