Work Text:
You know
I'm no stranger in your dreams
Oh and I'm craving, I'm howling,
I'm begging and pleading
Be mine tonight
Oh and I'm waiting, I'm dying,
I'm wanting and I'm needing
To show you the slut I am
Where I'll be touching and holding
Caressing and giving you
Your every fantasy, yeah
I'll get you dreaming and lusting
I'm Burning and praying
For more of this ecstasy
Come here, boy
Oh, come here, boy yeah
.
The silver flash of a sharp sword catches his eye on that fateful moonlit night in 1910 on Liberty Street. That night will propel him into hundreds of nights in this very same place, illuminated by business signs as music plays on the sidewalks. None shall be as destined as this night, as the moment Lestat sets his hungry eyes upon a man so handsome he feels the very gravity of his existence shift in kind toward the man’s direction.
It is an invisible cord that springs from inside Lestat, from his heart, spiraling out toward his newest and perhaps forever hyper fixation. The cord loops around the man’s left wrist, and then swirls up, wrapping around his arm. It continues its ascent up, up, up, to slide around his long, graceful neck and hold on tight as his veins pulse with blood Lestat clearly sees and yearns to sink his fangs into.
His own heart feels fit to burst in this monumental moment. It is their beginning, even if the other party isn’t aware of it, or of him just yet.
In his vampire sight, Lestat watches every twitch of a full-lipped red mouth, the tight-frustrated clench of a perfectly shaped jaw, and the fiery rage from within deep chocolate brown eyes. What a beautiful specimen to behold, none on this earth able to hold a candle to this man, yet it is the internal monologue that truly ensnares Lestat to him.
It is the struggle in which he portrays one person, while he is an entirely different entity inside. Outwardly, the man is rough, violent and threatening to his very own kin, but inside it is the complete opposite. Inside, the man finds his struggle greatly painful and his shame for his brother’s theatrics devastating. He struggles so greatly, in this, and in more, as the man brandishes the sword and threatens to gut his brother.
His own brother! His very own blood.
Lestat watches, his hunger growing, and he knows he has chosen the right place to step foot into. This will be his new home, his new kingdom, and he will set roots down on this land, make it his, make that man his and his alone.
Lestat is sure of it. He is so sure of it from the way in which his very own blood sings out to that handsome stranger’s. Can he feel it too? Can he sense the prickle of energy in the air? Does he notice the goose bumps that spread across his skin in want of what is to come? Does he know what has happened here on this most fateful of nights? It is destiny. It is destiny, pure and true, and as Lestat presses his top hat to his chest and watches the man drive off, he begins to knit his own plans to swiftly work that destiny in motion.
.
It is easy to find out about him. He is on the minds of many in Storyville. Mostly negative, jealous and hateful thoughts, but there is one mind that is sweet, caring and positive.
A female, lovely and cinnamon skinned, her own lips full and pink and curving up into a smile as she regards him with her genuine kindness. They’ve only just met and Lestat takes her hand, kisses the top of it and listens as she chats about a book her friend, Louis, has given her.
Louis. Louis de Pointe du Lac. The name rolls so effortlessly off his tongue as he repeats it in question and Miss Lily nods at him.
“He is French?” Lestat asks as they sit together on her balcony. The air is heavy with the scent of jasmine and he twirls a cloth napkin between his two fingers as he listens to her thoughts continue to brightly think of Louis.
“Creole,” Miss Lily answers and smiles. Louis is beautiful in her head. He’s gentle, sweet, and so very broken. “He speaks fluently. He’s tried to teach me, but I’m not good with languages.”
“Other than the language of love,” Lestat flirts, putting it on thick.
“I know my job well,” Miss Lily says and laughs a soft, short laugh at him. Her cheeks take on a blush, and he wonders if her blood will be as sweet as the sight of it on her skin.
“Louis, he is your good friend?” Lestat asks. “Are you in love?”
“I don’t fall in love, Monsieur de Lioncourt,” she reminds him. “Louis is special to me. He is my dearest friend.”
Perhaps it isn’t fair to do this, to use his mind gift, to force truths and secrets from her that she would not normally give so freely, but Lestat is determined to find out as much as he can about Louis. In truth, Lestat is sure this is the deepest of loves to ever exist. No one is as meant to be as Lestat is meant to be with Louis. He has crossed oceans to meet his destiny and he has found it in a beautiful man with a flare for violence against his very blood. Such passion! Lestat practically trembles in want as he thinks of it.
The more he is able to learn, the easier it will be to bring his goal to fruition. All is fair in love and war and Lestat is a selfish man down to his deepest core. What he wants is what he gets and what Lestat wants, is Louis.
“He cares for you,” Lestat points out. “Are the flowers not from him?”
Miss Lily looks back into her room through the double French doors from where they sit on her balcony. She is looking at the crystal vase filled with white carnations save for three red tulips set in the very center. Sweetness and passion; Louis must be well read in the language of flowers as he is well read in books themselves.
“Louis and I understand each other well,” Miss Lily vaguely answers him.
She knows of Louis’ deep, dark desires. She is very aware of what brews beneath the surface of the lie Louis projects out onto the world. She knows and is accepting of him, never hateful, or judgmental, and Louis in turn brings her the very same acceptance.
“How lucky you both are, to have found one another,” Lestat says. He smiles brightly, teeth white and gleaming as he reaches out to brush her dark curls away from her face. “He sounds like quite the fellow! I hope to meet him myself.”
