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The knife’s blade glints unnaturally.
Armand holds the sharp end to his wrist, the tip of the professional chef’s blade a hair’s breadth from breaking skin and tearing that unblemished brown surface. A little more pressure and the pristine floor beneath him will be smeared with hot, dripping crimson.
“This one is good,” he remarks.
“It’s perfect,” Louis says with no small amount of delight. Knife shopping is not something he ever thought would excite him, but he has learned many new things about himself over the past twenty-odd months.
“It’s heavy,” says Gabrielle. She regards an identical blade in her hand with a slight grimace.
“The added weight is an advantage for professional chefs,” Clarisse, their personal shopper, explains. The woman’s eyes dart nervously to Armand, who looks dangerously close to slitting his wrist with the blade.
The sight should worry Louis, but this is the least peculiar of Armand’s eccentricities. He is certain the man saves all his blood play for the high-end sex dungeons he visits, anyway.
“A Miyabi might suit you more, Louis,” Armand says, finally surrendering the knife to the relieved salesperson who puts it back with the set spread out on the glass counter where no one can get stabbed and cause the store liability.
“Yes, something light and sharp will do. Our delicate Louis doesn’t need to exert too much energy after all.” Gabrielle punctuates with a perfunctory smile. The skin of her cheek and eyes are strained by the movement thanks to a recent Botox injection. Not that she needed it. She has aged surprisingly well for a rich white woman. Well, not that surprisingly.
“That’s assuming I’ll be doing all the cooking,” Louis retorts playfully, but not really. “Lestat can slice the occasional apple or crack an egg when he’s in the mood.”
Gabrielle hums. It’s low and soft. “Good to know. I certainly didn’t teach him.”
“So, is the Miyabi preferable?” Clarisse interjects as if sensing the tension between future son- and mother-in-law and breaking it up before someone gets cut up with all this lovely merchandise. Can’t blame her for not wanting to fuck up her commission.
“Can I see the Zwilling again to compare?” Louis asks. He will probably take the Miyabi in the end because he does not need a heavy kitchen knife, but he doesn’t want to give Gabrielle the satisfaction of knowing that.
“Let’s also compare it with the Shun Premier. If I recall, the blade is thinner at the base,” Armand directs crisply. Louis thanks him mentally for it.
When Gabrielle called that morning to tell Louis (tell, not ask) that they needed to go shopping for items on the wedding registry, he considered tying a boulder to his ankle and jumping into the Hudson River. He wanted to tell his soon-to-be mother-in-law to go suck a cactus (with grace and style, of course) but the witch had the forethought to tell Lestat first before calling Louis.
That meant his fiance bombarded him with the news at breakfast when Louis’ defenses were down. His defenses are (almost) always down around Lestat, but something about the smell of fresh coffee and crunchy toast in the morning can convince Louis to sell his birthright for magic beans.
“Mother wants to accompany you shopping today,” Lestat had said, unable to contain his excitement at the prospect of his two favorite people together. If he had a tail, it would have wagged.
Louis’ handsome, big-dicked golden retriever.
“Hmmm.” Louis had sipped his coffee to get out of answering immediately, but he could only swish the beverage in his mouth for so long before it stained his teeth. “Today?”
“Yes. She has a free morning. Aren’t you taking the day off?” Lestat had asked.
Louis was taking the day off work to get registered at Honeyfund for the wedding. Lestat should have been with him as traditionally the marrying couple are supposed to pick stuff out together, but he had a meeting that couldn’t be postponed.
Louis wouldn’t have minded choosing another day so Lestat could come, but he has already put off registering for months and the wedding is six weeks away. There’s already a ton of shit on the wedding planning checklist that’s been left undone.
Besides, Lestat had apologized for his absence with an intense tongue fuck two days ago that left Louis’ legs feeling like jelly and a new Birkin. It’s different from the one he’s getting as a wedding present, which Lestat doesn’t know Louis knows about.
But letting his mother go in his stead was a step too far. Unfortunately, Lestat brought this up at breakfast so the combination of blood orange & vanilla bean marmalade on toast and his man’s pleading crystal blue eyes were enough to wear Louis down.
So here they are at Neiman Marcus because Gabrielle said Honeyfund was too “pedestrian” where they’re spending over twenty minutes choosing knives. Armand is also here because Louis needs emotional support and Armand is very into household implements.
Louis had to drag him away from all the blenders when they first came in.
“Let’s get both the Miyabi and Zwilling then,” Louis says loudly, eager to be done with this part. “It’ll be balanced. Light and heavy.”
Armand nods as if that makes sense and Louis didn’t just say anything to make this ordeal end. “Perfect choice.”
Louis does like the Zwilling. It has some weight to it, but that means it will press in better when chopping. The Miyabi, though, is sleek and stylish. It will go well with the newly refurbished kitchen of the penthouse.
“I’ll get that logged on your register,” Clarisse says dutifully.
