Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Louis is sick of Dubai. Sick, and tired, and bored. The fact that it took him so many years to realize how soulless this city is is definitely a testament to how passively he has been living for the past decades. Just enduring day after day, letting the time pass, barely leaving the house, letting other people make decisions for him, all while pretending everything was perfectly fine, that this was exactly the way he wanted to live his life.

When he came back from New Orleans he had an epiphany upon entering into his apartment, into their apartment, like a veil had been lifted from his eyes, from his mind, for the first time in 70 years. Why is every room so devoid of colour, why is his wardrobe filled with only black and grey clothes? How has he been living like this without realizing how unlike him it was, how wrong it felt?

He spent weeks redecorating, wanting to rid the place of Armand’s influence and fill it with a bit more life, but kinda gave up halfway through, realizing that his heart wasn’t in it, realizing that this was not his city, had never been, and never would be.

But, it’s been almost two years, and he’s still there. Because where else is he supposed to go? He has no desire, no drive to start a life in a brand new city, but at the same time he can’t bring himself to even think of going back to New Orleans permanently, not yet at least.

And so here he is, in a house he now realizes he hates, in a city he hates, lonely in a way he hasn’t felt in a really long time. No matter how much he tries to fill it, that apartment is just too big.

And yes, he’s finding himself, he can’t throw himself in a relationship so soon, not after spending an entire century always tied to someone. He needs time for himself, to think, to heal, to not depend on anyone... but God does he miss Lestat.

He tried to hate him for so long, spent years forcing himself to hate him, and now that he knows what he knows, now that he has seen him, felt his touch again, he aches for him. Once the wall he had built around his feelings for Lestat started cracking there was no way for him to stop it from crumbling to pieces completely, lifting the numbness around them. Getting hit with the full force of them was disorienting, to say the least.

But he can’t fall into him again, so he follows him from afar. Stalks his social media like he’s part of his rabid fanbase, reads articles about him, and interviews, looks up paparazzi shots of him with his tongue down some young unfortunate thing’s throat, listens to his songs obsessively.

And meets him sometimes, obviously. Because the sex has always been that good, and as long as it’s sex he can pretend that’s all it is. It becomes harder every time to ignore the way Lestat’s face falls, the way his heart clearly breaks when Louis tells him he has to leave. But he won’t acknowledge it, not until Lestat says something about it, because he agreed to this, and so he has to say it if he changed his mind sometime along the way.

The book coming out had been a whole shitshow, Lestat ignoring his texts for almost three months, and then that article saying that The Vampire Lestat was set to star in a documentary about his life and unlife, getting interviewed by none other than the Daniel Molloy. Louis laughed for a full minute after he was done with his screaming match in Daniel’s head, because wow, the audacity.

He had never brought it up with Lestat in their subsequent meetings, and neither had he. Meeting up was easier when Lestat’s tour started, with the excuse of Louis traveling for work, casually and conveniently in the same cities where his concerts were, on those exact days. It doesn't hold up in the slightest after the third time it happened, but at this point, who cares?

So yeah, he knows what Lestat’s up to, and he knows that he’s currently in Dubai, because of course there's a show in Dubai, but Lestat hasn’t texted him, so he’s been spending the last couple of days working really hard on pretending that he does not care about the fact that Lestat hasn’t texted him.

He’s doing an excellent job at it, reading a book splayed out on the couch, when Daniel’s voice suddenly fills his mind.

Hey Louis, you busy?

Daniel, hi. Yes, actually-, he lies with a smile, happy to hear from him, but the younger vampire doesn’t let him finish.

Okay, don’t really care, I was just asking to be polite.

Louis frowns, annoyed now.

Well, you have to work a bit more on the polite thing.

Listen, I have two questions... one, do you think we, vampires I mean, can like... overdose on drugs? And two, are you and Lestat on at least speaking terms right now?

Louis freezes, blinks slowly while he processes Daniel’s words, the slightly concerned tone of his voice, and his mind connects the dots.

What does that... are you trying to tell me Lestat... overdosed?

I mean... I don’t know man, but it’s not looking good.

And that’s... what?

He’s not an idiot, he knows drugs are around in the music industry, he has seen the kind of people that go to Lestat’s concerts, the kind of people he surrounds himself with. He never thought he wouldn’t partake, never thought he would, never thought about this at all, to be honest. But he would have noticed something in the past months, wouldn’t he?

Would anyone have noticed it about him in the '70s? Not really, he thinks.

He shakes himself, forces himself to respond to Daniel.

What do you mean, what’s... what’s going on?

Uuuhhh... he’s- cold and clammy, full body shakes, and his eyes are like, half opened, rolled back, it’s kinda disturbing actually.

Shit. Shit, he takes a deep breath, trying not to panic. Okay, okay where are you?

A pause before Daniel answers.

...seriously?

God, he could kill him right now. He doesn’t manage to keep the anger out of his thoughts.

I know you’re in Dubai, I’m asking where.

Right, yeah. Radisson Blu Hotel, room 506.

Seriously, not even a mile from his apartment?

He doesn’t realize he projected the thought until Daniel scoffs in his mind.

Take a guess as to why that is Louis.

I’m coming there, just, fucking- stick two fingers down his throat, get out what’s not in his system yet. I’m coming.

He hastily grabs his phone and runs out, not bothering to change out of his inside clothes, almost flies there with how fast he’s going, only slowing down when he enters the lobby to avoid freaking anyone out. He quickly finds the room, opens the door with the mind gift, and practically runs inside, stopping short at the sight of Lestat’s shivering form on the bed, Daniel sitting next to him with a hand on his forearm, unconsciously rubbing it with his thumb.

“Jesus, Les,” he crouches down on the floor next to the bed, and grabs his face in his hands, tenderly stroking his sweaty hair back. He looks up at Daniel.

“Did you make him throw up?”

“Tried, didn’t really work. He’s too out of it,” Daniel sighs worriedly.

“Okay, okay,” he nods, swallowing hard and returning his gaze to Lestat. “Fuck. Okay, it’s okay.”

It’s not like drugs can kill a vampire, or even cause some kind of real damage, but Louis can’t stand to see him like this, his wheezing breaths and unseeing eyes way too reminiscent of a certain awful night in New Orleans he still prefers not to think about.

Fortunately, he knows how to make the following hours less awful for Lestat, and significantly speed up his recovery. The next part won’t be easy nor pretty, but he knows he has to work up the courage and just do it. It’s better than just waiting it out, than sitting next to him and watch him suffer while he does nothing.

He briefly debates staying on the bed but decides against it, not really in the mood for the cleanup that would have to follow, and gently scoops Lestat in his arms. He has to choke back a horrified gasp at the way his head limply lolls back, and he quickly adjusts to make him lean against his chest.

He’s aware of Daniel following him to the bathroom and awkwardly hanging close by as he lowers Lestat on the floor next to the bathtub, kneeling next to him as he lays him down so he can prop his head up on Louis’ thighs.

He grabs a limp arm, holds it above the tub, and takes a deep breath to steel himself before using his sharp nail to slice Lestat’s wrist open, a neat vertical cut that wouldn’t close too quickly.

