Chapter Text
They flew her in, one of the perks of being wealthy. Anna. Lestat couldn't place her accent.
A fledgeling, soft-voiced and unflinching; unmistakeably human beneath her supernatural otherness. Lestat felt a weariness towards her – a vampire, catering to the impossibly rich, happy to up from her life and follow them without question.
But she knew how to listen, and hadn’t made an attempt on either of their lives, and that was enough for now.
They’d rented an entire villa overlooking the sea – a modern glass monolith of silence, all white walls and ocean reflections. The tour was on pause again, officially for ticket sales, unofficially for Louis.
The two of them sat in the living room, the salt-heavy wind sliding through the balcony doors. Louis’s leg bounced as he stared at the rug, insisting he was okay.
“Are you hungry?” Lestat said softly, leaning forward in his chair. He wanted to reach across the space between them, to still that restless movement, but didn’t.
Louis shook his head, silent.
When the knock came, Louis flinched. Lestat rose to answer, smooth as a mask. He welcomed Anna with that old, theatrical civility - a threat lingering beneath his tone. She was dressed simply, her presence calm, professional. She greeted Louis warmly, friendly, but with an unreadable neutrality.
“I’ll wait outside.” Lestat said quietly, turning towards Louis. “Just down the hall.”
Louis met his eyes, a single nod.
The door closed between them.
Lestat stood outside for a long time, uncertain what to do with his hands. The villa felt cavernous without Louis’s quiet gravity in it. He wandered the terraced, overlooking the sea, listening to the sea lick the sand below. The air was warm, heavy. He lit the cigarette just to have something to do.
He focused on the sea and the slow beating of his heart, trying not to listen through the walls, unable to even if he wanted to.
He sat, waited. Thought about the nights Louis still woke up shaking. The way his hands sometimes trembled when he thought no one was looking. The way he’d said, one evening in a whisper, I don’t know what’s real anymore.
Lestat wanted to fix it, to erase it, to offer his blood, his body, anything to take it away, but this was beyond his reach. The minutes passed, then an hour.
Finally, the door opened.
Louis stood there in the doorway, his body tight, even for him. His expression was unreadable, shoulders drawn inwards, defensive.
Anna offered a quiet farewell to Lestat and left, her bag slung over her shoulder, the faintest look of reassurance in her eyes.
Lestat waited until they were alone before speaking. “Louis,” he said gently. “How was –“
Louis shook his head. “Not yet.”
He moved past Lestat towards the balcony, stepping into the night air. The sea wind ruffled his shirt, the stars illuminating his face. Lestat followed, but stayed back, watching him lean against the glass railing.
Minutes passed; the sound of the ocean filled the silence between them.
“We didn’t even speak of much.” Louis began, finally. “Introductions, some history.”
Lestat nodded.
Louis’s hands gripped the railing. “It hurt. Talking about it.”
“I know.” Lestat stepped forward, careful, cautious. “But you did it.”
Louis turned his head slightly, the reflection of the moonlight flickering in his eyes. “It doesn’t feel better.” His voice was small, quiet. Lestat’s chest tightened.
Lestat wanted to say something, anything profound or useful. The truth was simpler. "It won't, not yet." His voice was low and steady. "But it might stop feeling worse."
Louis exhaled, his head dropping forward. Lestat moved closer, reaching out an arm.
Louis leaned in, just enough.
“I hope so.” Louis whispered.
Lestat pressed a kiss to his hair, tasting salt from the sea. He held him tighter, the ocean whispering below like the quiet of something that might one day resemble peace.
The nights began to settle into something resembling rhythm. A faint outline of peace.
They stayed at the villa longer than planned. Anna would come twice more that week. Lestat would pace outside each time, impatience measured in cigarettes and shallow breaths. When Louis emerged, he was usually quiet, but the silence felt changed.
He fed more regularly now, almost by instinct. Lestat didn't comment when he found the glasses drained clean. He'd only smile faintly, refill them, and leave another by the bedside before dawn.
The villa itself seemed to contract around them; the sound of the sea pressing close against the glass, the faint hum of the air conditioning filling the spaces where conversation didn't.
Gradually, the sharp edges between them softened. Louis's eyes became less shadowed, voice steadier. There were still bad nights – panic twisting in his chest, silences that stretched too long.
Lestat learned to give him space without retreating. He’d sit nearby, letting Louis come to him in own time.
One evening, Louis sat by the open window, moonlight drawing pales lines over his face. Lestat played the piano in the corner, something soft but certain. When he stopped, Louis didn't look up.
"You used to play that, in New Orleans." He said.
"I used to play a lot of things." Lestat replied simply.
Louis turned the page of his book, the movement small, precise. "I like it."
"It was the first song Claudia learnt."
Louis's eyes lifted then, tired and warm for a moment, the faintest flicker of something like affection, or grief, or both.
"I keep thinking about her." Louis said finally. "Claudia. I think she'd laugh if she saw us now. Arguing about therapy and real estate and tour dates."
Lestat smiled faintly.
