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Be as you've always been (lover, be good to me)
Be like the love that discovered sin (lover, be good to me)
That freed the first man and will do so again
And lover, be good to me (lover, be good to me)
Be the hopeful feeling when Eden was lost (lover, be good to me)
That's been deaf to our laughter since the master was crossed (lover, be good to me)
Which side of the wall really suffers that cost
Oh lover, be good to meHozier - Be
The arches of the Baldacchino loom above, catching Louis' eyes in wonder. He is impressed by the craftsmanship and its ability to withstand the will of time.
His gaze drifts toward the Basilica dome directly above The High Altar's bronze canopy. There is endless splendor in the monument built to bring eternal worship and respect to the tomb of Saint Peter.
It is impressive. Louis finds, somewhere deep inside, that his past as an altar boy and memories of Paul bring meaning to this visit that he doesn't expect. He hasn't planned to think of this, and it touches his heart.
They are on holy ground.
His gaze shifts again, but downwards and to his side, green eyes meeting gray. Louis finds his own holy ground in Lestat's eyes and cannot help but smile at his companion heart.
"And how is our Prince enjoying the tour so far?"
Lestat looks away from Louis to answer, but Louis' hand remains tightly held in his maker's grasp. While Lestat speaks in perfectly fluent Italian to the Basilica staff guiding their private night tour, he rubs his thumb sensuously over the top of Louis' hand.
It feels intimate. It feels exciting. Louis is very aware right now that he is loved, and he suspects that he is wanted, too. This is a constant between the two vampires, and their shared heart song further solidifies this.
It makes him wish they were at their hotel.
It is magnificently opulent in ways Louis usually doesn't approve of, but this trip is unique. Their reasoning for a visit to Italy is officially to connect with other vampires and rein in those who are troublesome and can cause potential disturbances to their plans of having a more peaceful existence amongst one another.
Personally, Louis believes it won't come along as quickly as, say, Marius believes, but he also doesn't want to upset Lestat with his negative opinions. It's simply complicated for Louis to humor the idea that vampires can get along after killing each other for thousands upon thousands of years. What will a new vampire monarchy do to stop what has become entirely normal to those who walk the night and have for centuries?
"Did you know," Lestat murmurs, leading Louis closer to the Baldacchino, "that the four pillars were brought from Jerusalem?"
"No," Louis murmurs back, entirely distracted from his musings about vampire royalty. "Shouldn't the guide be telling us about this? Lestat, that is their job ."
"And I can do it far better as I have lived much longer," Lestat replies with a smug smile playing on his lips. "Come, my darling. Let us take a closer look."
Louis glances back, feeling nervous, but realizes they are alone. "Where did the guides go?"
Lestat chuckles. The sound makes Louis feel content. If Lestat is laughing, all is well in their life. If Lestat is happy and laughing, Louis has nothing to worry about. He is able to remain blissfully in love with his companion heart.
And he is . Louis is quite blissfully and madly and wholly in love with Lestat. These blissful years of reunion have been like something out of his most profound and secretive dreams that Louis has never allowed himself much time to muse about. Dreams that have been dreams until those very dreams came true. Lestat has made most of this possible with his unwavering ability to endure: that and the gift of time.
Time is a miracle all on its own, especially when they now have such an infinite amount at their disposal. Louis is aware of their privilege with time now, in this most holy of places. Never has he felt more in tune with God and Lestat than at this very moment.
"The guides have kindly allowed us privacy," Lestat drawls. Louis listens and only hears their own hearts, beating in tandem as their footsteps echo all around the grandeur of the Basilica.
"Why would they do that?" Louis asks suspiciously. "This is a sacred place."
"I am a Prince," Lestat answers. Lestat answers as if that is the only thing that could make sense. He speaks as if there doesn't need to be any more explanations because being a Prince is the ultimate reason for two vampires to be allowed the freedom to roam Saint Peter's Basilica at their leisure.
"Lestat," Louis admonishes with only his name alone. "Did you use the mind gift to trick them into leaving?"
"Ah, but you know me well," Lestat laughs. "I cannot hide a thing from you, my sweet Saint Louis."
Louis' eyes widen, and he finds himself entirely horrified to hear himself called such a thing here! "Stop it," he hisses and pulls his hand out of Lestat's hold. "I'm no saint. Don't go callin' me that here!"
