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One on the House

By Limewah

Commission for Anonymous

“One Emerald Gaze, coming right up.”

One of the draws of ‘Temperance’s End’, aside from its sawdust floors and its jazzy music pumped through an authentic gramophone, was the sense of theatricality to the way its servers mixed their cocktails. This particular one was especially good at it. The lime green tinge to his skin, the gleaming yellow irises, and the scales on his cheekbones showed his naga heritage. That and the long fangs that barely poked out from his upper lip, and were properly bared whenever he smiled at the waiting clientele.

He was dressed to the nines too. Violet waistcoat, pale pink shirt, and dark slacks, with a tilted trilby on top. He could have been mistaken for a snooker player if he wasn’t working his magic with his ingredients.

There was a sensuality to his movements, and a glow to his eyes as he worked, the sort of easy, seductive motion that you might see in a cabaret performer. It suited the aesthetic. Considering they were paying about 30 bucks a pop for these drinks, they had to get their money’s worth.

There was only one thing that could make him tense up(though he wouldn’t lose his flow).

Xavier could always tell when his boss was breathing down his neck. It was like the temperature behind the bar had risen a few degrees. Jervis was built like a brick shithouse, and practically radiated heat. Xavier felt as though his space was being invaded even before he felt the thick stomach under the silk shirt press against his arm.

Xavier looked up at the blue-skinned, stubbly manager, still shaking the silver cocktail mixer in his hands with the precision of a machine.

“Time for you to work yer magic again,” Jervis said, flashing a smile full of ivory and gold and jerking a thumb towards a far table, close to the door.

“Sure thing,” Xavier said, cracking open the shaker and pouring the foamy concoction through a strainer into a delicate glass. A bit of lime peel to garnish, and the pale green drink (the same shade of Xavier’s skin) was served up to another satisfied customer. Finally, his queue was clear, and he had a moment to breathe…

Well, no, he didn’t. Now he had to make his specialty for the gentleman at that table.

He didn’t exactly look like an undercover reporter. Something must have given the game away.

Xavier knew exactly why his boss was so adamant on there being no reporters or reviewers in his establishment. This was a front, after all.

This speakeasy-themed bar was more accurate to its inspiration than was strictly legal, what with its panic room in the basement and the insistence that everything was paid in cash. It wasn’t just part of the aesthetic.

Even so, Xavier knew better than to ask specifics.

That didn’t mean he hadn’t gotten an excuse for why Jervis didn’t want reporters sniffing around.

“I don’t want any fuckin articles about my bars in some chintzy little foodie rag. I don’t want the kinda clientele that attracts. All they’ll want is their pissant margaritas and martinis and mar-whatever-the-fuck else. We want the classy types. The adventurous types. The types you get to, you know, actually experiment on.”

Xavier was happy to buy that excuse.

And he was happy getting to try out new flavour profiles, textures… as well as his little secret enchantments. Mixing a good cocktail and mixing a good potion were pretty close, and sometimes the would-be alchemist would slip a few other things into a drink. An aphrodisiac, or something that lowered inhibitions… or, if he mixed it wrong, sent them running to the cramped little single toilet with their hand over their mouth.

That didn’t happen that often. And Xavier was good about making sure that customer left satisfied. A drink on the house, laced with a little special something that put the drinker into a positively dream-like headspace. Perfectly suggestible, their mind plastic and easily moldable into whatever shape Xavier (or his boss) desired. Scrubbing their memories of the unpleasant incident was a cakewalk.

Not to mention, in instances like this… it’d mean a nice little bonus at the end of the night.

Xavier took a better look across the room at his mark. It was a dark-skinned human, male, with a round, vaguely feminine face and a slight figure. He was dressed neatly, the crisp white collar of a shirt poking out from a wooly sweater.

He hadn’t taken off his dark brown wool coat, and it looked positively massive on him. He was scribbling away in a little notebook. You could have been forgiven for thinking he was just letting his mind wander, sketching or writing some poetry. But the quick glances up now and then definitely gave the impression that he was writing about the place.

Whether that was the case or not, it was better to be safe than sorry.

He had pretty nice eyes, in any gaze. Dark green.

Cute face, too.

Not that Xavier was into that. He wasn’t into dudes.

It was easy to remember what the journalist had ordered; this place could only seat about 15 people at a time. He’d ordered a Snow Black - something a bit tarter and less sweet than most of the other drinks on the menu. The sort of drink that someone who fancied themself a hard boiled detective might have. He’d almost finished it, and it didn’t seem like he was doing so to get his money’s worth. So something dark and substantial like that would do the trick.

He tried to catch the writer’s eye from across the bar as he worked, mixing together bittersweet syrups and dark liquors. Slipping in his secret ingredient in there. Three drops of the seduction draught, one of the Amnestic Ambrosia…their bitterness would be masked by, well, everything else in the concoction. Though they did cause the mixture to froth a little; he had to drain the froth down the sink just out of sight, and try not to breathe in the fumes too much. Last thing he wanted was to pass out; that might give the reporter an excuse to high-tail it out of there.

Though the reporter did seem to notice him working… and was holding eye contact with him a fair bit more.

Xavier’s heart was fluttering a little. He was getting nervous.

Why? This didn’t normally happen. Was it something to do with the guy himself? Was he onto what was going on?

Better to put it out of his head.

The final touches were in place. The cocktail was poured into a little carafe, and he set a whiskey glass on a tray next to it. The finishing touches could be made at the table.

Xavier approached with his winning, fanged smile, and moved towards the reporter’s table.

“I mixed you the wrong cocktail!” was Xavier’s opening lie. “Thought I’d whip up a proper Snow Black on the house.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” the young man said, his freckled cheekbones raising as he smiled an adorably dimpled smile. “The one I had was delicious.”

