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Lestat de Lioncourt checks his makeup in his compact mirror one more time, his heartbeat quickened and nerves tingling. Much as he has enjoyed this tour with his band, he’s more than ready to come home. To Louis.
Just the thought of reuniting with his gorgeous, beloved husband had him squirming in his travel coffin, repeatedly looking at the 3 exquisitely naughty photos recently sent to his phone… but still, he kept his promise not to seek relief from his own hand before his homecoming (OK, mostly, but palming himself once or twice through his leather shorts doesn’t even count).
Those shorts now form part of a flattering ensemble, along with an unzipped, matching leather jacket, boots and torn black-lace stockings. The makeup, an artful blend of smeared and sultry, completes the look - edgy, slutty rockstar The Vampire Lestat - he wants to gift to his other half before resuming his duties as happy househusband. Not that he ever phones it in when making love to Louis, but, after the hardship of their brief separation for the tour, his beloved deserves something extra-special tonight. Lestat’s heels barely touch the floor as he breezes into their living room, calling out, “Beautiful One, I’m…” and freezes in his tracks.
Two rather interesting pieces of information travel to his mind via his eyes. One: his favorite antique armchair currently contains Armand, his bizarre, infuriating, much-loved and gorgeous bestie… an Armand dressed in one of Lestat’s own overpriced pinstriped shirts… and apparently nothing else. Two: nearby, clearly displayed to his advantage in the most dramatically lit part of the room, stands Louis, his beloved Louis, and he wears…
The older vampire’s mouth waters. Louis has put on a very short silk robe in an exquisite shade of rose, trimmed with black lace and cinched so tightly at his slender waist. His bare legs on display; the narrow but long V of the robe’s opening, down almost to the navel and up to that exquisite neck, where, most importantly, he sees The Collar: a pretty thing of black leather and pink pearls, yes, but it’s not just a decoration. The Collar is a signal; one not given often, but, if Louis has put it on, he’s sending the message loud and clear: tonight, his companion feels submissive. Tonight, he wants Lestat to dominate him.
Right on cue, Louis de Pointe du Lac inclines his head, ever so slightly, just enough to show the light dusting of glitter on his eyelids, and purrs, “Welcome home… my Maker.” That title, only ever used when they play this way, it… does something to Lestat. He allows his fangs to peek a little past his painted lips in a predatory smile. “Bon soir, my fledgling.”
He stalks past Armand with no more than a mental, “I’ll deal with you later, imp,” to draw close to his husband, slip a clawed finger underneath The Collar. “And just what sort of game,” he inquires casually, “does mon petit have in mind?”
Green eyes blaze with a challenge. “Take off my robe, Maker, if you’d like a hint.”
Lestat undoes the silken bow as if unwrapping a present; lets the fabric fall. The sight of Louis’ fit frame uncovered is enticing enough, but… All he has on right now is a pair clingy little pink panties, adorned, just above where they hide a growing bulge, with a stitched “Daddy…” and - revealed as soon as their wearer gracefully turns around - on the backside with “I’ve been a bad boy”.
Good thing vampires don’t actually need to breathe. De Lioncourt takes a second to push down his arousal enough to project control. “Have you, now?” he taunts, ghosting his fingertips over his husband’s nipples and abdomen. “And I suppose I should do something about it, hmm?”
Louis tilts his beautiful head to the side, at once winsome and bold. His lips brush his husband’s ear. “I want you to spank me… right here, in the living room… right in front of him.” He turns his gaze toward the 3rd man in the room.
“You did promise you’d let me watch,” the latter languidly points out without stirring. Lestat does remember saying that, into his phone as he writhed on his hotel room bed to the sounds of his husband and his best friend on the other end of the line… of course, he could have promised to play “Fur Elise” on the recorder at that point and been none the wiser, but still… The thought excites him immeasurably. But, before he can give in… “You sure that’s wise… at present, cher?” he asks, momentarily switching to his normal voice.
Louis rolls his eyes. “Of course; it’s fine - didn’t you read the article I sent you?” The musician does recall it: something about “Bondage and S&M During…” but, honestly, picturing Louis in each scenario described distracted him from reading it for information. But, if his beloved says it…
“Bien,” he slides back into his role. “So, you’ve been bad… What have you done?” He gives the collar one more little tug. “Tell me the truth, fledgling.”
The tip of a tongue darts out over full lips. “Well, Maker… You already know… When, on the phone, you told me not to come in Armand’s mouth, and I…”
“Deliberately disobeyed me.” Lestat states, sharp and clipped. “Anything else? Speak up.”