It is of course a farce. Lestat is aware that Louis will come to Miss Lily tonight. He knows Louis will come out to call and ask for her and he knows that it will be a momentous experience to finally set his eyes upon Louis once again. The setting will be different, but he yearns to see into those eyes, to search them and find that Louis notices what Lestat has known since seeing him the very first time.
They are fated. It is meant to happen, to cross paths and intersect and destroy each other, to love, to fully consume the other. Lestat has not cared for a human in over a century, but this, this is meant to be. He is a romantic at heart and perhaps he overdoes it in his own mind, but he is exceptionally confident in this being the night when he sparks Louis’ interest. It doesn’t matter what Lestat has to do, he will do it to make a mark upon Louis’ peace of mind. He will make it so Louis cannot get him out of his head.
It is the passion of it all that fuels him, and as he takes Miss Lily’s hand and lays her down on her bed, he watches her, cups one side of her face and nods at her.
“How does he touch you?” he asks lowly, stroking his thumb across her burning cheek. “Show me.”
The rush of blood to her chest, to her neck, has him dropping his mouth to her throat and her mind explodes into visions of Louis in Lestat’s place. In turn, Lestat visualizes Louis in Miss Lily’s place, and neither participant thinks of the other as their passions culminate into their desire to be with other people.
When he drinks from her, the smallest of sips but enough to bind her to him, Lestat sees Louis even in her blood and he knows, oh he knows, he will get what he wants tonight. He will strike the match that will set forth a blazing trail of fury so deep Louis will not be able to get Lestat out of his head.
.
The first moments of experiencing Louis in the flesh do not go exactly how Lestat dreams up, but they work the very same way. He makes comments that come off the wrong way and Louis is agitated and furious over this white, French man having his hands on his Miss Lily. There’s something wrong with this man. He’s overly confident and pompous and Louis visualizes himself punching Lestat right in his mouth.
It is gloriously violent in Louis’ thoughts and it only encourages Lestat to continue with his conversation. The jealously is thick in the air as Louis stares at Lestat touching Miss Lily, running his nails down her arm and to the side seams of her dress.
The mental images intensify as Louis imagines himself slitting Lestat’s throat. It is so beautiful, so furious, better than endless pieces of art Lestat has seen in his long life and Lestat nearly launches himself across the table to grab at Louis’ arm. He wants to touch Louis, to feel his warm flesh beneath Lestat’s hand.
Instead, Lestat uses the mind gift. He uses quite a few gifts, as he speaks, as his eyes bore into Louis’. The internal struggle to kiss or kill Lestat is loud, like bombs going off in Louis’ head, and Lestat takes pity soon after.
“Lestat, unpack your trunks, you’re home!” he laughs loudly and slaps his hand upon the table. Miss Lily giggles at his side and then looks towards Louis, to her dearest friend and nods encouragingly at him.
Lestat grins broadly. “This was to be my destiny. And now I know I was right,” he says, his gaze once more glued to Louis and Louis alone. Can Louis feel it now? Can he hear the drumming of Lestat’s heart as Lestat can hear his own? It is loud, so loud, like a cattle stampeding through a town. “Only it turns out the saint is not a city, but a handsome man with a most agreeable disposition.”
Lestat lays himself bare across the table with such a confession. It is not a lie, not even close, and it is not something he alludes to. It is loud and clear and he waits, watching Louis now.
Louis, who suffers in silence so grievously.
“You’re his destiny, Louis,” Miss Lily says, tone so teasing but laced with something more. It is unification, the caring of two friends, and the need for Miss Lily to see Louis happy.
Lestat nods, his gaze unblinking. “Destined to be very good friends,” he agrees.
What is better than a tale from enemies to friends to lovers? What is more than two souls, having roamed the earth, longing for the other to finally complete their soul? What can be more addicting than hate turned to desire turned to love?
The wheels are already turning in Lestat’s favor as he leaves once more with Miss Lily, as he leaves Louis at that table to soak in his rage and embarrassment from the desire that is slowly filling him whole.
He wants to kill Lestat, he wants to fuck Lestat, he wants to choke the life out of him as he rides him to completion and then spit in his face.
A devil with an angel’s face. Truly, his equal in all forms.
Lestat has never been more in love.
.
The card game brings about more than Lestat anticipates. He’s been excited to see Louis again, perhaps too excited and he takes it a bit too far. As his words echo to bury inside Louis’ mind, he sees visions of things Louis has made up, visions and fantasies that are only for the darkness of his bedroom to behold. They are there, so loud and so clear for Lestat to enjoy, even as Louis pretends none of it exists.
Such a good actor. He knows his part well and it is admirable. Lestat is no stranger to the need to hide, to adapt, and to perform, but Louis takes it to levels unknown to him. He is so adamant to retain this strong perception of a man, to never allow himself to be demeaned, to be emasculated.
Yet in his mind, Lestat fucks Louis to the point of orgasm and Louis melts in his arms, begging for it again and again. Take him, take him, and don’t stop. Just take him, please. Please. The desperation. The absolute total willingness to let go in fantasies yet appears so firm, stoic, and unbothered outwardly.
It breaks Lestat’s heart.
Do you suffer these indignities for some larger purpose?
Louis wins the game, and in turn, Lestat wins his favor.
.
He begins to court Louis, even if his companion does not realize it. Louis is so willing to take charge, to show Lestat around his beloved hometown, and to share his memories as they go from place to place. Louis is so giving, so selflessly giving in his own memories and things he enjoys. There is a bookshop he favors best and as they walk through it, Louis runs his fingertips down the spine of a favorite novel.
