Archive of Our Own

It is Lestat’s death day.

For a long time, he let it belong to Magnus.

Two hundred and thirty-two years since he was forcibly unmade and remade by the cruel desire of his maker. Since he became enslaved to the night, developed an insatiable hunger, and hardened a heart that would keep beating long after everyone he loved had left him.

For most of those years, he let the day hurt him. But the last century has worn him thin. There is only so long his younger self can grieve.

So he has rented a large warehouse in Los Angeles. Filled it with an exquisite sound system, immaculate lights, and a DJ with sharp enough instinct to command the bodies of his guests.

The bass throbs thickly between the warehouse’s four walls, a vibration that climbs up the soles of his boots. He lets it move him as he weaves his way to the DJ booth, accepting the waves of admiration that swallow him whole. Bodies press close, hands cup his back, and fingers press alcohol to his lips. He doesn’t taste anything other than the sweet zing of adoration.

He is dressed to be touched. A cropped leather tank clings greedily to his chest, cut open at the center to bare a heart of pale, glittery skin. The leather defines the curves of his pecs, the dip of his sternum, and his arms are luminescent with a dew that catches the strobing light.

His skirt, pleated and scandalously short, barely covers the bottoms of his supple ass and bounces with each step, rising up to tease the top of his fishnet stockings that stretch over his thighs. Tiny black diamonds frame the delicious muscle of his long legs.

He knows what he looks like, and can hear the sinful thoughts of every mortal close to him. Christine had curated a guest list of people who were more interesting and appetising than important, and he is surrounded by all of them.

The night, rightfully so, will be loud, alive, and his.

Christine also made sure Louis is not on the guest list.

Because for the past six weeks, Louis has been sending him politely worded proposals through Immortal Properties. With lawyers on copy, he was professionally (sterilely) offered to guest host the opening of Louis’ new club. Lestat had not skimmed the contract more than once before forwarding it to Christine with a curt instruction: Do not return his calls. I need time to consider it.

Of course, he didn’t need to think about it.

Louis had eventually called a few times.

Most times, Lestat let it ring until Louis’ patience ran out and his screen blackened with silence. The others, he rejected the moment Louis’ name flashed, which was regretfully more damning.

But tonight is not about Louis. Tonight is about him.

A two hundred and thirty-two year old immortal who has avoided the kiss of the sun and emerged, against all odds, a god amongst mortals.

And yet.

And yet.

The maker bond cuts through the noise.

With an involuntary shift in his chest, he feels him. A familiar pulse cradling his own. What has seemingly been missing for eons slotting back into place. A key turns in a lock. The image of him flashes over and over again in his mind’s eye.

If he strains hard enough, he might hear him. Smell his cologne, or taste the flavour of cigarette he’s chosen to indulge in before his entrance.

Though Lestat doesn’t want to, the universe pulls his attention towards Louis. He feels resentful and utterly helpless all at once.

With all the self-restraint he can muster, he ignores him. Rather, he laser-focuses on accepting the next drink pressed into his hand and forcing the corners of his lips to lift exactly as they were.

The hall buzzes louder. One of the VIPs steadies himself with a hand on his bicep. A lone light hits his eye and in that moment of temporary blindness, he sees Louis’ face, soaked with despair and rainwater as they embraced in his little shack in New Orleans.

He sends a telepathic message to the DJ – speed it up – so he can lie to the only other man who can tune in to the thump in his chest that the flush spreading up his chest is from the music.

But inevitably, his eyes land on a familiar head of curly hair.

There is an air of calm around him where he is settled into a couch in a shadowed corner of the room, bourbon in one hand, the other slung across the backrest like he owns the place. At least, he owns the man who his gaze is fixed on.

Louis knows what today is. Someone must have told him about the party. And he came. With a gift and a threat wrapped with a sharp kiss.

Good, Lestat thinks, and mentally chains him to the couch. Stay exactly there.

Even if Louis’ pulse calls to him, he does not go.

Lestat has gone to him a hundred times. In a hundred different cities. And it has never once made Louis stay.

