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Louis threw his head back against the downy pillows, a cry catching in his throat. He tried to stifle the sound, transforming it into a choked whimper, and that forced repression made his back arch high off the bedding. Finding something, anything, to ground him seemed impossible, and his hands scrambled, fingers curling and tightening, nails digging in hopelessly with increasing desperation.
Lestat could feel how close Louis was. Years of shared intimacy had accustomed him to the way the muscles in Louis’ thighs would tremble, the way the skin of his lower belly would quiver, as his body prepared to release. When the prickling pleasure-pain from Louis’ nails sent a wave of warmth through Lestat’s own body, he — cruelly, and with acute precision — lifted his mouth off Louis’ cock. He did so with an overdramatic pop, letting the reddened, leaking head bob in the cool air of the bedroom.
The cry Louis had stifled came out then, nearly a sob now as his hips bucked, seeking wetness and warmth, and his fingers tugged on Lestat’s hair, clawing with need to get him to go back, to get him to take Louis into his mouth. Lestat was unmoving, a statue of chosen resilience and strength. There was nothing, no amount of pulling or whining, that Louis could try to get Lestat to do anything. When that became abundantly clear through the haze of what was once his mind, Louis tried to snake a hand down, to take himself in hand, but Lestat wasn’t having it. He grabbed Louis’ wrist, pinning it to the sheets with a warning squeeze, and he watched as Louis fought his grip once, twice, three times, trying to twist out of it before the fight melted away. With its absence was left only Louis’ blatant want.
His Louis, always a fighter, always a denier of his own need. It’s what made moments like this intoxicating — there was nothing more delicious, nothing more invigorating, than being the one to make Louis submit to his true desires. Often it took driving Louis to utter mindlessness for it to come about.
And wasn’t that the rarest sight: a mindless Louis.
While Lestat loved Louis’ mind, truly a precious thing, he found it did get in the way of Louis’ own betterment.
“Lestat,” Louis started, finding his voice hoarse and ragged, “how long are you goin’ to keep this up?”
Lestat hummed, pursing his lips as though thinking, before leaning down, nosing at thin skin, the sensitive place in the crease of Louis’ groin. His free hand, the one not holding Louis’ wrist, was ready to trap Louis’ stuttering hips at the feeling. “As long as I wish to, mon cher.”
Despite current belief, Lestat was not a cruel lover. He took Louis deep into his mouth again, sliding down almost to the base, and relished in the shuddering sigh Louis let out. An even more delectable sound immediately followed as Lestat swallowed, letting the tip of Louis’ cock slip into his throat and past where many would begin to gag, and he had to use the strength of his one hand, the one still on Louis’ hips, to keep him from fucking up into his mouth, to keep him from getting too close that precipice of release.
Okay, maybe Lestat was a bit of a cruel lover. Louis said as much.
“You’re evil, Les. Pure — ah! — evil.”
Lestat pulled his mouth off of Louis again, breathing out a short laugh at the colorful curses that Louis voiced at the absence of him once more, and, with reverent hands, let go of Louis’ wrist and hips to travel up the expanse of bare skin, entirely his for the taking. He reveled in each valley and groove that made Louis so beautifully himself, and then he followed his traveling hands with his lips, tongue, and teeth. Gently, he kissed the freckle that rested on the highest part of Louis’ ribs before, none-too-gently, biting down on one of his nipples. Louis grunted then melted again with a sigh as Lestat soothed the bite with a swipe of his tongue, suckling at it and moving to the other to do the same, teasing them both into sensitive hard buds that ached with twisting pain when Lestat blew cold air onto them.
Louis was shivering in Lestat’s arms now. Every touch sent lightening through him, each web of electricity making his cock twitch against his stomach, but never quite reaching levels high enough to do anything but give in to his continued denied release.
It was then that Lestat’s hands found the long expanse of Louis’ neck. He smoothed a thumb down Louis’ Adam's apple, it jumping under his touch as Louis swallowed, all before Louis arched his neck to allow more of the touch.
