Work Text:
“Aren’t I enough?”
Lestat stood there, watching Louis from across the courtyard, utterly incredulous.
Louis? His Louis? Not enough? It was a truly ridiculous thought. One that threatened to make him burst into a fit of laughter at the sheer absurdity of it. How could he not know?
To him, Louis was everything.
Lestat pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh, a feat that quickly became manageable at the sight of Louis’ wounded look.
There was that dull, shuttered look in his eyes. He was doing it again, turning inward and bottling up his feelings.
Lestat hated it.
But it was at this very moment that Lestat realized, with stunning clarity, that he was at least partly to blame for his lover’s reticence.
In their years together, Louis had blossomed slowly, almost maddeningly so, but oh so beautifully.
He had become so much more comfortable with the physical intimacy of their relationship in and out of the boudoir, but he still struggled with articulating his feelings.
This of course, drove Lestat up a wall.
He just didn’t understand it. Not when he had to constantly restrain himself from waxing poetic about his lover’s beauty, from showering him with compliments and endearments and outlandish expressions of his passionate, undying love.
In those early days, he had quickly realized that he had to try to tone it down to avoid scaring off Louis. Though he masked it well, and appeared to be able to push past it when they were intimate, Lestat knew his lover had still been quite skittish and shy.
For some time, Louis had seemingly been at a loss for how to navigate a romantic relationship, let alone one with another man.
Even when they were alone in their home, he was often tense and would occasionally jump at Lestat’s touch. He’d apologize and look so embarrassed and upset about it, that Lestat couldn’t help but pepper his dear face with kisses until he made him laugh and smile once again.
“You’re still getting used to this, mon cher,” he had reassured
Louis one night after he had jerked away so violently from a kiss on the cheek that he had nearly ripped his book in half.
“You get to set the pace.”
“Now that’s the last thing I’d ever think to hear from your impatient ass.”
“Well, I mean it. And the thought of waiting for you to make a move? Of being pursued by you? Mm… I find that very thrilling…”
These days, if he was lucky, such romantic declarations earned him a exasperated but fond look, or Louis rolling his eyes in open annoyance.
He wasn’t quite at the point of direct confrontation, sensing it would only make things worse, but he so desperately wanted to hear Louis tell him he loved him.
The fact that Louis stayed despite their conflicting morals and outlook on the world and their immortality, despite Lestat’s volatile personality, despite his family’s rejection, despite everything… Well, it should have been enough. He knows this.
If Louis didn't love him, why else would he stay? Lestat was well aware that he wasn’t the easiest person to live with. That was clear from the way so many past relationships, both romantic and familial had turned out. He was difficult to love, a fact he had come to understand very early in life.
And yet… he wanted to hear it from Louis.
He needed to.
Their nonexistent sex life as of late thanks to Louis’ new non-human diet, didn’t help. Instead it made him paranoid, made him question their relationship and Louis’ feelings.
Because if Louis’ desire for him had faded, and Lestat couldn’t at least be reassured of his love in its absence, what else was there?
It made him anxious, made him restless and so his eyes began to wander.
Truthfully they had never stopped, but he was content for quite some time to simply look and appreciate. He admired beautiful people and things, and Louis, his fledgling, his companion heart, his love, was the most beautiful of all. There was no need to seriously entertain the thought of anyone other than his beloved.
But now? They hadn’t made love in what felt like ages. Louis hadn’t touched him in nearly two months and this unfortunate dry spell showed no signs of stopping.
Lestat ached for him.
Longed for a man he lived with and saw every day with an intensity he hadn’t thought possible. The yearning, the desire, the love, all of it felt like it was buzzing underneath his skin, boiling his blood, and it became more and more unbearable with each passing day. It was all so foolish, and it was starting to drive him mad.
In a moment of weakness he had seriously considered an extended slumber to stave off the madness, and give Louis the space he clearly wanted, but it hadn’t been that long since his last. And he couldn’t leave Louis to fend for himself in his current weakened state. He was his Maker, therefore he was responsible for his safety.