He looks back to Lestat, but in his mind it isn’t the book he touches, but Lestat’s face. He runs his fingertips along the curve of Lestat’s jaw and leans in, kissing his lips. The kiss he dreams up is deep, passionate, and the Lestat in Louis’ mind shoves him against the bookcase as the shelves rattle behind them.
“You should read this one,” Louis murmurs, taking the book from its place to show Lestat. “You’ll like it.”
“You know me best,” Lestat says and smiles.
I want you, Louis says in his daydreams. He says it, breathes the words into Lestat’s ear as Louis rips apart his shirt between them, the buttons scattering everywhere.
“You’re gonna read it,” the Louis in his presence decides for him. “And we can talk about it another night, maybe in the park, when you’ve finished a few chapters.”
.
Another night, another shop, only this time Louis has insisted Lestat is in desperate need of a new wardrobe.
“You don’t look like you’re even from this century,” Louis chuckles, his smile warm and adoring. He wonders if Louis is aware of it? Does Louis know what his smile says? This is not how friends smile at each other.
This is flirtation. This is the beginnings of sweetness, of little games played between lovers.
“It is different, in France,” Lestat murmurs. He watches Louis in the reflection of the mirror instead of himself. Louis is always something better to look at, perhaps his favorite sight to see. “I appreciate the assistance.”
“Can’t walk around with you looking like that,” Louis continues in his teasing. “You’ll shine up like a new penny in this new suit alone.”
“Then, it is to your liking?” Lestat asks as their eyes meet in the mirror.
Louis swallows, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. Lestat would not notice as quickly as he does if not for his enhanced sight. Oh, but notice he does and he’s ecstatic about it! Louis likes what he sees. Louis very much likes what he sees in Lestat and it begins to transform into his mind’s desires.
Louis, pressing Lestat back into to the mirror. Louis, tracing at Lestat’s lips with the tip of his tongue as his hands slide between them. They run down Lestat’s chest, and then between their flush hips, to touch Lestat.
“The color looks good on you,” the Louis in reality says. “Now you need a new hat for the new suit.”
Lestat indulges in this, in Louis dressing him, in Louis choosing a new wardrobe for this new life. Does Louis realize it? Can he not see that Lestat is so willing to let Louis do whatever he pleases as long as he remains Louis’ focus?
Lestat is very involved, can see their future as it spreads across centuries. They will never be parted once Lestat shares the dark gift. It is only a bit longer until he reveals his true nature. It will only be a bit longer until he can show Louis who and what he truly is.
Louis needs to care for him more, needs to fall in deeper. He needs to love Lestat more.
Lestat has endless patience for the love he’s been wandering decades for to come into being. He can wait a few more weeks.
.
The parlor is dimly lit as Louis reads aloud to him. Lestat lounges comfortably upon the velvet green sofa Louis has chosen for a home that will soon be his to share with Lestat. Not that Louis is aware of it just yet, but it is perfect in Lestat’s mind.
Louis has helped furnish their future home together. He has happily and lovingly chosen piece after piece to fill the rooms in this townhouse on Rue Royale. He’s filled Lestat’s bookcases with what he insists are essentials although Lestat is not fond of books and reading. The traumas of childhood keep him from becoming fully invested, but the low timbre in which Louis reads to him now lulls him into a pleased state of mind. It is nothing but positivity here in regards to reading.
This will be how their nights will be when they aren’t wrapped around one another in a coffin or their bed. A bed which Louis has chosen a beautiful duvet to lay upon. Pillows which Louis has found in a fancy shop in another town, that will be there for Louis to rest his head upon as Lestat lavishes pleasure upon his body like he’s desired to for months now.
Lestat looks up, watches Louis’ beautiful face as his expressions shift in reactions to the passages he reads. His face is so animated, and so lovely. Lestat is tempted to reach out, to touch that face, to feel how soft Louis’ cheek is beneath the touch of his fingertips.
It is difficult to hold back the passion that is waiting to be released.
It becomes more difficult to hold back when Louis’ mind drifts into thoughts not as innocent as the book he has been reading to Lestat.
In truth, Lestat much prefers Louis’ secret desires to the book. Louis is always so detailed in his fantasies of them together. It is so pleasing, so complimenting to know that this is how deeply Louis lusts after him. It is also impressive to note that Louis’ mind can create such a heady, erotic driven moment while his lips continue to shape the words of the book upon his lap.
The Lestat in Louis’ mind is spread across his lap, while Louis kisses at his throat. He sucks a bruise upon Lestat’s flesh as Lestat undulates upon Louis’ lap, his hips pressing down onto Louis’ hardness. Louis’ hands slide to grasp at Lestat’s backside, to give an appreciative squeeze before rearing his left hand back. It comes down hard upon Lestat’s flesh, the sound loud, leaving a bright red imprint on Lestat’s skin.
“Fuck,” the daydream Louis growls out, kneading at the spot he’s just slapped on Lestat’s backside. “I want you so bad.”
“Fuck me, Louis,” Lestat demands in his head. “Fuck me. Now, now.”
Louis’ eyes meet his, their linked stare full of desire before Lestat’s mouth crashes down upon Louis’ in a desperate kiss.
The book slamming to a close tears Lestat from such an alluring little daydream. Louis clears his throat and looks to Lestat, smiling so kindly and so sweetly.
