Archive of Our Own

When Lily asked Louis to drive her to an audition for a music video, he’d been expecting to drop her off in front of a studio lot or the office of a casting director.

He certainly hadn’t been expecting to roll up to a fucking castle.

“This is where you’re auditioning?” Louis marveled, slowing the car to a stop before a massive wrought-iron gate.

Beyond the gate rose a towering white stone fortress that looked like something straight out of a storybook – complete with high, pointed turrets, a grand arching entryway, and crimson banners emblazoned with a golden crest flapping from on high like licks of red flame.

“Yeah. This is the shooting location for the video.” Lily craned her neck to see the sprawling lawn that lay at the manor’s feet, where a throng of people bustled about with cameras, lighting and sound equipment. “It looks like they’ve already started production.”

A thickset man wearing sunglasses motioned for Louis to roll his window down, then guided him through three different security checks before taking his car to be parked and leaving Louis and Lily at the entrance.

Closer up, Louis could see it wasn’t quite castle-size – maybe a Disneyland castle – and was clearly a mansion made up to look grander than it was. Nevertheless, Louis felt a tingle of excitement as they mounted the flight of wide marble steps leading inside.

“It’s like walking into a fairytale,” Louis mused.

Lily gave him a playful nudge. “Are you hoping to meet a prince?”

Louis’s perpetual single-dom was a long-running joke between them; Louis liked to whine to Lily about his lack of sex life, and Lily liked to respond by reminding him that he could have any guy he wanted if he would just put himself out there.

‘You’re fucking hot, Louis.’ She’d assured him. ‘Walk into any club or bar in this city and I promise you will be thrown all the dick you can hold.’

The problem was, Louis didn’t want to be thrown any old dick. He was a romantic. He had a hard and fast rule against one-night stands, waiting to have sex until he was in a committed relationship, or at least had feelings for someone. This was primarily to preserve his own emotional well-being, but yes, perhaps also in part to appease the mental specter of his mother, arching an eyebrow and remarking snidely at any hint of promiscuity.

Louis didn’t know why he bothered; it wasn’t as though he could ever bring a guy home the way Grace could, but a futile, childish part of him still dreamed of a fairytale ending, a big wedding with his family there, everything falling into place for a happily ever after.

Unfortunately, a committed relationship had yet to fall into his lap. Dating was exhausting, and between grad school and his job at the gallery, Louis just hadn’t had the energy or the time. So, for the past two years of his life, Louis had been painfully celibate.

Louis elected to ignore Lily’s subtle dig, and instead just nudged her back. “Are you?”

“Hey, I’m just hoping for a paycheck.”

A stiff-liveried doorman received them with a bow.

“Bienvenue au Château de Lioncourt.”

As the door swung open, it was like they’d stumbled into Wonderland.

They were greeted by an ever-shifting kaleidoscope of colored lights – green, purple, blue, pink – dyeing the wisps of machine fog floating in the air into rainbow clouds drifting over the heads of the most exotic assortment of beautiful people Louis had ever seen. Partially-shaved heads paired with elaborate hairdos, abbreviated eyebrows, piercings and tattoos scattered across flawless, glistening bared skin, strips of black vinyl and leather and clinking chains crisscrossing over writhing bodies of every size. The heavy pump of a bassline scudded through them as they twisted in tandem, a bizarrely sensual pulsating of limbs, like the entire crowd was one beating heart, a sinister, anachronistic organ distorting the center of an otherwise stately, mid-18^th century ballroom. The air was thick with weed and something like incense, and it made Louis’s head spin.

It took him a good two minutes just for his eyes to adjust after the door shut behind them, but Lily was beaming.

“Wow!” She breathed. “Isn’t this incredible?”

Lily spun in a circle, taking it all in. Her mass of dark hair twirled around her delicate frame like maypole streamers, the glitter she’d applied to her eyes flashing diamond-bright when the light hit her. Louis was briefly dazzled by her, his best friend, just as beautiful and wondrous as their surroundings.

“Are you sure this is a casting call, Lily? Because it looks a lot like a house party to me.”

Louis noted a conspicuous lack of filming equipment now that they were inside. It aroused his suspicion, along with a protective oldest-sibling instinct. The entertainment industry could be dangerous for dancers trying to get their start, especially beautiful young dancers like Lily. “Do you even know whose house this is? Where did you hear about this job, anyway?”

“Online. And I think it’s one of the artist’s mansions. He has places all over.”

“Who’s this artist again? Lester – something?”

“Lestat de Lioncourt!” Lily said, exasperated.

She must have told him a dozen times on the drive over, but Louis just couldn’t get the name to stick in his mind. He didn’t listen to much rock, anyway – he was sure to forget the name again before the night was over.

“He’s a totally famous rockstar.” Lily went on. “He’s like a god in Europe. And he pays his dancers really, really well, so I’d appreciate it if you could at least act like you know who he is, so you don’t offend anyone and mess this up for me?”

Louis had opened his mouth to promise her he’d try, when a harried-looking young woman with bleached white hair scampered up to them holding a clipboard.

“Dancer? Here for the audition?”

The second Lily dipped her head in a nod, the woman bolted, beckoning them to follow.

Lily shrugged at Louis and jogged after her, and Louis scrambled in their wake.

The trio wound their way deeper into the mansion. The house was packed with people, and even skirting around the horde at the center of the dancefloor, it was hard for Louis to keep up and not lose his way. Within seconds, the woman had vanished from his field of view, and Lily was quickly joining her, as Louis trailed desperately after the flick of her black hair as she rounded corners and wove through party-goers. The entry ballroom became a hall, which became another large room stuffed with rowdy carousers, bracketed on all sides by the neon glow of a lavishly stocked bar, which became another hall, which led into what looked like a velvet-swathed opium den, which brought them to another hall – and then Louis realized Lily’s black hair was nowhere to be seen.

“Lily?”

Louis twisted in the swamp of revelers. He could hardly move for how crowded the hall was with drunk and high people, and their clamoring, along with the ever-present throb of music, was so loud it drowned out his plea.

Louis’s heart began to pound – he’d long nursed a touch of claustrophobia, one of the many reasons he didn’t go to clubs. He’d had nightmares where he’d found himself in a narrow place so packed he was rendered immobile, so tightly compressed on all sides he couldn’t draw the breath to scream.

Then – out of the corner of his eye – there was the harried, white-haired woman, waving at him from the opposite end of the hall, the place he’d just struggled past. Louis must have gotten turned around.

Louis battled his way back to her, practically gasping with relief as he entered a smaller, but quieter, and far less crowded room.

“You’re over here, hon.”

Louis was deposited onto one of several long chaise lounges along the side of the room, where a handful of other people were reclining – the seating area for supportive friends to watch auditions from, he assumed. He relaxed back into the cushions to catch his breath.

The room was decorated to look like a throne room – a lush carpet lined the floor, a family of chandeliers dangling overhead filled the space with warm, glittering light, and at the front of the room, beneath an ornate proscenium arch, backdropped by velvet drapes of rich crimson, was a large golden throne sculpted to look like the roaring head of a lion.

A bit gaudy, Louis observed idly.

Gaudier still was the man standing before the throne, posing with a scantily-clad young woman before a semi-circle of flashing cameras. A tall, handsome man, his tousled mane of golden locks tumbling to his shoulders, a predatory gleam in his striking blue eyes and a wolflike grin accenting his chiseled, Adonis jawline – or Louis supposed he would be handsome, were it not for the distractingly hideous lime green sequined jacket he was wearing, complete with acid-colored ostrich feathers that were tickling his co-star’s nose as he bent over her, dipping her in a dramatic back bend.

The woman sneezed demurely in his face. The blonde man flinched.

“Oops!” She squeaked, turning red. “S-sorry, Mr. de Lioncourt.”

A stormy glare clouded Mr. de Lioncourt’s handsome face.

“That’s alright, chérie, you’re finished here.” He sneered, and with that, released her body, leaving her to tumble to the ground.

Luckily for her, a PA was on hand to thrust a large cushion from one of the chaises beneath her to break her fall – evidently, they’d come to anticipate this kind of behavior.

Mr. de Lioncourt paid her no heed, waving an impatient hand in the direction of the chaise lounge. “Next!”

The dejected woman was promptly ushered out of the room, and a new model took her place in front of the cameras. She allowed her body to be moved by Mr. de Lioncourt into a series of suggestive poses, only smiling and giggling when he slid his hands under the front of her shirt to grope at her breasts.

The rockstar removed his hands with a little laugh. “Oh, ma pauvre fille. I’d ask for a refund on those implants, darling. Next!”

The next model was a slender, waifish man, grinning eagerly as he approached. Mr. de Lioncourt looked him up and down, spun him a few times, then grabbed his flat ass to give it a firm squeeze.

“No.” The blonde shook his head, his lip curling with disgust. “No, you need to leave. Try some squats, perhaps. Next!”

Another model presented themselves. They seemed to make it pretty far, taking the man’s touches in stride. Louis grimaced when Mr. de Lioncourt laved his tongue lewdly over the model’s throat.

“Ugh, terrible.” The rockstar pulled back, his mouth twisting like he’d tasted something foul. “Next!”

Asshole. Louis frowned as the man scrutinized each new model only to harshly reject them, like a spoiled brat prince choosing a bride. What kind of massive prick conducted a camera test this way?

Wait, Mr. de Lioncourt? The name finally registered in Louis’s brain. Isn’t that the rockstar Lily’s auditioning for?

Louis set his jaw, steeling himself for confrontation. If this guy thought he was going to treat Lily with the kind of disrespect he was showing to these models, he had another thing coming. Louis didn’t care how famous he was in Europe – he would cuss him out right here in front of all these cameras.

Casting a glance around, Louis realized he didn’t see Lily anywhere. Had she been shown into the wrong room?

“Next!”

No one moved. The rockstar sighed irritably. “Next!” He repeated.

Dread dropped like a stone in Louis’s stomach as several horrible things occurred to him all at once.

One: Lily was not in the room, which meant Louis had not been brought here to spectate her audition.

Two: Every single model for the camera test had been sitting to the right of Louis on the chaise lounge while they waited for their turn to humiliate themselves.

Three: There were no more models sitting to Louis’s right, and the line of remaining models sitting on Louis’s left were staring at him expectantly.

Four: The harried, white-haired woman was pulling Louis to his feet, shoving him towards the awful blonde man because he was waiting for Louis, because it was Louis’s turn.

Before Louis could react, he was thrust into the strong, ostrich-feathered arms of the asshole rockstar, and dear God, up close he was fucking gorgeous.

The soft pink curl of the man’s cruel mouth stretched into a grin, and Louis swore he saw his pupils dilate, black engulfing the blue irises, hungrily taking the sight of Louis in.

“Enchanté.” The man purred, his deep voice a dangerous rumble. “And who might you be?”

