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It's not a place he'd usually hang around in. When he's not wandering the city at night he tends to lurk in the classier, more refined places: galleries, auction houses, and the like.
The lights flicker and the bass booms, reverberating in his chest. Human adrenaline and sweat permeate the air like a hot, dense fog. He scans the room with keen eyes. At the front of the club, the DJ bounces energetically back and forth to the beat. A group of women stand around a tall table laughing and sipping on colorful mixed drinks. A couple makes out in an alcove to his right, hands clutching at each other over their clothes.
Scattered thoughts echo throughout his mind as he tunes in on them: God, she's hot. Should I invite him back to my place? I could really use a cigarette right now. My wife is going to kill me. I'd rather die than go to work tomorrow. He lets them drift by, narrowed in on the hollowness in his stomach.
Among all of the thumping heartbeats in the room, he feels it, coming from the center of the room. A hypnotic rhythm that he could pick out among thousands, calling directly to him, an anchor among the chaos. A splash of gold on the dance floor catches his eye and the person suddenly spins around, revealing the most beautiful man that Louis has ever seen.
The hair is the first thing he notices of course, soft and shiny as silk, tumbling down his shoulders in blonde waves and bouncing up and down as he moves. He's wearing a cropped tank-top that reveals muscular shoulders and gorgeous skin like sculpted marble. His black pants hug his body perfectly, showing off an impossibly thin waist and long, tapered legs.
Of course his face is just as striking, feline in its features, blue eyes brought out by a coat of dark mascara. The makeup is a beautiful contrast to his more masculine traits, a strong jaw and chiseled nose.
He could not deny himself if he tried. Louis's legs begin to move on his own and he finds himself walking over to him, weaving between the bodies on the dance floor. He gets within a couple of feet of him before he's noticed, the man meeting his eyes. His eyebrows draw down as he smirks.
"Hello there," the blonde leans in and purrs over the loud music.
"Hey," says Louis. "Been watching you dance."
"Oh?" says the man, intrigued. "And do you like what you see?" He gestures to himself with his hands. Of course his voice is beautiful too, deep and accented, highly expressive.
"I do," says Louis. "Yeah, I do."
"And what brings you to New York City to ogle at people from across the club, mister…" he trails off, gesturing expectantly.
He frowns. "Louis."
The man throws his head back and bursts into laughter, clear as a bell. "I'm just kidding. About the ogling." He picks up Louis's hand from where it rests at his side. "I was watching you, too," he says, and dramatically bows to kiss the top of it, maintaining eye contact the entire time.
"Lestat de Lioncourt."
Louis smiles, hopelessly endeared. The soft feeling of Lestat's lips lingers on the back of his hand. The world does that thing where all else slows down and he can only focus on Lestat, crystal clear against a blurry background.
Lestat slowly leans in. His scent grows stronger, a haze of vanilla and orchids. A large hand cups around Louis's ear to block out the background noise.
"You are supposed to ask me to dance now," he says.
Louis chuckles, breaking character.
He has always been a reflective, solitary creature at his core, but opening his life to his companion again means breaking out of his confinement. Closeness has always came with an amount of terror, but it has become easier for Louis to recognize in himself lately, easier to process. He often imagines himself staring down the maw of a formless, black ravine, so far down that he can't see the bottom.
He and Lestat have been doing trust falls.
He's aware of the irony. Like sticking your hand in the mouth of a dog known for biting. He'd never thought he'd be able to trust Lestat like this again, but as that old human cliche goes, time really is the best healer.
They've got nothing but time. Time in droves, time in weeks and months and years. Time in the cities and time in the countryside, time in each other's arms, time in each other's beds, endless hours sitting on park benches just talking as they used to.
With each request, each vulnerable conversation, they take a step out into the dark. Not the darkness of the bustling city at night, but something much more primitive, more human, like the darkest nights Louis had ever known walking though the bayou under a cloudy sky. Into the realm of uncertainty where they pull their hearts out of their chests and place them onto the table for judgment.
