(Brian)

I woke in mid afternoon, drenched with sweat, the sheets stuck to me. I hadn’t turned the air conditioning on when I’d crept into the house after Lestat had gone and the heat was suffocating. I drank down the water on the night table and went to the hall to turn on the AC. I pulled the sheets from the bed, and threw them in the wash, and stood naked in the sunny kitchen, thinking again about Lestat standing in that white moonlight the night before. It seemed dreamlike, as so many things about him did to me when I examined them in the light of day. The erection I had, standing foolishly in the kitchen in front of the open fridge, *that* wasn’t a dream. I contemplated knocking one out, but then decided I’d just take a shower and let it recede on its own, and live with the dull ache that would follow.

The cold water helped, the hard on went away and I felt a little clearer in the head. The bell to the gate rang and I buzzed in the pool service. They came twice a month to vacuum the leaves from the bottom. Nothing interesting to look at, no luscious pool boy or anything like that, I thought to myself as I nodded to the sweating, lanky guy that passed me on the porch on his way to the pool.

I went back inside, thinking about Lestat. Those teeth of his and the question of a thirst that lately never seemed to leave me. It had been some time since he’d left me that tiny, precious vial filled with that nectar…Lestat’s blood. I didn’t remember exactly when it had been. Just before all that stuff with Armand, so it had been a few months. That was the reason for the thirst I felt, or at least I thought it was. I never asked him for it, almost afraid to, thinking that such a thing as voicing it might cause him to rethink the practice.

Would he come by later? Possibly. It was also possible that he would forget altogether the little discussion, only to bring it up weeks later. I’d even made plans for early in the evening with that in mind. If he was looking for me and I wasn’t there he’d either just forget about it or call me to come home, depending on his mood.

The plans were with a guy I’d met a little while back. Slept with him a few times and grew bored. He’d been rather ardent in his pursuit of me, however, and when he’d called and suggested dinner several days earlier I gave in and agreed to meet him at Petunias. Rich, delicious food which would no doubt not sit well in my stomach, but I hadn’t been there in a long time. If Lestat *did* call, I would have a reason to bow out gracefully, and if he didn’t I’d likely end up in the sack with him. Probably a mistake, but it would keep my mind off what was going on in 1127. For a while, anyway.

Steven. That was his name. I hadn’t been able to come up with it right away.

What would it feel like to have those fangs…Lestat’s sharp, beautiful fangs sunk into my flesh? I opened another bottle of water.

(Brian)

The evening started out to be relatively pleasant after all, and I had begun to wonder what it had been about Steven that had made me cool off on him. The seafood crepe I was eating was outstanding, and the wine was good. Steven was relaxed, and I think that made the most difference. He wasn’t trying so hard, and that made him more appealing somehow.

That is, until he changed the subject.

"So, that was the famous Louis and Lestat you were with before, hmm? Must be tough, working for *them*." He laughed.

I smiled, and took another bite of the crepe.

"It’s definitely an interesting job." I said non-committaly.

He took a swallow of his wine. He was a good-looking man, Steven. Dark blonde hair and brown eyes, and if I remembered right he had a weightlifter’s physique. That was it, I thought. He’d gone on and on about lifting until I thought I’d die from sheer boredom.

"So, how rich are they, Bri?"

That was another thing. I hated when anyone called me that. And his query…I had taken it at first to be just the normal interest the rest of the world has with the very rich. Still, the question was a little on the crass side.

"How would I know? I’m not their accountant."

"Take it easy! I wasn’t fishing for a figure or anything."

"No, I know it. They value their privacy, so I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind."

"Sure, no problem. Next subject, okay?" He looked at me placatingly.

"Okay."

We went through the rest of the meal well enough, the conversation tolerable. It was still early when we finished eating and so I agreed to go with him to get a drink, telling him that I had time for one before I’d have to call it a night. He looked a bit crestfallen, but he didn’t press the point…at least not then.

He even paid for dinner, though I offered to pay for my own.

"No way, Brian. I asked you to dinner, after all, didn’t I?"

"I’ll get the drinks then. " I told him, as we left the restaurant.

It was pleasant out, and we walked over to Good Friends, a bar on Dauphine. Kevin was there, with Matt, and he waved us over to their table. He was already making assumptions about the reappearance of Steven, and I knew that I could expect a phone call from him in the near future.

Steven knew Kevin, and there was a little give and take as they caught up, and Kevin introduced him to Matt. I signaled the waiter and ordered a round of drinks, and asked him for a glass of iced water.

(Brian)

When I heard the tap at the door followed by Lestat's voice raised in query as to where I was I bolted upright and nearly killed myself getting out of the bed. I kicked the tangled sheets viciously from my legs sand cast blearily around the room for a pair of jeans. How had the entire day gotten by me? I didn't even remember crawling into bed. I could hear Lestat on the stairs.

"Brian? Don't tell me you are still sleeping. Or have you frozen to death in this refrigerator?"

He poked his head into the open door of my bedroom as I finished buttoning my jeans.

"There you are! Not like you to sleep so long, is it?"

He opened my closet, and peered inside, flicking the light on. I blinked owlishly, and watched him disappear into it. It's a walk-in, but nothing on the scale of the one he and Louis shared. He came out moments later holding a shirt that I didn't even recognize, snipping off the tag that still hung from the sleeve with his teeth. He
tossed it to me.

"Come downstairs, Brian. We have not finished out discussion, have we?"

I followed him, unable to look away from his twitching rear end. Lestat really does have the ass of god, as Louis puts it. When we got downstairs, Louis' voice floated in from the porch.

"I'm out here…"

The living room looked in better order than I remembered it, and all I could think was that I must have cleaned it before I went to bed. I felt disoriented in the extreme, looking down at the shirt I was wearing. Had it been black? I thought it was blue when Lestat had handed it to me.

Louis was seated in one of the wicker chairs on the small porch, and he smiled at me in that vague way that he has, before focusing his attention upon Lestat.

