Who: Leander Durant & Léon Pierroux What: They dance, they kiss, Leander bites… (1/2) Where: New Orleans, Louisiana When: Saturday, October 31st, 2015 Warnings: None, this part.
It might be a bit cliche, but Leander loved Halloween. The decorations, the costumes, the parties. The idea of becoming someone or something else for a night with no consequences, now that was the kind of thinking that Leander could get behind. Of course, it wasn’t ever an idea that he needed to embody himself. Leander and Lestat never felt the need to be someone they weren’t, they were perfectly happy just being who they are. That didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy the notion in other people, though, and they did. Quite thoroughly. There really was nothing near as intoxicating as meeting someone in disguise and striking up a conversation with them, because it always became a game of who could be the better liar. Leander still usually won, because no matter how much a person tried to pretend to be someone else, there were always clues that pointed towards the lies, to the real person underneath the mask they were wearing. Leander was himself with or without a mask, and he was always lying.
Masquerade balls were irresistible to him, in that respect, especially at Halloween. Everyone was in the holiday spirit, almost more eager to show off the masks they wore instead of hide behind them. Masquerades were an old thing, not a new trend, and Leander had been attending them for years, over half a century in fact, never quite growing sick of them. After all this time, he still found something absolutely charming about them, and especially around this time of year. The month of October was always a busier time for Overbite, booking twice as many shows than any other month because everybody loved a good Halloween themed show put on by actual vampires. Of course, Leander wasn’t above that kind of publicity stunt. He ate it up like any respectable vampire with a healthy appetite would, and the fans loved it. Say what you would about Leander, but he did actually care about the fans. It just so happened that what their fans loved was usually in line with Leander’s own, selfish priorities, so it just worked out for everyone involved. Fame and fortune never truly got old, especially when you didn’t.
There was an annual masquerade that happened every year on Halloween in New Orleans, at the Maison Dupuy in the French Quarter, one of Leander’s old stomping grounds from decades ago (and in an area that also held a similar nostalgia for Lestat). Overbite never had a show on the actual night of Halloween, so Leander was always free to do as he pleased, and more often than not, he usually ended up here. Some years he found something else that momentarily captured his interest more, but this year, he found himself back in the old, familiar places. Leander and Lestat were creatures of habit, and they’d never been known to turn down a good party. Lestat had always had a taste for the finer things in life, something that he’d passed onto Leander, who had come to live with some pretty high expectations so far as entertainment went. He wasn’t going to be just anywhere on Halloween, and this year’s theme just so happened to be creatures of the underworld, so it wasn’t a party to be missed.
He arrived at the venue fashionably late that evening, naturally, and looking appropiately demonic. It would have been more appropriate to come as a vampire, perhaps, but even Leander didn’t always like to be too on the nose. Besides, there were already plenty of ‘vampires’ here, Leander and Lestat noted with amusement. Mere wannabes, of course, and Leander was very likely the only real vampire in the place, but as much as his own fanbase embraced his true nature, parading that sort of thing in public places like this wasn’t always the quickest way to make friends. Or to keep a low profile, when that was exactly the entire point of an event like this. How did that line go? Masquerade, hide your face so the world will never find you… Yes, unsurprisingly, Leander was a Phantom of the Opera fan.
The place was decorated hellishly and full of warm, eager bodies. Leander could practically taste the blood on his lips already, he could hear every heartbeat, every quickening pulse. So many party goers eager to get worked up and commit themselves to sin. And Leander? He was just about as sinful as they come. For the moment, he was content to stick to the sidelines, linger there with a drink and wait. For what, he wasn’t quite sure yet. For someone worthwhile to catch his attention? Probably. Leander wasn’t always picky when it came to his meals, but he wasn’t necessarily looking to feed tonight, despite what a good cover he had with so many people in here masquerading as what he truly was. Tonight, perhaps he was also craving a little conversation and genuine, human interaction as well. Not that he’d ever admit it.
Halloween wasn’t Léon’s least favorite time of year. Fall, in and of itself, he enjoyed, the chill beginning to creep into the air. It was a good excuse to spend time on the couch in a sweater, with a cup of coffee and a good book. Léon didn’t need much of an excuse to do just that, but there was something more enjoyable about it in the fall. It was where he’d much rather have been, that night, with a bowl of candy beside him for trick-or-treaters even though he rarely got more than a few each year. He would eat most of the bowl himself, anyway, as he read. He could almost taste the cheap, waxy chocolate melting on his tongue, hear the background noise of the horror movie he’d have put on - the one night each year that he made a concession that they weren’t all bad, so long as they didn’t involve vampires. His pick was more likely to be a psychological horror. In fact, he’d rented The Purge and had it sitting open beside his DVD player, ready for the disc to be placed in its cradle.
That was before his sister had decided that Léon absolutely had to accompany her to this party. As aware as he was that he was a grown man, older than her even, and able to make his own decisions, and in spite of the fact that he’d argued with her, they’d both known from the moment that she made up her mind and informed him of the fact that he would be going. He’d agreed, reluctantly, to put on a suit and a slender mask, thankful that she at least hadn’t had time to plan something more elaborate for him between deciding that he’d be going with her and the party itself. The mask itself was far more basic than the one she’d chosen for herself. She’d likely realized that the only way to persuade Léon to put it on was to choose something with a minimum of decoration. The suit was his own, at least, so it fit comfortably. Léon wasn’t a clotheshorse by any means (not like Lestat, a part of his brain that wasn’t entirely Louis anymore chimed in), but Louis knew better than he ever had how to pick out a nice suit.
That didn’t make anything about the experience comfortable, in the least. The mask dug strangely into his face, and Léon had gotten into a fight with his sister not even fifteen minutes into the evening. It had resulted in them storming off in opposite directions, something that Léon had known would happen before he’d even agreed to go. She was on the dance floor, now, swirling in the arms of a masked stranger. He imagined she’d forgotten all about their argument already, swept up in the extravagance of the dance, the decorations, the romance of the entire evening. Léon had retreated to a corner with his first glass of champagne of the night, irritation fading away into something more like melancholy. He could have asked someone to dance, himself. Masked, it was impersonal. A dark, slender beauty had been looking at him across the room, for a while, sultry eyes inviting him to come and issue an invitation of his own. Léon had turned his head away, flagged down a black-masked waiter for another glass.
