Archive of Our Own

The first time Lestat visits the penthouse in Dubai, Louis hasn’t quite finished redecorating. He’s done the common areas; the damaged wall fixed, the artwork, the dining table, the new additions to his rock room; but hasn’t replaced anything in the bedroom except for the bed itself. He’d always detested that bed but Armand had been insistent they buy it and Louis had been too numb to argue.

Now there is a large, old fashioned four-poster bed, reminiscent of furniture from their old townhouse. It’s out of place in the austere cage-like room but that’s okay with Louis for now, so long as those God-awful black blobs are gone. He’d never intended to have company before the renovation was finished but Lestat, as usual, gracefully sidesteps his best-laid plans and does precisely what he wants.

Lestat alights on his balcony one night, less than two weeks since Louis returned from New Orleans. He looks so much better than the last time they saw one another. He’s obviously been eating regularly and brushing his hair, and, now that Louis has gotten a proper look at him—sees that he’s updated his wardrobe to the current trends. His mouth goes dry when he goes to say hello, taking in the wondrous sight of Lestat in blue-jeans and a black leather jacket over a white t-shirt with an indecently deep v-neck.

Lestat removes his sunglasses—though it’s night he likes to wear them while using his cloud gift to shield his eyes from the wind—and he gives Louis that meltingly sweet, genuine smile he saves just for his beloved. They’re not officially together but they’re aren’t not together either. There’s an unspoken understanding between them now, that no matter the time and space and petty arguments that drive them apart, they will always, always come home to each other.

It’s a fact as certain and unchangeable as their vampiric nature. Louis needs to drink blood, avoid the sun, and love Lestat; not necessarily in that order. Instead of letting it scare him like it used to, he’s learning to embrace the overwhelming emotion this man provokes in him. After decades of numbness and boredom with a partner who hardly expressed any real emotion at all aside from jealousy and sexual desire, it’s almost a relief to feel things so deeply again. 

Louis feels himself beaming back at Lestat as he opens the glass door for him, his maker’s scent hitting him with the cool breeze and filling him with a sense of well-being. The moon glow is painting Lestat’s skin porcelain smooth, his eyes almost violet tonight, golden hair tousled around his smiling face like a lion’s mane.

“Bonsoir, mon amour,” Lestat says before Louis can even get a word out, stepping into his space and sweeping Louis up into a fierce hug. 

The breath gusts out of his lungs as their chests connect and he lets out a surprised laugh when Lestat swings him around in a circle before setting him back on his feet.

“Bonsoir, Lestat,” he sighs, feeling their hearts beat in tandem.

“I hope it’s not a bad time for a visit,” Lestat says, pulling back enough to look at him now and seeming a bit uncertain for the first time tonight. Louis reaches up and tucks an errant lock of hair behind Lestat’s ear, something that never fails to coax an uncharacteristically shy little smile from the older vampire.

Louis reassures him with a broad grin and a sweet, lingering kiss before replying, “It’s never a bad time to see you, love.”

Lestat lets out a desperate sound and smothers it in another, much deeper kiss, coaxing a moan out of Louis before finally releasing him. Louis is dizzy with the sudden rush of blood away from his brain, and briefly rests his forehead on Lestat’s chest. Lestat presses a kiss to the crown of his head and Louis feels like he could cry from how much he’s feeling; love so intense is its own exquisite brand of pain.

“So,” Lestat says after a long moment of just holding each other, “Is my gracious host going to give me the grand tour?”

“As long as we can start with the bedroom,” Louis rasps, voice low and rough, his hands sliding over Lestat’s broad shoulders and narrow waist, dipping under the leather jacket and cotton shirt to touch smooth, cool skin. 

He feels the full-body shudder ripple through Lestat, who grips onto Louis’s sides as if he’s afraid of floating away. 

“By all means, mon cher. Lead the way.”

Lestat doesn’t register much about the dark, cavernous room, aside from the large inviting bed at its center— before he’s being toppled onto it, letting out a huff of delighted laughter as Louis lands on top of him, thighs astride Lestat’s hips. His once-distant fledgling is gazing down at him with open hunger and adoration, hands braced on either side of Lestat’s head.

“Hey you,” Louis whispers, unbearably cute with his cheeks flushed and dimpled around his soft and irresistible smile.

Lestat’s chest aches with love for him and he can’t help cupping Louis’s precious face, feeling the heat there with his own chilled fingers, and kissing him deeply. Louis’s very presence is a balm to his damned soul, filling him up with light and love and overwhelming need. Louis eagerly kisses him back, tongue sliding out to meet Lestat’s where it teases along the seam of his pretty lips. He holds onto Louis’s hips, gratified to feel his arousal when Lestat grinds up against him. 

Louis kisses the corner of his mouth, then his chin and jawline, and Lestat hums out a needy moan, tipping his head back to receive as many kisses as his beloved wants to bestow. His heart is already racing wildly as Louis sucks a wet kiss onto the side of his neck, just the barest suggestion of teeth, and he finds himself suddenly chuckling—a breathless sound of bewildered pleasure that may have once rubbed Louis the wrong way—but now only serves to spur him on.

The wet swipe of his fledgling’s tongue over his Adam’s apple, the bolt of his jaw, the lobe of his ear—Lestat’s already hard as can be and they’ve barely begun. No matter how much time passes, the effect Louis has on him has never diminished. If anything, his desire for the other man has grown even stronger during their long separation. That’s no easy feat, considering Lestat had never experienced want so intense as what he’d felt for the human Louis had once been—the idea of it getting stronger was nearly unthinkable—and yet.

“Louis,” he breathes, nails carding through the taut curls on the back of his head, feels Louis positively melt into his chest, sighing hotly into the side of Lestat’s neck.