So instead, he grabs a live microphone from the booth and purrs towards the crowd, voice sliding through improvised lines while watching – carefully – how the words land across the room. He blows kisses to his fans and demands they cave to whatever they desire. Unlike Louis, they respond immediately, eagerly.

Then the DJ begins to work the transition into the next track. A phone flashes, and a girl with pink hair invites Lestat into a selfie. He obliges, standing to the side and stretching across the booth, letting the movement pull his skirt high. He devilishly arches his back, in a way that is far from accidental, because he knows exactly what it maps to from Louis’ little vantage point.

When he straightens, head flicking back to toss his curls out of his face, Louis is gone.

The set drums on. And Lestat loses track of time, loses himself in the rhythm of it, until he loses his tether to Louis. Good. Stay like that.

He only smells Louis a second before he slides in beside him. His lover sets his drink down and greets the DJ with a clap on his shoulder.

At first it is easier to pretend to be strangers. Their bodies sway in opposite ways and the silence between them is pleasant, until Louis’ hand catches a pleat of Lestat’s skirt. And all his attention flows to that millimetre of skin.

Their second touch, though, is more testing. Louis' fingers rest on the exposed plane of skin along Lestat’s back. Just light enough that if Lestat even thought of leaning away, it would quickly retreat. But Louis’ palm is soft and inviting, so he allows it.

A phone is raised up to the booth and two boys are videoing the DJ, Louis, and Lestat. Lestat leans forward, standing on his tiptoes so he can wave to the camera with enthusiasm. Naturally, Louis’ hand falls lower, down the crest of his ass and to the tops of his thighs. His grip becomes firmer, to steady Lestat in place.

And when Lestat straightens up, Louis’ hand slips underneath his skirt to clutch his round bottom. His inviting embrace pulls a pathetic noise from Lestat’s pretty lips - something that he can only pray is swallowed by the music.

Louis leans in, lips tickling Lestat’s ear.

“Nice party,” he says. His soft palm returns to rub circles against Lestat’s lower back, tempting and hypnotic.

Lestat swallows. “Took you long enough.”

Louis laughs. “You’ve been ignoring my calls.”

Lestat flashes him a smirk. “I know. And you weren’t invited.”

Louis hums, and sways casually to the beat of the music. “I’m here about the contract.”

Lestat is the one who laughs this time, short and mean.

Louis speaks a little louder, more formally. “I put forward a clean proposal. Through my lawyers–”

“Lawyers,” Lestat escapes his grip and turns to face him. “You came all the way to my party, put your hand on me, and you want to talk about lawyers?”

Louis shoves his hands in his pockets. He’s still bobbing to the beat, with his signature restraint. An evil thought flashes through Lestat’s mind - if he could stick two fingers down Louis’ throat and pull the words out of him he would.

But he remains still. Watching him. With his arms crossed, hip leaning against the DJ booth. Waiting. The music quietens, and begins its slow climb, tension coiling around the room to the beat.

“What do you want me to say?” Louis asks, chewing at his bottom lip.

Before Lestat even has time to consider, the DJ hooks an arm over Louis’ shoulder, pulling him into the rising rhythm, shaking him as the beat climbs. It builds higher, breaks, then drops into a fast thump. Strobe lights flash around them and suddenly there’s work to do – dance and encourage the surging crowd.

But high above the kicks and the bass, their argument lingers between them. Lestat can wait.

Then when the thump steadies, Lestat is yanked backwards, out of the spotlight by a few steps. Louis stands close enough that Lestat can smell his spicy cologne and lingering cigarette.

“I missed you,” he admits, with pleading emerald eyes. Lestat's chest tightens at the words, but there’s not an inch of him that doesn’t want Louis to reveal himself more.

“That’s it?” Lestat says.

Louis shrugs. That’s it.

Lestat rolls his eyes and steps back towards the booth. It’s nothing he’s not heard a thousand times – everyone misses him, everyone wants a piece of him. But Louis’ fingers remain steady on his wrist.

“You came here with a contract,” Lestat’s voice cuts cleanly through the noise. “You talked about lawyers, and now you miss me.” He tilts his head. “Which is it, Louis?”

Louis pauses.

He pulls Lestat in and places Lestat’s hand on his lower back. His breath is warm against Lestat’s mouth.

