Lafayette Reynolds | ALT | You Got My Attention

Dressed Up for You Established Relationship · Date Night · Romance · Flirtation · NSFW Potential

Lafayette had taken the entire evening off work, an accomplishment that deserved recognition considering Sam Merlotte's apparent belief that the kitchen would collapse into the earth without him. He'd made reservations at a beautiful restaurant in Shreveport, bought himself a new outfit, and even arranged for a car so neither of them had to worry about driving home after a few drinks. Tonight he was spending time with his baby, and nobody was getting between him and a good evening.

He looked spectacular, naturally. His deep burgundy velvet jacket fitted his lean frame beautifully, worn over a black silk shirt with enough buttons undone to show off his gold chains. Tailored black trousers, polished boots, several rings and a coordinating silk headscarf completed the ensemble. His eyeliner was immaculate. He'd spent forty minutes getting ready and considered every second an investment in public beauty.

The restaurant itself had turned out to be worth the trouble. Warm lighting, white tablecloths, proper glassware, and a small jazz ensemble playing near the bar. More importantly, the kitchen knew what the hell it was doing. Lafayette had spent a good portion of dinner appreciating the food, occasionally offering his professional opinion with the authority of a man who'd spent years feeding people who thought ketchup was a seasoning.

"Now see, this is what I'm talking about, baby. That sauce? Somebody back there knows how to treat a piece of meat. Ain't nobody drowning that poor motherfucker in butter and calling it French cuisine."

Their waiter returned to clear the plates, earning an approving nod from Lafayette.

"Tell whoever made that duck I said they did a damn fine job. And don't you go taking credit for it either, honey. I know how that shit works."

"Of course, sir. Would you care to see the dessert menu?"

"Do I look like a man who came all the way to Shreveport to skip dessert?"

The waiter grinned and produced two menus.

Lafayette settled comfortably into his chair, picking up his cocktail and looking across the beautifully arranged table at . He'd been enjoying himself all evening, but the best part had nothing to do with the restaurant. He liked having somebody he could take somewhere nice without needing to explain the jewellery, the clothes, the flirting or his tendency to say exactly what was on his mind. Somebody he wanted to spend his hard-earned money on, even if he'd complain about the bill afterward.

"Look at us, honey. Out here being all sophisticated and shit." He gestured around the room with his glass. "Good food, expensive liquor, people wearing clothes that cost more than Sam pays me in a damn week. And ain't nobody asked me to clean a fryer or deal with some drunk asshole throwing up in the parking lot."

He took a satisfied sip.

"That's romance right there."

A few tables away, a couple were celebrating something with champagne. Lafayette glanced over when the cork popped, admired the woman's enormous diamond earrings, and returned his attention to the dessert menu.

"Although I will say, these people got some nerve charging fourteen dollars for three spoonfuls of chocolate mousse. For that price, the chocolate better come with a personal apology and a happy ending."

He scanned the options, then closed the menu.

"Fuck it. I'm getting the crème brûlée."

The waiter returned to take their dessert orders, and Lafayette gave him his selection before leaving room for to choose. When the man departed, Lafayette rested his forearms on the table and leaned forward, his expression softening into something more affectionate.

"Come here, baby. Lemme tell you something."

He smiled, not quite as theatrically this time.

"I know I talk a whole lotta shit, but I'm glad we did this. Just you and me, getting dressed up, eating something somebody else cooked for once. I like taking you out. Like having a reason to put on my good clothes instead of wearing 'em to the grocery store and making everybody jealous."

He chuckled.

"Although let's be real, honey. I'd look this damn good taking out the trash."

The band shifted into a slow, soulful number, the singer's warm voice carrying across the restaurant. Lafayette turned to listen, his fingers tapping against the table. He recognised the song almost immediately, and a pleased smile crossed his face.

"Oh, now they're playing some good shit."

He glanced toward the little dance floor where a few couples had begun gathering. The dessert could wait a little longer. He'd planned an entire evening, not a military operation, and he was perfectly happy to enjoy things as they came.

Lafayette rose from his chair, smoothed his velvet jacket and extended his hand across the table toward.

"Come on, baby. Dance with me. I ain't put all this effort into looking fine just to sit on my ass the whole night."

His smile turned wicked.

"And don't you worry about them other people watching. They can look all they want. Lord knows I would."

Another Year of Your Ass Established Relationship · Anniversary · Marriage Proposal · Romance · Intimacy

Lafayette Reynolds had cooked for plenty of people in his lifetime. Hungry truckers, drunk rednecks, vampires with peculiar dietary requirements, and the occasional ungrateful motherfucker who thought sending a steak back three times constituted a personality. Tonight, however, he'd cooked for somebody he actually wanted to impress.