“What the fuck man, are you trying to kill him?” he hears Daniel’s shocked question, but ignores him hoping he’ll understand soon enough on his own, his focus staying completely on the unconscious vampire in his arms.

“Come on, come on,” he whispers, massaging his wrist above the cut to urge the drugged-up blood out, until Lestat starts softly moaning in pain. Good, pain means he’s conscious.

“There you are, stay with me Les, you’re okay,” he blinks back his tears, and turns to the still shocked younger vampire, staring at them with wide eyes. “Daniel, help me, lift him up for me.”

He kneels down and grabs Lestat under his armpits, holding him in a sitting position while Louis puts his palm against his forehead, lifting his head from his chest and slightly turning him towards the bathtub. He brings his other hand to Lestat’s mouth, and winces before shaking his head and sliding his index and middle finger past his lips, deep in his mouth until he finds his soft palate and uvula, and Lestat weakly gags a couple of times, before finally retching the blood still in his stomach.

“Okay, good, that’s it,” he encourages, and Lestat lets out a sob before his stomach heaves again, crimson tears sliding down his cheeks. “I know. I know, honey.”

He barely notices the slip-up, not like Lestat would remember this. He distantly realizes that he wouldn’t care if he did.

“Okay, Daniel you can let go, make him lie down,” he orders shakily, and Lestat’s head is back on his lap in no time, his shivering consistently subsided now. Louis cuts his own wrist and holds it above Lestat’s mouth, but he’s once again barely conscious, and Louis starts rubbing his throat to force him to swallow.

“Drink up now, drink up, I got you,” he urges, and sighs in relief when Lestat finally latches on his arm. “You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay."

“Can I heal that?” Daniel asks, unsure, and Louis looks up to see him pointing at Lestat’s wrist, still sluggishly bleeding.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead,” he nods, sniffing. He watches in a daze, and feels all the adrenaline leave his body the second Lestat’s mouth leaves his arm, his breathing deepening as sleep rather than drug-induced unconsciousness finally claims him. He realizes how out of it he feels, having forced himself to go through the motions without allowing himself to really think, and he takes a second to observe the scene around him.

There’s blood on the floor, blood on Lestat’s face, way too much blood in the tub, and he tells himself to take a deep breath at the wave of panic that washes over him, his eyes welling up again.

“Can you... can you get me a towel, tissues, I don’t know,” he begs Daniel, who quickly gets up and returns to his side holding a wet washcloth.

Louis thankfully grabs it and starts to gently wipe Lestat’s mouth, his cheeks, his arm. He can’t stand to see him covered in blood right now.

“Looks like you knew what you were doing,” tries Daniel, clearly curious, and Louis nods, his eyes not leaving Lestat’s face.

“Armand’s had to do it for me before.”

“Jesus...” he whispers.

He folds the towel to get a clean side, and wipes it across Lestat’s sweaty forehead, down his neck, trying to focus on his physical state and not the implications of the evening, when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and Daniel’s sympathetic gaze on him.

“Breathe Louis. He’s okay, you did good."

Is he not breathing? A bit too quickly maybe, but he’s justified after what he had to do, he thinks. Anger replaces worry now.

“What the hell Daniel, what is this?” he gets out in a hiss. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me anything?”

“What am I, your couple therapist?”

Daniel either doesn’t know what’s good for him, or he’s antagonizing Louis on purpose.

“Couple ther- this has nothing to do with us, this is serious, and you know it,” he doesn’t manage to keep his voice down this time, and Daniel lifts up a placating hand.

“Calm down, you’re upsetting him.”

Louis’ eyes widen and he looks down to see Lestat grimacing, and he lifts a hand to smooth the lines on his forehead, a soft sob escaping him before he can stifle it.

“Listen, I couldn’t have predicted this,” Daniel sighs earnestly. “Yeah he’s been off the rocker a bit, but nothing too worrying, and the drug use had been... recreational, so far.”

Louis feels very close to a breakdown of his own. He can’t stop thinking that this is his fault. He doesn't know whether to hope this is the first time it happened, or the first time anyone noticed. Is it better to think that the first time Lestat found himself in the city where Louis spent decades with Armand he needed so many drugs in order to cope with it that he ended up like this, or that he's regularly in so much pain that he just needs to shut his mind off?

“I thought he was fine, he seemed to be doing well, with the music, and the fans, I didn’t know he... I didn’t-“ he shakes his head, his voice breaking.

“Hey, come on, why don’t you bring him back to the bed, breathe for a minute, I’ll clean up a bit in here,” Daniel's voice is gentle, like he's being careful with him, and Louis realizes he must be in quite a state if Daniel's taking so much pity on him.

He nods, wipes the tears from his eyes, and lifts Lestat in his arms, gently laying him down on the king-size bed. He briefly debates the ethics of going through his stuff without his permission, but he really wants to get him out of his sweaty and no doubt uncomfortable clothes, so he rummages through his messy luggage and finds what may or may not be his pajamas, an oversize soft t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

He used to prefer actual sleepwear sets back in the day, usually silk ones, but he doesn't see anything like it among his clothes, and he realizes with a pang that he has no idea what Lestat's preferences are these days. What does he like to wear when he's not in front of fans or cameras, what does he do to occupy his time, does he still prefer to tie his hair and have slippers on when he goes to coffin, does he even still use a coffin when he can? 

He shakes his head, wills himself to stop thinking and sits on the bed, lifts Lestat in his arms, and leans him against his chest to get him out of his chiffon jacket and the tight crop top underneath. He slips the t-shirt on him, guiding his arms through the holes, and Lestat stirs a bit, hums in clear annoyance at being disturbed, so Louis hushes him softly with a kiss on his temple before laying him back down. He struggles a bit with the high boots and leather pants, but it's nothing he hasn't done before, so he manages to get them off quickly enough, replaces them with the ones he got before, and Lestat curls on himself as soon as he's done, laying in a fetal position with his face towards Louis.

He doesn't look very relaxed, a small frown painting his face, and he's back to shivering lightly, so Louis slides the duvet from under him and covers him up, leaving only his face out. He looks so small and vulnerable in the large bed, and Louis can't help the wave of protectiveness that washes through him.

This is why he hasn't allowed himself to spend the day with Lestat during these past months, to fall asleep with him after they have sex, to just hang out with him. One look at him, cozy and defenseless wrapped in a soft blanket, and he never wants to leave his side again.

He's gently running his fingers through Lestat's hair when Daniel comes back and sits in an armchair close to the bed with a sigh. Louis has questions for him now that he calmed down a bit.

“What happened, why are you-" he begins with a frown. "Why are you here, did you find him like this?”

“He was late for shooting, which is nothing new, but once he was very late I went looking for him," he begins, his eyes focusing on Louis' hand in Lestat's hair. "Found him here, high as fuck talking to himself, with a dead body on the floor. I called some of our staff to dispose of it, helped them with it, and when I came back up he was passed out on the floor," he shakes his head. "I called you when he started getting worse.”

Louis nods, his eyes returning to Lestat. “No matter how high that guy was, that was not just from draining one person.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. I just hope he was lucid enough to not just leave other bodies around the city,” Daniel ponders, and Louis finds that he doesn't care about that at all.

