Archive of Our Own

Louis’ 6:00 a.m. alarm cleaves him from sleep so suddenly and so violently that he goes through a brief existential crisis. His head hurts and his eyes burn and after pressing stop on his phone alarm, he has to stare into space for two or three minutes, landing on the criminally broad, freckled back and blond head of hair in front of him. Rumpled and tangled and beautiful and Lestat’s.

And then he remembers it’s Claudia’s first day of 7th grade, he has to be at work in an hour and a half, and that Lestat is the reason he’s so tired he feels like his brain is only halfway in his head.

He pulls the sheets off of himself and lets his feet touch the ground, hesitating for just a moment before standing up, and walking to the ensuite bathroom.

He brushes his teeth with his eyes closed, as if trying to find pieces of sleep while staying awake. When he showers, he stands idly under the warm water for longer than he can really afford to. He showered last night so he could save time this morning, having been adjusted to the extra 30 minutes of sleep he got when Claudia was home for the summer, but that was before Lestat had crowded Louis against their bedroom wall, gotten on his knees, and planted several wet kisses on his clothed cock. Before he had taken Louis into his mouth, bringing him so close to climax, then removing his pink lips and pulling Louis to the floor with him. They had slow sex for hours on their Shirvan rug (with interludes of kissing, of course), until they were both covered in lube, sweat, spit and a mix of three rounds of each other’s cum. By the time they had found the energy to stop trading lazy kisses and tracing each other's faces, and get off the floor and into bed, it was 3:19 a.m.

Remembering it makes Louis’ insides feel warm and his cock twitch, but he wills it away, and forces himself to grab his washcloth and soap. His head is pounding from lack of sleep, but he ignores it and finishes his shower, quickly applying lotion and padding softly to their closet so as to not wake his husband. After dressing, he tiptoes over to Lestat’s side of the bed and lightly kisses his hairline before ducking out of the room.

Claudia, whom Louis always thought was more independent than any girl her age had ever been or should ever have to be, was already dressed and sitting at the breakfast bar with her phone in one hand and a small bitten-off piece of a syrup-y Eggo waffle in the other.

“Good morning, little miss, you look nice.” She had long figured out how to style her own hair and no longer needed Louis or Lestat to do it for her, much to Louis’ (and whether he would admit it or not, Lestat’s) disappointment. Her dark curls lay in a low bun at the back of her head, tied by a pink ribbon. She wore a uniform to school– a white button down, and a matching navy skirt and vest, but she made it her own with earrings and bracelets and any other accessory she could manage.

“Thanks,” She furrows her brows. “You sound tired.” God, he was. It was also the first time he had spoken since waking, so his voice was raspy from disuse. He clears his throat.

“I am a little, but I’ll be alright. You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” She shoves the rest of her waffle in her mouth, chewing quickly, and hops off the barstool to put her plate in the sink. “Can I get in the car?”

“Not yet, baby, you know I wanna take a picture.” Louis beams, motioning for her to go stand by the staircase, where Claudia had taken every first day picture since she was five years old. Claudia sighs loudly and rolls her eyes, but walks over and stands while Louis takes his camera off of the counter and stands near the front door. He can’t help but grin as she poses unenthusiastically, and he remembers how last year she was slightly shorter, her face slightly plumper, and notably more excited to take the picture. He had prepared for this, this inevitable phase where Claudia would stop indulging him as much and begin finding him cheesy and embarrassing. He knew for next year's picture he would perhaps have to beg her, and instead of a mildly irritated sigh, it will be an argument. The thought made him briefly heartsore, but he buries it quickly. He won’t worry about that before he has to.

He lowers the camera and waves her off. “Alright, go on and get in the car. Be there in a second.”

Louis typically connects his phone to the car speaker, he has to, for calls he may need to take and texts he may need Siri to read aloud to him, but when Claudia was with him, he typically let her play whatever music she wanted. This morning, it was something low and melancholic and terribly 90s and it made Louis want to question how she even knew it.

The song is interrupted suddenly by a call from Lestat, and Louis' lips curl upwards.

“What do you think, should we answer?” He asks playfully, and Claudia shrugs.

“Answer, I guess.” She says, and Louis’ finger hovers near the accept call button, as if giving her a chance to change her mind, but she simply gives a small giggle. This was something they did with each other, at times, pretending Lestat was a nuisance. A little inside joke just between them. It was never reflective of their true feelings of course, they both loved him dearly, and Louis made sure this joke was never made in Lestat’s presence. While they knew it was just a bit, it would be hard to explain to him, and it would only result in his feelings being hurt.

Louis answers the call. “Bonjour, Les.”

“Bonjour, mon cher,” Lestat’s purring comes thunderously through the speakers, his morning voice impossibly deeper than his regular one, filling the car. “I was just thinking about you-”

“Claudia’s with me!” Louis interrupts. He knows that tone, and nothing Lestat was going to say was going to be appropriate for a 12-year-old, especially their 12-year-old, to hear.

“Oh, bonjour Claudia.” The sultry tone gone instantly, replaced with something child-friendly.

“Bonjour, Papa.” If Claudia noticed the switch, she didn’t acknowledge it.

“Where are you and Louis going, ma petite?”

She blinks. “I’m going to school?”

A pause, a crackle in the car speaker. “C’est aujourd'hui?”

“Lestat, are you serious?” Louis sighs, at the same time Claudia simply answers “Yeah, Papa.”

“Je suis désolé, my loves, it slipped my mind. I am so accustomed to you here with me. Had I remembered I would have seen you off.” Lestat says. 

“S’okay. Not a big deal, anyways.” Claudia replies, seemingly bored with the conversation already.

“I was only calling because I noticed you left earlier than usual, Louis, but now I see why. I love you both.”

“Love you, Papa.”

“Wait Lestat, remember you’re meeting me at Home Depot at 1?” Louis asks before Lestat can hang up. They were slowly in the process of completely gutting and remodeling their guest bathroom and needed to pick out lighting, flooring, several of the fixtures- pretty much everything else except the color of the paint on the walls. They had tried about 2 months ago to begin the process of the remodel by picking out the bathtub. That would be easiest, Louis thought, as bathtubs only have so much variety. He had hoped they could knock that out in an afternoon, maybe even under an hour, and cross something off of their checklist. It hadn’t gone that way, of course, that would be too easy. Lestat, a lover of eccentricity, wanted a $7,500 marble lionhead tub, shipped from Europe. Louis had not found it tacky, per se, but entirely and categorically unnecessary. Firstly, it was only for the guest bathroom, and secondly, even if it was for a bathroom they would use more often, spending thousands of dollars on a bathtub plus whatever the exorbitant price of shipping would be is wasteful and irresponsible, even if they could comfortably afford it.

Louis had, gently, expressed this to him, and insisted that they instead try a sleek, freestanding bathtub. More modern, less expensive, and will match better with almost any tile, considering they had not picked that out just yet. Lestat had scoffed at both ‘modern’ and ‘less expensive’, and asked if Louis was so fond of cost efficiency, why he had bought a ten thousand dollar impressionist painting for their parlor room. Louis had replied that art and a bathtub that will hardly ever be used aren’t the same, Lestat had ranted that Louis gets to make all the decisions, both of their voices had gotten loud and unexpectedly hostile, and then they had not spoken for the rest of the day. 

That argument was not so much resolved as it was tucked away in an already crammed closet, the hastily closed door the only thing keeping everything from spilling out, leaving an impending wreck inside. Nevertheless, the closet would have to be opened eventually. Or, today at 1:00.

“Could you pick me up instead, Louis?” Lestat coos. “I enjoy spending extra time with you, even just 30 minutes.” 

It didn’t make a lot of sense to do that since Home Depot was only 6 minutes away from his art gallery, but he knew riding with Lestat may soften him, make him more malleable to Louis’ ideas. He also could never say no when Lestat spoke to him like that.

“I’ll be there at 12:30. See you later.” Louis can barely hide the faint smile on his face as he ends the call. Claudia’s music continues, and for the next 4 minutes they drive through the narrow, potholed streets of New Orleans, finally reaching the long entrance of Claudia’s private school. He drives through the carpool lane until he reaches the front of the building and Claudia hops out, barely waiting for him to fully brake, and grabs her backpack from the footwell of the passenger seat.

“Have a good day, little miss. I’m so proud of you.” 

“Uh-huh, don’t start crying. And be here at 3:15.” She rolls her eyes, a small smirk she was trying so badly to conceal twitching on her lips. With that, she shuts the car door, and makes her way inside, looking down the whole way as her thumbs move rapidly on the screen of her phone, undoubtedly texting her friends. He keeps his foot on the brake and stays, until she is out of sight, despite signs along the sidewalk that read, Once your scholar is unloaded, please pull forward.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

Louis parallel parks his car outside of their townhouse at 12:24, and texts Lestat a quick I’m here before leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. Despite his half day at work, he still felt exhausted, and the hardest part of the day hadn’t even happened yet. He was tempted to just go inside, forget about Home Depot and the renovation, and go back to sleep with his face in the crook of his lover’s neck until it was time to pick Claudia up from school.

But if not today, when would they do it? They had already put it off, and if he wants the bathroom done by the end of the year, they need to start now. It won’t take long today, he thinks. I'll be more open to Lestat’s ideas and hopefully he’ll be more open to mine. It doesn’t have to be a fight. He’s likely forgotten about the bathtub, probably mulled over it later and realized it wasn’t what he really wanted.

He hears the passenger car door open, and opens his eyes to see Lestat climbing in, knees on the seat, as he leans over the center console to press two quick kisses to Louis’ lips.

“Hello, Louis,” Lestat murmurs against his mouth, applying one more kiss before leaning back, “Would you mind terribly if I drove?”