“We have to go now or we won’t get to the tailor on time,” Louis reminds him.
“Ah, yes, the appointment seems to have slipped my mind. My apologies,” Lestat says and nods as he stands. Louis joins him, stepping closer and looks warm. There are droplets of sweat beaded at his temples, glowing in the dim light around them.
“Did you like the book?” Louis asks as they head to the front door. “Do you want to hear more of it?”
“Oh yes, I wish to hear more,” Lestat reassures Louis. He knows how important it is for Louis to know how much Lestat likes or dislikes whatever book it is they are currently working through. “I am very much enjoying this one.”
“Good,” Louis says, grinning now. “I’ll make sure to come back tomorrow night so we can keep going.”
Lestat nods, happy about it, about more nights spent with Louis, but he thinks to the little fantasy once more, to the sound of Louis’ hand upon his skin, and how it makes him hungry for blood, yes, but hungrier for Louis. It is in knowing that Louis’ own desire grows that those needs can for now be satiated.
The night in which they finally consummate this growling desire between them will be so magnificently charged. Lestat is very sure, having kept every fantasy tucked away into his memory to reflect upon later, when he is alone in coffin, willing his dreams to be influenced into the same subject matter.
.
The opera.
A gentleness appears in Louis that Lestat finds so endearing he longs to touch him so badly. He very nearly does, but stops his fingers from reaching for Louis’ before it is too late.
To see Louis so enraptured in the tale before them, lost to the acting, to the music. His eyes, steadfast as they remain trained in the magic that blooms when the story is told to them in song.
The joy Lestat feels reverberating around them, all from Louis. For once, in the darkness of the opera house, Louis is free and does not hide. Lestat smells his salty tears before he sees them from the corner of his eye, but he says nothing when he does.
The emotion is strong, swelling, and as Louis imagines himself in the place of the actors, Lestat finds his attention drifting into Louis’ mind instead of the opera. It seems that much more thrilling when it is Louis envisioning them, together, at the opera’s penultimate act.
Louis sees himself in the opera. He sees himself, not physically blinded, but the world blind to the person he is truly. He sees himself, destined for more than can be had in his human mind. He cannot achieve what he is capable of, not as a human. Not in this current life.
Lestat can give him all he desires and so much more. A new world, one full of magic and wonder and no limitations will be right there for Louis to take, to enjoy, when he finally sees what it is Lestat has to offer.
His very heart, torn from his chest, for Louis to take into his beautiful hands.
See me, Louis, Lestat thinks. All he has everseen is Louis, from the very first night. He has seen behind the masks, behind the lies and the performances Louis is forced to hold before the world. They cannot handle the truth of who Louis really is.
When the curtains close, Louis is laughing as he wipes at his face. He is so beautifully human and Lestat’s chest aches with longing to love him as he has been keeping to himself.
Not yet. No, not yet.
“Dinner,” Lestat softly reminds Louis. He nods at his friend and Louis stands, following after Lestat as appearances must remain to the hateful and judgemental minds of the simple humans around them.
The restaurant is empty save for the staff and the two of them. Louis doesn’t question why, doesn’t need to know Lestat has paid a handsome amount to have this time alone. Louis doesn’t know that with every spoonful of gumbo Lestat takes, the vile taste of dirt fills his mouth and drags down his throat. It is heavy in his stomach, but he thinks it is so worth it as long as he has this time with Louis.
Another memory for them to make. Another moment to look back upon at dawn, when he is close to death sleep and hoping to dream of Louis and only Louis.
Louis smiles at Lestat from across the table, takes a bite of his chocolate tart and wonders what Lestat’s mouth tastes like when kissed. He wonders how pliant Lestat’s lips could feel beneath his. He imagines them, Louis sat upon the table, Lestat between his legs, his mouth, taking Louis in as Louis drags his fingers back through Lestat’s hair.
The innocent expression Louis has upon his face versus the lustful vision Louis creates in his mind is exciting.
The drag of Lestat’s lips across Louis’ cock, so hard for him, throbbing, as Louis tilts his head back and moans.
Louis hums aloud, breaking Lestat out of his head, but then laughs as he licks his lips. “The chocolate is good,” he says. “You want some?”
Lestat nods. “Chocolate is my favorite,” he replies. “I would, yes, thank you.”
.
“My bedroom,” Louis mentions unnecessarily, pushing the door open. The grand de Pointe du Lac house tour ends here, as Louis shows Lestat his bedroom, his sacred place with walls that know every secret Louis never allows the world to see.
This room, with its four walls that call out to Lestat in familiarity. How many nights has Louis touched himself as he thought of Lestat? How many times has he gasped and moaned Lestat’s name into the comforting darkness?
“Your favorites,” Lestat remarks as he comes upon a small bookcase. The books within are older, well loved, and Lestat imagines Louis loving him with the same amount of adoration he gives to them. So fully, without an ounce of hesitation. He wants to be placed on this very shelf, to be forever loved by Louis.
“They are,” Louis confirms and sits at the side of his bed.
Lestat watches, his desire to sit at Louis’ side strong, but he doesn’t give in. He remains where he stands and clasps his hands behind his back as he takes in his surroundings.
“Your family is not happy to have me here,” Lestat mentions as casually as one can considering such a subject.
Louis shifts uncomfortably from where he remains seated on his bed. “They don’t know you is all,” Louis disagrees. “You’re a fine man, Lestat. Worldly and smart. Charming.”