(Lesat had made a vow to himself the night he gave him the Dark Gift: Louis would always be taken care of and never abandoned. He refused to be anything like his own Maker.)
It was at this point that Antoinette appeared.
She was pretty of course, in a glamorous yet garish sort of way, but what drew him in was her lovely singing voice. That’s what had truly captivated him and convinced him to spare her life. He had always had a soft spot for artists, especially those skilled few who brought music into his world.
It also led him to convince Louis to keep her around for a brief residence at the Azalea.
In the weeks that he took over as the pianist at the Azalea, they spent a lot of time together rehearsing their nightly performances.
She hung from his arm and his every word, making her interest in him painfully obvious. She paled in comparison to Louis, and to a degree that was truly comical to him, but it felt good to be wanted. It felt good to be touched by someone. It was all such a welcome distraction from the cold, passionless state of his marriage.
He had also noticed Louis, on the handful of occasions when he wasn’t avoiding their townhouse, quietly observing him with Antoinette, a deep frown on his beautiful face.
Those nights would result in three outcomes: the first and most common was Louis going off to make his rounds and hunt, only to return shortly before dawn. He knew Lestat would be waiting up for him, sick with worry.
On those nights they’d get into an argument. As soon as he’d enter the house, Lestat, keyed-up from anxiously pacing the floors, would appear and berate him for cutting it so close, again. Lestat’s worry would cause him to lash out, and Louis would be ready to meet him with his own simmering anger.
Other times Louis would return home early, too tired and melancholy to be seduced or baited into a fight. He would sit for a while, attempting to read with glassy, unfocused eyes and would barely speak to Lestat. Eventually he would trudge upstairs and retreat to his coffin. Lestat would leave him alone on those nights, feeling guilty, of course, but not enough to stop.
And it was all for the possibility of the third outcome, Lesat’s favorite of the three.
It would begin with Louis disappearing for a long while, no doubt to feed sufficiently. As soon as they were in the safety of their home, he’d drag Lestat to their boudoir, stripping him of his clothes and marking his exposed flesh with his fangs as they went.
It culminated with his beautiful Louis, gloriously naked, with his brown, sweat slick skin glistening in the lamplight as he rode Lestat. His kiss would be heated and bruising, his hands would grip and claw at him possessively. Every time it felt like Louis was staking his claim and Lestat loved it.
After the first time that happened, he laid in their torn and soiled bedsheets with Louis dozing at his side wondering. Was his Louis perhaps jealous?
No, there was no other explanation: he was. The thought made Lestat delirious with hope. If Louis was jealous, then Louis must love him. And if Louis’ jealously inflamed his desires, then Louis surely still wanted him.
But most importantly, he could take advantage of it. This could be the way to coax his beloved into feeding properly, while also sampling the flesh and the blood of the fairer sex, something Lestat had abstained from for some time.
Two birds, one stone, as they say.
And now they were here.
He felt that they were at the precipice of something big. He wasn’t the type to think too far into the future, preferring to live in the moment, but he sensed that this confrontation could have a lasting impact on their relationship and on Louis.
The thought sobered him and he took a deep breath to steady himself.
“Come here, mon cher.”
Louis flinched at the endearment, but didn’t budge. Instead he frowned and looked away.
Lestat sighed, and pushed himself off the wall. He stamped out his cigarette and strode over to him with purpose.
“Louis,” he murmured, gently clasping his hands around the back of his neck.
“No,” he said petulantly, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. “Stop, just… leave me alone.”
“No,” replied, firmly. “You asked me a question and I intend to answer it.”
He sighed then, shoulders drooping in defeat.
“Fine.”
“Pas ici. Come inside, we’ll talk there.”
***
Lestat steered Louis back into their living room with a hand at his shoulder, then quickly flit about locking up the house for the night.
“You didn’t stop to ask me if I’d be okay with it first,” Louis blurted out when he returned.
He sat down heavily on one of their sofas, the one he and Antoinette hadn’t been occupying earlier, Lestat noticed.
“You just… did it.”
Louis gestured at the sofa, tiredly.