Louis only smiles and shakes his head, unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out. While Lestat could have easily just climbed over to the driver’s seat, he too steps out to walk around. They met in the front of the car, where Lestat dove in for another kiss, one hand cradling the back of his head and the other on his ass. This was less than appropriate for a residential neighborhood in broad daylight, with pedestrians and drivers alike passing by, but Lestat had never cared about that. He would engage in PDA, sometimes something as innocent as a peck on Louis’ cheek to something as crude as putting his hand down Louis’ pants, wherever and in front of whomever with no shame. Most of the time, Louis found it embarrassing and disturbing, but on those sporadic occasions when he felt desperately, senselessly in love and euphoric on whatever drug Lestat was, Louis found he didn’t have shame either. 

Lestat caught him on a good day. Louis wraps his arms around Lestat’s neck and opens his mouth with an embarrassing little whine, and Lestat takes the opportunity to lick at Louis’ tongue, deepening the kiss. Lestat turns them slightly, maneuvering them so Louis’ back is against the car, and Lestat puts both arms around his waist and pushes so Louis has no choice but to lean back against it. Louis’ large SUV was too tall for him to lay down on the hood in any way that is comfortable, but too short for him to stay standing up against, so it results in awkwardly bending backwards, straining his neck and lower back. It reminds him briefly of Claudia, how when she was just a little younger, she would play limbo under any equipment that would allow it, always trying to coerce Louis to play with her. He thinks of one time when she was in elementary school, maybe 8 or 9 years old, she accompanied him to the bank, and she spent the whole time leaning back and limbo-ing under the stanchions meant to direct lines.

He chuckles at the memory, and Lestat hums, sucking on Louis’ kiss-swollen bottom lip before pulling away and letting Louis up.

“What’s funny, mon cher?”

Louis checks his watch- 12:39. How long had they been spent groping each other and, as his 70-something year old mother calls it, necking, outside? People surely saw them. He tries to remember what time Lestat came outside after Louis had texted him, but he hadn’t checked. A familiar rush of embarrassment engulfs him for a second, and he has to tell himself that it’s ok, no one cares. “What’s funny is we gotta go.” Louis reaches forward to wipe some of the sheen from Lestat’s chin up with his thumb, before rounding over to the passenger seat.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

Lestat has only been in Home Depot once before in his entire life. There are, of course, home improvement stores in France, but nothing like this massive, orange, egregiously American one. They had gone sixteen years ago, when he and Louis were only in the dawn of their love, new and bright. Louis was moving into Lestat’s town house, one he had bought in cash only a year earlier. Louis had wanted a new shower head and they had wandered around the obscenely large store, stealing glances at each other, and when Louis was caught looking he would look away suddenly, a shy smile on his lips. It was both puzzling and sweet to him, that Louis was so reticent. Didn’t he know there was no need to be? That it was futile? But he would break him of it, he was sure. There was no part of Louis that Lestat didn’t want to know and love, but it would come with time, and Lestat knew patience, a trait he had adopted as a small child. 

He had once swiped an apple from a market in town, and it had been so sweet, so perfect, he knew he had to plant a tree from its seeds. He could then have multiple apples, all borne of this one, all just as sweet, and he would then plant trees from those apples. Even if it produced nothing, it would act as a shrine or a grave for this apple that had nourished him, that had offered him a kindness of sorts that he did not find often. He planted it in the yard of his home, covering it in the thick dirt and watering it with water from a nearby lake, water he had to carry with his cupped hands back to the spot. He watered it every day for weeks, and for a long while would see no progress, but he didn’t give up, he couldn’t. He continued, and one day he saw a sprout and wept of pride. He loved this tree already, thought it was only a finger length tall and still far too young to bear any fruit, but it was his and it was made from love and he was so proud of it. It would take over a year, maybe two, for it to become even a sapling, but his heart swelled every time he looked at it.

So much waiting, years of waiting. He was well into his teenage years by the time it produced a mature apple that hadn’t rotted first, and when he tasted it, it was bitter, too hard in some spots and too soft in others, nothing like the apple that had formed it, but he loved it just the same, maybe more. His tree, though imperfect and utterly incapable of producing a decent apple, had grown into a tree, a full tree, one that was strong at the roots and sturdy at the trunk.

Lestat hasn’t seen it in years, not since before Claudia came into their lives, and he missed it dearly some days but he never feels far away from it. Louis reminded him of his darling apple tree, just as imperfect, but just as steady, and so completely his. 

Yes, for Louis he could be patient because Louis was worth it.

In the end, they found a showerhead, pressure-balanced and removable, and after installing it that night, took a shower together for the first time. Sex hadn’t happened, but they had held each other, naked and soapy and dripping wet, and that may have been more pleasant than any fucking they could have done.

They hadn’t had the need to go to Home Depot again because that’s what contractors and repairmen were for, and they had needed several over the years. Work around the house was not something either found particularly enjoyable, and while their old townhouse always seemed to need some kind of fixing-up, they had the money to make it someone else's problem. But Louis had suggested, after the sink countertop in the guest bathroom sustained a giant crack through the middle of it, that they renovate the whole thing. Why not! It was awfully old and neglected. It would be fun, something new for the two of them to sink their teeth into. 

However, as soon as Lestat gave his opinion on a bathtub, and he saw Louis bite the inside of his cheek in displeasure, he knew immediately this was not going to be as fun as they had originally thought.

“Do you wanna look at the faucets first?” Louis asks him, squeezing his shoulders when they walk in. “That shouldn’t take long.”

“D’accord.” Lestat says absently, his eyes immediately finding the Halloween animatronics, tall and loud. Louis follows his gaze.

“You wanna look over there? We’re not getting anything though, we don’t have a front yard.” But Lestat is already making his way over, Louis’ hand in his.

They had always decorated for Halloween, though never anything very large due to a lack of space outside their front door, just a few pumpkins on the stairs and fake cobwebs by the door. Had they lived in the country, like where Lestat had grown up, or in the suburbs, like where Louis had grown up, they would have a great front and back yard for dogs and multiple children and multiple holiday animatronics and inflatables. However, they both loved living in town, in the heart of their beloved city, near everything and everyone, so they were willing to sacrifice numerous square feet of green grass for concrete and gravel.

“Louis, would you like a front yard?” Lestat asks, stepping on a try me button on the floor, a loud, shrill cackle coming suddenly from a snaggle-toothed witch. Louis shrugs.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather live than where we do now.” Louis says, touching one of Frankenstein's outstretched hands. They stroll through the small maze of characters, flinching slightly at the motion censored ones, and laughing quietly when the other was caught startled before stopping in front of a pumpkin in a black cloak and tall top hat, straw hair spilling out from underneath. Lestat feels at one of the sharp teeth in its mouth.

“Guardian of the Gourds,” Louis reads the tag attached to its arm. “Looks like you.”

“We must take him home.”

“No, we must not. We don’t have anywhere to put him.”

“We could put him in the courtyard.”

“But, what would be the point? No one would see him.”

“He’s very handsome.”

“Well, no,” Louis wrinkles his nose, “he’s not.” But Lestat is already picking up a box, a disassembled Guardian of the Gourds inside, and Louis is already pulling an empty cart closer, already in agreement that yes, they must take him home.

Lestat pushes the cart to the back of the store, Louis by his side, and thinks how smooth the floor is, how noiselessly this cart moves against it, how happy he is with Louis next to him. This is just like the first time they went, nothing has changed except when they catch each other looking, neither look away. Louis tucks Lestat’s hair behind his ear, or rubs his back, or elbows him playfully. Louis doesn’t kiss him, Lestat knows better than to expect that, but he doesn’t pretend he was never looking at all, and that places a stubborn smile on his lips. They walk through the lighting section, and he remembers this from last time, how unexpectedly romantic it felt, how cripplingly enamored Lestat felt looking at Louis’ eyes in it.

They reach the faucets, one long aisle with several models hanging on a wall.

“What finish were you thinking?” Louis asks, already swinging the handle on one of them.

“Gold, perhaps.”

“Gold, perfect, that’s what I was thinking. Maybe we could do a dark blue tile, too.” Louis smiles widely.

“Beautiful, mon cher.”

“Les,” Louis delights, his smile broader than seconds before, “This is so easy. I was so worried you were gonna pick the most ridiculous option possible.”

And Lestat feels his smile, the one he always had when Louis smiled, falter. Certainly, he’s not referring to the bathtub that Lestat had suggested months ago, the gorgeous hand carved one. Louis had insisted that he did not find it ridiculous when Lestat had shown it to him, that it was merely impractical. Of course Louis thought it was ridiculous, he thought everything Lestat liked was! His Lestat, so classless and uncouth and theatrical and downright wacky!

“I hope that statement was not pertaining to the bathtub, mon cher, because I haven’t changed my mind on it.”

The colorful sparks that had been forming between them are dying out suddenly, just like that, how it always did with them, such a sharp pivot.

“So you still want that?” Louis asks, monotone, his lips curling.

“Oui, bien sûr.” Lestat watches Louis rub his eyes.

“What can I say to make you see that it makes no sense to get that bathtub, huh? It’s so utterly unnecessary, it’s over priced, it would be difficult to install with our plumbing-”

Lestat rolls his eyes. “Louis, please do not pretend as if you care about an exorbitant price tag. And you wouldn’t be installing it-”

“It’s basically an Ancient Greek artifact, that thing belongs in a museum, by the way, it’s unusable-”

“It’s completely functional.”

