Chapter Text
As the signs at the entrance politely notify, tonight The Azalea is closed for a private function. Louis de Pointe du Lac, her proud proprietor, has been running around frantically all day - he can’t recall feeling this nervous since his wedding day. Only his husband’s loving, supportive presence brings him back from the brink of a full-on meltdown.
“Shh, cheri,” Lestat purrs, his strong arms embracing his spouse’s waist from behind, draining away the last of the tension, “You did a splendid job - just look at this place. He gently indicates the sweetly informal centerpieces illuminated by battery-powered tea lights, the inviting layout, the golden glow all around… “And,” the blond whispers with a kiss on Louis’ cafe-au-lait cheek, “don’t those two look simply radiant?”
He has a point: Armand and Daniel’s happiness makes them shine far brighter than the slim tapers they hold. Their ceremony, though secular, interweaves both their heritages: the Orthodox-inspired handheld candles and rose-colored cloth on which the couple stands; Daniel’s sky-blue suit with hints of tartan and the Claddagh ring with which he had proposed hinting at the Emerald Isle.
Witnesses are called forward. Louis stands up for the increasingly celebrated journalist to whom he’s grown so close; Lestat, for his infuriating, darling little imp of a bestie, now a promising young dancer at the Melange Company.
After the exchange of heartfelt vows and unadorned gold bands, the moment which will make any theatrical heart beat faster: placing twin fairy-tale crowns of gold filigree and red velvet atop dark and amber curls, giving the rejoicing bridegrooms a truly magical appearance as they circle thrice around the room. Soon enough, everyone’s cheering as Andrei launches himself at his new husband in a passionate kiss.
The kissing carries on throughout the reception; it would almost appear unseemly if not for everyone’s mood of wild revelry. Giggles and shrieks issue from the bedecked (and more than slightly tipsy) maternal triumvirate of Grace, Nadezhda and a beaming Mrs. Molloy, who loudly regales the other two with her plans for the grandchildren her son-in-love “Andy” assures her aren’t far off.
Even the ever-formidable Florence de Pointe du Lac doesn’t so much as lift an eyebrow at the two grooms all but making out mere feet away from her. She merely states, “Amen to that!” in a voice which would drown out the mighty Mississippi and, turning to Louis and Lestat with pointed look and words, declares, “And some OTHER folks might do well to stop dragging their feet also.
“Maman!” her son blushes, mock-hiding behind his husband. The two exchange a secret smile: they do, in fact, have an announcement… but have agreed to sit on it a little longer. Tonight’s for Danny and Armand.
All eyes - none dry - turn to the happy, newly hyphenated couple, as Andrei raises his glass with the simple toast, “My family; my friends; above all, my beloved - please rejoice with me. Because, from this day on, in my bridegroom’s arms, I’ve finally found it: my perfect place, for all time.”
*********
“Louis, my Louis, ah, mon coeur!” Lestat’s voice rises amorously as his husband rides him cowboy-style with increasing abandon. They’re both wild-eyed, wild-haired, ravishing each other on a pile of sofa cushions carelessly flung onto the sun-drenched floor of their grand townhouse parlor.
“That’s it, honey, don’t stop, you gonna make me come again!” falls from plush lips as green eyes go wide with pleasure.
“Need me to… touch… cheri…” the blond can barely form the words as his long fingers reach for the hard, leaking thing between them - only to get lightly slapped away.
“No, baby… just keep fucking me… wanna come only… from your… your big dick, in my… ah, ah, Les honey, honey, honey!” One last thrust and Louis starts to shake, shooting a string of pearls over his spouse’s sculpted stomach, even as the blond snaps his hips upwards to fill him again.
They collapse in a heap and lie unable to move for quite some time. “Love you… love you so much…” murmured into destroyed blond curls and an answering, “Je t’aime aussi…”
Only when Lestat slips out of his man naturally do the lovers set about gingerly righting themselves and the room. Besides the obvious mess and the sofa cushions, it takes quite a while to locate the cap to the whipped cream which started this whole thing (Lestat had asked that it be served to him in an… unusual manner.)
The both giggle and agree the chaos is entirely worth it: after all, Louis points out, “We ain’t gonna be able to do this again for quite some time, my love.”
“Oui,” his spouse agrees, pressing one more embrace on him, both nervous and excited, “We best jump in the shower and get ready for our big day,” Lou clings to the large, pale hand as an anchor against his own anxiety as they head to the bathroom.
Their nerves only increase during the ride, despite all of their over-the-top preparations, including Louis’ last-minute walkthrough of the house with a literal checklist in hand while Lestat inspected the brand-new, professionally installed car seat in their auto just one more time.
Both men have jumped through so many hoops, waited so long for this: today they finally, finally become parents. On paper, of course, they already are: the arduous adoption process is, at long last, completed; but today’s the day they get to bring their baby home…
They place her in Lestat’s arms first: a strong, steady circle cradling the fragile little life. Louis nearly faints when his husband’s voice, hitching a little, urges him, “Mon coeur… come kiss your daughter.”
On the journey home, Les drives, leaving his spouse free to stare at the tiny miracle strapped in the car seat next to them (riding up front, away from her, is suddenly unthinkable) to his heart’s content.
“Baby girl, we’re gonna make today your birthday,” he croons, “the day you came to us.”
The exact date of the child’s birth is as unknown as so much about her. She was found alone in a house as abandoned as she was, with no identity save for 1 word scrawled in black marker on her flimsy blanket.
“You came to us with such a pretty name, almost as pretty as you are,” he carries on the one-sided conversation, “but all the rest will come from your papa and me: your name (you probably won’t thank us when you have to learn to spell ‘de Lioncourt-Pointe du Lac’, actually), our home…
I’ll read you stories; and Papa will play the piano; and we’ll make sure t o keep you safe and warm and loved.” Louis de Pointe du Lac leans closer to his daughter’s little face to whisper, “We promise we will make the bad things right.”
Suddenly, he feels a tiny hand grab onto his finger. It goes straight to his heart.
Lestat takes his turn carrying the baby as they give her the grand tour, ending up in the lovely nursery - although both fathers are 100% sure their daughter’s sleeping in the bassinet beside their own bed tonight.
He looks so radiant that Louis cannot help but wrap his arms around him and kiss him with a tender smile.
“Welcome to our family, ma petite,” the blond says to the sleepy bundle in his arms, “you’re finally home, Claudia.”