Louis’s mind had gone blank. All he could think to do was answer. “Louis.”

“Louis. Louis, Louis.” Mr. de Lioncourt rolled the name around in his mouth like it was made of candy, sticky and sweet on his tongue. “Most blessed of the saints. Smile for the cameras, Saint Louis.”

The man’s large hands took Louis none-too-gently by the hips and spun him to face the semi-circle of photographers, pressing himself flush against Louis’s back. Louis was momentarily stunned by the blinding flashes of light, the symphony of camera shutters clicking, the solid warmth of the man’s body against his – he caught a whiff of the rockstar’s cologne and he smelled like sex, smoky and spicy, with an animalistic musk that triggered some kind of pheromone response in Louis’s brain and made his mouth water – but he was snapped out of his daze when he felt the soft drag of lips brushing against the skin of his neck, a chaste prelude to a bite Louis would not allow.

Louis jerked away from the touch. “Hey! – Look, I’m not actually – ”

“Shhh.” The man hushed him, nosing again at Louis’s throat despite his objections, and sliding a hand up Louis’s body to press the pads of two fingers to Louis’s lips for good measure. “We’ll chat later. Do me a favor and keep that pretty mouth shut.” A suggestive smirk entered his tone. “For now, at least.”

Louis tried to speak anyway, but could only get out one muffled word before Mr. de Lioncourt took advantage of his parted lips to press those two fingers right into Louis’s mouth. To Louis’s great horror, as he sputtered through the shock of this intrusion, his tongue accidentally curled around the thick fingers – and the guy even tasted good, for Christ’s sake.

In an automatic bodily response Louis had absolutely no control over, he suckled at the fingers a little more.

A warm puff of breath ghosted over Louis’s skin as the man made a soft pleased noise against his neck. “How do I taste, chéri?” He whispered in Louis’s ear.

Louis expelled the intrusive digits, his nose giving a violent pre-sneeze twitch as the feathers along the man’s sleeve prickled at his face. “Don’t – and would you take that ugly fucking jacket off? I think I’m allergic.”

“Trying to get me undressed?” Mr. de Lioncourt quipped, though, mercifully he did as Louis asked, promptly shrugging the garment to the floor. A nimble PA dove to catch it before it hit the carpet. “Very well. Although, I must say I don’t covet your choice in wardrobe, either.”

Louis frowned down at his simple, classic t-shirt and jeans. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

While Louis was distracted, the man recaptured him, encircling Louis’s slim waist with his arms. They were bared by the tight sleeveless garment he was wearing beneath the jacket, and Louis watched the slight ripple of muscle in the well-formed biceps as he squeezed Louis to his chest.

“Well, for one, they would look much better on the floor.” Mr. de Lioncourt murmured, his eyes dragging over Louis’s frame, unabashedly imagining him naked as the cameras continued to flash.

Louis felt his face flush with heat. He really wished this guy was a little less hot. The longer Louis spent this close to him, feeling his hands on his body, that deep voice thrumming in his ears, the more Louis was reminded of how long it had been since he’d had sex. Sex had been nice. He missed sex.

When the rockstar cupped his cheek and leaned in closer, it seemed only natural for Louis to lean in too, tugged forward by the invisible magnet of his own lust. His lips looked so soft and inviting, and Louis really liked sex, but he really liked kissing…

An even louder cacophony of camera shutters erupted to capture the moment just before they kissed, bringing Louis back to himself in time to prevent it.

Louis dislodged himself from the man’s arms, stumbling a few steps backward.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Louis demanded, wishing he didn’t sound so breathless.

The blonde man grinned, closing in to grab Louis by the hips before he tripped over a stray bundle of electrical cords. “I was only going to give you a kiss, mon cher. You needn’t be afraid; I don’t bite.”

“Well, I do.” Louis spat. “So, don’t try that shit again.”

Louis braced his palms on the man’s chest to keep some distance between them, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to give him the shove he deserved.

The rockstar laughed, his eyes glittering, delighted by Louis’s resistance. “Oh, you are a feisty one, aren’t you?”

“Fuck you.” Louis scowled, ignoring the fluttery feeling in his stomach. The man had a cute laugh – Louis hated himself at how badly he wanted to hear it again.

Mr. de Lioncourt suddenly released Louis to clap his hands together and address the room.

“That’s a wrap, everyone! This casting session has officially come to an end.” He gave Louis a dazzling smile. “Louis here has just won the role of performing in the video as my love interest.”

Louis did a double take. Love interest?

A smattering of applause went up from the crew, while the remaining models sighed and slunk out of the room.

“Mr. Louis, you’ll just need to sign here and here…” The harried white-haired woman tried to offer her clipboard and a pen, but Louis held up his hands in refusal.

“No – I’m not signing anything, and I’m not going to be in any video. There’s been a mistake. I didn’t come here to audition; I’m not an actor or a model.”

Mr. de Lioncourt nodded. “Well, that is a mistake. A face like yours demands to be immortalized. It would be a crime not to commit it to film.”

“Prior experience isn’t necessary.” A short, balding man who looked to be the video’s director approached Louis with a strained expression, wringing his hands. “Really! It’s really no bother! We’d be so lucky to have you.”

“Please,” A woman with deep purple bags under her eyes begged. “We’ve been trying to cast this role for weeks. If we delay the shoot any longer, we’ll have to push back the video release date. And if we push back the video, the single will have to be pushed back, and then…ugh, Christine’s gonna kill me.”

“Yes, my manager is a most stringent woman.” The rockstar agreed. “Quite unsympathetic to my artistic perfectionism. I predict half of the crew’s jobs would be sacrificed if the video were to go off-schedule.”

A fearful shudder went through the assembled crewmembers.

“I…well…” Louis hesitated. As much as he balked at the idea of playing this asshole’s love interest, he didn’t feel comfortable getting a bunch of people fired either.

“Take a look at this.”

One of the camera people wheeled around the monitor to click through the pictures they’d taken. Louis grimaced at the ones where he had Mr. de Lioncourt’s fingers in his mouth – he couldn’t even look at those, what had gotten into him? – but then it stopped on one of the very last ones, where the man had tried to kiss him, in the second before Louis pulled away.

One of the rockstar’s big hands was cupping Louis’s cheek, while the other kept a possessive grip low on his hip, his face closing in on Louis’s with animal lust. Louis’ eyes had fluttered half-shut, a demure lowering of his long dark lashes, his full lips parted with a shy hunger. Louis was shocked at how sensual the image was, each man ready to devour the other alive.

Louis hated to admit it, but they looked good together.

“This is perfection,” Mr. de Lioncourt breathed, taking in the image. “We’ve found her, at last, Helen of Troy herself, the face that launched a billion album covers.” He gazed up at Louis with awe. “You were even right about the jacket. It works better without it.”

Louis shook his head, as though he could shake some sense into himself. “This is…I can’t do this.”

“You must.” The blonde man urged. “No one else will do. It can only be you.”

“Say yes!” A familiar voice chimed from the doorway.

Lily waved at Louis from the room’s entrance, apparently having finished her dance audition and come to find him. She grinned and nodded encouragingly, as if to say ‘Loosen up and have some fun for once! Maybe even catch some dick!’

The whole room stared at Louis in anticipation.

What could he do?

Louis sighed, already regretting his choice. “Okay, fine.”

The crowd cheered.

“But, like I said, I’ve never done anything like this before, so if I ruin the whole thing, you’ll only have yourself to blame, Mr. de Lioncourt.”

Louis was treated to another loud burst of the man’s laughter, a disturbingly charming cackle just this side of maniacal.

“No need to be so formal, Louis.” The rockstar told him, his face radiant with the bliss of having gotten his way. “Please, call me Lestat.”

Right. Lestat, not Lester.

Louis had a sinking feeling that he might just commit the name to memory after all.

--

“Oh, shit.”

Louis’s stomach dropped as his foot slipped, and the stepladder beneath him gave a dangerous wobble. He must be forty feet above the ground now. The ballroom below still pulsed with color, music, and gyrating bodies, but it was all faint, dulled by the distance, happening somewhere else. Louis was struck with a powerful sense memory – slipping upstairs with Jonah during a high school rager, the noise of the party muffled behind a closed door, then by tangled sheets and the sound of their mingled breath, the rest of the world retreating, leaving this space for the two of them alone.

“Watch your step,” Lestat admonished gently, a hand on Louis’s back to steady him.

The hand was unnecessary; Louis was strapped into a full-body harness he’d been profusely assured would keep him safe in the event his body left the ladder, or the suspended platform they were climbing to. Louis was grateful for it, all the same.

This scene for the music video had been described to him thus: while the party raged below, the pair of them would float above it all, two beings literally and metaphorically elevated above humanity, slow dancing in the air as if they were flying on the wings of their love.

“Aww, how sweet.” Lily had trilled, batting her eyelashes at Louis. “Just like a fairytale.”

“More like a nightmare,” Louis had muttered darkly.

In addition to being claustrophobic, Louis was no great fan of heights.

“There is no need to worry,” Lestat told him. “I will be right beside you the whole time.”

Louis hadn’t found this terribly comforting at the time, but now that they were stepping onto the wide, translucent platform hanging from the ceiling that, to Louis, looked practically invisible, he found himself clinging to Lestat like a life raft in a storm.

It didn’t help that they had put them both in heels – short, blocky things that looked like something a founding father would wear, but heels nonetheless. Louis’s knees trembled as he took short, tentative steps towards the center of the platform, where Lestat guided him to two lines of vibrant yellow tape designating their marks.

“Relax, Louis.” Lestat took Louis’s waist in preparation for their dance, and unlike earlier, his touch was entirely welcome.

Louis couldn’t remember where he was supposed to put his arms – what had the choreographer told him? He settled for clasping them around Lestat’s neck so he could let his head fall towards Lestat’s shoulder, hide his face in the space over the crook of his neck, close his eyes, and pretend he wasn’t a lethal distance above the ground. His heart was pounding out of his chest.

“It’s okay.” Lestat’s voice was low and soothing. Up here they could speak softly and still hear each other. They weren’t recording audio for this scene, so neither of them was wearing a microphone. “Trust me, I’m not going to let you fall.”

Louis scoffed weakly. “Trust you? I don’t even know you.”

The director piped up via their earpieces, letting them know the cameras were about to start rolling.

“Well, we’re going to be up here for a while. Why don’t you get to know me?”

Louis looked at him. Lestat seemed different, now that they were alone. Gentler, more sincere. Maybe he was just playing a role for the video.

The mounted cameras blinked red recording lights at them. Louis allowed Lestat to move his hands into position for the modified waltz the choreographer had taught them, and they began to move to an imagined rhythm.

“Fine,” Louis surrendered, desperate to be distracted from the way his stomach lurched with each carefully-placed step. “Tell me about yourself.”

Lestat smiled at him. God, he was pretty.

