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At the door Louis practically cackled when Lestat blocked his entrance, arms crossed and defiant.
“I do not recall sending you an invitation.”
“Don’t need one.” He was going for indifference. Held back words that could be mistaken for affirmation or affection. Those Lestat attached too much power to.
Still; Louis felt them at the tip of his tongue. It’s Lestat’s laugh he hears in silent rooms, his smile he yearns for under moonlight, his never-ending roundabout metaphors rung perpetually in his ears. He missed him and he needed to stay away. They were mutually exclusive.
A bulk of young people with ears red-tipped from cold slotted inside past him, flung the heavy door and cracked the drywall. Lestat was unfazed. Stared at Louis, eyes shimmering and clinging onto all he could.
It made Louis glad he bundled up. With his maroon scarf, wool gloves, thick coat, the only inch truly him available was his face. And it felt hot from the attention.
The house was bursting, bouncing from the sheer force of music and lively partying. A bonfire among inches of snow. Wasn’t what Louis anticipated when he flew in ahead of The Vampire Lestat’s Toronto show. It’s what he should’ve expected.
Large house, in suburban area to the east, surrounded by dozens of identical structures lined up and down the hilly streets. Anywhere Lestat inhabited became radioactive, a force powerful enough to lure everyone, down to the homebodies, to wander in after nightfall. The worst part is he relished in it.
“Really, Louis.” There was a redhead slung around Lestat’s neck, her mouth attached and sucking hard. He tilted his head away, towards Louis yet all it achieved was granting her better access. Thick, black, lipstick stained his skin like tar.
“You are being rude. - Ah, harder.” He nodded, pressed her closer so the velvet of his pants lifted. “A little higher…mmm, oui, there excellente.”
Louis’ mouth was dry. Lestat was playing with him, as if he was one of his pawns on the chessboard. Though Louis had long memorized the intricacies of the play, he wasn’t immune to jealousy rippling in his chest.
He hasn't seen Lestat since the tour began, but they remain connected.
Lestat perpetually kept his location from his iPhone shared with Louis for this reason - said they should be aware of one another. It was a modern extension of the fateful cord that bound them together.
Louis had not offered the same courtesy. And Lestat would have revoked the privilege he’s sure, if he was aware that you could revoke location sharing. He’d had Louis turn it on in the first place, claiming the technical mess of buttons too complicated for an artiste’s mind and he had no time to learn it.
It was funny at the time. Made his heart swell.
Tonight’s collision is all Louis. He set them on course the very moment he tumbled down the black hole of typing The Vampire Lestat into his search bar. He told himself he never would, that it was petty and possessive and took him away from the kind of vampire he wanted to be.
Was bombarded by images of Lestat surrounded by greedy fans. Charming interviews, editorial photoshoots, live performances where the recorder couldn’t stop shaking the camera.
In the photos men and women clung to his arms. There were kiss marks on his cheeks, bites on their wrists, and his signature in purple Sharpie branded countless patches of skin.
Louis understood, to an extent. You couldn’t see Lestat and resist wanting to know him, talk to him, touch him. In practice his shine evoked a homing beacon more than sunlight. His fault - he knows, he knows how Lestat drives him mad but came knocking regardless.
Louis cleared his throat, pushed spit to its pruritic back. “The hell’s going on here?”
“I thought it was obvious. A party.” Lestat flipped his hair, voice playful and pointed. “You won’t like it; we might partake in an orgy later. It’ll be superb, a cornucopia built entirely on sucking and fucking.”
The girl giggled. Louis tried to remember why he’d wanted to see Lestat at all. How he was maddeningly drawn to him; even mean, obnoxiously inebriated, face smudged with eyeliner and violet glitter.
“As you can see, I’m in the midst of hosting. So if you will - ”
“Really?” Louis said, an inch of malice slowly plucking its way out. “You don’t want me to go.”
“I’m abiding by your precious space. As you wanted. Respecting your boundaries, as they say.” The girl curled around him like a vine had stopped her ravenous suckling. She’d moved on to blot tiny kisses down his bruised throat; the feigned tenderness of the gesture made Louis nauseous. “I can’t imagine why you’d take issue, especially if you consider — ”
“Tell her to get out.”
“You are breaking your rules.” Lestat condescended, too glad to say it. “What does it matter who I spend time on? There is a wall between us, too grand to climb.”
“Lestat -” the girl hummed, impatient and on preoccupied ears.
Louis felt his fangs descend, pricked the inside of his cheek. “Get the leech off your neck.”
“Mmm listen to Louis,” he soothed as he cupped the girl’s chin and lead her head to rest on his shoulder instead. She fiddled with the hem of his cropped shirt.
Lestat inhaled sharply, nostrils flared. “Is it time for you to want me? Or are you here for the show? Have you heard the new single? It’ll open tomorrow night - you should have waited.”
He’s baiting him, he is. Louis took it, swallowed it whole. “I’m here on business. Not for you.”
Lestat smiled, in that way he knew - positively knew, made Louis’ legs liquid. Had him ready to flow down to stain the earth below. Anyone could smell the lie on him.
“Fine. We were just discussing Robert Smith’s impassioned lyricism. Have you heard of The Cure? They evoke many melancholic tones, create such a torturous vignette of love. Many remind me of you.” He slurred, then licked a speck of blood from his lip. “You should listen to —”
”That’s enough don’t you think?” Louis cut in.
Lestat agreed clearly. He pulled the girl from him by her dark hair while she hissed and hissed in pain. Inaudible through the bumping bass.
“Hey! What the heck?” She looked to Lestat, his face was alight, consumed by Louis, and unconcerned. “Who even is this?”
“Get out.” Lestat said, breathe heavy.
As she scrambled out the door, Louis finally stepped over the threshold to invade Lestat’s space. He was beyond flushed, a hot red creeping all the way down to his throat and staring as though he possessed the power to vanish clothing layers with a look.
“Oh - Louis you gorgeous thing. Will you follow her? I love to see your anger. It’s ravishing. You’re ravishing.”
Louis had half a mind to leave. Turn around, walk away, get on a plane. He let go of Lestat.
“We could chase then drink from her together. Would you like that? I may tell her how much better you are at leaving your marks on me,” he grabbed at the collar of Louis’ peacoat. “At spreading your legs too. Yours is the superior caress —”
“Stop it.”
The hunt didn’t suit him these days. Never did really. He also couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t satisfying, knowing Lestat would have done the opposite.
That same satisfaction crumbled within Lestat’s darkened eyes, that he compensated with his fiendish smile, the curl of his fingers begging Louis to come. A masterful orchestration of affairs. Later, maybe Louis would be impressed by the devotion.
Louis took his turn tugging on Lestat’s shirt, got him pressed to his chest to whisper: “Show me around?”
Upstairs, through the winding hallway, in a large and dark room, Louis held Lestat against firmly shut double doors.
At their feet he’d thrown off his coat, gloves, scarf, most importantly Lestat’s tight little shirt. He’d ripped it in half, left shreds of thin shiny black on the carpet.