He’d had enough that his head was beginning to spin, though not enough to loosen up and have a good time. That would take something a little stronger than champagne. He’d thought about asking a waiter if something was available, but that would have disturbed the illusion that he was a silent, ghostly observer to the ball, instead of a part of it. That was a role he was comfortable in, watching the years go by as he and his life remained, for the most part, the same. He could change it, if he wanted to. Seek out the dark-eyed girl from before, or flash a smile at the blond man who had walked into the room late, but as though he was used to all eyes being on him. If he wanted to, Léon might have been able to turn his life upside down that night. Denying himself that was almost as satisfying as the alternative. He raised a fresh glass of champagne to his lips, eyes sliding from his sister’s twirling body and catching on the blond man in the devil mask once more, his own position in the crowd an echo of Léon’s. Perhaps that was a sort of connection, too, even if Léon was the only one aware of it.
Oh, he did notice the handsome man in the corner looking intentionally broody and sullen, though not right away. Regrettably, Leander’s attention was for a time distracted by the first (of presumably many) admirer to get up the courage to approach him. Just another thing Leander was used to, really. Even when his identity wasn’t immediately known, people had always flocked to him, and to Lestat. Call it an unbeatable combination of good looks and irresistible charm, with an added dose of allure that defied things like masks that partially hid your appearance. The mask didn’t matter, they would come anyway, that Leander was eternally confident of. Of course, just because they came to him didn’t necessarily mean that he was always interested. First of all, she was a woman. Nothing against women, but it took a very special one to sway Leander to go there. Somewhere along the way, he’d developed Lestat’s peculiar, and somewhat irrational fear of the fairer sex. You just couldn’t trust them.
After only fifteen minutes of small talk, Leander was already bored and letting his eyes wander, until they landed on a man in the corner, who even despite the mask he wore, Leander could tell was exceptionally handsome. It was the cheekbones, Leander decided. He could make those works of art out perfectly, and very soon it wasn’t enough to just admire them from afar. He wanted to talk to the man with the perfect cheekbones, learn what his voice sounded like, maybe even make out the color of his eyes behind that mask. Not one for tact, Leander didn’t make a secret of his attention not being focused on her anymore, and she soon got fed up with his blatant disinterest and left to find other pursuits, which freed Leander up to pursue his own.
Leander wasn’t much of a champagne person, he had always held more of a fondness for wine. But he hadn’t just noticed the man he was glancing at glancing at him, he’d also noticed what he was drinking, so the vampire saw his opening. The handsome stranger appeared to be low again, so Leander grabbed two full glasses of champagne from a nearby server dressed as the Count (honestly, could people at least try to be a little original with the vampire costumes?) and slowly made his way over to the corner this man inhabited, like a lioness stalking its prey. He was used to them coming to him, but Leander had no objections to being the pursuer. If the mountain wouldn’t come to Muhammad. It was only when he was close enough for the other man to hear him and offer the refresher that he stopped and held out one of the champagne flutes, lips stretching into his usual, charming smile. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything. It seemed like you and this corner were having a real moment.”
Léon hadn’t missed the blond man's attention shifting to him. As much as he had been aware that it hadn’t meant anything, it made his heart skip for a moment, that gaze fixed upon him. He couldn’t even discern the color of the man’s eyes from their respective positions, but he could still feel the intensity of it, like sunlight on his skin. That kind of powerful attraction was dangerous, he knew it well, but at the same time it made something settle under his skin, reveling in having caught the attention of something magnificent. Léon could never remember feeling desire that immediate, that powerful, before, desire that made him quiver. He hoped he didn’t come closer. If he came closer, Léon knew that the illusion would be banished, the imperfections revealed. If the stranger stayed distant, he would be achingly beautiful forever. Beautiful things rarely stayed that way after you saw them up close, or after the euphoria of alcohol, drugs, or sex faded.
There was a moment of indecision when it became clear that the stranger had chosen to break that level of mystery, if Léon wouldn’t. It wasn’t too late to turn away, to lose himself in another part of the crowd. Surely the stranger wouldn’t pursue if Léon were to make his disinterest clear. It was clear by the woman chatting him up that it wasn't as though he would be desperate for companionship. Léon would be nothing but a passing fancy for him, a figment, a wisp that had slipped away before he could close his fingers around him. Then, Léon could keep him a beautiful memory forever, with nothing to mar the brightness of it. He didn’t slip away, though. He told himself that the other man could still change direction, could bump into someone in the crowd and find himself diverted from Léon entirely. Could even bump into Léon's sister, bright as he was dark, and abandon one sibling for another without ever knowing. There were dozens of reasons the stranger might never reach him, and that was if Léon wasn’t deluding himself into thinking that it was him the man was interested in, in the first place.
It was him, though, and the stranger didn’t turn aside before be got there. Nor was the illusion shattered once he came closer; every visible part of his face was just as beautiful as he had seemed from a distance. Blue, Léon noted, his eyes were blue with a hint of green. Something about his jawline seemed almost familiar, but the upper part of his face could have looked like anything, behind the mask. He sounded like someone Léon could almost place, too, but the background noise of the crowd made it difficult to determine exactly what it was about it. The only thing Léon was certain of was that the man was offering a replacement for his glass, and he needed one if he was going to make it through the night. He handed the empty one off to another waiter passing nearby with a tray full of them, and plucked the stem of the glass from between the stranger's fingers. "The wall and I have exhausted our possibilities for conversation. I tried to bring up the weather, but it rarely makes it out." Not exactly up to Lestat’s level of witty repartee, but that had never been their strong suit, anyway.
