Chapter Three-Hundred One: Electric Velvet

Chapter 301

Electric Velvet

Freshly showered and dressed in his silver silk pajamas, Tristan paced barefoot across his bedroom, his loose white hair falling about his shoulders as he tried to process everything. He felt torn by conflict: anger simmered toward Deimos for revealing everything to his father, yet he recognized that soft words were pointless when Narcisse was fully set on murdering his father’s boyfriend.

A gentle knock sounded at the door. Tristan paused.

Tristan: “Come in.”

The knob turned, and Jasper stepped in, looking plaintive.

Jasper: “Sorry to disturb you at this late hour, Tristan. Your father doesn’t want me around. I just… wonder if I did anything to upset him.”

He bowed his head.

Jasper: “And if I did anything to slight Narcisse. Your father… made it clear he doesn’t love your mother anymore…”

Tristan lowered his head and clenched his fists.

Tristan: “Jasper, you took Narcisse’s possession. That’s what you did. You don’t have to do much to land on his radar.”

Jasper let out a sad sigh.

Jasper: “All I wanted for my birthday was yours, your boyfriend’s, your brother’s, and your friends’ presence to confess my undying love for your father.”

He mumbled. Tristan’s eyelids dipped.

Tristan: “Jasper, I do understand. Please don’t assume I disapprove of your relationship with Papa. I’ve wanted to see him happy for a long time. The real problem is Narcisse. He is meticulous, cunning, and perpetually a step ahead. Underestimating him would be a grave mistake.”

Jasper nodded, trying to wrap his head around it all.

Jasper: “Should I drive back to my own house tonight? I want to be with your father, but he’s not letting me in.”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

~

Carrying Oliver in his arms, Jasper walked into Victor’s bedroom. When he set the cat down, he noticed Victor curled up in bed, dressed in orange pajamas and a matching plaid orange robe. Jasper sighed and strolled over to the bed, sitting on the mattress. He reached over and caressed Victor’s shoulder. Victor’s glasses were on the nightstand as he sobbed.

Jasper: “Victor, I think we should go away for my birthday… I didn’t want to, but… I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Victor sobbed.

Victor: “...It’s times like these I wish I never came out of my coma…”

He wept softly, pulling his knees up toward his chest. Jasper frowned gently, his eyes filled with concern as he leaned in closer.

Jasper: “Victor… why would you say that? Why would you want that?”

Victor sobbed loudly. Jasper lay beside him and put his arm over him.

Victor: “Narcisse…”

He threw his head back and let out a raw, wracking wail, the sound echoing painfully off the walls of the quiet bedroom as tears streamed down his face.

Jasper pulled Victor closer, wrapping them tightly around his trembling frame. He rested his chin against the top of Victor’s head, gently rocking him back and forth as the heavy sobs shook the bed. With one hand, Jasper softly stroked Victor’s hair, whispering quiet, reassuring words against his forehead, letting him weep until the agonizing storm inside him slowly began to settle.

~

Deimos entered Tristan’s bedroom and saw that he was angry. He sighed.

Deimos: “Sorry, Tristan. I had to. I didn’t have many options, seeing a knife embedded in a stuffed pig with fake blood and a threat.”

He threw his arms up.

Deimos: “This is a time when you can’t be gentle and dance around the topic.”

He added firmly. Tristan knitted his eyebrows. He removed his glasses to rub his eyes and put them back on.

Tristan: “You’re right, Deimos, but I… I just didn’t want to be the one to shatter Papa’s world.”

He said, his voice cracking. Deimos wrapped his big, strong arms around his tall, slender boyfriend.

Deimos: “Narcisse is the one who did that, Tristan, not you.”

Tristan frowned and nodded. He went to his leather sofa to sit, and Deimos joined him.

Tristan: “You’re right… I just… want Papa to be happy. He hasn’t been happy in years…”

He said, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes.

