churbooseanon

Fic Request: Okay so for the requests thing, can you take whenever Locus has to book Felix in "Dolce" and write about whats going through his head?


The invitations always show up in ridiculously fancy envelopes. The paper they are on is at least hundred pound stock, with the letters pressed into them and then filled in with gold leaf. And the language was so sickeningly flowery that Locus could guess at the specific wording depending on who specifically was supposed to be having a party soon.

They were always a burden, these events. Always a drain on his precious personal time, and it was frustrating when people sent them to him. As if he would be impressed by another boring evening of ‘exquisite’ food and 'mood’ music. As if he cared about people looking for excuses to wear their good dresses and put on their best jewelry and flaunt the absolute waste of their wealth.

And yet…

And yet as he looked at the silvery envelope and knew what was inside Locus couldn’t help but think about the play. The act. The lie he performed more and more often. More and more eagerly. Think about the beautiful man with soft brown eyes and lips that either curled in warm, civilized delight, or cut in vicious disdain. That man on his arm, as his companion, as his entertainment, made it all worthwhile.

“Doyle,” he said, pressing the intercomm that would connect him to his secretary. “Make the call. It seems I have a party to attend.”

He could control himself.

And who knew… maybe he could even believe that.