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7:45 p.m.
In the winter, when the air made even a vampire’s breath fog, Louis dressed warm. He wound himself into a scarf and layered underneath his coat, and if it was especially cold he would even go so far as to make the sacrifice of staticky hair and put on a hat. He supposed that it had more to do with the psychological illusion that he was warming himself, since his tepid body on its own generated very little heat, no matter how many layers of fabric it was wrapped in. That was why he had chemical hand warmers tucked into his coat pockets - delightful little things, these, that kept his fingers warm against all odds. There had been a time when he might have denied himself the luxury of alleviating such a minor discomfort, but he was out of practice in the art of self-punishment, and as a member of a royal court he had become accustomed to luxuries.
Lestat’s presence was one such. Rarely did they go a night without seeing one another. They hunted together often - as they were doing now - and during the day they shared a bed. Even the telepathic wall between them was no obstacle to communication, not with the invention of text messaging. When that failed, Louis could always call out to whomever Lestat was near and instruct them to pass his message along.
Louis freed one hand from its pocket and reached for Lestat’s, and the crown prince threaded their fingers together, beaming.
“What do you think?” he asked. “A club? That’s always a safe bet. We may even be lucky and find some young people on drugs.”
Louis was not quite that desperate. He’d taken a small apéritif from Lestat’s wrist before they’d left, delicately tonguing at the shallow wound with kitten licks until Lestat had groaned and vaulted into his lap to lap the blood from his mouth.
The recollection of it heated him further in his winter coat.
Louis shook his head. “I don’t know if I want to repeat that experience,” he said, and Lestat laughed.
“A shame. Club drugs seemed to agree with you. Do you remember how you took off your shirt and-”
“Lestat,” Louis sighed. “Please, let’s not relive my most embarrassing misadventures just now.”
“It wasn’t embarrassing. You’re attractive, so things that should be embarrassing are endearing instead.” Lestat swung their hands together. “No club, then. What about a bar? That trendy one you like with all the craft beers?”
Louis couldn’t conceal his quiet smile at Lestat’s naked desire to please him. It was true, that bar did have a nice ambiance. Even if the drinks they ordered were left untouched on the tabletop, it was pleasing to sit in the low light and to observe the comings and goings of the night’s various patrons. It was even more so when Louis had Lestat there with him, dressed up for their "date nights", as he was fond of calling them, taking his hand and commenting endlessly on everyone and everything around them. The experience seemed very human.
Louis felt inexplicably young and stylish this night, whipped pink by the wind as the two meandered through the city center. They could have been college students or working people on the way home from their jobs. It was, on reflection, a feeling that they belonged in the city somehow, that their presence here was no more remarkable than that of the people they passed, and that they might go anywhere and do anything that a human being might do. It was comforting. It was new.
Lestat held the door for him when they entered. He liked to do it, and Louis didn’t stop him. He only smiled and lightly patted his shoulder in a gesture of appreciation that he was willing to admit was slightly condescending. If Lestat noticed or cared, he didn’t say.
They sat together at the bar, near to the back exit. Louis allowed Lestat to do the honor of pulling out his chair. It was a quiet night, and the bartender nodded at them immediately.
“Something I can get you?” he asked.
“A porter, please,” said Louis. “Whichever has the nicest color.” He set a generous amount of cash on the bar. The bartender slid an eyebrow up.
“Sure, I can do that,” he said. “What about you?” He nodded to Lestat.
“Red wine,” he said. “You have a wine menu? Ah, but I’ll let you surprise me.“ He gave a flashy wink, and the bartender sighed heavily through his nose.
Lestat took Louis’ hand under the bar. This was very pleasant. To sit inside and be warm, to look at the bottles gleaming jewel-like on the polished shelves, to smell the heavy aroma of the dark beer the bartender set in front of him and to turn his glass this way and that as though he were anticipating the first mouthful.
Lestat had set his sights on the man sitting to his left, and he turned now to engage him in conversation while Louis studied his porter. They were close enough that he could pull Lestat’s hand into his lap to play with his long fingers, tracing the shape of the band on his ring finger.