Being what he was, Leander could read the indecision on the other man’s face even from his respective distance, before he closed it between them.Yes, he could have chosen to walk away, but not one had ever walked away from Leander yet, so the vampire was confident that this one would stay rooted to the spot, despite what his conscience was no doubt telling him. If there was one thing Leander specialized in, it was getting that voice of reason in someone’s head to quiet. He couldn’t say why, but he was more determined to sway this one than any other he might have come across tonight. Not that Leander wasn’t always dedicated to the pursuit, but there was something about this one... He could tell that the man was entranced by him, but the secret was that Leander was just as trapped under the spell. He couldn’t say why, or wouldn’t, even Leander had trouble admitting to being a slave to the physical attraction of someone else, but he felt as drawn to him as the other man did to him, and when he laughed at the man’s response to him Leander laughed genuinely, lips pulling back in what might be a real smile.
“Did you try inquiring after their interests? Hobbies most likely to include… people watching and occasionally being invaded by small rodents and pests.” His accent wasn’t that noticeable, not nearly as exaggerated as he usually made it for interviews and other public appearances for Overbite. The fans loved it, it just added to the overall mystery of the foreign, vampire rock star, but in reality his accent was no longer as heavy as it once was. You could make out just the faintest hint in it now, the way he spoke certain consonants that pointed to his French background, but they were also in New Orleans, so that wasn’t exactly uncommon. Leander didn’t feel the need to put on a show for this one, despite his choice of attire and the fact that a night like Halloween begged for that sort of thing. His skin was as pale and perhaps as cold as marble, but so many in here had skin just as white, nevermind that it was most likely the result of some sort of body paint or makeup. Not so with his own, but in the company of the other man, he felt no need to exaggerate. Yes, Leander had always had a weakness for a pretty face, but he had rarely ever seen one so pretty. “Best to leave the small talk to the real professionals.”
Of course, what they were doing currently was little more than small talk, but that wasn’t Leander’s end goal. He used the opportunity while the handsome stranger took the offered glass from him to really study his face, what features he could make out around the mask obstructing the area around his eyes. The man truly was exquisite, those cheekbones he’d noticed from before even more remarkable up close, and that mouth. Leander didn’t let his eyes linger on it too long, not wishing to be that obvious until he chose to be, but sufficed to say, he was abnormally pleased with his choice for the evening. He didn’t take his eyes off the other man, raising his own glass to his lips but not drinking from it yet, rather speaking just over the rim while maintaining his piercing gaze. “So is that why you came here tonight? For the walls? Or perhaps the chance to put on a mask and howl at the moon with everyone else.”
The true answer, of course, was because his sister made him, but something was screaming at Léon not to bring his sister into the conversation. Already the rest of the room seemed to be fading around them, leaving only the beautiful stranger in Léon's view. Mention of someone else would only make it fade in again, and now that he had the man’s attention Léon found himself desperate to keep it. Instead, he told him, "I'm here to watch." A masquerade was, now that he thought of it, a wonderful chance for people watching. With their faces stripped away, people only had their sense of right and wrong to answer for, no identity with a reputation to protect. Léon wasn’t worried about his own, but his own reservation had kept him to the sidelines, regardless. A sullen enough disposition was enough to keep most people away, although this man clearly wasn’t intimidated by the prospect. Perhaps he was even drawn in because of it. Some people only wanted a challenge.
"There's no reason to question why Lucifer would be here tonight." Referring, of course, to the other man’s mask. Léon was a fan of the nickname, though, obvious as it might be. It probably wasn't even the first time he'd heard it that night, but it suited him entirely. Lucifer the Morningstar, most beautiful of all the angels, and the most wicked, too. No need to be so obvious in his admiration, though, particularly if the other man was looking for a challenge. Most people would describe Léon as challenging, he thought, but this man was the kind of temptation that he'd never had to face before. It was easy enough to resist when there was nothing that he really wanted, easy enough to tell himself he didn’t deserve it when it wasn’t so beautiful. This man, his Lucifer, was the kind of exquisite creature who could most likely tempt a saint to sin. A weak man like Léon, particularly when his head was beginning to swim from the alcohol he'd consumed, and when he hadn't surrendered to the needs of the flesh in so long, had no choice but to want. Whether he would take, or beg for it, he couldn’t say.
It was true, Léon wasn’t very good at small talk. He would happily leave it to others, or leave it entirely, if he could. He didn’t know whether he could keep Lucifer's attention, without it, though. Challenge or not, if he realized how boring Léon was beneath his mask, he would likely lose interest. "You've maligned the walls of this fine establishment, though. I'm sure they'd take affront to the suggestion that they've ever been breached by rodents." Of course, rodents didn’t respect how nice a wall might be, they would make their home in it, anyway. If Léon had been a vampire, he could have heard the skitter of tiny paws in the walls, if they were there. Then, he could have answered the question entirely.
Leander had a particular weakness for wallflowers. You might not think so, considering his own, somewhat unreserved personality, but he did. Blame Lestat and his fondness for Louis, the eternal mopy wallflower, but god did Lestat enjoy that about him. Leander was every bit the sort of emotional masochist that Lestat was, but sadly for both of them, in their over a century of life together they still had yet to come across their Louis. Of course they’d found plenty of substitutes over the years, amusing things to temporarily distract themselves with, but it was always temporary, and no one could ever truly replace the vampire for them. It was an idea that unsettled Leander more than Lestat, as Leander hadn’t the experiences Lestat had that led him to that kind of sentiment, only the vampire’s shared memories. He was a little more reluctant to be held captive by that sort of attachment, and yet he found himself curiously vacant without it anyway. It wasn’t something they ever acknowledged to each other out loud.
Even so, that was admittedly the other thing that drew Leander to this man, aside from his obvious good looks, which were still as striking up close as they had been from afar. He was more inclined to approach someone attached to the wall then someone out in the middle of the room, commanding as much attention as he did. Because he liked a challenge? Sure, there was nothing wrong with a good challenge, and Leander certainly didn’t need anyone else competing with him. As far as relationships went, his shortest by far were with those whose egos were as big as his was, because really, there was only room for one that size. If he was honest with himself, however, which clearly he never was, there was a deeper reason behind Leander always being drawn to the quiet ones. Secretly, they were always hoping to find him.