Tristan: “Between Charlotte and Narcisse, he has been miserable.”

Tristan’s composure finally gave way. A shaky breath escaped his lips, and he buried his face in Deimos’ chest, tears overflowing as heavy, violent sobs wracked his body. He clutched tightly at Deimos' shirt, crying inconsolably as the emotional dam broke completely. All the pent-up fear, anger, and sheer exhaustion of trying to protect his family poured out of him in ragged, heart-wrenching weeping.

Deimos held him tighter, pulling Tristan close. He rubbed gentle circles into Tristan’s back, resting his chin softly against Tristan’s head as he spoke in a low, comforting voice.

Deimos: “Let it out, Tristan. I’ve got you. You don’t have to carry all of this on your shoulders alone anymore.”

~

Fabien pulled into the asphalt lot outside AuraCare Pharmacy the following evening, the engine of his 1970 Shelby Mustang Cobra rumbling deeply. He wore a white western shirt, jeans, a leather jacket, and leather cowboy boots fitted with a chain under the ankle. He killed the engine, tossing his keys lightly in one hand as his other reached into his pocket for a small canister of 35mm film. He wanted to drop the roll off for developing—mostly snapshots of Celeste lounging by her motorcycle, himself posing his bare feet for Celeste, and Ashley fooling around.

The automatic glass doors parted with a soft hiss, welcoming him into the cool, air-conditioned glow of the pharmacy. The low hum of fluorescent lights overhead buzzed in rhythm with a muffled synth-pop ballad playing over the store’s speakers.

Fabien walked with his usual relaxed stride to the photo development counter at the back, dropped off the film cartridge with the clerk, jotted down his name on the slip, and pocketed the yellow claim ticket. He had a few minutes to kill before heading back home, so he wandered into the main aisles to browse.

Turning the corner toward the personal care and health section, he caught a flash of purple hair.

It was Lena. She looked completely charming in a soft pink floral dress with lace trim at the hem, her signature heart barrette pinned neatly into her wavy purple hair. She stood on her toes in her white strappy sandals, carefully scrutinizing the shelf of feminine hygiene products, her brow slightly furrowed as she compared two packages of pads.

Fabien: “Hey, Lena.”

He called out casually, his hands tucked loosely into his pockets as he strolled closer with an easy grin. Lena nearly jumped an inch off the linoleum floor. Her hands snapped behind her back so fast the crinkling plastic on the shelf rustled loudly, and a bright, instant crimson blush surged straight to her cheeks. Her Byzantine eyes went wide, flustered panic dancing across her face.

Lena: “F-Fabien!”

She stammered, her voice a pitch higher than usual. She instinctively stepped backward, nearly bumping into the display rack. “

Lena: “I—hi! Uhm, what are you doing here?”

Fabien raised an eyebrow in mild amusement, not minding her fluster.

Fabien: “Just dropping off some film to get developed. What about you? Jordi didn’t drive you?”

Lena: “N-No, Jordi is busy with Jaxon, and I am still staying with the girls.”

She mumbled, desperately trying to maintain her composure while acutely aware of the shelf directly behind her. She shifted her weight, fidgeting with the cuff of her floral sleeve.

Fabien glanced down at the shelf she was standing in front of, then back up at her, entirely unfazed. A gentle, knowing smirk touched his lips, but his tone remained warm and polite.

Fabien: “Well, if you're carrying stuff back on foot, I’ve got the Shelby outside. I can drive you to Fat Fuck’s house.”

Lena blinked, her heart doing a frantic double-thud against her ribs.

Lena: “R-Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

She asked softly, looking up at him through her lashes.

Fabien: “Grab whatever you need, pay up front, and meet me by the doors. Take your time.”

Lena: “Okay, thank you, Fabien.”

She managed, a shy, relieved smile breaking through her flustered expression.