“Hmm, where to start. My name is Lestat. I will be twenty-six in November. I grew up in the French countryside, but spent my formative years in Paris. I’m the youngest of eight siblings. I am an accomplished musician, lyricist, vocalist, poet in my spare time, former actor. I love dogs, and have several at my home in Paris. And I have been told by many different psychics that in a past life I was an Egyptian queen.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “White people always think they were Egyptian queens in a past life.”

“They may all be deluding themselves, but for me it is true. I have always felt a deep spiritual connection with ancient Egypt, even as a child. The grandeur of the pyramids, the endless stretches of golden sand, the opulence of their jewelry and dress, the spectacle of their burial tombs, the coffins…”

A sly look crept onto Lestat’s face. “You know, the ancient Egyptians considered cats to be gods, and I, myself, am a devout worshipper of pussy.”

It was so ridiculous and caught Louis so off-guard, he couldn’t help but bust out laughing.

“Wow. That was really fucking stupid.” Louis shook his head, still smiling.

Lestat grinned back. “But it worked. It got you to smile at me.”

Louis felt his cheeks heat. He made himself look away. The colored lights of the party below filtered up to the air around them in diminished form, a milky, watercolor haze. Pale blue, soft pink, glazed lavender, like they were dancing within the rainbow wash of an iridescent seashell at the bottom of the sea.

“Your eyes give off the most beautiful sparkle when you smile,” Lestat murmured. “They shine like jewels, and it lights up your whole face. You are gorgeous even wearing a frown, but the sight of you smiling is enough to stun a man speechless. It’s like watching the sun rise.”

Louis was unable to hide an embarrassed little grin, and Lestat let out a gasp of quiet awe. “See? I could compose an entire album based on the smile you just gave me.”

This much flattery was overwhelming. Louis wanted to squirm away but there was nowhere to go. His hand fidgeted on Lestat’s shoulder. “You really lay it on thick, huh?” He mumbled.

Lestat hummed in agreement. “Only when I like someone.”

Yeah, when you don’t like someone, you drop them like a sack of shit, he thought, reminded of the rejected model left to tumble to the floor.

Louis’s eyes drifted downwards, following the ripples of pastel light – they stretched on forever into the void beneath them. Between the lights and the colored smoke, he couldn’t see the ground at all, they were so high up – Louis’s breath hitched as his stomach gave a violent, seasick wobble, his knees buckling under a sudden wave of dizziness – the world around him was spinning, he was going to faint, he was going to plummet –

Lestat slowed their dance, drew Louis nearer, abandoning their waltz for a more intimate slow-dance sway.

“You’re alright,” Lestat said in his ear. “Just hold onto me, and don’t look down.”

Louis clutched at Lestat, struggling to master his breathing. He concentrated on the solid pressure of Lestat’s chest against his, the reassuring warmth of Lestat’s arms around his waist, the surety of the broad shoulder Louis pressed his face into. Suddenly, this stranger was the only secure place in his universe, and all Louis could do was trust Lestat to keep him here.

Don’t let go of me, Louis pleaded silently, too afraid to even voice the thought out loud.

As if he’d heard him somehow, Lestat held Louis tighter, so tight Louis’s body couldn’t shake anymore. Louis’s shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch, his racing heartbeat beginning to slow. He was safe.

“Tell me about yourself, Louis.” Lestat attempted to distract him once more. “I wish to know everything about you.”

Louis swallowed down the last of his nausea, prying himself out of Lestat’s shoulder. “Oh, I don’t know if we have time for all that.” Surely the scene was almost over?

“Well, we must make the most of the time we do have.” Lestat coaxed.

“I’m, uh, twenty-four.” Louis began, his voice steadying the more he spoke. “I’m the oldest of three. Grew up in New Orleans. I’m a grad student at Fairplay University, here in town. Studying studio art – photography, mainly.”

“You are also an artist.” Lestat seemed pleased. “Only natural we would be drawn to each other, non?”

“Speaking of art, what’s the concept of this video again?” Louis evaded, glancing over Lestat’s old-timey gentleman’s costume, complete with a black cape Louis had crumpled in his sweaty grip. “You’re supposed to be some kind of vampire?”

“Oui, the world’s most infamous and beautiful vampire. Until yourself, of course.” Lestat tipped his head in a slight bow.

“Oh, I’m a vampire, too?”

“Mais, bien sûr. When I met you, your beauty bewitched me so utterly I had no choice but to turn you, make you into my immortal companion. By this point in our story, we have been separated for some years, but we have found each other again in this dancehall, two relics of a time long past, coming together again, reigniting our love in a new era.”

Lestat paused before going on. “Even as the world shifts around us, our bond is unchanged. That’s what my song, ‘Eternal Love’ is about. A love between two people so powerful, it lasts forever. It’s a fantasy of mine.” He smiled a little self-consciously. “Perhaps you find it cliché.”

“No,” Louis replied softly, Lestat’s words striking a tender chord within him. “I think that sounds really romantic.”

Lestat beamed at him. There was a vulnerability to his expression, like he’d shared a fragile part of himself and was relieved to have it received with kindness.

Louis had to remind himself that this guy was an asshole, and that he should definitely not find him endearing.

“Why’d you treat all those models like that?” Louis blurted out.

Lestat looked puzzled. “Like what?”

“You know, acting all…inappropriate with them, and then dismissing them like they were nothing. You were awful to them. It’s not okay to treat people like that, no matter how famous you are.”

Lestat snorted a laugh. “Mon cher, nothing I did to them was inappropriate – they arrived for the audition knowing I would be testing for physical chemistry, as our director has devised a rather intimate climactic scene. It was all in the casting notice.”

“As for the ‘awful treatment’, I assure you that was wholly anticipated as well.” He shrugged. “I am well-known for a certain attitude; my fans call me ‘The Brat Prince’. When I see something I want, I take it. Otherwise, I don’t waste my time.”

Brat prince, huh? Louis thought, secretly impressed with himself that his assessment had been so spot-on.

“You won’t get far in this industry without being ruthless.” Lestat went on. “Or in this world, for that matter. People will give you what you are willing to take, and if you are willing to take trash, you will never be rewarded with treasure. For example, if I had accepted those insufficient models your heart bleeds for, I never would have found the perfect scene partner.” Lestat smiled at him. “I never would have met you.”

Louis forced himself to ignore the dreamy look Lestat was giving him. Begrudgingly, he admired the man’s boldness. It must be freeing, to go through the world doing only what you wanted. Even after escaping the pressures of his family life when he entered college, Louis had never known that kind of freedom. He’d certainly accepted his fair share of trash.

“Well, you could have been less of a jerk about it,” Louis maintained stubbornly, but without heat.

Lestat laughed. “Comme tu veux. For you, Saint Louis, I will be an angel.”

They continued to chat as the scene went on. Before Louis knew it, the voice in their ears was telling them they’d gotten all the footage they needed. Louis had hardly noticed the time passing – and he’d all but forgotten his fear. Louis had started this scene shaking like a leaf, and was ending it calm and steady, feeling safe in Lestat’s arms.

“Time for us to head back down to Earth.” Lestat gave Louis a last little squeeze before breaking their embrace, though he kept one hand protectively on Louis at all times as they descended.

“You did beautifully, Louis.” Lestat told him once they were on solid ground. “I hope you don’t regret agreeing to this too much.”

Louis looked at him, feeling like he was seeing the man for the first time, and liking what he saw.

Louis surprised them both by saying no, he didn’t regret it at all.

--

With the ballroom scene complete, Louis was spirited off to hair and makeup for touch-ups, then passed over to wardrobe. The woman in charge of wardrobe presented him with a fluffy white bathrobe and a strange brown sock with a dangly bit at one end.

“So, if you’re unfamiliar with the modesty garment, it’s basically a special kind of underwear, with an adhesive strip that goes along the top of the pubic region, as well as one for the other side, that goes above your bum, to keep it tucked in place.” She explained. “Do want help putting it on, or would you prefer to do it yourself?”

“Uh…sorry, why do I need a special kind of underwear?” Louis asked, confused.

The woman informed him that the special underwear would preserve the illusion of nudity, since Louis wouldn’t be wearing any other clothes. For the sex scene, she said. The scene they were about to film.

“Oh.” Louis replied. “I’m not doing that.”

A look of deep consternation came over the woman’s face.

Within moments, the director, the woman with the bags under her eyes, and the harried white-haired woman had all crowded into the dressing room with them.

“You’re refusing to do the sex scene?” The woman with the bags under her eyes clarified gravely. The wardrobe department woman stood behind her, fiddling anxiously with the modesty garment.

“He can’t refuse to do the sex scene.” The director said firmly. “The sex scene is integral to the video. It’s the emotional climax – excuse the pun.”

“I never agreed to do a sex scene!” Louis protested.

The harried white-haired woman drew Louis’s attention to her clipboard, where the form he’d signed upon agreeing to appear in the video acknowledged the potential for a sex scene.

“Well, I – I didn’t read all of that.” Louis blustered, feeling hoodwinked. “I didn’t have time to. You were all rushing me – you just gave me a pen and told me where to sign.”

Louis recalled it all happening so fast, the woman flipping through the pages faster than he could register them, pointing at different lines for his initials, never detaching the stack of paper from her clipboard.

“Mr. de Lioncourt told me he ran it by you,” The director crossed his arms, staring Louis down. “And you had no objections.”

Louis’s mouth opened and closed like a floundering trout. Lestat had mentioned an ‘intimate scene’ in passing when they were filming their dance, but it hadn’t occurred to Louis that would be a sex scene – and he certainly hadn’t thought it would apply to him. He’d assumed they’d abandoned the idea of whatever intimate things they’d had planned after they’d cast an amateur, one who hadn’t shown up to set prepared to take off his clothes, and was only doing the video as a favor to the beleaguered crew that was now glaring at him like he was a problem.

“I want to speak to Lestat.” Louis demanded.

The director muttered something about their ‘tight schedule’ and ‘wasting time’, but sent the white-haired woman scampering off to fetch their leading man.

Lestat swanned in wearing a bathrobe, clearly ready to get naked. His robe bore an eye-watering snakeskin pattern in shades of neon pink that made Louis grimace. The rockstar had also donned sunglasses, for some reason. Louis wondered if Lestat’s clothing was sometimes too garish even for him to face.

“What seems to be the problem, here?” Lestat looked Louis up and down. “Louis, you are not dressed. Or, undressed, rather.”

Louis pulled Lestat to the side, as much as he could with four people hovering over their shoulders, and shared his objections.

“Well, when I ran it by you, you didn’t seem to have a problem with it.” Lestat sounded perplexed.

“You didn’t run it by me. You just – alluded to it.”

“I fail to see the difference.”

Louis threw his hands up in exasperation. “Lestat, I’m not getting naked on camera!”

The chorus of people in the room tittered their disapproval.