“Why’s this the hill you wanna die on?” Louis asks, frustration fueling every word. And really it’s not about the bathtub. Yes, he wants it, it’s not out of pure spite that he is fighting for it, but it is more the principle than anything. Louis is in charge of most things around their home, as Louis preferred so Lestat happily allowed, but Lestat feared this has made Louis think of him as somewhat frivolous, unserious. Why could he not have any input? In fact, now that he thinks about it, Claudia’s opinion held more weight in their home than his did, and how is that fair?

“Beacause I am an adult man.” He sniffs, and typically he is very articulate, but it seems as if he cannot draw from it right now. Louis' face scrunches in confusion.

“What?”

“Because I am an adult, and you treat me as if I am some petulant child, unable to contribute any opinion in my own home like it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m lettin’ you get your Guardian of the Gourds– thing– despite not having room–” 

“Therein lies the issue, Louis, ‘letting me’ as if I need permission. I thought this was a partnership.”

“It is,” Louis says, the s coming out like a hiss, before looking around, as if he forgot where he was, checking if anyone was witnessing this spat in the middle of the faucet section in Home Depot. “It is, Les, so I’m tellin’ you I think we should go with a different bathtub. I like the one you picked out, but not to own or use.” He says softer now, and strangely, unfortunately, Lestat feels the staggering urge to kiss him.

He almost gives in. Almost says yes, Louis, mon ange, whatever you would like, and it’s not about being the bigger person, he has never cared about that. But he does care about Louis, and would do anything to make him happy, has done everything since they met for that sole purpose. But he wanted Louis to understand his point, and he wanted to win, and he was getting a bit of a thrill from this whole thing anyway.

“In that case, I don’t like that sculpture you have in our bedroom,” Lestat declares airily.

“What sculpture?”

“The small one. By the bookshelf.”

Louis exhales sharply out of his nose, closing his eyes briefly. “The Kostabi? You told me you did.”

“You had already brought it home, what could I say?”

“Now you’re just trying to get on my nerves, there’s nothing to dislike about it.

“Well, somehow I do. But I care so tremendously about your happiness that my hatred for it hardly means anything.” And he’s set this up so perfectly, he thinks, Louis will either have to concede, or admit that his strong feelings towards the bathtub mean more to him than his strong feelings for his husband. Either way Lestat is triumphant, even if the victory he receives from the latter is pyrrhic. 

He watches Louis’ eye twitch infinitesimally.

“It’s not the same.”

Lestat barks out a surprised laugh. “It is!”

“No, art and a bathtub are not the same, as I’ve already said. First and foremost, a bathtub is supposed to serve a purpose, it has to be operative, and this bathtub you are oh-so committed to is an antique, so it–”

“Hence, why it will be in the seldom-used guest bathroom.” Louis is struggling to keep composure, Lestat can see it. He roughly scratches the palm of his hand and takes deep breaths and the sight of him worked up had always gotten Lestat worked up and he revels in the sinister pleasure he’s getting from this.

“Fuck you and that bathtub, Lestat.” He looks as if he’s about to storm off, but he doesn’t, just keeps fiddling with a faucet, turning the handle back and forth like water will stream out of it if he does it enough. This is certainly one of the more bizarre disagreements they’ve ever had, Lestat thinks, unsure what to even do or say right now.

Louis turns to him abruptly. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, we’re not getting that– and I’m so tired of this word now– bathtub. I don’t care if you like it, it’s horrible and it would cost more money and work than it’s worth.” He says through gritted teeth, angrier than he was just seconds ago, like thinking about it further had only stoked the flames.

“C’est tout? You have no care for what I would like?”

“No. In fact, I will do the bathroom alone, because this was such a mistake. You don’t know how to be serious, you never have, and I was expecting too much of you.” He says, calmer now, but Lestat sees his eyes, widened in the way they always did when he was being vicious, like he doesn’t want to miss a single fragment of the way your face falls when he’s hurt your feelings, struck a nerve.

“Very well.” Lestat says quietly, tossing his hair over his shoulder. He turns on his heel, stomping out of the aisle, but not before throwing a booming va te faire foutre over his shoulder, the sound of it echoing over the tall shelves. He doesn’t look back, though he wants to, but he knows better than to expect Louis to be following him, begging forgiveness, because that’s Lestat’s modus operandi. Louis’ was silence- unpleasant, pointed, dense silence until Lestat broke first because it seemed Louis could go on forever. He had once tried to go toe-to-toe with Louis in this, participating in the competition Louis had initiated. They hadn’t spoken, not even really looked at each other, just lived among each other while pretending the other wasn’t there. Lestat waited for Louis to give in, to end the silence between them that he formed, to miss Lestat like Lestat missed him, but he never did. One, two, three, four, five, six days passed and they continued, treating the other like a ghost, and Lestat wanted to erupt into tears every second of every bitterly speechless day. He missed Louis so severely, his hands would shake whenever they were in the same room, backs facing each other, heads down. How could he be so unmoved, so unconcerned, so hard-hearted? It was torturous, excruciating for Lestat, and finally on the sixth day, he broke down. He sat at Louis’ feet while Louis sat on the couch and sobbed, apologized for everything and begged his dear husband’s forgiveness, and Louis had gathered Lestat into his arms and shushed him, rubbing his back. It was wonderful to be back in Louis’ arms and good graces, even if it was to a degree patronizing, even if it was a gentle warning that no matter how long Lestat thinks he can hold out, Louis can go longer.

Lestat gets to the car, keys in hand, endlessly thankful he was the one that drove. Otherwise he would have no choice but to either stand outside of the car until Louis comes out, or go back in, and both sound horrendously embarrassing. He gets in the passenger seat, only because it is the seat not facing the building. That way he can turn away, won’t have to see Louis walk out whenever he decides to do so. He checks the time– 1:57.

It isn’t until 2:25 that Lestat hears the trunk of the car open and something large and heavy slid in. It closes loudly, and Lestat flinches a little at the sound, then Louis opens the driver side door, stepping in.

“We’ll just go straight to get Claudia, there’s no time for me to talk you home.” Louis says gruffly, pressing the start button to the car, the dashboard lighting up and the engine roaring.

Lestat hadn't wanted to be taken home anyway, and Louis thinking he did only made him more annoyed.

“What you said wasn’t very kind, Louis.” Lestat murmurs, his forehead against the window and his eyes facing forwards. He’s not really even looking for an apology, he just wants Louis to know, although he’s sure he does already.

“Wasn’t goin’ for kind, I was goin’ for truthful.” His eyes forward, peeling out of the parking lot.

“Oh,” Lestat supposes, sitting up straighter in his seat, turning to Louis. “Then I hope you’ll allow me to be truthful, mon cher, although I’m not sure how kind it will be.”

“Go ‘head,” Louis challenges.

Of course, Lestat can’t even think of anything. Well, he can, but nothing he thinks would be productive. He could say he thinks Louis is, at times, as selfish as he is selfless, but that feels like a can of worms he doesn’t want to open. He could say that he’s horribly hypocritical, but Lestat is also hypocritical, he knows, so it would be hypocritical to even point that out.

“You–” He’s really losing steam, and right when he needs it. Louis raises his eyebrows expectantly, eyes still on the road. Louis lets out a long exhale.

“When you think of something, let me know. I’ll be here.” Lestat opens his mouth to say something, and Louis catches him doing so, glancing at him, but Lestat only closes it again, scooting as far away from Louis as he can.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

Claudia steps outside at 3:16, the midday sun immediately heating the side of her face. She has to squint through a bright, sunny glare, but she can see Louis’ black SUV in the line of cars, further back in line than some of the eager parents who joined the line 2 hours early, but still here when she asked him to be. She weaves through the line, dodging younger children and ajar car doors before reaching her destination. She reaches for the handle and tugs at it once, twice before moving to the front passengers side, tapping on the window.

Her dads turn suddenly, startled, and at once she knows they’ve been arguing. They can’t hear anything or anyone around them when they argue, tunnel vision and they only see each other.

She hears the doors unlocking and clambers into the back seat.

“Hey, little miss.”

“Hello, ma petite.”

“Hi, guys.”

Quiet. No follow up questions about school today, or her friends, or what she wants for dinner. Nothing. Just a tangible tension, solid, like another body in the car with them.

What had happened? Earlier this morning, they had been so disgustingly in love, and now Lestat was sitting with his arms crossed and his knees facing the car door, and Louis with his back straight, both hands on the wheel. Usually, their hands met in the middle, and Lestat would idly graze Louis’ palm, or even fully hold it, their joined hands pressed to his lips.

They were clearly in an argument, but that was not alarming to her. Why would it be? They argued around four times a week. Occasionally, one of those fights included a divorce threat, usually from Louis, but how many times had they ever actually gotten divorced? Zero. 

“Can we go to Miss Henrietta’s?” Claudia asks, breaking the silence after 9 minutes (she had counted, told herself in exactly 9 minutes she had to summon the courage to ask). Miss Henrietta’s was a classic southern American diner just outside of New Orleans. It was her favorite, but she never got to go very often because it wasn’t terribly close by and neither of her dads liked it as much as she did. She’s been thinking about it all day, and had assumed her dads would be in a good mood and would enthusiastically agree.

Louis didn't answer for a long moment, so long Claudia was about to awkwardly ask again, but then she hears him say “Sure”, sees him maneuver to the right lane. She claps her hands in delight.

Lestat sighs. “Ma petite, must we go today? I am very sleepy–”

“We’re going.” Louis says firmly, and Lestat turns abruptly in his seat to look at Louis, mouth agape, scoffing.

“Oui, bien sûr, tout ce que le roi Louis XX veut-” Lestat starts, artificially sugary.

“What I want? Claudia wants to go, so we’re goin’.” Louis retorts, his New Orleans accent, which, despite living there, had been worn down by years of travelling, years of Lestat, now more pronounced.

