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Paris, Saturday 25 July 1778
Tall, blonde and charismatic, Lazarus confidently strolled through Parisienne streets. As he walked beneath every streetlamp, the candles flickering in their lanterns would bathe his finery in a warm glow. Dressed in the clothes of an established gentleman (whose body now lay naked and cold in an alleyway many blocks away, to be discovered the next morning), Lazarus moved out of the hungrier areas where prostitutes stood on street corners and called out to potential clientele, where dirty children scampered to steal whatever their grimy hands could find, where men would smile with missing teeth and held sharp blades... and into paved streets where the constabulary ushered out those who didn't look respectable, and small cafes were still open to please their paying customers, and mansions-sans-gardens lined the streets with barely an inch of space separating them. This was a wealthy quartier that he'd found, and Lazarus had been in France long enough to speak the language fluently - though with a hint of an accent from a distant country. Not unusual, for Paris attracted people from all over.
The sound of breaking glass followed by laughter caught his attention. Nobody laughed at a breakage unless they were at a party. A wilder than normal party. Lazarus was keen to discover more. The sounds were faint at first, but as he turned into the next street, they were easier to hear - easy enough even for mortal ears. His footsteps grew quicker as his eagerness to involve himself compounded.
The house he ended up in front of was four stories high, wider than the other houses on the street, and every window glowed with light within. He heard the faint strains of a violin flowing out of the top floor, overshadowed when someone started playing the piano downstairs - a merry tune that sounded as drunk as the person likely playing it. Lazarus moved up the three short stairs to the large wooden door and tried the handle. He would knock if it didn't open, but it did, so in he went.
The entrance was wide but narrowed into a corridor that led to the back of the mansion as well as upstairs, as was the custom of most French architecture. The archways that led into the rooms on his left and right were wide and appealing, like the rooms they invited Lazarus into. On his right, a large sitting room with another archway beyond that looked like formal dining. Many people were already sitting and talking, or groping, kissing and laughing. Seeing this, he knew he was in the right place, but there were just as many women as there were men, which didn't suit his tastes.
Lazarus moved left, closer to where the music was. An elderly man tended the bar, dressed in a stately servant's outfit. He had no reaction to the goings-on around him - he merely made drink after drink and served it. Lazarus could see pretty young things all over the place in this room; some of them slumped in the corner, others making out with women or sneaking away somewhere, a large group of them at the piano where the drunken musician played. Lazarus moved closer, but before he got there, the piano player made a discordant mistake, laughed, and stood up, grabbing the hands of a young woman and a young man in each of his own and, whilst the trio were giggling, led them away from the piano (where another piano-player with limited skill took up the position) and headed straight for Lazarus.
And here was when Lazarus saw that the piano-player was a striking young man. Handsome and beautiful at the same time, with only a few feminine features as to make him pretty and enough masculine features to make him desirable. They made eye contact and there was certainly a spark on Lazarus' end. Must've been one with the mortal as well, for even with his hands full of willing lovers, his gaze lingered and then raked along Lazarus' body to check him out as he passed. A bold move but the young man was drunk. Lazarus let him go - he would find him later, once he was set up, to see what position he would take with his threesome.
He listened to their footsteps stumbling upstairs but was momentarily distracted by a woman shrieking as she was given chase by another woman and a young man, both wearing fox masks. Lazarus watched them chase their little rabbit until they ran into the other room. He moved around the piano, which had changed players again - lots of musicians in this house - who was obviously less drunk and more capable than the second one. He regarded the two lovely young men passed out in each other's arms on the floor in the corner of the room, sitting up and looking delicious. His gaze lifted to admire the large artworks hanging on the walls; most of them portraits of the same man - an older, prudish looking man with a soft face. He wasn't here, but this was his house, Lazarus was sure of it. Below one of the paintings was a plaque, though it was too far for normal eyes to read. Lazarus had no trouble seeing the engraved words 'Duke d'Orleans'. Being royalty meant he had many manors in many cities, though this being the capital would be the most oft-used. Whoever was staying here was taking advantage of his absence.
After fifteen minutes it had been long enough. Lazarus turned and moved upstairs, stealthily opening doors and discovering various people in various states of undress or sexual positions - quite a few of them were the maids of the manor hoping to score a gentleman boyfriend, perhaps. A couple of bedrooms made him pause, as he was now on the third floor, as the first held two lovely young men kissing on the bed (though they were still fully dressed) and the second had a similar scenario - a young man on his knees before another slightly older fellow, fully naked. Lazarus watched for a longer moment than he should've and was noticed. Instead of a cry of protest, the elder smiled at him with a knowing smirk and even tilted his head in a way that implied joining in was acceptable. Lazarus gently closed the door and thought himself mad to give such a thing up in pursuit of his drunken musician.
When he finally found them, he was relieved that he might not have made a mistake after all. On the fourth floor and in the grandest bedroom (which obviously belonged to the Duke), the woman lay back on the bed half-dressed in frilly white underwear, the young man's head between her legs, as she sighed and gasped and clutched his hair. Pumping into the young man was Lazarus' piano player, watching the show before him. Lazarus entered the room quietly, moving along the wall so he could see from the side. His cock became hard quickly as he ignored the other two and concentrated on the musician who'd orchestrated their positions. He'd placed himself in a dominant role.
Lazarus liked that very much. It would be a challenge to make him submit, perhaps. He stood still, not quite out of view but certainly out of notice, as the trio were at the mercy of the musician and would only finish when he finished. Lazarus wondered if he would continue until satisfied or change positions. He didn't look like he was going to stop until done, but it would be interesting to wait until they were done or until he was noticed.
