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I don't fuckin' believe in people, but I believe in you
The club is dark, and throbbing with music. It's been this way for the last several hours, and the incorrigible son of the boss and his friends passed drunk a long time ago. They'll probably leave together, and Cor nods to Altius to tail them until they're back safely. She shoots him a look that says you owe me one, but nods brusquely, giving an apologetic glance to the vivacious redhead she’s been grinning at. Crowe lets out a resigned sigh and slips something into the redhead’s hand with a sideways smile and a shrug. The redhead arches a fiery eyebrow and winks, then leans over to whisper something to Crowe that makes her blush. Cor laughs, and drains his whiskey. Making Altius blush is no small feat, and he almost regrets putting her on duty for the night.
Duty calls for them all, and Cor looks again at the back room where Regis and Clarus are engaged in a high-stakes “card game”—really, it’s a negotiation over territory. He’d seen the various captains arrive with their protective forces, but Cindy had made sure each had left weapons at the door. Cor exhales. Three in one room is enough, but adding the fourth was a big risk. Fucking Queens. The waiter comes by, and Cor motions for another. He’s well within his limits for tonight, even if shit goes down. Clarus has assured him it won’t, but Cor isn’t one to relax, especially in these circumstances. The door to the room in question is in his line of sight, and he knows down to the number of seconds how long it’ll take him to get there if he’s needed.
He catches sight of Nox Fleuret making the same assessment, standing idly and trying to look charming, and gives him a look of grudging acknowledgement that isn’t quite a smile.
Cor watches Noctis entertain guests from the VIP area. It’s Amicitia who’s entertaining, really, pouring drinks and flashing that grin of his, drawing people in, making them feel comfortable. Noctis just blinks luminous blue eyes from his seat, clinking the occasional glass, riding on his delicate good looks like he always does. Scientia meets Cor’s eyes, all business, sharp gaze flicking around the room. The usual. Argentum is—well, at this point in the night there’s no graceful way to say it. He’s all over Noctis, and laying a claim that’s obvious to onlookers. Lunafreya is doing her best to bookend Gladio’s social performance, but she’s clearly distracted by Noctis’ hand, dangling casually between her knees. Cor watches a spiky blond head dip close, styled hair tangling with Noctis’ long, dark strands, and a hand passes its way into Noctis’ unbuttoned shirt. Cor’s pretty sure how this night is going to end for them, and he’s glad he had the foresight to send Crowe after them.
Another diminutive blond approaches Cor, but without Argentum’s nervous energy. No, this one is all confidence—too much confidence, really, for someone who’s essentially behind enemy lines. He’s slim, but graceful, and almost obnoxiously self-possessed.
Not expected for anyone from the Aldercapts to be at a club this far north of Midtown. Not wise either, he ponders. They’re not one of the invited families, and they’re quite frankly playing out of their league here, in his opinion.
A deep, slow bass note rumbles, and Loqi’s chin tips back just the slightest bit as he walks - swaggers, really - over to where Cor’s sitting. Cor’s eyebrows pucker ever so slightly, wondering at the display of confidence here. He’s here alone, the only one from their group. Why so confident? Is he carrying? Shouldn’t be, with their own people at the door. Cor will have to have a chat with Cindy about that later.
Loqi’s head turns, pale-blond strands wafting over his cheek. Cor follows the graceful line of his neck over to where he’s looking, and hears the low ripple of a woman's laugh from the dance floor. It's unmistakably Highwind, and she appears to be intoxicated. Cor narrows his eyes in skepticism, and notices her crimson-tipped nails dug into the denim-clad ass of…
Ulric. Supposedly his second-in-command tonight, and he appears well and truly distracted. Cor meets his eyes, wordlessly communicating that there better be a goddamned good reason for this, and is treated to one of those ridiculously charismatic grins, complete with dimple. Cor rolls his eyes. At least Ulric seems to have some of his wits about him, as he leads the swaying Highwind off the floor. Nyx affects a drunken laugh himself, but his sharp glances toward the exits and behind the bar give him away. Cor does the math, quickly; Tummelt’s not without allies here, apparently, but unless this is an act, Aranea is no good to him. Cor doesn’t put pretense past her, though, and it becomes one of the many calculations he’s making tonight, seemingly impassive in the comfortable chair on the balcony overlooking the dance floor.
