Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Louis, there’s a white man down in the bar looking for you.”

“Sky’s blue and shit’s brown too.”

“Louis!”

Her shout got him to look up from the mountain of invoices that he was buried behind on the desk. Katherine never failed to make him feel like he was being scolded by his mother when she put her hands on her hips like that. With a heavy sigh, Louis pushed the paperwork to the side to give her his full attention.

“”Ight, fine. Whossit this time?”

“No idea. None of us have ever seen him before. Doesn’t look like one of Anderson’s people, and the bartender said he’s got an accent that’s European.”

“European?” Louis wracked his brain for some seller or deal he may have had to make with a new face, coming up empty. “He makin’ threats?”

“The opposite. Apparently, he’s been a perfect gentleman. Been up and down asking for the ‘handsome colored gentleman’ he saw last night. Someone from The Fairplay sent him over. He kept calling them Fleur, but unless they got a new girl….”

“Fleur is French. Flower.” Which meant Lily. “Fine, I’ll see ‘em.”

Louis waited until he couldn’t hear Katherine's footsteps before he got onto his feet. He didn’t need to take out his frustration with bills and his brother out on the employees. Couldn’t help it though, at least to some degree. He wasn’t blessed with his sister’s saintly patience and temperament. He kicked himself for not asking if she got a name as he smoothed his tie back into place.

He might not be in his most business professional mindset, but he was certain that he didn’t have some meeting set for that evening. And Tom Anderson and his ilk weren’t exactly the sort to patiently wait in the lobby of the hall. It wasn’t a secret that the little parlor on the edge of Storyville’s 20 blocks was where he operated his more…Nightly and unseemly business from, and strangers weren’t quite so strange in this part of town.

Sure, some weeks the cost of liquor, properly placed bribes, paying staff and the few musicians he could get to come in left little in profit for him here. Maybe it was selfish, and he should sell off the spot and focus on the parts of the businesses left to him by his father and the Family Trust that made a little more cash; but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. De Pointe du Lac senior had been a grocer, a landlord, a more than occasional debtor, but not Louis. He was never more comfortable in his skin than when he sat behind the desk upstairs.

Louis took one last glance in the mirror that hung on the back of the door. His emerald tie set as it should be, swamp water green and red lightly tartned suit jacket buttoned properly. A sigh that heaved his shoulders up and down centered him before he entered into the noise of the hall. Busy nights like this one, the piano was only barely audible in the cramped room over the patrons. He gave a moment to every person who stopped to greet him, as a proper owner should, so it took some twenty minutes to make his way to the bar on the other side of the room.

“Katherine said someone was lookin’ for me.”

There was a sazerac placed near his hand before the words were even fully out of his mouth. Jakob, the light skinned bartender, jerked his head in the direction of the end of the bar closest to the piano. There were enough people around that Louis couldn’t get a good look at the new face.

“Blonde, can’t miss him. Oh, before you go, Boss, there is something I needed to ask you.”

Whatever other words the man said were lost to Louis, as the musician finished their song and was about to take a break so the crowd around the piano dispersed; save one man sitting in the stool at the very end of the bar. His back was to Louis, broad shoulders covered by a brown coat that was, while well made, dated. Tailored as it was, it came in and accentuated a waist that seemed too narrow to hold up such a frame. The coat’s collar was hidden by shoulder-length hair that fell in waves. It wasn’t blonde, Louis determined. It was golden, warm like the sunrise. When the man finally turned his way, Louis was certain the grip on his glass tightened so hard he could have shattered it.

If his hair was the sun, the man’s eyes were the sky. Impossibly blue, wide as they met Louis’s own dark ones. When he stood they were of the same height, and yet the tapered waist in last century’s clothes made the stranger’s legs look a mile long. Louis was staring, he knew he was. And yet, he couldn’t stop.

“Boss?”

The hand Jakob put on his shoulder shook Louis back into himself, the noise of the room that had seemed almost muted returning in full force. He shook his head, looking at the bartender.

“Later, Jakob. Send down one of whatever he’s drinking.” Louis paused, to take a long sip of his sazerac. Almost half of it in one swallow. “And another for me.”

“Sure, Boss. Sure.”

The blonde stranger watched Louis as he walked. The way the icy eyes traveled up and down from the crown of Louis’s head to the toe of his shoe should have made him feel exposed, maybe even bothered him. Instead, it just made him straighten his spine and shoulders, to give the man something to look at.

“Bonne soirée.” Louis’s French was rusty with disuse, and he was sure his accent was atrocious. ”Heard you were lookin’ for me.”

This close, Louis could see that there was a halo of violet in the mix of blue in the other man’s eyes. He could also see a scar on the corner of his lips as the blonde’s tongue peaked out to wet them, taking a moment to finish off the drink he’d brought over to keep from mimicking the action.

“Oui. I have been searching for you.”

The accented English was a deep, rumbling thing. It cut through the noise, straight to Louis’s chest. Or perhaps his-

“Sazerac and another bourbon.”

Louis could have strangled Jakob. The bartender didn’t stick around long enough to make a scene, though. The blonde man picked up the glass of dark liquor, and this time Louis couldn’t fight back the instinct to lick his lips. He bit his own tongue as he saw just how much the man’s hand dwarfed the rocks glass as it was raised.

“Well.” Louis cleared his throat, and their eyes locked again over the top of the stranger’s glass. “Vous m'avez trouvé.”

He wasn’t an impulsive man. Between good old fashioned Christian guilt and sodomy laws, Louis was careful. Men like Anderson already had enough to hold against him; being queer was the last thing he needed. Miss Lily was an expensive cover, and their evenings a poor (if pleasant) replacement for his true desires.

And yet, Louis found himself with his back against the door to his office closed and locked, with one of the blond’s legs between his. His own hands were tangled in the golden waves, the other man’s on either side of Louis’s head without even touching him. The only contact beyond Louis’s hands was the press of their foreheads. The stranger’s shoes, as outdated as the jacket that had been pushed off his shoulders onto the floor, had a slight heel so Louis had to look up at him. The blue eyes weren’t looking into his own, but were focused on his mouth.

“Puis-je?”

It was so polite, how could Louis say no? He didn’t give him a verbal answer, though. Instead, he leaned forward and sealed their mouths together. It was sudden, so their noses crushed against each other, and Louis gave a tug to the strands of gold around his fingers. The gasp it elicited made it easier to get his tongue into the blond’s mouth. He tasted like the bourbon that he’d been sipping on at the bar, and something faintly cool and almost metallic.

It was Louis’s turn to be surprised though when those large hands were finally on him. They started at his shoulders, running a slow line from there down to his waist. On either hip, the span of the fingertips could brush one another.

Louis was not a man that ever felt small, even when provoked. And yet, his knees buckled at the pressure from the large palms. Those two points and the knee below him were the only things that kept him on his feet. Since he couldn’t escape, the blond had to be the one to pull back. He did so slowly, tongue catching and lapping up the strand of saliva that would have kept them connected. Louis couldn't believe that the whimper that was in the room came from him. Refused to.

“The couch.” the English snapped him back to attention. “Laisse-moi te dévorer.”

The words didn’t make much sense to him, but they sounded promising. Louis pushed the other man towards the aforementioned couch, thankfully clear of papers and books for once. When the stranger’s legs hit the couch, he turned them so it was Louis that was pushed into sitting on the cushions instead. Prepared this time he kissed Louis, head tilted so they could both breathe properly from their noses.

It didn’t take long for Louis to find himself pressed against the back of the couch, the blonde knelt before him between his parted legs. Louis could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and it was impossibly erratic. The blonde looked up at him, those long fingers paused over the buttons that kept the suspenders on the top hem of his suit pants.

“May I?”

The light lashes were low across the blue eyes. He was giving Louis an out; letting him decide if whatever the hell this was that started was what he wanted. Louis reached down, hand under the man’s chin. He couldn't help but run his thumb along his jaw, and then the scar on the corner of his mouth creased. When their eyes met again, the pounding of his heart ceased. Breathing wasn’t as important as making sure the blonde couldn't look away.

With his other hand, Louis untucked his shirt from his pants. The man took it as the permission it was and did away with the buttons on the suspenders. Louis lifted his hips, just enough so between the two of them they could get the trousers and undergarments off.

“Merde.”

“Shit.”

Their echoed words were more air than vocalizations. Their eyes met again and they both laughed. Louis didn’t think he’d ever laughed in the leadup to sex before. The sound was quickly swallowed by the blonde stranger as he leaned to kiss Louis again, cupping his face like it was something precious. And more practically, to keep him from sitting up straight again and out of kissing range. It was slower, softer, less hungry than against the door.

Louis didn’t even know his name, and yet he was being kissed like he was something to be adored. The blond moved away, just far enough to instead press his lips to Louis’s jaw, and the bits of exposed throat that the loosened tie allowed. Louis tipped his head up, to encourage him to continue.

“I…I…” Louis kept trying to start a sentence, to say he didn’t know the blond’s name but wanted to. That he should know it before anything else happened. “Wha-”

The last attempt at a full sentence was aborted when those lips went from his throat to his inner thigh faster than he could have imagined possible. Louis’s hands went back into the blond waves, tugging on them reflexively. He wasn’t sure if it was to get him away or bring him closer. The way the other man kept perfectly, intentionally, not touching his aching cock was unfair.

Lips. Tongue. Teeth. They ghosted along Louis’s hips, his thighs, his stomach. The back of a knee before he let out the same whine he would have sworn wasn’t his earlier. It couldn't be denied now; the blond had the meat of Louis’s left inner thigh in between his lips, sucking a mouth-shaped bruise into it so he couldn’t possibly have made it.

“Please.” The whine became a word before Louis could stop it.

“Mais bien sûr.”

Louis straightened up, head thrown back and nearly hitting the wall behind the couch when the blond finally got those lips around his cock. The large hands, with their nails that were just on the right side of too sharp, pushed Louis’s thighs to keep them open as he scooted closer. The loose mane of blonde hair tickled the insides of Louis’s thighs when the stranger swallowed around the head of his cock.

With little effort, the man had worked his way down the whole of Louis’s shaft, nose in the dark curls at the base of it. It wasn’t clear whose moans were whose when Louis snapped his hips forward, the head of his cock hitting the back of the blond’s throat. The choking gag it brought out made Louis’s toes curl in his socks as the man had to pull himself off of it. He coughed, but kept his bent, the warm breath on each stuttered exhale warm against the head which was still joined to his lips by thick strands of saliva.

“Sorry.” Louis managed to say. “I don’t-I’m-”

“Non. Do not be sorry.” The blue of the man’s eyes were all but swallowed by the black of his pupils when they met Louis’s. “Étouffe-moi.”

He took his hands off of Louis’s thighs and grabbed his hands instead. He raised them over his own head, to instruct Louis to put them back in the blonde waves. Louis had no problem doing so, gathering up the hair with one hand so he could watch properly as the stranger took the head of his cock between his parted lips again.

The head disappeared, only visible as the bulge against the blonde’s cheek. Louis couldn’t help but stare as inch by inch he took it into his throat. Another wet, sloppy gag as he held it in his throat root to tip. This time, Louis managed to keep himself from ruining it by thrusting.

Instead, he used the grip on the blonde’s hair to pull him back, eliciting a gasp. He went limp, allowing Louis to move him as he desired as he closed his eyes. Each thrust of Louis’s hips pulled a wet, primal noise from the stranger’s throat. He alternated frantic jerks of his hips with pulling back just until only the head still filled the blonde.

“Non-non-non. Do not go far from me.”

Saliva had mixed with precome, and both trickled from the scarred corner of the stranger’s lips. Combined with the knots all the tugging Louis did to his hair, he looked absolutely ruined. He felt his cock jerk against his stomach as one of the blonde's hands wrapped around his base, hissing as they squeezed to keep him in place.

“Keep that up and I’m gonna come.”

“Good. That is what I want.”

The man’s other hand moved to Louis’s stomach, to keep him pressed against the back of the couch before taking his head into his mouth again. Not as deep as before, he released the base and instead moved those fingers up and down along the inches that he didn’t keep in his mouth. When he pulled the foreskin back the nimble tongue that purred over all those pretty French words ran along the ridge of his head.

It was the moment their eyes locked that Louis lost what was left of his control. His hips jerked forward in small spasms as he came. The blonde closed his lips around Louis’s cockhead. Not letting even a drop of it escape his lips. From this angle, Louis couldn’t see him swallowing, but he could certainly feel it. With a wet pop, he finally released Louis once he was certain he had drawn every drop. And yet his tongue didn’t stop licking long lines from base to exhausted head. Overly sensitive, Louis could do nothing but whine as he sunk into the couch, chest heaving as he attempted to get his breath back in line.

A pounding on the door had both of them snap to attention to stare at it. The handle rattled and the blonde threw himself backwards. Still fully clothed, he struggled to get up to his feet.

“Louis, we got a problem.” the bartender’s voice followed the second round of pounding knocks. “Now.”

“Handle it. Issnt that what I pay you fo’?” Louis was quick to get onto his feet pulling his pants back up, frowning at the sticky mess left-

A handkerchief was extended by the blond who paused in smoothing his hair. Their hands brushed, and Louis was certain he could feel literal sparks as their fingertips met. He opened his mouth, closing it as the handle to the door again rattled.

“Boss!”

“I’ll be right there, goddammit.” Louis snapped, not breaking away from the eye contact that he had with the blonde again until the stranger stepped back.

