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Ashes Lestat cannot scrub off his skin. Crusts of blood falling in flakes. Waking weak in the darkness of – fuck.
No. He needs more. Something, anything, to overwhelm his senses. If he doesn't wash this feeling down with something strong; it will all come back up.
He takes in the elevator's heady musk of sweat, alcohol and arousal down in gulps. His head is light, like a napkin floating through the air. There are two others with him, his sensuous Dee and…Baby Jenks is it? No matter the name, she tastes good. Lestat mouths over her breast with numb lips, then her soft belly, then lower and lower until he is on one knee, nudging between her thighs. Baby Jenks sighs, opening up for him as she leans lithe against the wall. His hunger trails between her folds, licking up that sticky sweet slick. She cries out – Lestat! – as an angel might at the first glimpse of heaven. They all love his mouth, don't they? This is what he is good for, what he has always been good for.
Lestat throws her leg over his shoulder, drinks in every gasp, every tremble, every rock into his mouth as he flicks over her clit, around the walls of her entrance, down the flesh of her thigh. And – oh! There. In the valley between her hip and thigh…
Thu-thump.
An artery.
Thu-thump.
It's singing.
Thu-thump.
For him.
Lestat hisses, feels the heat of his breath against her skin. Her heartbeat trips and then surges. A ripe little thing. Eager. She is not afraid, she urges him down.
In one smooth motion, his fangs bottom out into her perfectly unblemished skin. It sunders. Hot blood cascades down his throat, he doesn't even have to suck. It wants to leave her and join him. Rich and laced with… it doesn't matter. Lestat tastes the height of her pleasure, the far-reaching thrill. Feels the sparks in her toes like a pulse in his teeth. She is crying into Dee's mouth. He swipes his tongue over the puncture wounds, then his lips, his fangs, the hard palate of his mouth to swallow every trace of blood and spill and–
His vision blows out like a muzzle flash.
Memories fire in overtones of blue, brown and red. Louis underneath him. The book. Gabriella's legs around his waist. Wolfkiller. Claudia disappears like a morning mist. Gentle arms cradling him as a blade meets his throat.
He's bleeding.
Its happening again.
Lestat paws at his throat, gasping in relief when he finds it sound. It is her… the blood dripping…it is only her blood.
Nothing is in focus. Light dances and disguises the dark frame above him. A face, as unclear as it is familiar. A hand reaching down to skim his bottom lip. A thumb trailing the imperfect line that blemishes his smile.
"I love your scars. I always have." That voice. Soft like cotton, smooth like bourbon. Lestat's eyes focus on a benevolent, perfect saint.
"Lou-Lo," Lestat stutters. If you loved my scars, why didn't you mention them?
Louis smiles. Smiles so lovingly that it reaches his eyes and the light within them casts a shadow on everything else.
"Come here," he says.
And how can Lestat resist?
The smell of him, iron and salt and jasmine, so strong Lestat can taste it – no, he must taste it. He nuzzles into Louis' black coils, kisses the line of his hips, the spoon of his navel. He is real and warm – warmer than he remembers. Louis' fingers trace over Lestat's forehead, anointing him.
And to think Lestat had stopped praying long ago…
"Then why are you on your knees?"
Louis' hands are in his hair, pulling him to his feet like a dog on his leash. Lestat wastes no time crashing into Louis' lips. Oh, yes! He pulls Louis in, pushes him against the wall. It is desperate all gasping and sucking. The seconds they part are sallow, the moments they collide are technicolor. Bites Louis' bottom lip to devour him, to lay away a piece of him for the inevitable moment that the rest of him leaves. But maybe if Lestat is good then…
Louis' hand deftly gasps his cock, swirling his thumb beneath Lestat's foreskin.
"I want you," he says.
His hand feels small, the pattern of his strokes… it doesn't matter. Even without hands, Louis would still give the best hand jobs. Lestat begins to thrust into his grip, easing himself further between Louis' open legs, pressing himself in deeper.
"Oh, mon cher," Lestat cries.
Louis guides Lestat between his thighs, rubbing the head of his cock between his folds. His entrance that feels wet and looser than it should be – oh. He cannot resist the rims warm and supple invitation.
"That's it, baby."
Lestat falls in, burying himself to the hilt. "Putain!" He can see his cock disappear inside Louis' sweet flesh.
His warm hands are on Lestat's bare ass, urging him on. Lestat whimpers. Can't they take their time? He tries to plead but he has forgotten how to speak. Louis' hands, his mouth, the squeeze of his walls; they all have one demand – deeper, faster – and who is Lestat to deny him?
Lestat rocks in hard, relishing the clench of his walls. Louis back smacks against the wall. Little gasps and whimpers eek out between his lips. He is so beautiful like this – free in his pleasure, eyes squeezed tight, tongue tasting the air. Lestat greedily dives in and sucks on his tongue before Louis kisses him back. He misses Louis. He misses him more than he can ever hope to express. He tries anyway.
"Tu me manques," Lestat cries in pitiful pants between kisses. "Tu me manques, tu me manques, tu me manques…"
Fucks in hard.
"That sounds nice," coos a girls voice.
Stutters.
"Can you write me a song in French?"
Lestat blinks. The white haze fades and color opens up. Louis' lips are too soft and too small. The walls around him are too open and wet. Her white skin is sticky and feverish against him. Her blue eyes demand more.
"Baby, you can't just ask for a song," coos another voice from behind, Dee, he realizes. "You've got to earn it."
Baby Jenks giggles, it pops into his mouth. "Well in that case–"
She pushes Lestat off. He stumbles back dazed. Where is Louis? Finds himself sitting on the black bench. She is straddling him. Where is– She sinks down onto his cock.