“Charming?” Lestat repeats, beginning to smile with delight. “Am I?”
Louis rolls his eyes, but visibly becomes more at ease. Good, that is all Lestat intends to do with such a thing said. He doesn’t want Louis upset, agitated or uncomfortable. Louis must be calm, happy, and content to be here with Lestat. It must come easily, as breathing does for Louis.
As long as Louis is happy, then Lestat is happy.
“Maybe compliment the food,” Louis suggests. “And don’t let Paul get to you. He means well, Lestat. I swear he don’t mean it when he starts his ramblings.”
“Of course,” Lestat replies and nods. “I shall be only on the best of behavior.”
Louis smiles, finding himself pleased with Lestat. It is quite good, as Lestat wishes to be ever so pleasing to Louis. He longs for Louis to end the pretense between them, to give in to the desires he’s unintentionally broadcasted into Lestat’s mind since it first began that night many moons ago.
Lestat strides across the bedroom, to look out the window, and Louis’ mind calls out to him as it always does. His eyes close as the waves of lust wash over his own mind.
Louis’ desires drift so effortlessly now as he imagines Lestat in his childhood bed, looming over him, both of them breathing shallowly in want. Louis’ hands, gliding down, down, down, wrapping around Lestat, stroking him at leisure. It is difficult to remain as composed as Lestat does while Louis daydreams about such things in his presence.
“Grace’s fiancé is coming to dinner,” Louis is saying so casually while he imagines Lestat fucking him hard and fast. Louis grasps his hands up onto his headboard while Lestat is relentless, his thrusts increasing in strength and speed over him. Their foreheads press together and Louis calls out his name. “He’s a Baptist. Paul’s gonna have a field day as he usually does when Levi is around.”
Lestat chuckles, but doesn’t turn to look at Louis. He continues to concentrate on Louis’ fantasy. “Religion does often spark disagreements.”
“Yeah, and Paul gets into plenty of those disagreements,” Louis mutters darkly. The Lestat in Louis’ fantasies bites his lip and Louis comes, scratching his nails hard enough down Lestat’s back to draw blood.
Lestat smells desire, real and true, and breathes deeply to compose himself yet again. Only then does he turn and he marvels at how Louis shows not even a glimpse of what his mind so flawlessly imagines. If Lestat were not as aware as he is, he would have absolutely no idea how full of want Louis actually is for him.
“Dinner’s ready,” Grace calls out from below.
Louis stands and slides his hands down his shirt. Not one wrinkle is visible. Louis is always so impeccable in the way he presents himself to the world. It’s admirable and attractive. Lestat does so love to just look at Louis as often as he is able to without being questioned.
If only the world could see how unbridled and deep Louis’ passions are inside. It is better the world not know, Lestat decides. It is better for every desire to be for them, for Louis to dream up, and for Lestat to enjoy as he listens in. How is he to ignore them when Louis broadcasts as loudly as he does?
Louis opens his bedroom door and looks back, smiling at Lestat. The glimmer of want remains for the first time as Lestat meets Louis’ eyes. As quickly as Lestat notices, it vanishes, and Louis is once more playing the role he was made to play his entire life.
Soon, my love, Lestat thinks. Soon you will have nothing to keep you from freely having everything you’ve ever wanted and denied yourself.
.
The dinner is a total disaster, but Louis forgives him so easily that Lestat knows the moment has finally come to pass.
Louis loves him. Louis loves him and wants him and they are on a metaphorical forked road.
Lestat has an ace up his sleeve. One to gain favor to his road, to the right path, to this night, and to them.
“Shall we have a nightcap?” Lestat asks, his true intentions loud and clear in his voice, in his face. He smiles, one of hope, of his own desires finally coming out to light. Come to me.
Louis blushes as he is asked and he knows. He knows what Lestat is asking. He knows and his mind is excited, but fearful. It is why he says no, why he shakes his head and begins to turn.
No.
“I bought you a gift,” Lestat tells him, tempts him.
“A gift?” Louis repeats, unsure, almost saying no again until he really listens to what Lestat says. Louis is smart, so smart, and it is a large part of why Lestat is as attracted to him as he is. Louis’ mind has always been alluring. All these months of listening into Louis’ erotic fantasies of them have made it very clear.
No more fantasies. This night, oh this night, it will all finally become a reality.
“A flower,” Lestat teases.
Miss Lily is where Lestat has asked her to be when they arrived, high above on the balcony, the most tempting of flowers, but a flower of death all the same. She smiles down at Louis like the sun and Lestat wants it to be one of the last times Louis sees sunlight. He wants eternal nights with Louis, to drown in the darkness together, to be entwined forevermore.
Their hearts beat out of sync in the warm room, as Miss Lily kisses Louis, as she tries to encourage his wants to come out. Lestat sits by, watching, impressed with her willingness to aid, to make Louis happy.
He will be happy. Louis will be happier once the chains of humanity slip away from his wrists and he is able to be free, to be all he wishes, to do as he wants, and to no longer hide away the true beauty that resides inside of him. He will be so happy nothing from his human life will matter as it does now. He won’t be hesitant to chase his pleasure, to give in and to no longer live this farce of an existence.
No more hiding. No more of it. Lestat’s mind has been made up before they walked into his home and as he watches Louis watching him, he knows. It is why he smiles indulgently as he does, giving away every single thing he’s been holding inside all these months. The weeks of patience, the way he’s hidden just how badly he wants Louis, how he’s waken every sunset with Louis on his mind. The desire he’s kept deep down, when all he has yearned for is to let it out, to let it go. He wants to overflow, to drown them both in just how much he loves Louis.