“How intentional do you think this was?”

His hand moves from Lestat's hair to his shoulder, rubbing it through the covers. He can't seem to stop touching him.

"Louis, I-" he hesitates, looking at him with a frown. "I don't know, honestly."

He nods, brings a hand to his mouth, and closes his eyes when he feels the threat of tears again.

"Okay, okay," he sniffs, takes a deep shaky breath.

"Do you need me to stay here with you for a bit more?"

Louis sees him looking at his watch, and realizes that unlike him Daniel probably has better, more important things to do than sit in a hotel room staring at a sleeping vampire, and that during this entire evening he has definitely done way more than his job description requires.

"No, no don't worry, I'm fine," he swallows, looks him in the eyes. "Thank you, for... staying with him, cleaning, just... thank you. You didn't have to."

"Hey, I never thought I would say this, but... he's my friend too," Daniel smiles at him reassuringly, and Louis does his best to return it. "Call me if you need anything."

Louis nods, grateful, and then he's alone, in a room with Lestat.

He dreads the moment he's going to wake up.

Chapter Text

It doesn’t take long for Louis to start getting restless after Daniel leaves. Once he’s confident Lestat is just sleeping and will not suddenly stop breathing or choke on his own vomit he gets up, and decides to start exploring the hotel room. There’s not much to explore at all.

He opens all the doors, wardrobes and cupboards, finding everything empty. Lestat hasn’t bothered to unpack, and a sad and useless coffee machine is the only complementary thing in the room. Shitty ass hotel, could Lestat’s management really not find anything better in a two-mile radius of his apartment?

There’s a second space in the suite, a living area with a small table, a couch, and another armchair. At least the view from there is good. A large floor-to-ceiling window takes up almost an entire wall, facing the canal, and the skyline is mesmerizing at night with its lights.

He finally finds a mini fridge, empty, and some coffee cups and larger mugs in the adjacent cabinet. Lestat definitely needs some blood, he didn’t drink nearly enough from Louis earlier, so he calls one of his assistants to ask him to deliver some bags, and the book that he was reading while he’s at it. He could go get them himself, but he really doesn’t feel like leaving Lestat alone.

He waits, pacing mindlessly, and finally hears steps in the corridor outside. He opens the door before his assistant can knock, thanks him for the quick delivery and grabs the insulated container and the book.

He takes a bag for himself, places the others in the fridge, and decides to pour some blood into a cup, drinking the rest directly from the bag. He finally returns to Lestat’s side and sits cross-legged against the headboard, content to stay there now that he has something to occupy his time besides staring at the other vampire while overthinking. There’s no point in doing that, because Lestat is going to wake up soon, and then they’re going to talk. Because there’s no way he’s going to let this go without Lestat talking to him.

He reads his book, occasionally sips on his cup, and his hand mindlessly makes his way to Lestat’s hair, his shoulder, his cheek, whenever a light shiver or whimper disturbs his rest.

He’s completely lost track of time by the time Lestat finally stirs awake, slowly turning on his back with a long groan, his hands coming to rub at his face. He digs his fingers into his temples, his eyebrows pinched in discomfort. Louis frowns in sympathy.

“Headache?” he asks, putting the book down on the bedside table, his tone flat but gentle.

Lestat freezes, clearly unaware that he wasn’t alone in the room until that moment, lowers his hands slowly and finally looks up, a look of pure disbelief on his face.

“Louis? Why are you here?” he croaks out, before lifting himself in a sitting position, using his hands to scoot back against the headboard. His eyes briefly squeeze shut at the movement.

“Daniel called me, he thought you were gonna die on him,” he goes for nonchalant, throwing a small contempt smile at Lestat. Louis can see the moment he puts the mask on, his face morphing before his eyes.

Lestat, ever the actor, smile, charm, curtain up.

“Well, I’m perfectly alright, so you can go now,” eyebrows raised with a shrug, cheerful tone, lips upturned. Louis doesn’t buy it for a second.

“I had to slit your wrist and shove my fingers down your throat to be sure you’d be “perfectly alright”, but yeah, sure,” he spits out, wanting him to feel a bit guilty about the whole thing, but with no real heat in it, his worry bleeding through.

Lestat’s act falters for a moment, a pause before he manages to wipe the confusion off his face and rebut. He obviously has no recollection of that.

“Thank you for your assistance then, but as I said, you can go,” less charming, more defensive.

He gets up, with not much grace for his standards, clearly starting to feel caged and cornered, but they’re in a hotel room after all, and there’s nothing much to do. He goes towards the closet, busies himself with straightening the couple jackets that made it out of his suitcase on the hangers, just to do something with his hands, clearly waiting for Louis to get up and leave.

Expecting it.

Louis feels sick.

“What are you doing?” he asks with a shake of his head.

“Enjoying the rockstar lifestyle to the fullest,” Lestat twirls towards him, opening his arms and raising his eyebrows. His wide eyes make his expression tip towards the edge of unhingedness, making Louis wince.

“Bullshit,” he states firmly, which makes Lestat scoff, his hard eyes now fixed on Louis’.

“Why do you care?” he has given up on the pretense now, but where Louis expects to find his fire, his anger, he can barely catch a glimpse of it. He just sounds... tired.

Louis takes a breath, bites his lips. He gets out the question more to get a rise out of him than anything else.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?”

No, obviously, because drugs are not an effective way to do that at all, but his voice still threatens to break. Lestat won’t be able to kill himself like this, no, but Louis can see the path of self-destructiveness he’s taking, and he doesn’t like that either.

“Why do you care?” he repeats, coldly, and Louis realizes that he’s genuinely wondering that. It’s a stab to the heart.

“Why do I- seriously, you’re asking that?”

Lestat laughs then, his eyes clearing with sudden realization, and he tilts his head before saying the most devastating thing Louis could think of at that moment.

“I mean I know my dick is that good, but I’m sure you’ll find someone else to fuck you.”

Louis feels his blood run cold. He can’t be serious, can he?

He can though. He is. Because that’s what Louis has allowed him to believe during these past months. He knew it was wrong to only seek him out for sex, he knew it, deep down at least, but never allowed himself to think about it too much, because that was what he needed.

He thought that was what Lestat needed too. Or that he was okay with it, at least.

He must have taken too long to answer, just staring at him in shock, because Lestat shakes his head, starts walking away, stalking towards the living area, and Louis scrambles off the bed, going after him.

“Do you actually think that’s all you’re... Les...”

He feels his eyes well up, and Lestat looks at him, smiles again, but his eyes are so incredibly sad, and Louis has no idea what to do.

“What else should I think?” he turns to the window, looking at the skyline, and leans his forehead on the glass, looking exhausted. “Just leave me alone, Louis.”

He can see part of his face reflected on the glass. Defeated. At peace with it. It scares him.

“Not happening, not while you’re like this,” he shakes his head firmly, and Lestat’s shoulders shake in a chuckle.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna die if you take your eyes off of me for a minute. I’m not that easy to kill, believe me, I’ve tried.”

Louis blinks, his mouth opening in silent shock.

“... what?” he breathes out.

Lestat turns back towards him in a flash, his eyes wide, just now realizing what he said.

