Chapter 1: His Qualities
Summary:
Louis asks Gregory's help in devising the perfect Christmas gift for Lestat
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Circling the small gilt-edged glass case containing rare and priceless jewels, historical, antique and otherwise, Louis glanced to Gregory to ensure the ancient was following his gaze. Louis had gathered several such cases from one of Lestat’s specially built safe-armoires, and had placed them in a row on the dressing counter inside their Prince’s largest walk-in closet. Having stopped in front of this particular case because it held a very ornate and lavish shining crown, Louis opened the top of the glass enclosure and adjusted the item gently, his elegant fingers settling it more symmetrically atop its purple velvet cushion. This crown had been commissioned specially by a vampire from Oxford who had it made custom for Lestat’s illustrious brow. Their Prince had never worn it.
Gregory was no stranger to gems and treasures. Even as a mortal, he’d been entrusted with guarding such riches. Akasha possessed more than her share of jewels and royal paraphernalia. It had all been primitive in comparison to this display, but it had been the richest of riches in their time. Tonight, he was dressed impeccably in a dark business suit, and lightly clasping his arms behind the back of his long overcoat, Gregory leaned in to examine a particularly beautiful setting of rubies.
“I don’t know why he refuses to wear it,” Louis said with a small gesture to the crown. “He has never been one to shrink from finery. But perhaps it is too much for him, too final, because neither has he worn the Romanoff items brought to Court from the Russian vampires, and I don’t believe he ever means to.” Louis swept his hand further down the row of glittering baubles to a second crown, this one much older, paired as a matching set with a scepter. Both of these were exquisite and intricately lain with all manner of precious stones.
Louis was no stranger to dressing for certain occasions, having been known to outfit himself at particular times when he really meant to, using cloth and jewelry as a sort of armor. He was not above using what he wore to be simultaneously disarming and enticing, and he could not fathom the reason Lestat might not do the same as Prince of their kind, whether he had chosen the role or no. He’d been their sovereign for over a year now, though they all knew Lestat hadn’t wanted it. Perhaps that was what kept him from wearing the finery befitting a royal.
“If I were to have something made,” Louis asked. “Do you think he would still refuse it?”
“These are all perfectly lovely.” Gregory straightened, looking to him, the infamous emerald of Louis’s eyes momentarily enchanting him. This was their Prince Consort, the one who held the very knowledge which ultimately freed their kind from Amel last spring. Gregory couldn’t help but smile at Louis, pleased to be the one consulted for such advice. “Have you had gifts made for him before, and has he ever refused them?”
Louis considered the question with the barest cant of his head, his brow pinching at the center, his lips pressing together. “This is different, I would like to believe, than anything I’ve ever attempted to give him in the past. Nothing I’ve ever given him holds with it such symbolism of what he represents, what he is to our people… What he is to me.” Louis replaced the lid of the glass case with a reverent and slow ease, his preternatural skin leaving not a trace of oils to smudge the clear surface.
Gregory seemed larger than life to Louis, in the same way Lestat sometimes did when he was enlivened with emotion, with an idea, with the vivacity of lust for living. Louis wanted to bottle that essence, so that he might feed off it when low. Gregory’s eyes were alive now with that same fire, and Louis felt like a vivarium specimen to have such eyes boring into him now.
“Do you know, I have closets and closets full of all manner of clothing, jewelry, accessories, shoes and scents here at the chateau which he has gifted to me… And even more in our New Orleans residence.” Louis fell silent for several seconds, then added, “It has been a long time since he has been cross enough with me to refuse anything I gave to him.”
Gregory gave a low chuckle and absently ran the pad of a thumb over his lower lip as his eyes fixed on the jeweled crowns once more. “I can’t imagine many refuse your gifts, Louis,” he said, voice barely a whisper. Gregory admired then the glass of this cabinet, the thickness of it and the way the dim lighting fell through it and across the colorful metals and precious stones within. “You clearly have great feeling and emotion for this gift. I am certain he will treasure and wear whatever you might craft for him. These crowns here—” Gregory gestured. “They are from those who wish to make some impression upon our Prince. You don’t need to make such impressions on him. You two have a history outside this Court. If my Chrysanthe gives me a new watch or some other such item, I’m far more likely to wear it than something my employees might gift me. I love my wife deeply, the gift makes me feel she is always with me. I don’t need to feel my employees are always with me.” Gregory gave Louis another smile. “What gems does Lestat like best? I know several jewelers throughout Europe who might assist you.”
Louis merely shook his head, amusement flickering across his features. Did Lestat ever meet a gem he didn’t like? Louis could scarce imagine it. But his favorites? Those he liked best? Louis had a moment of panic to imagine he might not actually know the answer to such a question, not truly, and this revelation filled him with a sudden lament.
“I think…” Louis began but then paused, truly thinking, seeming so human for a moment. “It is as you say, that the meaning is what is important. The thing he must wear should hold within it pieces of what he is, each facet a symbol of his qualities that placed him in his illustrious position, as well as the values which we hold as truths. Diamonds for longevity and strength under immense pressure, rubies for the vitality of life, the Blood we all share…and so forth.” Louis’s hand lifted as he spoke, his long fingers curling in the air to trace a small invisible outline of the crown in his imagination with an elegant but muted flourish, hardly aware of his actions. But emotion pulled at the edges of his features, making it all the more clear that Louis took the task he had set out for himself with the utmost seriousness.
“I would very much like to interview these jewelers, and would prefer someone who is not ignorant to the historic, social and anthropological meanings of the precious gems and metals they work.”
Gregory felt that perhaps Louis was taking this crown creation far too literally. That a simple crown crafted with love would be more than enough for Lestat. Despite all the brash bravery, the self-confidence, and the attention he paid to lavish comfort and style, Lestat was still rather humble when it came to his place at the head of their Court. But Gregory didn’t want to discourage this project Louis had in mind, this gift.
“I will send you their contact information and tell them you will be in touch.” Gregory couldn’t help but glance around the large closet at all the other extravagances it held. He had not often been in Lestat’s personal rooms at the chateau, and he felt like a child in a candy shop any time he found himself within them. “Perhaps a crown which holds some similarities to the cloak he received after bringing down the wolves as a mortal. Something lined with wolf fur, some red velvet.” Gregory’s gaze returned to Louis, one arched brow raised in query.
Louis shook his head again, but this time in a way that meant he didn’t agree with the idea. “I know we are in this place because it is his ancestral home, but that life had nothing to do with me,” he confessed, and again he felt a pang of lament, and a different sort of separation from Lestat.
Louis lifted the case with the Russian crown and scepter set, walking the short distance to return it to the armoire. “Would it be an insult, to those who gifted these items to perhaps modify or use aspects from them in the creation of this new crown?”
“It would be an insult, yes,” Gregory immediately confirmed. “These gifts are personal to those who gifted them, even though Lestat may not feel such personal attachment in response. If they see that his consort has taken it upon himself to modify these gifts, I can’t imagine they would feel anything but slighted.” Gregory was surprised Louis asked this question. Was he perhaps not as skilled in etiquette as he let on? Perhaps just not Court etiquette, Gregory decided. After all, when had Louis ever served in such a capacity?
Gregory smiled warmly. “I think, Louis, that all you really need to do is impress upon Lestat how strongly you feel for him and his role as our Prince. When I receive a gift from any of my loved ones, if they deliver it with great love and affection, then I cherish it all the more. Do you understand what I am saying?” He looked into Louis’s eyes, wondering if the younger vampire would fully understand his implication, but not wanting to outright say the words. Louis was from such a reserved and inhibited time in history. Gregory knew he clung still to privacy, especially in matters such as sharing intimacy of the Blood.
A flicker of confusion crossed Louis’s features, and he simply stared back at Gregory in silence for several moments. His thoughts had been ensnared utterly by that one word.
Consort.
Louis mouthed it silently back to a Gregory, having been stilled completely in his movement to put away the other crown in its gilded box.
“I understand,” Louis said, his words soft, his thoughts jumbled and varied, as his mind danced with all the myriad possibilities that one word entailed. Both frightening and yet exceedingly secretively thrilling was this word for him, and Louis wondered how many more ancients and young ones alike were already using it for him since he’d taken his place at Court earlier this year. Marius had likened him already unto a particular Duke in history, with all that title had implied, but now…this word.
Louis’s heart had skipped more than several unmistakable beats before he moved again, taking up the second jewel case and returning it seemingly much more carefully to the armoire, lest he grow careless and drop it with his mind’s reeling.
The pale blush rushing to Louis’s face could easily be seen by Gregory’s preternatural vision, and the stuttering of his heart was impossible to miss. How interesting that he’d had this reaction to the single word ‘consort’ and not so much to Gregory’s suggestion that he offer his blood to demonstrate his deep feelings when delivering the gift to Lestat.
Gregory thought about this word, consort, and Louis’s almost schoolboy reaction to hearing this title for himself. Gregory had been among Queen Akasha’s many consorts. He clearly recalled the day she’d pulled him out of the line of guards and made it clear he’d be joining the ranks of those who visited her bed chambers. There had been some knowing looks and hard playful nudges from the other young men. He hadn’t been a blushing youth, though. He’d been boastful, cocky, bold, too much a proud puffed up rooster among the other guards and soldiers, but at the same time, a deep undercurrent of dread and doom flowed within him. This didn’t rise to the top until well into his service to her, and he could feel her losing interest, signaling death by King Enkil’s hands was near.
But this was vastly different. This consort title was completely different from the one the mortal Nebamun had held. “I mean that title in the most respectful, honorable meaning of the word, you understand.” Gregory bowed his dark head toward Louis, showing his deference to this man who always sat to the right of Lestat in their Court.
Louis nodded as he closed up the armoire, not in the least bit offended, knowing Gregory’s past as he did. He gave Gregory a somewhat bashful smile. “Yes of course. And I thank you for your counsel. I will contact the jewelers you suggest. Price is no object, and they will be compensated handsomely for their work.” All business again, or trying to be, was Louis, willing his fluttering heartbeat to calm.
Gregory brightened, a charming smile gracing his face. “There is to be a grand Christmas ball next month. It will be good for the tribe to come together again now that some time has passed since all the drama with Amel. You will be attending, I assume?” Gregory moved slowly around the closet, touching this or that object, admiring a particularly beautiful golden statuette of a lion in repose.
“Yes, I will attend.” Louis answered with another nod. “I hope to gift the crown to Lestat in private just before that ball, that he might wear it. I realize with such a deadline as that, it may be too much to ask of a mortal artist. So if you know of any among us, then I would seek them out first.”
Louis thought in silence for several seconds then lifted his hand. “Will it offend if he wears one I give him, though he refused others? Should I abandon the idea altogether?”
Gregory turned back to Louis, a small indentation between his brows as he considered. This young one was so very serious about this crown gift. “I’m sure they will understand. He has several crowns to choose from. If he favors yours, what could they possibly do about it?”
It was hard for Louis not to think too deeply about all of this, about the many members of their kind who would attend the ball and what they might think. He hardly wanted to sew enmity among them. Quite the opposite, he wanted Lestat to be seen as a well and proper figurehead to their people, a unification of community and of purpose that their kind might flourish in this modern world in which they found themselves.
Yes, their Prince needed his true crown.
Notes:
This chapter written by K and D
Chapter 2: Living Realistically
Summary:
On a wintery visit to Trinity Gate, Marius helps Armand wrap Christmas gifts and tries to entice his estranged and prickly fledgling to visit Court for the holidays.
Notes:
Thank you everyone so much for the nice comments! You know I love to hear your thoughts and reactions on every chapter 😊
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was hours in the frigid air, ice crystals forming even on his long pale eyelashes as Marius made the journey from the old world to the new, gaining hours as he traveled westward. As he flew without the aid of modern technology, he carried nothing but the clothing on his back and what fit in his pockets. He was worn to his bones by the time he reached Trinity Gate, the winter sun only an hour down, but the air no warmer for its recent fire. Before he walked the pathway to the impressive home, he loosed the long hair he’d pulled up for the sake of convenience and comfort. He shook the ice crystals from his body and clothing, too. Satisfied, he walked to the door and gave it a quick knock.
As the silent mortal servant welcomed him in, Marius took note that not a single vampire was at home to greet him. A touch disappointed, he peeled off his damp coat, but did not yet give it to the servant to be hung to dry. On his path to the fireplace in the front parlour, Marius paused to look at the lavish Christmas tree. He wasn’t appraising or judging, he just wanted to take in the festive sight because he thought it was beautiful and also comforting. The heat from the fire radiated wonderfully from the hearth. His long fingers extended and flexed. From his spot, he made a study of the room until someone soon came home.
Armand was warm and alive from the hunt. He saw the golden Christmas lights along the street with a new appreciation, and for the first time he saw the yuletide season in the way that the mortals saw it. For a very brief moment, he was happy and without concern. And then he opened the front door of his house, bringing a flurry of snow in with him, and he heard that low ancient heartbeat that he knew all too well.
He was filled with panic first and then anger. Had Daniel arranged for Marius to visit without his consent? He’d been threatening to do so the other night, when they’d been out Christmas shopping, insisting for the hundredth time that Armand should spend more time with his maker as well, that they should try to reconcile their differences and form a connection in this new era.
How long would his maker be here, really? How long would Armand have to make awkward conversation on his own threshold? From anger was borne indifference, forcibly. If he faked it, if he pushed it in his expression where neither Daniel nor Marius could read his mind, Armand could protect his heart. So he removed his scarf and coat, passing them to a servant and coming into the parlour.
No sign of his willful fledgling; Daniel had gone out tonight with Sybelle, Benji and Eleni to a concert. But there he was. Wildly beautiful as ever. Unbearably beautiful. The precedent for all of Armand’s taste and interest, the very reason for his arousal for men. Tall and put together and so sure of himself, when Armand felt so unsure.
“Marius.”
The tip of Armand’s nose was tinted pink from the cold and it made Marius’s heart ache in a way he hadn’t expected it to ache so soon, and so much over a little nothing. He wasn’t greeted warmly, but then he hadn’t expected to be, and he found it didn’t hurt. It was enough to be here, with him in this admittedly stolen time. Stolen from Armand for however long his long-suffering patience could stretch, given just a bit extra by their Daniel’s best efforts.
“Good evening, Armand,” he said kindly, letting that be the emotion over all of the more complicated things he could feel. Just pleasant and amiable. Marius dropped his hands from the fire and went to the tree to look at the ornaments. Dazzling, delicate little things. Marius had hand-made Bianca one this year, and the residents of Trinity Gate, too. Which had him going for his coat.
“I made you something,” he told Armand. “Well, certainly all of you.” Armand himself wouldn’t want something from him, which was why Marius brought it for the house. It was a tiny triptych that could be folded with three scenes: the annunciation, nativity, and deposition in classic Renaissance style. “For your tree, or mantle.”
Armand looked it over from the doorway. He didn’t come any closer into the room, he didn’t need to to see all of the thing’s lovely detail and skill. Why gifts? Why had Marius come at all? Armand decided then and there that he didn’t like this arrangement, and all the more disdain for the fact that Daniel hadn’t told him it was happening.
“It’s as impressive as anything you’ve ever made. Thank you,” he managed. It might be more than an hour before the others would be home, and Armand considered going upstairs and leaving Marius alone to wait for them.
Marius was far too humble about his talent to swell with pride, but he was pleased that it was acceptable to Armand. He tucked the triptych into the evergreen branches slightly below his eye level, a position prominent that anyone who looked at the tree would see it. “You’re welcome,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back to survey the tree, obviously satisfied by his relaxed stance, formal as it was. “Thank you for letting me into your home,” he said with sincerity. “I’d like to sit by the fire and talk. My bones are quite frozen.”
“Well, feel welcome to,” Armand answered after a moment. Daniel had made it clear lately that he had missed Marius and wanted time with him, and the way he spoke the other night of inviting him to visit made Armand feel he wouldn’t be welcome when the two of them reunited.
He went to the side table, flicking through the mail and bills to look busy. He should leave, spend the rest of the night in his colossal and comfortable bed. Lock the door and watch a movie. Then next night, Marius would be away, and Daniel would be off his case about the whole thing. But he found himself unable to leave.
Far from oblivious, Marius was keenly aware of Armand’s displeasure. If anything, Marius, observant by nature, was too keenly aware of the things that went on around him. But Marius also did not want to hurt Armand by reacting negatively to his manner. He went and settled close to the fire, sitting comfortably but still with some formality. He did not wish to offend his fledgling by getting too comfortable.
“Do you have plans for Christmas?” he asked. “Bianca has her heart set on something, as she says, small and cozy outside of the Court festivities. So we will be in for the holidays. I promised her a tree of her own to decorate. The darling is very happy.”
“Bianca?” Armand asked, his heart swelling to think on her. How he loved her dearly, had always loved her. They were brother and sister in the Blood, and she had been so good to him in life. He found himself thawing at such a rapid rate that it hurt. If Bianca wanted something, then they absolutely must do that and more for her. She should have the world if she wished it. He steeled himself as quickly as was possible, though, not wanting to show any weakness. Quite reluctantly he sat on one of the armchairs and looked at his tree again. “It pleases me to know she is happy.”
Marius looked at Armand from the corner of his eye. He wouldn’t think Armand too keen to come join them in France; it was obvious Armand was displeased to have him visit. But then it wouldn’t be for Marius that Armand came, or him that he visited. Bianca would be over the moon to see her beloved Armand who she spoke about almost nightly. And Daniel she always had much fun with. Yes, they’d be making the journey for her. “Bianca would be most delighted to host you and your beloveds if you can come. I’ll not speak a word to her unless you are certain.”
“I didn’t think it was an invite,” Armand returned airily, crossing his legs to readjust his position. How long could he keep it up? This cold and horrid disposition? Forever, he knew, if he wanted, but it would hurt him. He didn’t want to feel any more hurt. But looking at Marius hurt. Hurt because he might have him again, because Marius still set his blood alight the way he always had, but Armand couldn’t make himself forgive or forget. He knew Daniel would want them so desperately to go to Court for Christmas. He thought again of Bianca, and then he sighed lightly. “A night or two at the chateau wouldn’t hurt.”
Marius gazed at Armand more overtly and frowned, though he kept whatever words he wished to say sealed behind his lips. “Louis is there, too,” he said instead. “Bianca loves surprises. You and Daniel plan when you wish to come and the invitation is open. The chateau still has many empty rooms and apartments, so you’ll have your own space. Privacy.” A little assurance to Armand that he wouldn’t even have to see Marius if he didn’t want to.
Armand looked to him then, his expression unreadable as he thought. Why was Marius trying so hard? Why did he care? Just to get Daniel back to France? Daniel could go alone if he wished it, and Daniel knew that too. But Armand tried to soften his expression. It wasn’t doing any of them any good to keep quite so frosty. “As I said, a night or two wouldn’t hurt. We have gifts for everyone that need to get there anyway.” He gestured to the shopping bags under the tree, and tilted his head. On a whim, with a little more animation in his voice, he made a suggestion. “Shall we wrap some together?” A distraction was what he needed. It would be good to keep his hands busy and it struck him as something Marius would be good at too. He pushed one of his mortal servants’ minds to bring to them the gift wrap and necessary tools.
Scooting to the edge of his seat, Marius made a sweeping gesture. “If you allow me the supplies, I can easily wrap all of it for you.” Marius really was a hands-on kind of man, far better at doing even the simplest things for himself rather than delegating them out. He had to be on his own for too long, cautious of even part-time help and helpers for fear of them finding out even a hint of his big secrets. “Show me the gifts you’ve purchased.”
If there was one thing that Armand enjoyed about the holiday season, it was the buying and wrapping of gifts. He didn’t one bit appreciate Marius dismissing his invitation to do something together and trying to take control. Armand held back though, trying to view it through a more positive lens. Perhaps Marius thought he was doing good with the offer. Armand shook his head. “No, what’s the point in this whole thing if we’re not doing things together?” he asked. “The whole point is for us all to get along, isn’t it?” Daniel had been trying to push Armand to spend time with Marius for months now. “Unless you really only came here tonight for Daniel.”
Marius, who expressed love through acts of service, hadn’t expected he’d offend his host so soon with his offer. He was truly just trying to help Armand and hadn’t foreseen being chastised for it. He’d hate to disappoint Daniel by being picky or defensive, though, so he decided not to even try to explain his intentions. Instead he smiled softly, nodded, and sat back to get comfortable again. “I’m here for the both of you,” he said because he didn’t want Armand to think that he wasn’t important during this visit. It really was such a lovely thing to get to sit in this warm, dim room with him. How he wished he could bundle his fledgling up in his arms and hold him the whole night. Second best was this, just being near.
“I will help you in any way that I can,” Marius promised. He was still weary from the journey, but he didn’t let the exhaustion etch lines into his features. When Daniel arrived, he would worry unnecessarily if he saw Marius succumb. And while it might be nice in a very indulgent way to let Daniel fret and fuss over him for a while, Marius would not be so selfish. He silently watched Armand slide off the armchair and onto the floor, retrieving some of the presents and pulling them out of the bag, listening to the lovely sound of his sweet, musical voice.
“So there’s one or two for each person,” Armand was saying, “depending on the size or value. It seems in poor taste to get vast quantities of anything these days, but perhaps I’m wrong.”
“Quality over quantity,” Marius agreed softly, eying the tasteful gifts as they were brought out.
Armand caught sight of one of the smaller bags, looking to it in thought. Perhaps it was fate that Marius was here, because Armand had been thinking of him when he bought this. He’d picked the thing up, he’d taken it to the clerk, he’d paid for it. He’d chosen it carefully. The aim was to leave it anonymously in Marius’s study, or have it sent there. Armand really didn’t want to give him a gift, but he really did want to give him one. “Don’t look in this one.”
Maybe he wasn’t giving Armand enough credit, but Marius was surprised to see himself included. Perhaps Armand just didn’t want to offend him by leaving him out. Or Daniel forced him to buy it. Either way, Marius smiled and nodded.
He sat forward to better look at the gifts, though he kept his hands to himself. “What did you get for Lestat?”
Armand outstretched his legs around the bags of presents, fishing through them to find Lestat’s. “I know he’ll like it, because I’m excellent at buying gifts, and Daniel isn’t too bad either. But a third opinion wouldn’t go amiss.”
He passed Marius the box, but then nearly gasped as their fingertips brushed. They hadn’t touched in how long? It kept him sane. There was no other way to keep strong around Marius, this man he so deeply loved and resented.
To a casual observer, Marius would have looked completely unaffected by the touch. His muscles didn’t react, his face didn’t flicker with even a quick expression. His eyes and hands were steady and sure as he grasped the offered box and pulled it to himself. But how could Armand’s fingertips not affect him? What a pathetic thing, he decided, to feel so overcome at the slightest touch. Did his heart have to betray him by pounding for those terrible few seconds? It was a different lifetime ago when touching Armand was a freely given gift. A thing he neither needed to ask for or demand. He could just have. Did he take it for granted? No. Never. But Marius had gotten used to those freedoms. And now he had none.
Looking into the box, he smiled. “Lestat will love it,” he praised, though of course Armand already knew that.
Marius’s lack of outward reaction to the touch stung and relieved Armand both. It seemed that the moment between them had passed so slowly, and the moment after it so quickly that Armand didn’t know what he should be dwelling on. His brain took another moment to catch up, so that he almost stuttered when he spoke, and he was furious at himself for it. “Well, see what I’ve chosen for Bianca then, and Pandora. Tell me if they’re in need of these things.” He gestured with his hands for the servant with the supplies to come in from the doorway, trying to brush away the moment that had thrown him so.
Marius had barely spent time with Pandora in 1800 years, but he felt he still nonetheless knew her in a way no one else did. True, she was a much different person to who she was when they were true companions, but he still knew what she liked. He still knew the things that made her happy. Bianca, too, though she was considerably easier to please than Pandora. Bianca could be delighted with trinkets and jewels; Pandora was more complicated. Her centuries of melancholy and abundance had changed her pleasures. Marius only hoped Arjun would let Pandora spend the holidays with him and Bianca, which was where she had expressly stated she’d like to be. Marius hated Arjun, but he kept that to himself for Lestat’s sake. The Prince did not need petty domestic discord under his celebrated roof.
Marius rose from his chair and sat on the floor gracefully, trying not to let his body block the entire fire but delighted with the way it coated him like a blanket. He scooted closer, but not close enough to touch—he wouldn’t wish to offend Armand again. He controlled his impulse to grab for the paper and begin, letting Armand be the leader and waiting for his assistance to be requested. “Pandora has become…hm…earthy. She loves plants and animals, and walking around in the dirt for hours. Bianca has been collecting little hair clips and pens lately. Even when her clothing is subdued, she creates the most elaborate, lovely hairstyles.”
Ah, his beloved Bianca. How creative she was, and how lovely in all things. Armand smiled to think of her, and looked down as he pulled from one of the bags the velvet lined mahogany jewelry box he’d bought her, which already held a beautiful new set of pearls and diamonds. No hair accessories though. Hm. “Anything I get her will fall short, she deserves the world,” he said softly. His heart ached to think on it, and he looked up at Marius a little firmly. “Does she still love you so desperately? You seem to take good care of her. Please tend to her happiness in all things, and be mindful of her sensitivity. When you get too swallowed by your work, you may forget she needs you. She suffers in silence for it, I know it. I just do.”
He passed what he had bought for Pandora onto Marius to inspect and wrap as well. For Pandora, his feelings were not so strong. Armand had always felt the distinct impression that he’d never live up to her. She was too impressive, too clever, too beautiful. She had a part of Marius’s heart locked away and made it inaccessible, even back when he was trying to vie for it. She had been nothing but lovely to Armand forever though, so he tried to be kind back. He took the supplies the servant had deposited and split them between them.
“I will take care of her,” Marius promised his fledgling. It was far more complicated than that. Armand surely knew the version of his and Bianca’s relationship that Marius had recounted in his memoir. Deep within Marius, he resented Bianca. Adored her, of course, but something cold in his resentment kept him from letting her too close. She’d perhaps had time to heal; her coven had been glorious and strong. But Marius had been alone. Rather than heal, he’d frozen his heart and moved on. It was still in him, locked away, encased in ice.
As he pondered it, he watched the domestic scene of Armand wrapping a gift for Daniel. The two of them had come a long way, it seemed. The simple, matter-of-fact tenderness between them made any fears Marius had for their recent reunion fade. At the same time, he realized he had no place here in their home. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come. It was needy and selfish of him to come here between the two of them.
He didn’t let his sad thoughts darken his expression. Instead, he busied himself opening the jewelry box to appraise the diamonds inside. Flawless, of course. Bianca would adore them. But then again, she’d adore anything her beloved Amadeo gifted her. It ached because Marius remembered the wonderful nights five hundred years ago, watching the two mortal loves dance and laugh. Now everything was so fractured and bitter.
“The Court is holding a lavish Christmas Eve ball, so bring something nice to wear.”
“A ball?” Armand asked quietly, trying to remember the last time he attended one of them. He certainly wouldn’t be doing any dancing if he did go, and he wouldn’t stay for long. He began to trim some wrapping paper. “I suppose Daniel would like to go.”
“Vampires from all over the world come to the Chateau. Many just wish to see what they’ve heard, others to meet Lestat.” So in other words, a packed affair. “Daniel might be uncomfortable among so many powerful blood drinkers. But attendance is not mandatory. I’d love for both of you to meet some of my new acquaintances, but we can do that any time.”
Armand’s irritation at hearing Marius speak of Daniel as if he knew him better was betrayed only by a slight flare of his nostrils. It filled Armand with longing, with rage and yes, with envy. It made him feel once more as though he were a stranger in his own house and that he should have gone upstairs after all. Well. Armand didn’t want to meet any people, especially not new ones. He didn’t have the head for it anymore. He focused on folding a seam into the paper so it fit nicely around the box.
The image of dancing with Armand at the ball shimmered through Marius’s mind. He knew that wasn’t going to happen. He could anticipate rejection. Perhaps if Armand warmed, Marius might dare the public humiliation, but not if things stayed this frosty. He could tell Armand was displeased. Daniel wasn’t Marius’s now, he was Armand’s again. It wasn’t as if Marius had forgotten that. How could he?Marius worried for Daniel and likely always would. But now that Armand and Daniel were official companions again, it was Armand’s responsibility to care for his lover-fledgling’s mental health. So he would let Armand handle the situation.
Not wanting to provoke Armand further, he smiled. “There will be plenty to attend, I’m sure. If Daniel wishes to remain upstairs away from the crowd, he might even be able to provide your suffering maker an excuse to leave early, as well.”
Armand didn’t particularly want to go, and he didn’t want to leave Daniel alone if Daniel didn’t want to go. He took a satin ribbon and snipped it, tying a perfect bow around the box without effort. “If I went, I wouldn’t stay very long, and I certainly wouldn’t dance. I don’t know when I last danced, and if I weren’t a vampire I probably would have forgotten how.”
“You don’t have to attend either,” Marius assured his fledgling. It was enough to have him at the chateau for the small and cozy something Bianca desired, and there was no need to force him out of his comfort zone and push him to attend a party he didn’t wish to. “Lestat won’t be offended.” Marius did think Armand would want to go to spend time with Louis, but their dances could certainly be in private.
“I’ll make an appearance for an hour or two,” Armand finally decided after some silence. “But if Daniel does not wish to remain upstairs alone, I will be with him in a heartbeat, is that understood?” he asked, writing out a tag in a beautiful, flourishing hand before placing the finished gift under the tree.
Marius reached over to grab the ribbon he thought best matched the colors of the gift he was wrapping. “As long as you come before Christmas. Not after,” he requested, though the length of their stay was entirely up to them.
“Fine, before Christmas,” Armand said despondently. He looked slightly perturbed as Marius took next one of the gifts for Daniel to wrap before he could. “Why don’t we go back with you tomorrow then?”
“Tomorrow sounds splendid,” Marius said, his tone amiable, even though Daniel had invited him to spend several nights at Trinity Gate. He well noted the annoyance on Armand’s face, and so he rose and walked closer to the fire. It was next to the blaze that he sat on the floor again, stretching out his long legs and leaning back on his hands. Armand could wrap the presents; he didn’t wish to overstep and annoy his fledgling a third time on the account of simple gift wrapping. “I rise first. I’ll be gone before the two of you rise. You can come how and when best.”
“Why can’t you wait?” Armand asked, trying not to show his annoyance over this too. He watched how Marius stretched out his legs, the way they went on and on forever. Stupid man was so good looking he didn’t even know what to do with all those good looks. Armand was angry that he’d stopped wrapping presents, too. He was just angry at him. He thought he might be angry at Marius forever, and might have to keep his distance. “If we’re going to the same place, why not wait?” He caught himself, then added. “Daniel won’t like you not waiting for him.”
“I only wished not to rush either of you,” Marius said, sincere and polite. Over their decades together, and a bulk of those mental and physical care, Marius had grown attuned to Daniel’s needs. He’d learned to gauge the sort of night Daniel was having, too lost in his head to communicate. There was an overwhelming need in him to please Daniel still. “I will wait for you both to rise and see you off personally. Does that satisfy you?”
Armand’s nerves couldn’t handle this, this back and forth. It was a hard thing to do being alone in a room with Marius. He began to wrap another present, listening to the world outside his home for any sign of his coven’s return. “Why don’t we all take my jet together?” he asked after a while, not looking up at Marius. He didn’t know why the hell he asked it when it put him at risk of spending more time alone with him. But he knew Daniel would be so elated by it. “Save you freezing yourself all over again.”
Marius was surprised to be invited, pleased by his fledgling’s polite consideration. In truth, Marius was worn and the thought of making the long journey home again as soon as tomorrow was less than appealing. For the most part, Marius preferred to travel that way, but he needed rest and hadn’t fed, and didn’t plan to as that would require him to leave his host again.
He smiled lightly and nodded. “That’s very considerate of you,” he finally said. “I will gladly accept your invitation. Thank you, Armand. I know you don’t want me here, so thank you for welcoming me in nonetheless.”
Armand sighed and fixed Marius with a look that was meant to be pointed, but softened automatically as he fell in love with his face all over again. Still, a bit pointed. “Surely you know. Surely you know I want you around. You’re perceptive, you’re clever. I just find you difficult to be around. And you’re stupid,” he confessed, feeling very sore and vulnerable for having opened up this much.
Marius sat up straight, his posture going rigid in a moment of self-defense. He could endure many an insult, but none to his intelligence. Indeed, he was perceptive and clever, and he knew that Armand’s criticism had to do with something he was missing more than that he was simply an idiot. “I am not,” he said. “Why do you say this?”
Armand looked at him, blinked, and sighed. He didn’t want to have to open up even further, as frazzled as he felt. He looked at the features of Marius’s face and its expression, and sighed again. “Because that’s the only part of what I said that you responded to. Unless you really have no interest in reconciling with me, as Daniel wishes for us. In which case, please tell me that now. I don’t want to waste another hundred years.”
Marius gave an exasperated sigh, wishing suddenly for a soft pillow and thick blanket. “Armand, I came here to see you, as much as I came to see Daniel.” He left out his frustration that Armand hadn’t been friendly once since he walked in the door because that would only cause further strife. But it was discouraging. Not that Marius was any type to give up or get defeated easily. He wasn’t even close to finished. “You look beautiful tonight.”
Well, that was as frustrating as it was lovely to hear. Armand didn’t need to hear that he was beautiful. He needed to know that Marius wanted him, needed him. He needed to know that Marius was acutely sorry and would never abandon him again. Even then, he was almost afraid that it would never be enough.
Armand tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, conscious now of the way he looked, before bringing his knees to his chest. “Thank you,” he sighed.
Marius could tell it wasn’t good enough. This wasn’t what Armand was looking for from him. Marius had always taken Armand’s beauty seriously, and to him the seemingly simple compliment was loaded with an infinity of emotions, love, and desire. But how could Armand know that?
Rising, he came to sit—but not too close—next to Armand. Reaching over, he ran his fingers up his fledgling’s small back. Touching him was always heaven, even these offhanded, rare gestures. “I think about you and miss you endlessly.”
Armand froze, his shoulders tensed as Marius’s fingers raked along his spine. For a moment, he was white hot with rage over it, and then terribly sad, so that his shoulders sagged a little. And then, knowing there was nobody else to witness it, he melted into the touch. It was like a balm, like a gorgeous massage after a long day. It burned and soothed him both, and Armand felt relief over it, as if part of his soul were being caressed to have this again. Bittersweet.
He turned to look at Marius, resting his cheek on his knee, and opened his mouth and waited for the words to come. “After five hundred years? Are you sure? We haven’t been as one for five hundred years.”
Marius tilted his head just a bit to gaze into Armand’s dark amber eyes. They drank in the red from the fire and sparkled with gold and rubies. What an alluring and heartbreaking boy. He looked too young in the face and too old in his eyes. Things hadn’t gotten much better since their reunion in the 1980s. Neither of them had tried too terribly hard. Marius had been suffering silently so severely that he was of little use to the loved ones he’d reconnected with. And then he had to leave to rebuild. Maybe he’d missed his moment.
Armand had been so sweet. How Marius lived on the memory of that first smile after centuries. And the memory of his powerful fledgling supporting the weight of his broken, mending body. But things had grown frozen in the meantime. Enough time for the world not to end, and then for all of the anger and accusation to re-manifest.
“We will always be one,” Marius said in a low, deep confidential voice. “It’s my blood in your body. The centuries have taught me they don’t ease longing at all. It only worsens until that longing is nearly too painful to endure. Beautiful boy, you’re my heart.”
Armand never looked away and never broke eye contact. He was searching the depth of those eyes for something. Those mystical oceans of his youth still commanded such attention and desire. So deep, so blue, and of a color so rare they took Armand’s breath away. Marius seemed so genuine too, and Armand didn’t know what to make of it all.
“Was I your heart when I was your greatest blunder? Was I your heart when I was with the Children of Satan and you didn’t come?” Surprisingly, there was no spite or accusation to his words. He just wanted to talk and to be heard.
Marius had never lived with much optimism. Living realistically was far more important than dreams and fantasies. He thought about reality too much, too serious for anything else. So, of course he knew Armand’s grievances against him even if they mostly went without mention. Everyone did.
“You misunderstood the statement,” he said. “You were never the blunder. The blunder was that I mishandled everything in regards to you. Your raising, loving you, making you into what we are. None of it was done the way it should have been. And you were always in my heart, but I thought you were dead. I couldn’t have come for you for at least a century. When I found you, you were…” The sadistic coven leader of the Parisian ghouls he called followers. “Things were much, much different with you.”
“I don’t know in which way you mean that,” Armand said quietly. It was some comfort at least to hear it, that he might have misunderstood. He didn’t know how he might ever reconcile with Marius if Marius viewed him as a mistake. But then again, perhaps he was backtracking now to save face, a form of damage control. “Of course things were different with me. I’d been indoctrinated.”
Armand was five centuries old, not a sensitive child. But despite that, Marius had always avoided certain truths because he had done enough damage. It was more important to him to protect Armand from the truth than to make him feel even a fraction responsible for all that had happened between the two of them. “Yes, I saw what you’d become, heard the things you believed with my own ears, and it horrified me. I didn’t know what to do.”
Armand sighed, turning his head away to look at the presents again, anything but Marius’ face. Talking about it made them go about in circles. Not talking about it made him angry and sad, and keeping their distance also made him sad. It seemed the best thing though, for peace between them. “Well, what happened happened.”
“If it were as easy as that, we wouldn’t be here, would we?” Where were they, exactly, though? Here trying to talk to each other and connect over this immeasurable distance, both strained and disappointed. A far distance from any sort of warmth or true reconciliation. Marius knew he’d never be able to answer Armand’s questions in a way that would satisfy him. And for that reason, reconciliation was near impossible. Armand was a child, Marius was a man, and he failed. No matter what Armand did or became, it didn’t change that essential truth.
“No, but it remains a fact that it happened and we can’t change it.” Armand rubbed his hands over his eyes in a very mortal fashion, as if trying to rid himself of the sadness and despair that these conversations brought him, before looking at Marius again. “There is little to be done to protect my heart from you. But listen, why don’t we get all of this sorted now and then prepare everything to fly?”
Marius felt a sudden and terrible despair, but he held on to his appearance and nodded his head in a way he hoped did not come off as defeated. Loving him was a terrible fate. He wished Armand didn’t feel as if he had to protect his heart. In protecting it, it would always remain distant and cold to him. But it was no more than Marius deserved.
“I haven’t been on an airplane in a long while,” he mused, letting Armand change the conversation and tone. As he spoke, he reached for another of the gifts to assess it. “If it is easier on you, I can go my own way.”
“No,” Armand answered swiftly, pushing himself up to stand. It seemed Marius had a good bearing on the gift wrapping, and he would be faster than Armand at doing the rest of it. “I’ve offered for you to come with us, and so you will. It’ll make Daniel’s heart happy.” He looked around the work to be done once more, assessing again that he had made the right decision. “Remember, don’t look in that bag.”
Marius looked up at Armand, not making any motion to rise, because he knew Armand was trying to escape him. A pursuit would only cause more stress to his fledgling. So he stayed put, nodding his head in his most easy and obliging way that he most certainly would not look in the bag. Besides, he liked surprises.
“I’ll wait here for Daniel,” he said, then immediately went to opening another shopping bag to remove a present that needed wrapping, starting with the remaining items for the two women in his life, as he knew how to make the gifts look properly lovely for them.
Notes:
This chapter written by B and T
Lestat is coming up next chapter!
Chapter 3: The Same Coin
Summary:
As Prince Lestat checks in with Benedict, who has recently left Rhoshamandes for good, new unexpected feelings arise.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Thank you again for having me here,” Benedict said quietly, running his fingers over the surface of the book he’d chosen from the chateau’s library. It was textured, pretty, and it caught the light nicely. The book itself was interesting enough, but he was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything for long. Lestat made it easy though, and it was so wonderful that he was making time for Benedict like this. “If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times. Oh, I know the Court is open to almost anyone who needs it, but thank you.”
“Not almost,” Lestat said with a soft laugh, perching on the edge of the library table near Benedict’s chair. He hooked his foot comfortably over the rung. “There’s no one I would reject.” Not of who needed it, in any case. Or really, even of who simply asked.
He leaned a little closer, taking advantage of Benedict’s focus on the book to admire him more openly. Vampires of such depth of feeling as this, the Maker of his Maker, were rare, and Lestat would never have enough of marveling.
Benedict wasn’t used to being looked at like this, so openly and for so long, not by anybody other than his master, Rhoshamandes. He didn’t know what to make of it, and meant to keep looking at the book, but he accidentally caught Lestat’s eye. He looked him over too, in a curious way, though he knew it was rude to stare. Lestat fascinated him. He was so wholly complex. He carried himself with all the grace and confidence of an aristocrat, as if he never thought about where he might go or how he might look doing it. It just happened to be perfect every time. He carried himself like somebody without a care, though Benedict just knew that the Prince had so many layers of concerns when it came time to.
“Allesandra likes having you here,” Lestat said kindly. “And Everard. Almost even as much as I do, I’d say,” he added with a teasing smile.
“I can’t say, but if you say it, it must be true. Either way, I don’t think I’ll be moving along for some time.”
Lestat wanted to clap his hands together and say Excellent! But the fact that the cause of this circumstance was one that put Benedict in such a downcast mood made him keep that sentiment reeled in.
“It is really so bad with him?” he asked with sympathy. After Lestat had barged into Rhosh’s castle last spring following his brain surgery to make him agree to a truce, he’d expected that to be the end of any other trouble with the reclusive ancient. They were even now.
Benedict looked down at the book again, sighing softly. He pressed his fingertips to the cover as he thought on what to say, how open to be. He didn’t like being secretive, and he was never any good at it.
“He only loves aggressively,” he began. “Everything with him is hard won, and there is no joy with him now, and no happiness. I love him greatly. It isn’t all bad. But I think I am starting to realize that I cannot spend the rest of eternity vying for approval and bending over backwards for a kind of love that isn’t going to come. You know I am a great lover, and I need more than that, and I saw the rest of my eternity laid out before me and hated every minute of it.”
This palpable sorrow from Benedict shot an arrow of pain through Lestat. At once, a protective instinct unfolded within him, as if Benedict were some young fledgling in need of defending instead of a child of the millennia. Benedict just had such an aspect of purity about him despite being just as much of a bloodthirsty monster as any of them.
Lestat’s hand slid over Benedict’s shoulder, and he leaned closer so that their eyes were nearly level. “You’ve done the best thing. None of us should be unhappy. Not now. You will find joy here, I know it.” The fingers of Lestat’s other hand brushed under Benedict’s chin as he offered him a gentle smile full of promise.
Benedict was afraid that he wouldn’t. He was afraid that he would dwell on his turmoil forever, and be sick in the soul. He was worried about the potential of Rhoshamandes reaching out to him, and he was worried that Rhoshamandes would barely notice him gone. He was worried and sad all at once, but the Court was so glittering, and full of so many lovely exciting people.
He smiled, for Lestat, and leaned into his touch. “Who should I get to know then? I am a very social creature.”
“My fledglings, of course,” Lestat said to begin, his smile brightening, fueled by Benedict’s, an energetic sheen rising in his clear blue eyes. “We are all branches from the root of your blood, after all, and I would have you know and love each of them. My David and Gabrielle, Louis, and Antoine, who has already grown thick with your Notker.” Lestat would have mentioned his children, Rose and Viktor as well, but they had been abroad in California for some weeks now. Not that Gabrielle or David had shown their faces lately, but he had hope they’d be back for Christmas.
His hand on Benedict’s shoulder pressed him affectionately before sliding up to the side of his face, and then Lestat bent and kissed him upon the bone of his cheek. “We’ll keep you social. I don’t like the idea of you brooding over books.” Gently, he took the volume Benedict had chosen out of his hands and set it on the table. “And there’s music, always music. I know how mad you are for it. I collect musicians, you know. And they’re always just dying for someone to indulge them with an ear. Ask anytime, and they will enthusiastically play for you.”
“I like books, I really do.” Benedict smiled. He didn’t dare reach for his; he was jarred by the kiss Lestat had just planted on his cheek. His hand went to ghost over where it had landed, and the smile never left his lips. It was so hard to process the fact that he was wanted now. These people wanted him around, wanted to be around him. At least Lestat did.
“All of us do,” Lestat reassured these thoughts in Benedict’s mind.
“Your fledglings and the musicians,” Benedict repeated. “Of course, I should be delighted to get to know them. And anyone who has good stories of their past.”
Tenderly, Lestat took one of Benedict’s hands between his own, letting himself just look at him for another little while. What a placid and saintly face he had. Lestat could still so very well see the medieval monk behind the monster. Every time he was in a room with Benedict, it struck him anew, and he marveled all over again at what miracles immortality wrought.
Benedict wrapped his fingers around Lestat’s lower hand, grateful for the touch. He was social in more ways than one, and so touch-starved lately that it was becoming almost painful, a hollow an empty ache. He needed Rhosh—no, he needed to push Rhosh entirely out of his mind. So he focused on Lestat’s words instead.
“How I wish I’d known you,” Lestat said with a wistful sigh, thinking of his earliest nights on the Devil’s Road. “Back then, I mean. Did you know about me at all? Had word reached you of what Magnus had done?”
“Later on, I knew of you from afar. I wanted to know you closer. I should have come to you, really, but almost everything is, or was about permission. But still I marveled at you. Marveled that something so wretched as Magnus could create something as wonderful as you.”
Lestat laughed and dropped his head as if to hide the expression, both charmed and surprised at such words from Benedict, and he smoothed his palm over the back of Benedict’s delicate hand.
After a moment, he lifted his face, flipping his hair out of his eyes with a little unconscious toss of his head, so that he could meet Benedict’s again. “He’s different now, you know. My master. Contrite, compassionate. Has he ever come to you in his new ghostly form? He visits here with Teskhamen and Gremt sometimes. Or does the reminder of him give you pain?”
“No, he’s never come to me. You know I believe in second chances, forgiveness. I believe it’s required of monks.” He looked into Lestat’s eyes, wary to believe him and not in the slightest through any fault of Lestat’s.
He looked away again, down at their hands. “But the reminder of him does give me pain. He forced the blood from me the way he forced it onto you. I suppose we’re two sides of the same coin, aren’t we, you and I? In that way at least.”
The sheer profundity of it struck Lestat in a way that made him draw in a sharp little breath, and he stared at Benedict in wonder. “Yes…”
He imagined then what it must have been like when Benedict made Notker…to have been made in love by someone as passionate and adoring as Benedict. It was almost enough to make Lestat tremble, and his hands around Benedict’s tightened for security.
“When I saw you in those radiant dreams he shared with me, bound in chains and weeping in agony, I thought for sure you must have perished after he’d worked the alchemy between you. I never dreamed I would one day be able to know you and to hold you.”
“I’m stronger than I look,” Benedict teased very slightly, smiling a small but warm smile as Lestat’s hands pressed. He didn’t feel stronger than he looked, but that was very much besides the point. “But I’m here now with you, and we have all the time in the world to catch up. Tell me everything about you that I don’t know, do you have many lovers?”
The question caught Lestat so off guard that he actually blushed, especially with the innocently natural way Benedict asked it. His thoughts jumped back to the last people he’d shared physical intimacy with, whose blood he had taken in love, but whose lives he had not touched, could never take from them, immortal as they were, yet not vampire. This past summer, Amel in Paris in his fine new body, the memory of the taste of his blood making a warmth coil and rise inside Lestat. He hadn’t seen Amel again in the five months since that night, but he was sure they would have more time together one day soon. Four months before that, it had been Kapetria and Gremt, but like with Amel, they had been singular moments of passion, never repeated. And Lestat wasn’t sure if that was what Benedict meant by ‘have’ when it came to ‘lovers.’ Benedict didn’t seem to mean it in the habitual sense, but was asking about this current moment in time.
Lestat shook his head in reply with a little amused smile. He’d developed no new obsessions since then, no grand romantic affairs, the only blood he’d taken lately being that of the kill.
“I have my companions,” he offered. And Lestat loved them all deeply. His troop of beloveds, who filled his nights with their gentle company. “Marius and Louis and David. Gregory and the council of ancients who guide us all.”
Benedict didn’t press to know how deeply these connections went, because he knew how much those people meant to Lestat. He smiled though, glad to know Lestat knew and loved so many wonderful people. And they were, very wonderful people, from what Benedict knew of them.
“Why?” Lestat asked, a bit of wickedness coming into his smile. “You offering?”
If he were a mortal Benedict would have blushed. “I couldn’t possibly ever,” he began, his eyes wide. He laughed a little, looking at the Prince’s teasing expression. “I’m not—” important enough. “I could never presume…”
Lestat laughed, finding how flustered Benedict became so incredibly endearing. It was hard to remember this young man before him was almost five times his age when his countenance radiated such youthful purity and candor. Lestat felt such a connection to him, that they were kindred spirits beneath their centuries of distance, that they could be equals and find such serenity in each other if they wished it.
His fingertips traced over the back of Benedict’s hand, idly following the veins to where they slipped under the cuff of his sleeve. “Oh, be careful, or you’ll break my heart,” he said as if Benedict’s dismissal were the most painful of rejections, though Lestat’s smile only grew, his eyes taking on an excited gleam.
“As if I could,” Benedict whispered, and he knew by Lestat’s expression that it was all a joke. He didn’t mind that it was all a joke, there’d not been enough joy and laughter and teasing in his life for too long now. Not that he was ever any good with teasing—he believed everyone so wholeheartedly and readily with anything they had to say.
None of it mattered anyway, because Lestat’s touch over his pulse was so intimate and unexpected that it took his breath away, and made him feel very flustered. “As if I could. I imagine you have much to do now?”
Lestat laughed softly at how eager Benedict now seemed to be rid of him. Laughed to cover the unexpected pain the rejection pricked in his heart. What a sweet and endearing creature. His eyes fell to the hand he held, and he turned it over, his fingertips taking the time to trace over the hairline grooves of his palm before he finally, reluctantly, let Benedict have his hand back.
Sliding off the desk, Lestat stood, but he put his hands on Benedict’s shoulders to lean over him with a somewhat enigmatic smile. “Find me, anytime,” he said in a low, intimate voice. And then he pressed another kiss to Benedict’s face, letting his lips linger this time before slipping away and letting his maker’s maker go back to his book.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and T
Chapter 4: A Painful Desire
Summary:
Back at Court, Marius and Armand continue to cautiously feel out their relationship as they discuss what to wear to the Christmas ball.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The warm sensation of Daniel’s parting embrace lingered as Marius closed the door behind him and turned to survey his private chateau apartment, seeing it in a slightly new light after the way it had looked to Daniel while the young vampire spent two comfortable hours there with him. Having him here at Court gave Marius a sensation the closest to comfort he’d felt since Daniel had left him months ago to move to Trinity Gate. It was immensely comforting to have Daniel back in his space as if nothing had changed but the setting. Marius was taken back to the last time he was truly happy. To their decades in Norway and Brazil. They’d been different people in both places. Rio was like a long vacation from the world. Immersed in the sultry warmth, the vibrant art and music, wandering the beaches hand-in-hand with Daniel had felt almost carefree at times. Until Amel and the unraveling of so much.
Marius closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he looked about the room this time wondering now how Armand would see it, if he were ever willing to knock on Marius’s door. Marius had been pressed lately. Horribly, obsessively so. His fledgling was always on his mind now, and he’d been afflicted with a painful desire that he transformed into artistic expression.
He genuinely hoped that Armand felt secure enough with Daniel to not mind the time Marius spent with him, but he had confidence in Armand’s maturity. Though at some point, he and Daniel would need to have a talk about the nature of his relationship with his maker. Or rather, whatever boundaries they had. Then again, Marius could find out in a more organic way. He had always considered his relationship with Daniel to be ‘open,’ and he was no stranger to polyamory, but that might not be Daniel’s current relationship or agreement with Armand.
Marius hoped very much that the two of them would take to visiting Court more often, but he wouldn’t vocalize his desire because he did not want to make Daniel feel obliged or guilty. Besides, Daniel already knew how much Marius would like his frequent presence. It felt too right and too natural to have Daniel back for the holidays. Marius could enjoy that even if Armand kept his distance. Armand paid enough for jet maintenance, he may as well have it used to make it worth his while.
He had to hope for both Armand and Daniel’s sake that all was well in their relationship, as it was vital to the two of them that they repair the rifts that had torn them apart. But at the same time, Daniel’s happiness meant far more to him. Marius’s heart fluttered with warmth and desire for the both of them, though he dared not direct either emotion toward Armand.
It had been difficult in the months since he had to let Daniel go. He knew it was for the best, and was glad to see both him and Armand healing together, but it hadn’t been easy. Marius understood what Daniel needed. It wasn’t like they had split, fought, grown tired of each other. Daniel had a lot of aspects of his life to heal. Marius had done all he could do from his end, but there were areas beyond his reach and ability. He’d been fully supportive of Daniel’s decision to return to Armand and live at Trinity Gate, and hopeful for the future. Daniel just had to tell Marius what he needed, and he’d do everything in his power to provide it.
Marius’s very first interaction with Daniel had been when the young, dazed immortal—so fresh that he still smelled of human—read his ancient mind. Only hours since Marius had been pulled from his ice and snow prison, and hundreds of miles traveled, he’d had an admittedly weak grasp of his abilities. Still, his mind should have been strong enough to keep out such a fledgling. It was then that Marius knew Daniel had a unique ability, and he hadn’t minded the intrusion. The drunken laugh his self-depreciation had earned lightened his betrayed, stunned heart. But it didn’t matter because Daniel was here now. A few nights was enough. Perhaps they would even stay a week or two. Come and go. Marius loved him.
Marius knew enough of Daniel and Armand’s relationship to know that there was much toxicity in the past. Yet love could flourish in even the most troubled of times and places, and the two had endured despite their imperfections. And despite everything Armand had done to hurt Daniel both physically and mentally, Daniel loved him. It was perhaps more than his fledgling deserved, but Marius was still glad for it, as who amongst them deserved any amount of love at all? None of them were pure creatures. Daniel was made by Armand out of love, and so that love would always be central to his immortality. Daniel was who and what Armand needed. In this whole world, Daniel could heal him.
Yes, Armand had made Daniel of love. Made because love had to endure, and Armand loved him too much to lose him. Just as Armand himself was made.
The night of Armand’s making had been both the best and worst night of Marius’s life. How he had hated to see his beloved suffer, but how sweet it was to finally bridge that distance between them and bring Amadeo to him as he’d always wanted him. Even if the circumstances and timing were all wrong, Marius’s heart felt complete that night when they went to rest in his tomb. His Amadeo. His for eternity. What cruelty fate handed them, then.
Marius hadn’t been made of love. His maker did not love him. Neither Daniel nor Armand needed Marius now. They were strong.
Marius didn’t think this out of self-pity or need of reassurance; he knew the fractured relationships he had with his fledglings were largely his fault. Daniel had been his redemption from all of the ways he had failed those he promised to care for. No matter what happened in the end, Marius had not failed Daniel.
Yes, he was thankful for Daniel coming to Court for Christmas. He could sense Armand did not want to. More than sense. Armand absolutely radiated discontent. Marius had hoped that with some time, his presence might grow more tolerable to Armand, or at least less abhorrent.
Daniel kept telling him to be patient, to give Armand more time, to give Armand more of everything. Daniel thought Armand was needy.
Was Armand needy? Marius didn’t know. And he didn’t like to ponder it too deeply, or else he’d confront the simple truth that Armand was a stranger to him. Oh, he knew Amadeo inside and out. That he was a needy, hungry, affectionate boy. There weren’t enough kisses and caresses to satisfy the boy. If only a hint of that lingered still in Armand’s soul, Marius could only hope.
He heaved a great sigh as he always did when he thought about Amadeo. His most precious, most cherished love. What choice did Marius have but to be patient?
But he couldn’t stop thinking about him. He’d painted Armand a dozen times since returning from New York. He’d shown Daniel the paintings. Nothing he painted was secret or too intimate to share—he’d never paint such things of Armand. Intimacy was almost a breach of…trust? As if Marius needed Armand’s consent to see him intimately. But that didn’t stop him from painting him in his innocence and beauty, and even in his vicious emptiness. Those were the two dual creatures Marius was most familiar with.
The art was scrawled over papers of all quality and size, some black and white and some color, some pencil, some charcoal, and some paint. Armand would hate every single one, Marius thought in good humor as he rifled through them at his desk. His favorite so far was one of Armand bundled up, covered in snowflakes as he’d been that night he walked in the door at Trinity Gate. Another was a rare watercolor, a medium Marius rarely favored. But he used the bleeding colors to emphasize the contours of Armand’s face, and his long, delicate eyelashes.
He let out the softest of sighs before shuffling them all together. He seemed almost resolute as he shut them inside one of his desk drawers. Out of sight, out of mind. How he wished it were true that Armand needed him. And if it were true, that his fledgling would submit to it. But Marius needn’t make this holiday visit any more trying for Armand than it already was.
And then, as if summoned by his deepest most desires, Armand’s knock came on the other side of Marius’s door.
Without rising from his desk, Marius bid him enter. He hoped Armand had been in a good mood since arriving to Court, but when he’d asked Daniel about it earlier, his answer had been vague.
“Are you done sniffing around Lestat?” Marius asked in light-hearted greeting as Armand’s light filled the room. “Daniel’s words.” He’d used them when he explained to Marius why Armand had not accompanied him earlier, how Armand would use the excuse of discussing interior decorating to claim more than his share of their Prince’s time.
“I am not sniffing around Lestat,” Armand said with a frown, looking down at Marius in his desk chair. He knew Daniel had just been with him, and Marius seemed so content, so at peace after his visit. He was sure he’d never seen Marius so relaxed. Why was Armand even here again?
Everyone knew of Armand’s ‘secret’ desires for Lestat, but Marius didn’t point this out as he’d hate to anger his fledgling. That and it made him feel a bit grumpy to ponder. He felt quite discontented that this was Armand’s first appearance in his rooms, but he’d been ‘sniffing around’ other men. Not that it was Marius’s place or his right, and he knew this, which was why he kept any other comments to himself. He was hardly petty or childish, even if it stung for reasons he did not think on.
He leaned on his elbow on the desk and cocked his head, smiling softly. “Didn’t you find him?”
Armand was momentarily calmed by the look on Marius’s face, his expression softening slightly. He hated himself for it, the power Marius held, but part of him wanted to climb onto that chair with him.
“I was not looking for Lestat,” he insisted. He hadn’t even seen the brat prince yet since arriving to Court. “I was looking for Daniel.”
Marius sighed. He was a grown man. What did it matter? He rose from his chair. Armand might feel more comfortable with him on his feet, but he motioned to the parlour sofa politely. “He was here, but he left half an hour ago. Daniel knows anything that is mine is his. As it is for you, Armand. Make yourself comfortable.”
Armand found it utterly impossible to be around Marius. It made his heart hurt so much just to look at him, and he preferred to push that hurt away completely and focus on other things. But it always resurfaced whenever he was around him, and Marius hated being around him too, regardless of the hospitality he extended. Armand just knew it. He heard it in his sigh, and in the resigned way he spoke.
“I’ll not stay long, I’ll stand,” he said quietly. “I just wanted his opinion on what to wear to the ball Christmas Eve.” God how stupid and shallow and inane that seemed now to say. He should just leave. “But honestly it’s all right.” He turned to go.
Marius wasn’t surprised by Armand’s indifference to him, only slightly stung by the chilly dismissal, though not about to show it. It made him feel cold through his veins and deep into his core. Which was really quite silly because Marius hadn’t expected anything else. And why? What did Armand need of a maker he’d not needed or even known in five centuries? Their cordial nights twenty years ago at the Night Island were the exception, not the rule. Granted, they’d hardly spoken then, too. And any advance Marius had made, he’d always found a way to shatter.
Armand paused halfway to the door and looked back to Marius, longing to dispel some of the tension in the room. Things didn’t need to be like this, they just…were. “What will you wear?”
Marius’s expression remained serious. “I will show you,” he announced, crossing the room in a few strides of his very long legs. It was with some hint of dramatics that he threw open his large closet and stepped inside. When he re-emerged, he held only the coat portion of the suit, which combined the modern with the baroque in a way he found most aesthetically pleasing. And of course it was red with intricate black and gold designs. A floral (not flowered) pattern reminiscent of antiquity.
“It’s nice,” Armand said. Glorious really, and Marius would look achingly handsome in it.
Marius looked at the coat and nodded, approving, agreeing that the design was really quite nice. “I could take you to the gentleman who makes my clothing. He is the finest Italian tailor in Paris.” Marius, of course, trusted Italian craftsmanship the most. After all, the center of the Renaissance wasn’t Paris. And France was barely civilized in his time. Whereas Italians had been perfecting culture for centuries while the Gaul ran naked through France.
When Armand didn’t answer, Marius’s eyes fell to the coat again, remembering why he’d been unsure about his choice. “Daniel says it reminds him of something I wore once a few years ago to a gala we attended, which drew too much attention from an impertinent waiter. But I trust our guests to treat me with more respect.”
“Impertinent?”
Marius returned to the closet with a cringe. “The young man kept calling me Daddy underneath his breath. Yes, Daddy. Anything for you, Daddy. Of course, Daniel found it hilarious, but the lewd thoughts were very unprofessional. The things he imagined… Not that I’m sensitive or easily embarrassed. But it was highly inappropriate as I was obviously in attendance with someone…Daniel…and clearly in a relationship. I don’t know what it is with this generation and their assumption that I’d ever want to be their Sugar Daddy.” While he was a smart man, Marius was vexed by these strange youth.
Armand was angry at himself for feeling as though his cheeks might redden. Of course they wouldn’t, not really, perhaps only faintly with the night’s kill, nothing compared to how they would have if he were alive. But still, it was the principle. He shouldn’t be affected by such things, by someone calling Marius Daddy. It was a given that any young gay man would be fucking Marius with his eyes, and even some of the straight ones.
“People have been crass since time immemorial, they’re just finding other ways to do it now,” Armand remarked with a small smile, shaking his head as Marius returned from the closet.
Marius sat down on the sofa he’d offered Armand, putting his elbow on the arm and resting his jaw against it. He gave his fledgling a serene smile. “Youth is always insatiable.” Not that he had any recollection of such things. His emotions and senses were so far removed from his human experience that he couldn’t even conceive of them. He recalled nothing of such things as sexual desire of the body, or how the experiences themselves felt.
“I don’t think there’s really time for me to meet your tailor,” Armand said. The ball was in three nights. “But just to see your ensemble is helpful.”
Marius roused and realized he’d been staring at Armand’s thighs and hips as he pondered how human desire felt, coming up blank. “You are very welcome, Armand. I’m sure anything you choose will be quite fine. You’ll be beautiful in anything you wear.” Stunning. Breathtaking. Celestial. His heart pounded in a sudden and annoying way, and he had to look away from Armand to make it stop.
Armand felt himself withdraw a little for the intensity of Marius’s words and that gaze over his body. He usually knew what to do with compliments, he almost expected them, but with Marius he was at a loss these days. “Well…thank you,” he said finally, feeling like he should say something.
“You’re welcome,” Marius said with just a hint of amusement. Such a formal tone. It would be enough to make him laugh if he didn’t understand what it meant for any possible relationship between him and Armand. Such thoughts sent him to a dark place.
But thinking back over his conversation with Daniel earlier tonight pulled him out of the darkness. Once again, Daniel rescued him from dwelling on things that broke his heart. Spending time with Daniel was the one thing he had to truly be excited about. “Daniel wants the three of us to hunt together while you’re here.” Marius sat up straighter, notably eager and enthusiastic to remember this suggestion even if his tone and face remained serious.
Armand did want everything to be well between them all, but he found it far too difficult to put his hurt aside like that. So instead he didn’t commit. “Maybe a hunt would be nice. If that is what Daniel wants.”
“I would like it very much.” Even if Armand did not join them, to hunt again with Daniel still gave Marius something to look forward to. Marius had loved his nights with Daniel. They weren’t all good. No, he’d spent many a night in the beginning tracking the senseless immortal down and cleaning up messes. But as Daniel re-emerged into reality, Marius had adored even the simple things like holding hands while walking through the sand of the many beaches in Rio. Or tangling together to watch a movie in bed. Or kissing until his lips were almost sore. It had all been so very lovely. A lovely domesticity Marius hadn’t had since before his life turned to ashes. But he didn’t know what boundaries there were in Daniel’s relationship with Armand. Armand might have forbidden anything between the two of them. Well, Marius wouldn’t ask. “I will take the two of you into Paris any night you wish.”
“Paris? Why not…Italy?” Armand asked. It might have been a bold thing to say, and his voice trailed off slightly quieter as he suggested it, as if he were second guessing himself. “Not Venice of course, but… Well, you understand, don’t you? Spain, the South of France, Rio, they’re all beautiful, but they’re not Italy. Italy has a warmth and a scent to it… I’d like Daniel to see more of it.” Yes, put it down to Daniel, and not down to how that place brought Armand sinfully close to his and Marius’s private piece of paradise. It was theirs, and he wondered if he was making too much of a statement by asking it. “Or Paris.”
Marius thought it was sweet that Armand wished to share Italy with Daniel. Maybe it was an important part of Armand’s healing, happening so much later than it should have. Italy would no longer be the place of his disastrous, traumatic relationship with Marius. It would be a beautiful, romantic place filled with wonderful memories of him and his fledgling companion. The past could be erased and replaced with something much better for Armand.
