Chapter Text
Putain de merde .
Well, that was downright disappointing.
Lestat retracts his fangs from his victim's neck and lets it fall to the ground, barely resisting the urge to kick the unresponsive body as it gives its last breath. As if that would solve his problem.
Because the only person who can solve it is Louis and Louis is also the one who brought him to such a state.
Stubborn, unbending Louis.
Look at him! Hair disheveled after he ran his hand through it countless times, without a tie out in public! leaning against the wall of a darkened alley, vibrating out of his skin after having to settle on a random kill.
At least he has fed tonight. Not that one could tell.
Drinking blood is the highest form of pleasure for a vampire. The complexity of its ecstasy transcends the words of human language. The intimacy of drinking away the life force of another person, feeling everything they had ever felt, seeing the most important moments of their life, it is all so intense and overwhelming that the vampire becomes one with his prey for a few seconds. The vampire comes to know their prey in those few seconds better than their loved ones. Why, just like he knows precisely how Mariah's voluptuous breasts feel under his tongue, and he's convinced his prey's wife doesn't. But more than that, the blood is bliss on his tongue, spreading across his body and taking over all his senses, sending him in a dangerous dance with Lady Death, spinning together in maddening circles but never touching, a teasing game the vampire wins every single time.
It usually leaves him feeling sated, at peace, softly descending from the swoon like he's coming down from an exhilarating flight.
Does he look like he's feeling at peace and sated? Does he?
He hasn't even savored the swoon, a flash of pleasure in his periphery because all he could think about was Louis . It has left him feeling empty because Louis isn't there with him. He couldn't focus on anything else but Louis' face as he left the townhouse, jaw clenched tight and eyes blazing like the unforgiving sun.
Angry, know-it-all, maddening Louis.
Dedicated, loving, precious Louis.
Louis. Louis. Louis. A never-ending thought that has consumed him for over five years.
Lestat sneaks a look at the corpse lying at his feet. He should probably pick it up and burn it. He sank his fangs into the easiest prey he has found and it's truly way too close to their home. He has been most unusually careless about it.
Checking around for any sober passersby, he throws the corpse over his shoulder and wills his body to ascend into the air. A second later, he lands discreetly in their courtyard. He focuses his senses on his surroundings, hoping desperately to hear that beloved heartbeat in the house.
Merde . Louis still hasn't come home.
If he shoves the body more firmly than he should into the incinerator, well Louis isn't here to chastise him. It's not like the cadaver needs his head to stay straight to burn properly. The pungent sulfurous smell makes his stomach twist. He isn't in the mood to think about burning bodies tonight.
The townhouse proves as useless to calm him as feeding. Everywhere he looks he's assaulted by Louis' presence, from the black slippers by the door, to the plants he likes to keep, to the stacks of books in the parlor. Louis. Louis. Louis. Their entire home is an ode to their communion, carefully curated to suit their artistic preferences, melding them together until one can't see where the other begins.
That was how they should have been tonight! The two of them, falling in sync, hunting for the perfect meal together. Lestat shivers just thinking about Louis' face lost in bliss as he sinks his fangs into tender flesh, blood staining his full lips with every ravenous gulp he takes. Sometimes Lestat forgets to drink, captivated by the sight in front of him. Maybe tonight, he would have found the strength to tear his eyes away from his magnificent lover and join him in draining their prey on the other side. Maybe his hand would have ended up on Louis' cheek - where it belongs! - as they drank their fill. Maybe after that, Louis would have looked at him with that voracious grin crowned by fangs, the one that makes Lestat shudder deep in his bones, and he would have kissed him hard, devouring him and the blood still present in his mouth.
But he'll never know, because Louis was being a bastard.
He had asked Louis if he wanted to go hunting together tonight. It's been over an entire week since they had done so! And what did Louis do? He had lied boldly to his face!
Imagine that! He hadn't even got the courage to refuse him to his face!
Dear Louis had started bringing up excuses, saying he needed to do his rounds on Liberty Street, then suddenly he needed to get his new suit from the tailor before it closed and of course, he remembered he needed to negotiate with a potential new alcohol provider for the Azalea.
Bullshit.
He did his rounds on Liberty yesterday and since buying the Azalea, he only goes to collect every two days. And Lestat had brought that suit home for him two days ago. So the other must be a lie as well.
Lies .
Lestat lets himself fall despondently on their green couch. Green like Louis' eyes. Fuck's sake. He groans low in his throat, hiding his face under a cushion.
Does Louis think he's a fool?
Does Louis think he doesn't pay attention to everything he does?
Does Louis think he hasn't noticed that he has been skipping meals?
The last time Louis fed was three days ago. Three . Even missing a day is too much for a young vampire, but three days, that's dangerous for him. Young vampires aren't made to suffer fasting, not if they want to keep their strength and their sanity intact. If he hadn't said anything, he's sure Louis would have skipped eating for a fourth night in a row!
His companion heart, starving himself. Just the thought of it sends phantom pains in his stomach, cruel cramps like his father's cruel eyes looking at him over the dinner table when all they had to eat was a thin broth that was more water than soup. That was before he had learned to hunt. He had learned on his own to keep them from starving the winter away. He had put food on the table for them, even if they hated him. Even if they never thanked him. That had been his purpose, his role in the family.
And to think Louis, his beloved Louis, Louis who is his entire world, Louis isn't eating while he shares a life with him ? Is he supposed to do nothing and let Louis wither away out of stubbornness and some misguided morals ?
