synopsis: Stack Moore is the man standing between Louis and Lestat. Blood, business, and something far more dangerous than desire.
The smell of New Orleans was different than Chicago. It was sweet with rot and jasmine, steeped in music and magic. Stack didnāt like it at first. The way it made his cigarette smoke hang longer. But the city grew on him, like moss, like a wound you stopped minding.
Tonight was different from most nights for Stack; Mary had just left him, and he was on the hunt for the vampire responsible for the dent in the food supply. He was following blood. Not fresh blood, old blood. The kind that clung to walls long after the body was gone. Heād been in juke joints, card rooms, even back alleys behind brothels. But tonight, the trail led him to a narrow street with no name, where the gaslights flickered like they knew something was coming. And there he was.
All dressed in his Sunday's best, like mourning never left him. Candlelight spilled from an open window, catching on the edge of his cheekbone. He looked less like a man and more like a question with sharp teeth to Stack.
"You following me?" Louis asked, not turning his head. Just spoke it softly, like he already knew.
"I donāt follow. I hunt." Stack didnāt blink.
Louis let out a slow, bitter laugh. "You think Iām a meal?"
Stack stepped closer. "No. I think youāre whatās been leaving bodies all over the city. Just wanted to see if the bloodsucker wore silk."
"And if I am?" Louis turned then, his eyes were dark like the night sky.
Stackās grin curled. "Then maybe Iāll let you teach me something." They stood there, the tension between them like a loaded gun. Louis stepped forward, hands behind his back like he didnāt need them to kill.
"Youāre like us. The only way I was able to figure it out was now. I could feel your presence from a mile away," he said. It wasnāt a question.
Stackās voice dropped an octave. "Well, I aināt go flaunting it around like you do."
"Then you havenāt been paying attention."
And just like that, the street seemed quieter, waiting to see who would flinch first.
Louisās eyes dragged over Stack slowly, like he was trying to read him, and his expression shifted between amusement and disdain. "Iāve heard of you, you know," Louis said, finally breaking the silence.
"Stack Moore. The man turning sweat and sound into gold. You manage that juke joint down the street."
Stack raised a brow, a bit taken aback by Louis's knowledge of you. "So youāve been tuninā to the gossip."
"Yeah, it seems my brothels are rather quiet these days. Yours, on the other handā¦" Louis let his voice trail off, his gaze lazily roaming over Stack's imposing figure again with an interest he hadn't had in a while. The frustration building within him, courtesy of Lestat, needed an outlet. This moment felt like the perfect escape for the night.
He took another step forward, now chest to chest, close enough that Stack could smell whatever cologne Louis wore; it was undoubtedly rich and expensive.
"ā¦ is anything but."
Stack didnāt step back. āBusiness booms where people feel safe enough to do what they like to do in the dark.ā Stack let out a small chuckle at the innuendo. "Iām just good at what I do. "
"I donāt doubt it," Louis said softly, "Iād like to continue this conversation somewhere lessā¦ uncovered."
Stack has heard of Louis de Pointe du Lac as well. It was a mouthful for him to recount his name, the Black people here were so pretentious 'bout shit like names. Where Stack came from, you just hoped that you would wake up to live another day. Stack leaned in slightly, testing the tension between them. "This is where you lure men into your lair, pretty boy? Talk numbers and slip in a little neck?"
Stack ran a hand into his pockets to grab a cigarette and a lighter. He lit it with ease, exhaling smoke from the corner of his mouth before continuing. "Just to let you know, I donāt usually take invitations from men in prettier shirts than mine."
"You think Iām trying to charm you?" Louis smiled, faintly at what Stack was hinting at.
"I know you are," Stack said, lips curling. "But letās get one thing straight. I like pussy."
Louis walked deeper into the alleyway, his back turned as if Stackās declaration didnāt bother him.
"And yet," Louis said, not looking at him, "you still stalk me!"
"Curiosityās a hell of a thing." Stack laughed more to himself, as flashbacks of that night last year. The last time we could watch the sun, the last time he was with his brother. If only he hadnāt been so easily swayed by Mary.
"Temptationās a hell of a thing too," Louis added. Stack was now trying to be in step with him; this wasnāt the point of his finding Louis. He was supposed to be telling him to get off his territory, not striking up a conversation.
"I live just a few blocks from here," he said without looking back. "One drink! You owe me for lost revenue."
"Just so we clear, I donāt owe you nothinā, not a damn thing." Stack hesitated momentarily, habitually brushing his thumb over his belt where his revolver was. "You always talk business this late?" he asked.
"Only the dangerous ones."
That got a grin out of Stack. "You think Iām dangerous?" Stack continued matching his pace, not because he was curious or cautious. But because Louis wasn't what he expected, and it's been a while since he ran into someone similar to him in more ways than most.
"I know you are," Louis murmured, stepping closer. "I can smell it on you. Violence, ambitionā¦ the kind of hunger that doesnāt die easily."
Stack hadnāt expected the vampireās house to feel like this. The inside of Louis' house looked like a museum. Filled with decor that seemed as old as time itself. Velvet red drapes covered the windows, and the self-portraits of Lestat and Louis bore into Stack's soul with their inhuman stares. Their gazes followed them like hounds on a scent, sharp and unblinking. Candlelight flickered against skin, and the wineglasses glinted like blood.
Louis stood near the fireplace, his presence a strange blend of elegance and quiet threat. Stack swallowed hard. Something stirred behind his eyes, resentment maybe? Or was it desire, confusion, or interest? He looked at Louis, really looked. The way his mouth curled around danger, at the elegance wrapped around centuries of grief.
"ā¦Fuck it," Stack muttered. "One drink."
Louis handed him the glass, their fingers brushing. "Good," he said. "Just one."