“I- no, Louis, I... misspoke,” to which Louis just shakes his head, his heart hammering against his chest.

“The hell you did,” he chokes out, and Lestat squeezes his eyes shut, clearly realizing there’s no way Louis will leave him here alone after this. Good, he thinks.

“It wasn’t- wasn’t recently,” he pleads, earnest gaze back on Louis, who’s doing everything in his power to not start crying.

“Okay,” he nods resolutely, takes a deep breath. “I’m going to stay here with you now-”

“Louis.”

“- I can come for the next few shows-”

“Louis.”

“- just move my schedule around a bit.”

“Just tell me why you’re here!” he yells.

They’re both breathing hard, staring at each other, and Louis nods, looks to the side and sighs slowly, preparing a little speech in his mind. He has to make Lestat see.

“I’m sorry. I know I let this get out of hand, I knew I was hurting you, but I never imagined it was to this extent. I’m-” he starts, but Lestat interrupts him, laughing loudly in disbelief.

“Oh, that’s rich. You think this was about you?” he scoffs bitterly. “Believe it or not, not everything in my life revolves around Louis de Pointe du Lac.”

“Then tell me, talk to me,” his voice raises in exasperation.

“Why should I talk to you?” his voice breaks on the last word, the first crack in the armor.

Why indeed, Louis? When you shut him out whenever he tried to for the past year. It hurts, as truth often does.

He doesn’t have an answer for him, so he nods while his gaze goes to the floor in shame, and Lestat sighs, turns to lean his side against the window.

“Go away,” he whispers, asking for the umpteenth time.

“No,” he states with finality, bringing his gaze back to Lestat in time to see the redness start pooling in his eyes before he covers his face with his hands. They do nothing to stifle his sobs.

“Just go away,” he begs again, and Louis closes the distance between them, wrapping him in his arms.

“No, Lestat,” he insists softly, which just causes him to cry harder.

Louis didn’t expect him to fight him like this. He’s not actively refusing his hug, he’s not trying to get away from it, but he’s not relaxing in his hold either, his hands still covering his face, his body tense and trembling.

“Please go away. Go away, please,” he mumbles, barely intelligible between sobs, and Louis brings a hand to the back of his head, gently scratching his scalp in the way he used to love, silently willing him to accept the comfort.

“No. I’m sorry, but no,” he whispers, kissing his temple. Louis welcomes the breakdown, has been anticipating it the whole night. It’s the first step to start putting the pieces back together, but Lestat has to allow himself to fall apart first.

“Please don’t do this to me,” he pleads desperately, and Louis swears he can feel his heart breaking.

“Do what honey?” he frowns in genuine confusion.

“Don’t,” he gasps, his knees going weak, and Louis’ eyes widen, tightening his grip on him to stop him from crumbling to the floor.

“Hey, hey, hey” he whispers worriedly, starting to guide them back towards the bedroom, helping him to lie back down.

“You must think I’m so pathetic,” he gets out, muffled against his own hands, and Louis sighs, sitting on the edge of the mattress next to him.

“No. I’m just very worried.”

Lestat lowers his hands to his sides, stares at the ceiling while he takes some deep breaths, trying to compose himself, but his face keeps crumbling, again and again, his tears not stopping now that the dam has broken.

“Don’t do this to me, I beg you,” he asks again, and Louis shakes his head, still not knowing what he’s talking about.

“What, Les?” he knows his own tone is starting to get desperate.

Lestat closes his eyes, brings his arms around himself in an imitation of a hug. Trying to comfort himself, when Louis is right there. He can’t stand it.

“Please, can I just hold you?”

He shakes his head, and Louis closes his eyes, helpless. They stay like that for a minute before Lestat speaks again, barely more than a whisper.

“Don’t act like you care. Don’t give me hope.”

Answering his earlier question, finally. Oh, Lestat.

He raises a hand to his face, gently stroking a tear-streaked cheek with his thumb, the other fingers massaging behind his ear.

“Don’t, please I can’t cope with this. Just... leave.”

The request seems to take everything out of him, his expression going slack, his breath coming in quick gasps, and Louis cups his face between both hands, waits until Lestat opens his eyes again, and tries to convey his sincerity through his gaze.

“I’m not gonna leave. I’m not. You hear me? I’m here. I’m here.”

Lestat’s uncertainty is written all over his face. He wants to relent, wants to trust him, but he can’t, he just can’t, not at the risk of getting hurt again. Louis doesn’t blame him for it.

He just lies down next to him, tentatively draws him close, his arms gently around him, holding Lestat’s face against his chest, and he finally tightens his grip when he feels Lestat stop resisting, melting against him.

He runs a hand up and down his back, the other firmly holding the back of his head, and just lets him cry silently. He frowns, worried, when he realizes that he hasn’t felt him take a breath in a while, his shoulders shaking convulsively without pause.

“Breathe, hey,” he commands, rubbing his back a bit more firmly, and Lestat finally draws a big, desperate gasp, and he starts... not sobbing, exactly, but... wailing.

It’s not a sound Louis has ever heard him make before, carrying so much sorrow, and grief, and he just pulls him closer, helpless in the face of his pain, his own eyes welling with tears.

Lestat’s arms finally sneak around him, clutching at him desperately. He tries to talk, without much success, choking on the words, and Louis hushes him gently, tells him it’s alright, tells him to just breathe, that he’s there, but Lestat keeps trying, like it’s important, like he needs it, so he draws back just enough to take his face back between his hands.

He looks at him and exaggerates his breaths while stroking his cheeks, and Lestat breathes with him until he manages to stifle his sobs enough to get the words out, broken and wet.

“Every night I have to talk about the most horrible things that happened to me, and I just want to go home and cry in someone’s arms, but I’m alone, I’m so alone, and I keep seeing her, and I just need it to stop, I need everything to stop.”

“Okay, okay,” Louis sighs, bringing him back in his arms, glad to finally have something to work with, even if that something is horrible and just...sad. “You’re not alone. I promise. You’re not alone, I got you.”

“I can’t do this anymore Louis,” he sounds so vulnerable, so young, but not in the way a young person would. No, he sounds young in the heartbreaking way that very old people do, when they’re tired of life, of the pain, when they realize that everyone around them is leaving them, when they just turn back to children craving the comfort of their long gone mothers’ arms.

He’s starting to choke on the intensity of his sobs, coughing while trying to catch his breath, and Louis rolls them over a bit, so that Lestat is almost lying on top of him, his face in the crook of his neck.

“You don’t have to. Not alone,” he reassures him, kissing his hair. “I’m here, and you can cry, as long as you need, but I need you to do something for me, okay?”

He waits for Lestat to nod in acknowledgment before continuing.

“I want you to listen to my heartbeat, to focus on it, and I want you to breathe with me. Alright? You’re gonna make yourself sick like this.”

He winces at his own tone, feels like he’s talking to a child, but Lestat just nods again, so he slows his own breathing down, inhaling and exhaling deliberately, and he feels him trying to match him, slowly but steadily calming down, until his sobs die down, until his breath stops hitching.

He wonders if Lestat fell asleep, but he mumbles something after a while, which Louis manages to decipher as “I’m cold”.

“I know honey. You need to drink something.”