He throws the cushion to the other side of the parlor, knocking a painting off the wall.
Lestat understands it. He does, he truly does! God knows he hadn't wanted to end up this blood-famished creature stalking through the night. God knows because he had heard Lestat's cries and screams night after night, tied up in that dungeon, and he had remained as cold and unreachable as always. He hadn't wanted to drink human blood! Who wakes up one day thinking 'Oh yes this is a mighty good day to sample the blood of my neighbor' ? Nobody, that's who. He knows what Louis is going through. He knows what it's like to feel the slimy blood slide down his throat, hot like hellish coal fire, pleasure fighting the nauseating guilt rising at the back of his throat. He had been horrified when he had drained that poor woman and her baby in the church, his newly vampiric instincts so strong he hadn't been able to stop himself.
But as much as it horrified him, Lestat has never been able to let himself drown in the deep dark sea of despair. There is no point. Nobody is going to save you from the dungeon no matter how loud you cry. You'll never be able to turn back to what you were no matter how hard you punish yourself or how ardently you wish it was different. It is what it is. There's no going back. The only way to go is forward. Slowly putting one foot in front of the other until you're walking toward the best life you can have, under these new circumstances. There's no choice but to survive, to make the best of what Fate has given you until you can shape it into something that suits you.
And if that requires drinking human blood every night so he could live, so he could thrive , then so be it. He'll do what it takes to survive. He'll embrace it and make it his own.
Lestat expected that Louis would come to the same conclusion. After an understandable period of adjustment, Louis should have embraced the blood and all the dark power it can bring them. He knows Louis has the strength to do what needs to be done to survive. He has seen it that very first night when Louis had pulled his knife on his own brother just to maintain his facade of a strong businessman.
Yet five years have passed and Louis still shrinks from the prey when he isn't in the throes of hunger. His beautiful face still contorts with disgust after his mind leaves the passionate embrace of the swoon. Frankly, it seems to be getting worse.
And Lestat doesn't understand why.
He doesn't know how to fix it.
How do you fix a problem when the other won't even admit it exists? When your lover prefers to lie rather than talk to you?
He stops himself in time from ripping the green silk off their couch. He doesn't need another reason for Louis to be upset with him. He has managed it very well all by himself, thank you very much.
Lestat needs a distraction. Something that will fight the unease gnawing at the corners of his mind. His eyes settle on his beloved piano. Of course! Music ! Music may not have been his first love, but it has been the one that has infallibly been able to knock him off his feet. Be it in his present life, or in the memory of hearing Nicki play his precious violin for the very first time. Music has been the love he still enjoys and partakes in, even after becoming a vampire. The love that has endured .
He settles on the piano bench, his fingers falling into the soothing patterns of one of Bach's Goldberg Variations, a piece he has played thousands of times before, but could still thrill his senses. He closes his eyes and plays it from memory. He lets himself be lulled by the serene music, allowing his mind to dance freely in time with the highs and lows of the piece. He can see himself on the streets of Paris, dancing in the rain one drunken evening, not caring who sees him. And as the music soars into something sweet, he spins and is caught around the waist by Louis. Fantasy Louis settles his hands in the right position and leads him on, moving effortlessly in sync with the music playing, smiling lovingly at him.
He laughs humorously, opening his eyes. Even his mind conjures Louis. At least in his fantasies, they're happy, not screaming bitterly at each other.
Maybe he shouldn't have reacted like he did. Maybe he shouldn't have called Louis a dirty liar…and a coward . Maybe he shouldn't have yelled like he did.
But Louis shouldn't have lied to his face like that either! Lestat had been hurt by his continuous refusals, by his shifty eyes and weak excuses, by the treacherous kiss that was supposed to make him forget about the subject at hand. When he had offered Louis to simply snatch a passing man from the street, drain him and spend the evening together, and Louis had still refused , that's when the cold understanding that Louis planned to skip feeding again settled into his stomach. That's when Louis' lovely features grew gaunt in front of his eyes, skin paper-thin and ashen, lips discolored and cracked letting incomprehensible words spill from his crazed mind. For a moment, Louis looked so much like the vampires beneath the earth of Les Innocents, Lestat thought his heart had stopped from fear.
And the fear ignited into righteous anger and well…
He just wanted Louis to give him an honest answer, to tell him something was wrong, and to finally admit he was skipping meals. And it has to come from Louis. Cause if Lestat says something about it, then apparently he's a controlling bastard. Cause stalking his fledgling to make sure he eats when said fledgling is going on a hunger strike is apparently too much. Cause Louis can take care of himself and doesn't need a babysitter. Sure . He'll believe that when Louis stops looking thin enough to be blown over by the wind.
He hasn't noticed at first, but he has left Bach's aria behind, instinctively switching to an old sorrowful composition created by his dear Nicky. Something he has adapted to be playable on piano one suffocating night after he has received that letter.
Lestat just wants Louis to be happy. Truly happy. He wants Louis to live life to the fullest, seizing every opportunity in the air, rising above the shackles imposed on him and living however he wants, without giving a damn about what society thinks. Louis has spent so much time sacrificing his happiness for others, playing the roles demanded of him without taking into consideration his own wants and needs.
Louis is so used to denying himself, he wouldn't reach for what he desires even if it's hanging right in front of his face. Not without a little push . And then, his beloved is radiant like an actor on stage at the end of a well-received show, spine straight and swagger in his step, confidence dragging the corner of his mouth upward.
