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    Summary

      It'd begun to rain while Lestat was entering him. There was a lot of charm in this drafty loft apartment, and that included the skylight above his methodically placed mattress. Over Lestat's shoulder, he'd watched the sky go dark gray, then purple, the lightning threading through it. He could hear the rumbling of thunder running along the undercurrent of Miss Erykah Badu's smooth vocals which came from his boombox on the floor, only feet away. There were scarves over the lamps, softening the light, making the atmosphere up in gossamer for them, which Lestat seemed to like and Armand preferred when it was the two of them. A fuck for money could be quick and dirty with any of his other clients, but with Lestat there had to be production. There had to be romance. 

    And it had felt romantic. He'd called from somewhere bustling and noisy, rush hour traffic in the background. "Can I meet you? No, sooner than that. Yes, I can pay upfront. No, Louis is still in the picture. Can we talk about this later?"

    Language:
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