Chapter Text
A rapping on his chamber door.
Lestat licked behind his teeth and rested his forehead in his arms. The rough texture of the brocade robe was a momentary satisfaction in its discomfort. The cool surface of the piano taunted his chilled body – he might as well be in a morgue. If he refused to move, he may go into rigor mortis. What a sight that would be for his manager to find.
The rock star, no better than a pile of rock.
Blood lost its appeal in the desolation between shows. No roar of fans, no rush of drugs, no sex. No distraction. Just him and an unforgiving empty penthouse that he hastily purchased once his Montreal home began to remind him of–
Well.
The one he wanted. Or did not want. Depended on the day.
The One waiting on the other side of the door. It seemed appropriate to keep him waiting a moment more. He could knock down the door if he wanted – which would be a small thrill to see. Some kind of evidence that the love was still there.
Everywhere around Lestat, crumpled up pieces of paper. They littered: the piano, the stool, the surrounding floor, the gap underneath the couch. As he glanced at the wreckage of paper around him, he remembered a cold but sweet voice. We leave the damage so we never forget the damage.
Easier said than done.
Speaking of damage – bang, bang – or more accurately damaged.
Sighing, he made his way to the entrance of his penthouse. His slippers snapped against his heels as he dragged his feet. Took a deep breath to prepare himself – and then opened the door.
The raven was perched on the other side, staring at him beady eyed from underneath his cap.
Even in the unnatural light of the hallway, he had a warm glow. Many times Lestat had marveled how he had all the colors of the sunrise captured within his skin. The first time Lestat saw him, he burned.
He covered it all with a baseball cap, coat and trousers in a matching midnight blue. An attempt at being inconspicuous, which Lestat found a bit ridiculous. No clothing could hide away his throbbing heartbeat or green pearlescent eyes.
Nothing could ever disguise the love of his life.
“Hello, Louis,” Lestat said, rather tiredly. Tonight he barely had the strength to stand, let alone argue, which was inevitable when they spoke.
He could smell the blood on Louis’ tongue, the fervor of his veins. He had fed recently. Lestat was immediately jealous of the neck Louis sank his fangs into only hours before.
“Gonna invite me in?” Louis asked impatiently.
Lestat shifted enough to make a small gap through the entryway, forcing Louis to touch him as he brushed past. A bit self indulgent; but Louis expected such petty gestures – perhaps even enjoyed them.
He never had reason to doubt Louis' lust for him. Well, not recently.
Louis made himself at home, casually shrugging off his designer coat to reveal a simple tank top underneath. His silver chain caught the light emanating through the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the New York skyline.
A manila folder was in his hands. Lestat stared at it intently from his unwavering position by the door.
Louis cleared his throat, “Papers for you to sign.”
Lestat looked to the floor. If there were rocks under his feet he would be kicking them. He made a mental note to throw his next crumpled ball of paper in this direction.
“Is that not a job for your lawyer?"
Louis' mouth moved to reply but Lestat cut him off, "Or is he too busy fucking you to do his job."
“Lestat–”
"You pay him and have sex with him, that makes him a prostitute, no?"
"Are you done?' His voice was unexpectedly kind, which inflamed Lestat even more. There was a slight twitch pulling the corner of Louis’ mouth, creases around his eyes, his head tilted to the side slightly. A fondness.
Sometimes he looked so like the man he married that Lestat felt the need to crawl into the ground and sleep for another hundred years. He preferred being alone with his own ghosts than the ones Louis brought with him.
Disturbing the stillness of the room, Louis turned and dropped the manila envelope. It hit the piano with a slap, disturbing a few crumpled pieces of paper lazily strewn about. One fell to the floor. Louis reached down to pick it up.
Lestat lunged forward. On the piano were horrific early drafts that Lestat would not even share with his band. Lyrics that were most definitely about Louis.
“Leave it.”
Louis' eyes sparkled. A challenge.
“Something you don’t want me to see?” Spitefully, Louis picked up the piece of paper and straightened it out. As Lestat looked over his shoulder, he let out a sigh of relief that it was just a score sheet. No lyrics.