“Oh, chéri, you have no reason to be self-conscious.” Lestat cooed, tracing one desirous fingertip over Louis’s chest. “I just know that you have a beautiful body to match that pretty face of yours.”

Louis swiped his finger away. “It’s not about that. I just don’t feel comfortable putting myself out there like that.”

“Why not?”

Louis sighed, embarrassed at having to articulate this to a roomful of strangers.

“Stuff like…sex, being naked with someone, those are private things for me. I don’t do that with just anyone, and I definitely don’t want it out there for the whole world to see. When I’m – intimate with someone, I want it just to be about me and the other person. Not anyone else.”

“Sex is sacred to you.” Lestat observed. Louis really wished he’d take the sunglasses off – he couldn’t read Lestat’s expression.

Louis gave an awkward half-shrug, glancing away. “Yeah, I guess it is. I know to someone like you – a rockstar – it probably sounds really stupid, but…”

“I don’t think that sounds stupid at all.”

Louis looked up at him cautiously. “You don’t?”

“No.” A soft smile tugged at Lestat’s lips. “In fact, I think it sounds romantic.”

Louis couldn’t help but smile back.

Lestat repeating Louis’s own words back to him could have been a tease, but it didn’t sound like one. It sounded sincere. It sounded like Lestat liked him, liked that Louis was different from him, and was pleased to know something personal about him. Now, they had both bared their souls to each other, just a little. It was like the best part of a good first date, once you get past all the nervousness and small talk, and start finding the grooves beneath their façade, the underlying contours that make a person who they are, the thrill of discovering they align with your own.

“Are we doing the scene or not?” The director barked impatiently. “We’re already running long and we need to – ”

Lestat dramatically thrust a hand into the air to silence him.

“We will do the scene,” He declared. “With some alterations made for Louis’s comfort. We will not proceed with the shoot until a suitable compromise has been found.”

A chorus of grumbles followed. Lestat turned to the crewmembers and clapped his hands together several times, demanding their attention and respect.

“Ah-ah! This video bears my name, and is my vision. If we must completely rework the scene, bon, we will completely rework the scene. It will be all the better for it, as it will be made with the full consenting cooperation of my muse.” Lestat threw an arm around Louis in a gesture of solidarity. Louis looked down at his shoes, his face burning at being called a muse. “Comprenez-vous?”

The crew begrudgingly acknowledged that they understood.

“Good. Now, Louis.” Lestat turned back to him, pushing his sunglasses back onto his head to regard him seriously. “How do you propose we do a sex scene with no nudity and no sex?”

--

One of the mansion’s rooms had been made up to look like a crumbling cathedral, overgrown with snaking ivy vines, the walls lined with flickering candles, the dry, blackened petals of long dead roses strewn across the floor. In the center, raised on a long, low altar, was a massive gothic coffin – actually a bed, made up with a custom frame to look like one – laying in sight of two looming stained-glass windows through which artificial moonlight shone, their colorful fragmented panes portraying a sinfully scintillating scene of angels fornicating with demons.

Or – wait. Maybe they were fighting? It was hard to tell from upside down.

Louis squinted up at the windows from where he lay in the middle of the coffin bed, his head thrown back against a wall of black velvet pillows. No, he’d been right the first time. Those demons were definitely fucking those angels.

“Are you ready for me, mon cher?” Lestat murmured from above him.

Louis inhaled sharply, a little shiver of surprise running through his body.

He hadn’t forgotten Lestat was there – how could he, when the man was kneeling practically on top of him, on his hands and knees – but he had tried to distract himself from his current circumstance as much as he could. If Louis let himself think about what he was doing, he’d be sure to chicken out before the cameras started rolling.

After brainstorming over donuts and coffee from craft services, they’d decided to combine the sex scene with the scene where The Vampire Lestat turns Louis into his immortal companion. The result would be a scene that would fulfill the video’s steaminess quota, but the climax would be a vampiric bite rather than simulated intercourse. They would keep their clothes on, billowing shirts and fitted trousers, stripped down versions of their old-timey costumes.

“Mmm,” Lestat had nodded, his brow furrowed thoughtfully as he took a deep sip of his Sugar Cookie Frappuccino. “Yes, doing the scene clothed could work. Something gothic about the repression of it, denying the viewer the sight of our perfect, lusty bodies.”

“Sure.” Louis had agreed, popping another powdered donut hole into his mouth.

They’d also landed on a compromise as to the level of physical intimacy – no kissing on the lips, but kissing and touching anywhere else was fair game. Louis was still desperately nervous about being filmed doing any kissing and touching, but he’d felt the need to give a little; after all, Lestat was being pretty generous with him. In addition, Louis himself was an artist, and understood the importance of adhering to an artistic vision. If the video needed a little sensuality, Louis would have to do his best to provide it.

Louis looked up at Lestat and gave a tentative nod. As ready as I’ll ever be.

The cameras rolled into position around them. Just as the director was making a few last adjustments to the coffin, Lestat’s eyes fell to Louis’s lips.

“Louis, you have a bit of sugar, just there…” Lestat told him, pointing on his own mouth to the area Louis should address.

The donuts! Louis should have known better than to eat after the makeup department had seen to him. Louis tried to banish the offending powder with a few quick swipes of his tongue, but was unsuccessful; the taste of sugar eluded him.

Lestat chuckled. Louis frowned at him, embarrassed – he must look ridiculous feeling around with his tongue like that – but his shame was quickly forgotten when Lestat reached down to brush the corner of Louis’s mouth with the pad of his thumb. The gentle pressure of it, the slight drag against the thin, sensitive skin of his lips, the warmth of his hand – Louis’s head tilted automatically to follow Lestat’s thumb as it skirted along his cheek in a brief, featherlight caress. For one dizzy instant Louis feared he would draw Lestat’s thumb into his mouth – he’d had Lestat’s fingers earlier, knew how much he liked it, how good Lestat would taste, the warm salt of his skin topped with sugar, a tiny confection – but with Herculean effort he managed to hold back the impulse.

His restraint was rewarded with the sight of Lestat lifting his thumb to his own mouth, his tongue darting out to lap his own skin clean in one slow stroke, claiming all Louis’s sweetness for himself with a coy smile.

Louis swallowed, his throat dry.

“Aaaand, action!”

A wind machine roared to life, sending diaphanous white sheets flowing over the both of them.

Lestat snapped into character, his formerly friendly gaze darkening with lust. Broad hands slunk up Louis’ legs, squeezing at his supple thighs through his pants. Louis twitched reflexively, his legs hinging farther apart. Lestat took advantage of the opening, lowering himself on top of Louis, pressing their bodies together.

Louis’s breath hitched as Lestat dove forward to trail kisses over his chest, each press of his lips burning through the thin cotton. The heat of his mouth made Louis squirm, but Lestat’s grip on his thighs held him firmly in place – Louis’s hands clutched at Lestat’s shoulders instead, his fingers curling against the sensation.

“Very nice,” The director commented from nearby, nudging a cameraperson to head in for a close-up shot. “Louis, can you arch your back for me?”

Flustered, Louis did his best to comply, urging his spine up into a timid bow until their abdomens were flush together. Lestat’s hands slid up from Louis’s thighs to support his lower back, cradling Louis in a dancer’s dip as he continued to mouth across his breast. Louis let his head fall back against the velvet cushions, his breath coming fast and heavy.

“Beautiful,” The director praised.

This was a mistake, Louis thought, his lashes fluttering, the candlelight playing shadows across the backs of his eyelids. The stained-glass windows rose up behind him, lecherous red imps plunging themselves into soft, virgin holes, angels’ mouths falling open at the shock of their first torturous ecstasy, just as Louis’s lips parted to match them at the wet heat of Lestat’s tongue dampening the fabric over Louis’s nipple.

It was too much, Lestat’s hands on him, the solid weight of his body, the heat of his mouth; Louis could feel his cock stiffening in his pants already, and the scene had only just started. Louis had been a fool to think himself safe behind the barrier of clothes and their lips forbidden to touch – these little divisions did nothing to stifle the slowly mounting roil of pleasure in his gut. If anything, the veneer of modesty was turning Louis on more – call it a holdover from his Catholic upbringing. Having to cling to flimsy restraint when what he desired was pressed insistently up against him felt lewder than if Louis had just gone naked in the first place. He would not survive it.

“Can you touch him more, Louis?” The director asked. “Run your hands over him, run your fingers through his hair?”

Louis stroked Lestat’s back with trembling hands, threaded shaking fingers into Lestat’s silky locks – gasped as Lestat made a soft noise of pleasure against his chest in response, Louis’s skin buzzing with it.

“You don’t have to do what he says,” Lestat muttered, casting a disparaging glance the director’s way like he begrudged him for doing his job, resentful of Louis’s body bending to another man’s words. “Just act naturally.”

Louis managed a nod, heart pounding.

“Tilt your hips up, Louis?” The director prompted.

Despite Lestat’s advice, Louis thoughtlessly did as he was told. His mind was scattered to the lust roaring in his ears; it was too hard to think, easier to let someone else think for him. As his hips canted up into Lestat’s, both men groaned at the contact. Louis shuddered at how high-pitched and whiny his voice had gone, as well at the hardening length he felt in Lestat’s pants.

“Oh, that’s perfect.” The director approved.

Lestat’s hard, too, Louis thought deliriously, we’re both hard right now, in front of all these people, in front of the cameras…

There was an inevitable rush of shame at the thought, but Louis was caught off-guard by a perverse throb of excitement tangled up with it. They were fully clothed, and Louis had hardly done anything but pant beneath him, but he was getting this famous rockstar hard, right here, where anyone could see.

“Louis, can you – ”

“That’s enough.” Lestat’s eyes flashed over at the director to silence him.

“We’re losing his face behind the pillows,” The director protested. “He needs to scoot a little – ”

“I said that’s enough.”

He drew back, grasping Louis’ hips to roughly drag him further down the bed. Louis gasped as his head slid from the nest of pillows to fall directly onto the mattress. Lestat crowded over Louis’s supine body, partially obstructing the camera’s view on purpose, the way beasts guard their kill from other predatory eyes, as if to remind everyone in the room that Louis was his, and not theirs. The display of possessiveness stirred something dark and familiar in the pit of Louis’s stomach, a heady thrill that spurred him on more.

Louis’s hands fisted in Lestat’s hair, wanting him closer now, craving his mouth again – Lestat hissed, and Louis let go, afraid he’d pulled too hard – only for Lestat to capture his wrists and pin them to the mattress above his head.

“Louis,” Lestat breathed, his voice low and rough, his eyes dark with desire as they raked over the helpless body splayed beneath him, Louis’s chest heaving, his lips parted. Lestat came in close, and Louis was sure he would kiss him, and his eyes fluttered shut, ready to let him – fuck his rules, fuck the cameras, fuck everything else – but Lestat only nosed at his cheek, breath fanning over Louis’s skin in hot gusts.