This was what they did now. Inevitably collide after months of silence. Afterwards they’d keep in touch for a while. Calls turn to texts, texts turn to email, emails whittle to nothing. Things get quiet; and he misses him. The collision repeats itself. Louder. More explosive.
Lestat’s wrists were pinned above him, Louis held them tight, shoved his knee between open legs, and licked his tongue back towards his tonsils. Lestat tasted of artificial grape, he could tell because real grape should’ve been chalky; this was laced with something unnatural and bitter. But it was still good, was still Lestat.
And Louis felt drunk on how pliable Lestat became in his presence these days. The way he folded over, willing to snap in half, if Louis asked. Seemingly motivated by the endless pursuit for his praise. Or so he claimed.
“Jealousy is resplendent on you,” Lestat smiled, sighed, used his words to coil around Louis as though he'd evaporate any moment. “An astonishing emerald I long to embrace. Won’t you let me?”
Louis pressed his elbows into the door to negate Lestat’s squirming. He wasn’t putting in much effort, simply twisting his wrists. To make the point that he wanted to be close enough to consume. It’s what Louis wanted too, he certainly wasn’t about to tell Lestat that.
“The fuck do you think we’re doing right now? Embracing.” He maneuvered Lestat’s arms to bend, putting him in a position loosely resembling a cross, his hands beside his head.
“Please Louis?” Lestat leaned in again to brush their lips. “I want to touch you, ravish you.”
Withholding was all the ammunition Louis had, and he considered briefly if that was why Lestat had wielded it brutally in their house on Rue Royale. He’s as old, felt older than Lestat was then and maybe was finally earning a lesson. Picking up pieces and slotting them together into something he can learn from, even if every one is stained with their mistakes.
“No.” Louis answered, reluctantly he'll admit, ran his nose down Lestat’s cheek so he'd feel his sharp inhale. “Like you like this for now,” he rubbed his thumbs over Lestat’s wrists, “waiting for my go ahead. Maybe I won’t give it to you - since you already got to touch plenty tonight. What’ll you do then?”
Lestat whined, all frustration. “I’ve been waiting. As you said. Waiting for you to come to me.”
Louis’ grip loosened, the role that didn’t quite fit slipping.
“I seem to forget the part where you asked me to abstain in your absence.” He spit, wiggling his wrists out only to grab Louis’ hands instead.
Louis felt dizzy, mind working, working, working to traverse out of the Lestat lined well of want. “Don’t act like you don’t know what you're doing.”
“Louis,” he breathed, stuttered really, “I am giving you space. You said space.”
“I know what I said.”
“You’re out with pretty artists and dainty dancers! Searching for what, another way to wound me?”
“I’m finding myself - I told you. Nothing to do with them. Or you.”
“Oui, and you came to see me,” Lestat said, dripping in fondness. He cupped both of Louis’ cheeks in his palms. “I hoped you would. I’ll continue waiting. You must know how torturous it is. I wanted you to act —”
“—Tough to ignore you. All over the internet.”
“I enjoy the internet —”
“— Photos, videos, whatever of rabid fans grabbing onto you. You pulling them up on stage, into limos, whatever - just to flaunt you can. That’s why you do it, right? You enjoy the power. Same with the high you get from pissing me off.”
Lestat grinned, in that way that made his insides sparkle. “Have you cyberstalked me, Louis?”
“Shut up,” he quipped, held back a laugh that he could tell Lestat saw in his eyes. His hands were so big and molten on his face - already melting the cold exterior he’d arrived with. “And downstairs - you - your neck looks like a Jackson Pollock.”
“This is a good thing?”
“Not exactly.” Louis shook his head, bit his lip. Endearing, somehow that Lestat would still halt an entire conversation to hear his opinions on art. “His work’s…chaotic, explosive, too much for some people.”
Lestat slowly rubbed his hands down to cup Louis’ neck instead, as though he wanted to take in his face without obstruction. He always stared at him like he was beautiful, he was one of his melodramatic operas or sweet song he wanted to replay over and over.
“An artist?”
Louis allowed himself to curl his arms around Lestat’s waist, spread his hands over the small of his back. He was so damn warm somehow, like he was actually able radiate it himself. Clearly he’s fed well, the whole thumping house full of bodies, of blood to gorge on. Louis couldn’t find it in himself to hate him for it; he loved the results.
He jumped in to kiss Lestat hard on the mouth. Messily - a ravenous push of lips and teeth. Lestat made each kiss an act of devotion, ever the performer hitched to the concept of the romantic lead. He pushed Lestat back, who pouted. If he could bite and kiss that pout at once, he would.
“Still not listening to me.”
“How?” Lestat muttered, his eyes wide and enticed. “You are a tangle of contradictions.”
Louis gestured down to Lestat’s hands, which were on his shoulders. “I said hands off cher,” he answered, voice intentionally deep for the novelty of watching Lestat’s pupils grow.
Lestat nodded, curtly, quickly - and backed himself to the wall with his hands up as Louis placed them earlier. Obedient grin pulled at his lips, brows raised in the whisper of a challenge.
“Comme ça?”
“Yeah.” Louis confirmed and crowded Lestat once again. His arms caging him in, hips pressing his body into the solid surface behind. “Stay still for me this time?”
He felt Lestat’s anticipation. Those vivid eyes of his followed Louis as he threaded fingers through belt loops, aligned their hips and pressed them together in small teasing circles.
“Shouldn’t have to tell you twice,” Louis whispered, like it’s a line, no real bite to it. Hard to take the reins with Lestat, but he’s not ready to give them over just yet. Once he does he’ll never take them back.
“Louis.” Lestat whined. The sound high up at the top of his mouth. “None of them matter as you do. They’re mere playthings, meals, entertainment.”
“Don’t want to hear about them now Les.” He reached to cup Lestat through his velvet pants. Slippery, rigid and eager. He twitched against his hand, begging to be caressed.
Another, real, debauched moan came out this time. His hips bounced up to the touch, and Louis rubbed him to sooth as one would a skittish dog. Small circles that had him humming, begging without words. Suddenly all he wanted to do was taste them, his noises.
He dove back in to meet their mouths, pried open Lestat’s lips easily to shove his tongue inside. Perhaps Lestat was the musician, but if Louis wanted he could play him as thoroughly as any instrument.
Louis scrunched the softness of Lestat’s pants in his palm, rubbed him through it so he would receive the best, most scrumptious of his little whimpers. They danced into his waiting mouth, tickled his tonsils as he swallowed them - almost as delicious as any sip of blood.
He heard Lestat’s fists hitting the wall, anxious as ever to wrap himself around Louis, to be the one at the helm. Not now - in fact Louis remained apprehensive to trust Lestat with that kind of power.
He craved it though, those big arms around him. To be held like he was a precious thing.
If he let Lestat lead him back down a shared path, would he ever find his own again? Did he want to? That fear nibbled away at his heart, and so he kept it locked away.
“Louis,” Lestat pleaded, canted forward.
“Yeah?”
“S’il te plaît - let me touch you.”
Louis clicked his tongue to banish his longing. “Not yet. Maybe later, if you’re good. Can you be good?”
