Chapter Text
Lestat takes a sip from the fifth cup of his black coffee as he reads the documents of a new acquisition he is overseeing. Tom Anderson is explaining the legal loopholes they could exploit. That’s when the call comes. Lestat looks at it, his thumb hovers over the screen, weighing his options of swiping left or right.
“We will continue after a while, Tom,” Lestat says. Tom leaves the room with a nod. Lestat picks up the call.
Armand doesn’t bother with greetings. “You are avoiding me again,” he says.
“I am working,” as he puts the phone on speaker and his hands go back to his iPad. “Some of us enjoy productivity."
“It's called hiding, not productivity,” Armand says. “Dinner tonight.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Armand asks.
Lestat sighs, “I have meetings.”
“So cancel them,” Armand says calmly. “You always do. Come to dinner. Daniel wants to meet you.”
That makes Lestat pause. “Your boyfriend,” he says
“My partner,” Armand corrects. “Yes”
“I don’t see why… "
“Because I am serious about him," Armand cuts in. “And because you never bring one of your own.”
Lestat smiles faintly. "That's hardly my fault.”
“No. It’s your parents’ fault.”
There is silence between them.
"Isn't he too young for you?" Lestat wants to tease.
“Dinner,” Armand repeats. “Or I will start calling your office with bomb threats.”
Lestat exhales. “You are intolerable.”
“Eight,” and Armand hangs up.
***
Daniel is a young journalist. He is bright, hopeful, and ambitious in a way only the youth can sustain. He is warm in a way Lestat immediately understands but does not possess anymore. He laughs easily, touches Armand’s arm when he speaks, and leans in without overanalysing. Armand, for all his restraint, softens visibly around him. Lestat feels a slight tightness in his chest.
“So,” Daniel says, smiling at Lestat, “Armand tells me you’re allergic to commitment.”
Lestat raises his glass. “I’m selective.”
“You’ve had many lovers,” Armand says lightly. “None of them stay.”
“They don’t need to,” Lestat replies. “Everyone leaves eventually... when their needs and requirements change.”
Daniel glances at Armand, then back. “That sounds lonely.”
Lestat shrugs. “It’s practical. Efficient.”
Armand studies him. “You should try therapy.”
Lestat scoffs and laughs loudly.
“I used to react the same. After our Third breakup..." He looks at Daniel. "I had to choose, be stubborn or work on myself for my beloved." Daniel kisses him on the shoulder.
He looks at Lestat again. "Apparently, love can be a selfless action, you know. My therapist told me.” Armand says.
Lestat’s smile sharpens. “I grew up learning that intimacy was conditional.”
Daniel blurts out. “That explains Antoinette.”
The name lands softly. “She was… complicated,” Lestat says.
“But you never truly really leave,” Armand says quietly.
Lestat looks away, irritation flickering. “You invited me to eat, not psychoanalyse.”
“And yet,” Armand says gently, “here we are.” As Armand pours more wine for Lestat.
Throughout dinner, Lestat watches them. The way Daniel steals food from Armand’s plate. The way Armand lets him. The easy intimacy. It leaves a hollow inside him that he doesn’t name.
By the time dessert arrives, Lestat stands. “I should go.”
Daniel smiles kindly. “It was good to meet you.”
“Yes,” Lestat says. “It was.”
He leaves before they can say anything else. Getting lost was what Lestat wanted to do.
***
Outside, the city was unfamiliar to him. His phone died, Lestat never bothers to charge it in time.
I should have hired a driver. Lestat takes a wrong turn. Then another.
The streets are narrow. Neon signs everywhere. The air smells like rain and smoke. He stops near a corner, irritated with himself.
That’s when he sees him, standing under a streetlamp, the bad lighting does nothing to his beauty. His skin glows as it catches the light. The clothes are unapologetically slutty, the shorts are indecently short on a heavy ass, as he shifts his fabric moves too, emphasising the curves, his curated long legs accentuated by the sheer stockings. The crop top cut too low, clinging in places where eyes can linger, but covered by a jacket too thin for the night. His posture is guarded but steady as the cigarette hangs between his fingers like a prop to elevate the whole neon-lit dream. He looks up, eyes sharp, assessing Lestat. Then he sways towards Lestat’s car.
“You lost?”
***
Louis works as a bartender six days a week at the Azalea and as a hooker three nights a week in front of the same bar. He is always very careful with who he chooses, most of the bar regulars are also his regulars. The night was still too early to have any clients. He was smoking when he saw the man. He was looking confused, wanting to ask something at the corner, looking up from his car window as if the buildings might answer him back.