“Right in front of me, or as least you would have if I hadn’t left. How’d you think that’d make me feel, Lestat?”
The blond frowned.
Jealous, he thought. Angry. Hungry. Enough to set aside your morals and properly feed so you could take me, claim me, remind me that I’m yours.
“I didn’t think you would care,” he murmured instead.
“Why in the hell would I not care!”
Anger now. Louis’ fury was always better than his indifference.
“We’re together, Lestat. You and me. We share a home, a life. You think I’d just sit there and watch you flirt with some—some, woman in our home? Watch you fuck her on the same sofa where you and I—” his voice broke and he grimaced, as if in physical pain.
Lestat was reminded then of the countless nights they had spent wrapped around each other on that sofa.
Lestat reading to Louis at his request (“Because I like when you do the voices,” he had confessed shyly one night). Laughing while trying not to break it the throes of passion. The two of them just talking or listening to a record.
The common thread for those moments and countless others was simply the two of them, together, enjoying each other’s company.
Louis rubbed at his eyes to wipe away the blood tears welling in his eyes.
“It hurt, Lestat. Okay? Like you were tellin’ me I wasn't enough. Because… I-I can’t perform the way I used to right now.”
Lestat could practically feel the embarrassment and shame coming off of him in waves.
“Because…” he paused and laughed bitterly, “Because I’m not a woman , and a white one no less… Because you’ve gotten bored being with a man. Tired of how inconvenient it is being with a Negro. Do you know how inadequate that makes me feel? How humiliated?”
Lestat’s face burned with shame.
His attraction to Antoinette cut Louis deeper than he realized. Or perhaps he already knew this and chose to ignore it for his own purposes.
It would’ve been one thing for Lestat to have taken up with another man, but even if it had been white man, they still would’ve had to be discreet.
Not with Antoinette. She was the exact opposite of Louis: she was a woman, she was white, and she was completely unburdened by all that weighed so heavily on Louis’ heart. Lestat could flirt with her, touch her, hold her, kiss her in public, if he wanted. He could even marry her, if he was so inclined.
(But he wasn’t, of course. If he were to formally marry anyone, it would be his Louis. Only Louis. Always Louis.)
And that was the problem: with Louis he couldn’t. Their relationship, of course, was more or less an open secret, judging from the rumors Antoinette mentioned.
Simple propriety, some lingering respect for Louis’ family name, and Lestat’s considerable wealth shielded them from consequence, at least for the time being.
Despite this, they couldn’t even hold hands in public. He accepted this, had no choice but to accept it, but it ate at him, and Louis too, it seemed. More than he realized.
“Louis…” he breathed. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Yes, you fuckin’ do!” he snapped, “Say, ‘I’m sorry’.”
He nodded, “I am, Louis. I’m sorry. But…”
“Oh, here we fuckin’ go. But what?”
“I won’t apologize for the way I am,” he continued, squaring his shoulders.
“I’ve always sought out lovers without regard for their sex, even before my turning.”
He took a cautious step forward, waiting to see if Louis would react unfavorably. When he didn’t he took another step, and then another until he reached the sofa and sat down at the opposite end.
“What I apologize for is hurting you.”
“Why?” he sniffled, his voice small and vulnerable. It made Lestat’s heart ache.
“I-I don’t do that anymore. With women. Or anyone else. Don’t want anyone else.”
Lestat was stunned by his admission.
“Louis…”
“It’s not perfect, but deep down I’ve been… happy. Content. To share a home and a life and a… bed with you. Thought it was something a man like myself wasn’t meant to have…”
He paused then, blinking back tears once more.
“I thought all of this mattered to you too,” he continued, turning those beautiful, mournful eyes to him. “So why?”
As if it wasn’t fucking obvious.
“Because I was lonely!” he bit back.
“Because it’s been so long since you, the man I so desperately love, has touched me that I can hardly remember what it feels like! Because you’re so stubborn and so hungry. To the point that your mood is constantly in such a foul state that we can barely have a conversation before it turns into an argument!”
He scrambled to his feet and began to pace the room, running his hands through his hair in frustration.
