Chapter Text
The energy around Lestat is electric. Everyone in his orbit buzzes high with coffee fumes tangled with cigarette smoke and cheap alcohol. It is Friday the 13th, the eve of Valentine’s Day, so The Vampire Lestat is slated to play a three-show weekend in San Diego, instead of the usual two. That means more bodies to haunt, more screaming to be made, and their front man has three shows to survive.
His fingers thrum restlessly against his thigh as stylists dance around him, perfecting his makeup, coaxing his curls into golden silk, and lacing his boots tight enough to feel it in his bones. Beyond the excited crowd, his pulse roars at his plan to put up one hell of a show for a single pair of eyes somewhere in the dark.
Louis is supposed to be at the concert tonight.
He hasn’t checked whether his flight has landed, but he’s reserved the back row of the mezzanine, hopefully a quieter space where Louis can recline and enjoy himself. Louis is coming home today on a direct flight from London; a business trip that stretched longer than Lestat would have liked.
It had been a miserable week of broken conversations and skirting around the topic of how much time they’d spend together, and what and why and where. Lestat was at his wits’ end and needed to finally have Louis by his side. To pin him down for a proper conversation.
If he succeeded, he could spend every early morning of the lover’s weekend re-learning and reclaiming the mind of his immortal companion. To convince him of a reason to stay longer and not use business matters to escape their fragile romance or old, open wounds. He wanted to temper the new Louis du Lac; pry open this measured, careful version and file away the jagged edges that cut into Lestat with his words.
He would give Louis something worth staying for.
The moment he walks on stage, he lets the roar of the crowd roll through him like a tide and he drowns in it, making a fucking good show out of his love songs that blur the line towards porn, or something equally vulgar. He can’t see every face in the crowd, but he trusts, and knows, that Louis is seated at the very last row, admiring his work. So he performs for him, hips gyrating, head thrown back in pleasure. Every note and double entendre drips from his lips like sin. He wants to leave nothing up to interpretation. And if Louis will not crawl on stage and lay his claim publicly, Lestat will goad him to do it in private.
Time sings by until the final chord crashes through the venue and the sound of the electric guitar fizzles out into a roaring audience. Breathless and aroused, Lestat eagerly jogs offstage. His eyes dart around for a knowing smirk and head of curly hair, waving off compliments from the crew and his band.
But there is no one else there waiting for him.
As he pats his sweat off with a towel and fixes his hair, he scans again – still nothing.
It’s all fine, he thinks. Perhaps Louis is waiting to surprise him in his dressing room instead. So as quick as he can, he moves towards his personal room, pulse hammering with adrenaline. He prepares to fall into the hands of the love of his life.
But even as he approaches, he hears silence and smells his own cologne. He doesn’t need to enter to know… There is no one there.
The halls which were buzzing with energy minutes ago now feel hollow.
Sooner than he wishes Lestat is whisked away by crew again and hurried out of his costume. He scrubs off the glitter and stage sweat quickly so that his team can all hurry back to their lovers on Valentine’s Day.
All but Lestat.
Without the stage lights and makeup he is not The Vampire Lestat, only Lestat de Lioncourt standing alone in his dressing room, with his phone in hand, and no messages waiting for him. Amidst the social media updates and email notifications, there is nothing from Louis. Neither a response to his earlier messages nor an apology or a delay update.
He types, clenching his phone a little too hard.
You landed?
And deletes it as quickly as he sends it. He tries another.
Missed you tonight. Will I see you later?
He groans and palms at his face. Perhaps the question was too needy? And unsends it again.
Finally, he settles with:
Text me when you land. I’ll come get you.
It’s direct, and firm. A command, almost.
He watches Louis’ online status for ages before giving up. The agitation stirring in his gut begs for a cigarette.
Outside, the night air nips at his face. But at least the cigarette glows warm in his fingers and nicotine coats his mouth like a balm.
A voice behind him waves his longing away. One of the crew members offers a familiar jewelry box. “Sir, I think you left something in your en suite.”
Lestat’s jaw tightens because he knows what is inside: a ten motif carnelian Alhambra necklace, golden clovers that look dipped in blood, with an elegant engraving on the back of one: LDL.
Lestat snarls as he huffs a thank you to the boy and clutches the box with a vice grip.
Lestat de Lioncourt. Or Louis du Lac. Their shared initials a predetermined knot of fate.