Watching him turn toward the front of the store with that easygoing slouch, Lena let out a slow, tremulous breath, pressed both hands to her warm cheeks, and quickly grabbed the package from the shelf before hurrying to the checkout line.

~

The passenger door of the Shelby Cobra clicked shut with a satisfying, solid thud. Lena clutched her small brown paper pharmacy bag in her lap, smoothing the hem of her floral dress over her knees as the car’s deep rumble vibrated through the floorboards. Being enclosed in such a small space with Fabien made the air inside feel suddenly twice as charged.

As Fabien shifted in the leather seat, a warm, subtle wave of fragrance washed over Lena. It was a rich blend of spiced wood, amber, and refined citrus—the unmistakable mark of his Gucci Pour Homme cologne. The scent caught her off guard, sending a delicate shiver down her spine as she breathed it in, her cheeks warming even further under the ambient glow of the dashboard.

Fabien leaned back against the driver’s seat with effortless ease, one arm draped lazily over the steering wheel. With his other hand, he reached into the console, shook out a cigarette, and slipped it between his lips. The sharp, metallic clink-snap of his chrome Zippo echoed in the cab, the warm yellow flame flickering across his features before he snapped it shut. He took a slow, measured drag, cracking his window just enough for the evening breeze to whip the thin ribbon of gray smoke outside into the humid twilight air.

Lena watched the curl of smoke out of the corner of her eye, her fingers lightly toying with her bag’s handles. Gathering her courage, she cleared her throat softly to break the engine’s hum.

Lena: “Hey, Fabien? Have you ever been to a nightclub?”

Fabien turned his head slightly, emerald eyes glinting with mild amusement as he tapped ash into the tray.

Fabien: “A nightclub? A few times, yeah. Why, looking for a change of pace from watching two fatties tickle each other?”

Lena: “I guess…”

She murmured, a faint pink dusting her cheeks again as she fidgeted in the leather seat. She hurried to add, her voice carrying a quiet note of hope.

Lena: “I know a lot of places in Pink Top City are strict about being twenty-one, but... some nightclubs actually let you in if you're eighteen and up. Not all of them are twenty-one plus.”

Fabien chuckled low in his throat, exhaling another plume of smoke toward the window before letting his easygoing smirk return.

Fabien: “You’re not wrong—plenty of the dance spots down near the neon strip run eighteen-and-over nights.”

He shifted into gear, the Cobra easing smoothly out of the pharmacy parking lot and onto the main road.

Lena’s fingers tightened around the paper pharmacy bag until the brown kraft crinkled softly against the engine’s hum. Warm streetlights already flickered past the windshield, each glow casting amber streaks across the Cobra’s dashboard. Greammoom Hills wasn’t far, and she knew if she didn’t say it now, the moment would vanish completely.

She swallowed hard, turning her head just enough to watch his hand casually guiding the wheel.

Lena: “Fabien?”

Her voice came out small, almost breathless, before she caught herself and tried again, pressing a little more nerve into it.

Lena: “Would you... I mean, would you take me to The Electric Velvet sometime?”

Fabien glanced sideways at her, an eyebrow arching in surprise. The cherry ember of his cigarette hovered inches from his lips as he let the request hang in the air for a second. The Electric Velvet was notorious on the edge of the neon district—slick chrome, heavy purple lasers, and synth beats that thumped through the sidewalk. It was definitely one of the eighteen-and-over crowd’s favorite late-night stomping grounds.

Lena held her breath, bracing for an easy deflection or a teasing quip about what her brother Jordi would do if he caught wind of it.

Instead, Fabien took a final, slow drag from his cigarette, tapped the ash out the narrow slit of the window, and snubbed it out directly into the car’s tray. A slow, reckless grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Fabien: “Sometime?”

He repeated, his tone laced with that effortless, spontaneous spark.

Fabien: “Why wait for ‘sometime’?”