“Mm-hmm?” Louis hums, then nips gently at Lestat’s ear and tugs it between his teeth until he lets out a little hiss.

“Fuck...” Whatever he’d been about to say, he can’t even remember.

“That’s what I’m try’na do,” Louis says warmly, raising up on his hands enough to look him in the eye and drop a teasing kiss to the tip of his nose.

Lestat grabs him around the waist, turning his own laughter into a playful growl as he flips Louis underneath him and starts kissing him all over his face, nibbling his neck, nuzzling whatever he can reach until Louis is giggling helplessly and squirming against the bed. That’s the most intoxicating sound in the world, his Louis’s laughter, so hard-won but bursting with light.

If he starts thinking about the years when he believed he’d never hear it again, he’ll start sobbing, so he shoves that down to deal with later. It’s better to focus on the miracle of Louis in his arms right now, heart thumping right along with his own, hands buried in Lestat’s hair and pulling it just hard enough to make him leak in his new jeans. All at once, he decides that the layers of cloth between them are unacceptable and puts just enough space between them to shake off his jacket and whip his t-shirt off. 

Louis gets the idea and his hands fly into action, removing his own sweater and the tank-top beneath to reveal his perfect body, so delicate—his elegant combination of sleek lines and soft curves would be enough to make artists weep. They help each other out of their pants and toss the offending garments aside, finally coming together skin to skin with mutual sighs of contentment.

“How do you want it, mon ange?”

“Inside me, please,” Louis gasps, hiding his blushing face in Lestat’s neck.

“Oh, my love,” Lestat croons, kissing Louis on the temple before he climbs off of his hips to settle into the space Louis makes for him between his legs.

Lestat swears in French at the sight of him, naked and vulnerable and so, so beautiful. His mouth waters, starving for a taste, and he can’t resist diving down between his lover’s cheeks, grabbing him under the knees to fully expose him to the air. Louis yelps at the first swipe of Lestat’s tongue over his furled entrance and twists the bedclothes in his hands until the threads start to pop.

With lips and tongue, Lestat expertly takes Louis apart, moaning like he’s never tasted anything better. Louis’s thighs are trembling in his grasp as he shoves his tongue in deep probing stabs, only to circle the rim teasingly again before plunging back inside. By the time Lestat starts sucking at his hole, Louis is babbling nonsense and pulling at his hair, trying to rock down onto Lestat’s face at the same time.

“Enough teasing, Lestat,” Louis whines, and Lestat’s cock throbs in response.

With a last hard suck, Lestat pulls back, licking his lips as he prods the relaxed hole with his thumb, easily sinking it in to the knuckle as Louis unleashes a greedy moan. 

“Hush, darling, I’ve got you,” Lestat soothes, stroking Louis’s lightly furred thigh with one hand while he spits onto the fingers of the other, smearing the wetness around his rim before pushing in with two digits, knowing how much Louis enjoys the initial stretch. 

Never one to disappoint, Louis cries out and screws himself down on the intruding fingers, willing his body to open like a night blossom—silken and hot inside. Lestat starts spreading and pumping his fingers in and out, angling up for that spot that turns his poised and sophisticated fledgling into a sobbing whore. Lestat feels his fangs descend, thirsty for everything Louis has to give, throbbing for him down to his very veins.

“So good, Louis,” He sighs, working a third finger into the wet clutch of his body, “Parfait pour moi.”

Louis luxuriates in the attention, needier for it than he’d likely admit, and Lestat wants to give him everything. He pumps his fingers in a dozen more times before Louis is twisting underneath him, begging in sweet little noises for more and more and more.

“Please, now, now, now,” Louis sobs, hips jolting with every pass of Lestat’s fingertips against his prostate.

“Anything for you,” Lestat breathes, carefully retracting his fingers and kneeling between Louis’s spread thighs.

He smears the wetness constantly weeping from his tip down the shaft and guides the head against the impossibly small gateway to Louis’s glorious body. They both tense and moan in unison as the steady pressure gives way and the head pops inside, Lestat feeling dizzy with it already, almost drunk on pleasure. Louis winds his arms and legs around him, pulling him in deeper and deeper with his heels digging into his ass, until Lestat bottoms out with a guttural moan.

“Yeaaahh,” Louis sighs, breathy and fucked-out already, “C’mere.” He tightens his grip on Lestat’s hair and tugs him down for a filthy open-mouthed kiss.

Lestat gladly indulges him—fucking Louis with his tongue and his cock at once if that’s what his love desires. He’s so pretty underneath him, wet plum colored lips, swollen but still begging for more kisses, and Lestat could positively devour him. Louis’s eyes are almost all pupil, heavy lidded as he gazes up at his maker from under a thick fringe of lashes with what can only be called devotion. 

With as slow a pace as he can manage, he plunges deep on every thrust, grinding his hips against Louis’s ass to feel him gasp and pulse around him, making sure he feels every inch of him before sliding back out to the tip. Louis is trembling, letting out frustrated little whines at the syrup-slow glide of Lestat inside him. Lestat feels himself leaking, can hear their joining become wetter and wetter, obscenely loud in the quiet penthouse. 

“Don’t play with me, baby,” Louis purrs after a biting kiss, knowing how Lestat’s resolve always weakens at that endearment. “Gimme what I need.”

Unfair, Lestat thinks, but it doesn’t stop his heart from fluttering madly or his cock from twitching out another burst of pre-come. He moans, head dropping onto Louis’s chest for a moment to steady himself, before he rears back up on his knees and pushes Louis further in half, ankles up by Lestat’s ears now, his dick drooling in his own chest hair as Lestat starts fucking him like he means to drive him right through the bed.