“So you’ve found me out,” Leander grinned widely at the satanic reference, nothing but pleased and outwardly showing his approval with a tip of the glass before taking in a brief sip of it. Much too bubbly for his liking, but he could see how it was already affecting his chosen companion for the evening, so he couldn’t resent the champagne for its sickly sweetness too much. True, the other man might not be a professional small talker, but Leander could work with this. At the very least, the fact that he was willing to engage in it with him was encouraging. “And you’re right, I didn’t come here for the walls. Or the rats.” A dramatic pause that he let hang in the air, before leaning in an inch, like he was about to tell him a closely guarded secret. “I came for the sinners.”
A shiver did its best to work its way up Léon's spine at the devil's words, but he clamped down on it fiercely. "I doubt you'll have to look that hard. The room is full of them." Léon didn’t say whether he included himself among them, though of course he did. If he weren't a sinner, he wouldn't be so tempted by Lucifer's pretty eyes and prettier lips. The more time Léon spent in his company, the clearer it became that he was exactly Léon's type... molded, perhaps, into specifics by Louis, but the physical aspects of his preferences had run even before that to fair hair, pale eyes, and lips made for sinning. Lucifer would have appealed to him even then, but with years of Louis and his memories, he stood no chance of remaining unaffected. He hadn’t had quite enough to drink to throw himself at the man, but he still swayed a little bit closer. He could still blame it on the champagne.
For his own sake, though, he tore his eyes away from Lucifer, at least for a moment. He looked at the dancing crowd again, graceful figures turning and weaving, and a few merely swaying in place, not the best of dancers but unashamed, for the night, willing to display their lack of skills for the purpose of taking someone else into their arms. He checked on his sister again, satisfying himself that she was still there and out of trouble. "It would probably be harder to find an innocent soul than a lost one, here." Except, as far as he chose to believe, for his sister. If she was anything but innocent, aside from her fascination with the damned, Léon didn’t want to know about it. He supposed there could be others there for the same reason, a fairly innocent fascination with the dark, but in a sea of faceless people it was harder to differentiate one from another, not enough to decide guilt or innocence. It wasn’t Léon’s place to judge them, anyway. He had no room for it, and a darker heart than his fragile human body would ever indicate.
His Lucifer was pale, he noticed. In the strange lighting of the ballroom, he looked almost vampirically pale, but that might have been Léon's eyes playing tricks on him. His own skin wasn’t far from its typical hue, but for a masquerade themed around damned creatures, it wouldn’t surprise Léon in the least if the lighting was set up to make those beneath it seem somehow otherworldly. It suited Lucifer.
Perhaps, aware in a more visceral sense than most that monsters were real, Léon should have suspected that it was no mere trick of the light. That, as well, he would blame on the champagne.
Being a vampire had its (many) benefits. Having near superpowered senses meant that Leander could practically see the hairs sprouting on the back of the other man’s neck, a tell tale sign of the shiver that no doubt had coursed through his body, despite his valiant efforts to conceal it. Believable, except for the fact that Leander was no mere mortal, and so he wasn’t fooled. He knew what effect he could have on someone, years of practice met with nothing but positive results. It was a science, but it was also a gift. Leander, for all his faults, could be impossibly charming when he wanted to be, and he knew it. His aim was to be irresistible in the face of what he wanted, and Leander? One way or another, he always got what he wanted.
As the other man swayed dangerously close after Leander leaned in, a knowing smile stretched across his face, not quite leaning away afterward but maintaining a level of distance between them to keep the other man wanting. He had clearly had some champagne, not too much, but enough that his inhibitions were already significantly lowered. That was always helpful. He allowed the man’s gaze to briefly wander without immediately demanding his attention again, but for himself, Leander’s eyes on him never strayed once. If he needed to avert his gaze to gather himself, the vampire could hardly blame him, but there would be no confusion as to who Leander had set his sights on that evening. The beautiful wallflower with skin like porcelain.
“So which one are you?” Now that the handsome stranger’s gaze had returned to him, Leander felt lighter somehow, and entirely pleased to once again have his attention in a way that wasn’t at all smug for once, just relieved. Confidence wasn’t usually something he needed to find, the celebrity vampire always had it in large quantities, but there was something about this one. He felt like he might actually need to work to be worthy of his attention, and that just made Leander want it more. He peered at the man through his mask, mouth still twitching in that same, knowing smile, borrowing some of Lestat’s words and paraphrased, knowing full well how cheesy they were. “With the face of an angel, I would be surprised if you were anything but.”
The words seemed so close to familiar, like something that he or Louis had heard, or read, once, but not quite close enough to place. He wondered if Lucifer was quoting something, but whatever it was, it was ridiculous, trite, the kind of line that so many romantic idiots would fall for. Léon found it bizarrely charming, lips curving into a brief, bright smile. It was a flaw, but it was the kind of flaw that only made the beautiful man in front of him more interesting. More beautiful for it, even. "Does that sort of thing usually work for you?" It was working this time, and beautifully, at that. Not that Léon was flattered by the compliment; it took something other than pretty compliments to sway him, when his own regard for himself wasn't dependent on his physical appearance. There were other things that made Léon's heart flutter. Talk of sin was only one of them.
Still, he was charmed enough to answer, and answer honestly, which might have been his tricky devil's intent all along. "I'm as lost as any soul here. Why else would I be in the Underworld tonight?" It wasn’t as though Léon was wearing anything that could be construed as some demonic creature of the underworld, and so he'd made up his mind that 'lost soul' would be his response to any inquiries as to why he wasn’t in costume. No one had approached to ask, but Léon had played out a conversation in his head, made certain that it would sound good, right, in response. He'd played with the idea of names - he was Sisyphus, pushing the stone up the hill only to be crushed by it as it rolled back down; he was Tantalus, everything he could ever want in his sight, but always just out of his grasp.
The champagne bubbles had lifted away the weight on his chest, though, for the night, and if he acknowledged out loud his hunger and thirst, the thing he craved might be pulled entirely out of his grasp. A lost soul in general it was, and the handsome devil in front of him made his fate seem far better than Heaven. Seeking redemption had never ended well for Louis, anyhow. If Léon surrendered to his fate, perhaps no one else would be hurt in the process as he was dragged down to his damnation.