"Nice shirt, Brian." Louis said. Lestat kissed the top of his head, and Louis looked over at me again, blinking his green eyes once with cat-like slowness.

"Thanks." I said. My voice was a rusty croak, and I realized then that I hadn't spoken a word since Lestat had awakened me.

"Why did you come out here?" Lestat asked him. He sat down on the padded wicker couch and patted the space beside him. I licked my lips and joined him. Louis put one bare foot into Lestat's lap.

"It was freezing in there." Louis answered, settling back. Lestat had Louis' foot in his hand and he pressed a kiss to the tender, white instep. Even their *feet* are beautiful. I remembered that I was supposed to breathe, and some of the dizziness left when I did so.

I brought one of your bottles of water out, Brian." Louis said, helpfully. I hadn't noticed it, but it sat on the low table, blushing droplets of condensation. I drank it all down in one long, cool draught.

"Drained it, Lestat." Louis observed, with a wicked edge to his voice.

Lestat nodded.

"What happened to Steven?" Lestat asked me. He leaned close to me and I felt my breath catch.

"I called him a cab." I muttered, looking at his mouth.

Louis got to his feet and moved around behind the couch to lean over my shoulder. His raven hair brushed my cheek. If you could feel a shadow, I thought, it would feel like the whisper of his hair.

"Ask your question, Brian." He murmured into my ear. One of his hands was laid on my shoulder, and I thought dazedly that he felt as though he were burning with fever. Or was I just cold? It made no real sense, for I knew it was another humid New Orleans evening. I felt his heat through the thin fabric of the shirt I wore.

Lestat nudged my foot with his.

"Go on, Cher. You can ask anything at all, surely you know this?"

I turned my head and looked into Louis' eyes. He was so close to me, and I could…I could smell him, exotic, and darkly spicy.

"You want to know…" He coached.

"How it feels." I finished.

And then, at the back of my neck, Lestat's lips, his breath humid.
Louis had ceased to look at me, gazing beyond at his love…at Lestat. I felt the rasp of his sinuous tongue on the knob of my spine above the collar of my shirt.

"You might feel it any number of ways. You might not feel it at all, if that's how he wished it. You would feel what he wanted you to feel." Louis pointed out.

He was still leaning over me, watching Lestat as he continued licking the back of my neck, rather like a very large cat.

"Like a Lion." Louis remarked, and I nodded. Louis lifted my hand and pushed the sleeve up a little bit.

"You smell pleased, Brian." Lestat murmured, as Louis raised my inner wrist to his mouth. He bit deeply into me, and I felt myself arch forward, and then, impossibly, Lestat's hand was on the side of my face, pushing my head back, and exposing my throat. He battened onto me with the speed of a striking snake.

I awakened with a cry, looking wildly around my sun-washed living room, and blinking back the tears that had inexplicably filled my eyes.

Jesus.

A dream, then, Yeah. Only a dream.

I got up off the couch, and went to the hall to turn up the air conditioning. To the kitchen, to drink. Oh, the thirst was on me, worse than ever. This was fucking crazy. This was…this was what? What I wanted? And what was that? Obsession. I knew it. I took another bottle of water with me up to my bedroom, and tossed myself across the bed.

My house was quiet, back here away from the street. I skinned out of my jeans and tossed them on the floor, lying on top of the blanket naked, letting the cool air from the vent dry the sweat from my skin. I was pretty sure I didn't smell pleased right now, not after sleeping in the stifling living room and dreaming of them…of him.

I had a raging hard on to match my raging thirst. I pulled the blanket over myself and rolled to my side, hoping to fall asleep for a few more hours. Something was hanging on one of the hooks inside the open closet door.

It was a silk shirt…black. Or maybe it was midnight blue. I closed my eyes.

(Brian)

"You seem tense, Brian. Is something wrong?"

I dragged my eyes away from his ass. He had stepped outside and he leaned upon the railing to look down to the street.

"No, nothing’s wrong." I said, bending down to collect the mail at my feet.

"Leave that. Come and talk with me."

I got up and joined him at the railing.

"Forgive me Brian, but I happen to *know* something’s on your mind."

He was being polite, I knew. He could read me easily enough if he wanted to.

"Nothing more than the usual." I said self-consciously. He looked at me, waiting for me to continue. There was no denying those eyes, not for me.

"I had a dream this afternoon. Sort of stirred me up a little, I guess."

"Dreams. Powerful, aren’t they?" He observed. "Might I assume that I made an appearance?"

I had to look away from him then. It’s very strange how there are times when he appears very nearly human to me, and I can and *do* interact normally with him. This happens less often with Louis, who makes no effort at all to appear to be anything other than what he is. Then there were times like this when everything about Lestat threatens to overload my senses. Looking into the street I was able to muster a shaky laugh.

"You made an appearance, all right. You and Louis both."

"Was it a sexual dream?" He asked.

I was pretty sure that he was not overtly trying to make me uncomfortable. Lestat’s boundaries are not defined in the same manner as any mortals…at least that’s the way it seems to me. He is rarely, if ever, embarrassed. I was pretty used to his blunt questions.

"Well, sort of." I admitted.

"Were you aroused?" He queried.

"Yeah." I was beginning to sweat.

"Then it *was* a sexual dream." He concluded. "So what happened?"

I looked at him and swallowed hard.

"You drank from me. You and Louis both did." I muttered. There was, of course, the all-too-familiar tightening of my groin when he smiled at me, displaying his fangs.

"I should think you have dreamed that before, yes? Yet you seem embarrassed to say it out loud. Perhaps you think it’s wrong?"

I had no idea what to say, but he went on speaking.

"I suppose it *is* a little out of the ordinary, but surely that’s to be expected. You have a lot of contact with us. And I know you, Brian. Your feelings are no secret to me." He said kindly enough.

"Why don’t you just ask if this is something that you want?"

