Work Text:
There once was a girl who could spin nothing but gold thread, or so the story was told to avid young listeners and bored apathetic older children alike.
What could be so terrible about that, you may ask? Gold is a luxurious thread, the colour of celestial beings, of the sun and a signifier of wealth and prestige for those without the bestowed titles to show off with. Therein lay the issue – for this young girl, to spin only gold meant she could not spin wool or create anything other than clothing that would not keep you warm in winter nor cool in summer. A spinner who could not spin properly was not considered a spinner at all. One day, this girl meets a supernatural creature and in exchange for her soul, he offers to fix her. She may die if she continues as she is, so she agrees to this contract albeit with a loophole that would allow her soul to escape this creature's grasp.
That isn’t the point of the story. The points, as far as Nicolas could remember them in the addled afterglow, were that toiling was good for the soul and never to give your soul to strange creatures.
Nicolas had to wonder – do the local aristocracy count as strange creatures?
His father would likely have either dropped dead or beaten the accuser bloody at such a thought but Nicolas suspected his mother would be less likely to harbour the same sentiments. It came down to piety for her and the Marquise was well known among the ladies for lack of piety – not that they would ever say so to her face. Not a lack of going to the church as everyone did, but she had what in Paris had been called a modern belief, she did not seem to believe much in the devil’s work or keeping strictly to the word of god. The marquise was considered an unusual woman – well educated and graceful, but she had no interest in being a social leader nor being social at all. Her life did not align with those of the other ladies of higher local standing of which his mother considered herself one.
What would she say now, to this development? It was one thing to be in the social graces of the Marquis’ son but over the last weeks, the two had become so utterly inseparable that no day went past without one seeking out the other. Perhaps she wouldn’t be all that surprised, Lestat had a heroic reputation for his dispatch of wolves all alone but he’d had one before that which was far more rakish. No small number of local daughters – and a few sons – could claim to have had him spend his seed within them and Nicolas was in open rebellion and spending time endlessly with him.
This had been bound to happen.
It had started almost chaste, the suggestion of something that would be considered tolerable from Lestat for his blood and considerably less so for Nicolas now he was a grown man. Their conversation had taken a tone of unity – one could hardly finish one sentence before the other was agreeing, clambering over one another like excitable children. But they were not children. Such displays only stoked a fire of something passionate growing between them that Nicolas had not foreseen happening at all and it had soon become all too urgent to be closer than words afforded them, closer than touch or kisses and tongues and to be deep inside instead.
For his part, Nicolas was no blushing virgin either – but it had been different, it had felt like a connection of more than body. It was a sudden and complete need for communion. If souls truly existed, it felt as if this is what was joining together when Lestat had pushed into him slowly that very first time. Poetry, perhaps, but well earned poetry. The mechanics hadn’t been so exactly to Nicolas’ tastes but he’d had time to develop them and he suspected that Lestat had not, at least not in the same way. People did not generally direct someone of a higher status than them, it just wasn’t done and to his later embarrassment, Nicolas had fallen into that trap at first.
It was still a good fuck, he could still feel that maddening sense of connection that made the world feel unsteady but there was something that underpinned it.
It had taken a week and twice more for him to summon the words and suggest a different way of doing things. You would think laying splayed open with your legs up would be the more intimate experience, but it wasn’t – something about Lestat sitting there, about being on his knees as he rode him and breaking whenever he saw fit to kiss him hard enough that he thought perhaps he could hear both their heart beats spoke to him. It allowed him a better measure of control, yes, and he knew how to guide Lestat’s hands, his mouth and his cock right to the best parts at the best moments but it was more than the intense, orgasmic white out that had hit him.
The realisation that Lestat, despite being known for the opposite, seemed to like to be directed. There had been a moment – Lestat going to touch him when Nicolas was enjoying the build up far too much to spill over him right then, so Nicolas had pinned his wrists down just so he didn’t bring things to an end too soon and that had elicited an undeniable response. Lestat’s breath had caught at the swift action and for a moment, Nicolas wondered if this had been an overstep but the thought was quickly swept away by the noise Lestat made, the little more glaze to his eyes and it occurred to him in the thick of it: Lestat de Lioncourt, the wolf killer, the aristocrat and atheist, enjoyed having his control stripped from him.