Louis had given it to him the night The Vampire Lestat’s tour opened. He remembers the press of his lips right above where Louis had fastened the necklace’s clasp, deft fingers skimming along the chain and coming up to tighten around his neck. “Now you can show off who you belong to,” He murmured right into his ear, making his knees buckle and cock throb minutes before he was to go on stage.
At the recollection, Lestat flicks crumbling ash bitterly onto the pavement. If I truly belonged to you, you’d be fucking here.
Lestat lingers outside for just a few more minutes before deciding to head home.
This weekend, home is a serviced apartment too large for one person but just enough for him and Louis. He chose it for Louis, knowing the bedroom could fit a bed and a coffin, and Louis’ preference for wooden interiors and soft lighting.
Against his better judgement, he walks the long way home, weaving through the East Village with his ears tuned for the familiar voice and laughter of his chosen companion. Perhaps Louis missed the concert and was grabbing a drink before coming home?
He passes couples falling into each other with drunken desire and fingers slipping into back pockets, pulling each other closer. Their smiles reach their eyes – theirs is the happiness of being chosen.
Lestat drags his tongue over his teeth. He could have any of them. But being wanted is not the same as being chosen. And he hasn’t been chosen that way yet. Not by this new Louis.
His phone buzzes in his jacket and his heart kicks so violently he stops mid-step. What, Louis, finally?
When he unlocks his phone, he aims a groan towards the sky. He skims a notification: Flight delayed due to snow and ice. There is no indication of when the flight is rescheduled, so Lestat is left again, alone with no answers.
He sharply inhales the taste of a fresh cigarette and trudges home with hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the pavement ahead of him.
As he toes off his boots in the comfort of the apartment, he types a new message.
Hurry up and get here, I miss you.
He sends it before he can reconsider. At this point, if Louis decides to pull away from him again, at least he will have something to hate him for.
Louis is drawing up boundaries for himself. Since Armand, he’s been careful with where and whom he spends his time. Especially how much he opens up to Lestat and allows himself to be pulled into whatever is between them. So they only meet when it’s convenient for him.
Lestat can have anyone. He can make anyone want him. But none of them taste like Louis. None of them look at him like he is ruin and salvation at once.
Only Louis can make him feel like a god. Without him he is only a human wearing a deity’s skin.
He’s hungry. And he aches to fuck. He remembers there is a techno rave in a further part of town and decides it would suffice for now. Without a second thought, he puts on a mesh top and goes, travelling at vampiric speed so there is enough time to party before the sun comes up.
The music is an antithesis to classical music. Fast, hard, and raw. The warehouse is filled to the brim with pulsing sweat-slick bodies moving mindlessly on nearly every surface they land.
He lets the crowd close around him as he slips into a trance. An erection presses against his back, the stranger's breath hot through his shirt and fingers skipping over his nipples. Lestat moves with him, fast and indifferent, letting other eyes and hands wander over him. He makes out with other strangers. Dances. Lets the night take what it wants. If Louis will not come to him, someone else will.
When he starts to feel the world tilt on its axis, a beautiful woman guides his hands to her hips, eyes undressing him hungrily. He nuzzles her hair and smells sweat and pineapple conditioner, a sultry human intoxication. When he presses a kiss to her pulse point, her mortality captivates him. She lives like tomorrow may not come. Her hands card into his hair as their lips slot together, so perfectly that he decides right then to bring her home.
They are both impatient but make it to the bedroom in one piece, without Lestat drawing blood. She is a magnificent performer, a mirror to him. Their bodies move together long into the night, each sensation heightened and reverberating like music through him. When she comes down from her climax, he sinks his fangs into the flushed skin around her throat and drowns his senses in fizzy spiked copper through the pulse beneath his tongue. He savours just enough of her for breakfast, before closing her up and putting her into a cab home.
By dawn, he’s lulled himself into a deep sleep. His ribs rattle as he dreams.
The next evening, there is still no sign of Louis but his texts have gone from delivered to read. The single word sears right through him.
He checks the flight again. Today’s has been delayed even further. Couldn’t Louis have bothered to text him about it?
Lestat sets his phone face-down before he humiliates himself with a sincere expression of concern.
Well then, have it his way. If Louis will not answer him privately, he will send him a spectacle.
On Valentine’s night, Lestat slinks onstage with an intense aura that inspires fear and awe. He draws a long enough silence before signalling the introductory bassline of his opening number, that cameras rise above heads and begin recording even before his mouth opens.