“Only if we go to Rome,” Marius decided. While Armand and Daniel made memories and a future, he’d spend some quiet time in the past. “Well, I don’t mean that as a hard rule. I will take you any place you’d like to go, of course.”
“Rome…” Armand almost cringed physically at the memory of the place. Rome for Marius was a place of grand palaces and stories of honor and glory. For Armand, it was a place of fire and darkness. It was where he had been abducted again and molded into something despicable, where he killed his best friend.
He tried for once in his long existence, to not be selfish. He could never not love Marius, and sometimes that meant suffering. “Yes, why not Rome. I’m sure, Daniel would love to see it for himself what you have told him about. Or maybe someplace in Italy none of us have ever been. Surely there are such places?”
“Most certainly,” Marius said. While he had wandered for most of his many years, the earth was vast and dense, and there were many places he’d yet to see. Though if he’d come close to visiting all of a place, it would be Italy. He’d avoided it for five centuries, though, and couldn’t imagine the sort of place it had become. Not even his beloved Rome. Florence was a safe option. It was beautiful, rich in history, and had no memories attached to it. Though with his Venetian snobbery, he still considered the citizens there the sort of thick, impressionable people who would let an obviously insane man like Savonarola tell them what to do. But it had the Uffizi.
“Any time you two wish to go, I’m at your pleasure.”
Armand was a little put out that Marius didn’t seem to understand how difficult Rome was for him, and he started to wonder how well he would cope on a trip with him. At your pleasure… Did he know how much such statements hurt Armand’s heart? How much they aroused him and broke him both?
He nodded, looking at Marius’s open wardrobe closet thoughtfully. What would domesticated life be like with him? He supposed Daniel alone had the luxury of knowing what it was like now, watching Marius get dressed for Court, watching him choose his cologne for the night or tend to his hair. This hurt Armand’s heart too, it all hurt. They just weren’t compatible anymore, were they?
“We’ll go not long after Christmas then,” Armand decided. “Get away from the cold weather.”
Marius was astute but not perfect. He could sense he’d done something wrong. It was obvious in Armand’s posture. But he’d need to ponder on it for a while to decipher the root of his error. It was discouraging to know that he’d displeased Armand once again. He’d never get to make a cordial relationship with his fledgling if he kept disappointing him in one way or another.
“I will look to see if there are any New Year festivals happening,” he offered, his voice lacking spirit but not because of the idea. He just felt himself suddenly weary but refused to give in to it. Daniel liked festivals. “There’s historical parades, kissing celebrations, dance parties, costume parties, markets, museums…”
“Were there kissing celebrations when we lived there together, all those years ago?” Armand asked, his voice quiet but curious. He looked away from Marius’s closet finally to watch his face. “I don’t remember them. What do they involve?”
“There were many…” Marius mused, trying not to think too hard on the past. How he wished he’d have done so much more than he did to make those three years invaluable. “The most popular is to kiss under the Ponte de i Sospiri just as the bells of St. Mark’s tower ring. You’ll be ensured love for all eternity together. Or if you caress the red heart of Melusina together, and then kiss. Or, St. Mark’s Square at midnight.”
Perhaps he and Marius should have made an effort to do that when they were there, then maybe there wouldn’t be such anguish. Besides, what good would a kissing celebration be between the three of them? Would they both engage in this with Daniel? Could Armand withstand being kissed by Marius without coming utterly apart over it?
“I’m very surprised I’d not heard of it before,” he said as conversationally as possible. “I can also do some research.”
Despite the trouble the young Amadeo got into, and his countless drunken affairs, he’d still lived a fairly sheltered life. It was really just the illusion of freedom and free will the boy had been given, living within the parameters of his Master’s expectations. Of course there were still things outside of Marius’s control, as Amadeo could get up to any trouble by day. Marius, though, was no stranger to getting rid of the things and people he wanted to keep Amadeo from. Such an innocent child would not have even suspected, even now, that more went on than what registered with him. That there was a great deal he’d not heard of or known. And of course Marius had kissed the breathless mortal under the Bridge of Sighs. Silly romantic superstition. Nothing endured forever, certainly not love. It was foolish to even hope for it.
Once again, Armand seemed on the verge of leaving, but before he could open his lips to make his excuse to go, Marius rose and asked the question that had been on his mind since his conversation with Daniel.
“Will you be sleeping in my crypt, or have you secured one of your own for you and Daniel?”
Armand drew back a little, looking at Marius with not malice but certainly with shock. He’d not expected it, not in a million years, to be offered this. It hurt to be away from Marius as much as it hurt to be around him and, well, if they were in the crypt, they’d be asleep. They wouldn’t be talking. Armand would be able to have that heartbeat near him without feeling like he needed to keep his distance.
“I would be welcome?” he asked after deliberating. He had secured a crypt, of course, but Marius didn’t need to know that. “Would you be okay with it?” Of course Daniel would want to sleep with Marius, but would he be okay with Armand there as well?
“Of course you are welcome in my crypt.” It made Marius’s heart hurt to think that Armand assumed he wouldn’t be welcome or wanted. If only he knew how very much Marius wanted him, or ached to have him near. That there were times Marius would rather die than feel that horrible, unfulfilled desire even a second longer. How much would it hurt to have Armand near but not be able to hold him in his arms? Armand wouldn’t want him to, but the crypt was large and he’d be near his Daniel and Bianca. “Daniel has already accepted. Bianca would be delighted, too.”
“Okay, well, yes then, Daniel and I will sleep in with you both.” Armand took a slight breath, wondering if he’d made the right decision. He needed to talk to Daniel himself about this. “I will see you down there when the time comes, but I need to prepare for the ball.”
Armand came to Marius, and looked up at him. He weighed up his options, and considering that he was about to share his crypt and go to Italy with him, he leaned up to tentatively kiss his cheek. He held it together so well, all things considered, to feel that perfect skin beneath his once more, to be close enough to smell his blood.
“Goodnight.”
To purge the foolish moment immediately from his mind as soon as he was alone and walking back down the hallway, Armand checked his phone. What a surprise to see that he had a text message from none other than Gregory Duff Collingsworth, the most ancient and powerful vampire left in the world.
Gregory: I have a lucrative business proposition for you. Will you be at Wednesday’s ball to discuss?
Armand: Briefly, enough to show my face. Although you’ve caught my attention now.
Gregory: I’m glad. It involves sunken treasure. Lots of it! I will find you at the ball.
Armand: Color me appropriately intrigued.
Notes:
This chapter written by B and T
Chapter 5: Almost Like a Flower
Summary:
Desperate to get his mind off Rhosh, Benedict seeks out Lestat for a distraction while he's decorating the chateau for the Christmas Eve ball.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Benedict had been wallowing in the room he’d been given at the chateau, alternating between watching the world go by and typing up and deleting text messages to Rhosh. His fingers were itching, and he knew it would be bad for him if he sent it. He knew he would seem desperate. He knew he wouldn’t receive a response, and he would feel just as cold and empty and heartbroken as ever he did when vying for his maker’s attention. But he could scarce control himself.
A couple of hours passed before he remembered Lestat’s offer—that if he needed anything at all, he need only ask. Benedict didn’t want to bother Lestat, or burden him. He didn’t want to take him up on the offer, but he knew if he didn’t, he might open up some horrific can of worms by contacting Rhosh.
So he left his phone on the bed and made his way downstairs to seek Lestat. He found him in the ballroom, overseeing preparations for tomorrow’s Christmas Eve ball. Benedict gasped at the opulent decorations. Beautiful green wreaths and red velvet ribbons, warm lights being tested for the event and shining glass baubles. Victorian, probably, judging by their style. And multiple giant, gorgeous trees that reached the glittering chandeliers. Never had he felt such warmth in one room, and he didn’t know what to do with himself when faced with it.
“Good, isn’t it?” Lestat asked, catching wind of Benedict’s thoughts before he’d even heard his footsteps in the large space. He set down the plinth he was relocating and dusted off his hands. The decorators he’d hired for the event weren’t the ones he used last time the Court held a grand affair, and he was pleased with the change. Of course, he’d never met any of them, had one of his mortal servants let them in during the safety of daylight hours to do all their work before his castle full of monsters woke. And a magnificent job they had done. Only a few minor tweaks remained to be made.
He crossed the room to greet Benedict with an embrace, and Benedict inhaled softly, his eyes scanning the height of the trees still. He took the liberty to hold Lestat around the middle and press his cheek to his shoulder. He needed an embrace like he needed blood to survive.
“It doesn’t upset you, does it?” Lestat asked with gentle concern, recalling what he’d heard about the way Benedict could never step inside a cathedral without experiencing a crisis of cosmic proportions and weeping in grief for his lost Catholic faith. Lestat wasn’t sure if Christmas trees counted in all that. It was all rather sacrilegious, what they were doing here, with a party like this. But that was the fun of it, as far as Lestat was concerned.
“No, no. It’s so very beautiful. And it’s magnificent to be a part of something like this, something so incandescent that everyone is happy to be a part of. I think I’ve never attended a ball.”
“Never?” Lestat asked with a startled laugh. Attending balls was one of the first things he did when he became a vampire. But then, he wasn’t born into a large coven like Benedict’s. Mortals were the only society Lestat had to choose from at the time. He thought it said a lot about Benedict that he’d even avoided balls as a mortal, given his royal family. He must have had the heart of a monk and a mystic from birth.
Lestat took a breath and smoothed his hands down Benedict’s back, sensing the need in him, and he pressed a kiss to the top of the shorter man’s head, stealing the chance to inhale the scent of his golden brown hair and feel its softness against his face.
“Fareed says there cannot be more than two thousand of us left worldwide. I would someday like to see that many faces fill this room.” But it likely wouldn’t be more than the same five hundred or so that had gathered here last spring, when Amel’s core had been taken from Lestat’s head.
“Two thousand people to learn to know and love,” Benedict said with a smile, though the smile fell as he dwelled on the reason for his sadness in the first place. Lestat’s kiss made it far easier to deal with, and the feeling of those hands over his back was a delight. “Well, one thousand nine hundred and ninety nine. I hope it does happen for you, I like to see you happy and it would make me happy too.”
Lestat could tell from Benedict’s unhappiness that the one exception he meant must be his master, and the heaviness he could sense in Benedict’s heart seized his own with a burst of fear. For a moment, his arms tightened around Benedict, as if he’d never let him go, but then he forced himself to draw back, clutching the sides of his shoulders as he gazed down at his face.
By god, he looked so damn sad.
“If it’s in my power to make you happy, I’ll do anything,” Lestat said with quietly urgent sincerity, desperate to drive away that fluttering fear of possibly losing Benedict to this sorrow—not so soon after coming to know him! It wasn’t fair. “I’ll surround you with so many beautiful and brilliant creatures, you’ll never even think of him again.”
Benedict looked up with wide eyes, touched by his sincerity. People had cared for him throughout his life, but had anyone ever been so desperate to make him happy? He couldn’t recall. “I’ll try to be happy, for you. I just need touch and attention. I suppose I’m almost like a flower, in that sense, but then I am lucky, because the light you emit is not unlike the sun’s.” He smiled softly. As for never thinking on Rhosh again, he didn’t think that would be possible. His maker would lurk in the dark recesses of his mind, around the corners of it. Ever arousing, ever threatening.
The sun? People were always saying things like that about Lestat, about how he blazed, but usually it was with a negative or at least bittersweet connotation. The kind of brightness that seared, attracted others like moths, only to destroy through no desire of Lestat’s own. But even with Benedict’s comparison to the sun, their greatest enemy, Lestat could tell he only meant it in an entirely positive way, and it confused him slightly why Benedict would feel the impulse to flatter him. But he told himself not to get distracted by mulling on it.
How large and soft Benedict’s eyes looked, somehow retaining the guilelessness of his mortal youth, not the hardened eyes of an ancient being in a boy’s face like so many of their kind developed. Positively uncanny.
“Touch and attention,” Lestat repeated with an easy smile. He could certainly find Benedict plenty of that. Especially at the ball; it would be a perfect opportunity to introduce him to many who could well distract him from his troubles.
“But don’t try,” he said, his hands on Benedict’s shoulders loosening so that his fingertips traced down the back of his arms. “You won’t need to try anything.” Lestat knew better than any that forced attempts at gaiety were of little use. “Especially not for my sake.” His heart gave a little twist at just the thought of Benedict faking it because he might think Lestat needed him to do so.
“I’d like to try,” Benedict said quietly. His voice quaked just a little as Lestat’s touch invoked a feeling he wasn’t expecting. It had just been so long. He kept the same smile on his lips. “If I don’t have someone to try for, I won’t try at all, and then I will be moping for centuries to come.”
Lestat laughed a little, silently filled with the determination that Benedict wouldn’t have to make any effort toward it at all. That the joy the Court could provide would make impossible for him not to be filled with happiness. He was about to mention that Notker would be at the party, leading his choir in new glorious music, something he was sure would make Benedict’s heart swell, but Benedict spoke again first.
“I remember you said I could come to you, should I need something?”
“I’m glad you remembered it,” Lestat said with a sort of relieved smile. He’d been afraid it was one of those things Benedict would dismiss, and he hated the idea of Benedict needing something he could provide and not knowing about it.
“I need in this moment to be distracted. Even if you want me to hang lights or sing carols. About fifteen times tonight I have written some sort of groveling message to Rhoshamandes and then deleted it. Oh, I’m sorry to be so open about it.” He pulled away to walk a little around the room, not far from Lestat but to pace as he thought. “But I’m worried what will happen if I’m left alone. I think perhaps it’s best I don’t have a phone at all.”
“I could make it disappear,” Lestat said with a teasing smile, his eyes following Benedict’s every move, unable to look at anything else. “But not being alone seems the preferable option, doesn’t it? At least, I would prefer it.” He slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans to keep them from wanting to reach after Benedict and draw him close again.
“Maybe you should make it disappear, and remove all temptation altogether,” Benedict mused, turning to look up at the nearest Christmas tree. It really was breathtaking, a warm and lovely sight in stark contrast to the weather outside. He could hear the wind beating snow against the wall of windows behind him.
“Please don’t be sorry for being open.” That Benedict would choose to confide in him, gave Lestat an excited little thrill. Even though Benedict was the maker of his maker, Lestat didn’t really feel he had any place in Benedict’s family. But Benedict had come to him instead of going to Allesandra or Eugenie or any other of his old coven mates.
“You understand so well, it seems, the pain I am going through,” Benedict said. “I don’t know how you understand it, but you know all the right things to say. What would you have me do? Put me to work.”
Lestat’s fingers curled in his back pockets. Why was Benedict feeling understood by him so moving? This millennia-old being with the heart of a boy as young as Lestat too had been when he died. Younger, even, by two or three years. So often, Lestat himself felt he was never understood by vampires even five years older than he’d been when robbed of mortal life. Something about brain development and cortexes. And Benedict’s feelings were all so acute, flowing so unguardedly from his mind.
“I understand this pain,” he agreed softly, almost too quiet to be heard.
Taking a step back, he craned his neck to look up to the top of the enormous tree. The mortals he’d hired to decorate had done a thorough job, and he had already made most of the minor adjustments he wanted. After the safety of sunrise, the servants would return for the final touches, the fresh cut flowers, the water candles, so that all would be ready for the ball tomorrow when the Court awoke at nightfall.
But if Benedict wanted work, he would find something for him to do.
Coming over to Benedict, Lestat could think of a few things he’d have him do that made a little shiver run through him, but he made himself settle for clasping Benedict by the arm to draw him out of the ballroom. “Come, we’ll find just the thing for you.”
Benedict smiled up at Lestat, grateful to have him so dedicated. He felt hopeful, and trusted Lestat in whatever he might do. This was definitely what he needed—to get out and to speak to somebody, speak to him. “I’m good at scribing, what with my history as a monk, but of course we all have a base natural proclivity for anything. Are you in need of anything at all?”
Benedict’s talk of scribing had Lestat leading them toward the larger salon that had slowly been turning into something of a public library, though he did not yet have any task in mind. His gaze swept the corridors and vaulted ceilings as they passed, making himself see his house as a newcomer might see it, and finding flaws everywhere.
“Perhaps you can be of help,” he mused. “I think you’re the only one I know who also lives in a castle that’s been updated for the modern era. You’ve been doing it so long, there must be a million things you know about it that I haven’t even thought of yet.” He glanced at Benedict with a somewhat sheepish smile. “I’ve been working on it for more than a decade, but I’ve only started having people here with me for the past sixteen months, and what a difference that makes!”
“I think some people will always have something to complain about, and given that we do not have the same basic needs as others on this planet, then they should complain about a lot less,” Benedict said in a way that was uncharacteristically resolute and opinionated, but still soft as all things were in his voice. He liked Lestat’s smile. He smiled back. “But look, if you want to make some more changes that might modernize it a little more, I think I could help. But above all, I would want to maintain the history and beauty of the place. Is that what you want me to be then? An architect of the modern age for you?”
“Oh yes, the history and beauty must be maintained of course.” In most rooms, Lestat had all modern technology hidden inside decorative cabinets and armoires, readily accessible whenever desired, but not in any way marring his trans-era aesthetic. “Your advice would be invaluable to me.”
As soon as Lestat had invited people to live with him in his father's house, starting with Marius and then gradually branching out to all others eager to contribute to the new Court who didn’t have their own residence readily nearby, he’d begun to see all the places his chateau was lacking in necessary comforts and accommodations. It was the little things he kept not expecting, like light switches and outlets and insulation on the windows, and so many extra hooks for coats and hats. Waste paper baskets! He’d never imagined he would have to order no less than 230 waste paper baskets for all the rooms and areas as the place continued to expand. And of course each had to be unique and match the decor of the varying styles of his many rooms. It could be so overwhelming, and he was about to comment on how he didn’t know how Benedict could manage it with only two of them living in his castle off the coast of England, but he didn’t want to remind him again of Rhosh. Lestat had only visited their home twice—the last being when he had demanded his truce with Rhoshamandes after the operation on his brain—and he hadn’t stayed longer than three minutes that time. But he could tell even from the few rooms he’d seen the first visit before Rhosh took him out on his yacht what a grand estate it was.
“They don’t complain, though,” he clarified to Benedict now. “They never complain. It is only that I want everything to be as perfect as possible for them.”
Benedict hummed, his chin resting in his hand as he looked at Lestat. He appreciated that, his dedication, and he scanned the library for anything he might change. “The problem is, I haven’t noticed anything lacking yet. And you do a damn sight better at providing warmth in this place than he does in ours…his.” He meant it in more ways than one, and he knew Lestat would know it. “I will walk around the place from top to bottom and let you know, but please don’t take it as complaint from me. I love it tremendously here already. Especially—” He pointed up at the ceiling. “All of these beautiful paintings. Their quality and warmth is impeccable.”
Lestat tilted his head back to follow Benedict’s gaze. “I took that idea from Trinity Gate,” he admitted easily, knowing Benedict would remember all of Armand’s painted ceilings from the brief time he’d spent at the Manhattan mansion last year. “I had a whole crew of mortals in here to do it a couple years ago. But now that Marius lives with me, he’s been covering the walls with his own ideas. I’m sure the ceilings will be next and all this will eventually be replaced with his work.” Lestat really didn’t know when Marius found the time, especially around building the constitution he and Lestat worked on together for part of every evening. Lestat still thought he was making it too Roman without enough consideration for the material and biological…and why it all had to be in Latin, Lestat would never get, but he’d given in on that particular battle months ago.
His eyes scanned the space, and then he pointed to a far wall. “There, that’s one of his.” As his hand came down, he settled it on Benedict’s shoulder and he looked down at him. His fingers twitched with the urge to brush Benedict’s hair back from the side of his face, which made him smile at himself as he refrained. It was difficult when he felt so connected to Benedict just by knowing the origin of his blood (though he’d certainly never felt so with Rhoshamandes—Lestat supposed the feeling didn’t need to be logical), but he hardly knew what Benedict made of it, and so didn’t want to be too familiar with him.
“He’s immeasurably talented,” Benedict whispered, drinking in every detail of Marius’s mural from this distance.
“I wouldn’t take any suggestions from you as a complaint,” Lestat reassured. “I welcome it all, and I know you would only think of what would be ideal for everyone here, I do.”
If Benedict were human or even a young fledgling, he would probably feel a pleasant heat in his cheeks. For the moment, everything was so right with the world. He was surrounded by beautiful things and being touched by a beautiful man. He looked up at Lestat from this close angle and smiled. “Give me a few nights of wandering.”
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and T
The next two chapters are continuations of this same scene, first with Gregory joining, and then with Louis claiming Lestat's attention.
Chapter 6: Bless Us All
Summary:
When Gregory joins Lestat and Benedict in the library, things get tense. But Lestat rescues the moment with mistletoe.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Gregory was about to fly home to Geneva, having finished his meetings at Court, but he wanted first to find Lestat and embrace him, look into his eyes before departing. He followed the thread of the Prince’s heartbeat to the opulent salon which had become something of the Court library. Gregory breezed into the room, aware the Prince was not alone.
Here he was with Rhoshmandes’s fledgling, Benedict. A small frown crossed Gregory’s face, but it was fleeting. He replaced it with a smile, approaching and giving Lestat a small bow of greeting and respect.
Lestat had been so focused on the content and starry look in Benedict’s eyes, at how pure and sweet his smile, that he didn’t even realize Gregory was there until he spoke.
“I am not interrupting, I hope.” Dark eyes darted between the two men. “I’m heading out. I wanted to see if I might be of service to you in any way before I return to Geneva.”
Lestat’s attention snapped to him, but he didn’t seem at all perturbed to be interrupted, returning his smile brightly. “So soon?” he said with some surprise. Time had gotten away from him tonight.
Benedict too was pleased to see Gregory, in awe of his power and his age, but he had caught the ancient’s brief frown. He smiled back, and gave his acknowledgement, but otherwise let the two men speak for a little moment. Of course people would still dislike him, be suspicious of him. Of course it wouldn’t be all rosy and glorious in the way that Lestat made it out to be. Lestat just had such a way with words that made you believe anything was possible. Silly of Benedict to be so impressed by it so soon, he supposed, and he wondered if this accursed naivety would ever leave him.
Not about to accept such bows and formalities from his friend, Lestat met Gregory with a warm embrace. “Looking forward to tomorrow?” Gregory always brought his entire coven to these balls, and Lestat was eager to see them again.
Gregory relished the feel of Lestat against his own body, all strength and cheerfully good-natured for this moment. Reluctantly, he released him and stepped slightly back. “I am! I will have the whole little family here. They are all out shopping for gifts and such just now. We visit all the Christmas markets we can, of course.”
Gregory glanced between Lestat and Benedict. How odd he found it that Benedict, the elder of the two by well over a thousand years, was still the more boyish one, an air of ingenuousness always clinging to him. Rhosh had certainly kept him sheltered in just such a way to conserve that childlike personality. And to think, this was the one who burned Maharet, chopped her head with a machete and blasted her ancient form with fire. This one had then done the same to Khayman. Khayman, one who Gregory had lived with and known in humanity and the Blood. That was a rarity and a thing that brought him comfort; knowing there were still those upon this Earth that shared his past. But they were gone now. Erased.
Gregory became aware he was frowning again, and he quickly recovered, replacing it with a small smile. “How is Rhoshamandes doing, Benedict? He certainly misses you, I’m sure.”
Ah, how direct. Benedict supposed at Gregory’s age directness came very easily. Or perhaps it was just natural to Gregory in particular, who was so organized and in control of everything. Or maybe it was intended to hurt him, even. After all, he’d done terrible things under Rhosh’s influence, and Benedict wouldn’t blame any of them for trying to hurt him. It worked, anyway. He was hurt, so much that he had to force himself not to physically react to the question.
“I do not know how he is, Sir, and I do not know if he misses me. We’ve not talked for some time. It’s wonderful to hear you’ll be at the ball. The decorators have done a lovely job.”
Lestat couldn’t possibly miss Benedict’s discomfort. Even without making any effort to penetrate his mind, the pain and shame was palpable. But Lestat didn’t think Gregory could have meant anything hurtful by the question. After all, Gregory had once seen Rhoshamandes as his own fledgling, had mentored and taught the man everything about their existence after the Queen had forced the Blood upon him. Lestat knew Rhosh felt betrayed by Gregory now, betrayed that he’d taken the side of Derek and the Replimoids against him and threatened Rhosh’s life if he ever struck at any of them or the Court again. But of course no such threats or ultimatums had been made to Benedict.
Lestat tucked a reassuring hand under Benedict’s elbow, and Benedict’s hand went to it immediately for comfort. Lestat couldn’t help how his gaze flicked down to it, his fingers curling a little more securely against him.
Lestat smiled enough for both of them. “Come now, it’s Christmas,” he said lightly. “We’ll have none of that. Nothing but merriment now, do you hear me?”
Gregory felt a small sting of chastisement. It was unusual that anyone could have that effect on him, other than his own blood spouse, Chrysanthe. “Of course,” he agreed amiably. But Lestat knew, certainly, that Gregory had been and still was firmly on the side of putting an end to Rhoshamandes. That they’d spent many the council meetings arguing and begging Lestat to give the word to allow it.
Although Rhosh had been a cherished friend since the night the Queen had given him to Gregory, his mind and soul had not grown and adjusted with the current times. And perhaps he should have gone into the ground, but for some reason he had not, and now Rhoshmandes was this powerful, dangerously bitter being. A being that had allowed himself to be manipulated by a voice in his head into killing the oldest amongst them. One who couldn’t be trusted not to do so again. One who felt greatly insulted because he’d been shamed and forced to plead before the Prince and all his peers. Rhosh was dangerous.
Gregory glanced back to Benedict. “There is no need to call me Sir. Gregory is fine.” Often he had to correct this in others. He was naturally intimidating, even as a young mortal man thousands of years past. As a six-thousand year old blood drinker, it was all the more difficult to contain and squash this affect. “Yes, the decorators have done a wonderful job. The trees look magical.”
Benedict didn’t suppose he would get around not calling Gregory Sir anytime soon. He cut a very imposing figure whether he meant to or not, and that frown was lingering in his mind. “Well…Gregory,” it felt so wrong, “if there is anything I can do to put your mind at ease while I am here, please let me know. I can’t emphasize enough that he and I are estranged. I don’t want my presence here to make anyone uneasy.”
Lestat looked to Gregory again with a somewhat amused smile. “No one is uneasy.” Benedict was not Rhosh, after all, and not in any way to be considered under the same lens. The fact that he had come here and pledged himself to the Court, so desirous for their company, was more than enough proof of the difference between them.
When Lestat had struck his truce with Rhoshamandes and they had shaken hands over it (twice!), he’d told the ancient that he was welcome in his house anytime as long as he kept the peace. It had been nearly ten months since then, and Rhosh hadn’t taken Lestat up on the invitation, but the peace had been maintained true to his word without any trouble or concern.
“Least of all Gregory,” Lestat added. He obviously knew it wasn’t true, or they wouldn’t even be having this conversation, but he said it because it was what he wanted to be true. What could the formidable Gregory possibly have to worry about from someone like sweet, gentle Benedict of all vampires?
Gregory both loved and disliked how easily Lestat loved any and everyone. Even one who’d helped in the merciless slaughter of two of the most ancient among them. Benedict, innocent as he appeared, was easily played and manipulated. Careless, stupid Benedict, who’d allowed a mortal into his daily resting place and then became the disgrace of the vampire world when he’d been tied down by that mortal, weak old Magnus, and his precious immortal blood stolen by the same!
Gregory didn’t trust such weakness, such gullibility. Especially not in one as old as Benedict. “Estranged? Why? I can’t imagine Rhosh would ever willingly let you go. You are the most beloved of his fledglings. His soul’s mate. He cherishes you above all others. Why did you leave? How will you live without him? He has been your master all this time.”
If Benedict didn’t think so highly of everyone here, he might feel this were a deliberate attempt to wound him. Already he could feel the sting of tears behind his eyes and in the back of his throat. Stupid, weak Benedict indeed. He couldn’t even have a conversation without weeping.
He managed to steel it, to work against the sadness, because to ignore people was rude. “It is a complicated situation,” he said diplomatically. But the answer was that Rhoshamandes didn’t cherish him, and that he wasn’t living without him very well at all. He looked to Lestat. “May I be excused?”
Lestat’s hand tightened around Benedict’s in instinctual desperation as the miserable feelings coming from him twisted Lestat’s heart, made him feel a pang and longing he’d never expected. But he made himself let go so that Benedict could leave. Taking him lightly by the shoulders, Lestat kissed his face softly in goodbye, then squeezed him affectionately, giving him a private smile that promised all would only improve.
He was dreadfully disappointed that all his efforts to get Benedict to stop wallowing over Rhosh—the entire reason Benedict had come to him tonight—had been destroyed. He didn’t blame Gregory for this; if Lestat had been more effective, Gregory’s questions wouldn’t have undone everything so immediately, would have rolled off Benedict without such an impact.
Lestat knew what Gregory said was true, but what did all of Rhosh’s soul-deep love and need for Benedict matter if Benedict couldn’t feel it? If their bond had come to such a rift? And Benedict had come to Lestat seeking solace, because Lestat had promised Benedict could come to him for anything at all, and he hadn’t been able to provide it.
Lestat wasn’t usually such a failure at cheer and distraction, and this weighed all the more heavily on him for the fact that it was Benedict he’d been unable to reach. Benedict, maker of his maker, with his huge sad eyes.
“Don’t leave on my account,” Gregory commented. “I am not staying long.” He took Lestat’s hand and placed a kiss to it. “I look forward to the ball and to seeing you there with Louis beside you. I know my Chrysanthe loves to have a dance with you at these events.” Gregory gave the Prince another bright smile.
Lestat too was looking forward to sharing a dance or two with Gregory’s ravishing wife. She was someone he always felt he never had to put on any airs or pretense with, that she saw straight through to who he really was and loved him anyway. Not like so many of the others who were always vying for his attention at these events. It amused Lestat that Gregory mentioned Louis, when Lestat usually spent these balls beside Marius, but Louis would surely be there as well. It was Christmas, after all. No one would have any excuse to miss this party, their last one of the year.
Gregory turned again to poor sad Benedict. “And you, Benedict, as well. I’m sure you will have many dance partners. May I offer you any assistance with your finances? I assume you have plenty to keep you comfortable, but if there was a falling out with Rhosh, perhaps he cut you off financially as well?” Gregory always wanted to be sure all blood drinkers had money in their pockets.
“Oh,” Benedict began, surprised by such kind words now. Whilst it was still hard to have someone pry into the situation, it was a very lovely gesture, and he didn’t know what to say to show his appreciation enough for it. “My finances are well, thank you very much,” because they didn’t need any to survive, “but if you ever need to put me to use for something about the place, you need only let me know. I am looking for as much busyness as possible.”
“Watch out,” Lestat teased, “or we’ll task you with dancing with every last woman in attendance tomorrow just to keep your mind far back from the precipice.”
“An excellent idea,” Gregory agreed. “And a worthy endeavor as well. You must dance with every woman tomorrow, Benedict. Also, kiss at least ten different people beneath the mistletoe. I trust there is mistletoe at this ball?” Gregory looked inquiringly to Lestat.
Lestat chuckled and gave him a jokingly exasperated look for continuing to put so much pressure on Benedict when the poor man was obviously so uncomfortable. “What do you think?” The decorators had of course included all that in the ballroom. He gave Gregory a fond smirk. “Want to see it?”
A great excitement filled Gregory at this offer. “Yes! I want to see. I did peek into the ballroom earlier this evening, but I didn’t take in the full splendor of it. Please show me.” Gregory took out his phone, so that he might be ready to take photos to send to Chrysanthe.
Benedict nodded his farewell to Lestat, squeezing his hand once more. He wanted him to be assured that he appreciated everything he’d done, that this downturn in his mood was absolutely nothing to do with him. He said goodbye to Gregory as well, as was polite, before moving from them to leave the room. He couldn’t go back to his own though, not with that phone sitting there and waiting to be used.
Lestat watched Benedict walk away with a wistful look on his face. He was glad Benedict hadn’t taken anything Gregory said too seriously, as he hadn’t thought they were very good suggestions for him. Poor Benedict. Lestat dearly hoped the diverse company at the ball tomorrow would provide good fun and distraction for him. It felt vitally important to him now that he provide Benedict with what he needed.
Only when he was gone did Lestat give Gregory his full attention. Waving him along, he led the way back to the ballroom, but this time he took a slightly circuitous route through the salons. He stopped just before one of the side entrances so that Gregory could go through first. The double doors were propped open, the splendid, sparkling décor on full display, the sounds of musicians testing their instruments filtering back from the stage.
Lestat wondered if Gregory would spot the mistletoe on his own, but if he did, Lestat didn’t give him a chance to react. Just as Gregory stepped across the threshold, Lestat caught him in his arms and spun him around, planting an eager kiss on his mouth.
This was a shock. Gregory had been arguing in his own head with the idea of making the same move on Lestat. Debating all the pros and cons, like a skittish juvenile boy with a crush. Now he found himself firmly within Lestat’s embrace, the kiss igniting a passion he always kept bound within him when around the Prince. This passion was not unlike that of hunger for mortal blood, and it threatened to undo him.
Lestat smirked at him, then tilted his head back to look up at the green sprig hung just above the molding on the inside of the doorframe. “If you think any other way in or out of the ballroom is safe, you’re in for a surprise.”
A slow grin crossed Gregory’s face. “Be careful what you start with me,” he warned in a low voice. “I will make certain we visit every entrance and exit.” There were a couple inches difference in their height, but that didn’t dampen Gregory’s dominant nature in any way. He embraced Lestat and kissed him again, more lingering and exploratory.
Lestat laughed against Gregory’s lips, not taking his warning seriously at all, nor quite understanding what he truly meant by it or what drove him to say it. But then he breathed in through his nose and let himself actually enjoy this kiss. The formidable Gregory was clearly well-practiced in this particular art, his lips just the right combination of firm yet tender, and the weight of his strong hands against his back sent a pleasant thrill up Lestat’s spine.
When he pulled back and put his hands on Gregory’s shoulders, Lestat’s eyes were shining. “Come take your pictures,” he urged with a smile, turning from him to sweep through the room. Even though Gregory’s wife would be seeing it all for herself tomorrow, Lestat was always eager to show off a beautiful job well done.
Gregory had all but forgotten his original intention, to take some photos for his blood spouse. Luckily, he hadn’t dropped the phone during that unexpected kiss. For a moment, he stood stunned in the doorway still, eyes reluctantly leaving Lestat’s form to take in the grand room.
No space had been left untouched by the holiday spirit. “I must get the name of the decorators you used,” he said, stepping into the room fully, drawn to the nearest great tree. It smelled like a winter forest of pine. “Please, stand here before the tree, so I might take a picture.”
Lestat blew a kiss to the musicians on the far side of the room who had looked up when they realized he was fondly watching them. Returning to Gregory, he eyed the tree up and down as if deciding if it was worthy of being a backdrop to a photo of him. There were several of these trees of various shapes and sizes throughout the castle, shipped in on trucks from a farm down south, but this one was by far the largest. It would do.
Facing Gregory, he gave the camera a particularly flirtatious look with hope Gregory would share the shot with his beautiful wife. Next, he tossed his golden head back in a way he knew always made him look like an angel, perfect with the heavenly lights shimmering upon him.
Such a beautiful distraction Lestat was in these pictures. Gregory saved one to a file he kept for all his beloveds’ photos.
“You should be in these pictures, not me,” Lestat said, amused. He held out his hand for Gregory’s phone, offering to switch places.
Gregory glanced up. “Of course,” he immediately agreed, handing the phone over. “And then one together. The selfie.” He gave an amused chuckle at this, posing before the tree with a cheerful smile. “You should come visit our home in Geneva. We always have a tree and plenty of decorations as well. Things we’ve all collected through the many centuries together. The tree never has a bare branch.”
“I can’t wait to see it.” Lestat was indeed curious what sort of things Gregory and the children of the millennia he lived with would collect over the centuries, what was important or meaningful enough to them to keep.
After capturing a wonderfully handsome photo of Gregory, Lestat put an arm around Gregory’s back, his hand pressing warmly between his shoulder blades. Holding the phone aloft, he snapped several selfies with them both looking absolutely fabulous.
Stepping back, Lestat craned his head to look up to the top of the tree. “We didn’t really celebrate the holidays last year. Weren’t quite ready for all this yet,” he said, even though Gregory would well remember; he was here, after all. The Court had done plenty of smaller gatherings, the plays and Friday night balls, and Amel had still been with Lestat back then. But after so many new vampires made themselves known with the drama of last winter, this party would be the largest yet. Hundreds would come. “Think the ancient pagans will mind that we’re honoring Christmas instead of the solstice?”
“Hmm? Gregory looked up from sending the pictures to his Chrysanthe and Davis. Perhaps they would select one and frame it for their wall of photos. “No. Not at all. You don’t become old and ancient without living through some changes in human religions, beliefs, values, etc. It’s really the only way to survive the eons. Adapt and adopt.” Gregory placed his phone back in his breast pocket. “You know this already,” he teased gently. “You know a great many things you pretend not to know.”
Gregory made a leisurely circuit around the giant tree, taking in all the shiny decorations and baubles. He reached out and lightly touched a small crystal figurine of a plump cheeked angel. “It is sad not to have children here, though. They always make this particular holiday one of excitement and anticipation. My company has many holiday events for children’s charities. Perhaps the Court could do such as well.”
“You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young, my friend,” Lestat said with a chuckle. “I will not bring a pack of children into a ballroom full of bloodthirsty monsters.” Of course the older ones wouldn’t have a problem, but all the fledglings among them would be driven wild with the temptation. And even if they managed to control themselves, the poor children would be frightened past repair to be surrounded by so many obviously unnatural beings. It would be a Christmas of horrors for them, to be sure.
“Notker’s bringing his boy choir,” Lestat teased. “You’ll have to be satisfied with that.” He glanced to the stage where the little sopranos would be arranged for the admiration of all the guests, their beautifully childish faces on full display. “Why don’t you do something unexpected for them,” he suggested to Gregory. “To let them know they are guests here as much as any, not just the entertainment.”
What could possibly be unexpected for a bunch of eternal little eunuch boys? Poor little things. Immortal songbirds was what they were, nothing more. Gregory had never really liked the eerie soprano voices of the vampire boys either. Possibly the best surprise for them would be to kill them all and free them from their disturbing little lives.
Gregory then thought about the mortal children Lestat said they couldn’t possibly have here, as they would be seen as hors d’oeuvres for the younger blood drinkers. Then his mind went to the little snack cakes he sometimes found being served at the charity functions he and Chrysanthe attended in the mortal world. How delicious they always looked. He’d never known the taste of such confections in his time.
“I suppose you are right. Human children wouldn’t mix well here. I do have some memories of the early festivals and worship gatherings we had in Akasha and Enkil’s court. They brought in mortals for the blood gods to feed on together.” He mused for a moment, remembering six thousand years past. “We could kill the sopranos. It would be a blessing for them.”
“Why don’t you destroy all the rest of us while you’re at it?” Lestat said, amused, though a darker tone of seriousness lay beneath it. “Bless us all!”
He ran his hand over the bristles of the fir tree, loving how soft they were. Needles truly, but if caressed at the right angle, they felt silky and supple, still so full of life.
“You could do it, couldn’t you?” Lestat mused, his attention growing a bit distant. “Oldest and strongest of us all now… Just like she once did. Wipe every one of us out with a thought… Merry Christmas to all the mortals in the world who would never fall victim to our thirst again.”
“Lestat,” Gregory said, voice deep with affection as his dark eyes followed the Prince’s every move. “Don’t mock me. I’m being quite serious. Those men are trapped in little boy bodies. Think on it. Can you imagine such a torture? I know you can. You raised one such as them. They go crazy. Their only prayer is that they could mature into adult bodies. Yes, they are little singing savants, but they still know they are trapped. Ask any one of them, if they could return to mortal form in order to age, would they? With no hesitation they would answer, absolutely, yes.”
Gregory took a step away from the tree and let his gaze take in other parts of this grand room. Tomorrow night it would be full of blood drinkers. Full of too fast music and too fast dancing. The laughter and preternatural voices of hundreds of their tribe. Gregory spent so much of his time among mortals, he found these gatherings of his own kind difficult to adjust to.
“Why would I wipe out our kind? Are these things you think of me? That I would do such things on a whim? Simply because I can?”
“Clearly not.” After all, he hadn’t done it yet. Lestat wondered if Gregory often thought of killing his longtime companion Zenobia. She was no older than most of those boys when she was brought into the Blood.
He also quietly resented the implication that his own little daughter, Claudia, had ‘gone crazy.’ Lestat had seen ‘crazy’ in vampires, and she was nothing of the kind. But he wouldn’t dare offend Gregory, so he kept his mouth shut and smiled down at the tree branch only a little bitterly.
Gregory eyed Lestat, perfectly aware he’d offended the young Prince with his. “I apologize for my words in respect to your child. Zenobia was fourteen when made, and we know fourteen year old girls can easily pass for young ladies. She is a master of disguise. Boys don’t look like men until well past sixteen. Even Armand and Benedict still appear as boys. You and I as well. Would you agree?”
Oh, Lestat was well aware of just how boyish he looked in this day and age. In those glorious years of the nineteenth century when he had been the terror of New Orleans and no one could resist him, nobody had ever questioned that he was well old enough to have a six year old daughter. His aristocratic bearing gave him an air of maturity and manliness that the slouching loafing boys his age never exuded.
“If you could return to mortal form in order to age, would you?” Lestat asked, curious. Gregory had been such a young man when his life was taken. How might he have been if he’d had the chance to reach his prime?
Gregory had to consider this for a silent moment. He could not even imagine what that would be like, to be mortal again. “I suppose I wouldn’t object to being a little older in body. As time continues, we become younger and younger by modern standards of age. Twenty-four was a middle-aged male in my time. I have to age myself with the magic of makeup to pass in my company boardrooms. Thirty, thirty-five might be a more agreeable, if I could select the perfect age for coming into the Blood now.”
And how would it have been if Lestat had ten more years to grow? Would he have become as tall as his son Viktor? Finally managed to be able to grow an actual beard? He never thought he would have deteriorated the way his brothers did, not even able to stay on a horse anymore at thirty. But he would probably resemble them in some ways…
“I never want to find out,” he said with a shudder. “After my brief stint with a mortal form, no. Never again.” He shuddered once more, actually even feeling a little sick at the memories of the agonies he’d suffered in that sloshy, fleshy form the body thief had bestowed him two decades ago. “I’ll thank the stars every night of my monstrous existence for being just the way I am, thank you.”
He eyed Gregory up and down thoughtfully, wondering if he would have fared better than Lestat in a second chance at mortality… Probably. He didn’t think there was anything Gregory wouldn’t excel at without even having to try.
Gregory easily picked up the thoughts, as the Prince seemed rarely to ever block his inner dialog. “I don’t know how I would fare as a human, honestly. It’s been far longer for me since I was one. But you and I know I spend most of my waking nights living and working among them; doing my best to emulate them.” He gave a slight shrug, then after a moment, he stepped closer.
“Lestat,” Gregory purred the name, a small smile on his lips. “Do you want to go with me to meet up with my young mortal mail room friends?” Gregory checked his gold Patek Philippe watch. Yes, just enough time to make it over to them before they all regrouped from the night’s shift and headed out. Gregory would simply cancel the few telephonic meetings he’d scheduled if Lestat accepted the invitation. His eyes were wide and hopeful. “They are going out to celebrate a job promotion one of them got tonight. Clubs, dancing, drinking…”
As Lestat was opening his mouth to politely decline Gregory’s invitation—he still had so much to do to get ready for all the guests tomorrow—he suddenly heard Louis’s name on the air, and it snatched away his entire attention. The few orchestra members on stage had noticed Louis approaching the ballroom, and Lestat’s focus snapped to their thoughts of him.
Pivoting where he stood, Lestat’s eyes found him. Louis stood at the center of one of the far doorways across the ballroom. He had been there for a minute, silent, waiting to be noticed, watching the ancient Gregory and Lestat converse near the massive and opulently decorated tree, though he had not truly overheard nor really cared to overhear any of their conversation.
Louis had come to find Lestat so that he might give him the very specific and special gift he’d been working on for several weeks, and there was an air of quiet but tremulous trepidation about him now, half-expectant, beneath his cool and calm demeanor.
Of course, Lestat knew none of this, their minds forever blocked to each other as maker and fledgling. Why Louis was lurking in the doorway and didn’t just come in, Lestat couldn’t guess. But he had to laugh—because he was quite certain Louis had no idea he was standing directly beneath another sprig of mistletoe.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, T and D
Yay Louis and Lestat finally get time together next chapter!
Chapter 7: My Gift to You
Summary:
Louis demands time alone with Lestat so that he can give him his Christmas gift.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Crossing the ballroom to meet Louis in the doorway, Lestat took hold of him at arm’s length, looking him over appreciatively. He was so well dressed tonight, not a speck of dust upon him. Was this for Lestat? And it wasn't even Christmas yet!
“Waiting for me?” Lestat asked with obvious amusement. “Right here?” Tilting his head back, he looked to the mistletoe hanging exactly over their heads.
As Louis followed his gaze, sheer trepidation and shock came over him to realize all too late just where he was standing and why Lestat’s face was twisted into such a deviously mirthful expression.
Louis froze, his eyes wide. He braced himself just in time before Lestat pulled him into his arms.
But unlike the deep kiss he’d given Gregory in the other doorway, Lestat's embrace at once softened and he only pressed his lips tenderly to Louis’s cheek before letting him go again—he’d just wanted to scare him, after all, not actually embarrass him in front of the musicians.
Louis found himself even more shocked at the sting of disappointment he felt to receive such a small peck. Hadn’t he just been slightly horrified at the prospect of being kissed so openly and so casually?
After watching the Prince and his most beloved Louis exchange the most chaste of kisses, Gregory glanced at his watch again, though he’d only just done so a moment ago, then he headed toward them.
“Louis,” Gregory greeted. “Please excuse me. I must get back to Geneva and finish some work. Perhaps another night, Lestat, you will come meet my young mortal friends and celebrate with us on the town? I will see the both of you tomorrow evening.” He gave them a smile and then a quick kiss to each of their cheeks, as they were all three beneath the mistletoe. Before either could object to his hasty retreat, Gregory disappeared from the ballroom.
Louis blinked, bewildered, feeling his face buzz with nervousness for the attentions of not only Lestat but such a man as Gregory, no matter how casual it had been. But he recovered quickly and laced his fingers about Lestat’s arm to pull him through the large doorway out into the grand halls.
“I require your opinion,” Louis said, and instantly felt his cheeks buzz again. That hadn’t exactly been what he had wanted to say. It was far too formal for the gift he’d spent weeks considering and then more weeks still, having the thing made to his exact and precise specifications. “Your rooms…” Louis added, with a short gesture in that direction as he finally let Lestat’s arm go, and instinctively stood a bit taller.
But people were always requiring Lestat’s opinion on things ten times a night, so he was neither confused nor particularly curious about Louis’s request, and assumed he simply wanted to go to Lestat’s apartment for a private place to talk.
Oh to be sure, Louis had dressed most immaculately tonight, though not nearly as immaculately as what he planned for tomorrow evening. But everything had to be perfect for Lestat to receive his gift, and Louis decided then that if its presentation had to be preceded by inadvertently placing himself beneath the mistletoe, then it was as it should be. Now Louis felt all the more wanton for his twinge of disappointment that only his cheek had been kissed.
No, that wasn’t right… He’d been so relieved, after all. Gregory and the musicians were watching. But did Lestat have any mistletoe in his private rooms? Louis certainly hadn’t looked for any when he’d laid out the gift and wrapped it just so.
As they made their way through the corridors, Lestat’s attention was caught repeatedly by vampires who had already arrived for tomorrow’s ball and were eager to greet him, or musicians or members of the household who had some small question for him, and he cheerfully obliged each one. All were pleased to see Louis at his side—it was where everyone expected him to be now, and Lestat knew they made a comforting picture for their guests and tenants.
When they finally reached his rooms, Lestat pressed the carved double doors closed so no one would interrupt. There was no mistletoe to be seen; he’d been far too busy to do any sort of festive decorating himself, and had only hired the mortal decorators to attend to the lower public rooms of the chateau, the ballrooms and salons where the guests would be mingling tomorrow. He wasn’t comfortable with mortals coming up here into their private areas, not even to clean, even though all the undead in residence were always locked safely below the earth in the crypts every day.
He went straight to his desk and leaned over it to jot down a few reminders for himself of the adjustments he wanted done in the ballroom over the day, his fountain pen flourishing smoothly over the thick creamy paper of his notebook. Then he straightened, and looked across at Louis, giving him his full attention and a smile filled with all his simmering excitement for the events to come.
Louis looked so handsome tonight, dressed for company, and there was a vibrant sort of glimmer in his emerald eyes that did Lestat good to see. Louis never needed pressuring to participate in these events anymore. Lestat was beginning to think Louis might even like the crowds, for all the community and unity they represented for their kind, and he assumed that whatever Louis wanted to run by him had something to do with tomorrow.
“You know you don’t have to do anything, right?” Lestat said, amused at the thought of Louis preparing at all for the gathering. “You just have to be there.”
“And I will.” The faintest of smiles touched Louis’s lips. “Be there, of course,” he added, then conspiratorially, “Come with me.” He extended his hand, long fingers outstretched, palm up, so that Lestat might take it.
His expression serene, Louis led Lestat further into his rooms, past the bedroom to the large walk-in closet. Momentarily he paused, then opened the door to reveal no less than twenty intricately curated bouquets overflowing with large white roses and blue delphiniums. Placed about the closet and surrounding a center table so densely, the voluminous blossoms appeared to be the source from which a large golden and ornate box had sprung. It sat atop the whole display, at least a foot and a half wide and tall. Heavily gilded and pristine, though apparently quite old, it fastened shut with a large and antique pin closure lock.
“For you…” Louis squeezed Lestat’s hand with a meaningful look then stepped back to allow Lestat inside.
Lestat was too stunned to speak, and could only stare at the display with wide eyes. So many luscious flowers! He felt he could enfold himself in the heady fragrance and happily drown within a realm of scent alone. His mouth opened, but no sound came out, and neither was he capable of turning back to Louis to ask any number of questions that his brain was incapable of even generating at the moment.
Slowly, reverently, he approached the center of the arrangement, his eyes fixed on the golden box as if hypnotized, drawn in by its glimmering surface, his fingers outstretched toward it. “Louis?” he finally managed to say, his voice sounding almost fearful. But then a giddy little laugh escaped him.
What was all this? A Christmas present? Louis giving him a gift? It seemed so backwards for them that Lestat almost laughed again. He almost didn’t want to touch it, it was all so beautiful. But finally, his fingertips plucked the pin, and slowly he pulled it out of the lock to open the gleaming box.
Lined inside with a deep blue velvet, the box was stuffed with soft and plump white rose blooms and petals. In the center of this pillowy cushion of fragrant blossoms sat the most pristine and shining crown.
Not overly large or imposing, yet substantial, ornate but hardly gaudy, the diadem was wrought in gold, with six crownly points, each adorned with an inset large tear-cut sapphire. Pearls and diamonds lined the top outer downward swooping edges which connected the points. And about the band were even more sapphires, lighter and more delicate in various alternating cuts, their facets dotted throughout with tiny glittering diamonds. Overall it was lovely, beautiful even in its construction with sweeping curved grooves worked into the gold. Genderless as well, as though it were not apparent upon first glance whether the crown was meant for a masculine or feminine head.
“I had it fashioned by three separate artists among our Court. Gregory made the introductions.” Louis’s words were so quiet, as though he were waiting for Lestat to laugh at him or ask what exactly he was supposed to do with such a gift.
But it seemed Lestat didn’t even hear him. He held his breath as he gently lifted the beautiful piece from its fragrant bed, handling it as if it might crumble at his touch. The lights reflecting off the brilliant gems caught in his wide unblinking blue eyes, making them sparkle and shine in all their own gemlike dazzle.
Fascinated, Lestat turned the crown over in his hands, his inhuman fingertips leaving no prints or smudges on the polished gold. Only once he’d had a good look at every part of it did he finally turn back to Louis. “It’s marvelous,” he said a little breathlessly, but then seemed to lose his train of thought as he took in the expression on Louis’s eternally handsome features. So tender…he almost seemed afraid? Lestat shook his head, though confusion was finally beginning to rise as the shock of it all faded.
“What is all this?” he asked, his voice soft, gentle, as his hand lifted in a gesture to include the flowers, the box, everything.
“My gift to you. ‘Tis the season, is it not?” Louis’s lips had the barest hint of a tremble, his words giving way to a small and relieved smile. “A Prince needs a crown, after all.”
Louis came closer, making a slow circle of the large closet as he did so. “Of course you have several already, yet not once did you deign to wear them. I could only surmise they don’t suit your tastes, don’t hold any meaning for you. And thus…” He gestured to the crown. “You like it then?
“It’s beautiful,” Lestat agreed, his voice still slightly breathless. The other crowns he’d been given by vampires over the past year and a half were beautiful as well, and Lestat always loved any and all sort of jewelry or treasure, but this crown Louis had made was by far the best match to his personal tastes. And so shiny! “Perfect.”
He didn’t move from where he stood before the box, only pivoted in place as his eyes followed Louis around the room, as if magnetized to him. “You want me to wear it?” he asked with a little delirious laugh. “Louis… In public?” His disbelief now wasn’t anything to do with the crown itself, but with the fact that this mattered to Louis, and Lestat didn’t understand why.
“You are our Prince. A figurehead, yes, but a unifying emblem symbolizing our laws and morals of existing with minimal negative impact among the waking world. It means something to many, this Court, and you are at its center. It’s only proper that you should have a crown.” Louis’s words were so quiet, his tone reflective and reverent but no less heartfelt. As he spoke, his fingers brushed absently atop several white roses, then circled a columbine bloom, caressing it gently, its velvety petals separating and then reuniting in the wake of his touch. “Yes, I want you to wear it. Most especially in public. For special gatherings and ceremonies, when greeting newcomers… As it should be.”
Lestat watched him closely through all this, trying to determine Louis’s true feelings beneath all these diplomatic words. He could tell there was more to this than what was ‘only proper’ or ‘as it should be.’ The room full of flowers gave that much away. But any guesses that rose to Lestat’s mind weren’t convincing enough to assume.
He took a step as if he’d go around the little wall of flowers to Louis on the other side, but then Lestat paused and stayed where he was instead. He often had trouble thinking when he was too close to Louis, and thinking seemed like it should be important right now.
“It means something to many,” he repeated, amused at Louis’s cautious phrasing, but not disagreeing. Lestat was a celebrity and the people liked having someone they felt they ‘knew’ be in charge. “Are you one of those many?” he asked, arching an eyebrow at him.
“I think that I am,” Louis said, a hint of a wistful smile playing on his features. “Perhaps if you tried it on, I would know.” He took a step toward the center display table, so that it was between them again, his green eyes so calm, boring holes into Lestat’s from across the crown.
Lestat stared back at him for another moment, and though there was no suspicion in his eyes, an element of uncertainty remained, as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop, some broader answer to make this whole exchange feel less surreal.
Tearing his gaze from Louis’s with some difficulty, he looked down at the crown again, turning it reverently in his hands, trying to decide which way was the front, but it seemed any direction would do. So he lifted his face and brought the crown up to place on his own head, the gold circlet fitting perfectly nestled in his hair.
“There,” he said with a wry little smile and turned enough to catch his reflection in the closet’s great triptych mirrors. “The greatest of frauds if ever there was one.”
Louis gave the smallest of sniffed laughs with a little shake of his head. It was truly perfect, the crown, once atop Lestat’s head. It had been made by the finest of their craftsmen and with faceted gems and ornamentation that Louis had specifically chosen. “Fraud or no, it suits you.”
With slow but steady purpose, Louis finally moved around the table so that it was no longer separating them. He reached up to tuck a stray golden curl artfully beneath the bottom edge of the crown and behind Lestat’s ear. He wondered then if Lestat had ever tried on the other crowns gifted to him, just to see what they looked like, though he wasn’t about to ask such a question.
Instead, he rested both hands against the front of Lestat’s shoulders and looked into his eyes. “I want you to wear it,” he whispered, then leaned closer still, pressing a slow soft kiss to Lestat’s lips.
A gasp caught in the back of Lestat’s throat, and his hands came up to catch Louis by his sides, feeling like he might fall over if he didn’t have something to hold on to. His eyelids fluttered closed, and he breathed in against Louis’s cool mouth, his lips parting just slightly to accommodate his. So soft, this kiss was nearly the full opposite of the intense ones he’d shared with Gregory under the mistletoe half an hour ago, and yet it affected Lestat so much more deeply.
Well, he would wear the crown. If only because Louis asked it of him, and was asking so sweetly. He needed no other reason at all. He’d feel like a complete sham the entire time he was wearing it, but that didn’t matter. And he did understand Louis’s point that he had to put on the pretense for the people, no matter how wrong it felt. Put on this false costume and provide the symbol they needed now.
Distantly, Lestat wondered if the council had put Louis up to this. Probably. But he couldn’t be too troubled by that with Louis in his arms in this small room, his head nearly swimming with the thick scent of the roses. They clearly knew what worked on Lestat.
Blinking, he shifted enough to look at Louis again, his eyes slightly glazed and a faint pink flush risen to his cheeks. “Tomorrow?” he asked in a whisper. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, the night the crowds would descend upon the castle for the midnight ball to ring in the holiday. If Lestat needed to be a symbol, it seemed like the right time to do it.
“If you want,” Louis said, still so quiet, his fingers playing idly against the fabric of Lestat’s coat. “Yes, tomorrow.” Louis said the words ever so close to Lestat’s lips, his gaze traveling from Lestat’s eyes to his mouth.
Eyes half lidded, Louis pressed one more soft but quick kiss to Lestat’s lips, then stepped backward so that he could take Lestat’s wrists in both his hands. Here in this room of a closet, away from prying eyes, Louis felt perfectly comfortable like this.
The look he gave Lestat next was deceivingly demure, secretive and almost challenging, though if anyone else were watching them now, they would never have been able to pick up on it unless they were pressing into Louis’s mind. Surely, Lestat knew that particular look all too well.
Oh, yes, Lestat knew what it meant, and he was powerless to resist. And he intended to make the absolute most of it before Louis regained his better judgment.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and K
Chapter 8: To Be Wise
Summary:
Benedict finds Marius painting in the chateau library and is greatly surprised by the attention he receives.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Benedict felt like he wanted to lie down, but he couldn’t go back to his room yet. Not until he was so tired that he couldn’t think. Then he wouldn’t reach for his phone and he wouldn’t be alone with his thoughts. So for now he wandered around the chateau’s halls, trying with all his might to find something that needed improving to report back to Lestat. But it was perfect, all of it. Not a single thing unthought of.
Around three o’clock, he went back to the salon with the library, having not properly looked there when Gregory had been asking so many questions that hurt to think on and hurt to answer. He didn’t notice another blood drinker in the room, too engrossed in his own thoughts, until he realized that it was Marius, painting another beautiful thing on the walls.
Marius had the stone wall scrubbed and primed, waiting whatever fresh scene he wished to paint. For a library, the theme of books and myths seemed most appropriate, with the occasional landscape; religious imagery, he thought, was best left for other rooms as Catholicism and its brothers in faith had hardly been a friend to literacy and libraries through the generations. He had been painting for an hour, the wall just covered in plain lines and flat colors that would take on more life as he added details and colors to shade and shape. He had his hair pulled back where it would not fall in front of his eyes as he concentrated, each stroke done with so much care that he painted at a human pace, though he could easily go much faster and do so still perfectly.
He’d begun his painting of the Japanese goddess Benzaiten on the back of her sea dragon husband, biwa in hand, when he felt someone enter the room, which he’d expected. Well, not this particular immortal, but surely one. It was an open library, after all.
Benedict didn’t know what to do, he felt so intrusive. He felt like he shouldn’t be here at all. If Gregory was suspicious of him, then why wouldn’t Marius be, the Prime Minister of their Court? He didn’t know what to say, so he kept silent, stupidly.
Dropping his brush to his side, Marius looked over his shoulder and was met with a boyish face framed by the loveliest of hair—Benedict. Vulnerable Benedict, who looked out of place, maybe uncomfortable.
Straightening himself up to his full height, he turned around and smiled. “Good evening, Benedict. Are you settling in the Chateau nicely?” He was certain Lestat had already seen to the immortal’s every comfort.
Benedict felt dumbstruck. When Marius straightened himself he just seemed to keep going, tall as he was, and it made him all the more imposing. So many imposing ancients around that Benedict had wronged in some way—how could he ever expect to be accepted around here?
Marius didn’t seem angry, though Benedict couldn’t tell, he’d not met him enough. He knew he was a man who couldn’t abide rudeness or stupidity, so just staring in silence was probably offending him.
“Hi,” he said finally, just to get himself speaking. “Hello, Sir. I’m sorry, yes, it’s wonderful here. Everyone is very accommodating. I can only apologize if I’ve interrupted you.”
Marius gestured about with a paint-speckled hand, which he afterward wiped along the side of his already stained shirt. “I did not expect to be alone,” he assured. “Since it’s not my private library.”
He broke his gaze to stroll to where he could wash the brush he held. Even though he looked engrossed in his task, he kept a portion of his attention on Benedict. It couldn’t be easy finding his bearings here, especially not with his particular maker. But as far as Marius was concerned, that had nothing to do with him.
Setting the brush down, he moved to stand next to the other immortal, gesturing at the mural he was working on. “What is your favorite book or story, Benedict? I’ll place it in this very piece.”
Benedict’s immediate thought was to insist that Marius do no such thing, that he spend his wonderful talents and space on everyone else’s desires first. Two things stopped him. One, that Marius was so damn confident he didn’t look like he’d tolerate the expression of insecurity. The second was much shallower—the thought of his favorite stories brought to life by Marius’s hands took his breath away.
It was hard to focus when he stood so close now, and Benedict didn’t know whether he should be looking at the mural or Marius. “I like a great many… The Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Picture of Dorian Gray… I like ancient stories like The Mabinogion, and I love anything from Tolkien’s mind. Really, anything you chose to paint would be wonderful.”
Marius crossed his arms over his chest, head tilting to the side in a posture of contemplation. He didn’t know what to expect in terms of an answer, but he hadn’t expected the one he was given. But what had he expected? Dreary morality tales reminding one to always mind God? St. Augustine and Jerome (of whom in particular Marius had nothing nice to say). Tolkien? Not what he would have imagined in Benedict’s library.
“Perhaps the three plagues of Caer Lludd?” Marius mused aloud, referencing The Mabinogion. “I liked that story the best of all.” He left out that he too adored Tolkien, as he thought it was highly irrelevant to the discussion, and perhaps not interesting to the young (former) monk. “Pick a spot. The spot you want to make yours to read or contemplate in, and I will decorate it with all of your favorite tales. Would you like a quiet corner best?”
His own spot? As if he were that important in this coven? Benedict was struck by the generosity of the gesture, and was about to decline again, but perhaps there was a way to deflect. He looked around and thought, and an alternative came to him. “A quiet spot perhaps, I wouldn’t mind where. But…I think if I may make a request, then Robinson Crusoe. I think that’s my favorite of all stories. I liked his resourcefulness and the idea of making a life somewhere so beautiful, even if it were a tragedy that he ended up there. And the isolation…” He trailed off, realizing he shouldn’t say anything else. Why should Marius care enough? “It might be an interesting scene to paint.”
“It is never too late to be wise,” Marius quoted with a kind smile. His hand rose as if he were about to touch Benedict—a squeeze to the shoulder or a pet to the back, but it froze halfway and then fell back to Marius’s rainbow-speckled side as he quickly reconsidered how such a gesture would be received. It was perhaps too familiar a motion. He thought Benedict was quite sweet and very lovely to behold, so he did not want to run him off too soon.
Benedict’s thoughts paused on that quote for a while, looking at it from all angles. Of course he remembered it as he remembered all of them, but he wondered for the first time if it were one of his favorites. If he had been holding onto it in hope. Never too late, not after nine, nine hundred, or five thousand years. He didn’t know which one of them it applied to, but Benedict was here now and not there, Benedict had changed. He assumed it was him.
Marius wondered if Benedict had a personal connection to Robison Crusoe, especially with the way he spoke of isolation and tragedy, and Marius’s hand itched again to deliver some sort of comfort. He only knew a little, but he knew the young man had suffered greatly. Even better that he should be among them at Court now.
“You should let me paint your rooms, if you’d like. I offer the service freely to anyone who wishes it. It gives me something to do, you see. I think it is assumed that Lestat keeps me perfectly busy, but he cares far too much for me to see me overburdened, and so I have more free and empty time than I prefer.”
Benedict’s thoughts were arrested by this offer. It was too overwhelming and it couldn’t go ignored. “You can’t possibly have so much free time as that,” he said breathlessly. “There are so many bedrooms here to paint, mine is… Not that I am ungrateful by any means, I am more than honored that you would suggest it. I couldn’t fathom it, having some of your work private for me.”
Marius gave a kind, happy laugh, soft but deep. He gave Benedict an approving, warm look. “Try to fathom it. The offer stands whenever, if ever, you’d like to accept. I work very fast, so I don’t think I’d impose too much.” Marius wished he were doing this entirely out of the kindness of his heart. There was a selfish edge to this seemingly kind offer. Selfish because Marius, not really understanding why, wanted to find a reason to be near to Benedict. And he wanted to do something nice for him; something to bring him comfort and joy.