Before Lena could piece together what he meant, Fabien clicked his turn signal, gripped the floor-mounted Hurst shifter, and smoothly yanked the wheel into a wide, sharp U-turn across the avenue. The Cobra’s rear tires chirped against the warm asphalt as the car surged in the opposite direction from Greammoom Hills, heading straight back toward the glittering heart of Pink Top City.

Lena gasped softly, her hand flying out to grip the door’s armrest as the acceleration pressed her into the seat.

Lena: “Wait—Fabien?! Right now?!”

Fabien: “Right now…”

He replied with a chuckle, glancing over at her wide, saucer-like eyes with sheer amusement.

~

The deep, low growl of the Shelby Cobra’s V8 slowed to a quiet idle as Fabien parallel-parked along the rain-slicked curb opposite the avenue. Across the street, the humid night air was ablaze with glowing magenta and cyan light.

The marquee of The Electric Velvet towered over the sidewalk in all its glory. Giant cursive letters buzzed in hot pink against a massive dark blue backdrop, flanked by horizontal bands of glowing neon that wrapped around the sleek art-deco facade.

A vertical neon tower bathed the damp concrete below in electric violet, while the bright marquee proudly promised Live DJs – Dance All Night – Open Late. To the side, a backlit poster frame advertised Friday Night: New Wave & Disco, casting a colorful gleam over the crowd gathered outside.

Lena pressed her face slightly toward the passenger window, her eyes wide with awe. Beneath the awning, a lively queue of young people with teased hair, leather jackets, and bright oversized blazers chatted and laughed behind velvet stanchion ropes while a broad-shouldered bouncer kept watch at the entrance.

The heavy, rhythmic pulse of a synthesizer bassline seeped through the club’s double doors every time someone went in, sending a slight vibration through the asphalt that Lena could feel all the way across the street.

Fabien: “Well…”

He said, cutting the ignition and tossing the keys into the air before catching them with a light clink.

Fabien: “Here we are.”

Lena turned back toward him, suddenly clutching the brown pharmacy bag a little tighter against her floral skirt. The reality of standing in line under those blazing lights hit her in full force.

Fabien leaned over the console, his hand gently reaching out.

Fabien: “Here, let me hold onto that for a second.”

Lena blinked, momentarily holding her breath as his fingers brushed hers. She let go of the brown paper pharmacy bag, watching him take it, reach down, and tuck it securely beneath the passenger seat.

Fabien: “There. Safe and sound until we head back.”

The bouncer stepped forward beneath the buzzing glow of the marquee lights, crossing thick, folded arms over his chest. His eyes flicked down Fabien’s easy, slouching posture, then to Lena, who instinctively took a half-step behind Fabien’s shoulder.

Bouncer: “IDs, you two…”

He rumbled, his voice cutting cleanly through the muffled synth-bass vibrating behind the doors.

Fabien: “Evening…”

He replied smoothly. Without missing a beat, he fished his leather wallet from his back pocket, slipped out his driver’s license with two fingers, and handed it over.

The bouncer held it up against the ambient wash of neon, glancing from the laminate back to Fabien’s white wavy hair and sharp green eyes. Satisfied with the twenty-three-year-old’s card, he handed it back with a curt nod.

Now it was Lena’s turn.

Her heart fluttered erratically against her ribs. Her fingers trembled just enough to make opening the clasp of her small purse a clumsy chore. She pulled out her laminated Palm Tree State ID, the small card suddenly feeling like it weighed ten pounds. Taking a shallow breath, she offered it up to the burly man, trying desperately to keep her hands from shaking.

The bouncer took it, his heavy brow furrowing as he leaned in to read the fine print under the sign’s violet glare. He looked at the birthdate—January 6th, 1969—and then down at Lena’s nervous, wide-eyed gaze and her prim floral dress.

Bouncer: “Eighteen…”

Lena: “Y-Yes, sir.”