Louis immediately clocked his money. How could he not? It was effortlessly evident. Too well dressed, not flashy, just perfectly cut, an expensive watch, blond hair styled neatly yet without much effort. He was older than Louis… much older, but the tightly fitted suit suggested sculpted muscles beneath. His Black Mercedes shines and glows even in poor light, and also looks absurdly out of place.
The man laughed softly to himself. That laugh, more than the clothes, marked him as dangerous. And he was looking at Louis.
Louis pushed off the post and walked to him. “You Lost?” Louis asked.
The man’s ocean blue eyes were assessing Louis. Curious.
The man smiles. “Apparently.”
Louis considers him. “This isn’t a great place to wander.”
“Good thing I don’t scare easily.”
Louis smiled, slow and professional. “What do you need?”
The man glanced past him, then back again. “Can you point me back to the main road?” Lestat asks.
“I offer a lot of things,” Louis said lightly. “Nothing is free.”
Something in the man’s expression shifted. Interest. He looked at Louis like he’d found an unexpected book on a shelf he thought he knew by heart.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“What do you want it to be?” Louis asks, bending over, hands on the open window of the car.
Lestat keeps staring at him. Louis hesitates. A heartbeat. Then, “Louis.” Louis immediately regrets. It was a wrong move. Louis never tells his real name.
“Lestat,” the man said. “And how much for directions, Louis?”
“Twenty”
Lestat takes out his wallet and offers fifty dollars to Louis.
Louis looks at the money, then Lestat. He thinks - this man doesn’t seem like a killer. He proceeds to open the door, “Come on, move.”
Lestat looks confused but not at all scared. “For fifty, I become your chauffeur, sugar.”
Lestat chuckles, shaking his head as he gets out of the car to get in the passenger seat.
“Address, please,” Louis asks as he starts the car and puts his foot on the gas.
***
The car was a luxury lounge with soft leather, and the smell was expensive too. Louis was having the time of his life driving it. He has been with rich clients, maybe not this rich, but he never gets to drive anybody’s car. So he was driving like the last time he ever will. Whenever he glanced at Lestat, he seemed to be looking at Louis, just lounging there with no worry at all. Calm.
“Don’t worry, I am a good driver. I have worked as a driver in the past.” Louis said when they stopped at the traffic.
“I am not worried. I am relieved.” Lestat said, smiling, “You’ve just saved me from a very boring evening, I suspect.”
Louis snorted. “You didn’t look bored.”
“No?” Lestat said. “What did I look like?”
Louis met his eyes “Lonely.”
Lestat looked away. That was honest enough to sting. Maybe Louis needs to think before speaking. Lestat could become a regular potential client, he shouldn’t be offending him like this. He generally thinks a lot before doing anything, but tonight he's getting reckless.
“I hope you don’t mind the speed,” Louis said, changing the subject.
"No. It's supposed to be driven fast, Louis." His name has never sounded this elegant before, Louis thinks.
“It’s the world’s most powerful series…” Louis and Lestat both said at the same time and then looked at each other. A beat, then again both opened their mouths, “Four cylinder engine…”
Louis and Lestat both started laughing. Whenever Louis’s laugh was about to slow down, he would look at Lestat laughing so loud and bizarre that he would again get the tickles and start laughing again. After a while, he realised it was just him laughing, and Lestat was just watching him with a smug smile on his face. Louis started feeling hot all of a sudden and blushing.
Louis pulled up in front of the hotel, as the valet came running towards them and took the key with a bow.
Louis looked at the palm trees lined up, the fountain, and the tall door of the grand building, then glanced at Lestat.
“Well,” Louis said, hands in his jacket pocket. “This is you.”
Lestat turns to Louis and blinks as if just now realising the implication. “Ah! Yes… Thank you for driving me.”
"Thankyou for letting me drive your car." Louis gave an awkward laugh.
Then an awkward silence. Louis waits. Seconds stretch, and Lestat says nothing. Louis nods once. “Right… have a good night.” He turns before Lestat can reply.
By the time Lestat opens his mouth, Louis is already gone.
Louis steps into the night. He tells himself not to feel it. It’s normal. Men like him hesitate, not wanting to be seen making that choice. He raises his hand for a cab.
“Louis!” He hears someone calling. He turns and is surprised.
“Stay,” Lestat says, hair strands falling out of the hair tie, breath uneven, like he ran the whole way.