Try to fathom it… How very matter of fact in the very kindest way, the rich and lovely laugh that accompanied it helping to soften the blow. It was a way of telling him to get over himself, to stop being so in his own head, and Benedict adored that way of looking at things. He couldn’t help but smile. “I would like it then. Just let me know and I will find a place to be. I can’t imagine that it is ideal having an audience to that extent.”
“I don’t mind an audience,” Marius said. He wasn’t much of a spectacle to watch, too engrossed in the art to put on a show. But of course other immortals came and went as he worked, many wanting to see him paint as he was known to be the greatest among their kind (which he humbly doubted). “When I finish this library, I will do your rooms next. You can help if you’d like.”
“Help!” Benedict laughed, the disbelief escaping him before he could even control it. One look at Marius showed that he wasn’t lying or joking about it. Well…he wasn’t entirely useless, after all. His life’s purpose at one point had been copying the bible and creating highly elaborate and painstaking illustrations within it. But anything he did next to Marius would be laughable. “I could help you mix the paints, clean your brushes of course.”
“That’s all of the help I would need,” Marius said, giving Benedict a pleased look and finally squeezing his shoulder very lightly for emphasis. “Which is invaluable help.” He lifted the edge of his untucked shirt to show his pockets full of brushes and paints. “Because I am hopeless.” His creative process was much different than his work process as he was exceptionally, painstakingly organized with his work. Then again, even to an outsider, his pile of papers and books might seem chaotic, though it was perfectly ordered in his head. But it was common to him to just fill his pockets with what he needed and set off to paint a wall, a ceiling, or even a single brick in the garden. If Marius needed more than his pockets could carry, he stuffed a bag to the brim and brought it along.
Benedict smiled, delighted by the haphazard storage system. There was something very warm about seeing the Prime Minister speckled with paint and unkempt in his work. “I find the chaos charming,” he confessed quietly, immediately wondering if he’d spoken out of order. “I only mean, there’s always a place for disorder. You’re a very regimented man by nature, are you not? I think it makes sense that there is one area of your life where it slips. Nobody is that perfect. And where better to be chaotic than in art?”
“It’s good to have a bit of chaos, isn’t it?” Marius smoothed his shirt back down over his hips. “To remind yourself that you don’t have to be in control of everything all of the time.” Which, for Marius, was a lesson he habitually struggled with and rarely actually lived by. A pocket full of paint was about the most chaos and disorder he could bring into his life. Anything more would be too much. His habits and discipline kept the darkness away. But sweet Benedict didn’t have to hear about all of that.
He pulled a clean, dry brush from his pocket to use next, giving his little soon-to-be assistant a pleased smile. “I look forward to our time together, Benedict.”
Benedict took this as a sign to leave, that Marius wanted to paint and be left to his own devices. That was all right, it was by far late enough for him to stave off texting Rhoshamandes until dawn. Maybe he’d go down to the crypt early.
“Thank you, as do I. I trust you’ll be at the ball tomorrow?” That was another thing, Benedict didn’t have anything to wear.
“I will indeed be in attendance.” Marius turned back to Benedict because he did not want the young immortal to feel ignored or fear he was in any way imposing. He gave him a smile that could almost—almost—qualify as flirtatious. “Will you save a dance for me?”
Benedict’s eyes widened before he could control them, and he found himself incapable of thought for a little moment. He wasn’t anticipating that anyone would have much time for him at this thing, never mind the Prime Minister, who would likely be swarmed along with the Prince.
“Sir,” he began breathlessly, eyes still wide. “It would be my greatest honor, but I am hardly a favorite of anyone at Court. They hold me in suspicion, some contempt. To be seen dancing with me…”
“Save the dance,” Marius said with another smile, and he returned to his painting with an air of finality that left room for no more protestations. Benedict nodded and swallowed, once again dumbstruck, and then he escaped the room before anything stranger could happen.
Notes:
This chapter written by T and B
Next up, the Christmas Eve ball begins!
Chapter 9: A Sultry Voice
Summary:
As the Christmas ball gets underway, Gregory is not above using flirtation to try to convince Armand to join his business proposition.
Notes:
I hope you're all having happy holidays so far! I'm spacing out the chapters on this fic so that Christmas Day will land on actual Christmas 🎄
Thank you so much to everyone leaving us comments! They are entirely what motivates me to keep posting 🥰 And I always share what you say with my co-writers
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“I know you know the French don’t talk about business at parties.” Armand raised a brow, though there was a smile upon his lips as he approached Gregory in the grandly decorated ballroom. He looked resplendent under the warm Christmas lights, they all did, tasteful and radiant as ever. It was almost enough to make Armand want to be at Court more often, almost enough to take away the awkwardness. Almost. “But I’ve not stopped pondering what this scheme of yours will involve. What sort of treasure? I think I may have been a magpie in another life.”
“I am not French. I’m Swiss, and we love to discuss business in all settings.” Gregory gave Armand a genial smile, glad the shrewd young vampire was responding so well to the proposition he sent via text message the other night. “Do you claim the French culture? I suppose this is the country you’ve spent most of your years in.” Gregory’s eyes made a perusal of the great ballroom. The orchestra was playing classical Christmas carols, and blood drinkers bustled about in their festive clothing. Gregory had chosen simply to wear his finely tailored black suit, a deep dark burgundy tie at his throat and one diamond tie pin at the center knot. He was elegant but not flashy in colors of the season as many others seemed to be.
Armand was about to answer that he didn’t claim any culture, but Gregory pressed on. He supposed they had a lot to discuss, so he locked eyes with him without hesitation, and made sure to hold that gaze as he listened.
“You are familiar with deep sea treasure recovery, correct? I happen to have been sitting on a sunken ship for many centuries. And now I’m at a place where I think it could be useful to ‘discover’ it and bring its valuables to the surface. Cash out its value, which is certainly upwards of three hundred million in gold at this point… If I’ve calculated right. It was a Portuguese transport ship, sunk off the coast of Spain in the 1500’s. It carried diamonds, rubies, pearls, gold coins.”
Gregory looked deeply into Armand’s rich brown eyes. He tried not to look into this one’s eyes too often, as he was such an artist of seduction, but for this point, this business offer, he wanted a connection. He lowered his voice, speaking softly, as though only he and Armand were in the ballroom. “I want a business partner to help me bring up that treasure and invest it in retail property in Paris. Are you interested?”
Gregory had a way of commanding attention that Armand admired and a power to his eyes that was undeniable, but that didn’t mean that everything he said had worth. So Armand scrutinized, he weighed up the pros and cons of it in his mind, what the financial setbacks might be. For a long time as he thought, he didn’t say anything at all, and then he opened his mouth to speak. “Well it’s certainly glamorous and exciting. Why do you want a partner? Why not take it all for yourself?”
Such a sultry voice Armand had. Gregory found himself mimicking that same tone, unconsciously mirroring Armand’s very stance. “I have more than enough on my plate just now. And normally, I would share this with one of my own little family, but they too are all quite full with their lives. And you, Armand,” Gregory said with a slow smile. “You are like me, in that you know how to live out there among the mortals. You know how to be at the center of their commerce and to be the businessman. And this is right up your alley, as they say. Cashing out jewels and treasures. Turning it into greater profit through a growing retail company. There’s an old shopping plaza just on the outskirts of Paris. I would like to buy it, build it up, improve it, make it the next great thing.” Gregory loved to talk money, and he could see, from the glint in Armand’s eye, that he too enjoyed excess and riches. “I would like to keep this venture in the family of our tribe. Perhaps a percentage of the profit can be used to help the coven houses throughout the world.” Gregory leaned in ever so slightly. “How can I convince you? What do you need from me?”
Armand smirked a little, surprised by Gregory’s insistence. He could have his pick of people here to be his business partner, though Armand knew he was one of the best. Gregory had only just pitched the idea of it though, and it was good practice to talk through every detail. “That’s a very loaded question, Sir. I could ask anything of you,” he teased.
A slow, suggestive smile crossed Gregory’s lips. “Of course, you may ask anything of me. Anything at all you might desire, Armand.” Gregory was not above using flirtation to win over business. Many the mortal business associate had agreed to his terms simply with a charismatic smile or lingering eye contact.
“I should think there would be a mountain of paperwork?” Armand said.
“Paperwork is a thing of the past. Everything is digital now. Besides, all those contracts and such are what mortal employees are for. I simply need to sit down with you once in the next week or so to get details ironed out. We could meet here at Court, or you can come visit my office in Geneva. Or a café in Paris. Anyplace you may choose.” Gregory gazed upon Armand for a long quiet moment, convinced he would win this one over. He knew Armand’s weaknesses. “I want you on my team. You are a valuable asset. A beautiful, intelligent, ruthless one.”
“I am beautiful, intelligent and ruthless,” Armand quipped, sliding his hands into his suit’s pockets as he maintained eye contact. “But I can see what you are trying to do. Holding me with that intense gaze, flashing your charming smiles. Perhaps I have a gift or perhaps I’ve known too many handsome businessmen. Either way, I don’t much like to be manipulated, and I’ll confess it’s putting me off the venture just a little.”
The smile melted from Gregory’s lips. A cool, calm demeanor fell over him, his gaze raking boldly over Armand, from loose auburn curls to expensive shoes and back up again. “You do have a gift,” he replied in a low voice. “And I don’t need to be charming or flirtatious. I’m no less beautiful, intelligent…ruthless.” Gregory folded his arms over his chest, priceless watch flashing on his wrist, a platinum diamond wedding band on his left hand. “I don’t need you, Armand. I want you. But I can do this on my own with or without you.” Gregory gave him a slow, half-lidded blink. “I have salvage companies who can dive for this treasure already lined up.”
Armand hummed, granting Gregory the same look. Up and down, slow. If Gregory should be his business partner, then he should know him well. “The diving is half the fun of it,” he reasoned, before smiling a little.
Gregory had not done the physical work of bringing up treasures in many many centuries. He always paid mortals for such tasks. But he was not adverse to some manual labor. He enjoyed adventure now and then. “Is that how you like to do it? Dive under miles of ocean water to the darkest depths and pull up the treasures yourself?” Gregory chuckled at this image of Armand, like a sleek wet otter diving down and coming up with bright baubles.
“I wouldn’t wear a wetsuit,” Armand corrected of the images and thoughts he gleaned from Gregory’s mind. He enjoyed that he was thinking about him in any capacity though, it was always nice to have his appeal validated. “I’ll agree to the venture though, of course I will. So little to lose and so much to gain? It seems foolish to not endeavor.” Besides, he could see that Gregory respected him, and that was what appealed to him most. He only liked to be disrespected by his lovers in bed, and with his cherubic face, respect could be quite hard to earn in the wider world. “When shall we meet?”
“Friday evening in my Geneva office. I will have maps and contracts ready for your review. We will arrange a trip to the shores off the Spanish coastline.”
“It all sounds so exciting and decadent. Let’s not do it in the Geneva office. Why don’t we do it in a nice taverna in Spain, somewhere the sun’s warmth still embraces at this time of year.”
Gregory thought for a long moment. “I do have offices in Barcelona. But Valencia might be a little more what you are suggesting. Unless you already have a place in mind?”
Gregory pulled out his phone from his inside breast pocket and tapped the screen, bringing up his calendar. “You have my contact info. Text me the location of the tavern you would like to meet in, I will be there. Shall we do this Friday night, or is that too soon for you?” Gregory looked up from his phone with a small smile. “You are not afraid to be alone with me, are you? Or do you intend on bringing a chaperone?”
Armand was initially taken aback by this, but didn’t let it show on his face. What a strange thing to ask, and how very absurd. It sounded almost like a threat, which was very odd when Gregory had just coerced him into a business deal. He sincerely hoped Gregory didn’t speak to his human clients like this.
Armand laughed for the absurdity of it. “I am afraid of nothing but dying. You should be afraid of keeping up with me old man,” he quipped. “The night after tomorrow is fine, yes. Valencia. We’ll wander around for a bit and pick any of the places.”
Gregory gave him a small smile and briefly considered offering his hand for a firm shake on their new partnership, but it seemed somehow too early even for that social courtesy. “I will try to keep up with you,” he replied with a hint of humor.
He wondered if perhaps Armand had some intention of simply using him to find the treasure then swooping in to claim it all. Certainly he wouldn’t be so underhanded…
Parting from Armand, Gregory made his way to the other side of the ballroom where his companions Flavius and Avicus stood in deep conversation with some newly arrived blood drinker he had yet to meet.
Now Armand was on his own, hands in his pockets as more people poured into the grand room. Daniel wasn’t going to come down for the ball, which meant Armand either had to speak to people tonight or continue looking alone and desperate. How absolutely abhorrent.
Perhaps he could speak to Louis, at the very least Louis. And Lestat. He would be delighted to embrace Bianca, but there she was on the arm of Marius, who stood at Lestat’s side. Ah, the politics of it all. For now Armand just watched the glittering trees, enjoying the warmth of Christmas Eve.
Notes:
This chapter written by T and D
The ball will span five chapters. The last five chapters of their happy immortality before the curse strikes 🎄
Chapter 10: Knowing Your Lineage
Summary:
Armand steals some time alone to catch up with Lestat at the Christmas ball.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Marius was bolstered out of his natural introversion by a few things. Balls were important, impressions had to be made, and it was a happy season. He’d not been so surrounded by loved ones in ages. He stayed close to Lestat for most of the night, always at hand, though he broke away from time to time to dance with various partners and fine ladies of the Court.
Armand took one such opportunity to approach Lestat, as Marius was sharing a dance with Pandora in fact. It had been too long since Armand had seen or spoken to Lestat, and it would be a wasted evening to not spend some time with him. The brat prince looked marvelous tonight, glowing under the glittering lights and the love of everyone around him. Armand sometimes envied him thriving unwaveringly at events like this.
“What a grand affair this is,” he said fondly of the ball as he kissed either of Lestat’s cheeks in greeting. “And look at your crown!”
Lestat laughed, seeming almost startled, because he’d actually, for a little while, forgotten he was wearing his new crown. He gave Armand a look, not sure if he was mocking him or not, but took it good-naturedly either way.
Running his fingers through the top of Armand’s hair, Lestat gave it a ruffle. “What, didn’t Louis ever give you a crown?” he asked as if it were a perfectly common gift for a man to bestow upon his companion, regardless of who they were. This earned a slightly chastising look from Armand in return, but it was all in good humor.
Armand smiled and looked around the ballroom. “It’s been a while, a good while. Some new faces around.” He nodded toward Benedict but kept his face unreadable. It was no secret how much Armand didn’t like him, but it was unnecessary to cause a scene about it here, not when they had worked hard for peace. Didn’t change his feelings, though.
When Lestat’s eyes followed Armand’s to Benedict, the teasing expression faded from his face to be replaced for a moment with something soft, a deep fondness with a tinge of longing.
Armand frowned, noting the change and who he was looking at. There was something going on there, and he couldn’t quite understand it, not when Lestat had Louis, and Louis was giving him such extravagant gifts. What the hell was the appeal of Benedict that made people swarm around him like flies to feces and forget his transgressions?
“I take it you’ve been kept very busy with everything?” he said to reclaim Lestat’s attention.
“You have no idea.” Lestat gave a little laugh. “Marius always has something new for us to go over, to hash out. And that he insists it all be in Latin…” Lestat shook his head and pulled his eyes from Benedict in the crowd to focus on Armand again.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said with all the tenderness the holiday could inspire. Taking Armand by the sides of the shoulders, he squeezed affectionately as he let his eyes roam over the fine clothes he’d chosen for the occasion. Absolutely stunning. “You stay away too much.”
Armand looked up at him with a different kind of a frown. “I know,” he began, trying to put why he stayed away from Court into words he would want to say in a room full of people. “I have no excuse. But I’m here now, and I was thinking I might stay for a couple nights with Daniel.”
“You must!” Lestat's fingertips massaged the back of Armand’s arms encouragingly. “Both of you must.”
They hadn’t all been together for Christmas since that first winter in Miami at the Night Island. Far too long ago. Not that Christmas was a holiday that meant much to most vampires, for obvious reasons. But with all the decorations and twinkling lights and the snow falling softly beyond the frosty glass wall of windows overlooking the evergreen forest on the mountainside, the spirit of the season became impossible to resist. Lestat wanted nothing more just now than to keep his most beloved ones close.
“You always have a home here. In fact, yes, I’m giving you that apartment you’re staying in. The whole string of rooms is yours. Now you must decorate them spectacularly and keep them from gathering dust.” He knew it was difficult for ones so young as Daniel and Armand’s other companions to be so removed from the mortal population, but Lestat was sure Armand or Marius would be able to take the fledglings to Paris or some other city nightly to hunt while they visited. Lestat would even happily do it himself if needed, and he let Armand understand this from the impressions in his mind, which was, as usual, guilelessly open.
“Stay this time for a week at least,” he demanded impulsively.
Armand frowned again at the images of Marius in Lestat’s thoughts, and he glanced over at his maker. There he was, still dancing, always in Armand’s mind the most beautiful thing in the room. It would be too easy, to stay here for a week, a month, to fall into the routine of having them all so close again. But it wouldn’t be simple. Still, Lestat’s openness and welcoming was infectious, and the way he held him was distracting…
He brought his hands to Lestat’s elbows and smiled. “Maybe. Let’s see how the next two nights go, hmm? A week can’t hurt. Tell me everything I’ve missed.”
Maybe?? What reason could Armand possibly have to not enthusiastically accept? Surely there was nothing pressing in New York he needed to return to. Lestat took a glance around the ballroom in search of answers, of anything here that might be the cause of Armand’s reluctance, but he couldn’t even begin to guess. The room was filled with joy and cheer and community.
“Is it something to do with Louis?” Lestat asked discreetly, because Louis was always at the front of his mind. Ever since he’d claimed Louis away from Armand’s home in New York, they’d never really discussed it beyond those few words they exchanged on the phone the night it happened almost a year ago.
“No, it isn’t Louis.” Armand laughed softly, looking across the room for the ever beautiful man who held such a place in both their hearts. Sweet, lovely Louis. “Though I do miss him terribly. You’ll forgive me if I steal him away at some point.”
Lestat would not! Not at some point, not at any point! But thankfully he didn’t think Armand was being serious at all. He could tell now that Louis had been very far from Armand’s mind indeed, even as his gaze found him in the crowd, finally alerting Lestat to where he’d wandered. He didn’t let himself look long, lest he end up doing nothing but staring at Louis across the room for an hour—occasionally one of his favorite pastimes. There was too much else that needed Lestat’s attention tonight.
Armand laughed again, then held his breath as he thought. The truth of his reluctance to stay at Court was, of course, Marius. He could feel the edges of his heart beginning to thaw again for his maker, and it frightened him. Marius was all consuming and dangerous for him, when Armand couldn’t trust him. So rather than unpack all of it, he relented and breathed again. “Yes, a week would be fun. And Daniel will be delighted. Now fill me in on everything, and I’ll fill you in. Guess who’s just come to me with an irresistible business proposal.”
“I couldn’t possibly.” Lestat's hands slipped down Armand's arms, his thumbs pressing lightly into the crooks of his elbows. He was sure people came to Armand often with business proposals, but the use of the word irresistible had him immediately curious. “You’d better just tell me,” he said with all the good spirit that came from getting his way with Armand agreeing to stay at Court.
“No fun at all,” Armand teased, squeezing where he could reach of Lestat. “Gregory Duff Collingsworth. Naturally, I scolded him for talking business at a party, but there was no stopping him. We’re meeting the night after tomorrow in Spain to discuss it. He’s got some shipwreck in the Atlantic, would you believe that?”
Armand felt happy, and that should have been a red flag to him in itself that something horrible was upon him. But he never in a million years expected what happened next.
Out on the dance floor, Marius was walking toward Benedict. Armand’s face fell back into a frown, and he felt a pit open in his stomach, and he knew that the whole room would be able to see it in him if they looked. “What the—”
Letting go of Armand, Lestat turned to see what had so abruptly changed his mood. It was like an entire layer of him had been peeled off and tossed away, so different was Armand’s countenance from a moment ago. Like a light switch being turned off behind his eyes.
But all Lestat saw was a loosely mingling crowd of gorgeously dressed vampires, chatting in groups of threes or fours, laughing and sharing stories. He caught sight of Benedict again, disappointed to see him alone. Lestat had assumed he’d be spending time with Alessandra and Notker and all the rest of his loving family who were always enjoying themselves at Court on nights like this.
Oh, but there was Marius, come to greet him. A small smile of relief touched Lestat’s lips. He knew Benedict was nervous about how some vampires who didn’t know him well would treat him here, but the public display of friendly attention from Marius would go a long way to improving Benedict’s reputation. Their Prime Minister truly was wise.
Lestat glanced back at Armand, about to ask him what was wrong, but then he could directly see that it was Marius himself Armand was unhappy about. Whatever could it be now? Lestat could not know what was between the two of them.
Armand remained both silent and wounded, so jarred was he by what he saw. Marius either knew what he was doing and was deliberately trying to hurt him, or wasn’t thinking about him at all. He wondered which hurt him more.
Lestat’s hand lightly touched the side of Armand’s arm and he arched a questioning eyebrow. “A shipwreck,” he prompted, trying to draw Armand’s attention back to their conversation. Lest anyone notice his dark mood, Armand forced himself to pull back, to neutralize his expression.
“Treasure hunting? Do either of you really need more money?” Lestat asked, amused, wondering what they even planned to do with it. Lestat had spent millions on restoring his castle and the village below and providing for all the vampires who came to him in need, and he still had billions he didn’t know what to do with.
Armand smirked. “You always need more money, Lestat. Especially us. If we live forever, at some point the money is going to run out. Gregory wants to invest it in Paris, build some metropolitan area. Really I think he enjoys it, and there is a certain thrill.”
Lestat’s money generated money. It was so well invested by his agents, that he barely ever touched the principle and solely lived off the income. It would only ever keep growing, never run out. But the thrill Armand mentioned sounded just as appealing. It was the chase that mattered, the adventure of it all, not the reward. But he could tell even this excitement wasn’t enough to fully mask whatever was troubling Armand.
Lestat studied him quietly for a moment, what he could see from his face and glean from his mind, not at all pretending to be doing anything else as his fingertips moved absently against the luxurious fabric of Armand’s sleeve.
“Sounds like fun,” he finally said. And if it gave Armand the excuse to hang around Court a while longer, he’d take that too. “I’m glad you’ve made a friend in Gregory.” He was one of the most impressive vampires Lestat had ever known, and he’d come to rely on the ancient one heavily in all the duties of running a pseudo-government. “He is irresistible, isn’t he?” he added, repeating the first word Armand had used. “I don’t know how I would manage any of this without him. He is almost as much of a partner to me now as Marius is.”
“I said the business proposal was irresistible, not Gregory,” Armand pointed out, still smirking. He thought on Lestat’s words though, and his eyes wandered over to the man in question. He was tall, dark, and beautifully handsome. He was well groomed and well dressed. He was indeed a weapon of a man. He’d been putting out signals as well, hadn’t he? Or was Armand deluding himself? Right now turning his eyes to another man seemed like just the thing to get over his Marius pain.
Lestat’s frame relaxed when Armand seemed to so completely move past his moment of tension, as if it had never happened. His deliberate mention of Marius had evoked no response whatsoever from Armand. Perhaps he’d been worried over nothing. He turned to follow Armand’s attention to Gregory this time, the sight of him making Lestat smile as if often did, and he brushed a curled finger under his lower lip.
“He has a charm to him,” Armand admitted. “And I am glad to hear he’s such an asset to Court. You know he wasn’t even thinking of actually diving down to get the treasure himself? I had to convince him. Isn’t that half the fun?”
“Dive down? I thought it took cranes and a barge and a crew of dozens with all kinds of salvage equipment to bring up a wreck like that.” Now Lestat was picturing Gregory and Armand like a pair of mermaids, swimming through blown out portholes, delicately picking up scattered coins and silverware one by one. The image made him chuckle, and he glanced back at Armand out of the corner of his eye. “You really convinced him of that? To get his hands dirty, as they say?”
“Oh, I probably exaggerate. It wasn’t persuasion so much as I told him I wanted to do it and he agreed. Diving is really quite easy for us to do, you know, and fun too.” Armand didn’t know how much any of this actually interested Lestat, and how much of it was him just him being polite. “I’m sure you’ll hear all about it as and when you wish to.”
Lestat gave him a somewhat bemused look, but he wasn’t going to press to question this uncertainty—insecurity?—he felt from Armand. Lestat was just glad that he was here and also that he wasn’t saying anything about destroying the replimoids, which seemed half of all they ever talked about the last few times they were in the same room.
No business at parties was a grand suggestion!
As requested, he filled Armand in on all the goings on around the castle, the way the household was growing with new vampires showing up every other week begging to be of service to the Court in exchange for safety and companionship. And as Lestat shared the details of a few of the new arrivals, naturally, Benedict came back to his mind.
He glanced over in the direction he’d last seen him, one part of his mind continually concerned about how Benedict was doing after the unhappiness he’d shared with Lestat last night, but from the looks of how he was smiling at Marius, Benedict seemed to have put it all out of his mind for the time being.
“Good,” Lestat murmured to himself, not at all minding that Armand would be aware of all he was thinking. He was well aware that Benedict wasn’t Armand’s favorite person after the murder of Maharet. “But I hope you can indulge me,” he continued the thought aloud with a smile to try to sway Armand’s heart. “I never had a maker, you know. And it’s not quite the same, but…” Lestat had to wonder if it was similar to how Marius felt when he’d finally been reunited with Teskhamen. They were strangers still, yes, but the connection was there. A lineage…something even like a family.
Armand scowled, his mood immediately shifting again as he caught sight of the two of them. Benedict looked enamored of Marius, besotted, and he couldn’t bear the sight of this thing.
He looked back to Lestat with a tight jaw and shrugged. “I understand, but it isn’t my place to indulge you. You will do as you please and treat him as you please, and I will stay out of the way. But by god, don’t expect me to ever speak with him. Those who want him can have him, and I will pursue other things.” Armand was resolved in this, if only in the moment, filled with a white hot rage for the sight of Marius and Benedict together before him.
He tried to think with a level head again, something Marius always managed to sabotage in him. “Really though, I am glad that you have found comfort in this. Sometimes knowing your lineage is a grand old curse, but he seems, if nothing else, sweet.” That was it. That was the highest compliment Armand would ever be able to pay Benedict.
“I like sweet.” Lestat gave Armand a suggestive look, and his eyes moved over him, as if wondering if there was even a molecule of sweetness in someone like Armand. Armand, who was made of bitter prickling burs in a disastrously doll-like disguise.
Armand did not appreciate the look, the insinuation that Lestat liked Benedict and what he stood for, and Armand was the polar opposite of this.
But Lestat was thinking about that turn of phrase, a grand old curse. It struck him as significantly profound just now, and this time his eyes sought out his fledglings in the crowd, thinking about the other direction of his ‘lineage,’ such as it was, and what a curse it may be to those he had made.
There was Louis, speaking politely with guests, the genteel tones of his soft voice barely distinguishable above the crowd and the music. And there was Antoine on the podium, drawing that music out of his dozens of devoted instrumentalists, lost in the madness of his art as he so easily became. Gabrielle hadn’t deigned to grace the Court with her presence tonight; Lestat doubted she even knew it was Christmas. She’d never celebrated it in life, none of them had, not beyond attending mass. Why should she care about it now? Lineage? What a laugh.
Lestat didn’t see David in the crowd either, which disappointed him, but there were hours left to the night. He might yet make an appearance.
Did Louis or Antoine have any interest in knowing Benedict? Perhaps, but Lestat doubted it would be in the same capacity as his own interest. They had never been orphans, after all.
Meanwhile, Armand was watching Marius and Benedict again, noting how enthralled they seemed by each other. He sighed softly. If everyone loved Benedict so much, they could bloody well have him. “I’ll say my hellos to a few more people and then I’ll be away for the night. Enjoy yourself,” he said to Lestat finally before turning to go.
Lestat laughed under his breath as he watched Armand walk away, admiring how well his finely-cut clothing fit him from behind. It wasn’t often that his teasing actually affected Armand, and he had to wonder why Benedict had become such a particular sore spot compared to Armand’s usual revolving list of would-be enemies.
Lestat trusted Armand to keep it to himself, though, and not engage in any outward animosity here at Court, so he wasn’t concerned, but he did feel a bit sorry for him. For both of them, really, that they as a people couldn’t all cherish each other for the community they now had with the wisdom to love all things.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and T
Next up, we go back and see what Marius and Benedict were talking about through all this
Also, did you see this thing I posted yesterday??? https://archiveofourown.org/works/52235572
I found a Louis/Lestat scene Anne wrote in her diaries that never made it into the books, and it is 😱😱😱
Chapter 11: Renaissance Man
Summary:
At the Christmas ball, Marius seeks out Benedict for his promised dance.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Earlier, when the orchestra’s song had ended with a sweeping finish, Marius walked Pandora to where she wished to sit awhile. It was next to Bianca, who she’d been growing close to over the passing nights. He considered sitting, too, especially when he spied Lestat in conversation with Armand. The two looked happy, and they even touched. As a fairly self-aware man, he knew his nearness might sour Armand’s mood and ruin the moment between him and Lestat. If Lestat was who Armand stayed at Court for, Marius would be glad for it. Glad for any reason. He decided instead to seek out Benedict for his promised dance.
Benedict couldn’t believe his eyes as Marius approached him in all of his well-dressed glory. He had said that he would, but saying something and doing it were two very different things. Still, he’d spent all the rest of the dark morning before dawn on the internet trying to learn how to dance in the current styles, on the very very off-chance that Marius asked again. Perhaps he wasn’t going to, perhaps he was just coming to say hello. That would be for the best, really. Where everyone else made the dances look so effortless, Benedict might come across as awkward, which would draw attention to the fact that the Prime Minister was dancing with Rhoshamandes’s fledgling. All of this ran through his mind as the handsome man approached, and he tried to temper down his panic.
“Sir.” Benedict smiled and bowed his head deferentially. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Marius had thought there was a chance Benedict wouldn’t come to the ball. Or would have left early. He looked somewhat uncomfortable, though with his beauty and perfect features, he fit right in. Marius knew the source of his discomfort, and felt it reasonable, though hardly a thing to worry about. Sweet Benedict, who bore no responsibility for his Master’s crimes. Marius wanted to warm Benedict to the vampires of Court, to assure him that he belonged within these walls. And if anyone was cruel to him, he’d handle it personally.
He extended his hand, palm up for the young man to take, offering a warm smile. “You look lovely tonight, Benedict.” Which was putting it lightly, as Benedict was quite angelic. “I was hoping for my dance.”
A man such as Marius calling him lovely? Benedict could simply die. Especially when he’d not attended a palace event in so many hundreds of years and he no longer had any confidence in what to wear. He was hesitant to take Marius’s hand, but not because of Marius. Because it was such a statement Marius was making to the whole Court, and indeed there were a few eyes on them.
“You look radiant yourself, Sir,” he replied sincerely, and tried not to think too much on it as he slid his hand into Marius’s. “Please forgive me if I’m a little clumsy.”
Marius held Benedict’s hand loosely, not wanting him to feel seized or forced or trapped. He tugged it just enough to guide his beautiful, hesitant partner to the parquet dance floor where a playful song spirited bodies about.
“We will keep our steps simple,” Marius promised the young monk. “Just follow my lead. If you stumble, it’s just a new step.” He wound the fingers of their hands together to clasp, wrapping the other around the young man’s body to hold him snug. Not too close, but close enough to brush and touch. Marius found he quite liked the proximity, though he’d hardly discomfort the modest boy with entirely too forward statements. “I didn’t know how to dance for at least three centuries. Roman’s don’t dance, you see. And Christians hated it, too.”
Benedict could see why people in this era danced this way with one another. The sway of their bodies along with the music, there was a romance to it. There was a romance to Marius, with the glow of the lights about his face and the soft movement of his hair, the movement of his jaw and lips as he spoke and of course, the gleam in his eye as he reminisced.
Benedict pulled himself out of the dreamy haze, refusing to think such things. He couldn’t be thinking these things about anyone, couldn’t be that audacious. He’d learned his lesson. “Christians don’t like much in the way of fun. At least, they didn’t when I was one.” He smiled, stumbling a little in his steps. If he were human, he would be bright red, mortified for embarrassing himself and this lovely man like this. “I’m sorry, I learned this dance last night, and without a partner.”
“You are doing wonderfully,” Marius praised, propelling Benedict through the turns and steps with firm (but not forceful—he’d only stumble more) motions. As he did, he stared into the boy’s unturned face. It was no wonder his Maker treasured him as he had. There was a connection there that made Marius ache and burn in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn’t stop himself from darting his eyes about to find Armand. He knew to look back toward Lestat, where he spied those gleaming auburn curls, and he wanted to sigh. But instead, he indulged in a single long gaze before wrenching his eyes away and back to his dance partner.
Marius smiled like he wasn’t coming apart at the very seams. “You’re a natural. And now that everyone knows, you’ll be dancing all night.”
“Oh,” Benedict began quietly, and then stopped himself. The insinuation that people would be lining up to dance with him was as amusing as it was unlikely, but he knew that his tendency to doubt himself was unbecoming. Nobody wanted to spend their time reassuring someone like that, but nobody liked someone with a huge ego either. The problem was, Benedict didn’t fully know how to act around others to make himself likable. So he tried to think of something fun to say as they moved, as Marius moved him with such confidence and expertise. “I rather think they’ll be lining up to dance with you. You’re very good, even if Romans don’t dance.”
“I wanted to be a proper Renaissance man,” Marius confided, serious though lighthearted. “The homo universalis. Good at a wide variety of things. Dancing was socially practiced to learn.” Not to say he didn’t enjoy it from time to time. Like now. Benedict wasn’t stepping on his toes and got better by each second. There were worse things in the world than a beautiful man in your arms.
Marius became keenly aware of the way their stomachs brushed and hips bumped, though their height difference left them somewhat unleveled. But it stirred him in an unexpected way, and he kept his thoughts from wandering by looking about at the pleasant holiday decorations and lights, which weren’t tacky the way most holiday decorations could be.
Naturally, he noticed Armand had now vanished. For the first time, he frowned, but it was fleeting for Benedict’s sake. When the song ended, he stopped but did not pull away, though he was filled with an urgency without definition. “I’ll hope you’ll save one last dance for me before night’s end.”
Benedict still had so many questions for him. His heart swelled for how wonderful Marius seemed, how clever and intriguing with his voracious thirst for knowledge. In that moment, he wanted to know absolutely everything about Marius, to thank him for being so wonderful and nice to him, but he nodded and surrendered to the dance’s natural end. He’d been lucky, so lucky to have this time from Marius when so many vied for it.
“If you find yourself inundated, I will treasure the dance we’ve had.” Benedict smiled softly, pulling away to free the man. “Thank you.”
Marius caught one of his retreating hands, too quick to be seen, but exceedingly gentle as he tucked his long fingers into the young man’s hand and brought it to his lips. He pressed the softest kiss to the white knuckles, and gave a smile over their curve. What a sweet delight Benedict was. “I assure you that the pleasure was mine.”
He didn’t drop Benedict’s hand, he guided it down to his side and released it. But it was time to go. Armand had disappeared, and it filled Marius with anxiety. Though he could not decipher the root of it, all he knew was that Armand’s vanishment set off a wave of nervousness in his stomach, and he needed to find his fledgling.
Notes:
This chapter written by B and T
If you'd like to reblog this story on Tumblr, here's the link! The Christmas Curse
Chapter 12: Peace and Purpose
Summary:
Louis and Lestat enjoy a private moment at the Christmas ball.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As Lestat moved through the ballroom, he exchanged yuletide pleasantries with his glamorous guests until he reached the marble bench by the painted wall where he often sat during these events to watch all the beautiful vampires mingle and socialize. Ever since Armand had reminded him of the crown he wore, he was uncomfortably aware of it on his head. Lestat wondered if he could get away with taking it off and stowing it atop the helm of the suit of armor beside the bench.
As if on cue, Louis materialized out of the crowd to stand in front of him, his expression almost unreadable in its wistful appreciation of the regal yet reposed sight before him.
Lestat looked faintly guilty as he met Louis’s eyes. He couldn’t read his mind, but that didn’t stop Louis from often knowing exactly what Lestat was thinking just by the look on his face. The golden crown remained firmly on his golden head for now.
The beautiful formal tuxedo Louis wore was close-fit with a white silk vest and bowtie. His crisp white gloves contrasted against his dark black jacket and slacks. A single bright blue columbine blossom, like the ones in the copious bouquets he'd gifted to Lestat last night, was tucked in his buttonhole, the burst of color standing out against the overall monochrome ensemble.
Without a word, he took a seat beside Lestat and gazed appreciatively upon the dancers and minglers on the ballroom floor. Silently, his eyes on the crowd, Louis pulled off one of his gloves, then slipped his hand beneath Lestat’s, his fingers curling tenderly about his maker’s palm.
The feeling of Louis’s silky skin against his own changed Lestat’s guilty expression into a soft smile. This was quite a public display of affection for Louis! Would the Christmas surprises never end??
Not needing to speak, they quietly watched the party together for several dreamy minutes. Lestat slouched against the plastered wall with one boot up on the edge of the bench and his arm folded on his knee, lace dripping over his hands from beneath the wide cuffs of his velvet coat. He made a stark contrast to Louis’s prim and proper white tie at his side, yet they complimented each other perfectly. No one looking at them could deny that they went together, a matched set, the image to meet all expectations, providing their guests with a sense of comfort and familiarity that made the chateau feel like home for one and all.
“Our crypts will be full this morning,” Lestat said sometime later. The work they’d been doing on the castle’s lower levels had expanded them to accommodate two hundred vampires now, and he’d invited all who wished to stay until dawn to make comfortable use of the underground space. A hundred more could safely lodge in the nearby cities, though hunting was forbidden anywhere closer than Paris. There was also plenty of room in Paris for the young ones at the Court’s satellite house and the sprawling city of millions around it.
“You like this?” Lestat watched Louis’s irresistibly handsome profile from the corner of his eye. “All this company?”
“I do. Tonight especially, when there is a special and formal occasion. A holiday. This Court is important, to so many and to me.” Louis's voice was hushed, and his slender cool fingers curled ever tighter around Lestat’s hand. “This Court is a symbol of something greater than ourselves. It gives me something akin to hope, the closest I’ve felt to a belief that we could be more than just the monsters we are, give more to those of us who are lost and suffering. It lets all know that we might find some peace and purpose against the void of forever. On nights like this, I feel almost mortal, human again. And as much as I cherish my solitude, there is a purpose here that is greater than myself.” He turned to look at Lestat with these last words, his brilliant emerald gaze roaming the length of his maker’s beautiful face.
Lestat’s eyes were glued to Louis’s, awestruck to hear these words coming from him—from Louis! After a moment of stunned silence, a breathy little laugh of delight escaped him. His free hand covered Louis’s, but only for a moment before moving up to brush against Louis’s cheek, like a restless moth that didn’t know where to land. His fingers curled so that only the backs of them touched Louis, as if using the whole palm would be too intimate here and now. After another fluttering moment of absorbing these words, Lestat laughed at him again, tilting his head and brushing his thumb softly over Louis’s cheekbone, his clear gray eyes absolutely shining with emotion and adoration.
And then, damn it all, the moment was broken as a buzzing came from the cellular phone in Lestat’s inner jacket pocket.
At first, he ignored it, but when it kept up and he realized it wasn’t a message, but a call, he withdrew from Louis to dig the phone out. He intended just to silence it, but the name on the screen was another vampire who resided in the castle. Brows pinched, Lestat lifted his face to glance around the party, certain the individual should be in this very room with them, but apparently he wasn’t after all. He answered the call.
“What do you mean?” he asked after listening to the vampire ramble for a few moments. “An animal in the heating ducts? Like a nest?”
The voice on the other end explained that the creature had been heard by several vampires in the opposite wing of the castle scuttling through the pipes in the ceiling, that they tried catching it at the vents, but it kept eluding them.
Lestat rolled his eyes. For the love of hell, they were vampires, what were all their dark powers for if they couldn’t snatch a small animal out of a heating duct?
“What is it? A squirrel? Weasel? …Oh, a cat, really? Like a genet? Or do you mean a house cat? Don’t kill it. It must belong to someone in the village.”
What a cat could possibly be after in the castle, Lestat had no idea. They had no mice or other vermin thanks to the fact that there was never any food in the house for them to scavenge.
“Calm down. Stop apologizing! I’m not angry. Why are you even upstairs? Come back to the ballroom. All of you. It’s Christmas. It’ll come out on its own once you stop frightening it. Or if it dies in there, we’ll be able to find it well enough to fish it out then, won’t we?”
Lestat shook his head and ended the call. Powering the phone off entirely, he put it away with one hand, not about to let any other such mundane matters interrupt a lovely night of celebration like this.
He glanced back at Louis with an apologetic expression, though he seemed in equal parts amused. “He means well,” he said with a shrug, knowing Louis easily overheard both sides of the conversation. “But why everyone thinks I’m one disappointment away from blowing up into a fearsome tyrant, I’ll never understand. Honestly, so frantic over a matter so insignificant.”
“They want to please you.” Louis finally removed his hand from Lestat’s and replaced his glove with a swift and efficient elegance. Lestat watched the hand disappear from view without even trying to hide his forlorn expression.
“So often, you claim a certain kind of folly,” Louis said, “and hold a measure of reluctance about this title you’ve acquired. But I find myself wondering if that does not qualify you for the job that much more? I would much rather have a Prince who does not want the title than a power-monger who vies for it.”
Lestat rolled his eyes at such cliché talk, but Louis went on as if he didn’t notice. “That, and my words earlier are at least some of the why for this crown you wear so beautifully. The gemstones each have their meaning. I’ll tell you, if you like. Or perhaps later, in private.” These last words Louis whispered, his dark brow quirking ever so slightly, a telltale hint of slyness.
A soft blush of color rose to Lestat’s cheeks, and the glazed look of adoration returned to his eyes. He pressed one of his own ungloved fingertips to the center of Louis’s lips, as if to admonish his flirtation. “Just how much thought did you put into this bauble?”
“A little over two months’ worth,” Louis admitted. “Nine weeks from the initial finite conception of the idea to its completion. Though I had inklings of it back when you were first gifted the other crowns. I worried to offend those vampires, but none seem to mind now, and if they do, then they’ve said nothing.” Louis looked out over the crowd to see if he might spot these he spoke of, but he could not place eyes on them.
Lestat let his hand fall back to his lap. He did not follow Louis’s gaze to the dance floor, instead using the opportunity of Louis’s diverted attention to study him much more intensely, as if he needed to memorize every invisible pore in his flawless white skin in the matter of the few seconds he was turned away.
“Maybe you should be the one wearing it,” he said with a smirk. “It clearly means much to you.”
He stared at Louis for another pointed moment before finally asking, “So who put you up to this? Was it Marius?” And Lestat was well aware that Marius could easily be overhearing this entire conversation without even trying to listen.
“Is it so very surprising to have been my idea alone?” Louis asked, turning back to Lestat, his eyes narrowed somewhat. But it was clear he was more amused than annoyed. “No one gave me the idea, though I did consult Gregory on the topic, lest he have any insight to objections of which I might otherwise have been unaware. Before that even, weeks went into research in selecting the gems, and several more in acquiring them as well as working with the artisans among us to ensure the piece was built to my standards.” Louis seemed almost to puff up as he spoke, having taken careful and considerable pride in the whole affair.
The sudden urge to catch Louis’s face in his hands and kiss him right here in the middle of the ballroom was exceedingly difficult for Lestat to resist—but somehow he managed. Despite how Louis had teased a minute ago, Lestat knew they wouldn’t actually have any time alone tonight, and just the reminder of that almost made him want to curse Christmas.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” he growled under his breath, giving Louis a heated, reproachful look.
Louis blinked as though he could not possibly have any idea what Lestat meant. Doing what on purpose? Treating him like the Prince he was? Outfitting him like the Prince they needed? Hadn't the Court so far seemed to love and naturally gravitate toward pomp and circumstance? They so loved their little rituals. Lestat was damned lucky Louis hadn't insisted on an official crowning ceremony.
"Maybe I am," Louis said, his smile a serene rebuff. Whatever Lestat imagined, Louis would own up to in an instant, no matter its truth, if only to catch one more glimpse of that look of longing on Lestat's face that had been there moments before, as if all Lestat might ever want was to take him in his arms and claim him.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and K
Chapter 13: Anything Else
Summary:
Marius finds the upset Armand avoiding the Christmas ball on the terrace, and tries to reach him.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Armand wanted to see Louis, he wanted to embrace Bianca. But after watching Benedict and Marius enjoying each other’s company so adoringly, he felt so bitterly miserable that his mood would have tainted those interactions. Instead of seeking any other company, he had gone out to the ballroom’s terrace balcony to catch some air. He found himself staring at the gloomy snow covered hills of L’Auvergne. The clouds above had parted in splotches and the stars were nice and the air was so clean here compared to New York, but none of it did anything to improve his mood.
It was only a few minutes before Marius slipped onto the balcony behind him, knowing he could stand there as long as he wanted, and his powerful child would never know. But it felt invasive to stare too long, even if Armand was unspeakably lovely silhouetted by stars.
He let his feet fall heavy enough to hear, giving Armand a hint of his approach before he came to his side. He brushed the snow off the stone railing and leaned casually against the balcony, his forearms resting lightly. There was nothing even remotely interesting enough in the dark forest to pretend to look at, so he let himself glance at his fledgling. “I hear there are a few young guests, excited little things, surprising others with mistletoe. I’d hate for there to be a murder or…a half dozen tonight.”
There would be at least one if Armand had anything to do with it. How dare Marius have the gall to come to him now. He must know what he’d done, and if he didn’t, as Armand already speculated, then Marius wasn’t thinking about him at all. There was no winning.
“Well, it’s on them for upholding inane traditions.” He didn’t look at Marius as he spoke, he didn’t think he could. What the hell was the point in all of this for them anyway?
Marius decided it was better to stare off into the nothing beyond than to watch Armand avoiding his eye contact. So he turned to the mountains and snow, and the moon. The chilly wind stirred through the frozen gardens below and gave the air a sweet scent. Everything was so beautiful, but it felt spoiled, too.
But Marius couldn’t lose heart, so he put a somewhat lighter smile on his face. “I didn’t come out here to warn you of possible flirtations. I came to ask you to dance. Will you dance with me, Armand?”
Armand closed his eyes, steeling himself against the emotions that wanted to come up. He wanted to lash out at Marius for this, for asking him after Benedict, for asking him at all now. But especially after Benedict. There was clearly a hierarchy in Marius’s mind, an order of priority. How many others had he danced with before he’d even thought to ask Armand?
But it didn’t matter. What use was screaming at his maker when they just weren’t on the same page, when Marius didn’t want the same things as he did, and Armand couldn’t even allow himself to want the things that he wanted so deeply in his heart?
“No, thank you,” was all he said, his voice a whisper.
It wasn’t anything that Marius hadn’t honestly expected, but he still felt a stone of disappointment sink in his stomach and a stinging in his core. His visible lack of emotion at the response had everything to do with his pride. It was best not to show his disappointment or reveal how much he’d wanted to dance with Armand.
Marius pushed himself off the railing and began walking back inside. He did stop for a second at the door, though, a pause long enough to speak a few words. “If you change your mind…” But he abandoned the offer there because he knew that Armand would not change his mind. Or at a chance so slim, there was no point extending the hope. Marius didn’t dare let hope seed; better not to watch it wither rather than bloom.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Armand.” And then Marius went inside and found his place beside Lestat, where he would stay the rest of the night.
Armand decided then and there that he wouldn’t go to see Louis or Bianca. They’d be around enough in the coming week, and he felt pushed to the absolute limit tonight. He felt cold and bereft and empty. There were two ways his frustration and his hurt would manifest here, and Armand could feel which way it would go with the sting in his eyes and the red film about them.
He sighed.
Anyone who thought he didn’t feel anything was wrong; he felt too much. With his face still turned to the hills, he raised his hand to dab at his eyes, waiting long enough to gather himself in the hope that he could slip out of the ball and go back to his rooms unnoticed. He’d be damned if anyone would see The Great Armand shed a tear.
Would Daniel hate him if he didn’t go on the trip to Italy with the two of them after all? It was either where he had the worst years of his life or the happiest, and Armand couldn’t bear to be around the place because of it. Not now, not after tonight.
He would still encourage Daniel to go though. He wanted him to see everything, and to take care of Marius. To listen to Marius’s stories. He would not make Daniel have to choose between the two of them. He would tell Daniel to spend as much time with Marius as he wanted, and to love him with all his heart and body.
Although…physically at times, if Daniel wanted to do something with Marius, or with him, go off somewhere, he would have to choose. Because Armand couldn’t be around Marius. He couldn’t.
He found himself getting flustered over it now, not used to letting himself dwell on it so. He turned back to the balcony, keeping his face totally out of view of everyone beyond the windows behind him, and tried to breathe. Marius was lethal to him. He didn’t know how else to put it. Falling any deeper in love with Marius, if that were possible, would kill him this time, and he wouldn’t be able to piece himself back together. Marius had done this one thing with Benedict, and now Armand felt like he could barely speak. This was the damage his maker could do.
Armand didn’t know what he wanted. Some kind words, some understanding. An embrace even to ground him, to hold him together at the seams. But he wouldn’t get it from Daniel when he went back upstairs, or anybody else, because he was totally alone in these feelings toward Marius. Everyone else positively adored the man and allowed themselves to adore him. He took a deep, shuddering breath and gripped the banister.
Think of anything else.
He drew forth the memory of his conversation with Gregory. The way the man had flirted with him. When Armand told Daniel the plan, would his fledgling be jealous? It was a full time job to be in love with Daniel. Armand didn’t have the capacity for anybody else.
That was a lie, really, but Armand wasn’t thinking about Marius, because if he did he would come apart all over again.
Gregory was handsome, and the treasure hunt could be fun for Armand. Armand had a reputation for being insatiable, but he would keep it strictly professional, as he had the utmost respect for Gregory. Though…might Gregory actually want him? Well, there was no harm in just looking. Daniel had mentioned more than once in the past that he thought Gregory was sexy. He would tell Daniel all about it. Armand hummed, trying to lock on to these thoughts. Talking about a good looking man with his beautiful fledgling would also be fun. It would keep the blond cobalt eyed demons at bay.
Meanwhile, inside the ballroom, Gregory stood with his little family, watching the ebb and flow of the dancers. He was thinking about how very interesting it was that Marius had taken Benedict to the dance floor. This seemed a rather dangerous move to Gregory, as Benedict, despite all his claims of a falling out, was very much Rhoshamande’s favorite beloved fledgling. It certainly wouldn’t go over well if Rhosh heard of Marius dancing with the young man. And with all these eyes and ears as witness, there was no doubt that it would get back to the tempestuous Rhosh.
As the night sparkled on into the wee hours, Gregory found himself chatting with two blood drinkers he and Chrysanthe had not seen since the early 7th century. He knew Flavius would also love to see them again, but Flavius had already left the party, as had the many of the others who needed to return to their secure resting places before sunrise.
“You must come to our home in Geneva this very night,” Gregory told them. “So he can catch up with you as well.” Chrysanthe, Avicus, and Zenobia all chimed in with enthusiasm, and the couple accepted the invitation. With a small nod to Lestat across the room, Gregory led his little coven out of the ball and home to Geneva.
Just in time to avoid the odorless vapor that began to waft from of the heating ducts.
Notes:
This chapter written by T and B, and D a bit at the end.
That's it for the Christmas Eve ball! The next chapter begins when they all wake up to the horror on Christmas Day, which I will post for you on actual Christmas 😁🎄
Chapter 14: Christmas Nightmare
Summary:
Shock! Horror! When Lestat, Armand, Marius, and Louis wake up in their coffins on Christmas Day, they are no longer vampires.
Chapter Text
Something was wrong. Frightfully, horribly wrong.
The dark of Lestat’s coffin surrounded him as he woke, but he couldn’t hear a thing. Not the footsteps of other early risers leaving the crypts, not the gentle whisper of the warm air blowing from the heating vents, not the wind in the trees of the forest, not the voices of millions in the world beyond the chateau.
Gasping, he pressed his hands against his ears, which made his elbows bumped the coffin walls. Well, he heard that, all right! And felt it—a jolt of pain ran up both arms. Oh, god, what was wrong with his chest? It felt so tight, so thick, aching. This pain…
He couldn’t breathe!
A panicked sweat broke over his brow. Shoving at the satin-lined lid of his coffin, he threw it open and sat upright, clutching at his breast and taking in deep gulps of air.
His eyes—oh god, his eyes too! The small stone crypt was pitch black. Even without any candles lit, Lestat could always see the outlines of the room, but tonight they were gone—everything was gone!
Were his eyes gone??
His fingers scrabbled at his face—Pain! Well, they were there, yes, he could feel their shape beneath his lids. But his limbs felt so heavy and thick. Had he been poisoned?? When? How? He scraped his mind to remember this morning when he’d retired here at dawn. Nothing had been out of the ordinary at all…
Blindly, he felt for the edge of the coffin, then hoisted himself out of it. But that didn’t work the way it was meant to either, and he fell hard on his knees on the stone floor.
Help! Lestat cried out with his thoughts. Someone else had to be awake to help him! The room now felt as stifling as the coffin.
But there! He could make out the faintest gray light outlining the crypt door. Yes, the door!
The door…was open.
No way in hell had Lestat left his crypt door open this morning. He hauled its heavy bulk closed behind him every time he retired for the day.
Someone had opened it.
Someone had come in here while he slept and done something to him! Poison?? A curse??
Blood would fix it. That was all he needed, the healing Blood from one of his many powerful friends. His stomach lurched and roiled as if opposing this thought, and Lestat clutched an arm around himself as he staggered to the door.
It was only open a few inches, and when he grasped its edge, it felt nearly impossible to slide. Lestat shoved his shoulder into the gap and wedged with all his weight. He was so weak! What could possibly do this to him? Him! And who?? And if someone meant to hurt him, why leave him alive? Why not finish him off?
Had they hurt any of the others?
“I’ll tear you limb from limb!” Lestat cried out to his invisible foe, only to nearly choke at the clotted sound of his own voice.
A surge of terrified adrenaline gave him the strength to widen the door’s gap enough to shove himself out, and he tumbled into the earthen corridor.
Such silence!
He could hear nothing but his own ragged, frightened breathing, see nothing but the dim outlines of the doors to the other crypts. Were they open, too? Some of them seemed to be cracked, but not all…
But there—at the end of the path—that pale light… It must be filtering from the stairwell.
Lestat made a dash for it, gripping the banister and throwing himself up the staircase, every step feeling like he was wading through sludge, his chest burning.
When he finally stumbled onto the first floor landing only to behold it empty and desolate, he paused with a hand against the wall to catch his breath. The entire castle was so silent… Could he be the first awake tonight? Was the one who had opened his crypt door still here somewhere?
He was about to demand they show themselves, when he caught sight of his hand against the plastered wall. He recoiled in horror.
“No!” he gasped. “No…this is a nightmare. Wake up, you idiot!” He lifted his trembling hands before his face. Usually so smooth and pale, like things cut from marble, in the low light of the electric chandelier, his fingers, his palms, his wrists, all of it—they were covered with tiny lines, and pink! The ruddy pink of mortal flesh.
“No, no nonononono.” Lestat scrambled through the hall to the nearest salon, desperate to find a mirror. He’d had this nightmare before. He knew how this went.
Once upon a time, it had been a fantastical dream more than a nightmare—that none of the darkness had ever happened, that it had all been a mistake, that he was still the boy he’d been in this castle more than two hundred years ago, and his entire demonic existence as an undead creature of the night had been nothing but the sick twistings of his unconsciousness. But ever since he had actually tried the experiment for real more than two decades ago, Lestat understood that returning to mortality was the last thing he could ever desire.
“Wake up, you idiot,” he hissed, beating his hands against his head.
Pain again!
“You’re dreaming this because of that conversation you had with Gregory the other night. Don’t you remember? That sentimental dross about being human again. Wake up!”
He stumbled more than once before he made it to the salon, where a huge ornate gilded mirror dominated the papered wall.
“My god,” he said in English at the sight of himself. “My god…”
He looked…he looked like his son, Viktor. The way Viktor had looked the night Lestat had first met him, before the boy took the dark Blood.
“That is how you know it must be a dream,” he whispered.
But the tears welling in his eyes were far too real. Clear tears. Their salt taste as they streaked to his lips was completely devoid of any hint of blood.
All too catastrophically, devastatingly real.
——————————————————
On the crypt shelf he shared with Daniel, Armand was suddenly very cold, and there were voices beyond the door, and everything about him was hard. It made him angry, because there was no way on earth he’d get a restful sleep like this. He reached for Daniel in his sleep-addled state and cuddled him close. At least Daniel was warm and soft, like back when they first met.
Come to think of it, that was very concerning. Warm to the touch, and Armand himself felt strange. Sluggish and clumsy, and all these aches and pains in his body upon waking… He strained to hear the voices, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying, only that they were panicked.
“Daniel,” Armand hissed, his hands crawling to hold his fledgling’s face. He couldn’t see him, had to feel his way up there. Invasively, his thumb pushed into Daniel’s mouth, where it ran it along his teeth.
Blunt.
Armand gasped in horror, hardly registering how he himself felt, then he noted that his own fangs were also gone. “Daniel!” He needed to find Marius. The implications of this were all too horrific. Marius would know what to do.
As Daniel groggily woke, Armand climbed over him to go to the door of the crypt. He pulled at the handle, then tried to fight the rising panic as it absolutely refused to budge.
—————————————————
In his own crypt, Marius had awoken to the soft sound of crying, muffled and low, but distinct in that it was the only thing he could hear. His eyes opened sluggishly, his brain uncharacteristically foggy as he tried to understand what was happening. Of course he knew immediately that this was not like him. Usually, as soon as he awoke, he was alert. As awareness hit him every night, he had to place the same locks over his senses or else be flooded by all manner of sounds and sights. For Marius, his keenest sense was hearing. When he concentrated, he could hear for thousands of miles. When he awoke each night, it always almost overtook him. Tonight, there was none of the clamor and chaos. Only the soft feminine sound of crying.
He knew those tears, though he hadn’t heard them for centuries. Bianca. His eyes shot open and his arms went up to push aside the stone lid of his sarcophagus. It did not move an inch with his first push. When he shifted his hands to try again, one found a gap about six inches wide. Gripping the edge of the lid, he pushed harder, feeling like he was using a great deal of effort and strength by the strain of his muscles, but the damned thing only slightly moved.
Confused and frustrated, he paused to assess. “Bianca, my darling,” he called.
Her small sobs came to an end with a hiccup. “I can’t get out, Marius.” Though her voice was tiny, it came clearly, meaning the lid to her stone coffin must be partly open as well.
He wasn’t about to tell her his own plight, which would frighten her more. “I’m coming,” he promised, and with the greatest of efforts, wedging one hand against the lip of the sarcophagus, he pushed until the stone lid at last began to slide. It became impossible after a few inches, but it was open enough now to allow him to squirm out.
Climbing from his resting place, he went to Bianca’s matching sarcophagus. With his feet firmly braced against the wall, Marius gradually shoved the lid the inches it needed to free her.
He was completely vexed by the sight of Bianca. He’d been so focused on getting her out that he’d not realized he could barely see in the near dark. Only a faint gray light seeped in through the crypt door, which was disturbingly ajar. When Bianca came into view, he saw her, yes, but barely and in the dullest of tones. Her eyes. Yes, her eyes were wet with tears, but where were they? Where were the red streaks of blood? It was water that came from her eyes.
Dread overcame Marius.
“My Lord, what has happened?” she whispered.
Marius tried to reach out with his mind. Armand. Lestat. Daniel. Where were they? But nothing came to him. It was just silence and emptiness.
“Come out of here,” he instructed Bianca quickly, hiding his panic. He had to find Armand immediately. Armand would be with Daniel. Then he could seek out Lestat. For now, he had to see Armand and Daniel safe with his own eyes.
When he emerged from his private crypt, he saw that they weren’t the only ones awake. They weren’t the only ones confused and frightened. Voices called out to him for answers, begged to know where the Prince had gone, but he had no information to give. He asked for patience and assured all that they were safe. And surely so was Lestat, who he would confer with soon.
Because Marius had seen enough to know what had befallen them, even if he could not put it in words.
First he had to find Armand.
Bianca followed obediently as Marius navigated his way to where his most beloved fledgling rested. He and Daniel were awake inside the crypt—Marius heard their faint mumbles through the door, though it was firmly shut.
It would be quite a Herculean task to release them from the room, but Marius had to make sure Armand and Daniel were safe, though if he let himself calm down for a moment, he would understand that they were. A door of this weight was nothing to Marius. Was nothing. He’d have pushed it aside with perfect ease before.
Better prepared and anticipating the strain, he put his entire weight and strength into shoving it inward, letting out a deep groan of effort. Dear Bianca tried to help, pushing with all the strength of her dainty arms, but it would not move.
Panic was threatening to undo him just as Thorne emerged from the dark. Just as large and mighty as ever, but from the heat of his arms against Marius’s, he knew it had happened to him too.
“The Prince’s crypt is empty,” Thorne informed them, his voice ragged and breathless. “What in hel is going on?”
“We’ll find him, but help us first.”
With the three of them committing to a whole-body push, the door finally started to budge. Marius’s tired, aching arms were shaking when he reached through the gap and touched Armand’s hot, supple flesh. Safe. Alive. He sighed with relief.
Armand gasped, so overcome with emotion that he was paralyzed for a moment. Relief, fear, confusion, it all manifested at once.
“Both of you, come out of there,” Marius ordered. “We must find Lestat.”
Armand slid through the crack and threw himself into Marius’s arms. He held him tight as anything, noting how he stumbled when he had always been unwavering.
“What is happening?” Armand’s voice was frightfully quiet as he buried his face in the crook of Marius’s neck. He smelled of sweat and labor. A vampire should never smell of such things! He felt his heart hammering hard. “Are you all right?” In this moment, Marius was the only thing to him.
Marius held Armand tightly to himself, comforted by the feeling of his body. His fledgling was so soft and fragile against him. He knew the feeling of this human body, but he’d never felt it this way before; never against his own human skin. Despite his panic and fear, so far no one appeared harmed. No matter his own fear, Marius couldn’t show it. Not only to protect those in residence, but definitely to protect Armand, Daniel, and Bianca.
“I’m fine,” he assured Armand, stroking his back, turning his face into the pillow of reddish curls. “I don’t know what has happened. We cannot call out for help or know the extent of this.” The council had to meet. An emergency session. But as he looked up to command Thorne, Marius found him already gone.
Armand pulled back, holding Marius’s face firmly in his hands and checking every inch of it with squinting eyes to make sure he was telling the truth. In mortal years, if they were indeed mortal again, Marius had always been one of their eldest. Armand needed to know now that he was well, that nothing had befallen him. This was too scary.
When he was satisfied, he nodded, before pulling away and going to Daniel. Marius may have been older, but as a mortal, Daniel had been ill, very ill.
“Yeah, um, I’m okay,” Daniel said in a shaking voice. Though his face looked blank, a man in shock, no sign of the illness and weakness that ended his life was visible.
“Maybe it’s a dream,” Armand said quietly, hopefully, checking Daniel over before pulling him fully into the corridor with sluggish movements. He stumbled, not used to this body, and gasped at the sight of their lovely Bianca, human again. She had helped get them out of the crypt! She seemed so distraught. Armand embraced her and kissed her and held her close. “It will be okay.”
Marius felt tired in a way that was entirely new to him, that perhaps he’d felt long ago but had forgotten. As Daniel embraced him, he leaned into Daniel’s body. But he was too big for Daniel’s this stature to hold, so he righted himself after a few indulgent seconds. There was much to do besides wonder at the reason and cause of this.
“All of you must stay close to me. No wandering. Where one of us goes, we all go.” Marius was trying to secure control, to find stability in this wild confusion. With his loved ones at hand, he wouldn’t need to worry for their safety. Though he feared there was little he could do to keep them safe. Not like this.
He stared at Armand for long, silent seconds, so full of fear that he was almost overcome. But he couldn’t give in to it, no matter how frightening this all seemed. He held out both hands, one to Armand and one to Daniel. “Let’s find Lestat.”
Armand looked for a moment at Marius’s hand, the memories of last night flooding back to him. It seemed a little redundant now, given the matter at hand, to be angry about the way Marius had behaved at the ball, but he still was. Still, this was about safety and caution. The right thing to do was to stay close to each other, so he took Marius’s hand and knowing Daniel was at the other side, he took Bianca’s hand in his other. He tried to ignore the pit that continued to open in his stomach as they made their way through the dark.
———————————————
Louis was still very heavily asleep, a late riser by nature, now all the more so because of his unwitting mortality. This morning, he had offered his own crypt with its simple wood and silk coffin to a visiting younger vampire who didn’t have Louis’s great strength (which he was usually loath to use) to lift the lid of the sarcophagi. For the sake of his guests, Louis took a stone bed for the day in a remote room deep in the tunnels.