“Duty calls. You are a busy man.” The voice was more hoarse now.

And it was all Louis’s doing. It took all the professionalism he had to clean himself up with the borrowed cloth and pull himself together. Louis put his hand on the doorknob, and the blonde shuffled to the side of the room, so he would be out of sight when it opened. The golden waves were tucked back behind his ears, but nothing could be done at the moment for the drying streaks of tears and saliva. The half presentable vision he made, Louis wanted to make him unpresentable all over again.

“I-”

A crash of breaking glass shut Louis up, followed by shouting trailing up from the bar. 

Chapter Text

A few drunk assholes hadn’t taken well to being told “no” by one of the girls. Worse, they hadn’t taken well to being “gently escorted” out of the establishment by the so-called security Louis kept on staff for these sorts of issues. The crash had been one of his men getting thrown into a table, shattering the glasses that had been on it. Louis had managed to handle the situation and get them out, but not before one of the overserved shitheads landed a punch that hit him squarely in the nose.

Bricktop wasn’t usually the fussing type, but she felt at least a little bad since she was the cause of it all. She’d told him not to lean back, or else he’d swallow all the blood and throw it up, and they had enough to clean up as it was. So, Louis had a bar towel shoved up to his nose, after someone had snapped it back into alignment with a shot of whiskey and a promise they’d done it before. They’d had to close up early, to keep from drawing more attention from officers they would have had to pay off for the commotion.

“It’s fine, Bricks. Worse than my Momma with all that clucking.” Louis nudged her while she hovered as the cleaning happened around them from the piano bench.

“Someone has to. That blood is going to be a pain for a launderer to get out of that fancy fabric of yours.” She rolled her eyes, dabbing at his collar with the cold water she’d gone off to get.

“‘Sfine. Didn’t get on my vest.”

And the jacket that matched it was still on the floor in his office upstairs. He was glad the towel and smudges of blood drying on his cheeks hid the blush that thinking of it briefly summoned up. He shook his head a little, lowering the towel once the blood stopped flowing so freely.

“Blonde at the bar tonight. You see when he left?”

“Pretty boy? Ain’t seen him since he went off with you.” Bricktop shrugged. “Figured you took him out back or something. One of Anderson’s trying to make a buy offer again?”

“Nah. I don’t think so.”

The two of them hadn’t exactly…Spoken much. Bricktop raised an eyebrow, opening her mouth to question him, but Louis got up to his feet.

“You and Katherine got the rest of this, yeah? I need to get back to the house. Lock up once you clean up everything and get the take in the safe.” He walked past her quickly.

Maybe he hadn’t left yet. Maybe all the commotion kept him upstairs. Louis hadn’t told him to leave, after all. Hadn’t told him to stay either, though. So, it wasn’t a surprise when he opened his office door to find the room empty. The only sign that anything was out of place was the fact that the couch was just slightly crooked against its normal, near spot against the wall. His own suit jacket was neatly folded, placed to the left of a telltale stain on the fabric of the seat.

He picked it up and pulled it on, nose pressed to the collar as if he’d find anything there but the English Fern he’d taken to wearing. Sighing, Louis tucked his hands into the pockets of the jacket, for the keys to lock his office and perhaps his cigarettes and-

And instead pulled out the ivory handkerchief that had been offered to him before. It had been folded just as neatly as the jacket and then placed inside, intentionally left for him to find. He couldn’t fight the blush, alone this time as he looked down at it. A simple, cotton thing, with no embroidery or any fancy marking. Save on the bottom right corner, in a lilac thread that matched the spike of color in its owner's eyes.

LDL

The next morning was Sunday, and so Louis had to make sure Mama, Grace, and Paul got themselves to Church. The dark glasses he wore to cover the bruising on his nose and around his eyes from the break the night before got him an extra eyebrow raise from the pastor when he didn’t follow the three of them into the building.

“You know, we’d really love for you to stay for service, Louis.” the man held onto Louis’s hand after shaking it so he couldn’t make a getaway. “We haven’t seen you for quite a few weeks now.”

“Lord rests on Sunday, Father. Some of us can’t afford to.” Louis made to pull his hand away, but the pastor’s grip was firm.

“We haven’t seen you for confession either. Paul worries about you.”

“Paul worries about everything.” Louis hissed and finally jerked his hand free, the moment causing the glasses to shift, briefly revealing the bruises to the too involved priest. “Appreciate the concern, Father. I’m doin’ just fine. You have a blessed day.”

He was down the few steps at the doors and back on the street before the man could say anything more. Pushing his glasses back into place, he walked down the street and around the corner. Once the Church was out of sight he pulled out and lit a cigarette, as if that was a greater sin than any number of the others he’d been guilty of since his last visit to a confession booth.

The burn of nicotine down his throat was a comfort. For a moment, he leaned against the brick wall of the building behind him and closed his eyes. His head hit the stone as he tipped it back, and he hissed from the sharp pain. Another drag and it faded into the background.

Paul worries about you . The pastor’s words echoed in his mind and he couldn't help but snarl. Paul needs to mind his own damn business and be thankful for what I’ve given him.

The nights his brother spent following after him if he didn’t take the car to Storyville had gotten more and more common. Paul insisted that these “additional projects” were an affront to the honest work he did in other places. That Louis should walk away from these “illicit behaviors” and return “to the side of righteousness”. They didn’t need the headache and the few extra dollars. Just two evenings ago, Louis had gotten tired of his ramblings and sent him home with a threat and the knife from his cane to back it up.

Two nights ago, the blonde had seen a “handsome colored man” on the streets and just HAD to meet him. Was that what he had seen? A moment of rage that he called handsome? Louis sighed out a curse, putting out the cigarette on the brick behind him before continuing on his way, wishing he hadn’t left the car at the Church in his cowardice.

The fresh air did him good, even if the walk made him late for the meeting that was the real reason he couldn't be bothered to be in Church on Sundays nowadays. The office on Canal Street was as familiar to him as his own in Storyville, if much better appointed. During the week, a secretary would be present in the entry room, but never outside of the standard business hours. Louis looked to the open door to the second office, where he could hear a phonograph playing some sort of symphony. He shook his head fondly, smoothing his jacket as he walked and rapped his knuckles on the wood of the doorframe.

“Louis you’re late! I was worried I’d have to send out a search party. Come in, come in.”

Ogden Mills Bishop was eccentric, smart, and the greatest happy accident that had ever happened in Louis de Pointe du Lac’s life. The youngest son of the old money Bishops in New York, Ogden had tired of living in his family’s long, expensive, shadow. A few weeks after the death of Louis’s father, Ogden had decided to settle in New Orleans for new opportunities in business, and for the art scene they were becoming more and more known for. They had met at one of Tom Anderson’s poker nights and hit it off better than anyone had expected.

Until last night Ogden, with his East Coast charm, dark hair, and gigawatt smile, had been the only white man that Louis ever fell into bed with. If getting face in his office could be considered falling “into bed” anyway. It only took two tries for Louis and Ogden to determine they made better business partners than bedfellows, and it hadn’t put a damper on their blossoming friendship. Ogden saw Louis for what he was: a keen, if occasionally ruthless, businessman who knew the city of New Orleans and Her people better than anyone else. Louis’s name remained on the top of everything he came in to from his father, and then some. But, he couldn't deny the fact that having Ogden’s name on the second line made him feel safer. No matter what happened, if he was…Swept up in something, his family would be taken care of and nothing would be lost into unkind hands.

Ogden’s only request remained that none of his money be used for the more…Legally murky businesses that Louis was fond of. Not his name, not his money, nothing. What he didn’t know couldn't be used against either one of them, which was why Louis even kept a separate office.

“Take the record off and help yourself to some tea. My housekeeper made the most delicious cake on the tray there. I’ll get the numbers from last week. They must be here somewhere….”

Louis chuckled as Ogden nearly knocked over the pile of papers he started to sort through. As requested, he removed the needle from the record and settled into the comfortable armchair he favored. Before pouring himself a cup of the too hot for New Orleans tea he could never turn away without feeling rude, he removed his sunglasses. The shiny metal of the pot showed just how bad the bruising had gotten around his nose and eyes once it had time to settle in.

“Here we are, right where I….Sweet LORD Louis, what happened to you?”

Ogden hastened his steps around the desk, setting the folder down on the low tea table to cup Louis’s cheek. Louis let the other man tilt his face, but looked anywhere but at his eyes. The worried frown wasn’t much better, so he finally leaned back.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about. I got it handled, Ogden.” Louis tried his best to be reassuring as he could be, gesturing for him to sit down. “I could use some good news this morning, though. Tell me you have some for me.”

“Well, you’re in luck.” Ogden took the polite dismissal of the problem and sat down in the other chair. “We have had an EXCELLENT week. Let me start with the vacancy that we filled in that leased unit above the tailor shop.”

Ogden ran through numbers and information in his even, soothing voice. Since he was in a good mood, Louis didn’t have to worry about combing through everything as his copy was placed in front of him. He kept it open, crossing his ankle over his knee and skimming it. As his mind wandered, he couldn't help but think back to the previous night BEFORE his broken nose.

The old clothes hadn’t looked dated on the stranger’s frame. Somehow, they looked chic, intentional, and not the mark of someone wearing hand-me-downs or second hand things. The fact that he had kept on everything besides the overcoat was something that Louis couldn't help but lament. The way the blond’s waist tapered as it did, and those devastatingly broad shoulders? What did it look like under the starched, white, shirt? He switched the legs that were proper up with a little sigh.

“Am I boring you, Louis?” Ogden teased, closing the folder and setting it to the side. “You’re particularly twitchy this morning. I can’t imagine you slept well with your nose like that.”

“Not boring me, sorry Og.” Louis apologize and followed suit with the paperwork he was given, folding it to be tucked inside his pocket for later. “Last night was…A busy evening, not just because of what happened to my face.”

“Do you want to discuss it?” The tone he took was a friend, not a business partner, and so was the hand that rested on Louis’s leg. “You don’t have to. I know that this is usually the evening you spend with Miss Lily. I imagine she’s a much better listener than I am.”

“You’re a fine listener, Ogden.” Louis chuckled at the self critique. “I just made some….Potentially rash decisions.”

“You? Perish the thought.” Ogden deadpanned but still smirked and laughed as Louis did. “You are certain it isn’t anything I need to worry about?”

“Entirely certain.”

On top of “illicit businesses” being on the no conversation list, prospective partners and…Romantic entanglements were off the table. Not just because of their own history, but because it was better not to know for similar reasons. What they didn’t know about one another kept one another safe. Ogden squeezed Louis’s leg anyway before taking his hand back.

“Come out with me tonight. I know you normally see Miss Lily, and I happen to be headed to the Fairplay this evening as well. They have a visiting piano player and singer I’ve heard fantastic things about. My sister heard him play at a club in New York and gushed for a week about it.”

“Elizabeth?”
“Edith. They’ll be tickled to know you remember their names. Say you’ll join me, Louis. You know I can’t stand to be at those sorts of places alone.”

“Must be good if he’s getting you out after dark.” Louis smiled at his friend and nodded. “All right. I’ll meet you there. But you’re buying the first round of drinks.”

“Louis de Pointe du Lac what do you MEAN you didn’t get the man’s name?! I cannot believe you! And here I said that you were such a gentleman. Making me out to be a liar, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

He deserved every bit of Lily’s scolding. Louis had come to see her early, so he could meet with Ogden as promised. The room she used while working overnights at the Fairplay was comfortable, and the bed large enough they both could sit on it without even touching. A picked at shared dinner was on a flat tray between them, a few berries rolling off as she reached over and shoved his shoulder.

“I meant to. Things got out of hand and then he left before I could ask him.” Louis gestured to his face, where the bruises had gotten only a little better as the day progressed. “Broken property and potentially dealing with the authorities felt a little more important.”

“You didn’t think to get it before taking him up to your office?” she huffed, picking up a piece of fruit form the blanket before either of them could accidentally crush it, popping it into her mouth. “Maybe take a pause somewhere between buying him a drink and chasing it down his throat with your tongue?”

Louis groaned and put his head in his hands. He was laughing though, and so was Lily. Annoyed though she might be with him, it hadn’t lasted long. She refilled his glass of water, a bit too early for drinks and took one of his hands. Running her thumb along the back of it, she waited until he had a few sips before speaking again.

“It’s not like you. To get that…Carried away. Especially not with a stranger.” A strange man to boot. “I was going to steer him off of you, you know. Any number of stories I could have made up. That you were just some day laborer and no one knew anything about where you normally were.”

“Why didn’t you?” Louis frowned and looked over at her. “Why send him over?”

“Well, first off, it was early in the night and I must still have been half asleep.” she laced their fingers together as she went on. “He hd a meeting with Mister Anderson-”

“A meeting-”

“Hush now, let me finish.” she put both of their pointer fingers to his lips before going on. “He came out of the meeting and walked right up to me and insisted that he buy me a drink. And with the shape of his clothes I was tempted to say no. But there was…Something about him. He was so earnest. So, I told him he could.”

She recounted the conversation fondly, as well as the man’s reason for being there. He had come across the Atlantic, playing piano and singing in clubs all along the East coast, the newly minted Green Mill in Chicago: anywhere that would have him for a few evenings, he would go.

“He said as he got to New Orleans that he disembarked for the music.” she sighed. “Honestly, I couldn't understand half of what he said with that accent and every fourth or fifth word of it being in French.”