“For how long?” Louis asks.
“One night. Just one.”
Louis smiles, “One night and you pay upfront.”
Lestat smiles like he is relieved and reaches for his wallet.
As they are about to enter the hotel, Lestat covers Louis with his own overcoat. As Louis looks at him with a questioning look, Lestat looks around and says, “This establishment might object to...” He tries to find words as he looks at Louis's clothing.
“Yes, of course.” Louis agrees and covers himself with the overcoat, which is slightly oversized for him.
Louis feels it immediately, the way eyes pause and slide over him. He has worn worse in rougher places, but this is different. Just getting judged softly.
Lestat moves with confidence, someone who belongs. He crosses to the desk, Louis trailing half a step behind him, wanting to disappear behind Lestat's broad back.
“Good evening, Monsieur Lioncourt.” The receptionist gives a bright smile. Professional and respectful.
“I am expecting mail,” Lestat says pleasantly.
“Of Course, Monsieur.” She hands him a few envelopes. Lestat takes them and then holds Louis's waist to turn Louis around and tucks the envelopes in his overcoat that Louis is wearing. Louis giggles.
Lestat places a hand on Louis’s back “This way.” Pointing to his left.
The elevator door opens, and Louis steps forward into it. There are two other guests in the elevator. The woman glances at Louis openly, eyes flicking over him with thinly veiled disdain. Louis is suddenly reminded of his mother.
And the man looks him up and down, lips curving in something that is not a smile.
Louis straightens his shoulders, his jaw tightens, and then he feels Lestat shift. Lestat steps closer to Louis.
He speaks calmly, and just loud enough, “Paris has made me impatient with provincial judgment. One forgets how small some people’s worlds remain.
The woman visibly flushes, and the man looks away. Louis stares straight ahead with a smile he tries to hide but fails.
***
Louis entered a wide foyer with rich hardwood floors, and he instinctively took his boots off. It felt wrong not to feel those floors. Lestat took the overcoat off of Louis.
“You don’t need to take the shoes off," Lestat said
“I want to.”
The plush sofa, a low stone coffee table, floor-to-ceiling windows, a dining nook, at least three other rooms that Louis could see and a big piano in the middle.
Louis touches the shiny piano. And looked back over his shoulder, “Do you play?”
Lestat was leaning on the minibar, watching. "Yes."
He walks towards Louis. He pours champagne into a flute glass and offers it to Louis.
Louis takes it and drinks it in one go. It felt like silk gliding across his tongue, white peach and pear flavours lingering.
Lestat laughs under his breath as he pours more.
“So… any special request?” As he again finished it in one go.
Lestat shook his head. His eyes wandered across Louis’s body, his hands touched nothing, then finally met Louis’s gaze and a recognition as if he’d forgotten Louis was there at all.
“You’re nervous,” Louis said, gentle, professional.
Lestat laughed softly. “No. I was thinking about a file I need to finish reading and sign a few documents.”
Louis scoffed, “I am insulted. You are thinking about files, I must be doing something wrong.”
Louis stepped closer anyway. Close enough that the air shifted. Close enough to remind him why they were there.
“Do you want to sit?” Louis asked. “Or…”
Lestat shook his head. “I want to look at you.”
Louis was used to that. He let it happen. Let himself be seen. But Lestat’s gaze wasn’t greedy. It was… attentive. As if Louis were something fragile that might fall apart if handled wrong.
“You don’t have to do that,” Louis said before he could stop himself.
“Do what?”
“Stand like you’re waiting to be told what to do.”
Lestat stills. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“It’s what you’re used to… I think. people telling you what to do,” Louis said quietly.
Lestat stepped forward, close enough now that Louis could smell him - citrus and lavender.
Louis cups Lestat’s face with both hands, his fingers slide up into the hair at the temple, gathering it and tugging softly behind the ears. He smooths the hair, and his eyes wander all over Lestat’s face, then suddenly messes his hair again. Lestat gave a small chuckle. Louis’s palm lingers at the jaw, thumb brushing the scar at the corner of the mouth. Lestat leans into it, eyes closing briefly.
When he opens his eyes, he reaches out, stops just short of touching Louis’s face. “May I?” he asks.
The question startled Louis more than a grab would have. Louis nodded.
Lestat’s fingers were warm, careful, tracing nothing more than the line of Louis’s jaw. It should have been arousing. Instead, it felt… hypnotic. Like this, intimacy was erasing all of Louis's worries. Louis wanted to lie on the bed with Lestat’s arms around him and fall into a soothing slumber.