It’s mildly exhilarating to talk to Lestat like that. In the way he wouldn’t have contained the courage to all those years ago.
“Y-yes,” Lestat nodded, bordering on frantic. “For you, I can. Sweet Louis, darling Louis.”
“I think you’re just saying that. You know you’re a devil. ‘Got a whole song about it.”
He swore he saw stars shoot through Lestat’s eyes. “You…you’ve been listening?”
Louis placed another sloppy kiss on his mouth. Ruled by spit and teeth and the pull of Lestat’s bottom lip into his mouth so he would make that gorgeous keening sound. Truly, he wants him much more when he’s a little terrible. Is drawn to his theatrics, his frenetic heart that spills into each move he makes.
Lestat was panting, and leaned their foreheads together. He stared between them at Louis undoing his chain belt, rolling down his pants to his ankles. “Oh - you cannot tease me with this. I must know, which was your favourite?”
Louis’ lips curved up. “Later. Want to hear something else, something just for me.”
With that, Louis sunk to his knees. Deliberately slow. He watched Lestat’s breath catch in his throat. His mouth close to abandon words while his pulse fluttered like a butterfly caught in a net. He was hard, his eyelids heavy, cock weeping at its tip. Louis leaned forward to press his tongue flat against him, chuckled as Lestat gasped and hips jumped forward.
He shook his head, teasingly and swaddled in surprise that Lestat let him get this far. “Need you still.”
“And you call me a devil,” Lestat panted, “when you, you —”
Cut himself short with a groan. Louis held both his hands around Lestat’s hips while he licked up the pulsing vein that ran along the bottom of his cock. He ran his tongue up and down, felt Lestat’s thighs tremble once he reached his balls; where he sucked them between his blunt teeth. An enormous success.
They were dusted in golden hair that scratched his smooth lips. The noise Lestat made was borderline divine. A nirvana of desire, the way it quivered as though he were a star about to transcend to a supernova. Maybe he had been waiting.
Emboldened, Louis got a hand around the base of Lestat’s cock. Pumped all the way up to meet his mouth, back around the slippery tip. It’s intoxicating taking him in, having him starving for the touch he’ll give. In a distant way; Louis is reminded of how they used to be. Plenty of his perpetual nights were spent with this fantastic cock down his throat. Some nights the first meal he wanted was Lestat’s bitter spend.
Fuck, did he want it tonight. Louis wanted him to coat his esophagus well enough that tomorrow night he would be able to taste the remnants, each breath with an aftertaste of Lestat. Being full of him, in any possible configuration was intoxicating. For long drawn out moments he felt he truly was the sole object of Lestat’s affections. Without all the noise of bodies meant to stuff a void he’d left in his wake.
“Louis, Louis, Louis -” Lestat moaned, elongated the syllables to show off that low rumble. Sent genuine sparks through Louis’ to hear him.
Somehow, he could tell. “Oh Louis, Louis - you are beautiful. Have I told you enough? I must have you know. Every morning I dream of your face, awaiting the next time I’ll get to - to gaze upon it.” Lestat’s black pupils seemed to only focus on Louis. He glanced upwards to meet his eyes, and again was positively shocked by the want pulsing between them.
Louis began to move his head quicker, back and forth like a pendulum. His spit dripping down his chin as he bobbed his head all the way down to the base of Lestat’s length and back up to kiss the tip.
He lapped up the droplets of precome with enthusiasm often reserved for the bottom of a good bowl of sorbet, then curled his tongue to glide along rolled back foreskin. Lestat shivered, thoroughly, and dug his nails into the garish floral wallpaper. That’s for the best, it made Louis’ eyes hurt when he’d walked in.
Words had left Lestat; also for the best. Every tune from his mouth was a whine or groan or intelligible French that Louis' brain was too scrambled to fathom translating. They sounded like half formed words, mixed up and twisted into a language nearly his own.
Didn’t matter what he was saying, only that he was devoted to the wailing, desperate, inflection that made Louis harden in his slacks.
He had half a mind to unzip them and palm himself - but there was a tickle of delicious superiority to having Lestat bare while he kneeled in his pleated pants and pressed silk shirt. He hummed against him to communicate just that; the fact that he adored what he heard.
The wallpaper received deeper gashes, akin to a flesh wound from a rabid animal. Thin, thorough cuts that only got deeper as his nails dug into them. And, damn was he digging into them.
Each time Louis took the length of him into his throat, hit the back of his mouth, licked underneath, Lestat would throw back his head and rip at the wall again.
“Cheri,” Lestat wailed, “I-I I am close.”
Louis nodded, opened his mouth wider to keep taking him in. Fast, rough, thorough. Lestat twitched, hips lunging forward with such force that Louis had to get both his hands back onto them to hold him steady. His nose was buried in that rough blonde hair as he came. Hard and fast and screaming Louis’ name.
A sound for his ears alone. The bass of the party’s music outside drowned him out, vibrated through the floor to shake Louis’ bones through his kneecaps. He didn’t retreat immediately, instead suckled at Lestat’s cock until his breathing evened out and he was letting out fluttered whimpers of overstimulation.
As he removed his mouth, Lestat gave up on his legs. He slid down the wall to land on the floor in front of Louis, eyes burning with adoration that made him both sick and swooning. There was a sated smile on his face as he crawled closer, cupped Louis’ cheek in his big hand.
“Missed you.” Louis was on strings held by his longing. “Came all the way here ‘cause I waited too long. Shouldn’t have.”
Lestat lunged to fervently meet their mouths again. His newly freed fingers were immediately on his shirt, releasing the buttons from their holes at record speed and throwing the fabric off his shoulders.
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Lestat agreed, lips on Louis’ jaw. “Cruel of you.”
Louis gasped softly when Lestat bit down on his earlobe, licked the path back to his jaw. His warm palms were all over, rubbing from his biceps to his chest to his back simultaneously.
Impossible to keep track of, made him powerless from spitting affections again. That was how he got when Lestat touched him.
“Yeah, a bit,” he began, “Thought it’d make things easier.” He kissed him sloppier than before. “When I saw all those photos of you I—”
Lestat chuckled. “Enough on the photos. Everyone takes photos.” He pounced over Louis on all fours. Knees on either side, arms settled on the scratchy carpet underneath.
“When I saw those photos, with all those people touching you I thought -” Louis smoothed his hands over Lestat’s strong arms, got some fingers tangled in his hair. He stared him right in the eyes, wanted to make sure his meaning stuck. “None of them deserve it. That should be me.”
If Lestat’s eyes could get darker he’s sure they would have. He dove into another kiss, this time more ravenous than the last.
Entirely crashing teeth and pants for unnecessary breath. And Louis let him. He let him tear off his slacks, rip his leather belt in frustration, and finally, finally, finally fuck him into the kitschy rug for hours.
The party sounded as though it was winding down and Louis had wicked carpet burn on his back. They’d moved to the bed eventually. A large California king that was undoubtedly impractical for two vampires, especially two vampires who refused to separate.
Louis was stretching atop Lestat, sensually slow, with a body full of him. He could have sworn that Lestat was buried deep enough for him to feel it back in his throat, unfathomably closer than the usual tingle of him through his veins.