"Laugh?" He said softly. "She'd have called us boring. Two vampires, domesticated by mild emotional growth."
Louis huffed a quiet laugh. "She'd have burned the place down out of spite."
"Starting with my wardrobe no doubt, and called it an intervention." Lestat leaned back at the piano, idly pressing a low note. "She'd leave a note saying we bored her to death."
Louis's lips twitched. "She'd have stolen your car too."
They both laughed then - quiet, short, the kind of laughter that left the air looser when it faded.
Lestat smiled, the faintest shake of his head. "She'd be here. She'd have a plan and know what to do."
Louis's eyes dropped back to his book, though the page blurred a little. "Maybe." He said.
They sat for a long time. The night pressed close around them, thick with salt and wind.
Louis's therapy session with Anna had been unusually short. When he emerged his lightness had gone, replaced by something quiet, darker.
Lestat didn't crowd him with questions. He simply walked beside him, barefoot along the beach, the sand still warm from the day. Louis moved slowly, absently, dragging his fingers through the grains as Lestat sat next to him.
"Tell me what's on your mind coeur." Lestat said softly, sifting small stones through his palm. "You've barely spoken since Anna left."
"She asked me questions about Dubai." Louis murmured. His gaze stayed fixed on the dark swell of the sea. "The details. I guess I haven't said them out loud before. I couldn't - I didn't want to tell her. I just... said I was done for the day."
"That's okay." Lestat said.
Louis exhaled shakily. "It keeps looping around in my head. Like it's stuck on repeat. I shouldn't still feel like this." He finally met Lestat's eyes in the dark light of the moon. "Maybe I deserved it. I was so angry, after everything. I started it. Of course he'd be stronger than me."
"Nothing you did could ever make you deserve that." Lestat said, firmer that time.
Louis looked away again, the sea reflecting in the sheen of his eyes.
“I threw him into a concrete wall, and it hurt him.” His voice was barely audible, the words more like a shiver.
Lestat froze, a familiar icy feeling snaking down his chest, twisting tight. His lips parted, wanting to say something comforting, but no words found him, The stillness of the air, the soft hum of the tide, made the confession impossibly loud.
“I told him to leave. He broke my arm. I think he cracked my skull. I heard this noise, and there was so much blood. I don’t know what else was broken. My ribs felt like sponge.”
“Louis…” Lestat whispered, turning to fully towards him. His hand hovered in the space between them, hesitant, afraid to intrude, but desperate to be close.
“He dragged me to the gravel and held me down in it. It cut though my skin as I struggled.”
Slowly, Lestat reached for him, his fingers brushing against Louis’s hand, an offer of comfort, one Louis took up, squeezing his hand gently.
“I remember just looking up as he did it… up at the sky light, it was so bright, I couldn’t see after. It shook as he moved me.” His voice was soft, detached, almost as if he was recounting something he’d seen in a dream. “I don’t know how long it went on for. It hurt, but he was so much stronger than me.”
Louis sniffed; a faint, shuddering sound, as Lestat moved his hand across the back of his, rubbing lightly, trying to let him know he wasn’t alone.
“And then… he left. And I just lay there.”
Lestat’s chest tightened, and a tear ran down his own cheek. He didn’t reach to wipe it.
“He hurt you how he knew how.” Lestat said gently, his voice low, almost a whisper. “He’s sick. What he did… it wasn’t about you. It was about him.”
Louis’s hand trembled against his. “He kept saying he wanted to protect me, from myself. That he loved me.”
Lestat shook his head slowly. “He doesn’t know the meaning of love. What he did, what he thinks he did, is nothing like love.”
“I feel sick.” Louis murmured, pressing his face into his arms, breath shallow.
Lestat leaned closer, letting his forehead rest lightly against the curve of Louis’s neck. He didn’t speak at first, only held him, feeling the tremors beneath the surface, counting each breath, letting the salt-tinged night air wash over them.
After a long pause, Lestat whispered. “I wish I could take it away for you. I can’t – not that night, not all the other nights. But I can listen.”
Louis’s fingers tightened around his, clinging, a single hiccupping breath passed between them.
“I don’t know if it’ll ever stop hurting.” He admitted, voice fragile.
Lestat didn't answer. He didn't know how to.
They sat like that as the waves breathed against the shore. Words weren’t necessary anymore.
The tour continued. There are only four more shows before it was all over and already Lestat’s schedule had been filled with studio sessions, interviews, events.
He had a stack of new material already – a mixture of mostly finished and half finished ideas, ready to dangle in front of whoever asked, mostly pushy record labels. The music was good, but as he wrote, it felt almost boring compared to the mystical being occupying Lestat’s every thought.
They’d spent the night at a bar, easy conversation and laughter between them, before settling in the room, lounging on the private balcony, taking in the heat of the night. Lestat became frustrated with the state of his TikTok feed, Louis chatting casually about books he’d read and documentaries he’d watched, property viewings and investments.
It was easy, natural.
The air was light, warm, the soft amber glow of the balcony lights bathing them in a soft, hushed glow. The sounds of the city were now familiar, unnoticeable.