This is how Louis should always live. This is why Lestat pushes and prods and cajoles. Lestat wishes they could both walk into the light together, hand in hand, unashamed of what they are.
But Louis is still ashamed. And Lestat fears he may have pushed him too far this time.
Times like these are when he mourns the months without an impenetrable wall between their minds. When Lestat could fully understand what was going on in Louis' pretty head and curate his own behavior a little bit. Enough not to upset him or spook him off.
He knows he can be too much.
He has been told this his entire life, in one way or another, by his family, his mother, Nicky . Always too loud, too useless, too adventurous , too stubborn, ungrateful for the miserable existence his father offered him, wanting too much out of life. Asking for too much.
How did Nicky put it? 'You have a light in you that’s almost blinding' .
They all left him in the end, one way or another. Every single one of them. Even his maker. Even Marius wanted him gone. They all saw something in him that was not to their liking, some deformity of his character, and decided they were better off without him. And they abandoned him to the cruel loneliness of time.
But he is too strong to let that stop him. Maybe he doesn't deserve to be loved, but he needs that love with earth-shattering desperation. Lestat has always been lucky and his luck has graced him once again, when he has found the greatest treasure on the banks of the Mississippi. This love of theirs that Louis has bestowed upon him never fails to strike him with awe, every time he witnesses its intensity, every time Louis whispers his name with such fondness. Frankly, some part of him still doesn't understand why Louis could have chosen him that night in the church.
And he's been so, so careful not to make Louis regret that choice. Not to make Louis regret him . Because he doesn't know how he'll be able to survive if Louis finally wakes up and realizes it's too much of a bother to deal with him every day. That he'd be better off without Lestat.
There's a cold weight in his stomach that becomes heavier and heavier the longer Louis stays out. The way Louis looked at him before he left, slamming the door, the cold disappointment narrowing his eyes, the pursed lips like he couldn't be bothered to waste his breath on him, the slight tremble in his hand before he hid it…it made his chest tighten and it hasn't gotten any better since.
What if he has gone too far this time and Louis doesn't want to come home? To him?
Is this the day he becomes too much for Louis as well?
A rapidly approaching heartbeat ruins the melancholic harmony of his tune, wrecking chaos on his tempo. He'd recognize that heartbeat anywhere.
Louis!
Louis is coming home to him! The surge of relief unclenches something tight inside his chest, something he hasn't even noticed was squeezing him until the pressure was gone, and he can't help the smile stretching across his face.
But he quickly schools his features into something resembling nonchalance. He can't let Louis think he has been doing nothing but wait for his return! He turns the pages until he finds a jolly annoying little piece and starts playing it. Maybe he should add a little whistle for good measure. Louis hates it when he whistles in the house.
He's gonna be perfectly relaxed and not at all bracing for the fight he knows Louis will start the moment he walks through that door. That's what always happens and judging by Louis' rapid heartbeat, his lover is getting worked up simply by seeing their door. Well, Lestat's not going to give him satisfaction. Not one bit.
The door slams open. Lestat fixes a wide smile on his face.
"Lestat? Lestat, you home?"
Sérieux? Louis may be a weaker vampire but he should be able to hear him from outside the house let alone from the other room.
Before he can answer, his Louis appears in the doorway, shaking slightly, that beautiful head moving wildly in all directions.
His beloved finally notices him at the piano and Louis simply lights up. A smile blooms on his face like a delicate spring flower, growing wider and wider until Lestat is blinded by its tenderness.
He blinks rapidly several times. Maybe he even pinches his leg. The tear of his pants is proof enough that this wonder in front of his eyes is truly Louis and not a hallucination his heartsick imagination has conjured out of his fondest desires. It's truly his Louis that looks at him with such affection in his eyes, nose scrunched adorably and beaming at him as if Lestat was the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.
He wants to say something, but his tongue is heavy in his slacked mouth.
"Lestat. You're home!" gushes Louis, voice high and light.
His mind gives a few failed starts, like a broken car. "Um, oui – yes, I'm home," he says, like an idiot.
Louis laughs brightly, eyes nearly closed off in bliss.
What the fuck has happened?
He turns around, throwing a leg over the piano bench. He must check on Louis, this behavior was wildly out of character for his usually reserved lover.
The cold hands on his shoulders stop him, and he raises his head in time to see his lover's sweet face hovering over him before Lestat suddenly has a lap full of Louis .
Who evidently didn't think through the logistics of straddling him while he was already straddling the piano bench. His hands shoot up lightning fast and snatch him around his waist before Louis manages to fall off entirely. And what does Louis do? He giggles . He fucking giggles.
Louis never giggles.
The only time Lestat has heard Louis giggle was when he has discovered his lover is ticklish! Then his hands have been tied up with Louis' tie and he has been forbidden from assaulting his sensitive sides ever again. Such a shame, in his humble opinion.
"Merci, mon cher," says Louis between giggles. Then he cups Lestat's cheeks and kisses him sweetly.
Soft lips press against his chastely, teasing at his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, then fleeing the scene far too quickly for Lestat's liking. He whimpers after them, trying to steal another lovely kiss but Louis is already moving away, the twinkle of mischief in his dazzling eyes making them look jade-green.
And once again, he is captivated by Louis' ethereal beauty. Lestat can't believe he has the honor of having a creature as magnificent as Louis as his fledgling, that his own blood is flowing through Louis' veins. His beloved has fed tonight, at least that is certain. His brown skin looks flushed with life, a hibiscus flower in full bloom. And those full lips that Lestat wishes to worship, seem animated by some mysterious inner happiness. As always, he is enthralled by fathomless eyes that remind him of the forests around his Chateau, hiding secrets and precious thoughts behind coquettish long lashes.