Lestat liked to talk to his victims before he killed them, charming them into camaraderie or even infatuation before he made his bite. It was one of many habits that Louis tolerated, and in exchange Lestat did not complain when Louis used his shampoo instead of replacing his own or took up more than his fair share of the bed. Not that these things were in any way equivalent, but the spirit of compromise was what stable relationships were founded on, or so Louis had read.
Despite that fact, Louis found himself rapidly growing bored. It was a relief when Lestat got to his feet again.
“Why don’t we all go out for a smoke?” he said, flashing a little fang as he gently disentangled their fingers. “Louis?”
“Not for me,” said Louis, studying the bartop. He loved to watch Lestat feed, and because of that he struggled to do it. “I’m going to finish my drink.” To emphasize, he held the glass to his lips without swallowing.
Lestat’s departure, however temporary, left him feeling oddly bereft. He was self-conscious of how he must look to the humans in the bar, sitting by himself in the low light looking pale and drawn. The bartender nodded at him and gave a sympathetic little frown. He suddenly realized that his date had apparently left him alone to go off with another man. That was rather awkward, but it wasn’t as if he could correct the misconception. What could he say? “It’s fine, he’s only gone out to kill him”?
Louis glanced around for something less uncomfortable to look at and met eyes with a woman who was sitting down on the barstool at his right. She gave him a friendly grin in response. The woman was rather plain, with a broad mouth and windswept hair, and bustled around as she took off her jacket and settled her purse at her feet.
“Evening,” she said.
“Evening,” Louis responded. She was looking at him with intent, and he was uncertain what words one used to excuse oneself from a lady’s presence in the 21st century. Louis’ eyes slid to the emergency exit. The neon sign suddenly looked oddly inviting.
“Are you a regular? I’ve seen you here a few times.” The woman had a throaty voice. He could tell by the smell on her clothes that she smoked cigarettes. She was probably about the same age that Louis had been when he’d died.
“Ah, no.” Yet she’d already said that she’d seen him. Why had he tried to lie? “But I am here regularly.”
The woman gave him a puzzled look. Her heavy brows made it look doubly scrutinous. “Well, I’m Emma. I’m here most Fridays after work. My wife is with me usually, but it’s just me today.”
Louis felt a sudden jolt of equal parts awkwardness and excitement. He quickly folded his hands, composing himself. “You have a wife?”
Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I do. Some people have wives.”
Louis tensed. He would proceed carefully. “I…have heard. That some people have wives. Some women, even. So strange what society permits, now.”
Emma curled her lip. “Wow. Alright. Nevermind.”
Louis wondered when Lestat would be back. His hands were starting to sweat. “You misunderstand me. I only meant that it is a sign of the times, that two women might live their lives in such a way, with no husband to provide for them.”
Emma rolled her eyes and bent to gather her things. “I guess this seat was empty for a reason. Asshole.”
The back door opened. Suddenly Lestat was standing behind Louis, an angel of salvation with his hands on the back of the barstool.
Louis clutched at him like a drowning man to a raft, fingers fisted in his sleeve. “This is my husband!” he almost shouted. “I am also…married.”
Emma stopped. She was half-sitting, half-standing. “What?”
“Louis, what have you done to this poor woman?” Lestat was clearly amused by whatever he’d seen.
Emma snorted. “I have no idea. I think your man is a little drunk.”
Lestat grinned. “No doubt. I had better get him home. Come along, sweetheart.”
Louis fled, nearly colliding with the back of Emma’s barstool as he did. It was neither dignified nor elegant. Lestat was in hysterics before they’d even reached the door.
“What in God’s name was that?!” he wheezed as they sped out into the street.
Louis covered his eyes with a hand. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Ah, but more importantly- did I hear you introduce me as your husband? To a stranger?”
Louis nodded slowly. “Surely I have before now.”
“You haven’t,” said Lestat, hands on hips. “I would remember.”
“This was the first time?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Louis lowered his hands, only to find that he was still being laughed at.
“I was wrong, earlier,” said Lestat. “You’re a horrible embarrassment and I’m ashamed to be seen with you.” And then he was being kissed, rather dramatically, with a little dip, right there in the street.
So all of that was alright, Louis supposed.
9:58 p.m.