Lestat barely reacts, but when he finally decides to, he looks like the brat prince so many call him. "Oh, Louis," Lestat coos with a pout. "Do not be angry with me, my darling. We walk upon the most holy of grounds. Should I not worship you, my ever-present and most devoted Saint Louis?"
"Stop it," Louis snaps now and creates more space between them. Lestat's intentions are appalling , and Louis is not about to humor them! "This is holy ground, and you're being blasphemous."
"Louis," Lestat laughs. "Louis, Louis, my Louis," he sings at him. "Louis, what is more holy than the love between two souls?"
"Lestat, I am warning you," Louis insists and shakes his head. "You've got to stop. This isn't funny."
"On my bed night after night, I sought him, whom my soul loves; I sought him but did not find him," Lestat begins to recite from memory. It is unfair for Lestat to do this for many reasons. It is unjust for Lestat to recall the psalm so precisely, and it is downright sinful for Lestat to sound as harmonious as he does while he recites it.
It is difficult for Louis not to find himself affected.
"I must arise now and go about the city, In the streets, and in the squares. I must seek him whom my soul loves. I sought him but did not find him," Lestat continues, coming dangerously close to Louis. He is close enough now that Louis feels the warmth emitting from his body from their most recent hunt together.
It had been such a good hunt, too. The two of them enjoying the nightlife of Rome and the sights of the Piazza Navona. Louis' excitement over being in Rome with Lestat has been unequivocal, and to be freely showing Lestat his affection and having it returned in kind has been the most marvelously electrifying experience he has been a part of in decades.
The twinkling stars above seem farther away than mere hours before, and Louis finds himself walking backward across the Basilica floor, watching as Lestat follows after him in a determined strut.
"The watchmen who make the rounds in the city found me," Lestat recites once more. He follows, always taking every step in time with Louis. It makes him breathless, makes Louis recall another church, in another time, and the sight of Lestat following him down its aisle, up the steps, to the altar—
The altar .
Louis stops mid-step and allows Lestat's reaching hand to cup his cheek. He's struck dumb, lost in the luminescence of his maker's eyes that shine far brighter than the stars he's been unable to recall at this point in time.
" And I said, Have you seen him whom my soul loves ?" Lestat murmurs, stroking the apple of Louis' cheek.
"Has he?" Louis softly asks, his voice sounding lost and practically not his own any longer. The Songs of Solomon and the sound of Lestat's voice reciting its lines, combined with the memories held within Louis' heart from centuries ago, leave him vulnerable and so very willing—
" I held on to him and would not let him go ," Lestat answers, voice low, sensual.
"That's not the next line," Louis finds himself laughing. A joyful warmth fills him, shaping him in love and affection. He cannot be upset, not when this is pure. There is no sin in ardor, devotion, and declaration of the very love that connects them body and soul.
"I prefer it to the correct order," Lestat says with a smile. It is gentle and adoring and takes Louis's breath away, leaving him dizzy. He's going to spiral right into Lestat's arms. It is clear and has been since they reunited in this timeline, and now, now to be here, after ten long years of togetherness, strikes a chord inside Louis.
We are joined by a cord .
How right Lestat has been all along.
The proof is here, in the binding, red string that wraps around his wrist, the line long and more potent than any manufactured, braided with their history from the first moment of meeting until this very second, under the stained glass above them, and the light of the moon shining through the center's crescent sliver of white surrounded by blues and yellows.
The cord that binds them is unwavering and unbreakable. It is ever-present, like the two of them, and Louis senses the pull of it now as Lestat comes to stand close.
"Lestat," he sighs. His body sways and Louis doesn't fight it this time. Lestat is there, the space vanishing as their bodies make contact. It is comforting, and Louis gives into the rightness of it, bringing his arms up to wrap around Lestat's neck and draw him further in.
They are cheek to cheek, and Louis absentmindedly strokes at the nape of Lestat's neck. He's content to be this way and enjoys the gentle manner in which Lestat draws circles upon his back with his fingertips.
"You are agreeable," Lestat murmurs, rubbing his cheek to Louis'. "This is all right?"
"Hmm, yeah," Louis answers, running his fingers back through Lestat's hair now. He plays with the ends each time he reaches them, and Lestat's pleased little sound each time has Louis' heart fluttering.