That thought suddenly made him uneasy.
“This is usually easier,” Louis said, attempting lightness.
“For whom?” Lestat asked. His mouth hovered over Louis’s mouth. His breath smells minty.
Louis shrugged. “Everyone.”
Lestat’s hand dropped. He looked almost embarrassed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Louis laughed softly, incredulous. “You won’t.”
That earned him a sharp look. “You don’t know that.”
Silence stretched. Heavy.
Louis exhaled, shoulders dropping. “If we’re not doing this,” he said, “just tell me.”
Lestat hesitated as if he was trying his best to stop it from coming out of his mouth. Then, quietly, “I just don’t feel like being alone tonight.”
Louis studied him. The loneliness was clearer up close. The chronic kind. The kind that settled in bones. He recognises it, it's familiar.
“Come here,” Louis said.
Lestat followed without bravado. Louis took his hand and guided him to the edge of the bed, and sat beside him. Their knees touched. That alone sent a strange, grounding warmth through Louis’s chest.
“You don’t have to be alone tonight,” Louis said. He crawled back to the pillows and opened his arms, inviting Lestat.
Lestat burrowed himself in Louis's arms. They lay close, arms around each other. Lestat’s breathing slowed. His shoulders softened, as if he had set something heavy down without realising he’d been carrying it.
“No one ever asks me what I need,” Lestat said suddenly. “They tell me.”
Louis turned toward him. “What do you need?”
Lestat laughed once. Then quieter, “I don’t know.”
Louis didn’t rush to fill the silence.
Eventually, Lestat pushed his head closer to rest against Louis’s shoulder. They didn’t kiss. They didn’t undress. Louis’s hand rested at Lestat’s back, steady, grounding. Lestat closed his eyes like someone learning how to sleep again.
“This wasn’t what I paid for,” Lestat murmured.
Louis smiled into the dark. “No.”
“And yet,” Lestat said, voice soft, “it’s the first thing that’s felt real in a very long time.”
Louis said nothing. He felt something similar but didn’t want to recognise that yet.
***
Louis woke first, as he usually did. Habit. Most of the time, he left immediately after or only rested for a few hours before he had to leave or was asked to leave, as the clients had to go back to their families. But he never woke up feeling fresh. That’s a first.
Lestat lay on his back beside him, asleep in a way that surprised Louis; unguarded, one hand curled near his chest, mouth slightly open. Without the sharpness, the emotional wall, Lestat looked younger. Softer. Almost breakable.
Louis watched him longer than he should have.
Nothing had happened the night before. And yet everything had. Louis laughed at himself inertly, as he never felt ‘this’ after having sex with clients, which he feels by not having sex with Lestat. Was it guilt, anxiety, disappointment… he couldn’t name it.
Louis sat up quietly, careful not to disturb him. The bed dipped anyway. Lestat stirred, brow furrowing, then blinked awake like someone surfacing from deep water.
“Oh,” he said, voice rough. “You’re still here,” said with relief.
Louis smiled faintly. “Wasn’t sure if you’d think that was a good thing.”
Lestat pushed himself upright, sheets slipping, then froze as if suddenly aware of the intimacy of the moment. “I didn’t expect…” He stopped searching.
“I don’t usually wake up with people still beside me.”
“Neither do I,” Louis said.
They sat in silence.
Louis swung his legs over the side of the bed, grounding himself in movement.
“I should go,” he said, gently, before he does something stupid.
Lestat nodded too quickly. “Of course.”
Louis was clothed mostly and picked up the rest with practised efficiency. Jacket, phone, shoes and money. Every motion was a quiet reminder of the role he was stepping back into. When he turned, the money lay neatly on the table, exactly where it was supposed to be.
He crossed the room and picked it up.
Lestat watched him, something tight behind his eyes. “Last night…” he began, then stopped. “I hope I didn’t… disappoint you.”
Louis paused. That question didn’t belong to someone like Lestat. That was what unsettled him most.
“No,” Louis said softly. “You didn’t.”
He moved toward the door, hand already on the handle. Something felt wrong… unfinished.
Louis exhaled, turned back. Before Lestat could speak, Louis leaned down and kissed him.
It was brief. A brush of lips that carried gratitude, maybe. Or an apology.
Lestat froze, then breathed out, stunned, like he’d been handed something fragile and wasn’t sure where to put it.
Louis pulled away first.
“Take care of yourself,” he said, almost kindly. Then he left.