Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The turn of the century introduced ample amounts of overwhelming innovations, but Lestat felt perpetually trapped in the past, ever yearning for a taste of the precious moment in time where he truly experienced joy. Depression struck him decades ago after abandonment and failure, resulting in the two beings he cherished more than anything being ripped away from him forever.

Yes, he possessed the newest model television and a Nokia cellphone that actually fits in his pocket, but the window display of an antique store he passes quite often still captivates him on an evening stroll, the ghosts of his past breaking free from their tombs once more.

A worn, floral fainting couch in deep jewel tones, a crimson lamp adorned with golden tassels, dusty picture frames in gold, carved wood and silver displayed neatly on a faux wall stir up memories as his stomach twists uneasily. Items they chose together, precious moments of filling out order forms over a glass of an unwilling stranger’s blood as they furnished their beautiful home together.

Lestat’s eyes begin to fill with garnet tears as his feet seemingly act on their own, dragging himself inside this time capsule of an establishment. His nose scrunches in annoyance as he’s greeted with a musky, mildew scent while his eyes assess the room cluttered with arrangements of antiques and older collectibles, displayed in small sections throughout the store.

He recognizes several fine items, many of which he used to own himself. The display in the window caught his eye because he knew those had belonged to his family. Petite tears on the sofa from Claudia’s nails, specks of blood that have stained brown and appear unassuming to mortals, a missing tassel on the lamp - never found while cleaning up after a fight turned physical, frames with cracks that once held photos of his precious family, now filled with tacky floral prints.

He makes his way to the display, gently gliding a slim finger along the carved wood of the sofa, almost afraid it will burn him to reconnect with something from Rue Royal. They took family photos on this piece of furniture at one point. Claudia would fall asleep there and he would rush to secure the curtains before the sun rose. His beloved would make love to him throughout the night, swapping blood, sweat, tears and promises as their bodies collided. He would flop down, sighing dramatically for attention when his companion’s nose was in a book for too long.

A shopkeeper startles him, snapping him back into the present as she taps his shoulder softly.

“Is there anything you’re looking for dear?”, the elderly woman offers with a sweet smile and a thick Louisiana accent.

He forces a smile as he addresses her, his words like honey, French accent casing each consonant, even after all these years away from his birthplace.

“Oh, Madame, I would like to purchase this entire display.”

——

A photograph, yellowed, crinkled and possibly molding is discovered when Lestat goes to remove the hideous flower art which insults the ornate frame that once hung in their hallway. The hidden photograph falls, face down as he removes the backing of the frame. Curious, he leans down, peeling it from his floorboards with glass-like nails. He gasped, the frame forgotten, glass shattering as he drops it.

He caresses the face staring back at him, immortalized in sepia. His companion. His Louis. An old photograph of their unholy family, posed by the fire, wearing warm smiles and matching suites with even their dear Claudia in a navy dress to compliment her fathers’ fashion, no longer wearing the seared flesh of the final time he saw her.

A fatal strike through his damned heart. The modern ruse of a life he’s built for himself crumbles, any hope of truly moving on shattered like the glass from the fallen frame.

He weeps as his legs give out, falling onto his new old sofa, curled into himself. The scent of the home they shared long gone after years of changing hands, but he allows himself to remember the citrus and earthy scent of his lover. The way his blood brought Lestat to his knees. Just for a moment, he allows himself to go back. He smiles through his bloody tears as he remembers their grand home, filled with riches, beauty and love for one another.

Twenty seven years have passed since he’s tried to make a connection. He knows it will be pointless, that the love of his life very well may be dead, but his body is throbbing in anguish and he doesn’t have enough sense to stop himself this time. He watches the sun begin to rise through the sizable window of his parlor. The rays torch his icy gaze, but he can’t look away.

He attempts to silence his racing thoughts, focusing every atom in his body on making a connection.

“Armand, please.”

Silence.

”Armand! If this reaches you, please, I beg of you, if he is alive and you are with him, tell him I love him. That I’m sorry. Take care of him for me, Armand.”

