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“I have one last idea.” Assad says, hesitation colors his voice.
Jacob cracks open an eye to peer at his hunched form, looking back at him from where he is sat at the edge of Jacob’s bed, “Is it a bad one?”
It’s gotten late into the night. After a long day of fittings and then rehearsals that had left a sour enough taste in both of their mouths, that they took it upon themselves to keep working into the wee hours of the night. Re-reading scenes, trying to solve their predicament through exhausted conversations that felt more like they were talking past one another.
“I don’t think I need to tell you how unconvincing that was.” Rolin had said, sounding very “not upset, just disappointed.”
So Jacob and Assad were having a problem. Well, Jacob was having a problem. He had felt prickly at Rolin’s exasperation but knew in his heart that he was the problem. Less than two weeks out from day one of principle photography, and he still couldn’t find in him the well of affection Louis is supposed to have for Armand.
Assad fiddles with the dog-eared corners of his script, “I’ve just never tried it, personally. I read about it in article once and it sounds like it could work, all things considered.”
“All things considered?” Jacob is sitting up now, “Are you about to ask me to slaughter a goat with you or something?”
The tension flickers off of Assad’s face long enough for him to scoff loudly. “No goats need be harmed in the making of this production. It just gets a little murky but it's all fine. You trust me, right?.” There’s a lilt upward to his tone there, betraying his insecurity.
It’s not that Jacob doesn’t mesh with Assad. On the contrary, Assad is not only a skilled and deeply focused actor, but disarmingly kind. They had exchanged emails all through Season One, and while filming the Dubai sequences, he was an endlessly refreshing presence compared to the overstimulating work of the bustling New Orleans scenes.
Assad is looking at him with those alarmingly innocent seeming eyes, and Jacob can’t imagine anything that could possibly sink this ship anymore so, “Alright, yeah, I trust you.”
Jacob bends to retrieve his script where he dropped it over the side of the bed in his frustration. when he sits up, Assad has moved, shifted so close their knees are touching. “Proximity is the name of the game. To help us focus on each other.” He explains.
It makes sense, Jacob supposed. He nods, mostly to himself and flits through the script for the scene.
Assad tilts his head at him with a playful quirk of his brow, “C’mon, you don’t need the script anymore.” Jacob can see Assad’s sitting closed, partially behind him.
It’s a jab that helps ease Jacob’s trepidation. Its silly, there’s no need to be nervous, it’s only Assad. “No. Yeah, of course. I know it by now.” putting down the stapled stack of papers.
Assad smiles at him with nothing but encouragement, “From, “I’m not joining the coven””
Inhaling deeply, he thinks about Louis’ voice. Uses that as the hook-line he will draw the character closer to himself with, and vice versa. Away from his own thoughts, his own confusion. Hopefully towards some middle ground where he will glimpse, even if for only a minute, the depth of desire Louis is supposed to hold for Armand, and understand it for himself.
“I’m not joining the coven.” inflecting his voice with that soft drawl and some put-upon amusement. This close, there is no need to project. The only person who needs to hear him is near enough for Jacob to count every individual eyelash, “I’m trying to save you a sales pitch. You’ve got Claudia, she’s happy, I’m happy. But me…I’m not much of a joiner.”
“Yes you have made that clear enough.” Assad’s tone dropped low to match. Jacob has always thought he stresses himself out too much about his performance, He slips into Armand like a well-worn jacket. It is Armand who’s eyes are staring, half-lidded at him. In the scene they are supposed to be walking and Louis is able to duck away from that gaze, but in this moment he cannot find it in him look away.
“So, if that’s why you’re here.”
“It is not the whole reason I am here.”
There is a vacuum where their absent so-star should be. It is here that the phantom of Lestat that lurks at the edges of Louis’ psyche makes his way to center stage. Chiming in with a snide remark about “Armand’s reason”. What else is Jacob supposed to think? That when Armand is walking beside him, trying to catch his attention while Louis is thinking of Lestat, that he is truly interested in what Armand has to offer? Assuming he has something to offer beyond the coven that Louis has already rejected.
“Don’t think.” Assad, not Armand, whispers to him, bringing Jacob out of his own head. Again he is closer, leaning forward and Jacob can smell the lingering sweetness of the coke-cola he had earlier on his breath,“I like you.” It sounds like he believes it.
Don’t. Think. “I like you, isn’t that obvious?”
A knowing smile creeps across Armand’s face, and he laughs a little, “We really must work on blocking your thoughts.” He is undeniably attractive. The kind of steely handsomeness that makes you nervous that’ll he’ll catch you admiring.
“Excuse me?” Louis affecting incredulousness to mask the fear that would spark in his chest.
“Bruce. I sense him now in your mind. You must work on that.” Powerful. And intelligent, too. He sounds teasing, Louis knows he knows something but isn’t willing to come clean right now. He’s not used to someone other than Claudia being able to hear his thoughts, Louis should be on edge.