“Well, you ain’t tasted nothing yet, buddy!” Xavier placed the glasses in front, and produced a little vial of swirling white smoke. Nothing magical or enchanted about it. It was just applewood smoke. It still made for a very nice effect when he poured the carafe in, uncorked the smoke-jar, and let it swirl in before placing a little lid on top of the glass. “Give this a bit of time to infuse… believe me, you’re going to love it.”

Xavier caught a glimpse of what was writing. Hard to read, from his angle, and in the dim candlelight. It was very small-print cursive, too. The way someone would write if they didn’t want anyone snooping. Jervis’ instincts were probably right on the money.

“Mind if I sit for a sec?” Xavier asked. “I’ve been on my feet all shift…”

“Oh, uhm…” the writer looked very cagey. Or maybe just anxious. “Sure, I guess… though, don’t you have to work?”

“Nah,” Xavier said. “Everyone’s been served, and we’re full up right now as you can see. So I’ve got some space to breathe.”

“And Mr. Brown doesn’t mind?”

“Oh, you know Jervis?” Xavier said. “No, he’s probably having a smoke, he won’t know.”

Another untruth. This place was crawling with hidden cameras. Jervis knew exactly what he was doing.

Also… strike two. The reporter knew of Jervis, which meant he knew of the ‘rumoured’ goings-on.

“No, I just… like to do my research on places, heh.”

Xavier had already helped himself to a seat, resting an elbow on the table and trying to get another glance at the notebook.

Before it got covered over by the cute human’s arm, Xavier did get a glimpse of a little list. Bullet points. Just a couple words at a time. He was pretty sure he caught the word ‘notes’ and ‘cognac?’

There was cognac in the Snow Black, he’d gotten that right.

“We get a few novelists and poets in here now and then,” Xavier said. “Is that what you’re doing here? Looking for inspiration from the atmos?”

“Not quite,” the young man said with a sheepish laugh. “I have a blog.”

“A blog~! How retro!” Xavier was not gay. Absolutely not. But he could turn on the charm a bit when it suited him.

It was easy to pretend, vaguely, that this ‘blogger’ was a girl.

“I’m Xavier, by the way,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Diallo.”

“Oh, would I have heard of your stuff?”

“Probably not,” he said with a nervous giggle. “I’ve only just started, so…”

“You’re aiming high, coming to a place like this. How’d you even get in?”

“I’m, uh, heh… a good detective never reveals their sources!”

Xavier noticed Diallo’s hands were tearing little strips off of the paper napkin around his finished drink.

“Fair enough…” Xavier said. “This place doesn’t take too kindly to detectives, though… people sticking their noses in where they don’t belong.”

When Xavier grinned, he was a little surprised to see the boy’s face flushing with… nerves? Attraction? Rather than just simple fear.

“Aha, well… I’m not actually a detective, of course, I didn’t mean to imply-”

“I’m kidding.” Xavier said. This guy seemed pretty harmless. Plus, he seemed to be aware of the reputation of this place. Word of mouth was generally fine. But at this point, the drink had been served, and it was already too late.

Speaking of which…

Xavier took the lid off the top of the glass, the smoke still whorling around on the surface of the dark cocktail. He slid it over to Diallo with a finger, and with the same motion took the empty glass.

“Ready to go. Enjoy, handsome!”

With that, he was out of his seat, and he took his place back behind the bar.

Xavier enjoyed that way more than he thought he would. It was kind of fun being a flirt with someone of the same sex, even if he was straight. There was something transgressive about it; he felt like he’d gotten away with something small, like shoplifting.

It helped that Diallo was pretty cute.

But Xavier was straight as an arrow. Absolutely.

He tried to pretend he wasn’t staring, waiting for Diallo to take that first sip. He’d find himself unable to stop from having more once he had that first taste. Xavier’s alchemical touches would make sure of that. And once his brain was suitably pickled by the magical liquor, Xavier could slip back over and get to work rewriting his mind and removing whatever notes he had.

Come to think of it, those notes on the drinks probably would piss off his boss just as much. He didn’t want the recipes to get stolen.

This bar was a money laundering front, but it was an up-scale front, damnit, and there was no way the trade secrets were going to just slip out into the open.

Diallo was taking his time. Examining the drink. Taking some notes. Lifting it up to get the smoke. More notes. Tipping the glass towards his lips, and finally, finally taking a first taste.

Xavier loved this moment. The ‘holy shit’ moment where the drinker was introduced to a marriage of flavours they’d never experienced before. An almost imperceptible shudder.

It wasn’t long after that that Diallo took another sip. And then another. And then another.

His vision went a bit glazed, a lazy smile taking up shop on his face and refusing to leave. A little giggle.

Good. It was all going to plan. By now, he was probably starting to black out, his experience of the world fading into the back of his subconscious.

When the cute boy’s head began to loll to the side, then upright, then down to the other side… Xavier knew it was time.

He slipped back out from behind the bar, completely ignored by all the other patrons, and took up the same seat as before, across from Diallo.

The blogger’s eyes were brighter green now, little flashes of colour swirling around the black pupils. He was smiling even more widely, and gurgled a little acknowledgement of Xavier’s presence.

“How you doing there, bud?” Xavier asked. Diallo’s hands were resting on the table, and Xavier reached out to take on of them. “You drank that one a little fast.”

“Huh…?” Diallo giggled in response, turning his hand over so he was palm to palm with the green-skinned barkeep’s hand.

His skin was incredibly soft. It caught Xavier off guard.

Why was he feeling hot all of a sudden?

He became aware of his heart beat, thumping more rapidly in his chest.