“Both,” he says. “I want the deal,” his eyes drop to Lestat’s lips. Then he bumps their noses together. “And I want you.”

Lestat jerks his head back at the contact. But in leaning away, his hips press into Louis’. Fuck. “No. You can’t have both.”

“Then, what – you want me to choose?”

It’s Lestat’s turn to shrug indifferently.

Louis searches his face.

Then he leans in. And Lestat meets him halfway.

Louis sighs into the kiss, pushing Lestat’s body back so far that he’s stumbled against the DJ booth. A hand lands on the nape of his neck, the other low on his back, anchoring him. When Lestat’s hips hit the table, he laughs against his mouth, breathless. Louis’ hips and torso press deliciously flush against him.

Blunt teeth pull at his bottom lip needily, and the crowd be damned, because Louis’ lips are like cool water in a drought. Lestat releases a hungry sound that Louis swallows and returns. The careful composure he’s been clinging to all night slips between sighs.

Louis guides one of Lestat’s hands to his chest, and his fingers find Louis’ nipple, teasing it brazenly. Somehow, it feels different, more stiff than usual, with something shifting underneath the fabric. But he can’t register it fully with his hand trapped between their muscular bodies, so he moves to grip the nape of Louis’ neck instead.

When they break apart, Lestat’s mouth is singing.

Around them, cameras are up. There’s a bright flash of the camera from somewhere close. The whole room has seen, and Lestat’s mind is loud with speculative chatter. There is no taking it back.

“Now I’m making a scene,” Lestat laughs, head dizzy with thrill. Louis smoothes the front of his shirt down, trying to regain his composure.

“We’re leaving,” Louis says. He steers Lestat away with a palm on the small of his back. “Now.”

The car ride to Lestat’s temporary apartment is silent. Louis rests his elbow on the windowsill as he drives, eyes trained on the road. Lestat watches Louis watch it in silence.

His apartment thankfully warms the silence between them with its distinct smell of home. Louis steps inside and draping his jacket over a chair with precision. His fingers skim the sheet music fanned out across the dining room table, and ashtray next to it. Lestat leans in the doorway and watches him roll his left sleeve down, set his watch on a side table, and discard his keys and wallet somewhere else nearby.

Ordinary things, done here in Lestat’s space. Lestat’s heart already begins to skitter.

“Drink?” he asks.

“No,” Louis says plainly.

He turns, and looks at Lestat with the same glint in his eye from across the warehouse.

His hands go to the front of his shirt and to begin the rest of it slowly. “I have something to show you.” Button by button, at a regular pace but still painfully slow when Lestat already knows the treasured skin beneath it.

And there they are - two tiny silver orbs beside each of his nipples, the dark nubs standing more at attention than they should. Even nestled between a light dusting of hair, they catch the warm light of the room, tiny, deliberate adornments. Silver suits him.

Lestat all but flies towards him, hands smoothing up his waist slowly, to tentatively cup the sides of his chest. “Is this my present or yours?”

Louis’ eyes are warm, but his smirk betrays him. “Yours,” he says. And Lestat’s heart kicks as if he’s a teenage boy again. “Mine too, maybe.”

“When did you–”

“Just last week, when you weren’t returning my calls.”

“You let someone else mark you?” Lestat scoffs.

“They’re only for you,” Louis lures him in now, tongue curling around the vowels with a sultry drawl. “No one else will get to see me this pretty.”

Lestat can’t stop staring. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. He’s seen Louis in different lights, different centuries, covered in blood and sweat and other fluids; glimpsed Louis’ nipples through shirts, through other men’s minds, but not quite like this.

“You can touch them,” Louis offers, guiding Lestat’s hands further up, fingers resting lightly over Lestat’s knuckles. “Just don’t pull.”

“You’re terrible,” Lestat whispers. “If you sent me a photo I would have come running.”

He presses lightly, and rolls the jewelry carefully, searching for Louis’ threshold between pleasure and pain.

“You’re the one who won’t pick up the phone,” Louis gasps, steadying himself with two hands on Lestat’s waist. Lestat’s thumbs circle the skin around his nipple, then the buds, then back to the hair around it.