“Maybe I’m guarding my thoughts just fine.” Armand’s gaze is inescapable, a hypnotic tug on your being. Like eddies in dark water. Louis feels like if he gets any closer, they’ll drag him under. “Maybe I let you into my head on purpose.”
In the script, Louis is supposed to deflect by trying to capture with his camera the image of Lestat that stand just beyond his reach, and emerges from behind his viewfinder to find Armand standing alone, looking curious, yet fond back at him. Louis is to invade his personal space and they exchange some silent flirtation before Armand chickens out.
Jacob can imagine the distance between them wouldn’t be much smaller than it is between Assad and him right now. He can sympathize with the magnetic draw Louis must have felt for Armand, because he thinks he feels it now watching Assad take a shallow, but wavering inhale. The veneer of acting cracking a little to expose a sudden unease.
“The exercise. It’s uh- more than just this.” Assad starts. Jacob doesn’t want to misread, but he thinks he catches Assad gaze flicker down to his mouth as he wets his own with a dart of his tongue.
“Oh?” Jacob hears himself say.
There is a weight that settles on his knee, Jacob glances down to see Assad hand worrying his thumb into the soft fabric of his joggers.
Again, Assad sucks in an audible breath like he's trying and failing to calm himself, “The real exercise is to…kiss. Between your lines”
“Oh.” Jacob says again, and feels as dumb as he thinks he sounds.
“We don’t have to. I don’t know why I even thought it’d be a good idea. I just didn’t know-” So that would explain the nerves. And now Assad is really fidgeting with his thigh, kneading into the muscles in a way that makes it really hard to concentrate on Assad stumbling over his words.
It’s not really a thought, more of an impulse that makes Jacob press his mouth to Assad’s. Maybe to get him to shut up, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth. Jacob feels unsettled, and Assad surely is as well, and in the moment it seems the only thing there is to cling to is each other.
Assad makes a weak mmph sound against him and then kisses back in earnest. He’s soft and warm, Jacob swipes his tongue over his lips and Assad tastes sugary sweet. Makes a sweet little noise, too. Parts those lips to pull Jacob into a deeper kiss. It makes him blush. His head is foggy with a swirl of emotions that all coalesce to a heat that drips down his spine.
Assad is the one to break away, sighing into the minuscule space between them, “If we were the only vampires in Paris."
The fucking scene. Jacob had almost forgotten what they we’re even doing.
He only has to tilt forward to meet Assad's lips. What’s harder is to pull away and say his line, “For a second it felt like we were.”
Assad lingers with the next contact as well, “The coven is envious of your independence. You on the outside looking in. It’s a problem”
Jacob barely moves away to speak, every word brushing against Assad’s lips, “Your problem, not mine. If you want me, I’m here” Assad makes a small noise, pretty and breathy, and the lines vanish from Jacob’s mind. Replaced with the bubbling need to draw more of those sounds from him, “ Uh- the whole place feels like its born again”
Assad grazes his nose against his cheek in a motion that Jacob thinks is supposed to be encouraging but just makes the static in his mind buzz louder, ”I’m out here finding myself. That’s not right, is it?” Jacob breaks.
Assad simply kisses him again, “No.” he hums before continuing, ”Then what room is there left for me, if you have not found yourself”
“Oh, there’s room.”
The scene is over. On the page it cuts back to Dubai which will be filmed on a different day on a chilly soundstage. There is no reason for them to still be recycling another’s air and yet no one moves. Jacob can hear is heart in his ears. He wonders if Assad can hear it too.
“What, uh- How did this end in the article?”
Assad sways forward, his lips brushing against Jacob and he almost doesn’t bother waiting for an answer. When Assad speaks, he sounds far away “They get confused. The thread of performance gets lost. I think, pretty badly.”
Jacob finds himself nodding with a small motion. If he were wiser, less tired, not so thoroughly disarmed by the tremble in Assad’s voice, he would get up and leave before he did something he couldn't take back.
“ I think, I thought we could be better, but Jacob, I-"
He isn't that wise, though. or that strong, because for the second time tonight, he is cutting Assad off with his mouth. And Assad is kissing him back fervently.
There is an energy building up in his chest. It makes his hands shake, makes him feel hot and cold at the same time. He needs to touch him. To pull or to push, Jacob doesn’t know anymore, and finds himself aimlessly tugging at Assad’s clothes.
Assad makes the choice for him, cupping his hands around Jacob’s waist and hauling him onto his lap. It’s a poorly thought out movement that ends with Jacob mostly on top of him, partially between his legs. Both of them sprawled a bit awkwardly, a moment clarity in the heat of the moment.
“Jacob,” And he can tell that whatever is about to said will be a plea towards a smarter decision. And Jacob will know it will be the right thing to do. The right thing just doesn’t happen to be what he wants for himself right now.
