Chapter Text
Chronicle of the Vampires
~ Tempered by Fire ~
Chapter 1
USA, 2028
Miami was the perfect city for sun worshippers and night owls alike.
The hot and humid melting pot of cultures at the southern tip of the United States hadn't necessarily been waiting for Louis and his business, but he couldn't complain. He owned a thriving club that cross-financed two bars in Wynwood and Downtown.
The year after Lestat's breakthrough had been monumental. Number one on the Billboard charts, followed by their first tour, which produced new headlines in the tabloid press every day. Scandals involving drug use, rumors of drained groupies, and affairs with celebrities. They canceled a concert in Dallas because they couldn't sober him up enough to go on stage. This was followed by embarrassing interviews in which he cried and threw tables across the room, completely high.
Louis used his contacts to hire Christine, an absolute professional in her field, as a lawyer. She and her team have been handling the PR ever since. The drug escapades continued, but much less publicly. No matter how well Lestat was able to pull himself together to deliver a show, you could see it in Louis's eyes at every concert you could find on YouTube. Dead drunk. Always.
After five wild years as a rock star and a total of three albums, Lestat had seemingly reached the peak of his career. He could fill arenas if he wanted to, but for the past year and a half he had been playing exclusively in clubs. Supposedly, it was because he could deliver better quality on a smaller scale and connect with the audience more authentically. He also hadn't spoken to the press in a long time, and so far there had been no promotion for the next album so far. The superstar was increasingly isolating himself.
As a businessman, Louis didn't understand the voluntary renunciation of profit, but it wasn't his concern.
Four weeks ago, he had received an email from Lestat's management asking if he would allow the final concert of their current tour to be held at his club in South Beach. Louis was somewhat confused by the last-minute change of location, but he agreed immediately. He couldn't imagine better free publicity. Yet he had a feeling that this wouldn't be a normal performance.
Fifteen minutes ago, the doors had opened to the public, and Louis watched the crowds pour in with satisfaction. The Golden Bunker had a maximum capacity of 800 people, and the place was sold out.
Louis had offered the venue for free, but Lestat insisted on paying the full price. Louis's only condition was that his people handle security. He was picky about that.
Now he sat in the VIP lounge with the best view of the small stage. He held his phone in his hand and received an update from Derek, his head of security. Everything was going according to plan.
They had precise instructions for the door. Weapons and minors were strictly prohibited, but small amounts of drugs were tolerated.
Louis's eyes lingered on one of the flyers distributed throughout the club and posted on the walls. The person who took this photo of Lestat was talented because he captured his promising gaze at the perfect moment. Louis wondered if he fucked the photographer after the shoot.
This was the first time he would see The Vampire Lestat perform live. Lestat had often invited him—in fact, always—but he had preferred to stay away. His schedule hadn't allowed it, and if he was honest with himself, he hadn't wanted to be there. He simply didn't dare to hear songs live that had been written about all the jealousy, insults, anger, longing, pain, and the fear of losing past loves—which included himself—performed live.
They had agreed to remain friends. If Lestat had been disappointed that he hadn't accepted his countless concert invitations over the years, he hadn't shown it during their more or less regular meetings. Unlike at public appearances, Lestat had always seemed sober.
Louis constantly reminded himself that it was none of his business what he consumed and what he didn't. Or whom. Or when. After all, he didn't need to worry; Lestat was immortal. What could happen to him?
Seeing him had felt more than strange at first. Lestat was good at chatting. They talked about trivialities, but Louis wanted to talk about the past—about Paris. He wanted to shed light on the darkness and fog that Armand had left behind there for 77 years. They had parted in anger every now and then. Louis was the one who arranged new meetings. Lestat had never refused, no matter how angry he was.
His foot tapped nervously.
Over half a year had passed since their last meeting, yet Louis could sense him backstage now. He could clearly hear his heartbeat above all the others'.
He closed his eyes and concentrated, gradually blocking out all background noise until only the dull thumping pulsed between his temples. His lips curled into the hint of a smile. The second drum.
The concert began with a virtuoso electric guitar solo in the dark. The music spiraled to unexpected heights, announcing the upcoming concert with a clamor and insistence. Louis's eyes were fixed on the spot in the darkness where he sensed him.