“Fuck, Les,” he whined, and Lestat’s thrusts met him. “Yeah, yeah like that.”
Lestat’s eyes were shut, face bent forward, mouth attached to his chest in a smile. Louis hummed contently, and pulled him up by his chin so he could have his turn to pluck kisses on his sharp jaw. Long, dangling, golden earrings in the shape of stakes poked his forehead.
He continued his voyage to his neck until he froze bombarded with the scent of lipstick. No doubt Lestat felt his hesitation, his pawing at Louis’ ass grew slightly more frantic, his hips careened upwards in apprehensive thrusts.
“Keep going mon cher, that feels nice.”
There was barely a strip of unmarked skin on Lestat’s neck. Indents of teeth and lips lined with smudges of black lipstick. Emboldened, Lestat tilted his chin up; caught Louis looking.
The difference in hickey shape on either side of his throat became grossly apparent. One side small and dainty while the other wide and greedy - as though made by two separate mouths. Neither of them Louis’.
Something snapped inside him. Raw, angry, betrayal that morphed Lestat back into the personification of every fear Louis pushed down.
Of mourning the loss of his sense when Lestat was involved, of losing himself in their unfathomable connection, of speaking his ardour out loud. Topped with the old, cobweb-ridden insecurity he wasn’t enough for Lestat - would never be enough.
He climbed off the bed.
“Louis?”
The idea of others pawing at Lestat was no longer a sensual possessive game. Instead it became banging heartache that he didn’t feel he had the strength to control. He felt too exposed. Scrambled for his pants, which were left at the foot of the bed then got them up over his hips. They were uncomfortable, dug into his cock that hadn’t quite gotten the memo.
“No, no, no. Do not leave me so soon.” Lestat was up and standing beside him in a split second, eyes frantic. “Surely the long time apart earned me more than a night? At the very least a thorough orgasm!”
“That what you’re upset about? You didn’t get off enough times?” Louis didn’t know what else to say. His tongue felt knotted, limbs heavy and unheeding. He picked up his shirt and decided to hone all focus onto the delicate buttons instead.
”I have to go.”
Lestat scoffed, head tilted up to the ceiling. The move cast a spotlight on those sick purple teeth marks. “In the middle of our lovemaking?”
“Yes. Got an early meeting tomorrow night.” Louis scrambled, and thought about just walking out without further explanation.
“I see.”
“Yeah and I’m —”
“Is it because you feel you’ve lost this round? I did too well to lure you, crossed an invisible line you’ve drawn while I wasn’t looking. Will you make me guess what it is?”
“Lestat —”
“No.” He crowded Louis, apparently done with playing coy. Better. It didn’t suit him. “I admit it freely. I’m vying for your attention. Did you know every song on my album is about you? My love for you. Maybe I am not playing fair but…”
“It’s not a game to me!” Louis shouted. Leave it to Lestat to make him burn up. Too hot, he pulled at the collar of his shirt. “That’s why I’ll never stay you’re - you’re incapable of change. All some big elaborate chess match for you.”
Even as he said it he knew it wasn’t true - but it would hurt, which is the point. Lestat’s eyes instantly gloss over with tears. They got stuck in his waterline, he seemed determined keep them from falling.
Oddly, the sight made Louis feel worse. He looked to the door, to ignore the scrutiny of Lestat’s vivid eyes. They were overwhelming, wielded every single emotion he was feeling at once like weapons.
“Pardonne-moi, I forgot. Louis is the only one permitted to feel,” he snorted, and oh, Louis loathed it. “Gets to pick and choose when our bond is frivolous and when it’s worth sustaining.”
“That ain’t what I meant. But, fine. You let me choose.”
“There’s little I wouldn’t let you do!”
“Why’s that my fault? You’re still just talking about you. How I make you feel, what I’m doing wrong. ‘Don’t know how to take responsibility.”
“My love for you is relentless! Is this your revenge? You’ll pump up my heart with affections then rip them away?” He muttered it sadly, as though he did not need the answer.
“Louis — I told you before. I cannot mind. I will take whatever you’ll give me. I just - I wish you wanted to give me all of you.”
Too much. The lie was plain on his face.
“I can’t,” Louis forced, voice small and stern. Louis was surprised he made it out the door. Completely dumbfounded by the fact that Lestat did not make any attempt to follow. Left an easy opening, he thought.
Louis stayed in the city another night and avoided Massey Hall. Meant he was free from screaming, obnoxious, young tourists, and most importantly wouldn’t hear The Vampire Lestat’s set. Songs all about him could be disastrously blasphemous to as backhandedly complementary as Come to Me was.
He was afraid if he heard a single note live, with Lestat steps away, he’d go running into his arms. Spitting apologies on how he didn’t mean what he said, that he was ready to be each other’s one and only again. But he just - wasn’t. At least he didn’t feel ready.
Thankfully winter meant the sun set early; and he heard the city’s famous art gallery was open late.
“Anything sticking out to you?” Francis asked. He was in from New York, attending a workshop for small gallery owners. It was nice to see him.
His hair, longer and box-braided now, was pulled back in an orange hair tie matching his sweater. Louis snatched a glance at his neck every few minutes. Which…was mildly exciting.
“Am I an asshole if I say not really?” He clicked his tongue, stuffed hands into his pockets. “I was hoping there’d be more…local work, y’know? Something contemporary.”
“Okay, like this piece here,” he gestured to the canvas in front of them. “The artist has a great technique, fantastic use of colour, but it’s also a bit…empty. It’s like where’s the emotion? The draw. The love. There’s skill here, ‘got no idea what it’s saying though - maybe I’m not too into abstract.”
Louis snickered. “I don’t mind it. You’re right it’s withdrawn, pensive almost. Definitely not theatrical.”
“Exactly yeah.”
“Kind of enjoy that though. The bird’s eye view approach. It’s difficult to see the whole picture when you’re wrapped up in things, need that wise eye to set you back on track or break out of a spiral.” Louis was enraptured then, by the bold lines and angled shapes. He's not here to buy, but if he'd seen this piece fifty years ago he would have. Then sold it to this exact gallery.
Francis stepped closer, he smelt of citrus. “Alright, alright, wish I had your eye for things.”
“Takes practice,” he offered, trying not to preen like a peacock.
“What I do have is a scoop on an authentic spot. This place is…stuffy for lack of a better term, there’s somewhere better more grass roots I could show you. If you want.” Francis was smiling, easily as though he’d never experienced what it’s like to force it.
Bad, horrible, stupid idea. “Yeah, okay.”
“Small cafe on the west end. Real eccentric vibe, rotating door of local talent, or at least that’s what they tell me. I was going to head there after this, you’re more than welcome to join me. Maybe they’ll have what you’re looking for.”
Louis was thankful he didn’t eat Francis when they met. He’s proved to be a knowledgeable contact, the first he’d made outside of Armand. That seemed significant. “Sounds great.”
He felt Lestat enter, an unmistakable tingle throughout his entire body. His heart reached out in its constant search for signals of his existence. When he got it the result was catastrophic; a rapid increase in pulse piloted by a craving he doesn’t anticipate will ever be fulfilled.