“I’ve been looking at a house in New Orleans.” Louis said, glancing up at Lestat as though to measure his reaction.
Lestat looked up, the cat video no longer holding his attention. “For your portfolio?” Lestat kept his voice neutral, unsure where Louis was heading.
Louis shook his head, his voice quieter, uncertain. “For us.” He gazed into Lestat’s eyes; opening his mouth before Lestat could speak, “I know we’re taking things slow, but I thought we’d need somewhere to stay. And I want to – stay – with you.”
Lestat put his phone down.
“I’d like that.” He said quietly, losing himself in Louis’s hopeful eyes, a smile tugging at his lips.
Louis smiled, reaching his hand out to take Lestat’s. For a moment, it was just them, no sounds, even the city had stopped to marvel in Louis’s beauty beneath the stars.
“It’s got good bones, it needs some work, but I think it’s good. Central enough but private.” He spoke passionately, “I’ve arranged to see it when we get back. Would you like to join me?”
Lestat squeezed his hand, “Yes.” He nodded once. “Yes, I’d love to, mon coeur.”
Louis smiled, briefly, eyes searching Lestat’s face as he brought his face closer, their breath brushing against each other, noses touching briefly. Their eyes closed and for a moment, the universe consisted only of them. Louis closed the gap fully, their lips locking together in something soft, intimate.
Louis gently pulled back after a moment, now fully turned to Lestat, his hand resting over his chest. Their hearts beats had synchronised hours ago, now beating strongly, passionately.
Lestat breathed, peering into Louis’s eyes, closing them again only when Louis wrapped his hand around the back of head, tilting his own face to kiss him again.
Louis’s body moved as they remained locked in their embrace, leaning closer, pulling Lestat to face him completely. His hand danced through Lestat’s golden hair, down his shoulder, resting in the crevice of Lestat’s torso beneath his arm.
Louis pulled back slowly, breathing softly. “Is this okay?”
Lestat nodded, watching Louis’s movements, the way the light illuminated him, painting soft honey gold highlights; his soft lips slightly parted, his breath soft, gentle, warm as his breath danced across Lestat’s face.
They kissed again, softly, innocently, as though it was their first time. Louis’s hands trailed down Lestat’s side, to his hip, stopping on his thigh with a light pressure. Lestat felt a warmth through his body, pressed against Louis, a familiar tingle.
“Mon cher…” He whispered, his hands wrapping around Louis as he shifted his weight, moving to straddle Lestat’s lap, his face burying against the side of Lestat’s neck, his fangs grazing against his skin.
Lestat felt the familiar touches stir anticipation in his body. There was no expectation on Louis, but was grateful to receive what Louis would offer.
“Lestat.” Louis whispered, muffled into his neck, shivers running down Lestat’s body, goosebumps forming on his arms and chest. “I want to – if it’s okay – touch me?”
Lestat opened his eyes as Louis brought his face back up to his, close enough to feel his heartbeat in his chest, the static tingle of their faces almost touching. Lestat ran his hands down Louis’s back, along his sides, settling on Louis’s soft hips.
Louis rocked against his lap lightly. Lestat moaned, the feeling of Louis’s bulge against the base of his stomach, a matching tightness in his own pants as Louis’s weight pushed against him.
“I want you.” Louis whispered, pressing small kisses against the side of Lestat’s face, down his neck.
“Are you sure?” Lestat asked softly, letting his hands wonder against Louis’s lower back, then lower. Louis gasped softly, nodding.
They kissed for a moment longer, letting their hands wonder over each other bodies as if discovering each other for the first time, enjoying the way their bodies pressed together, the warmth, their familiar scents.
“Maybe we should do this somewhere more private.” Lestat reluctantly whispered, not wanting to break away from the intimacy. Louis nodded, allowing Lestat to stand, pulling him up with him.
Inside, Louis perched on the bed as Lestat pulled the curtains, his passion replaced with something more brittle, awkward, his eyes darting over Lestat. He swallowed, watching Lestat approach.
Lestat approached slowly, deliberately, sitting at the top of the bed, his legs folded.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” He said softly, not moving.
“I know.” Louis whispered, moving up the bed kneeling next to him. “I want to.” He said, his eyes hungry, looking at Lestat like he could walk on water.
“Anything for you, Saint Louis.” Lestat replied, opening his arms invitingly. Louis smiled, straddling his lap, kissing him again before moving down to his neck, his mouth opening slowly before piercing his neck and taking small, hungry sips. Lestat moaned, pleasure running through his body, the hum of the city drowning out, giving way to the thump of their hearts.
Louis licked every drop clean, bringing his head up to look into Lestat’s longing eyes, lips parted, breathing deeply.
Louis trailed down his body, pressing kisses to his chest, then stomach, working down to the bottom of his top before pushing it up gently, kissing along the base of his belly. He pulled at the fabric, Lestat raising his arms and helping him to remove it completely.
Louis looked down at him, his toned body, the way his muscles moved over his ribs as he breathed, the want in his eyes.