Louis' eyes are also blown wide and the little taste he had of those appetizing lips confirmed his suspicion. His dear Louis is drunk . Oh, he's going to enjoy himself tomorrow night! He can already picture Louis' embarrassed face in his mind.
Louis wraps his legs around his waist and Lestat brings him closer into his arms, pressing a couple of kisses to his jaw. Louis lets out another adorable giggle and mutters something about being ticklish. His lover's fingers curl at the back of his neck, gently playing with a few strands of hair. Yet, Louis keeps looking at him like that , with that undeniable softness that leaves Lestat unsteady.
This is not how he expected the night to go. He doesn't know what to make of it.
He doesn't know what to make of the openness on Louis' face, of the way he melted into his hands, trusting that Lestat would catch him anytime. He's afraid he'll break him if he's not careful.
"I've missed you."
The words pierce him through the heart. Lestat is staring, he knows it but for the life of him, he can't stop it. Just like he can't stop his lower lip from trembling and his hands from clutching Louis a little tighter.
Louis laughs. "You're staring, mon cher! What? Can't a man say he missed his lover?"
Lestat swallows loudly. Does Louis even know what he does to him? Does Louis realize how easily he can wreck him with just a few words?
"Of course, you can…but considering how you left earlier, I thought you didn't want to see my face ever again."
Apparently, his pain is amusing because Louis lets out another string of little giggles – he will find a way to make a record of Louis' laughs and giggles! – until he realizes Lestat wasn't laughing along. His lover's face twists into a pronounced frown and his hands slide to Lestat's cheeks and squeeze them! C'est quoi ce bordel? Louis leans forward looking into his eyes for a second, - still squeezing his cheeks like he was some sort of troublesome child! – then proclaims gravely, "That's just stupid."
Stupid?! He's not stupid!
"No, it's not!" he exclaims, or at least he tries to, muffled by the fingers.
"Yes, it is," says Louis, nodding sagely.
"Non, ce n'est pas con!"
Maybe Louis should look into the mirror the next time he's being angry and disappointed at the same time.
His beloved smiles that crooked grin, the one that spills charm everywhere, the one that makes Lestat want to undress him right there right now. "Wanna know a secret?" he whispers, mischief dancing through his eyes.
Lestat nods. What can he do other than nod, caught as he is in Louis' spell?
Louis leans in and nuzzles his nose. A teasing brush of his lips makes Lestat whimper with need, so close yet so far away. "I always want to see you, even when you make me wanna strangle you. I miss you when you're not around."
And he's frozen still, like the stone that makes his skin, unmoving and unbreathing except for the life that Louis breathes into him with every tender kiss he lays on his face. His lover presses his burning lips to his forehead and his eyelids, then his cheeks, melting him with his touch until he's soft and malleable for Louis to do whatever he wants with him. Whatever form Louis desires to shape him, he'll get it. A ragged breath escapes the confines of his chest and it's just too much. His heart is hurting from all this unexpected attention from his lover, overflowing with the affection they both had trouble expressing.
Louis kisses him sweetly, claiming his lips with honeyed languidness. He needs him closer. He needs to feel Louis' heartbeat in his own chest, beating for him just like Lestat's heart lives for his lover. Lestat settles for hugging Louis closer to his chest, caressing his back and his waist. The bench creaks ominously, but who cares? Not when Louis is being so amorous. He parts his lips, waiting for Louis to deepen their kiss, but his beloved is content to nibble on his lower lip.
His hands slip downwards to get a quick feel of that perfect ass. He can't help himself, it fits his hands so perfectly, it's like Louis was made for him. Well, considering Lestat is his maker, maybe he really is meant for him, just like Lestat has roamed the earth for a century and a half to gift his heart to Louis. So he scoops a squeeze, and Louis lets out that charming giggle that Lestat is beginning to adore.
"Lestat," he tries to admonish him, pushing at his chest, but it only serves to make him lose his equilibrium.
Lestat rights him up again and brings him back into his embrace. Louis winks at him – or tries to anyway– and latches his mouth to his neck. He gasps as his lover presses little kisses along his skin, giving a few little licks for good measure just to drive him wild, the little minx.
He shifts to allow Louis a better access and the bench creaks again. Loudly this time.
"Louis," he gasps. "We need to move, mon cher, this bench isn't meant to – to hold the weight of two grown men on top of one another."
Louis answers by sucking on his pulse point, harsh and demanding, almost breaking the skin. His hands clutches his lover's neck.
"Louis", he moans. "Louis, you're going to break my piano bench!"
"Fuck your piano bench, I'll buy you a new one."
" Louis , you can sit next to me."
His beloved leaves a mournful wet kiss on his neck before putting some distance between them. Louis fixes him with an intense look, eyes narrowed and pout fully on display. He thinks it gives his annoyance a dignified air. Lestat knows better. That's his I-want-something pout.
"Fine. But only if you do something in return."
What did he just say?
He laughs loudly. He can't help it and Louis' pout grows bigger. Well, that just won't do. So he leans up and kisses Louis like Louis should be kissed all the time: with passionate care, relentless and soft, channeling his entire attention to those beautiful plum lips. Louis looks even more dazed than before, fixing his lips with a ravenous look on his face.
"What do you want, mon cher? Anything you want, I'll give you, you know that."
"Sing a song. For me ."