“Hardly ever,” Leander laughed as he admitted, encouraged by the smile he witnessed flash across the other man’s face, despite the question. He wouldn’t have been so quick to admit that in another situation, with anyone else, he would have likely kept up the ridiculous charade, but not here. Not with this masked man. Leander thought, perhaps correctly, that being something closer to genuine would go a long way, much farther than putting on one of his over dramatized acts would, with this one. He sort of enjoyed being called on it, so even if it actually was working on him and the man was just playing hard to get in an attempt to save some dignity, Leander appreciated the effort. That sort of line would probably work quite often, if he used it, but he didn’t. Unlike the vampire Lestat, who often abused those sorts of charms on the fairly innocent and impressionable, Leander wasn’t always a fan of being so obvious. Sometimes, it was so much more fun if they made him work for it. This one seemed like something of an actual challenge.
He arched an eyebrow, though you couldn’t tell with the way his mask strategically hid his face, but it was accompanied by another calculating lean, just as teasing as the last one. “But you haven’t said that it didn’t.” Regardless, the man seemed charmed enough anyway, so Leander was willing to bank that even if that wasn’t the sort of line he’d go for, Leander’s carefully executed candor might just do the trick. Sometimes all they really wanted was a little honesty, and for whatever reason the vampire was feeling strangely compelled to be honest with him. It was an act, but then, it wasn’t. Not if you really knew him, which very few people did these days.
The answer the man gave was charming in its own honesty, and it pleased Leander to see that he had already begun to fall under his spell, at least enough to play along. That was the entire point, wasn’t it? This was still just a game, and both of them merely players. But before Leander or Lestat could get too caught up in an inner Shakespearean monologue, the vampire’s attention was once again caught by the beautiful, still very mysterious stranger in front of him, and grinned. “You don’t seem all that lost to me. You were at least able to find the only corner of the room that was directly in my line of vision. Even the devil isn’t immune to temptation.”
This time, Léon caught himself before he could sway toward the charming devil in front of him. It was a near thing, with Lucifer leaning in like he was, almost close enough to touch. If Léon reached, would he pull away? His hand clenched on the stem of his champagne flute, almost too tight, and the one at his side twitched, off of his thigh and toward the stranger as though drawn to him like metal to a magnet. Perhaps he should have named himself Tantalus, after all, with the way this man wakened the craving in him, stronger than he’d felt in years. He imagined that Lucifer would be sweeter than fruit, quench his thirst better than water (or the champagne he held in his hand, nearly forgotten). As little as Léon had planned on going to bed with anyone, that night, the thought of this man taunting him without ever giving him the relief of a touch was agony, perhaps even too much agony for Léon to bear. He would, of course, if Lucifer was in fact teasing him only to see him squirm with no intention of following through, but oh, it would ache.
Perhaps he hadn’t swayed, but Léon couldn’t make himself say that Lucifer’s line hadn’t affected him; if he tried to lie, mask or none, Léon sensed this man would see right through it to the heart of him, to how very much he was tempted by… not the words, themselves, but by the strange combination of teasing and candor. “For all the blusterings of Hell, it was not then I slipped and fell,” he replied. He doubted the devil would know the poem, but his meaning, he thought, was clear enough, though he wasn’t entirely certain he could stand behind it. Hadn’t Lucifer already tempted him into wanting? That was enough, wasn’t it, to fall, the simple act of coveting what wasn’t his. What would it hurt, to slip a little further?
Lucifer’s response startled a small, quiet laugh out of him. “I was here first, you know. It was you who found the precise spot in the room to stand where your eye would be drawn to me.” That was, he realized in the aftermath, admitting that he’d seen when the stranger had come into the room, that he knew that he’d arrived there before the other man had. It betrayed a little too much of how his attention had been drawn to him from the beginning. “You’re the one who tempted yourself, devil.” It wasn’t as though Léon had been doing anything but standing there. He hadn’t tried to draw the stranger in at all.
Leander took note of the slight tension in his muscles as the other man caught himself before he swayed closer a second time. Disappointing, but Leander also admired the self-restraint. Normally, whoever the person was that Leander was attempting to charm would have been putty in his hands by now, but this one still gave a slight resistance. Even if it was only out of some sense of self-preservation (and really that would only make him intelligent as well), Leander was impressed. As a direct consequence, however, he only became that much more determined to get him to drop his guard entirely. It wasn’t because he was looking for a challenge, it was this challenge, this one in particular, that had Leander rising to it. He couldn’t say with certainty that he would be so invested had the challenge not come with so pretty a face, and it wasn’t often that the vampire was so genuinely entranced by someone.
The hand at his side that twitched, the other hand gripping the stem of the champagne flute too tightly, Leander’s eyes saw every tiny strain in his body and it made him want in a way that he didn’t usually. It wasn’t just about the blood lust, though he was close enough to the man that Leander could hear his heartbeat, he could hear his steady pulse, like the sweetest of music to his ears. It was all in his head of course, but in moments like these Leander was almost certain that he could actually hear the blood flowing freely through the vein, and in his more out of control moments, he might have already tried to make a bee-line for the man’s neck, but not this time. Being behind masks was exciting in a way that Leander couldn’t have predicted before tonight, if only because it allowed him a certain amount of pretend. Not that Leander ever wanted to be anyone but himself, but behind the mask, he wasn’t a vampire in a constant battle of bloodlust, he was just a man. The need for names wasn’t even necessary like this.
“And he spouts poetry too,” Leander spoke softly, approvingly. He didn’t know the poem, though he did have a particular fondness for some poetry. Mostly Poe. His grin only widened at the man’s clearly accidental confession, but Leander was pleased with himself, making no effort to conceal it. “Ah, so you did notice my entrance.” Leander was sure he wasn’t the only one, but in the moment, he couldn’t care less who else had noticed, only that this one had. He leaned back and made a face as he shrugged, ever so casually. “I’ll admit to my own part in this since you’ve admitted to yours. Entirely guilty. So what else do you do, aside from finding the best walls to lean on and spouting beautiful poetry at complete strangers. Do you dance?”