"May I kiss you beneath the heavenly display above?" Lestat asks him.
Louis finds he would like it very much . He is calm now, with the worry of Lestat's desired debauchery having drifted away. It should be embarrassing that all it takes is a bit of affection and a specific timbre of voice from his lover to get to him this easily, but Louis doesn't feel anything but love and acceptance.
And a thrill of the unknown.
As Louis nods his head, Lestat lifts his chin and smiles so beautifully when their eyes meet once again. It is not a second later that his lips meld to Louis', so gentle at first, a mere brushing more than a kiss. Louis thinks of butterfly kisses, such a thought too sweet to fit this time and the scene they find themselves in. Or the stage that Lestat has set forth for them to act out in.
Lestat cannot read his mind, but he knows Louis well enough by now that they are in tune with each other's desires. It is proven once more to Louis as Lestat runs his tongue across Louis' teeth. Louis shivers and then is being kissed deeply, the swelling of longing for more increasing in waves through his body.
His hands clutch at Lestat's back, clutch at the wool of his jacket. The way he is kissed so well, so passionately, makes it easy to forget where they are, and Louis moans against Lestat's mouth.
This kiss ends, and then a quick, sweet kiss is pressed to Louis' lips. He cannot help but follow after Lestat when his lover pulls back, nor can he quiet the disappointment of Lestat's mouth smiling at him instead of further kissing him.
" Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death, jealousy is fierce as the grave ," Lestat proceeds to offer him instead of a kiss.
Louis shakes his head, guided by his heart, and grabs Lestat's face to pull him back into the kiss he desires. He doesn't want words, songs, or psalms. He doesn't need to listen to devotionals. Louis needs this; the kiss is a profession of idolatry more than words can profess.
Time is nothing to them, yet it is everything as well. Time has kept them apart and brought them together again, and Louis revels in this now, feeling every second of them in the decades they've had and the changes they've made in that time. Louis kisses his Lestat and thinks of how many have been shared since then. He thinks of devotion and the depth of theirs.
He thinks of Lestat's lips and how they've been shaped to fit him like no other pair ever has or will.
"There is weight to your mind," Lestat sighs against his kiss. "How I yearn to know what you're thinking of."
"You," Louis quickly replies. "And this place. Being here. It feels good."
"Hmm, of course," Lestat murmurs as he strokes Louis' chin. "You and your love of churches."
"This is the church," Louis says, stating the obvious. "This is Saint Peter's Basilica, Lestat. It means something."
"I've seen a finer church," Lestat disagrees with a roll of his eyes. Louis cannot help but notice how the lights above catch upon the fairness of Lestat's eyelashes. "Yet it is always the same," his maker continues in his holier-than-thou tone. "Four walls and stained glass with a martyr nailed upon a cross for all to see and all to kneel before and worship."
Louis finds it challenging to hide the irritation that twinges at Lestat's careless words.
"You know I care," Louis says in his agitated state, "but you sin so easy with that tongue of yours."
"Find a better use of my tongue," Lestat challenges, grinning ever so wickedly. "Or are you afraid? Afraid of what the prophet upon the cross will think of you?"
Lestat is so similar to the snake tempting Eve in the Garden of Eden. Tongue sharp and ready to drag Louis down into blissful hell with him.
Louis frowns at such cruelty that falls so quickly from Lestat's lips. Such dissonance for Louis' own beliefs. It is unkind, and he doesn't stop himself from pushing Lestat away. It doesn't matter that they've been kissing and that Louis has been swept away in the warmth of his lover's embrace mere moments before.
Lestat is disrespectful. And here! In this place! Where Saint Peter himself lies beneath in a tomb!
"You love making me angry," Louis accuses, his arms crossing over his chest. "You think it's funny."
"No, no, my heart," Lestat murmurs, his lips shaping to pout once more. He is so good at it. He's so damned perfect at pouting those pink lips of his. "No, I do not find it funny,"
Lestat continues as he steps closer. His fingers curl against Louis' arms, tugging them from his chest, and Louis allows it.
Why? Why does he allow it?
Because Louis is weak.
He is weak to Lestat. Nothing makes him happier than the intimacy they share now. It is perfected to all Louis has dreamt of, and he readily gives in once more.
He is a fool. Such a fool. Such a deliriously, happy fool.