The crowd cheered as the spotlight turned to Lestat, who played the guitar with the same passion as any other instrument. Familiar music filled the hall and the atmosphere was electric.
Louis wouldn't have admitted it, but he knew every song by heart. He liked adding them to his airplane playlists and hiding the instrumental parts as background music in PowerPoint presentations.
Lestat put on a breathtaking performance, immortalized on hundreds of cell phone cameras.
The profound, heavy lyrics were cloaked in driving rhythms. Some melodies seemed both old-fashioned and modern at the same time. Revealing stage outfits left little to the imagination. He tossed his golden hair, flashed pointed canines with a seductive smile, and moved lasciviously. As usual, he rocked the audience into an ecstatic frenzy with his singing, making them scream. Louis could hear the sinful thoughts of the people and he understood them all too well. Lestat's supple beauty was ravishing.
In between, they played a quiet song that Louis didn't recognize. It as a new composition that spoke of desire and guilt and—Louis swallowed hard—of a lover with a death wish. He wondered which of Lestats past experiences had inspired it.
The atmosphere in the hall and Lestat's voice filled Louis with an indescribable longing. He knew again why he usually only watched performances from behind the safety of his laptop screen.
He hoped that a quick glance at his phone would distract him from this feeling, but it didn't help.
Louis couldn't take his eyes off Lestat. There was glitter on his face, even on his lips. It would stick to everything he touched. It wasn't just the audience that was indulging in sinful thoughts.
Louis shook his head at himself. It was only because he hadn't had anything to drink today. Besides, the atmosphere had carried him away; it had absolutely nothing to do with Lestat himself.
"Hello Miami," the superstar whispered into the microphone. A shiver ran down Louis's spine as if the deep voice were rolling over his skin like warm water. The crowd went wild. Lestat smiled and flirted with the front row. It was a perfect performance. "You're a damn hot audience, but I have some sad news to share with you today."
Louis frowned, spellbound, wondering what was coming next.
"This will be our last concert for the time being." Within seconds, a shocked silence fell over the entire room. Isolated boos rang out. "The band has decided to take an indefinite break for personal reasons. I want to thank you all. It's been wonderful years that we will certainly never forget."
There was frenetic applause, and they played several encores.
That's why they hadn't announced a new album. There wouldn't be one.
Well, Louis hadn't expected that, to say the least.
After the concert ended, it took over an hour for the audience to be ushered outside and released into the night, saddened by the end of an era.
Louis had to wait until the band members had tearfully said goodbye to Lestat and moved on to the next VIP club to celebrate properly.
Louis watched all this on the surveillance cameras from the management office. Half an hour later, he sent Derek and the rest of the security team home for the evening.
Only the cleaning staff, a few stage technicians, Lestat, and Louis were still in the building.
Lestat was taking his time in the dressing room. Was he waiting for him?
Louis should call an Uber and go home before he did something stupid.
He knew that regret would be the only thing awaiting him if he gave in to his urges instead of his reason.
But who was he kidding? There was no one left to impress with his asceticism.
He tore his eyes away from the screen and made his way to the artists' dressing rooms.
Lestat stood with his back to the door, fiddling with the makeup table. If he had noticed Louis's arrival, he didn't show it.
He seemed strangely quiet to Louis. Introverted. It was as if he had left all the energy that usually drove and tormented him on stage behind.
He was still wearing the golden silk top, which, when combined with the low-rise pants, revealed an extremely attractive strip of skin with every movement.
"Did you enjoy the show?"
“Thrilling.” Louis entered and stood behind Lestat. “ I've always wanted to ask you something. Is Red Necklace about the night when I... about Mardi Gras?”
Louis saw him smiling in the mirror, but he didn't interrupt what he was doing. It was difficult to interpret his feelings.
"Music is individual. You decide what the song means to you."
"What does it mean to you?"
Instead of answering, Lestat turned to him and leaned his hip against the dressing table.
His expression was inscrutable, but Louis thought he looked tired.
Is the host getting a little private performance?
If it's not an emergency, leave me alone, Daniel. I'm busy.
Put your dick away; we have a little problem at the Drop.
Just heal the bite wounds and call an ambulance, like you always do.
Louis shut him out without waiting for a reply.
"That was Daniel," he explained, not wanting to make Lestat feel bad.
