Chapter Text
Beautiful. A fragile, beautiful, well-mannered man with a fiery temper hidden beneath a smile. Polished black shoes, clean slacks and a wine-red sweater vest atop a white shirt. A simple, thin tie around the elegant neck, tight and contained. Contained. He looked contained. Calm, charming, soft. Dark brown curls framing a delicate face. Doll-like face. Dark eyes, big eyes, round and innocent looking at a first glance. A second glance and they seduce. The lowered lids, that smile, that smugness, that erotic knowing in that look. Knowing what you’re thinking. Knowing that you’re fantasising. Knowing that you’re naughty, a naughty little creep, a drooling dog in heat. And the unbroken smile like the predatory nature in your eyes doesn't scare him.
Time slowed down, his focus solely on this mysterious man, the crowd chattering muffled, his own breath—heavy, like a wolf—the loudest sound in his ears. A haunting awareness of that nasty urge that this man seemingly accused him of with his eyes. Hypnotised, he attempted to walk toward him. All he could manage was almost falling forward when all the thoughts in his mind weighed down his head, disrupting his balance. Not a lot of thoughts, not very clear either. But heavy enough to make him dizzy. What an effect this man had on him. Or maybe it was the cocaine. Either way, he took a deep breath and made it his goal to approach the man, whether he was fully continuous or not. However, his legs had a different plan and took him outside. The cold night air hitting his flushed cheeks that had heated up as if he’d just been in an oven. A very much needed coldness, so to speak. He ran his hands through his hair, let the wind wake him a bit more as if the cocaine hadn’t done its job properly and he pulled out a cigarette. Calming himself with each breath, closed eyes, he slowly searched for a lighter in his pockets. It was grounding, just what he needed. To calm down. To get it together. To feel—
“Need a light?” A voice interrupted his thoughts. His heart skipped a beat and he inhaled deeply. The voice had such an annoyingly commercial quality to it, he didn’t even want to open his eyes. Nonetheless, he opened them, turning to see the man, a subtle sweaty shimmer on his skin glistening in the streetlights. Unlike Vincent, the man looked much more alive than him, despite all the cocaine. He looked younger, but by now Vincent had realised, white people just age faster, so the man was probably around his age. And suddenly, a lighter was swinging in front of his face, making him realise very quickly, he had not responded.
“Uhh…I—” he stammered, hands shakingly grabbing the lighter, flicking it and inhaling that fresh evening cigarette. “Um…Thanks,” he mumbled, offering back the lighter while heavily avoiding eye contact. Despite refusing to look him in the eye, he felt the man's stare like a gun being held up to his forehead. His fingers twitched, tightly holding onto the cigarette for dear life.
“You aren’t very subtle, I hope you know that,” the man said, that thick transatlantic accent stabbing Vincent in the ear, any fantasy of a soft, sultry voice killed and disposed of as he had to now listen to this insanely fine man talk in the most annoying way anyone could—like an infomercial guy. And while he enjoyed watching those, who would ever want an ernest to god conversation with someone who didn’t speak normally.
“Not talking to me, are you? Well, sorry to bother you, sir,” he added, turning on his heel to distance himself.
Vincent’s eyes widened, panic rushing through his blood.
“Wait!”
The man stopped, slowly turned, an eyebrow up and that seductive half-lidded look. It made Vincent dizzy again, so he stood there, silent and unresponsive for a moment.
He inhaled, hesitating, saying, “You—I’ve…” before clearing his throat and adding, “I’m—uhh…I,” and then spitting out, “Vincent,” while closing his eyes again to avoid reality.
The man chuckled silently. “Alastor,” he responded.
“Hmm, I—nice, good to…” He stopped and looked up as if asking for God's mercy. “It’s very nice to meet you,” he finally managed, now looking at him.
“Had one too many glasses of whiskey, did you?”
Vincent hummed nervously, quickly transitioning into a soft laugh. He did in fact have whiskey, but not as much as the cocaine that had made his evening as insane as it was. And slowly, he remembered, he had no idea how he ended up here.
“Probably,” he responded quietly.
“You’re visiting, aren’t you?”
“H—how did you know?” Vincent asked, half scared to be found out, half sarcastic. Truly unsure of how to play this.
“Most people in New Orleans know me by now.”
Vincent's eyes widened as he processed the response. New Orleans. How did he end up in New Orleans?
“I—so, you work in…” Vincent started, finger pointing to the event building, eyes closed, avoiding eye contact again. He tried to piece it all together by referencing why he was at this event, but he had no idea what kind of event this was.
“Radio,” Alastor responded.
“No shit,” he blurted out, immediately freezing up and wishing the ground would just swallow him, almost giving up on saving this conversation, then changing his mind. “Sorry. I—” He looked around. “I have no idea why I’m here, I am so high,” he admitted.
When he looked back at Alastor, he saw him laughing—hard. He wasn’t sure if he should be offended or keep playing the clown to maybe score a chance at staying around this unbelievably fine man.
“You have no shame, I find it very entertaining. Where are you from?”
“East…east coast,” he admitted, subtly trying to play into the clown route to land this baddie.
Alastor laughed again. “That’s quite far! What on earth could be the reason for your travels here? This isn’t a networking event, you must be quite the wild fellow if a night of partying brought you to the south.”
The more Alastor talked, the less he minded the accent. It still caught him off guard, but it didn’t fully feel like he was interacting with him anyway as the whole situation felt surreal. It was actually kind of cute, a very nasal voice that reminded him of the French.
“I—You know what? I have no idea!” he responded, sounding much more charismatic all of a sudden, making him wonder if he had even been on cocaine or if this was ketamine and he was slowly sobering up.
“Well, if you need a place to stay,” Alastor said, holding very seductive eye contact with Vincent while taking a hit of his cigarette, “I can recommend a good hotel, a friend of mine says it’s the best service for men like you.” He broke eye contact and it felt a little like being carried bridal style and then dropped abruptly.
“Men like me?”
Alastor took a sip of his drink, softly smacking his lips. “White,” he added softly, his chin lowered like he was hiding a grin.
“Ah.”
“Well, I should probably head back inside now, it was nice to meet you,” Alastor said, seemingly forgetting that he offered to recommend a hotel, although, it felt a bit more like he was trying to frame being white as being humiliating in an incredible act of subtle revenge and honestly, cunt.
But before Vincent could even call him back, Alastor had disappeared back into the building.