Now all the parties were over, the Galas, the Balls, the Christmas presents and commissions all owled out. Now he did not have to spend nights at Libertine sewing, stitching, and fitting; now Misa could stop leaving him whole meals three times a day and go home to her own flat, while Darian also went home and got reacquainted with his. The sheer lack of projects made him giddy. He'd slept from the 2nd through the 4th and woken up ravenous, energetic, and bored. He went to a night cafe and sat there, aimless. What to do? How to turn his Monday night from drab to delightful? It had hit him in a flash.

And once it hit him, he was raring to go. He swept out of the cafe and onto the streets within seconds of thinking of this most beautiful solution. Only the dingy lurking danger of Knockturn made him slow down a little, one cautious hand on his wand. But as soon as he met the Muses he was off again, chattering and flirting with each of the nine, complimenting them on their fashionable peploi and elaborately coiffed hair as he unlocked the door. He fidgeted through the checking of his key and practically threw his jacket to the coat room attendant.

Without it he was swathed all in black right down to his dragonhide boots. The only color he held was that of his bare hands and face, the glinting of gold from buttons and rings, and of course the blaze of his riotous red hair.

His mask was just a simple thing he'd pulled from the crush of his pocket. He'd taken to carrying a plain one around with him, never knowing when he might be struck with the urge to swing by Le Masquerade. Even with it he was fairly recognizable courtesy of his wicked mouth, the strong line of his jaw, his distinctive hair. When he really wanted to be anonymous he would dye it darker, but tonight he let it curl as it willed. Like his mood it was wild, falling back from his head in a veritable mane. He tweaked the bottoms of a few guests as he passed, a slim figure dancing down the way and laughing as they jumped.

He went quickly through the main hall to the stairs, where he confronted the two guards with his key. A quick second check, and the red rope rolled back for him like the parting of the sea.

By the time he'd ascended the stairs, his bound had become a saunter. He slunk through the staff area and oozed up against the proprietor's office door, turning his head so that his ear lay flat against the wood and listening for a moment. It didn't sound like he was interrupting anything. What a pity! He'd hoped to catch something exciting.

Still grinning, now he drew back and knocked. "Éloi!" he called. "C'est moi, ton favori, le plus magnifique Morgan! Mon ami, tu ne viens et ouvrir ta porte...?"[1]

1.	It's me, your favorite, most magnificent Morgan! My friend, will you not come and open your door...?

Such a ridiculously boring evening. “C’est vraiment des conneries!”[1], Éloi found himself thinking on more than one occasion during this particular Monday. He was drunk on the bliss of winter holidays with all the parties, galas, balls and what not, and now this—this complete and utterly boring... nothing. Just nothing! And downstairs was such a bore, none if his favorite amusements were there tonight, so he consigned himself to his office with a decanter full of absinthe and a full bowl of sugar.

As he was melting himself another cube of sugar over his glass, watching it drip, drip, drip into the clear green of the liquid under the perforated spoon, he couldn't help but think of red disheveled curls and blue eyes. And a smile—a sly, languorous smile slowly replaced the scowl that had been decorating his face for the past few hours. Easily distracted from his absinthiana, he closed his eyes and threw his head back to lean against the back of the chair. He could almost feel the soft curls raining down on his face, such shatteringly vivid were his memories. Or was this a fantasy? Well, he supposed they could be memories acting as fantasies, at the moment. He shivered at imagining his voice whispering in his ear, and his body reacted instantly by clamping his teeth down on his lower lip. Then his overactive imagination guided him to a memory of his touch and Éloi's hand instantly grabbed at the cushioned arm of the chair and dug his nails into it.

And just as he was about to close in on a more engaging memory, he heard his name called in the exact voice he was day-dreaming about, and his breath hitched in the back of his throat, his eyes flew open and both panic - at what, not even he really knew - and excitement suddenly took over his mind and body. Upon hearing the voice once again, and realizing it was actually there, outside his door, his entire being vibrated with fervor. He practically jumped over his desk and skipped to the door in three steps, before stopping to take a calming breath and instructing his face into a... welcoming smile.