As consciousness prickled over him, he turned inside the sarcophagus, trying to find some better and more comfortable position, stirring in the darkness and feeling somewhat odd that the smells about him in the crypt seemed muted and dulled. A curious unfamiliar dampness permeated the air trapped in the box with him.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and stared into the pitch dark of his stone confines, blinking for how much more inky and black his surroundings seemed. There was a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach too, not like the usually ever-present sensation of lust for the blood, but a curiously painful and hollow need.
Louis frowned and pushed against the lid of his coffin, and only then did a pang of fear reach his senses, only then did he begin to worry and fret that something was indeed not right.
Try as he might, he couldn’t make the stone slab lift or slide even a millimeter above him. Feeling about at all the edges revealed no cracks or fingerholds. As the sweat beaded on his forehead, the realization of what had become of him was slowly dawning, a strange anxiety and odd sort of elation building within his stomach.
He simply gave up then, laying still and silent, staring ahead of him into the utter darkness. How very strange and, too, perhaps even wonderful this was. So very bizarre, and maybe even fitting, if this was his fate, to languish here like this, unable to free himself or move.
And if he suffocated?
His heartbeat sped up at this thought, but he simply breathed in and out slowly, lying still and silent.
What else, after all, could he do?
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, T, B, and K
If you'd like to share on tumblr, here's the link!
Chapter 15: Controlled Chaos
Summary:
As Lestat and Armand work to free the trapped former vampires from their stone prisons, Marius tries to bring order to the madness.
Notes:
I hope you've all had happy holidays!!
The Christmas crisis continues 😁
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The voices were so small and distant, but the more that joined in, the more Lestat couldn’t mistake the cries of dismay and anguish, shock and confusion coming up from crypts. He must have left the door open behind him… His brain felt too broken to make sense of anything, but on some deep level, he understood that the same inexplicable transformation had occurred to others as well.
How many of them were affected?? Nearly two hundred vampires had spent the day in the castle, more than twice the usual number in residence at any given time, making use of his extra crypts to rest after the Christmas Eve ball before they would start the long journeys home tonight. Were all those lamenting, freshly-minted mortals now down there with a crypt full of vampires soon to rise from their coffins??
Lestat was about to force himself to go back down to get as many out as possible before disaster struck when he was startled by the sight of a hulking figure behind him in the ornate mirror. Whirling around, he stared at the large red-haired man for a full five seconds before he recognized him.
“Thorne! Not you as well!”
Thorne had had to put his body and soul into escaping his crypt, and wouldn’t have been able to manage it if he hadn’t awoken to a propped open door. After stopping several times through the corridors to help others in similar predicaments, he was desperate to find Lestat. Searching for Lestat was a mission of distraction that would ground him. He would worry about the rest later, how he felt, how all of his usual sensations were dulled and so many others had come to him out of nowhere.
Thorne hadn’t been able to sense the Prince by any of the usual ways, and it was only through grit and determination that he found him here upstairs in the salon. He marched to Lestat quickly, not thinking, and took his hand. For a moment, he simply stared—he was so painfully mortal, so frightfully fragile with those tears down his cheeks. Thorne hazarded a glance to the mirror himself and almost stumbled backward.
“Louis,” Thorne said finally, firmly. Finding Louis would distract Lestat. They all just needed to distract themselves.
“My god—Louis? What about Louis! For the love of hell, what is going on?”
“Nothing about Louis, aside from what has happened to all of us,” Thorne said firmly, and he turned away from the mirror, finding the sight of himself thoroughly jarring. “Why don’t you go down to the crypt, check on him and all the others? I’ll make sure every window and door in this chateau is secured. We need to get more security in. Let us act first and process this later when we have the luxury.”
The words tumbled over Lestat and he stared at Thorne in mute confusion. Security? Why? But then it occurred to him that security was Thorne’s job, and maybe he was clinging to that familiarity right now as a desperate coping mechanism. Out of habit, Lestat tried to impress this sympathetic understanding on Thorne with his mind before realizing again how silent and walled off his brain was, all his psychic power blocked away. So he just nodded. “I’ll send them to you.” And he went back into the hall that led to the crypt.
Several more people had already come up the stairs. Human people. Some were weeping pitifully, but most were still numb with shock. Lestat touched each of them as he passed, trying to ground them. “It’s me,” he said. He couldn’t even recognize half of them, their skin so many different shades now and their features so changed, but he hoped they might still know who he was, by his clothes and hair if nothing else.
“Go to the ballroom,” he ordered in gentle tones. “Stay together, all of you. No one wander off alone. Everyone gather in the ballroom.” Good god, it was all of them!
He waited impatiently against the wall as a couple dozen more came up out of the crypts, but when the staircase was finally clear, he ran down it, only saving himself from stumbling in his haste with a tight grip on the banister.
Damn it, he should have brought a lamp! After the light of upstairs, the crypt corridor was all the more impenetrably dark to his unadjusted eyes.
“Everyone upstairs!” he called over the shuffling and cacophonous voices ahead of him in the blackness. “Is anyone here still vampire? Show yourself now!” The din went almost completely silent, everyone seeming to hold their breath as they awaited an answer from the depths.
Nothing. Silence.
—————————————
Resourceful Bianca used the light of her phone to guide their way in the darkness, and Marius was able to lead his companions through the crypts with confidence thanks to the light. Lestat’s voice echoed down the corridors, and it was a relief because it meant he was alive and well, as much as any of them could be. At least this wasn’t some elaborate plan to harm Lestat, at least not immediately. No one could know the reason for this, if indeed there was a reason. Even as he thought this, Marius had logistics and practicalities swirling around his head.
They had to immediately secure the chateau. If any of their enemies heard what had befallen them, they might come to destroy them in this weakened state. There were so many here, Marius wondered how long they could keep this a secret. They’d need to call in powerful allies, but not until they could ensure no harm would be done to visitors. Lestat would need around the clock protection. And they’d require medical assistance at once. Every one of them needed to have their health vitals assessed.
Yes, they’d need a full medical team. All of them would need immediate checkups. Then they’d need an investigation team to get to the root of this catastrophe. Then there would be necessary resource procurement—food, items of hygiene. Infrastructure, yes, too, to ensure kitchens and bathrooms could handle their use. Marius’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration until he and his companions emerged at the landing below the steps.
“It’s me. Us,” he announced. No matter the lack of light, Lestat would know his voice. “It doesn’t seem there are any among us unafflicted, and no further harm has been done.”
Lestat shuddered to consider it, even as his hands found Marius in the dark, clinging to him in a mixture of relief and horror. How frail and pliable he felt! So warm and supple.
“Where’s everyone else?” he asked. Many had come up already, but nowhere close to the total number he knew had been down here at dawn to slumber. “Not awake yet?” He was about to say something else when a distant muffled sound caught his ear. Someone was screaming beyond the walls, behind the impenetrable stone doors of the crypts. More than one…
“They’re trapped!” Lestat released Marius and wedged past his little group in the corridor to run down the hall, following the sounds, keeping a hand to the wall to guide him. His eyes were beginning to adjust, but it still wasn’t enough that he didn’t literally run into Cyril, who was attempting to use all his hulking strength to pull open one of the doors that hadn’t been mysteriously cracked during the day. Lestat at once added his might to fight to get it open.
Armand could hear Thorne’s booming voice upstairs, ushering everyone to the ballroom and trying to calm them. He was counting too, adding up how many were emerging compared to how many they’d had last night. A monumental task, really, so he couldn’t come back downstairs and help Lestat with those who were trapped. And Marius had done enough, and needed to look after Daniel and their beloved Bianca…
Armand squeezed Marius’s hand to get his attention as they started up the stairs. “Let me go back and help, too. They need your brain and your presence up there, but there are so many down here. We need all the arm power we can get,” he reasoned, trying to convince Marius beyond the orders he’d been given minutes ago.
Marius thought it was sweet of his notoriously apathetic fledgling to want to help. Especially now that he was once again in the body of a teenager. Armand had been a strong child, though, and he had the mind and will of a man. Still, Marius wanted to put his foot down because he couldn’t have Armand out of his sights. Not until he knew there was no imminent danger. Of course it occurred to him that he was in no position to save Armand himself, but Marius refused such thoughts. Even in a human body, he was strong, healthy, and clever, and he’d always think of something. Mortality hindered his confidence little. So he was at an impasse: point out to Armand that he had the strength of a teenager and hardly much to contribute alongside men like Cyril, or let him help in any way he could, even if it was not much.
Marius decided it was better for their relationship if he showed some confidence in his beloved’s abilities. He should not tear him down and make him feel powerless, or step in and do the thing himself that Armand wished to do, thereby making the boy feel impotent and inferior. Or that Marius had no faith in him. Even so, Marius was still torn between running to Lestat’s aid or going upstairs.
Upstairs. They needed leadership there.
He pressed a kiss to Armand’s forehead and nodded. “I will take Daniel with me. I’ll make a record of everyone here. I think there is small chance anyone knows what has happened, but we still must ask.” He wrapped an arm securely around Bianca’s thin waist and pulled her along.
Armand was very surprised that Marius agreed to let him go, but the surprise was a pleasant one. He watched all three of them ascend the stairs with the feeling of Marius’s lips still lingering, before turning to catch up with Lestat.
———————————————
The ballroom was a controlled chaos. The confusion and fear was palpable. As Marius had anticipated, his presence was met with a torrent of voices and bodies, questions and concerns overlapping into a roar. With no answers to give, all Marius could provide were assurances.
“Daniel, help me make a list of everyone here. I need names.” At the same time, Marius motioned for those castle residents who had pledged service to the court—they all needed food and water and basic medical supplies immediately.
Bianca tended to any wounds, which were really nothing more than scrapes and bruises from escaping tombs and wandering in the dark. With her sweet disposition, she was perfect for such a task. Pandora soon joined her, his wives working in perfect tandem. And Marius was proud of Daniel for taking on a leadership role, watching him dutifully collect names and kin. In fact, he’d never been prouder of his bloodline than now as they each contributed what they could.
Marius did his best to answer any questions he could, and give all of the assurances he had, but there was too much still unknown, and too much to discuss in closed-door meetings. For now, none were permitted to leave the grounds, and Marius made it a point of their personal safety so that none would feel held against their will. For the most part, all saw the wisdom in this, and felt too vulnerable. They knew they were safest at Court with their Prince.
His mind swam, and it felt muddled, which was very upsetting for the usually keen Marius. He didn’t like the slowness of mortality or how it eroded his sharp senses and thoughts. The hunger pangs of an entirely empty stomach made it that much worse. As far as he could tell, no one had any helpful information. All were as in the dark as the rest, and he had no reason to be suspicious of their guests, but it wasn’t wise to entirely trust any either.
Thorne was so relieved at Marius taking charge that he approached and brought him into a firm embrace, which Marius returned with equal strength. “I am grateful that we have your strength and calm presence,” Marius said.
Thorne shook his head. He was good at protecting people, that was all. He didn’t have the head to remain totally calm, to manage things in the face of adversity. Marius did, and thank gods for the lovely women around him helping to keep them all at ease. And thank gods for Daniel, too, doing his bit to record names and numbers. Now Thorne could focus more on his count, and calculate how many they were missing.
“I’ve not seen Benedict, Antoine, Louis, Armand,” Thorne said preemptively to Marius, hitting him with the facts as he knew he would want.
“Armand is down in the crypts with Lestat. There are still some that need to be freed.” If Benedict, Antoine, and Louis were not among those still trapped, it was cause for concern as all three were important to Lestat. They’d organize a search if they were not found once the crypts were confirmed empty.
Marius found himself quite worried about Benedict especially, though he did not voice it. “Why don’t you help Lestat below? They need your muscle.” The sooner they knew who was missing, the better. “Make Louis the priority. Find his resting place and free him immediately if he is trapped.”
———————————————
Deep in the tunnels, Armand reached Lestat. He and Cyril were just managing to get a crypt door to inch open, and he walked wordlessly to join and add his strength. Once they’d squeezed that one out of her crypt, Lestat moved on to the next door with two other strong men who had come to help. Between the five of them, they were finally able to start moving more quickly, opening doors for those who had easily gotten out of their simple coffins, as well as pushing stone slabs off the more old-fashioned style crypts.
By the time they got to the end of the hall, Lestat was sweating heavily from the effort. He’d shed his velvet coat some time ago and wiped the now filthy lace of his sleeve over his brow. In the dark, he could barely see where he was, with no sense of positioning to know whose rooms he was near, so when the next one they opened revealed Benedict, Lestat caught him by the shoulders in relieved dismay. “You’re all right,” he said, trying not to sound as upset as he felt. He pulled Benedict into a tight embrace. “It’s happened to all of us. Go up to the ballroom and wait for me there.”
Benedict held his breath, burying his face into Lestat’s shoulder. He was shaking, he knew it, from the panic and from the energy he’d put into escaping the crypt. He soon realized his lungs were burning and he couldn’t hold his breath to think in the way that he used to.
“Thank you,” he said in a small voice, breathless, and he pulled away to see who else had helped to save him. Five in all, and he thanked each one, surprised as anything to see Armand among them.
Armand, though indignant, wouldn’t have let Benedict rot in there. At least, he didn’t think. He nodded, and in the back of his mind, he knew that he had probably contributed the least anyway with his strength compared to the others. In this one instant, he wasn’t mad about it.
He watched as Benedict moved away before leaning his forehead against the cool stone to catch his breath. His mouth felt as if it were coated with cotton, thirsty in a way that he hadn’t been in hundreds of years. Suddenly all he could think about was a glass of chilled water, with condensation rolling down the side like in those adverts. But there were more people to save.
Lestat watched Benedict’s shadow disappear around the corner. God, this was horrifying. Last night he’d had the ancient power of more than a thousand years, and today he was just a young boy who had felt so small and frail in Lestat’s arms. They were all so weak and vulnerable now.
They were all going to die.
Roughly, Lestat shook off this feeling. He could still hear the pounding panic of those behind other doors. Before he could go to them, a group of more than a dozen people came around the corner, having pushed their way out of one of the large shared crypts. Lestat flattened himself against the wall beside Armand to let them pass as one of the elders answered their questions and sent them to the ballroom. He squinted to try to see who he could recognize, but if any of his fledglings were in the group, it was too dark to tell.
“Not many rooms left.” Lestat’s hand found Armand’s forearm, tugging him to go further into the depths. “Come on.”
Armand nodded, taking a breath before following him. Indeed, only a few rooms remained, though it felt like an infinite labyrinth to Armand just now. Still, he wouldn’t dare complain about it. They were all of them in the same state.
Most of the doors they passed were ajar now, but as Cyril shone his phone’s flashlight around corners and down narrow corridors, they kept finding closed ones to pry open. Where the hell was Louis? Lestat knew he’d given up his usual crypt last night, but why were none of these doors revealing him?
They did find Antoine soon after. They were glad to see him, and then four more crypts before they came upon an open door. Thorne was in there, trying to push aside the top slab of a marble sarcophagus. When he told them he's seen Louis come down this way before dawn, Armand let Lestat pass first, that seemed pertinent to him, then wordlessly, he joined the effort. It shouldn’t take much now, and hopefully this was the last one. He pressed his weight into his aching, trembling arms and pushed at the stone.
Louis heard the clamoring outside his coffin, though he remained perfectly still. Without the power of the mind gift, he could not tell who he’d see when the lid was pried off, but whether they were friend or foe, Louis would accept his fate, no matter the panicked bile that rose in the back of his throat.
As the lid scraped sideways, Louis squinted at the sudden light from a mobile device, the stark contrast painful to his eyes that had been dilated to try to pierce the infinite dark. Breathing in, he coughed with the change in temperature of the air. Instinctively, he put up his hands to shield his face from whatever was to come.
Lestat caught them before Armand could, pulling Louis out and to his feet, not giving himself the chance to really look at him. Louis struggled in his arms, nearly lashing out and shouting. “Whoever you are, unhand me!”
“It’s me!”
Lestat. Lestat and Armand. Thorne and Cyril. Louis tried to right himself mentally and emotionally, blinking and cringing for how Lestat’s grip on his arms almost hurt. Pain. Pain carried with it a long forgotten fear and adrenaline, instinct geared toward survival. It was a feeling Louis had not felt in over two centuries.
“It’s happened to all of us. No one knows why,” Lestat said breathlessly, repeating a variation of the same words he’d been saying to everyone they’d excavated so far.
Happened to all of them, and nobody knew why… It began to dawn on Armand, the existential dread, and he leaned against Louis’s vacated coffin as it sank in. But he couldn’t dwell on it too long. After all, they were human now, and a human body had incessant, relentless needs. He was tired and hungry and thirsty and aching and dirty, they all were.
“Everyone’s gathering in the ballroom,” Lestat was telling Louis. “Go up and find Marius. Don’t go anywhere alone.”
“And where will you go!?” Louis grabbed onto Lestat’s arm and instinctively reached out for Armand’s with his other hand. “I can barely see! I’m not going anywhere without either of you.”
Lestat was about to object and tried to brush off his grip, but the look on Louis’s face made him relent. He glanced away quickly, unable to process taking Louis in this way right now. “All right, all right,” he said softly. It was time he checked on the people upstairs as it was.
“Is that everyone?” Armand asked as he peered down the dark tunnels, trying to find some method in the madness.
“I think so.” Thorne nodded, tired himself but not as much as the others. “But I can’t know for sure, none of us can. That worries me.”
Lestat tasked him and the other two men with making sure no stone was left unturned to the very depths of the crypts, and then he tugged Louis (and Armand by extension) in the other direction, Cyril hot on their heels all the way back to the stairs. Lestat took them more carefully this time, not wanting his friends to trip and stumble as he had before. But once they were in the light, he began to rush again until they made it into the ballroom.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, T, B and K
Chapter 16: Audacious Enough
Summary:
Gregory senses something horribly wrong at the chateau and must investigate for himself.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
In Geneva, the ancient Egyptian vampire Gregory had awoken in his underground bedroom suite with his fledgling, Chrysanthe in his arms. Most days he slept in his rooftop room, sunbathing nude to keep his skin burned to the mahogany color that allowed him to pass for mortal. But some days he reserved for sleeping with his wife beneath the city hotel building they called home.
Last night at the Chateau de Lioncourt’s Christmas ball had been great fun, and his whole family had been able to catch up with two blood drinkers they’d befriended hundreds of years in the past and since lost contact with. The party had been one of reconnecting and sharing great stories of adventures.
Gregory stretched out in the luxurious bed beside his blood spouse. He sent his mind out to the company headquarters of Collingsworth Pharmaceuticals, as he did every night, to ensure no catastrophes had occurred during the day. He then psychically visited his corporate offices around the world to ensure they too were in order.
Then he checked in on the Court. Oddly, there was no responding ping from any immortal psyche. He more forcefully checked and found a great chaotic swell of human minds in emotional turmoil. So distraught were these thoughts and emotions, Gregory struggled to separate and organize them.
Now he became alarmed. Sitting up in bed, he psychically confirmed that all his little family were here safe in this building, including their two newly returned friends. Yes, all were here, still in various states of undead unconsciousness. Gregory reached for his phone on the bedside table and quickly sent a text to Lestat, Is all well there?
As the minutes ticked by with no response, Gregory became more and more concerned, and he quickly dressed to fly to the castle. He didn’t even stop to cut his hair or shave his beard short before taking to the air.
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In the chateau’s ballroom, Marius slipped his arm around Daniel’s waist and held him firmly, having no desire to let him go. As it was, he worried for Armand’s safety downstairs. Logically, he knew no one would let any harm come to his child, but he felt out of control and weakened by this whole catastrophe.
“I need you,” he whispered, which was true in more ways than one. He needed Daniel’s help, of course, but he also needed his closeness. “We need a list of necessities, and then to organize requisition. Food, water, toiletries, medicines, things that we’d never anticipated needing, certainly not in this quantity; you understand? The chateau is now full of mortals, and mortals have needs.” Of course, they had things here, but only enough to accommodate the few mortals who worked part-time in the chateau to deal with cleaning or renovations and construction. “We have now two hundred mortals unused to hunger pains and unfamiliar with the symptoms and effects of dehydration. Hygiene is a concern… We must hire plumbers immediately to update the pipes for our capacity as bathing and…using facilities is now a concern.”
“I’ll do it,” Daniel offered at once. “Let me drive down the mountain and get everything.” It was Christmas night, but in the nearby cities, hopefully some big box store or other would be open. If not, he could at least hit up every petrol station market in between here and Clermont-Ferrand to gather enough food and sundries. Two hundred pre-packaged sandwiches would be better than nothing.
Marius had full faith in Daniel, who’d proven himself to be practical and thoughtful. And he knew things about the current world Marius didn’t. For instance, he hadn’t known there were limits on certain over the counter medicines. It never even occurred to him that medicine would be handled in such a way, though it made sense upon reflection. And if left to his antiquated tastes, they’d have a very medieval diet. Yes, Marius wasn’t suited to the task. He was better suited to other things. But Daniel was perfect for it, so Marius finally granted his approval.
“Be sure to provide options for menstruation.” What else might newly-mortaled immortals need? Ah yes. Marius cringed. “And condoms.” Two hundred people wanting to explore their bodies? They’d eat, drink, and copulate.
It was easy to be hygienic as an immortal—washing wasn’t necessary, and their bodies held no odor. Marius came from a strict bathing culture, but many others came from cultures that actively discouraged bathing. Even his weak mortal nose would wither from the intensity of so many unbathed human bodies clustered together.
Sensing some anxiety from Daniel, he pressed a kiss to his warm forehead, taking in not just the softness of Daniel’s body, but the softness of his own lips. “Keep your phone on hand in case I need to call. And take someone with you. Maybe Thorne?” The Viking would surely do Marius a favor and protect Daniel.
Daniel shook his head. “No way he’ll leave Lestat’s side. I can be back in two, two and a half hours.” He pointedly avoided mentioning the possibility that the condition of the snowy mountain roads might complicate that.
“The Chateau is full, and all eyes will be on Lestat. There’s nothing Thorne could do that the dozens here couldn’t in an emergency,” Marius insisted, stroking Daniel’s arms. “Your only other choice is me.” Because there was no one else Marius trusted enough with Daniel’s safety.
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Armand was glad to be dragged back up the crypt stairs to the ballroom, knowing it was all out of his hands now. He clung to Louis like a lifeline and was pleasantly surprised, even in this state, to have so much of Louis’s attention and worry. Armand didn’t want to make any decisions here, he wanted to listen and to absorb, and to have a god damned drink.
Lestat left the two of them just inside the ballroom door and weaved his way through the crowd to the end of the room. Hopping up on the stage so that he could see all the people better, he called the room’s attention to himself.
It didn’t work.
His voice was no longer preternaturally loud, nor the crowd’s hearing acute enough to pick it up. This realization made Lestat shudder in renewed horror. Clearing his throat, he projected his voice, the technique he learned as a young actor still ingrained in him.
This time, all faces turned to him, ready to hear what he had to tell them. “I don’t know any more than you do,” he said defeatedly. “The pain you’re feeling is hunger, and thirst.” And it was growing more gnawing by the moment, all their bodies completely void of any form of nourishment. “I have nothing here to offer you, and if we all descended upon the village, we’d eat my tenants out of house and home. The sinks work, but I have no glasses for you to fill.” He glanced around the room quickly, wondering if any other vessels would do, the shorter candle holders, maybe. God, how mocking all the Christmas trees and garlands looked now, and how perfectly terrible that most of his people were still dressed in their ball finery.
“Those of you who drove here last night, I suggest you leave now for the nearest towns before the restaurants close for the night.” The closest ones were an hour away. The sun had only set half an hour ago, but it was Christmas day and many would close early, no doubt. If they were open at all. “Take as many others with you as your vehicle will hold. You are of course welcome to come back here, all of you. But for those who want to go home, please leave your contact information. Those of you who came here on the air, if you need money for plane tickets to get home, do not hesitate to ask. I mean it! But first, go take care of your body’s needs, and for the love of god, be careful. The roads are icy, and the world is merciless to mortal flesh!”
Marius was dismayed. Lestat was releasing their guests so soon, without asking for counsel, without a royal debriefing or any information to disseminate amongst their kind, least of all an advisement to stay low and wait this out until they knew more. Marius wanted to contain their situation, at least until they had some answers. Things were kept secret and secure by retaining those affected. But Lestat was sending them off, and it would take only hours until news of their dire situations rippled across the globe.
He tried to explain this, to tell Lestat Daniel had offered to go get what they needed, and bring it back, but Lestat held up a hand.
“It will take too long. We’re all starving.” The pain in his own utterly empty digestive system was verging on cramping when he stopped to let himself think about it.
When Lestat was pulled in another direction, desperate questions piled upon him by so many, Daniel tugged Marius’s arm. “I’ll get everything else. And more food for later and all of you staying here. Waiting will just make it worse.”
“You will not go alone.” Marius would not budge on this.
Armand guided Louis through the crowd, and he slid up beside Daniel as he had been earlier instructed to stay close to both him and Marius, and he watched Lestat with tired eyes. Daniel was still insisting Thorne wouldn’t want to leave the chateau, that he could find someone else. “Cyril can keep close to Lestat,” Armand said, “if Thorne needs to go with you. God knows I don’t want you going, though I’d offer to come with you myself.”
When neither of them so much as acknowledged him, Armand felt as though he were intruding on a very private moment between lovers, and he supposed he was. He sighed lightly and moved to find Thorne, to explain what was being requested of him.
Thorne was immediately defensive and annoyed that Armand would be audacious enough to ask him to go anywhere away from Lestat, but…who else was there equipped enough to protect one of them as him? Thorne was not a conceited man, but he was smart enough to know that he was in his prime and very strong even as a mortal, that he had been healthy, and that most others who ticked these boxes had to stay here for some reason or another.
He told Armand to wait, approaching Lestat to explain. “Daniel is planning a trip to get necessities, medicine and such, on Marius’s orders. Will you be okay with Cyril if I accompany him?”
Lestat looked up from the circle of people who were plying him with questions he couldn’t answer, clasping Thorne’s arm gratefully. “Yes, go.” If Marius had ordered it, who was Lestat to disagree? “And take as many others with you as can fit in the car. Get them food they can eat immediately. If they need to get to an airport afterward, or anything, take them where they need to go, or give them money to hire a car.” Thorne had access to one of Lestat’s accounts and was encouraged to use it freely.
Lestat felt at his pockets but couldn’t find his phone. He turned back to the crowd and shouted over the noise for them to take down his number before they all left if they didn’t have it already. But then he paused, suddenly blanking on what the number actually was.
A look of fear clenched his features. All his preternatural memory and brainpower was gone. Again! Thankfully he was rescued by someone who had pulled it up in their own phone and read it aloud to the room.
Shaking off the dismay, Lestat watched as the bulk of the crowd slowly spilled out the ballroom doors to go down to the parking garage. As Lestat quietly started counting how many seemed determined not to go, in order to calculate if it wasn’t too many for them to go down to the restaurant in the village, it delayedly occurred to him what Thorne had said about him being okay with Cyril. Okay for what? Okay from what? They were all mortal now, and he was nothing more or less than any of the others. No enmity from their vampire world mattered anymore. He began to tremble, but wrapped his arms tight around himself, gripping his elbows to try to hide it.
Meanwhile, Armand kissed Daniel on the cheek, holding his hand firm and checking him over as Thorne approached. He eyed up Thorne as well, making sure he was okay, a ball of nerves for having to let his fledgling go without him. He felt like so much was out of his control, and he needed to be in control of things. “Be careful,” he said quietly to both of them.
Thorne nodded, his stomach growling in a most peculiar way, and he put his hand on Daniel’s shoulder to urge him to move. “Come on, Warrior. There are others waiting.” He didn’t think about what awaited them beyond, how strange it would be to step into the mortal world as a mortal.
When Armand found Louis again and took him once more by the hand, Louis squeezed it, still feeling half dazed and disoriented from the sheer weight of all that was transpiring. It was a strange thing, this, and he watched Lestat’s expressions from afar, taking in the sight of him and marveling at how different but still very much the same he appeared. After a moment, Louis glanced down to Armand, studying him with a similar curious wonder. So different. And yet…
Marius was overwhelmed. One moment Armand was there and then gone in the dispersing crowd. And Thorne was leading Daniel away. It was a relief that Daniel would have the kind Viking by his side, and he did have Marius’s phone number. Marius floundered for a bit when he realized he didn’t have the mind gift to remind Daniel to have all bulk orders scheduled for delivery so as not to overburden himself. It was a frightening thing to let Daniel go, and Marius struggled with the urge to stop him or just accompany him. So he quickly sent off a text asking Daniel if he’d truly be fine on his own. And with his phone in his hand, obsessively waiting for Daniel’s reply, he went to Lestat. Lestat looked as lost as Marius felt.
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Gregory dropped out of the sky to land smoothly on the balcony terrace flagstones, just outside the ballroom. When he entered, he immediately was slammed by the scent of mortal blood and fear. So overwhelming was this that his instant bodily reaction was that of a shark in churning waters of blood. He had to step back and close his eyes and all his senses, regain himself.
Something was horribly wrong here in this castle.
He opened his dark eyes on the scene once more. There were not many present, a couple dozen perhaps, though he could hear the sounds of many mortals beyond the walls leaving by car and foot. Here, however, was Lestat, and Gregory’s heart soared and froze at once to see him.
This was not the immortal Lestat…
And as his eyes took in the rest of those present, he found none of them were blood drinkers. They were all human! Marius was so very human! There was Louis, Armand, Benedict, Cyril and a few others most commonly found around Lestat. All pink-skinned and shockingly mortal. He frowned at each of them in turn.
Gregory stepped further into the room and finally found his voice. “What is this? What is it? A trick?”
A sharp gasp rose from the crowd.
Notes:
This chapter written by all of us!
Chapter 17: No Hesitation
Summary:
With the arrival of a vampire at the chateau, Lestat is filled with hope that the nightmare of becoming human will be over as quickly as it began.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Lestat stared at the imposing man who had suddenly appeared in their midst, dumbstruck by his beauty. The flowing black hair and full square beard made him look like a being from another time--which he very likely was. Could it be one of the replimoids??
But no—he’d come from the balcony, the terrace doors were open behind him, letting a wintry draft into the ballroom that they would have never noticed before, but now set Lestat to shivering.
“You’re—you’re vampire!” he said as he found his voice again. “You’re not like us!”
Could it be that only those who slept the day in the castle had been changed??
Hopping off the stage, Lestat approached the man, as if drawn hypnotically, but he snapped out of it as soon as Cyril grabbed his arm, demanding he stay back.
Gregory scowled at the little gathering. He quickly scanned their minds, gleaning as much information as he could as to what had gone wrong here. They’d apparently woken this way, all of them! They were confused and frightened, rightfully so.
He moved toward Lestat, wanting to embrace the young man and reassure as best he could, but the giant Cyril tried to block this. As if he had any power to stop Gregory now. But Gregory knew to respect mortal boundaries. He’d certainly worked long enough among them to recognize the signals. Poor confused mortals, all of them.
“Lestat, it is I, your friend and adviser, Gregory.” He flashed a smile at their Prince. “I am not groomed as I usually am. This was my hair when I was made by our Queen.” Certainly they hadn’t all lost their memories with their immortality. No, they were all of them very aware of who they were. Marius was now beside Lestat as well, and he slid an arm around the Prince, silent but firm.
“Gregory!” Lestat gasped. If Cyril and Marius weren’t holding on to him, he might have crumpled right there. His hand covered Marius’s, clinging to him almost feverishly. He didn’t know this hand, so thin and fleshy it felt, so warm and delicate. Who were these two ancient ones who flanked him now? With only vulnerable mortal sacks of meat to show for their millennia.
But Gregory was here. Gregory would fix everything!
“Are we the only ones?” Lestat demanded desperately. “Your coven, all others around the world, they are still immortal??”
Gregory closed the doors to the balcony with the power of his mind, so as to block the cold air from blowing in. “You need heat. You all need fires in the fireplaces and heat.”
As Louis’s eyes took in Gregory, at last the full realization hit him as if it were a punch to his chest. How terrifyingly beautiful was Gregory like this, and Louis found himself unable to glance about the room as he had before. Entwining his fingers with Armand’s, a renewed sense of dread seized him and something else that he could not yet define. And of course Lestat was trying to go to the vampire. Would anyone else dare to approach the great Gregory Duff Collingsworth?
There was a twisting in Louis’s chest, a dichotomy of feeling split between excitement and dread. “We are human…mortal…” he whispered, trembling, and he moved closer to Armand, pulling his hand away and replacing it just as quickly with his other so that he could stand behind him and slide an arm about his shoulders protectively. His palms were damp, the sensation of moisture between his skin and Armand’s a long forgotten detail.
Armand felt relief when Louis spoke, which must have meant he’d been feeling concerned that Louis had not said anything for a while. Armand wasn’t paying too close attention to his emotions now though, he was trying to focus on the moment. He gave his attention to Louis, nodding and stroking a hand up his arm. “I know, and I wish it would sink in for me the way it is you,” he said with kindness and gentleness, the way he always spoke to Louis. “Come, let’s get closer to them all. Perhaps it’ll get easier to hear things again, but just now my senses all feel so damn dulled, like I have to strain for anything.”
Gregory had pulled out his phone. “Let me call my mortal agents. I will have all you need arranged immediately. This is a disaster! What brought this on? It must be some illness or curse. Where is Fareed? Why didn’t you call me!”
Lestat didn’t know how to answer these questions. Everything had been chaos since he woke, and it was only now growing quiet as the last of the guests left, completely unaware that there was one of such powerful blood among them, leaving only the closest members of the household in the ballroom.
That blood, yes… The Blood! Gregory could restore all their dark gifts! And if there were more vampires in the world, they could all be made immortal again. This very night!
Lestat tried to pull away from Cyril and Marius, wanting to rush to Gregory and throw his arms around him and weep with gratitude, but Cyril wouldn’t budge. “Oh, let me go!” Lestat demanded. “He won’t hurt me!”
“His duty is to protect you,” Marius reminded Lestat in a low murmur. Emotions were heightened, certainly. Marius could feel his nerves fraying, but he wouldn’t let the stress dictate his behavior, so he kept his manner mild and steady. Lestat was in danger—they all were, but the rest of them quite mattered as much in the grander scheme of things. For all they knew, this was a plot to destroy them all. Naturally, Marius didn’t think Gregory would ever harm Lestat in any way, and Gregory was experienced in handling mortals with care. But Cyril’s caution was understandable given the situation.
For his part, Marius unwound his arm from Lestat’s waist as it seemed to cause more anxiety than comfort, which wasn’t the point. As he glanced around the room, he finally spotted the luster of Armand’s curls again and breathed a secret sigh of relief.
Gregory’s mind reeled, trying to make sense of all of this. A dark chuckle escaped. “Well… This is an interesting mess.” His amusement quickly returned to worry as he realized what a disorganized and frightened group this was. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Louis and Armand holding on to one another, surprised by the vulnerability they showed.
Gregory’s concern turned back to Lestat, seeing Cyril and Marius trying to guard him. Gregory felt a pang of sadness to see his friend also in such a vulnerable mortal state now. He moved closer, speaking in a gentle deep voice, “Lestat, how can I help? Tell me what you need first.” He looked to Marius as well. How very odd to see the great Marius in such a human state. “Do you want me to retrieve Daniel and Thorne and bring them back here? You have certainly not been human more than an hour, and already they are out there in the elements.”
Marius gave him only a slight shake of the head in response. He was sure the decision he had made was the right one. After all, it was far better to send envoys out for what they needed to secure rather than letting outsiders (even villagers) have access to their home at a time when they were most vulnerable. He was still trying to think of how to contain this misfortune from being revealed to the entire immortal community. They had some powerful enemies who were only discouraged from attacking them by the collective strength of those in the Chateau. Well, now that strength was gone and they were vulnerable.
“Food can be easily delivered,” Gregory insisted.
Easily wasn’t at all the word Lestat would use. It was always a headache the extra hoops he had to go through to get things shipped and delivered up to his remote mountain village. And that was on a regular day, not Christmas! With enough time and patience, though, it was certainly possible and could all be arranged by a few phone calls to his men in Paris.
But if Gregory was here offering what he needed, then it wouldn’t be necessary. Lestat could be a vampire again before the hour was out!
Lestat caught Marius’s hand, squeezing it gratefully, but he couldn’t pull his gaze from Gregory. How magnificent he appeared to his mortal eyes! Utterly radiant!
That Gregory hadn’t answered his earlier questions about the state of other vampires left Lestat trembling with worry, but he was too focused now on the prospect of undoing his mortality to ask about them again. Even if Gregory was the only immortal left in the world, he could become the root of the entire vampire population, just as his own maker, Queen Akasha, once had been.
Slipping away from the reluctant Cyril, Lestat finally approached Gregory, his eyes shining in wonder, seeming practically entranced. He took the vampire lovingly by the shoulders, and a soft gasp left his lips to finally recognize his friend in the depths of his black eyes and the softness of his lips beneath his thick mustache.
“Bring me to you,” Lestat breathed, his voice infused with hushed excitement, all his despair of the night washed away now and replaced with hope.
What were these words? This impassioned plea? Every erotic dream Gregory had about Lestat over the past decades came flooding over him.
Marius sighed with further annoyed dismay. Now was not the time to make life-altering decisions. Gregory’s blood would be there in a day, a week, long enough for them to be sure nothing terrible was happening. But Lestat made decisions with his heart and desire, not with his brain.
Likewise, Louis frowned, but was not in the least bit surprised that Lestat would immediately ask this of Gregory. Louis would never forget how it had felt when Lestat had asked the same thing of him the last time he was mortal, would never forget how it had made him feel.
He found his grip about Armand’s shoulders tightening, his nerves piquing, and he wasn’t sure he could watch, wasn’t sure how he felt. In one sense, he could not judge anyone too harshly for reacting so to such a change. In quite another sense, Louis felt a certain kind of relief and longing, a certain kind of wonder and curiosity for what this new mortality might mean. Would they be able to walk in sunlight? To ride across a flowering wide open field on horseback? To bask on a sailboat beneath a blue sky dotted by cotton clouds?
“I can’t watch,” Louis whispered, and he pressed his face into the top of Armand’s luscious auburn curls.
Armand caressed his cheek soothingly and held him close. “You don’t have to, I’m here.” Armand himself was morbidly fascinated. In this focused state, the hunger and thirst and tiredness were less intense. He didn’t even know what he wanted himself, only that he was mightily afraid of dying and immortality had kept that at bay for him.
Gregory’s very dreams were coming true! Was this truly happening? Lestat, offering himself, begging even!? There was absolutely no hesitation in Gregory. “Yes! Of course. Of course! Anything you desire of me.”
Louis looked up from Armand’s hair just in time to see Gregory grab Lestat through the thin fabric of his clothing and pull him out of the ballroom, over the balcony, and up into the dark snowy sky. A strangled cry of horror caught in his throat, coming out a choked gasp. He clung to Armand that much tighter.
Marius, too, had been about to step forward and suggest perhaps they wait until they had more insight into what had happened, but then they were gone, and he didn’t have the power to send out his mind and find out where Lestat was taken.
“Oh, goddamnit!” he exclaimed, pulling out his phone. He looked around and saw Armand and Louis coiled around each other. Well, good. No one needed him. His head hurt and he needed air, so he stalked out to the balcony.
Notes:
This chapter written by all of us!
Chapter 18: Perspective
Summary:
Gregory has kidnapped Lestat! Now mortal and powerless, Benedict, Marius, Louis, and Armand don't know what to do.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Benedict rushed out to the ballroom balcony, desperate to catch a glimpse of Lestat and where Gregory had taken him. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Gregory, it was that he was afraid of him, and if anything happened to Lestat, Benedict didn’t know how he would cope. Lestat was his rock here, the person that had been unwaveringly kind to him from the very beginning, who had actively liked him even! From a selfish point of view as much as from the point of view of the Court, the thought of anything bad happening to Lestat made his chest hurt and his breathing shallow. He gripped the marble banister of the balcony, leaning up as much as possible as if the few inches and more precarious position would actually help him make out more than dark shapes against the night sky.
At the other end of the terrace, Marius was also squinting through the darkness and studying the distance away and up, trying to catch any possible glimpse of Lestat or Gregory. Or any movement at all that would indicate the presence of a person. Something, anything, to let him know where Gregory had taken Lestat. But his weak, human eyes could see little through the black of the night.
He couldn’t shake the fear that Lestat might not survive this. They knew nothing of the magic of their predicament. Something or someone had turned them human, though Marius did not want to speculate on the reasons or methods just yet. What if this killed Lestat? Marius knew Gregory would let no harm come to Lestat willingly, but it might be beyond his power to control.
With white knuckles, Marius gripped the ice cold banister, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Benedict who looked afraid. Perceptive. Marius studied him to get a read on his emotions as those could be quite informative in many ways. “Lestat will be fine,” he finally assured in a murmur, speaking with more confidence than he felt.
Benedict startled, his eyes turning away from the shapes just long enough to behold Marius. How lovely he looked as a human, and how frightening to Benedict that he didn’t feel the usual thirst and ardent desire that came with looking at a flesh and blood human.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to follow you,” he said quietly, stepping down from his height and wrapping his arms around himself. It was unbearably cold out here, and he’d not felt so distressed in so long. What would Rhoshamandes make of this, if he even cared? Marius didn’t need to be his counselor on this, he had far too much to deal with. “I hope that he will be. Are…are you?”
“You didn’t follow me,” Marius said, both assuring and serious, not taking his eyes away from his distant search as he moved closer. “You followed Lestat.” He’d deduced in the short time he’d been there that Benedict was quite enamored with the Prince, as many were, and might consequently be quite afraid for his life in a more personal way. Though it was kind of Benedict to ask after him personally.
“I’m quite well.” No point mentioning the pain in his head and in his stomach—he didn’t know what either meant but would address it when Lestat was recovered alive and well. “Lestat will be fine and returned to us shortly. I am sure of it. You needn’t worry so much.”
Benedict looked cold and miserable, and Marius wished he had a jacket or a cloak to offer. In fact, he was quite cold himself. Taking the young man by the shoulders, he gripped him as if planning to coax him back inside, but he didn’t. Benedict was startled again, now by the touch, but he made sure not to react to it in any negative way.
Marius let go and looked back to the night. “We should search.”
Benedict looked up into his eyes and tried to gauge what he meant by this. They couldn’t fly. Search where? The forest, the castle? Did he want to search together or split up? Splitting up would be easier, but what if they happened upon Gregory in a way that made him attack?
He didn’t ask any of this, just nodded. “Yes, we should search. We should take different areas of the castle.”
“No, you stay here and stay warm in case Lestat returns,” Marius said quickly and protectively. He couldn’t imagine letting Benedict wander these halls alone, not with his small body and innocent attitude. “I will have Cyril and some of the others search, and myself of course.”
“Oh,” Benedict murmured, a little sad that Marius didn’t want him to help. He wanted to be useful, not haunt around the ballroom full of fear and anxiety. Far be it from him, however, to ever question or defy Marius. He nodded, wrapping his arms around himself. “Be careful, and let me know if you need me for anything.”
Benedict looked absolutely forlorn; he wanted to help, so it was only natural. Marius put a hand to his cheek and gave him an encouraging smile. “Lestat would not forgive me if something happened to you, even for his own sake. If he returns and finds you wandering the castle alone, he’d be beside himself.”
Meanwhile, Louis finally managed to let go of his clinging embrace of Armand. His heartbeat hammering in his chest, Louis seemed frozen, staring emptily into space as he rallied his sense of purpose. Then with a poignant look of worry for Armand, Louis forced himself to the threshold of the balcony doorway and peered up into the dark sky. The cold night air made his eyes water and burn, and Louis wiped at them.
Steeling himself, he stepped outside and came to the railing to lean against it. Taking a large breath, he trembled, then shouted, “Lestat!!” A feeble thing, his voice, carried off and away by the empty blackness of the night.
Armand followed Louis quickly, worried what he might do. But out on the terrace, he caught sight of Marius with his hand on Benedict’s cheek. He felt that same burning hot rage return to him as before, but this time he didn’t have the energy to dwell on it. If they wanted each other, so soon after this whole thing had transpired, maybe they should have each other.
Benedict could feel Armand’s eyes burning into him and was now very conscious of his interaction with Marius, but he nodded to Marius’s command. He didn’t know if Lestat would really mind him wandering or not, but again he wouldn’t defy Marius. “I’ll stay inside,” he affirmed quietly.
“Very good,” Marius praised, letting himself collect his thoughts now that he knew Benedict would stay put and await Lestat’s return.
Pulling away from him, Benedict went back into the ballroom. As he returned to the bench he was sat on before, suddenly he was fearful that if Rhoshamandes found out they were human, he’d storm the place, knowing they’d all be helpless, and pick them off one by one. This fear was too much.
Louis’s voice was hoarse and throat aching for his shouts. He cleared his throat and tried again, “Lestat! Gregory!”
Armand tutted and rubbed his hand over Louis’s back, trying his damndest to stay present and upright in light of everything that had happened. “He’s going to be okay, Louis. I know these things. I have a gift, remember? Had it even as a mortal.” He didn’t know if he’d even still have it now; he was totally bluffing for Louis.
Marius meanwhile had gone in to speak with Cyril, requesting that he organize a sweep of the castle immediately. Lestat had to be found and verified alive at the very least. Everyone participating in the little search and rescue mission had his phone number, which was now imperative because none of them had the mind gift to communicate.
But first and just as important…
Marius looked around, and sure enough where Louis was found, so too would be Armand. It wasn’t so strange since Louis and Armand had such a lengthy love affair, and of course would seek comfort with each other. He’d ease Armand’s distress over Louis’s distress by finding Lestat as quickly as possible. Three birds, one stone.
“Armand, come here,” he called.
Armand felt that command in his bones and perked up at it. He spent a short moment wondering if he should obey, but really he knew that he should. As angry and upset as he was, he was tired, and something in him responded to such orders and requests from Marius. It was a comfort to him almost, to be told what to do by him in this moment of crisis.
He kissed Louis’s cheek and promised him in a hushed and intimate tone that he’d return in a moment. Louis gave him a thankful nod, resting a hand briefly on Armand’s shoulder in silent gratitude for his optimism. When Armand went inside to Marius, Louis stayed at the railing, looking out and up into the night sky, trembling with the cold, but unwilling to move, lest he miss any movement above that would point to Lestat’s being all right and safe.
When Armand reached Marius, he turned tired eyes to him. “Yes?”
Marius studied his upturned face, and he marveled more at what he did not see than he did. Gone were the subtle lines, shadows, and colors that his immortal eyes once saw. But the lack of complexity made Armand no less beautiful. His pink cheeks and red lips made Marius feel a sensation he absolutely refused to address, even if he did like the heat and tingle in a most curious place. Yes, Armand looked especially lovely when he was soft and weary.
“Are you feeling well?” he asked quietly, privately. “How does your body feel? Stay by me until this is resolved, until Lestat is found. And then I will take you to find proper food.” His most beloved of all fledglings needed to take care of his body, and Marius was so afraid of something terrible happening to him when he was this vulnerable.
Funny how these concerns had come only after a conversation with Benedict. Checking the same things with him before, no doubt, but Armand didn’t push it. He would let loose on it all, perhaps, once they had figured it all out.
“I’m tired, and I think hungry. We all are. I am not any more special or more or less vulnerable to it than everyone else here. My arms and shoulders ache, I’ll feel the strain in the coming days.” He paused, wondering if he was saying too much. Did Marius want the truth, or did he just want to hear that everything was perfect?
He looked at Marius for a long while, observing him properly. He was so painfully handsome in any form, but now with the slight lines about his eyes and the healthy tint to his skin, Armand found himself unable to look away. He wanted to point out that he was probably as tired and hungry as the rest of them, but to point out that Marius had weaknesses would be a grievous offense.
“If you need to go off in the search, I don’t think I’m in any danger.”
Marius felt like they were surrounded by nothing but danger, but he wouldn’t let Armand know that he was afraid. And the truth was, Marius trusted absolutely nobody with Armand’s life, not even Louis or Lestat, though he knew they would do anything in their capacity to protect him. “I can’t leave you here,” was all he could admit of his fear and insecurity. “I can’t have you out of my eyesight, not right now. Will you come with me?” While he might be able to do little to ensure Armand’s safety, he only trusted in himself to try.
“Who will stay with Louis?” Armand asked quietly after some thought. And he had been thinking. He had been thinking about how strange it was that Marius wouldn’t let him even an inch out of his sight, and wondering why he would trust that Louis would be safe practically alone in a room that Armand wouldn’t be. He wondered if it were a need to control something, when everything else was totally, uncharacteristically, out of Marius’s control. The fact of the matter was that Armand wouldn’t leave Louis alone.
Marius fought against the absolutely exhausted look he wanted to give his fledgling. He understood why Armand would be concerned for Louis, and if he had time to consider, might even think it sweet that his notoriously cold child was worried for someone else. But Armand had to be practical. What could he, now in the body of a teenager and not that of a powerful five hundred year old immortal, do to protect Louis? Yet, this wasn’t something he could be cruel enough to say, so he pet Armand’s curls. “I understand,” he granted. “But I’m not asking you to come, Armand.” He was telling, which left no room for argument.
Unable to keep from overhearing them, Louis turned, shaking his head and holding up a hand, his expression grateful but humble. “I will manage,” he called in from the balcony with another quick glance to the sky. “It’s all right. I’ll come back inside…will try not to pace…”
Finally, he moved from the railing, back to the door, where he stood just inside the frame to peer outward with his brow pinched and nerves frayed.
Notes:
This chapter written by T, B and K
Chapter 19: Make Me Yours
Summary:
Gregory is beyond excited to become Lestat's new vampire maker, but neither of them anticipate the extent of the curse.
Notes:
I am soooo thrilled how into this story you guys are getting! It's been super fun to write. I love reading all your comments and discussions, they make my day! ❤️❤️
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After he'd whisked Lestat from the ballroom, Gregory had flown with him up to the top of one of the chateau’s towers, not far at all. He let Lestat go on the snowy roof, where he staggered, completely disoriented from the speed and sudden release.
Quickly, Lestat managed to catch his balance, one hand going to his chest to clutch at his frantically racing heart. It had all flashed before his eyes, that horrifying night hundreds of years ago, when he’d been abducted from his bed in Paris as a boy, the living nightmare that had only ever been eclipsed a handful of times in his long life—including when he woke up mortal tonight.
Gregory watched him, fascinated by the strength of will and the desperate lust for life he displayed even now as a weakened mortal. Gregory could smell the blood, too. The thick, hot, rich blood pumping in and out of the heart. He could see how it flushed in Lestat’s skin, feel the warmth even from where he stood.
Lestat was too shocked and disoriented to even notice the drastic change in temperature, the icy December wind whipping past him at this high perch, tangling his yellow hair over his face, freezing the breath in his throat, and roaring in his ears. The sky above was dark with fat clouds that threatened more snow, but even without stars or moon, Gregory seemed to glow before him in the night. So celestially luminous, Lestat couldn’t help but feel a surge of love for him now despite the acrid fear that gripped him.
The cold wouldn’t matter soon, nor the dizziness this height caused, nor the terror seizing him all too naturally despite how absolutely sure he was that he wanted this, that he could not bear to live a single night as a mortal man after his horrible misadventures with a human body twenty-four years ago. None of it would matter once the Dark Trick was worked again, once he took Gregory’s powerfully ancient blood into his own veins. Lestat had never tasted it as a vampire, but as a man now, the elixir would be the glistening fount of eternity.
Gregory laughed, low and deep; delighted and filled with joy that this could be happening. How beautiful Lestat was, with his golden mane of hair and the blue azure skies in his eyes. His black pants were close fitting and the waistcoat he wore cinched the white lace shirt to show off all the fine lines of his tall, well-proportioned body. “You’re perfect, my Prince,” he said with a deep love. “I would of course make you one of us again. A hundred times over, yes.” Gregory held his arms out for him. “Come to me.”
“Yes,” Lestat managed to say past the tightness in his throat. Pushing through all his fear, he crossed the snow-dusted stone to Gregory and pulled him into his arms. Burying his face into the side of his thick hair, so soft, his pliant mortal body aligned against this pillar of marble.
“Gregory,” he breathed, his hot lips seductively brushing his ear. “Make me yours.”
Gregory slipped an arm around him, pinning him close so he could not escape. Though it was quite clear Lestat had no intention of running. The all too familiar hunger took over, his face and eyes going blank, his vision seeing nothing but the weak mortal against him, the erotic scent and anticipation of the blood overwhelming all else.
He placed his mouth against Lestat’s throat above the open collar of his shirt. His tongue licked at the beating pulse, then he sank sharp needlelike fangs deeply, moaning as the hot blood gushed into his mouth. This was everything! Lestat, his!
Lestat couldn’t help it at first, he fought. It was instinctual. He twisted and pulled, but he couldn’t so much as lift his arms or separate a millimeter from Gregory’s chest. And then the visions assaulted his mind, and reality disappeared into a sense of oneness with the being that held him. Flashes of hot ancient lands, sandy deserts stretching into the darkness, the wide muddy river, the cries of battle and clanging of weapons, wailing and lamentation.
Gregory drew in mouthful after mouthful, but gradually the taste of the blood fully struck him. The taste… No—what was this taste? Not right, no! Without warning, Gregory pulled away, almost flinging Lestat from him before he could stop himself.
All of the blood visions shut off like a light switch, and Lestat fell hard to the stone, his head reeling, his throat burning. Vaguely, he heard Gregory’s movements, but he could make no sense of them.
Gregory wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. Something was wrong! The blood was wrong! Rancid tasting. Gregory choked on it, made a horrible retching gagging noise.
He couldn’t vomit it up! How insulting to Lestat that would be!
He tried to keep it in, but it was destroying his stomach and everything in his body screamed to expel it. He made the retching sound again and covered his mouth. With apologetic eyes to Lestat, he ran for the edge of the parapet and watched in horror and fascination as the blood shot out from him and down over the snowy grounds below. When last had he thrown up? He could not even recall. How unusual it felt. How strange.
He turned and slid down the parapet wall to the rooftop floor. Dazed, he stared over at Lestat. “Forgive me… The blood is not good. It’s as if it is spoiled.”
The words came muffled to Lestat’s ears. Groaning, he rolled over, pushing up to sit with one hand, his other clapping over the ragged little wounds on his neck, the blood hot and sticky as it seeped between his cold fingers.
“What?” he stammered, but then it began to come back to him. Gregory had been feeding on him. “You didn’t take enough,” he managed to say in a croaky voice. “You have to take more.” Surely Gregory knew that? He’d made two vampires of his own long ago. He couldn’t have forgotten? What was he doing there, sitting by the wall? Lestat crawled toward him, so he could make a second assault.
Gregory grabbed him, holding him firmly at bay by his upper arms, though they both remained on the cold stone of the tower roof. “No, my dearest, the blood is bad.” Gregory tried to make his words more clear.
Ah! There was still the wound at Lestat’s throat and Gregory made every effort to stop himself from biting in again. Because though there was an unappetizing flavor to it, the blood still called to him. He brought his thumb up to his fang and sliced it open then smeared his blood over the wound so it might heal. At least that much he could do.
His thumb was now coated in both their life essences, mixed, ruby red. Before he could stop himself, Gregory licked it away. At once, he gagged again, and so violently! His body instantaneously responded to the taste. All the blood left within him came up now out of him and splattered wide over not just his own clothing but Lestat’s as well, splashing the Prince’s white shirt and gold waistcoat with crimson.
Gregory gasped in horror. “Please forgive me. This is not how it should be! The blood… It is tainted somehow.” What a mess he’d made of this! Forever he would remember this embarrassing mishap.
It was so warm! Lestat hadn’t realized how cold he was out here until that hot blood landed on him. As he rubbed his hands over his face to try to bring his coherency back, he didn’t realize how the blood on his hand from where he’d touched his neck smeared over his face as well.
“Bad?” he repeated, so confused. He was finally seeing clearly again, though, and Gregory looked absolutely wretched. How could his own mortal blood now be bad? Was whatever devilish trick that turned him mortal also making his blood repulsive to vampires? What kind of magic was this??
“The Talamasca,” he blurted as he slumped against the wall beside Gregory. Shivering now, he wrapped his arms around himself. Everything about his body was excruciating, the gnawing agony of his empty stomach and the burning of his parched throat. His head ached with dizziness from the blood he’d lost, and even though Gregory had healed the puncture wounds, his neck still throbbed from the pain of the bite. This was absolute torture!
Lestat’s next breath came out almost like a sob. “The Talamasca would know…” He didn’t think they were behind this; Teskhamen kept tabs on the order of psychic detectives. He would have been able to prevent this if he heard any such plans from his former pet organization. But this had to be some kind of magic, and if anyone had information about it, it would be the Talamasca.
Gregory removed his heavy wool coat and placed it over Lestat’s shivering shoulders. How insensitive of him not to recognize the cold Lestat must be feeling! “Yes, of course. I will have the Talamasca contacted.” Again, Gregory wiped at the blood on his face. It was in his beard! So unpleasant and sticky.
He stood and gently pulled Lestat up, keeping an arm anchored around him. Gregory felt a great tiredness suddenly. Dismay washed over him. How could he have been so foolish to have rushed into biting Lestat like that?
He turned his head in the direction of the ballroom, listening. “They are calling for you. Looking for us. They are afraid for you,” he said quietly. “Louis, especially. I should take you back to them.”
“Wait!” Lestat put a hand against Gregory’s hard chest while the other held the coat closed over himself from inside. He felt steady enough on his feet, now that he was getting his bearings back. God, he was thirsty. It was almost as bad as the blood craving, this mortal thirst. His throat felt practically on fire.
Peering at Gregory through the dark, he couldn’t tell if he looked sick or about to vomit again, but even if he were perfectly capable of flying, Lestat was petrified at the prospect of being in the air. What if Gregory accidentally dropped him? Anything could happen! He wanted his feet firmly planted.
He swallowed thickly, trying to get some moisture into his throat so his voice would come out more than a rasp. “Let’s take the stairs.”
Turning to the tower roof door, Lestat pulled on the handle, but the damn thing was locked. With a groan of frustration, he kicked it, then looked back to Gregory needfully.
Oh how heartbreaking this was! Gregory could hardly stand to see the great Prince Lestat so vulnerable and human. Afraid to fly!
“Of course,” he agreed immediately, using the mind gift to unlock the heavy battlement door. Opening it, he held it for Lestat, and then they took the long way back down to the ballroom.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and D
Chapter 20: Utterly Unbearable
Summary:
When Lestat returns to the others, they try to come up with an alternate plan to regain their vampire powers, but Marius has other priorities.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The castle was so dark, so cold, so empty. Things Gregory would normally not take great notice of, but understood now due to Lestat’s new mortality. When they finally reached the ballroom, it was nearly empty. Gregory stood with Lestat beneath the same mistletoe they’d kissed under two nights ago. How things had changed since then!
The giant Christmas trees blocked most of Lestat’s visibility into the rest of the room, and he could only distantly hear the shuffling of feet and soft voices of the few people left there. He knew he must look a fright, but that wasn’t why he paused at the door. Just the thought of facing them now after the absolute failure at his attempt to regain his powers had him feeling so despondent. He sank against the carved oak door frame, letting it support his weight.
“I will find water for you. I can bring blankets and firewood down.” Gregory scanned the nearly empty ballroom. A couple people stood out on the balcony. “Perhaps you all should go to a hotel in Paris. All the amenities you need will be there.”
Shrugging off Gregory’s coat, Lestat handed it back to him. He was desperate for a glass of water, but he didn’t want Gregory running off to the sink so quickly, and he held onto his friend’s arm, looking at him with forlorn eyes. Going to stay in the city—Paris, or one of the nearer ones, though he kept permanent rooms in Paris, which would prove convenient—made a lot of sense, but Lestat couldn’t do it yet. He didn’t know how many of the former vampires would be coming back up to the chateau once they’d seen to their own needs.
Most would probably just go home, but he guessed a good number would cling to the Court now that they knew other vampires still existed in the world. At least for a while, until…
Oh, God. Until what? It wasn’t like there was an end to this nightmare! Gregory couldn’t even swallow a drop of his blood!
But…there were other ways, weren’t there?
Lestat’s own maker, Magnus, had made himself a vampire by stealing Benedict’s blood without Benedict drinking any of his. Lestat could simply open his veins and let it all drain out and then drink from Gregory. “Surely that would work,” he gasped, his face snapping back up, a new flame of hope bursting into his eyes. His hand clenched Gregory’s arm desperately. “We must try it!”
Gregory stared into Lestat’s face, feeling the heat from him, smelling the blood again. “Of course! Of course, I would do that for you in an instant!” He was incapable of denying Lestat anything requested, though he knew it might be a great risk. “Yes!” Gregory agreed again, despite his inner alarm bells. “But—” He held up a finger. “We must have Fareed present, to monitor your body. If your blood is so affected, how can we know how your body will react to my blood?” Gregory paused to be sure these words had been heard. “Also, please keep this coat on. You are human and cold. I do not feel the temperature so keenly.” He moved to place the heavy coat back over Lestat’s shoulders.
Lestat tried to resist—he had coats of his own! He needed to go up to his room to wash and change anyway, he was so blood-splashed. Just the thought of all those stairs, though, exhausted him, so he gave up, accepting the coat again and leaning his back heavily against the doorway.
He was about to give his own thoughts about Fareed and this new plan, but then Marius was suddenly upon them.
The sound of Lestat’s voice and the movement by the furthest Christmas tree had drawn Marius at once. He was horrified by the sight of the blood absolutely covering Lestat’s clothes and neck and face. Lestat wasn’t immortal again, that much Marius knew, but he looked gruesome. “Good god!” he cried out. “What happened?”
“Nothing!” Lestat lamented. “As you can see.” His expression was a combination of helplessness and barely-contained fury. “Gregory’s system rejected my blood—rejected it!” Was there anything more wretched than a vampire being unable to drink blood?
He caught Marius’s forearm in a firm, determined grip. He was not going to give up on trying to help all his friends regain their immortality as quickly as possible. “We have to try another way. We’ll just cut me open and drain out all my blood, and then I’ll drink his.” The method wouldn’t have worked for a younger vampire, who would absolutely need the mortal’s blood before they could give their own blood back. But Gregory would have no such trouble. At his ancient age, his blood was an inexhaustible fount.
Marius saw the logic in the plan, and knew it was one that would work in a normal circumstance. After all, it was how he’d made Pandora. She’d been drained to the point of death by another vampire; Marius had drunk none of her blood himself. But he’d fed her his blood, and she was made.
Yet this was hardly a normal circumstance, and there were too many unknown variables to consider such a dangerous risk. He couldn’t fathom the corruption in their blood that would make it undrinkable. “If his body cannot tolerate your blood, how do you know that yours will his? This could kill you, and we’d have no known way to save you.”
At that moment, Louis’s face appeared over Marius’s shoulder, eyes widening by the second, his expression stricken, seized in his tracks by his horror for Lestat’s appearance. Gone was the discretion and cool nonchalance Louis usually wore publicly, and in its place was pure worry.
He slid past Marius into Lestat’s space and took him gingerly by the arm. “Marius is right. You can’t, Lestat.” Louis spoke the words almost like a hopeful prayer, low and close, his fingers trembling against Lestat’s arm, his eyes moist. He had a headache, growing more pronounced by the moment, his insides feeling drawn with a hollow ache so far removed from his recent memory.
No! Lestat had to be a vampire again. Simply had to! He needed to open his eyes and for this whole night to have been nothing but a terrible nightmare. It was so hard to think right now with his head spinning and his throat parched, full of sand, his stomach cramping in knots, his neck throbbing where Gregory had torn it. He let go of Marius to rub at the spot and was vaguely surprised how wet the blood still was and how tender and raw the skin.
“Fareed with help,” he insisted. “I’m not saying to just bleed me like a stuck pig. He’ll make sure it’s all in hand, he’ll—” His head jerked to look to Gregory. “Is he like us?? Or is he still like you?” How inhuman Gregory looked, his sun-darkened skin even more waxen than it had seemed before, a sallow clamminess to him.
Marius stepped between him and Gregory to interrupt a possible hasty action. “Lestat.” He was very firm but still gentle. He could see the distress in his dear friend. Right now, Lestat felt the burden of restoring all of them, so his hasty panic was understandable. But there were too many unknowns and too many risks. “Let’s calm down. You need to clean up, hydrate, and eat. Then we can contact Fareed. After all, we need a doctor. All of us need thorough checkups. Most of us have virtually no modern-day immunity.” He paused, his eyes darting to Armand who’d come up behind Louis, and he felt the dawning horror that Armand could catch the flu, that simple flu, and die. Or something worse. “Once we’ve stabilized our health, and we all know we are hearty and well, we can proceed. This isn’t a problem we can solve tonight. But we do need Fareed and his team.”
Armand’s eyes moved from person to person. He was glad to see that Lestat was back. Mostly because he was happy to see him safe—albeit bloody—but in part because his arrival had interrupted his building argument with Marius about where he would and wouldn’t go, which Armand really wasn’t in the mood for. But this talk of draining Lestat, of turning him back into a vampire by any means necessary, this wouldn’t have caused argument between them. Armand would have voiced how ridiculous the notion was himself if Marius hadn’t already said it better than he would have.