He makes leaps he'd never thought he'd take. He speaks about his childhood. He arranges a gravesite for his daughter, picks out red carnations with Lestat to lay on top of the stone. He asks Lestat to move in with him. The reward is so sweet, seeing new dimensions of his companion, getting to be the soft place for him to land in turn.
“Are we husbands again?” he asks.
“Can I talk to you about my maker?”
"I love you" was one of the hardest steps. He held onto it for so long, his last shred of power. For many, many years it had not been safe to give up. Even though things were different now, there had been a part of him still unready to express it.
The anticipation was worse than the execution, though, as it often is. One moment he was looking at his love's tear-stained face and the next moment the floor vanished and he was falling, the words tumbling out of his mouth, hurtling through the darkness like a meteor.
But this time, he's caught.
And now, Lestat surrenders.
To Louis. To the new, playful spirit that has bloomed between them. To the way they can simply ask each other for things and get what they want.
He had confessed this fantasy to Louis a couple of weeks ago in the privacy of their coffin, snuggled up together. “What if,” he had started, becoming giddy and almost childishly shy as he introduced it, pressing his face into Louis's shoulder.
Louis kissed his cheek and squeezed him close. “Anything you want,” he had said then.
"Wanna dance?" he asks now.
Lestat quickly shifts back into his role, rolling his shoulders back and narrowing his eyes. "Of course," he flirts.
They walk hand in hand to an emptier space on the dance floor. "What do you do?" asks Lestat. "I bet it's something ritzy. I can tell by your pants."
What's wrong with my pants? Louis thinks, scowling. They're navy with pinstripes, maybe a tad formal but perfectly acceptable and complementary to his collared shirt and chain necklace.
"I do a lot of things," he replies truthfully, shrugging.
They manage to keep a respectable distance for about half of a song before Louis's hands find a home on Lestat's hips, pulling him closer and moving with his body. Pale arms rest over Louis's shoulder and wrists cross behind his neck as Lestat leans into him. They sway back and forth to the music, giving each other heated smiles and chatting as the dance floor begins to fill out and more bodies surround them.
"A musician, huh? Never heard of you. What type of music do you make?"
"Ah, it's-"
"You know, there's this one singer…" he snaps his fingers, thinking. "You sort of remind me of him."
He wishes he could remember the name. The guy that's always doing flips, some trending musician that Lestat was making fun of last night after watching him on Tiktok. He can tell by the irritated twitch of his mouth that Lestat knows who he is referencing and is trying his hardest to stay in character despite Louis's attempts to rile him up. Of course he knows that Louis loves his music and watching him perform, but he's just so easy to tease.
"Well, I had been thinking I would have to give you a private show later, but it seems maybe you are not interested," Lestat says, fake-polite with a tight smile.
"Aw, come on," Louis relents, laughing. "Please?"
"Hmm," Lestat considers, "maybe I can be convinced again."
Louis finds himself having fun. It's hard to ever be bored with Lestat and the way the man is bouncing around and singing along to the music is contagious. It's one of those rare moments where he truly feels human again in a way that only Lestat can bring out. He gets absolutely lost in the feel of it, body thrumming with energy to the beat of the fast-paced music. He touches Lestat on his hips, his arms, holds his waist.
Lestat is even closer now, obviously into him, smiling wide. He's suddenly making very direct eye contact.
"Your eyes," he says curiously, "they're like crystals. Are you wearing contacts?"
Louis smirks and the music suddenly transitions to a new song, something with a slower, dirtier beat. He flips Lestat around in his arms so that his back is flush up against Louis's front. It makes Lestat forget all about his strange eyes, laughing lowly and leaning back into Louis, tipping his head back over his shoulder.
"Oh, Mr. Du Lac. Maybe you are not so stuffy as the pants suggest."
Asshole, he thinks, there's nothing wrong with my pants, but then Lestat starts to rock back against him, undulating with the beat. Louis sighs at the pressure and grasps his hips, urging him into a deeper grind.
Arousal builds, stirring low in his stomach along with a dark hunger for the beautiful man in his arms. He can smell the iron tang of his blood pumping just under his skin. He can see his pulse in his throat, the small vein that jumps with each heartbeat. He wants to kiss him, suck him, drink from him. He wants to touch him all over.