He doesn’t realise Louis’ breath is caught in his chest until he hears a shaky sigh. When he looks up, Louis’ eyes are closed, with a soft crease between his brows. His breath escapes parted lips in uneven puffs of air.

“Keep going.”

So Lestat becomes more certain. His thumbs press the top of the buds, morphing into a full-palmed massage while his lips find the side of Louis’ long, beautiful neck. 

“Yes, like that,” Louis groans.

Lestat loses his rhythm as he breathes him in. Tastes him. Listens to the gasps spilling from his lover’s lips as he sucks a bruise where his pulse is strongest.

Louis’ hands tug at Lestat’s top, encouraging the article of clothing off. As soon as the top has been discarded, his mouth lands on Louis’ chest. Louis’ pants are by this time gone now too, and he can see the clear shape of his erection trapped in his boxers.

Lestat’s tongue flicks one piercing, testing Louis’ sensitivity. Louis’ hand shoots up to brace his shoulder.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes. He hisses as Lestat’s teeth catch on one of the balls. So there’s the line of pain.

Then Lestat’s lips close around the whole of it, suckling around it like second-nature. The taste of metal clashes with the sweetness of Louis’ skin, but his whimpers are so, so encouraging.

With his nose pressed into Louis’ left ribcage, he feels it: blood rushes through the chambers of his his lover’s heart like little tsunamis, and his lips are so close to the source of Louis’ life that his fangs descend hungrily.

In a swift move, he bites down, leaning into his touch as warm blood spills into his mouth. He sucks and swallows what he’s been denied for weeks. Louis’ blood tastes like rum and maple syrup, and it floods him with vigour to drink more and more. He doesn’t entertain the idea of ever letting go. He clings on tight, drinking deeply, and letting Louis overwhelm his every thought.

He might have worried about hurting Louis with his bottom teeth gnawing into his breast, but Louis’ palm firmly holds his head still, and there’s nowhere else to move.

“That’s it,” Lestat can barely make out Louis’ murmur over his own whimpers.

Then he moves to Louis’ other breast, wetting the flesh and opening his mouth to latch on.

But suddenly, there’s a vibration. Against his foot. It’s Louis’. And if it was a message, it would’ve stopped at one. But it persists on and on and on.

Louis feels it too and reaches for it. For a second, he looks like he might ignore it. But his gaze lingers on the caller ID for a little too long, and he swears softly.

“Fuck,” he mutters, gently shoving Lestat back. “Hold on, I need to take this.” He sucks air through his teeth, and Lestat can do nothing but pout as his lover’s attention is taken away.

Louis moves to the minibar, swiping and licking at the blood trailing down his chest. His little ‘mmhmm’s are the only things breaking the silence between them. Lestat’s hard cock tents beneath his skirt, so uncomfortably, that he shifts to take them and his tights off too. 

“Yes, I understand that,” Louis says bluntly. “But that doesn’t change liability.” 

Lestat watches him from where he stands. Control sits naturally on Louis' shoulders, even half-undone with Lestat’s mark on him. There was once a time when Louis had to fight for all this power; with patient and viciousness simmering under the surface, filing away every slight till he was ready to pounce.

Louis’ fingers grip the edge as his patience thins. He cuts in, “There’s no risk of defamation when they’re already in breach of contract.” 

If anything, time has only refined him into a sharper, more precise hunter. 

Louis’ phone clatters to the countertop and the call moves to the loudspeaker. A tinny voice rattles on.

Lestat exhales, long and slow. Tonight was supposed to be easy fun. But Louis is starting to soften.  

He watches Louis sigh once more, then moves.

He digs through his belongings and sets the lube on the counter without a word. When he finally returns, he encircles Louis’ waist from behind.

Louis mutes his side of the conversation.

“I’m sorry.” he says apologetically. “Give me a few minutes.”

Lestat nibbles his skin, humming, then sucking the soft flesh. Louis tastes like a delicious salt candy.

“Don’t worry chéri, I can be patient,” Lestat says against his neck. His fingers dip into Louis’ belly button, then skim the hair dusting his pelvis. “As long as I’m occupied.”