"You want to be serenaded, mon cœur ?" Lestat can't stop the smirk stretching across his face.
Louis lowers his head, long lashes kissing his flushed cheeks. He smiles bashfully and whispers "I just like to hear you sing. That's all."
Sweet, sensitive Louis. Lestat has known ever since that night at the opera when Louis had been enthralled by the performance, that his companion heart was as touched by a good story and exquisite music as himself. Someone who understood art in all its forms. But to hear that Louis appreciates his voice? Oh, it is sweeter than any round of applause he got at Renaud's théâtre back in the day.
"Of course, mon cœur. It would be my pleasure. You deserve to be serenaded."
Louis' demure smile transforms right before his eyes, growing wider and brighter until he is beaming at Lestat. Joy shines from his crinkled eyes like gentle moonbeams. Awe guides Lestat's hand to his beloved's face, the need to touch Louis overwhelming every thought inside his mind. How can he be real? How can one smile like that and not stop the world from spinning? Well, he does stop Lestat right in his tracks every time he laughs, filling his head with one word: Louis.
Louis is staring at him, seemingly lost in his own world but for the way he's nuzzling his hand.
"You're beautiful," sighs Louis.
Of course, he is. He's a gorgeous fiend, that's the card he drew. But that's not the point right now.
"And you're drunk."
Louis snickers to himself as if that is the funniest joke he has ever heard. He nods twice, then shakes his head, and nods again.
"I'm not drunk! I'm…tipsy."
"Of course."
"I mean it!" Louis tangles his fingers in his hair, gently wrapping the blond strands around his fingers and staring at them like they're actual gold.
"When I used to get really drunk, I'd black out and wake up in a – a bed, though there was a couch once and it smelled bad – but usually in a bed at one of my dirty houses. The best-case scenario was when Bricks found me. What a woman, that Bricks. But a lot of times, I–I'd wake up in the street next to a bar with a splittin' headache from the sun. "
His blood freezes in his veins and he's clutching Louis' waist tighter, just to make sure he's really here and not a pile of ash at the corner of the street. "Do not, under any circumstances, –"
"I'm fine, Lestat, I'm fine!" Louis pets his cheek clumsily. "See, I'm home, right here, in your arms."
And he lets himself fall against Lestat's chest like a sack of potatoes, laughing against his neck. Lestat loves him so much.
"D'accord, you're merely tipsy. And how did you manage it?"
"Well, I was at the Azalea, minding the business there, and I was angry and getting angrier because there were a bunch of white out-of-towners drinking my alcohol and using my girls and – and they still looked at me like I should've been servin' their drinks."
Louis lifts his head and puts some space between them to gesticulate animatedly. The bench didn't agree with all his shifting around.
"And I was so hungry , Lestat. So, so hungry, and their hearts were pounding in my head all the damn time. I–I guess I just couldn't take it anymore and I snatched one of the tourists and dragged him in a back alley. Only…only the man turned out to be much drunker than I thought."
"You didn't even check to see if your prey could walk straight?" Lestat is trying very hard not to laugh. Very hard.
Louis focuses back on him, wide-eyed, and bites his lower lip. "I…forgot."
Laughter erupts unbidden from his chest, shaking both their bodies with its strength. He can imagine Louis' confused face after he finished draining the man and realized he was swaying.
"Don't laugh, I was hungry! And he tasted so good! Lestat ," whines Louis.
"And what did he taste like, hmm? A dry California wine? Bourbon? Some Sazerac maybe?"
His beloved launches himself at Lestat, crashing their lips together and sending them on top of each other sprawled on the small bench. He tries to complain but Louis plunges his tongue in his mouth, transforming his protest into a moan. Louis is ravenous, demanding in his explorations as Lestat feels the heavy pressure of his tongue. He has to suck on it. Louis groans and bites his upper lip hard enough to draw blood, and he's lapping at the cut until it closes, feverish with excitement.
He lets Louis have his fill, caressing his back and holding him tightly. His companion peppers kisses all over his face, making his skin burn with every touch of his lips. He's breathing heavily, overwhelmed by all this attention directed at him all of a sudden. It's what he's always desired from Louis. Unrestrained affection. Yet the worshipful quality of his touch leaves him feeling brittle , like one of his mother's old books that would rip when he wasn't careful.
Lestat clears his throat. "So, mostly bourbon then for your tasty prey? And some vodka I'm tasting."
"Nah, that's the second guy."
"A second man?"
"Uh-huh," hums Louis, occupied with sucking marks on his neck. "Drained another one."
" Louis… " he moans wantonly when his lover scrapes his fang over his vein.
"You know how you're supposed to hydrate when you're drunk?"
Lestat is confused by the non sequitur, especially since Louis abandoned his delectable occupation. "Quoi?"
"You're supposed to drink water to clear your head when you're drunk. But there ain't no point 'cause we're vampires , so I thought, why not drink some more blood to make it pass?" Louis is nodding sagely, clearly pleased with his stellar thinking. "So I grabbed another man and drained him as well."
Lestat snorts. As if he hasn't told Louis about getting blood drunk if he overindulges.
"Hey, it's not my fault the second one was also drunk as hell! Who could've known?"
Oh, this is too much! The bench is creaking with his laughter, and Louis whining that he ripped his pants on the way home makes him wheeze.
"Frankly, I'm surprised you managed to get home after that."
"Had to. Had to come home to you. I knew you'd fix it. Knew you'd make me feel better."
Oh, Louis.