Tonight he proves himself a performer born for the stage. When he moans at the end of Long Face, he does it with his back on the floor, hips thrusting up to punctuate each wanton scream. The crowd howls for him. And he turns on his belly with his feet kicked up, batting his eyelashes and baring his fangs into the nearest camera. As he tries to catch his breath, he locks eyes with a tanned-skin man pressed up to the barricade whose eternity collar has caught his attention. His tongue swipes along his fangs, gums throbbing with the desire to slip his fingers under the collar and pull when a lacy pair of underwear lands on stage left. His attention darts away as he chuckles into the microphone. Saint Louis will regret not being here for this.
By the end of the show, the entire concert hall reeks with alcohol and sweat. Lestat drinks the crowd’s lustful adoration greedily until it fills every hollow space inside him. Perhaps he will fuck a fan (or a few) tonight, to celebrate.
He retreats to his dressing room and stares at himself in the mirror. The glitter smeared across his chest, hair glistening with sweat, and blue-grey eyes blown wide make him look like an animal fresh from a kill.
If Louis does not come tonight, I will declare him my muse on stage tomorrow. Lestat smirks at the thought. A public callout. He would never have entertained the idea before. A cruel act to summon Louis back into his sphere.
He thumbs idly through social media for footage of his public show. Louis is a small animal at the back of his head, clawing at the bars of his enclosure that he chooses to ignore.
Until a new notification appears.
One message.
otw from the airport. see you in half an hour?
It makes Lestat’s whole body freeze. Anger flashes hot under his skin.
What time did Louis arrive? How long does he intend to stay?
Lestat grits his teeth, seething, not ready to concede first.
But, a reasonable man, he swallows his pride and clutches the more important truth: Louis is coming. It forces him to finish up his post-show routine with extra speed and make for home.
In the car, doubt wafts through him and he considers pretending not to be home. If Louis even smells another body in his bed, he could vanish again. Lestat cannot risk that.
And what remains of his sanity urges him to cling to his dignity. So once he arrives, he checks that the sheets have been changed, the bathroom is neat, and he settles into a soft pair of loungewear and waits.
He waits with bated breath.
He listens for the run of an engine pulling up to his building. For the charming voice of a man thanking his driver and asking the concierge for keycard access to their — Lestat’s — apartment. He wills his heart and breath to steady, and rehearses something clever to say. Something easy.
When the doorbell finally rings, he curses his hands to stop shaking, and tames his expression into something controlled before opening the door. It feels like stepping on stage again.
He clicks the latch open and prepares himself for the sight of his lover.
“Hey,” Louis breathes with a grin as soon as his full frame comes into vision.
Lestat has to hold himself back from licking into his mouth as warmth spreads across his chest - Perhaps it was relief? Joy? Forgiveness? With a deep sigh, he crushes the urge and decides to rake his eyes across Louis’ body instead. Making purposeful daggers at him, he takes in the sight of a twinkling silver chain adorning his lover’s slender neck, black sweater and slouchy jeans making him look effortlessly handsome. Devilishly handsome, with that grin.
In tow is a small duffel bag and a tan leather jacket - and Lestat’s eyes narrow at a new addition to his lover’s wrist - a thin Cartier Love bracelet adorned with diamonds. He wonders when Louis has had the time to go shopping. Louis’ casual nonchalance at the whole situation vexes Lestat.
“Hm. You’re finally here,” he musters, crossing his arms as he leans on his own doorframe to mirror the other’s indifference. Apologise, he begs Louis with his eyes, jaw tensing with irritation and a slight wobble in his voice threatening to betray him. He is utterly convinced to stand his ground, keep all his desire to embrace Louis to himself, even while the object of his utmost desire is within his reach.
And almost as if Louis can see right through his facade, he reaches out for his upper arm and gives it a small squeeze. Lestat feels as if his heart is gently being cradled and while he fights to maintain his anger, the thrum in his chest tenderly beats his body into submission.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your show last night. Flight was delayed because of the weather,” Louis starts and Lestat rolls his eyes. He heaves another deep sigh. It’s a good fucking excuse.
Louis’ hand is still on his arm and he’s distracted by the warmth of it. Louis feels like a log fire. “So I had to stay one more night in London and they shifted all my meetings because my schedule was fucked up. But I came straight from the airport, just to make it up to you,” Louis tilts his chin up as he says this, knowing the sweetness of his words melt Lestat like candlewax.