“God, Lestat.” He breathed. “You’re so beautiful.”
Lestat chuckled delicately, his hands gripping Louis’s hips through the fabric of his shirt, his head shaking lowly, staring up at Louis as if to worship him. “Louis, you have no idea of beauty.”
Louis reached for his button, undoing it carefully, pulling at his zip, and then the double layer of the fabric, releasing Lestat’s erection between them. Louis looked up at Lestat’s face, hesitating for a moment, giving him a moment to object. When he didn’t, he wrapped his hand around the base, gripping it gently before moving.
“Oh, Louis.” Lestat moaned, his eyes wondering over Louis as he bent down, his soft lips opening to run his wet tongue along his length. Lestat closed his eyes, enjoying every sensation, Louis’s slow wondering mouth, the way his hand pumped against him.
Louis opened his mouth wider, taking in his entire head, sucking softly as he ran his tongue around him, probing at his opening before moving his head down lower.
Lestat gripped the sheets, his body tightening with waves of pleasure, moaning against Louis’s every movement.
Louis looked up at him briefly as he worked, his hands and mouth moving in unison, warm, wet and skilled.
Lestat felt mounting pleasure run up his body, a tightness rising, a climbing wave as Louis moved, groaning lightly. The vibrations felt electric, the sight of Louis wrapping his lips around him.
“Louis… ah, I’m going to – “ He cut off, Louis humming slightly in acknowledgement as waves of pleasure rolled across his body, his toes curling as Louis sucked the liquid from his body, pleasure and ecstasy coursing through his veins.
Louis swallowed, moving up and down as the last of Lestat emptied into his mouth, before brushing his tongue along his head and sitting up, his lips swollen and pink as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Louis, mon cher…” Lestat breathed as Louis lay next to him, panting together, the sounds of the city filling the silence between them, the hum of the traffic, the lull of breeze coming through the curtains.
“I hope that was good.” Louis said after a moment, pressing a kiss against his neck.
“Good cannot do justice to that masterpiece.” Lestat said, pushing himself onto his elbows, his head hovering over Louis’s. He glanced down along Louis’s body, the bulge in his pants. “May I?” He whispered.
Louis nodded, “Please.”
Lestat pressed soft kisses along his neck, his collar bone, working down his body. He glanced up at Louis as he went, seeking silent permission with every move.
“Yes.” Louis breathed, his hand resting on Lestat’s bare shoulder as he reached the top of his trousers, his strong hands gripping the fabric of Louis’s shirt.
“On or off, mon cher?” Lestat asked, his eyes staring into Louis’s.
“Off.” Louis whispered, sitting up slightly as Lestat carefully pulled it over his head. Lestat moaned at the sight of him, the way the soft light hit him, the way he glowed. Lestat paused for a moment, his eyes wondering over him, revering his beauty, perfection, candle light reflecting off his skin.
Louis reached down, pulling away at the fabric, exposing himself to Lestat.
“Is this okay?” Lestat asked, hovering his face over Louis, pressing a soft kiss to the tops of his thigh.
“Yeah – yeah, please.” Louis moaned, bucking his hips softly as Lestat’s lips softly pressed against the base of his length, running small kisses along it before running the tip of his tongue over him.
Louis gasped as Lestat opened his mouth, enveloping his head in warmth; soft and wet. Lestat looked up at him, their eyes meeting as Louis took deep breaths, pleasure filling his body.
“Yes, like that.” Louis whispered, letting out soft sounds as Lestat moved, bobbing his head up and down, his hand wrapping around his erection, Lestat’s tongue wondering over every curve and groove.
Louis moaned as Lestat worked, losing himself in the feeling of Lestat’s mouth, the sight of his cock disappearing into his mouth, the way his lips curved around him, sucking softly.
“Lestat, yeah.” He breathed, the pleasure building around him as Lestat worked.
Pressure built quickly before waves of ecstasy filled him, releasing into Lestat’s mouth, his head bobbing against the back of his throat as he swallowed.
Lestat groaned against his cock, his tongue wrapped around his length as Louis emptied, drinking against him until his body relaxed, his hand softly running through Lestat’s hair.
“Les, that was so good.” He closed his eyes, letting the last shivers run through his body as Lestat sat up, a soft smile painted on his face, his lips puffy and wet as he licked them.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He said softly, kneeling across from Louis, looking over his body in devotion.
Louis sat up, leaning against the pillow, tucking himself back into his boxers. His face looked lighter, relaxed.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, a comfortable, easy silence falling over the room as their hearts slowed, their breathing evening back out to the gentle buzz of the city.
“I didn’t know if I’d have that again.” Louis said quietly, looking down at his hands.
“How did it feel?” Lestat asked, moving to sit next to him, their shoulders almost touching, his body turned to Louis.
“Easy. Natural. It felt good.” Louis fiddled with the sheets. “A bit vulnerable.”
Lestat nodded, watching the way Louis twisted the fabric in his hands. “I hope I didn’t do anything – “
“No.” Louis shook his head, his gaze locking onto Lestat’s. “No, you were perfect. Patient, gentle. It was perfect.” He reached his hand, thumb brushing gently over Lestat’s check.