Even as Miss Lily pleases him, Louis thinks of Lestat doing it instead. Their eyes are locked and Louis imagines it is Lestat’s mouth on him, not Miss Lily.
“That’s your thing, then?” Louis asks, his voice so thick with the want he feels. For Lestat. It’s a wanting for Lestat. “You like to watch?”
In his head, Lestat sucks his cock, drags his lips down the side, tracing a thick vein. It throbs against Lestat’s lips and Louis moans out loud. That moan reverberates around the room. It rings in Lestat’s mind and he keeps staring at Louis, mesmerized by his very existence.
When Louis bites his lip, Lestat’s smile grows more devilish. Does he like to watch? What a question that cannot possibly be answered as well as Lestat wishes it to be.
Louis is trying his luck. He’s letting his walls quickly fall away to rubble at their feet. He’s giving Lestat a taste, to finally show Lestat glimpses of what his mind has revealed their entire courtship. Louis feels brave, and that is good, so good. That is exactly what Lestat wants, for Louis to let go of fear and of shame.
Be brave, my darling. Show me who you really are.
I’ve been watching you for some time now, Louis. From river to lake, lake back to river, looking for my companion heart.
Be all that you are. Be all that you have wanted to be. Be with me, with me, and only with me.
Such a pretty head.
So many scenarios, so many dreams, all made up in that pretty head of his. So much time spent dreaming this very moment up. It is better than the fantasies. It is so much better.
It will be so much better.
A surge of arousal thrums between them as it all happens quickly, like dominoes falling into line.
The moment of quiet as Louis’ heart hammers against his chest, the look that they give one another and then, and then -
They crash together in a fierce kiss. It is all Lestat has known it would be, of course it is, but then so much more than he could ever dream. Their hearts begin to sync up and Lestat is drawn up and pushed back, pressing into the nearest wall. His hands grasp Louis’, rising above their heads, a fight for dominance for only a moment because the fight ends all together as Louis gives in. Lestat spins him around and exhales against the side of Louis’ neck.
Let go, let me in, he thinks. Let me love you, Louis.
He feels it, the way Louis relaxes against him, how his body melts back against Lestat’s chest. He’s gasping for breath as though he’s run for miles. He’s panting, full of want, and Lestat licks a stripe against the side of his neck, over Louis’ hummingbird pulse.
Louis’ mind quiets. It is the first that it’s happened. He thinks nothing, imagines nothing, just one word is heard. Just, yes. Yes, yes, yes.
Lestat doesn’t hesitate a moment more. He cuts his fangs into Louis’ fragile flesh, tasting him for the first time. He is as sweet as Lestat knew he would be, his blood the finest of wines. Lestat drinks and drinks, feeling Louis on an entirely new level.
The blood hums between them, and Lestat gives back to Louis twofold. His own feelings mirrored, stronger than before, swelling to a burst through them. Their bodies, warm and wanting, giving so freely to one another.
Louis, bared down to the bone, not hiding a single part of himself. Lestat is moved to the point of heartache, and they rise from the floor. It is as close to a heaven that Lestat can find. So lost to the passion, to the pleasure of finally coming together as intimately as a vampire can.
The swoon comes for Louis faster than Lestat anticipates and he has his fill, gently coming back down to the ground. Louis falls forward onto the nearest seat and Lestat follows at his side.
As Louis attempts to work his way through his swooning, Lestat watches with all the love he feels and pricks his finger against his fang to coat his skin. He presses them to Louis’ neck, against the bite, and is careful to glide against his sensitive skin.
Louis’ heartbeat calms, and Lestat moves closer, pressing his lips to Louis’ cheek. The gasp that escapes from Louis makes Lestat shiver and he feels Louis’ trembling hand against his face. As his head lifts, their eyes lock and Lestat is moving in to kiss him.
It is slow, like honey dripping from a spoon into hot tea. Louis isn’t fully back to earth, but it is enough. He is well enough here with Lestat and as Lestat draws back, Louis chases him forward into a new kiss.
It is sweet, caring, and the desire remains behind it. Even now, Louis wants him.
“Come to bed,” Lestat murmurs, taking Louis’ hands in his. He rises, pulling Louis up to follow and walks backwards with him, to the bed. It all feels hazy, like a dream, like the fantasies Louis has had that Lestat has grown so used to. He wants it to be better, to make every fantasy a reality. To show Louis that he doesn’t have to create heated scenarios in his head any longer because this is the real thing. He doesn’t need to pretend any longer. Lestat is here, with him, willing and able to give Louis whatever it is he desires.
There is nothing Lestat won’t do for Louis. Everything he does, all he has, all he will do, is for Louis. He will give into Louis’ every whim, every want, as long as it makes Louis happy, makes him feel as loved as Lestat loves him.
Because Lestat loves him more than anyone ever could possibly even begin to imagine. He loves Louis like disciples love their God. He worships the very ground Louis walks on, wants to worship the very body Louis lives in.
He begins now, as they tumble down onto the bed, Louis trapped beneath him as Lestat climbs up his body and takes his face into his hands. Louis’ pupils are blown wide, the bite still taking its course through him, but Lestat sees him. Even in the swoon, Lestat can see Louis is here, that Louis is aware.
“You don’t have to imagine it any longer, darling,” Lestat murmurs, kissing Louis’ finely shaped jaw. “No more fantasies, no more dreams of what you yearn for.”
