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The ground giving way beneath his feet could not have been a bigger calamity, yet Louis walked himself home, nursing the jagged fragments of what had once been a living heart. On a fundamental level he had known that he'd lost his family years back, that every consequent wedge only built upon that irrevocable loss. But tonight had been a shock to his nerves, even worse than the incident with baby Benny. Back then he'd fled the consequence of his monstrosity; didn't stick around to witness Grace's confusion and horror.
Home—to what? A measure of comfort? He had no intention of confiding what transpired and expected no sympathy for his plight. Lestat had urged him to cut off ties long ago. Louis could not bear to have this turned into another lesson.
The clamor from within the townhouse was at first baffling, and then, when he swung the door open, infuriating. A melee of white soldiers in varying levels of inebriation made a great mess everywhere. The very walls shook with the force of their merriment.
Louis followed the sound of Lestat's voice, a single bright thread out of the drunken tangle. And what a spectacle he found: his paramour ringed by soldiers, putting his most obnoxious self on display. A child’s tantrum to punish Louis. He'd been itching for a fight since yesterday. Louis hadn't been fooled by that uncharacteristic composure he'd mustered, the oh-so-polite, oh-so-brittle façade, quietly asking how Louis’ night had gone.
Louis wrangled him away from the piano by the waist. In a liquid move, Lestat swiveled in his arms as if they partnered in a dance, stepping with flourish into the open bedroom.
"What are you thinking?" demanded Louis.
"I thought we could have an orgy: you can fuck them and I can eat them."
"Are you outta your goddamn mind?"
"Why, I thought you'd be pleased. Now that I know you have a type."
"Do you have any idea—" he hissed.
"What?"
The night I had, the pain I'm in, the way she looked at me, my baby sister. For one moment he was certain that the seams holding together what was only the semblance of a man would burst open, and he'd split right down the middle. Not a single room in his own home to be at peace—to suffer in solitude? Strangers occupied the bedroom in careless entitlement, sitting on the bed, leaning against the fireplace, encroaching upon his grief. One of them, passing by the doorway, nearly bumped into him.
Louis might have unhinged his mouth to shout if not for the cool gleam in Lestat's eyes. Eager for a scene. Louis swallowed it down.
Fine.
It was all fine.
If this was how Lestat wanted to play, Louis was game. He was goaded by spite, same as when he glanced up to find Lestat eyeing him from the balcony of the Azalea while bending to kiss Antoinette. Lestat believed he could act as outrageously as he pleased and Louis would dance like a fool to his tune. Well, Louis would deny him that satisfaction if it was the last thing he did.
He took a deep grounding breath. Even the protest that had been on the tip of his tongue—concern about an intruder accidentally triggering the mechanism to the coffin room—died down, turned momentarily inconsequential.
"Very well," he said, with one determined nod. "Clear the room."
And then he was out, crossing to the staircase railing, gripping it with both hands as he shut his eyes to concentrate. He tuned out the chatter, peeling back the layer of outward noise to rifle through the minds of men currently swarming the townhouse. Statistically speaking, at least one or two were bound to share his proclivities. He was reminded of what Jonah said last night, the appeal of what he termed European sensibilities, a reason to join the war effort other than patriotic duty.
Louis was drawn by a memory both sharp and delicate, sunlight scattered on running water. The quality of the recollection arrested him, its familiarity if not for the details—impressions of a youthful tumble in a barn among bales of hay, flashes of clumsy but eager hands, hushed laughter. Excitement and discovery tinged with fear. A cast of loneliness.
Louis located its owner in the dining room.
That this man, whoever he was, might refuse his advance did not factor into his thinking. Louis pasted on his most charming countenance and relaxed his posture. After all, he had a lifetime of pretending to fall back on. He wore confidence like a second skin, even when he felt lower than trash.
Louis studied the soldier from the doorway. He was decent looking, solidly built. Not lean muscle but the stocky endowment of manual labor. He had an open sun browned face, disarmingly young. Just over twenty. He stood by a wall, close enough to the party, but from Louis' perspective, notably detached; though he held a glass of liquor he hardly sipped from it, and while he nodded along to his fellow soldiers' antics, the effort was half-hearted, the bare minimum to appear engaged.
"Not a big drinker, are you?"