Louis felt a foot stroking up his calf.
It took an unfortunate amount of time for him to ultimately decide that a Council meeting was not the appropriate place for this, and to gently nudge Lestat’s foot away. Lestat, slouched in the chair at his side, huffed a sigh.
Neither of them were paying particularly close attention to the proceedings, but Louis suspected that the Prince was mentally far, far away, somewhere much more entertaining and possibly sexually explicit. Louis tried to gather himself and looked down at the notes he was taking on his tablet computer while Marius droned on in the background. His phone vibrated in his pocket. This was not a surprise to him, as Lestat had begun conspicuously writing text messages under the table.
Louis slipped his phone out of his pocket and tried to look at the screen as unobtrusively as possible.
“My prince, are you quite well?”
Lestat had begun to shift restlessly in his seat. Marius folded his arms in the most senatorial fashion with an unimpressed little frown.
“Always,” said Lestat. “Please continue with the…whatever it is you were saying.”
Marius exhaled through his nose. “It occurs to me,” he said, “that your presence here may be unnecessary, given that you and Louis are only tangentially involved in the matter. Truly, it was inconsiderate of your time to have expected you to be here. I deeply apologize, and I take no offense if you wish to depart.”
They were, of course, being dismissed. It was unsubtle. Lestat stood and stretched. “I would love to be here,” he said with a rueful smile. “Sadly, our schedules…” he trailed off. “The difficulties. You know.”
“I do apologize, Marius,” said Louis, quickly standing. “It’s been rather a hectic week.” That was a lie, but since most of the Council were technically subordinate to him, it didn’t matter how obvious it was. He bowed politely and Lestat gracefully took his arm as they exited the Council chambers.
“Thank God,” Lestat sighed, slinging an arm around Louis’ shoulders. “I was starting to think it was never going to end.”
“I’m half convinced Marius was punishing you for not paying attention.”
“Cheeky,” Lestat purred. “You should do that more often, by the way.”
“Insulting our elders?”
“No. Well, yes, that too. I adore it when you’re mean. But I meant sending me sexy little messages.”
Louis considered it. He was feeling terribly wicked and terribly modern. “You never know what I might do,” he said with a sultry sideways glance.
“After all this time? I rather think I do, precious one.”
Louis felt the happiness percolate up inside him, suffusing his limbs like the first draught of blood after a fast.
“Oh?” he said, and smacked Lestat firmly on the ass.
Lestat gasped, eyes wide. “Louis!”
“Do not underestimate me, Lestat,” he said smugly.
Lestat went wild. He lifted Louis in his arms and spun him around, roaring with laughter. Louis yelped when they knocked into a decorative Grecian urn and Lestat had to drop him to right it. What were they doing? It was unbecoming, carousing in the halls like a pair of adolescents. Yet Louis could not bring himself to care. He could be kind enough to himself to believe that he had earned a little levity.
Lestat put his hands on Louis’ hips and walked backwards, pulling Louis with him. “I am going to ravish you,” he said.
“I would expect nothing less.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“You like to spoil me. You always have.” Bringing up their past in such a way sometimes raised in them a sort of bittersweet nostalgia, and sometimes it ended with someone weeping on the carpet. But it went over well in this instance, and Lestat gathered Louis into his arms with the utmost tenderness.
And everything was rather fantastic after that.
1:12 a.m.
Sometimes, they went for strolls around the Chateau grounds. They had to get properly dressed for it in the winter, but it was worth it for the almost dreamlike experience of walking through the snowy woods with the knowledge that they had a warm home just out of sight.
“How lovely this is,” Lestat said.
“But, then, I am a monster,” Louis quoted. Lestat sighed.
“Why won’t you let me live that down? Was it really so funny?”
“You were only walking in the snow,” Louis teased, “and it was an unbearable melodrama.”
“Yes, well, I was not at my best.”
Louis felt his smile fade. He reached for Lestat’s hand. He couldn’t stop doing it. It was almost an automatic gesture now.
“I know. Of course I know.”