–Oh.
Baby Jenks rolls her hips, pulling him deep inside of her. Her hot breath is sweet and intoxicating over his lips.
Oh fuck.
Lestat grabs her waist, bucks his hips and slams into her at a punishing pace. Dee offers her arm. He drinks from her wrist. Heat sparks in clusters in his toes and fingertips. The room is all wet thrusts and wet gasps and wet kisses and…
Pink flesh peeks through the hem of Baby Jenk's black bra. Lestat salivates. Cruel to imprison such beauty. He unclasps her bra and two perfectly round breasts fall right into his mouth. He mouths and nips and flicks his tongue over her hard nipples. She squeals. She writhes. Her nails scratch the back of his neck. Yes, this is what he is good for–
"You always had a thing for blondes." Lestat turns around in a daze. Lips, inches away. Accusing green eyes. A dark and unforgiving expression, reminiscent of the one Lestat so often received in New Orleans. Louis' lips skate over Lestat's eternally shaven cheek. His voice is taunting and cruel. "You gon' write her a song then?"
Lestat's stomach lurches. How could Louis think that? Just as he is about to swear no, Baby Jenks cries:
"Yes, yes!"
Her head is tilting back. She is warm and thick, rolling her hips and milking his cock. His vision sparks.
"Bet you are going to come inside of her. Fill her up and spill out onto the floor."
Tears prick behind his eyes. Lestat shakes his head fervently. He is close, he is so close. But it is because of Louis, not her!
"You disgust me." Louis spits into his open mouth. Lestat moans, sticking out his tongue for more. He feels the slide of Louis tongue over his, the sensation being licked clean. He starts to cry out. He's going to–
Opens his eyes to see Dee's lips pulling away from him, a string of spit connecting their lips. She moves over his cheek, the delicate flesh beneath his eye. What?
He can't concentrate. He doesn't know where he is. All he knows is the tremble in Baby Jenk's thighs, the constriction of her chest. She is close. The edges of his vision soften and fade. She impales herself, taking every inch of him, dragging his cock along her walls. His eyes roll back as she begins to scream.
"Fuck!"
Baby Jenks gasps and jerks. Lestat holds onto her waist to steady her as she falls against his chest in a heap. She giggles. She kisses his chest. Could she love him?
Ding.
The doors open. The heads in the elevator turn. Lestat blinks. An angel of judgment stands just outside the doors, made radiant by a brilliant aura. His green eyes fall on Lestat like a blade.
"You think she loves you?"
In a blur, Lestat is on his feet, lunging forward into Louis' waiting arms. His fingers fist into the navy blue of Louis' lapel, pulling him through the doors.
"You think she could ever replace me?" Louis provokes, before eating up Lestat's response with a messy kiss.
"Who?" Lestat asks as he pulls away. His fingers fumble on Louis' belt, practically ripping his pants open to find his cock. "There is only you."
"Bullshit," Louis says, but his hand reaches for Lestat's length where it throbs long and hard between them.
"Let me prove it to you," Lestat gasps between kisses. "Let me fuck you. Please."
"Not here."
"Why not?" Lestat begins to trace down the length of him, finding his balls, cupping and massaging them.
"I have a job to do."
"Is that why you are wearing this ridiculous costume?" Lestat laughs against his lips.
"Well, yeah." An unfamiliar register, shy and dazed. Lestat's laugh dies in his throat.
No, no! Fuck, fuck, fuck…
Some bellhop is enthusiastically fisting his erection as he tries to steal another kiss. Who the fuck is this?
"Enjoying yourself?"
Lestat looks over to see Louis at his side as Baby Jenks kisses down his neck. Lestat resists the urge smack her off, to rub his eyes, to scream at the absurdity of what he is seeing. What is happening?
"You really thought he was me?" Louis continues.
Lestat is broken and sincere when he replies, "J'aimerais que tout le monde soit toi." I wish everyone was you.
And that makes Louis smile. A real smile. A loving smile. The last thing Lestat ever wishes to see is that smile.
His heart lights on fire.
And then in a stroke of luck he can't quite believe, three Louis' fill his field of vision. One Louis takes his length and grasps together with his own as another Louis kisses his neck and another's tongue slips into his mouth. Lestat can only moan and give himself over to skin and heat and layers of breath overlapping and overwhelming his senses. Their cocks slide as he rocks his hips to meet Louis' hand.
"That's it baby," Louis purrs into his ear. Another Louis joins the one currently assaulting his lips and he feels two tongues competing in his mouth to dance with his. He's giving himself over, weak and lose. A finger trails down between his cheeks, finds the rim of his entrance and begins to massage it open.
"Oh, oh, oh–" Lestat cries into one of the Louis' mouth as the finger dips inside. He fucks himself back onto it, encouraging it deeper, then thrusts forward into the hand. He is going cross-eyed, losing his vision. All the light has a green glow to it. He is standing only by the grace of the three bodies crowding against him and holding him up.
He is kissing one, and then the other and then all three at once. Tongues dipping out and in and licking across his cheek and his chin and into his ear and oh god.
A chorus of gasps fill the elevator, hot, wet and fervid. Lestat can barely think. His orgasm begins to bloom, heat rooting in deep.
"Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime…"
"I love you, too," Louis says, which one Lestat doesn't know. Maybe all of them. Just one Louis to love him is all he wants, but three? He might die of happiness. His vision peters out into black static in a sea of white stars.
He comes.
Again and again and again he pulses into Louis hand until it is a wet mess. He feels Louis coming, their spill splattering over the floor. He would lick it clean if he wasn't so tired. Louis kisses his cheek.
A least he believes it is Louis.
If it is not, he would prefer not to know.