Louis startled him. "Uh," he blinked.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“That’s okay," he answered, seeming sheepish. "And... not really. Pa was a great drunk. I try not to over-indulge." He had a deep voice and a rural accent.
"Ah, a country boy."
"Gee, what gave it away?" he said, exaggerating his drawl. Louis chuckled, which made the boy smile, his face sweetening with it. Louis would have seduced just about anybody, but decided right then he liked him well enough.
"Grew up in a small town upriver. Only been in New Orleans half a year."
"Do you find the city to your liking?"
"Certainly different from what I'm used to. Almost too exciting."
"Well, you're about to see far more excitement, I'll bet," said Louis, tapping the sleeve of his uniform. The boy took note of the slight touch. He swallowed.
"You're the man who owns the big club, ain't ya?"
"You've seen me before?"
His eyes flickered, towards Louis, then away. "Couple o' times, out in town. You have a..."
"What?"
"Reputation."
Huh. Louis leaned towards him. The effect of his attentiveness was apparent, and the longer he chatted him up, the more palpable became the boy's mixture of hope and nerves, unsure whether he misread what was happening. Louis gave him a certain type of look and went for the kill—whispered the invitation next to his ear before retreating, pausing only to direct a subtle nod upstairs. To his immense satisfaction, halfway up the first flight, the boy’s heavy step followed.
The bedroom door was shut, which was a good sign; Lestat had obeyed for once. Louis held the door ajar until the boy caught up to him, and ushered him inside before slipping after.
Lestat was stationed in a corner, arms and feet crossed in a would-be carefree stance, belied by his thinly veiled ire. "Um," said the boy, not expecting company, moreover, unnerved by Lestat’s intensity.
"Don't worry about him," said Louis, turning them around so he was looking into Lestat's eyes over the boy's shoulder. "He likes to watch."
And holding that gaze, Louis kissed him.
The boy stiffened, his heartbeat spiking like crazy. "Sorry, I’m not...that is, I haven't had many chances—"
"That's alright. I can show you." Curling fingers in his tufty brown hair, Louis reassured, “We don’t have to rush.”
The touch successfully soothed his tension, eliciting a self-conscious little laugh.
"You're really handsome," he mumbled.
"Not so bad yourself. I like those strong arms.”
The second kiss was better. Louis tilted his head, flicked his tongue against the boy's mouth. Their lips connected wetly, making soft smooches. Becoming emboldened, the boy snaked his arms around him, let his rough hands roam down Louis' back, risking a salacious squeeze to his bottom.
Louis exaggerated his appreciative moan.
He shed his suit jacket and dropped it to the ground, loosening his tie.
“Let me do that,” said the boy, hastening to pop Louis' collar. He unbuttoned Louis' shirt like he was unwrapping a present.
Louis was hyperaware of Lestat’s piercing ogle from across the room. He might have been cutting lines into his upper arms, the way he gripped them so tight. Louis felt reckless, giddy with it. He was finally free of the bile that abraded the back of his throat since Lestat’s casual betrayal that encouraged Antoinette's flirtations, spilling champagne over her breasts just to provoke a reaction. Louis was going to let this boy take him on their bed.
Said boy was in the midst of admiring Louis’ lightly furred chest with painful restraint at the moment.
“You can touch,” he coaxed, and the boy reached a tentative hand, caressing the coiled hairs with the backs of his fingers. They were never going to get started at this rate. Louis took that hand and directed it to the front of his trousers. The boy’s eyes widened, but he did not balk, unbuckling Louis’ belt slowly, drawing it out of its loops. He made it as far as unfastening the trousers before Lestat hit his limit.
It happened in a split second. Lestat pounced and wrung the poor boy's neck. Unassuaged, he ripped his arm off too, inducing a violent spray of blood.
There was a corpse at Louis' feet before he had a chance to react. He stared at the severed arm that Lestat flung down in contempt and said, with composure that shocked his inner self, "Why'd you do that?"
Lestat’s chest heaved, as if under great physical strain. "Is this fun for you, Louis? You love to torment me?"
"I thought I could fuck whoever I wanted. Or was that another one of your lies?"
"When have I ever lied to you!"
Louis barked a disbelieving laugh. "You don't want me to answer that."
He made for the door but in a flash Lestat captured his left wrist and demanded, "Where are you going?"