“I don’t want to pressure you, Louis.” Lestat spoke softly, his own hand settling over Louis’s, his thumb falling still.
“You didn’t. I promise.” Louis took a deep breath. “I just – it was good. It felt so good… but I don’t feel… better?”
Lestat closed his eyes, blinking slowly, pausing. “No, not fixed.” He said eventually. “But it shows how far you’ve come.”
Louis looked away again, his lips drawn tight. “I know it wasn’t going to fix me.” He sighed. “It felt amazing, I’m sorry, I don’t want to ruin this.”
“You’re not, mon chéri, you can’t.” Lestat whispered. “It’s okay – I want you to talk to me. I want to listen.”
Louis’s mouth twitched, like he wanted to smile but didn’t know how. “You’ve changed.”
Lestat gave a soft chuckle. “That’s what touring with you does to me, apparently.”
The corners of Louis’s mouth twitched, a small, fleeting smile. “Maybe... we can do this more often.”
Lestat squeezed his hand. “That’s more than okay with me, Louis.”
Lestat leaned forwards to kiss his hair, inhaling his scent, closing his eyes and the sounds of their hearts drummed out the sound of the busy city beneath, both existing just in that hotel room, nothing else mattered.
Rome was supposed to be a reprieve.
Lestat had imagined it that way – warm air, soft music drifting from open windows, the familiar scent of old stones, the smell of mortal’s restaurants. He thought the ancient city might cradle them gently, that they might pass the final few stops of his tour peacefully, together.
By the time they reached the suite overlooking the city, Louis had retreated behind that quiet mask again, polite and withdrawn. He stood by the balcony doors unmoving, staring out as if Rome itself were another ghost from the past.
Lestat lingered a few feet behind him. “You should see it from the bridge,” he said softly. “The way the lights reflect – it’s like molten gold.”
Louis’s voice was quiet. “It’s beautiful from here.”
“Perhaps.” Lestat murmured, “But you don’t look as though you see it.”
Louis turned slightly, forcing a small smile. “I do. I’m just tired.”
Lestat said nothing. Traveling, even for immortals, could be tiresome, but Louis hadn’t fed that day, and a cold, familiar heaviness hung over him like a shadow. He was just like that now, more reserved, choosing his words carefully.
When Lestat left for the rehearsal that evening, Louis was quiet, his face buried in a book – something thick, heavy. Lestat couldn’t see the cover behind his hands. Lestat had kissed his cheek on the way out, promising to be gone for only a few hours. Louis nodded distantly, humming something like don’t worry.
Lestat winked at him on the way out.
Louis wondered the suite aimlessly after Lestat left. He tried reading, successfully for a couple of hours at least. He tried music, even opening the balcony doors.
The silence stretched, the clock ticked. The city moved without him.
His mind had deviated, without much to distract him, as it often did. He’d been to Rome before, he remembered it, packing his things in a small suit case, layers for every weather. He remembered talking with Armand after, Rome was nice. It had been in the eighties, or was it the nineties?
How long had he been in Rome? He had no memory of the place itself, just that he’d been.
His heart beat heavy in his chest, tugging at the memory in a frustration curdled to fear.
He sat against the cold tiles on the bathroom floor, hoping the cold numbness against his skin would ground him. He took deep breaths, focusing on the distant sound of water moving through pipes. Grounding, as Anna called it.
He caught a trace of a familiar scent from a nearby apartment, sweet, smoky. Familiar in a way he couldn’t place.
The air seemed thin. The walls titled, and suddenly the room wasn’t the hotel bathroom anymore. It was smaller, darker. He could smell incense and something else – sweat, fear, smoke. The edges of the present fell away, leaving only the past.
He tried to push it away, but it was already happening.
A sharp pain erupted from the tops of his arms, his breath coming in ragged bursts, every nerve screaming for escape. He felt himself clawing, gripping, trying to anchor himself to something real. It didn’t work. His body shook violently, his mind fragmenting into broken flashes of sounds and shadows.
He closed his eyes, holding them squeezed shut, time drifting away dizzily. He reopened them, eventually, to clean tiles and a bathtub – where was he? His eyes darting around the room as the clinical light faded back to darkness.
There was no sense of time, just a blur of fear, confusion.
Where was Armand?
After long seconds, minutes – hours? – somewhere far away, the door opened. Lestat’s voice called lightly. “Louis, I brought – “
Then silence. A pause. The sound of something being put on the side, the rustle of plastic.
“Louis?” His voice changed instantly – sharp and fearful. “Mon amour?”
No answer, just the sound of heavy breathing, closer to wheezing, a heart beat too fast. The smell of blood.
Lestat crossed the room in a blur, the bathroom door hadn’t been closed, dropping to his knees beside him. Louis was curled against the wall, his arms wrapped around his legs defensively. His eyes were open, unseeing. His lips moved, forming half words, phrases that Lestat couldn’t understand.
