Large windows with a view of the Seine. A marble staircase, flanked by stone nymphs whose togas slid precariously low.
The museum's opulence only increased past the entrance. Fluted columns along the corridors were gold tipped on both ends, veiny marble shone from under sound-absorbent strips of carpet and a different ornament danced across each paneled wall.
All just enough to match the richness of aristocrat portraits and exuberance of still lives.
But the man in a leather vest over a white tee shirt and thin leather pants tucked into heavy boots was not here to admire the fine strokes on fruit bowls, moving with purpose past the tourists and native Parisians in the halls.
Surprisingly quiet for someone of his shoulder width and leg strength, the man from Raven's Hollow made his way past students from the Académie des Beaux-Arts who were sketching on the stairs.
His name was Alec Reyes, but as his mother had been Mordecai's beloved daughter he had a claim to the Raven name.
Alec's features were a contrast of fine lines and rough edges, carrying the sureness of a man used to getting his way. Striking black irises over lush lips tied together by a subtle septum ring.
His skin was brown, evenly emphasizing the striation of his impressive musculature. His wiry hair was shaved, safe for a short mohawk, dyed ash blond -- still his most prominent feature despite the stand-out attire.
A museum's archives, Alec had learned, were usually in the basement. The documents he was looking for, however, had recently been taken to an office upstairs. Who else could have a sudden interest in a four century old painting?
With his hand already pressing down on the door handle, Alec knocked on a high wooden door to Professor DeRose's room.
"Entrez!" said a young voice.
Alec entered into a space underneath a mansard roof. The office was cluttered and austere compared to the luxurious décor below. At its center was a desk that looked too heavy to move with anything less than a crane.
At the desk's edge sat a cute Frenchman, late twenties or early thirties, wearing round glasses and a hideous sweater vest.
"Puis-je vous aider?"
"Hello," Alec said. "I'm looking for DeRose. I'm here about the painting of Orion."
"Monsieur DeRose isn't here but I'm his assistant, Pierre," the Frenchman said with nearly no accent and uncrossed his legs to rise from the edge. "And you are?"
"Alec Reyes. On behalf of the Raven family."
"Raven," Pierre the assistant said, looking off to the side. "That portrait, I know about it. Strange thing."
Alec subtly brought his right hand to his left wrist. Threaded into a brown leather armband, underneath a wood-pearl wristlet, was a single string from a musical instrument.
He plucked the string as if it were a nervous habit, producing no audible sound. "Could you tell me about it? Strange how?"
Pierre froze for a split second, his eyes dashing over Alec's body before he averted his gaze as if he had seen something he shouldn't.
"The portrait was here. I handled it personally with DeRose's intern. Neither of us liked it. Funny thing, we compared notes and..." Again, the Frenchman's eyes were drawn to Alec. This time he blushed. "I- I even brought the file back up to check if there are some... hallucinogenic properties to the paint. I know it sounds crazy."
Alec stepped closer, lightly plucking the string. In some sense, it *was* a nervous habit. He probably wouldn't even have needed the aid to his voice's power.
"Je l'ai, Pierre," said a voice from behind.
A baby-faced guy in a casual suit entered with a carton box and closed the door behind him before noticing Alec.
"Ah," Pierre made. "Alec, this is the intern, Louie. Louie..." He introduced the guest and the situation I rapid French.
As soon as it was Alec's turn to speak, he gave the armband's string a tug, making Louie blink and straighten his back.
"Pierre was just about to tell me what was so strange about the painting. He mentioned hallucinations."
"Uh," Louie made. He swallowed hard, eyes jumping to Alec's legs in their tight leather cover with every string-tug. "I had vivid dreams, the night after packaging the portrait. Dreams about the man in it, Orion."
Pierre kept rubbing his collar as if overheating. "Yes, we dreamed the same thing. Stepping into the painting and... encountering the guy."
"Encountering?" Alec asked, making both men jolt a tiny bit as if his voice had carried a static charge.
Louie was first to speak. "He spoke to me, but I cannot recall what he said. Something about freedom and understanding and some place he returned to... or would returned to."
Alec kept making sounds of affirmation. Every little 'hm' had an imperceptible effect on the two men but it added up to blushed faces and dry lips.
Pierre downed water from a flask while Louie put down the box he had brought and threw his suit jacket over it.
"Excusez-Moi!" Pierre said and slipped out of his sweatervest, now only in a button up. He busied himself at the desk, rifling through files.
"He only spoke?" Alec asked.
"No, he..." Louie looked at his shoes. "He undressed. As did I, in the dream."
Alec stepped too close to the intern, his voice nearly a whisper. "He fucked you, didn't he? Fucked your dream virginity out of you."
Pierre gasped. "Mon Dieu! How did you know?"
Alec looked over at Pierre, still leaning farther toward Louie. "Lucky guess."
He grabbed Louie's face and the intern eagerly sank into the kiss, grabbing Alec's body lightly with both hands under the leather vest.
The American let the vest fall and took a step back. "On your knees, bitch."