Louis materialized on my other side, his face very close to mine, much like he had been in my dream. There was a bright, coppery taste in my mouth for I had bitten painfully into my tongue at his sudden appearance. I saw his nostrils flare slightly as he caught the scent.

Lestat chuckled.

"He didn’t say he wanted that Louis, he said that he *dreamed* it.

"Somehow, I think you do, Brian." Louis said to me. "And there is something else, isn’t there, cheri? Something more that you crave." He brushed my hair aside and put his lips to my ear. "He tastes like fire, oui?"

I stood, frozen. I was enchanted and a little frightened. He reached across me and brought Lestat’s hand to his mouth. His eyes dripped green fire and he flicked his tongue over one of Lestat’s shining fingernails.

"It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it?" Louis murmured.

I nodded mutely, and he blinked slowly as he laid Lestat’s finger open with a swipe of his fang. He pushed it into my mouth.

The blood, *His* blood. I licked feverishly at his finger, sagging back against Louis. It lasted only seconds, the small wound healing quickly. Fire. Yes, he tasted like fire, incandescent and obliterating. I moaned and Lestat looked into my face as Louis held me up.

"He’s wicked, yes? A veritable demon. Do you feel better now, Cher?"

The dizziness passed and Louis released me.

Did I feel better? My god, his face was so beautiful. You could look at him forever.

I didn’t say anything, I just nodded. I could feel it, the blood, roaring through my veins, a devouring feeling. I went with it, because I knew it wouldn’t last long that edge, that glittering razor’s edge. The lights from the street seared, the sounds around me were clearer, somehow.

Louis was still standing close beside me, watching me curiously. At any other time, I suppose I would have felt like a bug on a pin, but carried along as I was, it made me smile.

I turned to look at Lestat, clearly amused as he leaned back against the iron rail. Didn’t his very skin seem to shine? Yeah. Yeah, he shone. He always did. They did, their skin with a certain luster that defies description…too smooth, too perfect to be human.

"I feel better." I said, and he nodded to me, drawing Louis closer to him.

"You smell better, too." Louis said, straight-faced.

"Whoa, that was a shot." I said, laughing. Already I could feel things dimming somewhat, though I knew that I’d notice this latest intake in a hundred different ways as the days passed.

"A shot?" Louis asked, cocking his head.

Lestat laughed.

"It sounded like you were implying that he didn’t smell good before."

"No. He smelled like he felt disturbed before. He smells better now." Louis said. Sometimes he was very literal, I’d noticed. Sometimes he was damned hard to talk to. I’d been under that particular microscope a time or two, and I can say that it left you feeling particularly uncovered, somehow.

Louis moved so that he was hip to hip with Lestat, and he let his hand stray across the smooth, taut skin above those magic cerise pants. I made no effort to look away, mesmerized as I was by the movement of his white hand.

They can move quickly, so quickly that they seem to disappear. But they can also move slowly…it appears to be some kind of special effect. I found that to be endlessly fascinating. Louis tended to display this sort of movement much more than Lestat, and really, it was like time slowed down or something, even when the gesture was as simple as pushing his hair back from his face. When he stroked Lestat in this manner, it always had an immediate effect on him, whether it was to quiet him if he had become overly agitated, or, as it was now, it made him melt to Louis’ touch, a precursor to love play.

"I think they *are* magic." Louis said, suddenly. He was staring fixedly at Lestat’s hips. I nodded.

"They must be."

"Of course there *is* this." Louis murmured, cupping Lestat, and then caressing him through the sheer fabric. The blonde growled softly and pressed to Louis’ hand.

"They’re not magic. " He said, a bit breathlessly. "They’ll come off quite easily…"

"Mmm Hmm." I said, still fighting down my own particular demon. "I know this is something I’d enjoy…and possibly the small gathering down there would as well?"

Several people had clustered a step off the opposite sidewalk gawking up at them. Lestat’s firm cheeks pushed against the scrolled bars of the railing probably had a little to do with the admiring glances. As others walked by, they of course looked up to see what the first group was looking and, and it is in this way that crowds begin to form. It had happened before, and unlike the balcony off the upper parlour, this one had little in the way of screening plants.

Louis, obviously in some sort of possessed mood this evening, glanced down at them, favoring them with a heart-stopping smile. He leaned and kissed Lestat softly.

"What do you think, my love? We have not been paid a visit by Officers Chiasson and Dufrene in some time."

He was referring to the 4 to 11 shift that patrolled our area. It was my opinion that those particular officers may have had a fair idea that the two young gentlemen in 1127 were perhaps more than they appeared to be. They were unfailingly polite, and courteous when they would come to remind Lestat that perhaps it would be a better idea of he remembered to take the air on his front balcony wearing some sort of clothing.

Lestat and Louis had had them in several times, offering them soft drinks from the refrigerator as they would listen with polite amusement to the officers patiently explain to Lestat about the laws regarding such things. I’m pretty sure that mortals, when noticed by them, (and not as a food source), were a kind of amusement, and one way to pass the long span of time that moved so slowly for them, and so quickly for us. I include myself in this, of course.

Somehow it is easier for me to acknowledge things like this after I’ve had some of that ambrosia from Lestat.

"I’m not in the mood for company…" Lestat breathed when Louis released his mouth from a more probing kiss. They moved from the rail, and I glanced down at the disappointed faces there. I wondered how some of them would have felt when the blood started flowing.

"You will excuse us, Brian?" Lestat said, catching me in that violet stare for a long moment.

"Sure. Of course."

I watched them disappear into the house, and turned to lean on the railing, alone now, but feeling damn good. I looked at the sleeve of the blue silk shirt, still sensitized enough from my drink that the movement of it on my skin felt like a caress. I had meant to ask Lestat about it. It would have to wait, now. He said he’d left it in my room early in the morning before he went to sleep. I wondered again about my dream.