The most wonderful sounds are being punched from Louis—staccato gasps every time he slams back inside. His nails drag over Lestat’s arms and shoulders, leaving red trails in their wake and Lestat turns to press a sloppy kiss to one of the slender ankles beside his face. 

“Is this what you need, beautiful one?” Lestat asks between panting breaths, dripping pink sweat onto his lover who’s covered in a thin sheen of his own—in the muted light he seems like an erotic sculpture, gilded in rose gold.

“Yes, fuck yes,” Louis moans back without hesitation, “You’re so good, Les. So fucking big, feels so—God, I can’t even think.”

“Bon, mon petit.” Lestat replies with a wolfish grin, “That means I’m doing my job well.”

Lestat feels himself losing control, aware of the feral growl that emanates from his own throat but powerless to stop it. No mortal could maintain such a punishing pace for so long and he’s using every ounce of his preternatural stamina to fuck Louis into a whimpering stupor like he deserves. The bed creaks under them, and Louis has started chanting his name in that high, breathless voice that means he’s almost there, his body clamping down harder like it wants to wring out Lestat’s climax by force.

Louis’s hands have ventured to the backs of Lestat’s thighs, preventing him from pulling out too far, his nails biting into the sensitive skin. Snarling, Lestat lunges down and Louis arches his neck up to meet in a ravenous approximation of a kiss, blood smearing their mouths when someone’s fang catches skin, adding to the frenzy that feels close to boiling over. 

Suddenly, Louis wrenches his mouth away and throws his head back on a hoarse shout. Watching with rapt fixation, Lestat keeps fucking him as Louis’s cock shoots off between them, spattering Lestat’s chest as he writhes and grinds back like he can’t decide if it’s all too much or not enough. 

“Belle, mon Louis, mon chéri amour,” Lestat praises, then snaps his hips one last time, rocking into the spasming heat of his fledgling’s body with a ragged cry.

Louis hums in pleasure as Lestat releases in long bursts, his hands moving up to slide over Lestat’s ass, rubbing and squeezing, and holding him in deep until he’s spent. Trembling, he lowers Louis’s legs from his shoulders and collapses onto his chest with a satiated sigh. He’s buzzing with joy and contentment in this moment, their twin hearts pounding as one. He presses kisses all over Louis’s sweat damp chest and neck, nosing back up to his mouth where Louis is smiling softly and ready to receive him.

They kiss, slow and sweet, until the mess between them becomes too uncomfortable. With an apologetic peck to Lestat’s lips, Louis pats his sides and shifts a little until he gets the hint and detaches himself from his front and slides free of his body with a shudder. 

“I’mma go grab a washcloth,” Louis says, kissing his shoulder sweetly before rolling out of bed and heading to wherever the bathroom in this place is.

Lestat watches him go, smirking with satisfaction that Louis seems to hobble a bit, bracing himself on the wall before making it out the door. And then he happens to glance off to the side, to a part of the room he hadn’t had time to notice before and within seconds, he’s fully alert and sitting upright and staring like he’s daring the vision to disappear.

But it doesn’t vanish and Lestat is confused at first by what he sees: the floggers carefully arranged and suspended from the wall, and underneath it a pair of what seem to be dog bowls. But he hadn’t seen a dog; Louis had never mentioned even wanting a pet—and then it hits him with the weight of a cartoon anvil. It’s not for a dog, it’s for a man. A submissive. Lestat goes hot and cold all at once, his face burning up at the keen shock of it. Is that what his Louis is into these days? 

He barely has time to lie back down and school his expression into something close to normal before Louis is walking back in the room with the wet rag he’d gone to get. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice anything has changed, absorbed in his task of gently cleaning Lestat’s torso, then his softened cock, which still manages to twitch at the light cursory touch. Louis gives him a smirk and Lestat shrugs, bounces his eyebrows in the cheeky way that makes Louis break into a full grin. 

“I’ve always been insatiable when it comes to you, my love,” Lestat says, sitting up enough to slide a hand around Louis’s neck and pull him in for a kiss.

He really wants to ask. He really, really wants to. But he’s so reluctant to break the spell of peaceful reconciliation they’ve reached after so many decades of torturous separation. Maybe he’ll give himself some time to think about it, do a little of his own research. Yes, then when next he comes to Louis he’ll be not such a novice at this facet of lovemaking. The last thing he wants to be is disappointing—especially with Armand being his competition.

After a long weekend of sightseeing, Netflix bingeing, and rapacious sex, Lestat is forced to return to New Orleans to start rehearsals with his newly formed band, The Vampire Lestat. It’s a month of near constant practice and planning, and feverish songwriting, interspersed with educational videos regarding BDSM role-play. He’s familiarizing himself with the terminology and the importance of safe-words and informed consent. He thinks maybe he can get into it, so long as Louis is the one wielding the power as his Dom. He’d let him do practically anything at all.

He does see the appeal of being reprimanded, spanked, and degraded by Louis—part of him still craves punishment for his past mistakes, resents himself for how easily and totally Louis forgives him, while at the same time being desperate for that very forgiveness. He hardly understands the roiling mess of emotions Louis makes him feel, only that it’s intoxicating and addictive, and more overwhelming than ever. He wants to be everything Louis needs, wants him to never run into the arms of another. And if his Saint needs a willing servant, then Lestat will gladly kneel at his altar until the end of days.

Gradually, he formulates a plan. He’s always had a penchant for gift-giving and figures this situation should be no different. It’s just that this time, the gift is really for the both of them. It isn’t hard to find an artisan who specializes in personalized leather gear in this newly connected world the internet has made possible. 

By the time he’s itching to fly back to Dubai, a lovely tissue wrapped black leather collar arrives at his New Orleans P.O. box. There are ruby-capped studs along its length and a silver tag hanging from the front of it reads “PROPERTY OF LDPDL” on one side, and the letters of “BRAT” are studded with tiny rubies on the other.