“Tu ne comprends pas à quel point tu me rends fou,” Lestat whispered, lips brushing Louis’s jaw. Louis shivered, barely suppressing a whine at the back of his throat. His French was rusty, but he understood ‘fou’: crazy. Louis was feeling pretty crazy himself.

Lestat pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek, then just beneath his ear, down his jawline, to his neck. Louis tipped up his chin, baring his throat for easier access, knowing what was coming.

“When it comes time to ‘turn’ you, I will do a stage bite.” Lestat had reassured him earlier. “I’ll bring my mouth to your throat, but I won’t actually bite down. With the camera angles and such, it will be convincing enough.”

“Do it,” Louis whispered now into Lestat’s ear. “Do it for real.”

When Lestat paused, his face stilling in the crook of Louis’s neck as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly, Louis tilted his hips in a tease against Lestat’s crotch. Lestat let out a breathless moan.

“Louis?” Lestat panted against his neck.

“Please,” Louis begged softly, his cock throbbing, his heart pounding, his head dizzy with want. “Bite me, Lestat, please…”

With another anguished groan, Lestat sank his teeth into the spot he’d just kissed. Louis seized, his body arcing high off the bed, his pinned hands curling into the sheets, his cock pulsing with the fierce roar of his blood, and as the sharp pleasure of the bite overtook him, blotting out all else, Louis could’ve sworn Lestat had fangs.

--

“I’ve really enjoyed our evening together, Louis.” Lestat lingered at the top of the wide marble steps before the mansion’s entrance, toying with one of several bejeweled rings he was wearing. “If you’re interested…I’d like to keep spending time with you.”

Behind him, hardworking crew members were sweeping the floors, dismantling the invisible raised platform, opening the windows to let colored smoke filter out into the cool night air. The party was over. Now, just like Cinderella, Louis stood at the palace’s threshold with a choice to make.

Run away before the magic of the night had the chance to fade? Or stay, and risk turning into a stuffed gourd?

“I’m staying at a hotel nearby,” Lestat continued. “One that happens to offer incredible room service. How would you feel about joining me for some?”

Louis knew what ‘room service’ meant. It would mean breaking his no-one-night-stand rule. The problem was, for the first time in two-years, Louis was sorely tempted to throw his rule out the window. It wasn’t just that Louis was insanely attracted to Lestat, though he was – he’d nearly cum in his pants just from Lestat biting him; he’d had to flee to one of the mansion’s many bathrooms to attend to himself as soon as the director had called cut, and honestly, just standing here listening to Lestat propose theoretical sex was arousing a perilous stirring in his loins once more – but also that he actually liked him. Wasn’t the whole point of his no-one-night-stand rule to make sure Louis only had sex with people he actually liked?

At the same time, liking Lestat was a danger in itself. Lestat was a rock star. A cursory Google search Louis performed in the bathroom after relieving himself revealed that Lestat, unlike Louis, decidedly did not treat sex as sacred. The gossip blogs were full of his exploits: a revolving door of star-studded flings, including celebrities who were famously married or in high-profile relationships – sex in limos, restaurants, backstage at awards shows or concerts – raucous, drug-fueled after-parties that devolved into wild orgies. If Louis was looking for a serious relationship, entangling with Lestat was the last thing he should be doing. He’d be setting himself up for heartbreak.

“I’m sorry,” Louis began gingerly, his heart aching a little at the insecurity bleeding into Lestat’s expression at his words. “But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Lestat forced a smile, clearly stung and trying to hide it. “May I ask why not?”

Louis sighed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “We’re really different people. And I think we want different things.”

Lestat gave a little injured laugh. “Are we so different? Here I was, thinking we were kindred souls.”

“Look – I like you, Lestat, I really do – ”

“I like you too, Louis.” Lestat interrupted, with so much earnestness it took Louis a moment to recover from it.

Louis cleared his throat. “I just – I don’t do casual sex. I don’t do casual anything. Like I said before, when I’m…with someone, I want it to mean something.” Louis gestured helplessly, feeling the insufficiency of his words, as though he were trying to convince himself and failing. “I mean, we don’t even know each other – we just met tonight!”

“True.” Lestat acknowledged softly. “We have only just met. And yet, I feel a connection with you I haven’t felt in years. Not since the last time I was…serious about someone.”

Louis saw the mist of a memory resurfacing in his eyes. The ‘someone’ Lestat was thinking of must have been a long time ago; Louis hadn’t seen anything about a serious relationship in his Google search. Judging by the look on Lestat’s face, it had ended in pain.

“If you don’t feel the same, I will understand. But there is nothing casual about what I feel for you, Louis.” Lestat laughed a little, shaking his head as if overwhelmed by his own emotion. “C’est un peu effrayant. I think I must have known you in a past life, the things I’m feeling for you right now.”

Louis couldn’t help it – his heart leapt. Lestat was just as messed up as he was. Louis cracked a smile. “Back when you were an Egyptian queen, you mean?”

Lestat grinned back at him, and the moon was shining on his face, his eyes bright like stars. “Perhaps you were my king.” He performed a grandiose genuflection that made them both giggle.

Louis bit his lip, shyly reaching to take Lestat’s outstretched hand in his. If they both felt the same way about each other, what was there to stop them? Maybe it was illogical, foolish, crazy – but Louis felt like he’d found something special here tonight, in this bizarre palace, with its brat prince.

The fondness in Louis’s chest only swelled and grew as Lestat looked surprised at his touch, then afraid, then desperately hopeful in turn.

“Perhaps,” Louis agreed, giving Lestat’s hand a gentle squeeze.

--

Lestat was kind enough to arrange a private car to escort Lily home. Louis bid her goodbye, staunchly ignoring her ‘I told you so’ grin, knowing that he’d endure plenty of the same once they linked back up.

Lestat’s hotel room was a sprawling penthouse suite overlooking the river. Far beneath them, moonlit lovers twined along the riverbank, sparkling water guiding them towards more secluded groves, soft patches of dew-damp grass overhung with draping violet willow branches, suitable for a midnight picnic, a starry-eyed tryst, kisses and hushed sighs lost in the murmur of the water’s flow.

Louis gazed down upon it with a wistful ache – a pang of romance. He jumped a little at Lestat’s hand on the small of his back as the other man came to stand beside him.

“It’s a beautiful view,” Louis commented.

Lestat hummed placidly in his ear. Louis sensed him turn his head away from the window to stare, enjoying the sight of Louis’s delicate profile silhouetted by the twinkling night sky. “Yes. It is.”

Louis rolled his eyes, but failed to bite back a smile. When he felt Lestat closing in, he tilted his head to face him.

“I thought we were getting room service?” Louis murmured, admiring the cute little scar at the corner of his mouth.

“We are.” Lestat edged infinitesimally closer. “But if it’s alright with you, I prefer to have my dessert before dinner.”

Lestat’s pale eyelashes brushed against Louis’ as his gaze flickered down towards Louis’ lips, an unspoken question.

Kiss me?

His heart pounding, Louis leaned in, but when Lestat’s eyes fluttered closed, Louis only brought the ends of their noses together in a playful nudge. Lestat’s eyes flicked back open, amused, but a touch annoyed. Louis grinned shyly back at him.

Kiss me yourself.

Lestat did just that. He sealed their lips together, and Louis melted into his arms. With that first brush of Lestat’s soft lips, Louis knew he was done for. The world slowed down, the way it does in movies when two people are meant to be together, the universe bending itself in deference to their union – true love’s kiss.

Louis kissed him back, shy at first, then hungrier, loving the taste of Lestat’s tongue, the sharp edges of his teeth, the soft noise he made when Louis bit gently at his lower lip and tugged. Before Louis knew it, they were falling into the hotel’s plush king-sized bed, Lestat easily shucking his own clothes before tugging at Louis’. Lestat loomed over him like a Greek god, all lean, taut muscle like finely sculpted marble, his lion’s mane falling around his face.

“Oh, chéri,” Lestat breathed, his eyes raking hungrily over Louis’s bared body, his warm brown limbs sprawled over the bedspread, too dazed with lust to be self-conscious. “Look at you.”

His large hands followed the path of his covetous gaze, skating along the length of Louis’ arms, over the dark hair adorning his chest, the softness at his stomach, the ample flesh of his spread thighs. “I’ve been envisioning this all night, but you’re even more beautiful than I could’ve imagined.”

Louis trembled beneath his worshipful touch, which became a trail of wet, messy, open-mouthed kisses, starting with his lips, leading down his neck, across his collarbones, a lick along his sternum before reaching his breast. Louis’s breath hitched as Lestat nuzzled the hard nub of his nipple with his nose, brushed his lips against it, teased it lightly with his teeth. It was almost too much – each gentle touch sent a jolt through Louis’s body – his hands fluttered over Lestat’s broad shoulders, on the edge of pushing him away, even as his body arched into the contact, heat coiling low in his gut.

Lestat’s hands came up to cup and squeeze the soft mounds of Louis’s chest, gathering the little bit of fat there to plump up towards his mouth, his pink tongue flicking at one bud before moving to close his lips around the other, letting out a low moan as he suckled at Louis’s breast, as though Louis had sweet milk to spill.

When Lestat bit down and sucked hard, Louis’s cock jumped – a sharp pulse of pleasure shot through Louis like lightning. Shocked, Louis tried to squirm away, but the weight of Lestat’s body pinned him in place.

“Lestat,” Louis whined, fingers clawing into the other man’s heated skin.

“You like having your tits played with?” Lestat unlatched to murmur.

“They’re – sensitive.” Louis got out.

So sensitive, Louis usually asked his sexual partners not to touch them, back when he had sexual partners – not that he’d ever called them ‘his tits’. It was too easy for him to get overstimulated. As it was, Louis felt embarrassingly close to cumming, his cock already leaking pitifully between their stomachs.

“Of course, they are.” Lestat gently toyed at each nipple with a thumb. “Look how hard they got for me.”

Louis tried to protest, but all he managed was a high, breathy noise that only spurred Lestat on. He palmed Louis’s tits with more roughness, nuzzling his whole face into each raised peak.

“So pretty,” Lestat purred, making Louis’s cock twitch as he planted a wet smack of a kiss on one nipple and then the other. “The perfect shade of brown. Does your pussy match?”

“My what?”

In lieu of answering, Lestat kissed and licked his way down Louis’s body to bring his head between Louis’ spread thighs. When he paused to let his breath ghost over Louis’s dick, painfully erect against his stomach, Louis’s hips canted – towards or away from Lestat, Louis wasn’t quite sure. Louis was desperate not to cum yet, but Lestat’s mouth was so wet, so warm – luckily, Louis was spared the choice. Lestat only gave him a sly grin before nudging the tip of his bobbing erection with the end of his nose in a perverse recreation of Louis’s earlier tease before settling himself where he most wanted to be.