"Then why do you do it," Louis mumbles in weariness. "Tell me?"
"Under the eyes of the Lord, I shall not lie," Lestat chuckles. "I love you. It is simple. I love you, and the way I am able to touch upon your every nerve because I know you as well as I do excites me."
"Lestat," Louis protests and begins to pull away again.
This time, Lestat does not allow it. No, Lestat wraps his arms around Louis and uses his full strength to keep him there. "I love you," he passionately repeats. "I am yours, as you are mine, and I adore you, as the Apostles adored their Christ."
Lestat gives pause and looks thoughtful.
That never means anything good is about to be said.
"No," Lestat finally decides aloud. "No, my adoration is limitless. It goes on and grows more than any Apostle could possibly imagine to love their Christ. My love surpasses the love they supposedly shared for him."
"And how weak he was," Lestat continues. "For I would move heaven and hell to be with you, Louis. I would not die on a cross. I would fight death itself to find myself in your arms again and again and again."
"Blasphemy spills from that damn mouth of yours so naturally," Louis says in his distaste over Lestat's behavior. He does not make a move to pull himself from Lestat's embrace despite how irritated he has become. As upset as Louis is, nothing will get him out of these arms of Lestat's.
Louis is made to be held in them. What other meaning is there for Lestat's arms than to hold Louis and hold him as well as he does? These strong arms serve no higher purpose.
Even with all the terribly sinful things Lestat says, Louis still finds the man so incredibly alluring. Everything about Lestat draws him in, and he is close to falling to his knees in worship. Thoughts like these are kept as secrets, and Louis is grateful for their mental disconnect.
Lestat cannot know such things. The knowledge will make him absolutely unbearable.
"You love me the same," Lestat says with the confidence of a man who knows his lover through and through. "You love me, Louis, and believe our love is holy."
"Of course, I believe that," Louis rasps, unsure why it is even said. "We are committed to one another. I swore myself to you, I wear your ring. You're the other half of my soul."
"And if our souls are damned, then why not have a bit more fun?" Lestat asks, raising his eyebrows. "Come, Louis. Why don't we bless this space?"
"Lestat," Louis frowns. "This space is already blessed."
Lestat shakes his head, dances his fingertips up Louis' back, and leans in closer, his hips flush with Louis'. "It cannot possibly be blessed," Lestat disagrees. "We've only just arrived. This is not holy, not until I am able to bury myself inside my love and make him call my name like so many call out God's."
This is so wrong. Louis is aware of the level of wrongness, but it turns him on more. It does, and Louis knows he is a sinner. He's always known, but it's more evident than ever at this moment. They stand here, hips pressed together, slotted perfectly, and Lestat's hands curve over Louis' backside in almost worship.
It makes Louis breathe in sharply, his breath catching. He's tingling, and his hips rock, his pelvis grinding into Lestat's. The moment Lestat moans, Louis catches fire.
"Let me love you here, on this altar," Lestat murmurs. He moves in closer, rests his cheek on Louis', and their skin rubs together. It is sugary sweet, and Louis grasps at Lestat's back, needing the strength and firmness to ground him. "Let me show you the depth of my devotion," Lestat continues. "What better place than here?"
The pros and cons are unbalanced. Louis goes through them rather quickly, and the lust running through his veins outweighs the morality he knows they will cross. They're alone. Lestat has made sure that they will remain alone. They are alone here, beneath such a beautiful and historical piece of art, and Lestat is right. What place is more holy than this?
Louis' choice is made. He turns his face, kisses Lestat's cheek, and nods. "I want this," Louis breathes between them. "I do. I want this more and more. Lestat, yes."
The reaction is swift: Lestat's arms snake around Louis' waist, and he turns them around, pushes Louis against the nearest pillar, and kisses him. He's hungrily pressing his mouth to Louis' and kissing him like it is his very salvation. Louis' hands end up tangled in Lestat's hair while he returns the kiss with equal fervor, and Louis barely makes a sound when Lestat's fingers undo his pants. Louis is too consumed in these heated kisses to react, and he's only aware when cool air touches his skin.
It makes him shiver, but then Lestat's crowding him, and his warmth from stolen blood makes it all better. Their bare thighs rub together, and Louis lifts his arms, wrapping them around Lestat's shoulders while their kisses continue, deep and passionate and close to sinful.