Lestat laughed, but it sounded pained. “Ah, hell. What a life I’ve led. Sometimes I think that I’m still lying in that church. That I’ve left my body entirely, and this is just a pleasant dream I’m frolicking in while my corpse wastes away. And that you really did…well, you know.” There was a tremor in his hand. Louis turned and clasped his face in his hands.
“It’s real,” he said. “I’m real, and I’m here with you now.”
“It’s too good to be true, isn’t it?” he said. Not distressed, not weeping, but melancholy. He took Louis’ wrist and rubbed a circle against the tendon. “If you think about it, from a certain perspective, one might say I did nothing to earn all of this.”
“Well,” said Louis, “it is a monarchy, not a meritocracy.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Lestat demanded. Louis pulled him onward by the hand and dipped his head to hide his smile.
“That this is hardly a democratically elected government. We have power - we, the Council - because of our strength and our relative notoriety. Might makes right.”
“You don’t think I have a set of unique talents?"
“I wouldn’t have appointed you,” Louis sniffed. “I wanted Barbara. Without her we would all be lying in a pile of rubble. Your job is to give convincing speeches and look handsome on the throne.”
“Oh, alright,” said Lestat. “I see how it is.” There was something suspicious about his tone, and Louis had only a second to look at his face before Lestat had crouched, made a snowball, and hit Louis in the chest with it. He looked down in shock at the ice on his coat.
“Lestat! Absolutely not.” Lestat was already making another snowball, but this one Louis was fast enough to dodge. It was yet another on a list of ridiculously childish antics they’d gotten up to that day, but before he knew it he was stooping to scoop up a fistful of snow. He slung it at Lestat’s head, deliberately missed.
Lestat laughed. “There, you see? There’s a reason I’m Prince!”
And while he was distracted, Louis shoved a fistful of snow under his collar.
Lestat shrieked, pawing at his neck. “Louis!” he bellowed. “Why!”
“This was your idea!” Louis rejoined. Lestat was slightly pink in the face. Such a beautiful thing on a vampire, to be alive with blood. And laughing, always laughing. So this is my twenty-first century, Louis thought. We are alive and we are laughing.
He did wind up with quite a lot of snow inside his coat.
5:15 a.m.
Louis sank into the bath with a contented sigh. It was so hot against his chilled skin that it almost hurt, but it was a good sting, being scalded. It still seemed an impossible luxury, that he never had to suffer the cold. If it wasn’t the bath, it was a hot water bottle in his lap, or the electric blanket they slept under in winter.
Louis held out a hand to help Lestat into the water after him. He didn’t need it, but he liked the gesture.
“I’ve never felt so married,” said Lestat, crawling between Louis’ knees so he could lean back against his chest. “We’ve done nothing today but be with each other. We’ll be picking out lampshades together in no time.”
“We did that last week,” Louis reminded gently, cupping water in his hands to wet Lestat’s hair.
“Oh, my god,” said Lestat, tipping his head back. Louis used the opportunity to begin lathering his scalp. “I’m old.”
“We’re old,” Louis agreed.
“This isn’t the impressive, mysterious type of old, Louis. This is the boring type of old. If I get the urge to go to a bingo night, tell me you’ll put me down.”
“No,” said Louis. “Sit up a little, please.” Lestat did, and Louis began working the soap through the length of his hair.
“I don’t understand apps, Louis,” he said desperately.
“They’re little sets of instructions that you feed into a machine to make pictures appear.” Louis paused in his washing. “Oh. I suppose I understand what you mean. I sounded decrepit just then.”
“You see? It’s happened right in front of our noses. Someone help me to my rocking chair.”
Louis nudged Lestat by the shoulders. “Slide down so I can rinse your hair. We have the young ones to help us. We could always learn these things ourselves, if we can somehow find the time.” He carefully rinsed the soap out of Lestat’s hair, smiling. Lestat sat up again.
“Our schedule is packed. We would have to pencil it in somewhere…”
“We could cancel some meetings.”
“And miss the opportunity to hear Marius bloviate? I’d be crushed.”
Louis kissed the top of his shoulder. “He was in rare form tonight, was he not? He nearly put half the Council to sleep.”
“That would have been a mercy.”