“-pourquoi envisagerait-il jamais comment son mari se sent?”

“Because it don’t matter right now. It’s two against one, and you coulda taken your own car.”

“Je voulais passer du temps avec toi!”

“Well, now you are!” And how ridiculous did they sound, Claudia thinks, arguing in two different languages. Her French wasn’t perfect, as she never exactly practiced speaking it, only ever really hearing it from Lestat and sometimes Louis, but she could understand some of what was being said.

There was always a moment when children realize their parents aren’t perfect and don’t have everything figured out. When she was young, (younger than she is now, she supposes) she always thought her dads knew everything. Why would they not? They were adults and adults just know things. They are all wise and enlightened and mature.

Approximately a year ago, after another disagreement between her dear parents, Louis was not speaking to Lestat (immature), and Claudia watched Lestat hide her other father’s car keys (immature!) so Louis would have no choice but to break his silence and ask Lestat where they were. Later that day, Lestat and Claudia sat on the couch, watching a movie until Lestat suddenly paused the movie, listening for something, and a smirk grew upon his lips. She then heard too, the sound of Louis in the other room searching for his keys, overturning papers on the counter and shoes on the floor, rifling through his jacket, before pausing. She heard his footsteps, approaching, angry but quiet, until he stopped in the doorway. She saw her dads eyes meet, and without looking away, Louis said Claudia, could you ask your Papa where my car keys are? (immature!!). Lestat had turned to her, so amused, so pleased, awaiting her question (immature!!!). Claudia had looked back and forth between them because, surely, they’re not serious. But both of them sat there waiting, Lestat’s eyes on her, Louis’ eyes on Lestat. Claudia asked quietly, so annoyed that they put her in the middle of this absurd spat, Papa where are Daddy’s car keys? To which Lestat’s smile widened before pretending to look confused, and he only said I have no idea what you mean, chérie, winking at her (immature!!!!).

It was that very day that she concluded that her parents, whom she loved deeply, are no more advanced than the children she went to school with.

She puts in her earphones and tunes out her parents, only watching them retreat back to their corners, determined to be as far away from each other as possible despite sitting right next to each other in a confined space. Lestat’s face is red, like it always is when angry, and Louis’ mouth is in a tight line, like it always is when angry,  and Claudia can do nothing but let out a long, quiet breath.

Miss Henrietta’s looks different from when she was last there. The exterior used to be an old, dark yellow and was now repainted a bright white, and Claudia decided that while it did look nicer, she didn’t like it.

Louis pulls into the near empty parking lot and drives up to the front to let them out.

“Go ahead in and get a table, I’ll be right in.” Louis says, and the doors unlock.

“Do you need time to find a parking spot?” Lestat mumbles sarcastically, already stepping out of the car.

“I just have to make a call.” Louis responds, pleasantly, devoid of any umbrage that had just been present 20 minutes ago.

“Bien sûr. Very important, I’m certain.” Claudia recognizes the undercurrent of this exchange- Lestat is trying to continue a fight that Louis has already decided he’s done with. If she didn’t know any better, and perhaps she doesn’t, she would say that Lestat likes arguing with Louis. He certainly prefers it over worn-out indifference.

Louis ignores him. Lestat opens Claudia’s door and allows her to step out, taking her backpack from her and putting it over his shoulder.

“I’ll be right in, baby.” Louis says to Claudia, a small placating smile on his face, phone already in hand. Lestat closes the car door and Louis drives away and into a nearby parking spot.

She watches Lestat watch the car for what feels like several minutes, long enough that she starts to feel offended. She’d had this recurring thought for so long that she can’t remember not having it, that she will never matter to Lestat as much as Louis does. She would always tell herself that it wasn’t true, that she was being dramatic, but it’s moments like these when it’s so undeniable that she can’t talk herself out of it. She walks towards the entrance, and considers looking back, seeing if he notices that she’s not there, but decides against it. She already knows.

She walks in, and the door is way lighter than she expected it to be, which results in her accidentally shoving it open like a villain in an old Western movie. The sudden harsh air conditioning, contrasted with the humid Louisiana air she just stood in, startles goosebumps on her bare arms. She catches the host's brief confused look, presumably at a child walking into a diner with no adult, before it settles into an easy smile.

“Welcome in, sit wherever you like and someone’ll be right with you.”

She picks a booth near the window, sitting in the seat on her knees, and looks outside near the front, but the angle doesn’t allow a view of where Lestat was just standing. She looks at her phone- 4:21.

“Hey honey, how are we today?” Claudia blinks, looking up to a young, kind faced server cooing to her. She feels a prick of annoyance at her, this server who is likely no more than ten years older than her, talking to her like a way younger child.

“I’m okay.”

“Great. Is it just you or…”

“No, my dads are coming, they’re just outside.”

“No worries, can I get some drinks for y’all?”

“Can we all just have water for now, please?"

“Of course! And it was three?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“No worries, I’ll be right back with those.” She places three large, laminated menus on the table and glides off. Claudia immediately flips to the Sweets n’ Treats section, eyes roaming over the long list of milkshakes. This was her favorite part about Miss Henrietta’s. She had made it a goal to try every single milkshake flavor, and so far had only gotten through six of them– s’mores, cookies and cream, peaches and cream, banana cream pie, birthday cake, and chocolate strawberry. She still had thirteen more to go! At this rate, considering they only come here about twice a year, she won’t complete her goal until she’s 18.

“Putain de merde, Claudia! You cannot just run off,” She hears a booming voice, but doesn’t look up from her menu. She winces at the volume, not enough of other people’s chatter in there to drown his voice out. She feels him slide into the seat across from her, tossing her backpack on the seat next to her, “I assumed you had been taken by some nefarious pervert, halfway to his torture dungeon by now.”

“I wanted to come in,” instead of standing outside waiting for Daddy like a pathetic idiot, she thinks but doesn’t add. “You seemed distracted.”

“I’d assume it was obvious to simply say you were going in.”

“Or you coulda just paid attention.” She pinches the menu, surprised by the avalanche of anger flowing through her now, so potent she knows it’s not just about this.

There’s a silence, and suddenly she feels scared to look up from her menu and at him. Despite her closeness with Louis, he lacked this innate ability that her other father had of just– seeing right through her. She didn’t want him to see her, and the battle between her and the tremble in her lips that she was losing. She feels his eyes boring into her and she hides her face, not even reading anymore.

“Hi folks, I have those waters for you,” Her waitress chirps, setting down three condensed water glasses. “We’re still waiting for one more?”

“Yes, but can I have a Fruity Pebbles milkshake, please?” Claudia asks, finally uncovering her face to look at her. She can see in her peripheral vision that Lestat is staring at her with pursed lips.

“Sure, I’ll be right back with that.”

Both Claudia and Lestat turn to the window, both looking at Louis’ car, still parked. She wishes he would come in. 

“This table is sticky,” Lestat grimaces, “and wobbly.”

“Well, so are you.” That wasn’t her best, she knows, but she can’t shake this sudden bitterness. Embedded in her, dormant, until, for some reason, right now. And his disparaging of this table at her favorite restaurant feels personal, somehow.

“Mon Dieu, and what have I done to upset you now?” Lestat asks, irritated, but under it she can hear something else- weariness.

She finally looks at him, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes unexpectedly soft despite his words, and her fury is somewhat extinguished. Now she feels guilty, which feels even worse than anger.

“I’m not… upset,” She says sheepishly, “I’m hungry.” She feels a betrayal at herself suddenly. She is upset, it’s not that she’s hangry or dealing with some petty pre-teen girl hormones, it’s that despite being an only child and having active parents, she always feels second place. 

“Well, you could eat if your father would only come in,” Lestat sighs dramatically, looking out of the window at the car again, “I’ll go retrieve him, I think.”

She considers telling him that Louis won’t like that, he’s only going to make whatever they have going on right now worse, but she knows Lestat knows that already. She keeps her mouth shut as he slides out of the booth and is striding past the host table, past the entry way and the vacant waiting area, into the parking lot.

She watches, with her chin in her palm, as Lestat opens the driver side door, arm extended as if he means to escort Louis out of the car. Lestat complains– she doesn’t have to hear him, she can tell by the sneer on his face– and she can’t see Louis, not with the back of the car facing her, but she knows he’s got a tight look on his face, apologizing to whomever he is on the phone with that his loud partner has interrupted them. Lestat crosses his arms, gazing at him expectantly, and then Louis’ left foot steps onto the running board but he remains in the car. She can only hope Lestat doesn’t start yelling– he has a voice that carries, and with how quiet it is in here, surely the 9 workers and 4 other patrons will hear him. Should she go out there? Would that just make it worse? Can they both just come in and shut up–

“Here’s that milkshake,” Claudia whips her head towards the waitress, the heavy glass hitting the table with a clank. “Uh oh, did we lose one?” She asks humorously, handing Claudia a straw.

“Sorry, he’s just going to get my dad.” Claudia takes the straw, peeling the paper open carefully.

“Well, I’ll come back in a few.” Claudia looks back towards the car, and sees the door shut and the taillights that had been shining now off. She looks around furiously, before seeing Lestat walking towards the table, Louis only a few feet behind him, both with perfectly neutral expressions on their faces. 

Lestat sits down first, and Claudia quickly wonders who Louis will sit next to. Usually, she likes having her own side of the table, so she can sit however she might like, but she finds herself hoping he’ll try to sit with her.

In the end, he glances at her backpack next to her and slides in next to Lestat.

“Which one is that?” Louis points at the milkshake glass in front of her, creamy with specks of neon cereal bits inside.

“Fruity Pebbles.” Both she and Lestat say at the same time.

“Ah, ok,” Louis says warmly, “How is it?”