“F-fuck,” he gasped under his breath.

“Wha…?” Diallo snickered dizzily, head dipping forward and bungee-ing back upright once more.

“Nothing,” Xavier said, trying to look away from Diallo’s eyes. He was drawn to his lips. His smile. Full, soft, and… kiss- no. Not kissable. Not for him anyway.

Down to the notebook. He took it with his free hand and started to leaf through it.

“What’re…y’doing with that?” Diallo mumbled, like he was talking in a dream.

“Don’t worry about it,” Xavier said. “Just focus on the patterns my finger’s tracing in your palm.”

Little figure 8s and spirals kept the drugged boy well occupied as the barkeep leafed through the notes. Sure enough, it seemed he was attempting to reverse engineer the recipe. Or at least suss out its ingredients.

He was pretty good.

Even so, he took the pages out from the book, slowly and gently tearing them free to hide the evidence that they’d been removed. Still, just to be safe…

“You ripped out a couple pages from your notebook, because you weren’t happy with them. And they got a little stain on them. You like keeping your books neat, right?”

“Mhm…” whatever Xavier said, Diallo would take it as gospel, deep as he was in a suggestible trance.

“That’s right. You had a nice time here, but the cocktail hit you harder than expected. You need to get some fresh air, head home, get some water, and have a good night’s sleep. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Diallo sighed contentedly, eyes pulsating a little more faintly with colour. The drugging was going to lose its potency from this point onwards, so Xavier could only make a few more suggestions.

“You’ve had a nice time, but you don’t know if you can afford to come back any time soon. It’s a shame. You’d love to come back. You’d love to see the barkeep again-”

He choked on that last word, shocked that he’d even said it out loud.

Diallo simply looked into his eyes, entranced and a little infatuated. No take backs now.

Diallo was leaning in closer, too. Xavier didn’t stop him. Closer and closer. The scent of that drugged drink was still on his lips.

That was the reason why Xavier didn’t kiss him.

Also he didn’t kiss boys.

“Have a good night, and a safe journey home.” Xavier said, quickly slithering out of his seat and doing a quick lap around the little speakeasy. Cleaning up glasses, taking orders, the like.

By the time he was back behind the bar, he caught the back of Diallo staggering out the door. But not before one last brief furtive glance over his shoulder, one last moment of eye contact that sent a strange thrill down Xavier’s spine.

The snake man threw himself back into working on cocktails. He had an hour or two left in his shift.

Once again, he felt the encroachment and heat from the blue-skinned mobster looming over him.

“You did good, kid,” he said. “Heard the whole thing. Didn’t know you had a thing for fellas.”

“I don’t-” Xavier nearly snapped. “J-just thought it’d make it easier to throw him off the scent.”

“Well, it worked. What did you do with the pages?”

“Oh, shit, right, hang on.” Xavier produced the pages after setting down his shaker. Jervis examined them for only a second before stuffing them in his own pocket.

“He seems to be a cocktail connoisseur,” the snake added. “Maybe he might come back. Or he could be someone worth hiring.”

“I’m not hiring more staff,” Jervis said, rather curtly. “You’re doing just fine, kid.”

With that, he was off again, leaving Xavier alone behind the bar, with his drinks, and his thoughts, still swirling around the texture and colour of that tranced out boy’s skin. The look in his eyes. The endearingly nervous shuffling.

The imagined texture of his lips.

The thoughts kept him constant company for the rest of his shift. They followed him home, and into bed.

Diallo would not leave his head for weeks.

He saw Diallo in the faces of other similarly cute patrons, in the dazed expressions of anyone he dosed with his potions, in the sound of laughter.

Hoping against hope that he might turn up again.

While that would not happen, it was not the last time Xavier would find himself falling for one of his marks. The lock on his closet was slowly getting picked.

One on the House

By Limewah

Commission for Anonymous

“One Emerald Gaze, coming right up.”

One of the draws of ‘Temperance’s End’, aside from its sawdust floors and its jazzy music pumped through an authentic gramophone, was the sense of theatricality to the way its servers mixed their cocktails. This particular one was especially good at it. The lime green tinge to his skin, the gleaming yellow irises, and the scales on his cheekbones showed his naga heritage. That and the long fangs that barely poked out from his upper lip, and were properly bared whenever he smiled at the waiting clientele.

He was dressed to the nines too. Violet waistcoat, pale pink shirt, and dark slacks, with a tilted trilby on top. He could have been mistaken for a snooker player if he wasn’t working his magic with his ingredients.

There was a sensuality to his movements, and a glow to his eyes as he worked, the sort of easy, seductive motion that you might see in a cabaret performer. It suited the aesthetic. Considering they were paying about 30 bucks a pop for these drinks, they had to get their money’s worth.

There was only one thing that could make him tense up(though he wouldn’t lose his flow).

Xavier could always tell when his boss was breathing down his neck. It was like the temperature behind the bar had risen a few degrees. Jervis was built like a brick shithouse, and practically radiated heat. Xavier felt as though his space was being invaded even before he felt the thick stomach under the silk shirt press against his arm.

Xavier looked up at the blue-skinned, stubbly manager, still shaking the silver cocktail mixer in his hands with the precision of a machine.

“Time for you to work yer magic again,” Jervis said, flashing a smile full of ivory and gold and jerking a thumb towards a far table, close to the door.

“Sure thing,” Xavier said, cracking open the shaker and pouring the foamy concoction through a strainer into a delicate glass. A bit of lime peel to garnish, and the pale green drink (the same shade of Xavier’s skin) was served up to another satisfied customer. Finally, his queue was clear, and he had a moment to breathe…

Well, no, he didn’t. Now he had to make his specialty for the gentleman at that table.