Lestat holds it up to his neck in the mirror and feels an instant flush of heat at the picture he makes; the pale length of his throat interrupted by a thick leather band, red gems glittering like tiny drops of blood—as he’d hoped, it matches perfectly with the red lace panties he bought. He feels the weight of the heart-shaped tag where it rests comfortably between his collar-bones, touches its cool surface with his black-painted fingernails. He wonders what Louis is going to think; how he’ll react to seeing his initials branded on Lestat to match the ones long engraved upon his heart. 

Early the following night, hands trembling with excitement and nerves, Lestat carefully repackages the collar in a gift box he procured for this purpose and secures it shut with a crimson ribbon. The ribbon echoes the color of the lace hiding under his tight leather pants, like a sexy bit of foreshadowing. Feeling satisfied, he tucks the box into the inner pocket of his coat before tapping out a text to Louis to let him know he’s on his way. He steps out on his balcony and breathes in the balmy night. 

Louis responds almost immediately with a heart reaction to Lestat’s text and then: “See you soon ;)”. A few seconds pass before he adds, “Fly safe”. Lestat’s heart swells with love like it does every time he sees a hint of Louis’s sweet, protective nature. The power of the emotion makes it even easier to propel himself upwards, allowing instinct to orient his body and will him through the clouds and toward his beloved. 

He feels Lestat’s presence nearby several minutes before he hears his nearly silent landing and Louis is waiting right there to open the door for him. All he notices at first is the wind-blown golden halo of hair floating around a radiant smile and his usual greeting is halfway out of his mouth before he truly takes in the rest of his maker’s body.

His mouth goes dry instantly and he swallows with a clicking sound, eyes scanning up and down Lestat’s lithe form, long legs clad in skin-tight leather and chunky-heeled black boots with silver toes. He shrugs out of his matching leather jacket to reveal a white mesh sleeveless shirt underneath that rides up his abdomen, leaving a tantalizing strip of skin exposed—the deep cut of his hipbones, the shadowed dip of his belly-button just barely peeking out.

Lestat removes his mirrored aviators with his black lacquered fingers, and those big iridescent eyes of his are lined with kohl, his pale lashes painted with mascara. Louis could swear he sees a bit of shimmery highlight on the crests of his blade-sharp cheekbones. He realizes a moment too late that he’s just staring with his mouth open and Lestat is giving him that smug little grin that says he knows exactly how devastating he looks.

“Have I stunned you into silence, mon cher?” 

“You look so...” Louis’s voice is gruff, deeper than he expected. He clears his throat and tries again, “Uhhm, Uh, new outfit?” He finishes lamely, feeling his face going hot. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Lestat replies with a warm chuckle as he steps inside, Louis trailing right behind him, eyes glued to his posterior.

The pants sit low on his hips and they hug his spectacular ass in ways that should be considered illegal. Louis’s gaze drifts up to the wasp-like waist, the broad shoulders and lean muscle showing through the mesh top. He spins around and catches Louis staring and only now does he realize that Lestat has pulled some kind of small box from the jacket that he leaves draped over the end of the couch. 

“What’chu got there, Les?” 

Lestat tips his head to the side in that dog-like way of his, appraising Louis with his hypnotic eyes. “A gift for you, my love.”

“For me?” Louis’s chest suffuses with warmth, his cheeks hurting around the force of his grin. Gift giving had always been an integral way for Lestat to express his love and Louis is charmed to see he hasn’t changed at all in that regard.

Lestat hands him the box with a flourish; it’s slim and white and tied with a red bow that Louis delicately plucks apart and sets aside on one of his new end tables. Lestat is watching him with a curious expression, perhaps a hint of nervousness? Very interesting indeed. Louis opens the box and pushes aside a layer of tissue paper to find a circular leather...something or other. He runs his fingers over it, noticing the buckle closure and dangling pendant that hangs from the front. It’s...a collar?

Before he can ask Lestat what the hell he’s looking at, the other vampire is down on his knees in front of Louis, causing most rational thought to disappear without a trace. His blood automatically starts rushing south, so conditioned for arousal when Lestat’s looking up at him like that, pupils wide and face flushed a pretty pink. 

“Baby, what is this?” Louis finally asks, lifting the collar thing from its box and turning it this way and that to see the inscription on the tag.

When the light catches the words “PROPERTY OF LDPDL”, he gasps, feeling his heart triple its speed at the sight of his initials there, and on the other side “BRAT” spelled in red crystals. His mind is racing to compute this sudden change of events when he jumps at the sensation of Lestat’s hand on his thigh, just sliding up and down its length, inches from where Louis is already half-hard.

“Put it on me,” Lestat purrs, “Fait moi ton animal.” 

Blood rushing in his ears, Louis tosses the box to the side and holds the open collar in his hands. Lestat lifts his hair with one hand and bows his head in supplication. Louis does as he asks, settles the leather around Lestat’s neck, and fastens the buckle with shaky fingers. When Lestat sits back to look at him, the tag is resting squarely in the notch of his exposed clavicle, glinting silver and red in the low light, the look on his face one of reverence. 

“You look...fuck,” Louis scrambles for the right words to describe the decadent picture Lestat makes, blond hair hanging in loose curls around his strong jaw, that strangely sexy collar sitting just above the neck of his mesh top, “Like sin and salvation all wrapped up in one.”

“I can be whatever you want me to be,” Lestat says earnestly, nothing but truth and heat in his gaze. 

“Just be you,” Louis says, pushing his fingers through the lion’s mane of Lestat’s hair just to watch his eyes flutter. “You’re all I ever wanted.”