That certainly matched Louis’s memory from the evening before. The intangible…Something that made you want to hear him out, and the fact that he seemed to know more French than English. Even in the throws and demands of passions.

“But then he said that he saw a man pull a knife from his cane and press it to his brother’s chest, and that he had skin that matched my own. There aren’t many people that match that description down here.”

Louis couldn't help but wince. So he HAD seen Louis’s less than…Familial handling of Paul’s latest outburst. Lily squeezed his hand again, to get him to look back up at her.

“He said that the way he controlled himself in the face of such passion was something amazing. That he had to meet such a man. I thought he was mad. It sounded mad. But it was HOW he said it. Like it was something beautiful. And I could tell he was a musician and not the police, so…”

“So you told him who I was?”

“I didn’t give him your name. Just in case he was…” she gestured vaguely with her free hand. “I told him if he impressed me with his playing, I’d tell him where he could find you. And Louis…” she closed her eyes, leaning back while still holding onto his hand. “The way his fingers flew across those keys. And when he sang?” she groaned.

“Contain yourself, Lily.” It was his turn to chuckle. “So what, he played a few little ditties and you sent him to my place?”

“And then you didn’t even bother to get his name before you let him give you some face.” she let go of his hand finally to smack his chest in disapproval.

“You have to give it to me. You know it.” He turned his head on the pillow, facing her completely. “What’s his name, Lily? Be kind to me, I had a rough night.”

“You’ll get it soon enough. He’s who you and Mister Bishop are here to see play.”

Chapter Text

“Miss Lily, you are looking radiant as ever. Is that a new frock? You must tell me where you get such delicate things. When my sisters finally come to visit, I MUST send business to your dressmaker.”

“Your flattery, Mister Bishop, is far too kind.” Lily was happy to let Louis’s business partner kiss her hand before he motioned for a round of drinks for the three of them. “And this old thing? I’ve had this for ages. You’d have seen if you left your townhouse and office more than once a quarter.”

“Please, just Ogden.” He took his seat across from Lily and beside Louis at the small balcony-level table looking into the courtyard of the Fair Play Saloon. “You’re starting to sound like Louis. Don’t tell me he’s roped you into his insistence that I ruin my very meticulous schedule? Your cruelty knows no bounds, Louis. You know I cannot say no to the requests of such a lovely woman.”

Louis smiled and shook his head fondly at the two of them. If anyone was in league with the other, it was Lily and Ogden. Louis almost regretted introducing them; they got on like a house on fire. To anyone looking in, they were two well to do men fighting over the attentions of a beautiful, expensive, woman. The way Ogden’s eye occasionally wandered and lingered just a hair too long on a well-suited man at another table, or the one helping stock the bar that was a little too familiar said otherwise. But the way he had an ease about flashing his cash and buying drinks for strangers, it went unnoticed. The luxuries Ogden had beyond his wealth, from his name and his skin, never failed to make Louis feel envious. It wasn’t something that could be helped. Or shared, no matter how generous his business partner and compatriot was.

As the other two caught up on the few days they hadn’t seen one another and the fresh drinks on Ogden’s tab were brought, Louis leaned back in his chair and took time to scan the Saloon and the crowd that had started to settle in. It was early in the night, especially for such a decent number of people. And on a Sunday no less. Louis kept his hall closed, to give all the girls off the night. But even on his best Saturdays, there wasn’t a crowd like this.

There were fewer tables than normal in the center of the courtyard below, pushed further to the sides to expand the space people used to dance and interact with the rotating band that Anderson brought in. The horn player, and the drummer were already starting to settle in, laughing and talking to one another and the few regulars that bought them a couple of drinks along with the water they’d need for the sake of hydration for the night.

“- Edith and her husband saw him playing at a party hosted by one of her younger socialite friends. The way she spoke about it on the phone, you’d think she’d met the star of Naughty Marietta !”

Louis turned his head back to Ogden and Lily when Chicago and the musician were mentioned. Ignoring Lily’s smug smirk at how quickly his attention was turned, Louis cleared his throat before Ogden could go off on a tangent.

“You never said WHO it was that managed to drag you outta the townhouse, Og. What kinda virtuoso we talkin’ about here? Fair Play ain’t exactly the sort of hub for Society that your sister’s parties sound like they would be. Not exactly the operetta crowd.”

“Oh I suppose I didn’t, did I.” Ogden tapped his fingers against the side of his glass. “He’s an unknown from France. The troupe he was a part of disbanded and so he came to America is what I’ve heard. A tenor, maybe a baritone and did a few Operas and Operettas. But he heard Some of These Days in some place when he got to New York and that was it. Lestat is the name.”

Ogden continued with another story about the eccentricities of European names, Lily politely listening and nodding along with his hand waving. But Louis didn’t hear any of it. It was as if the man had been waiting on a cue. Lestat walked to the small raised stage from the backroom of the Fair Play Saloon. Immediately, Louis could look nowhere else.

Piano playing in a crowded room was too physical a task for a jacket, so the heavy thing was folded over his arm instead of covering him. From the height of the balcony, Louis couldn't make out the details of the necktie he wore, or the color of the ribbon that held the golden curls at the nape of his neck. He COULD see that once Lestat set his jacket on the piano bench to sit down, his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. Couldn’t see the way the muscles flexed as he worked through a few stretches of his fingers, clearly practiced so he could play all night. But Louis could certainly imagine it.

He watched as Lestat turned his head side to side to crack his neck, settling on the piano bench with his fingers hovering over the ivory of the keys. A span of eleven, almost twelve of the standard sized keys. Louis knew precisely how it felt to be under the calluses of those large hands too. Never thought he’d be jealous of a musical instrument before. As the first few notes sounded out, people across the saloon cheered and hollered, clearing space to dance, some to move closer to listen.

The grin Lestat wore was a feral thing, and Louis swallowed hard around the sip of Sazerac he’d taken. The notes he cycled through weren’t to anything in particular as the other performers readied themselves. So, Lestat looked around to his audience. First to those who inched closer, nodding and smiling politely at anyone who met his eyes. When those blue and violet eyes were cast upwards, they found Louis’s like a bullet aimed right for them.

Louis was sure that the wink wasn’t a mistake, and he set the drink down on the table a little harder than he’d meant to. Ogden looked over at him and arched an eyebrow, nudging him gently with his elbow.

“Alright there, Louis?”

“Yea. Fine, Og.” He tore his eyes away from the blond’s and made himself look at his friend. “Wanna go get a closer seat to the action? Anderson’ll have no issues getting you front and center.”

“Oh no no. Too early for me. Ah, but where are my manners! You and Miss Lily certainly must go down and dance. A few too many people down there for me with only this little half a drink. I’ll meet you down there.” he shooed the both of them

“Yeah, Louis.” Lily batted her eyelashes and smirked a devilish thing. “Let’s go dance, you heard Mister Bishop.”

Louis stopped short of going out into the big open area of the courtyard that people began to fill. But he certainly wasn’t going to say he was hiding behind one of the many pillars that helped hold up the weight of the pretty balcony above. He simply needed to finish the drink he had brought along with him when Lily all but dragged him away from the table upstairs, and it would have been rude to just assume a table was empty when people started to congregate closer to the makeshift dance floor.

“You are NOT going to stare like some love struck youngster around a corner all night, Louis.” she poked his chest, flattening her hand against it so it looked intimate and not accusing to a passerby as she whispered. “Not in THAT suit.”

Lily had picked out something for him to wear, from a nearby tailor, freshly hemmed. The deep black suit with its gray pinstripes didn’t stand out as anything spectacular when it was on display, but it fit like it had been made for him ahead of time.

“The blessing of being so fit, Louis!” Lily had said as she smoothed out his tie and adjusted his cufflinks for him.

Now he was scuffing the toe of his shoe on the courtyard ground, catching his reflection in a mirror near the bar and suddenly hating the slim cut of the whole ensemble. He gave a small shrug, instead of fighting with her verbally about it.

“Louis. Look at me. Between sets, you’re going to go right up to him and properly shake his hand. Because you’re a proper man and ”

“But-”

“Bonne soirée, Fair Play Saloon.” Lestat’s voice sounded as the other members of the band were sufficiently warmed up, silencing all the chatter. “My name is Lestat de Lioncourt. I see a fair few of you here from my abbreviated performance last night, Merci..” A run of notes up and down the keys. “I am sure you already know them, but let me introduce my friends this evening as well.”

The Frenchman made a point to give the names of the other instrumentalists that would be playing with him, encouraging them to say hello. They all indulged, playing their own little riffs on their various instruments as well.

“We are glad to play some songs for you this evening. And we hope you are ready to have a wonderful time.” A few scattered claps and “get on with its” had him chuckling. The sound went straight from Louis’s ears to his heart.

For some runaway opera singer, they didn’t start with anything that had words to croon to. Dancing music, heavy on the horns and crowd favorites. Louis snuck a peak around the pillar again to watch the barely contained frenzy that was Lestat de Lioncourt performing on a piano.

His beautiful blue eyes were closed, which made it easier for Louis to look at him. His whole body moved as he played, as if himself were a customer on the dance floor. That feral smile as before curled the scar on the corner of his mouth.

“Louis!” Lily snapped her fingers in front of his nose, rolling her eyes. “Come on. We’re going to get you another drink, I know I need another one if you're going to sigh over this white man all night.”

A few songs later, Ogden did join them as promised. With the both of them there, it was easier to not be pulled back into staring at the piano playing blond. Louis set a place for them where he had a straight line of sight to Lestat if he was standing still. As Ogden and Lily shared a dance next to him, the song fading to claps and cheers. Lestat stood from the bench,leaning on the horn player who rested his instrument to take a break.

“Vous êtes trop gentil, merci. Very kind.” Lestat said to the gathered group first in French and then in English. “If you will indulge me, I should like to sing a little number I heard recently and just adored.” The claps continued and Lestat patted the saxophone player on the shoulder as he walked back past them as well to his place behind the piano.

Say, did you ever

hear the saxophone

Let out an awful moan

Let out an awful groan?

It makes you feel so nervous

yet it's great

It's the saxophone a-callin'

to his mate

The song wasn’t originally pitched for a baritone-tenor voice. Not written for a man at all. But you wouldn’t know it, with the way the musicians adjusted to suit him. Clearly rehearsed. Lestat looked over the top of the upright piano as he sang, scanning the crowd, lingering now and then as if to make one believe he sang just for them.

As the last word fell from his lips, those piercing violet blue eyes were locked right on Louis’s. Louis swallowed, hard, and the world fell away. For a moment, even the music seemed to cease. There was only a heartbeat in his ears, Lestat’s eyes on his, and a hunger. The singer hadn’t sat back on the bench, and so with his height and the small stage towered above Louis. Like some beckoning, angelic thing.

A whine of the saxophone; the silence shattered like glass and the world again moved.

that sweet coquette

the clarinet

Now listen for a minute

and the birth of jazz you'll hear

And where there is a little jazz

you'll always find me near

For I’m a jazz vampire

Louis had to take a seat. His legs felt like gelatin under his weight. A sweat he hadn’t noticed before pooled at his temples and down his throat. And still, there was the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears that seemed to beat right along with the song.

Lily sat beside him, Louis felt more than saw. She was saying something, but it was muffled. Lestat was still looking right at him. Through him. Like there was only him as he continued to sing.

Minutes passed. It could have been hours. He only guessed minutes because the end of the song came to cheers. One of the musicians must have said something about taking a break, because the piano player and singer was stepping off of the stage.

Lestat was stepping off of the stage. And walking right towards them. The crowd of customers seemed to part away from him like the waters of the Red Sea for Moses.

“Miss Lily, I am pleased you were able to make yourself available tonight. La belle musique doit être jouée pour les belles personnes.” Lestat may have addressed Lily, but he didn’t look at her while he spoke, not until the last syllable of French tumbled from his lips.

“Your pretty words don’t mean a thing to me, Lestat.” she shook her head. “These are my very dear friends. Mister Ogden Bishop.”

“We have met. Color me surprised that my newest tennant is, in fact, the newest piano player in Storyville. My girl at the desk certainly didn’t mention that when she said she’d gotten a signature and keys.”

“Monsieur Bishop. Oui, my apologies. I had hoped to meet you yesterday.” The two shook hands. Louis stared at  Lestat’s bicep as it flexed. 

“Quite all right, quite all right. It’s good to know the apartment is in such fine hands. This is my business partner. Louis de Pointe du Lac.”

“We have met.” Lestat said. “Last night, which was why I was too late to complete the contract signing with you.”

“Well, Louis certainly didn’t mention that.” Ogden looked down at the still seated Louis.

“I…”

“I did not make clear that I was your renter, nor that I would be playing tonight. It was a brief meeting.” Lestat straightened his spine, the way Louis had seen before someone would throw a punch to pick a fight.

Instead, he spoke.

“Perhaps you could procure some beverages for us. Je suis desséché.”

“Happy to. Miss Lily, would you accompany me?”

Ogden and Lily were gone as if they had been commanded and not asked to be. Lestat took a seat beside Louis, leg pressed to leg as he turned all of that bright eyed attention on him.

“Your name is Louis. Of course it's Louis." His mouth seemed not to even move as he spoke in hushed tones. Louis heard it clear as a bell. As if spoken in his own mind. "I had planned to make a new life for myself in St. Louis. That was to be my destiny. Now I know I was right. Only it turns out the saint wasn't a city but a handsome man.”