He didn’t exactly look like an undercover reporter. Something must have given the game away.

Xavier knew exactly why his boss was so adamant on there being no reporters or reviewers in his establishment. This was a front, after all.

This speakeasy-themed bar was more accurate to its inspiration than was strictly legal, what with its panic room in the basement and the insistence that everything was paid in cash. It wasn’t just part of the aesthetic.

Even so, Xavier knew better than to ask specifics.

That didn’t mean he hadn’t gotten an excuse for why Jervis didn’t want reporters sniffing around.

“I don’t want any fuckin articles about my bars in some chintzy little foodie rag. I don’t want the kinda clientele that attracts. All they’ll want is their pissant margaritas and martinis and mar-whatever-the-fuck else. We want the classy types. The adventurous types. The types you get to, you know, actually experiment on.”

Xavier was happy to buy that excuse.

And he was happy getting to try out new flavour profiles, textures… as well as his little secret enchantments. Mixing a good cocktail and mixing a good potion were pretty close, and sometimes the would-be alchemist would slip a few other things into a drink. An aphrodisiac, or something that lowered inhibitions… or, if he mixed it wrong, sent them running to the cramped little single toilet with their hand over their mouth.

That didn’t happen that often. And Xavier was good about making sure that customer left satisfied. A drink on the house, laced with a little special something that put the drinker into a positively dream-like headspace. Perfectly suggestible, their mind plastic and easily moldable into whatever shape Xavier (or his boss) desired. Scrubbing their memories of the unpleasant incident was a cakewalk.

Not to mention, in instances like this… it’d mean a nice little bonus at the end of the night.

Xavier took a better look across the room at his mark. It was a dark-skinned human, male, with a round, vaguely feminine face and a slight figure. He was dressed neatly, the crisp white collar of a shirt poking out from a wooly sweater.

He hadn’t taken off his dark brown wool coat, and it looked positively massive on him. He was scribbling away in a little notebook. You could have been forgiven for thinking he was just letting his mind wander, sketching or writing some poetry. But the quick glances up now and then definitely gave the impression that he was writing about the place.

Whether that was the case or not, it was better to be safe than sorry.

He had pretty nice eyes, in any gaze. Dark green.

Cute face, too.

Not that Xavier was into that. He wasn’t into dudes.

It was easy to remember what the journalist had ordered; this place could only seat about 15 people at a time. He’d ordered a Snow Black - something a bit tarter and less sweet than most of the other drinks on the menu. The sort of drink that someone who fancied themself a hard boiled detective might have. He’d almost finished it, and it didn’t seem like he was doing so to get his money’s worth. So something dark and substantial like that would do the trick.

He tried to catch the writer’s eye from across the bar as he worked, mixing together bittersweet syrups and dark liquors. Slipping in his secret ingredient in there. Three drops of the seduction draught, one of the Amnestic Ambrosia…their bitterness would be masked by, well, everything else in the concoction. Though they did cause the mixture to froth a little; he had to drain the froth down the sink just out of sight, and try not to breathe in the fumes too much. Last thing he wanted was to pass out; that might give the reporter an excuse to high-tail it out of there.

Though the reporter did seem to notice him working… and was holding eye contact with him a fair bit more.

Xavier’s heart was fluttering a little. He was getting nervous.

Why? This didn’t normally happen. Was it something to do with the guy himself? Was he onto what was going on?

Better to put it out of his head.

The final touches were in place. The cocktail was poured into a little carafe, and he set a whiskey glass on a tray next to it. The finishing touches could be made at the table.

Xavier approached with his winning, fanged smile, and moved towards the reporter’s table.

“I mixed you the wrong cocktail!” was Xavier’s opening lie. “Thought I’d whip up a proper Snow Black on the house.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” the young man said, his freckled cheekbones raising as he smiled an adorably dimpled smile. “The one I had was delicious.”

“Well, you ain’t tasted nothing yet, buddy!” Xavier placed the glasses in front, and produced a little vial of swirling white smoke. Nothing magical or enchanted about it. It was just applewood smoke. It still made for a very nice effect when he poured the carafe in, uncorked the smoke-jar, and let it swirl in before placing a little lid on top of the glass. “Give this a bit of time to infuse… believe me, you’re going to love it.”

Xavier caught a glimpse of what was writing. Hard to read, from his angle, and in the dim candlelight. It was very small-print cursive, too. The way someone would write if they didn’t want anyone snooping. Jervis’ instincts were probably right on the money.

“Mind if I sit for a sec?” Xavier asked. “I’ve been on my feet all shift…”

“Oh, uhm…” the writer looked very cagey. Or maybe just anxious. “Sure, I guess… though, don’t you have to work?”

“Nah,” Xavier said. “Everyone’s been served, and we’re full up right now as you can see. So I’ve got some space to breathe.”

“And Mr. Brown doesn’t mind?”

“Oh, you know Jervis?” Xavier said. “No, he’s probably having a smoke, he won’t know.”

Another untruth. This place was crawling with hidden cameras. Jervis knew exactly what he was doing.

Also… strike two. The reporter knew of Jervis, which meant he knew of the ‘rumoured’ goings-on.

“No, I just… like to do my research on places, heh.”

Xavier had already helped himself to a seat, resting an elbow on the table and trying to get another glance at the notebook.

Before it got covered over by the cute human’s arm, Xavier did get a glimpse of a little list. Bullet points. Just a couple words at a time. He was pretty sure he caught the word ‘notes’ and ‘cognac?’

There was cognac in the Snow Black, he’d gotten that right.

“We get a few novelists and poets in here now and then,” Xavier said. “Is that what you’re doing here? Looking for inspiration from the atmos?”