Lestat’s eyebrows furrow and his eyes soften. “And you couldn’t tell me this over text?”
“I told you, I was busy,” Louis bites back with a frown and his hand comes down to adjust the straps of his duffel and jacket in his grip. “But I’m here now. Are you not going to let me in?”
And Lestat contemplates saying no. He contemplates slinking back into his apartment and leaving Louis out in the corridor, alone. Perhaps Louis could search the streets for lodging and company by himself. Perhaps he could force Louis to stay outside for just a few more minutes while he compartmentalised his thoughts. Perhaps he could punish Louis for the agony of making him wait, by doing the same to him.
But Lestat knows loneliness and doesn’t wish it on himself or anyone else. So he concedes with a mere ‘Fine’ before offering to take Louis’ things.
“There is blood in the fridge if you’re hungry,” Lestat waves towards the kitchen. “Do you want –”
“Oh yes, please,” Louis almost groans as he toes off his shoes and socks. “I haven’t eaten in a while. They don’t give me a break you know? I can barely catch a breath between fucking Zoom calls.”
Lestat half-listens as he sets Louis’ things down precariously close to his own bedroom and then pads over to the kitchen to prepare him a drink. As he decants two vessels of vermouth and blood, he wonders how long Louis is in town for. Louis never stayed long anymore.
The iciness in his chest claws up his throat. He wants to unleash his anger and confront Louis for his absence. It feels ridiculous for a god to feel envy on Valentine’s day, and he wishes all sorts of torture on Louis for making him feel desperate for love from a single, particular soul with emerald eyes and Southern drawl that could convince Lucifer to turn back to God.
In spite, he decides to add a few drops of his own blood to the cocktail he’s stirred together, just to make Louis’ fangs ache for a drug only he can provide.
He returns to find Louis hunched on the edge of his sofa, typing away on his phone. His goddamn phone. Irritation bubbles again within the older vampire and to reclaim Louis’ attention, Lestat yanks the phone out of his hands.
“Hey!” Louis exclaims, hand chasing the device. It must have been an important email, but Lestat couldn’t care less.
“Can’t you stay off that for just five minutes? Seems a few hours ago you were too busy to talk to me and now you can’t even focus on being with me,” he locks the phone and throws it to the other end of the couch, replacing it with the crystal glass. He meets Louis’ narrowed eyes as he noses the cocktail and watches a smirk breach Louis’ lips while inhaling Lestat amidst the herbs and deep metal.
As Louis brings the glass to his lips, Lestat places a heavy hand on his shoulder. “If you were wondering, the performance went well anyway. You would’ve known if you were there but the fans and I both agree that I truly outdid myself. Despite it being the most unlucky day of the year.”
His palm comes to cradle Louis’ exposed neck as it tips back and he swallows with heavy, purposeful gulps. He truly must have been hungry. Lestat’s own heart begins to thump harder in his chest, matching the man before him as he smells new blood course through his veins. The regular bob of Louis’ Adam’s apple lures him into a trance and a satisfied moan slips from his lips as the pads of Lestat’s fingers begin to massage the nape of his neck. Lestat settles beside him, laying a knee on his thigh.
“You don’t believe in that unlucky shit, do you?” Louis cocks an eyebrow at him, thumb and index finger swiping the corner of his lips and then popping into his own mouth so as to not waste a drop. Lestat follows the movement of Louis’ fingers and laughs.
“Another?” He offers. Louis nods and hums affirmatively, and Lestat wants to bait him further. If Louis’ plans have changed and he does not intend to stay long in the city, he does not have time to waste, and Lestat’s bruised ego can come out to play tomorrow.
He turns to hiss and unsheaths his fangs, almost too casually, as one hand comes to grip Louis’ wrist. Louis is not permitted the pleasure of seeing his fangs just yet, knowing how much he likes to lick at them and beg for them whenever Lestat drags them against his flesh. He bites shallowly at his own wrist and lets blood carefully trickle into the glass, holding Louis’ hand steady.
“Well, Louis, many people believe it is unlucky, yes, which is why we decided to run with it to promote the show. But it turned out to be a wonderful day for me, all thanks to myself,” Lestat feigns concentration on not letting the blood spill. He can hear Louis’ breaths grow heavier, huffing the smell of Lestat’s blood thick between them. Beneath his fingers he feels Louis’ pulse thump, and saliva begins pooling in his mouth. As much as Louis wants to drink, so does Lestat. He imagines where else he wants to sink his fangs.