Louis unmutes his microphone. “Sorry, can you repeat that again?”

As the voice restarts a long preamble, Lestat presses himself against Louis back. His palms decisively bracket Louis’ sides, pinning him to the counter.

Just when Louis adjusts himself, Lestat cocks his hips to drag his member against Louis’ lower back. The small gasp Louis makes and the way his hand shoots forward to silence himself send blood straight between Lestat’s legs. It encourages Lestat forward again, initiating an infuriating pace of them rocking into each other.

Louis bows his head. The tension in his shoulders melts.

Then the voice suddenly asks a question, and Louis grabs Lestat's wrist to stop him. The microphone beeps again.

“I can’t recall off the top of my head, give me a second.”

Louis swipes through the applications on his phone. Focusing now on a long email thread that Lestat can’t quite make out, his fingers soften still. So Lestat takes the opportunity to take one of Louis’ nipples between his fingers, and roll it softly to full hardness. 

“Lestat,” he hisses, hands clasping his wrist again. But he doesn’t pull away. “I’ve just forwarded the crisis strategy,” he continues, voice raised a fraction. “If they don’t budge, we take it to the press.”

Lestat pinches, hard. Simultaneously, his other hand dips beneath Louis’ waistband to caress the heat of his shaft. Louis is warm and hard.

Louis groans, “Of course they would take it—” he cuts himself off, savouring the way Lestat slides his foreskin back and forth. “Every tabloid loves a messy celebrity story.”

The line drones. Lestat’s thumb keeps circling the pierced nipple, disarming his lover into a whimpering mess, legs ready to give out.

“How much longer?” Lestat laughs, genuinely more amused than impatient. 

Louis’ lips part, ready to answer, before his hand darts out to his phone. 

“I think…” he cuts his colleague off and steadies his own quivering voice. “You have everything you need to proceed.” 

Lestat releases him. Smooths his hands down his arms, so he can focus on ending the damn call.

“I need to go. I will be unavailable tonight,” Louis reaches back to press a kiss to Lestat’s palm. “If anything urgent comes up, speak to Legal. I expect this resolved by tomorrow.”

Silence.

“Thank you,” Louis says evenly. 

He turns and his hands find Lestat’s neck, drawing their foreheads together. The last thing they hear is “I’ll update you later”, then the call ends, and then Louis gives himself permission to kiss Lestat loudly and wetly with intent. It’s just the two of them again, bodies picking up exactly where they left off.

Louis breaks first to spit into his own hand and palm at Lestat’s erection. Pearling precum slicks the glide down immediately, and now Lestat is the one to unravel because Louis rubs him with just the right pressure.

Lestat makes another embarrassing sound.

Louis responds with a devilish grin on his face, and Lestat instantly falls headfirst into his black cat’s eyes again. His whole body pulses with lust, conducted by Louis’ fist around his length.

He drags in a breath and swims up to the surface.

“Louis. Can we please fuck first, before he’s fired?”

That earns him a proper laugh. Bright and fond. A burst of sound that could’ve irritated him, if not for the way Louis’ nose scrunches and his eyes crinkle. Louis softens everything. 

“I’m sorry.” Louis kisses him. “I’m so, so sorry to keep you waiting.” Another, slower. 

Lestat whimpers at that, because apologies are so rare with Louis, and Lestat has always been the one to wait.

“I promise…” Louis reaches back for the bottle of lube, then squirts some on his cock. He spreads the liquid down his stiff length and locks eyes with Lestat.

“I’m all yours now,” he says with a slow drawl as he takes Lestat’s erection and his in the same hand and starts stroking them together. 

Lestat starts to throb so intensely that willing his orgasm down feels impossible. Their plump cocks slide against each other.  And he knows Louis can feel pleasure building quickly too, because Louis knocks his forehead against his and their moans start to form a dirty symphony.

“Don’t come yet,” Louis’ voice is a ragged command. “I need you to come inside me.” 