“Armand.” He decides, Louis’ voice leaves his easily, with all the heat welling up in Jacob’s body. “It stops being acting, right?” Jacob asks. He drums his fingers right over where he feels Assad’s heart pounding in his chest. Assad wets his lips and nods. “Then don’t stop.”
Jacob watches the words settle over him. Watches Assad fix him with that intense focus he affects as Armand as he is sitting up, rucking his hand under Jacob’s shirt and kissing him deeply. He kisses now like he’s been real and truly starved. With all the desperation and urgency you could expect from a man who hasn't been loved in over a century. Jacob tries to meet him halfway, a little kiss drunk but at least manages to rearrange their positions that when they surface for air he can grind his erection down into Assad’s.
“Fuck.” they hiss in unison. Assad guiding Jacob’s hips to easier meet them with his own and moans wonderfully, high and ruinous.
The scripts Jacob has are mostly finalized. He knows how Louis will eventually take control in his relationship with Armand, notably in their bedroom. He has a newfound respect for that desire. Assad is beautiful like this with his bruised mouth parted around halting Ha-ah’s. There is something deeply appealing to be found in the concept keeping this man in his bed just to hear him sing his pleasures.
Decisively, Jacob catches his fingers in Assad’s waistband and yanks them down over his ass, joggers and underwear in tow to release the hard length of him, accompanied by a surprised gasp from Assad. Jacob pulls his own dick free and spits into his palm. Wraps it around both him and Assad, and strokes them in time. Slicking the way with that saliva and the fat beads of pre-cum collecting at their tips.
Assad is not only noisy but restless. Writhing like he’s being electrocuted where he has flopped back against the bed. His hips seem to move with no conscious input, out of sync and unwieldy.
Jacob grunts and with his free hand digs hand into Assad’s waist, “Do you always flop around like fish when someone is trying to get you off?”
Assad makes a sound that is more of a whine than a laugh, “Not really.” yet bucks again.
“Stop moving then, yeah? I’m gonna be good to you.”
He shudders a bit, but Assad finds enough resolve somewhere to school his hips and let Jacob work.
“Yes, Ja- Louis, so good. Your hand, your- fucking ring!” Assad cries, still honed into that softened french accent while his eyes are rolling within his skull.
The ring, yes. Jacob’s wedding ring that he is still wearing on his hand. The hand that he is using to stroke off himself and co-star in a dark hotel room when they should be fixing old problems instead of conjuring up entirely new ones. The wedding ring, a tangible symbol of Jacob’s supposed loyalty to his wife. It isn’t his wife sprawled like an angel against the stark white of this hotel bed, though Assad keens high enough that someone might think it is. And it isn’t his wife who’s cock is warm and throbbing at the metallic chill of Jacob’s wedding band, dragging up and down its shaft.
The room feels like its spinning. He doesn’t want to think about that right now, and he’s too close to stop. If the bow of Assad’s back is anything to go off of, then they both are.
Jacob lays his free hand over Assad’s throat like a necklace. Not to choke, just enough pressure to feel the way his breath stumbles, the frantic pace of his heart from where his pulse thrums underneath the skin.
He gets to mark the moment the cord in Assad snaps. The strong muscles in his abdomen and chest jump with the tension. Jumbled curses tumbling from him between the loud laboring of his breathing. Assad’s hand flies up to clutch tightly at Jacob’s arm that holds him down.
The sight is enough to send Jacob over the edge as well. Moaning with his release that splatters over Assad’s stomach and his own hand.
Jacob drops back onto his ass, fatigue settling back into his bones. The two of them pant into the quiet room as they come down, their legs still intertwined. Their sweat rapidly cooling on their skin.
Assad is sitting up and taking off his soiled t-shirt to mop up the bit of mess that had landed on his bare skin. Jacob watches him reach for his cum sticky hand, and begins to tell Assad it's fine, he'll just go wash up. But Assad pins him with a heated look and guides his hand towards his face, opens his mouth and accepts Jacob’s fingers inside.
His small lips stretch around him, his tongue is hot and exploratory with how it slides along the knuckles and spaces between his index and ring finger. Lavishing at the band of gold that clacks against his teeth far longer than any clean up requires. It should make Jacob feel some kind of way, Assad's unwavering resolve in the face of the cold, hard reminder of Jacob's reality and the betrayal he is complicit in, but all it does it make his spent dick twitch for a round two.
Assad lets his hand go with an obscene pop, mouth shiny in the low light, “Do you think Rolin is gonna like the scene better now?”
He’s gone this far, and Assad is looking at him like he isn’t done either. Jacob doesn’t think the thing he’s uncovered here belongs to Louis, but he can lie to himself and say that it does for the time being, “Let’s give it one more try.” He responds, “Just to be sure.”