She squeaked, immediately biting her lip to stifle the nervous wobble in her voice. The bouncer reached into a pouch clipped to his utility belt and pulled out a bright, fluorescent paper band. Bouncer: “Anyone under twenty-one remains strictly away from the bar. If you touch a single drink, you'll be thrown out on the street. Understood?”

Lena: “Y-Yes…”

She nodded frantically.

With a practiced flick of his wrist, the bouncer wrapped the neon band snugly around her slim wrist, peeled the adhesive strip, and pressed it down. He handed her ID back, unclipped the velvet rope with a sharp clack, and jerked his thumb toward the frosted double doors.

The heavy soundproof doors swung shut behind them, instantly immersing them in a vibrant wave of humid sound, sweet artificial fog, and pulsing neon.

The interior of The Electric Velvet opened up into a two-story nightclub. On the second-floor mezzanine, patrons leaned over polished chrome railings beneath glowing magenta chevron arrows, looking down at the packed dance floor below.

Against the far wall, a colossal neon display of glowing blue gridlines and radiant cursive magenta lit up the words ELECTRIC Velvet, while razor-sharp beams of multicolored laser light sliced through the haze straight over the crowd from the elevated DJ booth.

Off to the left, the glowing neon fascia of the “VELVET BAR” buzzed with activity, its back-mirrored shelves glinting with amber bottles, while arcade cabinets flashed rhythmically along the outer wall.

The deep synthesizer kick drum rattled Lena’s ribcage with a physical thump, each beat sending a shiver through the polished floor right into her white strappy sandals. Her eyes darted everywhere at once, taking in the swirls of backcombed hair, shimmering lamé jackets, and dancers moving under the kaleidoscopic fan of cyan and pink lights.

Lena: “Wow…”

She breathed, her voice completely swallowed by the music. She instinctively stepped closer to Fabien, her shoulder brushing against his leather jacket.

Lena: “It’s huge in here!”

Fabien tilted his head down toward her with a knowing grin, unfazed by the roaring club atmosphere.

Fabien: “Told you!”

He leaned in so she could hear him over the thumping synth riff, nodding toward the corner by the dance floor.

Fabien: “Come on—let’s find a spot where we don’t get completely swallowed by the crowd.”

Keeping a protective half-step ahead of her, Fabien navigated them smoothly through the throng of dancers, his easy confidence parting the way as the neon lasers painted streaks of vivid light across Lena’s wide, fascinated eyes.

Lena leaned in a little closer to Fabien to be heard over the pounding bassline, the multicolored lasers painting vivid streaks across her warm cheeks. She glanced shyly toward the glowing neon curve of the Velvet Bar, where patrons waved cash and bartenders shook chrome shakers under the bright purple lights.

Her fingers fidgeted with the lace trim of her sleeve as a deep crimson blush spread rapidly across her face.

Lena: “Fabien…”

She started, speaking right toward his ear so her soft voice wouldn’t get drowned out.

Lena: “What about... do you ever order those drinks with the... you know, the naughty names?”

Fabien turned his head, his brow cocking upward before a wide, genuine laugh broke across his face. Her mortified, wide-eyed innocence against the thumping nightclub backdrop was completely disarming.

Fabien: “Naughty names?”

He teased, leaning down slightly with a mischievous spark in his eyes.

Fabien: “You mean like a ‘Sex on the Beach’ or a ‘Slippery Nipple’?”

Hearing him say the words so effortlessly out loud made Lena let out a tiny, flustered squeak, her hands instantly flying up to cover her cheeks.

Fabien chuckled again, shaking his head with amusement.

Fabien: “You want to see me drink one, Lena?”

He asked with an easy, rakish grin.

Fabien: “Because if you really want to watch me throw back something ridiculous with neon curaçao and a paper umbrella just to see what it looks like, I’ll happily march right up to the counter and order one.”

Lena reddened and fiddled with her locket. Her face flushed an even deeper shade of bright beet-red, the warmth radiating to the tips of her ears.

