17 Black

Drunk On Each Other--Chapter 7

this is a short chapter--my apologies! i'm getting out ideas as i have them (i'm sorta flying by the seat of my pants as i write this) but i wanna update as much as possible! i hope y'all enjoy regardless<3

p.s.--remember to vote and comment if you like the story! rest assured i see them all and they make me so so so happy and give me a lot of encouragement to write!

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"So," Louis slurred over the gloss-stained lip of his fourth drink that night, "Even though I didn't really want to get a dog, I sorta felt like I had to, you know? I mean, fuck, he showed up on my doorstep! How can you deny that! Fate, innit?"

"You could certainly call it that." Harry's grin was lazy as it snaked across his slowing face, muscles feeling like a calm stream rather than the raging river they'd been all night. His thumb was lazily stroking Louis's knee, face leaning closer and closer to his every few minutes, though if it was to hear him better or to try and kiss him he couldn't be sure. All he knew is that Louis was a star and he was a planet hopelessly caught in his orbit.

Louis watched Harry watch him, blue eyes lolling shamelessly up and down his body. "What," he whispered, though his voice sounded more seductive than accusatory, "You don't believe me?"

Harry felt his jeans go tight as he watched Louis's tongue snake across his luscious pink lips. "No," Harry said, only as an excuse to lean even closer to his smirking, taunting face. Then, in a rush of boldness and ecstasy, he whispered in a voice almost too low to hear: "Make me."

Louis's face barely flickered in recognition before he slammed his lips into Harry's.

Whatever glass wall they'd built between themselves, whatever boundary they'd made, shattered the second their lips met. They were no longer dancer and observer, escort and patron, confidence and anxiety: they simply were, and that was all they'd ever needed. And Harry couldn't get enough of it.

He kissed Louis like he was dying, like he'd just seen his first glimpse of heaven and he couldn't wait to get there. His lip gloss tasted like strawberries and summertime, his hands, his body, warm and receptive to his touch. Where he beckoned Louis came, where he touched he curled perfectly beneath him. It was everything he didn't know he had always wanted.

For one blissfully beautiful moment, everything else fell away and it was simply him and Louis.

And then, with the sound of harsh glass slamming on a bar, they broke apart. Breathless, Louis's mouth was hot on Harry's skin, his eyes wild and lolling as he struggled to come back down to reality.

"Tomlinson!" A harsh voice barked, a low and gravelly, everything Louis wasn't. "What are you doing?"

Louis sighed, turning his eyes downcast and gritting his teeth before he turned from the voice. Harry tensed, not sure what to expect, but when Louis's hand surreptitiously slid into his, and his thumb slid gently across his knuckle, he got a feeling that everything was going to be fine.

"I'm with a patron, Si, obviously." He swiveled his body on the stool to reveal Harry's face to the man. "See?"

Harry took in the man facing him. He looked out-of-place in the establishment, a man clad in a perfect trim black business suit, salt-and-pepper hair tossing the low lights across his head in a speckled pattern that resembled the aftermath of a sneeze. His eyes were steely when they looked at Louis, but when they landed on Harry, a flicker f recognition raced through them before his grimace was peeled off, replaced with the biggest smile.

"Well, well, well," he said, approaching Harry with a swagger he knew all too commonly. Businessmen types were all the same, regardless of if they were selling food, music, sex, or drugs—they all came with a similar slime. "I can't say I'd ever imagined this day would come." He stuck out his hand. "My name is Simon Cowell."

Louis looked absolutely nauseated, the knuckles of his free hand gripped tightly on his thigh, his eyes carefully trained on Harry as he watched the interaction. With a slight raise of his eyebrow, Harry blatantly ignored the handshake. "Harry Styles," he said simply in return.

Simon seemed to ignore Harry's blasé nature entirely. "Charmed. To be sure, sir, we are incredibly thankful to have your business here. It means more to us than I can express in words. If you like what you see, I can get you an exclusive marketing deal with us—"

Harry cut him off with a simple raise of his hand. "No presses. Period." Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Please."

This seemed to rattle Simon, who quickly drew a hand over what was left of his hair before moving on with his pitch, speaking like a well-oiled machine. "Very well, sir. I completely understand that—every man has his vices, ah? Some things are left better private. If you like, then, I can set you up with our VIP dancers for a private experience—free of charge, of course—I can see you've been having a good time so far, but I promise you, the best has yet to come—"

For a moment, Harry only saw red. The haze of the room infected his visit, and, before he realized what had happened, he had turned his body, sliding a possessive hand across Louis's body before turning to Simon with what he could have only described as a snarl. "I've seen enough, thanks. I like what—who—I've found thus far. I won't be in any need of your services."

Louis's mouth gaped open, unabashed in his shock, and Simon, while he hid his emotions better, it was clear he felt the same way too. A shock rippled through his rattled body, and when he opened his mouth to speak again, he seemed to rock, the machine of his mind sputtering as he struggled to salvage the situation.

"Ah, well, yes, of course, I can see that sir—I'm sorry to have—I'm glad you're—I—have a wonderful evening, Mr. Styles. Please let me know if there's anything I can do to improve your experience here at 17Black. For your trouble, your drinks are on the house. Consider it a gift, yes?"

Harry grit his teeth, his jaw tight, but he nodded, curt in his acceptance. Simon smiled, nodding at Harry once more before turning to Louis, leaning in close to his ear. In an almost imperceptible whisper, he breathed: "Treat him well," before turning on his heel and disappearing into the hazy lights.

Louis turned to Harry, eyes looking so wide and doe-like that if Harry didn't know better he would've said they were brimming with tears. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, his jaw hanging open loosely like a porch swing in the breeze.

exhilarated by his confidence and driven by his drunkenness, Harry took advantage of the situation. "Come to my rehearsal with me."

This startled Louis more than anything else he could have said, a visible shock running through his body. "I—what?"

Harry pressed on, at first startled but now adamant in his admission. "Forget about everything that just happened. Come to my rehearsal tomorrow. My second show is at the end of this week, but I have a soundcheck tomorrow at 10am. Come with me."

Louis balked, eyes scanning him, scanning behind him, for some sort of escape, for any sign of a trick. "Harry, I—are you sure you want me there?"

Harry reached out, grasping Louis's hand tightly in his. "More sure than anything I've ever been in my fucking life."

Blue eyes wide, but an uncontainable smile broke out on his face, and, soon, his energy was so much that Harry had to match his smile too. Grinning and giddy, laughing and holding each other in their arms, they fell into one another, fell for one another, floating high above the measly room as they downed shot after shot of liquid sunshine, almost entirely drunk on each other.