He manages to extricate himself from under Lestat, and quickly grabs two blood bags from the mini-fridge.

“Can you sit up a bit for me?” he tries, and sighs when he doesn’t receive an answer. He brings a couple of blonde strands out of his face, makes a small nick in the corner of the bag with a nail and brings it to Lestat’s lips. He frowns when Lestat doesn’t start drinking immediately. He should be ravenous with how little blood is in his system, even while half–asleep his instinct should take over.

“Hey, you with me baby? Drink, come on,” he tips the bag a bit, letting blood wet his lips, and Lestat finally starts taking slow measured sips, which is weird but better than nothing. Louis hadn’t realized how pale he was until he saw the color start to return to his face.

He stops drinking when the bag is barely finished, and sits up slowly, throwing a tired smile at Louis, who blinks at him, a new worry weaving its way into him.

“You can have more,” he coaxes, but Lestat shakes his head, dismissive.

“I’m fine, but thank you.”

Gorging himself on multiple people, high people, and then refusing to eat for days afterwards, out of a profound sense of shame and guilt, is something that Louis is very familiar with, and he would never believe Lestat to be going in that same path if not for the evidence in front of his eyes.

He nods, knowing from experience that pressing him will only cause panic or anger, and finds himself at a loss, with no idea where to even start, what words to use to avoid Lestat retreating into himself again.

Lestat is the one to save him after a couple of minutes, with a hand on his thigh and a gentle smile.

“I think I need a shower,” he states, and Louis nods, glad to have some time to gather his thoughts, and because he does need it after everything he’s been through.

“I’ll be here when you come out.”

“You can join me if you want,” he smiles, and there’s something in his face, in his tone, that tells Louis that it’s a bad idea, but he craves the closeness, the intimacy of taking care of each other. He thinks of washing Lestat’s bloody tears out of his face, of brushing his hair, and doesn’t find it in himself to say no.

He also can’t quite shake the irrational image of Lestat passing out from exhaustion and breaking his head open on the edge of the tub, his blood spreading out on the white tiles.

Chapter Text

“Did you put these on me?”

Louis is fumbling with the shower controls, trying to get the water to a comfortable temperature, and he turns around to see Lestat frowning down at himself, apparently only now realizing that he’s not wearing the same clothes he passed out in hours earlier.

“Save it if you’re going to complain about my outfit choice,” he points a playful finger at him. “Your bag is a mess, that’s the best I could find.”

Lestat raises his hands in surrender, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“You don’t have any memories of last night, do you?” he tries, and Lestat shakes his head slowly, contemplatively.

“I don’t remember you being here at all.”

Louis tilts his head, exhaling softly.

“You scared me. A lot,” he swallows, and Lestat closes his eyes, grimacing.

“I’m sorry. I never meant for you to see me like that.”

“I know,” he muses. That’s kind of the whole problem, he thinks. How many of their meetings during the past months had Lestat spent acting, pretending, so good at it that Louis hadn’t noticed a thing? Or worse, were the signs there and he had chosen not to see them?

He shakes himself and forces a smile, nodding at him.

“Come on, take those off,” he prompts. “Shower or bath?”

“Shower. It saves water, did you know this?”

Louis can’t help but laugh, glancing back at him while taking off his own shirt.

“Since when do you care?”

Lestat’s smile is more sincere now, and his eyes dart over Louis' body, glancing back at him while he steps inside the tub.

He gives him a smile in return, before walking to the sink to inspect the toiletries provided by the hotel. He's thankful to find a plastic shower cap among them since he really doesn’t feel like doing a whole hair routine right now, or even worse, having to deal with his hair if he doesn’t do one.

“You look silly,” Lestat immediately laughs at him when he joins him in the shower, and Louis rolls his eyes with a smile.

“Thanks,” he mutters, feigning offense, and Lestat is on him in a second, holding his face between his hands, kissing him gently. Louis’ hands settle on his waist, his thumb stroking the soft skin on his belly. Lestat breaks the kiss with a giggle. It's almost ridiculous, the way an almost three-hundred-year-old creature can be ticklish.

“Hi,” whispers Louis, leaving a soft kiss on the scar at the corner of his mouth.

“Hi,” Lestat stares at him, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes big and dark. Mesmerized. He dives back in, his grip on him more firm, his kiss less gentle, more hungry now. It’s easy for Louis to forget himself, to get lost in him.

He invites Lestat’s tongue in the soft heat of his mouth, swallowing his sigh, and buries his hand in the now wet strands of his hair. The heat of the steam surrounding them, the heat of Lestat’s pliant body pressed against him, the heat of his open-mouthed kisses against his neck, and then... Lestat’s hand is wrapping around his cock, the shock of it enough to bring his brain back online like a bucket of cold water.

He remembers himself, the reason why they’re here, the reason why he can’t allow this to happen, not right now.

“Hey, no,” he grabs Lestat’s wrist between his fingers, gently stopping his movement, and uses the other hand to lift his chin, to make him look him in the eye.

He blinks at him, clear confusion painted on his face, a tinge of hurt, before a soft smile wipes the frown away, and Louis thinks that maybe he understands.

“I’m not high,” he smirks. “You’re not taking advantage, mon cher.”

Louis closes his eyes briefly with a sigh.

“It’s... not that,” he barely has the time to say, his eyes widening when Lestat drops to his knees, his gaze leaving Louis’ face in favor of his dick, half-hard against his best efforts. He quickly crouches down, grabs him under his armpits, and hauls him back to his feet. He catches sight of Lestat’s own dick in the process, completely soft.

“Stop, hey, Les. Stop,” he insists, hands settling on his biceps.

The rejection cuts him deep, as it always had, but he can’t hide it as well as he usually can today, not in the fragile state his mind is in, and his lower lip wobbles while he stares at Louis, hurt and unsure.

“You don’t want me anymore,” he states in a small voice, and Louis hums with a shake of his head, raises his hands to tuck his hair behind his ears.

“Of course I do, come on. But we’re not gonna have sex now,” his thumb strokes over his trembling lips, settling on his cheek. Lestat’s eyes flutter closed at the delicate touch. “I know what you’re doing.”

The expression on his face is so utterly perplexed that Louis realizes that maybe he's not even aware of doing it.

Louis curses his naiveness, in thinking that a few sentences, a couple reassurances could undo months of damage, that Lestat would truly believe that he’s there for him, just for the sake of being there for him.

“I don’t need that from you. You don’t have to do this to... to prove something to me, or- or to thank me,” he almost feels sick at the thought. “I want you, not just your body. That’s not where your worth lies. I need you to understand that.”

The confusion is still on his face, joined now by a couple of stray tears, his eyes wide and liquid, and Louis pulls him to his chest, stroking his hair gently. He rocks them slowly from side to side, under the spray of the shower, and Lestat relaxes against him, letting out a shuddering breath.

It hits Louis that maybe he’s not the only culprit in this, that when you grow up as beautiful as he is, when a monster chooses you as a perfect specimen of beauty standard to be his legacy, when abandonment is your greatest fear but your looks are enough to grab the attention of a whole room, it’s hard to not think that your body is the greatest currency you own.