And Louis likes that. He loves that it's wicked and full of sin. His desire grows tenfold, and if Louis is to burn in hell, at least Lestat is along for the ride. Louis' mind begins to haze into a cocoon of lust and desire, and all he knows is want . His back presses into the marble base of the spiraled pillar behind him, and Louis lets out a frustrated moan. He needs more than this, more than a tease of what he knows they are capable of. Any idea of wrongness has quickly passed, and Louis is more than ready for Lestat to engulf them in the biggest sin imaginable completely.
Louis takes matters into his own hands as his hand slips between them, and his fingers curl around Lestat's growing erection. Lestat hisses against Louis' lips, and Louis smiles indulgently, forever pleased to know the effect he has on his lover. Lestat devours him in a new and far more passionate kiss while Louis begins to stroke him properly, making sure to tighten his hold around the base of Lestat's cock each time he reaches it.
"Wicked, Louis," Lestat rasps, dragging his lips along Louis' chin. Louis tips his head back to encourage this, and Lestat obediently follows, lapping at Louis' skin, his tongue firmly pressed onto Louis' Adam's apple to feel it bob when Louis swallows. It is overwhelming, and Louis' strokes become firmer, making a point of tugging Lestat closer to his aching cock the longer this continues. Lestat's breathing grows heavier, his hips jerk more frequently, and then, as quickly as Louis has initiated this, he ends it. His hand falls away, resting back upon the marble base, and Louis gazes at Lestat with his eyes at half-mast, a smug smile crossing his face.
"Wicked," Lestat repeats, low and husky. He grips Louis by the hips, and their bodies are pressed together, Lestat's erection grinding with Louis'. His mouth drops to Louis' neck, the tip of his tongue tracing along Louis' vein, and Louis swears he hears his blood pressure ringing in his ears as his need to be bitten comes at him full force.
"Not yet," Lestat murmurs, denying him. Louis doesn't take well to the denial, not at all, not when he is this far gone in his lustfulness. No, he does not , and Louis pushes Lestat away, kicks his pants to the side, and walks towards the altar at the center of the dome. The candle sticks that adorn the top of it, seven to be precise, remind Louis of just how many sins he's committed in his long life thus far, and this will be another added to the ever-growing list.
As his palms press down onto the altar, Louis glances back at Lestat. Louis wonders if he looks as wrecked as he already feels. His body is heavy in its hunger, and nothing will satisfy Louis except—
"You going to fuck me or not?" Louis asks without playing around. "I'm ready, brat. Come on, do it," he urges, "fuck me."
Lestat tilts his head to the side, a broad smile spreading across his face, and it's unfair how attractive he is even in this state of amplified desire between them. Lestat looks like some devil, some gorgeous demon of a man, and Louis is confident Bernini himself would have loved to sculpt Lestat to have him everlasting here, surrounded by so many other sculptures, for all eternity.
Lestat still does not answer, even as he undresses, and it's all so wrong to be doing this, to be undressing and committing blasphemy right here, right in this most holy of churches. It is unholy, yet Louis finds that bliss so powerful fills him and aids him in ascending to a higher plane, to something nearly heavenly.
To love is to be human, is it not? They love, they love so deeply, and Louis gazes at Lestat in wait, watches as his lover, his maker, and his husband turn to make his way down the side steps and then return, holding a glass decanter.
"Is that?" Louis asks as the realization comes over him.
Lestat smirks, walking to stand before him, and then his hips press into Louis', effectively pushing Louis back against the altar. "This will suffice, won't it, darling?" Lestat purrs, lifting the top of the decanter. "It is oil—"
"Holy oil," Louis quickly gasps. "We don't need—"
"Mm, but we do," Lestat interrupts him, carelessly tossing the top of the decanter behind him. The glass shatters onto the basilica tile, and Lestat turns the decanter over to pour oil onto his open hand. "This will feel rapturous, mon cher," Lestat promises, setting the decanter down behind Louis on the altar. He nods for Louis to face the altar once more, and Louis obliges. Lestat rubs his hands together and then snakes his hand between Louis and the altar to begin stroking him.
It does feel heavenly. It does, and Louis throws his head back, laying it on Lestat's shoulder. His moans are obscenely echoing around the Basilica, and there is not one ounce of shame in Louis. He realizes it, and it is in that realization that he truly gives himself over to Lestat.