“And I would be fine with all that, I could endure it all, if I was certain of your feelings for me.”
Louis scoffed and looked away.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I am serious! It’s been seven years Louis! Seven fucking years of your silence. How would you feel?”
He laughed, near hysterical.
“But of course, you can’t imagine such a thing! I’ve told I love you countless times, and won’t, can’t stop telling you.”
“I have loved before, but I’ve never loved anyone as deeply and as ardently as I love you. And all that I want is to know that you love me back, but you never say it, no matter what I do.”
He paused, and a suddenly a thought occurred to him.
“…But perhaps I’ve misjudged your silence. Perhaps you don’t feel as I do.”
“Lestat…”
“The things I would do, just to hear you say it,” he continued.
“I would gladly walk out into the sun if I knew the last thing I’d ever see was your beautiful face and the the last thing I’d hear was you telling me you love me. I could die happy.”
He paused and chanced a look at Louis. He was sitting still, lovely green eyes wide, looking utterly shocked at his declaration.
“Lestat… I don’t— I can’t—“
“Are you jealous?”
Lestat said it before he could catch himself, but now that it was out there, he couldn’t stop.
Louis looked at him, incredulously.
“Lestat are you seriously asking me that?”
The blond crossed his arms over his chest and stared him down.
Louis laughed, in that breathless way he did when he was angry. Lestat had always found it to be terribly attractive.
“Fine Lestat: yes. I’m fuckin’ jealous. You happy now?”
“Do you want to leave me?” Lestat pushed, not pausing to give Louis a reaction. He was on a roll now.
“Lestat, I never said that!”
“Then why?! Why do you care so much about me being with someone else? And if I am such a hardship, why do you stay?!”
“I told you! We’re together! And I stay because I fuckin’ wanna stay!”
“That’s not good enough, Louis. Why?”
“Because… Because I—”
He threw his hands up in defeat.
“Goddamn you, Lestat,” he huffed.
“None of this makes you cheatin’ right in front of me okay, but… you’re right. It ain’t fair to you.”
Lestat blinked.
He… hadn’t been expecting that.
“I take it for granted, how often you tell me…. Can’t imagine how fucked up I’d be by now if I didn’t know you loved me.”
Louis sighed again, the tension seeping out of him.
“This thing right here? Like I said, it’s not… perfect, Lestat. You’re… a lot. But… you’ve taken care of me. Been by my side this whole time. My companion every bit as I’ve been yours.”
He smiled at him then, a timid, but genuine thing.
“But,” he continued, “That doesn’t change how I am. It’s easier for me to show how I feel instead of sayin’ it. Always has been.”
“…Would you indulge me then?”
“What, you want an list? Want me to draw a diagram?”
“I don’t know! I just… I want to understand.”
Louis stared at him for a moment and sighed.
“Remember your birthday that first year? When I gave you that ring? And the matching cufflinks? With the rubies?”
Lestat smiled fondly at that.
“Yes… You were so flustered. It was adorable and terribly romantic.”
Louis snorted, “If you think me stammering and shaking like a leaf is, then sure.”
“You were,” Lestat insisted.
“And I was overjoyed. You told me you saw them and thought of me. Me. Just knowing that you think of me… I suppose that was the real gift.”
Louis shifted his weight, looking a little embarrassed by his sincerity.
“You say that like you can’t believe it.”
“Yes, well. I suppose I exist in perpetual state of awe and disbelief that you’re here. Or that you would even want me.”
“You hardly ever wear them though,” Louis said quietly.
Lestat gasped, scandalized.
“Of course not! They’re the first gifts you’ve ever given me! Meant to be treasured and only worn on a special occasion.”
“Sure, sure.”
“Keep going.”
Louis nodded, “Well… what about me helping you update your wardrobe all those years ago? Or how I almost always insist on fixing your ties for you, even though you know exactly how to wear them at this point?”
“Or all the times I’ve managed to find compositions you’ve mentioned in passing, rare ones and others you haven’t heard in decades, and gifted them to you just because? Or how I keep the house stocked with those fountain pens you like because they look like quills? Or the way I always seem to know where you put your slippers, or your rings, or your wallet, and all the other things you regularly lose track of?”