His words cut him open to the heart yet make him so happy, pain and joy wrapped together to disarm him completely.
I love you, he means to say. "I'm sorry," he whispers.
Lestat kisses his beloved on the cheek. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. I just wanted us to hunt together tonight." And make sure you eat , but he doesn't mention that, he's trying to apologize here, not start another fight.
"I know. I knew that and I shouldn't have lied to you either." Louis' features turn pensive, looking at Lestat almost like he's searching for something. "Just…couldn't get you to listen, so I –"
"Of course, I listen to you!"
He listens to Louis every damned day! He bends over backward to fulfill Louis' every whim! If he doesn't listen to Louis, he sure as hell doesn't know who does. Certainly not his family.
"Aaand you're not listening." He taps Lestat's nose to chastise him. He's so calm, it's unnerving. Lestat knows Louis would have yelled at him by now if he was sober. "You don't always listen . You hear my words but you don't listen to what I'm saying."
And whose fault is that? His, when he sometimes feels like a fortune teller trying to guess Louis' intentions from the lines of his body? Or Louis', who withholds his deepest thoughts and emotions from him like his mother used to withhold her books and her ability to read?
"Then maybe you should speak more plainly. I'm not as well versed with words as you are."
Louis sighs and hides his face in the crook of his neck. Lestat feels how his lover tries to burrow himself deeper and deeper into his arms, searching for comfort and a respite from this tiresome evening. He holds him tightly, rubbing his thumb on the back of his neck.
"I'm trying to. But it's so hard sometimes," Louis says softly. "When you've spent so much time keeping things close to your chest 'cause they're not supposed to exist in your mind, let alone speak them into existence…the words just choke me and suffocate me and they won't come out, no matter how hard I try. And other times, you're not helpin' either. You lo-look at me with such expectations , and I don't know what to say and I end up wishin’ the earth would open and swallow me up whole."
He doesn't know what to answer. He doesn't know what to do with this candid information. Isn't this what he wished for? A clear view into the labyrinthine library of Louis' thoughts? And yet he's feeling helpless holding Louis in his arms. The only thing he can do is kiss Louis' temple while he digests his words.
"I don't want to disappoint you," whispers Louis.
Now this needs direct action.
"Regarde-moi, Louis."
Louis lifts his head from the safety of his body and they're face to face, noses nearly touching, Louis using his chest to support himself. Yet even the close proximity doesn't hide the vulnerability on his face. Lestat catches his chin between his fingers, thumb rubbing at his jaw.
"You could never disappoint me, Louis. You irritate me and confuse me, but there's not an ounce of disappointment when I look at you. How can it be, when I'm in awe every time I look at you?"
"Lestat…"
"No, no, don't hide your beautiful eyes for me. I'd have no one else as my companion. You complete me, in a way I never thought possible." He kisses Louis chastely, a mere spark of passion compared to before, but filled with all the devotion he held for his beloved.
"As for expectations, I only have one : for you to feed properly. That's all." That was the most important one, for Louis to be healthy.
"I am feeding! I just fed tonight!"
"And you'll keep doing it again tomorrow, right?"
Louis shoots him a dark look. "It's not that simple! I try to take the little drink sometimes and I can't handle it 'cause I get sucked into that swirl of damnable bliss, and they end up dead at my feet anyway, and even when I want to drain them, it's difficult to untangle myself from their thoughts and feelings before the end and – who am I kidding, I'll never get a hang of it!"
"Of course, you'll do. I have no doubt. I'll be with you every step of the way, and with practice, you'll learn to do it on your own. You need to put your heart into it, Louis, for it to work."
A strange look flashes over Louis' face, too quick for Lestat to catch it, yet the simple nod Louis offers him seems too mournful for his tastes. There's no need to worry. Sure he's having difficulties but that doesn't mean he has to give up! Lestat will help him and teach him like he has done from the beginning!
"Come on, mon cœur, I didn't mean to upset you with our talk. You were so happy when you got home."
Louis shrugs. "Course I was. You were home."
As if it's that simple. "Does that mean you get happy every time you lay eyes on me?" He bats his lashes for good measure.
Louis snorts and Lestat takes that as a victory. "Quit fishin' for compliments. Your head will get too big and explode."
"The dark gift keeps us frozen in time, my pretty head is quite safe. So you can shower it with compliments with no worry."
"I think I'd rather kiss you instead."
"Then by all means, go ahead Monsieur. As you can see, I am completely under your power and unable to move."
That charming giggle makes a dazzling return, even though Louis quickly schools his face into a pout.
"That's what I've been tryin' to do since I came home, but you keep talkin' and talkin'!"
"Well, excuse me for being worried–"
Louis cuts him off with a kiss, swallowing up whatever words he might have said, making him lose the train of his thoughts with his clever little tongue. Louis is right, as always. Whatever he had to say doesn't compare by far with the feel of Louis' full lips pressed against his, firm and powerful, yet moving so slowly, demanding all his attention. As it should be. His beloved deserves all the worship of this world, altars and sacrifices and prayers at his feet until he's satisfied. Until he feels whole. Lestat doesn't have anything else to offer but his own body, so he meets Louis' intensity with his own, making his lover moan with delight.
Louis tries to straddle him like before and nearly falls off the bench. The only reason he didn't hit his head was because of Lestat's quick hands. He plops back down, laughing into Lestat's chest. That's it! They're getting off this bench and on a couch. Or the bed. Or anywhere else that can hold two grown men. If Louis is in the mood for making out, then he'll oblige him with enthusiasm once they're settled.