Louis opened his mouth to speak. And shut it. And opened again. But nothing. What was he meant to say to such a declaration? To a feeling of certainty in the words that he couldn’t argue, and that he felt.

“I-”

“Non. Not here. Not now. After the performance. Venez à moi.” Louis could not speak. But he could nod.

Lestat was already gone when Ogden and Lily returned and left him speechless.

Chapter Text

Louis wasn't surprised That Ogden elected to leave after the first set of songs. This time of night was already well past the man's “suitable and appropriate bedtime”. He hadn't expected that Lily would leave alongside him, though.

“Ogden has offered to make sure I get safely into bed.” She insisted, loud enough that anyone who heard would assume Ogden would be joining her in said bed.

“I can hardly, in good conscience, let a beautiful woman travel alone at night. All sorts of terrible monsters out there.” Ogden agreed.

Louis knew better. Their shared smirk meant nothing but trouble for him later. He and Ogden might not gossip about trysts, but Lily held no such rules.

“Don't be out too late now, Mister de Pointe du Lac.” She cackled a wicked laugh as she and Ogden departed the bar.

Alone, Louis returned to the upper balcony table as most of the late evening patrons kept themselves down closer to the liquor and the music. He shook his head and declined when he was offered both another drink and another….Willing partner to spend time with at the table. The horn and string players were the first to start warming up their hands and mouths again as their break ended.

As Louis settled back into the chair, he watched Lestat scan the crowd. The blonde’s lips momentarily downturned as he watched Lily and Ogden depart through the Saloon’s front doors. That beautiful head turned to where the four of them had spoken a few moments prior, finding it empty. The only way Louis could explain the deep frown was a puppy watching a toy be taken from him.

It took the blonde into the second or third song of the second set to cast his eyes up towards the second floor, and to Louis's lone form amongst the empty tables. A tension that had briefly stilted his playing relaxed, and the same passion as the first set of songs seemed to overtake Lestat. With the shared promise of a meeting, Louis was able to watch and listen a little more objectively. And even without the feral desire to speak and possess even a moment of the musician's time, he could not deny the skill.

“Well well. I heard that Oggy left without saying hello and thought you might have gone off as well.”

Tom Anderson. Louis didn't even have to turn his head to know the voice belonged to the Fair Play's owner. He wished he had taken that serving girl up on another drink.

“You know Mister Bishop well enough to know this ain't really His scene, Mister Anderson.” He put on the best placating voice he could manage after a few drinks and A relaxed evening. “I'll be sure to tell Him he was missed. He made quite a point to wantin’ to see your new man here.”

“My Frog Prince, huh?” Anderson's laugh was an awful, grating thing. “Said he needed a short term gig before he went back up North. Wasn't sure about him, but he played half a showcase night and it was like nothing I saw. People came in off the street who Weren't regulars at all.”

“He's good. Your old player probably won't be pleased to bring out a good gig.”

Louis spoke as if Tom even knew the old piano player's name, let alone care that he was put out of a job. If the Frenchman was bringing in new money, that's all that mattered to men like Anderson. Loyalty was only useful as long as it was profitable.

The Fair Play's owner talked at Louis for a few songs, failing to read the half-hearted grunts and “you don't says” for the disinterest that they were. Finally the man relented, since he'd have ti gi make sure cash was counted for the night when they closed.

“You'll be at the biweekly Owners meeting next week, I assume.” Tom didn't offer to shake his hand when he stood. “And you make sure to extend that offer to Ogden. We would be happy to see him.”

“Sure will, Mister Anderson. Next week, same time as always.”

Louis rolled his eyes at the other man's retreating back. If anyone knew anything about Ogden, outside of the depth of his pockets and that he was from New York, it was that he found gambling a terrible waste of time. It had only taken Louis filling Him in on the cigar smoke choked poker nights that masqueraded as business for him to swear them off entirely.

“Why play chance at cards,” Ogden had said, “when a new business venture is twice as rewarding and exciting?”

No, it would be Louis alone on the room of white men who him only pretended to find him agreeable and acceptable because the two things he inherited from his father: money, and the knowledge of when to keep your mouth shut.

A round of scattered applause pulled Louis from his thoughts, and his attention back down to the stage and musicians.

“You have all been lovely to play for, merci.” Lestat spoke. “We have just two more songs for you this evening. So please, ensure your tabs are paid, and profite du reste de ta soirée. Gentlemen?”

Louis waited for Lestat outside of The Fair Play. He hadn't had an instrument to pack up, but he DID have more than a couple of fawning fans who were really pushing the closing time call. There were still a few hours before twilight, but the arc lamps provided more than enough light as he stepped away from the doors to allow others to pass by.

It was silly to feel nervous. After all, twenty four hours earlier Lestat had been on his knees with Louis's cock in his throat. Surely, having a conversation would be easy after that? And yet, Louis found himself toying with the opening and closing of his cigarette case, as a means to keep his hands busy as he waited. His eyes remained locked on the Saloon's front door as the repetitive “click” of the case's closure comforted him At least somewhat.

By the time the musician made his way out, Louis had lit one of the cigarettes and slipped the case back into the pocket of his coat. If the barely tamed locks held back loosely with the black ribbon hadn't made it obvious who it was that made their way up to him, the brown coat with its ruffled top and dated cut certainly did.

“Désolée. I did not intend to keep you waiting.”

“You got an adoring public. Can't fault you for being good at what you do.”

Louis took a drag on the cigarette, turning his head upwards and to the side to blow the smoke out, so it didn't immensely go into Lestat's face. He didn't miss the way the other man watched as his lips went back around the cigarette after. For a moment, they both stood in transfixed silence, watching as the other businesses on the street emptied out for the night.

“I wanted to-”

“Last night-”

They had both started to speak at the same time cutting one another off. They both smiled at the awkwardness, meeting one another’s gaze just long enough for Louis to nod and encourage Lestat to go ahead first.

“I wanted to apologize for disappearing last night, in the chaos. I assumed it would be best that your…Staff, did not see me leaving your office in the state I was when you left.”

In the light provided by the street lamp above them the bruising, which had lightened significantly by this point, was more visible. Lestat frowned, and reached a hand up. The darkened glasses were long gone as it was night, so there wasn’t an excuse of adjusting them the blonde could use to brush his fingertips briefly against Louis’s cheekbone. Louis flinched, not expecting the contact and the hand was back at Lestat’s side quickly as it came.

“Jus’ a few roughhousing fools. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” He straightened his posture, as if the bruise was something he should wear as a badge of honor. “You had the right idea. I uh….Your handkerchief is in my laundry. I’ll get it back to you next time I see you.”

“You are kind, Saint Louis.” The way Lestat’s accent turned Saint to “San” did something terrible to Louis's breathing. “I don't suppose you would be willing to part with another cigarette?”

“Smoke can't be good for you when you're singin’.” Louis of course pulled out his case and held it out and open for Lestat.

“I often do things that most would consider…Pas bon pour moi.”

As if to prove as much, he did not give Louis time to offer to light the cigarette for him. Instead Lestat, holding the thin paper tube in those devastatingly strong fingers, pressed the unlit tip to the ember of Louis's dying one. Pressed close, the Musician placed the other end of his cigarette between his lips as it caught flame. The air between them was equal parts smoky tobacco and the scent of whatever cologne that Lestat had used to freshen up with before coming outside. There was no way a man could smell so naturally of petrichor and something floral.

“Would you walk with me, Louis?” Lestat spoke in a whisper roughened by a night of singing and a sharp inhalation of smoke.

Louis couldn't look him in the eye long. The pastel blue, bright as the sky at noon, was too much to stay focused on for too long. But he nodded to say He would.

“You haven't been in New Orleans long, yeah? Jackson Park, closer over to the water. You'd like it there.”

This late at night, it would be largely empty as well. The walk to the park wasn't more than fifteen minutes or so even at the slow pace they took. Lestat was quiet the entire way there, first focusing on the cigarette, And then taking in the city around them.

“Elle est une beauté.” He sighed contently as they crossed into the park proper. “A fitting daughter for my beloved Paris.”

“Louisiana Purchase happened Right here too.” Louis guided them along the path to a bench. “Seems only fair to have stayed a little French. Ils nous l’ont vendue.”

He knew his accent was atrocious, same as it had been in the line or two he threw out the night before. The way it made Lestat’s eyes light up with joy, you would think he'd spoken like a native.

“I thought I had imagined it. You do speak French. Fantastique.”

Lestat sat on the bench, sure to sweep his coat away so Louis could sit close beside him. Though, the way he leaned against the back of the bench perhaps lounged was a better word than simply sat. If he had taken the thought of a history lesson seriously, Louis quickly changed his mind.

“My Mother was insistent all three of us learn it. Half the staff at the house were from there, so it helped. You too? From France, obviously. But Paris?”

“Non, not quite from Paris. I am from an area called Auvergne. Close to Lyon than to Paris. Here, your hand, S’il te plaît.”

Lestat held out his own, palm upward, for Louis to place his upon. After a moment, Louis did so, with an arched eyebrow.

“Let us say your palm here is France. The line your knuckles make is the coast.” With his free hand, Lestat traced the tip of his pointer finger across the line his middle knuckles made in the inside of his hand. “Lyon would be more here, under your pinky in the middle. Paris herself closer to the water and north.”

Louis tried his best to listen to impromptu geography lesson as Lestat went on tracing lines and talking about France. All he could focus on was the way Lestat’s fingers curled in, holding his hand in place and dwarfing it. How could something look equal parts so delicate and intimidating? Almost monstrous.

“Have I lost you, Louis?” The rumbling chuckle broke into his thoughts. “You seem so far away.”

“Your hand’s cold.” A stupid cover, but not a lie.

“Ah, yes. I have…how do you say….The blood, it does not go.”

“Poor circulation?”

“Ah, yes this is what I mean.” Lestat squeezed the hand he held. “Especially if it has been awhile since my last meal.”

“Not keepin’ you from supper, am I? You must have worked up an appetite with the way you play.”

“There is no place I would rather be than here. You keep me from nothing.”

Their eyes met at the bold declaration and promise. Seated close on the narrow bench with hand still placed in hand, they were too near one another to be polite. Lestat had the excuse of a European Sensibility, but Louis did not. He was first to shift and create some space between them when there was the sound of someone else on the Park's path.

“You said that you were headed to Saint Louis, but you came from Chicago.” Louis stated more than asked. “Come a long way south to just have to go back up north.”

“You were listening then. Very good.” The smile returned. “It is a….Lengthy story. To say for now, my original reason for coming to the new world was a job offer that would have me stay in Saint Louis.”

“So you're here what….On a vacation? But you signed a lease for ou….Ogden's place above the Tailor shop.”

Louis corrected himself before letting on that the building was one he co-owned with Ogden. Not part of the portfolio his father left to him, but a newer acquisition. They kept it up at this rate, and he and Ogden would have near names on paper for all the Quarter and Uptown combined. Nothing could ruin an evening like admitting to success, though.

“I was meant to go back north in a few days. All of my belongings that were worth sending from Paris will be directed there. Monsieur Bishop's apartment came fully furnished and he seemed reasonable when I spoke to him on the phone from the boarding house. My would-be-Employer is an old friend. He will not be pleased, though, and may not speak to me for some time after. So-”

“Wait wait.” Louis stopped the rambling with a gentle nudge to his side along with the words. “Why would you need a furnished apartment if you’re meant to go back in a few days?”

“I will be staying here in New Orleans.”

The way Lestat spoke, it was as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Louis’s wide eyed stare back at him said otherwise. Lestat laughed with the whole of his body. His head tipped back in a beautiful line that exposed his throat. A shake of the same that loosened some of the blonde waves from the tie they had been in.

“But you have a job set for you. Why would you stay here?”

“Now that I have met you, how could I go anywhere else?”

Chapter Text

They didn't linger too much longer at Jackson Square. While it was certainly empty and quiet this time of night, it was still very in the public view. Lestat’s proclamation that seeing him three times was enough to make the musician turn down an apparently guaranteed job had ruined whatever composure Louis had strung together. While the blonde went on about the trip across the ocean, Louis had spread his legs on the bench. He leaned one arm back, as if simply to stretch and get comfortable instead of brushing his fingers briefly against the velvety black ribbon and the hair it held back.

“It is getting late. Or is it early?” Lestat’s little chuckle when Louis’s hand made it past the ribbon to the back of his neck where he was bound to feel the shudder it sent down the column. “Do you stay in the city? Those townhouses I have seen along the streets are beautiful things.”

“Nah, I’m a bit out of the city proper. I gotta car to get here and there. Family house, to go with the family business.”

“The family business of nightclubs pays so well here?” Lestat leaned back into the hand that made itself home against his skin.

“For someone like Anderson maybe. I gotta few things here and there. The club’s my favorite of them though.”

“Quite the homme d'affaires then hmm? It makes sense that you are friends with Monsieur Bishop then. I met his sister not long after arriving in New York.”

“Do just fine by myself.”

Louis hated that he could hear how quickly he got defensive in his own voice. It wasn’t uncommon for new people to assume his association with Ogden was “the thing” that  allowed his position. Like just because he was a colored man, he couldn't have done it without help. The way Lestat’s big blue eyes got even wider said he could hear it too.

“Of course, of course. Je me suis mal exprimé, pardonne-moi.”

“It’s alright.” he shrugged, removing the hand from Lestat’s throat, patting his shoulder to assure him that there was no harm done. “Let me walk you back to your place. It can be confusing in the dark if you’re not used to the city. Rampart street, right?”