She dropped her hands just enough to peek over her fingers, shifting her weight awkwardly in her sandals while looking anywhere except directly into his sharp green eyes.

Lena: “What about… the blowjob shot?”

She stammered.

Fabien threw his head back with a sharp, delighted burst of laughter, his green eyes sparkling as he looked down at her completely red face.

Fabien: “The blowjob shot?”

He echoed, grinning as he crossed his arms over his leather jacket.

Fabien: “Lena, if I order a shot of Amaretto and Irish cream topped with whipped cream, and then proceed to drink it hands-free off the counter right in front of you, I think your cheeks might actually catch fire.”

He winked playfully, leaning in just a fraction closer.

Fabien: “All right, I’ll do it.”

Leaving Lena in a relatively open spot near the edge of the floor, Fabien strolled smoothly over to the crowded counter of the Velvet Bar. He caught the bartender’s eye, leaning against the polished laminate with an easy grin.

Fabien: “Hey, man. Let me get a blowjob shot—and a unicorn float for the lady over there.”

The bartender chuckled knowingly and nodded as he reached under the counter. A few moments later, he placed the orders down: a short glass layered with Amaretto, Irish cream, and a tall dollop of whipped cream, alongside a tall, frosted soda-fountain glass overflowing with lemon-lime soda, cotton candy ice cream, and sparkling rainbow sprinkles, topped with a bright neon curly straw.

Fabien pulled his leather wallet from his back pocket, slid out a couple of crisp bills, and pressed them onto the bar top.

Fabien: “Keep the change, man.”

The bartender nodded, sweeping the cash off the counter with a quick, practiced motion as he placed the drinks down.

Fabien picked up the decadent float in one hand and carried it back to Lena, who watched him return with wide, curious eyes.

Fabien: “Here you go.”

He said, presenting the vibrant dessert drink to her with a flourish. Lena’s face lit up as she took the frosted glass, her fingers lightly touching the neon straw.

Lena: “Oh, wow! Thank you, Fabien! It’s so cute!”

She took a small, hesitant sip through the curly straw, her eyes widening in pure delight at the sweet cotton candy flavor, then looked back at him, eager to see him fulfill his end of the bargain.

Fabien smirked, resting his forearms against the cool edge of the bar counter as the bartender set down the tiny shot glass. Layered neatly with dark Amaretto, smooth Irish cream, and a generous, tall crown of whipped cream, the drink sat waiting under the glowing neon lights.

Fabien: “All right, watch and learn, Lena.”

He murmured, bowing dramatically. Nearby, a couple of patrons standing along the counter turned their heads, grinning as they realized what was about to happen. One guy in a neon windbreaker nudged his friend, and they both raised their beer bottles to cheer him on.

Keeping his hands firmly planted behind his back to honor the unwritten rules of the dare, Fabien bent down until his face was level with the bar top. Lena clasped her hands together over her chest, holding her breath in a mix of giggling anticipation and sheer embarrassment as her cheeks flushed a deep, instant crimson.

Without using his hands, Fabien leaned in and carefully tipped the shot glass back with his lips. He took the whipped cream in one clean, playful bite, tilted his head back, and downed the sweet mix of liquors in a single, smooth gulp before setting the empty glass back down on the counter with a soft clack. The watching patrons let out a short round of laughter and applause, one of them giving Fabien an approving slap on the shoulder.

He straightened up with a triumphant grin, a small dab of white whipped cream lingering on the tip of his nose.

Fabien: “See? Easy as that.”

He chuckled, winking down at her. Lena let out a breathless laugh, covering her mouth with both hands as she pointed shyly at his face, her eyes sparkling under the club’s swirling lasers.

Fabien reached up with his index finger, lightly swiping the stray dab of whipped cream off the tip of his nose, and brought it to his mouth, licking it off with a playful smirk.

Lena bounced excitedly on her heels, taking another delighted sip of her float before looking at him with wide, pleading eyes.