“Stop,” He whispered, his voice hoarse. “Please – don’t –“
Lestat’s heart clenched. “Louis, listen to my voice. You’re here with me.” He took a deep breath, pushing down his own emotions, ignoring the tremble in his own hands. “You’re in Rome. We’re at the hotel. It's just me and you. There’s music playing. The lights are on, the TV is on but it’s on mute.”
His own heart hammered in his chest, as though trying to catch up with Louis’s.
Louis’s eyes flickered, but his breathing quickened. He was lost inside his memory, body trapped in a time loop of fear. His chest heaved, his nails digging holes in his arms, blood smearing down his shirt, bloody hand prints smeared on the tiles below, the walls, across his face and in his hair.
Lestat took another deep breath, hovering helplessly, his mind racing through the techniques he’d learnt – the grounding he’d practiced in his head, all of it felt too small now, too little to help the man in front of him, trauma clawing at him – tearing him apart.
“Breathe with me. In and out.” He took an exaggerated breath, “Like this.” He repeated again, but it was as if Louis couldn’t even register he was there.
“Feel the tiles beneath your feet, mon cher, the wall behind your back.” Lestat spoke quietly, carefully. “Come back to me.”
Louis buried his face in his arms, digging his fingers in tighter, a fresh wave of blood dripping through the fabric.
“The walls are beige, the air smells of linen, and bathroom cleaner, and I’m wearing that new perfume you like – leather and tobacco the label said.” He whispered softly. “Outside there is a delivery, the van is beeping obnoxiously. There are mortals walking past, can you hear them?” He tried to describe everything he could think of, anything to build a bridge back to the present. “And you’re… you’re hurting yourself, Louis.” His voice cracked.
He wanted to reach out, take Louis’s hands, stop him. Instead, he stood, promising he’d be just a second.
He returned, moments later, with a cup of ice, bubble wrap, a small stress ball. He’d collected the latter two items some weeks ago after reading some articles, but felt foolish now.
“Breathe.” He tried again, sitting on the floor patiently, Louis’s tear stained bloody face now looking up at him, gasping, eyes still unfocused. “Breathe with me. In… and out…” He continued, seconds turning into minutes.
“Louis, you’re safe now. You’re having flashbacks. They’re not real. Try to see me.” He murmured, but nothing seemed to help. “Come back to me. No one’s hurting you.”
Gradually, there was a shift in Louis, his eyes darting around the room, landing on Lestat, then down at his body, confusion clouding his face at the sight of his mauled arms. He blinked, and for the first time, took a deep, uneven breath.
He looked lost. Fragile, exhausted.
“Lestat?” He panted between breaths, voice frayed and ragged.
Lestat nodded, relief flooding in. “Yes, Saint Louis. It’s me.”
Louis blinked, lost. His hands were still shaking. “I – What – “ He gasped.
“Shh… Louis, just breathe.” Lestat said softly, guiding Louis through some deep breaths, ignoring the way Louis’s chest would crack, gasp, as he tried to match. “It’s okay. Tell me three things you can see.”
Louis looked confused, eyes scanning the room briefly. “Towel.” He chocked. “You.”
“Good, Louis. One more thing.” Lestat encouraged, hoping this mortal technique would help and that he wasn’t making fools of the pair of them.
Louis looked down at his arms, fear flashing through his eyes, mixed with confusion as he slowly turned his hands around, looking at them as if they weren’t his own, flexing them slightly. “Blood.”
Lestat’s chest squeezed. “Yes, yeah there is.” He held Louis’s frightened eye contact. “Name me two things you can hear.” His voice was smaller now, selfishly skipping over the things Louis could feel.
“Music.” Louis murmured. “Cars.”
His breathing had steadied by degrees, Lestat reached for the stress ball beneath him, holding it shyly as Louis watched. “I’ve heard it helps.” He said, “To have something to hold. It grounds you.” He held it up slowly, watching as Louis took it without question, squeezing it once before bringing it to his lap, slowly stretching his legs out in front of himself.
He ran a hand through his hair, gripping it. “I – how long – “
“Too long.” Lestat said quietly. “Can I touch you?” He asked, reaching forward slowly when Louis nodded. Lestat’s fingers brushed over Louis’s other hand, flat against the tile. Louis didn’t flinch, just turned his hand, gripping Lestat’s.
They sat together, the minutes blurring into a fragile rhythm of tears and whispered reassurances. Louis leant into Lestat, crumpled against his chest. When Louis’s shaking returned, Lestat held him. When he began to fade again, Lestat whispered his name over and over, anchoring him to the sound.
Eventually Louis pushed away gently.
“I’m sorry.” Louis sat slumped, face tight, eyes swollen from crying. “You didn’t sign up for this.”
Lestat traced his shoulder, careful to avoid the wounds littered down his arm. “Louis, I signed up for eternity with you. The rest was implied.”
That earned a faint, tired laugh – the first sound of lightness in hours. Lestat smiled through his own exhaustion, though worry still darkened his eyes.