“You don’t have to do anything to keep me here,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses to his temple, his cheek. “Let me take care of you.”

“Okay,” he nods, sniffs, and sneaks his hands between his and Louis’ chest, pushing a bit to put some distance between them and look him in the eyes, searching them, like he’s scared Louis is lying to him. He must find what he was looking for, because he nods again, hastily wipes the tears on his face, and presses a quick kiss to Louis’ lips.

“Turn around, I’ll wash your hair.”

Lestat melts under his hands, humming softly as Louis massages the shampoo into his scalp, gently scratching with the pads of his fingers, careful to keep his sharp nails away.

“I don’t like the smell,” he mumbles, and Louis rolls his eyes, an unbearable fondness coming over him, because the smell is fine, because Lestat wouldn’t be Lestat if he wasn’t always finding something to complain about.

“It’s just generic hotel shampoo, you should have brought your own if you don’t like it.”

Lestat hums in annoyance, and Louis pinches his side, earning himself an affronted glare that makes him chuckle.

Rinse, shampoo again, rinse, condition, then he spends some time detangling his hair with his fingers, knowing that it will be a mess again once it dries, but he loves running his hands through the silky strands, made shiny and slippery by the product in them.

Lestat reaches for the body wash once Louis is done with his hair.

“Let me, please,” and Louis does, allowing him to wash his body with care, running his hands and a washcloth over his arms, his chest, his back, his legs. He looks up at him, a hesitation before going towards his crotch, but Louis nods, tells him to go ahead, because this is something completely different.

He does the same for Lestat, scrubbing more gently than he had, his skin feeling delicate and thin under his hands, and Louis doesn’t understand how he hadn’t noticed during the past few months that Lestat wasn’t eating enough.

They stand under the water to rinse the soap off, hands running over the other’s body to help, and Lestat’s arms come to rest over Louis’ shoulders, wrapping loosely around his neck, his nose buried in the crook of it. Basking in each other’s presence.

Lestat’s cock is half-hard against his thigh, from touching Louis or from Louis touching him. It probably won’t get harder than this without more blood in him, but he brings his hand around it, giving a perfunctory stroke.

“Thought- ah, Louis-“ he gasps against his neck. “Thought we weren’t going to have sex.”

And he had said that, but he doesn’t feel like a hypocrite, because there’s a difference between making Lestat come and letting him give Louis a blowjob because he felt he had to repay him for helping him through an emotional breakdown.

“Said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” he smiles, and grabs his waist to hold him steady. “Tell me to stop.”

“Merde, why would I do that?” he shivers under Louis’ touch, his breath hot on Louis’ skin.

He keeps stroking him, until Lestat’s gasps turn into soft moans he tries to muffle in Louis’ shoulder, until his legs are trembling beneath him, until his muscles are tensing under his fingers.

Lestat’s mouth is back against his neck, open in a moan, and Louis knows he’s close when he feels his fangs graze his skin.

“Do it. I want you to,” he encourages him, but Lestat doesn’t, his nails scratching Louis’ back as his dick twitches in his hand, coming with a broken gasp.

He brings his arms around Lestat’s waist, rubbing the small of his back as he catches his breath.

“Do you understand how it feels now?” he asks after a while, voice languid in his post-orgasm bliss, slightly muffled against Louis, who frowns, his brain struggling to catch on to his meaning in his own relaxed state.

Something ugly rears inside him when he finally does.

He pushes Lestat away from him, and his hurt must show in his expression, because his eyes clear with a couple of rapid blinks. His expression is inscrutable as Louis gets over the shock enough to find his words.

“Seriously? Is this some kind of petty shit?”

“It was just a question. Because I understand how it felt for you now, I think,” he swallows, his sad eyes immediately making Louis feel bad. “Why do you always assume the worst of me?”

He closes his eyes, shame replacing all his anger, and he hugs Lestat close to his chest, holding him tightly.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m sorry,” he sighs, because Lestat is insane, but thinking he’s not eating just to spite his ex-husband a hundred years later is even more insane.

They’re still under the shower, have been for way too long now, but Louis knows he’s crying again by the faint smell of blood in the air. Has it always been this easy to make him cry? Is it because he’s too tired to suppress it today, or is it simply one of the many things he slowly forgot in the years they spent apart?

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a supportive husband,” he sobs, and Louis frowns with a smile, because he would have never expected the words ‘supportive husband’ to come out of his mouth. He has either been spending too much time online or talking to his Gen Z bandmates.

“You did try, honey,” he offers him, but Lestat shakes his head, sniffling.

“No. I just got mad at you.”

“Okay, hey. Listen to me,” he draws back enough to see Lestat’s face. “It was 1910. You were fucked up, and you were scared for me, and you had no idea how to help me. I was fucked up, and I wouldn’t have let you help me anyway. We did what we could with what we had. Okay?”

“Okay,” he concedes, and Louis brings him under the spray to let the water wash the tears from his face before turning the shower off.

“Come on, we’ve wasted enough water.”

They get out, and Louis wraps a large towel around his waist, using a smaller one to dry his upper body. He turns around to find Lestat bent over, his head upside down, twisting his hair in a too-big towel to create a makeshift turban, and he can’t help but burst out laughing at the sight.

“What?” he asks offended, straightening himself to look at Louis.

“Who’s the one that looks silly now?”

Where has he even learned to do that? Did he find a video on YouTube on a random Tuesday night, did a long–haired friend or bandmate teach him after a show, or did he come up with it himself, thinking he had made a groundbreaking discovery?

Lestat moved to the bedroom while Louis was lost in his musings, and he can hear the sound of what he assumes to be him rummaging through his suitcase in search of something to wear.

“Uuh.. I can offer you... let’s see. Green sweater-”

“Why would you bring sweaters in Dubai?” he frowns, amused, before joining him in the room. Lestat is crouched on the floor, the towel not doing much to preserve his dignity. Not that there’s any need for that at this point. Louis decides to use the moment to close the long blackout curtains, not knowing exactly how many hours away sunrise is by then.

“I don’t know the weather of every city,” he turns towards him, waving a dismissive hand. “Also, it’s the same luggage, you know. Lots of cities, lots of climates.”

“Oh please, I know you haven’t been traveling for months with only that,” he scoffs, nodding to the bag, too small for anything over a week, before going to the living area to cover the massive window there too, closing the door as well for good measure.

“Obviously not, I have other clothes on the tour bus. Which I didn’t put in here.”

“Right,” he smiles, sitting on the bed, and Lestat returns it, mockingly, but Louis can’t find it in himself to be annoyed.

“Black pants, jeans, shirts,” he continues, his face back into the mess of clothes, more bunched up than they are folded. “I don’t think you’d enjoy some of the other stuff I have.”

“Hey, whatever you think will fit me is fine,” he chuckles, and Lestat throws him a pair of beige linen pants and a maroon polo shirt, followed by a pair of white boxers that barely miss his face.

“Hey,” he protests, spreading his arms, and Lestat smirks back at him, getting up to slip on a pair of loose black trousers and a white tank top. Of course he has to leave his distracting arms bare.

Louis gets dressed under Lestat’s appraising eye. He’s clearly very pleased to see his own clothes on him.