Silence again. He takes in a shaky breath, tears staining his warm neck. His vision goes completely but he pushes through the searing pain with cracked lips.

“To anyone listening, Louis de Pointe du Lac is the most beautiful being to ever walk this earth. I didn’t deserve him. You don’t deserve him. He will never be damned like we are. He is too good for this curse I have forced upon him.”

He finally turns his head away from the blinding light, the left side of his face seared. He attempts to shield himself, but the skin of his forearm chars. He screams out in pain, curling in on himself, golden locks shining for the first time in centuries.

”Tell Louis I will be with Claudia. Je t'aime, mon cher.”

Silence.

Chapter Text

“C,mon, we’re gonna miss the previews!”, he insists with a grin as he leads the older vampire across the street, tugging his slender hand. The neon marquee glows in the night sky, illuminating their eyes, vibrant swirls of amber and jade.

Louis leans against the metal box office counter, speaking into the voice slot. “Two for Requiem, please.”

The top two buttons of his obsidian top are undone, threatening to expose a hint of chest hair and his loosely tailored charcoal slacks sit comfortably low on his hips. He taps the toe of his polished, black leather loafers as he waits for the tickets to be printed.

Cash is exchanged and two slips are slid through the opening in the plexiglass. He nods at the worker in thanks, then they make their way into the building, breezing past concession to find theatre number two.

The first Thursday of the month is always movie night, much to Armand’s dismay. No matter which city they end up in during their travels, first Thursdays are reserved for cinema. He’d rather be doing a number of things, specially observing a journalist he followed to New York, dragging Louis behind with the promise of plenty of night life, but then again he would do most anything to appease his troubled companion. They have grown distant since the events that took place in the 1970’s, Armand’s hold threatening to crack, so he has been on his best behavior for decades.

The last twenty seven years haven’t been easy, but with just enough influence with the mind gift, he was in Louis’ good graces once more.

They find their seats near the back, plush upgraded chairs from the usual fold-down, uncomfortable, standard option.

Louis runs a hand over the leather as he sinks down. “This is nice.”

Armand nods in agreement as he perches next to his partner.

Seats are mostly empty, not many mortals feeling the need to be out this late on a week night. Six rows down, a couple catches Louis’ eye and Armand hears his often blocked thoughts open up.

”Them.”

”After, my dear.”

Louis glances at him, his lips curled up, a playful openness across his face. He intertwines their hands, whispering, ”This is nice.”

Armand displays a polite smile, giving Louis’ hand a squeeze just as the trailers begin, lights dimming around them.

-

The tears start early on, but Armand came prepared. They had watched the trailer months ago and Armand tip-toed around suggesting a different option for tonight’s film but Louis insisted.

He passes a handkerchief to a sniffling Louis, bloody tear-filled eyes locked on the screen.

-

“I just need a minute to freshen up, you go on.” Louise slips into the bathroom on their way out, quickly dabbing away any remnants of his fallen tears.

The pit in his gut hollows out, leaving a numbness he’s well acquainted with. Shaking hands grip the edge of the sink, avoiding eye contact with his own reflection.

These days, his moods aren’t as unpredictable, but the film reminded him too much of his own loss, his past erratic behavior, of pained relationships, specifically with his mother and of the betrayal and desperation he felt with his ex.

Memories of the 70’s come flooding back, nearly knocking him to the sticky ground of the bathroom with their force. Addiction, loss, some of the darkest depression he’s ever felt. He isn’t sure how he forgot some of these crucial details. He feels sick with their heaviness.

His reeling thoughts are briefly interrupted.

”The couple has made it safely back to their car. Not that the barrier of a vehicle has stopped us before. Are you coming?”

Louis lost his appetite about a quarter of the way through the film. He wills his inner thoughts to be calm and collected.

”You go ahead, I’ll meet you at home.”

”As you wish, beloved.” Armand shuts off his mind to Louis for the time being as he quickly stalks ten blocks away from their penthouse.

