haven ☞ l.s

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His first impression upon walking into Haven is that it's massive. It could fit at least a hundred sex-having people in just the great room.

His second impression is, holy shit there are people having sex in this room.

The room is basically one big square, with wispy curtains draped from the ceiling that act somewhat like room dividers. There is, indeed, a bar, where a few fully clothed people seem to be watching a football game with little regard for the sex happening around them. Somehow, the room smells like air freshener without being cloying, is decorated with class, despite all the bondage equipment and various sex toys, and isn't so loud that it's overwhelming. It isn't at all the sleazy, gross kind of building Harry thought he'd be walking into. He almost wants to find the owner—Louis' friend—and congratulate him on a job well done.

"Harry!"

Harry turns his head from where he was looking at a particularly frightening container of ball gags, trying to find Louis through the walls of curtains. He accidentally makes eye contact with a woman who is on her knees, getting spanked by a girl in head-to-toe spandex. "Sorry," he mutters, not sure what the protocol is for watching people get spanked. Thankfully, Louis comes up next to him before he can do something stupid like stare at anyone else.

"Hey," Louis says, his smile crooked. "Pretty sick, yeah?"

"I-I wouldn't call it sick ," Harry whispers. "It's not very nice to call someone sick just for, um, what they like."

"Harry. Harry, I meant sick like cool."

Harry's cheeks have been burning since he walked in, but he's sure they're about to catch fire now. When will he stop embarrassing himself in front of Louis?

"Anyway," Louis says. "I've got someone waiting, if you're still up for watching? We can wait, if you need some time. Or you can just sit at the bar if you want."

As Louis starts slowly walking towards where the person must be waiting, and Harry doesn't think before following him. "It's fine," Harry says, as they get closer. They end up in the corner of the room, where there is a small leather couch against the wall, facing a set of two poles, which have ropes attached to them, which are attached to a person . Harry's heart stutters in his chest.

"Um, hello," Harry says uneasily. The man's wrists are roped together, as they hang from a bar between the two poles. He's kneeling on a padded table, situated between the poles, which takes some of the weight off, otherwise Harry would be quite worried about the state of his wrists. The rope looks scratchy. When Harry talks to him, he doesn't move his head a single inch, he just keeps it bowed. "How are you?"

"Harry, don't talk to him," Louis laughs. "He's fine. And you can sit on the couch."

Harry follows instructions, gingerly sitting on the sofa after making sure that it's clean. Of course, like everything else in this room, it's spotless. His eyes stay trained resolutely on the man's face, because he still feels rude looking at anyone's naked body, even if they are putting it on display themselves.

He watches as Louis starts saying something, like he's reciting a monologue. Harry catches "safe word" and "stop anytime" but the rest of it is new to him.

"Color, Liam?" Louis asks him.

"Green," the man answers, still looking at the table rather than at Louis. It seems like he's done this with him before.

"Color, Harry?"

Harry's eyes widen. He'd assumed that Louis would, for the most part, ignore him. He's just a spectator, after all. He's not sure he even understands what Louis is asking for—perhaps he should've listened better.