Most of the people that had been gawking up at the balcony had moved on by this time, but I did notice one guy lingering there. Looked vaguely familiar. He stood in the shadow of the balcony of Gallier House, the museum across the street, and I didn’t stare at him, I sort of watched him from the corner of my eye. He obviously didn’t think that I had noticed him. His interest seemed something more than passing, and so I decided I would go downstairs and speak to him.

(Brian)

I watched the street for a few more minutes, feeling no sense of urgency. What real threat could he be, that guy? He wouldn’t be the first mortal that showed more than a passing interest in this address (or sometimes the one across the street). There have been those that had come to the door, drawn by a night with them that they couldn’t forget, or perhaps couldn’t fully *remember*…standing in the doorway fighting with fear or lust or despair or sometimes all three.

This one had that sort of furtive, hopeful air about him. There was also that fact that Louis, ferally territorial when it came to Lestat and hypersensitive to things that might prove somehow dangerous to him, paid no notice. Nor did either of them think it something to mention to me in case the person should be found lurking about during the day. Still, I was curious, and I had felt a need to do something, that strange, restless energy still prickling and tingling within me.

My cell phone rang and I took it from my pocket to answer, keeping my eye on the street. It was Steven, apologizing for the scene he’d made the night before and asking if he could make it up to me. I told him I didn’t think it was a good idea. He persisted, but I stayed firm. I wasn’t interested in another drawn out evening with him. Any pleasure I’d found in his company when I’d first hooked up with him had flown right out the window when he showed up at the gate, and interrupting…well…I didn’t know *what* might have happened.

I gave him several hundred points for effort, because I couldn’t seem to turn off his interest. I supposed his persistence, stood him in good stead as a lawyer, and as I kept my eyes on the street below, he’d begun stating more reasons that I should give him another chance. He probably wore juries down by the sheer volume of words. I cut him off rather abruptly,

"Steve, please. I just don’t think it’s going to work, all right? I have to go, I’ve got something on for tonight. Take care of yourself."

I rang off and went inside, closing the doors behind me.

I could hear them, laughing and growling in the guestroom next to their bedroom. I knew that meant there was likely some repairs that needed to be seen to in the Master bedroom, but I also knew that it could wait until the next day. I went downstairs and let myself out, and glancing across the street, I saw that the guy was gone. He was moving down the street at a good clip. I punched in the alarm code and began following him, glad to have something to occupy my mind.

I had no trouble keeping up with him, and although I had at first thought that he realized I’d seen him, it became apparent that that was not the case. He did not once turn to look to see if I (or anyone else) might be keeping pace with him. He made his way all the way down to Toulouse before he walked the block over to Bourbon.

Seedy old Bourbon Street. The way I felt at this moment the noise and the garish lights were almost too much to deal with. The street was packed with Halloween revelers, the balconies above sardined with people, leaning to watch the girls, tipsy on Hurricanes and cheap beer, raise their shirts for a shower of cheap, plastic beads. There was a cacophony of catcalling, hollering and screaming, and I realized then that I’d never come down here so soon after one of my little drinks. Usually I sat and savored the feelings in the quiet of the courtyard, listening with rapt fascination to the sound of my blood rushing through my veins or the liquid music of the fountain.

I don’t think I need to say here that I lost track of the guy I’d been following. He’d seemed easy walking through the streets, not tentative, and so I concluded that he likely lived in New Orleans. Beyond that, I had stopped thinking about him, fascinated instead with the odd clarity of color, and the overwhelming waves of sound. If it was like this for me after that small taste of Lestat, what must it be for them, with their enhancements far past anything I could feel? I would have a lot of questions for Lestat the next time he felt in the mood to talk.

Being a years long denizen of New Orleans myself, I did not carry a wallet in my back pocket, just my identification, a credit card and some cash tucked deep into a front pocket. I had already been brushed, groped and squeezed more times than I could count. I generally avoided Bourbon during festivals and such, being long used to the raucousness of it all, but it was rather like moving through a choppy dream or something. I was enthralled, but in a curiously detached way.

It wasn’t too long before I decided that I’d had enough of Bourbon St. I didn’t to go home, so I thought I’d go over to Good Friends and see if Kevin and Matt were there…have a beer maybe. I made my way to Dauphine, breathing a little easier when I left the press of people. The streets were busy, but not overwhelming…the sounds seemed to have fallen back to more or less normal volume. I could hear *more*, but the level as tolerable at least. I went into the club.

There were people there that I knew, but no Kevin, or Matt. No matter. I sat myself at one end of the bar and ordered a lager and a glass of water with ice. I was no stranger to being scoped out, and I could feel eyes on me. I wasn’t interested…not at the moment anyway, and so when I heard a voice ask me if the seat beside me was taken, I didn’t bother to look up, I just waved vaguely.

"Haven’t I seen you before?"

Oh god, Not a bright-eyed one. I drained the glass of water.

"I don’t know. Have you?" I looked up, finally and what do you know? It was the guy who’d been watching from across the street earlier.

"Royal Street?" He said.

I studied him for a minute. Good-looking in a bland sort of way, with an attitude I couldn’t quite get a handle on. Sandy hair, and one of those affected little shaven jawline beards that irritated me in a formless sort of way. Expensive wardrobe.

"Yeah, well, I live there." I said.

He obviously had no idea I’d seen him lurking across the street earlier. He squinted at me.

"Eleven hundred block?"

"Yeah. How do you know that?" I said with some suspicion.

"Let’s just say I have an interest there." He said. He was looking in the mirror behind the bar at the other patrons…scanning them.

"Interest? What interest?" I asked.

He grinned engagingly at me.

"I had a wild sort of three way with these guys that live over there. I was kind of hoping for a replay."

"Yeah? When was this?"

I went from suspicious to enviously interested.

"Nearly a year ago." He said.

"And you waited this long to look for a replay?" I asked him.

"I was …I was away for a while." He said vaguely.

Away.

"You know them." He stated.

"Excuse me?" I said, feigning ignorance.