"To find the next man willing to fuck me."
The last place he wanted to be was in here, with this insufferable maniac and that lifeless, sundered soldier. Attempting to break off Lestat's hold, he was wrenched back viciously.
"Let go of me," he warned.
"We're not done here."
Reeling, Louis landed a slap on the side of Lestat's face. It had the intended effect of freeing his wrist. Unintended was the smack that followed—the stinging imprint of Lestat's palm on his cheek, twice as hard as his own strike had been. Louis saw red.
"I fucking hate you," he snarled, grabbing Lestat by the collar and shaking with all his might. At the same time Lestat wrestled him to the wall and tried to kiss him.
"Son of a bitch," he cussed, turning aside, beating on Lestat’s chest. Lestat made a wretched noise, holding Louis tighter. He rained possessive kisses wherever his lips managed to land, streaking across a cheekbone, the side of Louis' nose. Somewhere along the way, Louis went from shoving him to tearing off the buttons of his suit vest.
They were so close their hips ground together. Lestat was rock hard—and Louis was getting there, his blood roused by potent rage. They kissed roughly, and he bit Lestat's tongue, tasting the blood that dripped into his mouth. Lestat groaned and lifted Louis by the thighs; on reflex, his legs came up to wrap around Lestat's waist, leaning back to let the wall take his weight as their cocks rubbed together.
Lestat pushed two fingers past Louis' lips to wet them. The crazed look of lust on his face drove Louis wild; he drooped his lids and puckered his mouth. In and out the fingers went, sliding against his tongue as he applied sloppy suction around them. In and out, a string of drool slipping down his chin.
Lestat said, "Pull down your trousers."
Louis' hole gave a hungry spasm, he was that keyed up. With shaky hands, he shimmied his loosened trousers far enough to expose his ass. Lestat's fingers came away with a pop, moving from one orifice to the other. Louis bit his lip as they penetrated him mercilessly, honing in on the sensitive place that gave him electric jolts of pleasure.
And then it was Lestat's cock splitting him open, punching out of Louis a deep guttural cry. Lestat fed it to him in rough thrusts that jostled him against the wall, forcing him to hang onto Lestat's shoulders.
"You were there last night," he panted, "you followed me and Jonah out to the bayou."
It wasn't a question and Lestat didn't bother to deny it. Louis sharpened the outrage of that violation to a knife point he could wield.
"You saw it then, how well he sucked me off?"
"Better than I can?"
"So much better. I came so fucking hard."
"You're lying! You told me—"
"What'd I tell you?"
"You said I was the best you ever had!"
"Maybe I lied when I said that."
"You were weeping into my mouth, begging for more."
"I never begged you for anything."
"Whimpering like some wounded animal."
Louis yanked a fistful of his hair. "Shut the fuck up!"
Lestat growled and snapped his hips faster. His arousal made their joining wetter, the squelch of his cock ramming into Louis' hole setting Louis’ skin on fire.
"Admit it, Louis," he gritted out, "I need to hear you say it. That you're mine, that you don't want anybody else—"
"It's you who cheated! You spent two weeks flirting right under my nose. You fucked that woman in our parlor."
His mean laughter afterwards ringing across the courtyard, ringing in Louis' ears, cutting him down to size.
Lestat shook his head with insistence. "She doesn't mean a thing to me, Louis. I won't see her again. I want no one else! I love only you. "
His voice swelled with desperation. His eyes, wide and pleading, shone with a red gloss of tears. "Only you," he repeated.
Despite valiant efforts, Louis' defenses crumbled. Lestat slowed his thrusts to deep strokes that stretched him hotly, sweetly, every inch keenly felt, intense enough to take his breath away. "I don't want anyone else," he ceded in a tiny voice, hating how weak he sounded.
Lestat moaned in relief, drowned it in a melting kiss. The way he held him up, moved against him, gave Louis' dick tantalizing friction as he kept fucking him.
"And you're mine? Say it, chéri."
"Yours," whispered Louis.