Lena: “Can you do another one? Please, Fabien?”

Fabien laughed, shaking his head with a wide grin as he tossed another couple of bills onto the bar.

Fabien: “All right, all right—one more blowjob shot coming right up.”

Fabien leaned over the counter again, catching the bartender’s attention with a quick two-finger wave.

Fabien: “Hey, man. Hit me with another blowjob shot, please.”

The bartender chuckled lightly and grabbed a fresh shot glass from the rack behind him. With practiced precision, he poured a layer of dark Amaretto into the bottom, carefully floated a smooth layer of Irish cream over the back of a spoon, and topped it off with a generous, towering swirl of whipped cream from a canister before sliding it across the bar top right in front of Fabien.

Fabien laughed softly, a low rumble in his chest, and shook his head in mock surrender. Lena watched with wide, breathless excitement, her fingers resting lightly against the stem of her frosted float glass while a couple of onlookers along the bar leaned in closer to see the show.

With a dramatic flourish, Fabien placed both hands behind his back, interlacing his fingers behind his leather jacket to prove he wouldn’t cheat. He leaned down over the laminate counter until his face was level with the shot glass. He glanced up at Lena, a playful, mischievous glint in his emerald eyes, and winked.

Without using his hands, he leaned in and carefully captured the top layer of whipped cream with his lips, taking it in one smooth, playful bite. In the same fluid motion, he tipped the tiny glass back using only his teeth, throwing back the sweet combination of Irish cream and Amaretto in a single, practiced gulp. He set the empty glass back on the bar top with a soft, clean clack.

A small cheer broke out from the nearby patrons, a few of them chuckling and clapping at the hands-free performance. Fabien straightened to his full height, wiping a stray dab of whipped cream from the corner of his lip with the back of his hand, and gave Lena a satisfied, dashing grin as her face flushed a bright, delighted crimson.

Lena squealed with delight, bouncing up and down in her strappy sandals, her purple hair swishing as she clapped her hands together in frantic excitement.

Lena: “One more! Fabien, please! Just one more!”

Fabien threw his head back and laughed, thoroughly entertained by her contagious enthusiasm. He shook his head with a warm, indulgent grin and turned back to the bartender.

Fabien: “All right, all right! You heard the lady—make it one more blowjob shot!”

The bartender chuckled knowingly, sweeping the cash off the bar top before grabbing a fresh glass. He poured a dark splash of Amaretto into the bottom, carefully layered smooth Irish cream over the back of a spoon, and topped it off with a generous, tall swirl of whipped cream from the canister. He slid the layered shot across the counter, right in front of Fabien.

Fabien: “See? Third time’s the charm.”

He chuckled, flashing a charming smirk as he wiped a stray speck of cream from his chin with the back of his thumb. He leaned in slightly, his emerald eyes twinkling with mischief under the club’s pulsing neon lights.

Fabien gave Lena a knowing wink before planting his hands firmly behind his back once again. Leaning down over the counter, he captured the sweet peak of whipped cream in one swift bite and tipped the glass back with his teeth, swallowing the third blowjob shot in one effortless, practiced motion. He clacked the empty glass onto the bar top and straightened up, flashing a triumphant grin as the surrounding patrons cheered once more, while Lena giggled behind her hands, her face flushed red.

Lena clapped her hands together with a bright, delighted laugh, her eyes sparkling under the pulsing magenta lights as she giggled in pure happiness.

Lena: “That was amazing, Fabien!”

Fabien leaned his forearm casually against the bar top, a slow, playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He tossed a stray lock of white hair out of his eyes and offered her a charming, easygoing grin.

Lena leaned in across the bar counter, her eyes wide and pleading as she held up a single finger.

Lena: “Just one more shot, Fabien! Please? You’re so good at it!”