He grips Louis' waist and sits up with him in his lap. Louis wraps his hands around his neck, pressing their chests together. Lestat breaks the kiss with a parting peck. "Wrap your legs around me, Louis, and let's go upstairs."
"Nope. Can't do that." And Louis grinds down on his lap just to prove his point.
"Louis!" he gasps.
"You promised me a song, Mister and I ain't leaving till I get it."
Right, the song.
"Do you have a song in mind, mon cher?"
Louis bites his lip, letting little high sounds as he weighs possible choices. "No, not really." He gives Lestat a coquettish smile and leans in to press kisses to his lips, one after each word, "But you can choose one for me."
The words spill from his lips in a daze, mesmerized as he is by Louis' reddening lips. "I'll have to write you a song someday."
"You want to write me a song?"
The wobble in Louis' voice brings him back in the moment and he's struck by the childlike wonder on his lover's face, a softness in his eyes that he has rarely seen.
"Mais bien sûr, mon cœur. Haven't poets dedicated their work to their muses over the centuries? Haven't songs been written by enamored musicians just to earn a smile from their beloved? Why should you deserve any less? You, who has captured my immortal soul?"
The pretty words come easily to him, sincere in their desire to lavish Louis with all the affection he deserves. If he has it his way, Louis will never doubt the strength of his love for him. Louis will never feel unloved and merely tolerated again.
Yet seeing the hope rise across Louis' features, light staking its claim in his eyes and his growing smile, Lestat realizes the gravity of his words. Merde . His mother had told him he thought with his heart and his cock, and he can't really dispute it with his track record. Of course he wants to compose a song for Louis! Please, he already does that nearly every day. There are plenty of moments when he simply gazes at Louis doing something mundane as rearranging his books, and Lestat starts humming and stringing little melodies inside his head, just because Louis is explaining his preference for ordering his books alphabetically.
That's what Louis is to him.
He loves Louis to the point of music.
He has never thought it would happen again, after Nicky.
But Louis doesn't deserve mere tunes, half-thought melodies flying inside his mind on a whim. Louis deserves a symphony . Louis deserves an entire orchestra playing his love song for the delight of his ears. Louis deserves the best. This song, the proof of his love for Louis, would have to be perfect . Though, come to think of it, Louis isn't an enthusiastic fan of classical music. It would have to be in the music of the hour, the lyrics would have to be poetic and sensitive – because Louis loves his poetry – and he'd have to compose a score for multiple instruments and find the right musicians to play it and…What if Louis doesn't like it?
"Lestat," coos Louis, cupping his face in his hands and caressing the apple of his cheek with his thumbs.
"Well, I – I haven't composed anything in over seventy years. I never thought I'd compose anything again, to be honest. My skills have atrophied in the meantime. I–I'd have to practice and try out different sounds and it will take some time before I can even begin to imagine presenting you with something. But, I will work on it, I promise."
Louis shakes his head, beaming at him with unrestrained joy. "Mon cher, aren't we gonna be together for centuries? Ain't that what you keep telling me? There's no rush. When you'll finish your song, I'll just have to kiss you senseless."
Lestat kisses him on his crinkled happy nose, basking in the sound of Louis' giggles.
"Can I get an advanced payment on those kisses?"
"Don't know. Maybe. If you behave ."
"If you want me to behave, if you want to be serenaded, you'll have to let me go, you little limpet."
"But I wanna cuddle you! What, can't Monsieur le Pianiste play me a song and let me hug him?"
"Monsieur le Pianiste needs both his hands to be free to play and not occupied with making sure his companion doesn't fall off his lap."
"Fine," grumbles Louis.
His lover unlatches his hands and legs and settles on the bench next to him. Lestat studiously ignores the pang of emptiness in his chest. He's here to please Louis, after all.
He goes to one of their cabinets where he keeps his collection of music sheets and selects one he has bought a couple of weeks ago. The lyrics immediately made him think of Louis, and now looking at his beloved's excited smile, he knows he chose well.
His fingers move over the keys to create a playful tune, moderato but upbeat, the melodious quality of the song pleasing to his ear. It reminds him of summer love, sweet and uncomplicated, earnest in its affections.
Lestat winks at Louis and blows him a kiss, then starts singing.
'Dearie, now I know,
Just what makes me love you so,
Just what holds me and enfolds me in its golden glow.'
He catches Louis' eyes and he's sure he's gazing at him with his famous overwhelming intensity, but he can't help it. Louis needs to know this is truly how Lestat feels about him.
'Dearie, now I see,
‘Tis each smile so bright and free,
For life’s sadness turns to gladness when you smile on me.'
Louis' cheeks become flushed and he's lowering his head bashfully, yet Lestat can still see the fond smile softening his beautiful face. He wants to kiss that elegant jaw and whisper the rest of the lyrics into his skin. He forces himself to keep on playing and banish the daydreams about tasting Louis, no matter how exquisite he looks, glowing with happiness.
The tempo slows a little as the refrain begins. His voice deepens and turns softer, inviting you to lean in, to partake in the magic of the moment. When you sing or play in public, you're also supposed to spin a tale with your performance, to move your body in such a way as to accompany your music. But there's no need for artifice here. There's just Lestat and Louis, two hearts beating in tandem for one another, two lovers caught in this bubble of intimacy that Lestat wishes could last forever.