“Beautiful.” Lestat sighed over the tight brown furl of Louis’s hole. “Comme je le pensais, it matches your pretty tits.”

Lestat abruptly pressed his face to it, breathing a deep inhale that made Louis shudder. Louis started to reach for him – if they were going to do that, he’d really like to shower first – but Lestat had no such reservations, moaning softly at Louis’s scent and gripping Louis’ thighs to keep them spread while he licked a slow, wet stripe over his asshole.

Louis’s back arched sharply off the bed, gasping at the feeling. “Lestat!”

It was a reflex – Louis hadn’t intentionally tilted his hips down to a less opportune angle – but Lestat made a low noise deep in his throat, practically growling at Louis for denying him his hole for even a second. Lestat roughly hauled Louis’ thighs up so that his knees nearly touched his shoulders.

“Hold your legs for me, mon cher.”

Louis complied, hooking his hands under the crook of his knees, his thighs shaking slightly in the air as he spread himself for Lestat. He felt ridiculous in this pose – surely, he must look ridiculous? – but Lestat only admired the view for a moment before gripping one of Louis’ ass cheeks in each hand to pull them even wider apart and diving back in.

Lestat ate Louis out like he was starving – laving the whole broad length of his tongue over the twitching hole, then giving rapid little butterfly flicks with just the tip of it, sucking hard at the rim, pulling back to spit on it before messily slurping it all back up, swirling his tongue in wet, sloppy circles – making low, appreciative sounds against his skin the whole time like Louis’s pussy was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

Louis could do nothing but quiver beneath him, fingers digging painfully into his own thighs as little breathy sounds escaped his mouth no matter how hard he tried to fight them back, as waves of pleasure rolled over him. This is what it must feel like to go insane, he thought, a sweet, never-ending delirium, unspooling the folds of your brain like a ball of wet, pink yarn until you’re nothing but a ruined, pulsing mass of need – need him to keep going, need him to do that again, need it more, need it harder, need this forever, God, fuck – 

Louis let out a loud, shuddering moan when Lestat moved up to mouth at his balls, and it was too much, he couldn’t take anymore, he was going to cum –

Lestat swore in French.

Then the heat of his mouth was gone. Louis opened his eyes, not realizing he’d squeezed them shut, and watched blearily as Lestat sat up and grabbed at his waist. Suddenly, Louis was being manhandled, dragged easily up off his back by Lestat’s strong hands into a kneeling position, his knees sinking into the plush mattress.

“Viens ici,” Lestat grunted a breathless order Louis only vaguely understood. “Sur mon visage.”

“Huh?” Louis felt dizzy, disoriented between the intensity of the sensation before and its sudden absence, stumbling clumsily on his knees into Lestat’s chest.

“Now.” Lestat laid himself back flat on the bed, insistently pulling Louis along. “Ici, mon cher.”

Louis was trying his best to follow, but his brain was still half-yarn. Louis’s thighs were straddling Lestat’s chest now, and Lestat’s hands were on his ass, urging him still upwards…

Louis braced his hands to the mattress on either side of Lestat’s head, taking a moment to catch his breath.

Lestat pawed at his ass, still trying to pull Louis where he wanted him.

“Louis.” He encouraged, though it sounded more like a command.

“Lestat,” Louis said somewhat pitifully, desperate not to disappoint, but unsure what was being asked of him. “What?”

“On my face, darling. Put that pussy on my face.”

Oh.

Louis stared down at him, hesitating.

“Am I not speaking English?” Lestat asked with real concern.

“No. I mean, yes. I mean…I’ve just never done that before.”

“Well, it’s nothing to be afraid of. Come, now, don’t be shy.” He continued to urge Louis upwards. “It’s just like riding a bike.”

Louis let Lestat position him, kneeling over his face, his knees on either side of Lestat’s head, his hands grasping at the headboard.

“So…I, um…you want me to just…?”

Louis’s thighs shook a little with the effort of holding himself up. Lestat’s face was directly beneath him, an eager, hungry look in his eyes. Despite how much Lestat clearly wanted this, Louis couldn’t help but have reservations. Wasn’t this dangerous? Louis wasn’t overly sensitive about his weight, but he wasn’t exactly featherlight. What if he crushed him, or fucked up his neck? Even if he didn’t crush Lestat, couldn’t he smother him? How would Lestat tell him if he needed to come up for air?

“Sit, Louis.” There was an impatient edge to Lestat’s voice, like someone talking to a stubborn dog. He craned his neck to plant a kiss on Louis’s taint to make up for it, causing Louis to jump and the tremble in his legs to worsen.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Louis confessed.

Lestat laughed, running his hands along Louis’s quaking thighs. “Oh, mon ange, I wish you would.”

“Lestat.”

“Tu es très gentil, chéri, but you do not need to worry about me. I have had much larger passengers than you aboard. Though none that taste as sweet.” He winked.

In no small part because his thighs were losing strength and would soon bring him crashing down onto Lestat’s overconfident skull whether he liked it or not, Louis relented at last, lowering himself with as much control as he could muster. Lestat gave a satisfied hum as he did, the sound thrumming pleasurably against Louis’s skin.

Louis shivered when Lestat licked into him, more forcefully than before. After a few fervent laps at his hole, Lestat flexed his tongue into a stiff point. Louis’s mouth fell open, his fingers curling desperately into the headboard, as the slick muscle prodded inside. His instinct was to squirm away – it was so wet inside him, too much – but his thighs only shook and clamped tightly around Lestat’s head. Lestat’s loud groan was muffled against him. Those big hands gripped Louis’s ass hard, and Louis was helpless to do anything but to submit to their strength as Lestat guided his body up and down onto the point of his tongue.

“Ah.” Louis gasped weakly. “Oh.”

It was like being fucked, Lestat’s tongue thrusting deeper every time Louis’ hips dropped. Louis’s head started going fuzzy again. His hips began to roll against Lestat’s face on their own, relishing the vibrations of the worshipful sounds that poured from Lestat’s mouth directly into him, enjoying the press of Lestat’s nose against his balls when he moved like that, the tickle of Lestat’s silky hair against the inside of his thighs. After a particularly hard thrust, Lestat got deep enough to curl the length of his tongue inside Louis, flicking wet and dexterous at the inner walls of his pussy and Louis’ eyes rolled back.

“Oh, fuck.”

Louis forgot all about Lestat’s need to breathe. He was humping his pussy against Lestat’s face now, the headboard rattling in his grasp, thinking of nothing but the hot, wet tongue penetrating him, the breathtaking sweetness that came when Lestat licked in deep, lapping at his insides like the syrupy core of a jelly-filled pastry. Louis’s erection, which had flagged in his earlier trepidation, now bobbed frantically in the air, smacking against the soft pouch of his stomach with every rock of his hips. Lestat’s hands eased their grip, no longer needed to coax Louis’s movements, to stroke his thick, flexing thighs, his lower back, smooth over his ass in a gentle, adoring caress.

Lestat made one more blissful sound into Louis, his tongue wedged deep, and that was all it took – Louis was cumming, whimpering desperately as pleasure crashed over him without warning, his untouched cock spurting onto his own stomach, his chest, as well as some of Lestat’s face, the top of his head and the bedspread beneath it.

Louis panted and shook on top of Lestat’s face for several moments, too dazed to move. It was only when Lestat petted feebly at his side that he remembered he was obstructing someone’s airways.

Louis immediately climbed off him, his haste and his trembling legs bringing him crashing down into the mattress.

“I’m sorry!” Louis gasped, his self-consciousness rushing back in one painful swoop. “I didn’t mean to…”

He winced, seeing the state he’d put Lestat in. Lestat’s broad chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. His face had gone beet red. His eyes were fluttering up at the ceiling like he was about to pass out, and a milky, viscous stripe marred his blonde mane.

“I, uh, I think I got cum in your hair.” Louis mumbled, his face hot with shame.

Lestat turned to him, a radiant smile breaking out over his face.

“Marry me.” Lestat breathed, gazing at Louis with utmost adoration.

Louis choked out a startled laugh. “What?”

With a burst of energy that frankly shocked Louis given his current state, Lestat launched himself at Louis, wrapping his arms around him, tumbling them over in the bed, burying kisses into every inch of Louis he could reach.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Lestat groaned into Louis’s chest between kisses.

Louis could only laugh, hugging him close, relief along with something softer and more tender swelling up inside him. He pulled at a corner of the bedsheet to gently wipe his cum from Lestat’s head.

“That good, huh?” Louis allowed himself to feel a little gratified by the man’s excessive flattery.

“Louis.” Lestat looked up at him seriously, a faintly crazed glint in his eye. “Your cunt is the most incredible thing I’ve ever tasted. La plus douce, la plus parfaite…in fact, I think I may go back for seconds.”

Louis was abruptly flipped onto his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Lestat crawled up behind, trailing kisses up the inside of one splayed brown thigh, groping at the soft flesh of his other thigh as he spread it aside, out of the way of his prize.

“Lestat!” Louis squeaked, flinching as Lestat began to nuzzle between his asscheeks. “I-I don’t think I can do seconds.”

His hole was still sensitive. The thought of taking Lestat’s tongue a second time was sending Louis into a bit of a panic; he really thought it might kill him, that Lestat might lick him straight into a heart attack. His heart hadn’t fully settled from the first time yet.

“Hmm.” Lestat hummed thoughtfully, resting his chin on Louis’s plush rump. “Well, I suppose I could go for something else.”

Lestat shifted up onto his hands and knees, draping himself over Louis’s body. Louis gasped as he felt the massive weight of Lestat’s throbbing erection grinding into his lower back, just above the curve of his ass.

“What do you think, mon doux?” Lestat murmured lowly into his ear. “Do you think your sweet pussy can take this cock?”

Louis’s mind spun. On the one hand, he had no idea what kind of boneheaded logic Lestat was operating under that made him offer his dick when Louis had just said his tongue would be too much. On the other hand…Louis’s own spent dick twitched with interest at the thought of that heavy cock filling him up, so much deeper than his tongue could get, something nice and big for his hole to clench down on as he came. Yeah. Louis might be willing to die for that.

“Hey!” Louis swatted blindly behind him. Lestat’s cock had started nudging at his hole already, either anticipating a yes or, more likely, too impatient to wait for an answer. Brat prince, indeed.

“Désolé, it has a mind of its own.” Lestat dropped a brief kiss to Louis’s shoulder.

Louis rolled over to lie on his back beneath him.

“I, um…I want to.” Louis began, looking up at Lestat shyly. “But it’s been a really long time for me. So, we have to go slow, okay? Don’t just go sticking it in.”

Lestat grinned down at him, that wolflike grin that made Louis’s heart miss a beat.

“Of course, ma belle, I will be a perfect gentleman.” He purred, stroking Louis’s cheek. “I will take you slow and gentle, si tu veux. Like a virgin on her wedding night.”

