Description
The one where Louis is an exotic dancer flirting his way through drug discounts, Harry is the son of the Senator (who doesn't understand why his dad has such an issue with the public finding out his son likes it up the ass, but, okay), and Upper East Side royalty clashes with the curvy, arrogant boy who is a huge fan of angel dust and his shitty, one bedroom on the opposite side of town. Plus, each half of the pair has an insane appreciation for the musical "Rent" for their relationship to be classified as anything other than fate - but they'll never admit that. //// "Louis almost found himself smiling at Harry's response - almost. Instead, he took notice of the daggers a colleagues eyes were burning into his temple, let out a heavy sigh, and pushed himself off of the red-faced, wild-eyed boy before he had time to protest. "Look at us," Louis frowned, repositioning the bills Harry had tucked into his waistline. "Stripper boy junkie and billionaire royalty mistaking lap dances in a sleazy cabaret as anything more than mindless, erotic activity. It's pathetic, really." Harry wasn't even going to consider pretending he was offended. "I mean, if you say so," Harry shrugged, still nearly breathless, slumped against the chair Louis had left him in. "Anyways, I was wondering if you'd be my trophy boy at this charity dinner my dad's hosting tomorrow?" (yes, that cover is my edit of louis in a sheer crop top.)
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