Lestat grunts. He’s so close to release already. “That’s unfair, Louis—”

“You’ll do anything for me, right?” Louis meets his gaze, half-commanding, half-challenging. His fingertips trace the thick vein on Lestat’s cock now, and Lestat can barely hold himself together, eyelids shutting lest Louis sees him be disobedient. His hips slow, but thrusts are still desperate. All he can do is nod quickly and hope he can get the release he deserves.

“Good,” Louis kisses his lip scar, and lets go of them both. He feels Louis’ lips curl into a smirk. “You’ll be good for me.”

Lestat nods again.

“Mm-mmm,” Louis chides and presses a thumb in the divot between his lower lips. 

“Yes,” Lestat gives in, sucking the tip of Louis’ finger into his mouth.

Louis smiles at him again, “Good.” His other hand glides down Lestat’s arm to turn him in the direction of their bed, and all Lestat has to do, and wants to do, really, is grab the lube and obey.

Louis moves the pillows away from the headboard and settles with his hips atop one, back arching and limbs stretching so he can fold his knees up as close to his shoulders as possible. Lestat registers a little nod in his direction, a silent come here, but he doesn’t really need it because he’s never had to question his place between Louis’ thighs.

He works some spit between his cheeks as he takes his place before Louis’ entrance. Holding down Louis’ thighs, he inhales the musk around Louis’ balls, savouring his intoxicatingly sharp scent. Then he presses a wet kiss to his rim. 

He gets to work - thoroughly sucking and licking and kissing at his entrance until Louis is opening up to him thoughtlessly.

Louis’ groans loudly when Lestat flicks his pointed tongue, seeking permission to enter. And Lestat moans back, excited when Louis’ tight muscles give in, allowing him to push himself deeper.

“Lestat,” Louis sighs, one arm dropping from the ditch in his knee to stroke his cock in time with the drag of Lestat’s head. 

More, more, more, is what Lestat hears in every sound that Louis makes, and he chases praises from his love. 

Louis is present with him now. Body trembling, wired and relaxed, demanding for a relief from his own self-restraints. The coy version of Louis is left in their puddle of clothes, across the telephone wire. And this softer, yielding Louis lets him discipline him with his tongue.

Lestat grunts to the rhythm of his tongue plunging deeper. Sighs when he takes a break to kiss his soft taint, his heavy balls, his thighs. He works Louis’ open until Louis is muttering a low, impatient chain of please and yes, there that sounds like music Lestat has been starved for. Melodies he could never write.

And when he returns to flatten his tongue against Louis’ hole, and finds him completely open and wet for him, an unbroken groan forces itself roughly from his lips. He so desperately needs to fill him up.

“How do you want me?” Lestat rumbles, leaning back on his haunches to line himself up to Louis. 

Louis scratches down his stomach, lightly at first, then drawing angry, red lines alongside the veins that run down Lestat’s pelvis, beneath the tufts of pubic hair, to the heat of his erection. Lestat mouth waters with blood-saliva at the touch.

“Hard and fast.”

Louis rolls to his hands and knees. He settles first on his elbows, but as Lestat nudges his knees apart, Louis folds his hands behind his back, resting on the side of his face. He fully relinquishes control to Lestat, in a wholly trusting surrender. And it undoes Lestat, entirely too.

Lestat holds him steady by the waist. He lines up and pushes in slowly despite the instruction, because he has been waiting for what feels like lifetimes and refuses to rush this part. Louis whines, breathy with indignance. His fingers flex around his wrists.

“I said fast,” Louis gasps, edging on desperation.

So Lestat obliges.

He sets a pace that leaves no room for hesitation. He takes Louis wrists apart and pulls them towards his sides, so Louis’ spine arches and his chest barely grazes the sheets. In this position, he is completely immobilised as Lestat fucks into him, alternating between quick and shallow and slow, heavy thrusts that send pleasure up Louis’ spine to the top of his skull.

Louis moans, open-mouthed and unashamed. It doesn’t take long for Lestat to feel him go pliant, and let himself be held and taken.

“That’s it,” Lestat coaxes. “Let me.”

Louis gasps. “Please– use me–”

Lestat drives deeper, fixated on punching the air out of Louis’ lungs with each thrust. Their pelvises slam into each other, drawing obscene, squelching sounds from Louis’ slick hole. 

