Chapter Seven
The clock ticks inside of Harry's brain. Their time diminishes with every second, slipping away like sand through an hourglass. So Harry holds onto Louis's shoulders and buries his face into his neck, peppering his skin with light kisses. Louis continues to stroke his hair and give him gentle reassurances, whispering sweet things into his ear.
"Harry," Louis begins, voice quiet, "my time's almost up."
He briefly glances at the clock. He only paid for one full hour in the velvet room, and alas, fifty-six minutes have passed.
"No," Harry whines, shaking his head. His curls rustle under Louis's chin. "Stay."
Louis sighs. "Harry—"
"I don't care if Liam gets mad," he persists, pulling back to make eye contact again.
" 'm not gonna be responsible for you losing your job," Louis insists whilst shaking his head with disapproval.
Harry pouts. He knows Louis is right, but he just can't. He can't go out there and face the crowd again. When he's on stage, it's all a lie. An escape from the bitter, terrifying reality. And when he comes back down from the pole, he only feels worse, because those few minutes of ecstasy were only short-lived.
"Fine, but I want you to come watch me," Harry grumbles, poking Louis's chest.
"I would never say 'no' to that," Louis teases, smirk tugging on his lips.
And, God, he looks marvelous. Harry wants to devour him. Wants to feel his hands all over his skin, his cold breath sending shivers down his spine. Wants to kiss him until his lips turn red and swollen.
But unfortunately, they only have two minutes left. What a shame.
"So, do you want to come back to my cottage tonight?" Louis offers, brow raised.
Harry gulps. To be honest, he doesn't know what he wants. Louis can practically read his thoughts. He looks at him for a second, examines his green eyes, and then smiles sympathetically.
"It's alright if you don't want to," Louis insists. "I understand that you might be, like, homesick."
Harry snorts at the accusation. Okay, maybe he's not so much of a mind-reader after all.
"I hate my flat, Louis. I'm not homesick."
Louis blinks in surprise. "Okay, then what's the problem?"
Harry bites his lip. "I don't know. It's just— it's weird, you know?"
"What's weird?"
Harry ponders that for a moment. He can feel the weight of Louis straddling his hips, accompanied by the weight of the world crushing his chest.
"Being... with someone, I suppose," he chokes, letting a few seconds of silence pass between them. "I've been alone for so long, I've almost forgotten what it's like to have someone to look after me."
Louis bites his lip thoughtfully, his fangs digging into the chapped, pink flesh. He can hear the pain in Harry's voice. This boy is damaged. Maybe not broken, but definitely hurt. Louis wants nothing more than to pick up all his shattered pieces and glue them back together.
"Why haven't you tried contacting your family?" Louis inquires, eyes squinted.
Harry pauses. "I dropped out of university, Louis. They don't want me."
"How do you know that?"
"Because they haven't come searching for me yet," Harry says dryly, eyes drifting away. His throat bobs up and down. "They would be so disappointed in me."
Louis shakes his head in protest. "No, Harry, that's not true—"
Harry scoffs. "I'm a bloody stripper, Louis," he spits. "No pun intended."
Louis falters for a moment. His hands fall to Harry's sides, feeling the soft, velvety skin of his hips. He thumbs over the tips of his laurel tattoos.
"Alright. I sincerely apologize."
Harry secretly loves this— loves how Louis's voice gets lost in the past sometimes, phrasing words in such a way that screams the days of yore. Sometimes he can't believe that this man is over two hundred years old. He's immature, childish, likes to joke and tease. But then, at times like this, his old, worn-out heart makes itself known. Harry can't get enough of it.
"No, it's okay," Harry assures, touching his wrist gently. "I just don't like talking about my family, 's all."
Louis nods slowly. "I guess that's one thing we have in common," he hums pensively. "At least your parents didn't try to burn you for witchcraft, yeah?"
Harry frowns. He knows Louis wants him to crack a smile, make a joke, or laugh, but he can't. He doesn't want to. He can hear the underlying pain beneath that statement, even though he tries his best to cover it up with humor. He thinks about the pain that Louis must've endured back then, how scared he must've felt. And it's times like this that Harry is grateful for Louis's guidance. At least he doesn't have to go through this alone.
"Rose!" a distant voice calls out, followed by a fist banging on the door. It's Zayn.
Harry's head perks up. "Yeah?"