"I saw you go into their place this afternoon. And I saw you with them on the balcony a while ago."

He apparently saw nothing odd about the fact that he was staking out their place.

"You make it a habit to just hang out downstairs, do you?" I said.

He shrugged.

"How do you know them?" I was interested against my will. Generally I kept my nose out of their rather outré dealings with other mortals. It had worked out well enough so far. Still, this *had* just fallen into my lap.

"I work at the firm that represents them."

Christ. Another fucking lawyer.

He went on to tell me how he’d seen Lestat a few times and had of course been interested, and how he’d come to this very bar with Lestat after a meeting one night.

"They took me back to this funky place over on Toulouse St. It looked like a real dump from the outside, but god…it was unbelievable."

"What did you mean by a ‘sort of’ three way? Was it or wasn’t it?"

"That’s the hell of it," He said, getting familiarly close to me. "I can’t quite remember all of it."

He signaled the waiter for another drink, having drained his glass.

"Absolut Citron on the rocks" He said to the bartender. "Can I get you anything?" He said. I shook my head, and the bartender turned to pour the drink.

"What? Did you have too much to drink? You take something?"

"Both." He said. "But it was more than that."

"More?"

He looked at me consideringly.

"Maybe I shouldn’t be talking about this." He said. He was playing me, I knew it. I know how to play, though.

"Oh, come on. You can’t leave me hanging like that."

"That black-haired guy. He’s gorgeous…green eyes that go right through you." He said. He took a swallow of his drink, and then looked sideways at me.

"Louis." I murmured.

"Right. Louis. He had this *cock*…. we’re talking party size! But hey, you know, huh? I mean, you hang with them…"

I knew all right.

"What happened next?" I prodded.

"I can’t remember too well…but Lestat, he kept calling me a ‘bunny’!"

He giggled foolishly, and I thought he must have had a few of those Absoluts while I’d been soaking up the new and improved version of Bourbon St. before. Bunny. Well, this was interesting. I’d heard Lestat use that term before…they both used it, and generally it didn’t bode well for the one they designated as such.

"Term of endearment?" I asked sweetly.

"Doubt it." He said, signaling for yet another drink. "But I put it to him. Oh yeah!"

I lifted my eyebrows.

He grinned with the sudden knowledge that I hadn’t been to that particular heaven.

"And the other guy…Louis…he wanted to see it, wanted to watch…"

He trailed off, the guy. I realized I didn’t know his name. I didn’t want to know his name. His eyes clouded distractedly. "I thought he was gonna go down on me, that Louis. Earlier, that was, but he didn’t. He…."

His eyes snapped back into a bleary sort of focus.

"They gave me this green shit to drink. Some kind of dope in it. I can’t remember what it’s called.

"La Fee Verte." I murmured, and he looked at me questioningly. "Absinthe." I said.

"That’s it. Tasted horrible, but some kick to it. It was one wild weekend."

"Where have you been, then? Sounds like you would have looked them up before this."

"I was out of town." He said briefly. He looked at me again. "I guess it was the stuff in that drink, or something, but you know what?"

He’d leaned in near me again, and I had to force myself to remain still. Nothing overt or anything, but there was a sort of desperation in him that I recognized all too well. Like I said, there would be those who came to the door, or peered through the gate with that same sort of air about them.

Not to mention I had a first hand knowledge of the longing. Still. Neither of them called me ‘bunny’.

"What?" I asked him.

"They’re vampires." He whispered. He moved back and watched my face. "I remembered. They probably think I don’t but I remembered."

"Vampires, huh? Well, you know. This town is full of ‘em, they say."

It occurred to me that this guy was crazy. He’d been ‘away’, all right. It was a wonder they’d let him out. The envy that had gripped me earlier trickled away in a cold little flood.

"It’s not a joke. But I think you know that, too." He said.

"Are you afraid of them?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah. Sure I am. I’d have to be crazy not to be, right? You’re not one, though, are you?"

He reached and touched my face, and I flinched back from him a little. He didn’t seem to notice.

"No…there’s *something* about you…but it’s not that. Well, I’m off." He drained his drink, and grinned at me. "Maybe I’ll see you around sometime."

(Brian)

I didn’t see either of them for several nights, which was not at all unusual. While they were gone, I took care of some minor repairs in their bedroom. I did the work myself in the evenings, even re-painting the master bedroom a deliciously warm cream color. While I was working, I had time to think.

I was inclined at first not to mention my conversation with the wonky lawyer but the more I thought about it, the more I worried that he might bring harm to them in some way. Lestat would likely laugh at me, and tell me not to worry, but if that happened, it was fine. Lestat often found things I did or said inexplicably amusing. I didn’t want there to be anything in question.

After I finished the work, I just took phone calls and used the computer in my own place, taking care of some of the strange little deals Lestat was running down. Stocks, real estate, antiques. He had any number of things going on at any given time. These were things he played with on his own, claiming he didn’t want the agents and lawyers to have all the fun. Most of them I knew about, some of them I’d instigated myself, and those I knew nothing about I did my best to stall. I called his cell phone, but typically, got no answer. He often forgot to recharge the thing.

I’d just called it a night and stretched out on the couch when there came a soft tap on the door. Lestat, likely, come back from wherever he and Louis had lost themselves. I had heard the Harley roar in not that long ago.

It wasn’t Lestat...it was Louis.

"Good evening, Brian. Might I come in for a moment?"

I moved away from the door to usher him in. I might add here that he was a vision in torn jeans and a shirt that said ‘Top" on the front, and ‘Bottom’ on the back. Every time I think I have that dry mouth thing under control, one of them breezes in saying something, doing something or wearing something unexpected (or nothing at all) or saying something that immediately sucks the moisture from my mouth and throat.

Sucks, I thought. I immediately bit down on my tongue so I wouldn’t laugh or otherwise embarrass myself.

"I wished to thank you for clearing up the bedrooms. I like the color you chose for our room."