He releases Louis' wrists so he can clamp his large hands around his waist, pin him down, and tilt his hips to pound him deeper. And Louis just lets him. He sobs into the sheets. Yes– yes– is all he can seem to say. 

When Louis’ legs begin to shake, Lestat pulls him to the edge of the bed, dragging him into a messy missionary position. Lestat stands on the floor, feet planted firm, while Louis’s legs are thrown wide. In this position, Lestat’s relentlessness borders on punishment. He is a machine of devotion, pounding into Louis with a pace that rattles the headboard against the wall. He thinks of Louis leaving just before the sun comes up, and wants to make sure his legs wobble as he walks to his car.

Louis’ fingers scramble for Lestat’s back, nails leaving bloody, red trails down his golden skin.

"Don't stop," Louis gasps. His green eyes are blown wide, searching Lestat’s face for the same madness. "Lestat, please. Fill me up. Only you can."

“Only me,” Lestat growls. 

With a shout, Louis finally breaks. His body shudders, crests, and his heavy cock spills across his stomach. His mouth flies open, baring his neck as he moans raggedly through it, breath punctuated by Lestat’s slowing thrusts.

“Don’t disappear after this,” Lestat says lowly, an order, if Louis would listen.

“I’m here now,” Louis rasps. His hand shoots out to grip Lestat’s wrist. “Please, fill me up.”

Lestat’s hips stutter. Even in this state, wrecked and shaking, Louis is seeking control – and Lestat wants to keep pleasing him. 

“Come here,” Louis says. He pulls Lestat closer and threads the fingers of one hand through his hair, while the other finds the hollow between his shoulderblades.

Two pillars of plush lips suck around Lestat’s throat. Then fangs slice Lestat open, and he welcomes it. He pushes himself further into Louis face, moans as he feels his blood being sucked from the wounds. Louis feeds greedily, fangs puncturing him again and again so blood can gush out and spill down his chin, and his throat in loud gulps.

The dual sensation of Louis’ mouth on his neck, and his wetness still clenching around his cock, wipes every remaining thought in Lestat’s head. Louis takes everything he wants and demands Lestat claims what he needs, too. From his head to the tips of his toes, every cell in him sings Louis’ name and he comes deep inside him, cock pulsing and balls emptying exactly where his lover demanded.

He stays buried until Louis releases him. Louis turns his head and kisses him, like they’ve got all the time in the world.

Louis stretches like a cat, releasing his joints as if he hasn’t just come apart. He wipes their spend, absentmindedly, on the corner of the sheets, and invites Lestat back into his arms at the head of the bed.

They lay together in warm silence for a while afterward.

He settles with his cheek against Louis’ chest, tongue finding the piercing again. Louis’ hand cards softly through his hair.

“Baby, can you get my phone?”

The endearment lands like a palm pressed flat to his chest. Lestat smiles. A flush climbs up his neck as his heart kicks again. Louis’ phone lifts from the minibar and drifts across the room.

“Thank you,” Louis says, petting his hair graciously. There is some silence as Lestat expects Louis to be checking his email again. 

Instead, Louis angles the phone above them. Lestat frowns and twists his head up for a better look.

The camera catches Louis’ chest in low light – one nipple still flushed and tender, with the bite mark purpling the surrounding skin. Lestat’s head is tucked against it, blonde hair spilling across his chest and sternum. They both look indecent and in lo–

He watches Louis file each photo into his ‘favourites’ folder. One by one. And Louis is biting back a smile.

Lestat turns back and presses a lingering kiss to the other unmarked breast. 

“I should finish the set,” he murmurs against the fuzzy skin, lowering and teasing his fangs.

“When you have some time,” Louis starts, carefully, “consider opening for me.”

Lestat stills. Of course, he returns to business.

He adds, a little more firmly, “I want you there.”

Lestat lifts his head. “As what?” 

It comes out before he can consider the repercussions. Louis’ hand continues moving through his hair, though his brows furrow in thought. 

“As yourself,” Louis answers, simply. That earns a disbelieving huff from Lestat. He feels more trapped than embraced, now.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I've got."