“You do have an uncanny talent for that…”
“No talent, just paying attention, is all. All of that is. I know it’s not flashy, but my actions have always spoken louder than my words. And… I’ve always taken care of the people I love. You do the same so you can understand that, right?”
Lestat stared at him in disbelief.
“The people you love…” he murmured, dazed.
“Yes.”
“And you… count me amongst their ranks?”
Louis was quiet for a long moment.
“…Yes.”
Before he realized it, Lestat had crossed the room and pinned Louis against the sofa. Blood tears streaked down his face, staining the crisp white collar of his shirt as he looked down at him in awe.
“Louis…” he breathed, voice soft and reverent.
Louis reached up to wipe away his tears and Lestat turned his face to press his lips to the palm of his hand.
“I… still don’t think I can say it. Not directly at least. It’s too hard right now, and time’s the only thing that’ll fix it. I know it’ll be hard, but I’m asking you to wait for me. Please.”
“Of course,” he nodded, “ Of course . I’ll wait for you forever, Louis.”
“Good. But in the meantime… I’ll try. Up until now, I’ve never doubted your love, so I owe it to you to at least try.”
Lestat’s face crumpled at that and he laid down, pressing his face to the crook of his neck.
“No, you cannot blame yourself for my actions. I’m sorry for making you doubt me. Louis, you must understand, while I might crave… variety from time to time, you’re the one who has my heart. You’re the one I’ll always come home to. The one I chose and the one I intend to spend my eternity with.”
“But why? That still makes me feel like I’m not enough. I… I haven’t truly wanted anyone other than you, how could I?”
No wonder he couldn’t understand.
To Louis, the thought of anyone but him was incomprehensible. Lestat felt what he could only describe as butterflies in his stomach at his admission.
“Because… It’s different for me. As you said: you’ve no interest in women, Louis and you’ve stopped pretending. But I’ve never pretended.”
“Hmm.”
“Tell me, have you sensed me having any genuine interest or attraction to a man since we met?”
“You certainly look. And some of your male victims have been easy on the eyes but… no…”
“Exactly. I suppose if you were a woman, the opposite would be true and I’d only find myself struck with the occasional craving for the company of men. But as it stands, what use do I have for another man when I already have the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen as my lover?”
Louis blushed and bit his lip to stop himself from smiling.
“I… guess that could make a little sense… Maybe.”
“Listen: I’ve been infatuated with women and men throughout my long life. Truthfully, I’ve always been more partial to men. I’ve never truly loved a woman, though before I met you my heart was open to it. But you must know that my first and only love before you was also a young man.”
“Your violinist?”
“Yes. Nicolas. Nicki.”
“Can you tell me about him?”
“I… don’t want to inspire jealousy or lead you to compare yourself to him, mon cher.”
“I can’t promise that I won’t but somehow… this feels different. From her, at least.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “Then I will try… It’s been so long, but it’s still painful.”
“Take your time, then. We’ve got plenty of it, don’t we?”
Lestat smiled and kissed his forehead.
“I loved him. It’s as simple as that. I thought him the love of my life before I met you. He was an artist, a singular talent. He was a similarly lovely, sensitive, brooding young man, prone to dark moods and existential angst and languishing in his sorrow. I wanted more than anything to take away his pain, to give him happiness. I endeavored to give him everything, to do whatever he asked of me. So when he begged me to turn him, I did. I thought, this might help him, this new life might calm the torment of his soul, free him from his despair. But it only made it worse. He went mad and his love for me, already tainted with resentment, twisted into hate.”
He paused there, overwhelmed at the memories. His failures.
“This is not the whole story, but right now, it’s all I can force myself to say: we parted ways and later I came to learn that in a fit of madness he danced himself into a fire and burned to death.”
“Lestat…”
“You must find me so irritating for the way I refuse to let you be when you’re feeling low. For how I so often talk over you and try to distract you from your melancholy with gifts or a night out or my own body. Even arguing, because I’d rather have your rage directed at me than leave you to drown in your despair.”