“Yeah, you didn’t need to worry. I can’t read this,” Louis laughed. He tossed the paper back to the floor.
Crisis averted.
Then, Louis began to rummage his fingers through the papers on the music stand. So Lestat tackled him.
They fell hard to the floor. Lestat’s back hit the corner of the piano bench. He enjoyed the sharp sting of it, how it distracted from his present pain. Louis lay flattened on the floor between his legs, trying to wrestle out of his grasp. It was thrilling to feel how easily Louis would become useless underneath him, no stronger than a doll made of straw – of course, that thrill was overpowered by nauseating self-disgust.
But, alas, this was the monster Louis described, non?
“Another song about me, then?” he wheezed.
Yes.
“Not everything is about you, Louis, despite how you frame the narrative as so,” Lestat seethed. Everything actually was about Louis, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Fuck you,” Louis spat with venom. This felt right – maybe they both needed to get something out of their system.
“Yes, Louis, more of that, please,” Lestat jeered.
“The book was edited, I didn't want it released. What more do you want me to say?” Louis snapped with another jerk of his hips.
Lestat scoffed. This is what it always came back to. They couldn’t see each other without repeating this argument, as if this time they could change the outcome, win the other person over to their point of view. It never worked.
“Do you think me an idiot? Or, what was the word you used, 'stupid'?” Lestat leered over him, lips inched away. Louis' panting breath was hot, his hips writhing underneath him. The last time they had been this close–
This was a bad idea.
He shouldn’t have skipped his feeding. Louis’ blood was calling out to him like a childhood friend. Warm, familiar, safe – throbbing.
Louis began to still underneath him. Eye's settled on Lestat's lips. His breathing was slow and ragged, as if all the cigarettes he had smoked over the years had finally caught up to him. His eyes were softer still. A hand reached up–
Lestat jerked back, suddenly claustrophobic, attempted to stand up. Louis growled and sank his nails into Lestat's robe, pulling him back Lestat back against him.
“You haven’t been answering my calls.”
Lestat stuttered. “Yes, well, the tour–”
“Bullshit.”
“Christine makes herself available to you at all hours of the day–”
“I don’t wanna talk to your god damn lawyer!” Louis snapped, his face pinched in a familiar expression of anger and disgust. Too familiar. Like before.
“Let’s not play this game, Louis," Lestat hissed. "Don’t pretend you care."
Louis clenched his jaw, then said through gritted teeth,“Daniel says you haven’t been eating."
Was that a tremble to his voice? Or was Lestat imagining what he wished to hear?
“That fledgling has been a vampire for a little over two years. He knows nothing.”
Louis' nails sunk in deeper, ripping through his robe into his hips. Lestat let out a disgraceful moan at the sensation of his skin splitting apart. He clenched and unclenched through the sting. Blood pooled underneath Louis fingertips.
“Are you eating?” Louis asked, eyes hard and shining like emeralds.
Lestat had never been able to lie to him. He didn’t want to admit that his mood had been so low on his off days that he barely rose from his coffin, let alone fed. So he chose that path that he often chose with Louis – changing the subject.
“Is that lawyer of yours satisfying you or is it like Armand? Punishing yourself in some attempt to punish me?”
Louis scoffed – and smiled. Cruelly, no crinkle around his eyes, with a slight curl of his upper lip.
Merde. Even angry he was so beautiful. Especially so, perhaps. Lestat’s cock couldn't help but twitch between them. He was always a little hard around Louis, hardly needed any encouragement to get the rest of the way there.
“Don’t try to change the subject,” Louis breathed, his lips settling into a smirk. “But if you are asking if the sex is good – then yes. It's excellent.”
“Excellent,” Lestat sneered, “like a meal or a good book.”
“He fucks me, I fuck him, we both get what we need out of the arrangement.” Louis raised an eyebrow. “Better than some groupie, that's for sure.”
"You let him fuck you?"