He told Daniel they had a bond, maker and fledgling bound together forever. Lestat called it a cord, an invisible one that will twist and tug, but never break. As usual; he found Lestat’s version highly romanticized and in this case preferable.
Their cord was raw from the other night, stretched and loose without elastane, led Lestat back to him anyhow. He was in a subdued version of his usual outfits, trying to blend in wearing a dark purple leather jacket rather than - Louis didn’t know - bright fluorescent yellow. A rejection of celebrity, or an attempt at it. Clear that the only person he was trying arouse attention from was Louis.
On Lestat’s arm was a stunning man. Slender, heavily tattooed, clad in distressed denim of all things. Louis could see right through to his legs, also covered in lines of ink. One on his thigh was unmistakably of death, a reaper clad in a dark cloak ready to collect his soul.
The irony was lost on him. A man who idolized the macabre, perhaps fantasized about death’s grip, or at the very least appreciated the aesthetic - would likely meet it tonight. He knew Lestat, pictured him biting right on the tattoo to make a point as he drained him.
“Awesome!” Francis said, reminding Louis that he was there. He whipped his head back to attention, in front, to the art. “I have a couple more pieces to see here, can you meet me by the front in a few?”
Didn’t matter. Lestat had turned towards him. Reflective, chromatic, enchanting attention stuck to Louis as Lestat placed his hand on the man’s shoulder, smiled through him to hit Louis instead.
He took it further, as Lestat always did, and put a wet kiss on the man’s cheek. Left a glossy stain behind that made Louis contemplate snapping his neck, then grabbing Lestat by his silky tresses to -
“Mr. Du Lac? Shit sorry, Louis?”
Louis’ shoulders hopped up. “Louis is fine,” he assured. “Yeah. I’ll see you in a few. I want to, uh, study this one for a bit longer,” he gestured to the painting, “—make sure I’ve got enough ammo to and change your mind. Get you appreciating abstract.”
“Yeah, right. See ‘ya.”
He should have come during Lestat’s show. Dropped in right at nine, long after it’s begun, when Lestat was on stage and not waiting in the wings of his nights. Careless of him. Stupid if he pondered it too long.
Keeping a safe distance from Lestat while he untangled his life was imperative, better for them both. How could he truly get his footing if Lestat kept knocking him off balance? If he continued to allow the whirlwind of their connection to slap him sideways like a window shutter in a hurricane?
Tonight’s the last show before he moves to the next city. Louis could have waited, come to the gallery tomorrow when the coast is guaranteed to be clear. But no, he came tonight. Early. As early as he was able. A part of him wanted Lestat to follow, and continue their deranged game of cat and mouse. The same one Louis assured himself they weren’t playing.
“…I do write all my own songs, yes. You are quite intelligent.” Lestat bragged, waved his hands in front of him as he spoke. His rings caught on the overhead lights, shone quick and scattered drops like a disco ball. “My influences are abundant, they vary exorbitantly…”
Louis let out a deep breath, to calm himself, to align attention back to the art. Again, from the corner of his eye he saw golden hair twirl, heard booming laughter - and had to look.
Lestat’s hair was better tonight. He hadn’t let gel near it yet; which meant the tiny swirls at the end were imperfect. If Louis stroked them they’d be as angelically soft as clouds.
He wasn’t listening. Louis clenched his fist at his side, his other hand rubbing over his chin as though lost in admiration. He was, but not for the paintings. Lestat was damn loud. Demanded attention from all spaces he invaded.
Lestat giggled, feigning modesty. “…except for the one thing most of my music has in common of course.” As Louis caught that his entire body turned towards the source. “They call out to a lost love. Someone I miss very much.”
Louis didn’t catch the tattooed man’s response, because his heart was thumping in his ears. Loud, rattling crashes like cymbals.
How dare he morph their current state into a tale of unrequited love. Something sympathetic and easily contained when they’ve never, ever been that. Their love’s destroyed; cracked people and places like a plague.
Minutes later he caught the end of Lestat’s ode to the Louis he made up for his music: “Everything I do is for him. My entire existence, well, it would be rendered meaningless without him. And so, I call out each night on the stage. With the hope he will hear me, and forgive me one day.”
The last part pierced Louis directly in the heart. Half of him wanted to rush over, grab Lestat’s stupid, flushed face in his hands and kiss him until he forgot how to even make music. The other half pondered setting the building on fire, just to make Lestat perform with uneven, singed hair.
Lestat kept talking, pressed his hand onto the other man’s chest. “Oui, you’re right. Love does inform a certain aura of madness. For me, the hold is violent. I find beauty in that violence. Tell me — do you think I am alluring in my longing?”
“For sure,” the man replied. His voice became unnaturally deep, intentionally dropped down an octave. “Pretty shocked that anyone’s stupid enough to stand you up.”
Louis laughed. “This is pathetic.”
The room seemed to part as he walked to Lestat, who was beaming, ecstatic that his insane plan was working. Louis couldn’t think about that right then - he was too irritated, too dumbfounded by the fact that Lestat thought declaring feelings to a random stranger was the imperative move.
“Spilling rehearsed guts to a stranger to get my attention? What are you on about —”
“Hey buddy, this is a private conversation —”
“Ah, ah ah, “ Lestat began, then held up a finger to his date’s lips. “Your purpose has been served. You may go now.”
His eyes went blank, soon transferred over to obedient. “I’ve got to go.” And he did. He spun around towards the exit at record speed, and Louis felt a cocktail of pride and regret settle in his stomach.
“Louis I knew you would see —”
“Shut up.” Oddly, Lestat snapped his mouth shut. It left Louis with a twinge of satisfaction. He made it happen pushed Lestat around the same way he did everyone else. “‘Don’t want you here.”
“This is a public place.”
Louis resisted sticking his eyeballs to the ceiling. “You told me once galleries, museums, weren’t your taste. Too quiet and contemplative.” Wasn’t true, but he’d said it and couldn’t take it back.
“Perhaps I’m changing!” Lestat asserted, arms out for emphasis. “I thought this would be a good spot to begin. We received coupons backstage, fifteen percent off general ticket price. Would you like one?”
“Hear you’ve got a sold out tour to get back to.”
Lestat shrugged. “I missed you,” he answered, tone so sincere that Louis thought he might detonate the wall between them. “I did get you to come to this tundra of a city. I have a ticket aside for you. There’s one for you every show.”
“Didn’t come for you. Clearly you came here for me though, really, really wish you didn’t.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You should.” Louis began, choosing to ignore patrons eying them, of the loud thoughts questioning whether it truly is the Vampire Lestat being tormented in public. “How many times are you going to make me walk away from you?”
“What if I gave you two tickets? You can bring one of your creative boys.”
Louis snorted. Thought of Francis waiting outside the doors, scarf curled tight around his neck and waiting. There was constantly someone waiting for him; and it was hastily becoming more a trap than an appreciation. What would it feel like to live without all these strings attached?