Lestat lets out a helpless moan and pushes his head more firmly into Louis’s palm. “Take me to bed, my love.”

Desire tugs hard at Louis’s gut and he finds himself nodding, lifting Lestat up to his feet. He nearly leads the way but then thinks better of it at the last second.

“Why don’t you go on in front so I can watch you walk away?” he suggests with a teasing pass of his hand over Lestat’s ass. 

Lestat growls low in his throat like the beast he’s claiming to be, and snares Louis’s lips in a fierce kiss that leaves him weak on his feet. And then he’s walking off in that panther-like way he has, the sway of his hips more exaggerated for Louis’s viewing pleasure. Licking his lips, Louis follows right behind, eyes fixated on the ass he’s desperate to get inside.

He’s not paying any attention and so he collides with Lestat’s back when he stops abruptly in the doorway of the bedroom. Lestat is as immovable as a wall and Louis has to wedge his way around him to figure out what the trouble is. But there’s nothing there but his newly appointed bedroom furniture—granted he’s pretty pleased with his own interior design tastes but it’s not fixating enough to stop someone in their tracks.

“What? What’s wrong?” he asks, looking between the innocuous room and the poleaxed expression on his lover’s face.

“Where are they?” Lestat asks, eyes fixed to a place on the wall now covered by an abstract painting. 

“They?”

“Your...your whips, your floggers....”

A silent beat passes and then Louis barks out a surprised laugh. Lestat’s head whips around to look at him, clearly perplexed.

“I sent that shit off to Armand and Daniel,” he explains, “That was kind of just a...me and Armand sort of thing.”

Lestat blinks at him and then something in his jaw tightens, a shutter coming down in his eyes; a little terse when he says, “I see.”

Louis sees he’s made a misstep somewhere and desperately wants to correct it. He steps in front of Lestat and puts a soothing hand on his face. He watches the brief flash of anger that had arisen in Lestat’s eyes deflate into something like defeat. It’s an alarming look on someone so endlessly optimistic.

“Les, talk to me. What’s up?’

“Is he that much better at it than I would be?” Lestat finally asks, his tone approaching bitterness, “What does that gremlin have that I lack?”

Louis resists the urge to laugh again at his complete lack of understanding; Lestat really has no idea. He thinks he’s competing with Armand, like Louis might suddenly tire of him and send him on his way. He’s never fully grasped the depth of feeling Louis has for him and supposes that’s his own fault for never saying it out loud. He’d always assumed that he must know it, but now he understands Lestat and how much he needs that reassurance, how fragile his self-worth really is beneath the confident facade.

“Wait, is that what this—” Louis touches the collar, lifts the dog-tag and lets it drop, “is all about?” 

“I want to be good for you, Louis,” Lestat says quietly, his eyes turning red and glassy with emotion, bottom lip quivering in the way that portends tears, “I want to be what you need.”

“You think I need a slave? Some kind of submissive pet?”

“Do you not?” Lestat asks, holding Louis’s hand against his face, staring deep into his soul.

“That only worked with Armand because I wanted to hurt him. It was always there in the back of my mind...that rage for everything he’d done. He saw I needed some way to vent my feelings without tearing some poor mortal to shreds every few months. That fucking forced calm he was always pushing through my skull— I got a break from that while I was beating him. I’m not saying it wasn’t a fucked up arrangement, but that’s really all it was.”

“And me? Don’t you wish to hurt me for all I’ve put you through? All the monstrous mistakes I’ve made and secrets I’ve withheld?” 

Louis shakes his head, “I never wanna hurt you again.”

He watches the blood tears tremble on Lestat’s lower lashes before they spill over, twin red rivers on his cheeks. Louis can’t help but notice how well the rubies encrusted on the collar complement his tears and the blush that travels down his neck. He leans forward at the same time Louis does and collapses into his arms with a shuddering breath. Louis kisses his temple, his cheek, then starts to gently lick the tears away, Lestat’s blood tingling on his tongue, making his fangs ache. 

Lestat simply clings to him and lets him do this, making wounded little noises now and then. He strokes through his maker’s hair, passes a thumb below his eye to catch one last teardrop, and then kisses him tenderly on his parted lips. Sighing, Lestat gathers him tight against his chest, their usually negligible height difference multiplied by the heels of Lestat’s boots, and Louis feels wonderfully small and protected in his arms. 

“I love you, Louis,” Lestat whispers feverishly into his hair, kissing his forehead, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Lestat,” he says, because he can’t not say it back these days. Those decades of denial are long behind him and he wants Lestat to feel as deeply loved as he truly is. “Only ever you.”

The effect on Lestat hasn’t lessened, no matter how often Louis tells him. He always freezes for a split second, no heartbeat, no breath, like he’s putting the moment on pause in his brain to stretch it out for eternity; and then suddenly lurching back into motion, he grabs Louis’s face and kisses him like he wants to crawl all the way inside. It never ceases to make Louis dizzy, the ground beneath him going liquid until he feels perfectly weightless.

“How bout you get on the bed and we’ll see if we can shimmy those fuckin’ pants off,” Louis says, too firm to be a mere suggestion and Lestat nods in eager compliance.

Lestat uses his mind gift to push the zippers down on the sides of his boots and then kicks them off on his way to the bed, the whole process taking less than two seconds. He’s reclining now, staring up at Louis as he lifts his hips in a delectable tease, moaning softly as he squeezes the unmistakable bulge distending the leather. Louis climbs up between his spread legs and his fingers are deftly unbuttoning the fly of Lestat’s pants.