That was a little strange. It was nice of course, that he’d come in to say so, but usually he didn’t notice such things.

"You’re welcome. I like doing things like that…keeps me away from the computer for a little while."

He nodded, and sat down on the couch, watching me as I crossed in front of him and sat down on the other end of the couch.

"What was it you wanted to talk to us about?" He asked. He stared, unblinking, at me.

The note. I’d left a note on the computer in Lestat’s office.

"Lestat will be gone a while." Louis said, perhaps because of my brief hesitation. "He was hungry."

I left that remark alone, and I told him what had happened, careful to put in all the details that I could remember.

"I should have asked his name." I said, somewhat apologetically.

Louis waved his hand. He’d slouched back and sat comfortably with his long legs crossed at the ankles.

"Nothing to worry about. I know who it is. Let me know if he comes around during the day, yes?"

"Sure."

He had a secretive smile on his face that was at once engaging and unsettling. I watched him curiously, sitting at my end of the couch cross-legged. He noticed.

"What are you staring at?"

"Your shirt." I said immediately. I wondered if he knew just exactly how hot he looked. Probably he did.

"You can borrow it sometime, if you like. You are a versatile one, non?" He grinned, and then returned to the subject at hand.

"Did he ask you why you were here?"

"He was fishing a little. I didn’t volunteer any information."

"Good." He said, and his smile widened a little. "I would appreciate it if you would keep this to yourself for a few nights. That is, of course, unless Lestat asks you a direct question regarding the matter. I understand that you might have a bit of a hard time keeping something from him." He smiled briefly.

"Whatever you say." I agreed, a little uneasily.

He rose to his feet, and I moved to follow him.

"Relax. I can see myself out." He said. He put his finger to his lips and smiled once more before he left.

"So much for the bunny." I muttered to myself.

(Brian)

I had spent most of the morning at a property Lestat had purchased on Jackson Ave. uptown. It was an old house, built in the 1850’s. It was in the process of being restored by a gentleman from Virginia who had a small crew of artisans that clearly loved what they did. I’d taken to spending time there, and pitching in with the things I was capable of doing myself. I had found over time that I liked working with my hands, and maybe had a bit of aptitude at it.

I had things that had to be taken care of in the afternoon, however, so I reluctantly tore myself away, thinking I’d have lunch before going home to shower and change. It was beastly hot, and I was gritty with sawdust but I walked the blocks down to St. Charles to the Trolley Stop. It was already filled with office workers on their lunch breaks. I was about to leave and just grab a bite at home when I saw a familiar face.

It was my new friend, the lawyer that had just escaped the clutches of Bayou Oaks. Gerry something-or-other. Weird name…Louis had told me on his way out the door the other night. He was gazing at the menu in a distracted manner and clinking the ice in his water glass. I sauntered over and he looked up. A slow smile crossed his face.

"Gerry, right? I’m Brian. We met the other night?"

I sat down across from him without being asked. He didn’t seem to mind, really.

"Yeah. Yeah, I remember."

"You had some load on the other night." I commented. The waitress came over with another menu and a glass of water. She set a tall iced tea by Gerry’s elbow and asked me if I would like something to drink.

"Just bring a pitcher of ice water, please." I said.

I looked at Gerry. He was gazing curiously at me. I’m sure I proved to be somewhat of a puzzle to him dressed so obviously in work clothes with the sweat still drying on my skin. I admit it was interesting to watch him; his mind was obviously humming along.

"Yeah, I was pretty blasted.." He said a little sheepishly.

"Oh, well. We’ve all been there. So you’re back at work? How’s that going?" I asked casually.

I knew that Louis had made an appointment to see him this very evening. I was supposed to see if I could keep Lestat distracted for a little while. I didn’t think it would be too hard…there had been a lot done at the Jackson Avenue place and I did have several things I wanted to speak to him about. He’d given me free rein with the place, but who would know more about how things looked in the 1850’s than he would? He’d spoken to Mr. Everett, the contractor, when he’d first decided he wanted to renovate yet another place, and had completely blown the guy away with his knowledge of period detail. Mr. Everett, (who was a very formal gentleman with whom I was still not yet on a first name basis with) spoke glowingly of what a pleasure it was to work for someone who truly understood what was involved in a painstaking renovation. Mr. E. was of course far too polite to add that limitless funds were also a joy.

"First day back. So far so good, you know. He leaned conspiratorially across the table and lowered his voice. "I have an appointment with Louis this evening. " He said. His shrewd brown eyes seemed to be searching for some reaction. I couldn’t quite fathom his motives.

"Really. Must be something personal, huh? I mean if it were some legal matter wouldn’t he be consulting with one of the senior partners?"

I grinned and leaned toward him. It was funny, really, all the lowered voices. As if anyone else in the café would have any idea what we were talking about. He was clever, but I’m damned if he wasn’t half-crazy too.

"You think he’s going to invite you back to Toulouse St.?" I said, doing my best to appear wide-eyed. My apparent curiosity seemed to feed something in him, and he puffed up like a little rooster.

"Could be. " He said. "I received a gourmet basket and flowers from them both this morning."

I knew that. Louis had left me instructions to please see to it. I went personally to the florist with the hand-written note he wanted sent with the items.

"Sounds like maybe he’s giving you the rush." I said.

"Oh, I don’t know. " He said self-deprecatingly. I knew that he was thinking that himself though.

The waitress approached and we gave her our orders. He stirred a packet of sugar into his iced tea and took a drink of it.

"Have you known Lestat for a while, then?" He asked. Now we were down to it, I thought.

"Long enough."

"I noticed you are also represented by our firm."

Noticed. I’ll just bet he noticed. I wondered just how *much* he’d noticed.

"MmmHmm.. " I said, giving him my best smile. "I don’t remember ever seeing you there, though."

"Like I said, I was away for a bit. And usually I work out of our offices on Prytania."