He opened the door calmly, and hoped his smile had not derailed into a mad grin as he took his appearance in. He stood still and silent for a second, fighting the urge to grab the collar of his blazer and drag him into a searing kiss. Instead he dug his nails into his palm, took a short breath and smiled at him with an eyebrow raised. But who was he kidding, really... He slowly snaked his way into his arms, one hand around his neck, buried into his curls, the other, greedily pulling him closer. Upon the contact, his breath stopped in his throat and his body visibly shivered, but he raised on the tip of his feet, while gently clasping his hand into his curls, slowly moving his head to the side. And he slowly inched closer to his neck, before his lips found the upper tip of his ear and he kissed it softly, almost shyly. But then his mouth parted to make room for his tongue, and he slowly dragged it downwards only to stop suddenly and lightly nip at his earlobe.

"J'ai beaucoup repense aux bons moments qu'on a partagé ensemble[2]" he whispered hoarsely into Darian's ear.

1.	This is really bullshit.
2.	I'm thinking back to the many good times we shared together.

Éloi opened the door quietly and just looked at him, his smile bordering on the worrisome and the look in his eyes predatory. After a moment Darian's brows rose in response to that look, a silent query. Then Éloi swarmed forward, embracing him in the doorway. He felt hot breath on the shell of his ear as the other man shuddered against him. Éloi's teeth scraped over sensitive skin. "J'ai beaucoup repense aux bons moments qu'on a partagé ensemble." Without missing a beat Darian turned his head and kissed him, a long and heated press of their bodies against the doorframe that he ended as easily as he'd begun.

"What a greeting." His voice was warm, his own hands coming up to tangle languidly in Éloi's long hair, to tilt and cradle his head just so. He nuzzled the dip between jaw and neck. "If I'd known what was on your mind, I would have come sooner."

On the contrary, he had apparently interrupted at just the right time! He wondered idly if it was the view from one of the rooms that had put Éloi in such a mood and whether he would consent to let Darian join him in the watching. Over the white swell of Éloi's shoulder he caught sight of the bottle with its silver and its sugar, and grinned. "Are you drinking?"

When he felt Darian's lips on his, his head spun one again vivid memories of all their past meetings and he felt his knees buck, threatening to give way. But then, the sweet taste of his hot breath upon his face stopped. Éloi whimpered at the loss of contact and he would've liked to stomp his foot, in a petulant fit, outraged at Darian's sudden interruption.

"What a greeting." But then he talked and his voice sent shivers down his spine, and he closed his eyes a fraction—hungrily taking in the reaction of his own body. Then Darian's hands found their way into his hair, and the endings of his nerves went into overdrive. He leaned his head into his hand, letting him guide it as he wished and when his lips touched the over sensitive skin of his neck he let out a small, hushed mewl and his grasp on him tightened. Handful of red curls in his hand, he grabbed at it just a little, keeping him in place—scared to lose his touch.

"Are you drinking?" His voice now, came like a sharp jolt to reality and he opened his eyes to look at him, unsure of what exactly to do. "Wh—what?" his hazy mind tried to fill the silence in with an answer, any sort of answer. "Drinking..." he repeated in a whispered voice, as if to make sense of it. "Oh, yes" his mind finally waking up from its daze. "It got me thinking of you" he said softly with a perverse smile on his face and a clouded look in his eyes.

Not, for a second, relinquishing his grip on Darian, he slowly started moving them both backwards to desk, carefully avoiding the armchair in front of it. When he felt the edge of the desk against his back, he hoisted himself up to sit on it, and pulled Darian between his legs. He smiled softly, almost shyly, then leaned back to reach the glass he had been preparing for himself. He quickly poured it into his mouth, then greedily grabbed Darian by his blazer and pulled him into a fevered kiss, lazily pushing the strong aniseed-flavored liquid with his tongue. Once he was sure the absinthe had left his mouth, he slowly retreated, but not before he gave a gentle nip to Darian's lower lip.

