silver-eyes-hair-ties:

The alcohol swirling in my glass was rather off-putting–I raised it to my lips every few minutes to blend, but Lestat left his drink untouched.  

“Louis,” he whispered into my ear. “That one.”

I followed Lestat’s line of vision.  He was gorgeous, skin flushed from dancing, and his heart nearly sang, even in the din of the club.  He had long, well-cared-for chestnut hair and a lithe frame, perfect for weaving in and out of the gyrating bodies.  He wore almost no clothing, choosing instead to parade around in slick, wet-look shorts and a vinyl chest harness.  I curled my lip in distaste–part of the fun with Lestat was making him work for his meals.

{https://archiveofourown.org/works/12233562/chapters/27870123}