“Oui.” Lestat stood first, smoothing out his coat to keep those paws of his busy. “I am used to the night, but I would not say no to an escort.”

“You said you like the townhouses. We’ll go down Royal. Mighty fine ones there.” Louis took a few steps, assuming that the musician would follow. “They build them like that back in France?”

“They do.”

Lestat seemed to abhor silence, filling the walk with describing the buildings of Paris, gesticulating with his hands the whole way through. It reminded him of Ogden in a way; perhaps something to do with New England still being quite cosmopolitan and European at times. He found it didn’t bother him as much when Lestat rambled on about iron fencing as it might if Ogden did it. The way the lamplight was captured in the musician’s icy eyes would be reason enough to forgive anything, if the hypnotic timbre of his voice didn’t do it. Louis couldn’t help but smile by proxy, and stopped when Lestat suddenly did in front of one of the row houses.

The numbers read 1132 , their metal a polished gleam in the night. The white stone of the building was framed by iron posts, up to the balcony fenced in with the same curling metal. The inside was dark for the hour, but that didn’t matter to the musician. His fingers twitched, as if longing to brush his fingers against the stone.

“You all right, Lestat?”

“Je l'ai déjà vue.” The boisterous chatter dropped to an adoring whisper. ”Elle est belle comme je l'ai rêvé.”

“Come again?” Louis only half heard the words, arching an eyebrow.

“Ah, it is nothing. The other performers at the Opera House would say I am prone to distracted passion around beautiful things.” He looked away from the townhouse to instead look at Louis. “This evening would seem to prove them right.”

Louis had not planned to go up to the apartment above the tailor shop. The rest of the walk there, he had talked himself firmly OUT of going up. He would see Lestat through the door and walk back where he parked his car. If he stayed out the whole night and went back in the morning in last evening’s clothes, he would have his mother’s judging eyes on him all day long, and no shortage of questions from Grace.

And yet-

“I insist. It is a chilly evening, you must borrow a scarf. I have already let you freeze.” Lestat’s hands went up and adjusted the collar of Louis’s jacket to lay more flat. “Come up and take it.”

It would have been rude to refuse the offer, and so, like a hound on a leash, Louis followed up the narrow staircase to the bachelor apartment. The furniture was sparse, but serviceable; he had been with Ogden when he picked out the sturdy pieces, so Louis knew them well. Since he was just meant to be taking a scarf, he couldn’t have taken off his shoes. And yet, as Lestat hung the monstrosity of a coat on the rack by the door, he found himself toeing them off.

“I seem to have left it in my luggage.” As if this had been some long winded plan of his. ”You can wait here if you wish.”

Lestat was giving him one last out. He lingered in the doorway to the open bedroom, head tilted to the side as he waited for Louis’s answer. The way the musician bit the scarred corner of his lip made Louis swallow harder than he meant to.

Louis shucked off his jacket, hanging it up beside Lestat’s. He caught just the end of Lestat’s smile tuning to a far less innocent smirk as he walked into the bedroom. Without the jacket to obscure his figure, Louis was able to take in the sight of Lestat’s saunter in proper lighting. The broad shoulders and impossibly narrow waist must have been a costumer’s dream when he was on the opera stage. The sashay of his hips seemed better suited for a dance, and didn’t match the quick pace of his walk. This was a solo performance, after all.

It was only a few steps for Louis to cross from the small apartment’s door to the bedroom Lestat disappeared into. The man was meticulous in the way he made it his bed. It looked to not have even been slept in and a musician’s pay couldn't afford a maid. Though, perhaps not a morning person as the curtains were drawn tightly closed, and looked to have been changed. He didn't remember such heavy, dark fabric when they set up the place.

The closet was a walk in with a solid door and big enough for a man to practically lay down in. For the moment it was largely empty, as Lestat clearly had been traveling rather lightly with plans to return North on a quick turn around. The musician had placed the battered travel bag atop a chest of drawers inside the closet. As Louis stepped behind him, he was pulling out a simple, wool scarf made with brown fiber. Both in their bare feet they were of a similar height. So, it was nothing to rest his chin on Lestat’s shoulder and settle his hands on the divinely narrow waist.

“Good thing you live above a tailor. Lots of space to fill.”

Louis could feel the pur-like rumble the chuckle produced in Lestat’s chest as the man leaned back against him. Lestat twisted the scarf in his hands as if he was coiling a rope around his wrists and palms. He tilted his head to the side facing Louis’s, so their noses brushed and their breath mingled. Lestat had parted his lips to speak but seemed to forget his words as his eyes drifted downwards to Louis’s own. It was nothing for the blonde to close the distance and press their mouths together.

It was better than Louis had remembered from the previous evening. Had it really only been twenty four hours since Lestat’s tongue had first run against the roof of his mouth? It felt both like only seconds before and an eternity at the same time. All too soon they broke apart, but only so Lestat could turn so they were properly facing one another. He raised his arms, still with the scarf in his hands, and draped them over Louis’s shoulders. The fabric ghosted along the back of Louis’s neck, and he wasn’t able to suppress the shudder it left him with.

“Ticklish are we?”

There was a darkness in Lestat’s eyes as he spoke, something between lust and playful teasing. If he hadn’t been blushing before, Louis certainly was now.

“Didn’t say that.”

“You do not need to.” Lestat took a step forward, the arms around his shoulders forcing Louis to mirror a step backwards. “Your body speaks loudly for you, Louis.”

Several steps more, and the back of Louis’s legs hit the mattress that was hardly large enough for one of them, let alone the both. And yet, it didn’t stop him from sitting on it, now looking up at Lestat. With the scarf looped around his wrists, the blonde’s fingers were still free. The style he wore his hair in didn’t really allow Lestat to grab on to anything, and yet deceptively sharp little nails dragged along Louis’s scalp, keeping his head tilted and their gaze locked.

“Que voudrais-tu que je fasse?” Lestat bent his head and shoulders, his breath warm against Louis’s ear as the pseudo binding came loose. ”Je suis à vous pour commander.”

That word. Command. It did something terribly wonderful to Louis’s stomach the way Lestat said it. Images of the evening in his office flashed in his mind. Positions the same. Positions reversed. Entirely new ones he had never dared to think about before. And as if he could see them through their locked eyes, Lestat all but growled. Louis's lips parted as he scrambled for words, convinced not to embarrass himself into a stupor of silence as he had the  night prior.

“Figure turnabout is fair play.” Louis raised his hands from where they had fallen uselessly on the covers of the bed, his fingers brushing the waistline of Lestat’s pants.

“Mon Saint, there is no score to be kept here.”

The Frenchman hissed at even just the slightest pressure from Louis’s palm against the front of the too tight to be even remotely proper trousers. All that insistence, and still he couldn’t hide what was obvious.

“What was it you just said? Your body speaks loudly for you?”

“You are a cruel man to throw my words back at me, Louis.”

The way Lestat’s body arched into every touch, he could have been a dancer as well as a singer for all Louis knew. He hadn’t been to many Operas, but the way Ogden talked about them, there wasn’t a whole lot of dancing.

Was he seriously thinking about Ogden right now?

“Take it off.”

“Which?”

“All of it.”

The next two minutes was a flurry of fabric as they both took their time to fling their clothing in the direction of the door of the tiny bedroom. Lestat was quicker, since he had more space with his back to the room and not to the bed. It distracted Louis to a complete stop, with one leg still in his trousers. In the rush of their first meeting, he hadn’t really taken a moment to truly look at Lestat. Now, he couldn’t look anywhere else.

The first thing he noticed was just how pale he was. Accentuated by the moonlight, it was like his bone and flesh were carved from marble. No, not marble. White Jade. Ogden had told him about the collection his father had put together at a museum in New York, all sorts of Jade pieces and relics mostly from the Far East. Each color had something it “attracted” according to the stories. Louis didn’t believe it for a moment.

But he couldn’t help recalling that white Jade supposedly attracted soulmates.

“You are staring, Louis.” Lestat spoke softly, like he was calming a spooked animal. “And about to trip out of your clothes. Come, lay down for me.”

Even if no had been a word currently in his vocabulary, Louis didn’t think he would have been able to say it. How could anyone ever say “no” to Lestat de Lioncourt? The way those eyes could pierce through a man’s soul with his clothes ON was one thing. But without them? Louis fell back onto the bed as if knocked over by a gust of wind, sprawled and staring up at Lestat.

“There we are. Much better, non?”

Lestat reached over and tugged Louis’s pants and underthings off, tossing them into a pile with the rest of it vaguely behind him. For all his talk about returning the favor from their first night, Louis didn’t put up any resistance as Lestat crawled on top of him on the narrow bed, kissing him again. This time, Louis ran his hands up Lestat’s chest, starting as low as his hip bones and up to his shoulders. It was then he made his next discovery about the jadeite sculpture of a man: he didn’t have a bit of hair anywhere on his body. Well, save the ridiculous waves of gold on the top of his head, those sharp brows, and eyelashes that he was well aware working girls would kill for. Louis himself wasn’t exactly furry by any stretch of the word, but compared to Lestat he may as well have been a woolen sheep.

And ice cold. Every inch of him, not just the large hands that currently were snaking their way down Louis’s sides and tracing circles on his thighs as they reached them, were frigid. They hadn’t taken the time to turn on the stove, or the fireplace in the other room, but this sort of chill was beyond an ill-heated room, or the cool air outside before. Was he ill? Some sort of iron deficiency? He had said-

“Am I not handsome enough to keep your attention for long, Louis?”

Lestat had noticed Louis’s distraction, pulling away from his lips to kiss along his jaw and the column of his throat. The brief drag of sharp canines across his collarbone brought Louis fully back to attention.

“You’re a lot to take in all at once.”

“Mmhm, flattery like that, you may see all the ways that statement is true.”

Louis snorted a laugh, echoed by Lestat chuckling against the skin of his shoulder. Louis gave the blond locks a gentle tug, so Lestat would have to look up at him, and stop leaving a bruise that his shirt would hide come morning. A final nip of apology and Lestat moved so the two could properly look at one another.

“You were insistent on reciprocation, oui I heard you.” The musician settled so his legs straddled Louis’s hips, hovering above him with his hands on his chest. “How would you have me, mon saint?”
How? Louis hadn’t thought that far ahead. He’d intended just to return the….Favor, so to speak, from the night before. A glance down Lestat’s chest to the cock jutting out from between his splayed legs said that would be easier said than done. Louis was far from a blushing virgin, but Lestat’s joke was based quite firmly in reality. It was the warmest part of the blonde, he decided as he wrapped his fingers around the shaft, to feel the weight of Lestat in his palm. The way Lestat tossed his head back would have been over the top if it had been anyone else. From less than ten hours together, Louis already knew that Lestat did nothing in small measures.

The whine sounded almost like the saxophone that had accompanied his voice earlier in the evening. It followed a sliding scale of flats and sharps as Louis continued to move his hand up and down. Lestat’s fingers curled, scrambling for purchase against Louis’s chest with a hiccupping gasp. The points of those deceptively sharp nails almost drew blood, until Louis released him.

“Do not tease me, Louis. So cruel.”

“Switch with me then. Wanna see your hair against the pillows.”

Lestat was quick to jump off the bed, and even quicker to settle back on to it as was commanded of him once Louis gave the space for him to do so. He shook his head before settling down, so his hair fanned out perfectly against the stark white of the sheets. The strands formed a perfect, if slightly crimped from curls, halo No one would have mistaken him for an angel, though; not with the way he almost immediately wrapped his hand around his cock to pick up where Louis had left off.

“No.”

The one word froze Lestat’s hand and caused his eyes to widen. Louis smirked, pleased with the immediate response. He reached down, wrapping his fingers around Lestat’s wrist, moving the hand to instead grab the sheets next to his hip.

“ ‘sthat what you like, hmm? Being told what to do?”

“Louis.” Lestat spoke the name through a sigh as Louis trailed his fingers up his arm. “I would like whatever you would give to me.”

“You got-”

“In the little…In the…” He raised the hand that hadn’t been moved to gesture at the bedside table.

For his dated travel clothes, and renting a tiny apartment as he was, it was clear where Lestat’s money DID go. Or perhaps the fancy, Parisian, oil was one of the few things that he carried with him instead of shipping over. He took his time, warming it in his hand as Lestat continued to fidget and whine under him. Strings of French profanity between whines were a lovely backing track as Louis slicked himself up. A second pour of oil, and he pressed his fingers first into the heat of Lestat. The latest whine was turned into a cry as Louis’s middle finger pushed past the second knuckle with ease.

“Hungry thing, ain’t you?”

“Affamé, Louis. Sil te-”

Louis didn’t let him finish begging, kissing him to swallow the sound of his moans when his index finger joined the middle. Lestat’s hands didn’t stay on the bed for much longer. Instead, he wrapped them around Louis's shoulders in an attempt to pull him nearer. As if being chest to chest wasn’t enough; it was like he wanted to climb inside of Louis. Or perhaps the other way round.

It was clumsy, since Lestat wouldn’t allow Louis to move and really get properly lined up. One of those long legs joined the arms around him, not letting any space come between them. Louis finally let out a sound that was something like a growl, which surprised himself more than it seemed to Lestat. Ever obedient, Lestat slackened his grip to allow Louis to move, just enough to press the tip of his cock against his entrance.