“Uh,” She pierces through the mountain of whipped cream topped with a bright red maraschino cherry with her straw, and takes it out, licking the end. It tastes like cereal milk, just thicker and sweeter. “S’okay. I think I liked the others more.”

“Do you want to get another? If you don’t like it–”

“No, I do. It’s just– I like it. I’m gonna finish it.”

Louis only nods before grabbing a menu and absently flipping through the stiff pages. Lestat crosses his arms on the table and gazes out of the window, as if there is more to look at out there than empty cars and cracking pavement. Claudia dips her straw in her milkshake and sucks, and it’s too thick, she realizes, as she hollows out her cheeks just to pull some to the end of her straw. She takes the straw out and uses it to scoop the whipped cream on top.

“Oh good, everyone’s here now!” Their waitress comes back, and Claudia wonders if she’s been sitting watching the table. It had barely been 5 minutes since she had dropped Claudia’s milkshake off.

“My name is Theodora, I’ll be taking care of y’all today. I’ve already brought some waters but is anyone interested in other drinks?” She asked, hands clasped nervously, eyes flicking back and forth between Louis and Lestat. It wasn’t uncommon, Claudia knew,  for people she met to be intimidated by her parents. The first time her friends had met them, they had come over to her house, and Claudia didn’t know whether it was the way Louis’ words were mannerly, but brief or the way Lestat said virtually nothing at all, but his eyes had a way of looking over you like he knew some dirty secret about you, but her friends stayed in her room the entire time, voices hushed. One of them went to the bathroom, but seemingly couldn’t find their way back to Claudia’s room after, so she wandered the halls for several minutes to avoid asking Claudia’s dads, who were right in the parlor room, where her room was. When Claudia had invited them back to her house weeks later, they timidly declined, and when Claudia had asked why, they simply said, It seemed like your dads didn’t like us very much. In reality, Louis had called them all very sweet girls, and Lestat had agreed, said yes, they were lovely. The imposing atmosphere about them is something only strangers experience and, frankly, baffled her. If anyone knew what she knew about them, saw what she saw from them,  they’d know those two were no scarier than anyone else’s parents, though perhaps more maladjusted. 

Louis flashes her a polite smile. “Water’s just fine, we’re ready to order.”

“Ok great, what can I get for you?”

Louis looks at Claudia, and Theodora follows his gaze. 

“Oh, could I have the shrimp po’boy, please?” Claudia asks, folding up her menu.

“Sure, french fries or onion rings?”

“French fries, thank you”

“Awesome. And for you, sir?” She looks towards Louis again, but Louis is looking at Lestat, so she directs her attention to him as well.

“Nothing for me.” He says curtly, almost shoo-ing her off, still staring out of the window. Claudia puts her head in her hands. Louis rolls his eyes. Theodora’s smile tightens.

“O-Ok.” She blinks, faltering slightly before turning to Louis, who gives her his most peacemaking smile.

“A chicken salad sandwich, please. And a side of vegetable soup.”

“The sandwich comes with onion rings or french fries, but would you want to replace those with the soup?”

“No, french fries are fine. The soup, too. And an extra plate, please.”

“Ok,” She takes the menus, Louis and Claudia handing her theirs, while Lestat keeps his on the table, never having touched it at all. Theodora glances tensely at Lestat as she reaches for his, like he is an unpredictable dog who may dig his teeth into her hand lest she get too close. “The wait shouldn't be too long, I’ll be right back with all of that.” Once she scurries off, Louis scoffs.

“Stop fuckin’ doin’ that, Lestat.” He snaps, speaking to the back of Lestat’s head .

“What’s that?”

“Actin’ like you have no common sense. There’s no need to be rude because you’re mad.”

“I was not being rude. I did not want anything, and I told her such.”

“You’re not stupid, Lestat, you know how you sounded–”

“Now you confuse me, Louis, I could have sworn you thought I was. That is how you treat me, after all.” He whips around now facing Louis, his eyes widened, thrilled at another argument beginning.

“No, I don’t think– when do I treat you like you're stupid? The shit you do ain’t about stupidity because that would suggest you don’t know right from wrong. You always know, and that makes it worse–”

“Mon Dieu, I said three words to her!”

“I’m not talking about just that anymore and neither are you–”

This is so embarrassing. Claudia doesn’t like this diner anymore. She won’t ask to come back. She reaches into her backpack to pull out her earphones, which she knows Louis won’t like, he doesn’t like earphones at the table but he won’t say anything about it now. She finds that usually she can get away with behaving badly as long as Lestat’s behavior is worse.

“Claudia, no.” Louis looks at her pointedly, and she wonders how he even noticed. They weren’t even fully out of the pocket yet. She drops them back in her backpack, feeling the need to scream. Dear God, he is so annoying.

“I don’t wanna hear y’all arguing.” It comes out whinier than she means it to.

“We’re not. We won’t.” He looks at Lestat, who only huffs before turning to face Claudia.

“Apologies, Claudia. How was school today?” He asks pleasantly, plastering on a sarcastic smile.

She shrugs, “Fine.” They look at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue but she keeps it at that. It was unremarkable– her teachers seemed nice and she didn’t have any homework and she saw her friends. There really isn’t much to say, and even if there was, there’s not much she wants to say. She picks up her phone and begins chewing the straw that sits in her milkshake, signalling she’s done talking and she’s not interested in being their buffer. They lean back in their seats. It’s eerily silent at their table, and the only things that can be heard are utensils in the kitchen, the host and a server having a quiet conversation, and the catchy disco song that plays from the ceiling speakers.

Do a little dance, make a little love

Get down tonight

Get down tonight

She shouldn’t ask. Something is telling her not to. Don’t ask.

“How do you ‘make a little love’?” She asks, so clueless, with her lips still around her chewed straw, interrupting the quiet that had formed between them. Louis freezes. Lestat hums.

“Making love–”

“Lestat, no,” Louis interjects, “absolutely not.”

“Louis, she asked, and now that you’ve made it seem as if you do not want her to know, surely she'll be more curious, non?” Louis steels his eyes on Lestat, daring him to continue. Lestat merely faces Claudia now. “Making love is sex–”

“Lestat!”

“–that can only occur between two people bound to each other. of sex. I can only hope one day when you are older, you will get to experience it, Claudia.” Lestat finishes, giving Louis a meaningful albeit instigating look. And, just in case Claudia missed the implication of that look, just in case Louis wasn’t angry enough, he adds, “Don’t you remember the first time we made love, Louis? I treasure the memory immensely, it was so special.”

Louis doesn’t look back at him. They had never discussed sex with Claudia, and the only time they had ever known it to be brought up to her was during a school field trip two years ago to a science museum, where puberty and everything that comes with it, were talked through (though not graphically, as best anyone can to a group of 10-year-olds who find the topic embarrassing). Louis had signed the permission slip, and when he had picked her up later in the day, he asked her how the trip was, she had said it was weird, and that had been that. Louis is mortified, she could tell in the way he presses his lips together, refuses to make eye contact with her. She looks away, tries to appear casual about what she had just heard, but didn’t know if she was succeeding. It really wasn’t that bad, just awkward. This was her first time having either of them talk to her about sex, and in fact, this was her first time hearing either of them even say the word ‘sex’. He slid out of the booth and suddenly, unconsciously, as if an outside force was pulling him away from this situation.

“Goin’ to the bathroom.” He says, his feet already making his way there, speedwalking.

Claudia truly was not trying to start another problem between her parents, and was genuinely curious about how one could “make love”. She hadn’t thought of it as something you make! It was something you just had, something you just felt, something you could give and see. It had just sounded like a silly little lyric, she had expected them to laugh at how silly it was. Now she knew it was a physical action, a euphemism for sex, which she did know existed but had never herself experienced or even gotten 100 miles of. She had seen it in R-rated movies that Lestat would allow her to watch, even but would advise her not to tell Louis about. It was something she had read about in books sometimes, when she went to a local bookstore with Louis and he would say I’ll be in the poetry section, go find something you want and yell as loud as you can if some creeper gets near you, and they would veer off and she would occasionally find herself in the adult romance section. She had even heard something, one time, from her own parents. She couldn’t see them, no, but she had heard them in the kitchen, kissing sounds and rustling and something that had elicited a little gasp from one of them. She walked in, the floor creaking under her footsteps deliberately, and suddenly they were 6 feet away from each other. But she didn’t miss the pink in Lestat’s cheeks and the plumpness in Louis’ lips and the mutual, in-sync heavy breathing.

She was a growing girl, and she had been curious about what was happening to her, why she had suddenly become so aware of her body, aware of other people’s bodies. But she didn’t ask, never did– this was an example as to why– and will figure it out herself.

Lestat looks at Louis as he walks away, indignation blatant on all of his features, but guilt, too.

“He usually calls you by your name when he’s mad. Lestat. He’s been calling you that all day. Lestat.” She mentions flippantly, as if she doesn’t know it will annoy him.

Lestat regards her, in a way that makes others stop mid-sentence, suddenly insecure about what they’ve said. But she doesn't shrink away from it. Not when it feels like she has the upper-hand. 

“Well, he always calls you that actually. The way he says it just changes when he’s mad. I guess he calls you Les sometimes, too,” Claudia continues, hiding a smirk as she looks outside of the window right beside her, not focusing on anything, but trying to keep herself from fully smiling at the look she knows is on his face. A frown that he’s trying to control, so it makes him look twitchy as opposed to neutral. “I don’t think he calls you anything else though.”

“Well, he’s been calling you Claudia, so by your logic, he’s mad at you too.”