"There, now it should be even sweeter" he drawled as he bit his own lower lip, still intently focused on Darian's lips, now a shade redder than usual.

Darian laughed, delighted with the sudden turn of his evening. He followed him in, kicking the door shut behind them and backing him up to the desk. Already there was a heat kindling in him, deep and low. He hadn't expected such an immediate invitation, but he'd be a fool to turn it down.

"Greedy," he murmured to the tight clutching of his hair, not an altogether surprising thing nor - if the faint smile on his face was to be believed - one that caused Darian much distress. It was impossible not to wonder what Éloi had been doing before to get him like this, his gasps and stammers so demanding already. It was exciting - intriguing - in the absolute basest way. Direct he was used to, but he was mad for the way Éloi played debauched. It was a talent so few possessed, to be able to beg in the bedroom while retaining their class.

He liked that, the absinthe drinking, and there were worse reminders. Éloi was so sensitive, he thought as he dragged the smaller man's hair away from his neck. It didn't take much to make him whimper. The mask was a little uncomfortable now, some irritating barrier pressing its edge into his and the other's skin, so Darian dragged it off and let it drop to the floor. Then he bent to his task again, placing his mouth over the tracery of blue veins in Éloi 's pale throat.

He felt the bob as Éloi swallowed, but apparently not it all - dragged up by his shirt he went willingly into another open-mouthed kiss and chased the taste of aniseed lurking there. Absinthe dribbled down Éloi's chin; Darian licked it off.

"There, now it should be even sweeter." He only smiled, easing closer until their hips met and his hands could brace evenly on the desk. Despite the sugar and Éloi's lips the spirit was bitter still. Fortunately, bitterness had never stopped him before.

He drew his wand and touched it to his lips, the red of his tongue just meeting the tip. His eyes gleamed. "Do you consent?" With Éloi before him splayed out on the desk the answer he'd get was certain. But life was about the journey, not the destination, and he savored the way Éloi's eyes fixed instantly to his mouth.

Seeing his mask  slip to the floor gave Éloi another electric shiver and he felt his mouth growing dry as he was now, taking deep, shallow breaths trying to keep up with the oxygen his body needed to function. And when Darian returned to his throat, lips against his fevered skin he let a slow throaty moan escape his lips. Then his mouth chased an escaped drop of absinthe on his chin, and Éloi rolled his eyes in his head, biting down on the inside of his lip, until he felt the metallic taste of blood on his tongue.

Darian moved closer until their hips met and Éloi's white cheeks suddenly turned a flushed shade of pink, his body temperature going out of control and he brought one trembling hand over Darian's on the desk, clutching at it desperately. Through half-lidded eyes he could see him drawing out his wand, and immediately Éloi's body knew what was coming and his mouth watered and he tried to smirk, but instead, on seeing his wand against the tip of his tongue he growled—long and deep.

"Do you consent?" He would've liked to raise a perfectly sarcastic eyebrow, laugh and ask him if he had gone insane, but instead his legs hooked around him and his hands flew to his blazer, vengefully trying to remove the insulting garment. "Please..."  he begged unashamedly. "Don't tease" he continued after a loud hiss, at seeing his blazer finally fall to the floor. "You know I'd eventually end up begging you to do it, either way" he said with a shy, yet knowing smile. And immediately he was snaking his twitchy, quivering fingers under his velvet top. Fumbling with it proved futile for the moment, as his fingers could not properly execute the task, so he chose to clutch his legs closer around Darian, unconsciously grinding himself against him. His arms hooked around his neck, pulling him into a short, frenzied kiss, all teeth and tongue.

He finally stopped to take a much needed breath and he glared at him, frustrated. "Clothes off. Now. Else you'll never be able to salvage them" he said in a menacing voice, contrasting with the foggy, lewd look in his eyes.