"Please," Louis begs, moaning, rolling his hips to the rhythm of Lestat's hand. "Oh, please, it's so—"
" So good, " Lestat finishes his sentence, agreeing and nipping at Louis' neck. Louis' hips jolt, pressing forward into the altar, and Lestat laughs breathlessly against Louis' skin, the vibrations making Louis whimper. Louis grips the altar tighter, nearly crushing it and only releasing it when he hears it.
Lestat must hear it at the same time. He must because Lestat stills, his breath caught in his throat as the two stand there, completely naked, ready to desecrate this most holy of places when the sound is unmistakable.
Footsteps. A human heart racing. A mind full of fearful and confused thoughts.
They are no longer alone.
"Louis," Lestat murmurs, sliding his tongue along the length of Louis' shoulder. "What must be done must be , my love."
He knows Lestat is right. Louis is aware, and it doesn't help the slight guilt that bubbles to the surface. Guilt is not something Louis wishes to feel right now, and it is why he so quickly agrees to the matter at hand.
The priest stands there, his eyes wide in their horror, and Louis turns with Lestat. It is clear. There is no other way, and this lust that they've shared so far has made Louis rather hungry again, despite the two of them feeding a mere few hours before.
"An unfortunate choice to have stumbled upon us, Padre," Lestat drawls, making his way down the stairs. Louis follows after, his eyes steel, never leaving the human. "As it goes, at least you will be under the eyes of God. Isn't that right, Louis?"
Louis nods, and as expected, the priest turns to run. And it is all so familiar, isn't it? The two of them in a church and an unfortunate human in the wrong place at the wrong time? It's familiar but vastly different with the change in Louis this time around.
Louis gives chase, effortlessly grasping the priest around the waist in only a few strides with his vampiric speed. And it is Louis who is the one first to sink his fangs into the priest's neck. His blood comes rushing, the fear forcing his heart to beat that much faster, and then Lestat sinks his fangs into the opposite side of the priest's neck so they may feed in tandem.
It is intimate. It is so fulfilling, and Louis reaches for Lestat and rests his hand on his husband's hip as the priest remains between them, helplessly twitching as the life is drained out of him. The blood spills down Louis' neck, across his chest, mouthfuls not enough with the speed of the flow, and then they unceremoniously allow the priest to drop onto the Basilica's floor.
Louis wastes no time grabbing Lestat and forcefully pulling him into a kiss. Louis devours Lestat's mouth, licks into it, tastes the blood, and the two hold onto each other's faces as they stumble backward. Louis nearly trips, but Lestat's hands fall to grip him close, and his desire renews, becoming more powerful than ever. It is vibrant, and Louis sees the world in bright, swirling colors. The painted ceilings come to life, and Louis laughs, blood-drunk and delirious in yearning.
Lestat leads them back up the dome's stairs, and Louis is pushed onto the altar, Lestat falling to his knees behind him. Louis rests his cheek on the altar and stretches his arms out across the length of it, gripping tight as Lestat spreads him, and his tongue slips inside. Louis calls out Lestat's name, calls it out repeatedly as Lestat's devilish tongue gives him pleasure, eats him open, and has Louis quivering in need of more. More, more, Louis needs more .
"Fuck me," Louis demands, holding tighter onto the altar. "Fuck me, now ."
Has this hedonism always lived inside Louis, or has Lestat inspired it? Has Louis always been this ready to sin? Whatever the answer, Louis knows it feels wholly satisfying, and he doesn't want this feeling to fade but amplify .
Lestat's tongue rolls one more time and finally ceases. Louis shivers in his expectation. Lestat gives him exactly what he has been demanding.
"My Louis," Lestat croons, fitting himself between Louis' cheeks. He's slick with the holy oil, and the pressure of Lestat sliding inside of him has Louis tensing. All his desires are about to snap like a bowstring, and Louis is ready .
"Louis, Saint Louis," Lestat breathlessly continues, repeating this until he's bottoming out and his hips are flush to Louis' backside. The pressure is blazing, and Louis wants nothing more than to be fucked senseless on this altar until he's screaming in rapture.
Lestat gives Louis all he demands and then some.