Louis rolled his eyes, desperately trying to suppress the childish little flutter inside him at the mention of a wedding – the second mention of marriage from Lestat tonight, third if he counted the king and queen thing; obviously he was kidding, they had only just met, don’t be ridiculous…though that was what happened in fairy tales – but when Lestat leaned down to draw him into a deep kiss, the flutter only grew into a full swoon. Louis moaned softly as he tasted himself on the other man’s tongue. Lestat was right. Louis was sweet.

Louis winced at the first press of Lestat’s finger – Lestat’s saliva was still damp on his skin, but not enough for a smooth glide. Lestat offered to remoisten Louis himself, but Louis waved him off to seek the lube the rockstar undoubtedly had on hand. Lestat reluctantly left to retrieve this from somewhere within the shadowy bowels of the penthouse. As he waited, Louis fought back a ludicrous pang of jealousy wondering what Lestat had done – and with whom – that had brought the small bottle so far from the bedroom.

“Voilà!” Lestat announced his return, flouncing onto the bed so aggressively it bounced Louis a foot into the air. “Pour ta tendre chatte.”

After a generous application of lubricant – which Lestat made a point of informing him was strawberry-flavored – Louis permitted Lestat to finger him. Gradually, as Lestat kissed him slow and dirty, the uncomfortable pressure softened, bloomed into mind-numbing sparks, lighting his body up with pleasure. By the time Lestat was four fingers deep, Louis’s cock had risen again. He met Lestat’s eyes with a little nod.

Lestat hiked Louis’s thighs up around his waist and crowded close, slicking himself with lube. Louis swallowed, his heart pounding. He’d only caught glimpses of Lestat’s dick so far, a little too anxious to look at it head on. Now there was no escaping it: it was fucking huge. Louis’s former partners had not been small by any means, but Lestat was hung like a goddamn minotaur, the girthy, flushed length of his member rearing up like a beast separate from the one it was attached to. Louis wouldn’t be surprised if it really did have a mind of its own, somewhere in the fat cockhead brushing up against him. Louis’s hole gave a little spasm of fear. Maybe he really would die tonight.

“Relax, Louis.” Lestat coaxed above him, though his eyes had gone too dark to be comforting.

When Lestat began to press inside in earnest, the blunt shock of it made Louis gasp. It was so big, no amount of fingering could have prepared him. Louis immediately felt himself stretched painfully past his limit and it was only the head – there was just no way it was going to fit. His body instinctively clenched in defense of itself, hands fisting into the sheets, thighs trying to clamp together despite Lestat’s body between them, his eyes squeezing shut. Lestat sighed irritably as his dick was denied entry.

“Lestat…I-I don’t think I can…” Louis’s voice wavered.

Lestat ran a hand up and down his thigh. “Shh, it’s okay, chéri. Just breathe.”

Louis breathed. It didn’t work; Lestat’s dick was still huge.

Louis started to shake his head. “Les – ”

“Shh.” Lestat shushed him again, dipping down for another kiss. Lestat’s tongue in his mouth soothed Louis. It felt so nice, having him there. Even when Lestat pulled back, Louis buzzed with his aftertaste.

“You’re okay.” Lestat whispered. “Hold onto me, darling.”

Louis did as he said, his fingers curling into Lestat’s shoulders. It was an echo of their dance, Louis realized distantly – the fear, the pounding of his heart, Lestat’s gentleness – and this thought more than anything else eased the tension in his body, calmed his frantic pulse. Lestat was here. Lestat would take care of him, just like he had when they were forty feet in the air.

Achingly slow, Lestat pressed his way inside Louis. The initial breach was rough – the pain of being split open, Louis’ soft, strangled noises trapped behind gritted teeth, nails digging into Lestat’s shoulders so desperately he feared he might break the skin, not that Lestat seemed to mind – but once the tip was in, the harsh sting began to fade into a low, throbbing ache. Louis let out a shuddering exhale, blinking rapidly against the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He was okay, the start was always the hardest.

“That’s it.” Lestat rewarded him with a tender kiss, sugar over the wound. “You’re doing so good.”

Louis whimpered against his mouth, craning his neck for more. Lestat indulged him, soft lips, warm, wet slide of his tongue, no teeth, no biting, just sweetness. Louis had a Pavlovian response to being told he was good; it made him want to be even better, made him hunger for praise. He focused on breathing deep, forcing his muscles to go soft and pliant inside him, breathed in Lestat’s heady scent, took in the warmth of his skin in every place they were touching. He wrapped his thighs more firmly around the other man’s waist, determined to accept all of Lestat he was given.

Lestat eased in deeper, more kisses and praise spilling from his lips with every inch Louis took.

“So good, Louis. So pretty like this. You’re taking me so well. Doing so good for me.”

Halfway in, Lestat paused to groan against Louis’s cheek, his breathing labored. It must be hard for him, Louis thought, holding back like this for his benefit, going slow so Louis could feel good. He could feel the muscles of Lestat’s back tense beneath his grasp, straining for control, composure. A wave of affection washed over Louis. He stroked Lestat’s back, pressed kisses to the side of his head.

“S’good.” Louis mumbled, flushing a little with embarrassment. He didn’t tend to talk back during sex. “Feels good, Lestat.”

Lestat moaned softly into Louis’s shoulder, and Louis gasped to feel his thick cock twitch inside him.

“You like it?” Lestat panted in his ear. “Ça te plaît, mon cher?”

“Yeah.” Louis nodded, trembling, the pressure inside him feeling more pleasurable as he said it. “Yeah, it’s good.”

Lestat groaned again and attempted a shallow thrust, not pulling all the way out yet or pushing all the way in.

“Oh.” A sliver of electricity traveled up Louis’s spine, a short, dazzling spark. His back arched to chase it.

“Louis,” Lestat said breathlessly, starting a slow, grinding rhythm. “It feels good?”

The friction inside Louis got sweeter with every thrust, Lestat’s cock feeling less like an intrusion and more like something that belonged there; not too big at all, but just the right size to satisfy him, give that extra bit of stretch that was the perfect amount of too much, overwhelmed him just enough to glaze his mind over with pleasure, stop him from thinking, hold him captive in the moment.

“Yeah, Lestat, it’s so good,” Louis keened, holding him as close as was possible, unable now to tolerate any space at all between their bodies. “Please don’t stop.”

“Oh, Louis.”

Lestat’s cock wept inside him as he picked up the pace, pumping deeper and harder. Louis cried out when he finally sheathed himself all the way, striking that spot deep inside that made fireworks burst behind his eyelids.

“Oh, fuck, Lestat, please,” Louis’s hips rocked frantically up to meet him, so overcome he began to lose his senses. “Please – like that. Oh, God.”

“Louis.” Lestat gasped, fucking in all the way every time, his balls slapping satisfyingly against Louis’s ass with each thrust. “Louis.”

Pleasure surged inside Louis like a storm. Lestat was hitting so fucking deep, there was no room in Louis for anything else. There was only Lestat, only his heat, his body, his voice saying Louis’s name, the weight of the massive cock inside that completed Louis, his missing piece. Tears rose in Louis’s eyes again, but he felt no pain. It just felt so good to be made whole, after so many empty nights. Lestat was giving him so much, being so good to him – and Louis had so little to give in return. Receiving all this, being allowed this much pleasure, being given what Lestat knew he needed even when it frightened him, being patiently and sweetly taken apart –

It felt like love.

“Lestat,” Louis whined, a sob stuck in his throat, clinging desperately to Lestat with every part of him.

“Louis, you feel so good,” Lestat murmured hotly, kissing him, his thrusts becoming sloppy and urgent. “You’re so perfect. So beautiful, my love.”

Love?

“Lestat?” Surely it had been a slip up. Or, Louis’s mind was dissolving with pleasure again, conjuring what he wanted to hear.

Lestat looked far gone, his eyes hazy, unfocused with lust. He moaned something desperately in French.

“I’m going to come,” Lestat panted in English. “Let me come inside you.”

“What?” Louis gasped, his stretched hole squeezing impossibly tighter at the thought. He’d never had anyone do that before, had always wondered what it would feel like. In Louis’ most shameful moments, in the throes of pleasure-fueled madness, he’d begged his ex for it, but had always been denied. His ex got his own pleasure from denying him.

Lestat let out a pained groan. “You are so tight. I cannot pull out.” His thrusts became even rougher in his desperation, his strong hands gripping bruises into Louis’ hips.

Louis felt himself cresting a hill he would never come back from. It was yet another reason he couldn’t have one-night-stands; romance and sex were too deeply intertwined for him. Everything took on a rose-hued significance, followed a deranged heart-shaped logic that would baffle a normal person, but thoroughly ensnared Louis. Love had slipped from Lestat’s mouth – and the joke about a wedding – and earlier: ‘I think I’m in love with you’. Now, Lestat was begging to give Louis what no one ever had.

Louis let himself go completely, allowing the fantasy to overtake him for just these last moments: Lestat loved him, this was their wedding night, this was his husband he was fucking in their honeymoon suite, and now Lestat was going to make Louis his.

Louis wanted it more than anything.

“S’il te plaît chéri, je ne peux pas – ”

“Yeah,” Louis hiccupped through his tears, nodding. “Yeah – fuck – I want it, Lestat, give it to me, please – ”

Lestat came with a low, guttural noise, spilling deep inside him. Louis whimpered at the sensation of being filled, the slick, euphoric rush of it like a drug in his veins, lighting him up from within, everything cold and empty in him banished by Lestat’s warmth. He came too, his dick spurting onto his stomach, his pussy fluttering around Lestat’s cock as it continued to grind inside, riding out both their orgasms, drawing out the ecstasy as long as they could.

Louis cried when Lestat extricated himself for a cigarette. Lestat’s love was leaving him already, trickling out of his hole, and Louis couldn’t make it stay. He tried for the bathroom, to compose himself, but once more, Lestat gave Louis what he needed even when he tried to run from it: he gathered Louis into his arms, murmured gentle words in his ear, kissed his tears away until everything was okay again.

“You did so good for me, Saint Louis.”

--

Finally, the promise of room service was fulfilled.

Louis was too sore to walk to the penthouse’s dining table, so Lestat brought the dinner trays to bed. Lestat had the filet mignon, tender and bloody, with a mountain of French fries. Louis requested the Caesar salad.

“A salad, Louis?” Lestat had scoffed disdainfully, pausing his call to the front desk. “Surely, we’ve worked up more of an appetite than that.”

He made it sound like Louis was insulting his sexual prowess by not being hungrier afterwards. Louis was completely worn out, and thought the crying and the whole not-being-able-to-walk thing was ample evidence of this, but decided to indulge Lestat’s ego by agreeing to top his salad with chicken breast. Lestat conceded to his order under the condition that Louis share an eight-hundred-dollar bottle of wine with him.