Inhibitions lowered by his hunger and actions concealed by the chaos and low light, he gets brave. His hands roam and grab at his thick, muscular thighs, petting up his abs, squeezing his chest, keeping a careful ear to the thoughts of those around them. Louis is breathing through his mouth, as if he could get some of that delectable scent on his tongue. Lestat responds in turn, pushing his ass back into him harder, placing his hand over Louis's to encourage him to keep touching him. He guides his hand down between his legs to grope at him where he's hard and aching.
He fangs descend. With one hand he tilts Lestat's jaw and lightly bites the spot right underneath his ear. Blood beads up in the place where his teeth pierced and he licks it off in a wide swath. He can feel the rumble of Lestat's chest beneath his other hand as he moans.
"What are you doing to me?" he asks, sounding breathless but still grinding back on him.
Louis answers with his mouth, latching onto his neck, drinking in one, slow, deep pull. Ecstasy slithers like snake down his spinal cord. The lights blur around him, turning into little stars. Lestat trembles in his arms, a high, breathy sound coming from him. It takes everything in him to stop drinking and pull away but he does, with a soft smack of his lips. He runs his tongue along his soft palate, tasting the remnants of rich, fresh blood.
"Let me take you home," Louis whispers into his ear.
It feels much more intimate out of the dark club and into the warm lights of their penthouse apartment. Lestat looks more helpless, stumbling slightly. He's not sure how much of it is nerves and how much of it is the effects of the petit coup he took from him in the club.
A couple of years ago he couldn't have imagined Lestat as nervous or shy, as anything else than larger than life. He always seemed to have an untouchable confidence in their sexual encounters.
As he said, new dimensions.
They only gets a few steps through the door before Louis is upon him again, backing him up against the dark wall and finally kissing him, one hand on his waist and one on the wall by his head. It's just as good as their first kiss after decades apart, always is. He loves kissing Lestat and he loves how much Lestat loves to be kissed. His soft sounds, his sweet taste, his smell, it all sweeps him up into a whirlwind and Louis feels light and fluttery as he deepens the kiss, sucking a plush bottom lip into his mouth to nibble on.
Lestat sighs breathlessly as he opens his lips. His big hands are on the side of Louis's face now, holding tight as Louis fucks his tongue gently into his mouth. Lestat groans in delight and closes his lips around it, sucking hungrily. The wet sounds of their mouths meeting echo throughout the empty living room. Louis feels Lestat's hands running through his hair and he shivers as they teasingly scratch down his back.
Then, he slips a sharp fang into the kiss.
Lestat jerks back and holds a hand up to his bleeding lip, looking disturbed. Louis can imagine how monstrous he must look in the low light, panting with his fangs fully extended, pupils like black holes in emerald eyes. It really feels like hunting a human for a moment, the expression of fear, the way he trembles under Louis's gaze. He's reminded of Lestat's long stint as an actor. He hopes he can keep up.
"What are you?" Lestat whispers.
"What do you think I am?" he responds. Lestat's brows furrow in thought.
"The devil?" he tries.
Louis laughs softly. "Of course not. He doesn't exist. He can't hurt you."
Blue eyes scan up and down his body. "But you can," Lestat concludes.
"I could, but I won't. I want to give you a gift."
Lestat is cautious, gaze level. "What sort of gift?" he asks.
"Eternal life, endless drinks from the fountain of youth. A power beyond your imagination."
Lestat inhales deeply, open-mouthed. He's still pinned to the wall and his heart flutters rabbit-like as Louis leans even closer.
"Sounds like something the devil would say," Lestat mumbles.
"Maybe," Louis smiles, baring his fangs, "but forgive me for doubting you're a man of God in the first place."
Lestat pauses, then his eyes suddenly shimmer red with emotion.
"But… why? Why me?" he asks, a crimson tear running down his cheek.
Louis hums, considering. He pushes a strand of hair off of Lestat's face and tucks it behind his ear, wipes the blood off of his skin.