As Louis pressed past the tight ring of muscle, it was his turn to gasp. He fell forward, forehead pressed against Lestat’s shoulder. It took every bit of composure he had to not immediately come and ruin things.

“Non, do not think such, mon couer. You could never ruin such a thing.”

Lestat spoke as if Louis said his fears out loud. One of those octave-spanning hands cupped the back of Lous’s head, massaging his scalp. How he could manage to still be the one doing the comforting with Louis’s cock nearly fully inside of him was beyond him. Louis took another moment to center himself while Lestat whispered endearments he couldn’t understand into the top of his head. When he was finally sheathed fully inside of the blond, they both gasped and clutched at one another. Lestat’s nails drew blood this time, the coppery scent just one more layer against the musk and rain.

Louis didn’t know how long they had been fucking. The blanket and sheets were unsalvageable, tangles and soiled messes on the floor by the mattress. He had lost count of how many times he’d come, like they were teenagers. The scratches on his back and the bruises bitten into Lestat’s shoulders were the work of fully grown men, though.

“It is getting late, mon couer. Or perhaps early.”

Lestat’s whispered voice broke the silence that had settled. Louis had his head resting on the blonde’s chest, and he glanced up to meet his eyes. Flushed, content, and a ruined mess; Lestat was painfully breathtaking. And more than that, he was right. If he looked at the edges of the dark curtains, he might be able to see the sky lightning.

“You should get home. Your family will worry for you.”

“Trying to get rid of me?”

“I would never do such a thing. But, you should not stay. They will ask questions and be upset with you.”

When Lestat kissed him, slipping his tongue past willing lips, it was as if any other thought he had about staying in the bed simply melted away. Lestat was right. He needed to get back to the du Lac house. Coming in this late, if his mother heard there would already be plenty of judgement. Heavy and exhausted, he pulled himself from the narrow bed to find which clothes were his and which were Lestat’s.

Lestat had propped his head up on his elbow to watch him dress, and crooked his finger to summon him back once he was decent again. Another kiss, brief so not to tempt him back down onto the mattress. When Louis moved back, Lestat cupped his face tenderly, thumb brushing along his cheekbone. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but shook his head and released Louis, laying flat.

Louis reached a hand out, as if to pull him back. But, that driving need to leave and get back to the house pounded in his head, like a beast knowing it had to flee danger. Lestat gave him a reassuring nod, and Louis slowly backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. In the quiet dark, he donned his shoes and coat, before leaving the apartment.

When he made it back to the house, and into his own bed, he closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. Fading in to sleep, he could swear he heard as clear as if the musician was back in the room with him-

Dream of me, Louis.

Chapter Text

The schedule Louis kept meant he was constantly calling on some sort of business. Even lunch with Ogden two times a week became more like a meeting, with the two of them pouring over a list of new properties, or repairs that had to be made at one of the ones they currently maintained while their food got cold. Being that Lily worked in the evenings, she tended to sleep late into the day. Louis couldn't fault her for that; the evenings he was at the club late enough to close it, he didn't stir until at least eleven.

And then there was Lestat. It had been a week, one hundred and sixty eight hours or maybe even longer, since he laid eyes on the man in the flesh. Though, that wasn't to say he hadn't seen him. For seven aching evenings, his dreams had been full of nothing BUT blonde locks blown out by humidity and eyes so blue they put the summer skies to shame. More than once, he woke in the middle of the night with a need to change his sleeping pants and scrub out an embarrassing stain before it could set and be seen by someone else.

The exhaustion that had seeped into his bones after the excruciatingly busy, and sleepless, week was finally worth it when it came time for the Book Club meeting. It was always the night before the second of the bimonthly poker games that were thinly disguised as business meetings hosted by Anderson. In order to make it through the dreadful events, there was a much more pleasant evening ritual Louis partook in. Lily called it the Book Club, though they never spoke much of literature. At first, Ogden and Louis hadn’t quite understood why she was so insistent on it. But, “book club” would look far better on a calendar should someone come across it than “several hour bitch session about the worst white men you’ve ever heard of”.

The three friends would meet at Ogden’s home after dinner, as Louis could never quite slip away without glares from his mother or sister before it. Though, since he said he was to meet with Ogden, they never fussed too much about it: Ogden was an upstanding and gentle man, after all. He would take the car and pick up Lily first, and the two of them would drive to the townhouse on Chartres with a view of the water. Of all the investments that Ogden made in the city, the two story home was the only thing he kept for himself and hadn’t rented out or resold.

When they arrived, the housekeeper would hang their coats up for them before leaving for the evening. Mrs. Matilda had been employed by Ogden since his arrival in the city, and he treated her very well. The three of them insisted they could serve themselves, and would try not to make too much of a mess for her to handle in the mornings. It had taken months for the woman to finally agree to leave early these evenings, though now it was clear she enjoyed it.

“The husband and I are going to go to a show tonight. Mister Odgen is letting us use his box down at the theater. Never felt so fancy.” She beamed as she pulled on her coat once theirs were taken care of. “You three have a good night.”

“Knew there was a reason you looked so lovely tonight, ma’am.” Louis opened the door for the woman, inclining his head as if he was the servant.

“Oh stop that you.” she smacked his arm with an affectionate laugh before going out and down the street.

“Flattering all the little old ladies. What WOULD the piano player say if he saw you like this hmm?” Lily was removing her high heeled shoes and putting them by the door once Louis closed and locked it up.

“You probably see him more than I do, since you work at the same place.” Louis hadn’t meant to sound so much like a jilted lover, but the huff of a sigh came out anyway. “Haven’ seen him since the night Ogden stayed out long enough to hear him play.”

“Is that why you're such a cranky mess then? Haven't had the time to gawk at your porcelain doll?”

“Lily.” Louis warned and shook his head at her. “It ain't nothin’ like that.”

“You really thought I wasn't going to hear from my girl that works at that gentlemen's tailoring shop that you said to put two new suits on your tab for Mister Lioncourt?” She scoffed. “Louis, Baby. I got ears all over this town.”

Found out, Louis had to blush a little. It had felt only right, when he saw the state of things that Lestat had with him. Who knew how long his belongings would take to get all the way down to New Orleans?

“I just mean with all the fine men down here, you couldn't have found one of ours to be a…Patron of the arts for?”

He knew she was teasing, but there was an edge to her joke as they walked into Ogden's living room. Something like a buried accusation, nestled like a knife between his ribs as they sat down in the plush chairs while their other friend poured them wine. There were few other men in the city that shared Louis’s…Proclivities when it came to sex. He could count one one hand the number of them that were also colored.

“You mustn't be too cruel to Louis, Lily.” Ogden scolded her as he sat down on the chaise, legs stretched beside him and dangling his glass of deep wine between his fingers. “I have only been in this city for two years now and have met most of the options available to us. They do not hold a candle to Monsieur Lioncourt.”

“Not you too, Og.” She let out a groan, waving her hand at him dismissively. “So what's he got that's so magnetic huh? Blond hair and blue eyes? Pretty singers with empty pockets are a dime a dozen in these parts.”

“He has talent. More than I can say for most of the so-called singers that Anderson allows to play just to satiate his extramarital desires. For all their chest, they can hardly hold a note.” Ogden snorted. “And he has such a large-”

“Ogden!”

“Pair of hands. Goodness, Lily. What do you take me for?”

Ogden's feigned innocence got the laugh out of Louis that the other man had been hoping for. Pleased with himself, he took a long drink of his wine which encouraged the other two to do the same.

“Much as I would love to make this evening all about teasing Louis for the first time he’s properly engaged in amorous congress in months-”

“Amorous Congress? How can you make it sound even WORSE Ogden?!” Louis groaned, tossing the pillow from the chair in the direction of the other man before putting his head in his hands.

Lilly cackling along with Ogden’s laughter was a balm for any stress that Louis had still been carrying on his shoulders. Hearing the two of them go back and forth with the worst slang for sex they could think of while drinking wine that was too expensive for a casual night like this was like settling into the chair he favored in his bedroom with a book: a full body comfort.

Two glasses in, with the tray of small pastries and cheeses that Ogden had set out for them as well, the real reason they were gathered finally became the topic of conversation. The guest list for the poker games was always the same, which made it easy to round up gossip so Louis could be prepared for whatever they might try to throw at him. Ogden was either directly told or could overhear juicy “off the record” tidbits in offices and dinner halls. Lily worked for Tom Anderson and could get any man to spill his secrets in pillow talk.

Truly, the two of them would be terrifying enemies. Louis constantly thanked Christ that they were put in his path as allies instead. He listened as Lily began to discuss which Alderman and business owners had ended up in her bed since the last time they met. Who had been in OTHER workers beds, who spent a little too much on drink. All the sort of tongue in cheek, subtle jabs that he would be able to use as the games went later in the evening. When she began to start in on her boss, specifically on how half of a fine spirit shipment didn’t make it out of his office, Ogden let out a little noise.

“Anderson, that reminds me!” He set his wine glass down. “Hold on hold on. I have it here somewhere…”

He was positively ungraceful as he pulled himself up from the chaise to the console table that was littered with papers and mail. With an “ah-ha!” he pulled a piece out from somewhere in the middle, stumbling back to his seat.

“I may or may not have slipped a document out of my solicitor’s office that will not be missed….I hope it won’t be missed.”

“Odgen Mills Bishop. Taking legal documents that aren’t yours?” Lily gasped, one hand covering her mouth in faux shock. “For shame!”

“Oh it was one of the pages in the middle. Not even any signatures or initials on the page. No one is going to notice.” Ogden waved the paper. “Anderson sold off one of the buildings I forgot he even still owned. To an Alderman, no less.”

Louis blinked, taking the paper when Ogden smacked him in the arm with it. Being in the middle of whatever contract his friend had pulled it out of, it took him a moment to figure out which property was listed. 

“The old rooming house on Villere?” Louis frowned, looking over the lines of ink and then back to Ogden who nodded to confirm that was correct. “I thought that place was hemorrhaging cash. Last month Anderson said he was about to close it down for good.”

“Precisely.” Ogden refilled all three of their glasses of wine. “What use would an Alderman have for a building about to close? And it isn’t exactly like a building like that can be used for many things outside of a boarding house. Just think about how much it would cost to do construction.”

Even addled by the wine, Louis was able to do some quick calculations in his head. Unless he sold it to the Alderman for pennies on the dollar, it wouldn’t be worth it. He wrinkled his nose as he considered what else the man could do with it. Suddenly, Lily snapped her fingers and gasped.

“I’ve got it!” She took another long sip of wine before she continued. “The Alderman MUST be getting into The Business. I mean, he wouldn’t reject a liquor license to himself. And if there’s already a bunch of rooms ready to be slept in….”

“You think that a man in politics with money, a wife, and two children would want to get into such a messy arrangement?” Ogden frowned. “That seems so….Foolish.”

“Oh I don’t DOUBT that the Alderman is a fool. I know he’s one. And the sort to drop a small fortune regularly on  pleasant company and libation. If he was the one bossing the ladies and supplying the liquor, he wouldn’t have to kick up a fuss at other places. Ain’t that right, Lou?”

Louis had to kick Fenwick out of his own establishment more than once for the fact he couldn’t hold his liquor half as well as he could hold office. He nodded to agree with Lily and then scowled. New Orleans was a decent sized city, certainly. But the market for brothels and women to fill them was already an oversaturated one. Add in a man who could threaten girls with violence AND very real promises to throw them in a cell if they disobeyed or rejected an “offer for employment”? It was a very real danger for his blossoming twilight business.

He found it difficult to focus back on the conversation, the other two having shifted to talking about the antics of Lily’s latest string of customers. Even a rousing tale of a man who tried to jump out the window instead of paying in nothing but his socks couldn’t stir him from his thoughts now. If Lily was right, and the Alderman was looking to get into the whoring market as an owner and not just a customer, he just might have a problem.

They managed to keep the pile of half a dozen empty wine bottles confined to the coffee table, so Mrs. Mathilda wouldn’t break an ankle tripping over them in the morning. Lily was already asleep on the couch, a blanket draped over her by Ogden by the time Louis was putting his shoes back on at the door a few hours later.

“You won’t get behind the wheel of your car right away, will you, Louis?” Ogden helped him into his coat, smoothing the collar of it down. “I would hate to think that you might get into some sort of accident….”

“I won’t, Og.” Louis promised, letting the other man fuss over him for a moment. “I’m better at holding myself than you two lightweights.” Before Ogden could argue, Louis raised a hand and put his finger to his lips. “I’ll go for a walk. Fresh air will sober me up.”

“Promise?”

Louis nodded and Ogden stepped backwards but didn’t break eye contact. When the New Yorker dropped the businessman persona, cheeks flushed nearly as red as the wine they had been drinking and eyes sparkling with it, Louis wished that things had worked out between the two of them. How easy would it have been if they had been able to fall in love? His mother liked Ogden, as much as the woman could ever like any white man; even Paul was able to hold his tongue the times that he came around to dinner or to speak at the house.

“Take my spare key. If you need to come back and sleep here, you know where the guest room is. I don't dare try to move Lily to it. She’s a dead weight when she’s asleep like she is now.”

“I will.” To appease him Louis picked up the key from its spot on the bureau near the door. “Go get some sleep. I’ll see you on Monday.” Like always.”

He was startled when Ogden leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Affectionate, tipsy, and impossibly chaste. Louis watched him stumble his way up to the townhouse’s second flooring, giggling all the way until he disappeared at the top of the stairs and down the hall. 