"Yeah, well my first choice hasn't been returning my calls."
Suddenly, Louis' nails were gone and Lestat could immediately feel his body sealing the small cuts. Which he loathed. He desired a scar for each time Louis cut him. A reminder.
It took every ounce of strength to push off the ground and lean back on his haunches. His erection was tenting his thin joggers and he glanced to see if Louis noticed.
But Louis wasn’t looking at him–he was looking at his hands, coated in Lestat’s thick Bordeaux blood. Entranced, tilting them to catch the light. Louis brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply, his abdomen pushing against Lestat's hips.
His breath came out shuddering, a faint low growl underneath.
Their eyes met.
Louis' pupils blew out, his mouth opened, his fangs unsheathed. He had the appearance of a wild animal, possessive of his food. Then, cruelly, he began to dip his fingers into his mouth and lick off the blood.
A deep, guttural moan escaped Lestat’s mouth before he could contain it. It was so lewd his cock throbbed at the sight of it. Had to swallow and look away to stop himself from attacking Louis' mouth, licking his own blood out of it.
The pulse in Louis' neck rang loud and clear – come to me.
He heard a gasp, and his eyes betrayed him by following the sound. Louis had his head resting on the ground, neck arched, moaning around his fist stuffed in his mouth. He sucked on his fingers like a cock. Frustrated tears welled behind Lestat’s eyes.
This was too much. He needed to leave – or Louis needed to leave – someone needed to leave.
Louis pulled his hand out of his mouth, groaning reverently as he did so. Sat up. They were now face-to-face. The air was heavy, filled with Louis’ short, hot, breaths.
"Want a taste?"
This was too impossible, Lestat made a move to stand but it was a weak effort, for he was easily blocked by a hand wrapping around the back of his neck.
“When did you last feed?” Louis demanded. Pulled Lestat even closer to his open, panting mouth. His tongue dipped out, tasting the air between them.
Lestat didn’t answer, light headed from the proximity. Louis' heat, the metallic nip of iron, an erection underneath him, pushing up. A slight whine escaped his lips when Louis rolled his hips.
"That long?" Louis tutted. His beautiful, sensual mouth leaned in close enough for Lestat to believe he would kiss him, but instead he was pushed into the intimate crevice of Louis' shoulder.
One hand is cradled around Lestat’s neck and the other around his waist, holding him tight in his lap. Hot blood seemed to push out from his jugular, begging to brush Lestat's lips. He could still remember the first night he drank from Louis when he was human. Rose off the ground without even willing it – something he had never done while feeding before, and never again without Louis.
Draining a human is bliss, another vampire ecstasy, but drinking from Louis was like dying and coming back to life a thousand times over. There was no comparison, no better drug.
And now that drug was offered to him so willingly, so insistently, that tears threatened to spill over. His fangs ghosted over skin.
"Drink."
He parted his lips and pressed a trembling kiss to Louis’ neck. The arms wrapped around him pulled Lestat closer, nails scraping up his scalp. Lestat sucked, gently at first and then deeper – pulling skin into his mouth and swirling it with his tongue. Louis moaned into his ear and rocked his hips up.
The hand around Lestat’s waist dipped underneath his robe, hot against the skin of his back, encouraging Lestat to grind down against him.
“Louis–” Lestat whined, head falling into his shoulder. They rutted against each other slowly. Heat – delicious and rich – began to build at the base of his spine.
How many times would they do this? Use each other like toys instead of lovers? Was this Lestat’s infinite future now? Begging for crumbs while he dreamed of a hot meal.
Every burst of pleasure was momentary. This was a game – Louis didn’t love him. And he would never again kiss him in the late hours of the evening or watch him wake up.
Grief and exhilaration swirled together in an emotional whirlpool, sucking Lestat down deeper and deeper. Louis picked up the pace.
“Feel–feels so good, Les,” Louis panted into his ear before letting out an especially delicious whine. It shot through Lestat like a bullet. Before he even realized what he was doing, Louis was on his back again and Lestat was on top, fervently grinding his hips.