“Not quite,” the young man said with a sheepish laugh. “I have a blog.”

“A blog~! How retro!” Xavier was not gay. Absolutely not. But he could turn on the charm a bit when it suited him.

It was easy to pretend, vaguely, that this ‘blogger’ was a girl.

“I’m Xavier, by the way,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Diallo.”

“Oh, would I have heard of your stuff?”

“Probably not,” he said with a nervous giggle. “I’ve only just started, so…”

“You’re aiming high, coming to a place like this. How’d you even get in?”

“I’m, uh, heh… a good detective never reveals their sources!”

Xavier noticed Diallo’s hands were tearing little strips off of the paper napkin around his finished drink.

“Fair enough…” Xavier said. “This place doesn’t take too kindly to detectives, though… people sticking their noses in where they don’t belong.”

When Xavier grinned, he was a little surprised to see the boy’s face flushing with… nerves? Attraction? Rather than just simple fear.

“Aha, well… I’m not actually a detective, of course, I didn’t mean to imply-”

“I’m kidding.” Xavier said. This guy seemed pretty harmless. Plus, he seemed to be aware of the reputation of this place. Word of mouth was generally fine. But at this point, the drink had been served, and it was already too late.

Speaking of which…

Xavier took the lid off the top of the glass, the smoke still whorling around on the surface of the dark cocktail. He slid it over to Diallo with a finger, and with the same motion took the empty glass.

“Ready to go. Enjoy, handsome!”

With that, he was out of his seat, and he took his place back behind the bar.

Xavier enjoyed that way more than he thought he would. It was kind of fun being a flirt with someone of the same sex, even if he was straight. There was something transgressive about it; he felt like he’d gotten away with something small, like shoplifting.

It helped that Diallo was pretty cute.

But Xavier was straight as an arrow. Absolutely.

He tried to pretend he wasn’t staring, waiting for Diallo to take that first sip. He’d find himself unable to stop from having more once he had that first taste. Xavier’s alchemical touches would make sure of that. And once his brain was suitably pickled by the magical liquor, Xavier could slip back over and get to work rewriting his mind and removing whatever notes he had.

Come to think of it, those notes on the drinks probably would piss off his boss just as much. He didn’t want the recipes to get stolen.

This bar was a money laundering front, but it was an up-scale front, damnit, and there was no way the trade secrets were going to just slip out into the open.

Diallo was taking his time. Examining the drink. Taking some notes. Lifting it up to get the smoke. More notes. Tipping the glass towards his lips, and finally, finally taking a first taste.

Xavier loved this moment. The ‘holy shit’ moment where the drinker was introduced to a marriage of flavours they’d never experienced before. An almost imperceptible shudder.

It wasn’t long after that that Diallo took another sip. And then another. And then another.

His vision went a bit glazed, a lazy smile taking up shop on his face and refusing to leave. A little giggle.

Good. It was all going to plan. By now, he was probably starting to black out, his experience of the world fading into the back of his subconscious.

When the cute boy’s head began to loll to the side, then upright, then down to the other side… Xavier knew it was time.

He slipped back out from behind the bar, completely ignored by all the other patrons, and took up the same seat as before, across from Diallo.

The blogger’s eyes were brighter green now, little flashes of colour swirling around the black pupils. He was smiling even more widely, and gurgled a little acknowledgement of Xavier’s presence.

“How you doing there, bud?” Xavier asked. Diallo’s hands were resting on the table, and Xavier reached out to take on of them. “You drank that one a little fast.”

“Huh…?” Diallo giggled in response, turning his hand over so he was palm to palm with the green-skinned barkeep’s hand.

His skin was incredibly soft. It caught Xavier off guard.

Why was he feeling hot all of a sudden?

He became aware of his heart beat, thumping more rapidly in his chest.

“F-fuck,” he gasped under his breath.

“Wha…?” Diallo snickered dizzily, head dipping forward and bungee-ing back upright once more.

“Nothing,” Xavier said, trying to look away from Diallo’s eyes. He was drawn to his lips. His smile. Full, soft, and… kiss- no. Not kissable. Not for him anyway.

Down to the notebook. He took it with his free hand and started to leaf through it.

“What’re…y’doing with that?” Diallo mumbled, like he was talking in a dream.

“Don’t worry about it,” Xavier said. “Just focus on the patterns my finger’s tracing in your palm.”

Little figure 8s and spirals kept the drugged boy well occupied as the barkeep leafed through the notes. Sure enough, it seemed he was attempting to reverse engineer the recipe. Or at least suss out its ingredients.

He was pretty good.

Even so, he took the pages out from the book, slowly and gently tearing them free to hide the evidence that they’d been removed. Still, just to be safe…

“You ripped out a couple pages from your notebook, because you weren’t happy with them. And they got a little stain on them. You like keeping your books neat, right?”

“Mhm…” whatever Xavier said, Diallo would take it as gospel, deep as he was in a suggestible trance.

“That’s right. You had a nice time here, but the cocktail hit you harder than expected. You need to get some fresh air, head home, get some water, and have a good night’s sleep. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Diallo sighed contentedly, eyes pulsating a little more faintly with colour. The drugging was going to lose its potency from this point onwards, so Xavier could only make a few more suggestions.

“You’ve had a nice time, but you don’t know if you can afford to come back any time soon. It’s a shame. You’d love to come back. You’d love to see the barkeep again-”

He choked on that last word, shocked that he’d even said it out loud.

Diallo simply looked into his eyes, entranced and a little infatuated. No take backs now.

Diallo was leaning in closer, too. Xavier didn’t stop him. Closer and closer. The scent of that drugged drink was still on his lips.