"Because you're mine," He says, soft as velvet, "because I found you and chose you, and I'm going to keep you forever."
His real feelings are peeking glaringly through, but he doesn't care. He thinks Lestat could benefit to hear it. He feels the presence of phantoms in the room, lined up along the walls, the weight of Lestat's entire history resting in his hands as he chooses his next words very carefully.
"All you have to do is ask," he finally says.
He places a hand softly on Lestat's jaw and looks deeply into his lovely eyes, paying close attention to every emotion that flashes across that expressive face. He searches for any panic or uncertainty but finds none. He seems to go through a storm of feelings— overwhelm, hesitation, adoration, vulnerability, and finally, acceptance.
Lestat takes the plunge.
"Please, Louis," he begs, "I want to be yours." Louis kisses him with all of the love in his heart.
Then, he strikes.
He's not sure exactly how it happened. There was the blur of clothes coming off, hands and lips and tongue roaming frantically over bare skin. Then carrying Lestat to their room and lying him out naked on the bed.
Don't bite him yet, Louis had thought, kissing down the column of Lestat's neck with his fingers inside of him, gently stretching.
Lestat doesn't like to be on his stomach but he loves it on his side, one of Louis's arms barred around his chest and the other hooked beneath his knee as he drives into him. He's surgically precise with the angle, pummeling that spot that makes Lestat's body thrash and roll with pleasure.
Don't bite, he thinks as Lestat grips his arm with both hands, holding on white-knuckled through the pleasure. He's making the most delectable sounds, short uh-uh-uhs punched out of him with each thrust. His body grips him perfectly, hot and tight. Louis tucks his face into his hair and inhales deeply, smelling him, trying to hold onto his sanity.
"Feel good?" he murmurs.
Lestat can only groan in reply.
He adores how loud he is in bed, loves the sharp sound he releases when Louis moves the hand from under his knee to wrap around his swollen cock, stroking him in time.
He throws his head back over Louis's shoulder and makes eye contact from beneath his long lashes, mouth open and fangs fully extended. His whole body is flushed pink, ripe like a peach that's ready to be eaten, twitching and writhing in his grasp. His pink nipples brush against Louis’s arm with each heave of his chest, and he finds himself wishing he had another free hand so he could pinch them. His gums ache.
Don't bite him.
They've been together enough for Louis to know Lestat's tells, the way his abs start to clench, the way he holds breath in his chest, the way his balls draw up tight. He stops thrusting but continues jerking him off, slow and wet and salacious. Lestat moans softly with each exhale, eyes squeezing shut.
"You're close, aren't you?" Louis asks.
"Uh huh," Lestat breathes, frantically nodding his head.
He's as beautiful as any renaissance painting, mouth open in rapturous pleasure like a mortal being visited by the divine. Louis touches him slower and slower, drawing it out, making him whine loudly. Lestat's hand captures his wrist in a death grip as he starts to shake all over.
"Ahhhh," he warns, "closecloseclose!"
"I know baby, I know," Louis coos. God, he's right on the edge. He's tempted to just make him come now. It would be so easy to just to rub a thumb over his sensitive tip and send him flying right over, but it's not what they agreed upon.
Plus, it's been so long since he fed. His stomach clenches violently thinking of how good Lestat will taste on the verge of orgasm. The need is reaching a fever-pitch.
It's time for the turning.
He pulls out and flips Lestat over bodily, his back bouncing against the bed as Louis crawls over the top of him and sinks back inside. His hair is a golden halo around his head. "I'm going to do it," Louis warns.
"Yes, yes," he's repeating. His cries turn into a yelp as Louis lines up his fangs to his throat and sinks them deep.
He practices no restraint. Lestat had wanted passion, to be taken. His hand on the back of his neck is locked in a death grip and he uses it to hold him still as he drinks and drinks, gulping rapidly down the addicting substance. Lestat groans loud and long and it vibrates in his throat, tingling Louis's lips. His nails are dug into Louis's shoulders, clutching at him as more and more blood is taken.
He can taste his desperation, his need. Beyond the lust there is something deeper, richer. He closes his eyes and starts to lose all other senses, tasting only Lestat, floating in his boundless sea.