Louis sighed, carding his hands through Lestat’s hair.
“We both gotta do better. The arguing only makes it worse.”
“Then… will you reconsider your diet?”
“Lestat…” he said lowly.
“We need to talk about this,” he said sitting up.
His gray eyes bored into him, pinning him to the cushions.
“All you do is taunt me and treat me like an idiot. Like a child! Why can’t you just respect my choices?”
“I am trying, but do you not see what it’s doing to you?”
“I’m fine,” he sniffed.
“Fine isn’t the same as healthy, mon cher.”
“And you’re not just mad because I don’t share your love for murder and violence?”
“I wish you did. But I’ve come to accept that you’re different. You don’t derive the same pleasure from it as I do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Even so, I am concerned for your wellbeing. I love you. As you said, I like to take care of those I love, namely you. I don’t want to see you starve yourself and waste away.”
“And…” he paused, before continuing carefully.
“On top of all that, our romance has been failing. The lack of our usual intimacy? It’s because of your physical limitations and you know it.”
Louis frowned.
“You said it yourself, your actions speak louder than your words. When we make love is that not that purest expression of our feelings for one another? Do you not find it freeing and effortless and utterly transcendent? I won’t deny it: I enjoy sex, but that’s not what this is about. Those are the moments when I feel the most connected to you. The most hopeful of your love. To go without that connection for this long has been agonizing.”
“So then you go running to the arms of a woman because you need your variety, and because my libido has been so lacking. What a tragedy for you.”
He winced. Louis was rarely direct, but when he wanted to be, his precision could be lethal. He reminded him in these moments of his mother, of Madame de Pointe du Lac. Wielding his words with such quick and sudden precision, like hidden blades dipped in poison.
“Yes. I… should have voiced all of this to you. I see that now. But would you have listened? Would I have even been able to explain it before you’d get angry?”
“…Probably not.”
“And I know you don’t see it this way, but rejecting the blood, is a rejection of me. You look at me with scorn and disgust for simply acting as is my nature. As if I haven’t wrestled with the same questions of morality. You sacrifice our physical intimacy, our romance, for your ideals and wonder why it is that I feel so neglected and unsure of your feelings.”
“Lestat…”
“It was still wrong of me,” he continued, “If I wanted to do it, I should’ve asked for your permission and if you said no, respected your wishes.”
Louis was quiet for a long while, thinking.
“What do we do now?” he said finally.
“I… have an idea,” Lestat began carefully. “A compromise.”
Louis glanced at him warily.
“What?”
“I’ll leave you to your… diet, if you promise me that you’ll either feed from a human once a month, or you’ll drink from me. And blood sharing in the throes of passion doesn’t count. I mean drinking from me for nourishment.”
“ Lestat .”
“Please just listen to me. If you starve yourself you’ll go mad. That is the truth. I have seen it before so I know it to be true for our kind. It’ll only make your melancholy, your inner turmoil, worse and I cannot bear to watch you waste away like this. You’d either kill yourself to be free, or become an unthinking, unfeeling husk for all eternity. I cannot do it again. I cannot lose you. It would destroy me and I am certain that if I somehow found the strength not to end my own life, that I would never love again. I cannot lose you the way I lost him.”
“I’m not him,” Louis said quietly.
“I know this,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I know. Your mind, your spirit, your heart? They are all stronger. You have a fire within you that I so desperately wish he had. And I don’t want to let it go out. Even if you end up hating me, I want you to live, Louis.”
“The life that we lead is not perfect,” he continued.
“The things I promised you, I have not been able to deliver on. Do not think that I am satisfied with this. I want the world for you. But just as you said, time is the only thing that can change that. This world is so different than the one I was born into. As a human and as a vampire. I can only imagine what wonders await us in the future. And I want you to experience them all. And if you will allow it, I want to be by your side as you do.”
Louis went silent again.
“…I’m not saying I want to,” he began, carefully, “But if I did ever want a little variety for myself, how would you feel?”
“You don’t like women, Louis,” he deadpanned.