Why then had he not simply asked for that from the beginning?
Likely for the same reasons Nicolas had not pushed himself at first, these roles were rigid and difficult to detangle.
It was only laying in the afterglow, with Lestat’s hair spread out like that fairytale spun gold over his arm and half asleep that Nicki decided that this dance of propriety was ridiculous. Neither of them were particularly proper and Nicolas found himself far braver when emptied.
“Where did you learn to fuck?”
Lestat scrunched up his nose and opened one of his eyes, still bleary from his almost slumber. “I know I’m not as educated as you but I know where babies come from,” he said.
“I must assure you that no babies will come from what we just did, but I don't think you uneducated in that kind of way.” Nicolas found himself smiling unbidden. “You do have quite a reputation, monsieur.”
Lestat rolled over, perhaps to look at him better in the low light. “Is it a good reputation?”
“For the right person, yes.” Nicolas replied. “But for most, it borders on notorious.”
For a long moment Lestat was quiet, then he appeared to shake it off. Perhaps notoriety was better than anonymity for someone longing for something meaningful. “Someone must carry the burden of expectation for someone in my position.”
“How did that particular position work for you?” Nicolas pressed.
How was it possible for someone to have such a whorish reputation and still blush so easily when asked a mere question about the position of their activities? So much of him contradicted the rest of him – the emotional, deeply empathetic boy who couldn’t bare the thought of women roasted alive and the desolate wolfkiller, all wrapped up in such a pretty package and ready for the right person to come along and unwrap him.
Nicolas may not be the right person, but he wanted to unwrap him regardless. Something so beautiful shouldn’t be wasted away untouched.
“I know you did something different, but I’m not entirely sure as to what.” Lestat admitted quietly. “Will you explain it?”
“I can try,” Nicolas agreed. It wasn’t what he meant, not entirely, but he could still appreciate the willingness to ask the question. “I meant only that I wanted to understand what you liked.”
“I liked that,” Lestat replied.
“Yes, that much I gathered,” Nicolas replied.
“Did you...not like it?” Lestat sat up, staring at him with his still swollen lips fixing to make the most pathetically sad expression. “No one has ever lodged a complaint, but if this was some sort of…sense of duty for you–”
Nicolas cut him off by shoving his hand over Lestat’s mouth. “Do I seem as if I am the sort of person who spreads themselves open out of a sense of duty if I don’t also feel something?” he said. “No, I only wanted to know what would make this more pleasurable for you because you did seem to enjoy being positioned, to be being handled more roughly and I wanted to know if you’d had the chance to explore it at all.”
Lestat looked at him, still so expressive somehow with only the upper half of his face visible. He shook his head, and Nicki took the hint to let his hand drop. “I have always considered myself a generous lover so I try to give people what I imagine they wanted,” Lestat whispered, as if such consideration on his part ought to be kept a secret. It would explain a few things – he imagined most want to note they had been under their resident local royalty, not taken the time to take him apart slowly.
“You didn’t ask me what I wanted,” Nicolas replied.
“What would you have said if I had?” Lestat asked.
“What I want?” Nicolas pulled himself into sitting up, letting himself gather up his own courage to speak his mind. In only a few weeks, it was truly amazing how Lestat could let him throw out every etiquette lesson he’d ever learned on interacting with him. “I want to know if anyone has ever spread you open and given you what you want.”
The reaction was almost instantaneous – the way Lestat’s tongue seemed to dart to his lips and peek out before being swallowed back audibly, the way even now there was a rising red heat to his skin all over again and he looked on the verge of something. “I don’t think the thought occurred to them.”
Of course it hadn’t.
“You are the resident lord, or at least, somewhat so.” Nicolas pressed his thumb through Lestat’s lips, barely suppressing a smile when he got pleasantly nipped for his trouble. “It would be inappropriate to fuck someone of that standing without some sort of prior discussion of the matter. It probably matters to the people here.”
“Does it matter to you?” The words were only just decipherable with Nicolas’ thumb stroking his lower lip.