“Want me to brush your hair?” he asks, remembering how much Lestat loves it, and he’s surprised to be met with a frown.

“I don’t think I have a brush here,” he says after a moment of pondering, and Louis relaxes, rolling his eyes.

“That’s okay. Come here,” he pats the bed next to him, and Lestat joins him, bringing his bag of toiletries with him. He sits cross-legged, leaning his head back, and Louis kneels behind him so that he’s a few inches above him. He goes through the bag and finds some mousse, a leave-in curl cream, and a small bottle labeled 'cristalli liquidi', liquid crystals in Italian, which seems to be some kind of hair oil.

“No brush but three different hair products,” he shakes his head, even if Lestat can’t see him, and rubs some drops of oil between his hands, before gliding them through his hair, careful to keep them away from his scalp, knowing he’d never hear the end of it if he made his hair ‘oily’. Hard to avoid when putting literal oil on them.

“Well, I care about my hair,” he pouts.

“Not enough to brush them, clearly,” he uses his fingers to get rid of any tangles, and keeps up with his ‘brushing’ long after it stops being necessary, just for the pleasure of doing it.

“I do have a brush you know, it’s just not here.”

Louis hums, a fond smile still on his face while he squeezes some curl cream in his palm and scrunches it in his hair, using the towel to help. He hates to interrupt the peace they have managed to reach, but he can feel Lestat get sleepy under his hands, and he needs him to talk about the last evening before he passes out.

“You wanna tell me what happened tonight?”

He tenses slightly, and Louis drops his hands to his shoulders, massaging them gently.

“I think...” he interrupts himself, swallowing hard. “I hadn’t eaten in a bit too long... I couldn’t control myself. I usually don’t-”

Louis closes his eyes, nods with a deep breath.

“Not the first time it happened then?”

“Never this bad before, but, no,” he turns his head to look at him, his eyes a bit red. “I really wasn’t trying to... hurt myself.”

Louis nods, moves a bit so they’re sitting in front of each other, and takes Lestat’s hand in his, his thumb caressing the soft skin there.

“Does it help? To stop the thoughts?”

He looks away, brings his gaze to their joined hands before nodding quickly. He looks back up at Louis through his lashes then, without raising his head, looking almost frightened. He opens his mouth a couple of times before he manages to speak, his head tilting slightly.

“I see her Louis. Like she’s here. Like she’s really here,” his voice is barely more than a whisper, like he’s telling a secret, or like he’s scared he’s going to summon her just by saying it. He smiles, his expression almost maniacal. “I’ve always seen her, but she was happy before, when I was wasting away in that shack. We had so many nice conversations. But she’s not happy now. Now that I’m doing something with my life. She knows just what to say to break me, our daughter.”

Louis feels his blood run cold. There’s something scary in his expression, in the tone of his voice, like he’s not completely there. It’s a shock to see it, after the relaxed banter they just shared until then. Lestat’s emotions have always been prone to sudden changes, and he briefly wonders if psychologists reading the book would have a diagnosis for Lestat too, alongside his own schizophrenia.

“Les. I need you to tell me that you know it’s not really her,” he frowns, squeezing his hand harder.

“Isn’t it? She said she’d come back to haunt us. If anyone could come back as a ghost to haunt me it’s her.”

“Ghosts aren’t real,” he insists gently, and Lestat looks genuinely confused, his smile still not leaving his face.

“Aren’t they? How do you know,” he squints at him, and Louis raises his other hand to cup his face.

“Honey, it’s not her. It’s you. Your guilt, your self-loathing. I know. I’ve been there.”

He’s shaking his head quickly, his eyes refusing to meet Louis’. He has the feeling that he’s about to make him cry again, but he can’t entertain his delusions.

“I saw you. But it wasn’t you. It was me.”

“This is different,” he gets out with a scoff, his head still moving back and forth.

“No...”

“She was on stage with me, at the Paris concert,” he smiles again at Louis, something broken in it. “Under a cone of light, just like... I almost ran away in the middle of a song.”

He looks far away, his eyes vacant, and Louis rubs his bicep, at a loss for what to do.

“You can’t keep going on like this,” he starts gently, and Lestat nods slowly, eyes still unfocused.

“I know. But I don’t know what to do. Maybe I can find a witch, maybe there’s some spell to keep her away,” he frowns, dazed. “Not always, I want her with me. But just sometimes, just so I can function.”

Louis feels his own eyes well up, his chest aching.

“Les, it's not her-“

“Stop, Louis,” he yells suddenly, yanking his hand away, desperate eyes back to his face. “Stop, please. Let me have this. Let me think my daughter’s here with me again. Why won’t you let me have this?” he whines, the question ending in a pained sob.

Louis freezes, staring helplessly at him.

“Okay. Okay,” he whispers. He hasn’t lost it completely then. Unhealthy coping mechanism, sure, but at least he’s aware.

“I’m sorry. Come here, I’m sorry,” he grabs both his hands, and Lestat takes a deep breath, his eyes widening in horror.

“I didn’t mean to yell,” he mutters, slightly panicked, and Louis shakes his head, frowning.

“I know. It’s okay,” he reassures him, and Lestat is suddenly in his arms, his fingers clenching and unclenching compulsively, grabbing the fabric of his shirt.

He thankfully calms down quickly, his breathing slowing down, his voice steady when he speaks again after a couple of minutes.

“What did you mean before, when you said you’re here?”

“That I’m here. That I’ve been an idiot,” he answers, knowing that it’s not nearly enough, but the full magnitude of his stupidity just came crashing down on him in the last twelve hours, and he needs a second to gather his thoughts.

How could he ever think things could be casual between them without disastrous consequences?

He takes a deep breath, deciding to just get on with what he needs to tell him.

“I’m gonna say some things. And you’re gonna hate at least half of them,” he begins, and Lestat draws back from the embrace, looking at him warily.

“I think you need to cool it with the drugs.”

“Yeah,” he nods, a corner of his mouth lifting, and Louis nods back relieved.

“I think you need to pause this documentary thing,” he continues, knowing this will be the point where he’ll be met with resistance. He’s right.

Lestat raises his eyebrows, crossing his arms defensively.

“Didn’t you always say that I needed to talk about my past?” he scoffs, opens his mouth again, but Louis interrupts him before he can continue.

“Yes,” he raises his hands in a placating gesture. “But divulging your trauma in front of a camera for the whole world to see is not the right way to do it. You said so yourself earlier.”

He brings a hand to Lestat’s forearm, gently stroking it until he uncrosses his arms. He shrugs, urging Louis to continue.

“Third thing. I think you need to see a therapist.”

He frowns, confused more than angry, mildly interested if Louis is reading his expression correctly. He wasn’t expecting that.

“And how would that work?”

“How would therapy work?” he asks, frowning as well.

“No, Louis-” he rolls his eyes at him. “How would a human therapist work?”

“Oh,” he tilts his head, considering for a moment. “I have assistants, people who work for me. They know I’m a vampire, and they don’t care. You just have to pay well,” he closes his eyes briefly, shaking his head. Lestat must have a whole team working for him, and he doubts all of them believe the rockstar vampire to just be a persona. “You also do, right? Some of your staff, Christine, your bandmates.”