“I’m peckish. How about some lunch?” Gabrielle announces. Her eyes fixate on Louis, daring him to refuse. He takes the challenge head-on.
“I would love to, but I’m still going to the office later and I should get going,” Louis says. He forces a note of regret he knows she sees through.
“How unfortunate. Well, we must schedule another lunch meeting before the wedding. You and I have hardly had one-on-one time together.” The eerily smooth corners of her mouth tilt upward, betraying not a single wrinkle. She traces the button of her tailored suit jacket with manicured fingers as she speaks.
“I agree.”
He would rather swallow a bucket of scorpions. In a cactus farm. Naked.
She air kisses him, the bouncy tip of her blonde curls brushing his cheek when she pulls away. “Have you sent the invitations to the printer yet?”
“Yes. Last week.”
“Shame. I wanted to approve the font first, but it doesn’t matter now. I’m sure you did a good job, as always.”
He suppresses a snort. “The font was fine, Gabrielle.”
“We’ll see.”
Armand interlocks their arms together once they’re outside the store and free of Gabrielle, who has absconded in a taxi to another part of the city. Louis wishes she were leaving the state entirely.
She doesn’t spend much time in New York, preferring Paris and London as primary residents. But after Louis and Lestat announced their engagement, Gabrielle’s presence in the city increased, much to his chagrin. He just hopes she doesn’t decide to move here full time after the wedding.
“It is amusing watching the two of you interact,” Armand says. “Like two feral cats who learned etiquette, while that dog Lestat watches on cluelessly.”
Louis chuckles, enjoying the breeze on his face. It’s one of those rare days in the city where the weather isn’t boiling hot or a foggy mess blinding pedestrians. He takes it as a good omen.
“That’s putting it nicely.”
“It’s because the two of you are so alike,” Armand observes.
“Stop it,” Louis whines.
“I’m serious.”
Lestat says that all the time. The last thing Louis needs is a reminder of his fiancés weird mommy issues.
“Half the time I want to strangle her and tell her to be nicer to her own son,” Louis says. “The other half I admire her and I hate it.”
The thing is, Louis genuinely wanted to get along with Gabrielle. It’s not like he entered the relationship hoping to endure unceasing animosity with the woman who birthed his love. The relationship he has with his own mother is tumultuous enough to last several lifetimes.
But their meetings were wrought with issues that convinced Louis that she didn’t like him much. At first, it appeared her dislike stemmed from the fact that he was raised a middle-class black man and not a twiggy Scandinavian with a trust fund and the name of a grandparent emblazoned on the building of an Ivy League campus.
But Lestat made it clear she was indifferent to his previous partners. Louis is convinced she would act this way with anyone Lestat dated.
One minute she acts cold and uninterested, then the next she’s pulling stunts like this and barging into their business without warning.
Lestat craves her love immensely, and she gets off on dangling it over him, letting him take a little nibble once in a while before yanking it away. Lestat once confessed to Louis during a post-coital session that his mother simply didn’t want to have children.
Then there is the issue of the prenup that caused some chaos for a while.
“Should we have lunch? There’s a bistro close to here and I am famished,” Armand says.
“I wasn’t lying when I said I have to go to the office,” Louis says apologetically. “But we can still go out to eat after. I just need to sign some shit for accounts, so Daniel asked me to come in for a bit.”
Armand’s eyes brighten at the mention of Louis’ boss. It’s comical to witness.
On anyone else, it would simply be a cute crush. But Armand is not anyone else and has approached his obvious infatuation with flamboyant sociopathy.
He met Daniel during the book launch for a nonfiction author writing about time spent with an Appalachian cult, and Armand was the plus one of another attendant. Louis didn’t know the other man would be there.
Armand spent an hour arguing with Daniel over a topic he still refuses to tell Louis about to this day.
Louis was actually afraid he would get fired because his fiancés oldest (and only) friend was a nuisance, but the older man simply said Louis kept “interesting company”. That’s been enough to convince Armand they’re soulmates. He tracked down Daniel’s information and found out he was twice divorced with kids, which Louis didn’t even know since his boss was not exactly a chatterbox.
Not even Louis’ declarations that Daniel was over twenty years his senior deterred Armand.
“Last I checked, Lestat was in university pretending to love the taste of cheap beer when you were learning your ABCs in the sixth grade,” Armand had snarked and Louis shut up since he was bested.
(An eleven-year age difference is not the same thing. Lestat has no gray hairs…that Louis has noticed)
“Your proposal is tempting but I can’t go to Midtown and still make my meeting with an artist whose work I am viewing later,” Armand says regretfully. “Raincheck?”
“Of course.”
Armand owns an art gallery in Greenwich Village and lives the life of a typical bohemian trust fund brat. He’s a lot more interesting than most and if Louis wasn’t ridiculously in love with Lestat, there might be something there.
A fact that makes Lestat very nervous despite his fervent denial. Sometimes, Louis wonders if he regrets introducing them.