“I have yearned the very same,” Lestat continues, kissing up to Louis’ earlobe. He tugs it between his teeth and smiles internally when Louis moans and grips at Lestat’s shoulder blades.
Louis turns his face away, the stretch of his neck so inviting. Lestat remains controlled, wanting this to be everything and more. A dark dream come to life, a long desired passion, finally fulfilled.
“Do you want me, Louis?” Lestat whispers against his cheek.
“Yes,” Louis hisses out, pressing his nails into the skin of Lestat’s back. “Yes, please.”
Yes. Yes, he says, and Lestat is burning up. Yes, he says, and Lestat gives in to him. Yes, he says, and it all blurs into heated flames across their bodies, the brush of Louis’ inner thighs, silken and warm against Lestat’s hips. The bite is the most deeply connected a vampire can be, but the act of love, the very act of two bodies becoming one entity is just as meaningful.
To be at a crossroads for so very long, to have been waiting, to have been needing and wanton and desperate has the ability to strike even a vampire as old as Lestat dumb with its passionate force.
The sounds Louis makes, the way he calls out Lestat’s name, the way he demands more, more, more of Lestat. It drives Lestat absolutely wild and in turn solidifies the fact that Louis is meant for him, for this, to be his for always.
They move together through the night. It could be minutes, or it could be hours, but they are together in this bed. Again, and again, and again, Louis on his back, Louis on his stomach, Louis in his arms, straddling him, legs tight like a vice around Lestat’s middle.
Louis, body molded to Lestat’s as though they’ve been made to be this way, separated and finally together again as they should have always been. Louis, swollen lips and eyes blown wide out in post sex haze, over and under him, begging and begging for Lestat. He’s so willing, so needy, so wanting of Lestat like no one else has ever been.
And Lestat is driven by that love, by the very love he hears drumming out in Louis’ mind. It fills Lestat’s head up, fills his heart up, and he cannot go on another day without this. He cannot stand to be parted, to not have Louis in his arms, in his bed.
It is why he says it, why he whispers every thought into Louis’ ear, into his chest, desperate himself to sink every word in to Louis’ very human heart.
Love me, Louis. Love me out loud, not in secret or in silence. Love me freely and love only me.
It is frightening to be so exposed, so defenseless. It is and it is why Lestat understands why Louis is not as responsive after, when he has come back to his senses. It is why Lestat does not persist as Louis dresses, as he takes Miss Lily by the hand and leaves without a goodbye.
It is terrifying to know that their love is something many would kill for, something Lestat has already killed for and will kill for again.
Come to me, he thinks as he lays down in his coffin. Come home to me, Louis.
.
Louis is gone from him, determined to act as though their night has never happened. He’s determined to forget it, to live without it, without Lestat.
That cannot be. One cannot fight destiny, or a love like theirs. Their very love, written in the stars and shining down from above.
The stars themselves spell out their names. Louis and Lestat. Lestat and Louis. Forever and ever and ever and ever, for all eternity.
Sacrifices must be made.
Autumn turns to Winter and flowers go to the ground to die.
Lilies, flowers of death, join them, their white petals stained by the dirt, torn to shreds.
The moment her soul leaves her body, Lestat finds her more lovely than any moment in which she was alive.
Sacrifices must be made, names carved into monuments to reflect upon later, after wars have been fought and leaving trinkets at graves in remembrance. Silly mortal rituals to make them feel better about necessary deaths made to win wars humans themselves have created in the first place.
Guilt lacks in immortal hearts. What is wanted is what is taken. What is needed is what is given. Lestat needs Louis. He needs him.
.
The grief does not begin with Miss Lily. No, the grief begins as Paul takes flight off the roof of the de Pointe du Lac home and crashes down onto the ground. His wings have been clipped long ago and the blood pools around his fragile skull, taking all its incessant ramblings to silence once and for all.
Lestat knows this. He sees it, as he sees into Louis’ mind while his love relives nightmares in his fitful sleep.
Could it have been avoided? Lestat knows it has been inevitable. He’s heard such things inside Paul’s mind for a while, even at that disastrous dinner so long ago. Paul and his birds. Paul and his struggles. Paul and his desire to ascend, to find peace. To find his God.
Lestat cannot say he is very sad about the death, if anything he grieves for Louis. He grieves for his love, wishing to take the pain away. He can take it all away, if only Louis will see reason.
Come to me, he thinks, as he sits by Louis’ open window and watches him sleep. Come to me, Louis.
.
Louis is more stubborn than Lestat expects, but it is of no matter. Lestat has the patience of thousands of men to wait for him. He’s endured for longer than this before and he will endure until Louis comes to him.
For he will come to Lestat. He may be angry, upset, and grieving, but Louis cannot resist the pull of his heart to Lestat’s for forever.
The cord that binds them is tight, unwilling to give a bit of slack to bring any more space between them.
The funeral procession begins and Lestat sees it from his balcony. He sees it and allows his own fury to guide him out his front door and out onto the streets. Later, he will reflect and decide that it was not the best choice to make but it also gives him the ability to see the effect he has upon Louis.
It is passion, pure and brightly lit passion, even if Louis is absolutely furious with Lestat for interrupting the funeral procession.
His anger is not displaced over Lestat alluding to Paul’s desire to take his life. That is something that Lestat knows he should keep to himself, but it is only that Lestat has missed Louis so desperately and longed to bring him comfort like he knows no one else will be able to bring to him.