Louis looked down at his arms, running his hand over the ribbons of torn fabric. He looked up at Lestat, wide eyes staring, guilt washed over his face. “I didn’t know – I didn’t realise I was doing it.”
Lestat nodded sadly, unsure of the right words that could possibly comfort him. When he’d done the same in the years following the events of Paris, what could someone have said to him?
“You don’t have to explain it to me.” He shook his head. “Let me heal you.”
Louis shook his head, “No. No, it will heal on it’s own – “ His words trailed off, swallowed by the hum of the city below.
Lestat stayed kneeling beside him, watching as Louis’s gaze drifted, unfocused, already slipping somewhere far away. The stress ball sat forgotten between them, slick with blood.
“You’re here,” Lestat said again, voice thin but steady. “You’re safe.”
Louis nodded, but it was slow, an uncertain motion; the kind of nod that meant he was only half-present. His eyes flicked to the window, to the faint gold glow of old buildings in the distance.
“Tomorrow,” He said, barely audible. “I’ll feel different. I always do.” Louis looked up then, eyes glassy but clearer. “I don’t think I can do this alone.”
“Then don’t.” Lestat said simply. “Let me help you hold it.”
Something small shifted on Louis’s face. He let Lestat reach for his hand again, their fingers brushing over the smeared blood. The contact was gentle, grounding. Louis took a deep, uneven breath.
Outside the sound of the city drifted through the open balcony – a moped somewhere on the street below, a group laughing, a church bell marking the hour. Life moving on.
Lestat squeezed his hand. “We’ll clean up. You’ll rest. And tomorrow… maybe we’ll see the bridge.”
Louis managed a small, hoarse laugh. “Molten gold, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Lestat said. “Molten gold.”
The words hung between them like a promise that it could get better.
They walked, as they often did, through the humid quiet of the city.
“We need to get out of those hotel rooms.” Lestat said as they walked. “We’ll start haunting the minibar.”
Louis smiled faintly. “I think the minibar haunts us more than we ever could.”
“Obviously.” Lestat replied, pretending to look wounded. “I shudder to think what everyone else stores in those things.”
They walked slowly, the rhythm of their steps falling into an easy cadence.
When they reached a small street fair that was closing for the night, Lestat stopped. “Let’s get our picture taken.”
Louis frowned. “What?”
“There’s a photo booth.” Lestat gestured to the side, where a garish neon sign still glowed. “Two immortals, one mortal contraption. It’s practically art.”
“Lestat –“
“Come on, mon coeur. For posterity.”
Louis sighed, allowing himself to be tugged inside. The curtain smelled faintly of dust and cheap perfume. They sat too close together on the small bench, the machine buzzing faintly as the timer blinked.
“Smile.” Lestat said.
Louis turned his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curving off. The flash went off.
“Again.” Lestat leaned in, their cheeks brushing. Another flash.
On the third, Louis surprised him – turning, pressing a small kiss against Lestat’s jaw as the camera clicked.
When the strip printed, Lestat took it delicately, examining each frame with mock seriousness. “You look exquisite in artificial light.” He said, handing it to Louis.
Louis looked down at the small paper, tracing the images of their faces – one smiling, one solemn, both caught mid-laugh, one as Louis kissed his cheek. Something inside him softened.
“It’s stupid.” He smiled as he shook his head.
“It’s us.” Lestat corrected, tucking it into his pocket as Louis handed it back. “A moment, captured. Poof we were happy once.”
Lestat dreamt of the tower again.
Flashes of stone and iron. The rattle of chain, the reek of rot decay and smoke. and maggots. Hands – his own, then others – scrambling in the dark. Teeth. Blood.
Lestat couldn’t remember what brought it on – maybe the smell of damp, or candles. Or Louis’s description of hands all other, more than possible.
He woke cold, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and sob. Tears ran feely before he even realised, he was crying. His body refused to move, unable, as if held in place.
Louis stirred beside him, half asleep at first. The fully awake.
“Les?”
Lestat’s throat worked uselessly. “Louis…” He managed, the name breaking apart in his mouth.
Louis pushed himself up quickly, hand hovering near Lestat’s shoulder. “Hey, hey, Les. You’re safe.” He said, his voice uneven. “It was just a dream.”
Lestat shook his head, wiping his face with the back of his hand, trying to find composure. “It’s fine.” He said, turning his face away from Louis. “It’s nothing.”
“Let me help.” Louis said quietly. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, please.” The words came out more like a sob than he intended.
Louis hesitated, eyes searching his face. “Okay.” He said finally, his voice calm, patient. “Can I touch you?”
Lestat stared at the ceiling. “Go back to sleep Louis.”
Louis didn’t move. “Why won’t you let me help you?” He whispered.
Lestat closed his eyes, voice small and broken. “Because this is too old. Too irrelevant now.”
Louis reached out anyway, just close enough for Lestat to feel the warmth of his hand. “You stayed when I was unbearable.” He said. “You stayed when I was monstrous. Let me stay now.”
Lestat didn’t pull away.
Evenings came slower now. They visited the sights of Rome, as beautiful as Lestat said, sat together on park benches, passing the hours in a comfortable togetherness.