"So Armand is still staying out of it," Lestat noted soberly. "You take care of him."
"Still has trouble moderating himself, but he hasn't killed anyone yet."
"No one you know of," Lestat replied, raising an eyebrow.
"He needs something to do. I'll have to give him a job soon." Louis sighed. "He's talented at mind control. He can keep his own thoughts well and shut them away. I think he's already better at it than I am."
"As a journalist, he has the best qualifications," Lestat replied, his voice tinged with slight contempt. "Besides, his creator is an expert in this field, as you yourself have experienced."
"I was surprised by the end of the concert. Why do you want to quit?" Louis changed the subject. Armand was the last thing he wanted to talk about.
He thought he saw a flicker of melancholy on Lestat's face before he shrugged. "Mortals bore me, as I'm sure you know from your own experience. After a few years, you get tired of them. In the near future, I'm going to devote my attention to something else."
“A new project?”
“More like an old one.”
Louis swallowed, his mouth going dry. He didn't know what to say. Did he mean him?
“I bought a penthouse apartment. Months ago. It’s taking a while with these window films.”
"You're moving to Miami?" Louis asked, perplexed. Now, he would be able to see Lestat much more often. They could go for walks, visit art galleries in Wynwood, and go to the beach. They could also suck a few pedophiles dry on the baby strip. The image of Lestat in swimming trunks appeared in his mind, and Louis bit his tongue hard. He tried to pull himself together, but the slight taste of his own blood only made it worse.
"This has nothing to do with you and me, if that's what you're thinking. We're just friends. You made that perfectly clear," Lestat said bitterly.
Louis took a step forward, reached out a hand, and gently touched Lestat's temple, where the source of the golden glitter lay. Lestat froze, staring at Louis in disbelief und confusion. Louis's touch followed the perfect line of his jaw, and finally his thumb brushed Lestat's lower lip.
"Have you drunk today?" Lestat asked hoarsely.
Louis's lips parted involuntarily, but not to speak but because he was slowly pushing his thumb into Lestat's mouth.
When it hit his teeth, Lestat suddenly turned away and Louis lowered his hand. It excited Louis to embarrass Lestat.
Louis really should stop and leave. Nothing had happened yet.
Why was it so damn hard? After all this time, why did Lestat still have this effect on him, making him forget all reason?
Lestat opened the box of makeup remover wipes and pulled out three, keeping his hands busy.
"Don't wipe it off," Louis heard himself say. He turned Lestat back toward him by the shoulder and let his fingertips wander over his collarbone.
"You're breaking your own rules. No lies, no physical contact," Lestat reminded him unnecessarily. A confusing, painful expression crossed his face.
Louis's fingers slipped into the neckline of the top and brushed against the flat but strong chest muscles.
"You want it?" Louis whispered breathlessly.
"I could never say no to you."
Louis unzipped his pants and pushed them down, along with his underwear, just far enough.
"Go on," he commanded. Lestat sank to his knees as if in slow motion.
Louis buried his fingers firmly in the golden curls. He had received many blowjobs before, but no one did it like Lestat. He hadn't enjoyed this pleasure in almost 90 years. It was just as good as he remembered. Just as good as he had imagined while watching him onstage earlier. Even better.
If he hadn't felt absolutely superior, he might have been embarrassed that it took him less than five minutes to climax, trembling and moaning softly. His orgasm was intense, and Lestat swallowed it all. When he let his cock slip out of his mouth, Louis noted with strange satisfaction that the glitter was now everywhere, as he had suspected.
Just a second later, bitter regret overwhelmed him. He ran his hand gruffly through his face.
"Fuck, I don't know what came over me," he stammered, pulling his pants back up.
Lestat stood up and turned his back to him. Louis saw in the mirror how he quickly and discreetly wiped not his mouth, but his eyes.
"It's okay. You should have drunk beforehand," Lestat replied, his voice wavering.
Louis wanted to slap himself. That had been completely unnecessary. He had risked Lestat thinking that there might be a future for them as a couple again just for a quick blowjob.
“That was a one-time thing, okay? We'll stick to the rules from now on.”
“Agreed.”
Louis was confused as to why he didn't object or reproach him or start an argument.
“I shouldn't have done that. I don’t want you to get your hopes up and—”
"Louis," Lestat cut him off. "Just go."