So many things were happening at once, and Gregory found himself uncharacteristically struggling to keep up. Louis was here, looking painfully beautiful, his seductively melodic voice soft and imploring. Then Lestat was pleading with Gregory again for help, asking for the dark blood, which Gregory was more than willing to spill for him here and now. But Marius had stepped between them. Gregory tried to see around Marius, to look into Lestat’s eyes and assure him that Fareed was still immortal, as was Seth. Marius was talking, though, being as authoritative as he could in a mortal frame. Gregory found this all oddly amusing and horrifying at once. Marius was quite inspiring, and Gregory found himself transfixed with the man’s cool blue eyes, so very different from Lestat’s.
Gregory’s vision was suddenly swimming and then doubling. He shook his head to clear it. Was he going to be sick again? He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, eyes shut against the dim light and colors. When he opened them again, he found himself focusing on Armand. Oh! He was very handsome! On the very precipice of manhood, yet still soft around all the edges. Gregory sucked lightly on his own lower lip, his vision clear once more as he studied Armand, hearing the rich beat of his heart, the blood moving into the chambers and out again. Gregory’s eyes dilated, though one wouldn’t have been able to tell, so black were they to begin with.
The blood that rubbed off from the wound on his neck was slick and warm on Lestat’s fingers. Out of habit, Lestat licked it off, but then recoiled at the taste. So…bland! Coppery and salty, but none of the electric richness that would blossom on his tongue from even a drop before tonight. He almost sobbed, turning to Marius and clinging to him, pressing his face down against the top of his shoulder. What Marius had said about waiting made sense, but it was utterly unbearable, the thought of spending an entire night like this—and a day! Oh, god, the day!
Lestat held his breath, not letting himself make a sound as he tried to slow the whirling panic in his mind. He knew he was hungry, but he didn’t want to eat. He almost gagged at the thought of it—and what would happen after. No, no, not again… He couldn’t go through with it. Not that! And to think, all those other poor souls he’d sent out to take care of their bodies’ needs would be going through the horror of it all as well.
A thought came then to Armand, seemingly out of nowhere, and he felt the compulsion to voice it. “Maybe we can’t solve this problem tonight.” He shrugged. “But maybe it would be worth trying it with someone else? See if it’s the same with all of our blood. Also give Lestat time to recuperate.”
“Are you offering?” Gregory asked, his voice heavy with sensuality.
Had Gregory’s voice been so seductive last night at the ball, when they were just edging on flirting? Armand couldn’t remember, but he was reeling from it now. He was also struck dumb by how radiant Gregory was, so powerful with his firm skin and glistening eyes, and everything else that came with being a vampire. Shallowly in this moment, Armand feared he’d lost all appeal himself—how would he be able to seduce people without such powers?
In any case, he hadn’t been offering, but he was too enthralled for a moment to express that. Gregory’s seductiveness was jarring, and so very powerful. Armand looked around, weighing up the options. No potential harm should ever come to Louis, and Marius was far too important to the Court to risk it. Cyril was a bodyguard and needed all his strength. Benedict could do it, Armand didn’t care, but he had too much pride to ask him for such a thing. He himself was young and he supposed he would bounce back quicker? He looked at Lestat, who was clearly feeling the toll of the evening, and then to Marius for approval.
Marius was far too tired to contemplate the way Gregory was looking at Armand, or the way Armand looked at Gregory in return. Not when he was holding a bleeding, despondent Lestat and there were so many problems to sort through. Gregory and Armand were their own men and owed him nothing in terms of discretion. Marius was just a lover from five hundred years ago.
All the same, Marius couldn’t let Armand be the test subject for this. Regardless of their chilly, distant relationship, Armand was the most valuable person in the world to him. And he couldn’t risk anything happening to him until the time came for him to become immortal again. When they found a safe way to be remade, perhaps Armand could choose a better maker this time. Maybe Gregory, considering the way they eyed each other. For now, though, Marius was responsible.
“Absolutely not.” Marius looked at them both one after the other, firm. “You’re too young, Armand. Your body is too young. It needs to be a strong adult.”
“It needs to be no one!” Louis said, far more loudly than he usually spoke, sounding somewhat panicked. Armand at once slid a comforting hand over Louis’s arm.
“You are right,” Marius said. “It needs be no one. But I do think it’s important we gather as complete a picture of what has happened to us as possible. Gregory need only make a quick, shallow cut and test the result. It needn’t come to…” He made a motion to the blood-soaked Lestat. “Well, this.”
“If it is to be a quick, shallow cut then surely…” Armand trailed off, wanting to offer himself again. Really, he could handle such a small affront to his skin, but the firmness in Marius’s voice and face was enough to have him falter. He didn’t want to push him any more tonight when they had all been through so much, so he stopped talking entirely and pulled back to watch.
Marius was ready with another firm no, but was relieved Armand dropped the subject before he had to. Honestly, his resistance had as much to do with irrational possessiveness than safety. But he, in his good senses, knew Armand was not two important things: a possession or his. So, admitting such might not go over too well with his strong-minded, stubborn, willful fledgling.
Gregory frowned, hearing all the thoughts around him and trying to decipher which to place full attention on. His own mind was truly struggling to keep to one topic. “He is hardly a young weak boy, Marius. Who can argue a seventeen year old adolescent male isn’t the very embodiment of rowdy, eager, stamina?” Gregory glanced to Armand again. “And he certainly appears to have been more than well cared for in his human form.”
Before Marius could retort, Louis reached around him to brush his fingers over the oozing wound on Lestat’s neck. They came away slick with warm blood. At this he stared at Gregory, his expression drawn and full of worry. “Why isn’t this healed! In your mad thirst, did you forget to treat his wounds with your own blood?”
“Yes, Gregory, could you see to healing Lestat’s wound before he passes out from blood loss?” Marius’s hand was covered in a very concerning amount of blood, the scent and sight of which had no appeal to him. Even the poorest quality blood was usually still pleasing to smell, and Lestat had always had very good blood. If this were last night, he’d have craved the taste. Tonight, he felt nothing for it. No hunger or desire.
Gregory was mortified to realize Lestat still bled. How could he have missed it? “But I did put my blood on the wound!”
However, as he looked closely, to his horror, he saw that the puncture wounds were exactly the same as when he made them.
Notes:
This chapter written by all of us!
and let me just tell you, these 5 POV chapters are a beast to edit 😅
Chapter 21: Run the Risk
Summary:
Once they realize Gregory's blood has no power to heal Lestat's bite mark, Marius focuses on how they all can survive the rest of the night as human.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
How could the bite on Lestat’s throat still be open and bleeding?? Gregory was certain he had pricked his thumb and smeared his healing blood on the wound when they were on the tower roof! Why hadn’t it healed?
At once, he tried again, drawing blood from his finger and spreading it over the bite marks. Everyone stared in anticipation.
Nothing happened.
Lestat caught Gregory’s wrist, keeping him close, pulling away from Marius just enough to really look at him. “What? Why didn’t it work?” He felt half asleep, and the accompanying weakness just made him furious with his body’s mortal limitations. Although the wound on his throat was still oozing, it wasn’t as if an artery had been pierced, and the holes from Gregory’s fangs were very small. Lestat wasn’t worried about the cut itself; he’d certainly had larger wounds as a mortal boy.
“He needs to have it cleaned and dressed,” Gregory declared. “Is there a first aid kit in the castle? How about the village? There must be some sort of medical help there.”
“It’s not like your mouth is full of bacteria,” Lestat groused, his fingers digging into Gregory. “This is the least of our worries.” Of course there were no first aid supplies in the castle, but wasn’t that exactly what Thorne and Daniel were retrieving as they spoke? Lestat would put a damn plaster on it later if everyone minded so much.
He tossed a glance at Louis on Marius’s other side, seeming about to say something to him as well, but the sight of him in all his fragile mortality made the words catch in Lestat’s throat, and he had to look away quickly, unable to cope with any Louis-shaped matters at this moment.
Facing Gregory again, Lestat turned his cold, hard hand over, as if the mystery of the blood would be obvious in his preternatural skin, but of course the prick on Gregory’s finger was already healed.
“We have to know,” Lestat argued back to their previous point about testing someone else’s blood to see if it had the same result on the vampire as Lestat’s had. “Marius, poke your finger with a pin and let Gregory taste it. Honestly, it’s not that hard.” A smear of blood on the back of Lestat’s hand caught his attention, and again, force of habit brought it to his mouth where he licked it off, before he remembered—again!—he wasn’t a vampire anymore. The bland taste was less shocking this time, but still so heartbreakingly disappointing.
Marius had taken a handkerchief from his pocket and he used it now to compress Lestat’s wound to stave off further bleeding. “Yes, of course,” he consented. He had no problems sharing his blood for the sake of this investigation. Gregory needed only the smallest of samples to know how he’d react. “But I’m concerned. Gregory used his blood to heal you…” And yet here the wound was, unhealed. “I think you may want to leave, Gregory. You don’t look well. I fear how all this is affecting you. It may not be safe for you here.”
“I’ve already compromised myself, Marius,” Gregory pointed out. “I took Lestat’s blood into my body. I was ill from it.” And the dizzy disorientation continued to come and go in waves. “It is best if I am here, to guard you all if any other blood drinkers appear.” Gregory held Lestat’s hand firmly, privately savoring the feverish heat of it. The thought of tasting even a drop of blood from Marius’s finger and possibly vomiting again had him feeling nearly depleted. He must keep his senses sharp to protect them. “I don’t think I need to test Marius’s blood too. At least not tonight. Lestat, let’s go to your village now. You all need food and drink. I will drive you all down there, it’s not wise for you to walk in this cold dark night.”
“He needs to clean up,” Armand pointed out, not in a disparaging way. In fact, it was with concern, and he did feel concern as he looked at Lestat covered in blood and anguished and exhausted. “A bit of crypt dirt and dust on all of us, fine, but if we go down to that village with Lestat covered in blood, either the police will be called or an ambulance. Either way, it’s attention we don’t want when we don’t know how long we may be like this. We may need to figure out how to reincorporate ourselves to mortal society for a time.”
“Clean or not, I don’t think it wise that we just casually go into the village,” Marius added quickly. Daniel was fine out in public, he was modern, and Thorne was just there to monitor and not get too close. “We can’t just expose ourselves to illness. None of us here have any modern immunity. The last time I was sick was 1346 years before the Black Death. Without proper medical screening, I don’t think we should run the risk of exposure to disease. Such foolishness wiped out the natives of the entire West Indies in a matter of months.”
Although he’d been about to argue, Lestat was shocked silent by this mention of sickness. He had fallen deathly ill almost immediately the last time he was in mortal flesh, and it was one of the most harrowing and frightening episodes of his entire existence. He would not be going through that again, thank you!
Letting go of Gregory, Lestat’s hand came up to take over holding the handkerchief to his neck so that Marius could have his own hand back too. The dizziness was becoming debilitating, but Lestat knew that was far more from the hunger and thirst than the pint or two of blood Gregory had taken out of him.
He scanned the room, looking for the nearest place to sit, but the damn Christmas trees were in the way. He glowered at the nearest one, but then an abrupt laugh came out of him. The trees! Such ridiculous trees!
“It’s Christmas Day!” he said, laughing again as he realized what that meant. “Everything will be locked up tight down in the village!” Germs or no, they couldn’t even go to the tavern for dinner. All the employees had the day off!
Lestat supposed he could call up the proprietor and impress upon him the urgency of their situation, drag him out of his cozy family home so he’d have the kitchen going by the time they arrived. But if he were going to do that, he might as well just call one of his most loyal and solicitous residents and have him bring a few baskets of food up to the castle from his own house.
“Where’s my phone?” he asked aloud of no one in particular. His fuzzy mortal brain couldn’t even remember if he’d had it down here at the ball last night. Was it up in his room? Well, he had to go up there anyway to ‘clean up’ as Armand so bluntly put it. He couldn’t help laughing again at how daunting the effort of all this seemed.
Lestat gave Gregory his coat and turned back to the door, saying as he went, “I’ll call my man down there, have him drive up food and wine. How many of us are left here?” Cyril followed him silently, keeping his usual twenty-foot distance.
It took everything in Louis’s power not to rush after him as well. That laughter, the absurd laughter Lestat often got when he was beside himself with any manner of emotion, made Louis linger at Armand’s side.
“There are twenty-two,” Gregory answered, since no one else did, his voice wavering, his thoughts murky. Of course they couldn’t go into the village with Lestat covered in blood. Armand was absolutely correct. How had Gregory’s own mind not considered that detail?
A spike of fear raced through him, an incredibly unfamiliar feeling that he had not felt in thousands of years. Was he losing his mind? Was he becoming weak? Could they all see it in him? His eyes darted around to all of those present. No, they were all mortal now, they couldn’t see the thoughts inside of his head any longer.
What was this? Now he was becoming paranoid? And what was wrong with Marius? What was his obsession with diseases and no one should leave the castle because they might become sick?
Gregory scrubbed his hands over his face and then let them drop back down to his sides. This was ridiculous, he needed to take some sort of action. “I will fly back into Paris, to my pharmaceutical company’s building there, and I will have all of the modern era’s vaccines boxed up. I will also gather medicines and common medical supplies humans keep in their homes. I will bring this all back to you before the end of the night.” Gregory waved a hand absently in the air. His mind was already distracted once more. He should call Fareed and make Fareed come out and visit the Court, examine everyone, make note of what was needed. Or maybe he should not do that to Fareed. Could it be risky?
Gregory stared for a long moment, his entire mind blank as his focus found various ornaments on the Christmas trees, all of them beautiful and sparkling and delicate. Then abruptly he returned to the urgency of the moment. “Yes, I will go now and gather the medical supplies. I doubt that Daniel and Thorne have the access to the kind of things that I do.” He headed out to the balcony. Certainly his ancient, immortal blood would have him feeling better soon. If not that, then the death sleep would have him good as new when he awoke tomorrow night. He would be fine. Gregory shot off into the night sky.
Armand had watched Lestat walk away and Cyril follow, and then Gregory disappeared like a puff of air. Bianca and the others had gone to the usually never-used kitchens for water. It was the four of them left in the room then—him, Marius, Louis and Benedict. The tension and quiet settled about them like a suffocating blanket. Suddenly, he felt like he might weep. Weep for the absurdity and uncertainty of it all, for Lestat covered in blood and for Gregory who seemed far from himself. For Marius who was tired and had the weight of the world on his shoulders, for quiet and dazed Louis, and for his own beloved fledgling out there risking himself for them all.
Armand bit back the tears and rubbed Louis’s arm, his stomach cramping again. Louis would probably follow Lestat and then it would be just him, Marius and Benedict. He didn’t know if he could bear that. “Well.”
Armand’s suspicion was absolutely right, and looking down at him, Louis ran a hand through Armand’s curls, then rubbed his shoulder in much the same comforting manner that Armand had shown to him. “I’m going after him,” Louis said, his teeth grit. “Just our luck he’ll not cease with that inane laughter and lose his footing on the stairs.” With a quick nod to Armand, Marius, and Benedict who was standing a ways off, Louis hurried after Lestat.
As Armand saw it, this was now a standoff between himself and Benedict over who would leave first. It was probably imagined, but in any case, it certainly wouldn’t be him. He was tired and hungry and thirsty. His bones ached to no end, and Benedict had done shit all for the last two hours. To his surprise though, Benedict piped up.
“I’ll go too, just in case,” Benedict offered finally and mostly to Marius. In case of what, he didn’t know, Lestat had Cyril and Louis. Benedict would probably just go move about the castle, waiting for something to happen, away from the tension of the room.
Marius gave him a weary nod. He was considering going to help Lestat himself as well, but thought Louis might want some time with his maker. Marius had some misgivings letting Lestat in his state handle affairs of ordering food as he should be resting rather than tending to business matters. But he had faith Lestat would tell him when he needed help.
Marius looked around, half expecting to be alone. But Armand lingered, looking as tired as he felt and no less lovely for it. He summoned a smile because he did not want Armand to know how exhausted he was. His arm lifted to summon him, but it dropped after an inch and he approached instead.
This time, when it lifted, he stroked Armand’s pink cheek. Marius was so afraid, but he couldn’t admit it. Not afraid for himself, but for his vulnerable loved ones, this one especially. “There are oranges in a bowl on the upper landing,” he said. Because they were there for decor, and who on earth would use fake food? But he’d inspected it last night as an immortal and knew the fruit to be quite fresh. “Let me take you there. Or, if you’d rather, come to my quarters and rest.”
Armand opened his mouth to protest. He had so many things he wanted to say, to fight Marius on. Bitter things that would cause arguments and drive them further apart. But he was tired, they both were. He didn’t want to cause any issues. All he wanted to do was indeed, go to Marius’s quarters to rest, and pretend that they were happy and unified the way that so many other fledglings and makers were.
Well, on this occasion why not?
He was glad to see Marius safe and alive, and perhaps because of that, he was happier to submit to him. So Armand nodded, leaning just a little into Marius’s hand before removing himself entirely and walking to the exit. “We can await Daniel’s return together.”
Notes:
This chapter written by all of us
Next up, we follow Louis and Lestat, then ch23 catches us up with Marius and Armand
Chapter 22: Dreadfully Inconvenient
Summary:
Determined to help Lestat bathe, lest he slip and kill himself in the shower, Louis is unprepared for how the sight of Lestat's nakedness makes his new mortal body react. Sexual, but not explicit.
Notes:
Longer chapter today! I've been trying to keep chapters for this fic to less than 3000 words, just so I can make it last longer. So for ones like this, single scenes that go on for much more, I've been splitting them into chunks. But this one had no natural place to split it, so I decided to just give you the whole thing at once. Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
On his way upstairs, it took Lestat a while to realize someone was following him who wasn’t Cyril. He was confused for a moment, as no one had tried to stop him from leaving the ballroom. When he figured out it was Louis, though, he just sighed and kept going. He left the door to his apartment open behind him, but didn’t wait, crossing the room to the nearest mirror.
The sight of himself made him cringe. So appallingly pink! Even with how sallow he looked from the blood he’d lost. He let up pressure on the handkerchief at his neck and peeled it away.
God, what a mess. The two puncture wounds were tiny, and the pressure had worked to stop the flow, but the blood was smeared all over his throat and jaw and into the fine lace of his collar. It was matted into his hair as well, strands—so much yellower than yesterday!—glued into the already dried patches on his neck. Streaks of it smeared across his face from where he’d rubbed it, and of course his hands were covered, still sticky between his fingers, along with the splashes all down the front of his clothes where Gregory had vomited.
“Merde,” he muttered and threw down the stained handkerchief. Turning his back to the mirror, he started hunting for his phone, tossing the cushions off the couch haphazardly to look under them. They were so oddly heavy. How! A cushion! Heavy!
Finally, he found the phone on his desk in the charging dock, exactly where it should have been. How heavy his whole body felt too, and he wanted to sink down into his chair to make this call, but he didn’t want to get the blood on anything else.
Using a fresh handkerchief, he picked up the phone and carefully scrolled through his contacts to find the person in the village he had in mind. Although he could hear Louis enter the room, Lestat kept his back to him as he called and spoke to the man in rapid French. Thankfully he didn’t ask any questions about this extremely odd request from his landlord and was only ready to jump into action, eager as ever to please him, especially for a Christmas emergency.
“There,” he said aloud for Louis’s benefit as he dropped the phone back to the desk. “We’ll have a veritable picnic up here for all of us within the hour.” Again, the thought of eating almost made Lestat gag, no matter the pain in his guts.
Shrugging off his ruined silk waistcoat and letting it fall to the floor, he turned in the direction of the bathroom, peeling off all the rest of his clothes and leaving them in a trail on the floor behind him as he went.
Louis followed along, scooping up the clothing almost as soon as each article hit the ground, gingerly, so as not to get himself bloodied in the process, though by this point much of it was dried. Only several feet behind Lestat when the last item came off, Louis found himself shocked by the way the sight of the lines of Lestat’s bare back and the muscles of his buttocks sent a tremor of desire snaking its way down Louis’s core to his groin. Of all the damned things to have happen! In the middle of everything, the fear, the uncertainty and panic? Dreadfully inconvenient and ridiculously base.
Louis dropped the pile of clothing just inside the bathroom door on the tiled floor and went at once to Lestat, snatching a dark towel off of a nearby rack and running water in one of the sinks to wet it. Of course he almost hurt himself, the water shockingly hot to his touch, but this was quickly remedied with a small adjustment of the tap.
“Let me,” Louis said, stern but quiet, and he pressed the warm wet cloth to the side of Lestat’s neck. Damn these human urges, despite it all. If he could simply focus on what was most important, Louis could ignore the frantic beating of his heart.
“What have I told you about behaving like my damn valet?” Lestat’s voice was almost as stern, but Louis’s determination was enough to keep him from actually trying to stop him. The pinch in his black brows, the set of his pale pink lips, how was Lestat supposed to fight that?
And how warm the water felt as Louis scrubbed him so gently with the soft cloth, how good. Lestat didn’t realize how cold the air was in the room until he felt the contrast, and it made the fine golden hairs rise on his arms, and indeed all over his body.
He watched Louis sulkily while he concentrated on his task and their eyes couldn’t meet, finally making himself really look at him in the bright lights of the bathroom. Louis didn’t look the same as Lestat remembered before he made him a vampire, not to his own now-human eyes. He looked like nothing Lestat had ever seen. This close, he could see the minuscule pores on the side of Louis’s nose, the way his eyelids flexed with each blink, his long black lashes brushing his cheek.
Lestat only now realized how tense he was as Louis wiped at him and the soft, enticing heat of Louis’s breath rippled over his skin—he felt on the verge of realizing something… Something just out of his reach—something dark and frightening he wanted to push away at once.
Looking away with a jerk of his head, Lestat stuck his hands under the stream of water from the sink faucet. Oh, that was good too, so warm and good. He took his time scrubbing the blood off his fingers, trying not to grow frustrated with how much harder human hands were to clean, thick and spongey as they were. How would he get the blood out from under his nails? And his hair, that’s right, he saw the disaster that was his hair in the mirror.
“I’ll just get in the shower,” he muttered, catching Louis’s wrist and pressing his hand down, still avoiding his eyes.
There were a thousand things to consider in the moment, and paramount among them was Lestat’s safety. Even as a vampire, Louis had certainly experienced taking care of weak mortals. He thought of Rose, weary and dazed in his arms years ago, when he had rescued her and so many others from that hellish facility where they were mistreated. And despite that aching hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach and the annoyance of his shameful baser urges that Lestat’s nakedness evoked, Louis could not help but worry for Lestat’s well-being. Immediately, he imagined all manner and variety of ways Lestat might injure himself trying to stand up and bathe in a steamy hot shower, drained as he was from blood loss. It could prove treacherous.
Louis dropped the towel on the sink, then quickly shrugged out of his own jacket and vest, tossing them aside. “Not alone you won’t.” His tone was protective and almost fierce. “The last thing you need is to crack your damn mortal skull against the tiles from having fainted.”
Lestat looked so very different like this and yet this was undoubtedly the man Louis knew before him, still so very much the same. Lestat’s ruddiness only added that much more to the appeal of him. Louis couldn’t imagine anything diminishing Lestat’s magnetic draw, even caked in dried blood and looking half dead as he did, the man was everything Louis had ever desired as a mortal man, everything that had kept him up at night, guilt-ridden and burning with lust for that which he could not and should not have.
Lestat was about to argue that he was perfectly capable of taking a shower without injuring himself, thank you, but then Louis was already taking off his clothes, and he found himself rather at a loss for words. Louis looked so angry, as if this were all such a terrible inconvenience for him, and Lestat almost asked what his problem was. But then he recalled what Gregory said about how Louis especially had been afraid for him after the vampire whisked him from the ballroom. Of course, Louis would blame Lestat for that. And for the whole failure of the experiment in general, too, he supposed. As if Lestat could have known how it would go!
How mad Louis was about it was almost funny, though, and Lestat would have laughed at him if he weren’t so exhausted and thirsty. As it was, he just gave Louis a sardonic arch of his eyebrow, before turning back to the sink, providing Louis some semblance of privacy to finish undressing. Even though there were hardly any secrets between them, he knew Louis didn’t like to be gaped at, and he had no energy or heart right now to tease him.
Catching the running water in his mostly-clean cupped hands, Lestat forced himself to drink some of it. He foolishly thought it might be even a little bit like blood because it was so warm, but as he swallowed, the warmth actually made it worse than he expected, and it made him cough. But he knew he needed it, so he did it again and again, forcing himself to choke it down. He could feel it spilling all the way deep inside of him, hitting the bottom of his stomach, so thin and bland. God, he should have told the man from the village to bring up orange juice instead of just wine. It was the closest thing he’d ever found to blood the last time he was human. Thick and sweet, and like drinking light.
After one more drink, Lestat straightened up too quickly, and a wave of dizziness made his head spin and his vision blur. His hands caught the edge of the sink, and he leaned heavily against it until the spell passed.
All right, maybe Louis had a point.
“Fine,” he said as he straightened slowly this time and went to the shower, leaving the glass door open behind him. When he turned on the water, Lestat gasped at how cold it was as it hit him, and he pressed his back against the tile wall to get out of the stream. Damn, but the tile was cold too! Now he was actually shivering.
Louis fully intended to keep his pants firmly on, even while helping Lestat in the shower, and so, devoid of anything else but his trousers, he hurried behind Lestat, giving a sigh for his haste and quickly coming to his aid with the tap. Adjusting it just outside the range of the spray until it righted itself to the proper mortal temperature, Louis stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
The water was warm quite quickly and Louis reached out and took Lestat’s hand, pulling him into the stream and turning him so that Lestat’s back was to him, allowing the water to cascade over Lestat’s chest and shoulders. He was beautiful as ever, Lestat, as always, immaculate even despite it all. Louis’s frustration did nothing to color his touch, which was extremely gentle and almost reverent. He placed one hand against Lestat’s waist to steady him so that he would not fall, and he cupped water in his other hand and brought it to the back of Lestat’s hair several times over to carefully sluice the blood from those illustrious golden strands.
Lestat had not been prepared for how different Louis’s hand would feel against his own skin. Gone entirely was the impossible silkiness of immortal flesh. These were warm, delicate, mortal hands, touching him with nothing more than a mortal’s strength, even if Louis’s iron will fueled them.
Good god…
Lestat let his head fall forward into the stream, and so much water was running down his face that he could not know which drops were the ones that came from his eyes. Silently, he wept, not allowing his shoulders to shake, just staring at the pink rivulets running down his body and pooling around the drain before disappearing. The desolate urge to follow, to melt into nothing and be washed away, made Lestat have to put a hand against the wall to support himself. If Louis weren’t here, he would have leaned his whole body against the tile, perhaps even let himself fall asleep that way for a little while. He knew he should use soaps, that the blood and the grime from his efforts in the crypts would not just rinse clean from his being as it would from vampire flesh, to which dirt never clung. But what would be the point? Who was he even cleaning up for now? Just because Armand said he ought to? Since when did he care what Armand thought?
As he continued to stare down, his eyes settled on Louis’s fingers around his waist, so long and slender just above the bone of his hip. Lestat started imagining them moving, sliding further around him and up to his chest, or down in an even more enticing direction… He envisioned himself covering them with his own hand and pulling enough so that Louis’s chest would press against his back, holding him there, of bringing Louis’s hand all the way up to his mouth so that he could suck the water off his fingers…
These thoughts were distracting enough that Lestat was pretty sure his tears stopped. Hard to tell. With a sigh, he straightened and let go of the wall so that he could use both his hands to scrub at his hair and face in the water until it all ran clear.
Louis was far ahead of Lestat when it came to using soap. Once he realized the water was not as effective at removing the bloody grime from Lestat’s human skin, he reached to dispense some lavishly scented soap product into his palm and brought it to Lestat’s upper back, smoothing his fingers over it to his chest. The musculature of Lestat’s chest and waist beneath his touch was so startlingly warm and firm that Louis found himself distracted in a similar way. And though he certainly couldn’t read Lestat’s mind, his fingers flexed as if they might have heard Lestat’s silent fantasies and were ready to obey.
Louis worked more soap into Lestat’s skin, his touch firm but in a way that was pleasing rather than harsh, his hands massaging the supple skin. His own arousal grew steadily more annoying as his trousers became soaked with the backsplash of water and steam around them. It was increasingly hard to hide his mortal breathing as it became more bothered.
Louis couldn’t help himself dropping his forehead to Lestat’s upper back, and he sighed raggedly. “I was worried beyond all reason when you were whisked so suddenly from that window. My heart seized in my chest in a way I haven’t felt for over a century. Please have better care for yourself, for me if for nothing else. If something dreadful were to befall you in this mortal state…” How hypocritical of him. Louis knew it the moment he said the words, and he imagined Lestat in the body that David now inhabited pleading with him to give him the gift of immortality. Louis had refused, of course, had chastised Lestat with frightening strength and savagery. But he had been so overcome with horror and anger—and envy—that he couldn’t help himself. And now, both of them were here, both mortal, both vulnerable in so many new ways they had never before been in one another’s presence.
Ah, yes. Of course, Louis couldn’t have helped realizing his own vulnerability the moment he saw how easily Gregory stole Lestat away. All the millions of horrible things that could befall them now could occur at any moment. Lestat would be a fool to deny how frightening their circumstances were, but he did not like being afraid. Fear always made him angry. And he felt a protective surge within himself now to hear Louis admitting such fears, reduced to showing such vulnerability of his own that he normally would have been much too uncomfortable to ever let Lestat see. Perhaps it came out now because he was mortal, or maybe it was just easier to say these things to Lestat’s back.
“Lestat…” Louis began, as if he might say something else, but instead he just pressed his face to Lestat’s wet shoulder and shook his head.
Lestat’s hands came up to cover Louis’s on his chest, but then he turned around in his arms to face him instead. Taking him gently by the sides of his shoulders, Lestat was about to speak—but wait… Why did Louis have his pants on in the shower? He assumed it was only because Louis had rushed in after him without the time to take them off. But still, it was funny, and it broke the tension in him. He gave Louis a fond little smile, making himself really look at his face no matter how he wanted to avoid it.
How different were Louis’s eyes. Their green color was still quite pretty, but gone was all the iridescent luminosity, that gemlike quality that always had one and all comparing them to emeralds. Lestat could only imagine how different his own must look to Louis, how different indeed his whole being must be to Louis now without any of his preternatural assets. Again, the dark shadow at the edges of Lestat’s mind loomed, threatening him on the verge of realization of some nebulous catastrophe. Immediately, he pushed the feeling away again, unable to cope with anything else right now.
“We’ll fix this,” Lestat reassured him, one hand sliding up the side of Louis’s warm, soft neck, and his other brushing back some steam-damp hair from his pink forehead. “Fareed and Seth will help. We’ll all be ourselves again by this time tomorrow.” By dawn tonight, even, if they could manage it. Gregory had been repulsed by his blood, but when Lestat licked it off his hand, it just tasted like blood on a mortal tongue to him. Salty and coppery and boring, nothing at all to make him retch the way Gregory had. So surely, once he was a vampire again, the mortals he gave it to would be well able to drink it. And Lestat would happily give it to one and all who fell mortal under his roof.
“I don’t want to fix it…not yet,” Louis whispered, his voice wavering as though speaking some dark and forbidden secret. “I want to see the sunrise. I want to press my face into sun kissed flowers and ride a horse full-tilt through an open field of knee-high grass.” Louis trembled, his hands shaking as they pressed to Lestat’s warm wet skin. The steam fogging up the glass shower enclosure did wonders to give the illusion of privacy, if just for a moment, and he found himself riveted by the sight of Lestat.
Louis took in his face, mortally hued blue eyes and the damp blond hair sticking to the side of his cheek. He was beautiful in the way that Louis found all mortals beautiful, with myriad tiny idiosyncrasies that most humans would describe as flaws, but only added to the captivating richness of their appearance.
“I must be mad,” Louis breathed. “This is all so terrifyingly exciting.” Prying his eyes away, he leaned into Lestat, forehead to his sternum—which meant that he had nowhere to look but down. Immediately, a red heat pooled in Louis’s gut and at his cheeks and ears, sending a flush up through his shoulders. Quickly he looked up again, catching Lestat’s gaze and feeling so very exposed—caught red-faced and bothered. His pants were somehow even tighter, sticking to him in the wetness, and he shivered.
“You’re too beautiful,” Louis blurted in a hushed whisper, and realizing what he had confessed, he quickly pulled away, his hand pressing against his own eyes in embarrassment and shame. Lestat’s hands went out instinctively to try to keep Louis close, but they were far too slow with their mortal speed and missed him completely. Louis turned to lean against the shower wall with his shoulder.
Damn it all, he had to pull it together, to help Lestat lest he fall victim to faintness from his blood loss and hunger, while Louis wrestled with a very different type of blood loss and hunger all his own.
Lestat stood dumbly amid the whiplash between Louis’s admission of his desire to stay human and then his sudden very human and obvious reaction to Lestat’s physicality, which somehow made Lestat’s mouth go even dryer. How flushed with the steam was the skin across Louis’s chest and narrow stomach, and glistening with the shower spray… And how well his wet trousers clung to him…
Louis was obviously mortified by his body’s betrayal, but Lestat tried not to take it personally; it was Louis after all. He always hated the thought of anything that might, god forbid, feel good—except nuzzling flowers and fast riding, apparently. Those things, he was admittedly ‘excited’ about. Though Lestat could hardly fault him for prioritizing the sunrise.
He rubbed a hand over his face, wiping the water from his eyes, too muddled himself and physically drained to think of anything smart to say about this. He was suddenly very conscious of the fact that the world outside was currently covered in snow, and Lestat experienced his own shameful pang of desire to see the morning sunlight glittering on that expanse of white.
Louis’s misery right now about his shame and discomfort was just simply mortal enough to spark Lestat’s protective streak rather than his cruel one, and so he took pity on Louis rather than teasing him, and acted as if he hadn’t noticed his red face or the bulge in his pants at all. Quietly, without taking his eyes off him, Lestat turned off the water and then took Louis by the sides of his naked waist and tugged him away from the wall.
“All right,” he sighed. “Fine. We’ll give it a day. One sunrise. I don’t know where you’ll find a grassy field or wildflowers this time of year, but maybe the forest in daylight will give you something of what you want? Just…promise me you won’t fall in love with it…”
Even as Lestat spoke the words, he felt what an impossible ask it was, but he was too mortally hungry and tired to think hard on it, and Louis’s steamed skin was so supple and warm under his hands. Lestat slid them around him, his fingertips unable to resist slipping into the back of his pants. With much greater effort, though, he did manage to resist the urge to dip his face and quench his dry tongue by running it over the water pooled above Louis’s collarbone. The thought alone had his head dizzy again.
At first it seemed as though Louis might balk at such closeness, so tentative were the motions of his hands, shaky and uncertain, but it merely took one look at Lestat for Louis to acquiesce to his deepest most hidden feelings, and he wreathed his arms loosely about Lestat’s neck and shoulders, a shiver running the length of his spine for Lestat’s touch under his waistband.
Never before had such raw and mortal physicality existed between them, with both on equal footing as mortal and mortal, man to man, face to face. Louis’s lips trembled, and he couldn’t help the short moan that left him, which was quickly cut off as he pressed his mouth to Lestat’s for a sudden, if awkward, deep kiss.
Lestat couldn’t keep from laughing, muffled against Louis’s mouth. Louis just had to be so damn tortured about everything he did! But the crush of his lips were so soft and warm, slick with the water on Lestat’s face. His hands came up to take Louis’s cheeks, and he gently pressed him back so he could look at him again. “You’re welcome,” he said, as if it were a given that the kiss specifically meant that Louis was thanking him for agreeing to let them stay human for a full day. But then he laughed again, because the look in Louis’s eyes was just so needy and ardent.
“Here,” he whispered, and he tilted their mouths together again for a much more elegant kiss, as if Louis needed a demonstration in how to do it properly. His hands returned to Louis’s back, and he moved forward the last couple inches to press their bodies together, indulging, if only for a moment, in letting himself feel the full length of Louis against him.
It affected Lestat much more significantly than he expected. A gasp caught in the back of his throat, and then a wave of giddiness came over him as it felt like all the blood was rushing out of his head, making him have to brace one hand against the wall.
Once again, Lestat laughed, shaking his head. “Damn it,” he muttered, cursing these mortal limitations.
Louis clung to him, haphazard and growing more lightheaded by the moment. The second kiss had sent a shockwave of pleasure up Louis’s spine and back down to settle in his loins. His curse was quieter, in French, echoing Lestat’s. “We need to get out of here,” he mumbled. “Out of this steam and heat.”
With great effort, as Louis would rather crush their bodies together again, he turned Lestat around in his arms and eased him toward the shower door, sliding it open for him. Louis’s hand at Lestat’s waist lingered, and his view of Lestat’s back and ass were stirring in the most curious way, igniting memories long lost of longings that had been his burden to hide as a mortal man.
But the world was different now…
Lestat tugged a rolled up fluffy towel off the shelf and passed it behind him to Louis, then grabbed another for himself. He didn’t stop walking as he scrubbed it over his face and hair before letting it fall to drape over his shoulders. He was already shivering again by the time he reached the bedroom. His gaze swept longingly over his huge, comfortable bed, and he envisioned himself flopping right down on it and burying his face in the pillows to give into the weariness that tugged at his bones.
But the thought of the others downstairs just as hungry and in as much pain as he was forced him to continue past to his closet. Benedict’s face, especially, filled his mind, so vulnerable now, and so without friends among the majority of the household. Lestat couldn’t bear the thought of him slipping off into the shadows and neglecting his own needs because he was afraid he was not welcome. Not in Lestat’s house, not on his watch. No matter how much he wanted to turn around and face Louis again, to entangle him in his arms so that they collapsed in an indistinguishable heap on the carpet until they dissolved completely into each other.
But also, he well knew Louis wasn’t thinking clearly either. That once he had food in his stomach and rational thought returned to his head, Louis would likely be ashamed of their little interlude in the shower, no matter how otherworldly and dreamlike the seclusion and steam had made it seem. And Lestat didn’t want to give Louis any further potential reasons to keep him at arm’s length over pride and principle. Not now, and especially not once they returned to their rightful selves.
So Lestat didn’t look back at him at all and staggered into one of his large closets. The same one where Louis had gifted him the crown two nights ago. All the flowers had been removed since, and it looked ordinary once again, but even with mortal nostrils, Lestat could still smell their lingering perfume.
Tugging the towel off his shoulders, he let it fall to the floor and faced himself in the full-length tryptic mirror. Good god, he looked wretched. So young and susceptible to any possible mortal calamity. He had the flicker of delirious thought that if he stayed this way, he would keep growing, that he hadn’t been a finished man yet when he was made a vampire. That he could get taller yet and broader. It made him shudder to contemplate. But considering how much of a boy he looked like now without the hardness of age and power sharpening his eyes and features, he decided he ought to dress the part so as not to confuse the man who was coming up from the village. He’d claim to be visiting distant family of the landlord’s, and surely he’d be believed.
From the drawer, he took a pair of dark jeans and a soft shirt with no buttons, which he pulled gingerly over his head to spare the wound on his neck. “Do you have clothes up here?” he called back to Louis. If not, he’d find a pair of pants to loan him. All of Lestat’s would be too large, but it hardly mattered on a night like this. Once they were presentable, he’d go down to the foyer to receive the delivery and then summon everyone back to the ballroom to relieve their bodies’ most urgent needs.
Louis stripped off the wet pants and dried off hastily, then wrapped the towel tightly about his waist. “I’ll be back once I’ve dressed,” he called, then he hurried out to his own rooms and closet.
The last thing Lestat had expected was for Louis to go dashing through the halls in nothing but a towel, but there he went! While he was gone, Lestat went through the annoying ordeal of finding all his favorite boots too rigid and pinching, so he finally settled for a short pair.
Even though the castle’s central heating was in full effect, it was still a huge building, and he was still shivering at how the water dripped down the back of his neck from his hair. He pulled on a thick leather jacket and then found a comb, but as he tried to run it through his hair, it kept getting snarled in the wet, tangled strands, sending pain shooting through his scalp. He threw it down with a growl of frustration and just gathered his hair at the back of his neck, tying it with an elastic.
One glance in the mirror was enough to make him wish he hadn’t looked at all, and he stalked out of the closet, stiff and uncomfortable, to find his phone. A message on the screen informed him that the man from the village was parked out front of the main doors, waiting to be admitted. Lestat texted back telling him to just bring the stuff in already, it wasn’t like the gate was locked.
Meanwhile, Louis found it exceedingly annoying how the water seemed to have seeped into his skin, and though he dried himself, and did it again a second time, he still felt uncomfortably damp.
Several clothing changes later, as his shirts were far too stiff and sweaters much too scratchy, and feeling more hungry and exhausted by the moment, Louis finally found himself a soft pair of pants and a loose long-sleeved undershirt that seemed the least objectionable. He’d been a mortal man once, and yet he didn’t recall that his clothes had been half so grating against his freshly washed skin as they somehow felt now. As a vampire, every sensation was heightened to its most satisfyingly electric, yet now as a human, each one seemed an intrusion on his senses, an obstacle to his peace.
At last, Louis found himself back at Lestat’s side. As they went downstairs together, his stomach was making the most peculiar noises and his head swam with a hollow ache that was becoming ever more difficult to ignore.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and K
Chapter 23: Stay With Me
Summary:
Marius takes Armand up to his room for a nap together.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Armand at his side, Marius unlocked the door to his chateau apartment with the key he kept in his pocket. He made a mental note to have keys made for Armand and Daniel as both Pandora and Bianca also had them.
It was strange for Marius to look at his things with new eyes. He didn’t like the lack of depth or clarity, and there was a blurriness that bothered him. And he hated this feeling of hunger.
“Why don’t you lie down on the couch. Or you may have the bed.” Marius pulled out his phone and checked for messages, sure Daniel would text or call if he needed help.
Armand wasted no time in walking into Marius’s bedroom. He removed his shoes, there was that, and some of his outerwear that was dusty from moving about in the crypts. But after that, he collapsed onto the bed quite heavily, his limbs sinking into it. He was surrounded by all things Marius and enamored by it. He felt safe, it felt right, and he wondered why his own beds never felt so comfortable.
Of course, he couldn’t let Marius know any of this.
Marius found his softest blanket and laid it over Armand, checking the edges to make sure there were no gaps or openings for cold air to flow through. With his precious fledgling tucked in, he found his chair by the wall, turning it so that he could keep an eye on Armand as he rested just in case there were signs of distress.
When he sat, Marius heard the most surprising sound of his back cracking, and he sighed softly as it did also feel rather good. The muscles in his arms and back ached. Daniel would know what medications to take; Daniel would know what Marius’s mortal body needed to take away the pains. He wished he had the leisure to lie in bed with Armand, but it would be overstepping, and the boy was already trusting him just by being in his bed. It was best not to violate that trust.
It would be all too easy for Armand to fall into a deep and restful sleep now. It would be too easy to leave Marius to his own devices after he’d tucked him in, and know some form of peace. But he couldn’t do it. Not when so much had happened, not when they were human now. Armand tried not to think about it, but it was all he could think about, and he exhaled something between a sigh and a small moan as he tried to get his head straight. And then there was Daniel, out of his sight, god knows where, feeling god knows what.
He opened his eyes, and looked over at Marius. “Would you mind coming here?”
Marius had let his eyes close, the lids too heavy to stay open in the quiet, dark room, though he was far from the comfort of sleep. Armand’s soft voice roused him from his stillness, and he opened them to see his child gazing toward him. Gone were the blazing amber eyes of an immortal, but the hue was still unspeakably lovely in the shadows.
He lifted himself from the chair with more effort than he’d expected, though he’d managed not to make a noise this time and nothing cracked or popped. He strode over the small space between them and stopped by the bed. “Yes?” he asked openly, letting Armand know that he was all right with anything the boy requested of him.
Armand had thought that maybe seeing Marius closer, human, letting it sink in, would help him come to terms with their predicament. He knelt up on the bed to better reach him. Without asking, perhaps he should have, he lifted his hands to cup Marius’s face, letting the warmth settle into his fingertips. He pressed lightly. Marius’s skin was pliant now, not firm. Armand looked into his eyes, less bright than before but no less deep. He looked at the fine lines around Marius’s eyes and the pink tinge to his lips and his cheeks.
He was beautiful.
Armand had never imagined that he would see Marius human. He felt the tears rise a little. “What do you make of all this?”
Marius didn’t want to speak. Armand’s hand on his face was soft and warm, and he felt comfort for the first time in a long while. It was soothing and quiet, and he wished more than anything that he could preserve this sweetness forever. It was a rare thing for Armand to touch him. Usually, when and if he did, Marius always got the impression that he didn’t really want to, that there was revulsion, as if touching him were at least mildly repulsive. But right now, it seemed that Armand wanted a connection with him.
Yet he knew he had to answer, and after a moment, he opened his mouth to speak. “I know that we’ve never been more vulnerable, or so unguarded. We need to consult our doctors immediately. Our bodies aren’t adjusted to modern times. The food, the diseases, the allergens, the very polluted air we will be forced to breathe. None of those things mattered to our immortal bodies. But now we are all in danger. And I need to call Teskhamen. He must look into the Talamasca. That this happened to all of us here speaks to something perhaps not…” He sighed because he so hated magic and its ilk. “Not scientific at play. We have no connection but location. So we’ve either been infected or…” He sighed again because this was so very stupid and he hated having to even suggest it. “I don’t know, affected by something magical.”
“You’ve done enough for a moment, we all have,” Armand urged quietly. How like Marius, even in this intimate setting with nobody else around, to remain closed off and think only of the rational. Only of the things that needed to be done, and not how to process the things that had happened. He wondered if Marius ever processed, ever allowed himself to grieve anything. Armand was terrible at it himself.
He kept his hands where they were. “I meant emotionally, how do you feel? I’m…” He trailed off, finding the tears finally falling, and he moved one hand to dab his eyes. Clear. The tears shouldn’t be clear, they shouldn’t be human. They were human and susceptible to death now, and that was the most frightening thing of all. “Scared.”
Marius watched the tears from Armand’s large, doe eyes leave little shimmering streams in their wake, beginning to feel enraptured. He shook it off because this wasn’t the right time or place. With Armand, for him, there was no right time or place at all. But Armand’s tears made Marius certain he was going to do everything in his power to protect him. Marius liked to think he had a fairly good track record of saving Armand’s life. He’d done it three times—only failed once when it mattered the most. So perhaps any promise he made would be pointless. Still, he had to.
“Don’t be scared,” he said, stroking away tears with his fingertips, wanting so badly to kiss Armand’s cheeks. “I will—we all will—do everything to fix this.”
Armand leaned into his touch, needing Marius’s presence more in this moment than he would ever be able to admit, than he even realized. He was very much, for the first time in a long time, the scared mortal boy in need of guidance and not a feared and respected member of their society. He couldn’t be this vulnerable in front of just anyone, and it hurt him to do it now.
“Stay with me and I’ll protect you, Armand.” He might not be the Great and Powerful Marius, but he was still a tall, lean, strong adult man with experience, knowledge, and strength.
“Will you?” Armand asked, wanting it to be true so much in his heart. He wanted to be selfish and keep this love and attention for himself. “And who will protect you?”
Marius couldn’t help but smile at such innocent concern. It was the first time Armand had shown him this kind of affection in…centuries. And despite the terrible circumstance, Marius couldn’t help but feel sweetened. “I’ll protect myself,” he assured, stroking Armand’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. “And we can both take care of Daniel together.” At least they had a mutual interest in protecting Daniel at all costs.
Armand nodded, bringing his hand to Marius’s and holding it against his face. How he loved him and couldn’t admit it, how he’d needed to hear that it would all be okay. “Please, do look after yourself. We’d all crumble without you,” he confessed softly as his tears began to calm and dry. He very, very rarely wept, and he’d only needed to do it now just a little bit. “Lay with me, please? You need to rest too. We’ll await Daniel’s return together.”
Marius was tired in an uncommon way—he’d been exhausted as an immortal before. Long flights or long nights working in the temple of the Parents, painting the walls and carving their thrones out of stone and precious metals, sapped his strength, but never like this. And there was a special, never forgotten comfort in sleeping next to Armand that Marius eternally cherished because it had been the type of soothed sleep he’d never had before or since.
“Yes,” he consented once he’d assured himself he was doing this more for Armand than for himself. He didn’t want to feel like he was taking from his fledgling more than he gave. He removed his shoes and climbed on the bed. He seemed to need to think about it, but after a few seconds, he reached out and drew Armand to him, moving his own body to meet his fledgling in the middle of the bed. He’d check on Lestat once he awoke—best to give the Prince time for his own comfort.
Armand didn’t protest where he easily could have. There was something in this that he was afraid to put into the room, a comfort in this. Their little family unit, that’s what mattered more than anything else to Armand ultimately, even if it was so disjointed. And now he had Marius with him and knew that Daniel was safe enough. He wanted to say so many things, he wanted to ask Marius to come and stay with them sometimes at Trinity Gate after all this, he wanted to shake Marius by the shoulders and tell him how much he still loved him, but he couldn’t. His pride wouldn’t allow it, and if he spoke these things, there was no telling how they’d be received. So he stayed silent and placed his hand on Marius’s forearm, grateful for this.
He must have fallen asleep, because some time later, a ping from his phone woke him. It was a text from Daniel, letting him know he was still alive, and he had found a place to shop. His hand looked so pink against his phone, his fingerprints leaving smudges on the glass that they never had when he was immortal. But this was temporary. A day or two perhaps, then they could all take the Blood again. It wasn’t like he had any plans this weekend.
Except he did. Armand frowned as he sleepily remembered his conversation with Gregory at the ball last night. Their shipwreck salvage expedition. Pulling up Gregory’s contact, he sent him a text.
Armand: Damn, Valencia. I suppose our little business venture is off?
Gregory: Business doesn’t stop. Being human is no excuse.
Armand: Are you feeling better?
Gregory: I’m sure I’ll be fine soon. I’ll find a fix for this mess.
Armand: Look after yourself, you’re not bad company ❤
Notes:
This chapter written by B and T
Chapter 24: Perfectly Well
Summary:
As food is delivered to the chateau, Lestat checks in with Armand and Benedict
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
When Lestat had left his apartment with Louis to go downstairs, he didn’t see Cyril anywhere at first. He hoped that meant he’d gone off to take care of himself. But no, his hulking friend reappeared from wherever he'd been hiding to follow them to the chateau’s main foyer. By the time they got all the way down there, the man from the village and his companion had already brought in from the car several large plastic boxes and insulated bags with the Christmas dinner for twenty-two Lestat had prevailed upon him to assemble at a moment’s notice. He was beaming with the opportunity to be of service to the chateau, and offered to help carry everything up to the great hall, but Lestat dismissed him with a Merry Christmas and a promise that the lord of the house was effusively grateful for everything. Of course, the man didn’t recognize him; Lestat looked like nothing more than a modern kid in jeans and a leather jacket, not the ancient and mysterious angelic being the villagers were used to.
Once the men had gone back to the car, Lestat used his phone to send a group text to Armand, Marius, Benedict, Bianca and all the others left in the castle, telling them to come and get it in the ballroom.
Good god, how heavy the case of wine bottles was! Not at all too heavy for Lestat to carry with his strapping young muscles, but just the sensation of weight to it was so alien, and the act of straightening to lift it made his head dizzy and his vision go dark for a moment. Thankfully Louis and Cyril were busy loading up their arms with other containers and didn’t notice; the last thing Lestat wanted was for his friends to fuss over him as if they weren’t in just as much of a terrible condition as everyone else.
“Here, put that on top of this,” Lestat said with a nod of his head to a large Tupperware container full of some kind of confection. Apparently they’d been delivered dessert as well.
The thought of the inevitable sugar sparked a most curious automated reaction in Lestat, making the inside of his cheeks hurt with the flash of memories of the last time he’d eaten such sweets in a human body. And the yeasty smell of the long loaves of bread in that paper bag over there was making it even worse.
Once they had everything in hand, Lestat led the way up the foyer stairs—carefully! He wasn’t about to let himself trip while carrying a forty-pound box full of glass—and through the halls to the ballroom. This was where he’d eaten all meals with his family as a mortal boy, but of course there was no rotting ancient banquet table anymore. Thankfully, the attached salons had numerous card tables and other places they could all sit and eat once each of them took their share. He craned his neck to look over the stack he carried and saw nearly everyone else had already arrived.
They’d been sitting in relative quiet, a few odd words here and there to break the silence. For the most part they had been ruminating on everything, weary and jarred as they were. Armand was still tired, as if he’d not slept much at all, and his stomach was growling, but he couldn’t stand the thought of actually eating food. He wanted it but was disgusted by it, and what a troubling dichotomy.
Benedict’s mind was also the very furthest from food. He was at the peak of fear and loneliness and anxiety. His eyes felt quite swollen and they very well might be. He’d gone up to his room and wept, wept because of this whole mess and because everyone else seemed to know who to go off with. Wept because he wanted Rhosh and couldn’t have him, and Rhosh wouldn’t want to know about this. And he’d wept salty clear tears too, not the blood tears he was so used to. He didn’t want to be a burden, he didn’t want the attention, but he just didn’t care to hide any of it now.
Lestat had Cyril, and the others who offered to help, unpack the bags and boxes along the edge of the orchestra stage. It was all cold, of course, as he’d not wanted to waste any time asking for things to be reheated, considering their empty stomachs were making most of them practically delirious by now. Lestat kept seeing black spots at the edge of his vision every time he turned his head.
He recognized most of the items, thick crusty loaves of French bread, a huge ham, already sliced, though he didn’t know what to make of the jars of condiments that had been packed along with it. Oh, thank god, they had included plastic plates and cups along with everything. Lestat hadn’t even thought to ask for dinnerware! There were some longish green cylindrical vegetables he didn’t remember the name for. Some kind of squash? And a bag full of another thin root vegetable that could be eaten raw. A large flat pan of rice released a fragrant cloud of spices when he opened its plastic cover, which made his stomach twist in such painful knots that he almost doubled over. He could see how the smells were affecting the others around him as well as they cautiously piled food onto their plates. He made sure they took bottles of wine with them as well before they went off to find tables and chairs.
Popping open one of the bottles for himself (the wonderful man had even uncorked them all before delivering!), Lestat took a long deep drink straight from the neck without even bothering with one of the clear plastic cups. He’d learned his lessons well the last time he was human and managed not to choke on the thin acidic fluid. Immediately, it spread a pleasing warmth through his limbs, soothing the pain in his head and throat. The ham on the other hand tasted like salt-soaked leather and he had to choke down the handful he grabbed without somehow chewing his own tongue off in the process.
Poor Benedict looked like he was afraid the others would kick him out of the house at a moment’s notice, so as he filled his plate, Lestat ripped off an extra two slices of the ham and deposited it atop the rest, giving Benedict a serious look that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. In the salon immediately adjacent to the ballroom, he set his own things on a table with four chairs, insisting Benedict join him there, and leaving the other two open for whoever wanted them. “Eat,” Lestat ordered him with a smile, and he pushed a bottle of wine into Benedict’s hands as well. “I’ll be right back.”
Returning to the ballroom, Lestat counted the rest of the people there, then frowned to himself before approaching Armand. “Where is Marius?” he asked discreetly, not wanting to alarm anyone in case there was something wrong.
“Upstairs, in his rooms.” Marius had looked too at peace to wake. Many men at his age looked quite dopey in sleep, but Marius looked handsome as ever he was, and he needed the rest. Armand had spent a good couple of minutes looking at his face, committing this to memory—he didn’t know when he’d next be able to see it. Benedict would probably be taking his spot in that bed soon.
Armand began to eat finally, deciding that the battle in his head would keep waging until he died of starvation, and he chewed and quickly swallowed to get it over with. “He’s perfectly well.”
Lestat stared at Armand’s profile, waiting for him to look at him, to be able to get a sense of how he was handling his terrible new mortality. But Armand seemed so distant, his mind far away, as if he didn’t even realize that Lestat was the one speaking to him. No doubt he was in some stage of shock… They probably all were, to one extent or another. None of them were ‘perfectly well,’ that was a fact. They were all actively dying with every passing second.
But at least Armand was eating, and not having any trouble with it as so many of the others around the room were doing, choking and coughing and biting their tongues. Maybe Lestat would have better luck capturing Armand’s attention once the nutrients in the food had time to work on his brain chemistry.
He pushed his only partially drunk bottle of wine into Armand’s hand, and then ruffled his dark hair softly before moving around the room to check on everyone else. Stopping at the end of the stage again, Lestat grabbed the bottle that was left for Marius and took it for himself to go back to his table. He was a little surprised to see that no one else had taken the other two chairs, and Benedict was still sitting alone. Were people actually avoiding him?? Lestat would have to do something about that when they were all settled again.
He plunked the bottle on the table and glowered at it forlornly, as if he were personally wronged by the fact that it wasn’t open yet. Taking the bread off the plate, and beginning to tear it into pieces, he shifted his gaze to Benedict. “Try it yet?”
Benedict had tried the food, only because Lestat had told him to and he wasn’t adept at lying. He hadn’t liked the way it slid down his throat after being chewed, and wondered how on earth he’d go about eating solid things again. But he did know that the food had taken the edge off the stomach pain for him and that was enough to not entirely turn him off. Sitting beside Lestat was a very small comfort.
Louis meanwhile was still standing over the spread of food, eying each item with the sort of scrutiny he usually gave to his financial ledgers. The way the smells caused his stomach to tilt and his mouth to water was entirely off-putting, none of the usual longing pangs the bloodlust caused, and Louis knew too that once he succumbed to the urge, it would not be the same.
On his way to follow Lestat into the salon, Louis passed Armand and almost stopped there, but the distant look in Armand’s eyes stilled him and made Louis think better of it. Perhaps Armand needed his space. Just as beautiful as Lestat had been in the shower, Armand was, every bit the young boyish man, dark auburn curls and rosy cheeks.
In the salon, Louis set his plate down at the seat across from Benedict and eased himself into the chair. Louis’s plate was hardly full, but there was rice, ham and vegetables.
Benedict nodded, feeling like he couldn’t speak. Lovely Louis with his beautiful green eyes. These two were made for each other. What was Benedict doing sitting near them like this?
Lestat had glanced up, but the second he saw Louis’s face, the memory of their moment in the shower came back to him, and a warmth rushed through him which he could not blame on the wine. Quickly, he looked away and focused on Benedict again.
He was moving the food around with his fork, but then realized it was very rude not to speak. “It’s lovely, thank you,” he said, finally answering Lestat about the dinner.
Lestat snorted. “No it’s not.” It tasted like salt and glue and sand. But at least the wine was good, an excellent vintage of the sort France was famous for. And Lestat appreciated how quickly it was going to his head and driving out all his fear and sorrow.
Shifting in his chair, he opened the new bottle he’d brought and he generously filled up two of the plastic cups, pushing one across the table to Louis without looking at him, and then he handed the other to Benedict.
Lestat seemed mesmerized by the movements of Benedict’s hands, the way he was making the rice into unintentional shapes on his plate. “Who taught you how to use a fork?” he asked with amused curiosity. That particular mortal utensil had been a learning curve for Lestat the last time he had to eat, but Benedict didn’t seem uncomfortable with it at all.
“It just seemed intuitive.” Benedict shrugged. He looked around at everyone else, he hadn’t thought about it but rather just picked it up. Besides, he seemed to be holding it right at least, judging by the way Louis was holding his.
The fork hasn’t felt intuitive to Lestat, so much so that he hadn’t even thought to grab one of the little crinkly plastic packets of utensils. How Benedict’s mind worked fascinated Lestat, how different from his own, and he felt a pang of agony that his psychic powers were gone.
“In any case,” Benedict continued, “I do think the food is rather nice, once you get over the actual act of eating. The food of a monk was never anything special.” It occurred to him for the first time that being human implied a lot of things, and he cast his mind back to how he used to behave as one.
Lestat took a great long drink from the bottle, but then his head tilted to follow Benedict’s distant gaze. Was there anything Lestat could do to make Benedict focus on him instead? He found himself longing for his attention. His buzzed mind was justifying it by telling him it was only because Benedict looked so lost and unhappy and Lestat wanted to cheer him, not for any other reason, not at all, not because of how soft and round his cheeks were or how large and dark his eyes.
“Well, wait ‘til you try chocolate,” Lestat said as his fingers picked at the label of the wine bottle. “And bananas. I’ll order us a bunch of bananas for breakfast.” He glanced over at Louis to include him in this, but again had to look away quickly before he’d end up blushing with the growing heat of the wine in him. “We’ll make it a day of sensations and experiences,” he offered Benedict. “As many as we can squeeze in. And then come sunset, we’ll have Fareed set us all right again.”
This brought Benedict hope. He smiled at Lestat just a little. He had a way of talking and inspiring and reassuring that Benedict admired—it was why he was where he was in life. “Well, I suppose if it’s just for one day, then we should all make the most of it, and I’ll try chocolate after all.” He laughed, wondering if Lestat might laugh too. If Fareed really would fix it all so soon, then why were any of them worried? This was almost a gift they’d been presented with.
There were other things, too, of course that they should all experience, and Benedict felt a heat rise to his own cheeks as he considered them, remembering his past youthful forays into mortal pleasures. As if it were yesterday, no less, a testament to his voracious appetite for it back in the day. He tried not to look at the lines of Lestat’s shoulders and strong arms under his clothes, or to focus on the cut of his jaw.
Likewise, Louis found it hard to look too long at either of the two men sitting with him at the table. He’d certainly not taken care of anything that had been inspired by what had transpired in the shower, though the temptation had been there when he’d been alone with himself in his dressing closet. No, it was simply ridiculous, these mortal needs. Louis found himself nearly catching Lestat’s eye and Benedict’s too across their plates of food, but he quickly, if nonchalantly, averted his gaze, his back straight, the whole of his being with a feigned placid calm about it.
Picking up the cup of wine, Louis drank. He was unable to stop himself gulping it all down, though he managed still to keep that graceful calm, even if his fingers trembled with how the taste was both wonderful and wholly and disappointing in its differences from blood.
Louis picked up the fork again and poked at the ham, then made an attempt at a graceful show of cutting a small piece off with a disposable knife. Luckily the ham was tender enough that the plastic sliced through with some effort, and Louis chewed thoughtfully when he’d taken the bite finally, swallowing and finding the sensation as ever, pleasurable and revolting all in one. His body craved the nourishment, though, that was obvious, and he found his strained discomfort subsiding with each subsequent bite.
Meanwhile, Lestat was trying to remember which sort of chocolate was the sweet kind and which was the bitter… He wanted to make sure Benedict actually liked the experience. Lestat had particularly enjoyed chocolate the time he had it when it was melted. He should find a desert made with that for Benedict. Louis would probably just feel like he needed to say some Hail Marys after he tried it, but Lestat would offer at least. His village had a fine little chocolate shop on the square, as well as a patisserie café, and both should be open tomorrow for Saint Stephen’s Day.
He smiled at Benedict, so glad to see his spirits lifted. A question rose to Lestat’s lips, but he shoved a chunk of baguette into his mouth to keep from asking it. He’d suddenly wanted to know if Benedict would reach out to his maker to provide the Blood for his return to darkness by whatever method Fareed determined safe. But Lestat knew the very reminder of Rhosh’s existence was enough to wipe any smile off Benedict’s face, and it was too charming just now for him to want to be rid of it. But Lestat was thinking that if Benedict did not want to involve Rhosh, he would happily make Benedict a vampire himself. Once Lestat was reborn of Gregory’s ancient and supremely powerful Blood, he would be strong enough for many fledglings, even right away.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lestat peeked at Louis, suddenly nervous that he might require some coaxing to return to his vampire state after he’d spent a day in the sunlight. Perhaps Lestat should make sure Louis’s one day wasn’t such a great experience after all…
He chased the bread with another hearty quaff of wine before trusting himself to speak again, though he could tell he was well on his way to a hearty drunk. “We’ll take the helicopter to Paris just before dark,” he suggested, but then paused as he imagined the terror of being so vulnerable in the air. “No, we’ll drive. We’ll leave at…two. That will give us plenty of time.” He lifted his bottle in a toast to this plan and then took another swig.
The thought of the drive to Paris filled Benedict with unease. How long would it take? Who would he be sharing the car with? What would they talk about? He’d not always been quite so anxious about everything, not quite so, but this whole thing had them all upheaved. Worse than anything, he feared Rhoshamandes finding out. His smile faded as he worried about it before taking a forkful of ham. Surely he’d feel better after food, and a shower and a good long rest.
“It sounds like a good idea,” he offered to Lestat, a little amused by how the wine seemed to be hitting him. He looked at the cup he’d been given, almost afraid to try it if it was all that strong.
“Cyril will ride with us,” Lestat reassured Benedict, thinking his obvious nervousness had to do with the fragility of being human. In daylight hours, there was no random threat Lestat could think of that Cyril wouldn’t be the best possible deterrent against. He shot Louis a quick, serious look, letting him know he was included in the ‘us.’ Lestat’s Porsche could only hold four people, so that would be it for their ride. He leaned over the table to slide his hand over Benedict’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze, the look in his eyes promising, I’ll take care of you.
As he sat back again, Lestat picked up a slice of ham on his plate and began tearing it into slivers as his gaze roamed the others in the room, and then he looked through the double doors back into the ballroom where a few had remained. He couldn’t see much past the Christmas trees. He popped a few pieces of ham in his mouth, forcing himself to chew each morsel of the salty leather carefully before swallowing. He was determined not to injure himself on food this time, and he kept on sharp look out for anyone who might need help. He’d never tried the Heimlich maneuver, but he’d give it his best shot if someone started choking.