“I am not stupid.” Lestat said, shoulders tight and defensive. “My actions are meant to lure you, pull on the cord connecting us. Use myself as bait to make you come. Whether you’re vengeful, upset, disheartened. I don’t care. I know you - you cannot fathom putting your trust in me again, that you compensate by maintaining brevity between us. If you must I’ll endure it. I’d endure anything for you.”
Lestat’s declarations did something to Louis, made his legs jelly and his brain driven by his heart. A heart that wanted Lestat so deeply - chasmic enough to banish doubts. It was the fault of his desperate heart that Louis snared Lestat’s face between his palms, and kissed him steely.
The gasp from Lestat’s mouth trampled over the others in the space, who he knew were looking, taking out their phones to snap photos, videos, whatever - but Louis’ heart needed to kiss Lestat. Had to show him that he was as caught in the web of them as he was. More so maybe, he couldn’t admit it out loud. He wanted Lestat on his back immediately. Wanted him open and glistening with sweat, gripping his three hundred thread count sheets as though he'd shoved him underwater was chasing the surface.
Louis sucked Lestat’s bottom lip into his mouth, leaned in further when he felt his warm hand cup the back of his neck. Kept kissing an odyssey through his mouth until he was startled by booming music. An unmistakable ooh ooh ooh wah ahhh vibrating through the gallery’s overhead speakers. Louis pushed Lestat away, panting, his eyes wide.
“I thought if my words did not work then surely a song would get your attention,” Lestat said, lips swollen and playing on bashful. “That is what they say, us musicians. Emotions too large to contain within you must erupt to music.”
His song Long Face reached its chorus and every single eye in the gallery was on them. It hammered Louis’ sense back in. Made him see that he almost gave in again. Tripped and fell into a gorge that had the power to strip him of himself and replace it all with Lestat.
“You have my attention.” Louis assured, though removed his hands. He needed them to speak. To flail and point out the wrongdoings. “This song’s not about any emotions I need to hear about. All I hear is jealousy, your attempt to reclaim some kind of ownership over me. By, what? Guilting me? Or antagonizing me?”
Louis sighed. “I’m tired of this Les.”
“My Louis — it means I want you. I am in left in agony without you. And yes, I want to anger you. Fury is the irrefutable way to make you admit you want me. It got you over here, urged you to fuck me. The other night - you told me you missed me too.”
“Don’t call me that.” He snapped, felt miserable stars in his fingertips.
“Why not?” Lestat pleaded. “I belong to you. I’ve said so thousands of times. You are the one who disappears like a phantom and terrorizes me with loneliness. After all this time I’m still fighting a futile battle between you and your fascinating hobbies, your useless human heart. When will you let it go once and for all?”
Lestat’s eyes widened at the same time Louis did. Transported them both to their messy, decrepit, disdainful townhouse. “Louis - I didn’t, I'm sorry —”
Fans swarmed. Excited questions that had Lestat enraptured in performative responses. About who Louis was, if he was the one all the songs were about, the guy he kept calling out to, if he was going to be at the show.
Louis saw it clear - the intent to use his fame to pressure Louis back. It crashed into him, made a giant crack down the middle of his newly mended devotion. Lestat was right, he didn’t trust him. Not with this. Surely not with his heart. Lyrics explicitly written to get under his skin rustled around them. Lestat was a master of swaddling adoration with irateness, and making them both an indurated dig.
Louis rolled his eyes. What else was there to do?
“Have a good show,” he muttered before turning his heels, heading for the back exit. He ignored the distant calls of his name, the stray fans vying for his attention, until the first heavy door slammed and he chose to not hear Lestat or the music anymore. Then; he pulled the fire alarm for good measure.
There’s a billboard dedicated to The Vampire Lestat directly outside of Louis’ hotel balcony. An ad for some fragrance company, the logo a scribble he didn’t care to discern.
He was well lit, flush mouth slightly agape, eyes lined with dark liner that made his pupils seem like divine intervention. To Louis they were, he couldn’t suppress the shiver down his spine as he met the printed eyes.
He’d decided to stay in Toronto for the rest of the week. There was something comforting about a whole city that hadn’t quite discovered its identity. It had the uncanny ability to masquerade as others. Felt like New York some nights with the bustle and street festivals. Or Paris with its spectacles of artistry. Even San Francisco with the feverish crowds in pursuit of sporting events. Nice to know that a city, large in its grandeur, still figuring itself out over two hundred years later. Meant it wasn’t too late for him, imbalanced and older than many cities.
Lestat’s contact lit up his phone. Louis hesitated, ran his nails over the cuff of his shirt. The ringing stopped, and then abruptly began again. Usually; he would let it ring, leave his phone out on the balcony while he answered his emails on the laptop. Tonight he picked up the third call.
The voice on the line wasn’t Lestat, but Daniel. “Louis, fuck you’re a difficult guy to get hold of.”
“Hi Daniel. Why you calling me from Lestat’s phone?”
“He’s - okay the thing is that he’s AWOL. Didn’t show up for sound check tonight, which isn’t totally out of character but he usually emerges before the opener goes on.” Daniel huffed, laced with what sounded like a tinge of panic. “Thought maybe he told you something, called you, sent you an outdated letter in cursive.”
“No. He hasn’t.”
From what he heard, okay, from what he looked up; Lestat should be in Montreal by now, gearing up for another show before he flies to the next city. It’s New York after that, he thinks.
Daniel hesitated. Despite having no need Louis heard his deep inhale, the stress of the book maybe. “Alright well, my hunch has turned out to be crap - thanks. I’ll let you go —”
“Wait.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re saying Lestat’s missing?”
“Yeah. Shut off his mind from me too, didn’t like my questions.”
“What?”
“Damn, he doesn't tell you anything does he?” Daniel’ smirk is obvious through the phone. “Hang on. I’m coming in.”
Louis had no time to inquire, immediately following the statement he heard the door to his suite swing open. He peeked his head back inside and found that Daniel had been extremely literal in his statements. He hung up the phone as he went inside.
“Nice room. How long are you here for?”
“Daniel.”
“Louis.”
Louis sighed, too wound up to engage in a verbal spar. “I’m flying back to Dubai tonight. Why are you following Lestat’s tour? Don’t tell me you’re striving to become the oldest groupie in existence.”
“Think you’ve got me beat for that one.” Daniel chuckled. He looked good, vibrant, his steps sprung as he took his time surveying the room. Picked up the hotel notepad, spun around the tiny decorative clock on the table.
Then he adjusted his sunglasses, swiped them back on top of his head. “Right? C’mon that photo of you two sucking face is plastered on every stinking tabloid already. You ever heard of PopCrave?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m done.”
“Sure you are,” Daniel muttered, then sat down on the sofa with his legs sprawled atop the glass coffee table. He can see the extra charge on his bill now. For the cracks in the table, or the mud stains dripping off combat boots. “We’re making a documentary. Lestat and I.”
Louis must have heard him wrong. Yet as he squinted the picture became less clear. “About what?”
“Him. His story. Like we did for our book. He came to me actually - said he wanted to get it all out in the open, tell his side of things. We started months ago, when the tour kicked off. He really didn’t tell you, huh?”