Lestat lowered his lips down to that tempting bit of skin, the exact place he had bit to turn Louis into his forever, and he breathed in the scent of him there, the blood in his veins Lestat’s own in all the ways that mattered. The weight of the moment hung in the air, palpable between them. While Louis was his companion, his equal, there was still something about this act, the threat and danger of it, and Louis’ willing baring of himself, that defined the world of trust between them. It made Lestat’s own cock, heavy and willingly neglected between his legs, throb.
He kissed over Louis’ neck, nibbling at the spot underneath his ear that made him gasp and sucking just underneath the corner of his jaw, the spot that made him groan.
“So good,” Louis said raggedly, and Lestat felt the vibration of his voice, gravelly with desire, reverberate through him where they were connected mouth to neck, bone to skin.
Louis’ cock, still spit-slick from Lestat’s earlier ministrations, was warm, near burning, when Lestat reached down and grabbed it. The action made Louis’ mouth fall open in a silent sound, followed by his tongue darting out to wet at his full bottom lip when Lestat’s large hand, which enveloped this part of his lover entirely, rose and fell over the length of him, squeezing at the base, twisting at the head, and occasionally stopping to press just on the right side of pain into the leaking slit.
“You’re always so wet,” Lestat mused, sounding far too put together for Louis’ liking, but he failed to say anything about it, too caught up in everything to form a fully-fledged sentence. “Do you want me to let you come?”
And Louis — Louis had had enough of being teased.
It was Lestat’s turn to open his mouth in a silent sound, shock at the suddenness of Louis’ hands finding the wide breadth of his shoulders, using the momentum of the movement to bring their mouths together. The kiss was devouring, teeth and tongue and copper, and Lestat found his hips moving on their own accord, grinding against Louis’ thigh. The feeling, the blessed friction, after over half an hour of ignoring his own need, had him moaning directly into Louis’ mouth.
“Yeah,” Louis said. “Make me come. Let me come, Les.”
With hands grasped on slim hips, Lestat shifted, hauling Louis into his lap with ease, bringing his ass flush with Lestat’s hard length. Louis gasped at the action but rolled with its progression, getting his knees solidly placed on the mattress so he could lift himself up and drop himself down, landing in the perfect position and angle for the head of Lestat’s cock to just catch against the rim of his hole each time he moved.
It was a tease for them both, and it was almost Lestat’s own undoing. But he found himself enraptured by the sight of Louis instead, his beautiful green eyes fluttering, eyelashes brushing the apples of his cheeks, his teeth biting down into his lip. Lestat had to tell him, had to —
“You’re so beautiful,” Lestat breathed. “When I see you, I understand Leander and his willingness to swim the Hellespont, to risk his life each night, to see his love. When I see you, I understand Apollo creating a beautiful flower to embody his Hyacinthus. For you, I would do anything. I would burn the world down just to recreate it to your perfect image.”
Louis’ cheeks took on a beautiful flush, the skin darkening ever so with blood, something that thrilled Lestat, heat pooling in the pit of stomach, because it meant Louis was both pleased and still full from their shared kill.
“If you would do anything for me,” and Louis reached down, grasping one of Lestat’s hands that was holding steady on his hips, and moved it to the plump flesh of his ass. “Make. Me. Come.”
Though he had moved Lestat’s hand there, Louis’ breath still hiccuped when Lestat’s deft fingers found his entrance, also spit-slick from even earlier ministrations, and he pressed in, just the fingertip, to give Louis a taste of what was to come. Louis was always so sensitive here; when Lestat had the time, had the patience, to tease with barely-there presses of his fingers and tongue around the rim, Louis would unravel in a performance worthy of a stage.
Sadly, Lestat had to move Louis to get the oil, gently maneuvering him until all of his weight was on the bed. It only took two seconds for Lestat to turn and grab the oil always kept near, but it was plenty of time for Louis to collapse back, his legs spread in a wanton sprawl, his cock flushed and heavy against his stomach, the head matching the still-present blush of his cheeks. He looked utterly ravished, so soft and sweet and absolutely filthy. Oh, how Lestat would never tire of being gifted such a sight. His paragon of beauty.
Lestat took the oil and quickly slicked his fingers before returning them between Louis’ thighs, his favorite place to be in any capacity. He moved down the bed as he did so, taking Louis back into his mouth and sliding two fingers all the way inside his heat. Lestat drew his fingers out before pressing them back inside, curling and twisting to find that perfect bundle of nerves that made Louis whine and arch off the bed until just his shoulders rested on its softness.