“I like my bandmates,” he mutters, and Louis smiles softly.

“Yeah. So we can find a therapist too.”

He looks to the side, pondering, before bringing his unconvinced gaze back to him.

“I don’t know if a human can help with vampire problems.”

And Louis spent years thinking this too, but two weeks with Daniel Molloy in 2022 managed to convince him otherwise. Not because a human can understand vampire problems per se, but because at the end of the day, there’s no such thing as vampire problems.

“Just tell me you’ll try. If you think they’re not helping, then they’re not helping.”

“Okay, I will try Louis,” he concedes with a smile.

“Final thing,” he takes his hands again, squeezing them to steel himself. Twenty-four hours ago he would have never imagined himself saying what he’s about to say now. But he’s tired of lying to himself.

“I think we should get back together.”

Lestat stares at him dumbfounded, his eyes almost comically wide.

“If that’s what you want too,” he adds quickly, a bout of uncertainty cursing through him. He has done a whole lot of wrongly assuming lately. “Slowly. Dating, like young people do.”

Lestat keeps staring at him, his eyes starting to fill with tears. Louis is not sure he’s even breathing.

“Hey. Talk to me.”

He manages to move his head finally, nodding slowly at first, compulsively after a second, the tears finally spilling down his cheeks.

“Yeah?” he beams, and Lestat keeps nodding at him, smiling through his tears.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I’d like that,” he manages, and Louis barely gets a warning before Lestat pounces on him, pushing him against the mattress with the force of his kiss.

He buries his hands in his hair, and Lestat moans softly against his mouth, giving him the chance to slip his tongue in. Lestat straddles him, his thighs on either side of Louis’ waist, whose hands wander down to grab his ass, almost of their own free will.

The older vampire gasps, surprised, breaking the kiss momentarily.

“Is sex still off limits, or...?” he asks, breathless, and Louis smiles, his own chest heaving.

“I don’t think that’s customary for a first date,” he smirks, squeezing his ass playfully, and Lestat glares at him, only causing him to smile harder.

“Louis I swear to-”

He doesn’t have the chance to finish his sentence, a strong hand on the back of his neck bringing him back into the kiss. They quickly help each other out of their clothes, Lestat cursing the tight fit of his shirt on Louis, and they’re back on each other in no time, Lestat’s mouth traveling down Louis’ chest now, his hips mindlessly grinding on Louis’ thigh.

He remembers himself when he feels him against him, realizes that there’s no reality where Lestat’s cock will get hard enough to fuck him.

“Les- Les, you’re not-” he tries, gets interrupted by a moan when Lestat’s stomach presses down just right on his dick. “You gotta-”

He’s back on his mouth suddenly, silencing him with his tongue.

“You can fuck me,” he whispers, his hand grabbing Louis’ dick firmly. “Please,” he adds, and who is he to refuse his request?

“You have lube?”

“Always, mon cher,” he grins, hastily climbing off of him and making a run to his suitcase, still open in the side of the room, quickly finding the bottle stashed inside the pocket of a jacket. Louis doesn’t have time to think about the odd location before Lestat is back on top of him.

He grabs him by the hips, rolls them over until Lestat is lying on his back, and scoots up slightly in order to free his legs and allow him to bend his knees. He moves off of him, kneeling on his side to have a better angle, and slicks his fingers up before reaching for Lestat’s entrance.

On another day he would take his time with him, eating him out until he’s begging for it, but not today, not when they both need the closeness of being in each other’s arms.

He easily slips a finger in, slowly pumping it in and out while he leaves open-mouthed kisses on Lestat’s neck.

“Another, I can take another,” he gasps almost immediately, and Louis grants his request, earning a deep moan from him when he angles his fingers just right.

“Oui, ah, comme ça,” he mumbles, his hand grabbing the back of Louis’ head. He looks up at him with a smile, knowing he’s doing something right when he’s reduced to French, and is met with the blissful sight of Lestat in the throes of pleasure, his back arched, head thrown back, eyes closed and mouth open in a gasp.

He scissors his fingers to open him up quickly, until Lestat splays his hands on Louis’ chest, his black eyes looking at him hungrily.

“I wanna ride you.”

Louis barely has time to react before he’s grabbed by the hips and manhandled until he’s pushed against the bed, his back slightly propped up against the pillows, and Lestat is back to straddling him, reaching for the lube abandoned between the sheets.

Louis pushes his fingers back into him, the angle slightly awkward.

“Oh come on Louis, I’m rea-” he gasps, his forehead hitting Louis’ chest when he adds a third finger without warning.

“No you’re not,” he whispers, stroking his flank with his free hand. “Patience, honey, patience.”
It’s not long before a hand grabs his wrist, stopping his movements.

“Stop, cheri, or I won’t make it to the main event,” he pants against him, and Louis carefully takes his fingers out, his cock painfully hard.

Lestat quickly slicks him up with his hand, and then he’s sinking down on him, bracing himself on Louis’ chest until he bottoms out, both of them moaning at the feeling. They stay like that for a moment, catching their breaths, until Lestat finally starts moving.

It’s different from what they’ve allowed themselves during the past months. It’s not fucking, it’s not just sex. It’s tender, and sweet, lovemaking at its finest. They’re as close as they can get, tongues dancing in an open-mouthed kiss, swallowing each other moans, Lestat’s hips rolling languidly. Louis’ hands travel along his body, gently scratching his back one moment, on his ass guiding his thrusts the next.

It’s not long before he feels the heat start pooling in his stomach, Lestat’s soft needy sounds not helping in the slightest.

“Les, baby. Tell me you’re close,” he manages to get out, and Lestat nods frantically, leaves his mouth in favour of gasping against his neck, and finally, finally, the mixture of hunger and lust takes over him, his fangs burying in Louis' neck, drinking in long pulls as his cock twitches, his release painting Louis' stomach.

Lestat collapses against him, and Louis grabs his hips, moving him to fuck him through the aftershocks, until he comes as well, deep inside him.

He wraps his arms around his back, holding him close to his chest, errant tears making his way down his cheeks. Lestat’s fangs are still inside him, even if he’s not drinking, and his cock is still inside Lestat, soft and useless now. They take comfort in the intimacy of it, both silent in the aftermath, listening to the other’s heartbeat gradually slowing down, together, always together.

Lestat’s fangs retract eventually, and Louis grabs his hips, lifting him up just enough to allow his cock to slip out. Lestat tucks his head in the crook of his neck, nuzzling it happily. He reminds him of a big cat.

“Is the sun up?” he mumbles sleepily, and Louis smiles, scratching his head gently.

“Not yet,” he whispers. He’s not feeling the pull of it. “I think you’re just exhausted, sweetie.”

“Sweetie is new. I like it.”

Louis is starting to gain back awareness of his body, to the stickiness of it in particular, but Lestat is finally warm and relaxed against him, and there’s no way he’s going to make him move to clean up.

He buries his nose in the clean hair, inhaling deeply, and Lestat’s arms tighten around him.

“I love you mon cher,” he whispers, before the last tendril of tension leaves his body, sleep finally claiming him.

“I love you too.”

He will be brave enough to say it when he’s awake one day.