“He didn’t mention it, no.” There was a chill over Louis’ shoulders, a shivering, clear fact that he really hadn’t been speaking to Lestat at all. When they coupled it was a complete mess of rage, envy, obsession.
No room for anything else. Daniel was staring, as if he expected him to continue. “I didn’t ask. He mentioned the tour. Thought he meant he wanted to be the next Debussy, or Billy Joel with Piano Man 'til I heard the songs. Not — ”
“The frontman in a rock band? Right.” Daniel nodded, too understandably, too wedged in the stories of others. Louis didn’t think he minded when it was his, he’d invited Daniel in after all, and was grateful for their time together. But to picture him poking around in fibres of Lestat that Louis himself hadn’t trudged felt diabolical.
He wanted to protect Lestat, keep him away from the gruesome monster of memory. Even if he was already in its belly, had walked in there with his head held high. Louis would cut him out. “You have no idea where he is?”
“Look, we meet before the show usually. When soundcheck’s all good and done I get my camera out, you should see it she’s a stunner, I’ll bring it next time -” Louis glared, his patience thin on the topic of a wayward Lestat.
“So he didn’t show tonight. Doesn’t show every time if I’m being honest. Comes back before his first cue though, it’s this whole thing where he drops from the ceiling on wires wearing bat wings.”
“Sounds like you get a kick out of it.”
“Listen, he has a talent for this stuff even if he is the biggest priss I’ve ever met.” Daniel admitted, neck reclined on the back of the sofa. “You have anything to drink?”
Louis was done, he had to be done. He was devastated. He wished to see Lestat immediately. Yes, he did create a barrier between them. He’d enforced it to the best of his abilities, but he didn’t like that other people could bypass it like it was nothing. He felt ridiculous; as if his ideal would have Lestat locked away, hidden from the rest of the world, waiting.
“Sure, yeah. Some O positive in the mini fridge, over there.” Louis said, thoughts so consumed by Lestat that all he did was gesture vaguely as instruction.
That was what Lestat said. He was waiting. Made it sound like torture. He supposed it was, he’d scarcely describe Lestat as patient. Irritating, yes. Selfish, undoubtedly. Manipulative, to great extent. He didn’t care about what Louis needed, always had his own preferences at the forefront.
But he’d listened, hadn’t he? Almost? The distance, Louis request for space - he’d been stupid to think either of them could keep at it. Lately, Louis was feeling that what he needed was Lestat himself.
“Okay, got any ideas where he’d be hiding out?” Daniel asked, the sofa’s old springs squeaked as he sat down. “Don’t think he’s fled the country already do you?”
“I don’t feel him here.” Louis shrugged. “But he made it to Montreal, yes?”
“Far as I know.”
“I'll look for him. Alone.”
Daniel raised his hands in surrender, smiling as if he knew too much. “Fine by me.”
Lestat was in Montreal. On the quiet streets, in the early morning, Louis’ shoes sunk into shallow puddles between cobblestones. Uncharacteristically, he didn’t care how soaked through his socks became as he snuck into Notre-Dame Basilica.
The front lock was broken, metal gaped open with small incisions circling it that appeared to be from sharp, vampiric nails. He pushed open the cumbrous doors with a thunderous creak. Years ago, they’d discussed it. The bastardized version of the great lady of Paris, Lestat had said. Silly that a distant child of France thought it had a change to recreate the city overseas. Bragged that New Orleans didn’t try half as hard, and that was why it was the true North American legacy to Paris. Vehemently asserted that if he were to be in the wretched Canadian city, they would need to visit the church to prove his point.
It’s the second place Louis has checked. He climbed to the top of Mount Royal, thinking Lestat adored to gaze upon a city from above before he realized Lestat didn’t need a big hill to do what the Cloud Gift did. So, he reckoned he was on the ground, and nostalgic.
“Lestat?” He called out, apprehensive in the grandeur of carved pillars and gold organ pipes.
Louis hadn’t been in a church in a century. Longer…not since the night he was turned. The night Lestat had come chasing after him, wild and determined, and horrifying. He felt Lestat’s presence, knew he was close by, too stubborn to answer.
Again: “Lestat?”
Louis found him in the chapel. Sitting on the shiny floor, staring up at the enormous bronze carved altarpiece that took up the entire middle section of the wall. It depicted what looked like a journey through life to God, with him perched at the top surrounded by rays of sun with many figures below gazing upwards. Much like Lestat was.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Lestat asked, without moving a muscle. “I’m sure the weighty connotations are lost in me. However, I admire the aesthetic.”
He was stunningly still, it became further apparent as Louis approached and sat down on the floor beside him. Lestat’s collar, white, chiffon, was stained crimson with blood. Whether it was from crying or feeding was unclear. His face wore the aftermath of both.
Louis huffed out a laugh. “It’s kind of ostentatious for me.”
“Of course.” Lestat said, voice soft. “Not your taste.”
It’s been a long while since Louis has seen Lestat without pretence. No coy play at work, or costume of a rockstar consuming his presence. Made Louis feel more real in comparison, less inclined to hide. How did he end up back there? Pretending to be hardened to his core, when it’s always, always been tender.
“You’re not even going to argue with me? C’mon tell me why you like it.”
Lestat’s lips stretched into a tiny smile. “I was wrong.” He spat, and Louis waited for him the confession to bloom open like a flower bud. “This church is not modelled after Notre-Dame cathedral in Paris. It is a common misconception, critics without the wealth of comparable images we possess now thought them the same. I heard a guide speak about it, earlier.”
“Yeah?”
“This section we’re in now - the Chapelle du Sacré-Cœur burned in the late 1970s. I did not know, when I entered, I thought this room fit perfectly into the 18th century. But no, this portion was restored shortly after the fire. It’s shockingly modern. Dressed up as a relic of the past. And it doesn’t matter. No hindrance in delight.”
Lestat paused, as if he lost his train of thought and slowly spun his head around to admire the room. He stopped on Louis. “I am wrong about many things.”
Louis’ heart was up in his throat, gagging him with adoration. “You are,” he agreed. “A lot of things. Agreeing to a documentary exposé with Daniel Malloy comes to mind first.”
“Ah, the fledgling sent you. He is peeved I denied him his inquiries. You didn’t tell me how vicious he is with them, he’s like a viper. Takes his time, so the strikes are poisonous.”
“Why are you doing it?”
Lestat inhaled deeply, for show. “You said that it was good for you, to weave through the past, self reflect. I thought it’d make me better, better for you, to face my past head on. Perhaps I could be someone you - someone worthy of your love.”
Louis was stunned for a moment. He’d spent the past day welding over the fact that Lestat would rather spill his guts to Daniel instead of him.
Which - was an issue, but he hadn’t considered this angle. He’d regarded him as unbreakable for so long, it was a whirlwind to remember in reality he was far from it. Both of them were. Two fractured things trying to hold each other up.
“You’re ridiculous.” Louis blurted. He was, thinking that being interviewed was a cure instead of a particular self-inflicted brutality. It yielded results, of course but Louis felt it’d take a lot more than probing inquiries to get through Lestat’s defences.
