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“This feels like old times.”
Armand’s voice is a gentle whisper that raises goosebumps along Louis’ arms. Their feet are a silent patter along the museum’s marble floors as they peruse its walls, looking for what pieces they’d like to ‘acquire’ this time around.
Louis playfully swings his flashlight around to land on the other man’s face as he asks, “Old times?”
“Sneaking around an expensive building. Taking what doesn’t belong to me,” the sparkle in his orange his eyes speaks as much to mischief as it does to old hurts. Still, his lips curl into a boyish grin as he continues, “And getting away with it.”
It’s a side of him that Louis has come to cherish even as it curls something in his gut. Shame that he could feel anything other than mind-numbing grief even it’s already been ten years since. . . Well. And anger at the cowardly role Armand played in it all. Still, he isn’t here to wallow in his own misery. He can resume that pastime when they return home. No, he’s here to remind himself that he stays with Armand to hurt Lestat steal art with his man simply because he likes to do it.
So, he pulls his lips into a smile and pushes himself to respond playfully lest he bring down the mood (again).
“A rebel without a cause, huh?”
“Oh, I had a cause.”
“And what was it?”
“Stealing without getting caught.”
Reluctantly, the force in Louis’ smile becomes much less necessary as he pictures Armand in all his beguiling beauty smuggling stolen goods through the Parisian streets.
“What exactly were you stealing?”
“Books. Paintings. Furniture. Food.”
Louis barks out a surprised laugh, “Food? You don’t even eat!”
“I told you, Louis,” Armand responds, lips still pulled into a dazzling smile. “It’s the thrill of getting away with it that I was chasing.”
Louis shakes his head as he responds, voice warm with fondness, “It’s always the pretty ones.”
Armand comes to a sudden halt, voice shy as he asks, “You think I’m pretty?”
“Don’t go fishing for compliments, now. I know you own a mirror.”
Louis’ back is a mysterious shadow as he continues walking through the museum. But the half-smile on his face as he turns to look at Armand beckons him to follow as always. Eager to see where their steps will lead them.
~~~
“This feels like old times.”
Armand’s voice is a grating whisper along the side of Louis’ neck as he uses the cloud gift to carefully land them on the mansion’s lofty roof. Louis is tempted to light him on fire for old time’s sake. But he’s here on a mission and he invited Armand for a reason.
“Whatever,” he replies when he finally feels safe enough to push his way out of the other man’s arms. “Let’s just get in here, get the painting, and get out.”
As usual, Armand is a quiet shadow behind him as they make their way into the building. After a few moments of silence, he asks, “What exactly are we here for?”
The tension in Louis’ shoulders tightens as he drags in an unnecessary breath and explains on an exhale, “Remember that painting we’d been looking for? The first one we ever put in a joint bidding for?”
“Ah, yes,” Armand replies. “With the ballerina? The one you kissed me in front of after you finally forgave me for Par–”
“Yeah, that one.”
“What about it?”
“According to my contact, it’s somewhere in this. . . this. . .”
“This gaudy mansion designed like some sort of burial ground for Christmas ornaments past?”
Louis laughs before he can stop himself. It’s true, but he can’t give Armand the satisfaction of being right. He’s opening his mouth to respond when the taller man brushes past his shoulder to point to something just ahead. His body jolts at the sudden contact and an unwanted thrill zips along his spine. Seventy-seven years of desire hardwired in his body, unwilling to leave even after the betrayal.
“There,” Armand quickly exclaims as walks toward the painting they’re there to retrieve.
He’s trying to avoid the storm of emotion building on Louis’ face, curling his eyebrows into visible dissatisfaction. But one thing about Louis is that there’s no stopping him when he finally has something to be mad about.
“Hey,” he says as he walks up and grabs Armand’s arm. He allows himself to be turned mid-step. Louis continues, “You didn’t have to do that. You want my attention? Ask for it.”
“It’s not my fault your body still remembers that it likes my touch.”
“Yeah, well I don’t. So don’t do it again.”
Armand gets in his space, “Or else? You’re not exactly in control here, Louis.”
Louis scoffs, “As if I ever was.”
Armand leans in until Louis is forced against the nearest wall. He can hear Louis’ heart triple it pace. This is more than the familiarity of wanting. This is a man who’s always gotten a thrill out of playing with fire. Louis licks his lips as his gaze involuntarily slips to Armand’s lips. Armand leans his hand on the wall by Louis’ head and watches intently as he does it.
Moments pass in silence until Louis finally pushes his way away from the wall. Armand lingers even after he’s walked away.