He freezes in surprise when he encounters lace instead of bare skin, sitting back to get a good look as he hooks his fingers under the waistband and yanks them down Lestat’s thighs. Dark red lace panties, stretched obscenely over the equally red tip of Lestat’s leaking cock. The flimsy garment barely contains the size of him and Louis is momentarily struck dumb with arousal at the picture he makes, blushing hard beneath the white mesh netting of his shirt, that damn collar glinting in the light as he squirms and whines under Louis’s undivided attention.

“Lestat,” he breathes, sliding his nails gently up and down the exposed parts of his thighs, watching the goosebumps bloom, his pretty cock twitching, “You wear these just for me?”

“I wanted you to spank me until the pattern was imprinted on my skin,” Lestat declares with his typical brand of frank honesty.

“Fuck...baby, don’t say shit like that,” the words tear out of Louis and he feels his own dick throb despite his reticence to strike him. Deep down, he knows that if Lestat begs pretty enough, he’ll give him just about anything. 

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s true,” Lestat says simply, as unrepentant as ever about the things he desires. It’s one of his most maddening, addictive qualities. “It’s not like you could do any real damage, mon amour; not with just the flat of your palm.”

“How am I letting you talk me into this?” Louis grumbles and Lestat grins triumphantly, working harder to wriggle out of his pants now.

Louis watches him struggle for a moment, endeared by the sight of the Vampire Lestat squirming around on the bed in frustration, frantically trying to kick free of pants that seem almost suctioned to his skin. With a chuckle that makes Lestat toss a glare his way, he slides off the bed and grabs the ends of Lestat’s pants by the ankles. 

“Hold on,” Louis says and starts tugging while Lestat is still shoving with his hands, until they finally get the damn things over his feet and Louis tosses them aside to join Lestat’s boots and socks in a pile on the floor. 

“Lord, how’d you even get those on by yourself? Crisco and fishin’ line?” Louis teases and coaxes a chuckle from Lestat.

“Of course not, mon cher,” Lestat demurs with mock offense, “Je suis Français. I used butter.”

Louis tosses his head back on a full-chested laugh, feeling a rush of joy that Lestat is here with him again, making jokes and looking at him like his laugh is the best sound in the world. Armand had never made Louis laugh like Lestat can, and always could. The man is a damn clown at heart and always seems so inordinately overjoyed when he makes Louis crack. 

He’s so pretty splayed out on Louis’s bed, pushed up on his elbows to watch Louis with burning intensity, the glinting white curve of his front teeth sinking into his cherry red lower lip; and he’s smiling like he simply can’t help it. An impish expression that reminds one of the mortal boy Lestat had once been, that innocent glee with little creases at the corners of his sparkling eyes. 

Louis suddenly grabs Lestat by the slender ankles, feeling the fine blond hairs tickle his palms as he pulls him down the bed, delighting in Lestat’s surprised yelp and brightly flushing cheeks as he stares at Louis with open-mouthed desire, the breaths he doesn’t need coming even faster. With Lestat within reach, Louis sits on the edge of the mattress and pats his lap. 

Lestat’s brain must flat-line for a second because he takes a sharp breath, eyes widening, before he springs into movement and lays himself over Louis’s lap, pert ass presented like a gift, wrapped in red lace. He can feel the dig of Lestat’s very hard cock into his outer thigh as he shifts around, moaning softly as Louis’s hand comes to settle on the plush curve of one cheek. He just strokes at first, rubbing over the panties, tracing the floral pattern with the tip of one fingernail.

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you, yeah?” Louis says, more like a statement than a question.

“Of course, Louis.”

He spends such a long time just palming and teasing the skin that Lestat starts to whine, pushing back into each caress. Deciding he needs to penalize such demanding behavior, Louis rears back with his right hand and brings it down hard with a resounding smack that echoes in the cave-like bedroom. Lestat cries out, shuddering and grinding forward, so Louis gives him several more pops in the same spot. He feels the skin getting warmer through the thin layer of the lace, pinking up so nicely.

The pale hairs on Lestat’s thighs are standing on end from the goosebumps that cover his whole body and Louis can feel his racing heart through his rib-cage and the constant pulsing of his cock. He strokes over the reddened cheek with a soothing thumb and then he delivers a sharp slap to the other side. Lestat throws his head back on a shout, swatting Louis with his unruly mop of curls. With a warning growl, he puts his hand on the back of Lestat’s head, gathering the hair in his fist and pushing him back down with his face toward the floor.

A moan rumbles all through Lestat at the display of brute force and Louis suspects that this is not going to be a very effective form of punishment at all. The brat. Oh well, he’s so deep now that he might as well enjoy it to the fullest extent. 

“How many spanks you think you deserve?” Louis asks, slapping his ass when he doesn’t respond fast enough. 

Lestat mumbles something in French and Louis hits him again in the same place.  “What’s that?”

“Ah!- A-all of them!” Lestat cries, breathless and humping his leg shamelessly. 

“Yeah? Why is that, baby?” Louis purrs back, scraping his nails over the sore skin to feel Lestat shudder and gasp, “Is it because you’re a fucking slut?” 

Hard smack. Wailing cry. Wetness smearing against his outer leg. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Lestat chants, nodding forcefully, rocking back into Louis’s hands.

“‘Yes’ what? Yes, you’re a dirty slut? Getting so wet over this?” He demonstrates ‘this’ by a rapid barrage of spanks.

“Yes, fuck,” Lestat whines back, “I’m a slut, a dirty fucking whore.”

Louis feels his own neglected arousal give a painful throb and he shudders out a steadying breath before affecting that stern tone once again. “That’s right. You’d do anything for attention. Fuckin’ gagging for it all the time, aren’t you?”

“Oui, j’adore,” Lestat says and Louis gives him another series of stinging smacks.

“In English, slut.”