Of course it didn’t, not really. Not anymore. What did any of it matter anymore? There was only this, there was only them and whatever pleasure they could attain for their brief existence on this mortal plane.
“I don’t want to fuck the son of the Marquis,” Nicki said, letting his hand move down to Lestat’s throat. The skin was jumping enough that he thought Lestat’s breathing was more laboured than he was showing, a slip of excitement screaming through his body unbidden at the thought. He was hardly alone in that. Nicolas’ could feel every heartbeat in his throat.“I just want to fuck you.”
By the light of the candles, Lestat’s eyes looked almost glassy as he reached his hand up to cover Nicki’s at his throat. “Would you do it now?” he asked. “Right here, will you show me?”
It hadn’t been something Nicolas had expected to dive into now but they were still alone in what was becoming their little room, no one was bothering them and there was enough of the night left that it was unlikely they’d be bothered unless they got too rowdy. And…it couldn’t be argued he wasn’t already becoming aroused at the idea. Lestat had in less than a month become his constant, something he felt his heart race for, someone he wanted to show everything to and that was as exhilarating and arousing as it was terrifying.
“If you can make sure I’m hard enough after that spend,” Nicolas said, trying to ignore the way his own mouth was going dry. There was hardly room for nerves and it wasn’t his first time fucking a man so this was ridiculous. It was only Lestat; there was no point in panicking himself. “Yes, I think I should like to pin you to this mattress and show you what it feels like to be opened so completely that you lose all sense of the world.”
Lestat answered with a kiss, sloppy and hurried. It was intense, this sudden desperate desire that seemed to rip through him now the question of it had been put out there.
Almost comical the way Lestat was suddenly so needy to get his mouth onto Nicolas’ cock, contorting himself before Nicki laughed and moved around to let him get better access. It almost looked like a type of benediction, bent so low on his knees and awaiting some kind of absolution for some unknown sins.
There was no absolution to give, only the certainty of company so that they could be sinners together. Even molten hellfire or the cold embrace of nothingness – whichever truly happened when life ceased – would be worth it if you didn’t have to do it alone.
It really was the most obscene sight, the stretch of those lush lips swallowing him down like fine wine. The noises coming from his throat were small, hoarse and pitched and seemingly beyond his control. It seemed almost a shame how easily it was causing Nicki’s arousal to grow because he wanted to draw it out, the heat of Lestat’s mouth, the light scrape of teeth and the way he used his hands more eagerly than a straggler at the Palais Royale. More beautiful too, the way his hair fell and frizzed over his already sweat stained forehead and he seemed too lost in his task to really wipe them away.
It was devotion to be revelled in, a rare sort of devotion he didn’t know if he’d ever known in his life before or ever would again.
There was definitely something happening for Lestat too, something about him wanting to be given direction or pushed to take it. It was like uncovering the mystery of him and Nicki couldn’t help himself: he was enthralled by it, more captivated by it than any theatre, perhaps even more so than any orchestra and that sent cold speaks of fear throughout him.
God, why did that make it feel even better?
There was something so deeply wrong with him, but damn it, what did that matter when he had this? What did anything matter other than this? What use was talk of sin or rights and wrongs in the thrall of an experience that felt all too much like a declaration of love?
“If you make it so far as Paris, you could make a decent living on that tongue alone.” The words felt punched out of him, as if he’d been shot and expelled them without meaning to.
Lestat didn’t seem to mind – actually, he seemed to be smiling at the very thought. Was it possible to look mischievous while swallowing down head? Lestat was certainly making the case for it.
“Enough,” Nicki said, propping his finger under Lestat’s throat. Again, that seemed to light in him an anticipation from the way his body shuddered. Or was it the lack of asking – of being given a clear directive? So many layers to unwrap, so many possibilities to explore. “Ass up on the mattress, go on.”
“I wanted to watch,” Lestat said, the first thing he’d really pouted about all evening. His voice sounded as if he’d just smoked himself through a week so Nicki was inclined to let him, but that would defeat the point of taking this control.
“You can’t see your own asshole,” Nicki gave him a hard smack on it, trying not to second guess the action and was rewarded with watching Lestat’s cock twitch in appreciation.