Armand raises a slender arm to hail a taxi and then turns to kiss Louis’ cheeks, cradling his head with delicate ease as if he were fine china. “I’ll call you later. Please give my love to Daniel.”
“He said he’s getting a restraining order if you send more flowers to his office.”
Armand smiles brightly. “So he liked them.”
Mama calls Louis in the Uber.
He considers not answering, but knows that will make their next call unbearable. Knowing her, it’s another complaint. Louis braces himself and softly taps his AirPods to answer.
“Hey, Mama.”
“Louis, I just got off the phone with Auntie Caroline and she needs to know if there’s going to be ramps available at the wedding venue. You know she can’t be using her cane the entire day—”
“I already told you we got accommodations, Mama.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “From ramps to ADA regulation bathrooms.” That cost a pretty penny too, considering the wedding is taking place outdoors. He was not an idiot and knew what it would entail when inviting his disabled aunt, so he had the forethought to plan and then let her know ahead of time.
“I’m just making sure,” Florence defends. “Your daddy’s sister doesn’t need to be uncomfortable just because you wanna play woodland fairy instead of marrying in a good church. You know what the cold does to her old bones.”
“We’re still getting married by a priest, mama. And it’s spring, so there won’t be any chill.”
And that was a fun concession for Lestat. Considering his fiance has religious trauma up to his eyeballs, deciding to get married by a real priest was an enormous deal for him. If there was any doubt about the extent of his devotion to Louis, that diminished it. Mama didn’t understand that at all. Then again, she was against this wedding for a while.
To be honest, he’s not sure what turned her around to the idea. Well, as much as she can be. She still makes her dislike of Lestat very clear, despite his good-natured gesture of asking her permission to propose to Louis. Her reaction to the actual engagement was indifferent at best. At worst, she listed all the ways she thought Louis would ruin his life if he went forward with it. They didn’t talk for close to a month after that.
Louis’s theory about her reluctant acceptance is that she has FOMO. Grace and Paul are on board, even if it took his brother a while to warm up to Lestat. Grace had no issues from the get-go and will be in the wedding party. All their extended family ranged from cheerfully nonchalant to excessively supportive and were all getting flown to New York for the wedding on Lestat’s dime.
It’s probable that Mama didn’t like the idea of distant aunts and uncles attending her own son’s wedding when she wouldn’t.
Now, she bombards him with many requests every chance she gets. Dealing with those and whatever shenanigans Gabrielle cooks up is a study in patience.
“Auntie Caroline can see it all outlined when she gets the invitations. I sent them out last week.”
“Should have let me know about that,” Florence says with a dignified grumble.
“You’d see it in the mail anyway,” Louis says, trying to keep his tone above board.
“It’s bad enough you bar your own mother from the wedding planning.”
There’s only so much Louis can endure. He can play the long-suffering eldest son on another day.
“Look, I’ll talk to you later, Mama. I’m headed back to work.”
He ends the call as she’s saying something mid sentence. Part of him feels bad for doing that, but it’s a feeling which doesn’t fester as long as it used to.
It took years of deprogramming to stop the rush of guilt whenever he ended a call with his mother. The need for boundaries is still an ongoing battle, though.
Louis arrives at the office of the Garden Publishing House a few minutes before noon. He absently retrieves his badge for security to inspect as he gives his Uber driver five stars.
The security person on duty is Frank, a white guy with vibrant red hair and a potbelly in his forties. He greets Louis with a smile as he inspects his badge. “Good to see you, Louis. Thought you weren’t coming in today?”
Louis smiles. “Just a little paperwork to deal with.”
“Take care, kid. Don’t work too hard.”
“See you later, Frank.” Louis waves as he enters the elevator and presses the button for the third floor.
He has worked at Garden Publishing for almost two years now. Publishing is not an industry Louis first thought himself interested in, but after college, he needed to put his English and Creative Writing degree to good use. Leaving New York wasn’t an option since his mother would consider going back home a victory for her, so he jumped on the first internship he could find.
It was at a big publishing house. Daniel was editor there and took a liking to Louis. He took the then 23-year-old as his mentor, showing him the ropes of the industry.
Daniel used to be a journalist but pivoted to publishing after winning a Pulitzer. Something about being jaded or pissing off one too many corporate overlords. He was an editor at the other publishing house for ten years, but left after a row with the CEO.
Garden Publishing gave him a better offer despite being smaller and after Louis’ internship ended, Daniel gladly brought him to the team as a junior editor. It’s been a great ride so far despite the heavy workload and not too appetizing pay, but Louis gets to do what he loves all day long.
Lestat has made noises about Louis not needing to work once they get married, but that’s something Louis is trying not to think about yet.
The elevator opens to the office floor. It’s slightly rowdy, with people walking about holding files and glossy cover spreads for review. They have a former politician’s memoir coming out in a few months, so there’s a scramble to meet that deadline. It’s an open layout plan which is a special layer of hell, but if he plays his cards right, then he’ll get an office with a door in two years tops.