“Fuck!” Louis was grinding down into the feeling of it, demanding and desperate. “Give me more. Lestat, baby, give me more.”
Lestat repeated the motion of his fingers, drawing them out and pressing them back in, attuned to Louis’ prostate with meticulous, unrelenting precision.
“Baby, please. Please give me more, do somethin’ else, let me — ah — let me —”
If Lestat’s mouth wasn’t full of cock, he would have smiled, fangs bared in his victory. Louis wasn’t denying him, wasn’t denying himself. They had gotten beyond that point, had reached the moment where Louis was begging for Lestat, was giving in to his need and not pretending as though he didn’t want.
Lestat did as Louis asked, as Louis demanded, never one to not give Louis whatever he wanted in the end, and he slipped in a third finger as he sucked his cock down deeper, tonguing at the frenulum mercilessly. Louis was left a mess, his legs reflexively spreading wider, hips shifting down against the fingers inside of him before shifting up into the wetness of Lestat’s mouth, unsure of where to go.
And it was this that finally broke Lestat’s unwavering resolve. Louis, mindless in pleasure, was taking and taking and he was taking so well. Seeing him full, full of life, of need, of Lestat, was enough to be Lestat’s undoing.
He had his own need, and he needed more, needed to take now, needed it like he needed the sweetness of blood each night. He was certain he needed this more. He was certain he would die without it.
Lestat’s cock ached, throbbing as he coated it with oil, his hand trembling.
When he pulled his mouth off of Louis’ cock for the last time and slid his fingers out from Louis’ clenching hole, he found Louis’ eyes on him. They were half-lidded and glittering with unshed blood tears and the moment Louis realized Lestat was staring right back at him, he smiled.
It made Lestat’s heart tighten in his chest, nearly suffocating him with the realization that he had everything. He had everything right here, in their bed, in their home. He never thought he would have this, never thought he could.
“You can’t just stare at me forever, Les,” Louis said breathlessly.
“Tu me sous-estime,” he mumbled, utterly earnest. He rose up over Louis’ prone form, holding his own body weight up with one hand so he could use the other to stroke down Louis’ face. “Je pourrais te regarder jusqu'à la fin des temps.”
Louis didn’t argue. He only blushed again.
Lestat pushed inside, and though he didn’t believe in God or his angels any longer, he was certain this was Heaven.
For a century and a half, Lestat had walked this earth, seeking somewhere to belong, seeking someone to belong to. Here, inside of Louis, was the only place he had ever found that, was the only place he had ever found himself. Looking at Louis was enough to have Lestat lost and found, floating and grounded, dead and alive.
As Lestat pulled out and thrust back in, driving deep, Louis threw his head against the sheets, arched his back, pressing them chest to chest. The stretch, the weight, of Lestat was intense and each time he pressed inside, there was an agonizing moment of deep, pulsing pleasure-pain to be processed, to be accepted, only to be faced with another and another and another —
It was shocking; debilitating even. And it was so, so good.
“Kiss me,” Louis said, and at any other moment, he would be embarrassed at how shaky his voice was. “Baby, kiss me.”
“N'importe quoi,” and then he was kissing Louis, the softness of his mouth a polarization to the ever-increasing pace of his hips. Louis licked in to Lestat’s mouth, a bone-deep desire to bring more of Lestat into him clouding the rest of his thoughts. When they separated, it was because one particular thrust had Louis crying out, startling the sound from his throat.
Lestat didn’t move his face back, kept it centimeters from Louis’ own. They were breathing in sync, breathing in each other’s air like they couldn’t survive without it, and Louis snuck his tongue out again, seeking Lestat’s taste. His tongue found the crevice of the scar by Lestat’s mouth, and he firmed the tip of his tongue, pressing into it.
Another punishing thrust had Louis crying out once more, but with his tongue in the way, he accidentally bit down on it and oh, there was blood between them now.
It heightened both of their senses immediately, pupils widening, fangs lengthening.
With a snarl, Lestat withdrew, leaving Louis empty and desperate, and, in quick succession, he flipped Louis over onto his stomach.