“I can watch you,” Lestat said, shamelessly touching his ass where the blow happened. “I like watching you.”
“You’re going to be seeing and feeling plenty of me,” Nicki argued. “Stop wiggling your ass at me and lay down before I decide to take matters into my own hands and leave you wanting.”
That seemed to get the message through as Lestat bent over the straw mattress, shifting in some attempt to get comfortable with his own arousal trapped beneath him. It had to be torturous, all the discomfort and none of the relief but there’d be relief soon enough.
There was oil there, Nicki was prepared enough and given the state they tended to leave the rooms, the innkeeper was likely very aware of what his rooms were being used for and didn’t seem to mind providing for it as long as the money kept coming.But Nicki wanted to push at those boundaries so he bit the inside of his cheeks, letting the saliva coat his mouth before spreading Lestat’s cheeks open to reveal a small puckering hole. Gathering as much as he could, Nicki spat on the hole and watched as Lestat squirmed under him. Using the spit, he circled his hole before pushing a finger into him and god, the feeling of the muscles contracting around his fingers was enough to make his mouth water for different reasons.
“There’s still oil there but this works in a pinch,” Nicki told him, or thought he did as it was hard to hear over the sounds of his own heartbeat. “It’s not as good, it’ll hurt and make you feel raw inside,” (he punctured the comment by puncturing Lestat and pushing another finger in harder against the resistance of his skin) “But you’d love that, wouldn’t you? You want the pain of it, you want to be reminded that you’re nothing more than a needy slut. You want to feel it inside you for days, don’t you?”
“Nicki,” Lestat panted, brushing himself forwards against the mattress and back against Nicki’s fingers. The word had come out almost like prayer – it was almost enough to give a man ideas about himself, hearing his name whispered in worship.
“But we’re not going to do that tonight,” Nicki said, unable to stop himself from laughing when Lestat made an utterly indignant noise. “Don’t pout – I’ll decide how I hurt you and you’ll be grateful for what you get.”
“You can’t say that to me,” Lestat said, and briefly, Nicki wondered if he’d overstepped. But no, he realised the problem just as Lestat explained it. “I’m too close.”
That wouldn’t work at all, so Nicki pulled his fingers out and reached for the oil. The frustrated noise coming from Lestat’s throat when he did was animalistic so he was doing something right. Emboldened, Nicki flipped him over so he could get a better look at him. There was no lie; his cock was straining, leaking and desperate for release.
“Hold your knee up,” Nicki asked and it took a moment, but Lestat did so and pulled his ass up in the process.
This time, Nicolas got to enjoy the show of it: the way Lestat’s mouth opened just a little as he pushed the oil in on his fingers, the way his cock moved and strained against his stomach and the way he was almost trembling with it. “Have you ever come without touching yourself?” he asked. “Not inside someone but just finishing without a hand or cunt or whatever else on your cock.”
For once, words seemed to have escaped Lestat and he shook his head. Nicki smiled at him. “Then it’ll be two firsts for you tonight, won’t it?”
“How do I,” Lestat stopped to wet his lips, glistening with sweat already. “How do I do that?”
“Looking at you now?” Nicki slathered up his own cock, trying to dampen his own needs because he wanted this to last enough to get what he wanted. “The trouble would be more stopping you from doing it. If I had known you were able to be good for me then I’d have pushed you down that first night.”
Lestat swore under his breath and come began to bead at his cock – so easily pushed to pleasure and so beautiful in it. It was almost enough to make someone believe in god to see him there, hair splayed out in a golden halo as if he were painted by Leonardo or some other Italian master.
Stealing a kiss, Nicki pushed them both back on the mattress and lined himself up. It was still small, he should have spent more time opening him up but he did fear if he had, Lestat was going to arrive before they’d even left on the journey. Pressing inside the warm heat of him was almost blinding, so tight that Nicki had to stop and pull out to make sure he hadn’t bloodied him.
“Nicki, please!” There was no obvious injury so how could he avoid a plea like that? Someone was going to hear him if he kept begging like that.