Shaking his head, Louis slipped outside and used the spare key to lock the door to the house behind him. As a man of his word, he didn’t get immediately into the car. He did stop to pick up his walking cane from under the seat. Louis was not so intoxicated that he was worried about stumbling when he walked, but the blade hidden inside the implement was a welcome comfort in the Louisiana night.

He had no set destination in mind as he began to wander, but Louis wasn’t surprised when he found himself drawn to Jackson Square; the peace of the place was as familiar to him as every brick in the cobblestones of Storyville. Though it wasn’t that far from Ogden’s home, he was tired by the time he found a bench to settle on under the light of an oil lamp. Resting the cane against the side of the bench, Louis fished his cigarette case out of his pocket.

Even late at night, the well-lit paths in the park were never truly empty. As he lit his cigarette, Louis watched a young couple out far past their parents curfew walk hand in hand while they whispered to one another. He couldn’t help but smile just a little as the man removed his jacket to cover her shoulders as she shivered from the cold. The scene was a direct opposition to the bushes and trees that rustled off the path and further into the dark. The moan and grunt from the bush’s occupants underscored the sweetness of the couple only a few feet away from it.

Louis was well aware of the evening activities that happened just a little further into the dark of Jackson Square. Under the cover of twilight and branches, the company was unpaid for and yet more taboo than the meetings he facilitated through his club. And he knew quite well just what a body looked like in the moonlight that filtered through the branches. It was the wine that had him considering putting his cigarette out and walking off the path. And perhaps an accented voice in his mind that told him he could do so much better than fucking a man whose wife did not know her marriage was lavender against the rough bark of an Oak tree.

“You will never need to lower yourself in such a way again, mon saint.”

He was sure that he heard the voice out loud, somewhere over his right shoulder and closer to the center of the park. When he glanced over his shoulder, he was pleasantly surprised to confirm that he hadn’t just been hearing things he wanted to.

Lestat had taken up the offer of the free suit from the shop he was staying above, judging by the fact he no longer looked like an angel out of time; just an angel now. Or perhaps a devil, in the simple black suit that made his pale skin practically glow as he stepped further into the lamplight. Practical, likely right off of a display or the floor of the shop and taken in on the same morning, it still served exactly the purpose Louis had hoped it would: proving just how radiant the Singer was.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with looking for a good time. Seem to recall you didn’t have a problem with me lowering myself a few nights ago.”

Oh. That laugh. If Louis’s heart had not started to pound in his ears the moment he caught a glimpse of the blonde, it certainly was now. Lestat took a seat beside him on the bench without asking for permission. And even dared to pluck the cigarette from where its last drag was dangling precariously in Louis’s fingers. Pressing his lips to the filter like a secondhand kiss, Lestat took the last pull from it before putting the ember out on the bottom of his shoe and tossing it to be lost in the grass.

“It has been several nights, you are right. You must forgive me, I am often told I am a forgetful man. You may have to remind me.” The smirk that pulled on the scarred corner of those lips as the words and the smoke poured from them said he most certainly did remember.

“Recall enough to take advantage of my kindness.” Louis turned to more fully face Lestat, taking in the sight of him from the closer position now. “Black looks good on you.”

“You are too kind, mon Louis.” The smirk softened to a smile. “You did not have to do this. But I would have been a fool to refuse.”

Were he sober, Louis would have been able to contain himself much more easily. Resist the way those crystalline eyes seemed to peer into a part of him that he could not see himself. Ignore the way that the cigarette smoke layered with the petrichor, something metallic, and something distinctly Lestat. Even pretend that the way the man’s pinky finger stretched to graze his thigh when it spread across the bench between them. As it was, the wine had Louis swoon towards Lestat before he could stop himself.

“You seem to have had an…Enjoyable night.” Lestat could speak in a whisper with their proximity.

“Get together with Odgen and Lily. You remember them from the night we were at The Fair Play, don’t you? They’re my best friends. We had some wine.”

“Some wine?”

“A lot of wine.” It hadn’t felt like it before, but it certainly did now. “I promised Ogden I wouldn’t drive home until I sobered up some. He worries.”

“A good man to worry for his friend.”

It wasn’t a sneer, but Louis took note of the way that Lestat briefly ran his tongue across teeth. Like the compliment left them feeling fuzzy. Not that there was anything fuzzy about Lestat outside of the hair on top of his head. The reminder made Louis blush, and Lestat’s lips curled back into their pleased smirk at the sight of the flush.

“Allow me to escort you home then. A gentleman such as yourself should not wander on his own late at night. Even with your petit couteau.”

Before Louis could question just how he knew about that, Lestat stood and picked up the cane. The head of it was dwarfed in his hand, and Louis could not keep himself from staring and swallowing harder than he meant to.

“You know how to drive?” He managed to ask as he got to his feet as well, walking at Lestat’s side along the path back to the park’s entrance.

“I will ensure you and your vehicle get back safely.”

 It wasn’t an answer, but Louis didn’t mind.

Chapter Text

Louis didn’t remember getting back to his family’s house, but he woke up in his bed in the early afternoon changed into sleeping clothes and with a pounding, wine-induced, hangover. He had been thoughtful enough to leave a glass of water for his ailing self. Or…Had he ? As he blinked his eyes open, slow against the strain of the early sun streaming in through the window, Louis recalled meeting Lestat in the park after leaving Ogden’s townhouse the evening before.

The Frenchman had appeared out of the darkness, looking as tempting as Satan to Christ in the desert in a freshly tailored suit with a promise to get him safely home. When he took a long drink of the water, Louis remembered walking out of the park with the other man, back in the direction of the car he had left behind. More embarrassingly, and more vividly, he could also recall pulling Lestat into an alleyway when they were nearly there.

Louis had been viscerally annoyed at the ribbon that kept him from being able to rake his fingers through Lestat’s hair when he kissed him up against the wall of one of the buildings. He had chased the taste of the cigarette Lestat had stolen from him with his tongue, and growled a sound like he had never heard himself make when the blonde gently pushed him away.

“You have had too much to drink, Louis.” He smoothed out Louis’s coat collar fondly. “Tu es pompette.”

“Not enough that I’d forget I want you.”

Lestat wasn’t quite so quick to push Louis away the second time. And yet he still did, raising the hand from Louis’s chest and neck to cup his jaw. Louis wasn’t able to move his head under the iron grasp of his fingers.

“Behave, mon couer.” Lestat whispered, meeting his eyes and not allowing Louis to look away. “Tu es déjà impossible à résister pour moi.”

His periwinkle eyes seemed to shift to a more lilac color, and Louis felt himself fall all but limp against Lestat’s chest, and into his arms.

So he had made a drunken fool of himself. Louis groaned as he recalled his actions while going through his morning routine. With the poker game that evening, and the list of things he had to do before it being a mile long, he wouldn’t have time to go and apologise and thank Lestat for taking care of him at least until tomorrow. Just what had gotten into him to make him behave this way?

Six feet of blonde musician . Or at least six inches of one. He could hear Lily’s voice in his head teasing him as he adjusted his tie and looked at himself in the mirror.

A quick glance at the clock in the room said he was already very behind on work to get done before that evening, and so he put the matching jacket over his shoulder instead of on as he swept out of his bedroom door. If he remembered the household calendar for the day as well as he thought he did, Momma and Grace would be out of the house already so they wouldn’t be able to scold him. A chaperoned luncheon with young mister Levi Frenier, a recent transplant to the city who had managed to catch his sister’s attention not but a week or two before.

That meant there was only-

“Louis. You’re awake.”

His brother, Paul, has been sitting in the living room like he had been waiting for Louis to wake up all morning. Internally, Louis swore as he was discovered; externally, he managed a smile for his brother and turned to face his direction.

“Morning, Paul.”

“It is afternoon now.”

Somehow, the scolding snarl in his brother’s tone was almost worse than if it had been his mother. It was likely because whenever Paul told you something, it felt like he had the backing of all the prophets and disciples of Jesus himself behind the words. Especially when it came to judgement. And judging by the look in his younger brother’s eyes, it was certainly judgement.

“A later night than I expected with Ogden last night.” Louis shrugged it off, as best as he could. “I didn’t wake anyone up when I came back in, did I? I’m sure Gracie would have been hollering if I ruined her beauty sleep for today.”

“Ogden isn’t the one who brought you home this morning. The birds told me so.”

Paul and his damn birds. Louis struggled to bite his tongue as the wine headache continued to throb in tandem with the beating of his heart. He couldn’t keep himself from rolling his eyes though.

“Of course he didn’t, Paul. Why would the man leave his house to take me home and then go back?” he tapped a finger to his temple, as if to tell his brother to use his head.

“They said you was walking with the devil.” Paul continued on as if Louis hadn’t said anything at all. “Worse than that queer New York man. They said he had no face. No soul at all to speak of.”

“Paul.” Louis could hear the strain in his own voice. “I really don’t have time to argue with you right now about this. You go on ahead and get back to your bible and-”

“For God cannot be tempted by evil, nor does he tempt anyone; but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed.” Paul spoke as if the very mention of the holy book was an invitation to quote it at his elder brother. “Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death.”

“Paul, that’s enough.” Louis put his hand against the doorframe for help with stability, the other hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not-”

“I said enough!”

The pounding of his fist against the wood snapped Paul out of the trancelike state these reciatations put him in. He took a step back from Louis. And then several, back to the chair he had risen from. Louis could hear him, muttering the verse to completion under his breath and sighed, tapping his fist more gently against the wood of the door frame as he pieced together his composure.

“I’m going out to work now. I won’t be home until late on account of some business meetings. You stay inside and mind yourself until Grace and Momma get back. You hear me Paul?”

Louis did not get a response, and he didn’t expect one. Still, he sighed heavily before putting on the tinted glasses that he hoped would lessen the strain the light from the sun would put on his already throbbing eyes.

“Louis de Pointe du Lac.”

Tom Anderson said his name like he was announcing the guests at some Venetian ball when he entered the smoke filled back room of the Fair Play Saloon that evening. As if the handful of men seated around the table with cigars and cards didn’t already know one another by name.

“Evenin’, Mister Anderson, sir.” Louis took up the last empty seat and reached into his jacket for the cash for the mandatory buy-in for the poker game, furnished last night as a shared expense by Ogden of course.

“Will we be seeing the elusive Mister Bishop this evening?”

“He isn’t able to attend. Sends his regards and apologies.”

The familiar exchange was almost comforting. For most of the night at these gatherings of so-called “influencers, investors, and business managers of Storyville and the surrounding neighborhoods”, Louis could shut off his brain and move through interactions without having to really think. Hell, even the card game, win or lose, was more secondary to simply being in the room.

For the first few hands, Louis simply sipped the drink that one of the working girls had poured for him. He’d ante in, call once, and was quick to fold unless there was real promise in the hand. His priority was listening to the other men talk shop while they were still sober enough to mind what they said. A full glass later, while the table took a break between rounds of cards to smoke their cigars, Louis turned his attention to the door to the main area of the establishment. As soon as he glanced at it, as if waiting for a cue, it swung open.

“Bonsoir, Messieurs.”

“Ah, Lestat. Wrapped up your set for the public did you? Good, have a seat.”

Anderson didn’t mean at the table. How Louis had missed the upright piano in the corner of the room that wasn’t normally there was beyond him. Lestat took a longer route to the other side of the room, walking behind the half of the table where Louis sat. The way his fingers brushed against Louis’s upper back went unseen before he sat down at the piano bench.

When the next hand of cards was dealt, Lestat’s music accompanied it. He didn’t sing, a small blessing as Louis was sure he’d be able to concentrate even less if the musician was in the room AND singing. He took a peek at his cards, tossing chips into the pile and looking across the table to where Fenwick sat next to Anderson.

“I heard a rumor through the grapevine, Mister Alderman sir. Fascinating thing. Heard tell that you recently acquired the deed and title to the old rooming house over on Villere. Always so…Nice to see the local politicians taking an interest in their area.”

“What’d I tell you, Fenwick,” Anderson laughed, smacking the table with an open hand. “He’s a most resourceful Negro.”

Louis felt his eye twitch at the tone the man took, but was still sober enough to keep himself in check. And sober enough to hear the two wrong notes Lestat played, hidden in the run of an arpeggio along the keys.

“Mister Anderson believes it could make a fine sporting house.” The Alderman replied as he looked to his hand before placing his bet.

“That’s right I do. I recommended that the Alderman find a managing partner, before he really commits his money to the property. And you know I recommended you, Louis.”

Louis would rather crawl through broken glass. Would rather have needles shoved under his nails, or his eyelashes plucked out one by one than work alongside the Alderman. He knew that had this been two years ago, before Ogden graced the bayou with his East Coast charms, he would have swallowed all of his pride and taken the offer before it was out of either Anderson’s or Fenwick’s mouth. 

“Very kind of you, Mister Anderston, sir.” Louis kept his tone neutral enough as he took a puff on the cigar he held in his other hand.

“What do you think of the location?”

“Buildin’ itself has good bones, but it needs work. After that, you get a good margin on the alcohol, a no nonsense madam to keep the girls clean, I reckon a man could get a decent sum. Yessir, Mister Fenwick sir.”

The rumbling little chuckle from Anderson said that he agreed. That, or the man had a good hand. Either way, Louis folded when play came back around to him.

“I told him you’d do it for ten percent.”