If anyone in the room were to claim that they hadn’t noted Lucifer’s arrival, Léon would call them a liar. The elaborate black mask against the fair curls was an eye-catching contrast, even without the rest of the man; with that added to the picture, Léon was sure that anyone who was attracted to men, and probably several who weren’t and who were now trying to convince themselves of their own sexualities, had lusted after him from the moment he set foot in the room. Léon was, perhaps, not a fair judge. His own reaction to the man had been so intense that he wasn’t certain he was seeing him through eyes that could fairly judge. To him, Lucifer seemed the most beautiful person, male or female, in the entire room, and all others paled in comparison to the combination of golden beauty and fearsome dark mask. What it said for his psyche that he found the terror of the mask nearly as arousing as the beauty of the man, Léon did not care to speculate on. His own desire to die was something he’d never thought equaled that which had driven Louis to a vampire’s arms, but perhaps he’d been telling himself lies all along.
Léon ducked his head at the stranger’s compliment to the poem he’d quoted; it wasn’t to Léon himself, but a choice he’d made, which was far more pleasing to him, in the end. He smiled, small and satisfied, because it was far better to be interesting than it was to be beautiful. Beauty would fade, in the mortal man that he was and intended to stay. Being interesting was something that could earn him company and regard long after his hair had gone gray and his body had begun to fail him. The question, though, that was what kept his gaze downward as he reflected, certain that if he met the devil’s eye he would agree to anything that he asked of him, and Léon didn’t want to be too agreeable to the devil himself. No, if Léon were to choose to dance, shouldn’t it be because he wanted to, not because he’d given in to the pleading of a pair of beautiful eyes, to the words shaped by a pair of perfect lips? The truth of the matter was that Léon didn’t dance.
And yet…
He was Tantalus, reaching but never touching, but in a dance Lucifer would have to take Léon into his arms, wouldn’t he? Léon would get to touch, and perhaps that would be enough to ease the ache of want that seeped deep into his bones, before he did something else that he might regret far more. (He wasn’t sure who he was trying to fool, because he knew very well that one touch wouldn’t be enough, would just whet his appetite for more.) Lucifer was offering to bend the branch down far enough for Léon to take a bite of that shining red apple, and he was too drunk and too lonely to resist the temptation. It felt like the deliberation had lasted hours, but he knew it was only seconds before he answered, in a voice far heavier than what the question demanded, “I dance.”
The way the man ducked his head and smiled like that was impossibly charming. Even Leander, who had been around long enough that the subtle glamor of such things had already long begun to fade, was charmed by it. He hardly bothered to stop and notice the little things about people he encountered anymore, those smaller endearments that were supposed to make you fall harder for someone. Leander didn’t really do that, but he couldn’t lie to himself in the moment and say he wasn’t completely charmed by such a small thing. That was okay, lying to himself had never been what he was good at. He was much better at lying to everyone else. Especially those he loved, and yes, Leander was capable of it. He just didn’t make too much of a habit of it.
“You do?” He made his tone sound relieved, like he’d been expecting the man to say the opposite. Leander knew full well that he’d already caught him, now he was just easing the man into being reeled in. The truth of the matter was, Leander didn’t dance himself. Or he rarely had, at any case. He knew how, of course, he’d just never made a sincere practice of it. Leander could probably count the number of times he’d danced in earnest on one hand, it was another habit he didn’t often indulge in, but he would when the occasion was appropriate. This occasion was definitely an appropriate one to do something he didn’t normally do, especially if it meant closing more distance between himself and the exquisite creature still in front of him.
“Then perhaps you’ll allow me the opportunity.” Leander took another sip before he passed off his mostly-drunk champagne flute to a nearby server, after a moment extending his hand, still leaving the final decision up to the attractive man with the most alluring smile. The vampire was confident he’d still take him up on his offer. After all, there wasn’t a soul on earth who had been able to say no to him yet. Calling him Lucifer was perhaps more accurate than the other man realized, but how could he know the truth? The truth being that beneath the elaborate mask and the beautiful face under it lived a monster. Leander gave him his most appealing smile. “I promise, we can stay close to a wall in case you start feeling anxious for its company.”
The final decision was already been made. Had been made, perhaps, since the moment that Léon realized that it was him that Lucifer was approaching, though he hadn’t admitted it yet. He reached for Lucifer without hesitation, not caring whether his sister was watching or not; at the moment, he couldn’t even recall whether he’d told her that, at times, he preferred men, and it wasn’t as though he’d dated anyone long enough for them to meet the family, male or female. It didn’t matter, though, and Léon was prepared to deal with the consequences of it, as long as he got to dance with Lucifer before the other man changed his mind. He’d seemed persistent, so far, but he could be the type of fickle creature that would get bored at a moment’s notice if the game stopped going fast enough for his tastes. Léon didn’t want to be left wanting, now that he’d finally given in to the need that threatened to overwhelm him.
As powerful as the sight of Lucifer had been, the slide of their palms against each other was even more so, a jolt of electricity through him with even that simple a contact. “It’s kind of you not to leave me stranded in the sea of people.” Kind, he suspected, wasn’t a word that was used to label Lucifer often. Still, it was, in its own way, a kindness, even if it was a teasing one. He stepped in closer, once their hands were joined, handing his own glass off and resting his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. He assumed, though perhaps he shouldn’t, that Lucifer was leading. He was, after all, the one that had extended the invitation to dance. It seemed like a safe assumption, in that case, to take the less dominant position for their turn around the dance floor, however close to the wall he might stick. He’d almost expected Lucifer to burn him, when he touched, but he couldn’t feel any heat through the other man’s suit, even when he stepped closer.
Heat or no heat, he was entirely too conscious of the other man’s body near his. It felt strangely intimate, in a way that fumbled high school dances never had. If this was what dancing was truly like, when you were with a partner that made your knees weak with just a glance, Léon thought that he could, perhaps, see the appeal in the exercise. “An opportunity, at least, I can allow.” He’d allow far more, if Lucifer asked it of him, and damn Léon for being so weak. At least it was just one night, just one masked, drunken mistake. Perhaps he’d even be able to let go of it, when the morning came.