Lestat picked him off the wall and walked them backwards. He lay Louis down to bed where he pounded him into the mattress. Louis might have worried about getting overheard if the party didn't rage heedlessly on. Boisterous laughter sounded from outside, boots thumped along the floorboards. Someone had taken over the piano, the singing continued. He was only tangentially aware of these things. Lestat's stiff cock driving into him filled him with blinding pleasure. They hadn't fucked this good in weeks, months. He clung to Lestat with sharp claws, ripping up his shirt, leaving bleeding scratches, swapping kisses that were more the mashing of maws. And there—that noise tearing out of him. A wounded animal whimper. He couldn't help it.
Lestat's hair fell over Louis' face and neck, wafting its soaped fragrance. Floral notes mingled with faintly cloying sweat from his scalp, intoxicating.
"I wish I could hold you forever," murmured Lestat, "I want you all the time. Your skin on mine. Your pretty lips. It's simple isn't it, when our bodies are joined? We belong together."
Louis couldn't bear it, the sway Lestat had over him, that he couldn't refuse him now of all times. Perhaps there had been allure to this pattern of theirs in the early years, impassioned quarrels giving way to passionate lovemaking, but the novelty was wearing thin. Louis was tired. He was awakening to the realization that there was something foundationally wrong with their relationship. The entire structure was unsound. No matter how brilliantly their bodies chorused, they couldn't fuck their problems away, much less a sordid fuck less than two feet from a mangled body. A needless casualty. Wasn’t Louis just the devil his mother accused him of being an hour prior?
With a heave he flipped their position, getting Lestat on his back. The move broke their coupling, and Lestat stifled a frustrated whine, hips shifting restlessly. Louis beheld the sight of him underneath him, his needy eyes, the curve of his throat, his smooth chest tipped with pert little nipples. Temptation incarnate.
"Tell me something," he said.
"Anything."
"Did you masturbate when you spied on us?"
He drank up the humiliation that soddened Lestat’s expression, curling a hand around his girth. "Did you get your dick out right there in the bushes, or after you raced home? I wanna picture it."
"Don't be cruel anymore."
Louis smirked, toying with him, teasing up and down the sticky mess of his sex. "Don't you deserve it, baby? Dirty lil' peeping tom."
Lestat craned his neck and kissed Louis’ forearm. "Spare me, St. Louis. I entreat your mercy—" another kiss "—your sweetness."
Louis grabbed his chin. "Who do you belong to?"
"You."
Tugging his pouty bottom lip, Louis gathered a fat gob of spit and hawked it into his mouth. Lestat moaned like a whore.
That’s right.
Settling astride Lestat’s torso, Louis rubbed his ass on the length of his cock, grinding on it, dragging his rim over the tip. He swallowed it bit by bit, took it deeply; tossing his head back, he rode him hard, maintaining a fluid gyration that got him the most thrilling stimulation and bobbed his own swollen, dripping cock.
Louis panted, "Touch me."
Lestat touched him. "Like this?"
"More..."
"Like this?"
"Lestat... you know how I like it."
He smiled up in adoration. "Like this..."
"Mmm, yeah, baby."
"And this."
Another soft moan.
Louis fucked himself on Lestat's cock and into Lestat's tight fist, over and over, until he was helplessly coming, hole pulsing, cock slit dribbling hot ejaculate.
Curled together in the afterglow, Louis rested his head on Lestat's chest, right over his heart, and Lestat caressed him, tracing gentle swirls on the small of his back as they breathed languidly in sync. The compelling truth of Lestat’s earlier words came to him, the simplicity of skin on skin. Louis truly loved this closeness. He could stay in it forever.
A loud crash from downstairs broke the spell. Louis felt the warmth of the moment drain away, the exhaustion of the night catching up to him. The smell of the dead body, which would soon have to be disposed. The familiar prickle of shame.
"Lestat, send them away."
Lestat dropped an indulgent kiss on the top of his head. "It can wait."
"Do it now."
Lestat huffed a big sigh, letting it be known how reluctant he was to let go of Louis. "As you wish, my dear," he intoned as he got up.
He dipped into the coffin room to fetch a dressing gown. Leaning into the mirror, he patted down his wild sex hair and turned to Louis. "Am I decent enough?"
Louis appraised him from the bed with arched brows. "You look well-fucked."
His answering grin could only be called sinful.
"By the way," he pointed to a paper on the fireplace. "Miss Bricktop wanted you to have that."
Louis sat up, frowning. "What is it?"
But Lestat was already out the door.