“He’s not mad at me, he’s just mad. Because of you,” Claudia giggles. How ridiculous. Her and Lestat aren’t held to the same standards and what reason would he have to be mad at her? He was very rarely upset with her, but him? He’s able to get on Louis’ nerves so quickly and so, so often! Just last week, she watched Louis hang up the phone on Lestat after a long, heated conversation, turn to her and say I don’t think I could dream up a more irritating person, Claudia. I’m telling you, there’s a fuckin’ screw loose, before correcting himself, remembering he was talking about the other father of his child with said child, and apologizing, telling her not to repeat that word. “He also called me ‘baby’ in the car earlier.” She was fully cackling now, reveling in having the advantage.

Lestat looks down for a second, thinking, and his mouth that had previously been frowning, turns slowly into a smile, his mischievous one, one that she only sees when he's about to do or say something that maybe he shouldn’t.

“He calls me that, too. It’s not just yours.” He traces his finger through a groove in the table. Claudia narrows her eyes.

“Baby? No, he doesn’t. I’ve never heard him call you that.”

“Oh, but he does, ma petite. Only when you’re not around, however.” He leans in and whispers the last part, like he’s sharing some secret with her, just between the two of them. She'd never heard Louis call Lestat that. That’s her name, her thing that she and Louis have. He has to be saying that just to annoy her. Louis was right, you couldn’t dream of a more irritating person. At least ‘little miss’ was still hers, only hers.

“I don’t believe you.” She does, but she says it with a finality that tells Lestat that she no longer wishes to talk about it or be proved wrong. This is how she’ll leave this conversation, this unspoken competition, with her dignity intact– by denying his claims.

Lestat regards her, that same look, like he can see right through her, and this time she knows he can, knows that she is somewhat upset for a reason she wouldn’t admit, partially because she didn’t fully know. How easy it would have been to point out the disappointment etched in her features, to say she’s not as special as she thinks she is. But surprisingly, he shows her some mercy, doesn’t try to prod at her, and for someone who never knows when to stop, he does.

She tries drinking her milkshake from her straw again, though it’s even more difficult now that she’s narrowed the opening with her teeth. 

When Louis comes back, he says nothing. Only retakes his seat and folds his hands on the table. Lestat looks at him carefully. It’s painfully quiet for a few minutes more before she decides she can’t take it.

“At school today, when we went outside, I saw a lizard. It’s tail was gone. I looked it up and it’s called caudal autonomy. They can self amputate. It’s anti-predatory.” She offers, reclaiming her role as the buffer. It works, however, because Louis looks at her and the frown that had settled on his face dissipates before her very eyes.

“The poor thing.” He says, urging her to continue, please say more, please don’t leave any room for Lestat and I to talk to each other.

“I hope it didn’t hurt him too much. But he’s ok now, I guess, he was away from whatever made him amputate his own tail. I wanted to keep him, was gonna put him in my container, the one that had my grapes in it, but I didn’t think he’d be able to breathe if I did. I didn’t name him either, ‘cause then I’d miss him.”

“He’ll probably be eaten by a bird,” Lestat cuts in, and amends quickly when Louis shoots him a disbelieving look, “I only mean it is the circle of life. It is not tragic, it doesn’t have to be, it is just how the world works. It was kind of you not to take him, ma petite, he is deserving of a natural death, not to be suffocated in a plastic casket that once held your snacks.”

Louis’ face softens and he nods, and Claudia knows she’s done her job.

“He was really cute too. I was tryna take a picture but he moved really fast–”

“Here’s everything!” Theodora appears again, chipper as she sets Claudia’s plate down in front of her, a sandwich as large as her forearm and an overly generous helping of french fries. Louis’ plate is a different sandwich but the same size, with a medium sized bowl of soup next to it. Theodora smiles brightly at them.

“Is there anything else I can get anyone?” 

“No, this is good. Thank you.” Louis says, and she bounces off. Immediately, Louis takes the extra plate and puts a small handful of his fries, less than half, on it before passing his sandwich and the rest of the fries to Lestat. Lestat blinks at him.

“I don’t want anything, mon cher.”

“You’ll like it. Don’t have to eat all of it.” Louis says, opening a packet of saltines to put in his soup. 

That was all that was said for the next 38 minutes. Claudia eats half of a half of her sandwich, but finishes her french fries, dipping some in her milkshake while Louis shakes his head fondly and Lestat frowns. In the silence they fall into– a comfortable one for the first time today– Claudia doesn’t miss the moon-eyed looks exchanged by her dads, or the way Louis soothingly rubs Lestat’s leg when he pushes his plate away from him after finishing, or when Theodora hands Louis the bill once they’ve all decided they’re done, Lestat snatches it from him and slips his own card in. She also doesn’t miss the nearly 200% tip Lestat signs for.

 ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

When Louis unlocks the door to their town house at 6:00, Claudia and Lestat in tow, he immediately notices the tidiness that had not been there when he left that morning. The stairs that had been cluttered with shoes were now cleared, the indoor doormat that had been surrounded by dirt spotless, the parlor room floor that had been strewn with dog-eared books and disregarded blankets now free of them. All Louis can do for a moment was look around dumbly, like someone had come in while they were out and instead of ransacking it, cleaning it up.

“I had some time...” Lestat says, gesturing around vaguely. 

“Woah, it's clean in here.” Claudia marvels, already on her way up the stairs. Louis turns to Lestat, who is shuffling his feet as if he has just been caught. Louis grins.

“You did this?” He asks playfully, tugging at Lestat’s ear lightly. Lestat tugs his head away grumpily.

“Yes! You act as if I have never cleaned before–”

“I’m just playin’ with you. I’m less surprised that you cleaned up more than I am in the time it took you to do it,” He wraps his arms around Lestat’s waist pulling him in for a hug, and Lestat’s arms immediately wrap around his shoulders. “Looks like you had an army of housekeepers in here. Were you bored, rockstar?”

“I suppose so. I had gotten accustomed to Claudia being home with me during the day.” Lestat says against Louis’s neck, coming out muffled and sending vibrations throughout Louis’s body. He shivers.

“Looks good.” Louis pulls away, kicking his shoes off and making sure to put them neatly on the shoe rack by the door, careful not to ruin Lestat’s tidying up. He climbs up the stairs, looking appreciatively at each one. They seem polished, and the stair runner is noticeably vacuumed, brighter looking. He frowns.

“Lestat, there’s no possible way– You did all of this? By yourself?” He asks, halfway up already.

“Yes, Louis.”

“All in the five hours you were here alone?”

“Louis, what are you suggesting? That I secretly hired housekeepers and am now lying about it? For what reason would I do that?”

“No, it just… You did this alone? This is several hours of work, especially for one person.”

Lestat only looks at him, tilting his head, his features darkening in a way that would be imperceptible to anyone who was not Louis.

“Are you assuming I invited our old friend, Antoinette, over and we spent the hours you were gone cleaning?” Lestat asks, and it’s so fucking nasty, Louis flinches.

His fists clench, because why would that have been what he was accusing him of? He doesn’t even know what exactly he was getting at, but it wasn’t that, he hadn’t even remotely considered that, and Lestat knew it. Anger expands in his ribcage, heavy and delicate. Maybe he deserved that, he thinks, he had said things to Lestat earlier that he could have been nicer about, but this felt uncalled for.

“Don’t say her fuckin’ name, Claudia could hear you.” He whisper-shouts, starting back down the stairs, stopping right in front of Lestat. Suddenly this feels too far, and Lestat seems to know it because his face is remorseful, pitiful, all of the snark gone in an instant.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to– You seem to think I’m lying–”

“Fuck you, Lestat, I didnt say you were lying.”

“And just what were you saying, Louis? I haven’t spoken to An– her in several years, I was upset because you were accusing me–”

“I didn’t say anything about her! I wasn’t accusing you of anything and you brought her up.” Louis notices his voice getting loud mid sentence, and glances up as if to make sure Claudia isn’t listening, head over the railing.

“Louis,” Lestat implores, hand cautiously holding Louis’ wrist. “Louis, I don’t know why I said that. She was never here.”

“Yeah, I know that.” He bites out. “That’s not the conclusion I came to, but you said it to be mean. You were makin’ fun of me.” Louis wasn’t much a crier, especially not compared to Lestat, but his voice was starting to tremble and his eyes were burning at the corners. He looks at the floor because he knows if he looks up, he’ll lock eyes with Lestat, the one he loves and hates and can’t live with and can’t live without even more, and he’ll start bawling. He rips his arm from Lestat’s grip and walks up the stairs, eyes downward the whole way.

After spending an inordinate amount of time showering, which he justified with all the rain New Orleans had been seeing lately, he lies in bed. It was made up, of course, the sheets and duvet tucked so tightly under the mattress that it took muscle to pull it out. He lies there with his back to the door, a book he can’t seem to focus on in his hands, praying Lestat will walk in, praying he won’t. This was always the dance they did when their bickering escalates to a full blown argument, mild aggravation turns into hurt feelings. They steer clear of each other until Lestat gained the courage to apologize, and it was always Lestat, whether he was in the wrong or not, because Louis had never been good at that. He knew Lestat was lingering downstairs to avoid Louis, but Louis wasn’t sure if it was because he thought that was what Louis wanted or if Lestat truly just didn’t want to face him. 

He hears footsteps approaching the closed door, but immediately knows it’s Claudia, her footsteps lithe and graceful like Lestat’s, but slower. He hears the four polite knocks and sits up.

“C’mon in.” And she does, already in pajamas and a bonnet, looking around before stopping.

“I thought Papa was in here.”

“Downstairs. What do you need?”

“Nothin’.” She turns around and reaches for the doorknob.

“Claudia, you came in here for somethin’, what is it?”

“Nothing, I was just going to ask him for– something I want,” She falters slightly towards the end, spinning her phone in her hands. He looks at her, willing her to elaborate. 