The audacity was more sobering than an ice cold shower, or a slap to the face. For the work that both he and the other man knew it would take to get that destitute former home for the disenfranchised up to the sort of standards that the clientele the Alderman would be cultivating would want? Not to mention setting up those liquor deals, and wrangling in a madam AND girls. Ten percent was an insult; had he been more white than black, he could have said so out loud.

Instead, Louis could only hope the smile he plastered on didn’t look as much like a snarl as he felt like it did.

“All do respect, sir. Ten percent for all the work?” It didn’t have to be said out loud that Fenwick wouldn’t be an actual “partner” until it came time to collect his cut.

“Now, you know how things are, Louis. I know you’ve been a partner of sorts with Mister Bishop for some eighteen months now. There’s capital investment, and there’s labor.”

A new hand was dealt as Anderson droned on. Louis could feel the anger like a very real presence, over his shoulders and in his mind. He allowed the cards to be dealt as the other men at the table talked about the “way things were” as if he wasn’t even there. He stood, going to the side cabinet where the liquor was to pour himself a drink so no one else had to. From there, he could watch Lestat play, the two making eye contact as soon as he glanced in the Blonde’s direction.

“I have to say, I find it appalling how men like you are treated in this country, Louis.”

Lestat’s mouth didn’t move. But Louis heard him speak, clear as if he was whispering in his ear instead of playing a quick, angry tune on the piano. He didn't glance once at his hands as the complicated notes poured from them.

“Ten percent. Fifteen percent.” Lestat brought his hands down in a heavy, discordant chord across them both.

The ferocity of his playing stopped all conversation in the room. It seemed to stop all time itself. For the moment, no one at the table seemed to move, their cards in their hands and their eyes shining like marbles. Lestat moved, though, standing up from the piano bench and walking across the room to Louis’s side. He took the glass of bourbon he’d been holding, stealing a sip for himself before crossing to the empty seat at the table.

“You know your worth. Do you…suffer these indignities for a greater purpose?” Lestat flipped the hand Louis had been dealt face up, so they could both see it: Two pair, jackes and nines, and a six.

Louis didn’t speak; he wasn’t sure he could if he tried to. But he watched as Lestat stood as quickly as he had sat, prowling around the table like a jungle cat circling prey. In the evenings that Louis had been in the other man’s presence, he had never been unsure or afraid of him. The musician’s unflappable confidence was one of his many selling points, but now….

When Lestat stood behind Anderson and looked at his cards, Louis inhaled a sharp breath. For a brief moment, he wondered what it might be like for the man to wrap one of those big hands of his around his business rival’s throat and smother the life out of him. Since the man didn’t seem inclined to move, or to call his staff member out for cheating, it would be an easy thing. The beautiful smile Lestat gave him chased away the brief unease, and Louis sat back in his seat beside Anderson’s.

“I believe there is great opportunity in this city.” the blonde spoke again, plucking one card from Anderson’s hand, holding it out to Louis as he collected the face up cards from the table. “But to seize it, you will need protection from the wolves.”

Louis glanced at the card that was extended to him: The Jack of Hearts. He glanced from the paper, to Lestat’s face, back to his own hand of cards. He slowly pulled the six from among them, and swapped it for the Jack. Lestat placed the six in the still unmoving Anderson’s hand, where he had pulled the Jack that was gifted to Louis from. The curve of his lips turned playful, mischievous even as he took the half step closer to Louis. As Louis was seated, Lestat towered over him.

The musician cupped a hand around Louis’s jaw and tilted his head up, so their eyes again met. Despite the awkward angle of it  Lestat leaned down and kissed him, the taste of the sip of bourbon he stole all Louis could think about as that sharp tongue licked briefly into his mouth.

It was done too quickly, with Lestat stepping back to the piano before Louis could do anything to make him stay nearby. A wink of those Periwinkle turned lilac eyes, a striking of the same notes as before, and the room burst back into life.

Louis won a tidy sum that hand. But he walked out of the Fairplay Saloon that night with more questions than cash.

Chapter Text

Time passed as it always did. The first few days turned to weeks since Lestat’s arrival in New Orleans. And then to months. His Louis kept an impossibly occupied schedule in the evenings. After Noel came and went and the first of the new year with it, Lestat found himself terribly….Bored.

Not of the city Herself, nor of Louis of course. But if he had to spend another night playing and singing for those ungrateful sow at that blaireau’s miserable slophouse, he was going to lose his mind. Lestat lay sprawled across the chaise in his rented room, not long after sunset. In nothing but a too-short bathrobe, he ran his fingers along the pendant watch that only was removed for bathing once Louis had presented it to him on Christmas morning.

“There is an easy remedy for your feelings my friend. You were cruel to turn away my kind offer of a job, but it still stands for you.”

Almost seven hundred miles away, and yet thanks to the many blessings of the night, it was as if his comrade was there with him. Lestat would not have blamed Gerard for holding a grudge against him for leaving him high and dry, without a proper tenor for his upcoming season; but he knew just as well that the man was not half as petty as he himself was.

“And put one of your poor mortals out of a job? I am not so cruel, mon ami.” Lestat spoke out loud into his silent room, but knew his voice would carry just as the German’s did. “Speaking of, I am sure you have a show to prepare for. Why are you listening for me?”

“I have some news. Word from back across the ocean that I thought you might wish to hear.”

Lestat could not say that he had any desire to hear anything at all about Paris, or any portion of the Old World. Least of all, the sort of people that would bring enough attention that Gerard would care about rumors related to them. He let out a heavy sigh, pulling himself from the chaise to dress for his evening feed.

“You would ruin my evening before I have even had a chance to dine. And you call me cruel, Gerard.” The laugh that came across the mental connection succeeded in making Lestat smile. “Very well.”

“They are still watching your accounts. You were wise to stop wiring funds after New York. A certain former coven master reached out to see if I had heard from you.”

Lestat stopped dead in his tracks, hand that had reached out to take a suit from the closet falling back against his side. Fear was not the right word, but it was the closest thing he could call the feeling as ice went through his nerves.

“Gerard….”

“I told him he should perhaps check Panama, or one of those small countries in Central America. Many places a man can go if the last place he was spotted was New York City.”

Lestat intentionally was not a man that kept many companions. But by Christ was he glad to have kept Gerard. He relaxed a little, settling on one of the three dark suits.

“You are a good man, Gerard.”

“I am no such thing, do not slander me, Lestat.”

There was silence as he did not respond right away, and Gerard did not provide more information. Lestat paused in tying his necktie, closing his eyes for a moment. If he tried hard enough, he could follow the connection, and see Gerard. A dark haired, fair skinned man preening in front of a mirror in a Saint Louis Opera House dressing room. He looked up, to where Lestat's eyes would be reflected if the Frenchman stood over his shoulder.

“You will at least come and visit me soon? I have already sent your trunk and other belongings down your way. There was no safe way to send more than a small amount of currency with it.”

“I will try, Gerard. Merci.”

New Orleans did not get snow, but the evenings were cold in the winter. The bite of the chill in the air did not affect him in any physical way, but he still wore a wool coat so as not to stand out amongst the crowd of people that always seemed to be milling around the streets. A look at the pendant watch said he still had some time before he was meant to meet Louis at the Park. Their park, at their bench. The calcified heart in his chest dared to give a beat or two at the thought of it.

Normally, he did not like to rush a choice of his dinner. Since the evening of the poker game where he revealed his true nature to Louis, Lestat had been taking more dare to be…Less obvious. Before that evening, he would not worry so much about leaving a body with the marks of his claws or his fangs visible when he was done with them. But now, for the first time in decades, Lestat had someone’s questions to answer to.

“You don’t eat children or babies, do you Les?”

“What if you only killed criminals? With that mind thing you can do, you’d be able to tell if someone was out to do something bad. Then it would be like somekinna service.”

“You wouldn’t kill me, would you, ‘Stat?”

Lestat had been unable to shake the last question from his mind since it was asked two weeks ago while they had been laying in the bed at his apartment before Louis had to run off in the morning to the plantation house and his miserable family. The “non, mon coeur” he whispered before using just an ounce of power to force Louis to sleep. As he left him there to rest, making his own way to the uncomfortable, but practical, nest of blankets in the sunless closet he could taste how empty the promise tasted on his tongue. And when he closed his eyes, he could see only sweet Niki broken inside and out thanks to his actions.

Even now as he walked the cobblestones half a world away every sad young man with big brown eyes had his face. He was so distracted, he did not notice the drunken man stumbling into him until they were shouting up at him from the muck of the gutter.

“My apologies, monsieur. Please, allow me to help clean your coat in repayment for my carelessness.”

Lestat did not need to use his gift for suggestion as he led the man away into the nearby alleyway. The drunk ones always followed him without needing to be led; something in the way his hips circled like he was perpetually in a dance. The booze in the blood added a sweetness that the lack of a proper hunt took out. He would not have enough time to go back to his apartment to change, so he took extra caution in pinning the man right to the wall before he could think to run. While the black of the suit Lestat selected would cover any blood that DID spill beyond his lips, He would hate to spend an evening knowing he was a mess even if Louis wouldn’t be able to see it or even smell it.

Once the man was as dead and stale as the taste of the cheap wine that was in his bloodstream left in Lestat’s mouth, the Frenchman tucked the body behind a few boxes. As had become custom, Lestat was quick to check for valuables. While he usually didn’t bother with jewelry or things that were traceable back to him, cash was always welcome. While he could literally and metaphorically charm his way into getting most anything he needed, there was something quaint in the normalcy that his hand to mouth “poor artist” persona allowed.

Even with his slight detour, Lestat was at the bench in Jackson Park before Louis was. He was a cigarette and a half deep, coat open and leaning against the back of the bench when he finally heard the perfectly even footfalls and third tap of a cane that was Louis. A busy, business-y night it would seem, from the pride in his aura and the presence of the weapon. Lestat’s pleased shudder at the velvet-wrapped strength his Man held was hidden by his outer layers. Louis had learned he could not sneak up on Lestat, but it didn’t stop him from still trying.

“Je peux distinguer ton rythme cardiaque dans une foule, Saint Louis.”

“You take the mystery out of things, ‘stat.”

Louis laughed as he sat beside Lestat on the bench. He did not curl inwards toward him, though the arm slung across the back of it, and in turn his shoulders, gave him the space to. They already sat closer than two men should, written off as Lestat’s European sensibilities. In the low light of the evening, perhaps no one would notice the way Lestat’s pinky finger brushed against Louis’s thigh.

“I am mystery enough for the both of us. Am I not?”

“One way to put it.” Louis’s smile remained, and set Lestat’s calcified little heart aflutter. “I’ve got a surprise of my own for you tonight.”

“I was wondering why you demanded to meet here instead of a club or my apartments.” Lestat admitted, finally taking in Louis’s dress for the evening.

His sweet saint always wore fine clothing and was immaculately kept; Lestat would be lying if he said it wasn’t one of the things that instantly caught his eye about him. But tonight something seemed…Different. It was not the overcoat, nor was it the dress pants tailored with as straight a leg as the bladed cane he’d set against the side of the bench’s arm. The bowtie that stuck out from the opening of the jacket was…Very not in line with Louis’s normal style. And as he gave a second glance, Lestat noted a strip of shiny accenting along the pantleg.

“Are you wearing tails, Louis?”

“Shoulda known that your French ass would know formalwear even in this lighting.”

Louis opened his overcoat, to reveal the full ensemble. A jacket with tails to complete the look had Lestat’s mouth suddenly impossibly dry. And equal parts feeling incredibly underdressed and angry at the stupid couple on their evening stroll that kept him from feeling for himself just how well made the tuxedo was.

“Is there an occasion that I have missed? Mon dieu, I will engrave the date into my skin and never forget again.”

“Drama King. No, you didn’t miss anything.” Louis reached his hand into the overcoat’s pocket, pulling out a few pieces of paper and handing them over to Lestat.

Tickets to the New Orleans Opera house. Lestat wouldn’t have said he was avoiding the place, but with his current finances and focus on jazz music, there had been no opportunity. His sharp nails nearly tore the paper on accident as he traced the letters of the show name atop it.

“ Don Pasquale ….”

“Ogden has a box. Goes every other weekend sometimes if the show’s good enough. He saw this one when it opened, and told me about it. Sounded wild; right up your alley. He’s been trying for ages to get me to go to one of these with him. We….Don’t have to, if it would be too much or if you wouldn’t want to be seen with-”

“Louis if you finish that sentence I will never forgive you for being so cruel to yourself.”

Oh no. Lestat could feel tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. He scrambled quickly for his usual dark colored handkerchief to hide their bloody red color before they could make a mess of things. Louis took the tickets back and put them away, holding on to Lestat’s free hand once they were protected from the ears, visibility to strangers be damned.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Lestat. Is it…Were you in this one and it was bad or something? It was stupid of me. Forget it. We’ll just go to the club. Or if you’d rather, I’ll just take you back to your place….”

Lestat knew Louis continued to stumble over his words, but he tuned them out as he attempted to will himself to stop the tears. Finally, he squeezed the other man’s hand and lowered the fabric that was going to need quite the washing.

“It was not stupid, mon coeur. It is beautiful and incredibly thoughtful. You know me so well.” He would have kissed the man if he thought he could manage a mind trick to keep the gaze of others away from them. “I would love to go to the opera with you. But…I do not have the proper thing to wear.”

“Og loaned me a jacket for you to wear, in the car. Figured his size would be closer to you than mine would be.”

"You think of everything, Louis. Please, lead the way."