That was the reason why Xavier didn’t kiss him.

Also he didn’t kiss boys.

“Have a good night, and a safe journey home.” Xavier said, quickly slithering out of his seat and doing a quick lap around the little speakeasy. Cleaning up glasses, taking orders, the like.

By the time he was back behind the bar, he caught the back of Diallo staggering out the door. But not before one last brief furtive glance over his shoulder, one last moment of eye contact that sent a strange thrill down Xavier’s spine.

The snake man threw himself back into working on cocktails. He had an hour or two left in his shift.

Once again, he felt the encroachment and heat from the blue-skinned mobster looming over him.

“You did good, kid,” he said. “Heard the whole thing. Didn’t know you had a thing for fellas.”

“I don’t-” Xavier nearly snapped. “J-just thought it’d make it easier to throw him off the scent.”

“Well, it worked. What did you do with the pages?”

“Oh, shit, right, hang on.” Xavier produced the pages after setting down his shaker. Jervis examined them for only a second before stuffing them in his own pocket.

“He seems to be a cocktail connoisseur,” the snake added. “Maybe he might come back. Or he could be someone worth hiring.”

“I’m not hiring more staff,” Jervis said, rather curtly. “You’re doing just fine, kid.”

With that, he was off again, leaving Xavier alone behind the bar, with his drinks, and his thoughts, still swirling around the texture and colour of that tranced out boy’s skin. The look in his eyes. The endearingly nervous shuffling.

The imagined texture of his lips.

The thoughts kept him constant company for the rest of his shift. They followed him home, and into bed.

Diallo would not leave his head for weeks.

He saw Diallo in the faces of other similarly cute patrons, in the dazed expressions of anyone he dosed with his potions, in the sound of laughter.

Hoping against hope that he might turn up again.

While that would not happen, it was not the last time Xavier would find himself falling for one of his marks. The lock on his closet was slowly getting picked.

One on the House

By Limewah

Commission for Anonymous

“One Emerald Gaze, coming right up.”

One of the draws of ‘Temperance’s End’, aside from its sawdust floors and its jazzy music pumped through an authentic gramophone, was the sense of theatricality to the way its servers mixed their cocktails. This particular one was especially good at it. The lime green tinge to his skin, the gleaming yellow irises, and the scales on his cheekbones showed his naga heritage. That and the long fangs that barely poked out from his upper lip, and were properly bared whenever he smiled at the waiting clientele.

He was dressed to the nines too. Violet waistcoat, pale pink shirt, and dark slacks, with a tilted trilby on top. He could have been mistaken for a snooker player if he wasn’t working his magic with his ingredients.

There was a sensuality to his movements, and a glow to his eyes as he worked, the sort of easy, seductive motion that you might see in a cabaret performer. It suited the aesthetic. Considering they were paying about 30 bucks a pop for these drinks, they had to get their money’s worth.

There was only one thing that could make him tense up(though he wouldn’t lose his flow).

Xavier could always tell when his boss was breathing down his neck. It was like the temperature behind the bar had risen a few degrees. Jervis was built like a brick shithouse, and practically radiated heat. Xavier felt as though his space was being invaded even before he felt the thick stomach under the silk shirt press against his arm.

Xavier looked up at the blue-skinned, stubbly manager, still shaking the silver cocktail mixer in his hands with the precision of a machine.

“Time for you to work yer magic again,” Jervis said, flashing a smile full of ivory and gold and jerking a thumb towards a far table, close to the door.

“Sure thing,” Xavier said, cracking open the shaker and pouring the foamy concoction through a strainer into a delicate glass. A bit of lime peel to garnish, and the pale green drink (the same shade of Xavier’s skin) was served up to another satisfied customer. Finally, his queue was clear, and he had a moment to breathe…

Well, no, he didn’t. Now he had to make his specialty for the gentleman at that table.

He didn’t exactly look like an undercover reporter. Something must have given the game away.

Xavier knew exactly why his boss was so adamant on there being no reporters or reviewers in his establishment. This was a front, after all.

This speakeasy-themed bar was more accurate to its inspiration than was strictly legal, what with its panic room in the basement and the insistence that everything was paid in cash. It wasn’t just part of the aesthetic.

Even so, Xavier knew better than to ask specifics.

That didn’t mean he hadn’t gotten an excuse for why Jervis didn’t want reporters sniffing around.

“I don’t want any fuckin articles about my bars in some chintzy little foodie rag. I don’t want the kinda clientele that attracts. All they’ll want is their pissant margaritas and martinis and mar-whatever-the-fuck else. We want the classy types. The adventurous types. The types you get to, you know, actually experiment on.”

Xavier was happy to buy that excuse.

And he was happy getting to try out new flavour profiles, textures… as well as his little secret enchantments. Mixing a good cocktail and mixing a good potion were pretty close, and sometimes the would-be alchemist would slip a few other things into a drink. An aphrodisiac, or something that lowered inhibitions… or, if he mixed it wrong, sent them running to the cramped little single toilet with their hand over their mouth.

That didn’t happen that often. And Xavier was good about making sure that customer left satisfied. A drink on the house, laced with a little special something that put the drinker into a positively dream-like headspace. Perfectly suggestible, their mind plastic and easily moldable into whatever shape Xavier (or his boss) desired. Scrubbing their memories of the unpleasant incident was a cakewalk.

Not to mention, in instances like this… it’d mean a nice little bonus at the end of the night.

Xavier took a better look across the room at his mark. It was a dark-skinned human, male, with a round, vaguely feminine face and a slight figure. He was dressed neatly, the crisp white collar of a shirt poking out from a wooly sweater.