Lestat’s earlier resilience had long left him and without any patience, or any more pretense, he spread Louis’ cheeks so he could drive back into the heat of him in one smooth motion.
The changed angle made him feel larger inside of Louis. Lestat watched with newfound pleasure as Louis’ toes curled and he squirmed on Lestat’s cock with even more need than before.
“Lestat,” and he was wrecked, “Lestat.”
“Je sais,” Lestat said, voice barely above a whisper, the rasp of his tone showing he was just as wrecked as Louis at the moment. “Je sais, mon amour.”
Louis was reaching behind himself then, needing to hold some part of Lestat, needing to feel his flesh beneath his fingertips to ground him from the flood of pleasure.
Lestat met him the rest of the way, knowing what Louis needed, knowing what they both needed, and he wrapped one arm around Louis’ small waist, pulling him closer, and he wrapped the other arm around Louis’ shoulder, his hand finding Louis’ throat. He closed his fingers around the expanse of it gently, staying carefully still, and then slowly he pulled Louis all the way down.
Louis’ head dropped back with a sigh, rolling on Lestat’s shoulder as Lestat’s cock sunk the rest of the way inside of him.
“You’re so full of me,” Lestat said against his ear. The arm around Louis’ waist moved, sliding from his far hip to his stomach, pressing down. “I bet I can feel myself right here.”
Louis moaned.
“Les, I need —”
“Je sais ce dont tu as besoin,” and Lestat rocked up into Louis and used the grip he had on his stomach and throat to pull him down, reaching unspeakable depths that truly did leave Louis so full of Lestat.
Louis sunk back into the safeness, assuredness, of Lestat’s arms, and together they felt the world fade, leaving nothing but them.
Once Lestat found a rhythm, one that let him hit that spot inside of Louis on every drive, one that had Louis’ cock slapping against his own stomach, they couldn’t stop. Together they made twinned sounds, somewhere between a cry and a moan, and Louis threaded his fingers in Lestat’s blond hair, tugging him toward the juncture of his neck and shoulder.
“Do it.”
He tugged harder, arching his neck toward Lestat’s awaiting mouth, and, with something akin to worship, Lestat sunk his fangs in.
Lestat could feel Louis’ heartbeat, could feel how it matched his own, as Louis’ blood flooded through him. Distantly, he heard Louis sob out a sound, felt the shudder and shake of his body in Lestat’s arms as he finally — finally — came.
Lestat continued to take, the sugar-sweetness of Louis’ blood on his tongue and down his throat enough to drive him to go deeper, to go as far into Louis’ as he could get. He fucked Louis through his own orgasm, fucked in until Louis was keening and oversensitive, blood swoon exemplifying the feeling of bliss. He wasn’t even pulling out anymore, grinding relentlessly into Louis with a precise circulation of his hips.
With a gasp, a sigh, Lestat dislodged his fangs from Louis’ neck, and Louis deliberately moved back against him. It startled a high-pitched whimper from Lestat’s mouth, all of it so much, too much then.
“So good, Les,” Louis was saying, still sounding distant because of the blood rushing in Lestat’s ears. “I feel so good, baby. You made me feel so good, you’re so good to me.”
And those words and the taste of Louis in his mouth and the clench of him around Lestat’s cock were enough to drive him to his own completion, his hips stuttering against Louis’ ass as he spilled deep inside of him.
Everything was distant again, was distant for some time, and when Lestat came to, Louis was carding his fingers through Lestat’s hair again, this time with the gentleness of post-coital ecstasy.
Louis must have moved them as much as he could, shifting them so they were slumped, a bit gracelessly, amongst the tangled and sweaty mess of sheets.
“Hi, baby.”
Louis smiled as he said it, smiling wide when Lestat’s eyes fluttered open and met his.
He looked utterly and thoroughly fucked, his own spend still sticking to his stomach, his green eyes bright and heavy, his lips wet and swollen.
“Mon amour.”
The way he said it must have been too much for Louis then, too much after everything, and he sweetly, almost shyly, moved in closer to rest his head against Lestat’s chest, curling his body into the valleys and plains of Lestat’s own, perfectly matched where they touched.
Lestat breathed and then smiled, helplessly, when he felt Louis’ gentle kiss overtop the beating of his heart.