“You feed recently?” The challenge in Louis’ low-toned voice pulls him back into reality.
Now, Lestat isn’t afraid to be honest. “Hmm yes. Two nights ago I met this beautiful woman who danced with me at a techno event. Have you heard of techno before Louis?”
Lestat’s eyes dart upwards to the man whose attention is captured by the stream of blood in front of him. As soon as he hears an affirmative yes, he barrels onwards. While his grip on Louis’ wrist tightens, he starts rubbing soothing circles because the words he’s about to confess are sure to incite anger. “Well, then you’d understand if I told you that the way she moved against me made me feel harder than the music. So I brought her home – here, actually – and we slept together. And then I fed from her. She was so generous.”
A chuckle tumbles from his lips as he remembers her riding him with absolute abandon and the taste of ecstasy in her system. Louis’ eyes don't waver until the glass is almost full. Lestat withdraws both his hands to close the wound and gestures for Louis to drink. The implication hangs like still air between them. The bait has been laid for Louis to do something about it.
Louis noses the blood tentatively. “So you fucked her on Friday then.”
“Must have been more like Saturday morning?” Lestat argues over the details. His left knee is still on Louis’ thigh, and the urge to sling his other leg over to straddle him gnaws at him. Fucking do something about it.
“Then why the fuck did you sound so desperate for me to get here then?” Louis speaks slowly, lacing each word with spite. He downs half the glass in one and tugs off his sweater, exposing his abdomen as his inner shirt rides up. Lestat is grateful Louis’ face was covered, because the way he drinks in the sight of Louis’ belly button and tight curls trailing south is impossible to hide. But when he realises Louis is seeing through his ruse, he sucks in his cheeks and starts formulating a retort.
Louis slings an arm over the back of the couch, mirroring Lestat. His composure is not lost amidst the taunting. “I saw your messages. Even the ones you deleted.”
Lestat stills. Regret creeps up his chest in the form of a pink flush. He opens his mouth to speak, but his mind only sears with humiliation at his display of need. Bare and unbecoming. He didn’t think there was still a chance Louis saw them before they were deleted.
“No, no. Don’t deny it. You asked what time I was landing. You tried to send a car to pick me up. And you even booked this huge apartment… For what? So we could play house? You don’t do that for someone you’re not eager for.”
Lestat’s throat dries. His deprivation is laid out for him clear as day. His eyes are glued to the hollow of Louis’ throat, then the muscles of his shoulder as his arm gestures around in the air. He doesn’t dare look to where Louis’ hand lands next.
“But I didn’t expect you to spend time with someone else…” Louis continues softly. “Not after you spent two hours humping the air while singing about me,” Louis hurls the accusation with mockery and doubles down with a heavy palm on Lestat’s knee that presses upwards towards his crotch. All the air is punched out of Lestat’s lungs. He sits absolutely still. His lover’s touch is like a magnet pulling blood south and his cock starts to swell. This is what he wanted all along, but losing control was not part of his plan.
Louis’ voice then turns dangerously low as his fingers trail underneath Lestat’s cotton shorts. “Sometimes I wonder if all you do is think with your cock because you seem to make fucking stupid decisions all the time,” and his nails slowly scratch at the skin. “Lestat, if you’ve already fed on some easy human blood, why am I wasting my time here?”
His nails drag down once more, almost drawing blood lines.
“You always find someone else,” Louis murmurs. “Even when you swear you only need me.”
Lestat’s eyes burn. The fear of Louis walking out claws through him.
“I’m sorry you–” He attempts to retaliate. But the crack in his voice gives him away.
“Did you fuck her on this sofa?”
Lestat shakes his head with a sniff. “Do you have to know?”
“On the bed?” Louis’ words are like daggers. But his hand is still massaging into Lestat’s thigh, causing his arousal and shame to swirl into a dangerous mix.
Lestat squeezes his eyes shut and nods his head, knowing his admission could be the final straw. Louis hates sharing his property and perhaps even more, his time being wasted by empty propositions. He waits for him to leave.
But then a moment passes. Louis doesn’t move his hand any further. Just stares with flaring nostrils and pursed lips.
And then something in him clicks.
As much as he’s fucked another woman in the only comfortable spot in this apartment, Louis has also just gotten off a 12 hour flight. A delayed flight. He needs to let off some steam too.