He refocuses at the slowing of that thundering heart, greedily stealing all of the life and vigor contained within Lestat's body for himself. He's drank from him many times of course, but never past this point. Lestat's hands scrabble at his sides, seemingly feeling the urge to push him off. He resists it, clenching his hands into fists. Louis takes one gently in his hand, rubbing his stiff fingers.
When Lestat’s body begins to feel unusually limp and cool around his own, Louis pulls back, licking his lips. Lestat's face is pale and washed out, lips slightly blue and shriveled. His eyes roll back under droopy eyelids. He whimpers as his head lolls to the left, weakened and gaunt. Lestat looks perfect in his clutches, beautifully vulnerable.
"You're doing great," Louis whispers, brushing a finger over his brow and kissing his forehead. "Brave man. Just keep trusting me," he encourages.
Then, he drags a deep gash into his wrist with a nail and holds it over his mouth. Lestat opens wide. The blood flows out in a waterfall, splattering all over his face, hair, and the bed. Soon, Lestat weakly reaches up to grab his arm, pulling it to his lips and clamping down.
He drinks hastily and then with ferocity, throat bobbing with each pull. Louis is transfixed as he meets his eyes, heavy lidded and desperate. Being able to take care of Lestat in this way is always a head-rush. The satisfaction is tenfold now; Lestat acts like his blood is the only thing keeping him tethered to the planet.
His body recovers rapidly. His heart rate returns to speed, reverberating in time again with Louis's just a few inches apart. His grip becomes strong and stable. The cold pallor melts away quickly from his skin and leaves him hot, flushed, and aching.
The sating of such a severe hunger seems to have lit a fire within Lestat, burning brighter and brighter until it swells into an inferno. He's moaning loudly with each gulp now and rolling his hips again, eyelashes fluttering.
The energy between them flares as they look into each other's eyes. Louis focuses in on his feelings of passion, adoration, and love, and hopes that Lestat can taste it in his blood. Lestat feeds off of him and he feeds right back, drunk off of his desire. He suddenly feels strong legs wrap around his waist.
His gaze lowers to where they're joined. Lestat is achingly hard again, dripping obscenely. Louis looks up at him with a questioning stare and Lestat nods frantically, still latched onto his arm.
A couple of solid thrusts is all it takes. Lestat's body seizes up as he throws his head back and comes, mouth covered in Louis's blood. His back arches so far that it looks painful and a choked, broken cry leaves his lips. He's never seen Lestat come as hard as he does now. It looks like he's drowning in ecstasy, being tossed through the waves by a force bigger than him, able to do nothing but take it.
The tight grip of his body along with the enchanting sight of his pleasure is enough to bring Louis over, too. He leans over Lestat's body and wraps his arms beneath him, gripping his shoulders so that he can hold him close as he fills him up. He does, the scent of blood and sweat in his nose, each pulse of his climax carving through his body like lightning.
They come down tangled together, chests pressed up against one another. Louis brushes the sweaty hair back from Lestat's face and kisses the curve of his cheek next to his nose.
He pulls out and takes stock of their surroundings. The sheets look like a massacre happened on them, stained in massive red patches. Their bodies don't look much better. Ruined linens are a small price to pay to see Lestat basking in rapture, on his back with his palms up to the sky. His eyes open and he stirs as Louis gets up.
"Hold me?" he asks softly.
Louis wraps him up in his arms and a clean blanket. He begins to cry softly into his chest.
"You okay?" Louis asks, petting his hair. "Did I go too far?"
"No, no," Lestat whimpers, "It was amazing. Just a lot."
Louis soothes him the best he can, whispering to him softly and scratching his head and neck. Lestat calms down quickly, seemingly just caught in a moment of emotion. Once he's relaxed and his eyelids flutter shut, Louis says those words he has worked so hard to say. They sing in his mouth.
"I love you."
Lestat snuggles in closer, tucking his knees up against Louis's side and nuzzling into his chest. His voice is small and soft as he asks a question.
"Can you tell me one more time?"