He hadn’t taken off his dark brown wool coat, and it looked positively massive on him. He was scribbling away in a little notebook. You could have been forgiven for thinking he was just letting his mind wander, sketching or writing some poetry. But the quick glances up now and then definitely gave the impression that he was writing about the place.

Whether that was the case or not, it was better to be safe than sorry.

He had pretty nice eyes, in any gaze. Dark green.

Cute face, too.

Not that Xavier was into that. He wasn’t into dudes.

It was easy to remember what the journalist had ordered; this place could only seat about 15 people at a time. He’d ordered a Snow Black - something a bit tarter and less sweet than most of the other drinks on the menu. The sort of drink that someone who fancied themself a hard boiled detective might have. He’d almost finished it, and it didn’t seem like he was doing so to get his money’s worth. So something dark and substantial like that would do the trick.

He tried to catch the writer’s eye from across the bar as he worked, mixing together bittersweet syrups and dark liquors. Slipping in his secret ingredient in there. Three drops of the seduction draught, one of the Amnestic Ambrosia…their bitterness would be masked by, well, everything else in the concoction. Though they did cause the mixture to froth a little; he had to drain the froth down the sink just out of sight, and try not to breathe in the fumes too much. Last thing he wanted was to pass out; that might give the reporter an excuse to high-tail it out of there.

Though the reporter did seem to notice him working… and was holding eye contact with him a fair bit more.

Xavier’s heart was fluttering a little. He was getting nervous.

Why? This didn’t normally happen. Was it something to do with the guy himself? Was he onto what was going on?

Better to put it out of his head.

The final touches were in place. The cocktail was poured into a little carafe, and he set a whiskey glass on a tray next to it. The finishing touches could be made at the table.

Xavier approached with his winning, fanged smile, and moved towards the reporter’s table.

“I mixed you the wrong cocktail!” was Xavier’s opening lie. “Thought I’d whip up a proper Snow Black on the house.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” the young man said, his freckled cheekbones raising as he smiled an adorably dimpled smile. “The one I had was delicious.”

“Well, you ain’t tasted nothing yet, buddy!” Xavier placed the glasses in front, and produced a little vial of swirling white smoke. Nothing magical or enchanted about it. It was just applewood smoke. It still made for a very nice effect when he poured the carafe in, uncorked the smoke-jar, and let it swirl in before placing a little lid on top of the glass. “Give this a bit of time to infuse… believe me, you’re going to love it.”

Xavier caught a glimpse of what was writing. Hard to read, from his angle, and in the dim candlelight. It was very small-print cursive, too. The way someone would write if they didn’t want anyone snooping. Jervis’ instincts were probably right on the money.

“Mind if I sit for a sec?” Xavier asked. “I’ve been on my feet all shift…”

“Oh, uhm…” the writer looked very cagey. Or maybe just anxious. “Sure, I guess… though, don’t you have to work?”

“Nah,” Xavier said. “Everyone’s been served, and we’re full up right now as you can see. So I’ve got some space to breathe.”

“And Mr. Brown doesn’t mind?”

“Oh, you know Jervis?” Xavier said. “No, he’s probably having a smoke, he won’t know.”

Another untruth. This place was crawling with hidden cameras. Jervis knew exactly what he was doing.

Also… strike two. The reporter knew of Jervis, which meant he knew of the ‘rumoured’ goings-on.

“No, I just… like to do my research on places, heh.”

Xavier had already helped himself to a seat, resting an elbow on the table and trying to get another glance at the notebook.

Before it got covered over by the cute human’s arm, Xavier did get a glimpse of a little list. Bullet points. Just a couple words at a time. He was pretty sure he caught the word ‘notes’ and ‘cognac?’

There was cognac in the Snow Black, he’d gotten that right.

“We get a few novelists and poets in here now and then,” Xavier said. “Is that what you’re doing here? Looking for inspiration from the atmos?”

“Not quite,” the young man said with a sheepish laugh. “I have a blog.”

“A blog~! How retro!” Xavier was not gay. Absolutely not. But he could turn on the charm a bit when it suited him.

It was easy to pretend, vaguely, that this ‘blogger’ was a girl.

“I’m Xavier, by the way,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Diallo.”

“Oh, would I have heard of your stuff?”

“Probably not,” he said with a nervous giggle. “I’ve only just started, so…”

“You’re aiming high, coming to a place like this. How’d you even get in?”

“I’m, uh, heh… a good detective never reveals their sources!”

Xavier noticed Diallo’s hands were tearing little strips off of the paper napkin around his finished drink.

“Fair enough…” Xavier said. “This place doesn’t take too kindly to detectives, though… people sticking their noses in where they don’t belong.”

When Xavier grinned, he was a little surprised to see the boy’s face flushing with… nerves? Attraction? Rather than just simple fear.

“Aha, well… I’m not actually a detective, of course, I didn’t mean to imply-”

“I’m kidding.” Xavier said. This guy seemed pretty harmless. Plus, he seemed to be aware of the reputation of this place. Word of mouth was generally fine. But at this point, the drink had been served, and it was already too late.

Speaking of which…

Xavier took the lid off the top of the glass, the smoke still whorling around on the surface of the dark cocktail. He slid it over to Diallo with a finger, and with the same motion took the empty glass.

“Ready to go. Enjoy, handsome!”

With that, he was out of his seat, and he took his place back behind the bar.

Xavier enjoyed that way more than he thought he would. It was kind of fun being a flirt with someone of the same sex, even if he was straight. There was something transgressive about it; he felt like he’d gotten away with something small, like shoplifting.

It helped that Diallo was pretty cute.

But Xavier was straight as an arrow. Absolutely.