"Was that where you ran into Lestat when you hooked up with him?" I asked, pouring more water into my glass."

"No, that was in the main office over on Gravier."

"I guess the experience took you by surprise." I said, winking. The waitress set my seafood gumbo in front of me.

"Yeah, you could say that." He took a bite out of his club sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. I waited him out, tucking into the delicious gumbo.

"It’s not a secret, you know." He said abruptly.

I looked up from the bowl, eyebrows raised.

"That I was having a little problem. The only secret was *why*."

I reached and patted his arm soothingly.

"Yeah, well…we know why, yeah?"

I went back to eating. I knew he was watching me, but like I said, I know how to play the game. I don’t usually bother, but I knew how.

"I thought they’d never let me out." He said after several minutes of silence.

I put my spoon down and gave him my undivided attention.

"Where were you?" I asked, seriously.

"Doesn’t matter. I got out by letting them think I realized at last that I was suffering from delusions.

"A little unsettling when you figured it out, huh?" I said. "You know…about *them*"

"Oh come on, Brian. Don’t tell me you didn’t think so!" He gave a laugh that was the tiniest bit too strong.

I laughed along with him.

Thinking about it, I tried to remember how I’d felt. Unsettled? Maybe. I had all but accepted the idea of it when I opened the limo door that time, and seen Lestat raise his dripping mouth from the ragged wound in Louis’ throat to tell me to drive around the block a few times. That and the look of absolute lust and love in Louis’ blazing eyes before I’d closed the car door. Still. It hadn’t driven me mad.

"….did you find out?

I realized he was speaking to me.

"I said when did you find out? You know….about *them*"

He was still fishing for information. Uh uh.

"*That* would be telling." I said, presenting him with another engaging smile.

"Tall, dark and mysterious, huh?"

He gave me his version of the engaging smile. It was weird. There was nothing at all unpleasant about the way he looked…well….aside from the facial hair. He was not the type I was attracted to but even that should not have mattered. It might have been his sort of smarmy delivery on that last line. Why in the world had Lestat and Louis taken *this* guy for the ride of his life? Was I jealous? Well, yeah. But then again, I knew they did things like that from time to time.

"If you like." I said agreeably.

"I do." He answered. Oh brother. I looked at my watch.

"Geez, Gerry, I guess I’m gonna have to cut this short…I have to get back to work. But listen, maybe I’ll see you again sometime. I’ll take care of the bill, yeah? And listen, tonight? Just go along with Louis…he can be a little intimidating, I know…just, you know…be yourself."

I patted him on the shoulder as I went by and went to the waitress, handing her a couple of bills to cover the tab as well as giving her a generous tip.

Sitting in the streetcar I thought about it. I never pretend to understand Lestat’s motives for doing things…and even less do I try to fathom Louis, but I could not help but be curious about this. Maybe because I was peripherally involved. In my years with them things seemed to go in phases…right now I was being included, and there was nothing I liked better than that, as confusing as it sometimes was. There are times when they are away for weeks or months, and that’s okay too.

I got off at Canal St. and made my way home.

Lestat was amenable to taking a look at the Jackson Avenue place on the condition that we take the Harley. Now, you might think, well, what could be better for Brian than to be hanging on to Lestat on the back of his ride, right? I thought that too, the one other time he asked me to take a ride someplace with him. He rides the thing as though no one else was on the road, and at speeds that I would not have believed possible in regular city traffic. Terrifying is one word that comes to mind. I had gotten off the back of the bike that time and fallen right to the ground while he sat on the growling monster laughing his gorgeous head off. I was dubious about the proposition, thinking that *he* might be able to live through some horrible accident on the thing, but I very likely would be hamburger if he lost control of it. Still, I *had* told Louis I’d do what I could to keep Lestat occupied for an hour or two. Much longer than that I was pretty certain I’d lose his attention.

We’d gotten to the house in record time, and he leaned the bike over on the kickstand, shutting it off. I got off and managed to keep my feet. I think I was becoming an adrenaline junkie or something because I felt okay…buzzed, but okay. He watched me curiously for a minute, and then swung off the bike himself, clapping me on the shoulder as he went past me and up the steps. As I followed him up he remarked,

"Next time we hit the highway, Brian. Now *that’s* fun."

"Right." I said, distractedly. Well, after all, his ass was pretty much in my face as he mounted the steps. Thoughts of the motorcycle were pretty much overpowered by that.

Once we got inside, though, and he began to take an interest in the work that had been done, I was able to relax. There are times when he seems very nearly human, if you don’t look to hard at him, and he’s talking about something that is mundane. I suppose that because he was human at one time, not all of that will ever be entirely erased.

"The moldings are perfect. And you did these stairs, didn’t you? Should I mention that your tongue in groove work is impeccable? Or will that embarrass you?"

"If you mean my carpentry, well, thank you. Yeah, I did the stairs. It took me nearly a month, so thanks. If you were referring to anything else, well, pardon me, but how would you know?"

"Touché, Brian." He grinned at me, and moved into the dining room.

"Tell me again... this Steven…he’s *so* your bitch? Lovely expression. And I would have to agree. I didn’t even try and I could read him…he is definitely…uh…your bitch. Not that you seem very interested."

He’d moved from the subject of the house to the subject of Steven, Rattler of The Gates.

"I would expect that you would say I was *so* Louis’ bitch, yes?"

Lestat is a fascinating creature. He is aggressive and strong, yet he rolls over to show his belly, as it were at the mere mention of Louis.

"I *heard* that, Cher." He said, chuckling to himself as he ran his hand over the wainscoting.

I shrugged. Not like that was startling, his plucking a thought that was at the surface of my mind that way.

"Sort of. It’s different, Lestat." I said, addressing his remark about Louis. " When you asked me about Steven before, I was being derogatory. You and Louis….that’s a different realm entirely."

Was it ever.

"Very true." He said, his eyes going hazy and soft for several moments. He refocused after a while.