Fabien threw his head back with a loud, hearty laugh, shaking his head as he tapped his fingers against the laminate bar. A soft, warm blush crept up his neck and onto his cheeks from the trio of shots, a subtle pink flush dusting his ivory skin. He offered her a warm, teasing grin, gesturing out toward the neon-lit avenue outside.

Fabien: “As much fun as it is watching you turn bright red, I’ve still got to drive you safely back home to Orchard Street.”

Lena blinked, her cheeks flushing a fresh shade of pink as she remembered the Shelby Cobra waiting outside. She let out a small, sheepish giggle and nodded, taking another slow sip of her float through the curly straw.

Lena: “Right... safety first.”

As they turned to leave the counter, a man in a neon windbreaker who had been watching Fabien’s performance grinned and suddenly reached out, poking and tickling Lena’s sides in playful celebration.

Lena: “AH! EHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!”

She let out a loud, high-pitched squeak, twisting away instantly, and her hands flew to her ribs to protect herself, giggling hysterically as her face flushed even redder.

Fabien’s smile vanished instantly, his green eyes narrowing into a sharp, icy glare as he stepped fluidly between the man and Lena, shielding her behind his leather jacket. He caught the guy’s wrist with a firm, unyielding grip before he could poke at her again.

Fabien: “Hands to yourself.”

He said smoothly, his voice dropping into a cool, quiet edge that cut right through the thumping bass.

The man yanked his arm back with a sneer, his face twisting in anger as he glared at Fabien under the flashing neon lights.

Man: “Fuck off, asshole!”

Without another word, the guy pulled back his fist and wound up to deliver a heavy punch straight toward Fabien’s jaw.

Before the blow could land, Fabien instantly snapped both hands up in front of him. A shimmering, translucent green barrier materialized out of thin air, crackling with radiant energy between them. The man’s heavy fist slammed hard against the magical shield, the impact echoing through the nightclub with a loud, metallic clack like striking solid glass.

Shockwaves rippled across the glowing emerald surface of the barrier as the guy recoiled, clutching his bruised knuckles with a sharp gasp of pain, while Fabien held his ground, completely unscathed behind the light.

Fabien held the glowing barrier, his emerald eyes cool and unfazed as he peered through the translucent green light. He leaned back slightly, tilting his head with a lazy, unimpressed smattering of amusement while the man continued to clutch his swollen, bruised knuckles.

Fabien chuckled softly, letting the green shield dissolve smoothly into thin air. Without giving the stunned man another second of his attention, he led Lena out, smoothly guiding her around the commotion and back toward the cool, neon-lit exit of the club.

As they stepped through the heavy double doors into the cool night air, the thumping bass faded behind them into a soft, distant hum. Lena looked up at Fabien with bright stars in her eyes, her cheeks still flushed from all the excitement as they walked side by side back toward his Shelby Cobra.

At the passenger side, Fabien reached out and pulled the Cobra’s heavy door open for her with polite, effortless charm. Lena offered him a warm, shy smile as she smoothed her floral dress and stepped inside, settling back into the leather passenger seat. Fabien gently clicked the door shut behind her, then strolled around the front bumper, his cowboy boots clicking against the asphalt. He pulled open the driver’s door, slid into his bucket seat, and pulled it shut with a solid thud before grabbing his keys from his pocket.

Fabien pulled a fresh cigarette from his pack and slipped it between his lips as he reached for his chrome Zippo. The sharp flick of the lighter ignited a small flame, catching the edge of the cigarette before he snapped the metallic casing shut. He took a slow, deep drag, exhaling a thin cloud of gray smoke out the slightly cracked driver's window into the cool night air.

Fabien slid the key into the ignition and turned it, bringing the Shelby Cobra’s V8 engine roaring back to life with a deep, rumbling growl. He checked his side mirror, eased off the brake, and smoothly pulled out of the parking spot onto the avenue. With practiced ease, he worked the clutch and shifted through the gears, accelerating steadily into the night as they left.