And he didn’t want Lestat brutalized. To see him suffer loud enough for the entire world to see. “You don’t have to tell him everything.”
“What’s the point otherwise? You tell me I am a fake, too much the actor and you’re right. I cannot comprehend myself sometimes. I do not mean it badly, maybe I need Daniel’s viper venom to coax out the truth. As you did.”
“Alright.” Louis leaned closer to Lestat, reached to tuck his hair behind his ears. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Whatever for?”
“Lestat.”
Lestat laughed, in that booming way he did when he was feeling insecure. “Darling Louis, I don’t need you to protect me. I didn’t come here because of the pressure of the documentary. I -” The dam broke and Louis heard the alcohol slow his speech into quiet slurs.
Again, a performance over. “I wanted to be alone. There are photos. Of you and I on newsstands, social media feeds, everywhere - I could not continue. I kept thinking, what if that was our final embrace? I’ll have to see a reminder of what I’ve lost every evening.”
Another performance began. Hit then melted as quick as butter in a skillet. "Lestat how could you let such a treasure slip away? Lestat where is Louis? What did you do to drive him off this time?" His voice tightened and he jerked his wrists as if dancing after each question. "How do you stomach eternity in solitude?"
Tabloids didn’t last nearly that long, and Louis would have corrected him if his brain was still in charge. Said he was being absurd, not to mention over dramatic. They've had good nights worse than this. Idiot he was, his heart asked: “Then what do you want me to do?”
Why the hell did Daniel get to be who Lestat needed? Did he know that Louis is here, willing? Despite his own self preservation screaming at him not to?
”I should be asking you.”
Lestat shook his head, tilted it down to stare at his hands and spin the ring on his index finger. His, shoulders curled inward, and hair fell over his face.
“What do you need me to do, Les? I told you what I needed, and I was wrong about the distance. It ain’t working for me.”
“I need you to love me.” Lestat squeaked, his eyes back to Louis’ furrowed brow. “I know you do not -”
“Wait.” Louis squeezed both Lestat’s hands. “You think I don’t love you?”
“You’ve never said — I assumed.” Lestat pouted, bottom lip its natural rosy pink.
He found it difficult to comprehend so suddenly that his withholding wielded such power. Great power over the one he thought for so long, was professional in secret suppression. But he was trying to change now. Every night he was combing through information he locked up, intent on sharing.
That gave Louis the courage. “How could you think I don’t love you?”
“Oh.” Lestat was certainly crying, red teardrops rushed down his cheeks.
Then, with a flicker of a smile he dove forward to kiss Louis’ mouth. Let go of his hand in favour of cupping his face, angling him up to meet his ardour again and again. Louis’ head swam, tears trickled out of his eyes too. Overcome with matching his words to actions after all this time, of letting out affection that’d become second nature to hide.
“Je t'aime Louis. Je t'aime tellement.” Lestat practically purred, ran his tongue deep into his mouth. Together, in love, at the alter like they’d been over a hundred years ago.
Louis gasped, high and wanting. “Tell me something you don’t tell your audience. Something you wouldn’t say to describe a steamy sack of blood after a long night.”
Lestat stared at him as if he could project the love into his head - the reverence in the glint of his eyes came close. “I’ve loved you since the moment I met you mon cher. Since I first saw your beautiful face. Have I told you this?”
Louis shook his head, slow. He absolutely had, and he was no less desperate for it. “I saw you each evening after you left me in my coffin. I could see you. Feel your presence watching. As bright and unyielding as the distant North Star. My guiding light. My reason to rise.”
Louis kissed him as a response, swift swipes over swollen lips. “What else?” He asked, breathlessly. Bold for him to open up the floodgates of Lestat’s words of adoration, when he knew he would go on and on forever if he asked. That was it though, he never asked.
Lestat laughed, lowly, fondly. It bounced off Louis’ face. “The first time I saw you I nearly collapsed. Not just because you were wielding a knife. I thought no one has ever looked as dazzling in their threats, I’d have let you slit my throat then, to be in your arms for a moment.”
“I would’ve if you tried me.” Louis traced his fingertips down the front of Lestat’s throat, circled his Adam’s apple as he inhaled. “I remember hating that big red bow, the one you wore to the poker game.”
“I heard. Your thoughts were very loud.”
Louis found himself drawn in, then leaned his mouth down to graze delicately over Lestat’s neck. Kissed wetly across it as if he hadn’t in aeons. Greedily, unconvinced that he'd have sufficient time to ravish.
Lestat choked on air, careened to Louis, and twisted up the wool of his coat at his shoulders. He was breathing out like he couldn’t believe the adoration - positively starved for it. “I will love you in any form. My love extends beyond myself, there’s nothing left of it in me. I’ve given it all to you.”
“You can have mine then.” Louis asserted. “And I’ll take yours.” Confident, more confidence than he thought he’d ever possess with the subject. It propelled him back up to Lestat’s jaw, where he kissed and nipped his way to resume meeting lips.
Their teeth knocked against each other. Hands grabbed at biceps, to the nape of each other’s necks, settled on holding cheeks. Lestat guided Louis’ mouth open wider to suck his lip between his teeth.
His fangs nicked on wet skin inside, and droplets of tart blood danced to the back of his throat. As Louis did the same he saw it all, the bottomless pit of Lestat’s love. The unyielding romanticism, obsessive pursuit, deep purple bruises that reached all the way to his core. Louis saw the heartbreak plain because his matched.
The sucking got Lestat whining and writhing towards him. Called home, Louis ended up practically straddling his lap, knees on either side pressed down into granite flooring. Lestat’s hands nearly tore through Louis’ sleeves on their way to his hips, he felt the frigid breeze through the little holes that wanted in, in, in.
“Why now?” Lestat asked, muffled but Louis caught it all the same.
Louis stopped his ravenous sucking, pulled back to give tiny licks until the wounds on Lestat’s lip dried up. “What do you mean?”
Lestat’s thumb ran over Louis’ chin, rubbed at blood that had trickled down. He seemed hesitant to clarify, his mouth opened and shut twice before he spoke. “Why do you love me now?”
“I’ve always loved you.” Louis clarified. He felt his throat constrict on the vulnerability of the statement. “Thought I did a good job of showing you for a while. Then, well, it made me sick how much I did when I shouldn't have, when I hated you as much as I loved you. Back then, I was trying to hurt you. Became a beast hoarding both our hearts.”
“It’s what I deserve, I’m the beast.” Lestat said. “I know.”
“No it’s - not now.” Louis argued. “But…it’s unrelenting, stalwart as thunder chasing lightning. Flew over two oceans ‘cause I couldn’t stand you looking at someone else, 'cause I missed you.”
“I meant to lure you. Next I'd -"
“I want you all to myself.” Louis stated. Blunt, to the point in a way that remained true. His eyes met Lestat’s, vital green eclipsed spectral blue.
Lestat smiled, head tilted with that menacing flourish. “Mmm, will you say it again?”
Louis snorted, but obliged. “I love you Lestat.”
“Again?”
“Come on, really?”
“I’ve been depraved!”
Louis kissed him instead. He loved them. Their love was crazed and it was theirs.