So he smiles, and tilts his body forward, gliding his hand up Louis’ arm and looking down at his lips for permission. Their faces are so close, noses almost bumping into each other.
“Yes, on the bed. Do you want me to show you?” Lestat cocks his head and flicks his hair over his shoulder. “Or is your self-respect telling you to run away from me again?”
Louis’ shudders. And before Lestat can get the next word in, Louis dives in and presses their lips together firmly. His body is heavy on Lestat’s as Lestat comes to cradle his neck again. Ironically, groans tumble out of Louis as if he was the one touch-starved all along. With two hands on his waist, Louis devours him. Blunt teeth clash as they fight to get impossibly closer to each other. And then Lestat starts biting his lips, eager for them to swell and become marked. Louis’ hands dip into the curves of Lestat’s abdomen and up his spine. He’s upset with Lestat – the one who calls him solely his until his unavailability makes him a second choice. The one who does everything for Louis’ attention, but gives him a damn good reason to reject his advances. The one whose tongue is now exploring every inch of his mouth, licking at blunt teeth and teasing the drop of his fangs.
Louis is the first to break the kiss, to wipe the spit and drool off his chin. Both their chests are heaving and hearts drumming with desire.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Louis asks evenly. “With her.”
Lestat fingers his necklace and thumbs the dimple at the center of his jaw. It’s one of his favourite places to caress; his thumb fits like it was made to belong. “She was loud and wet. It was good.”
Louis pulls away almost in disgust. They could continue bickering like this, but one of them is more tired than the other.
Lestat takes the opportunity to fully straddle him, thighs pinning down his lover’s hips. Louis’ hands fall to the narrow of his waist again like interlocking pieces of a puzzle, and he lets his eyes drift closed, resting his head back, allowing Lestat to suck gentle kisses on his neck.
“You are so easy to anger, my Louis,” Lestat mumbles onto his skin in an earnest apology. “You should have come sooner. But I’m glad you’re finally here.”
“You better be glad. I fucking ran through the airport for you,” Louis sighs as Lestat licks a stripe up his neck and plants a kiss squarely on his chin. In this new position their erections shift against each other, and Lestat begins circling his hips to make up for it.
“Well, you left me waiting, with no idea whether you had died or ran away with someone else. So, let’s say we are even?” Lestat nips at his jawline and hears a disgruntled hum.
“I saw the videos, by the way. Of you thrusting against the mic stand. And then lying on the floor and fucking the air. And putting that woman’s underwear in your pocket,” Louis mumbles, eyes still closed, but fingers now rucking up Lestat’s shirt to feel the muscles of his back and tweak his nipples. Lestat grinds down at the sensation, moaning as he buries his face in the crook of Louis’ neck. He inhales the smell of Louis, laps up the taste of Louis, and almost goes dizzy with want, all of his senses filled with the glorious man beneath him.
“Fuck” he hears Louis sigh, and he leans closer, demanding another sound. One of his large hands comes up to cup his jaw and he sits a little taller, so he can lean down and kiss the sounds out while setting a good pace with his hips. Riding Louis like this is so easy that he even pulls off his shirt without breaking the rhythm. And when he licks back down, he realises his lover’s fangs have dropped, and smiles. Louis is too easy. He digs his tongue into one fang and lets the blood pour down Louis’ throat. With Lestat’s hand holding his jaw open, Louis is forced to drink with open-mouthed gulps. And Lestat marvels at his creation. Louis lies there pliant, relaxed, and eager to take.
When Louis is done drinking, he pushes at Lestat’s lower abdomen as a signal to pull away. They both look down at their erections and laugh.
“Are we even gonna make it to the bed?” Louis chuckles, hand already dipping below Lestat’s waistband to cup him through his boxers. The gentle squeeze makes Lestat’s hips jerk forward and he fights the urge to start rutting against Louis again.
“I don’t know. Are we going to jerk each other off or do you have energy to fuck before the sun comes up?” Lestat gasps, eyes fluttering shut. The massage he’s being given is delicious.
Louis’ fingers run across the wet patch that has formed around the head of his cock, teasing his slit. “Hm, if you let me lie there and take it, you can fuck me to sleep.”
Lestat smiles at the thought. “Let’s go then.”
He clambers off Louis and walks with purpose towards the bedroom, letting his lover trail behind him.
Loneliness is a feeling of the past – for now – and his entire being buzzes from being desired. A half-empty cup that can only be filled by Louis.