A pity his mortal ears were now too weak, and the stone walls of his fortress too thick, for him to pick up on the sound of a helicopter approaching the chateau’s landing pad.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, T and K
Chapter 25: Terrifying Gift
Summary:
Gregory brings medical assistance to the chateau in a form different than Lestat expects, and Benedict and Louis bond over the call of death.
Chapter Text
Gregory had endured an embarrassingly wobbly flight from Court back to the Collingsworth Pharmaceuticals Paris headquarters. He’d nearly crashed several times. In fact, he deliberated whether he should return to Court at all in his condition. Lestat and the others needed medical supplies and vaccinations as quickly as possible, but perhaps another vampire could handle this better at the moment.
Of course, Fareed and Seth were already fully aware of all that had occurred; their psychic gifts were as great as Gregory’s. And it was a psychic message from Fareed that convinced him he was the one who needed to go back, after all. Something was wrong with him, and the same could happen to any other vampire who came in proximity to those at the chateau, ground zero of this catastrophe. No, they were right. No one else should risk it tonight.
Straightening his clothing, Gregory entered his corporate building, going directly to his office. He called in one of the medical researchers who worked down in the laboratories throughout the night. This particular researcher, personally recommended by Fareed, was aware of the existence of blood drinkers. She was one of the scientists he and Seth kept, with the offer of the potential of immortality if she devoted her life and her brilliant scientific mind to the numerous experiments Fareed had going. Her name was Greta, and she happened to also be a great beauty.
Together, Gregory and Greta gathered all the supplies and vaccinations needed. He also instructed that the same supplies should be sent to the Paris coven house. He knew he couldn’t reliably fly with all of these containers, especially not in his current queasy condition. He and Greta had the company helicopter loaded with the supplies, and together they traveled back to the castle. Gregory nearly passed out on the flight, so exhausted was he, and the scent of Greta's blood was excruciating to resist.
Quickly, before his traitorous mind and short attention span distracted him once more, he called his blood wife, Chrysanthe, and informed her of what had taken place. He instructed her on everything she would need to do to take care of the company and their little family while he remained at Court to protect those who had become human. Of course, she already knew what to do, but she was ever patient and listened to all of his rambling instructions.
His helicopter set down in the space beside Lestat's at the landing pad outside the chateau, some distance away. He and Greta gathered as many of the supplies as they could carry themselves for one trip to the Court. They would send others back to collect the rest. When they entered the ballroom, it was empty, though Gregory could sense the mortals in the next room. The smell of human food greeted them, and Gregory’s stomach rebelled. He swallowed the urge to drop all he carried and immediately dry heave there on the parquet floor. Poor Greta. What a terrible example he was setting for her as the boss, and an ancient immortal.
He looked apologetically to her. “You will be rewarded greatly for this service, I promise you.”
Gregory found a place before one of the Christmas trees and set down the supplies, gesturing for her to do the same. He stood slowly and looked with his mind through the eyes of those in the adjacent salon, all of them with their plates of food and drink in hand.
The weight of his exhaustion was crushing. Gregory needed the healing sleep, and he longed for a quiet familiar place to seek it out. It seemed to him he couldn’t help much more here, not in his current state. Greta could answer any questions about the medical items, and they could always get Fareed on the phone. Besides, it was rather obvious all here were still in a state of shock.
Additionally, the scent of mortal blood was too enticing, though he did fear it would only make him ill again should he sample it. What he needed was darkness and slumber. He walked, as if through molasses, to the staircase he knew would take him up to the south tower where he often spent his day’s rest under the open sky when at Court.
Somehow, he made his way up a great number of stairs and finally out to the tower rooftop. Normally he would remove all his clothing for the sun’s rays to darken his skin over the day, but even that seemed like too much to manage. So he simply lay on the snow-dusted flagstones, his eyes heavy and already closing, despite dawn still being hours away.
—————————————
“Gregory’s back!” Lestat had gasped when he finally heard the arrival. Pushing back from their little dinner table, he ran to the ballroom, leaving his chair to clatter over backwards on the floor. But by the time he made his way over to the stage, Gregory was nowhere to be seen. Only a stranger in crisp white, setting up an array of obvious medical supplies. She was mortal, he could tell that at once, and not anyone he’d ever known as a vampire. He’d remember a face that enchanting, no question about it. But her efficiency and professionalism led Lestat to believe she was well aware of just where she was and what she was dealing with. One of Dr. Fareed’s acolytes, he guessed.
Greta was glad for her perfectionist ways this night, for it had kept her from melting into a puddle of emotion in front of Mr. Collingsworth the moment he called her up to his office. She’d thought for sure it was finally her time to be given the Blood. He never called scientists directly to his office! But alas it was something else entirely that he wanted. And now she found herself in the castle of Prince Lestat, and she wanted nothing more than to roam and discover everything about it. But she would first of all focus on the supplies that needed to be kept track of in an orderly manner.
The fact that all the vampires were now human was a real disappointment. Just her luck, too. Mr. Collingsworth seemed terribly unwell and had stumbled off somewhere, leaving her here with all these boxes and no other instructions. She needed to pee. Where was the restroom? And she needed tables to set up all the medical stations. She needed a notebook to track who was receiving which vaccines… She guessed she could use her phone… Why hadn’t Mr. Collingsworth brought more than just her? He’d at least told her they were here to give everyone the standard course of current vaccinations most people began at birth. She was good with needles!
She knelt down and began opening boxes, taking count of what they’d brought in from the helicopter. She brushed a lock of pale orange hair back behind her ear and began humming to herself, as that always helped her nerves.
Lestat’s head tilted sideways, distracted by the way her clothing tightened about the curves of her body as she bent to the floor, the graceful way her delicate fingers sorted through the contents of her cartons. But then he blinked and shook out his head, aware his staring was bordering on rude. He could blame the wine for that, he was sure. He could also blame it for how warm he was becoming, though someone had probably also turned up the heating system to accommodate mortal sensitivities. Yes, that was all.
Stripping off his leather jacket, he tossed it on the stage as he came around in front of where the woman was crouching. “Let me help you?” he offered in English. Though Fareed’s scientists worked in Paris and Geneva, they came from around the world, and he couldn’t know if she spoke French. “Gregory brought you, no? He has some plan?”
Greta looked up from her boxes, slightly startled by Lestat’s sudden appearance before her. How handsome he was! Although, slightly disappointing that he was merely a mortal man. Was this really The Lestat?
She quickly regained her composure and smiled warmly at him. “Oh, thank you, that would be wonderful.” Standing up, she dusted off her knees. She couldn’t help but notice his striking features and charming demeanor, but she pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand.
“Gregory did bring me, yes, but unfortunately, he’s not feeling well and had to leave. I’m here to set up a vaccination station, now that you’re all human and susceptible to modern diseases.” She gestured toward the boxes of supplies. “I could definitely use some help with setting up tables and organizing everything. And a notebook and pen would be great too.”
She paused, studying Lestat’s handsome face. “Do you know where I could find those things?” she asked, hoping he would have some idea. She lowered her voice to a whisper, speaking from behind a hand, “And a bathroom? Where could I find one?”
“But of course, ma chère,” Lestat said with a gentle smile. What a pretty voice she had, too, and her fiery hair looked so soft and warm in the Christmas lights.
He easily scooped up the largest of the boxes and then gestured for her to follow him. “Come this way, there’s a comfortable parlor you may use in any way you require.” He led the way back through the salon where Louis and Benedict were eating, though he was too focused on the woman to acknowledge them, asking her name and how long she’d worked with their kind, curious to know everything about her.
Louis watched Lestat pass by with someone decidedly not Gregory, who he did not recognize. He frowned in curious confusion. Since it didn’t seem like Lestat would be coming back to pick up the chair he’d let clatter to the floor, Louis sighed and moved around the table to right it himself.
Leaning across the table, he picked up his dinner and wine and sat them down next to Benedict, taking the seat Lestat had vacated. His own plastic plate he used to nudge Lestat’s abandoned one aside, and he took another bite with his fork. Then he drank, and drank, and drank, finishing the cup of wine completely. The plastic popped rather loudly on the table’s surface when he set it down.
“We’ll see the sunlight, won’t we?” Louis’s voice was quiet, yet no less full of wonder, beneath it, a hint of longing.
Benedict, surprised and flattered that Louis was speaking to him, was momentarily taken out of his fear and depression. He looked to Louis, and then to the empty cup, considering his words. He was still too afraid to try the wine in his own cup. He looked to Louis again, lovely Louis with his famously lovely eyes. What could he possibly have to say of worth to a man like Louis?
“I hope so,” he said quietly after a while, with a small smile on his face. Whether or not he hoped the sun would eviscerate him was unclear, but the Rhoshamandes-shaped cloud in his head was looming. “I remember the warmth of it well.”
“I barely remember. So strange, that. But the inkling of the memory; the promise of the possibility is so enticing, so alluring… I can scarce wait.” Louis’s voice was low and quiet, almost secretive. He seemed afraid to let anyone besides Benedict know these feelings, as if he feared being judged by those who wanted to become immortal again so soon.
Benedict smiled, flattered that Louis would open up to him so much. Perhaps he was like this with everyone, but even so, it meant a great deal. He wanted to encourage it more. To talk to anyone in this capacity with the way he’d been feeling was an honor.
“Could this be some strange and terrifying gift?” Louis asked. “Will we be able to withstand it? The sun?”
Benedict’s face fell a little. He didn’t know what to say because he didn’t know, none of them knew. “I think a blessing, as it’s only temporary. As for the sun, we can only know once we have tried it,” he mused. Then, looking around at everyone else in the room, he came to a conclusion. “I’ll be the tester. I don’t mind.” If it did destroy him, it would be a fitting end, to do something good for these people.
Louis knew almost immediately that expression, felt the despair and the finality in Benedict’s tone. He had been that way once, had gone through with his fatalistic reasoning to the point of no return.
He leaned forward and pushed Benedict’s cup of wine toward him, silently urging him to drink, knowing it would calm his nerves. “I will go with you,” Louis offered the smallest knowing smile.
Benedict’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “You couldn’t!” Louis was one of the most important figures in this chateau! Everybody would feel his loss if the sun would incinerate them still. They would be thrown into a period of mourning, all of them. Besides, Lestat would never allow it. “I beg you to reconsider. One of us is enough, only one of us should take the risk, and it should be me.”
“But I could,” Louis countered, one brow rising, and he refilled his own cup with the bottle Lestat had left behind. “I went into the sun once… Fourteen years ago,” he admitted. “Dragged my coffin out into the courtyard garden and left it open when I laid down to await the day. Despair drove me there, Lestat lost in what seemed like an eternal sleep, my daughter, or what I thought was hope for a reunion with her soul, lost in her hating me, my heart torn and pulled toward lust, as a sort of last effort toward cessation of that grief. I was drawn to whatever way was present at the time to distract from my hopelessness. I felt half mad, as though I was dreaming just before the notion took me.”
Louis reached out his hand, slowly and unobtrusively, laying it palm up on the table for Benedict in silent offering. “I know something in you wants to end it. I can well imagine why.”
Benedict didn’t dare take Louis’s hand, he couldn’t fathom having such contact with him. He could hardly look at him now, because he felt as though his skin had been peeled off and his soul was laid bare for being told exactly what he was thinking aloud. He was confronted with it now, and he felt frightened for it. He felt as though he might cry again, and he finally took the cup of wine in his hands and took a long, slow gulp.
Best to focus on Louis, and Louis’s terrible suffering. “I am sorry that you went through that,” he said, feeling the wine run through his body and refresh him. “Truly I am.”
“I came through it all. Because of others,” Louis said, just as quietly, no judgment in it, nor in his mortal green gaze. There was only acceptance and understanding in Louis’s face just now, and perhaps too a bit of rosiness to his cheeks as he took another sip and then gulp of wine. The men from the village who had brought the case had given them some of the finest wine they possessed, he was sure, from the smoothness and light sweetness of the taste. Delectable. “Let us be ‘others’ for you.”
Benedict let these words sink in and tried to mull them over. In all his years, nobody had ever said such kind things to him as Lestat and Louis had, and that was why he found it so difficult now to accept them, to really view them to be true. “I don’t know how,” he admitted finally, still very quiet. “I don’t know how to be helped.”
“Nor did I. I just was. Simply let it happen, Benedict, and try not to fight it.” Louis gave him that same hopeful smile of understanding. He took another long drink of the wine. “Perhaps this…whatever it is, might help us remember just how fragile and precious life…living…can truly be.”
Benedict tried to keep his mind open as Louis said such encouraging things. While he found it very hard to agree to try, he did finally dare to take the offer of Louis’s hand. Just barely. He settled his fingers around the ends of Louis’s, afraid to touch him any more than that in case he’d misinterpreted, and because Louis was so wonderful, why would he want Benedict to touch him? “Maybe that’s why this has happened to us in the first place. Maybe there’s a great force that’s done this that thinks we’re too ungrateful for immortality.”
Louis stared at him a long while, thinking on what this being some grand scheme might mean. It seemed so strange, and yet, Louis could not help but think of Merrick and what she had said to him once, that he was far too tied to his sadness when he had so much of the world at his feet if only he might seek it.
“It could be so,” Louis whispered. “Together, we will get through—whether to our old age and eventual death or whether we will see through the eyes of immortality once again.”
Benedict wasn’t used to being stared at, and he didn’t much like it. It made him too worried that he’d done something wrong, and he would have pulled his hand away from Louis, did he not see that his eyes weren’t full of malice or contempt. Besides, his words testified to the fact that he wasn’t angry with Benedict.
“Thank you,” he said softly after a while. “Thank you for including me in that, and for wanting to help me. It’s…it’s been a difficult time for me of late.” He didn’t want to open up too much, lest he weep in front of Louis. He’d never forgive himself for that.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, D, K, and T. Greta written by D
Chapter 26: Powerful Elixir
Summary:
As Lestat helps the doctor set up her medical station, a frightening realization occurs to him.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Lestat carried Greta’s cases of medical supplies to a parlor across from the grand hall, where he set them on a long, carved wooden table that usually did little more than hold an overly large vase of flowers. This week, the arrangement had been replaced by Christmas decorations, but he cleared those off to give the pretty doctor the space she needed.
“We’ll have to go upstairs for the bathroom,” he said politely without any awkwardness. “There are none down here, I’m afraid. We never needed them, you know.” The thought of how he’d have to use one at least once before he became a vampire again made Lestat shudder. All that wine would have to go somewhere… But he felt no such urges yet, so he let himself be eagerly distracted by the beautiful woman before him, especially now that they were alone.
He gestured in a gentlemanly way for her to go out a different door they’d come in, and showed her to the staircase. “The house is usually much more full than this,” he said as the emptiness of it now made the halls and corridors feel rather desolate, his voice echoing faintly off the plaster-covered stone walls. “But more of us will be coming back over the course of the night.” Lestat was sure most of the former-vampires who drove off upon waking human would just go back to their own homes, but no doubt some of them would want to cling to the safety of the castle and return after they filled their stomachs and bought all they might need for a day of mortality.
“Oh, I’m sure they will all come back. Mr. Collingsworth said this would all be sorted out. Dr. Bhansali and Dr. Gilman will fix it all. But it’s very important that you all get vaccinated and keep in the best of health until then.” Greta went up the stone stairway with Lestat. “This castle is amazing! The stonework and the history of it!” She was so excited to be here, witnessing all of this. “I’ll just be a quick minute in the bathroom, and then we should set up all the supplies and start calling in each individual. We won’t give all the vaccines in one go. You may have some reactions to them, of course. Nothing bad, just possibly chills and aches and maybe some extra tired feelings. Some vaccines require followup doses. I’m sure Mr. Collingsworth will explain it all more thoroughly when he’s feeling better… Do you suppose he’s got what you all have? I can’t imagine him as a human!” Was she talking too much? She did tend to run off at the mouth when nervous.
Well, wasn’t this woman just downright adorable? As Lestat followed her up the stairs, he admired the lusciousness of her curves. Such beauty, she might have been chosen for a vampire for her face and breasts even without any of her scientific brilliance. The feminine slope of her shoulders alone was enough to make a spark of mortal desire flare inside him, pleasantly coaxed by the warm buzzing of the wine.
“Relax, ma chere,” he said with a bright smile as they crossed the landing together. “Gregory is just upset, we’re all upset. None of us had any of the symptoms he's experiencing, so it must be something else. But we’ll all be ourselves again soon enough.” Lestat understood that all two-hundred-ish of them couldn’t become vampires again tomorrow night, and indeed some of them might even enjoy taking a few more days in mortal flesh, so every precaution was needed. Good god, some might even never want the Blood again! But Lestat would think about all that once he had his own immortality and powers back. He’d take care of his people in whatever way they needed.
He put a hand to the small of Greta’s back to guide her around a corner to the south tower, where all the best rooms were kept for visitors. Each had a bathroom attached, and when his architect had designed them naturally with toilets, Lestat hadn’t told him to disinclude them. How would he explain that? So they’d been sitting there in every bathroom for years, never being used, except for perhaps to flush away hair clippings when vampires groomed themselves at sunset. He supposed the mortal cleaning staff that came during the day must use at least one of them, though he had no idea which.
Opening the door to the first suite they came to, he took the opportunity to touch her lightly again as he welcomed her inside. “It’s over there.” He gestured to another door across the room, but he didn’t move to come any further in, not wanting her to think he would listen.
It was only once she was shut away from him that what she’d been saying about the vaccines finally hit Lestat, and he became immediately troubled.
Greta quickly made use of the bathroom. She washed her hands and exited to find Lestat leaning against the far doorway in the outside room. She realized, belatedly, that he was perhaps a little tipsy. He had touched her, in a most gentlemanly way, as they went up the stairs. She remembered that his hand had been warm against her lower back, that he had been close and spoken in that lovely voice he had. She was flustered. And then she remembered Flannery, and that she had slept with Lestat and carried his clone son. Greta found herself blushing and looking away from the handsome, all too human, man before her.
“We must get back to setting up the vaccination station. Mr. Collingsworth gave me no other instructions.” She made a small helpless gesture. “I really am more of a biochemist, and not the best choice he could have made for this…mission.” She laughed, nervous.
“Wait,” Lestat said, his golden brows pinched. He pushed away from the doorway and came into the room to meet her halfway. “The side effects you spoke of… Are they immediate?” How enchanting she looked in the soft light of the dimmed chandelier, the fiery shade of her hair set off by the opulent golds and greens of the room’s decor. He wanted to touch it, to see what it would feel like running through his fingers. These mortal fingers of these human hands… Had her cheeks been this pink before?
He blinked, catching himself staring, and tried to focus back on his question. It had been an important question. “I’ll only be like this for a day. I’ll be perfectly dead again by this time tomorrow. Have you read my books? My last adventure in mortal flesh was ruined by a terrible sickness that came on immediately. I don’t want that again! For myself or our friends downstairs. But neither do I want to spend my one day with chills and aches and fatigue. I’ll need all my vigor to spend it as I intend.”
Greta blinked large blue eyes at him. This seemed logical. Why make all these poor souls sick from vaccine side effects if they would be vampires again within days or even weeks?
“You do have a valid point. Perhaps we shouldn’t immediately start vaccinating. We should wait for Dr. Bhansali and the others to give the green light.” She smiled shyly up at him. “I suppose we don’t really need all this rush after all. But I should go back down and set up the medical supplies, in case of any emergencies.” She slid around him, toward the door. It seemed suddenly improper to be alone in these rooms with him.
Lestat let out a breath as he watched her go, surprised to feel a touch of disappointment at how sincerely demure she seemed; none of the coquette in this dear thing. Not that he ought to have been expecting there might be, of course. He laughed a little at himself under his breath, and ran his hands over his hair. It felt mostly dry now, so he pulled out the elastic and ruffled it back into shape as he followed her.
“But I want us protected for the time we are vulnerable,” he said as he caught up, turning off the lights and closing the door behind them. “I fell deathly ill in mere hours the last time.” Emphasis on the deathly, and Lestat shuddered, terror twisting deep within him.
He suddenly realized he was too busy gazing at her ravishing profile as they walked to be paying attention where he was going. He jerked and turned his eyes ahead and made sure to grip the banister tightly as they headed downstairs. “Are there any of them that would be of any use in fortifying us immediately?” He had no idea how long it took for a vaccine to be effective. Inoculations were treated like witchcraft when he was last the mortal boy he’d become again tonight.
“Oh, of course,” Greta replied as they made their way to the parlor once more. “We would definitely want to give you the most current influenza vaccine, probably the HPV one too, as I imagine there will be plenty of experimentation going on while you all are human.” She avoided looking at Lestat while saying this, as she was in fact well aware of all of the experimentation he participated in when he was last human. “TDap, to protect against tetanus. Perhaps also those that will protect you from pneumonia. Oh! And definitely the hepatitis vaccines.”
Greta looked to him as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “We should at least start with the Influenza vaccine tonight.” She tried to be encouraging. “You just eat a good meal and drink plenty of water and have a good night of sleep and you won’t have any side effects, I’m sure.”
“Influenza! Yes, that’s the one.” Lestat wrapped his arms tight around himself as a chill overtook him, and as he looked down at her, the desperate uncertainty in his eyes made him appear so very young, like a boy looking to his mother to keep him safe from the demons in the night.
He wasn’t sure about the good night of sleep, considering he’d just woken up at sunset, but maybe he’d want a couple hours before dawn, especially to recover the blood he’d lost. No wonder the wine had gone so quickly to his head.
Greta nodded in agreement, but couldn’t help noticing the distress in his eyes. She felt a pang of sympathy and couldn’t imagine how difficult this must be for him. For any of them, really. To have been such powerful, immortal beings and now suddenly weak and susceptible to any and every danger just like all the rest of the human world. She offered him a kind smile and continued on to the parlor, trying to focus on the task at hand.
Lestat went over to a writing desk by the window and looked in the drawers. No notebook, but he did find a stack of thick creamy stationary, and he grabbed a few sheets and a green fountain pen for the station Greta was setting up.
She opened one of the crates and began sorting through the various equipment, checking to make sure everything was in order. As she worked, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement at the prospect of studying these newly turned humans. There was so much to learn about their physiology, their vulnerabilities, and their unique abilities.
As Lestat handed her the pen and paper, his damp hair tickled the side of his neck. He reached up to scratch the itch, and then hissed in pain as his fingernails snagged on the raw edges of the two tiny puncture wounds there. He bit the tip of his tongue to keep from cursing in front of the lady and muttered to himself, “Forgot about that.”
She gasped and looked up at him. He was wounded and she had not even noticed it before! “What is this? What happened to you?” She batted at his hand to push it away from his throat. “This is a bite! Who bit you and did not heal it? Who would do this?” She went immediately to her supplies and pulled out alcohol wipes and bandages and a few other items to help clean and soothe any pain.
Lestat let her fuss, and with a sigh, he flopped into the straight-backed chair beside the table so he could be at an easier level for her to do whatever her medical expertise deemed best. “He tried to heal it,” he explained wearily. “It…didn’t work.”
Now that he was able to let himself really think about this without being dizzy with hunger, a slow chill began to creep over him. “His blood didn’t work,” he whispered, and then his attention snapped up to Greta. “Why wouldn’t it work? It was Gregory! The most potent and powerful of us all. What is wrong with me??”
Greta’s eyes grew huge with shock. Gregor—Mr. Collingsworth’s blood should have healed any wound. They’d certainly used samples of it in any number of experiments down in the labs. It was a powerful elixir!
Lestat’s hand came up again, scrubbing over the little wounds as if he could encourage the blood Gregory had smeared onto them earlier to have a delayed effect. Did this mean that drinking Gregory’s blood to become immortal again wouldn’t work on Lestat’s body at all? “My god!” he gasped in terror.
She grabbed his hands so he couldn’t inflict any more damage to his throat. “You must stop!” she commanded, as best she could. She was well aware she wasn’t the most commanding of people. “This will all be fixed. It seems your body has somehow rejected the healing qualities of the Blood, but this will all be researched and examined and solved. I assure you, Dr. Bhansali and Dr. Gilman and all our scientists will be working around the clock to fix it.” She placed Lestat’s hands firmly in his lap and gave him a severe warning look not to move them again.
After she cleaned his wounds and bandaged him up, she found the right vaccine supplies for Influenza so she could inject him straightaway. Lestat had to half take off his shirt, since his long sleeves were too tight to slide up. He slipped his arm out and hiked it up on that side to give Greta access to his shoulder for her needle.
“I know you had a real struggle with adapting to human existence last time,” she said. “But that was in a totally different body than your own. This body is yours, and certainly you will feel more comfortable experiencing mortal sensations in it.”
Lestat could only nod mutely in response, now far too scared about his future to even notice or care anymore how obviously uninterested this woman was in his half clothed state. He gingerly slid his arm back in his sleeve and pulled the shirt down over his taut stomach, moving on autopilot, his eyes unfocused as the weight of these fears settled upon him.
Examined and solved… Working round the clock… Yes, there was still hope… There had to be… He would just have to accept that he might have to suffer more than one day in this mortal state, after all.
“Now,” Greta chirped. “We must get the others in here for their flu vaccine. It’s the most important one for them to get.”
Shakily, Lestat stood. “Yes,” he murmured. “The others…” He could absolutely not allow any of them to suffer the terror of death the way he had the last time he was a mortal.
He made his way back into the ballroom blindly, and then to the double doors that opened to the salon where the others sat for dinner. In a voice as clear and even as he could manage, Lestat commanded all their attention, instructing everyone that they would be taking turns to see Greta across the hall to receive their shots.
Where was Marius? Lestat still didn’t see him anywhere. He needed to be down here. How was Lestat supposed to convey this horrifying news on his own? He felt in his pockets for his phone, but they were empty. He knew for certain he’d brought it down from his room after his shower… Where had it gone? By god, he couldn’t do this alone!
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and D
Chapter 27: A Choice
Summary:
Lestat pulls Marius aside to share his terrifying realization, and is especially grateful for his friend's calm practicality.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Marius came into the salon where everyone was eating, freshly washed, hair long and brushed, dry, wearing a heady and dusky cologne. He looked about at the sparse attendance before he sat himself at the table nearest to the one Louis occupied, where Marius presumed Lestat would settle as the leader of their coven. Curiously, though, the Prince was gone. Marius was more concerned than anything. “Where is Lestat?”
“Here,” Lestat said as if it were the most deplorable fact in the world as he reentered the room. He’d just been showing another former vampire across the hall to get her inoculations from Greta.
He was glad to see Marius up and about. That he hadn’t come down earlier with Armand for dinner had worried Lestat, when Marius was usually so adamant about being where he was needed. But after Thorne returned and told him Daniel had taken food up to Marius, Lestat had been able to feel a little easier.
The warm buzz of the wine in his system was starting to turn into a sinking drunken depression of all the horrors floating just at the periphery of his consciousness that he kept trying to beat back. He caught the neck of a half full wine bottle someone had left on a table and poured a measure into one of the shiny plastic cups, handing it to Marius as he joined him. Then he took a great long drink directly from the bottle for himself. The way he tipped his head back to do it made him wince as it stretched the bandage affixed to his throat. Lestat prodded it gingerly.
Marius pulled the plastic cup toward himself, though his eyes stayed on Lestat, studying him. He looked forlorn, defeated, and there was a pinch of pain in his expression when he moved his neck. He finally reached forward and put his hand over Lestat’s, holding it loosely. “You need a doctor to look at it,” he said regarding the wounds.
“She did,” Lestat reassured him. The lovely and efficient Greta had cleaned the bite and applied all the appropriate unguents and salves before taping the white gauze to his throat. Lestat wouldn’t be removing it anytime soon, not about to give infection even a chance with his feeble mortal body. It was itchy, though, and he couldn’t stop himself from rubbing at it now and then. Lestat turned his hand over, clutching Marius’s tightly, his blue eyes looking so young and unhappy as they beseeched his.
Briefly, Marius looked around the room at Louis, Benedict, Bianca and Armand. Beautiful Armand. He let the gaze linger before turning back to Lestat. “You need to eat and rest. It’s still too soon to know anything. Is it safe to contact the Talamasca?” Marius had always respected the scholars there and saw them as allies in most things, but they needed to protect themselves. Though if anyone knew of any possible magic to reverse immortality, it was them.
Alarm seized Lestat. “Gods, no! Think of how they could descend upon us! After…after we’re all immortal again, then perhaps we could ask them our questions. But they must not know how vulnerable we are now, if we can help it.”
Marius wasn’t so sure that the Talamasca wouldn’t find out on their own. They had dozens of wild cards outside of the chateau now with the people Lestat had sent home, and they couldn’t control the flow of information beyond these walls. Some of their kind might even seek out the organization themselves. Then again, most of them were wary of the nosy scholars, and rightly so. But it was too complicated to think about right now, and Marius’s muddled mind would ponder their safety and consider their best course when it felt clearer.
Lestat took another deep drink and surveyed the room, looking if Gregory had come back, but there was still no sign of him. “Fareed and his team of geniuses in Paris will resolve all this for us tomorrow night. I’d be on my way there already, but…” He glanced over to where Louis and Benedict were sitting together, thinking of the promise Louis had wrung out of him. “I think one…one day in the light of the sun could be spared for us all.” Lifting his eyes, Lestat sought approval of this plan within Marius’s, his hand not releasing Marius’s for a second.
Marius finally drank the rich wine, feeling very thirsty in a way he didn’t like. It was good, but he could feel it at once going to his head. “Yes, I think we should have one day. To stand under the sun with you, with Armand and Daniel, with those few of you whom I love most, would mean the world to me. Then it will be back to business.”
Lestat let out a little delirious laugh of agreement and finally released Marius’s hand to scrub his palms over his eyes. God, he hated how spongey and thick his hands felt! And his whole body felt so sloshy, he couldn’t stand it. Lifting the bottle again, he finished off the last of it, because it felt like the natural thing to do in a situation like this—the only damn thing that felt natural at all.
Marius was too practical, too honest to assure Lestat that they would find a method to return to themselves that worked. Surely that or discover some means, whether natural or mystical, to reverse this calamity. But it would be a horrendous lie, and now was not a time for false hopes. They would only survive through transparent honesty and practicality. But Marius had to believe that something would work, because he was simply not ready to grow old and die.
As Lestat set the empty bottle aside on the table and glanced out of the corners of his eyes to the others talking softly amongst themselves, he was once more assailed by the terror of the realization he’d come to earlier, the significance of which was finally fully crystallizing in his mind.
“It didn’t work,” he murmured to himself, then shuddered and focused on Marius again.
“Come with me,” he said in a low, urgent voice. Lestat wanted to tell him this in private before he dared alarming anyone else with these thoughts. Glancing cautiously over his shoulders at the others, he pushed back from the table and gestured for Marius to follow him to a room where they could be alone.
Marius gave Armand another subtle glance. He looked somber and well. “Let us go into the salon by the back stairs.” He paused as he walked. “And who is this she doctor?”
“One of Fareed’s proteges.” Lestat gave Benedict’s shoulder a squeeze as he passed behind his chair to leave the room. Louis, he couldn’t allow himself to acknowledge at all. “Gregory brought her in the helicopter to administer all the modern inoculations.” As they walked down the deserted hall, his brow was pinched and his tone distracted. He rubbed at the side of his shoulder where she’d stuck him with a flu shot an hour ago. Lestat hadn’t accepted any of the other vaccines for fear of the side effects ruining his one day as a mortal.
Once they were in a room alone, Lestat closed the double doors behind them, then turned to face Marius again, his youthful countenance a mask of anxiety. “Marius,” he said in an intense, nearly frantic whisper, his breath fragrant with wine. “It didn’t work!”
“It didn’t work,” Marius repeated, nodding his head. He thought about what Lestat might mean beyond the difficulty of becoming immortal again, which for many was the goal. It was Marius’s goal, and he’d promptly remake Armand. Unless Armand wished for a new maker. Maybe he’d ask Louis or Lestat.
He brushed the thought off and went back to the topic at hand. “And our blood was unpalatable to Gregory, which means there is something in our blood, some corruption. It’s not just human blood, or else Gregory could have consumed it. We need to find out what that is if we are to counteract it.”
“Yes!” Lestat breathed. Fareed’s team could study it, figure it out, solve it. But oh, god, how long would that take??
He gestured to the bandage on his neck. “It’s not just my blood that was unpalatable to him. His blood has no effect on me! It didn’t heal the wound. It did nothing! Even if…if the doctors drained all my blood out with no one drinking it, the vampire blood they’d give me to replace it wouldn’t work! It has no effect on me at all. Marius! This could take weeks for them to analyze and understand!” Lestat had to believe a solution was possible. The scientists would find a way to make their mortal bodies react to vampire blood again. But that kind of research and development didn’t happen overnight.
He seized Marius’s forearm in a death grip. “It could take years!”
Marius put a warm, comforting hand over Lestat’s. He didn’t want to consider that they could be like this for years, but realistically they had no promise of a quick resolution. Years might even be the best case scenario. “We have innumerable resources at our disposal. Wealth and the greatest minds. Even if it does take years, it will be done.”
He did not want Lestat to agonize over this so much. It would impact his health, both mental and physical. Though they were no longer a coven of vampires, they were still a group, and Lestat was their leader. “We need to make plans for the short and long terms. While we investigate our condition and reverse it, we need to maintain our health. That includes you.”
Aside from being somewhat drunk at the moment, Lestat was sure his health was just fine. “How can you be so calm about this?” he pleaded.
He took Marius’s face between his hands, pulling him close so that he could examine every inch of his mortal countenance in the room’s dim lighting. He looked robust and virile and still incredibly handsome, of course, but so very human. Tiny creases at the corners of his eyes and faint lines between his eyebrows and around the sides of his lips… And so damn pink! The color alone made Marius hardly recognizable—but still undeniably a man in the prime of his life. How much of that would wither by the time he could take the Blood again?
“We are dying with every passing moment!”
Marius didn’t want to die—he’d never really wanted to die, no matter what Akasha had once assumed. Maybe she’d known more about him than he did at the time, but he wasn’t one for defeat. And the thought that he might die was a chilling one, but he didn’t want to share that fear.
“I’m calm because I have to be,” he said, still and patient as Lestat gripped his face, examining him as well, just as closely. Mortality favored his brat prince. His fresh skin, his bright eyes, his plump and pink lips. He really was quite pretty, and looked so very young. “Because they are afraid. Louis, Armand, Benedict, Bianca, Daniel, and the others. And they’ll look to us for strength. If we are afraid, or at least if they see that we are afraid, they will know how lost we are and despair greatly. We can be afraid in secret and to each other, but not to them. Not in front of them.”
That was the very reason Lestat had pulled Marius out of the other salon to discuss this. He was in complete agreement, and nodded as he shot a glance over his shoulder, as if he could see through the walls to where they’d left all their friends. Even though Marius wasn’t showing his fear, Lestat was grateful that he’d admitted it to him at least. He needed to know he wasn’t alone in this terror.
His fingers curled into the soft pale hair behind Marius’s ears, and he drew him close again, pressing their foreheads together, as if he could absorb some of Marius’s strength and calm straight through to his own brain.
Marius’s stomach flipped at the sensation Lestat’s fingers created in his scalp, and he sucked in a quiet breath, closing his lips to muffle the sound. He closed his eyes and smelled the wine between the two of them. This was too serious a moment to become…distracted.
Taking a shaky breath, Lestat was able to whisper the greatest worry that kept floating through his wine-soaked brain. “Some of them won’t want to come back with us…”
This was something Marius also feared. “No, not all will come back with us,” he agreed. “But it’s a choice they get to make. Those we love most will, though. We will give all the choice and let them make it. Who do you think won’t?”
Lestat’s tongue was paralyzed against speaking, lest saying it aloud would trigger the spell to make his fear manifest. He swallowed thickly and shifted back to look at Marius again, and could only shake his head a little. His hands slipped down to Marius’s shoulders, as if he needed to hold on to his solid, strong shape to stay standing.
“A choice,” he repeated with a shudder. So many of them hadn’t had a choice… He and Marius had been forced into immortality, yet both of them would choose it again in a heartbeat. It was those who made the choice for themselves the first time who might choose differently now.
“The longer we stay like this, the harder it will be for them to let go of the light of the sun… They will be seduced by life. Its brevity will cease to matter… They… They will embrace the inevitable end.” A sudden thought seized Lestat, and his grip on Marius’s shoulders tightened. “We—we can’t let them know! They must all believe our return to darkness is imminent. Each night that passes, we’ll tell them ‘tomorrow.’ Never let them think this could be long term.”
“Yes, of course,” Marius agreed immediately because he saw the wisdom in the deception. It was a noble lie, and barely much of a lie since it could certainly be any tomorrow that they figured out the cure or reversal. But it was far better to lie than to let those they love become accustomed to their new life, begun to love it, and then want to stay human. What would he do if Armand chose to remain human? It was best not to ripen conditions in favor of that unfortunate decision.
He put his hands to Lestat’s face and kissed his forehead. “We won’t let them lose hope.”
Lestat closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh. Marius’s hands were so wonderfully warm… And the soft press of his lips sent a little rush under Lestat’s skin that made his fingers curl into the fabric over Marius’s shoulders. Flash of memory of the way Louis had clung to him in the shower, wet skin against skin, and how arousing it has been. Lestat had been in no shape to do anything about it at the time, but now that he’d eaten and drunk enough to begin to replenish the blood he’d lost, pursuing such feelings was starting to seem possible, and he could feel the heat begin to spread through him.
“We won’t let them forget the gifts of immortality,” Marius said. “I’m sure the weaknesses of humanity will dampen even the beauty of the sun.”
“You have no idea,” Lestat murmured, distractedly recalling all the mortal trials he’d endured when he was last in a human body. His hands slid down to the sides of Marius’s arms, and then under them against his ribs, exploring the robust manliness of his frame. “It’s all going to be so terrible…”
Marius wasn’t much for optimism anymore, but he did try to see the beauty in things, or find a valuable lesson or teachable moment in even the most hopeless moments. He’d had his share of hopelessness. Centuries upon centuries, two thousand years and more worth of it. Even if there was no silver lining, he consoled himself that he learned something. They would not come out of this unscathed in some ways, maybe some of them wouldn’t survive, but they had to endure. They had to. And Lestat and Marius would make sure that they did. Lestat’s past foray into mortality didn’t give them much confidence that this would go much better for any of them. Yet he’d been alone then, and he wasn’t now. “We will make the best of it. Food, wine, grain alcohol, the beach under the sun…”
He left out the one benefit currently on his mind because it wasn’t proper. Lestat’s hands left heat everywhere they roamed, and Marius found his skin more sensitive than he’d anticipated. It was as if his nerves had been rewritten, stimulated by things he couldn’t remember liking this way. Lestat touched him how he’d been dreaming of Armand touching him, sliding dangerously close to erogenous zones. He ran a hand through Lestat’s golden hair while cupping his jaw to tilt his head back, heart racing and too hot.
Lestat made a low sound in the back of his throat as lovely little sparks shot through his scalp, and he opened his eyes halfway to seek Marius’s again. What was he saying? Something about a beach? How was Lestat supposed to keep paying attention when Marius was looking at him this way? When his hand at his face seemed to hold such sudden unexpected promise? All of Lestat’s fears from a moment ago were starting to spiral away, and a heated eagerness was rising in him to push them all the further.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked Marius on the edge of his breath as his hands slid fully around his back to tug his beloved friend’s body against his own.
Marius’s tongue slipped out and wet his bottom lip. He wasn’t one to get swept up and away with passion, so of course he took a moment to consider what was happening. And ultimately, if it should happen. He had loved Lestat the very moment he first pulled him from the desert earth in Egypt, broken and desiccated. He’d felt such adoration as he fed the young immortal his own blood and brought him to know the secrets he kept from the world. The love had never abated. He’d always thought Lestat beautiful and alluring, as he was sure Lestat had considered him, but neither of them had ever felt this before. Perhaps that was why this felt right. They were two strange creatures who loved and respected each other as only immortals could. They didn’t have any history of broken hearts and promises. None of the old resentments that tainted other relationships.
And Lestat really was a beautiful boy, and he looked so young now that he had the countenance of humanity returned. The smoothness of their immortal skin had made age somewhat ambiguous. Really, Marius didn’t need to think any deeper than the realization that he did want this, and that Lestat wasn’t just a pawn or recipient.
He ran his hand down the unwounded side of Lestat’s throat and liked the heat of his skin, and the press of his hard body as he was held close. His hand continued down, feathering over the muscles of Lestat’s chest through his clothes. The experiment went as expected, and the sensations excited Marius.
“Yes, I am,” he finally spoke, because it was dangerously long since the question was asked.
He was a bit taller, so he dipped his head to press their lips together. They had kissed in greeting and warmth before, but never passion, and passion was what Marius gave Lestat now as he sealed their mouths, and an electric sensation shot from his lips right into the pit of his stomach and then lower, pleasant and aching.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and B
Chapter 28: Warm and Alive
Summary:
Lestat and Marius are the first to succumb to their irrepressible human urges. Explicit.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As Marius’s mouth covered his in a passionate kiss, Lestat breathed in sharply through his nose. Countless erotic ideas crackled through his brain like fireworks, and his hands dug into Marius’s back.
When was the last time anyone had kissed him this assertively? He couldn’t even remember, and holy god, it was good. Marius’s mouth was hot and firm, yet succulently supple at the same time, and Lestat explored it eagerly. His tongue tasted sweet against Lestat’s own, like stone fruit, a flavor that triggered an ancient buried sense memory, though he was far too caught up to put a name to it.
His hands slid down Marius’s back, and the feeling of the taught curve of his ass under his palms made Lestat groan and press up against him hard enough to make Marius take a step backward. Gone entirely were every thought and care that had been tormenting Lestat a minute ago, and now his mind only raced with wondering just how much of Marius’s carnal experience he might remember from his ancient mortality, for surely he’d had a great deal of it. Lestat couldn’t wait to find out.
One hand came up to tangle in the back of Marius’s hair—so luxuriously soft!—and Lestat parted their mouths only so that he could dip his face to kiss and suck at his warm throat instead, very much enjoying the shape of the muscles of his strong neck. “God damn it, I want to bite you,” he said with a pained little laugh. “Would do neither of us any good.” To make up for it, Lestat instead brought his other hand around Marius’s hip to rub down the front of his pants, another groan rising from him at what he found there.
Marius groaned too, but softly. He hadn’t really expected the intensity of the sensation that bloomed where Lestat touched him, radiating outward into his thighs and stomach. No wonder humans craved this and went to such lengths for it. He wanted the pleasure of the bite, too, and the white hot ecstasy of the blood, but he knew these things were lost to them. But what they had lost gave them in exchange the human carnal experience. Marius wanted to memorize every sense and sensation. His skin was heated and sensitive, his heartbeat accelerated, his breathing quickened. And the most pleasurable of all was the way his cock filled with blood. He felt it expanding, lengthening as it stiffened, hypersensitive and needy.
What did Lestat like? He wasn’t Marius’s typical brand of young man who liked to be tossed around and dominated. But there was one thing all men liked that Marius was good at. He dropped to his knees and started to deftly undo Lestat’s pants.
The second Marius’s hands were on the fastening of his jeans, Lestat knew exactly what was going to happen, and the anticipation of it made any last bit of blood that had been fueling his brain function immediately rush down to finish engorging him. Marius was wetting his lips as he reached in and slid out Lestat’s erection, rubbing it against his lips before giving it a long, luxurious lick.
“Merde!” Lestat hissed as the thick caress of tongue made pressure and heat burst through his loins and spread like vines up his back and down his limbs. His knees buckled, but he caught himself with a steadying grip to Marius’s shoulders. “Yes!” he gasped. “More!”
For the love of hell, the heat was incredible! He’d never felt this warm and alive no matter how much mortal blood he gorged himself on. His hands came up to grip the side of Marius’s face, sure not to constrict or move him, just relishing in the erotic thrill of how the muscles in his jaw and throat moved under his palms and fingers. Spreading his stance, Lestat’s jeans slipped down his hips to catch against his thighs, and already beads of sweat were breaking out along his hairline.
Marius was quietly overcome by the carnal assault to his senses. Lestat’s fingers were strong in a way he was not used to when it came to lovers. The flavor of the skin and saltiness weren’t new to him, but his sense of taste was different. His groans and exclamations were erotic and unrestrained. The swollen head of Lestat’s cock nudged the back of his mouth at the opening of his throat, and Marius relaxed to accommodate the entirety of the length, swallowing it down until his nose nestled in Lestat’s golden pubic hair. He pulled back, mouth tightening, sucking, using his tongue to caress the sides, feeling the veins.
His hand slid around to grip and fondle the muscular cheeks of Lestat’s ass as his mouth found its steady, fast rhythm. His own erection was squeezed uncomfortably in his expensive slacks, straining as it pumped full. It was such a strange sensation to feel it hard but throbbing and pulsing with life. He didn’t take his eyes off of Lestat’s face as he worked the length of his cock with all two thousand years of experience.
Lestat’s expression contorted, flickering back and forth between rapture and intense concentration, his brows furrowed as if he were in pain, though it was entirely the opposite. His eyes kept wanting to close as the throbbing ecstasy swept him away, and he kept having to jerk himself to open them again, because he really did want to watch. Watching was half of it, and Marius looked so devilishly splendid, his eyes so lustfully ardent, that Lestat could have laughed in awestruck delight if it weren’t hard enough to breathe as it was, his panting rapid enough to make him dizzy.
His hands clenched Marius’s biceps to keep himself steady, needing all the more support with the delicious way his fingers massaged his backside. Such large hands Marius had; Lestat absolutely loved it. Since it had been nearly a quarter of a century since he’d last partaken of this particular human experience, and the wine was making him so exquisitely loose, Lestat knew he would not last long, but he didn’t care. All the better for what might come next.
It felt like Marius was swallowing him down an endless void, and Lestat was clinging to the precipice, his fingers plucking off one by one. “Yes!” he gasped between heavy, ragged breaths. “Just like that! My god!” And then he dissolved into a filthy string of French as his body seized and spasmed. Light flashed behind his eyes, and Lestat’s fingers dug into the backs of Marius’s arms hard enough to leave bruises. He let out a strangled cry as everything came flooding out of him, washing him into a state of delirious oblivion.
Marius swallowed everything that Lestat spilled as it filled his mouth. He savored the salty, bitter taste now that his palate could fully experience the notes of flavor that had gone unappreciated for millennia by a tongue that only craved blood.
He was breathless from having to control his inhalations, and he sat back on his heels to lick his lips. They felt swollen from the hard, rapid friction; surely they had to be pinker. After a moment, he rose to his feet, which was a rather precarious act for a forty year old long-limbed man, and he made a soft grunt of effort that was as amusing as it was annoying.
He stood only inches from Lestat, and stepped forward so they were chest to chest. He wrapped his arms around Lestat to support his weight as he started to suck on the side of his neck that didn’t have the bandage. Lestat’s pants were still slung low on his hips and Marius went back to knead both cheeks of his ass, his thumbs stroking between them. “May I?” Because he was polite and consent was important.
“If you don’t, I’ll never forgive you!” Lestat laughed, not even close to catching his breath yet. The room was spinning, and he gripped fistfuls of Marius’s shirt to keep himself steady as he fought for his bearings—not so easy at all with the marvelous things Marius’s mouth was doing to his neck. He was actually wishing he hadn’t drunk so much wine so that he could be more focused in this moment, appreciate it all the more, savor each detail with concentration. But as it was, he was very much enjoying the wild abandon, and still he wanted more.
Marius used his size to his advantage and walked Lestat backward, able to see enough in the dim room, looking out above where he sucked and bit at hot, salty skin. He stopped his massaging to reach for the front of his own pants, ending the kiss to watch Lestat watch him. The exhibitionism excited him. He undid his trousers, so patiently, and reached inside. It was uncomfortable how tightly compacted he was, so it was a relief to free his hard cock.
He paused for a moment to appreciate it. Staring at the old and yet new sight of his thick mortal erection, heavy in his hand. He gave it a small stroke and shivered, sucking in a sharp breath and moaning. He couldn’t take this.
Quickly, his hands caught Lestat’s hips to turn him around, then moved to his arms and hands to place them onto the back of the chair he’d almost backed him into. Even though Marius couldn’t recall with clarity this act, something about it felt instinctual, or that his body remembered something his mind did not. Because it was natural, the way he pulled on Lestat’s hips to bring his ass out and tug his jeans lower. Would he hurt Lestat? Their beloved Prince didn’t seem to mind in any case. He lined the head of his glistening cock to the small, pink hole and pushed. Immediately, he found he needed to push harder as the muscle was tight. But with enough careful pressure, he felt himself begin to slide in.
Another string of colorful French obscenities came out of Lestat as his hands clenched the back of the chair, nearly doubling over it as he made himself relax to accommodate Marius. This wasn’t a position he took often in his mortal life—most of his erotic partners wanted something very different from him—but he’d always enjoyed it just as much as anything else on the occasions it did occur. Sense memories of his young lover Nicolas flashed across his mind. Some flickers of vision, but more the feeling of his hot breath against the back of his neck, the way his hands would tremble as they gripped Lestat’s hips, his chest. So many of those nights were blurred under the sheen of alcohol, but the feeling of those encounters came back to him now as if it were yesterday.
It was tight, but Marius went in easily, and he breathed a soft groan when he was lodged completely. There was no preparing for this. His mind and body were overcome from the pleasure pulsing from one lone organ and it made his legs feel weak.
“What are you waiting for?” Lestat asked, laughing at him in delirious excitement between panting breaths. In the time it had taken Marius to work his way inside, Lestat already felt his own organ twitching back to life, and he finally found his balance on the back of the chair by folding one arm under himself to lean fully against it. He reached down with his other to take himself in hand. “Come on.”
Marius couldn’t help but chuckle as Lestat goaded him, letting out the breathless laugh. He was used to mouthy boys. Drawing his hand back, he gave Lestat’s backside a sharp, warning smack. If there was any pain, Lestat was just drunk enough not to notice it, and he only laughed at Marius for doing it, finding it absolutely hilarious.
Marius drew his hips back until his cock almost slipped out before thrusting it back in. It took a few more for him to find his rhythm, but it was surprisingly easy to settle into a seamless, smooth back and forth that worked him in and out with agonizing pleasure. He couldn’t remember the last time his body had felt so good. Rather, this sort of good as he couldn’t forget the blood, and he ached for it. He panted as his hips slapped into Lestat’s ass, the soft patting punctuated by low grunts and groans. He closed his eyes because he couldn’t focus on a thing anyway. Ecstasy pumped through his blood, lighting his nerves.
And Lestat also was soon too overwhelmed for laughter or anymore taunting demands, especially as he adjusted his stance and the angle of his body so that he had Marius exactly where he wanted him, and then the pleasure was nearly blinding. His fingers dug into the chair and he buried his face in his folded arm, muffling his vocal gasps and shutting out the world.
Behind his eyelids flashed again the faces of lovers past, including how pink Louis’s had become in the shower before he’d kissed Lestat so awkwardly. God, he’d almost forgotten he was holding his own cock until the slickness oozing from it made him realize how hard it was once more, and suddenly he was determined to come again before Marius could finish.
Marius knew he was wrong for doing it, but the needs of the body took precedence for now. Not the sex, but the way he let his mind wander to places it shouldn’t go. Because he, in turn, couldn’t help thinking about Armand. Armand’s velvet skin, which he remembered so perfectly that he could all but feel it under his fingertips. Then he imagined his soft thighs and round backside, and he imagined for a twisted second what it would be like to thrust like this into his delicate body. Now that Marius could put together the fantasy with the actual feeling, the sensation of pleasure it sent through him was so vivid and sharp that it made him moan.
It was dangerous to think this way. The more he fantasized, the more he’d want, and no good came from wanting something he could never have. It would only make it more difficult to be around Armand in the future. Still, he indulged in a few more seconds of the fantasy. His breathing picked up as his body moved toward the natural end. Each stroke already felt so exquisite, and he could only anticipate the climax.
He was faintly aware of Lestat working himself and smiled. Insatiable. Every time his hips slapped against the muscle of Lestat’s backside, it forced a small sound of pleasure from his throat, but otherwise Marius was very quiet. The orgasm was something he could not prepare for, and it hit him like lightning. That such a simple release of pressure could send such shock waves of pleasure through his entire body was startling.
It was a race to the finish, and somehow they both came out the winner. Lestat’s own waves of ecstasy dissolved into breathless laughter, and he sagged against the chair, his fingers curling into the lace doily draped over its top as he tried to catch his breath again. Once his heartbeat began to even out, he pulled away from Marius, turning to look back at him as he used the doily to wipe himself clean.
Vaguely, a memory came back to him that Marius had been talking about going to the beach in some warmer southern clime, and Lestat was already imagining what his tall handsome friend would look like in well-fitting swim trunks. Once he’d fixed his jeans, Lestat put a hand to Marius’s face, brushing his white blond hair back from where it stuck to the sweat of his brow, his eyes scanning all the ruddiness that had taken over Marius’s features.
Lestat grinned at him and then abruptly kissed his mouth, playfully biting at his lower lip and embracing him tightly. “We’re really in it now,” he said with another breathless laugh as he let him go. “Mortal through and through, and all that comes with it, by god…”
Wondrously, Lestat was feeling much more optimistic. Maybe Gregory’s blood only hadn’t worked to heal him because he’d swallowed Lestat’s blood first. Yes, surely another vampire’s blood would work just fine. So he would enjoy this one day as human, and then by this time tomorrow, he’d be himself again.
Thank god he had Marius with him through this chaos.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and B
It'll be a little while longer before I can update again. I have an emergency wedding to travel to this week! And I've been crunching everything else to get ready in time. I might be able to edit a couple of the chapters while I'm out of town, but I'm not sure how busy I will be. Thank you for your patience!
Chapter 29: Experiences
Summary:
Marius and Armand share their first sunrise together.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The sun was coming out over the horizon, bringing with it bright pinks and oranges, but it didn’t feel like what Marius was accustomed to. When the colors began to peak, Marius would usually begin to grow heavy. His movements would be sluggish, speech slurring, limbs heavy, steps arduous. His eyes would shut for sleep no matter how sincere his attempts to stay alert. But he felt nothing now like the death sleep; he was as awake and alert as he was normally under the moon and stars. Though his room brightened with the dawning day and sun’s glow, it didn’t burn his eyes or skin, or make his blood feel like fire. He kept to the shadows, though, just in case, the toes of his shoes at the line where the sun broke past the edge of the balcony windows. He couldn’t bring himself to just step into the brightness, even though his mind told him that he was perfectly safe.
“Don’t do it, not yet,” Armand said almost frantically. The sight of his maker so close to the light of the sun took his breath away. His hair bathed in the diffused golden light, making him more than ever the beautiful and venerable Christ figure that he’d fallen in love with too many times. That he’d never, arguably, fallen out of love with.
And then there was the sun itself, with its promise of such warmth even in December. Armand was besotted with the sight of it, the way it illuminated the snowy hills beyond the windows and kissed everything it touched. His body craved it, but he was so damnably afraid. Marius didn’t know, he couldn’t know. Just a few more minutes, and he himself would take the first step and save Marius the attempt. “Step back.”
Marius did as he demanded because Armand sounded very adamant, as if it were important to him. It didn’t hurt him to move further into the shadows to oblige Armand’s command; it even amused him a bit. He couldn’t help but give Armand a wide, pleased smile as he reached out with a hand. It would be up to the boy to take it or deny it. “Would you like to come out onto the balcony with me?”
Armand was so frightened at the prospect of Marius going into the sun and hurting himself. He’d been so relieved when Daniel told him that seeing the sun was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. Armand couldn’t hear heartbeats and everyone’s little breath like he could before. It was still jarring, the whole world seemed muffled. But it didn’t matter now, not really. All that mattered was the man in front of him with the dazzling smile. Had he ever smiled like that? Armand wondered briefly if he actually were God, come to ferry him to the promised land. He felt his breath quicken and his heart hammer in his chest, the thought of walking out there frightening him. He wasn’t ready to die! But Marius…and his hand…he wanted to face this together—he couldn’t disappoint him.
Tentatively, he took Marius’s broad hand, stepping forward. He was still half afraid the sun might kill them, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt sick, and he felt his hand becoming sweaty in Marius’s. How utterly embarrassing!
Marius could sense the fear—he didn’t need any supernatural abilities to know Armand scared, and for some reason his fear made him less afraid. Armand needed his strength; he deserved that assurance from him. Yet, he still did not take those steps into the path of light.
“Will we go?” Armand asked, trying to push down the tremor in his voice. The sun before them was so beautiful, and before long it would encompass everything.
Armand’s hesitation was quite understandable and even instinctual for their kind, even those formerly of their nature such as they all were now. But Marius wasn’t afraid. And, to be fair, of the two of them, he’d be the one less hurt by a few seconds exposure to the sun should something go wrong.
He let go of his secret beloved’s hand and stepped forward into the full light of the sun. It was so very bright, and immediately his eyes wanted to close. He told himself this was simply because he’d not seen the sun like this in thousands of years, and he had blue eyes, which were naturally sun sensitive. But the way the sun felt on his skin was indescribable. There was such warmth, such heat that seeped into his flesh and bones. It truly was a wonderful sensation.
“See?” He smiled as he stood harmlessly in the full glare of the sun. “It won’t hurt you. Come here, Armand.”
Armand was entranced by the sight of Marius illuminated by the glorious light of the sun. He looked so happy, so at peace. Armand wanted to be the cause of that peace but knew he never could, because he only caused grief, upset and separation, no matter how he tried. But still, he wanted just a modicum of that peace for himself.
If Marius was completely unscathed by the sun’s rays, then why shouldn’t Armand be? Unless God decided that such a wretched being wouldn’t be allowed this privilege.
He entered the light and went to Marius as asked. Instinctively he winced and closed his eyes, frightened of what might come. But there was no vicious onslaught and no burning agony. He could hear a bird in the distance and feel the warmth on his skin.
It was a struggle for Marius not to fulfill many dreams he’d held in his heart for centuries, things he long ago wished he could do, and now that he could, he didn’t have the right to. Because, as he reminded himself, this was Armand, not Amadeo. And he couldn’t wrap him in his arms, surrounded by sunlight, and kiss his lips. Though he’d never seen it, he’d always known the sun would favor the youth’s features.
Oh, how lovely it had been to see Amadeo curled in their bed, cheeks and nose pink from a day outside, little sun freckles dotting his face and small shoulders. That was the closest Marius could ever get, and now that he was here, he’d never been so far away. Yet it took his breath away, and he was safe to savor and stare a moment as the boy blinked his eyes and adjusted, hardly focused on his maker. The whole thing made it feel like his heart was breaking, and there was nothing he could do.
Marius turned and walked fully out onto the balcony, staring at the bright world until the ache in his eyes told him that he absolutely must blink. “It’s beautiful,” he decided, gripping the balustrade tightly as he gazed at the snow, pine trees, clouds, and landscape. “Come out here.”
Armand took his time, which made him wonder at himself because his dark eyes should be adjusting much more quickly. But emotionally, he needed to take this slow. After some time, he blinked them open again, gazing down at the tiles and then the world beyond.
He did as Marius asked, his trembling hand moving to the balustrade to steady himself as the natural waking world enveloped him. He inhaled, deeply, then exhaled with the same depth. There was a willow tree in the gardens, its frozen branches rippling in the breeze as it was kissed by the sun, beautiful and white, and as the winter birds sang, he found his eyes drawn to Marius. He looked as he’d never seen him, how he looked two thousand years ago.
The day before they’d killed him, the Druid priests had allowed Marius one last day in the sun. He’d not known he’d be condemned to an eternity of night, but had rather used that time to resign himself to his death. Had they explained themselves better, he would have known what to expect—but one couldn’t expect elaboration or common sense from barbarians. The Druids, protective of him as their secret, had surrounded him to block him from prying eyes, but he’d enjoyed his time no matter how it inconvenienced the priests. He’d enjoyed it even more for that fact.
Marius was filled with a renewed passion now, a passion to see everything through these eyes. Weak eyes, but still capable of seeing sights even his immortal eyes could not. “We should walk through the forest,” he decided. Imagine the vivid contrast! He was filled with a sudden restlessness, a need to travel and wander, but he stuffed it down because he had duties.
Armand managed to tear his eyes away from Marius finally, and down to the snow-covered mountain of trees of all different kinds. It did look rather lovely, and he needed something to keep his eyes busy. Because he couldn’t keep watching his maker so raptly without a conversation about it arising, and that would simply kill him. So he nodded, taking Marius by the hand in an unprecedented move. “What will we do then?”
Marius was caught off guard by the feeling of Armand’s warm hand in his, but he didn’t show it because he didn’t want him to second-guess, grow skittish and pull away. “I want to study the colors.” Of course, as an artist, he’d want to observe the many shades the sun made out of the glittering snow drifts. He could only imagine the beautiful things he’d be able to render with his new perspective. “If only it were spring. There would be so much more to see.” He didn’t hope they’d still be in this condition come spring, not at all. Better that they find their way back to immortality long before then.
“Will you try to paint something? Even if we only have today and tonight to be human, will you still paint, or will you spend your time on other things?” Armand couldn’t think in this moment of anything more important, anything better to come out of this day than a work of art from human Marius. He knew it was going to be technically brilliant with all the warmth of a living artist.
He wouldn’t tell Marius all this though, naturally.
It was a conundrum. Marius didn’t trust his mortal senses because he knew his brain was operating in a limited range. He doubted he’d be able to perfectly recall all he’d seen once he was immortal again as his mortal brain would forget the important details. Yet he didn’t trust himself to paint as a mortal because what if he was no good? What if his skill came entirely from his supernatural skill to mimic perfectly anyone he tried? How ashamed he’d be to find he wasn’t an artist at all, just a great copier? He wouldn’t admit it. Never.
“No, I want to…experience. Not do the very same things I can do as an immortal. This is the time for once-in-another-lifetime experiences. The sun, food, drink, any manner of pleasures of flesh lost to us. I want those experiences.”
Armand was going to protest that he should at least draw something while he was mortal, but Marius’s logic was pretty infallible as it always was. And besides, there was something so heinous, in the best way, about the way he said pleasures of flesh that Armand couldn’t think straight. He felt it properly for the first time then; the first sensation of human arousal in five hundred years. He had flashbacks of their bed in Venice and their sultry experiences, and was filled with a sudden excitement to know that Marius might take him now in the way that Amadeo craved more than anything.
He breathed through it, not wanting to react too quickly or obviously. “I can understand that.”
Armand had been a hedonistic boy, which Marius quite fairly blamed on himself as he was the one supporting the lifestyle both financially and in his lack of trying to put an end to it. It wasn’t that Marius grew up in such a way and knew no better, not at all. His father was a man of the Republic. Marius ate puls for breakfast, watered down wine always, drank vinegar once a day, was literally thrown naked into the Tiber River and told to swim or drown, and endured rigorous physical and intellectual training. He wasn’t a spoiled and pampered boy. But he’d wanted better for his precious boy. He’d wanted the boy to know nothing but beauty, love, and pleasure. While the other boys were expected to be disciplined and rigorous, Amadeo was allowed a life more lush and spoiled. But there was a strict and impassable divide between apprentice and lover, and only Amadeo occupied the role of lover. Marius didn’t give himself easily over to others.
He closed his eyes because thoughts like that hurt, and it was far too lovely out here in the sun to think about the things that left wounds that would never heal. “I’m sure you do,” he said lightly as if he weren’t feeling heavy. “But try to be careful.” Oh, but Armand was by all rights an adult and didn’t need a lecture. “Perhaps…” No, better not. He waved his hand. “Never mind.”
Armand was about to lash out, indignant that Marius had even thought to lecture him. It was insulting that he assumed Armand would just go out and have his way with the world just because he’d done that before, when he wasn’t Amadeo any longer and he was too damn afraid to do anything other than cower away in this palace and wait for the whole thing to blow over. But of course, as always, he was a slave to Marius and his words, and in relation to this topic, even more so. So he let himself forget the first part and focus on the latter.
“Perhaps what?” he asked in a steady voice, careful not to show his weakness.
Marius thought of what Daniel would say. Give his encouragement, no doubt, because he knew Marius too well. It was appreciated, though Marius was honestly confident that Armand would be receptive. Well, mostly. Nothing was absolute, and there was a fine line between confidence and delusion, and sometimes he wondered which one he was more prone to regarding his fledgling.
“Perhaps,” he began again, affecting quite a casual air. “You’d enjoy experiencing some of these moments with me?”
Armand took in a small breath, shocked by the forwardness of it. It felt like the tension between them was always pointed at, danced around and teased, but rarely so overtly mentioned. He had to think about what he should say, because he was so afraid to give this man he loved even more power over him. He was frightened to be laid waste by him yet again, even if he didn’t intend to hurt Armand in that way.
“Well, that all depends.” Armand smiled a little. It absolutely did not depend and was unconditional, but whether he would actually do it was another thing. “Would you enjoy dancing with anyone else beforehand?”
Marius’s immediate reaction was to huff, but he wasn’t the sort of man to lack caution or discretion, so he contained the annoyance. Was Armand truly that upset about Benedict that he would still bring it up? Obviously. Marius couldn’t let his pride make him forget that, petty as it seemed to him, and utterly without basis, it mattered to Armand. He’d have to choose his words carefully so as not to seem argumentative. Why did he always feel as if he were on a tightrope whenever he spoke to Armand? One misstep and he’d fall without mercy or forgiveness. Well, his footing was shaky now, and he hated it.