Cor accepts the refreshed drink from the waiter with a nod and a $20, and swirls it around idly, more as a fidget than a necessity. He’s surprised at himself; he’s not usually a fidgeter, but there are too many unknowns in the club tonight.
As he takes a sip of the whiskey, rolling it over his tongue appreciatively, another one of those unknowns makes its presence known again. Loqi takes another step forward, and it’s enough for Cor to feel the heat of him, enough to smell the clean, assertive green scent of his cologne. Cor looks—up, which isn’t something he’s used to with Loqi. He tosses back more of the whiskey in his glass. He doesn’t get up from the comfortable leather chair, though, and as he’s looking over to check on Noctis, Loqi inexplicably starts moving to the beat.
Cor moves his ankle from the opposite knee it’s resting on, and Tummelt takes the opportunity to slot himself in between Cor’s knees, without invitation. Cor feels his eyebrows dart upward in the smallest tick of expressed surprise, but he allows it. Probably against his better judgment, but he allows it.
Cor would be annoyed, but he admires Loqi's confidence. It’s not like he hasn’t had a lap dance before, but he’s hardly expected one from one of the lieutenants of Staten Island. That’s fine—something deep in Cor’s chest warms and relaxes at the sinuous twist of the man in front of him, and he feels a slow smile creep across his lips in spite of himself.
Slim hips undulate between Cor’s thighs, and for the first time tonight, he just takes a moment to enjoy. The music rolls over him, and his gaze travels up, sliding over the still-swaying hips, up Loqi’s narrow torso, and lingering on the collarbone that’s barely exposed inside his unbuttoned shirt collar.
Cor wants to grasp those hips in both hands, retreat into a shadowy corner, and finish what this tease of an adversary seems to have started. He doesn’t, of course, but mentally notes the desire.
“Why are you here?” Cor sets his drink down. “There are about four people waiting to take you down right now.” He gestures, vaguely, at the various corners of the nightclub.
Loqi grabs at Cor’s hand as he waves it, too quickly for Cor to jerk it back, and suddenly Cor finds he doesn’t want to. Loqi takes the back of Cor’s hand and drags it slowly down the curve of his jaw. Cor feels soft skin and evening stubble both, and draws in a sharp breath as Loqi leans impossibly closer. There’s a pause that hovers, indefinite.
“Two weeks.” The whisper feathers over Cor’s captive fingertips, almost too softly to be heard.
“What?” Cor’s grip on the hand grasping his own tightens in surprise.
“Aldercapt’s making a move on Lucis Caelum territory. Two weeks from today. I thought you should know.”
His voice rasps a little, and Cor tips his head, confused.
“Why tell me? Why rat your boss out? You got a death wish?”
Loqi laughs, and tosses his head back. Cor’s eyes follow the fall of hair back, and he’s distracted again, until Loqi leans close again, ghosting Cor’s lips with his own.
“I don’t want more bloodshed. If anyone can avoid it, it’s you. I believe in you.” One slight shoulder shrugs, and gin-scented breath tickles the skin of Cor’s lips before Loqi withdraws in one swift motion.
For once, floored, Cor stares after narrow hips swaying their way through the crowd. A quick jerk of Loqi’s head toward Aranea, and she disentangles herself from Nyx, as alert as Cor suspected she’d been this whole time.
Cor narrows his eyes, picks up the tumbler again, and takes another sip. The whiskey burns in his chest—or is it the memory of this mysterious lieutenant? He’s not sure. But he is sure that the next time he finds himself in Aldercapt territory, he’s got a debt to repay.
Cor shifts in his seat and waits for the rest of the evening to play out. The music continues to pulse. The smells of clean green cedar and gin, and the blurred traces of tossed pale-blond hair, haunt the edges of his consciousness until morning.