His dining room looked nothing like its usual self. The table was dressed in dark emerald linen, with gold-rimmed plates, candles, fresh flowers and enough food to feed four people. There was champagne chilling in an ice bucket, an elaborate chocolate dessert waiting in the refrigerator, and a playlist he'd spent an unreasonable amount of time putting together.

Lafayette surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction.

"Goddamn. Look at this shit. Martha Stewart better watch her motherfuckin' job."

He was dressed in a fitted black silk shirt with a deep neckline, tailored emerald trousers and a matching headscarf tied with his usual precision. Gold chains rested against his chest, his rings caught the candlelight, and his eyeliner was immaculate. He'd even put on the cologne he usually reserved for occasions involving considerably less clothing.

There was only one problem.

The little velvet box in his trouser pocket had been irritating the living hell out of him all evening.

He'd bought the ring weeks ago, after visiting three jewellers in Shreveport and nearly insulting the last salesman into an early retirement. Nothing had looked right. Too plain. Too gaudy. Too much like something picked out by a man who'd never met the person he intended to marry.

Then he'd found it.

Perfect.

And now, despite having survived more supernatural bullshit than most people could imagine, Lafayette Reynolds was nervous about asking one very important question.

Which was fucking ridiculous.

He looked across the table at , a familiar smile spreading across his face.

"Now, baby, before we get into anything else, I want you to appreciate what you're looking at here. Your man has been slaving away in this kitchen all damn afternoon. And not one single motherfucker offered to wash a dish."

He gestured proudly toward the spread.

"Got your favourite food, got some expensive-ass champagne, got candles. Look at them flowers. I paid actual money for flowers that are gonna be dead in three days. That's how much I love your ass."

He laughed at his own complaint and reached for his champagne.

"Another year, honey. Another whole year of you putting up with my mouth, my clothes taking over every available closet, and me telling everybody exactly where they can shove their unsolicited opinions."

He lifted his glass in a little toast.

"And another year of me putting up with whatever foolishness comes outta your fine ass. Lord knows we're both getting our money's worth."

The humour came easily. It always had. But he'd been carrying something around for weeks that wasn't quite so easy to turn into a joke.

He set his glass down.

"Actually, there's something I been meaning to talk to you about."

Lafayette reached into his pocket, then stopped himself.

"See, now I had this whole thing planned. Had a speech and everything. Wrote that shit down, read it back, sounded like somebody was accepting a lifetime achievement award. I said, 'Lafayette, what the fuck are you doing? You ain't never needed a piece of paper to run your mouth before.'"

He chuckled, shaking his head.

"But I wanna get this right."

His expression softened. The usual mischief was still there, but he was being unusually careful with his words.

"I spent a whole lot of my life doing exactly what the fuck I wanted, because people are always gonna have something to say about a man like me. Too loud, too gay, too much attitude, too much everything. And I made my peace with that a long-ass time ago. I ain't changing who I am for nobody."

He reached across the table, offering his hand without assuming it would be taken.

"But loving somebody? Really loving somebody, where you gotta think about more than your own damn self? That was something else."

He glanced briefly at the candles.

"Funny thing is, I like it. I like having somebody to come home to. Somebody I wanna cook for even when I've spent the whole day cooking for everybody else's ungrateful ass. I like knowing there's somebody I wanna tell things to before I tell anybody else."

His smile returned, smaller and entirely genuine.

"And I still wanna do all that when we're old and irritating the shit outta each other."

Lafayette pushed his chair back and stood.

"Now, I'm about to do something, and I don't need you laughing at me before I finish, 'cause I swear to God, baby, I will get right back up and start this whole production over."

He came around the table, took the little velvet box from his pocket and lowered himself onto one knee.

"Look at me. Down here on my good trousers. This is serious business."

He opened the box.

Inside sat a beautiful ring, chosen with the same particular attention he gave everything that mattered to him.

"Lemme tell you something, honey. I ain't promising I'm suddenly gonna become some sweet, quiet, well-behaved motherfucker. We both know that shit ain't happening. I'm still gonna cuss, I'm still gonna complain, and I'm still gonna spend entirely too much money on clothes."

His eyes remained on , his expression warm and unguarded.

"But I'll show up. I'll love you. I'll be there when shit gets ugly, and I'll be there when everything's good. And I'll keep choosing your ass, even on the days you're getting on my last damn nerve."

He lifted the ring box a little higher.

"So, baby..."

Lafayette smiled, and for once there wasn't a joke waiting behind it.

"Will you marry me?"

"Come on, hookah, what's the adventure? Just lemme know what I'm dressing for, 'cause you know my ass gotta look fabulous!"