“Yes, yes, I love it,” Lestat moans, “I love to be looked at, to be wanted...I crave it. But I want your attention more than anything, Louis, your eyes on me—”

His words dissolve into a needful whimper as Louis starts putting his vampiric strength behind his slaps. Lestat’s cries are getting louder and more wild and he’s thrashing against Louis’s lap like he can’t decide if he needs more or less. Luckily, he has Louis to decide for him, and Louis thinks he needs at least a dozen more hard spanks. 

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” Louis asks, voice gone low and feral as he strikes Lestat’s perfect ass until his palm is stinging. 

The endless “Ah-Ah-Ah”s that punctuate every spank seem forced from Lestat and his voice is getting hoarse from the sheer volume he’s been maintaining. Louis is far more turned on by this whole thing than he ever anticipated. It had been a mild thrill with Armand but with Lestat, it’s something completely new—something that fills him with a possessive need to claim and take and defile him. He might have known. Everything about this ridiculous man drives him crazy. 

It’s not until he feels Lestat seize against him and start to shake, all of his muscles tensing up, that Louis realizes he’s about to come. In awe, he keeps up the pace and watches Lestat fall apart with a ragged shout, hips jerking erratically as he ruins the front of his panties and the leg of Louis’s lounge pants. When his thrusts stutter to a stop, Louis’s spanking becomes gentle petting over the flushed skin.

Out of curiosity, he pushes the panties aside and looks closely and...yes, there’s the hint of pattern there, slightly darker than the rest of the pink but fading quickly. 

“It sort of worked,” Louis says, touching the raised skin in question, “The lace pattern thing.”

Lestat whips his head around to look, craning around in such a way that would cause a mortal to cramp, and smiles broadly despite the fact that he’s got tears streaming down his face. Louis’s stomach aches at the sight of him crying and hopes he didn’t go too far, hopes that Lestat would have stopped him if he didn’t want it.

“Baby...” Louis breathes, gently maneuvering him until Lestat is sitting astride him, gazing with those huge wet eyes, irises shockingly blue against the pink and bloodshot whites, his smoky makeup smudged and running into the red of his tears. He seems so vulnerable and precious in this moment and Louis’s throat constricts as he sniffles softly. 

“Talk to me, cher. Did I hit you too hard?” He asks, pushing blond locks out of his lover’s face and behind his ears. He wipes at the tears and Lestat catches his wrist, holding him still so he can lick his digit clean. 

Lestat is shaking his head with a wobbly but happy smile, laughing a little now as he says, “You did perfectly, my love,” then he leans in to capture Louis’s lips in a deep, lingering kiss. 

“Merci, Louis,” he whispers and Louis grips him tighter around the waist and kisses him again, again, and again.

“You’re welcome, Lestat,” Louis replies, then rocks up a little so Lestat can feel his erection, “I, uh, I enjoyed it too.” 

A peal of giggles from Lestat as he shifts his weight, watching the way Louis’s face goes slack with pleasure. “I have an idea of what to do with that, if you’re amenable,” he says with a leering tilt of his brows. 

“As long as I can eat you out first, I’m game,” Louis says, loving the way Lestat gasps, twitching with renewed interest. 

“Well, I don’t think that would be a problem,” Lestat announces as he whips off his mesh shirt, already climbing off of Louis to plant himself face-down on the bed. 

The way he shuffles off his panties and kicks them away as an afterthought, followed by a fucking thumbs-up of all things, makes Louis laugh, so unbearably fond. He slides in between Lestat’s long legs, brushing over the backs of his thighs, admiring the barest hint of red still visible on his cheeks, healing right before his eyes. With a sigh of upmost indulgence, Louis stretches out on his belly and buries his face in the luscious ass he’s been staring at for ages, spreading him wide with with his thumbs to get his tongue in deep.

The long, drawn out “Ohhh” he wrenches from Lestat spurs him on and he laves wetly over the rim with the flat of his tongue before sealing his lips against his skin and sucking. Lestat keens and writhes, stitches ripping as he twists the blanket in his fists. Louis digs his nails hard into the meat of his ass as he cruelly shoves his tongue back inside, a silent admonishment for tearing his new bedspread. But judging by the sounds Lestat makes, it isn’t much of a deterrent. 

He realizes belatedly that the low feral noise he’s been hearing is a growl emanating from his own chest as he gets Lestat sloppy with spit, tonguing his hole with the same kind of aggressive, open, biting, kisses he likes to give Lestat’s mouth. Lestat arches his back and pushes down onto Louis’s face, whining desperately when Louis pulls away to bite him roughly on one plush cheek—no fangs, just the blunt edge of his mortal teeth, but hard enough to leave a fleeting mark. 

Lestat makes a noise that’s almost a squeal before he stuffs his mouth full of blanket to muffle it, his legs kicking in needy frustration. Louis admires the whole beautiful picture of him, and then gazes intently at the puffy, wet rim clenching around nothing. He spits on him just to feel Lestat jolt and shiver, then dives back in with a finger sliding in alongside his tongue.

His body sucks him inside, hot and greedy. Lestat moans softly into his mouthful of blanket, undulating his hips to get him deeper. He pets at his silken inner walls while he licks the skin stretching around his fingers—now two—pumping them slow and sweet like he has all the time in the world. He pulls back just far enough to watch, hungrily eyeing the way his own skin contrasts with the hot pink rim stretched around his long digits.

“Look so good like this, honey,” Louis croons, breathing over his wet skin and watching him shudder. “Made for this, aren’t you?”

Lestat groans and nods his head eagerly, obviously beyond words that aren’t muffled cries of “Louis” and “Please”.

A third finger joins and Louis angles them just so, seeking out that spot that makes Lestat finally release the blanket between his teeth to scream—a deep ragged thing plumbed up from the depths of his lungs. He rocks back onto Louis’s fingers, squeezing them so unbelievably tight. 