Louis goes straight for his desk, taking off his Hermes messenger bag to hang on the back of his chair. He barely lets go of the strap before Lily peeks up from her cubicle opposite his own for an interrogation. Her familiar Chanel No. 5 perfume wafts in his nostrils.
“I thought you weren’t coming in today,” she says. Her hot pink nails clack against the cubicle partition as she leans over his space.
“Daniel asked me to pop in,” he explains.
“Oh, figures. Is it for the expense account thing?”
“Yup.”
“Cool. I signed mine this morning. How did it go with the monster-in-law?”
Louis sighs and shakes his head, hoping the reaction is enough to convey everything he feels. “I’ll tell you later.”
Lily has worked at Garden for three years. Like Louis, she’s on the senior editor track, but her dream is to finish the fantasy novel she’s writing. They met when Louis started here and became fast friends along with the only other black person on their floor, Bricks. The trio has weathered many storms of office politics and management mishaps in a sea of marshmallows.
“Wanna have lunch? I’m going to the Italian place in a bit,” she offers.
There’s a decent Italian restaurant a few blocks from the office where they sometimes have lunch. A pepperoni slice sounds very good.
“That sounds good. Ask Bricks if she wants to come.”
“She’s game.”
Louis accepts the information with a thumbs up and makes his way to Daniel’s office, knocking twice and waiting for an acknowledgment.
“Come in.”
The Senior Editor sits at his desk with a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he regards his desktop screen studiously. His gray eyes dart up to Louis, who gently closes the door behind him.
“Hey. Sorry to bug you on your day off, but HR keeps hounding me about how this can’t wait,” Daniel apologizes.
Louis shrugs one shoulder. “It’s fine. I got things wrapped up earlier than I thought.”
Daniel slides the document on the desk over to Louis. “Wedding plans still happening?”
Louis chuckles, clicking his pen to sign with a flourish. “It’s ongoing.”
“Both my weddings were an hour long each. With my second wife, we shared a hotdog outside the courthouse, so I am the least knowledgeable person about grandiose wedding traditions.” The older man says self-deprecating.
“Sometimes I’d kill for that. Lestat and I spent all of last week deciding on napkins for the reception. It definitely gets a little ridiculous sometimes.”
But while the planning process has been arduous, Louis cannot deny that the extravagant wedding is something he likes a lot. Desires, even.
All his life, he’s convinced himself that being the center of attention is unpalatable. Staying in the background and moving unnoticed has been an excellent strategy for most of his teens and college career, but meeting Lestat has brought out some of his more indulgent aspects. Louis has learned that he does not mind all the frills sometimes.
That and some.
“You’re young. Who knows, maybe you’ll get a do-over in five years,” Daniel says, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.
Louis slides the signed paper back to his boss. “Hopefully not.” Lestat is his person and Louis knows this as certainly as the sun shining or potato chip bags being filled with air.
“I like that optimism. It fills my jaded, wrinkled heart with hope. By the way, I’m looking for a manuscript we tossed out last month. I’ve been having a rethink about stuff in the abandoned pile.”
“What’s the genre pile?”
“Historical fiction. Some about a spy for the Viet Cong that we rejected because we hit the genre quota for historical.” Daniel haphazardly waves his hand as he tries to recall it.
“I know what you’re talking about.” It was written by a Vietnamese-American author from California and Louis enjoyed it very much when he read it months ago. He was disappointed when it didn’t get passed along for an offer, but if Daniel remembers it, then an impression was left.
“I need a copy. There are good bones in there we can polish up,” says Daniel. “I also need the author’s contact information. Send them to me as soon as you’re in tomorrow.”
“Will do, sir.”
The walk to the restaurant takes less than ten minutes. He, Bricks, and Lily giggle loudly throughout until they’re seated. The girls both order a hearty helping of lasagne while he gets four thick, cheesy slices of pepperoni. His mouth waters when the waiter drops the food on their table.
“Lunch is on your by the way,” Bricks says matter-of-factly.
Louis sputters a laugh, playing with the straw of his drink. “Shouldn’t I be the one to volunteer to do that?”
Bricks snort brandishing her cutlery to dig into her steaming meal. “You’re the one marrying a billionaire, so it’s the least you can do. Consider it one reason we don’t eat your ass too when we’re eating the rich, of which you are.”
He rolls his eyes. “Lestat’s not a billionaire.” Officially, yes, but Lestat explained all the complicated layers of his net worth to Louis, and the entire thing made him dizzy. Google still says he’s worth 2 billion.
“Ain’t he got a private jet? That’s still fuck you money,” Lily says.
“A private jet is guillotine money,” Bricks declares.
Louis bites into his hot pizza, letting a string of cheese drag before setting it back on his plate. He exhales to cool the burning roof of his mouth. “No one is guillotining my man, please.”
“Awww,” Lily teases. “You’re such a ‘my man, my man’ hoe. Lestat’s ears must be burning from his much you talk about him.”