"You know, I did not understand that Steven person as a choice of partners for you." He said.

"It was a mistake. Should have left well enough alone and not slept him that second time." I moved to display the window frames in the parlour to him. "I don’t care for those pumped up guys. He looked a lot different clothed. You gotta watch out for those short guys. Always trying to compensate."

Lestat erupted into a fit of laughter.

"And so he ends up rattling the gates and wailing your name up and down Royal Street."

"Yeah, well. I’m sorry about that." I mumbled as we went up the stairs.

"Why? It’s not like there isn’t all manner of noise in this city anyway.."

"I could have done with out *that* particular little drama. He seems to be taking the hint at last though. Only one call this week."

The second floor was entirely gutted, all skeletal exposed beams. I switched the lights on, though Lestat had already waked to one of the windows that faced the back of the lot, easily avoiding the toolbox on the floor, and several small piles of plaster.

"Mr. Everett is following the original floor plan to the letter." I said, running a hand over a supporting beam. There was a strong, almost spicy scent up there that I associated with hot attics. I liked the smell. "And he’s got a plasterer from Maine who is the only one he says he trusts for this work."

He had not moved from his place by the window, standing still with his hands clasped behind his back. I glanced at my watch. It’d been an hour and a half since we took off on the bike…pretty good, actually. I could see I was losing him now, though. He’d gone quiet and the unconscious Louis-posture sort of clinched it. Whatever Louis had wanted to say to Gerry, I was hopeful that he’d finished.

Lestat turned abruptly.

"Everything seems to be going smoothly here." He said.

"But you want to go back home?" I smiled at him.

He raised a shoulder and waved his hand. His gestures are nearly always extravagant without ever seeming overdone. I don’t know he pulls that off. Possibly it’s because he’s so absorbing to look at.

"Your heart-rate seems normal now, Brian. The ride back ought to get it going again, eh? Come on."

Yeah, that and having him between my legs for the several seconds it would probably take us to get back to the Quarter. Not to mention having an excellent excuse to hang on to him, and have that mane of hair brushing my face. It was definitely worth the terrifying ride. He probably could *hear* that too, but it wasn’t like it was news to him.

He started up the bike as I stood on the porch, fussing with the keys.

"Allez, allez Brian!" He called, revving the engine a few times in emphasis. I got on behind him and hung on for dear life.

(Brian)

I spent the next afternoon at Jackson Avenue, and when I came home it was nearly dusk. I’d spent a good part of the afternoon crouched over, working on the parquet floor, and so when I got home I decided to do a few laps in the pool to stretch my muscles, and cool off at the same time.

I’d gotten to sleep at a relatively early hour for me and had not slept the day away as sometimes happens. As I swam I let the events of the night before unfold, finally. I’d resolutely thought only about what I was doing during the day so as not to make any mistakes that might cause the volatile Mr. Everett to toss me from the renovation. I was enjoying working there a great deal.

I knew suddenly, without having to look up, that Lestat was watching me. I finished the lap, and pushed off the side so that I was floating on my back. I checked the gallery, but he wasn’t up there, though the doors to their bedroom were flung wide. I smiled, and scanned the top of the brick wall, and there he was, sitting cross-legged and half concealed by the small crepe myrtle that grew there. In the daylight the satiny blossoms were a brilliant red-violet. They were obscured now, by darkness, but the scent of them mingled with jasmine and oleander, gelsemium and the sharp smell of chlorine.

As for Lestat, well, haven’t I described him often enough? Maybe not. And I don’t think I have said what he looks like, perched upon the brick wall like some sort of faun. From my vantage point it appeared that he was naked, which meant that he likely *was* naked.

"Of course I am." He said cheerfully. "Please go on with your swimming."

"I’m done. Just stretching the muscles and cooling off a little."

Lestat lifted his head a bit.

"It will rain later. Tomorrow it will be cooler. I didn’t come out here to discuss the weather with you, however."

I boosted myself up out of the pool and turned to face him, sitting with my feet dangling in the cool water.

"Okay. I’m all ears."

He stood up, gloriously naked, as predicted. He was laughing.

"I don’t think you are *all* ears, Brian."

He launched himself from the bricks, in an impossible leap of at least sixteen feet and dove cleanly into the water; the angel takes flight. I had time to watch his lithe form move powerfully beneath the water, his skin bathed in the glow of the pool lights. He surfaced next to me, sleek and breathtaking, water streaming down his face, and neck, glimmering like tiny jewels in his eyelashes. He put his arms on the side of the pool and rested his chin on his hands.

"Jesus." I muttered.

"What I want to know is when you got so good at pulling the wool over my eyes?" He said with a ferocious grin.

"Probably when you didn’t go looking where you’re not supposed to." I said mildly. "And I’m guessing you are none the wiser yet, or you wouldn’t bother saying anything."

I could hardly believe what I was saying. I took my cues from his moods, most of the time, though, and so I did it now.

"An astute observation, wouldn’t you say ‘Stat?" Louis was sprawled comfortably in one of the lounge chairs swathed in the remnant of the creamy silk top sheet from their bed. I hadn’t seen or heard him arrive, but that was hardly unusual.

Lestat pushed himself backward and looked to his lover.

"I’m not certain I like this much, all this *conspiring*."

"Of course you do." Louis said placidly, favoring us both with a winsome smile. "And it’s hardly conspiring. I merely asked Brian not to mention something that occurred the other night. The *conspiring* is all in your mind."

Lestat looked at me, his eyebrows raised. I shrugged.

"After all, Lestat, " Louis went on. "I fail to see why you think you need to know about every minute happening in the Quarter."

"I don’t." He protested. "But I think you’re up to something, and you know I find that utterly irresistible."

"If I am up to something, as you put it, it’s nothing but an indulgence for you, my pet. Be assured of that."

Louis looked literally like the cat who’d gotten the canary, and it was driving Lestat mad with curiosity; even I could see that. He decided to drop it for the time being, however.