"I know," he said fondly. And then, smirking in the face of Éloi's glare, "I sincerely doubt that." He tap-tap-tapped his wand against his mouth musingly, then spoke a spell that made every button of Éloi's shirt strip open. It was an impressive party trick for newcomers but old to both of them, a time-saver too familiar to be worthy of the slightest pause. His own shirt, lacking the same construct, could not be opened so easily. Darian laid his wand down and removed it the old-fashioned way, leaning away from Éloi long enough to pull it over his head. It too hit the ground as he let it drop - instantly folding itself into a neat square.

His gaze lingered for a moment at the press of their hips, specifically on his complicated belt with its many buckles. When Éloi wanted that open Darian was inclined to let him struggle with it himself - if his petulance over the matter of a shirt was cute, he could only imagine the entertainment of watching the other man cursing his belt...


Afterwards, entirely nude and utterly unselfconscious, Darian lounged in Éloi's chair with the loose limbs and lidded eyes of some large jungle cat. They were alternating that necessary cigarette and the glass of absinthe, long since gone from clear to milky green. The long-stemmed cigarette holder had always felt strange to him, but Éloi was very particular about how he smoked. It did, after all, complete the era-appropriate picture of debauchery.

He tracked eyes idly over the squashed and crumpled parchment on the floor, casualties of a desk not wide enough for both it and them. "Hope that wasn't too important," he said, lazily tilting his head back to breathe out the smoke.

He was lying on his desk, his legs crossed at the knees, lazily looking at Darian—completely too comfortable in his chair. A smile was playing at the corner of his lips, and he was just feeling utterly pleased, calm, at ease and properly fucked. He practically wrenched his cigarette holder from between Darian's fingers and hungrily dragged from it. While Darian was definitely a smoker, Éloi was more of a casual smoker, or a party smoker, like they called them. But the after cigarette, was a holy ritual to Éloi and while he did very much enjoy seeing Darian with his silver holder, he sometimes felt a little too—endearing to the blonde. And neither of them would want that, now would they?

"I doubt anything on this desk was more important than our most delicious... rendezvous" he said chuckling. "After all, if they want Le Masque running, they should make certain I'm happy first and foremost" he added quickly, not really willing to admit it out loudly that it was truly that shatteringly mind-blowing.

He rather grudgingly raised to a standing position and turned to face Darian, dragging the chair from under its arms closer to the desk. Le leaned down and gave him a small, innocent kiss on the corner of his lips. "I've heard the most atrocious thing yesterday. Sacre Bleu!" he exclaimed between anger and amusement. "One of the paintings informed me that my dear staff had taken to secretly calling us The Masque Sweethearts" he raised an eyebrow and scowled. "Quelle horreur... how do you think we should punish them, chéri" he drawled the affectionate term with a glint of lust in his eyes.

"I know the owner's happiness has always been my top priority." Darian nudged him with his foot, then grinned. "Perhaps you ought to give them permission to owl me whenever you're being particularly hard to work with."

Éloi stood and dragged him closer, then bent to lean in. His great reveal was... not a problem, really, though Darian did blink at the unexpectedness of it. "They're your employees," he pointed out, not particularly surprised that Le Masquerade's staff had picked up on the relationship between Éloi and his most frequent guest. Even with the masks identity wasn't all that secret for those who worked here every night, and Éloi's voyeurism paired with his exhibitionist bent had made for a few terribly unsubtle encounters. So Darian didn't much care what they called them; in fact, he liked being talked about, especially when there was no truth to the gossip. Refreshingly, there was no danger of Éloi becoming interested in a connection beyond what was simply delightful and easy for both of them to provide. Like Dolly, he knew his role to Darian perfectly.

And he fulfilled it perfectly, too.

He mused on it, shaking his head with a smile. "If you're really feeling cruel," he suggested, "String them up for one of the more adventurous nights. Unless, of course, they like that kind of thing...?"