The accusation is not incorrect, but Louis’ face heats all the same.
“He is my man,” he defends weakly.
“You always fail the Bechdel test,” Bricks says, making Lily burst into laughter.
“Can I just be gushy about my happy relationship in peace?” The heat spreads to his neck and chest. Their teasing makes him feel gooey, as dumb as that sounds. It is a profound thing to have someone occupying your thoughts. Love songs preach this gospel all the time in ways he never understood until he met Lestat. Now, he knows what it is like to have your breath stolen away when they walk into a room and how their hands on your body is an untold magical feeling.
Lily snorts. “Some of us are single, you know.”
Bricks slices a morsel of food with her table knife. “You better set me up with some of Blondie’s hot, rich friends at the wedding. My mom will not stop nagging me to get married, and it’s actually getting to me. I downloaded Bumble last night.”
“Yikes,” Lily says sympathetically.
“It’s the trenches out there. You’re lucky, Louis. You didn’t have to kiss a bunch of frogs or pretend to enjoy sucking their dicks before you found your prince.”
“Luck of the draw,” Louis mutters as he chews.
Luck is the best description possible for how Lestat came into his life.
They met at a party. It was held by one of their premier clients, AKA a celebrity, making a vanity memoir who needed ass-kissing because their book would be a guaranteed bestseller based on their established reputation.
His attendance was grunt work, but he complained little because of free food and booze. Louis mostly minded his business and kept his behind pressed against the wall like a good employee, but he caught sight of a blonde man with a ponytail staring in his direction. He ignored him at first, thinking it was just another white person being rude, but then the man approached him, forcing acknowledgment.
“I just say I have not noticed your presence at any of these parties.” Lestat’s French accent was a novelty that eased his suspicion at first.
“I’m just here for work,” Louis explained, tightening the grip on his wineglass.
“Oh?” Curious eyes trailed him from head to toe. “What kind of work is that?”
Lestat was glued to his side the entire night. He was a casual acquaintance of the host and didn’t want to attend at first. But he decided anyway, since his girlfriend was working late.
The attention was exhilarating, even though Louis thought it was a playful flirtation that wouldn’t amount to anything. The man had an alleged girlfriend, and he wasn’t the type to cross someone else’s territory, but Lestat was so damn charming. And electrifying. And enchanting.
It is futile to deny how taken Louis was, even on that first night. They spent hours chattering about different topics, ignoring all the other partygoers. When it was time to leave, Lestat asked for his phone number.
Louis gave it to him, justifying himself with mental gymnastics. It was friendly. They would be good friends. But when Lestat called the next day, he announced that said girlfriend was no longer in the picture.
Their first date was the next evening at the Soho Club, where Lestat is a member. The date went so well that Louis ended up at Lestat’s penthouse that night. And the next. And the next.
And the rest is history. There are a few more important bits in between, but Louis prefers not to rehash them all.
He examines the engagement ring on his finger with a faint smile. What matters is that he has his happily ever after.
“Oh, shit,” Lily whispers, bending her head low. “Don’t look, but it’s you know who.”
Dread fills Louis like a tidal wave, but he keeps calm. He knows exactly who Lily is talking about.
“I thought she was on vacation in Capri. She won’t stop talking about it,” Bricks grumbles, her eyes darting to the person who just entered the restaurant.
Antoinette Brown saunters over to sit two tables away from them. Her platinum blonde hair has been cut into a bob and her pencil skirt is hugging every inch of flesh it can find. Louis hopes to God that she doesn’t spot them, but that likelihood is very low. She’s not alone as a tall man with salt and pepper hair graces the table she’s sitting at. Probably a client or something.
Louis hopes it’s a date.
“Her vacation is tomorrow,” Lily explains. Well, isn’t that a shit box in a handbasket?
Antoinette is the girlfriend Lestat had right until the night he met Louis. By then, they had been dating for a month and it was nothing serious, according to him. The next day after their initial meeting, Lestat called her to say he was no longer interested in the relationship.
Things came to a head so months into his relationship with Louis when the couple bumped into her at a bar with her new beau and a torrent of emotions came flooding out. Louis did not know the woman his boyfriend once dated worked in the marketing department of his current job. Their contact was limited since they were in different departments, but there were enough staff meetings for Louis to know her well enough.
Antoinette, as expected, did not take the revelation with grace. Accusing Louis of stealing her man was the least of her offenses. After it was all over, Louis refused to go to the office for two days for fear that she would make him lose his job, as ridiculous as that sounded.
He also ignored Lestat until the man cornered him at his apartment with a hundred roses and refused to leave until he explained himself. Louis didn’t take him seriously until Lestat stood outside for close to five hours until Louis gave up and let him inside.
Some might cast doubt on this timeline (Louis certainly did), but Bricks who is always privy to all the office gossip confirmed that Antoinette told everyone in Marketing and Ad Sales she was experiencing a breakup around the time he started dating Lestat and everyone in the office except him knew because he’s not nosy enough to care and rarely leaves his floor.