There would never be anything quite like pressing into another person to the hilt, it always felt as if you were melding together to one heartbeat even if you wanted nothing more than to wipe off and get away from the person afterwards. The feeling was still there but mere shadows on a wall in comparison to other feelings, the sudden grip of emotion at watching Lestat breath labour as he tried to adjust and feeling his hole stretch around him, squeezing him in the most intimate of places and locking them together perfectly.
“Lestat?”
“I don’t think I want anyone else to say my name if it’s not like that ever again,” Lestat swallowed hard, pressing his hands into Nicki’s sides and his shoulders as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them anymore.
Nicki merely sighed, trying to sound put upon but it wasn’t easy when they were so very close together. “Hands above your head,” he said, leaning forward to press his face into Lestat’s shoulder so he didn’t laugh when Lestat tried to position his hands and looked more like he was trying to wave at him than comply. Running his tongue along the salt and sweat of Lestat’s skin, Nicki reached out and pinned both his wrists for him. “You’re maddening, do you know that?”
Lestat merely smiled and squeezed him inside, making Nicki’s whole body jerk with the surprise of it. “I am, aren’t I?”
It took a little manovring to get both of Lestat’s wrists crossed above him so Nick could get his hand back, but it was worth it to grab Lestat’s hip and thrust into him. The way he moved underneath him, writhing at the feeling as Nicki switched his angles trying to find just the right spot inside, that area that made sparks fly behind your eyes and left you on the edge of everything. The last time he’d fucked someone this way, it hadn’t even been a priority so much as chasing his own climax but for this, he just kept watching Lestat’s reactions, how every thrust made him moan and arch and squirm. It mattered how this was for him. It just mattered.
There was a strangled whine as Lestat’s whole body tensed up and he squeezed his eyes shut tight, panting suddenly against the overwhelming feeling. Nicolas teased him, avoiding that spot for one thrust, two and back again to knock the air from him and make him whimper. His eyes were watering, droplets slipping from the side of his face and his eyes didn’t seem able to focus at all. Between them, Lestat’s cock was making a mess of both of them as he whimpered under Nicki’s attentions.
It was intoxicating, stronger than any wine. The idea that he could make Lestat like this, the fact he’d only ever been like this for him and however maddening, he’d done as he was told –
“You are such a good little slut, aren’t you?” Nicolas hoped he sounded more steady to Lestat than he did to his own ears. “I want to hear you say it.”
“Nicki–”
“No,” Nicki had to change tactics soon, he was shaking under his own needs for the first time in a very long time. The things he could do to him. “I’m, I’m not the one spread wide and sobbing for more,am I? I want to hear you say it, and you want to say it, you’re proud of it, so just – say it and come for me, I’ll make sure you come if you say it.”
Watching Lestat try to pull himself together from his own dazed expression, watching his lips tremble as he managed to choke out, “I’m a…slut, I’m a good slut, I’m your good slut…”
Well, who couldn’t reward that?
“Yes, you are.”
For someone else, Nicki imagined it would be overstimulation to be pounded hard and deep at the most sensitive of areas but he banked on Lestat loving it. Thankfully, it took only a handful of thrusts before Lestat cried out, spilling hot and wild between them and Nicki could finally, finally let himself be pushed over the edge by his writhing.
For the longest moments, neither of them said anything. Neither could really move. It was as if they were frozen together in time.
At least until the Innkeeper banged his fist on the outside of the door and told them keep it down.
Nicolas looked at Lestat and he wasn’t sure what to do, not until Lestat started snickering. Then he could only follow suit, detangling himself from Lestat – no easy task while cackling like a madman – and laying back to try and figure out what he was feeling. It was an almost uncomfortable warmth on the inside, hot enough to burn but it wasn’t scorching him. To his horrible realisation, he thought it might be the same devotion that Lestat had shown to him, the same love somehow slipping into his body through the carnal act but no, he’d been feeling it for days. It was only now he could recognise it was there.
“Next time,” Nicki said, looking over to Lestat who was blinking owlishly against sleep. Ridiculous person. “I’m gagging you or you’re going to get us thrown out.”
Lestat merely nodded gently, “As long as there is a next time, you can do whatever you like to me.”
Oh, after that, as if there was any doubt there would be.