“No,” he said with all of the patience in him, which was quite a lot. “Armand, I hope you don’t assume I harbor any attraction toward Benedict. I was simply trying to be a welcoming host. He’s timid and doesn’t feel he belongs amongst us, and I only wanted to make him feel welcome.”
“Of course you harbor attraction toward Benedict, he’s precisely your type,” Armand countered, his spare hand on his hip as he looked up at Marius. Even if he was trying to be a good host, he didn’t see how Marius couldn’t have seen to Benedict after dancing with Armand rather than before.
Marius’s arms jerked as if he wanted to throw them up, but he locked them at his side, which certainly marred any attempt of his to look casual. He wanted to demand to know what the point of saying such a thing was, but he didn’t want to pick a fight as surely one would erupt. He wanted to chastise Armand, and point out that he couldn’t read his mind or know his feelings so confidently. If Marius’s feelings were so obvious then, why didn’t Armand notice that he was literally Marius’s type? But he knew better than to say such a thing that would complicate matters so greatly. Armand rejected him as much as he ever consented to him.
His hands tightened around the metal that caged in the balcony, knuckles turning white as he stuffed it all away. If he was immortal, he’d leap from this balcony this very moment and vanish, but he had no easy way out now.
Armand scowled, extremely offended and angered by the way Marius reacted to this, ripping his hand away and tensing so much. He studied his face. He’d never ever been able to know Marius’s thoughts, and he was no closer to it now, but by God he wanted it all to be true. Marius was concealing something, some weariness or frustration. Or, rather, he was trying to conceal it.
“Yes, I would enjoy it,” he finally answered. “Experiencing some of those moments. With you.”
“That’s good,” Marius said softly though his voice was still strong and clear. “I want to try coffee. Will you come?”
And now Marius was speaking to him like he was treading on eggshells? Armand couldn’t voice his own opinions or concerns because they would be invalidated, because they were ridiculous apparently. He couldn’t even lightly tease Marius, the uptight old thing couldn’t take it. For God’s sake, he’d just confessed that he’d like to have sex with him, and he was making small talk about coffee. Well, fine then.
“I think you’d better do it with Daniel,” he said pointedly.
Marius glared at Armand, but only for a second. “No,” he said in the same pointed tone as he crossed his arms because it was all he could think to do with them now that he didn’t have Armand’s soft, warm hand to cling to. Letting them merely hang at his side seemed too inept and awkward. “You’ll be accompanying me, Armand.” Why force it? Because he knew deep down a part of Armand wanted to go for coffee with him even if he was angry? Maybe. It would be a small fraction. And forcing Armand might do more harm than good. But Marius wasn’t the sort to beg—he’d done enough of that and found it disgusting. And, he thought perhaps Armand would come to enjoy it. He just had to come.
Armand glared back up at him, folding his arms as well. Nobody told him what to do, not anymore, and he wanted to bite back and tell him that. But really, Marius knew all too well what an effective tactic this could be on him. A firm tone, no room for argument and such confidence that Armand wouldn’t want to argue in the first place. He was a slave to power and to confidence, and wanted to be wanted so much that the man who wanted him would order him to come.
He raised his chin a little, indignant. “Fine, but I’ll take it privately in your rooms with you and nothing else.”
“Fine,” Marius echoed, his stance softening just a bit since he’d gotten his way and considered the compromise reasonable. It didn’t hurt that Armand looked terribly cute with such a stubborn expression.
It was no hardship to order the coffee up from the café in the village, and a generous tip would ensure it was hot and fresh. It wasn’t lost on Marius’s always-too-aware mind that between last night and today, he’d already spent more time alone with Armand than he had in years. The thought made his heart quicken, but he told himself to stop being stupid and relax. It was coffee. Just coffee. Forced coffee, in fact. But it was something, and Marius was going to let himself enjoy it.
He unfolded his arms and held his hand back out to Armand. “Come on, then.” At the same time, he slipped his phone out of his pocket, the gold flashing beautifully in the sunlight.
Armand took his hand, but only long enough to be led back inside the apartment, and then he released it in favor of curling up on a luxurious couch and awaiting the arrival of the coffee.
Notes:
This chapter written by B and T
Chapter 30: No Despair
Summary:
Louis watches his first sunrise with Lestat and Benedict beside him.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Minutes before the sun was to rise, Louis stood just beneath the overhang of one of the chateau’s lowest balconies, his breath clouding the dark morning air as he looked out across the wintry landscape of the palace gardens. He had not slept all night for his anxious wonder, having looked forward to this moment the instant he realized what had befallen them. The sun… To think on standing in it once more was almost too good to be true. He was bundled in a thick coat and scarf, his hands shoved deep into the pockets as he watched the inklings of color push above the horizon line.
He glanced to his left, Lestat and Benedict’s expressions were unreadable to him, and he looked from one to the other, then fixed his eyes on Lestat. His heartbeat pounding, one hand shot from Louis’s pocket and seized Lestat’s. “Together, let’s go together,” he said, and squeezed Lestat’s hand tightly.
Lestat jerked, looking aside at Louis like he’d forgotten he was there. His body felt heavy and his brain still a little woozy, though the effects of the wine had gradually worn off over the rest of the night. He’d been exhausted, but he couldn’t possibly sleep knowing the sun was coming. He had to see it again, had to see how it reflected off the snow—his only good memory from the last time he’d been human. Everything else had been terrible or just so mundane in comparison to his vampire existence. But the light of the sun on the snow… Nothing else could compare.
He gave Louis a tight little smile and squeezed his hand back. Why were they waiting here like cowards against the wall? “Let’s go meet it,” he urged and hooked Benedict’s elbow with his other hand to drag them both out to the snowy path.
Benedict didn’t fight as he was led over the very pretty terrain. He didn’t fight because he welcomed whatever might become of him. He wished that the two of them would let him go into the sun first, to be sure. That was his only complaint. He wrapped the only coat he had around himself, silent as anything. He was trying to find his footing with these people, trying to accept and believe their hospitality, but ultimately, he still felt it wasn’t his place to speak.
Lestat’s breath made clouds in the dark air, but the horizon was already changing from purple to gray. Heavy clouds covered much of the sky, and soft powder was listlessly dusting down in tiny motes, but there would still be light. Light and warmth. Lestat had put his leather jacket back on, and it was nowhere near adequate for the predawn temperatures, but he couldn’t possibly spare the time to go back in for a warmer coat. The cold was worth it. He could be warm enough later in bed.
Tossing his head back, he gazed up at the sky, his hands tight around Louis’s palm and Benedict’s arm so that they didn’t try to go back to the shadows. The gray was already shifting from slate to silver.
The closer dawn approached, the more aware was Louis of how his heart pounded in his chest. He felt half delirious with the prospect of it, so that the thought of running back away from the light as it streaked ever nearer across the sky, never entered his mind.
And indeed, as the burning rays began to glimmer and radiate over the distant landscape, and temperature shifted, he was not afraid, not truly. He was entirely too overcome with longing and excitement.
Benedict’s words from last night at dinner came back to him, that perhaps this was some strange gift-like-curse to make them all that much more grateful for the long lives afforded to them by immortality. And by extension, Louis thought of Merrick again. The devilish mischief in her smile was so very like Lestat’s, yet held a wisdom that only those who have grown up and lived as women in a world such as hers could possess.
Look at me now, Merrick, Louis thought. See my hope for whatever this will mean, and know that though it may yet ensnare me, in this moment, I have no despair.
Lestat had released Benedict’s arm, though he let Louis keep his hand, since he’d been the one to take it in the first place. Besides, it was so warm, and Lestat was shivering. What he wanted was to draw them both against his sides and wrap his arms around them for warmth, but he didn’t know how much either of them would like that, especially at a moment like this, so he refrained.
All was silence around them, the dawn muffled entirely by the thick layer of snow, only the soft puffs of their breath betraying any life at all. Silver blended into the palest of purples, and then a stripe of rosiness lit the heavy clouds at the horizon. It took Lestat’s breath away, and the little wafts of steam before his face faded into nothing.
What had seemed like a thick blackness of impenetrable and foreboding weather above was gradually brightening in a way he’d forgotten was even possible, and all the features of his garden sharpened in stark relief. For a moment, it felt like Lestat’s vampiric vision had returned to him, so incredible was the change, but no, this was only the power of the sun, in all its infinite, ancient glory.
Benedict found it very difficult to keep his eyes open with the brightness, but otherwise he faced it to let the sun burn him if it would. It didn’t. Of course, the three of them were fine. Their bodies were thoroughly human now, and the sunlight did nothing but warm them, if only a little.
Within seconds, he was utterly besotted by the warmth of it and the golden light, the way it illuminated absolutely everything. He laughed, breathless and delighted. He was the boy once more, the monk in his beautiful abbey with the birds around him. “Mon Dieu,” he whispered, momentarily believing in God above all else all over again. “It’s fantastic!”
For a few moments, it was all too beautiful for Lestat to think of anything else at all, and his happiness that he was granted one day to experience this was absolutely effervescent—Until the memory slammed into him of his drunken conversation with Marius last night when he realized they very well might be stuck this way for far longer than that. He flinched, squeezing his eyes shut, annoyed that this lovely moment could be ruined by these terrible fears.
Benedict snapped him out of it by taking him by the hand, wanting to share this. “Let’s roll down a hill, let’s make a snow man and wreaths of pine. Let’s do it all now while we can!”
Louis couldn’t help but smile, his mouth twitching upward at one corner at such playful and boyish suggestions. A soft laugh escaped him. How utterly changed Benedict was, his melancholy stripped away and his charming happiness taking over, making his face light up and his eyes sparkle.
While we can… Yes, because they would be creatures of the night again. Soon. It had to be… Maybe it was only Gregory who had been cursed as they were so that his blood did not heal Lestat’s throat. When Lestat went to Paris tonight to see Fareed, all would be answered. And if Gregory’s blood could not make Lestat immortal again, he would ask Seth to be his maker. Yes, everything would be fine. So they must be sure to enjoy this day to the fullest.
Louis looked at him then, hesitant only because Lestat had been strangely silent, had taken it all in with a quiet solemnness that might rival Louis’s unusual demeanor. “Lestat,” he said softly, finding it suddenly hard to look away from the brilliant light blue of Lestat’s eyes in the daylight.
Lestat squeezed his hand and pulled his eyes from the way the dim sunlight through the stormy clouds still made the snow sparkle. The sight of Louis’s face in the light of day, took him so aback that he actually jerked. Even though Lestat’s memories of Louis as a mortal were forever sharp, burned into his memory, he had never seen him mortal in the day.
A soft “Oh” came out of him, and he took his hand from Louis’s to brush it lightly over his warm cheek. “Well, look at you…” He smiled with a sleepy sort of peacefulness and then looked aside at Benedict, tugging him a little closer by the hand. The gentle dusting of snow falling in tiny specks and melting on his golden-brown hair made him look mystical and otherworldly in its own way. The abrupt urge rose in Lestat to ask Benedict if he had any inclination to stay human, given his enthusiasm in the moment. But he bit his tongue, not wanting to give Louis any ideas.
Benedict was surveying the landscape all around them. There was still so much human to do even in this cold weather, and they would certainly make the most of it. “We’ll ice skate in the sun and drink hot chocolate afterwards in front of the magnificent chateau fires!”
Chocolate! It was one of those fleeting mortal pleasures Lestat actually enjoyed the last time he was human. Like making love, it was something so brief and intangible that was gone into the ether the moment it was past, nothing like drinking blood, not even close. But the thickness of it on his tongue, and the way the flavor had lit up his brain for those few sparking moments had been something at least, a shadow of bliss in a world of darkness, where shadows were welcome only because meant there must be the scantest bit of light somewhere.
Louis was transfixed by Lestat’s face, the ruddiness of his cheeks in the cold, the way his breath came out in puffs of steam to meet those Louis breathed. He was silent, unable to speak, unable to move, as he watched Lestat’s expression shift and change. The palpable craving in his eyes, and the way he nearly licked his lips for the mention of chocolate, brought a soft amused smile to Louis’s lips.
Meanwhile, Benedict was in just good enough a mood that he endeavored to do something for himself. He squeezed Lestat’s hand, very grateful that he’d thought to try and include him in his moment with Louis, then he walked away a bit. Laughing breathlessly, he fell on a lush pile of snow and began to make a snow angel by moving his arms and legs. All of the shadows of his mind seemed gone in this moment, as he looked up at the cloudy silver sky.
Lestat watched him writhe on the ground with a sort of breathless wonder. What was he doing? Taking a sort of clothed snow bath? The color rose to Lestat’s cheeks as he couldn’t help imagining Benedict doing the same thing, but without any clothing at all.
Laughing, he followed, and dropped to his knees, bending over him and bracing on his bare hands in the snow on either side of Benedict’s shoulders to catch his eye. Benedict felt the mood shift, not in a horrible way at all, but an electric way. He felt what heat that was left in his body rise straight to his cheeks as he locked eyes with Lestat’s glittering blues.
“You look like a fairy,” Lestat said with an amused smile. “A fae creature from forgotten legend.” And so happy. Had Lestat even seen Benedict with such a carefree glint in his eyes? He could almost forget for a moment that he’d ever been so sad. No wonder Rhoshamandes had fallen in love with this boy at first sight.
Benedict laughed softly, then hummed. “Thank you, though I know they are not famous for their good attitudes.” He wanted to stay there for a very long time, under Lestat and gazing up at his beautiful face and his hair that gave as much light as the sun. But Louis… Benedict felt so terrible for taking Lestat’s attention from Louis like this, and his back was getting cold. Still, he could not will himself to move, and he wanted quite desperately to reach up and touch. He wouldn’t dare.
Louis stood watching them, unable to feel slighted for Lestat being distractible and full of action as ever. He only basked in his sheer wonder at the morning brightness and how beautiful both of them were with strands of gold glinting in their hair in the morning light.
Slowly he walked closer, the snow crunching beneath the soles of his boots in a way he never noticed as an immortal vampire. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and gazed up at the wintry sky, the gray clouds tinged purple with the vibrant pinks and oranges of the sunrise streaking the horizon and up into the expanse to blend with the soft patches of blue. There was so much to see, so much to observe. Louis sank to his knees in the snow next to Benedict and Lestat, and he laughed, louder and longer than he’d laughed in so very many years.
The sound frankly startled Lestat, and he jerked in such a completely human response, sitting back on his heels, snow clinging to his hands. He stared at Louis, and for a moment, found him completely unrecognizable. His face was so animated, his pale skin so pink with life, his black hair reflecting the light with a color lamps and candles had never given it. Even the timbre of his voice was wholly different between how his human throat produced it and how Lestat’s human ears received it. Between his mirth and Benedict’s, Lestat wasn’t sure once again that this wasn’t all some surreal dream. He might have pinched himself to be sure, but the pain biting his cold hands was already pinching enough.
“You’ve lost it,” he said with a chuckle of his own, doing his damnedest not to let his mind leap to any catastrophic conclusions from this emotion in Louis. He reached over to ruffle some of the tiny falling snowflakes out of Louis’s hair just as an excuse to touch him. So warm… Letting his hand fall again was difficult, but he managed it.
Flipping his hair out of his face, Lestat looked up to the sunrise, watching how green the pine trees were growing in the forest beyond the gardens, even with their branches full of snow. Were they ever that green when Lestat was a boy? Idly, he scooped up a handful of snow and took a bite of it to sate the dry thirst in the back of his throat, lingering from too much of last night’s wine.
His legs were cold, and he could already feel the wet melting through his canvas pants from the heat of his skin beneath. Well, this would be the third pair of pants he’d have to change out of in the last twelve hours. But he couldn’t bring himself to get up yet; this discomfort, it was a human experience too. And everything was too bright and cheerful for him to mind it.
“Let’s go down to the village,” he said impulsively. “Let us go be among mortal men and be like them and share a table with them for once without having the desire to devour them.”
He hopped to his feet and grabbed Benedict’s hands out of the snow to pull him up. Benedict yelped, as taken by Lestat’s enthusiasm as he’d been by Louis’s ringing laughter.
Louis looked, for the moment, faintly horrified at the idea of people, though his slight smile remained as he got to his feet, and his expression appeared more indecisive than anything bordering on outright refusal. “Must we?” he asked, but he was already stepping closer to Lestat, and he turned to look off in the direction of civilization.
“Down to the village, are you sure?” Benedict asked, reality settling back over him a small bit as if lying down had made him more delirious. He would like to go, and he would trust Lestat, their Prince, to make the right decision for them. But were they not opening themselves up to illness and other threats if they went?
Already the morning around them was warming, and even though Lestat didn’t have a proper winter coat, just his leather jacket, he was too full of buzzing excitement to be shivering from the cold anymore. The sun had been up less than half an hour, but it was almost nine o’clock, and it was a Friday; surely the village would be well alive by now.
Looking at Lestat again, Benedict decided his fears didn’t matter. “We can go to the market, and then go somewhere wonderful for lunch.”
Louis’s stomach made a strange noise, spurred by that word, and it gave him an odd feeling of yearning and disgust alike. Not so unusual for him really, if he stopped to think about it.
“Is it safe?” he asked, unknowingly echoing Benedict’s thoughts.
“Not at all!” Lestat laughed as he turned to head out of the garden, letting them both decide if they would follow him or not. Instead of taking the long way around through the gate, he put a hand atop the low garden wall and launched himself over it in one energetic leap, and then he was making his way along the perimeter, half walking, half sliding on the ice as if he were wearing skates to get to the road that wound the three quarters mile down the mountain to the village.
There was a cozy little patisserie café on the town square. He’d buy Benedict a pain au chocolat and watch with amusement how his eyes would light up when he tasted for the first time in his existence the sweetness and flavor of such a modern confection. He’d try to get a bite of one in Louis’s mouth too, though that might take a bit more work. But Lestat had his ways.
Louis groaned, watching Lestat hurry away. “Damn him,” he groused. His hands still shoved deep into his pockets, he walked quickly toward the stone wall, then stopped and inspected, looking for a way over that wouldn’t have him sliding on the ice on the other side or sticking his foot into mud. After a moment, he hopped to straddle the wall and then swung his legs to the other side. Turning back to Benedict he held out a hand to help him over.
Benedict was so very utterly afraid now, all mirth gone and all fear and malice back in his mind. He was the last one on the chateau grounds, and his hands trembled. He looked back at the imposing castle, half wanting to turn back. But he’d spent so long now cowering away, locked alone in his room and panicking that Rhoshamandes was going to tear up the place looking for him.
Well. It was daylight, so Rhosh couldn’t get to him now. And on top of that, Rhosh just didn’t care. He’d shown that so, so many times. Resolved, with a frown of concentration, Benedict took Louis’s hand and pulled himself up over the wall.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, K and T
Chapter 31: Coffee
Summary:
Marius and Armand try out this beloved mortal thing known as coffee, while trying to keep their amorous feelings for each other under control.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Armand wasn’t sure he’d ever tasted coffee, even back in the day, but he knew that Italians took it very seriously and wondered if Marius might become one of those Italians after the first taste. He stayed relatively quiet, looking out through the windows of Marius’s chateau apartment as they awaited the delivery, wondering what Marius had to gain by having him here to try it with him. The sun was beginning to die down a little as thick gray clouds that looked like they held more snow moved in. Suddenly, Armand was besotted with the idea of drinking warm coffee with Marius as the snow came down, but he didn’t dare express that to him; he was still reeling from being ordered about.
Marius noticed Armand looking out of the window, so he took it upon himself to open every one to the dimming sky. When he turned from the last window, he saw Armand lounging like a little prince on his largest sofa. No, like a lazy god or sleepy angel. Whatever he mirrored didn’t matter; it was the fact he looked so beautiful that Marius felt like he’d been struck in the stomach, had his breath stolen, and left stranded too close to the center of the room.
“What type of coffee did you order?” Armand asked.
Marius might have stared a bit too long at his thighs and hips. And the awareness of time made the warning bells in his head sound that he needed to be, for the gods’ sakes, normal. The way he forced reanimation made him feel out of sorts, and he busied himself to distract his mind. “I…” He actually had to think to remember. Dear God. He went to the fireplace and crouched, thinking it imperative he make sure Armand’s human body stayed warm.
“I wasn’t sure what I would like. So, I ordered almost everything the café in our village had to offer. No teas. And limited dairy options. As I understand, coffee can be difficult on the stomach. Paired with dairy, it sounds dangerous. I never had cattle milk, you see, as that was only for the plebeians…and barbarians.” Was he rambling? He was, he absolutely was. And did he really not have any matches? Of course not. He could make fire with his mind, why would he need piddly sticks?
“Perii,” he muttered, still preferring to curse in his natural Latin. He’d have to retrieve matches from his studio, which he rose with a grunt—a grunt—to get. “I need matches. Take off your shoes. I will make you warm.”
Armand noticed the grunt, and it amused him a little bit, but he said nothing. He didn’t want to start another argument—peace between them was glorious but so tenuous that he didn’t want to ruin it now. He wanted to offer to go and get the matches for him, and felt he probably should, but also supposed it might be insulting. It didn’t take anything really to go off and get them from the other room, and Marius seemed so insistent on waiting on him. Well fine, Armand could be waited on, especially by someone so damn handsome as Marius.
How his heart swelled to see him now, in control of everything as always, so sure and so attractive for that surety. He slid off his shoes as told to do and made sure they were neatly placed on the floor beside the couch, before kicking his legs up and lounging the length of it. How comfortable it was as a mortal, simply to do this. He could see where the phrase ‘couch potato’ had come from now. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked after a moment, realizing how lazy he must seem.
Marius emerged with his box of matches and shook his head, giving Armand a smile. “Absolutely not.” Armand looked too lovely to move, and Marius wanted to be able to look at him that way. Marius kept that point to himself, of course. How he wished it could run his hand over Armand’s delicate ankle.
He tore his eyes away and went back to the hearth and knelt, striking one of the long matches, using the flaring tip to start their fire going at last. With the fire crackling, the lights low, and the light snow falling beyond the windows, it was actually quite comfortable. And according to the notifications on Marius’s phone, their delivery was minutes away. When he sat, he gathered Armand’s small feet and put them in his lap.
How domesticated, Armand thought to himself, though he didn’t know what to make of it. Marius was being so forward with his actions and movements now, so insistent on taking care of him, as if they were an actual couple. He wondered what they would look like as a modern couple, how they would function or if they would function at all. A thought came into his head then, and he decided he might voice it once they were sat with their order.
Marius had only just gotten settled when his phone pinged. Coffee. “I’ll go retrieve our order,” he said at once as he did not want Armand to do it. “Stay just like this, understand?”
Armand nodded, placing his legs back down to where Marius had been sitting. “Just like this,” he promised, as he had been, though he found it strange and endearing both that Marius was so particular about it.
It really was quite a lot of coffee, but Marius paid the delivery boy quite a big tip to help him carry it. The young man was quite amazed to be let into the normally secretive chateau. Marius kept his eyes from lingering about with conversation, distracting the boy with questions.
Without the mind gift, he’d have to find more human ways to manipulate minds. And boys really weren’t terribly smart, so it wasn’t difficult. Marius didn’t even mind the way the boy stared at Armand when they reached his parlor. After all, he could hardly blame him. And, he was very used to watching others admire his fledgling. Who was still in the position he’d been left in, which pleased Marius endlessly as sometimes Armand defied him to show independence, or out of spite. Nice to see there was none of that now.
Armand was hit harder than he’d thought he’d be, struck even by the sight of a human in the chateau. Or, another human. He was a human now, after all. How strange that still seemed to him. He was so struck dumb by it, that he didn’t know how to react, and for a little moment, he stared back. He pulled himself together, however, and tried to give the boy a smile he knew would stay with him a while as he left. ‘Tried’ being the operative word. He didn’t know anymore how much was his own natural charm and how much of it had been vampirism.
Marius cleared his throat to get the attention of the human. “You may go,” he said softly but firmly. “Thank you.”
The boy took the extravagant tip and left. Marius sat back down and began to eye everything that had been placed on the coffee table. “I still like the smell,” he said, which was promising as far as taste was concerned. “Let’s find you something sweet.” He started to turn the cups and read the labels. “What would you like?”
“What makes you think I’d like something sweet?” Armand asked curiously, sitting up and facing the table so he could survey everything as well. He was delighted to see that Marius had ordered iced things as well as hot, and his eyes fell on a large clear cup full of a dark liquid. “Maybe I want an iced americano.”
Marius’s eyes followed the line of Armand’s sight to the cup, which he identified as the iced americano by the label on the side. He reached for it over the other cups, grasping the cold, wet plastic and a straw, reusable of course, which cost a minimal extra, which he slipped into the hole in the plastic lid.
“Drink this one,” he offered like it was his idea, because really he just wanted to please his boy. “Do you want…” He flipped through the bag of additions the delivery boy had given him, most of which he knew nothing about as they were things he hadn’t had as a mortal. “Sugar or…this?” He pulled out a miscellaneous handful of creamers and syrup packets in his large palm. “I don’t know what any of this is. Or if it’s good. Vanilla? Didn’t have it. Chocolate? Didn’t have it. Hazelnut. Oh! I’ve had this.” He smiled at it, but then frowned. “I didn’t like it. Caramel? Didn’t have it.”
Armand cocked a brow, smiling as Marius rambled on about the various flavors. He kicked his legs back up on the sofa, drawing his knees to his chest and holding the cup in both hands as he watched. He couldn’t remember a time he’d seen Marius so freely animated, so approachable. Even when they were in their most intimate settings with no pretenses, there was a stoicism to him, a sense of reservation that prevented them from becoming as close as possible.
But now…that felt thinner than ever. Perhaps the shock of being human had humbled Marius a little. Armand smiled, not wanting to seem like he was fixating on too much. “I think, perhaps I should try it without anything first, then go mad adding flavors. Sugar was coming into fashion when I was a boy with you in Venice. There’s really nothing like it. I think if I’d lived longer, I would have had a mouthful of rotten teeth, considering there wasn’t much in the way of dental hygiene then. But maybe it tastes different now.”
“Nonsense,” Marius said lightly as he read some of the ingredients on the syrup packets, which were a bunch of words he didn’t know and therefore did not trust. “My blood would have kept your teeth healthy for life. However long your mortal life lasted.” He knew Armand would understand that his mortal life would have ended in that scenario for his immortal one—the question was never if, just when. Every time Amadeo came down ill, his Master’s blood would bring him back to good health until the one time it was too late. It was safe to assume the practice would have continued for however long they had. “I would hate to see anything destroy such a beautiful smile.” There was really little that could compare to the sight, truly.
Armand hated himself for smiling in that moment, as if he were giving Marius the satisfaction. It was almost as if he’d commanded it, because he still had the power to do such things. But ah, he couldn’t help it. He was still learning to work with this new body, and he hadn’t caught it fast enough, but he gave Marius a slightly reproachful look to compensate. Reproachful, but fond—it was hard to be too angry. “You’re incorrigible,” he said quietly. “A true Casanova. Well, what will you drink first? Will we time it and try it together?”
Marius nodded and went back to his selections. Despite the creative and vast variety to choose from, some certainly quite palatable, he chose a plain black coffee, because he wanted the basic taste before he started experimenting with additions. Lots of humans drank black coffee, and that was always how he’d ordered it as a vampire. A practical decision, of course, as it was a waste of resources to add anything else to the order.
He lifted the warm cup in his hand and brought it to his nose to smell. Predictably, he could smell less, but it was no matter. “On three,” he instructed. “One. Two. Three.”
He brought the coffee to his lips and sipped from the cup. As soon as the hot liquid touched his tongue, his face screwed up and he shook his head. “No,” he decided, shaking his head again. “What’s the word? It’s too… heavy? No. Dense. Mmmmm…” He fought his repertoire of lost words associated with taste. “Dark…dark, bitter!” That was it, and he declared it with a subtle measure of victory.
Armand’s face mirrored Marius’s as he took his own sip. He was right, it was far too bitter, though he hadn’t spent anywhere near as much time trying to describe the taste.
“Indeed,” he agreed quietly, rooting through the syrup packs and choosing the caramel to pour into the iced americano. Anything to make it drinkable.
He got halfway through the sachet before pausing. There was only one, after all. “Do you want to try this one with me?” he asked, holding it out. “Then you can spend another few moments trying to describe the flavor of that, as well.” His smile was soft and full of love as he said it, because he was particularly taken with Marius’s approachability in this moment.
Marius looked at the brown syrup in the packet because he really did want to try it. “Arabs invented caramel.” He took the packet from Armand’s small fingers. He decided he wanted to try it first without the coffee to decide whether its flavor would nicely compliment the drink. “But it was a beauty product, not a food.”
He squeezed out the smallest drop onto the tip of his pointer finger and moved it to look at the color of it, marveling at how it resembled Armand’s eyes in just the right light, before he brought it to his mouth and licked it off with a confident flick of his tongue. It was the opposite of the coffee, and Marius now had an association for the word sweet, and he liked the flavor immensely. Much more than the coffee.
“It’s very good,” he decided. Had Armand had it? By his time as a boy, it had been in production for five hundred years and was then considered a decadent confection, mixed with butter and salt by masters in France. His spoiled boy had certainly had it, but it probably still tasted much different from this modern version.
He squeezed another drop onto his finger and held it out to Armand, inches from his pouty, pink lips. “Try just this first.”
Armand locked eyes with Marius, taking in a small and almost inaudible breath. Again, he felt all blood pool south. He felt that sensation of arousal, and he wondered if Marius didn’t know exactly what he was doing by asking him for this. Surely, surely, he knew that he was Armand’s ultimate weakness. Surely, he knew that he was the most attractive thing in the whole world to Armand, and that to oblige this request would ruin him.
But Marius didn’t betray any of that in his eyes or in his tone. It seemed so frankly innocent that Armand didn’t know how to proceed. He wanted to argue that he had the caramel in his coffee now, that he could dip his own finger in the sachet. He knew that if he licked this syrup from the tip of Marius’s finger, it would be a most sensual act for him, and he would be utterly at his mercy. But he couldn’t stop himself ultimately from doing it.
Marius had done it as a challenge, curious if Armand would reject the intimacy from him, pushing at undefined but obvious limits to see just where his limits were. But he hadn’t fully prepared for what he’d feel if Armand actually accepted. He watched, utterly enraptured as Armand placed his cup down and took his hand in both his own, anticipation coiling heavy and hot in his stomach.
With a flick of his tongue over the fingertip, Armand tasted the caramel sauce. Only it was too good, and he closed his lips around the tip of Marius’s finger with a soft moan. What an intense flavor, this caramel! He didn’t remember it being so good before. Never mind the sensation of Marius’s skin under his tongue, the warmth of it. Armand grew red in the cheeks to think of it and hated his body for betraying him in such a way.
It amazed Marius just how much a human body felt. The swipe of the boy’s sultry tongue had sent a secret riot through his entirely too sensitive frame. But Gods, did the breath leave his body when he found the tip of his finger sucked into a too hot, too tight mouth. Slippery in a way that made Marius grow indecently aroused. Surely, Armand could see the way that desire darkened his eyes, or the push of quickened breath from his parted lips. Could he see the heat collecting at the surface of his skin? A surprise there was any left to do so as so much of his blood rushed between his legs. Armand had to know what he was doing.
“Do you like it?” Marius’s voice was pitched low and deep to hide his breathlessness.
It took every fiber of Armand’s being to still himself and not push for more. The huskiness in Marius’s voice caused him almost to shiver, and he clung to his hand to ground himself through it. What a silly question, he thought, locking eyes with Marius. Those beautiful blue eyes were almost all pupil, and Armand knew he must look the same with his chest rising and falling.
“Marius,” he breathed, wanting to fall into him completely in this moment. It seemed like it would be so easy, and there was no longer a reason to resist. Armand was in love with him, always had been, and the tension between them at any given point was unbearable. At least, he felt it was. He couldn’t say if Marius felt the same.
But again, something, perhaps even just his pride, told Armand he needed to hold off. Hold off, just for a little longer. Don’t even kiss the man, especially not that. He would be utterly lost to him if he kissed him.
Suddenly his thought came back to him, as he looked into his eyes, and it seemed a good thing to focus on to distract him from the dull ache of his cock in his pants.
“Come to dinner with me?” Armand said. “Maybe not tonight, but a really fancy one. A date, if you will. Would you do that for me?”
Notes:
This chapter written by B and T
Chapter 32: From Experience
Summary:
Lestat takes Louis and Benedict to breakfast in the village, where Louis notices something disturbing about him.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Lestat waited at the bottom of the path below the chateau for Louis and Benedict to catch up, bouncing on his toes to keep warm, and massaging his hands from the pain caused by being buried in the snow. Once they reached him, he gave a smug smile. He knew they would come.
He led the way down the road that wound to the village. It was paved now, with a pretty walkway running alongside, and his staff kept it salted and clear of snow, so easy to traverse even with the centimeter of new fall that had accumulated so far this morning. Nothing like the rough dirt road it had been when he was a boy, often packed knee-deep with drifts and slush this time of year. On the way to the village, Lestat chatted idly about these things, and other marvels that felt so different to his mortal body now than when he was alive.
He paused at the edge of town, admiring the way the cloudy daylight reflected off the windows of the picturesque buildings. Good god, imagine how it must look on a day that was actually sunny!
“Don’t call me by name,” Lestat said with a glance back at his friends. “They won’t recognize me.” His hair and skin and eyes were entirely different colors, for one thing, but it was mainly the way his face moved now, the affect of his body and gestures, all lacking that preternatural aura and grace that his tenants had grown accustomed to from him for years. “I’m a relative, visiting for Christmas.”
“What shall we call you then?” Louis asked. “Henri? Jean-Bernard? Charles?” The prospect of naming Lestat suddenly became exceedingly entertaining, and Louis came to a stop in front of him. His mind lit on the name Désiré suddenly, but Louis frowned with the absurdity of the thought and how overt it would seem if he said it aloud.
He looked away from the picture of golden and exuberant beauty that Lestat painted, standing in the middle of the walkway with such hope and excitement in his eyes, and instead focused on the village.
“Dwayne,” Benedict suggested quietly, with a sheepish smile. It was the ugliest name he could think of, and that amused him. He wondered if Lestat and Louis would appreciate it if he made such silly jokes. He wasn’t sure yet, so he left it at the one suggestion.
Lestat laughed out loud and ruffled his hand over Benedict’s damp hair. Then he gave Louis a friendly smack on the back of the shoulder. He didn’t care what they called him, he doubted they’d need to call him anything at all, considering the circumstances. “Call me mon ami,” he suggested as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Benedict took in the beauty of the village, all of its life and vibrancy. Suddenly, he wanted to eat everything in sight, to try something of everything before they turned back. As they strolled through the square, he stopped at a patisserie window with beautiful glazed things that amazed him, colorful little treats of exquisite craftsmanship. And they were edible!
Why was Benedict just drooling at the window instead of going inside? Lestat brushed past him and opened the shop door, enjoying the little jingling bell as he entered. He took a moment to admire the Christmas decorations and stamp the snow off his boots on the welcome mat and brush it out of his hair before he went right up to the counter where the girl working there was watching with obvious curiosity. The villagers weren’t used to unexpected strangers, especially not in the bright of the morning.
Lestat wove his way through the little round tables to lean against the glass pastry case, folding his arms on its edge and giving her a smile that made her blush. He spoke to her in French, “Hi. Three café au lait, if you please. And…” He slowly pulled his eyes from hers—such a pretty shade of pale green—and looked down at the array of confections under the glass. “My god, where to begin?” He called back over his shoulder to Benedict and Louis, “Choose what you like.”
Overwhelming for Louis, the intoxicating smell of coffee and confection. It was heavenly, sweet and comforting all at once. Shaking out his hair and wiping his feet, he found himself drawn to the counter like a moth to flame, and he had to keep from pressing his face too close to the glass as he peered at all the lovely offerings laid out before them.
Benedict couldn’t even fathom what he should choose. Part of him thought he shouldn’t choose anything at all—why should he have such lovely things as this? Besides, he didn’t even know what he might like the taste of anymore! He forced himself to choose, to get himself out of the head space that he didn’t deserve these things the way everyone else did. He chose a beautiful creation with a lilac glaze, crumbled with pistachio nuts and lavender. He didn’t have a single idea of how it might taste, but why not?
“Tarte au Citron,” Louis pronounced, pointing to the gorgeous pastry with its small dollop garnish of meringue, a single berry and a mint leaf. He was practically salivating just to look at it, and as the woman went about preparing their drinks, Louis glanced about the small shoppe, his eyes roaming every detail. “I used to love lemon,” he said aloud, then pressed his lips together and wondered if that was an odd thing for a mortal man to say aloud. As though sweets were something one couldn’t just enjoy when one wanted.
Lestat laughed, and bumped Louis affectionately with his elbow. “You would, you old sourpuss,” he said in English.
“I can’t remember at all what I loved, I can’t remember anything,” Benedict said, not wondering about how odd that must seem to the barista. He couldn't tell if she was listening.
Lestat reverted to French with her, asking for a chocolate croissant for himself. “And one of those,” he added, pointing to some sort of fudge cake. “Oh, and some of those!” He tapped the glass over decadent pile of jam filled beignets.
“Ah, are you American?” the girl asked as she began putting their pastries on plates. Her curiosity about them was obviously burning, but like all the villagers, she was paid too well to ask the actual questions she wanted to.
“Terribly,” Lestat said in English again, giving her another flirtatious smile which made a lovely rosy color bloom over her cheeks.
At the register as she rang up their order, Lestat’s hand went for his pocket, but before he even touched it, he realized he had no money. He had nothing at all in his pockets except his phone. This was hilarious of course, and he laughed at himself.
“Ah, forgive me,” he said to the girl. “I left my wallet up at the chateau.” This earned an extremely intrigued look from her, but bless her, she held in all her questions. “Send the bill up there, your lord will cover it, I promise. In fact, start a tab. Anyone else you don’t recognize who comes in here, charge everything to the chateau. Or wait—” It suddenly occurred to Lestat that he wouldn’t be able to give her a tip right now if he handled it that way. He couldn’t have that!
Turning to Louis, Lestat reached right into his coat where he knew he kept his money clip, plucking it out. Louis paid little if no attention to him rooting around in his pockets, his expression as one who was quite used to it occurring.
Lestat turned back to the girl. “Here,” he said apologetically as he peeled off a hundred for her. “Keep the change.” He was about to pick up the tray she’d put their coffees and pastries on, but then paused and peeled off another hundred, giving her that too along with one more charming smile before casually handing the money clip back to Louis. Taking up the tray, he brought their things to the round table closest to the windows. It only had two chairs, so he pulled a third from the next table so that they could all get comfortable.
“But wait,” he said in English to Louis and Benedict, putting a hand over the coffee cups before they could reach for them. “It’s too hot. You’ll burn your mouth if you don’t wait.” If the girl thought it odd that Lestat was giving them lessons on how to drink coffee, she was far too obedient to give any sign of it at all, even as she kept peeking over at them while she made an effort to keep busy behind her counter.
Louis loosened his scarf as he settled into his chair and frowned at Lestat’s pronouncement about the coffee. “Speaking from experience?” he asked, and he looked up at Lestat.
From this angle, his features contoured by the sunlight pouring in from the window, his golden hair framing his perfect face, Louis found himself caught by the vision Lestat made. The very picture of youth and vitality he was, with that mischievous smile of his, and his air of confidence.
Louis found his eyes trailing down to the collar of Lestat’s dark t-shirt, his thoughts tumbling after, sliding beneath. But his gaze snagged suddenly upon bruises of a sort, two or three which were plainly visible upon Lestat’s throat above the collar of his leather jacket. Louis remembered how Gregory had bitten Lestat, but the bandage covering those wounds was on the other side of his neck.
Benedict was sitting quietly, marveling at his little slice of patisserie, waiting on the coffee as Lestat instructed. He was a little afraid to try the coffee anyway, and felt too guilty about tucking into something so beautiful as the food, so to sit and wait for his brain to figure it all out seemed the best thing to do. His brain had just made the decision, when Louis distracted him by reaching up to Lestat’s throat, his fingers ghosting over the discolored skin beneath Lestat’s hair.
Benedict followed Louis’s gaze. Ah, Lestat was sporting some sort of love bite or two. Benedict felt himself go very red, even though it had nothing to do with him. He loved love, and craved it, and had long been an advocate for giving and receiving it in the carnal way, either through sex in mortality or blood in immortality. But around these two lovely people, he didn’t know how to cope with the mention of it so soon. So he took his spoon and began to eat, distracting himself with the burst of flavor over his tongue.
“What’s this?” Louis asked.
Lestat had no idea what Louis was looking at, or that there even was anything to see upon his skin. All he perceived was Louis leaning close with intent focus and touching the sensitive skin of his neck with delicate, teasing fingertips.
His breath caught in the back of his throat as he stared back at him, riveted. “You attempting to seduce me?” he guessed in answer to Louis’s seemingly very strange question.
Louis drew back his hand at once, his cheeks burning bright red, a familiar look of indigence washing over his features. “Of course not!” he blurted a bit too loudly and a bit too much in protest.
Of course not. Right. Lestat had almost forgotten who he was talking to. He gave Louis a tight-lipped smile and leaned back in his chair, picking up the coffee cup and blowing on it before taking a careful swallow. The heat of it slid down his throat and coiled inside him in a way that made him realize just how chilled he still was from their walk down the hill.
“There’s just… You’ve bruises,” Louis blurted. “Just there, on your neck.”
Lestat took his time to take another sip, then set the cup back on its saucer, before he reached up to feel at his neck. For a moment, he was confused not to feel the bandage, because he was assuming Louis had seen some bruising creeping out around it, but yes, that was on the other side, wasn’t it?
Lestat’s brows knit, perplexed, and he pulled out his phone, turning on the front camera to look at himself, brushing back his hair from his shoulder. Well, damn, Louis was right. Look at those dark bruises. The memory of Marius’s mouth on his throat last night made a shiver run under Lestat’s skin that had nothing to do with the cold. All the delicious things his lips and tongue had done to him… His eyes fluttered closed.
Once the little moment had passed, though, he tilted his head further to get a better look in the camera and laughed under his breath. “Bastard,” he muttered fondly.
He’d have to get Marius back for this, wouldn’t he?
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, K and T
Chapter 33: Too Sweet
Summary:
Armand and Marius plan a date night together.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
A date?
Armand was asking him to go on a date?
It was both charming and a bit surreal to be asked out on a date by his fledgling. Such a modern thing to do. No one had ever asked Marius out on a date before. He was too old, too serious, too old-fashioned, too respected. As if to see him as merely a man would be an act of unforgivable disrespect.
Or perhaps too intimidating and too judgmental.
Whatever kept him from being approachable, none of that really applied to Armand, who’d already seen him in ways no one else ever had. Though Marius had imagined he’d be the one to ask first.
“Yes,” he said immediately because there was no other possible answer, no chance that there would be any hesitancy or doubt. “I’d like that, Armand. Tomorrow evening?” It would also be a good way to keep their minds off whatever would be happening with Lestat in Fareed's laboratory in Paris.
Armand smiled brightly, delighted. He was half expecting to be told that Marius was too busy, had too much of a duty to try to hold the Court together in this unprecedented time.
“Tomorrow night,” he agreed, his hand returning to his cup. He took his first sip of the coffee with the syrup, and nodded. It was much better now, though he wondered if that were the coffee or the fact that things seemed to be, for once, repairing themselves with Marius. Maybe everything seemed better. He took another sip, then offered the cup to his maker.
Marius used the coffee to ground himself, to bring his brain back down to earth. He was overcome with the sweetness of the date. The mere idea of it overshadowed every other human experience so far. And while dating wasn’t human-exclusive, he didn’t think he’d have been asked if not for their transformation.
He took the coffee from Armand and sipped it. The hint of caramel lingered, but it was still far too bitter. He shook his head. “No,” he decided. He needed sweeter. Much sweeter.
He selected an iced coffee that was full of so much oat milk and caramel creamer that it was light brown. There was even caramel drizzle on it. He would now forever associate the taste of caramel with the hot drag and pull of Armand’s small mouth, and it took his breath away to remember.
“I think this.” Maybe. There stood the risk of too sweet, but perhaps that was a good thing. As he was about to sip, a thought occurred to him. Marius assumed he’d arrange the date, because that’s what he did best—arrange, organize, plan. But it was Armand who asked, and he was trying terribly hard to be taken seriously, so would he like to plan their night? Would it spoil the mood to ask? But he had to ask.
“Armand? Would you like to arrange our date, or would you rather I?”
Armand smiled, not because Marius asked such a thing but because of the way he’d asked it. The word date was such a foreign word for him, he could tell, because it was for Armand too. Marius seemed very much to enjoy saying the word, as if he was enamored by the notion of it, and that made Armand very happy. And it sounded even more lovely in his rich voice, his Italian accent that was quite detectable when he was more relaxed.
“Well, that all depends on whether you trust me to choose somewhere nice.” Armand didn’t have a plan, really, other than to research. They had so much money, they could go absolutely anywhere even at short notice. “You know they give some restaurants those Michelin stars, and that’s meant to mean its exceptional food. And some restaurants do tasting menus, which are more courses and smaller dishes.” Armand was so caught up in the romance of it all, the thought that maybe they’d stroll along a river, hand in hand, or catch a film after. Could it really be so simple and happy between them now that they were human, all past transgressions from either of them forgotten? If so, then maybe being human wasn’t such a terrible thing. “Somewhere with good desserts, for the sweet tooth you seem to have.”
“I trust you,” Marius confirmed with a short, amused laugh, taking another sip from the icy caramel coffee that he was currently enamored with. Caramel, like Armand’s eyes, and surely as sweet as the taste of Armand’s hot tongue. No. He couldn’t think such things. He had to think of other matters. The date.
Armand had impeccable taste in things, because he had been taught nothing less. Only the best clothing, jewels, instruments, perfumes, foods, shoes, art, furniture, and drink. And though Armand was in every way a creature of his own design and tastes, he still knew how to pick out the fine from the common. How exciting to think of dining in a fine restaurant, not having to pick through the selections in a frankly comical mimicry of eating. Marius would actually be able to sample the food, the flavors, the indulgence. And perhaps afterward, Armand would consent to drinks, but he’d wait until then to ask.
“Try this one,” Marius said. “It is very sweet, I assume, and you can barely taste the coffee. I must have more of these. But…not too many.” He knew he’d become obsessive about his weight and health, but he’d never minded a few extra pounds on Armand.
Armand was unable to wipe the smile from his face. He adored the idea of Marius losing himself in such things, expanding his taste and finding joy in this turn of events. “I’ll never stop you from indulging. I think you’ve practiced far too much self-restraint in your life,” he mused. It was true, too, the Roman patriot disciplined in all things. Sometimes too much, so that Armand felt like he didn’t really know Marius at all. He took the offered cup and sipped it, wincing delicately. It was entirely too sweet, and Armand decided in that moment that he had very distinct limits.
Marius laughed at Armand’s adorable cringe. What an absolutely lovely little expression. And how wonderful was it that Armand was being relaxed with him. He’d gotten used to the tension, the awkwardness, the awareness of even small errors and miscalculations as his fledgling could be ruthless with his criticisms. While it had disheartened him, it had never discouraged him. He’d never have given up, no matter how Armand tried to push him away, but it was nice to not have to guard himself, steel his heart, and figuratively tiptoe about.
Marius took another sip and sighed. “My father, the arbiter bibendi, would have never let me drink this. He would have said it was for women or the plebeians. Non ut edam vivo, sed ut vivam edo. I wanted the opposite for you.” But then the situation had been different, because he hadn’t spoiled Armand as his son, but spoiled him as his lover. “How can you dislike this drink? It’s wonderful.”
“I’m sure your father would have abhorred me, in all my self-indulgence.” Armand laughed. What an absurd notion it was to think of Marius’s mortal father ever looking upon him when they were centuries apart. Probably a good thing that the laws of nature didn’t work that way. “But what a world we live in where we have the freedom and means to eat and drink whatever we might. That drink is simply far too much for me, my maker, and overwhelms my senses. But this one is perfect for me.”
Marius glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, refraining from commenting that his father would certainly not have abhorred Armand. He was a man of his time, and Armand had been the sort of boy men naturally lusted after. His father, moderate as he was, wouldn’t have resisted. Marius was proof that his father couldn’t restrain lust among the vices. Armand likely would have ended up, again, the spoiled kept boy to a different Master. It was as he was born to be. Thankfully, Armand spoke again, allowing Marius’s brain to deviate from pointless jealousy.
“Do you plan to travel while we are like this?” The thought occurred to Armand so suddenly that he was jarred by it. Marius loved warm climates-what if he went so far away, as vulnerable as he was now, what if something happened?
Marius frowned. “I would like to,” he confessed. “I still have my home in Rio. It’s terribly cold here, and I want to enjoy the sun and heat. I want to be outside.” It would be wonderful to strip his shirt off, swim in cool water, and then sit under the rays of the bright sun as it turned him golden, darkening his skin as it further whitened his hair. “But Lestat needs me. I must stay close to him. This is not the time to go off on my own for indulgence and pleasure-seeking. I must see to my duty first.”
“I am selfishly glad,” Armand admitted after a while of thinking. He readjusted himself so he was sat up straighter, his legs folded beneath him so that he had a little extra height and was, naturally, a little bit closer to Marius. He looked at him head on. “I’m too afraid to go too far, and I’d be afraid for you for the same reasons. I would have everyone I love bundled up here safe and away from harm except for the odd excursion out to town,” he confessed, eyes roaming Marius’s face, from the set of his jaw to the hair that framed it, to the depth of his blue eyes. “You will do as you want to do, because you are a leader and not one to be told, but just know that I would be anxious if you went anywhere too far.”
Why did Armand say such things that gave dangerous hope to Marius’s heart? He was cautious to attach too much meaning to the confession, not without some context. It would be easy to get caught up in the romance and inflate his status, and he wasn’t the sort to indulge delusions and dreams. Not that he never fell victim, but it never, ever ended well for him. Armand would probably say these same things to Daniel, Lestat, and Louis.
Marius stuffed away the ache. Not that he’d had to share Armand; when had he ever had Armand to himself? He’d always shared the boy. There was that familiar deep, miserable ache that came from the realization that he didn’t deserve beautiful things. But Marius had always known that, even as a man. With Armand, Marius had tasted it, touched it, caressed it, loved it, possessed it. It was such a wonderful time, that he remembered it more like a bright, sweet dream than reality. Yet Marius had failed to protect it, and the blame of all that happened since rested solely on his shoulders, including Armand’s crimes.
But he wanted just a taste of it back. Armand used to cling to him as if he were life itself, and Marius held on to him with the same passion. That Marius had all to himself.
Oh, what was the point of living in the past? Things began and then they ended, and this was the normal course of things. It served no purpose to linger in grief. His time was better spent shaping the present.
“You could come with me if you’d like,” he offered. “And you could bring anyone else along that you’d like.”
“I don’t know.” Armand looked away to the table of drinks and syrups before them. They were a good illustration for him now, a symbol of what had become of them. They were human now, they could try these things, but at what cost? “Last night, do you remember, you said that I could stay with you and you would protect me? But I don’t know if you can. I’m afraid to leave in case anything terrible happens to me, but what if we’re like this forever? I can’t be afraid to leave forever, can I? I’ll be a terrible Miss Havisham then, a shadow of myself, and you’ll all go and live your lives.”
It wasn’t a rejection per se, but Marius took the doubt Armand had in his ability to protect him personally. It felt personal, considering he’d failed in that promise before. Of course he, weaker now and human, possessing no powers, would fail again. Armand’s lack of confidence in him was completely earned.
But it wasn’t time to think with his heart. It was never a good time, but especially now. The logic was quite sensible. And it wouldn’t stop Marius from going. In fact, it made him want to go even more. There was no such thing as starting over, not when you screwed up as spectacularly as Marius always had.
He gave Armand a faint smile, though it was admittedly a bit too weak. “There is a perfectly good reason for your fear,” he assured. Head over heart, always. “You’re vulnerable in a way you haven’t been in a long time, and in such a sudden way, in a different world, among those as vulnerable as you. We won’t be like this forever. And you must do what you can to take care of yourself.”
Armand didn’t look at him. He’d been foolish in expecting any other type of response, but part of him had hoped for some sort of romantic and bold promise to not leave, that Marius would protect him no matter what, that Armand wouldn’t be left to rot away in the chateau while everyone else left. But that wasn’t Marius. He was always logical, always rational to a fault.
Armand sighed a little bit, and took another sip of his coffee before looking at him. “You are right, of course, as always. So tomorrow, then? What time shall we say?”
Marius caught the sigh but did not comment on it. It didn’t matter right now how much he let Armand down, because he knew things would change. Actions were so much more meaningful than words. Words were all he had right now. But once he had the chance, he’d show Armand his sincerity. Starting with the date.
“Around six thirty. A good, reasonable time for a meal. And then there will be time afterward to do something else if we have the desire.” Drinks, a long walk (again, he wished for Rio as a warm boardwalk beach walk would be wonderful), dessert, or anything else they were of mind to.
Armand was about to ask if Marius did desire it, to go somewhere else, but probably not. He was still so duty bound. Armand didn’t want to upset what balance and peace had been achieved in arranging this, so he supposed it might be easier to broach if they’d had a candlelit dinner and some wine. So he nodded, and stood. “I’ll find a place. It makes sense that we go into town together. Is there anything specific you’ve in mind to try?”
Marius didn’t realize he’d drunk all of his iced coffee until he heard the stuttering of the straw as he sucked in air. It was probably the caffeine that had his finger drumming on his leg as his body had never had it before. There was certainly an energy boost. “Anywhere but Guy Savoy. I don’t trust any place that begins their menu with an amuse bouche.”
Armand looked up at him, shocked. He wondered if Marius had always kept an eye on the food scene to know these things, or if he had been researching since last night and decided that he didn’t like it.
He frowned as he thought, before nodding. “I’ll do my very best,” was all he could offer, because he felt it would be strange to ring around and not book a restaurant on the basis of amuse bouche. Still, he wanted Marius to be comfortable and happy.
Armand found as he stood that he didn’t know how best to say goodbye now that they were planning a date. It was clear that they loved each other a great deal, but everything felt so tenuous that he didn’t know what was appropriate. “So I’ll see you tomorrow then, and we can travel there together,” he said to ease into leaning down to kiss Marius’s cheek in parting.
Notes:
This chapter written by B and T
Chapter 34: While We Can
Summary:
Louis is furious when he realizes what the marks on Lestat's throat really are, but Lestat distracts him with cake.
Chapter Text
Louis was staring at the thin dark bruises on Lestat’s neck in utter perplexity, and the amused way Lestat had reacted to seeing them in his phone’s camera only deepened his confusion.
Benedict, halfway through his delicious lavender confection and still blushing, dared to interject. He didn’t know why, it wasn’t as if he had anything of worth to say to them both. “I think it’s a good thing,” he mused very quietly, eyes fixed on his plate. He was very impressed with Lestat’s boldness in taking an erotic experience. Benedict knew himself, and knew that he wouldn’t push many people away, even now, who might—hypothetically, of course—try to seduce him. In a day or so more, he knew would be going mad with a need for it. “Why not do it while we can?” But then it occurred to him that those bruises could be from anything, in spite of how it looked, and he stuttered, “Of course, if it is that.”
Lestat pulled his eyes from the camera to arch a brow at Benedict. Who ever said it wasn’t a good thing? But Benedict certainly had a point. Do it while they can. Indeed.
His gaze slid over to the pretty girl behind the pastry counter. He caught her watching them, leading her to jerk and turn away to pretend to be busy. He smiled thoughtfully to himself, brushing the side of a curled finger under his lip.
Louis just stared at Lestat, his eyes sliding briefly to Benedict and then back again. Slowly, the cogs clicked into place in his mind, and Louis’s mouth fell open with the realization of just what he was looking at on Lestat’s throat.
His fingers curled into a fist on the table and he pried his gaze away and looked down at the lemon tart in front of him, trying to reason out the where and the how. He could feel his stomach turn and his chest tighten for the sudden jealousy that welled up inside of him. So unseemly, this emotion, and Louis snatched up his fork and hastily cut a piece of the pastry, shoving it into his mouth and chewing, his curt and jerky movements more than giving away his indigence as Lestat contemplated the woman behind the counter.
“Keep your damned eyes on me,” Louis hissed, visions of what might happen should Lestat press the eager young lady up against a wall and have his way with her flooding his mind and making his complexion grow redder by the moment. A second later, Louis realized what he’d actually just said aloud, and his lips flattened suddenly into a thin line as he continued to bore holes into the lemon tart in front of him.
Benedict couldn’t abide conflict between lovers. He’d seen all too much of it in his time, and it made him want to leave now on the spot and let Louis and Lestat argue. He felt his body tense and he put his fork down and reached for his coffee for something to do. He couldn’t do anything else, could he? He couldn’t just up and walk away without being rude or rousing suspicion. Perhaps they wanted him to leave so that they could talk about this alone. He didn’t know, but he did know that he hadn’t left his coffee for long enough, and it burned all the inside of his mouth. He tried not to flinch over it.
Lestat’s eyes pulled from the barista and flicked back to Louis, and he laughed out loud at the sight of him. What was he so upset about? Lestat wouldn’t do anything to the girl she didn’t want. He wasn’t that kind of villain—not today, at least!
“You forget my friend,” he said softly in English. “I can’t kill her. I don’t even want to!” Under the table, his hand slid over Louis’s thigh, squeezing affectionately.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” he asked, his eyes practically sparkling, and he shot a glance to Benedict to include him in this as well. “We can be near them, touch them, smell them, kiss them, without any of our dark cravings. We could talk in intimate company with them for hours, and want nothing more from them than to know their minds and hearts in the most innocent of ways.” And just like Benedict had said, Lestat considered enjoying them physically to be part of that. Absolutely harmless if the human was willing. “Today, we are their brothers, we are of them.” His hand squeezed again, a little distracted by the warmth of Louis’s thigh he could feel through his trousers, and it slid down a bit before he let go and straightened again.
Although Louis had tensed considerably with Lestat’s hand on his leg, he felt the absence of the touch far too keenly when it was removed. Which only furthered his indignation.
“Now,” Lestat said as he picked up one of the forks and cut into the fudge cake. “You must try this.” He lifted the morsel to Benedict’s lips first, leaning close and offering to feed him. Chocolate hadn’t even existed in Benedict’s time, and Lestat couldn’t wait to see the pleasure bloom over his beautiful face.
“The nurse then?” Louis interrupted. “Greta? It was she who gave you those? When on earth did you have the time?” Louis’s incredulous voice was low as he motioned toward the marks on Lestat’s neck. But no, Lestat had said ‘Bastard’ when he saw the marks as he used his phone as a mirror, and Louis’s cheeks colored all the more so crimson if that were possible. Louis couldn’t imagine Lestat calling a woman that. Quickly he scanned his memory for those in attendance last night in relation to Lestat’s whereabouts.
“I can’t believe you,” Louis said in a harsh whisper, even though he could absolutely believe it. This was Lestat, after all. “If not the nurse, then who? And when!?” As he groused, he couldn’t help but follow Lestat’s fork with his eyes, his gaze traveling to Benedict with a mild hint of anticipation, despite his obvious ire.
Benedict was close to imploding, Louis’s expression of anger hitting him like little cold knives all over his skin. It wasn’t even directed at him, and he was fully entitled to this rage, but Benedict just didn’t know how to handle it after so many hundreds of years. It was why he had walked away from Rhosh. Maybe he shouldn’t be here at all, maybe he should have stayed in the chateau as he’d thought to and be completely out of their way.
But ah, there was this cake being presented to him. Lestat was so eager for him to try it, Louis’s gaze was expectant upon him, and all he wanted to do was make either of them happy and make this anger stop. So he accepted the mouthful without question, and all of his sadness and discomfort melted away as the flavor of it hit his tongue. Or, rather, spread over it in a luxurious stretch that enveloped every fiber of his being, that crawled up to his brain and did something so intense to it that Benedict moaned. He covered his mouth, embarrassed, and redder in the face than he’d been all day.
Lestat didn’t laugh this time, though pleased amusement shone in his eyes, which he kept on Benedict as he slowly withdrew the fork. “Don’t mind Louis,” he said in a low, intimate voice, trying to diffuse Benedict’s obvious tension. “He just thinks we should all be suffering eternally for our sins and never having any fun.” Lestat’s hand slid against Benedict’s face then, cupping it softly as he brushed away a crumb from his lower lip with one tender thumb while giving him a reassuring look that there was absolutely nothing he need be uncomfortable about.
Benedict found himself able to believe the look Lestat gave him, that he didn’t have to worry or be uncomfortable, because it was so soft and genuine. He was enraptured by him as he held his face in such a manner, and the arousal shot so hard and suddenly to his groin, that he was very glad that Lestat withdrew then and turned his attention back to Louis. Benedict had not anticipated it, he knew he’d feel it soon, but not here, not now, and not so hard as all that. But then, the lips had always been an erogenous zone for him. He was quiet as he took one more forkful of Lestat’s gorgeous cake before tucking back into his own, trying not to listen in to their conversation.
The red indignation all over Louis’s face made Lestat smirk. “Why should I tell you?” he finally said as he cut off another chunk of the cake with the side of the fork. “So you can pronounce judgment on him too?”
He shook his head, refusing to answer, and lifted the fork with the bit of cake to Louis’s lips now, very close, and looking thoroughly smug. “Your turn.” Meanwhile, his other hand slid the plate with the rest of it over to Benedict so that he could help himself while neither of them were watching, since he seemed so self-conscious about it.
Louis sat there a moment, the absolute picture of umbrage. Opening his mouth, he reached up to push the fork away, but Lestat suddenly shoved the morsel of chocolate right into his mouth, replacing any and all attempt at words with a smothered “Mmph!” which was quickly followed by a small and unbidden moan of Louis’s own for how rich and glorious the taste sang on his tongue. Good God, it was the very definition of decadent. Louis swallowed, pressing his fingers to his lips, his eyes closing with pleasure.
Lestat propped his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand as he slowly licked off the last smears of chocolate remaining on the fork without his eyes ever leaving Louis.
It took Louis several long seconds before he was able to speak again. “My judgment is for you alone! Of course it’s absolutely your fault. How could it be anything else?” His blush was creeping down his neck now. “You’re damn near irresistible when you want to be!”
“Oh, yes?” A thoroughly enraptured smile spread over Lestat’s face. “Tell me more.”
Frustration plastered across his expression, Louis shook his head. “Why should I? You’ve been off with God knows who, doing God knows what, withou—” He clamped his mouth shut, made a scrunched up expression, and then took another irritated bite of his lemon tart. Good God, the taste of it too was incredibly wonderful, calling to mind memories long gone that he couldn’t quite call into focus. Reaching for the cup of cafe au lait, he took a sip and made another sound that bordered on obscene. The pleasant heat of it spread through his chest, and the cup warmed his fingers in a way that seemed even to ease his ire somewhat.
Lestat kept his chin in his hand, doing nothing but watching Louis as he so viscerally enjoyed his breakfast, taking in every aspect of his expression as each pleasurable sensation came over him. It was the best show he’d seen in years. It also served to keep his attention off Benedict for a little longer, since he could tell Benedict had felt so uncomfortable with their focus on him. Lestat was loath to offend one so ancient and venerable, and he considered that he’d perhaps overstepped and been too familiar with Benedict. It was hard not to, as sweet and lovely as Benedict was, so childlike and innocent-seeming, but Lestat should probably make an effort to be a bit more respectful with formality for his elder.
“Just think of me, will you?” Louis asked in a hushed angry whisper, though it now sounded more despondent and weary, not unusual for him.
Lestat smirked as if to say that he’d take the request under consideration, but wouldn’t make any promises. Though how serious Lestat was about it was impossible to tell. And of course, he didn’t intend to say a word of how he very much did think of Louis when he’d been with Marius last night. It seemed the bigger a deal Louis made over this, the more smugly satisfied Lestat became.
He imagined himself clasping Louis’s head and bending close to speak hotly at his ear and tell him, Always… But instead, he left it all entirely unspoken, eager to move on to other things, despite how very flattering all this was for his ego. He and Louis would have eternity (and Lestat would make sure of that, one way or another, even if Louis did get it into his head that he might like to stay human. Lestat would persuade him otherwise), so Lestat would do whatever he wanted with today, no matter if Louis looked down on it. Really, he thought Louis ought to be doing the same—especially if he felt left out of the fun, as he seemed to imply. Imagine, Louis actually wanting to have fun! And all he’d talked about last night was smelling flowers and fast riding.
Finally returning to his own breakfast, Lestat ate his pain au chocolate with his hands, along with one of the donuts, forcing one each of the jam-filled delicacies on Louis and Benedict as well. He only deigned to touch the fork again to have more of the cake, and insisted the two of them finish it off.
A few more customers came in and out of the cafe, but all took their orders to go. Of course Lestat noticed them staring at the three of them, but just like the barista, they were all too dutiful to do anything but mind their own business. By god, Lestat loved his people.