The salad was crisp, fresh, and delicious, the chicken, juicy and grilled to perfection. Louis dug in with relish. Lestat had been right, he had been hungry; all he’d had today were a handful of donut holes. Lestat watched him eat with smug approval over the rim of his wine glass.

They talked over dinner. Louis learned that Lestat’s mother had died of illness several years ago, and that he had no contact with his aging father. Louis told Lestat that his father had died when he was young, and that he had a strained relationship with his mother. They shared their favorite movies, music, books, even flowers. They learned that they both had a sweet tooth, shared a penchant for pancakes – though Louis preferred beignets when he was back home. Louis sat through countless pictures of Lestat’s rescue dogs, hulking, deadly-looking creatures in tacky designer sweaters, charmed more by Lestat’s fond chattering than by the animals themselves.

“Voici Mojo. He is an old man now, but he still thinks he is a puppy, look.” Lestat flashed the phone screen towards Louis with a soft laugh.

In the picture, a beaming Lestat was all but eclipsed by the massive German shepherd he was holding. The beast was curled into the embrace like a giant baby, heedless of its own weight, or otherwise trusting absolutely the safety of its owner’s arms.

“Cute.” Louis smiled at the adoration with which the rockstar’s face was pressed into the gray-tinged brown fur.

When the wine had been drunk, Lestat pulled Louis on top of him for a series of deep, languid kisses, hands roaming contentedly over Louis’s naked body. Louis would have been happy to kiss him until the sun rose, but he got so dizzy he kept missing Lestat’s mouth.

“Can I ask you something?” Louis started softly, under the covers now, caged in Lestat’s arms.

“Of course, mon cher, you may ask me anything. I am an open book.”

“Will you tell me about your last relationship?”

Lestat’s arms stiffened subtly around him. “Define relationship.”

“The last person you were serious about.” Louis prodded, raising his head from Lestat’s chest. Part of him feared spoiling the moment, but he was curious, and the wine had made him bold enough to ask.

“What about you?” Lestat turned it around on him after a beat. “You said it had been a long time. What bitter history delivered your tender heart to me?”

“I asked you first!”

“Very well. I will show you mine, if you promise to show me yours.” Lestat teased, though Louis could sense tension beneath the lighthearted veneer.

“I promise.”

Lestat sat for a moment, gathering his thoughts before beginning.

“My last serious relationship was my first serious relationship. We were teenagers, in Paris.” He sniffed and looked down, taking Louis’s hand, idly fiddling with Louis’ fingers. “It didn’t work out.”

“What happened?”

“We parted ways.”

Lestat lapsed into a heavy silence, one Louis felt loath to break. Lestat raised Louis’s hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to Louis’ knuckles for a long moment, as if seeking the fortification to go on from the simple touch. Louis held himself still, let Lestat breathe against his skin for as long as he needed.

“I loved him very deeply,” Lestat murmured at last into the back of Louis’s hand. “And I will never see him again.”

“I’m sorry, Lestat.” Louis said gently. Lestat looked so vulnerable, it made Louis ache, made him want to hold Lestat’s fragile heart in his hands, guard it from harm.

Lestat cleared his throat, releasing Louis’s hand with a brighter, more animated kiss. “Your turn.”

Louis cuddled close to him, resting his head back on Lestat’s chest.

“Well. My last relationship ended two years ago. We were together for four years before that, all through undergrad.”

“A fellow student?”

Louis bit his lip. He wasn’t ashamed of the relationship per se, but he knew how it sounded. “A professor, actually.”

“Louis!” Lestat gasped, eyes shining with delight. “How scandalous!”

“It wasn’t all that.” Louis demurred, hiding his face in Lestat’s chest.

“Oh, you must give me every salacious detail.”

Lestat pressed his face against Louis’ ear to paint the scenario in a naughty whisper. “I can just see you, staying late after class, draping yourself across that big, hard desk, working up a sweat for extra credit. ‘I really need to pass this class, Professeur. Oh please, I’ll do anything to raise my grade!’” Lestat portrayed student-Louis with a mousy, high-pitched voice that made him sound like a French schoolgirl.

Louis flushed, giving Lestat’s chest a light smack for the offense. “It wasn’t like that. And you’re shit at impressions.”

Lestat just laughed at him. “Then, tell me what it was like.”

Louis tried to make the story as uninteresting as possible.

“He was the head of the fine arts department, at the time. I took his art history class freshman year. One day, he asked if he could take me to dinner, and I said yes, and we started dating.”

“He propositioned you in front of the entire class?”

“No, he asked me out during office hours.”

“So, you’re alone with le professeur in his office and he comes onto you,” Lestat persisted in the same low, suggestive tone. “What happens next?”

The main thing Louis remembered was how hot it had been. The start of the fall semester still felt like the dead of summer, and every other place on campus was blasting the air conditioning, but Armand’s office was sweltering.

The air in that small, but impressively attired room was so sultry and thick that every time they made eye contact, it felt like the man was touching Louis all over without even leaving his leather desk chair. The heat of his gaze combined with the warmth of the room made Louis want to crawl out of his skin. The first few times Louis had attended his office hours, he’d felt compelled to remove a layer of clothing – the open flannel he’d been wearing over a t-shirt, or the thin cardigan he’d borne against the arctic chill of his elective psychology classroom. After that first dinner invite, Louis wondered if Armand had taken this as some juvenile attempt at seduction. Later in the relationship, Louis imagined Armand deliberately switching his A/C off before Louis’s scheduled session, just so he could watch him sweat.

“I said yes.” Louis repeated blandly.

“Louis, you must give me more than that.”

“What do you want me to say?” Louis asked, exasperated. “We didn’t do it in his office.”

“Never? Not even once?”

“No!”

Armand was very particular about their respective roles; when they were on campus, they were teacher and student, nothing more. If Louis slipped up and raised a topic that crossed that line – ‘Do we need anything from the store?’ asked when Louis ran into him at the campus coffee shop, or ‘What time is our reservation later?’ posed discreetly after class had ended and the other students had filed out – Armand would give him that enigmatic stare of his and say he didn’t know what Louis was talking about. Sex in his office was wholly out of the question.

Ultimately, this was an effort to elude the university’s ethics board, but Louis knew Armand enjoyed the identity-play aspect of their relationship. Armand was a chameleon, a new person with new rules for Louis in every setting.

A kind, stoic instructor at school who was encouraging of Louis’s natural artistic prowess, but refused to accept less than his best.

A suave, old-fashioned gentleman at fancy restaurants where Louis quickly learned he was never to order for himself or pull out his own chair, had to wait for Armand to open the door for the car ride home.

A strict disciplinarian at the apartment where Louis had always felt like a guest despite living there for three years; Louis had gone most of his life without a father, and as a man old enough to be Louis’s father, Armand had liked to tell him all the ways in which it showed.

An irresistibly commanding presence in the bedroom, where Louis felt most comfortable, most in love with him, because for once there were no mind games – well, at least more interesting mind games with more exciting prizes. Unlike everywhere else, in the bedroom there was a chance Louis’s obedience would be rewarded, instead of merely accepted.

“No wonder it didn’t last.” Lestat sighed. “It sounds painfully boring.”

“I wouldn’t say boring,” Louis mumbled. “But it wasn’t sustainable.”

“Why not?”

“He was…kind of controlling. Or, possessive?”

Those were the words that came to mind, but now that Louis was saying them out loud, they didn’t feel right. They made Armand sound like some crazy, domineering ex, and Armand had never been cruel to him. At least, he didn’t think so. The truth was, in hindsight, much about that time in his life confused him. Louis couldn’t reflect on the relationship too long before his mind started tying itself into knots.

“Well, I can’t say I blame him. Who wouldn’t be possessive over such a jewel?” Lestat clutched Louis closer, planting a loud kiss on the top of his head.

Louis shrugged in his arms, the praise lost on him as he continued to drift towards memory. “I think I was just young, and I’d never been with an older guy before. He’d never been with someone that much younger either. It was a new dynamic for both of us. I think he liked that he could…control me, or influence me, or whatever. And I suppose I liked it, too, for a time.”

It wasn’t that Louis wanted someone in charge of him. He’d always sat firmly in the driver’s seat of his own life. But it was nice, having a guide sitting beside him, such a comfort to know that if he ever did lose control, there would be a hand there to steady the wheel. For all that Armand could be stifling, he was nothing if not a steady hand.

Lestat scoffed lightly. “You liked being controlled? I’d never have guessed; you’ve been rather unruly with me.”

Louis bristled, drawn out of his thoughts by the slight. “I’m unruly? You’re ‘the brat prince’!”

As far as Louis was considered, he’d been very nicely behaved – well, okay, he did recall telling Lestat to fuck himself early on, a lifetime ago when this night began.

“Oui, I am. But you…” Lestat smiled, eyes bright. “Could it be? Have I found my brat princess?”

Louis laughed. “First I was a king, now I’m a princess. Feels like I got demoted.”

“Fais-moi confiance, you will enjoy being ma petite princesse,” Lestat assured, cupping Louis’s face with a big hand, his thumb stroking fondly over the cleft in Louis’s chin. “I am going to spoil you rotten; you shall want for nothing. And, I promise, I have just as much to teach you as le professeur.”

Louis’s fantasy reared its dreamy-eyed head. Could he really have a future with this world-famous rockstar, this man he’d just met? He hated himself for how badly he wanted it. But there was something there, wasn’t there, in Lestat’s touch, his eyes, the way he kissed him? Something perfect and beautiful that made Louis feel complete. The doubting voice in the back of his mind wondered if he was making a mistake, falling into the arms of yet another powerful man promising to take care of him. But that wasn’t fair, was it? He shouldn’t compare them. Lestat wasn’t Armand. In fact, besides the similarities – a hint of possessiveness and perhaps a little condescension – they couldn’t be more different. This was just Louis’s fear talking. He’d let his past relationship cling to him like cobwebs for the past two years, but now, Louis was ready to open his heart again.

“Sounds like you’re trying to keep me around.” Louis braved, a little nervously, hope thudding in his chest.

“Oh, mon coeur,” Lestat sighed happily. “I am never going to let you go.”

Louis’s heart soared.

They kissed goodnight and Louis felt something solidify between them, a bond being formed, an invisible cord knitting itself to join them. A small, fragile part of him feared that when he awoke, it would all have been a dream, a gauzy fairytale fantasy of a chance meeting, a ballroom dance, a love born in the soft rainbow glow of a palace.

In the morning, Louis awoke to Lestat’s kiss. He’d somehow filled the room to bursting with azaleas – Louis’s favorite flower – and even though it was the stuff of dreams, they were solid and real, as was the lingering ache in Louis’s body. Lestat served him a room service breakfast in bed – pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream, the latter of which never touched a plate – and together, they made plans for their first real date.