——

Louis walks the streets of Manhattan, hands in the pockets of his slacks. He always feels so small in large cities like this, insignificant. He misses home often, but is it really a home if everyone you care about is dead? His immediate family long buried, nieces and nephew he never knew on their way out, if they haven’t passed already. Claudia- well. She’s long gone. And him, Louis can’t even think the name, too untrusting that his mind will scream it out to Armand who will be at his side in an instant, begging without actually begging for affection. Too afraid his brain will conjure up his ex companion to torment him like in Paris, he lets darker cravings guide him around the city.

——

He finds himself flush against a stranger’s back, in a filthy, sheet-less bed, panting, moaning low in the man’s ear as he sets a brutal pace.

He sniffed out someone who could give him what he wanted, what he needed to take away the memories. He licks a strip down the man’s neck before his fangs sink in, the man too high to notice. Louis moans low as the warm blood mixes with the cool feeling of whatever the man indulged in that evening, numbing his brain as it courses through him.

He detaches his fangs and body from the man who rolls onto the floor lifeless, and Louis slumps against the wall, gracious for a beat of silence.

-

”Where are you this time, Louis?”

Louis makes a face of disgust at the intrusion in his head. He isn’t sure whether he speaks aloud or uses the mind gift.

“Brooklyn.”

———

“You always do this! And there I am, once again cleaning up YOUR mess!”

Armand throws his hands in the air, eyes burning like fire.

Louis turns his head, breaking contact. He lays onto their minimal leather couch, head lulled back against the cool material of the arm rest, trying his best to tune out Armand’s growing exasperation.

“Shut up.”

“And you- what?”

He sits up, facing Armand now, pupils blown, years of resentment bubbling back up.

“I said, shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, this again! Good!” Armand paces the room, hands balled into tight fists by his side. “My patience is thin, Louis.”

“Oh yeah, you gonna throw me through a wall like he did? Drop me from the sky?”

Armand’s expression goes blank. He stares at Louis, unblinking, his voice cold. “You’d like that too much.”

Louis shoves past him, forcing him to brace himself against the fireplace mantle. The bedroom door slams followed by silence.

-

”Your passion was always most alluring, mon cher.”

Louis sniffs, burying his face against the safety of their grey silk sheets.

The apparition moves to sit on the corner of the bed, tucking a golden strand behind one ear, his voice breathy, comforting in a way that makes Louis want to scream. ”I think of you often. Do you think of me?”

Louis slightly turns his head to be struck by piercing blue eyes. He sports the dark pinstriped suit from the trial, his perpetual outfit as of late.

“I think you know the answer to that, Lestat.”

He wants to grab him by the vest and crash their lips together, hot and frantic. He aches to taste him, his warmth, his soft skin and golden hair that tickles. He needs to throw him against the vanity mirror, draw blood, slam his head into the glass until something gives.

Lestat hums, seemingly finding more interest in his fingernails than Louis’ dark fantasies. ”Tell me, chéri, do you think of me when you’re inside him?”

Louis opens his mouth to curse at Lestat, but he can’t find a voice above a whisper. “You know that I do.” He reaches out, hand waiting to feel the cold emptiness he’s grown to crave.

Lestat joins their hands, an energy buzzing so loud Louis swears it’s real. He curls his fingers around Lestat’s pale hand, pulling him down onto the bed beside him. Louis wraps his arm around an impossibly thin waist and rests his head on muscles carved from marble. He feels the soft tickle of fingernails through his hair and sighs, closing his eyes.

Lestat places a delicate kiss to Louis’ forehead, softly humming an old tune in comfort. Louis needed this softness more than anything and didn’t realize it after growing used to decades of hard touches and coldness.

“I love you, Les.” Silence.

He looks up to see Lestat with his eyes closed now.

”I wish you had been able to say it then.” Louis is alone again. He scrambles to his feet, searching the room frantically for any sign of Lestat.

“Please don’t leave me…”, he croaks out as the bedroom door opens, Armand standing in the doorway, illuminated in an eerie way.

“I wasn’t planning to, beloved. But I have some bad news.”

-

“I tried to talk him out of it, but all I was met with were his feelings of anguish, then excruciating pain followed by silence. I’m sorry, Louis. He didn’t wish to speak with you in the end.”