He smirked at Darian and for a second—even, tho he realized it was a joke—he actually saw a good idea in it. "Perhaps, I just might" he said quizzically with a small smile and a wiggle of his eyebrows.

"But there's absolutely no fun in deciding a punishment by myself—" he started saying, before Darian talked again and Éloi laughed heartily at hearing his suggestion. "Darling, as if you don't know the sort of people I like to have around me" he mused jokingly. "Of course they're into that kind of thing" he said grinning in his seductive French accent. "That's why I hired them, mais non?" he asked, sarcastic eyebrow arched and all.

As the cigarette seemed to approach its end, Éloi couldn't help but sigh, almost dejected. The end of the after-cigarette meant the magical, ardent moment was done and he always felt as if it was the end to it all, each time it happened. Some darker, deeper part of his twisted black heart, would've liked to have Darian chained in his office—forever his. But, Éloi knew it was merely his rather unhealthy obsession of owning things, as well as people. Happily, it only took him a few moments to wake up to reality and realize that the beauty of what they had was precisely that they did not own each other. Well, not in that sense, anyway.

No, Darian and Éloi, were rare, beautiful birds that would fade and burst out into flames the moment they would be caged. They were kindred spirits, but the sort that would destroy each other if either of them would try to delve deeper into the connection they had. As he extinguished the cigarette and removed it from the holder, Éloi kept his gaze intent on Darian, thinking - as he occasionally did - if maybe, in another life, they had been the protagonists of a Greek tragedy, ardent in their love, blissful in the ignorance of their sins until one of them died tragically, perhaps even at the hands of the other.

He shook his head and chuckled lowly. "You're beautiful, mon ami" he told Darian, still smiling while he lazily slipped off the desk to gather his clothes. As he was putting on his shirt, he turned to look at him, clearly whatever remnants of his musings completely gone from his face. "Any new conquests, hmm? How did that dreadful hospital gala go?" he asked with a scowl. Éloi could not stand the high-end society of England, they were all such a bore outside of his club and he could not fathom how Darian or his fair cousin, Arianne could stand to be amongst them and not grimace constantly.

He tipped his head back and tried to remember the most deadly boring punishments ever visited on him by parents, professors, policemen, etc. Problem was, none of those had worked either. Oh, sure, he could come up with all sorts of things to take make one beg for mercy, but if Éloi's employees liked that (and he had no reason to doubt that they would) then it was hardly an effective method to prevent this little sweetheart debacle all over again.

Docking their pay was boring. Admonishing them via the chain of command was boring. Having wild sex with different partners all over the club was less boring, but if that hadn't worked already then it never would.

"I don't know," he admitted at last, expelling all of his breath in one go. "Set up a feedback spell to goose anyone who says it and be done with things, I'd imagine."

Since Éloi was greedily nursing the last of the cigarette, he felt it only fair for him to have the last of the absinthe. Tipping his head back he drained the rest of the milky liquid from its beautiful glass. Only after he set it aside did he notice that Éloi was watching him - staring, really - not as a cat watched a bird but still intent, as though it was only with his gaze that he was allowed to touch. Then the man chuckled and broke the moment, if there had been a moment, getting up to gather his clothes and tell Darian that he was beautiful.

Darian only smiled as if to say, of course I am or possibly, I know. "As if you could bear to be around anyone who wasn't," he said with that same lazy drawl, watching as Éloi bent for his shirt and then his trousers and not particularly wanting to get dressed himself. Lounging around naked was an art form, not one to be hurried if one could avoid it.

"None worth talking about," he said with a careless little shrug. "Nothing new. Oh, but did I tell you I received an owl from a friend in Hungary? One of the ones with - " he wiggled his fingers in the universal sign for magic. That he was receiving correspondence from a witch was hardly a matter of excitement, but the way he added a slow roll of his hips implied a certain kind of magic which was considerably more rare. Hungary was one place where he'd learnt some of his own spells, ones the British government were less fond of but which suited him and Éloi just fine. "She will be in the UK in a week or so. She'll have other commitments, I'm sure, but she's made time for one night with me." He laughed to think of it, a bright, victorious sound which held both satisfaction and anticipation. "If I can keep her for another I'll invite you too. You've never had a night with two trained as we are." Darian shook his head in faux-pity. "You might not even survive it."