“Well…” Louis draws it out, precisely because he knows it is provoking, “That’s not the only thing you told me not to do…” He looks up, grinning cheekily.
The blond is not amused. “I told you not to touch yourself till I got home… and you did, didn’t you?” A large hand tilts a cafe-au-lait chin upwards.
“Not exactly,” Du Lac teases, “But I did ask Armand to help me out… Only, he treated me so mean” He sticks his tongue out at the observer perched unflappably in his chair.
“I see… What did he do?” the baritone voice sounds coldly amused.
“He took me to the edge… 3 times,” the brunet whines, “but wouldn’t let me finish…”
Lestat has to laugh. “That little demon… Just had to ruin our reunion by making sure you come as soon as I start thrusting, didn’t he? I’m almost impressed… No, mon petit: you shut your mouth, don’t even point at him. Armand is not my fledgling; Armand is not the one who promised. You’ve no one but yourself to blame. Get ready for your punishment.”
The younger vampire stands primly, eyes slightly lowered and hands behind his back. “Yes, Maker. How many?”
Lestat de Lioncourt considers, unable to resist stroking his husband’s face, neck, and chest as he speaks. “Let’s say… 2 for your first offense, 2 more for each time you let Armand pleasure you, 1 for literally trying to get off on a technicality, and just one more for,” he snaps his lover’s lacy waistband sharply, “for ruining those panties.”
Green eyes fly open in surprise. “But, my Maker… I haven’t ruined my panties.”
The predatory smile returns. “Oh, but you will, fledgling…” A threat, soft as velvet, “You will.”
Unwilling to risk putting pressure on Louis’ belly by taking him over his knee, Lestat throws a cushion onto a convenient end table and lightly bends his husband’s body till his elbows rest on it (coincidentally giving Armand quite a view) and slides the back of the panties down, just enough to uncover his exquisite cheeks… and sucks in a breath when he sees the jeweled handle of his man’s favorite butt plug between them. Soon, very soon, he’ll give his Louis something better than that toy… But first…
He guides Louis’ wrist between the younger vampire’s legs. “Wrap your fingers around your cock, outside your panties,” he directs. “I’m not a brute, cheri: you may please yourself while getting disciplined… but only through the cloth, and only when you feel…”
Lestat’s palm comes down lightning-fast against Louis’ right cheek; lightly, lightly, not nearly enough to hurt, just getting his attention. “Mm… ooh, Les,” he gives an appreciative little hum.
“Proper respect, my fledgling,” Lestat reprimands with a matching love-tap to the left cheek, just as excited by the word - one he may only use when Louis wears The Collar - as by the slap.
“Apologies… my Ma… my Maker,” Du Lac stutters a little as he takes the 3rd hit, on his thigh. “Another, if you please,” the 4th strike, to the other thigh, lands just a little harder; a hand slides over silk and green eyes flutter shut.
“Non. None of that,” Les brings his point home with 2 more spanks to his husband’s backside. “Eyes on Armand.” Louis obeys at once, feasting his gaze on the seductive figure now toying with one dark, stiff nipple. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” The sultry baritone against his ear as sharp-nailed fingertips soothe his sensitive skin. “For him to see you bare your pretty bottom for a spanking?” He can practically hear the cruel smile, and it makes him moan; the dirty sound of palm on skin resounds in the room.
Lestat pauses, giving his victim a chance to squirm while soothing the skin once more. Instantly, the eldest vampire is at his side, lips brushing De Lioncourt’s strong jawline.
“You’re much too gentle with him,” he remonstrates, pressing an insistent hand against the bulge straining the rockstar’s shorts. “My Daniel,” fang-tips brush a pale neck, “gets spanked harder than that…”
“Yeah, well…” God help him, Lestat likes this - being pressed between those 2 vampires - way too much, “Daniel isn’t…” he can’t think worth a damn as Armand unzips and tugs him expertly, “Isn’t… Louis,” he recovers just in time while grinding his leather-clad ass into his best friend’s hard-on.
“Please… please…” Louis begs, caught between arousal and frustration.
“OK, petit,” Lestat masters himself with effort. “2 more… and, afterwards, you get my cock,” an eager groan, “if - only if - you say… tell him, mon ami.”
From 1 mind to another- Armand grins lewdly. From that one to the 3rd - Louis gasps, scandalized, his fist at work between his thighs as he breathily complies. “I am - oh!” pushing back into the sweet, sharp sting, “my Maker’s gorgeous,” his breath hitches as Lestat makes that final impact hurt just right, “little slut… Oh, fuck, oh honey…” His back arches prettily; his thighs shake, as, sure enough, Louis’ pretty panties are completely ruined.