“I’m not talking about women, Lestat .”
Lestat blinked, confused.
Louis and… other men…? The thought was so inconceivable. He ground his teeth, surprised at how awful this simple hypothetical made him feel.
Louis and Other Men. That simply would not do.
“I… Would want to say that I’d be fine with it. That it would only be fair but…”
“But?”
“I would be sick with jealousy. I don’t like sharing, Louis. And having to share you with some other man? That would drive me mad.”
“Even just a quick, one-time thing?”
“Yes, Louis. I would be devastated. I cannot bear the thought of some other man touching you, hearing your sweet cries of pleasure, of knowing the bliss of being inside you and having you inside themself. It would drive me mad.”
“Then why do you think I wouldn’t feel the same?”
Lestat groaned, equal parts happy, frustrated and regretful.
He didn’t know what to say.
“Look, we’ve got a long road ahead of us,” Louis said gently, absently curling a lock his golden hair around a finger.
“I’m not saying no, forever, just… not right now. Baby, we can’t bring other people into this thing, not when we’re both like this. Our relationship won’t survive it. And you want it to, right?”
“Yes, mon cher. More than anything.”
“Then think of it this way: it’s like building a house. The bones of it have to be good. If the foundations aren’t secure then you sure as hell can’t build a second story. We need to work on that. Us. And maybe one day we’ll feel secure enough that it’ll be okay to uh, invite some guests over.”
“Fine…”
“But if you get to feeling like that again, you need to tell me Lestat. I’ll try to do better, because I know this is important to you. And maybe… we can manage a one-time thing here and there? But again, we’d have to talk about it. We’d have to have rules so we don’t hurt each other. Or, just… not do it at all if it seems like we can’t. I don’t know… I just—I don’t want to throw this away over a damn fling.”
“But what do we do now, Louis? I can’t live like this. I don’t care if it makes me weak and pathetic and shameless to say it: I need you. I love you, but I need you too.”
He ground his hips against Louis so he could feel him, half-hard in his pants, for emphasis.
Only the sweet friction of it combined with their closeness overwhelmed him. He shivered, letting out an embarrassingly needy whine against Louis’ neck.
He felt himself becoming harder, and he knew that if he followed his instinct and continued like this, rutting against his love, he wouldn’t last.
“Shit, Lestat,” he hissed.
“Louis, I could come like this,” he panted.
He was feeling it again, the burning, the boiling of his blood. Louis was so close. He could smell him. Hear the rushing of blood through his veins. He felt feverish. Delirious with longing and desire, all for his beloved.
“Will you let me? You don’t have to do anything,” he pleaded, “It won’t take long, just having you this close to me, smelling your cologne, your skin, your blood. It’s enough. I’m no better than a dog in heat, but it’s been so long, I—“
Louis reached for him suddenly and kissed him. Lestat moaned gratefully against his lips. Louis’ hands slid up to push his suit jacket away. He wrapped his arms around him tightly, gripping at the fabric if his shirt at his lower back and hip.
“Shh… it’s okay, baby. I missed this too.”
Louis’ hand left his hip and slid in between their bodies, searching, until he found his belt buckle. He undid it and then set to unbuttoning his pants.
Lestat could’ve wept.
“I need you to understand something,” he said, “I’m not sweet on you because of your money, or because of how good you can make me feel in bed.”
The blood tears began to fall again, and Lestat let out a watery chuckle.
“And you need it sometimes. More than I do, I guess… But it’s important to you, so I shouldn’t look down on you.”
“You can look down on me all you want, so long as I’m on my knees and that lovely cock of yours is in my mouth.”
Louis shook his head, that fond, exasperated smile on his face that Louis only directed towards him.
“The things you say, Lestat.”
The blond kissed him, smiling.
“I only speak the truth when it comes to how I feel about you.”
“I wish I could be as honest as you.”
“One day, Louis. I can wait. I’ll learn to be patient. As long as you don’t shut me out and ignore me.”
“And make sure to fuck you every now and then, right?”
He shivered as he felt Louis’ hand push away his underwear and his fingers loosely encircle his cock.