The very reminder was exciting, perhaps a bit too exciting given that he had only now reluctantly begun to summon his own clothing from the desk and floor. After that, talk of the Gala was boring. "It wasn't so bad," he said regardless, feeling somewhat compelled to defend its honor given Éloi's mighty scowl. "The woman who won my bidding lot isn't one I've met before. She seems...." He tipped his head to the side thoughtfully. "Serious. I'm sure she'll be fun one way or the other. You wouldn't believe some of the fashion disasters I saw there, though. Merlin, I nearly cried."

"Are you implying that I am so vain to only surround myself with beautiful creatures? Kind Monsieur, you are hurting my feelings" he said in jest, placing a hand over his heart as if to show him the hurt in his chest. "Well... I never" he continued, fake shock in his expression—mouth forming an "o", brows furrowed and a hand dramatically placed over his open lips. He snickered under the hand on his lips and threw him a wink over his shoulder as he turned to pick up his cardigan, only to throw it on the armchair in front of his desk—the one for visitors, nonetheless. He scowled for a second, but then raised his eyes to look at Darian in all his beauty and he smirked. "You're gonna catch a cold, chéri" he said as he shook his head amused, dropping heavily into the armchair.

"Oh?" he said upon hearing of a friend from Hungary, leaning forward and pressing his head into his hands, elbows on his knees. He almost couldn't help but snicker hearing the excitement in his voice. Oh, Éloi, was certainly hiding just a little bit of jealousy under his amusement. But, at hearing his next words, the blond's face relaxed, his eyes closed, just a fraction and his smirk grew large and devious. "You have such faith in me, Darian, it's truly overwhelming" he rolled his eyes and scowled. He was lying—obviously, blatantly. Darian by himself, without his magic, sometimes brought Éloi on the brink of blacking out. But he wasn't one to admit his weaknesses... that just wouldn't do. "If your plan does come to fruition, however, I would very much enjoy it" he said, watching him through his eyelashes and biting into his lower lip.

"Darian, my dear, I'd give an arm and a leg to see you deal with serious" he chuckled softly as he watched Darian summon his clothes. "I find the majority of London fashion to be—épouvantable[1]. But not every city can be Paris, mon amour and not everybody can be Darian Morgan, roi de la mode" he smiled fondly. "But, surely not all of them, mais non?" he asked batting his eyelashes like an innocent teenager. He was curious to see what impression Arianne had left on dear Morgan.

1.

apalling

"Well." Darian wet his lips with a slow flicker of tongue. "I wouldn't say implying."

He only smirked in response to Éloi's warning. In truth he was still quite warm from their exertions, and there were more benefits to being undressed. Such as, for example, lounging about until Éloi gave in again and joined him. Knowing Éloi as he did, it would only be a matter of time before rounds three and four. It was simply more efficient to stay nude. If Éloi objected, he could always try his hand at helping Darian into his clothes, another delightful game that would more than likely end with both men out of them at the end...

During their time together there were generally very few other outcomes for he and Éloi. It was predictable, perhaps, but oh so satisfying.

He did, having already summoned his clothing, drape his dress shirt carelessly across his lap. Human bodies, entirely naked, were not nearly as attractive as that more artful, selective nudity. "Oh, you can see me deal with serious anytime. Just come by the shop, or one of my family's dinners."

"I find the majority of London fashion to be—épouvantable. But not every city can be Paris, mon amour and not everybody can be Darian Morgan, roi de la mode."

"Don't speak blasphemy," he said. "What of Westwood, Hawkes, that god McQueen? No, there is nothing wrong with London fashion. It's just the way that the English wear it that's so very dull." He huffed a sigh. "I hate to let you get cocky, but yes, the only ones there who wore it well were French. Though - Tapendra Trishna looked nice. I dressed him myself. Oh!" He sat up so quickly the shirt nearly slipped from his lap. "Speaking of Trishna, I have a member recommendation."