Leander didn’t bother to hide the smile that crept over his face when his chosen intended immediately reached for him. A little smug, maybe, but they had both known it would happen this way. Leander wasn’t exactly used to being refused, and this beautiful stranger, while he didn’t seem the type to normally give into temptation, was clearly not immune to his charms. He wasn’t going to complain, though he wouldn’t have minded working a little harder for this man’s attention. The fact that he hadn’t didn’t diminish Leander’s own interest even in the slightest, despite how very fickle he could be. Apparently this was a night of firsts for them both, that just goes to show you what an exceptionally pretty face will do for your priorities. They may be at a masquerade, but the mask the other man wore still barely covered half his face, only covering enough so that his eyes, beyond the appealing greenish blue color of them, remained a mystery.
His head tilted slightly, smile turning more amused than smug at being called ‘kind’. If the man knew him, really knew him, Leander suspected he never would have uttered such a word, but the naivety of strangers really was charming in its own. Leander was anything but kind, at times he was even particularly cruel, but he had no plans to be anything like the latter tonight. He might be wearing a devils mask, but Leander was much more keen on the physical acts of sinning rather than anything else. He was a vampire, after all, and it wasn’t just blood that they often lusted. Dead they may be, but they were still part of the physical world, and to some extent ruled by it. Leander was a firm believer in living in that world as often as inhumanly possible.
“How gracious of you,” Leander remarked, not hesitating to take his hand more firmly, pausing while his dance partner rested the other on his shoulder before Leander broke his promise. Winding his free arm around the man’s lower back, Leander took them a few easy steps backward, to get further from the wall and little more lost in the crowd. He maneuvered them without looking between people dancing so as not to bump into anyone, stopping after a few steps and reasserting his hold on the man, still smiling as he leaned in an inch while he guided them both into the beginnings of a slow, near seductive sway. His own body might be cold, but Leander could practically feel the body heat coming off his partner’s and it nearly drove him mad right then. “But you should really know better than to trust the devil.”
Likely Léon should have known better. Even more likely was that he had known, known very well that his trust would be betrayed as soon as he gave it, known and had chosen anyway, knowing full well what kind of advantages Lucifer would be taking. They had experienced a dance with the Devil before, in another life. In Louis's life, in truth, and that dance had been dizzying, beautiful and terrible, the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. If he'd had it to do over, he swore he would never have taken what Lestat offered... but if he'd had it to do over, he'd never have known, and he'd have made all the same choices, without that foreknowledge. Léon, knowing what Louis had known, ought to have known better, and made better choices. It was the point of reincarnation, wasn’t it, to have learned your lesson from your past life and move on to the next. He ought to have been learning the next step toward enlightenment, instead of following in the same pattern Louis had danced.
Any thoughts of protest would have been wiped clean by the arm across his lower back, drawing him in. He had, perhaps, a weakness for being held, one he didn’t allow himself to indulge in even so often as he indulged in sex. It was, in part, because Léon was particular about it. If there wasn’t a certain strength to the grip, it wasn’t satisfying; too tight and it quickly became unpleasant. Lucifer's grip on him was firm enough that Léon didn’t have even the illusion he could get away, but not so much that it became painful. There was nothing Léon could do but dance with him, follow in the rhythm of his body with a quiet sigh of surrender. The people around them faded away again until they might as well have been by the wall, for all the attention Léon gave to the crowd.
Would there be any doubt, looking at the two of them from the outside, that Léon wanted this man desperately? He didn’t quite press to him, but he kept his grip on Lucifer’s shoulder, fingers curled around Lucifer’s more than they needed to be, for a dance; didn’t bring their chests into contact, but when Lucifer swayed in, Léon did, as well. His body was keyed, it seemed, to Lucifer’s. He fell in with the movement of it as they danced, Léon trusting Lucifer to keep them in time with the beat... trust he knew he shouldn’t give, but the champagne and the man he danced with were equally intoxicating. "A man doesn't dance with the prince of lies unless he's prepared to be tricked."
Prince of lies? Not far off, and likely a name Lestat had been called at least once, probably more than once. His more common nickname was the Brat Prince, one he often wore with pride, and a name that Leander wasn't too resentful of himself. It was only the truth. Unlike so many, Leander never rejected truth as if it was his enemy. He just didn't often utter it to the people around him. The exception may be Pandora, whom Leander went out of his way to be truthful with sometime after the traumatic reveal of her true lineage, but the complications of his estranged, fully adult daughter weren't ones he particularly wanted to entertain right now.
He would much rather keep his thoughts consumed by the charming stranger who seemed equally charmed by him. It was flattering, really, just how taken the man already seemed by him, and while Leander was certainly used to being adored by many, there was something... different, about this one. He couldn't put his finger on it, and maybe it was simply wishful thinking, on a night when their thoughts just so happened to be weighing more heavily on Louis as they sometimes did, but for a moment Leander couldn't help thinking that this man now in his arms so very reminded him of the vampire Lestat had once known, and still longed for.
"So you've either already come to terms with your fate, or you're simply a masochist." He could feel how the other man's fingers curled desperately into his shoulder, smirking and looking outwardly pleased with himself. When the man leaned into the sway, Leander took that opportunity to align their chests, and pressing into the other man ever so subtly while he kept them moving on the dance floor and re-threaded their joined fingers with ease. "I can work with either."
That gentle, near teasing press of their upper bodies was more intriguing, for the moment, than if Lucifer had thrown him up against the wall and ravished him. Léon knew what being thrown against the wall led to, a quick and dirty release with neither of them caring enough to remember the other's face and name. That kind of pleasure wasn’t complicated, though it always left Léon feeling unsatisfied and unhappier than before, once the rush of hormones wore off entirely. A dance shouldn't have been complicated, either, and yet the meeting of their chests, innocent as it might have been, sent a spark coursing through Léon's veins. Already it felt more intimate than a masked encounter with a man he would likely never meet again should have any right to... but why would Lucifer care what he had the right to?