The heavy door swings open. Zayn stands there in the threshold, hand on his hip. He's clad in his golden thong, complete with glitter on his toned, tattooed torso. He narrows his eyes at Harry, practically glaring at the way Louis's thighs are planted on either side of his hips. He notices the flush of Harry's cheeks and the redness of his lips.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Zayn scoffs, eyes widening. He stomps inside the velvet room with anger, veins bulging in his temples. "Is this the guy you've been fucking around with?"
Harry tenses. With confusion, Louis climbs off Harry's lap clumsily. Zayn looks like he's a few seconds away from punching Louis square in the nose. Harry instantly rushes towards him, presses his hand against his chest, where his set of angel wing tattoos stain his olive-toned skin.
"Zayn, calm down, okay? He's a friend."
"Yeah, a friend who's been taking advantage of you," Zayn spits, glaring at Louis.
"He's not— God, Zayn. It's not like that at all."
Zayn scoffs. "It's not like you to skip work, Harry. You didn't answer my calls, either. Had me worried sick! Thought you got yourself killed." His eyes shoot towards Louis, glaring sharply, as if his stare could cut his flesh. "Is he forcing you to sell your arse for money or summat?"
Harry's eyes widen. "What?! No! Zayn, it's just... complicated."
Louis blinks at loss of words. "I don't understand. Did I do somethin' wrong?"
Harry shakes his head. "No, Louis. Zayn's just overprotective."
Zayn snorts at the accusation. " 'm not overprotective, Harry. I've seen this behavior before. I've seen dancers get snatched up by some gross bloke, forced to work on the streets. They lose all contact with everyone else. They disappear off the face of the fucking earth, like that." He snaps his fingers for emphasis.
Harry frowns. "Zayn, relax. Louis is just a friend. I promise."
Zayn cocks an eyebrow. "So if you two are 'just friends,' how come you're in the velvet room togetha'?"
"Because we needed to talk in private, for fuck's sake."
Zayn slumps his shoulders. A moment of silence ticks between them. His chestnut eyes glance back and forth between Harry and Louis with apprehension. Harry appreciates his protectiveness, and it's flattering, but it's unneeded. He feels safe when he's with Louis— something he hasn't felt in a long, long time.
"You're telling the truth?" Zayn presses, poking Harry's chest with his index finger.
Harry rolls his eyes. "Yes, I swear. I'm fine. Louis is my mate, 's all."
"Fine," Zayn sighs, taking a step back. "I'm sorry for snapping." He nods at Louis, clarifying that the apology is for him, too.
Louis clears his throat. "It's— it's fine. I'm glad Harry has a friend who cares about him so much."
"Well, us strippers have to look out for one another," Zayn teases, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulder.
Louis chuckles at that. "I see."
"Anyway," Zayn says, nudging Harry towards the door, "you're wanted on stage two, Rose."
He pats his bum, and for a second, Louis feels a bit of jealousy flare in his belly. But then he remembers that Harry is an exotic dancer, after all. Unfamiliar hands are always groping him, squeezing him, touching him when he doesn't want to be touched. It makes him feel sick to his stomach.
"Thanks, bro," Harry grins, pinching his arse cheek.
As they walk out together, Louis watches desperately from afar. He stands awkwardly with his hands at his sides, unsure if he should follow. But then Harry throws a cheeky grin over his shoulder, brow raised.
"You coming, Lou? I want you to enjoy the show." He even has the audacity to wink.
Louis swallows the lump in his throat. He has a feeling this is going to be a long, torturous night.
~
Harry's hips shift as he sticks out his pert arse, wiggling it. Louis sits at the edge of the stage, watching with wild, hungry eyes. The spotlight glimmers against Harry's pale skin as he sinks down to the stage's floor, flexing his thigh muscles. Louis licks his lips. He wants to take a bite, but not in a vampirical way. In a sexual way.
Louis can see the crease in his golden thong where his cheeks separate. He jiggles his bum and grasps the pole, wrapping one smoothly-shaven leg around it. He twirls around like a fucking ballerina, graceful yet sinful at the same damn time. Louis can't take his eyes off of him. As he grins, his sharp canines twinkle in the light.
Harry grinds his hips against the greasy pole. He rolls his shoulders and dips his back, hair falling down like a chocolate curtain. Louis imagines a bucket of water tipping over him, drenching him completely, and— God, he's lost in lust. His hands start twitching, desperate to reach out and touch.