According to Bricks, she milked it for sympathy points. Still, the entire incident is the only real dark cloud in their relationship.
“Let’s just keep eating,” Lily suggests.
Louis does and even forgets her presence for a moment. He regales the ladies with tales of wedding planning and the frustrations that accompany it. His wedding planner, Fiona, comes with a million suggestions and he gets overwhelmed every time. She clashes with Lestat, who shoots down most of her ideas, but sometimes they agree when it comes to small things like floral arrangements and patio styling.
All the small things Louis is happy to ignore.
Louis wishes he could close his eyes and open them on his wedding day. Everything is all done and fixed. That’s the dream.
“Is his mom still up your ass about the prenup?” Bricks asks.
Her words make him tense instinctively, but he relaxes after a moment. It’s all sorted, but that was a fucking headache.
“She wasn’t that upset. It’s his brothers who were dicks throughout.”
After their engagement party (which they did not attend) Lestat’s older brothers asked when Louis would sign a prenup.
Lestat told them there would be no prenup.
All hell broke loose.
It’s understandable to an extent considering the quick progression of their relationship. Lestat proposed at eight months and that was three months ago. But his brothers are pompous dicks who feel entitled to shit they didn’t work for. It’s bad enough how they treated Lestat in his youth, along with their father.
Lestat was the one who left France to make his own fortune. His mother’s inheritance helped, but his company, Lelio, was purely his alone. Exempt from whatever holdings his abusive father left the family.
They demanded that Louis sign a prenup or they would go to the company board of Lelio and get him ousted as CEO. It was a very messy affair. The things they said about Louis made him feel guilty enough to want to sign it.
No one wants to be accused of being a gold-digging trollop, but Lestat insisted he had no plan to ever divorce Louis, so no prenup was needed.
They roped Gabrielle into it who at first seemed to support her oldest sons but later did a 360. That was the only time she ever had a civil conversation with Louis one on one. They had lunch in a rooftop restaurant in the Upper East Side and talked over white wine and baked cod.
“You’re so much younger than my son,” Gabrielle has said. Her hair was longer then and strands kept getting blown into her face by the cool breeze. “I know that right now you think you’re so lucky to have him that you will take whatever you get. But in twenty years, when you’ve birthed his children and raised them and lived by his side supporting him through every tide, then you’ll know all the value you’ve brought him. Then you’ll want to be compensated if it all goes to shit.”
The next day there was a prenup. One that left Louis with enough to buy a country if they divorced and control over the trusts of their future children until they came of age.
By the time it was drafted, Louis thought he saw his lawyer shedding tears of joy.
“Louis,” says a voice peppered with the false sweetness innate in almost every inhabitant South of the Mason-Dixon Line.
Startled, Louis realizes he was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice Antoinette coming to their table. She is close enough for him to see the tiny hairs on her chin and the granules of caked foundation on her face.
“Antoinette,” he says neutrally.
“I didn’t know you eat here too.”
“I’m pretty sure most people from the office eat here,” Lily points out.
Antoinette shrugs a single shoulder. She’s not a bad-looking woman at all, just unremarkable. It’s easy to see how Lestat might have ended up in a relationship with her.
“Pardon my inobservance. It’s just that you have a habit of being in the same places I entered first.”
He wants to laugh. Louis has to cover his mouth with his hands to keep from bursting into raucous laughter. Did she get her lines from a Mean Girls 101 manual? He almost wants to give her a bone, just to be nice. But he has to channel all the annoyance from his shopping trip with Gabrielle somewhere.
“Good metaphor,” Louis smiles. “If we’re continuing in that same vein, I’m probably a better tipper than you, since I’m still here.”
Her red-painted lips twist with disdain. “Is that what we’re calling it? Tipping?”
“If you’d like to abandon the metaphor, we can do that.” He leans back in his chair and squares his shoulders. It doesn’t show beneath the loose fitting egg shell white Saint Laurent sweater he has one, but his straightened posture is enough.
Antoinette widens her smile, exposing her pearly whites. Some of the lipstick has smudged her teeth. “Never mind. It’s good to see you again.”
“You too. I’ll tell Lestat you said hi,” he says casually, sipping his drink. The hand he’s holding his drink in gives a clear view of the engagement ring worth six figures resting on his slender finger.
Her eyes crawl all over it and she swallows hard.
Louis knows he’ll feel bad about this interaction later when he’s had time to think over. A holdover from his Catholic faith. But for now, he’s high off the endorphins that come from putting an uppity bitch in her place.
She says nothing and simply leaves, not bothering to drop a wooden smile or fake platitude. The man who came with her has a puzzled look, but she spits something in his direction as she rushes out of the restaurant. He follows her, confused but with a slow stride.
Bricks hums. “She should have just eaten her food and left, but no, she wanted to say something snarky. Your mouth is always gonna put you in trouble.”