He tried to pretend he wasn’t staring, waiting for Diallo to take that first sip. He’d find himself unable to stop from having more once he had that first taste. Xavier’s alchemical touches would make sure of that. And once his brain was suitably pickled by the magical liquor, Xavier could slip back over and get to work rewriting his mind and removing whatever notes he had.

Come to think of it, those notes on the drinks probably would piss off his boss just as much. He didn’t want the recipes to get stolen.

This bar was a money laundering front, but it was an up-scale front, damnit, and there was no way the trade secrets were going to just slip out into the open.

Diallo was taking his time. Examining the drink. Taking some notes. Lifting it up to get the smoke. More notes. Tipping the glass towards his lips, and finally, finally taking a first taste.

Xavier loved this moment. The ‘holy shit’ moment where the drinker was introduced to a marriage of flavours they’d never experienced before. An almost imperceptible shudder.

It wasn’t long after that that Diallo took another sip. And then another. And then another.

His vision went a bit glazed, a lazy smile taking up shop on his face and refusing to leave. A little giggle.

Good. It was all going to plan. By now, he was probably starting to black out, his experience of the world fading into the back of his subconscious.

When the cute boy’s head began to loll to the side, then upright, then down to the other side… Xavier knew it was time.

He slipped back out from behind the bar, completely ignored by all the other patrons, and took up the same seat as before, across from Diallo.

The blogger’s eyes were brighter green now, little flashes of colour swirling around the black pupils. He was smiling even more widely, and gurgled a little acknowledgement of Xavier’s presence.

“How you doing there, bud?” Xavier asked. Diallo’s hands were resting on the table, and Xavier reached out to take on of them. “You drank that one a little fast.”

“Huh…?” Diallo giggled in response, turning his hand over so he was palm to palm with the green-skinned barkeep’s hand.

His skin was incredibly soft. It caught Xavier off guard.

Why was he feeling hot all of a sudden?

He became aware of his heart beat, thumping more rapidly in his chest.

“F-fuck,” he gasped under his breath.

“Wha…?” Diallo snickered dizzily, head dipping forward and bungee-ing back upright once more.

“Nothing,” Xavier said, trying to look away from Diallo’s eyes. He was drawn to his lips. His smile. Full, soft, and… kiss- no. Not kissable. Not for him anyway.

Down to the notebook. He took it with his free hand and started to leaf through it.

“What’re…y’doing with that?” Diallo mumbled, like he was talking in a dream.

“Don’t worry about it,” Xavier said. “Just focus on the patterns my finger’s tracing in your palm.”

Little figure 8s and spirals kept the drugged boy well occupied as the barkeep leafed through the notes. Sure enough, it seemed he was attempting to reverse engineer the recipe. Or at least suss out its ingredients.

He was pretty good.

Even so, he took the pages out from the book, slowly and gently tearing them free to hide the evidence that they’d been removed. Still, just to be safe…

“You ripped out a couple pages from your notebook, because you weren’t happy with them. And they got a little stain on them. You like keeping your books neat, right?”

“Mhm…” whatever Xavier said, Diallo would take it as gospel, deep as he was in a suggestible trance.

“That’s right. You had a nice time here, but the cocktail hit you harder than expected. You need to get some fresh air, head home, get some water, and have a good night’s sleep. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Diallo sighed contentedly, eyes pulsating a little more faintly with colour. The drugging was going to lose its potency from this point onwards, so Xavier could only make a few more suggestions.

“You’ve had a nice time, but you don’t know if you can afford to come back any time soon. It’s a shame. You’d love to come back. You’d love to see the barkeep again-”

He choked on that last word, shocked that he’d even said it out loud.

Diallo simply looked into his eyes, entranced and a little infatuated. No take backs now.

Diallo was leaning in closer, too. Xavier didn’t stop him. Closer and closer. The scent of that drugged drink was still on his lips.

That was the reason why Xavier didn’t kiss him.

Also he didn’t kiss boys.

“Have a good night, and a safe journey home.” Xavier said, quickly slithering out of his seat and doing a quick lap around the little speakeasy. Cleaning up glasses, taking orders, the like.

By the time he was back behind the bar, he caught the back of Diallo staggering out the door. But not before one last brief furtive glance over his shoulder, one last moment of eye contact that sent a strange thrill down Xavier’s spine.

The snake man threw himself back into working on cocktails. He had an hour or two left in his shift.

Once again, he felt the encroachment and heat from the blue-skinned mobster looming over him.

“You did good, kid,” he said. “Heard the whole thing. Didn’t know you had a thing for fellas.”

“I don’t-” Xavier nearly snapped. “J-just thought it’d make it easier to throw him off the scent.”

“Well, it worked. What did you do with the pages?”

“Oh, shit, right, hang on.” Xavier produced the pages after setting down his shaker. Jervis examined them for only a second before stuffing them in his own pocket.

“He seems to be a cocktail connoisseur,” the snake added. “Maybe he might come back. Or he could be someone worth hiring.”

“I’m not hiring more staff,” Jervis said, rather curtly. “You’re doing just fine, kid.”

With that, he was off again, leaving Xavier alone behind the bar, with his drinks, and his thoughts, still swirling around the texture and colour of that tranced out boy’s skin. The look in his eyes. The endearingly nervous shuffling.

The imagined texture of his lips.

The thoughts kept him constant company for the rest of his shift. They followed him home, and into bed.

Diallo would not leave his head for weeks.

He saw Diallo in the faces of other similarly cute patrons, in the dazed expressions of anyone he dosed with his potions, in the sound of laughter.

Hoping against hope that he might turn up again.

While that would not happen, it was not the last time Xavier would find himself falling for one of his marks. The lock on his closet was slowly getting picked.

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