Lestat shifts up onto one elbow. Studies Louis' face. "You put your hand on me in front of cameras. You saved those photographs." He nods at the phone. "And at the booth–" He stops. "What was that?"

Louis doesn't answer immediately. 

"Please, just tell me," Lestat says again.

"Does it have to have a name?" Louis says.

“People will ask.”

Louis considers this for a moment. Lestat waits for him, like he always does.

"Then I'd say you’re with me," he says.

With me, or with me?

The question swirls in Lestat’s head for some time. He watches Louis stare at the ceiling. Then reach to check his phone. Then stare back at the ceiling. He’s beautiful in the most maddening way.

Lestat doesn't say anything, because his eyes have begun to water and if he opens his mouth, the sound he’ll make will be more like a choke than anything.

One tear slips down his cheek, and then another. His chest begins to rattle, and he swipes them away just so Louis won’t see.

His throat clicking gives him away. Louis' head snaps towards him, eyes full of concern. But he doesn’t say anything.

He reaches out instead, shifts over and pulls Lestat into his side. Lestat goes without argument, back into the warmth of his lover’s (killer’s) arms. He presses his face into the warmth of Louis' neck and Louis' hand settles at the back of his head. The lights stay on and neither of them move to turn it off.

The next evening, Lestat wakes first. The apartment is dark, sun already hidden behind buildings in the distance. Louis is asleep beside him, chest rising slowly.

Lestat pads to the living room and searches for his phone. He types a quick email to Christine and Louis:

I’ll be at the opening.

He doesn’t even look at the contract.

He fixes himself up in the bathroom, thinking about the words Louis left him with last night. Then he climbs back into bed, wraps his arms and legs around Louis and closes his eyes.

When he wakes again, Louis is in the kitchen. He’s made two cups of coffee for them. Blood in both. He hands one to Lestat without asking, and Lestat accepts everything else Louis offers with it.

“You’ve already texted Christine,” Louis says.

Lestat nods and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Thank you,” Louis says, like a gentle caress. Like he’s thanking him for everything but the decision.

Lestat shrugs and hums.

Louis closes the gap between them and presses a soft kiss to his lips. Cheekily, he bites at Lestat’s bottom lip in the same way he did at the party.

Lestat makes a small sound at the back of his throat. It's unquestionable, the way his thoughts uncomplicate themselves as he kisses him back. Their mugs are set on the table, especially so that one of Louis’ hands can palm the nape of his neck, while Lestat thumbs a nipple through his shirt. He licks at Louis’ teeth and presses their noses together. You’re welcome.

Louis hums happily and presses a palm to Lestat’s torso to pause their little game.

“Let me sort some things out at work, then we can have supper.” He mumbles against Lestat’s lips. “And then you can play me the next song you’re writing.”

“Songs,” he corrects, as if that settles everything. 

His fingers skim Louis’ knuckles. “I’ll pick you up?” It settles everything for now.

Louis picks up his jacket from the back of the chair and shakes it out. He hums, corners of his lips quirking, smile reaches his eyes. “I’ll send you the address.” Then he heads for the door.

The apartment feels large again the second it shuts. Lestat’s phone buzzes. A message from Christine, which he ignores. Then one from Louis. The location for later.

one more thing

Lestat waits.

wear the ring

Lestat stares at the screen.

The Cartier ring still sits untouched in his toiletry bag. The one he threw on the table between them. With LDL engraved on the inside.

Why?

The reply comes quickly. Louis sends him a photo of his hand. Of his beautiful, elegant, long fingers. And Louis’ matching band on his ring finger, gold against dark skin.

because it's our secret

Lestat bites the inside of his mouth. He can feel his cheeks flush.

Lestat locks his phone. He doesn't reply.

But he gets up, crosses to the bathroom, and opens his toiletry bag. He finds the ring box, and the gold band glints up at him, still untarnished, still patiently waiting for its owner.

He slides the ring on, and to his damned surprise, it fits. Of course, it fucking fits.

He fingers the ring and adjusts it around his knuckles. Your secret.

He sends a photo of himself in the mirror, holding up his left hand as evidence.

I'll wear it to the opening.

Louis reads it. And then after a while.

of course

me too