Louis and Lily burst into laughter because that’s all they can do.
“Babe?” Louis calls out when he gets home to their penthouse.
“Dans le salon, mon amour.” A deep voice calls out from the living room.
It’s about five PM and he didn’t expect Lestat to be back home until an hour later. He usually gets home around seven, but they have dinner plans tonight.
Louis is greeted by the sight of his fiancé lounging on the L shaped couch in nothing but dark blue sweatpants and the TV remote in his hands. His hair is tied up in a messy ponytail and he has one leg propped up on the coffee table. There’s an open can of root beer beside his foot.
It’s a far cry from the suit Lestat clad himself in that morning. Louis appreciates this sight.
Lestat’s eyes brighten at Louis’ entrance. He sits up. “How was your day, my love?”
All the day’s annoyances and toil bleeds from him like a tipped over water bottle emptied of its contents in less than a minute. Louis drops the many shopping bags in his hand on the floor next to the coffee table and straddles Lestat, savoring the warmth of the hard body beneath him.
The other man’s left hand cups his supple behind while the other rests on Louis’ waist to aid his movement.
Their lips slot together like they’ve done a thousand times before and will do a thousand times more. It’s a slow kiss; savoring and familiar. Like the first sip of cold chardonnay.
Louis makes a keening noise at the back of his throat, already so eager to get lost in everything Lestat. He cups Lestat’s jaw, shivering when front teeth gently bite into the plushness of his lower lip. The sharp pain tickles the back of his skull.
Lestat breaks their kiss to nip at his throat playfully. “My question remains unanswered.”
“Tiring,” Louis rasps. His fingers are tangled in that long mane, massaging the scalp gently.
“Poor thing.” Lestat caresses his thighs, large hands cupping his behind possessively. He glances at the abandoned bags. “What did you buy?”
“I went shopping with Lily and Bricks at Chanel. Then I picked up something from Tiffany’s. A little piece I saw online last night,” Louis replies casually.
Lestat kisses the inner wrist of Louis’ left hand to state his approval. “Will you wear it for me later?”
“Maybe.”
It took a while for him to get Louis comfortable enough to spend his money.
Their money, Lestat always says.
If taking the accumulation of said money into consideration, that is categorically false. But Louis loves the sentiment behind it.
He grants one last peck on Lestat’s mouth. “You’re home early.”
“I didn’t want to miss our dinner reservations.”
Louis kisses his nose. “You’re so fucking sweet, baby.”
“I’ve endured enough of your tongue lashings to gain an appreciation for being on time.”
“I love it when you learn quickly.”
“How did the wedding registration go with my mother?”
That question dampens Louis’ fire, but only slightly. He wraps his arms around Lestat’s neck. “It was fine. We got everything.”
Lestat keeps his expression impassive. As foolish as it sounds, sometimes Louis finds it jarring how well Lestat knows him. It should not surprise him, but it does. It also scares him too. No greater form of exhilaration exists than to be known so intimately down to each connecting atom that forms the blob of matter you exist as.
Nothing is as frightening either.
“Was she impolite at times?” Lestat asks, his tone softer this time.
Louis snorts. He removes himself from Lestat’s lap to sit beside him, but keeps his legs still splayed over his man. Lestat keeps his unrelenting hold on the thighs.
“When isn’t she impolite?” Louis retorts.
Lestat shrugs helplessly. “She enjoys your reaction. Mother has always been playful like that.”
“Is it the pulling pigtails thing but for in-laws?” Louis dryly asks.
Lestat caresses Louis’ ankle, helping him remove his sneakers to fall on the carpeted floor. “You know she likes you.”
“Do I?”
“Yes,” Lestat insists firmly.
Louis allows his mind to wander back to all those months ago when they had lunch on a rooftop. The surprisingly kind words she offered. Her flip-flop manner. The fact that she once ignored her son for a year but came to New York after he told her about their engagement.
Louis muses on the fact that Lestat first said ‘I love you’ one month into their relationship when Louis was dozing asleep after sex. How he asked Louis to repeat himself six times when Louis returned his words a week later. How his eyes sparkle in delight whenever Louis kisses him in public or holds his hand or expresses any form of intimacy that people can see despite his own discomfort with such exhibitionism.
There’s been no ambiguity about Lestat’s love for him. He declares it, he sings it without coaxing. He always acts taken aback whenever Louis expresses the same in one form or the other, as if he still can’t believe it even now. Even when they’re about to tie their lives together inexplicably.
Louis grabs Lestat’s dick without warning in one smooth motion. “Can I?”
A throaty chuckle escapes Lestat. It goes down Louis’ groin. “You only ask when you’re trying to distract me from something. Is that what you’re doing, my heart?”
Louis feels it harden in his grasp. He tugs it once, twice. Lestat’s hips follow with a quick twitch upward. “Maybe.”
He transplants himself back onto his fiance’s lap, pressing his behind on the hardening length. Louis shivers when broad hands go under his shirt. A lone thumb brushes his pierced belly button and he jerks on instinct.