His hips forcefully snap against Louis' skin, bringing him deeper and harder inside of Louis with each thrust. Louis' body repeatedly slams against the altar, the pleasure-pain making him nearly blackout from the intensity. Louis smells the two of them, the chrism oil, and the priest's blood rushing through their veins. It is overpowering. Louis can barely stand, and the only reason he has not collapsed onto St. Peter's tomb is Lestat's vice-like clench around his waist.
Louis takes it and takes it well, enjoying the fierce tempo of Lestat's thrusts and every impact their bodies make as they come together repeatedly. Louis can barely speak, close to some state in which he babbles in his carnal yearning being driven into him by a very willing and very efficient Lestat.
By the time Lestat is aiming the head of his cock at a perfect angle to make contact with Louis' prostate, Louis is close to release. His legs tremble, and his hips press against the altar as completion finally consumes him in its white-hot flames. Louis jerks and moans, reveling in the unrestrained waves of his orgasm and Lestat joining him in their hedonistic bliss.
Lestat covers Louis' body with his and presses sweet, open-mouthed kisses along the expanse of Louis' back. It makes Louis moan again, but softly and more calmly now. As he further relaxes, Louis lets the altar go, and the two slide down onto the floor below.
They roll onto their backs, their legs tangling, and Louis hazily gazes up, the sight of the golden sun above them, painted for centuries beneath the canopy, catching his attention. He smiles slowly, almost drunkenly, with sex and then turns his head to face his lover.
Lestat is the picture of perfection. He is dripping in sin and so incandescently irresistible to the eye that Louis does not resist as the urge to touch him takes hold. He turns to his side, rests his hand over Lestat's heart, and kisses his husband's cheek.
"Are you happy you accompanied me on this visit now?" Lestat slurs out, still high on their debauchery. "You did not wish to, and I…"
"Mm, I'm glad I came," Louis cuts in, then laughs at the double entendre.
Lestat laughs with him. "I'm glad you came, too," he teases.
Louis playfully bites at Lestat's jawline and hums contentedly. Lestat's hand covers Louis' over his heart, and the two lie beneath the monumental Baldacchino of Saint Peter. And Louis thinks it can, at times, be so good to be so bad .
"Thankfully, I do have perks as Prince and one perk is, in fact, after murder clean up," Lestat mentions, as casually as one can considering the subject.
Louis laughs tiredly and wonders how he will find the strength to move even one more inch. They've really done it this time. They've reached a state that Louis doubts they'll ever be able to pass. "That's good," Louis murmurs. "I'd hate for anyone else to come and interrupt us now."
Lestat must mentally advise his accompanying staff of the task at hand. Louis can hear some of their thoughts beginning to break through his blissed-out mind. "We have time alone left yet," Lestat reassures him, squeezing Louis's hand over his heart. "And then we may return to our hotel to further continue enjoying one another."
"Lestat," Louis sighs affectionately, nuzzling his nose to Lestat's cheek. "You're always ready."
"But of course," Lestat murmurs, turning his face so that their noses momentarily bump. Louis tilts his chin up so that they may kiss instead. "I am always ready, mon cher," Lestat quietly agrees close to Louis’ mouth. "How can I not be? When I have a man as perfect as you at my side? A man to commit the most delicious sins with here, on holy ground?"
Louis cannot even disagree now; Lestat is correct, which is always mind-blowing.
"We should come to church more often, my love," Lestat off-handedly muses aloud. "I have realized we tend to have incredibly memorable moments in churches. Don't you agree, Louis?"
Before Lestat can ask Louis anything else, Louis rolls on top of Lestat and grabs his face, kissing his ridiculous husband to silence any further unnecessary remarks. Prince Lestat's ego is inflated enough as it is. Louis wants him to be partially humbled for their return to their hotel tonight.
"We need a shower, Les," Louis heatedly whispers against his husband's mouth. It's the truth and a welcome way to distract Lestat from his ego. "Let's go now, and I'll make it worth it."
"Louis, my darling," Lestat nearly growls, clutching Louis atop him. "You do not have to tell me twice. It is always worth it." Lestat kisses Louis again intensely, and Louis' toes curl as a pleasant warmth spreads through his body. "Louis," Lestat quickly adds, breaking away from their kiss to smirk at him. "Amen?"
"Insufferable," Louis grumbles, pressing his face into the crook of Lestat's neck. "Incorrigible," he continues grumbling, only to bite into Lestat's willing flesh mere seconds later.