Louis sat by the open window each dusk, listening to the various cities shift – the rattle of trams, voices from balconies, the scent of exhaust and cooking food. He didn’t dread the hours anymore.
Lestat moved quietly around him. He’d set a glass on the table beside Louis. Blood, warmed just enough, and he’d say nothing. Louis always drank it.
The new rhythm of their nights together was slow, almost domestic.
On therapy nights, Lestat would leave. It had been his request, and Lestat honoured it, even when every instinct in him screamed to stay. He waited outside instead, sitting on a low stone wall beneath flickering streetlamps.
Sometimes he’d catch Louis’s voice when he returned, soft, steady, almost unrecognisable in its honesty. Those moments made something tight and fragile bloom in his chest – pride, grief, love, all tangled together.
When Anna left, he never said much. Some nights, his eyes were red. Others, he was lighter, calm. They’d walk through the narrow streets together afterwards. Occasionally, Louis reached for his hand – a small thing, but it steadied Lestat more than any prayer.
“I told her about the dream. The one you had.” Louis’s voice was soft, cautious. “She said its… not unusual. That sometimes people’s pain recognises itself.”
Lestat froze for a moment, then exhaled through his nose, a small, bitter smile tugging at his mouth. “A shared affliction then.”
Louis glanced over at him. “A shared understanding.”
Louis began feeding again, regularly, without coaxing. Just maintenance, a quiet acceptance that he had to survive if he meant to heal.
Lestat began to play music again, outside of his rehearsals and shows, not as part of his next album, just for them. The notes hung in the air like prayer half-remembered. Some nights Louis would hum softly in the next room while Lestat worked, his voice barely a ghost of sound – a sign that he was present, awake, alive.
There were still nights when Louis woke shaking, eyes wild, blood on his fingers from half-healed scratches. There were nights when Lestat froze mid-song, lost to the memory of the tower, to his maker’s hands. But they stayed through both.
“Some nights I feel fine.” Louis said once, quietly, as they watched the city lights move like stars across the river.
“And others?” Lestat asked.
Louis’s jaw tightened. “Like it will never be.”
“We’ll stay through both.” Lestat said simply.
And they did.
The world adored The Vampire Lestat – every performance a spectacle of lights and glitter and blood. The final show had gone out with a bang – the venue filled with living, pulsing adoration. A dizzying mixture of lights and smoke, wild and full of adrenaline.
He played a new song that night, one Louis hadn’t heard before – written between therapy sessions, rehearsals, constant travel, and sleepless dawns. It was for him, though he’d never say it.
Louis stood off stage, hands clasped, face still but eyes wet.
Afterwards they returned to their room, fleeing as the mortal staff moved instruments and sound gear. The suitcase lay open on the floor, the air smelt faintly of dust and linen.
“New Orleans.” Lestat said softly, folding his shirt. “Time to return home.”
Louis nodded. “Home.” He echoed, the word cautious, as though testing its weight.
He stood by the window again, watching the orange glow of the streetlights blur against the rain-streaked glass. The silence between them wasn’t tense anymore. It was soft, lived in.
They sat together on the bed, Lestat scrolling through videos on his latest concert on his phone, mortal’s posting their blurry clips and reactions, cursing and laughing his way through the comments.
“The fans adore my waist line, Louis.” Lestat observed. “I am snatched.”
Louis laughed – short and loud, the sound escaped without permission. Lestat’s eyes locked onto Louis, his smile instantly mirrored.
“What?” Louis asked.
“Nothing.” Lestat said, putting his phone down. “Just missed that sound.”
Louis looked away, embarrassed, but his mouth softened, the corners twitching upwards again.
When Louis made eye contact again, they both let out a small laugh, looking into each other’s eyes.
Louis leant forwards slowly. Lestat closed his eyes as their lips met, moving into the kiss, his hands slowly reaching up to Louis’s shoulders.
Louis pulled back for a moment, gazing into Lestat’s eyes before moving back in. He ran his hands down Lestat’s chest, settling on his waist with a small squeeze.
“Snatched,” He teased when he pulled his face back, the corners of his lips pulled up slightly, a light in his eye.
Lestat sat up, turning to Louis fully, pulling him into a kiss, his hands running down his body.
“Is this okay?” He whispered.
Louis nodded, lying back against the pillow as Lestat hovered his face over his. “More than okay.”
Lestat worked slowly, patiently, checking in with Louis as he moved.
He unbuttoned Louis’s pants, letting Louis move the fabric down. He worshipped Louis’s length with his mouth, savouring it, feeling Louis’s every moan and shudder.
Lestat moaned against him, delighting in Louis’s pleasure, sucking and moving against him until he shook, a quiet gasp as he released into Lestat’s mouth.
After, they showered together, warm and content and clean.
As Louis fell asleep, Lestat sat nearby, pen in hand, notebook open across his knees. He began to write – not for the fame, but for the sound of Louis’s breathing beside him.
Outside, the city moved on. Inside, at last, they were still.