"Aren't we all masochists?" Léon couldn’t deny the truth of it for himself, anymore than he could deny his height or the color of his eyes. "It's human nature to poke at our wounds to make certain they still hurt like we think that they should." It was why he kept writing his brother, even when he never got a response, and calling even though half the time his call was refused, and the other half always ended with his sitting in silence as his brother yelled at him for ruining his life. Everyone said that Léon had nothing to do with it, that he couldn’t have done anything to prevent what had happened, but guilt didn’t have to listen to logic. Guilt told him that he was the oldest, he should have been able to protect his siblings from the world. In the morning, guilt would tell him that he shouldn’t have enjoyed the joining of his hand with Lucifer’s, the breathless feeling of even simple contact between their bodies, and Léon would keep coming back to the memory to keep the intertwined pleasure and pain from fading.
Since it was already too late, Léon rested his body even more firmly against Lucifer’s, breath hitching in a silent sigh that Lucifer wouldn’t be able to hear over the music, and the crowd, but he would be able to feel it in the movement of Léon’s chest, the warm breath near his cool, pale face. "The pain is how we know we're alive. That we are still able to feel, even if the only thing we can feel is unpleasant." He didn’t usually talk so much, usually kept his musings safe inside his own head. Something about the champagne, the anonymity, the pull to the man who held him, coaxed them out of him.
“Little pessimistic, don't you think?" Oh, but this one wasn't just any masochist, he might in fact be the king of all masochists. Leander, while he certainly made many more bad decisions than good, for all his talk couldn't really qualify as such. To be labeled a masochist, that would have to imply that you actually felt some measure of regret in your actions before proceeding to go through with it anyway, knowing it was wrong and regretting it after. Leander didn't really do regret, and he definitely didn't do guilt. At least, not usually. There were always exceptions. This stranger probably wasn't going to be one of them, but he didn’t have to know that. One of the best parts about a party like this was that the concept of no strings attached was kind of just a given, so it was very likely that his dance partner was already prepared for such an encounter. Or at the very least, prepared to make some decisions he would no doubt regret in the morning. Those sorts of regrets were some of Leander’s favorites, if he was being perfectly honest. There was really nothing like morning after regret with a delicious side of walk of shame.
On the other hand, the man was so unapologetically morose that Leander couldn’t help but briefly compare him to the only other person he and Lestat had ever known to possess such high levels of doom and gloom. Their dear Louis, though he was the most beautiful thing under the sun (figuratively speaking, of course, since being under the sun was not possible for them), hardly ever saw the glass half full. Leander didn’t want to admit that might be a huge part of his continued attraction to the man, aside from the usual blood lust, so it was a good thing he didn’t have to. He could keep that part of the equation to himself, and continue to successfully charm the pretty stranger in his arms, in the hopes that he was just as easily coaxed into other things beyond dancing. This sort of dancing, after all, still had its limits. Leander didn’t care for limits.
Leander grinned, keeping his hold on the other man as he predictably gave into the temptation and rested himself more firmly against the vampire. He wasn’t going to complain, of course, only encourage more. The harder they fell, the sweeter the landing. He held the man’s gaze for a lingering moment, blue eyes piercing in an almost unnatural way, before Leander’s gaze idly shifted to a nearby couple who were both equally too intoxicated for words and all over each other in a way that left little room to guess how their respective nights would end. “I doubt the reasoning behind the way they’re carrying on right now was quite as refined as yours. Does it always have to come down to an inevitable, unpleasant end? Maybe they just like throwing caution to the wind. … Even if they should do everyone a favor and at least take it outside.”
Pessimism was, perhaps, the accusation leveled at Léon most often. Its accuracy he couldn’t attest to; he thought that he wasn’t pessimistic at all, that he merely recognized the parts of human nature that most denied, but he could freely admit that he was biased. It was impossible not to be, when one was trying to judge himself fairly. Perhaps Léon was a pessimist. Perhaps Léon was correct, when he said that humans sought out the things that could hurt them. Perhaps both were equally true, or neither. It wasn’t as though Léon were in any position to examine the fundamental truths of the universe. He was merely, gloriously, human, as full of flaws and foibles as the next man, with not quite thirty years of experience on his own. Louis, of course, had more, but he’d spent most of it as a damned thing. His experience of humanity was but a fond memory, one that he held sacred. For his part, in Léon’s experience, humans loved the things that made them feel most deeply, and even the sweetest love could turn to the deepest pain. Often did, though he’d never experienced it himself. Louis had known love; unwillingly, and it had been the greatest pain of all his years, that love as it grew, as it sank thirsty roots into his dead heart. Lestat had always been as glorious a pain as he had been a pleasure.
Léon’s breath caught again as Lucifer’s eyes met his, the brilliant blue seeming to see through into the core of him. Could Lucifer see deep into the darkness of his heart, and witness all his sins? Useless fancy, but Léon indulged himself. He doubted it would frighten the devil away. Dark as they were, something told Léon that this man had seen darker. Perhaps darker even lurked in his own breast, but Léon’s eyes couldn’t see that deeply, couldn’t pierce as Lucifer’s did, to the core of him. They merely fixed on Lucifer’s, pupils blown wide, the circle of green around them narrow. He was entranced, utterly enchanted, and it seemed somehow familiar. As though he had felt this way before, though he knew he hadn’t. Nothing in those thirty years had ever been like this, and he knew as though he had a gift of prescience that this would be what haunted his fevered dreams for years to come.
Lucifer had asked a question. It took a moment for Léon to realize, fixed by those blue eyes, and another to find his answer and let it spill off his tongue. “Everything comes down to sex and death. Thanatos and Eros.” Léon had never ventured further in psychology than an introductory course, filling a general education requirement, but something about Freud’s theories of the two drives had stuck with him all these years. “Half of us driven to mate, half of us driven to seek our own destruction.” It was, as a concept, beautiful. One that resonated with Léon in his younger years, using sex to mask his own longing to die. “Isn’t throwing caution to the wind the same as courting death?” Léon could have been speaking to himself. Was, in a way, reminding himself. The reasons why he should care had already slipped away, however. Why should it matter to him, what Lucifer might do to him that night? If he destroyed Léon, he was only doing what Léon was too cowardly to do, himself.