They continued like that, gossiping as they sat in the bath. It was a very married sort of thing. Not exciting or dramatic in the way that life with Lestat had so often been, the way that it still was most of the time, but quiet and tender and…wonderful. Really, truly wonderful.
They changed into pajamas after the bath. Both of them had slept in their clothes for decades, but they’d given it up in favor of flannel and silk. When the lights were off and the windows shuttered, Lestat crawled between the sheets and pulled the bedcovers back for Louis.
“Your Prince demands his tribute,” he said with mock gravity.
“But your Highness,” Louis sighed, playing along, “my family is poor. We have neither gold nor grain. Our livestock is sickly and our crops are failing. With what shall I pay tribute?”
“With the only thing you have left,” Lestat demanded, with all the gravity of an oppressive monarch, opening his arms. “You’ll pay your tribute…in cuddling.”
“You tyrant,” said Louis, and climbed into bed, where he curled up in Lestat’s arms. “I’ll die before I cuddle with the state,” he added, shutting his eyes.
“Oh, you’ll suffer a fate worse than death,” Lestat menaced, and tickled his sides.
“Ah!” Louis nearly fell out of bed in his shocked scramble to escape. “No!”
“Guards!” Lestat cried. “Seize him! He’s trying to escape!”
Louis flailed wildly. He wound up face down on the mattress, where he laughed until he snorted, an undignified sound that made Lestat grin widely. “You are ridiculous,” he said through a mouthful of duvet. “Impossible.”
Lestat beamed. “And you married me! You saw this and said, My god. I must have more.”
Louis had known and loved him long enough to hear the flash of genuine insecurity behind the joke.
“I love you,” he said, curling up in Lestat’s arms once more. “I’m lucky to have you. If you weren’t married to me, half the Court would be scrambling to claim you as their own.”
“Well, that would be sad for them, because I would be too busy groveling pathetically for you to take me back to notice.”
Louis smiled. “I’d like to see that. Perhaps if I get bored in another two hundred years…”
Lestat kissed the top of his head. “It would give me the chance to court you properly.”
Louis hummed at that idea. “Oh, yes? Buy me flowers? Walk with me on the promenade? Woo me?”
“Of course, if I know you, you’d be hopping into bed with me in a week regardless.”
Louis scoffed. “I’d like to think I would hold out longer than that.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You can’t resist me. I’m irresistible. You’re doomed.” Lestat’s chest vibrated as he laughed.
“Yes, doomed. I cannot believe my fate. I have a handsome, charming husband who adores me and lavishes me with luxuries.”
“You think I’m handsome?” Lestat cooed.
“Of course. Most handsome.” Louis had begun to feel foggy and languid. Outside the darkness of their bedchamber, he knew the sun was lighting the horizon. When he’d been young, that punch-drunk feeling had felt like a slide into terrifying delirium, but now he found it rather pleasant. “Yes, most handsome...”
“Don’t go to sleep,” said Lestat. “You get back here and finish complimenting me.”
“I love you,” Louis mumbled into his chest. Lestat was still talking. That was how he fell asleep most nights, with Lestat murmuring on. Louis sometimes wondered if he continued talking until the sun took him, dropping off mid-sentence. The thought made him smile. He was very happy. It was a small, private thing to realize it.
Louis had a sudden thought, a vision that he was speaking to his boyhood self. He was saying, One day you are going to be wed. But it won’t be like what you’re afraid of. You are going to marry a boy who loves you very much - the most beautiful boy in the world, with golden hair and eyes like the daylit sky. You are going to live with him in a castle and wear the finest clothes and sleep under a magic blanket that will keep you warm through midwinter. But you must be patient, and you must be brave.
The sun rose and Louis sank. He didn’t notice the moment when he slipped into sleep, but he was dreaming now.
“But I’m not patient,” said Louis the boy, “and I am not brave.”
“But you are, young man,” said Louis. “You mustn’t be cruel to yourself.”
“Why?”
“Because the world is cruel enough by itself.” Louis said. “And because you are a part of it.”
The boy tipped his head back to look at him. “But will it be worth it?” he asked. “Can it truly be?”
“It will be worth it,” Louis said. “In the end, after everything, it will be worth it.” He smiled, to himself and for himself. “I cannot wait for you to see.”