“ Fuck , Lestat! You’re so wet.”
He nodded, face contorted in pleasure.
“I’m afraid I’m—ah… not going to last long enough for you to fuck me, Louis.”
Louis’ fingers wrapped around him, and he squeezed gently.
Lestat wailed helplessly, too far gone to feel embarrassed for being this close when Louis had barely touched him.
“Look at you…” he said, voiced tinged with awe.
“You’re so wound up right now, baby. I didn’t know.”
Baby. Louis only called him that when they were intimate.
“Louis… Louis…” he chanted.
“Can I drink from you? Just a little bit?”
“Yes, yes, anything, everything Louis.”
Louis reached up to tug off his tie and Lestat angled his neck to give him better access, quickly unbuttoning his shirt.
He felt Louis’ free hand slid under his shirt and stroke the skin of his lower back. At the same time, he kissed up from his clavicle to his neck, fangs gently brushing at the skin of his artery.
He held him there, hand gentle at his back and unmoving on his cock, before he suddenly bit into his skin and squeezed it, rubbing his thumb over the reddened, leaking head.
Lestat suddenly fell apart, coming so hard that he blacked out, the pleasure delicious and overwhelming.
He returned to himself moments later, having collapsed against Louis, gasping and shivering, his throat sore and his heart racing.
“Louis…” he said hoarsely.
“I’m here. Just settle.”
After a few moments, he angled his head to look at him.
“Thank you, mon cher.”
Louis chuckled, low and warm.
“Who said I was done with you?”
“What? No, no this is enough.”
“You think I can just go to sleep after seeing and hearing all that? All from a little bite and me touching you. I didn’t even get a chance to drink from you before you lost it.”
“I missed you,” he said simply, an undercurrent of defensiveness in his voice.
“You’re driving me crazy here.”
“That’s how you make me feel, always.”
“It must be hard for you, to feel like this every time you get infatuated with someone.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“What?”
“Louis, you’re the only one I’ve ever experienced such all consuming love and desire for.”
“Oh…”
“I mean it. And the vampire bond that was created from your turning has only magnified this.”
“Is that how it always is?”
“Yes… if a vampire turns someone out of love. If the Dark Gift is bestowed out of anything but love, it can be disastrous. Unfortunately, most of the time it isn’t.”
“Up,” Louis said simply, tapping at his back.
“What?”
“I appreciate the lesson,” he drawled, in that charming, seductive way that made Lestat weak in the knees.
“But I said I wasn’t done with you, mon cher. It’s been a while, let me take you to bed.”
Lestat blinked, then after a beat scrambled off the sofa.
Louis followed him, smiling fondly. He leaned up to kiss him, smoothing down his mussed hair.
“Want me to carry you?”
“No, that’s my job.”
Louis laughed, genuinely. He would truly do anything for him.
“I’m trying to sweep you off your feet here, baby.”
“Je suis désol. My feet haven’t touched the ground in years, Louis.”
He shook his head, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together. Louis nodded towards their staircase and Lestat went with him easily. He always felt like clay in his hands, happy to have Louis’ touch, happy to let himself be molded into whatever Louis needed.
When they reached the doorway to their room, Lestat picked him up and carried him over the threshold.
“You gotta do that every time?”
“Nonsense, I only insist on carrying you like this if we’re going to bed. Besides, I did this on our wedding night.”
“You… think of that night as our wedding night?”
Lestat studied him.
“Should I not?”
“No, it’s fine. I… think I might like that.”
“Good.”
The spent the rest of the evening in bed. Louis had intended to take Lestat, but his physical limitations wouldn’t allow for it.
Instead of Louis retreating in shame and embarrassment, or letting Lestat take over, he got this determined look in his eyes that made Lestat’s heart race and got creative.
Lestat found the attention he lavished upon him with his lips and tongue and mouth and hands and fingers to be more than enough. He was left trembling and sated and delirious with love.
In the afterglow, they continued talking. Like they used to, but with a bit more honesty.
And for the first time in a very long time, the two of them felt truly seen.