She exhales out of her nose dramatically. “I wanted this dress.”

“What dress? Show me.”

“No, ‘cause you’re not gonna let me get it.”

“Claudia–”

“Goodnight, Daddy, sleep well!” She steps out of the room in two large strides, closing the door behind her and bounding down the stairs.

“No running!” He yells, but she can’t hear him and is not likely to stop running anyway, and lies down and closes his eyes, the warm overhead light still on.

He is awoken by Lestat, attempting to walk quietly around their room, although the rugless areas on the wooden floor of their nearly 200 year old house doesn’t allow for much soundlessness, creaking and squeaking from almost every step. He is about to close his eyes again, to pretend to be still asleep, but Lestat looks over and they make loaded eye contact.

“What did the dress look like?” Louis asks immediately, because what else can he say.

“Dress?”

“The one Claudia wanted?”

“Oh,” Lestat furrows his brow, “It’s quite stunning. She has excellent taste. She didn’t show you?”

“No, she said if she did, I wouldn’t’ve let her get it.”

Lestat smiles and shakes his head. “She’s right, you wouldn’t.”

“And you bought it for her?” He doesn’t even need to ask, he knows the answer.

“Of course.” Of course. Louis rubs his hands over his eyes, sighing.

“And was it appropriate for a child?”

“Yes, Louis, I would not have my daughter dressing like a lady of the night. Not at twelve years old, anyway.” Louis considers throwing a jab, telling him that someone who could correctly gauge what is or is not age appropriate wouldn’t talk about making love to a child. But what good would that do now, when there is already a stiffness between them that he’s too tired to make worse.

“So, why would she not want me to see it?”

“Because it’s from a dressmaker in Paris, made by hand only with very fine materials, therefore it costs $800.” Lestat says airily, sitting down on the bed and rubbing Louis’ ankle through the thick duvet. Louis almost pulls his leg away, not yet done with pretending to be mad, but then he wonders at what point he started pretending, when had his his authentic anger had turned into a false one, one that was only there because he felt like it had to be.

“You know damn well a twelve year old does not need a dress that costs that much. She’ll outgrow it in a year,” He couldn’t even really pretend to be upset about that. Claudia liked nice things because her parents liked nice things. She only ever experienced the best of the best, the highest of quality in everything, so why would she not be drawn to it. “Mentally and physically.”

“It will make her happy, so why not?” And it’s just as simple as that.

It’s quiet, only the sound of Lestat’s hand rubbing the blanket, moved away from Louis’ ankle now, and they’re stagnant in this purgatory of knowing everything’s not okay right now but neither knowing how to go about it. Louis tries not to look at Lestat but can’t help the way his eyes are stuck on his twitching mouth, like he has something to say but can’t decide how.

“I’m sorry about Antoinette,” His voice gets lower at her name, “Then and now. I would like to forget about it, if that is amenable to you.”

Louis snorts. “Turn off the light, please, I wanna go to sleep.” And Lestat looks at him, head tilted, before sighing softly and walking over to the light switch, dimming it so there is only a barely there orange glow throughout the room. Lestat goes to the bathroom, closing the door, and Louis turns his head on the pillow and closes his eyes.

Before realizing that he fell asleep, he startles awake to the sound of a slap and the sensation of a sting, his hand instinctively flying to his left ass cheek. He turns over on his back, rubbing the tingling away, and in the darkness can make out the silhouette of his long-haired husband, a halo of frizz around his head induced by the heat, sitting up next to him, an incubus over his sleeping victim.

“Did you just spank me?” He asks, irritation not as present in his voice as he would have liked.

“I realized I don’t want you to sleep while you're angry with me.”

“But why would you spank me? Why would that be the way you wake me up?” Louis groans, grogginess all consuming. “Jesus, that hurt.” 

“Désolé.” Lestat whispers, reaching over Louis and wriggling his heavy hand between Louis’ butt and the mattress, massaging where that same hand had just hit. He places a loud kiss on Louis’ stomach where his shirt had ridden up, before lying his head there. Louis instinctively begins scratching Lestat’s scalp and Lestat sighs.

“Aren’t you angry with me too? For earlier?”

“I am not,” Lestat lifts his head, as though upset by the thought of it. “I am never angry with you.”

Louis groans. “I hate when you act like I’m the only one who gets mad. You’re allowed to be pissed off too, don’t absolve me of fault.”

“I would never dream of absolving you of fault, Louis, you are to blame for plenty of things. I’m just never very angry with you. Or at least, in the rare occurrence I am, it is short lived.”

He blinks. “‘I’m to blame for plenty of things’? What things?”

Lestat holds on to Louis tighter, as if Louis might pull away from his grasp in outrage. Louis doesn't move, doesn’t try.

“Yes, mon ange. Most things, I believe, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Amusement floods in Louis’ chest, spills out of his mouth.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He asks, lacking any heat, through the uncontrollable laughter wracking his body. He hears Lestat let out a small giggle before returning to his place on Louis’ stomach, jostling slightly by Louis’ laughter. It dies out, after some time, only leaving a wide grin on his face.

Nothing is said for several minutes, and Louis only stares at the ceiling, his eyesight adjusting to the dark and his sleepiness dissolving slightly. This would be a problem in the morning, Lestat waking him, when he has to get out of bed in– he doesn’t know how many hours, doesn’t want to look either– to take Claudia to school and go to work, but for now he can't find it in himself to care. He can’t even remember what their argument was about, any of the ones today, not when he can feel Lestat’s breath on his stomach, familiar and warm. He feels a sweep of affection throughout his whole body, and it almost feels blasphemous that he could have ever been mad in the first place.

Les, I love you, he thinks. 

Louis brings his hand down to the nape of Lestat’s neck, down to his shoulders, down to his bare back, caressing the firm, smooth skin there, and he feels Lestat smile serenely against his bare stomach, before lifting his head and kissing up Louis' sternum. He pushes Louis’ shirt further up until it is bunched up to his collarbone, and closes his lips around Louis’ nipple.

“Oh,” Louis half laughs-half moans, and Lestat lifts himself up from his lying position to straddle Louis’ hips, sucking and biting gently on Louis’ nipple before pulling away slowly and placing a sloppy kiss on his chin. He sits up, and leans to the right, reaching, reaching.

“Don’t turn the light on.” Louis says suddenly, when he hears Lestat fiddling with the lamp, trying to find the tiny knob under the lampshade. Lestat pauses.

“Why not?”

“It’ll wake me up.”

“And you are experiencing astral projection right now?”

“You know what I mean, it’ll wake me up more. I have to be up a in few hours.”

Lestat sighs loudly before breathing out a “D’accord,”. He moves to the drawer on the nightstand, rifling through to find their usual clear bottle, huffing after only a few seconds.

“Mon amour, I can’t see.”

“It ain’t that dark in here, Les, it shouldn’t be that hard to find,” Louis said softly, before lightly patting Lestat’s thigh to let him know to lift up a little so he could look himself. He pats his hand around, unable to locate it and frowns.

“Did you put it back? From last night?”

Lestat presses a pleased kiss to his lips. “Ah, last night! Of course, it must be on the floor. Apologies, Louis, the only cleaning I did in here today was make the bed,” Louis shakes his head in a way of dismissing the unnecessary apology, but then remembers Lestat probably can’t see him. Lestat nearly jumps off the bed to crouch to the floor to look around for it. “This would be easier if there were some light.”

Louis watches Lestat’s silhouette on all fours, roving around for their little bottle and it reminds him of something. He snickers, remembering what it is.

“You ever seen Scooby-Doo? Did they have that in your little countryside French village where you grew up? Maybe Claudia watched it.”

“Scooby-Doo?” Lestat repeats, not pausing from his search, and it only makes Louis laugh harder at his pronunciation of it.

“Yeah, it– there’s a character– her glasses–” He can barely get it out, words smothered by his own laughter, and truly it’s not that funny, it’s not, but he’s operating on only 3 hours of sleep and a bowl of soup and he’s mind-bogglingly in love.

“Louis,” Lestat kneels next to where Louis lays on the bed, and they’re face to face. “Please just cover your eyes, mon cher, so I can turn on the light. I’ll turn it right back off.”

Louis grabs the back of his neck and pulls him in for a kiss, his laughter dying against Lestat’s lips.

He breaks away and covers his eyes with his pillow, letting Lestat know he can go ahead with a little ‘mhm’ and he hears the flick of the lamp, the movement of Lestat’s knees on the floor, and after a few seconds he hears the lamp again, and Lestat gently pulls the pillow away from Louis’ face. Lestat returns to his position on top of Louis, and runs a hand down his torso.

“Voila. That’s all you had to do.” He chides playfully, and leans down to nip at Louis’ jaw before moving upward for an open-mouthed kiss, one Louis happily reciprocates. Lestat cradles Louis’ head between his hands, and Louis squeezes his hands down Lestat’s waist, his back, his shoulders trying to ground himself. He’s loopy now, and he doesn't know if it is the grogginess of being woken up, the lack of sleep from last night, or Lestat on top of him, rolling his hips, kissing him, smelling soapy and powdery from a shower. My Lestat, all mine, my sensitive and thoughtful and frustrating Lestat. They kiss like that for minutes, hours, who can be sure, until their lips feel tingly, and are gleaming with their mingled saliva and they’re both hard and needy.

“Louis, I need you.” Lestat pants, pulling away just to say it before dipping down again, his mouth pressing Louis’ top lip into his teeth, and Louis laughs, turns his head to break this kiss. 

“Relax, ‘m not goin’ anywhere,” He slides up the bed, as best he can while Lestat has trapped him in between his legs. He adjusts himself so he is no longer fully lying down, and instead leaning against the headboard, “What do you need, baby?”