“Want me to fuck this pretty hole?” Louis asks, growls it into his skin, drooling on him like an animal. He’s been rutting into the bed this whole time, his cock aching and staining through to the blanket with pinkish wetness. He’ll definitely be needing a new comforter after this. 

“Yes! Yes, Louis, please,” he whines, “S’il te plait, mon amour. Baise-moi.”

Louis kneels back and rids himself of his clothes in a blink, and then he’s blanketing Lestat with his whole body, echoing his moan at the skin-to-skin contact. He kisses over Lestat’s shoulders, dragging his teeth over the flushed skin to see the white trails left behind. The head of his cock is slipping against the crease of Lestat’s ass, leaking enough to make it an easy glide when he finally presses against his rim and thrusts inside.

He bottoms out, hipbones meeting ass with a wet smack that makes him shiver with need. Lestat moans unabashedly, flailing a hand back to grab onto Louis, to pull him in tighter, if such a thing were possible. Louis is too far gone, too drunk on lust to do anything but follow Lestat’s urging and the fire burning in his own veins to take, take, take. He finds a rhythm that becomes quickly harsh and unrelenting, dropping himself down with force enough to shake the bed-frame with every pounding thrust.

Lestat melts beneath him, liquid in his pleasure, crying out deliriously as Louis bottoms out again and again. He drops his forehead into the sweaty dip between Lestat’s shoulder-blades, panting as he continues to drive his hips with all the strength in his preternatural body. His balls are getting tighter with every slap against Lestat’s ass, making his pace falter and then quicken. 

He pulls out suddenly and Lestat wails in complaint, whipping around to glare at him accusingly. Louis smirks at Lestat’s expression that misses malice and lands on petulance, then he slaps his ass with both hands and says “Turn around.”

Lestat’s assistance is not strictly necessary, however, because Louis is grabbing his narrow waist right where his hands fit best and flipping him easily. With an excited huff, Lestat lands on his back, hair fanned out behind him, pupils wide and dark as he stares up at Louis, full of adoration and desire. Louis settles on top of him again and Lestat folds him up in his arms and legs, squeezing him tight around the middle as he sinks back inside the welcoming heat of his body. 

They breathe into each other’s mouths, trading messy kisses between gasps and groans. Louis starts rocking into him, like a deep rolling tide, fighting the urge to mindlessly rut in pursuit of his own release, wanting to make this last, make it good. Lestat seems torn between shuddering with pleasure at the slow drag and frustration at Louis for drawing out this sweet torture when he’d been so close before.

Lestat’s cock is hard and dripping between them, caught in the channel made by their abs sliding against each other. Louis wants to look at it, see how red and desperate it’s become, but that would mean tearing his eyes away from the inescapable snare of Lestat’s gaze. Even at such a close distance that he starts to blur, it’s arresting to be the sole subject of Lestat’s attention—painted lashes fluttering but unwilling to stay closed for long. 

“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to see,” Louis says, nuzzling at Lestat’s nose with his own and then kissing his lips, “Wanted to look at your beautiful face when I make you come.”

Lestat moans and tightens around him, nails raking down Louis’s back. Louis traces the sinful shape of Lestat’s parted lips with his tongue before pushing it back inside, flicking over the shaft of one sensitive fang and then the other. He feels another gush of wetness between them and it’s always such a high, knowing that he, Louis, can turn him on this much, a being as exquisite and powerful as Lestat. He could have anyone on Earth but he chooses Louis time and time again. And Louis will always choose him right back.

“Louis, Louis, Louis,” Lestat is repeating like it’s the only word he can remember.

He changes the angle a little and then he’s driving into Lestat’s prostate relentlessly, never letting the pleasure ebb, just pitching it higher and higher until Lestat’s legs are shaking around him, his breath catching in his throat as his mouth opens in a silent roar, fangs flashing. Then he flings his head back and comes with coarse shout that seems to shake the very tower around them, cinching down around Louis’s cock to pull him right over the edge along with him.

“Fuck, oh, Les, baby, I’m coming,” Louis babbles, grinding in hard as he releases deep inside, feeling Lestat still spasming, still coming between their bellies. “So fucking good,” he breathes, smearing mindless kisses over his maker’s sweaty chest, feeling Lestat’s fingers push into his hair, feeling his lips against his temple, his hot breath against his ear.

Louis pushes back far enough on his shaking arms to look at his face, radiant in the glow of his satisfaction, all dewy and flushed and pliant beneath him. He smiles up at Louis, just a little breathless curl of his lips, a softness in his gaze that feels like it belongs to only him. Louis kisses him again, letting their chests come together as he cups his face, scratches through his hair, thumbs at his swollen lips and the blunt line of his teeth—worshipful touches.

Lestat’s hands do much the same, roaming over him, stroking his sides and back and ass, pressing their messy bodies together without a single care. Louis loves him like this—loves him always but especially like this—just lost in the afterglow, throwing off waves of affection like heat from a radiator. They’re breathing in sync; of course they are—so peaceful and intimate.

And then Lestat’s phone starts ringing from his discarded clothing, obnoxiously loud in the hush of the penthouse. Lestat groans and murmurs a swear as Louis chuckles.

“Do you need to get that or can I love on you some more?” Louis asks, already placing a flurry of tiny kisses to the scar beside Lestat’s mouth. 

“I don’t need to do anything, Louis, besides silence my damn phone and take all the love you’re willing to give.”

“I don’t know. You sure you can take that much?” Louis teases back, nipping at his jaw.

Lestat laughs, warm and low, and deeply thrilling, “Oh, mon cher,” he purrs, “Do your worst.”