Next to him, a tall, lanky man smacks Harry's arse. He smirks and sends him an air kiss, puckering his bubblegum lips. Louis's icy eyes stare at the man with bitterness. Then, the stranger's grubby hands slip a few dollar bills into his waistband. Harry follows his routine, mainting the desperate stipper persona, and steps towards him. He wiggles his bum in front of him, his thighs shaking.
Louis screams inside of his head. He doesn't know why he's jealous because Harry doesn't belong to him. They're not a thing. They aren't even friends; they're just partners in crime. Or rather, vampires in crime.
A random ZHU song plays in the club's speakers, pulsing through the floorboards, vibrating in Lou's stomach. Flashing lights flicker across Fool's Gold, but the main spotlight focuses on Harry's dance, surrounding him with yellow warmth. All eyes stare at him, gawking. He's too beautiful to be real. Too perfect.
Louis smiles smugly as he grabs a few notes from his pocket. He beckons Harry to come closer by waving the money in the air.
Harry catches his glance and makes his way towards Louis, spinning around to the other side of the circular stage. He bends over and sways his plump arse back and forth. Louis gulps, frozen. The gold spandex material clings to him like it's painted on his skin. He tucks the money into his thong.
Harry turns back around, biting his lip with false innocence. His curls frame his face with perfect ringlets. Dimples press into his porcelain cheeks. He's a beautiful contradiction of sexiness and purity.
"Thanks," Harry purrs, slapping his arse right in front of Louis's face.
Louis bites back a witty reply. He decides to relax and enjoy the show.
~
The car ride back to Louis's cottage is tense. Not awkward, but filled with restlessness. Harry had changed out of his stage clothes, settling for some tight-fitting jeans and a sheer blouse instead. He left the buttons undone halfway.
Louis grips the steering wheel as they zoom down a busy street. He has a lit cigarette in his free hand with the window rolled down, smoke whipping through the wind behind them. When he glances at the electronic clock on his Porsche's stereo, it's nearly three o'clock in the morning. White moonlight glows against Harry's face as he stares out the window, watching trees pass by in a blur of green. He pinned his hair up in a bun which, Louis thinks, is the hottest thing ever. He can see every nook and cranny of his face now, every flawless freckle and crease.
"So," Louis breathes, trying to fill the silence between them.
Harry glances over with smirk. "So," he echoes. "What'd you think of the show?"
Louis's breath shudders. Feeling brave, he decides to say, "Well, you managed to give me a boner, so it was great."
Harry nearly chokes on his own saliva. He looks over, wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights. "Seriously?" he rasps.
Louis chuckles as they turn down the remote dirt road that leads to his secluded cabin. He nods with confirmation, absolutely shameless. The engine's rumble fills the tranquility between them.
"I— I'm surprised," Harry admits, the faintest bit of pink rushing to his cheeks. Although vampires don't create their own blood, they use whatever they consume to perform basic human reactions, to make them seem more lifelike. Blushing is just one of these occurrences.
Louis scoffs as he brings the cigarette to his lips, inhaling. "Of course. You could make any man stiff in his pants."
Harry looks away shyly. "You're so full of shit."
Louis exhales, grey smoke clouding the air around his pink lips. "You think I'm joking?"
"Well, yes."
"I'm serious, Harry. You're remarkable. I've never seen anyone like you."
Harry snorts. "You've been alive for, what? Two hundred years? I don't believe that, mate. I'm not that special."
Louis tsks as he switches on his turning signal. He pulls into the cottage's driveway, which snakes through the dense trees. Gravel crushes noisily beneath the Porsche's tires. The headlights illuminate the muddy path in front of them. Overhanging branches whip past the car's sides, and Louis makes a mental note to trim them later.
"You're quite special," Louis assures as he parks the car and shuts it off, twisting the key. He takes another drag from his cigarette as they climb out. Then he drops it to the ground, smolders it with the toe of his shoe.
They walk towards the log cabin in complete silence. Harry has a duffle bag strapped over his shoulder, which contains his stage clothes and basic toiletries. As they approach the front door, Louis pauses at his garden, which lies right next to the porch. Various flowers of all shapes, sizes, and colors sway in the faint breeze.
Louis kneels down and snaps a thorny stem. He stands up, knees popping. It's a red rose, beautiful and fragrant, layered with ruby petals. Butterflies swarm in Harry's tummy as Louis hands it over, grinning.
"A rose for my Rose," Louis clarifies.
Harry giggles as he twirls the pretty flower. "Thanks."
They walk inside, and Harry quickly fills a vase to preserve the rose. He wishes it could live as long as he, for an endless infinity.