It’s not sore anymore since he got it two months ago but sometimes his body forgets. A small diamond stud sits on his belly button, filling him with sinful delight every time he recalls it.
Thou shall not desecrate thy body and all that.
Lestat calls it adornment. Like the fine gold ornaments used to fill the temples of old.
Louis moans against his mouth, filthy and desperate and confident in his desires. He directs his body with the skill of an experienced driver, grinding down on Lestat until he knows the other man is leaking into his boxers. The hands gripping his thighs as if they fear separation is one clue of how much he is wanted.
He inhales the potent desire surrounding them, pleased with the wetness forming in his own underwear and the anticipatory clench of his hole.
Suddenly, Louis pushes himself off Lestat. He takes the opportunity to divest his pants and boxers, watching with unfettered delight as Lestat does the same while breathing heavily. He shivers beneath the intense gaze that speaks of devouring every inch of him, savoring it. Oh, to be wanted in a way that would make the oxygen being sucked into Lestat’s nostrils seethe with jealousy. It’s intoxicating. Some lucid corner of his mind understands Antoinette’s ire if she ever experienced anything like this at all. To lose this feeling would be a nightmare of epic proportions.
Louis has no problem admitting he is addicted to this errant desire. To be an idolatrous figure of worship.
“Come here,” Lestat commands.
Louis obeys, moving back to his place on that welcoming lap. His heart is singing. His cock is throbbing. He feels so, so empty and aches to be filled. The desire for it leaves him slick with want.
A moan escapes his parted lips as Lestat unceremoniously rubs his fingers around Louis’ hole, gathering slick in order to smooth the way for one finger and then two. The moans make way for desperate little gasps that make him roll his hips as another finger joins to make it a trio.
“You want it so much,” Lestat notes with delight. He is always delighted to see the unadulterated proof of Louis’ attraction to him.
Louis faces him, eyes hooded and narrow. “I want you so much.”
That’s enough to spur Lestat into action. His hardened cock is inches from Louis’ hole and sinks into him with careful ease, eyes never leaving him as he speaks every speck of visible pleasure etched on that beautiful face. Louis opens his mouth and closes it, soft whimpers coming from his deliciously plump lips.
Hot lips trail down his throat and jaw. Louis shivers as his hole is opened and filled. He goes lightheaded at the encompassing fullness.
“Les, baby. You feel so good,” he breathes.
“Do I?” Lestat teases.
Louis groans in response, too out of it to think of something witty. He wraps his arms around the strong line of Lestat’s shoulders, rolling his waist with all the vigor he has. Louis finds his rhythm and Lestat catches up, hips rising with in perfect synchronicity to meet the bouncing buttocks slapping against his thighs.
His head swims from the sensations. Louis reminds himself to breathe as the thrusts go faster and harder and his hole flutters in pleasure.
Lestat’s grip on his thighs grows tighter. “Your cunt is like velvet.”
A compliment that goes over him as Louis gets dizzier. He blindly reaches for his own cock, tugging hard in desperation as his release builds up.
“Les,” he half cries and groans as he comes, his hole clenches and warm release spills all over his hands and stomach.
Lestat follows seconds later, filling him to the brim and making sure no precious drop spills. Hot cum swishing about makes Louis shudder in delight as he vaguely wonders if it will take. Logically he knows it won’t since they’ve taken many precautions to ensure that stage comes only after they’re settled into matrimony, but he somehow wishes it, anyway.
His upper body collapses onto Lestats’, who is still throbbing inside him. The smell of strawberry shampoo fills his senses, bringing a sense of peace after the excitement from moments ago.
Moments pass and Louis feels his body go back to normal. His breathing is even and his skin no longer simmers with maddening need.
He kisses Lestat’s cheek. “We have to get ready for dinner.”
“A few more minutes,” Lestat says drowsily.
Louis whines into his neck. “That’s what you always say and then you fall asleep and we miss our reservation.”
“I promise I won’t fall asleep, my love.” But his words are already slurring.
Louis huffs quietly but snuggles Lestat all the same. He knows they’ll probably miss their reservation, but it’s fine. Lestat needs the rest.
Tomorrow, he’ll pretend to make a stink about it and Lestat will make it up to him by buying him something expensive. They have the cake tasting at 12 and thankfully no mothers will be involved. He also has to contact the florist since they were talking about adding burned orange roses to like the aisle. He’ll send Grace a picture to get her opinion, but chances are that he won’t need to since she has his Pinterest board. She did like the peonies.
A loud snore interrupts his thoughts.
Lestat is more than resting his eyes now. Still, Louis can’t find it in himself to be annoyed. He watches his man’s shallow breathing with ridiculous fondness, so grateful he’ll spend the rest of his life witnessing this.
He places his head in the curve of Lestat’s neck to grab a quick snap of his own.
Maybe he’ll ask for a BMW this time. Lestat did say he needed something with a European engine.