Seeing as Darian had absolutely no intention of actually getting his clothes back on, but instead to haphazardly place his shirt on his lap, which was, in fact a lot more attractive Éloi frowned for a second before his hands were fussing with the three closed buttons on his shirt. "Oh, what the hell" he said rolling his eyes as he set to undress himself again.

His eyes darted from his shirt to Darian's in a second as a flutter of dread passed through him. "Your family? Catastrophique, that's how that would turn out" he said as he visibly shivered and grimaced. "We wouldn't even reach the entrance before we'd be asked to leave" he scoffed. "Sacre bleu" he said freezing in place. "It would be even worse, were the situation reversed. I think my father would skin us both alive. Bien sûr, he knows, he knows everything, but actually seeing it... Dear, oh dear, I don't even want to imagine it." He shrugged out of his shirt and let it fall to the floor as he busied himself with his pants.

"You know I don't mean it like that. It's the Londoners, Darian, chéri, not London fashion itself. Sure the haute couture has birthed some truly delicious designers over the years, but what good does it do, if the people don't wear it, don't showcase its beauty, hmm?" he said as his pants fell to the floor, and he stepped out of them, in only the clothes of Adam, slowly, teasingly walking around the desk, only to settle on the corner, half turned to Darian.

He was smiling and just about to inquire after his cousin and the fabulous outfit he had helped her choose, when he spoke of a man. And his name was familiar, surely Arianne had commented on him at some point. But Éloi's face was already sporting a frown, and he huffed silently enough. He got up and walked the three steps to Darian, pushing him back in the chair, before he picked the offending garment in Darian's lap and replaced it with his own body. One leg on each of Darian's sides and his arms locked around his neck he smiled at him impishly. That's why he loved his desk chair so much, it was imposing, heavy and spacious enough for two people... or even three at one time.

He leaned closer and gave a small chaste kiss to where Darian's neck met his shoulder, before licking his way up to his ear. "Tell me about this Trishna, then" he said, obviously not at all interested in the man, au contraire, decidedly set to make Darian completely forget about him. He slowly grazed his ear with his teeth, then pulled away altogether and with a disinterested face he glared at Darian. "Member recommendations are made with Alanna, chéri, you know so" he said disapproval all over his face. "So, whatever might've prompted you to speak to me directly, hmm?" he asked lips pursed and a raised eyebrow.

Éloi had barely done up his buttons before he was undoing them again, shucking his trousers with the fastidious disdain of a cat. Darian hid his smile behind his hand, not very successfully. Record timing.

"I hope your father doesn't know about us," he said. "I wasn't under the impression you had his spies in your club. You know I come here for your famed anonymity." He spoke lazily but with a real inner distaste for the idea of their relationship becoming the talk of pureblood society. There were still so many bigots whose money fattened his coffers. While Éloi was fun, Darian did not value him more than his own reputation which, though it afforded him plenty of leeway in his playful sexuality, did not cover the discovery of a long-term male lover.

He flapped a hand as Éloi defended his stance on fashion, then soon after the other man's face creased in a frown. Ah, beautiful Éloi. It took so little to make him huffy. He came and insinuated himself in Darian's lap, haughty, seemingly disinterested, but easily on his way to a snit. Darian's fingers ran over his shoulderblades soothingly as Éloi kissed and nuzzled at his neck.

"Member recommendations are made with Alanna, chéri, you know so. So, whatever might've prompted you to speak to me directly, hmm?"

Darian raised wide, guileless navy eyes to Éloi's face. "Oh," he said. "I don't know. I just wanted to talk to the owner about it. Tapendra needs delicate handling, you understand. Were you to include a certain emphasis on the polyjuice potions available on the invitation, I would take it as a personal -" his plush lips shaped the word with relish - "favor."