He loves Louis so wholly, it is all he feels. It is all he breathes. It is all he sees. Louis is his very reason for waking every night.
Louis loves him, too, more than he realizes, but he does love him. He does, and it is why Lestat continues to wait. He knows Louis will fold and finally return to him.
It will happen, and it will happen soon.
Lestat won’t allow this self hatred to continue on. He won’t allow Louis to go the same way as his holy brother. He won’t Louis dance himself into the flames of hell, as another love did centuries before.
That dark and tragic history will not repeat itself this time around.
Come to me. Come to me. Come to me.
.
Come to me.
Come.
To.
Me.
Louis.
Please.
.
Lestat hears his heart before he hears his terrified and tortured mind. Lestat hears the violent pounding of Louis’ human heart, howling in grief, in fear, and in desire.
Lestat hears and follows the drumming to church. Of course. Of course Louis finds himself at church, in a confessional booth, as he reveals every sin to the holy father behind a screen.
Louis cries, he screams, he begs for forgiveness, for help. He begs for someone to save him, to please save him, for he is weak.
He is weak.
He begs for God, but doesn’t Louis know? His God is already here and has been since that fateful night on Liberty Street.
Lestat has been brought here, crossed oceans and lands to find Louis and save him from the dull existence of humanity so as to pull him into the life that only a dark gift can bestow upon him.
Louis calls out to be saved, and so, Lestat does just that.
He saves Louis from the false narrative of a priest forgiving a man for sins that he himself commits. He forces the priest out, tears into him to drink his tainted blood and give him the strength to do what he must now.
He saves Louis from the death he wants and offers him one that is far better. He tears his hand through another priest’s skull to show Louis what he is and the power he holds. He shows Louis the monster, the true man that he has fallen for, and he is finally free.
There is nothing left to hide.
“How can you humiliate yourself like this?” Lestat seethes as he stalks towards Louis. He’s covered in blood and rageful, surrounded by death and flames and he cannot believe this is where Louis believed he could find absolution. In a church and not in Lestat’s willing and aching arms?
“You killed Lily!” Louis sobs. “Ain’t no fever out there! That’s you! You bringin’ the death to town.”
“I give death to those deserving,” Lestat disagrees.
Louis thinks he is the devil.
“I’m not the devil,” Lestat informs him. “You were wrong about that, but I can bring you death.”
That is what Louis wants. He wants death to free him from his feeble existence as a human. He wants death to wash away his sins and bring him peace. He wants death and so that is what Lestat will give him.
The sweetest gift Lestat can give to the one he loves most.
Death, and in that death, a new life.
They struggle. Louis fights him, until he cannot. Lestat speaks, declares his love, his forever adoration and admiration for this man, this beautiful man before him. They fall to the hard marble floor, and Lestat is desperate for Louis to finally see him.
“I love you, Louis,” he says, unblinking as his eyes stare into Louis’. “You are loved. I send my love to you, and you send it back round to me. And this circle, this home we barely had a glimpse of…”
Lestat trails off momentarily. He finds himself overwhelmed with the very love he speaks of. He hears Louis in his head, knows that Louis does love him the very same.
It is why he is so frightened.
“Know it frightens me as much as it does you,” Lestat speaks of the fear out loud. In a moment of rare humanity in himself, Lestat is vulnerable. He is bare, showing Louis all he is and all he has to offer.
Eternity. An eternal love.
“Be my companion, Louis,” Lestat murmurs. “Be all the beautiful things you are, and be them without apology. For all eternity.“
A breath. A sharp breath and Louis is nodding. He nods and reaches, his fingers trembling against Lestat’s cheek as he is pulled into a kiss.
A kiss to punctuate the promises that will be made upon the church floor, before Jesus Christ himself. A vow to be together, to roam the earth together for all eternity as companions, as lovers, never to be parted.
Please, Louis thinks. Do it. Do it now.
Do it before he loses the courage. Do it before one of them kills the other for good. Do it now and do it well and bring about an eternity together.
Lestat is loathe to end such a kiss, but knows that what comes next will make life all that much sweeter for them.
The warmth of Louis’ breath touches his neck as Lestat presses his face against Louis’ racing pulse.
Soon, so soon.
His tongue traces against the vein, full and rushing with blood. He will not rest until Louis his his and his alone. Louis’ flesh, pure and soft as a wedding dress, and how fitting a thought as they kneel at an altar together, to swear forever to each other.
A kiss can be made to seal vows, yes, but theirs become sealed in a bite, as his teeth rip into Louis’ neck, drinking from him, drinking him down, drinking him nearly to the last drop. The sweet, succulent taste of Louis’ blood upon his tongue, merging with Lestat’s, so that they will forever be together even inside.
His own teeth tear at his wrist, pressing to Louis’ mouth as his lover drinks down his blood. Lestat finds himself falling into a swoon of his own, the pleasure so vast, as Louis fills his body with new blood.
Stronger blood, all Lestat’s. And then, a mixture of theirs, together.
When he has had his fill, Lestat falls back to the floor in bliss. He cannot catch his breath and presses his hand to his heart.
A final, fleeting thought from Louis, thinking that Lestat is radiant. He thinks it and Lestat opens his eyes to see Louis now, as he is, his eyes bright green where the brown had once been.
Louis’ mind is silent.
His heart, though, is anything but.
Louis’ heart, matching Lestat’s in its drumming sound, in speed, and in strength.
In throes of increasing wonder.