Despite the only source of light in the room being the streetlamps that peek through the sides of their drawn curtains, Louis sees Lestat look at him so warmly it makes his ears feel hot.

“I think you know, mon cher.” He whispers before lifting up and roughly flipping Louis onto his stomach, so quickly it makes Louis dizzy. Being manhandled by Lestat was something he had to get used to, and in the very beginning of their relationship, when Louis’ homosexuality was something he knew was ever-present but did not like to be made aware of it, he would often get embarrassed when Lestat would toss him around. They could only ever have sex when Lestat would kindly allow Louis to feel in charge, which often made him feel more ashamed after the fact. 

Lestat presses a wet kiss between his shoulder blades, his hand sliding under Louis’ body to push up on his groin, coaxing him to arch his back. Louis closes his eyes, although it doesn’t make much of a difference, and hears the rustling of the sheets beneath his body, the small click of a bottle opening, a cricket outside. Lestat pulls down his pants and underwear in one swift tug, down to his bent knees, and Lestat’s thumb, warm and slippery, is immediately prodding at his hole.

“Why’re we doin’ it like this? Maybe I wanna take you.” Louis says, his voice raspy from arousal.

“Oh, do you, my love? Perhaps next time.” Lestat coos, his thumb firmly pressing now, slowly, slowly breaching the rim of muscle.

“It’s not too late, just- fuck- just turn around and I’ll open you up.” Louis says, but makes no effort to get up.

Lestat grazes the hand that is not currently inside Louis on his back, his middle finger tracing the deep line of his spine.

“Indulge me then, Louis, I want it like this tonight.” And so do you, he doesn’t have to say. They both know. He removes his thumb slowly, only to replace it with his index and middle finder, quicker, and Louis exhales sharply. Lestat pumps his fingers, twisting them leisurely, and Louis feels restless suddenly, it’s not enough, he needs more.

“Les, please, please.” He sputters, his hands shaking where they rest next to his head.

“Shh, one more.” Lestat replies quietly, as if talking to himself. Louis feels another finger press into his hole, and the slight pain feels so, so good. In and out, never quite fully reaching his prostate, just brushing against it, and Louis feels like he’s about to go crazy.

“Baby, now, please.” And Lestat flips him over onto his back, and he lands with a little bit of a bounce. Louis pulls the remainder of his clothes fully off, tossing them carelessly into the dark, and holds the backs of his knees, giving access. Lestat pulls down his own sleep pants, only enough to free his cock, and slides it back and forth on Louis’ hole. Louis knows he’s not doing it to tease him, but simply because Lestat enjoys it, and this is something Louis would allow, had they the time. But Louis wants to go to sleep, and while he loves when they are thorough and intentional with their fucking, they don’t have the time. Louis pushes himself forward a little, impatiently signaling to Lestat to put it in, and he complies, the head of Lestat cock pressing firmly against his hole until it gives way.

It hurts, he wasn’t prepped enough yet, and Lestat must know that because he doesn’t move yet, just lets his cock sit in Louis’ heat, lovingly rubbing his hands on Louis’ legs, waiting for a signal.

“Sorry.” Louis whispers, having rushed Lestat to finally fuck him, only to tense up when he does.

“It’s all good,” Lestat replies softly, sounding so like him that Louis wonders dazedly if he had been the one to say it, but Lestat scoffs, “Saint Louis, I’m adopting your awful American colloquialisms.” Louis squeezes his wrist in response.

After several more seconds, he huffs out an “Ok”, and Lestat pumps his hips carefully, shallowly, Louis clenching around him.  The pain gradually gives way to that familiar pleasure, the one he’s felt so many times but never gets tired of, and he lets out a sigh. Lestat takes this as permission to deepen his thrusts, and he pulls Louis’ legs to wrap around his waist, and leans over him, nuzzling his neck before driving into him the way they both like.

The sound of their lubed skin slapping together and the creaking bed make Louis pray to God– as if God would care what he wants right now, seeing that he’s currently, actively engaging in sodomy– that Claudia can’t hear. He hopes it only feels this loud because he’s at the center of it. And like he always can, always so attentive of Louis in these moments– any moment, really–Lestat can tell he’s getting distracted, can tell even though his face isn’t fully visible and his tiny gasps of pleasure haven't ceased. Lestat nips at his jawline before slotting their lips together wetly. His thrusts slow, and he pulls nearly all the way out before pounding back in, all the way.

“Fuck, baby, fuck that’s good” Louis keens, his hand traveling down to Lestat’s butt, squeezing roughly.

“Just you and I, mon amour.” Lestat murmurs against his parted lips, and Louis nods frantically, the sweltering pleasure sending goosebumps throughout his whole body.

Lestat hits that sweet spot inside of him over and over at a pace that makes Louis’ head feel staticky. When they’re together like this, they both understand each other and it’s so fucking easy and Lestat is right, it’s just them. No one else could possibly matter right now, the most devastating of natural disasters could be occurring just outside, but it wouldn’t matter.

Louis clasps his hands at the nape of Lestat’s neck, keeping their lips together, trying to kiss him but he can’t, can’t do anything but moan while Lestat grunts. Lestat reaches between them grabbing Louis’ cock and stroking it, his touches long and leisurely, and Louis’ toes flex, his body not even his own anymore as that satisfying burn in his gut grows.

“Close.” Louis breathes, and Lestat’s spit-wet lips find the valley of his pecs.

Lestat only needs to snap his hips once more, his hand as the base of Louis’ cock before Louis’ eyes roll to the back of his head and he’s coming with a shaky moan over his stomach, droplets falling into his belly button. Lestat keeps going, keeps driving into him as Louis trembles beneath him.

“Louis- je t’aime,” He sighs, his thrusts stuttering slightly before burying himself to the hilt and holding it. Louis gasps, lifting up his head to peer down at where they are connected, before Lestat pulls out quickly, stroking his leaking cock to completion over where Louis had, just moments before. Warm spend joining cooling spend on Louis’ abdomen.

For a few seconds, nothing can be heard except a car whipping past their home, undoubtedly several miles above the speed limit, and their heavy breathing.

“You and I.” Lestat states dreamily, and Louis thinks he is just musing on his sentiment just minutes earlier, until he feels Lestat’s fingers zig-zagging on his stomach, mixing their cum together. Louis shivers.

“That’s disgusting,” He laughs quietly, swatting Lestat’s hands away. He tries to sit up, to find any item of fabric to wipe himself off with, but is stopped by a firm, wet hand on his chest.

“Lestat, I have to clean this up.”

“Let me, mon cher.” And suddenly, Lestat’s tongue is on him, licking and sucking up their now combined spill. He dips his tongue in Louis’ belly button, before slurping, loud and vulgar.

“Lestat– fuck, that’s– ew.” He breathes out. He puts his hands on Lestat’s shoulders, a halfhearted attempt to push him away. He feels lightheaded, his brain dispatching a thousand sparks throughout his whole body. His breathing speeds up, and his cock feels sensitive, like it’s going to come again, just from this. He closes his eyes and parts his lips, loud breaths escaping. Lestat continues his task, licking and kissing Louis’ entire upper body, moaning as he goes, like a desperate, thirsty traveler at an oasis, so grateful. Louis tangles his fingers in his hair, clutching like he’s falling, and Lestat, his precious Lestat, was the only thing saving him from a bone-crushing landing.

Lestat slows, after his mouth has covered every part of his husband’s body and he can no longer taste their semen, before crashing his lips against Louis’. Louis opens his mouth, licking Lestat’s tongue, his teeth, his lips. There is no skill, just Louis wanting to taste him, to taste them, tangy and sweet.

Lestat pulls away, nuzzling their noses, smiling when Louis tries to follow. “I don’t know where you end and I begin, mon amour, my Louis. I love you.”

Louis’ eyes are fully adjusted to the dark at this point, but not enough to make out Lestat’s face, even when they're this close. But he can imagine, he can visualize it, the lovestruck expression that always makes his heart race. His chest hurts– he’s so happy, he’s so in love, he’s so sleepy.

He leans forward to kiss Lestat chastely, and gently nudges Lestat off of him, to lay beside him. He lies on his side and feels strong arms wrap around him, one around his waist and the other across his chest, hand resting over his heart.

Despite knowing that he shouldn’t, that it will only pull him out of the bubble of intimacy and affection that they have created for themselves, he looks at the glowing alarm clock on his nightstand- 1:33 a.m.

“Lestat, you’re gonna have to stop keeping me up.” He groans, rubbing at his eyes.

“Hmm?”

“It’s 1 a.m., I have to be up in five hours- no, four and half hours, and now I’m gonna have to shower too. And I was already asleep and showered.”

“Putain de merde, Louis, please don’t start this.”

“I’m not starting anything, I’m tellin’ you you can’t wake me up every night.”

Lestat huffs, annoyance evident that the moment is ruined now, but never lets go of his possessive hold on Louis.

And strangely, Louis wants to say something else, he feels he needs to, but doesn’t know what it is. It’s at the tip of his tongue, but he’s losing it, he can’t think of what he wants to say.

He settles on, “I’ll have to show you Scooby-Doo.”

“I know it,” Lestat murmurs sleepily, pecking Louis’ shoulder, “Scooby-Doo, où es-tu?”

“Yeah, you remember Velma?”

“Mm, non.”

“Orange sweater?”

“The homely one? That was Véra. In France, at least.”

“Homely,” Louis repeats, huffing out a laugh. “She was Velma here.” 

He brings Lestat’s hand to his mouth, not quite kissing it, just pressing his lips to it, and they say nothing else, only closing their eyes and allowing sleep to overtake them.