“There, there: serves you right for getting all hot and bothered when your husband’s not at home,” the former actor’s attempt at sternness would fool no one as his large palms massage his lover’s ass, “no wonder I made you spill before I even put it in you…” Without a warning, he simply rips the silk and lace off Louis’ body, tossing the stained garment to Armand, who slips it in the pocket of his shirt. Then, with undisguised tenderness, “But you did so good, mon bebe… So, tell me what you want as your reward…” Lestat de Lioncourt cradles his beloved against his muscular chest, breathes in his scent.
Louis de Pointe du Lac never begs for it… but there are exceptions. “Please, Les, my love,” he purrs in languid lust, “Fuck me, I need your dick, I prepped, I’m already so wet and open… Please, I can’t wait for it another minute…” He turns his elegant neck so they can kiss.
With preternatural strength, Lestat picks him up and lowers him carefully onto the soft circular sofa (to which Armand had discreetly withdrawn during the couple’s tender moments), on his back, his head mere inches from the oldest vampire’s lap. He pulls out the plug and tests the willing entrance with a loving fingertip. So ready… Still, he pauses long enough to ask, “You’re comfortable, mon petit?” and waits for an assent before slowly, teasingly pushing his way in.
They make love at a leisurely, romantic pace; the sinuous rolling and thrusting of Lestat’s hips feels like worship; his companion’s desire visibly re-awakens under the attention. As the blond hits that special spot inside, over and over, the brunet lets loose such a flood of moans, endearments and profanities that Les shushes him with a smirk.
“Chut, mon amour… You really must learn to keep quiet for when our… for soon enough. Armand?” He turns to the amber-eyed vampire caressing himself inches from the Creole’s lips. “Would you please give him something which will help him practice?”
Without further ado, the dark seraph guides his hard, leaking member into the unduly chatty mouth. Louis takes the hint, as well as the cock, sucking with a single-minded thirst, his expressions of pleasure now properly muffled. He surprises even himself when, barely 10 minutes later, being trapped between two lovers sends him into his second, untouched orgasm.
Lestat rides him through the aftershocks, keening at the sight of white, pearlescent liquid coating his defined abs till he falls over pleasure’s edge alongside his other half. The eldest in the bed holds out the longest… When, finally, he tosses his dark curls and shuts his eyes, looking for all the world like an angel in his bliss…
“Oh… Oh, Boss,” Daniel Molloy’s voice cuts in, turned on and reverent in equal measure as the recently undead journalist enters the room and wraps around his Maker. The latter pulls him into a messy kiss and sinks against him as he comes down from his orgasm.
Daniel glares mock-seriously at the other three as he complains, “Really? You all did this without me?” His soulmate cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“Well, Louis’ not the only one who’s been quite naughty, my Beloved. And, since I’ve found corporal punishment only incites your misbehavior… my Boy had chores to finish if he wants to earn back his fun. Which reminds me…” A small, elegant hand reaches out expectantly. “You brought it?”
“Yes, Boss.” Daniel obediently places a fancy, ribboned box whose blue-green shade can only mean 1 store on Earth into the waiting palm.
“A gift,” Armand smiles, shark-like, "for the happy couple," as he transfers the offering into his uncomprehending friends’ hands.
The lid is off… and Louis’ face burns flaming hot while Lestat spews a torrent of profanity at the sight of the exquisite silver baby’s rattle. The other couple fall onto the sofa in a fit of laughter. “Did you 2 really, really think,” Armand wipes mirthful red tears from his cheeks, “that you were somehow fooling ANYONE?”
Blue eyes shoot lightning. “Why, you little gremlin, I…” the Francophone voice hisses.
Louis heads off the brewing spat at once by announcing that he doesn’t need this nonsense, not in his condition… In fact, he needs some fresh blood and a nap… and anyone who insists on acting like fledglings can go do so elsewhere.
Armand and Daniel (the latter wrapped around the former’s waist) make their apologies and their adieus, departing via Cloud Gift - doubtless to indulge in their own fun.
Lestat insists on carrying his husband to their bedroom, bridal-style. After he’s fed him from his own wrist and cleaned his belly in a rather… unexpected manner, Louis, The Collar cast aside, feels suitably relaxed… and, for some reason, not at all inclined to nap just at the moment. After all, the night’s not over yet… and he would really like to show his rockstar just how much he’s missed him.