'There are smiles that make us happy,
There are smiles that make us blue,
There are smiles that steal away the teardrops
As the sunbeams steal away the dew
There are smiles that have a tender meaning
That the eyes of love alone may see,'
Shared smiles and mirrored tenderness, they seem to be under the same enchantment, the love tying them together flowing unrestrained between them. The closeness of their two souls tastes sweet on his tongue, just like the dulcet words he sings with passion. That's how they're supposed to be: the artist using his gift to profess his love to his enchanting muse. And once again, Lestat offers his heart up for the taking to his wonderful companion, as he sings the last lyrics of the refrain :
'And the smiles that fill my life with sunshine
Are the smiles that you give to me'
Louis lets out a ragged breath. Eyes wide and red-rimmed, there's no hiding how affected he is by the serenade. His sweet lips quiver slightly, almost wanting to say something, but they settle into the most beautiful grin he has gifted Lestat this night, so sunny and breathtaking that Lestat forgets about the instrumental part he should be playing right now. Really, can you even blame him for losing his mental faculties for a moment when Louis smiles at him like that, so warm and wide, scrunched-up nose and crinkled eyes?
A kiss on the cheek wakes him from his daze. His beloved snuggles up next to him and wraps his arms around his waist.
"I love you," confesses Lestat.
"I know that's not written on the music sheet," mumbles Louis into his neck.
"No, it comes from my own heart."
His beloved answers with a kiss on the corner of his jaw.
Louis' breath on his skin and his warmth from his recent kill, the sense of contentment – of rightness – fills him with hope. Whatever their obstacles may be, they will defeat them and they will have their peace. They belong together after all, and nothing will ever separate them.
Lestat resumes the song where he abandoned it. He adds his own improvisations to the instrumental bridge between verses. That's how music is played now, isn't it? With flair and spontaneity, a little bit of experimentation and creativity.
Yes, he's showing off. He's got Louis nuzzling his neck. He wants to dazzle him.
The music returns to the light and earnest notes of the beginning. His lover hums his approval in his skin. Lestat begins the second verse.
'Dearie, when you smile
Ev’ry thing in life’s worthwhile,
Love grows fonder as we wander down each magic mile'
Lestat can feel Louis smile in the crook of his neck. But then a quick kiss is pressed at the base of his throat. And another a little higher. And then one right near his Adam apple. He's forcing himself not to react. As he sings the second and third lyrics, the fleeting kisses reach the line of his jaw, where Louis nuzzles his nose before starting downwards with his pecks.
'Cheery melodies
Seem to float up on the breeze,
Doves are cooing while they’re wooing In the leafy trees.'
The kisses turn wetter, messier, longer. A hint of teeth there, just enough to make him swallow loudly. A lick under the open collar of his shirt. The hint of a fang along his artery making him shiver.
What is Louis doing? Didn't he want to be wooed and serenaded?
Suddenly, Louis sucks a mark on his skin. Lestat misses the first words of the refrain.
'…make us happy,
There are smiles that make us blue'
He's so focused on the music sheet, on hitting the correct notes, on the way Louis is alternating sweet kisses and maddening bites, Lestat doesn't even notice any of the movement around his waist until a cold finger touches the bare skin of his stomach. His muscles tense immediately and he breathes the wrong way on ' sunbeams' as that long finger gives light caresses.
The little minx! He snapped the button of his shirt just to sneak in a feel. Louis chuckles under his breath, then continues his merciless assault on his throat.
'And the smiles that fill my life with sunshine'
The naughty finger leaves the premises and Lestat feels bold touches across his stomach, his sides and teasingly sliding downward every now and then. He doesn't know how he keeps on singing while Louis is kissing his neck. Maybe it's the ancient mantra that's been drilled inside his head as he rose on stage: always keep the show going, no matter what. Maybe he just wants to sing this song for Louis, an olive branch after their fight earlier. Either way, he has to sing the chorus one more time and then he'll take Louis in his arms, drag him upstairs and kiss him into oblivion till sunlight teases them through the curtains.
Oh, but the way Louis is peppering kisses under his jawline is exquisite torture. His leg trembles on the piano pedal and it's taking everything he's got to hold back his moans. Who could've known a tipsy Louis would be such a menace?
Suddenly his lover sucks on his earlobe with reckless abandon. A gasp rips from his lips, stumbling over 'teardrops' , derailing the music for a moment, until Lestat reins in his body to perform again.
'As the sunbeams steal away the dew
There are smiles that have a tender meaning'
"You know, I always dreamed of fucking on a piano."
Lestat hits the wrong key.
The music stops altogether.
"Pardon?"
He can't have heard that right. His stolen blood is pumping in his ears, following the wild rhythm of his heart. Louis' teasing laughter floats around his head.
He turns to look at Louis. His green eyes twinkle with mischief, and Lestat's attention is immediately captivated by the seductive smile worn by those generous lips.
"I said I've always had this fantasy of being fucked on top of a piano."
His jaw is slack and he doesn't have the strength to close it. He eyes his beautiful piano and looks back to Louis' ravenous face. But…fucking on his precious grand piano ? He can't do that. He imported it from Italy. He tuned it himself. He can't even think about defiling his piano like that.
Oh no! His beloved puts a knee on the piano bench to push himself above him. Long brown fingers caress the length of his throat and slide down his white shirt. His breath is stuck in his throat. Louis is temptation made flesh when he speaks :
"I forget you have trouble with English, sometimes. Maybe you'll understand better this way."
Louis cups his half-hard cock through his pants.
"Baise moi sur ce piano, Lestat."
Lestat rips the music rack off the grand piano.