"Tu me manques," Lestat whined. I missed you.
They stayed buried in each other’s necks, crying against each other – Lestat literally crying. Louis' hands dipped underneath Lestat’s briefs to grab his ass, taking a firm grip to achieve an ever deeper grind.
"Then stop, ah– avoiding me," Louis panted.
It wasn’t long until Lestat wasn’t even lifting his hips, just humping against Louis' thigh and panting out strangled breaths like a dog.
The blood sweat collecting underneath the nape of Louis neck were sweet as Lestat pressed his tongue against it. Louis' hand came back behind Lestat’s head and again he commanded, “Drink.”
And this time Lestat couldn’t resist.
He guided the tips of his fangs over a pulsing vein and then pushed. Moaned. Reveled in the satisfying sensation of skin splitting open underneath him, welcoming him inside.
Then the first drop of blood hit his tongue, and he was lost.
His hips stuttered in his orgasm. come dripping through his joggers. Louis shook underneath, nails digging into Lestat’s low back, falling apart himself.
But the pleasure was second to the golden supernova swirling in his mouth. He gulped Louis thick blood down with ineffable greed. His stomach began to cramp from the speed of expansion. More, more, more.
Why had Lestat resisted? He could not remember why he was not always here, attached to Louis skin. Would Louis let him stay like this forever? He would do anything for him, make any apology, acquiesce to any demand–
The golden aura in front of his eyes, the feeling of insurmountable love – flickered.
Flickered.
A flash and then darkness. No – not darkness. Night. Cold, blistering air. Wind loud as a jet engine in his ears.
A face above him.
His face.
A vision in the blood. Cold night and even colder eyes – his own face watching, unmoved as he fell. Yes fell through the midnight sky. Yes, free falling so rapidly his organs felt as though they would burst through his skin. Blinding pressure around his skull and neck, an inability to breathe, a sickening crunch of impact against the ground.
And a scream, her scream – Louis!
Lestat gave a guttural gasp, unlatched from Louis and crawled backward on his hands. He found himself underneath the piano, attempting to blink away the image of his own eyes. Shoved his face into his knees when the image stayed.
Louis’ nightmare. Louis’ monster. Lestat.
Had Louis made him drink to show him this?
“Les?” A soft distant voice.
Louis was on his knees in front of him, looking at him underneath the table.
“Lestat, what–”
Lestat buried his face into his thighs, away from Louis’ pitying eyes. A warm hand reached out to grasp his arm.
“Are you okay–” Louis attempted to ask before Lestat sharply jerked away and finally met his gaze.
He shouldn’t have looked up.
As he expected, pity, looking at Lestat like some kind of kicked puppy. Concern, yes, but no love. Even – disgust? Yes, disgust see Lestat so broken in front of him, like a fallen god.
“Why did you come?”
An uncomfortable silence between them. Lestat couldn’t help himself, he had to see Louis' face. If Lestat could read Louis' thoughts, he was sure at that Louis’ was planning the best way to make his excuse and leave. He could not bear to hear it.
"You should go."
Lestat crawled out and rose to his feet as gracefully as he could, walked away without looking back. Only when his fingers closed over the cold knob of the front door did he dare to turn around. Louis wasn’t behind him.
He waited.
It felt like years before Louis appeared around the corner. Lestat kept his gaze on the floor as Louis stepped in front of him, awkwardly shrugging on his coat.
“I came to invite you to the opening of my new club. It's in a month, Christine said you would be back in town by then.”
Lestat sneered and looked up. “Are you inviting Lestat, or The Vampire Lestat?”
Louis didn’t say anything, only searched his eyes with that nauseating pity.
The Vampire Lestat it was.
“Fine. Send Christine the details.” Lestat opened the door for Louis to step outside, feeling only moments away from all the blood inside of him spilling out – but Louis would enjoy that wouldn't he?
Louis hesitated, his jaw twitched. Then he left without another word.
Lestat sank against the closed door.
He heard the heartbeat of his Raven flutter out of building.
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”