When they’d finished everything, Lestat gathered all the dishes back onto the tray and hopped up with it before either of them could do so first, so that he could be the one to bring it back to the counter. There, he thanked the girl and complimented the establishment effusively for its fine products. He told her to box up a few of everything—though not so much that the regular customers in the village would be deprived—and have it sent up to the chateau so that they could be shared with everyone. He could tell she had so many curious questions but held them all back, which just made him like her all the more. And such pretty eyes…
Lestat leaned a shoulder against the glass pastry case and smiled at her hopefully. “What time does your shift end?”
The color rose to her cheeks, and her pale green eyes brightened. “Four-thirty.”
“Ah, bad luck,” Lestat said, disappointed. He would be well on his way to Paris to see Fareed by then. She seemed to deflate as well. Lestat thanked her again for everything, letting his eyes linger on her for one last moment before he turned back to Louis and Benedict so they could leave.
“Still want to look at the market?” he asked Benedict, eager for anything, his tiredness kept at bay by the coffee for now.
Benedict fought the urge within himself to tell them he didn’t mind, that he would be happy to do what they wanted to do. It seemed like he should for once be not assertive but expressive enough to say this is what I would like to do. Lestat was such a vibrant personality—was he already angry at Benedict for being so submissive over anything? Did he care about it at all? More than anything, Benedict wanted these men to love him as he loved them, so that he had them to see in between the lonely hours in his room.
“If we may,” felt like the most comfortable response to Lestat, and the three of them stepped back into the sunlight of the village square.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, T and K
Just waiting for everyone to catch up before I post the next chapters 😊
Chapter 35: Some Strength
Summary:
Gregory wakes up to a chilling surprise, but Armand is there to save him from himself.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Gregory felt something uncomfortably cold and wet soaking into his clothing. Slowly, he opened his eyes and was more than surprised to find that it was still daylight out. This wasn’t entirely uncommon, as he did occasionally wake early from the death sleep and find himself beneath a still lit sky, the setting sun beating down on his skin; but it was rare. He rubbed at his face, finding his beard fully grown out. Perhaps the clouds reflecting the twilight were making it look brighter than it was? His eyes weren’t burning at all, though his vision seemed fuzzy.
He sat up, remembering suddenly where he was and why. On the roof of the chateau’s south tower, he was covered in a thin layer of melting snow, and he felt cold and warm all at the same time. Abruptly, he sneezed. Several times in a row!
Oh no…
He was mortal now too, wasn’t he?
Why, it had been thousands upon thousands of years since he’d sneezed! What a strange sensation. In fact, everything felt so muted and heavy and foreign. As if he was waking on another planet entirely!
Gregory stood and shook the snow from himself. Again he sneezed and had to wipe at his nose with his wet coat sleeve. The sight of the snow gleaming beneath the day’s light was beautiful, even though his vision was absolutely horrendous.
In a stupor, Gregory managed to find his way down from the tower and outside onto the castle grounds. He found himself too dazed with shock. Where should he go? Where were Lestat and the others? His whole body shuddered with cold, and he tightened his long coat around himself, for all the good it did.
Meanwhile, Armand had been wandering the castle grounds trying to make the most of being human as best as he could. He was still frightened, and felt like he had drawn so far into himself that he could never be brought back out. He walked along, the snow crunching under his shoes with his arms wrapped around himself. He switched between watching the sky and the space across from him, all angles of it, including the tall dark haired man who was walking toward him, with seemingly no idea that he was doing so. He was walking just a little clumsily, as if a man just sobering up, but not comically so.
Armand focused his eyes as best he could—damn these terrible mortal eyes! It took him longer than it ever should have to realize that the man was Gregory. Gregory as a human.
Armand rushed to him at once, taking Gregory by the elbow. “Damn, it got you too, this strange trick. Even the most powerful of us is felled. Are you okay?” he asked in an intimate voice, a little hoarse after a few hours of not speaking to anyone.
Gregory blinked several times, finally realizing Armand had his arm and was speaking in that way that was still so bewitching, despite the fact he was mortal too. “Armand!” Gregory couldn’t help himself, he pulled Armand into his chest and held him tightly. “I have only just woken. It’s like a strange dream, isn’t it?” He stepped back, holding Armand at arm’s length so he could see him in the full daylight. “I don’t know how to feel… I’m human.” Gregory laughed slightly then let go of Armand and looked at his hands, which were no longer smooth with ancient preternatural skin. They were the hands of his human form. The hands of a young 20-something man. “I need a mirror. I need to see what I look like.” Gregory turned in a circle, looking out upon the horizon and then spotting his helicopter still sitting over there on the landing pad beside Lestat’s. Was the pilot down in the village? Where was the young scientist from his labs that he’d brought with him? He needed to call Chrysanthe! Where was Lestat? And Marius?
Gregory looked again to Armand and was dazzled once more by how handsome and lovely and alive he looked. “I don’t know what to do,” he said finally, a small tremor in his voice.
Armand took it all in his stride. Gregory was going through exactly what they all went through last night, and it was jarring and a hell of a lot to take in. “You need to eat and drink, first and foremost. You should find a way to send your wife a message she will receive at nightfall. Though I don’t know how you might do it safely. If any worldwide vampires catch wind over your phone that wish us ill, who knows what might happen. But if you bring her here to tell her, you might endanger her as well. The very air of the chateau could be contaminated.” Armand didn’t mind thinking about this, and trying to draw up a solution. “You’ll need to shower or bathe. But besides that, most of us are just trying our best to make the most of this state, and to not be afraid.”
He surveyed Gregory carefully. He looked very handsome. He still had the powerful build of a soldier, and his full beard and dark hair suited him well. Armand was glad that they could no longer read one another’s minds, because once again, he felt a stir in his body and he didn’t know what to do with it.
Bathe? Gregory wondered if he smelled bad. Perhaps he shouldn’t have embraced Armand so closely. And food and drink? His mind could hardly grasp the thought of it, though there were many many foods and drinks he’d longed to try over the centuries. “I should contact my wife,” he spoke absently, his mind still contemplating foods. “And don’t be concerned about the vampire world finding out what has happened. They have certainly already learned of it. The oldest among us hear everything, and most of the vampires who this happened to have left the castle. Word is certainly out.”
His dark eyes passed over the gleaming snowy landscape once more, and he actually had to squint for the brightness of it all. Gregory shivered, then sneezed several times in a row. This was such a strange experience. Yet fascinating at the same time. He had never felt real cold as a mortal, having lived in a hot desert climate.
Armand felt even colder all over for the thought that everyone in the world who could do them harm already knew how vulnerable they were. Only a few hours remained until dark would fall, and they could swarm upon them. But Gregory’s sneezing distracted him out of catastrophizing, and he frowned.
“Are you ill?” Armand asked, though wondered if Gregory would even be able to answer. Who of any of them would be able to say yes or no to this so early on, when they couldn’t tell what was the clumsiness and aches of a mortal body and what was wrong? Hm.
“It’s so uncomfortable out here,” Gregory said. “I need to go sit by a fire and be warm.” He slipped a hand around Armand’s arm, gently pulling him towards the castle. “Please come with me. Stay with me.”
Armand was surprised by how insistent Gregory was on his company, but there was something in his voice which forced Armand to agree. None of them should be alone just now, unless they truly wanted it. “I’ll stay,” he promised as they walked.
Gregory paused. He held tightly to Armand’s hand and stared up at the castle before then. “Why go in there?” he muttered to himself. Had he not told Lestat last night that the best place for them all would be a Paris hotel, where all amenities a human could need would be available? If he was truly human now, Gregory wanted to be in a city, a place where emergency medical attention was readily available. A place where restaurants would deliver warm meals. A place where he could feel surrounded by other humans.
“We need to go to Paris,” he announced, latching firmly to the plan. “Don’t you think?” he said to Armand now, turning back toward the helipad out past the castle. “My pilot will fly us!” He pulled his phone from his pocket and managed, with frozen fingers, to send a text to the man that they were heading for the helicopter and he should too.
“No, Gregory. I don’t think,” Armand said quickly and firmly. There were a number of reasons. They had everything they needed here now, or at least enough to keep them going. Armand was afraid of leaving yet, terrified in fact. Gregory might already be ill, and Marius might be beside himself if Armand left the chateau. He might not, but he might, and Armand didn’t want to put Marius through any of that.
He kept his feet planted firmly on the ground, not letting Gregory pull him. “If you mean to go, I cannot stop you, but I will not go with you. We have medical supplies here thanks to you and to my Daniel. We have food that will tide us over. Until you’ve gained your footing, I think it is wisest to stay in the chateau. But again, the choice is yours.”
No, Gregory?
Who said no to him? Ever?
He stopped walking and turned back to Armand, brows drawn down. “You would rather stay here? In this drafty castle in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but a tiny village of laborers nearby?” How did that make sense? But if this was what Armand wanted, Gregory was not his maker, he couldn’t command him.
He drew in a deep breath, the cold air hitting his throat, then found himself coughing. Coughing! It didn’t last long. He considered making it happen again, it was such a new and interesting feeling. Then he saw Armand before him again. Pretty beneath the bright sky and the snow all around and his auburn hair framing his face. “I really don’t think we should stay, Armand. I will go alone to Paris, if you are frightened to leave. You tell Lestat and the others,” he directed. “You have my number. Call or text the minute you need anything here. I can’t stay. I’ve never been one for sitting still in fear. I have always had too much zest for life, even as a mortal man. I must experience this fully.”
Gregory placed a kiss to Armand’s cheek, perhaps lingering just a little longer than necessary because it stirred something within him to feel the warmth beneath his lips and to smell the clean scent of his hair. Oh! This would be another interesting thing to explore! For a moment, he considered staying, taking Armand up to his rooms in the castle. But there would be plenty of beautiful mortals willing to kiss and lay with him in Paris! Gregory stepped back and gave Armand a small bow, then deliberately walked toward the helicopter.
Armand put a hand to his cheek where Gregory had kissed, puzzled by it and by his response to this. He thought what he might do through just a little, when he considered that Gregory was the oldest and had been one of the most powerful among them. But he thought on his own fears. Disease and death. Gregory was ill, and his coughing had sealed his fate.
Every step Gregory took filled Armand with such a sense of dread and fear that Armand was scarcely thinking at all when he ran to Gregory, and leapt upon him and tackled him. A great exhalation of air rushed from Gregory’s lungs as he hit the ground. When he had him, Armand straddled his hips and pinned his wrists into the frozen grass with all of his might. “You cannot go,” he breathed, glaring down at Gregory with barely contained desperation.
Gregory felt shock and confusion to find himself on the cold Earth, the snow and wet soaking further into his already wet clothes. The weight of Armand was also a surprise, and to be so easily manhandled, rolled to his back and held down! This also was a thing he had not known since being a young blood drinker.
He blinked up at the image of angry angelic young male above him. He tried to laugh, as it was all so surprisingly new to feel these sensations! To feel for once that he was not entirely indomitable and in control. But he could only cough and gasp to get the breath back in his lungs. This too was a new experience, to need the air so very much!
“I surrender,” he wheezed out, suddenly very aware of Armand against him, his body awakening in some confusing ways. “I didn’t know you felt so strongly about it,” he managed to get out between another set of coughing.
The relief Armand felt was palpable, and it coursed through his whole body so that he sighed and his shoulders sagged. He moved off of Gregory and sat to the side of him, pulling him up to pat his back. “You need warmth, lots of fluids like soups and hot teas. You’re sick, I think, from sleeping in the snow. Now is not the time to be gallivanting around Paris seducing people. Maybe if this condition lasts a while for us, maybe when you’re better,” he tried to explain. Yes, he was Armand, notorious for being vicious and cold and horrible to everyone. But he cared, and when he cared, he cared. He loved almost everyone in this chateau. “Besides, Lestat will want to see you.”
Sick! Gregory scanned himself, feeling all the weaknesses this mortal body had. He’d been sick only a handful of times as a mortal and had little memory how it felt. But he’d certainly witnessed illness in mortals. Luckily, he was the CEO of a powerful medical corporation. He had many doctors available to him if it became life-threatening. This was likely a simple cold.
He gave Armand a slow smile. “I will be happy to lie in a bed for a short while and taste soups and hot liquids. But then I will be going to Paris to experience greater things.” Gregory stood quickly and tried to hide the fact that he was a little lightheaded for it. He pulled Armand up. How odd that it took an actual physical effort on his part to do so. “Let’s go to my room, order this soup from the village tavern, perhaps. Get dry clothing. Call Lestat.”
Well, it was some sort of agreement, some sort of surrender. Armand would lock the doors if he needed to once Gregory was in bed, and swallow the key, shutter the windows. He wouldn’t going to Paris after ‘a short while’ at all, until he was better and only then. But fine, Armand would play along with him to lull him into this sense of security. He pulled his phone out as they walked, trying to ring Lestat, and when he didn’t answer, he fired him off a quick text:
Gregory is also human and has some sort of head cold. I am trying to convince him to stay at the chateau and rest but he wants to paint Paris red. Any help would be appreciated.
Upstairs in the chateau, Gregory entered his rooms with Armand behind him. “Where is everyone?” he asked. Last night there were nearly two dozen vampires turned mortal left at Court. He’d only seen Armand thus far.
He stripped all his wet clothing off and left it in a pile on the parlor carpet. There was an antique full-length mirror in the bedroom and he went to it immediately, fascinated with his mortal appearance.
Armand went straight to Gregory’s clothes, straightening them out across his arm with the thought to hang them up somewhere to properly dry. Then it occurred to him that he didn’t know why he was doing this at all, picking up someone’s mess after them! He felt annoyed about it, truly, and he wondered if it were something as simple as he knew they would start to smell if they were left, or something deeper, like the way Gregory carried himself made people inclined to hurry after him like a housewife.
“Mirrors were not so clear in my time,” Gregory mused as he observed his body. He definitely would need to trim down the beard and possibly his hair. “My hair…” Gregory ran his fingers back through the black curls. “It won’t grow back so fast this time.” His skin was so dark, and not necessarily because of the sun! How amazing he looked. How handsome! Strong, virile, all male.
Gregory sneezed several times. This really put a damper on things. “I must warm myself. Perhaps a shower.” He glanced over his shoulder to Armand. “Do you want to join me?”
Armand was taken out of his thoughts by this very forward offer. He looked up at Gregory, to his hair and his face and kept his eyes where they belonged, and absolutely didn’t let them follow the expanse of his beautiful body. He didn’t know what to make of the offer or why Gregory was making it at all—did Gregory want him? Why did he want him? Did Gregory just want anyone for the sake of it? Why was he thinking about sex before even food?
Armand gave a small smile. Something told him he should resist, even when he felt attracted to Gregory. He didn’t know why. “I will ring about the village to order you a good lunch. Take your time.”
Gregory noticed then his wet clothing draped over Armand’s, like a valet or personal servant of some sort. “Armand,” he said warmly, as he took in the sight of the younger man and realized he himself was completely nude. “You do not need to wait on me. Though the companionship is welcome. I’m afraid it’s been so long since I was mortal, I don’t know entirely what I’m doing. Thank you for helping me.”
With that, he went directly to the shower and proceeded to take the steamiest hot shower his mortal skin could tolerate. The sensations were quite different from that of showering as an immortal. His hair and skin seemed to absorb the soapy products.
He wrapped a long Egyptian cotton robe about himself and considered the hair situation as he looked at his reflection in a steamy mirror. He didn’t know when they might become immortal again and was in no frame of mind to trim things short that he’d had for over six thousand years. He would wait to be more mentally aware before taking that on.
Gregory exited the bathroom and returned to the main sitting room. His body seemed tired and overly warm and the sneezing and coughing were not abating. He slumped onto the couch and watched Armand with a sort of detached feeling. “Perhaps I need medicine.”
“I’ve requested some of that too,” Armand said easily as he rubbed at the back of his neck. He’d been doing that since he’d hung Gregory’s clothes near the nearest heat vent, because he was becoming aware of the terrible ache in his neck and shoulders and arms from pushing sarcophagus lids about last night. He’d not felt an ache like it in centuries, and he thought it might never abate. “I have a maid on her way with all the best things for a head cold. I told her to pick from the stash Daniel and Thorne bought. You’ve got a few different soups coming, so you can choose, and I’ve asked for tea as well and paper tissues for your nose. Apparently they can infuse them with things to make them softer on your skin now, like—” He was rambling, he realized. Surely Gregory didn’t care about all this. He didn’t know what Gregory might care to talk about, Armand was just used to being in control of things, now that it felt like he should take control of all this. He shook his head and smiled, glancing at Gregory who looked very cozy in his robe and very handsome indeed. “It’ll all be here soon.”
Gregory returned Armand’s smile. “Is your neck hurting you? Perhaps you need to relax as well. You should have taken the shower with me. I understand hot water helps mortals with aches and pains.” Gregory patted the couch beside him. “Please sit with me. I am not stronger than you any longer. You have no need to be nervous in any way around me. Except perhaps that I probably make far more money than you, and I have far more power in the world of finance and business.” Gregory chuckled at this, not entirely serious. Although, it was completely true. How funny, that his wealth and power in the world had not dissipated one whit, yet all of his power in the immortal realm had.
“Oh, shut up. You have no idea how much I make and how much I have tucked away.” Armand cocked a brow, though he took the offer to sit beside him and at risk of catching his cold.
Gregory did have some idea of what Armand made and what he kept tucked away. He made it his business to keep track of all the business dealings and investments of those in the Court. But Armand could have some stash of wealth somewhere that he held completely separate from all his other dealings. It was the wisest thing for a blood drinker to do such.
Armand sank into the couch, rubbing the backs of his arms and trying his very best to relax. “Besides, I’m not at all nervous.” He was, certainly, but Gregory’s head didn’t need to be any fatter than it already was. He smirked a little and looked at Gregory. “Perhaps you should be nervous of me.”
Gregory raised one dark brow. “Do you feel you have some strength over me? I was in the Queen’s Guard when I was made. I was quite strong,” he boasted. “I did read your biography. Was there some physical training beyond fencing that you were doing between your studies?”
Armand wasn’t at all shaken by the dig. It had long been his way to have to defend himself with words as much as anything else, such was a result of being sculpted, at least partially, by a man like Marius. “If you have read my biography, then you will know that there are many strengths beyond the physical that one can possess, and I have certain strengths in spades. I’ve driven men to jealous, murderous rampages with my strengths,” he countered pointedly, his voice quiet as he locked eyes with Gregory and held his gaze. It was a challenge, because Gregory’s gaze had a depth and strength all its own. “Besides,” he laughed, “you are ill, and weaker for it.”
Gregory held the gaze. “Oh, yes… I recall reading about those talents too.” He wished suddenly he was not still in such shock from waking up human, and with this cold too! He would like to test out some of Armand’s talents. “I had some skill in that arena as well, though it was more with women. I’m sure we could test one another out at some point.” He gave Armand a wink.
Armand was about to quip back at the offer, but just then, Lestat burst through the door, taking him completely out of that train of thought.
Notes:
This chapter written by D and T
Chapter 36: Hiding Away
Summary:
Lestat is horrified to learn Gregory is also human now--and sick!
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The door to Gregory’s chateau suite burst open, and Lestat came stumbling in, out of breath. Gregory jumped up from the couch in surprise. He then proceeded to have a coughing attack.
Lestat caught himself against a piece of furniture as soon as he saw him—so, so human—the sight hitting him like a fist to the gut. “Oh god,” he gasped, his face contorting as if he’d crumble into tears. He’d lain down to take a nap earlier until Armand’s text woke him. Was he still asleep? Because this was a nightmare!
Armand winced internally. “I should have thought of how much this would frighten you. I myself was terrified of him leaving. But I thought you ought to know,” he explained. Under any other circumstances, Lestat’s theatrics might be amusing, but he understood them completely now. He patted and rubbed at Gregory’s back to help calm down the coughing.
After getting his breath under control, Gregory collected himself and tried to give Lestat a reassuring smile. “It’s not unexpected. I drank from you… I would have been more surprised if it had not happened.”
Lestat’s hand slapped over the bandage on his throat, his eyes going wide. “No,” he breathed. “Mon dieu! Are we poisoned?” But Gregory’s coughing had him even more concerned. “What is wrong with you??”
Closing the distance to him, Lestat pulled Gregory away from Armand and into his arms, examining him closely. Hell, he was barely recognizable! If it wasn’t for the hair and beard being the same as Lestat had seen them last night (which had been quite the surprise at the time!), he never would have guessed this was the same man as his ancient and formidable friend. There was a looseness to him…a softness that just didn’t align.
Without letting go of Gregory, he looked to Armand with gratitude. “Thank you for keeping him here. But why would he be leaving?” He looked back to Gregory. “Were you leaving? Are you mad!”
“He wanted to go to Paris immediately,” Armand explained. “To go and have fun.” He checked his phone to see how far away the order he’d placed for soup and medicine was. No fun would be had on his watch, and he had long been this way. “I think rest is the best thing.”
Gregory scowled at both of them. “I’m not suddenly a child simply because I’m mortal now. If I want to go to Paris, I can! Over half the population of this Court is in Paris already. I simply want to be near my office, the medical professionals and scientists.” Why couldn’t they see the sense of that?
Gregory sneezed and wiped his nose on his robe sleeve. “This is a little head cold or some such. I slept in the snow. Of course I got sick.” He gave a great sigh of frustration and sat back on the couch heavily. “Perhaps this seems a curse to you all, or some potentially terrible death sentence. But I have been alive six thousand years. I am experiencing all new sensations! I want to experience more of it, not hide away from it!”
Lestat took a sharp step back, glowering down at him in confused frustration. “Gregory, you’re the one who brought Greta here to tend to us. You need those inoculations, and they need time to take effect! If you’re already sick from sleeping in the snow, imagine what you could contract in the city. There aren’t even any germs in snow!”
Lestat shuddered, rubbing his hands along his arms at the visceral memory of his near-death experience from the flu and pneumonia that he caught in a single day the last time he was human. “Who told you people have gone to Paris? To the airport? They’re sure as hell not there anymore. Most of the ones who woke up here last night have just gone back to their own homes around the world, where they have the resources to keep themselves safe until we figure this out. Did the snow addle your brain? No, you’re just delirious from the hunger, the thirst; you haven’t had a morsel of food inside you for six thousand years. Look, I’m going to Paris tonight, to Fareed, and once he analyzes this, we’ll know more. Your blood didn’t heal me last night. Does that mean no vampire blood will have any effect on us? Is this state to be our doom?” Lestat had intended to keep these fears secret, but he trusted Armand and Gregory to help think through it all. “Or was it only because you had already drunk from me? We’ll test it. Tonight, as soon as the sun goes down. Come with me then if you want Paris so badly, but let Greta have her way with you first, you ancient idiot!”
It wasn’t often that Armand and Lestat’s vision of what was what lined up so perfectly, but if ever there was a time to agree on something, it was now. Armand felt very smug, in fact, to hear Lestat ranting and raving and putting Gregory in his place the way he had been trying to. Though he didn’t like the idea of either of them going to Paris later.
He was going to say something about it, but a knock came at the door and he moved to answer it, presuming the servant would have her hands full. Indeed, in she came with a tray full of soups and teas as requested, drinks with electrolytes and just plain water. There were also different types of pills, pocket tissues, a thermometer, vapor oil and lozenges, and little glass bottles with nozzles on the end. He had set it all on the coffee table before Gregory and then bid her to leave. “Is this really it? Is there really no steadfast cure for something as measly as a head cold?”
Gregory did not like being ordered around like this at all. His jaw clenched, and he couldn’t help but notice Armand had become a bit of a mother hen. “There is no cure for a common cold. There is no cure for cancer,” Gregory replied a little grumpily. “That’s entirely what my medical empire profits on.”
But here we’re all the soups and teas and interesting vials. “Yes, Greta. Is she still here? That poor woman. I will have her come up and give me the vaccines.”
“Of course Greta’s still here,” Lestat said. Former vampires who had gone out for food and supplies last night were gradually trickling back to the castle, preferring to be near friends rather than traveling to their far away homes, and Greta tended to each of them as they arrived. All the vampires who had spent the day in the crypts when this curse befell them were the ones who lived too far away to make it home by dawn after the party. Those who lived nearby like Gregory’s family, and the Paris locals, had all gone home to sleep that day and had been spared this fate. It seemed it was something about the chateau itself that was cursed. “I gave her a room to sleep in for a few hours. Let her rest, and when she wakes, she’ll jab you with all her needles.”
Gregory waved a hand absently. “Fine, fine. I’ll drink the soups, take these medicines. Sleep off the cold and vaccines for a night or two. But I don’t want to stay locked up here indefinitely. I have a company to run, and I want to throw myself into life again! If this is not a lasting thing, or even if it is, I won’t hide away from all the experiences of life.”
“We’re not hiding away.” Lestat rolled his eyes. Gregory was the one who had insisted on all these vaccines in the first place! If they took instantaneous effect, all of them would be out doing all sorts of things with all sorts of people already.
Gregory began removing lids from the cardboard containers of soup. They all smelled so inviting. What was this one, with the broth and the meat and some vegetables? He tasted it without hesitation. A burst of salty warmth and deliciousness filled his mouth. Not the deep pulsing pleasure of the blood, but a different thrill that made him want more. “This is incredible!”
Lestat cringed as he watched Gregory go so eagerly for the hot soup, afraid he’d burn himself, the painful memory of his own seared tongue still etched in his senses. But Gregory seemed fine, and he was relieved, though a bit confused how he could find anything at all satisfying in such a cup of thin salty slop. At least it didn’t involve much chewing, as that was taking them all some practice to figure out without scraping their tongues and biting their cheeks.
Gregory found some bread rolls in another container and shoved half of one in his mouth. “Have you had this incredible food yet?” He pressed a roll at Armand.
Armand looked down at it, trying to see what was so special about it. He began to eat it regardless—bread was bread, and bread was usually good, from his memory. “Some of us are hiding away,” he corrected, because he personally was too terrified to go anywhere yet. “But nobody unwell should be going anywhere.”
Gregory placed a hand on Armand’s thigh, attempting to comfort him. “You are safe, Armand. No one will force you to leave. But if you decide to try the outside world, you are welcome to stay with me. And I have the health sciences world at my fingertips for any illnesses or injuries.”
Gregory looked back up to extend the same reassurances to Lestat, but was distracted as he noticed something. “Lestat, what are those dark marks on your throat? I didn’t bite you that much.”
Lestat’s hand went to the bandage on the left side of his throat, pressing at it in a way that made the tiny wounds beneath sting. It was itchy, and he wanted to rip it off, but he wouldn’t dare risk letting the wounds get infected. But the reminder of Gregory taking his blood last night made a sensuous little shiver run through him, the way their bodies had fit together on that windy roof, the heated desire in his eyes…
But of course he knew Gregory was referring to the scattered thin bruises on the other side of his throat, and Lestat only smirked at him. “What, you think you’re the only one who likes to suck on my neck?”
Armand raised a brow but said nothing about it, simply remarking to himself about how Lestat hadn’t wasted any time. What was it, jealousy? Because Armand wanted such things too, but hadn’t had the chance yet. Well, he’d never admit it. They could all do what they wanted.
That heated look in Lestat’s blue eyes did things to Gregory’s body. Made his pulse suddenly beat a little stronger and his mind turn to some explicit thoughts. His gaze trailed over the marks on Lestat’s throat slowly as he swallowed more of the soup, licking the flavor of it from his lips.
“Who? Who latched onto you that quickly? The very first night you wake as a mortal? Certainly not Louis.” His eyes darted to the lovely Armand beside him. “It clearly wasn’t Armand. There are only so many of us here who it could be.”
Lestat laughed and turned a chair around so that he could sit in it backwards to face them, folding his arms on the top and resting his chin on them, only becoming more and more amused as Gregory rattled off names.
Each suggestion made a new fantasy flicker through Lestat’s mind of what the experience might have been like. Certainly not Louis… Now wasn’t that the truth. Louis had been practically in agony with the feelings their shower inspired in him. He was only lucky that Lestat had been so weak from hunger and thirst and blood loss that Lestat hadn’t taken complete advantage of him just for the sake of giving Louis something to truly be so ashamed of.
“Benedict, perhaps?” Gregory guessed.
Benedict…ah, what sweet tenderness that would be. Lestat recalled the flirtatious conversation he had a couple weeks ago, when Benedict had asked Lestat if he had any lovers, and how the thought that Benedict could become one had thrilled him. Benedict was such a kindred spirit, maker of his maker, Lestat was sure they could find deep rapture together, and his eyes grew a little wistful.
“Thorne and Cyril seem unlikely… Well, maybe Cyril.” Gregory laughed at the image. “Was it him?”
Lestat laughed again. Now that would be some fun! What a romp they could have together! “I should be so fortunate,” he said with a mischievous smirk.
His eyes roamed over Gregory’s face, admiring the way the muscles around his eyes moved with such human expression now. How warm and soft his brown skin looked, none of the charred hints of burning that had always sheened it before. The bit of chest he could see between the lapels of Gregory’s robe looked especially good to touch. “Why do you want to know?” he teased. “Jealous?” He paused, and then lifted a hand, adding more seriously, “It wasn’t Greta.”
Armand would give them precisely two minutes to finish this conversation and then leave them to it, and he didn’t think they’d much care if he left. It seemed absurd to him to debate this—Gregory was clearly feeding into his ego and knew that he was, and Lestat was elated by it. The only reason Armand was still sitting here was because of the strong hand that still lay upon his thigh, because of the tenderness in Gregory’s touch and in the words he’d spoken before his attention was completely swept up by Lestat.
Two minutes.
Gregory gave Armand’s leg a light squeeze as he considered the bruises on Lestat’s throat. His thumb moved absently in a circle along the outside of Armand’s thigh. “Of course not Greta. I would hope she wasn’t sexing you up while on the job.”
Lestat was a bit disappointed that Gregory hadn’t given an answer for why he even cared at all to know who had been nibbling on Lestat’s neck, and distractedly, his eyes followed the moment of Gregory’s hand on Armand.
One more minute, Armand decided. Just because Gregory’s hand had asked it so nicely of him. He didn’t know why Gregory continued to touch him, nor why his thumb ran little swirls over his leg as he thought. It was almost affectionate, and it sent little shock waves through Armand’s body. And while Gregory had shown little interest in him before, Armand needed that affection now more than ever.
Gregory drank down the rest of the soup while he considered the placement of Lestat’s marks. “Daniel was off with Thorne. Louis wouldn’t do it. I can see no reason to keep silent on it being Cyril, he could care less if everyone knew he was sucking on you. It’s not Armand. I’m coming back to Benedict… Marius wouldn’t do such a thing. He’s too uptight. Especially to have left such juvenile evidence of it.”
Lestat laughed outright and buried his face in his arms for a moment as his shoulders shook. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” But he’d known Marius long enough to be well aware of the many other sides of him beyond the persona he presented at Court, and considering how enjoyable the experience had been, Lestat could see nothing disparaging in it.
This little confession was like a stab to Armand’s heart. At first came the rage so hot, it almost blinded him. How many times did he need to tell Marius he wanted to try before he would believe it? Or did Marius just not care? Evidently not. First the dance with Benedict at the Christmas ball, and now, after not being able to make love for two thousand years, his first thoughts were not of Armand, not at all, and he couldn’t even wait one night to find his release.
How many times was Armand going to let Marius hurt him like this before he finally walked away forever? He had cried to him last night, and Marius had held him and promised him protection. Armand was livid, distraught, but he made sure that nothing in his face betrayed it. Now he felt like he couldn’t leave the room. If he left, then they would know he was affected, and how much would that satisfy Lestat? Armand felt thoroughly stuck and miserable.
To ground himself through the pain, his hand subconsciously sought Gregory’s on his thigh.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, D and T
Chapter 37: Simply Exist
Summary:
After Armand learns it was Marius who gave Lestat the bruises on his neck, he has difficult feelings to process.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Gregory stared at Lestat, mouth open.
Marius? And Lestat?
He tried to imagine it. Clearly their erotic encounter had been passionate, if Marius’s mouth actually left such bruising marks on Lestat’s throat. How did Marius get it going? Gregory felt a twinge of envy, and then a bit of anger… Or maybe it was indeed jealousy.
The feel of Armand’s hand covering his own brought Gregory back to the present moment. He turned to see the look of something like resignation on Armand’s face. He gave Armand a small smile, trying to impart some strength in it, then turned his palm over on Armand’s thigh and gave Armand’s hand a squeeze.
Taking a breath to calm his laughter, Lestat lifted his face from his folded arms, flipping his hair out of his eyes. Reaching over the back of the chair, he stole one of the cups of soup from the table and peeled up the lid to see if his senses found it at all appetizing. He was hungry again. But he’d always been hungry as a mortal boy, hadn’t he? He could never get enough.
The soup had a dark brown broth with chunks of bread floating in it and tangled onions like silvery minnows. He took an experimental sip and it definitely wasn’t the worst thing he’d tasted today.
“But why were you thinking I had been with Benedict?” Lestat asked, curious about Gregory’s earlier guess. Did Gregory know something he didn’t about any interest Benedict might have in him?
“Well, he certainly finds his way around,” Armand managed to comment without gritting his teeth as he continued to do his best to hide his internal turmoil over the fact that Marius had sought out Lestat only hours after they’d become human.
“Benedict has eyes for you. Everyone knows this,” Gregory said. He sneezed again, managing to grab some of the paper tissues from the box before him. Oh, how nice this was. There were certainly no tissues in his time. And all these fun medicines to choose from.
Lestat wasn’t sure which one to believe, Armand or Gregory. Whether it was simply that Benedict got around, or if he did actually have a particular interest in Lestat, as opposed to anyone else. Everyone ‘knowing it’ was certainly bullshit, but Lestat did consider that Gregory might have known it. He had no reason to lie. But perhaps he just meant that Benedict pretty much had eyes for everyone? He was certainly pure enough of soul to have love for all.
Lestat thought back over his morning in the village with Benedict and Louis and how withdrawn Benedict had seemed with only brief outgoing moments here and there. Lestat was certain he’d made Benedict uncomfortable at points, but he hadn’t thought much of it. Being mortal was terrifying for all of them, and he was sure he wasn’t the only one who kept bouncing back and forth between crushing despair and manic exuberance.
But anyway, necking was probably the last thing on Benedict’s—or most anyone’s—mind right now. It had only happened with Lestat and Marius because the moment had been so fraught with emotion, and they’d been alone, and it was dark, and the wine had flowed, and passion had risen, and they’d needed each other just then. Whatever amorous feelings any of them might have had for one another before Christmas were trivial now in the face of their shared tragedy. What was the point if they were all going to die?
Gregory let go of Armand’s hand finally in order to examine the medicines. What was this one, with the red bottle and the dropper top? The side of the box indicated it would help congestion and coughing. He sucked some up in the dropper and swallowed it down, but then he began coughing in earnest. “This is horrible!” he croaked out. “Why couldn’t they make it taste good?”
Armand felt his last shred of strength leave him along with Gregory’s hand, having lost the comfort of that connection. He didn’t owe him anything, and he needed his hands to take his medicine, but the thoughts came back for him as ever they did. Why did Gregory really remove his hand? Why wouldn’t he? Why would anyone want contact with an unlovable wretch like Armand? He felt, for all the world, completely and utterly alone. He could express nothing to these two, he’d seem insane. Marius couldn’t care less, and Daniel didn’t want anything to do with the daylight, so he was asleep. Louis, darling Louis, Armand wouldn’t want to confront him with a single terrible thought. So he was utterly alone at a significant time, and he felt the weight of the world crash over him so that he could barely breathe.
Lestat finished his stolen soup, then set the empty cup back on the table. “So are you coming to Paris with me to see Fareed or not?” he asked Gregory. Lestat originally planned to take Louis and Benedict with him, but now he didn’t want them anywhere near if the news was going to be revealed that they’d be stuck as human for an indefinite time—he could not allow himself to believe it would be forever, Fareed would find a solution to make their bodies react to the Blood again—but there would be no hiding it from Gregory, so he might as well come. “Cyril is driving with me, of course.”
Suddenly Armand stood. “Well, you seem to both have everything at hand here.”
Gregory got up, reaching again for Armand’s hand. “No, don’t say that you are leaving. I’m sick! At least stay awhile, until I know this medicine works.”
Armand’s eyes followed Gregory as he stood so that he went from looking downward to craning his neck to look up at him. And suddenly he was in his grasp again, and Armand was going to say something to protest it all. But he didn’t want to, not when he felt both so alone and so upset. Selfishly, he wanted this intimacy, tenderness and attention. He looked into Gregory’s deep warm eyes and thought about what to say, when Gregory was asking him so gently to stay and mind him. But then Gregory turned to speak to Lestat, and Armand didn’t have to protest anything.
“I want nothing more than to go to Paris with you tonight, but if I’m to take all these vaccines and this medicine,” Gregory said with a wave toward it all on the table, “I will be of no use. Already I am feeling weak… How odd that is. Do you two feel this? I have not been weak since I woke from the death sleep in the early 300’s.”
His chin resting on his folded arms on the back of the chair, Lestat snorted. Of course he felt weak, but there were plenty of times as a vampire he’d felt weak as well, some of them at Armand’s very hands, and he narrowed his eyes at him. How could Gregory spend 1700 years never experiencing weakness, when Lestat had been brought low so many times in a mere 250? Had Gregory even lived at all?
“Enjoy the novelty,” Lestat advised dryly. It seemed a thing Gregory would do regardless. Lestat hated this weakness. He’d seen what he could of the sunlight today in a sky covered with snowy clouds. He’d even had a bit of fun here and there, but he didn’t want this experience to be any more than a troubling dream. Six hours from now, he expected to be a vampire again, safely transformed in Fareed and Seth’s laboratory. Absently, he wondered if Gregory would have his wife be his new maker.
The exhaustion was catching up with Lestat, and he felt ready to drop off to sleep. Pushing out of his chair, he transferred to the sofa they’d both abandoned. His eyes still on the two of them, his thoughts flicked between confusion about Armand’s current attitude and the profound disappointment and existential dread at Gregory’s mortality.
“Weak? You’re tired, you both are.” Armand frowned, watching Lestat get himself comfortable on the sofa. They were all tired, and Armand’s shoulders were aching more than before from his work freeing people from the crypts last night. “There’s enough food for all, and Gregory you should try the thermometer,” he advised, removing his hand and turning away to pick it up. “I read it’s a fever if it exceeds 36.8 Celsius. Do you feel warm?” He looked back to Lestat then, wondering if this illness was something that could transfer through blood. “And how do you feel? They’re highly contagious aren’t they, head colds?”
“Well, he certainly didn’t have it last night,” Lestat said. Whatever Gregory came down with between the last time Lestat saw him and now, Lestat didn’t think he could have possibly caught. “I feel fine,” he said with a yawn as he squashed one of the couch’s throw pillows under his head and stretched out to take up the whole length, though his fingers tapped against each other with a restless energy.
Gregory took the little plastic wand from Armand. He pressed the tiny button in the middle and was delighted to see the numbers and hear a tiny beep emit from it. “What magic this is. This one little device. Look!” He held it out to both Lestat and Armand. “My company’s logo is on it!” He felt an odd sense of pride and stuck the extra-thin end in his mouth. He’d seen this done in movies and knew it went under the tongue.
As he stood over the table of supplies, he also found a bottle of something called Ibuprofen. This was a miracle medicine that he knew would help any fever he may have. He opened the bottle and dumped a few out. “You take this, Armand,” he spoke around the thermometer. “It will help your sore neck and shoulders.”
Armand popped the little tablets into his mouth. They were chalky, and he realized that he didn’t know what he was meant to do with them. Chew them? He picked up the bottle and read the instructions, that he needed to swallow them whole, but they fast became lodged in his throat where he’d not realized he needed water, and he choked a little as he reached for some. How awful and embarrassing.
Gregory gave Armand a pat on the back. The thermometer beeped and he took it out of his mouth. “It’s 38,” he announced.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me to see Fareed?” Lestat asked with concern. “He’ll have something better to treat whatever ails you than anything we can get around here.” Remembering something, Lestat craned his head back so he could see Armand again. “Oh, Daniel wants to come with me. It’s fine by me.” If there was anyone Lestat knew who was desperate to become a vampire again, it was Daniel.
Armand closed his eyes against yet another assault to his heart. He sighed, letting himself process and come to terms with it quickly, and he nodded. “He’s discussed it briefly with me. Far be it from me to keep him from such a thing.” He’d spent far too long being an overbearing force on Daniel’s life, either by stringing him along and controlling his every move, or being so absent, it jarred him and made him unable to function. No more. He wanted to be better.
Gregory waved away Lestat’s offer. “I will see Fareed and Seth soon enough. I’ll just get some rest and vaccines first.” Gregory headed for the great bed in the bedroom and threw back the covers, crawling under them.
Lestat watched him leave with a touch of longing, wishing very much that he could follow and join him in that bed, but he would not risk catching his sickness.
He sighed and let his head fall back against the cushion. He was so tired…and still hungry. He wasn’t looking forward to the four-hour drive to Paris, especially in the snow. Maybe he should just take the helicopter after all. That would give him the extra hours for a nap. Even though he’d had plenty of supplies and food delivered earlier today, Lestat didn’t want to eat anything more. It would all just be coming back out of him in a few hours, and this sort of banal hunger would never matter to him again.
His gaze shifted back to what he could see of Armand without turning his head, though his eyes were half lidded. “How have you spent your day?” he asked with genuine interest.
Armand took another swig of water to completely clear his throat, trying not to wince at the question. “I spent the morning with Marius,” he muttered. It wasn’t even Lestat he was mad at really, just Marius, but he couldn’t get past the fact that he’d spent the morning with him, tasting coffee, unassuming and unawares of what Marius had done with Lestat, feeling that he and Marius stood some sort of a chance. Idiot. “And then I simply existed for a while before Gregory awoke.”
“Simply existed… hmm.” Lestat looked toward the window and the dim wintry light filtering in, contemplating how they’d all existed today. So simply… That was really all there was to it in the end, wasn’t it?
Armand’s hand slid to the back of his sore neck and he decided to ask Lestat what he had done as well. He didn’t know why. “And I suppose you had a very adventurous day?” He was going to leave, now that Gregory was sleeping and tended to, but he was so tired himself that he sank into an armchair and sat in silence. He’d leave soon.
Lestat shook his head. “Unless you find coffee and croissants adventurous. Enjoyed being anonymous down in the village for a while. Seeing all their faces by daylight…but had to spend the hours since then on the phone with my agents for the orders we need, and doing what I can for the others all trying to get back to their home countries.” In fact, Lestat’s neck hurt a bit too from how he’d had his phone shoved to his ear with his shoulder for so long today.
He blinked a little and looked back in Armand’s direction. “You’ll stay here, won’t you? Until we know more? Don’t rush back to New York.”
Armand had closed his eyes, feeling close to dropping off himself save for the thoughts whirring through his mind. “Of course,” he said, because why wouldn’t he? Why wouldn’t he stay and cower away while his fledgling took the bull by the horns for the benefit of all their kind? He’d cowered away for centuries, after all, in the catacombs of Paris. “I scarce think I’ll be leaving the chateau at all until this business is concluded either way.”
Lestat nodded, letting his eyes fall all the way closed. “Good.” He didn’t know how he’d cope if any of his loved ones were out there in the world where any calamity at all might befall them. It was already hard enough accepting it with the many other vampires he barely knew. It seemed Lestat would leave it at that, and perhaps drop off to sleep, but then he lifted his hand, rubbing his fingers together. “And keep a phone on you at all times. One I have a number for.”
Armand didn’t respond to this, but he was glad that Lestat had spoken. It had stopped him from doing the most embarrassing thing of falling asleep in Gregory’s chair like a lap dog awaiting its owner. No, even if he didn’t have anything to do, Armand would pretend that he did. He’d already mothered Gregory enough today.
He stood, stretching his arms to try and take some of the ache from them. “I’ll find Daniel, tell him I’m okay with him going. Then I’ll go to bed and likely not get up again today.” Why did Lestat care? He likely didn’t, but it seemed more polite to say this than to just leave. “Good luck in Paris.”
Lestat on the other hand, felt absolutely no embarrassment whatsoever to fall asleep in Gregory’s room, loving him as he did. He only nodded a little with closed eyes, his hands folded over his chest. “If you see Louis, let him know I’m in here,” he murmured, not wanting Louis to have to run over the whole damn castle looking for him if he needed anything. “Or anyone,” he added, remembering in a sleepy, delayed way that other people existed who might want to find him too.
Armand nodded, watching Lestat for a short second before leaving the room. Suddenly, Armand was quite angry at him too. Lestat did whatever he wanted and went wherever he wanted, and as always, everybody was in love with him for it. That much was obvious, judging by how Marius had made it a point to immediately show it.
He checked in on Daniel before taking to his apartment, giving him an affectionate if slightly grumpy farewell. And then Armand crawled into his own bed in his own room, and indeed resolved to stay there until the next morning if he could, and indefinitely if he had his way. But not before he sent a text to Gregory’s phone, telling him to reach out if he needed anything.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, D and T
Chapter 38: Why Not?
Summary:
Still fuming over Marius and Lestat, Armand seeks comfort in an equally angry Louis, and one thing leads to another...
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Armand had been so resolved to stay in bed all day and night and be utterly miserable. But it wasn’t like so many years past, he simply couldn’t sit in a depressed stupor for that long anymore. At first, it had been his bladder, and then he was hot under the blankets. Then he was too thirsty. But he didn’t want water, of course not, because this stupid body wanted so much always.
Sometime before midnight, he left his room to find out if anything new had been added to the larder. He didn’t expect to see Louis in the corridor before he even reached the stairs, but he wasn’t an unwelcome sight. In fact, Louis might be the only person in the world just now who Armand could fathom being around.
His face didn’t light up the way it normally would to see Louis, but he walked to him and took his hand and smiled. “How are you tonight, my lovely?”
Louis looked down as the warmth from Armand’s hand enveloped his own and he marveled at the feel of it. Had Armand’s hands ever been this soft, this ardent in how they grasped his fingers, this sweet? His eyes drawn to Armand’s, Louis searched his expression and could not mistake the discontented pinch to his brow. “Better now that I see you,” he whispered quietly, squeezing Armand’s fingers and bringing his knuckles to his lips to kiss them lightly before he could help himself.
A thrill ran through Armand’s body, the very concept of touch alighting something within him. It was the fault of Marius and that audacious proposition at sunrise, especially after he’d fucked Lestat! It was the fault of Gregory’s strong hand on his thigh this afternoon, teasing without meaning to tease. And now Armand was afraid that he was back to his old human tricks as soon as he had become mortal again. Still, he pushed the feeling aside for Louis’s sake, it wasn’t fair to him.
He leaned up to kiss him chastely on the cheek and sighed. “I know exactly what you mean. What ails you? Will you come to my rooms?”
“Of course I will,” Louis said, so soft and quiet, and he followed Armand through the halls in silence, never letting go of his hand until they reached Armand’s new apartment.
“Can you not guess what ails me?” Louis said once they were safely shut away inside. “What has always ailed me since a particular dark and yes, even glorious, night in 1791?” He raked his hands through his hair to push the full length of black waves and curls back over his ears with a heavy sigh. “Lestat said we would go together, and then left alone, to Paris, for Fareed and his doctors to do whatever they do, God knows what to him! It is the terror of Amel’s extraction tenfold this time! Because we are human, are we not? And what healing does he have now! What ability to weather any hardship that might befall his body?”
Louis appeared slightly unhinged as he spoke, his expression growing ever more anxious as he imagined horror after horror. He turned in a slow circle and paced away from Armand. Armand was transfixed by him in this outburst, the beautiful pink of his skin as he ranted and the fire in his eyes, the way his lustrous black hair moved in the lamplight and the way his lovely mouth pouted as he spoke.
Louis’s steps slowed as he stood straighter again then turned back to face Armand. His panic had morphed into something else now, a more usual solemn broodiness and measured angst. “And the damned fool has already somehow, amid it all, found the time to sow indiscretion! Not even twenty-four hours a mortal, and he has the audacity to flaunt bawdy bruises where everyone can see.”
Armand scoffed. “Found time to sow it with my own maker, no less. The marks were made by Marius, Louis, and we are one and the same in our anger over the whole thing.”
Louis was struck dumb by this revelation, having never in a million years imagined the Prince and Prime Minister entangled in such a way. His cheeks burned brightly all over again with the thoughts that ran hot and cold simultaneously to envision such a thing.
Armand came close and took Louis’s hands, leading him to the bed to sit. “You know he asked me, this morning, if I would have sex with him? Even had me sucking caramel syrup from his finger. Sometimes I think he does things simply to hurt me.” He shook his head, trying to focus on the first half of Louis’s concerns now. “Remember, Fareed was a doctor to humans before anything else, Louis. He knows the gentleness it takes to care for them, you can be comforted by that at least.”
Louis shook his head and tried to focus on Armand’s hands, on his assurance that they could all count on Lestat being perfectly taken care of. Fareed and Seth had raised Victor, after all, Armand was right. Lestat would be seen to with the utmost care.
But then Louis’s mind snagged suddenly as what Armand previously said caught up to him. Asked to have sex with him? His gaze snapped up to Armand’s. “Who! Caramel? What!” he blurted, blinking and squeezing Armand’s hands. Louis felt half faint and dizzy. Had Lestat asked Armand these things??
Armand was about to tell Louis to breathe. He could see him going redder by the moment, and it was so easy for them to forget to breathe, but he was thrown by Louis’s concern on the matter. “He’s such a devil,” he muttered. “Marius had me licking caramel from his finger rather than allowing me to try it from the pack, and I did it, because apparently I will blindly do anything he asks of me.”
Louis drew in a breath with the bold confirmation that Armand had been speaking of Marius, not Lestat, relieved for himself but sympathetic all at once for Armand.
Armand felt himself growing hotter, the anger within him flaming anew as he thought back over his morning with Marius. “He can lay waste to me body and soul with a single word, and he knows it, and I hate how he plays with my heart,” he confessed. He didn’t know if Louis knew, if any of them knew quite how deep it still went. But Armand didn’t care anymore, none of them could now hear each other speak from rooms away or know each other’s thoughts, and he trusted Louis.
Louis enfolded Armand’s shoulders in his arms and held onto him tightly. “It is the same for me, and I know that Lestat knows it to be this way for me, which only causes him to tease all the more so.” Louis held Armand close as they sat side by side on the bed, his palm flat on Armand’s back, rubbing in a slow and comforting circle. “I well know the taste of shame that you describe. I want to tell you to forget the feeling, to give yourself over it, even when I know I would outright refuse to tell myself the same.”
“I can’t let go of it, Louis,” Armand whispered, eyes drawn away as his face burned with anger. He cast his mind further over his morning with Marius, how utterly in love with him he’d been, with his every word and movement. And now Armand had to go on this date tomorrow night, look him in the eye…
No, he didn’t.
Marius didn’t deserve such a thing. Oh, what an idiot he had been, falling into him so quickly again! “I’ve done nothing wrong. It isn’t shame, it’s anger. But I’m making it so much about me.” He moved his hand down Louis’s arm, squeezing gently and looking into his eyes.
“It concerns us both,” Louis insisted. “And the men we wish we did not love.” He stared back at him, their eyes locked. Armand’s gaze was so full of turmoil, his humanness giving him a look of vulnerability that his vampiric nature had all but hidden before. Barely a young man he was now, all youth and beauty. It suddenly made Louis want to protect him, a feeling that was new and shocking. Louis bent to kiss the side of Armand’s head, his lips buried in soft reddish curls. He couldn’t help but inhale the scent of him.
Armand inhaled, soft and sudden. The intimacy from Louis was always welcome, but in this moment, there was something even more to it. Armand was so high-strung physically from his encounter with Marius, from Gregory’s hand on his thigh, that he was so easily and suddenly aroused now, just by the closeness and the feeling of Louis’s lips in his hair.
“Lestat sees it all as frivolous fun—a holiday of sorts, I would wager.” Louis couldn’t help but imagine Lestat now, in all his glory, his smugly confident smile. ‘Why not!’ he might say with a laugh, and then give himself over to whatever presented itself simply because it was there. Louis fumed all over again to think on it.
“Why not?” Louis whispered, echoing his thoughts. “Why not simply give yourself over to it?” Louis leaned back and looked at Armand again, staring at him as if almost pleading for him to pronounce that he likely would do it, so that Louis would not feel so equally angry when he knew his own fate was also inevitably sealed.
Armand tried to push his arousal down, not wanting to take advantage of Louis like this, so he didn’t move to act on the feeling in any way. He just spoke, the blood rushing to his cheeks and to his cock. “It isn’t fair, that they get to have so much fun and play with our hearts like this. Why should they be the only ones to have this fun? Why should we care?”
“We shouldn’t,” Louis agreed. “Shouldn’t care.” But perhaps they should attempt such fun of their own. Why shouldn’t they, after all? Though to think on it, imagining himself in such a predicament as that which Marius and Lestat had gotten up to, had Louis’s cheeks burning to match the red hue of Armand’s.
Louis let out another breath of a sigh, his brows furrowed. Bothered as he was, he was both angry at the situation with Lestat and Marius, and yet, inevitably, somewhat aroused all the same. So like him to be trapped always in dichotomy.
Louis couldn’t have stopped his gaze from roaming over Armand’s form if he’d tried. His dark auburn curls framed his eyes so beautifully, the curve of his neck and shoulder beneath his clothing enticing in ways completely different from how they had been in the Blood. God above, he was lovely, Armand, the very picture of glowing blushing youth, so clearly a young man now that he was mortal.
A new and predatory rush gripped Louis as he stared, and his anger melted just a little, the space it left filling instead with something else, somewhere between complacency and curiosity.
“I know that Lestat has no real master scheme to torture me,” Louis admitted. “He is simply doing what he always does, living for the moment, spontaneous and unfettered, chasing every pleasure he can manage. I cannot fathom being half so carefree, half so soon.” Louis shook his head. “And yet I cannot help but feel neglected in the wake of it. As much as I might try to dissuade him from it, how can I not want it?” He whispered these last words, one hand toying at the curve of Armand’s hip, the other slipping up to cup his face, his thumb caressing his cheek in a small slow circle.
Armand let out a low breath, surprised by these ministrations. It was a very rare and very beautiful thing when Louis pursued him, wanted to touch and be near him in any way. He had learned never to encourage it or mention it, as if a whisper would frighten the intimacy away.
“I can’t say the same. Part of me thinks Marius does this deliberately to hurt me. But you’ve always been a better person than I, able to put things into perspective and see the why’s and how’s. Louis…” Armand trailed off, Louis’s hand on his hip driving him crazy. He was reminded again of the taste of caramel on Marius’s skin, Gregory’s hot hand upon his thigh, and he was worked up quickly enough that he was ashamed to admit it.
His one hand went to Louis’s neck and held him there, fingers resting just under his jaw. And what a beautiful jaw it was, with a manliness Armand never thought to possess.
Maybe he would someday now.
“I want it too, desperately. I wasn’t thinking about it yesterday when we first became like this; I was so tired from helping to free people. Now I can’t stop thinking about it, and everyone here is so beautiful. You are so beautiful, as always, but you have to know that.”
Still and silent, Louis’s eyes slid from Armand’s to his plush lips. Slowly, and with careful measure, Louis leaned closer until their mouths were mere centimeters apart. He hovered there a moment more, breath ghosting, then he closed the distance, pressing a tentative and slow kiss first to one corner of Armand’s lips then the other just as slowly, agonizingly slow. Louis’s bated breath, so quiet yet sounding ever more urgent and rapt, was the only indication he was affected in any way physically by these actions.
Armand sighed, so strangely relieved and aroused all the same as Louis kissed him, and then as those kisses became a little more solid. They could have this, couldn’t they? Maybe they shouldn’t debase themselves by completely surrendering as an act of revenge, but they could have this. He held Louis by the shoulder, gripping gently to ground himself through the flames of arousal that just this little kiss ignited, before parting his lips and catching Louis’s entirely with his own.
A muffled sound escaped Louis, not unlike a moan, stifled between the press of their kiss. Louis drew in a sharp breath through his nose and pressed Armand backward without warning in one smooth slow and strong motion, so that he was on top of him. Armand’s back to the mattress, Louis’s weight pressing down on him, their legs were suddenly entangled, yet still halfway off the bed. Louis opened his mouth, pressed his tongue to delve between Armand’s parted lips. His sweet taste, the scent of him alone was enough to drive Louis mad with want, and his arousal was more than evident in this position atop Armand. Armand’s own excitement, too, was fully palpable between them and Louis shivered, forcing his arms around and beneath Armand to draw their bodies impossibly closer still.
Armand gasped, taken by Louis’s sudden forwardness. What a rare and wonderful thing to have his attention in such a manner. His legs came up to frame Louis’s waist on instinct as he felt Louis’s hardness against him. And the hunger in this kiss! He returned it, breathless, feeling thoroughly plundered. He moved his hands to Louis’s sides and then to his back, glad to have such a solid weight between his legs.
Louis’s hips moved of their own accord, a familiar slow dance of desire, grinding into Armand, not unlike the subtle motions he was prone to when taking blood. “Why shouldn’t we?” he echoed, the words muffled between their lips, his hands sliding along Armand’s back, moving lower still to cup his backside, bringing their hips flush in time to accompany his slow thrusts. Rutting against Armand like this felt bawdy in a way that only made it more deliciously forbidden, and Louis broke their kiss so that he could bury his face to Armand’s neck, plying his head sideways with the force of his lips to nibble and suck gently along Armand’s throat to his shoulder. Louis was not one to leave marks, soft and gentle in his attentions, agonizingly slow and deliberate in every motion.
Armand closed his eyes and cursed as Louis mouthed at this most erogenous part of him, as he ground against him with such breathless desperation. He felt like he might stop breathing altogether with how heavily his chest was rising and falling beneath Louis’s weight, how wildly desperate he felt himself to find pleasure with Louis. He met him thrust for thrust, fingers moving to the hem of Louis’s sweater, before something made him pause.
Why shouldn’t we?
He could not believe he was about to say this, do this. He could not believe he was about to push Louis away. “Because we shouldn’t,” he breathed, wrapping his legs tight around Louis and pulling him close to continue that delicious pressure regardless. “I mean we should, but we are not in our right minds. Frustrated and angry at our bastard makers. I love you too much to continue this out of pettiness. I want to do it later, sometime soon, when we are both delighted and can take real care with one another.”
Louis barely heard Armand’s words, hardly registering their cautionary nature for how satisfying the crush of their bodies felt in the face of their mutual pining. He nuzzled into Armand’s neck, aroused beyond reason, his teeth grazing Armand’s clavicle. Impossibly slowly, Louis’s mind’s synapses finally fired and connected enough to put sound into words and words into coherent thought and feeling.
Damn. Armand was right. This was all wrong, and not for a lack of love between them, nor care. It could and should rightly be so much better than bitter resentment and revenge-fucking, shouldn’t it?
Louis sighed against Armand’s throat, his hands ceasing their roaming, his body losing its momentum and rigidity. This didn’t stop him from clinging to Armand, his arms wrapping about him as he held him close, more for want of comfort and less from wanting an outlet for his lust this time.
“All right,” Louis breathed. “You’re right, of course,” he murmured, then lifted his head to look at Armand, dipping their faces close so that he could press a kiss to Armand’s cheekbone and then his brow softly. And then finally, with great effort, Louis pulled away, rolling to the side so that they were flush shoulder to shoulder, their legs only slightly overlapping. Louis stared at the ceiling and tried to will himself back from the edge of the arousal cliff he’d been about to pitch himself over.
Armand himself couldn’t speak for a while. He was afraid that anything said or done would upset the balance in the room and send them right back at each other. He too kept his eyes up on the painted ceiling, panting, his heart rate gradually resting, and then he reached to lace his fingers with Louis’s. “I love you, I really mean it.” It felt pertinent to say. He felt almost guilty, even though Louis had agreed, for pushing him away.
Louis turned his head, taking in the sight of Armand’s profile, his delicate lashes, his pained and worried expression. “I love you too,” he whispered, wrapping his fingers about Armand’s palm and squeezing. “We will make it through this, somehow, someway.”
At this Louis rolled closer to him and pressed a kiss again to Armand’s hair and brow. Then he reached to smooth Armand’s clothes, righting them about his waist and neckline for how the fabric has been mussed haphazardly to bare his skin in places not usually seen. Armand allowed this, and combed Louis’s hair back into his place with his own delicate fingers. When he was satisfied, Louis sat up, a slight grunt for the effort with how unbelievably aroused he’d been without release.
Armand propped himself up on his elbow. He almost reached out for Louis again but didn’t, because he didn’t trust himself not to start this whole thing all over again. “One way or another,” he agreed with a small sigh.
Louis glanced back over his shoulder at the perfect picture Armand made, lounging, so effortlessly desirable just by existing. Louis stood then, straightening his own clothing and retucking his shirt tail.
“I shouldn’t stay,” he explained, the awkwardness palpable, though it couldn’t be helped. “I want to, but you’re right, of course. We shouldn’t. And if I stay…” His words trailed off, and Louis bent and took Armand’s hand in his own, kissing his knuckles softly with a gentlemanly air about him despite how badly he wanted to pin Armand to the mattress and claim him.
“Later, when it’s right, when we aren’t so upset.” Louis let Armand’s hand slip from his own, stepped backwards a few paces and then left before his impulses could win out and make him do something they both wanted but was better left to more steady emotions.
Notes:
This chapter written by T and K
Chapter 39: An Absolute Lie
Summary:
When Marius comes to pick up Armand for their date, Armand has a bone to pick instead.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Marius was always a meticulous groomer, but he was especially mindful of his appearance tonight as he, inexperienced as he was at dating, needed to present not just well, but as attractive. He showered, combed his long, almost white hair until it was silky smooth and nicely, naturally curled at the ends. He selected dark colors for the evening, black slacks made to fit his body, hugging his backside and muscular thighs. The dark shirt was fitted too, tight over his broad shoulders and chest, but molded to the lean taper of his waist. He selected a few modest, though priceless, rings, his Patek Philippe watch, and a blue-gray overcoat. He topped it off with a cologne both woodsy and floral in scent.
Studying his outfit from every angle to make certain it complimented his body, he made sure he looked flawless. All of his clothing was custom made to his measurements. Designer clothing was usually tasteless and unimaginative; Marius preferred bespoke. He knew he looked handsome, but that was really up for Armand to decide. He slipped the reading glasses he’d acquired that morning into his pocket just in case, and went downstairs to collect Armand for their night.
Armand wasn’t wearing anything so fancy. Armand was in his pajamas. He’d finally managed to get some sleep, but woke up still as angry as the night before, and it had only grown over the day, so that he didn’t know if he could commit either way to this thing they were meant to do. His only hope had been for Marius to forget about the date altogether until Armand could decied what to do with him, but it was never going to happen.
He was just as angry as he knew he’d be to hear a patient knock at his door. He looked at his clock. 17:00. Hm. He had every mind to ignore Marius and not to say whether he could come in or not, but better to get this over with. He sighed, moving from his bedroom to the main parlor of the apartment Lestat had given him to open the door. He was even more furious at how disgustingly good Marius looked. How well dressed and how stylishly handsome. He had the thought that Lestat would have never been able to resist it, which made it all the more insulting.
Armand raised a brow, folding his arms. “Yes?”
Marius was so utterly perplexed at the sight of Armand in his sleepwear, that he failed to notice the seriousness of his stance at first. Not that Armand didn’t look absolutely stunning even in pajamas. It was still a strange choice for a night out. Naturally, Armand couldn’t have forgotten their date.
Marius pulled his sleeve up and glanced at his watch to make sure he hadn’t confused the time, but it seemed he had come at the right hour. Still, there could be some error in communication, which was plausible. It was best to be polite about it just in case. “Am I early?” he asked, tilting his head, forehead drawing into a confused expression.
“No.” Armand really couldn’t bring himself to say more than one word at a time in case he exploded, and he was a hair’s breadth away from that already. He placed one hand on his hip, drumming his fingers over it, and he could almost laugh for how audacious Marius was with his confused little expression and his well-fitting clothes. “Something’s come up, and I don’t think I’ll be making it. But I’m sure you can invite someone else, no?”
Marius marveled at the absurdity of the obvious lie. He was torn between being offended and annoyed, feeling the impact of both emotions and growing upset. But he fought not to show it until he fully understood what was exactly happening. “Something so important it requires sleepwear?” Surely anything important enough to cancel would be more important than sleep.
He crossed his arms over his broad chest and frowned. “And if something did ‘come up,’ I would think you’d have the decency to notify me ahead of time.” Armand had tact and was raised well, so Marius knew this slight was intentional. “I don’t appreciate being lied to. If you’ve changed your mind, Armand, at least have respect enough to cancel properly.” It stung that Armand prioritized something else over this, and the disappointment Marius felt made him bitter.
“We’re truth seeking?” Armand quipped, patience hanging by a thread as Marius threw such vicious accusations around. How dare he. How dare he condescend to him when he was the one who had committed the terrible offense. “I don’t appreciate you propositioning me as an afterthought. You’ve fucked me about before, Marius, but this is a record even for you. What was it, three hours? Can’t have been more than seven. Record time for me, too, surrendering to you. Ridiculous!”
Marius stared down at Armand with unblinking eyes, disliking his tone of voice and the boldness with which he made his accusations. This was entirely too public for his liking, so he pushed past Armand into his quarters and closed the door behind him.
A clever man by nature, Marius had an inkling of what Armand was referencing, but it was best to be cautious. After all, why would Armand care? Yet, he did obviously. But why?
Propositioning as an afterthought. That seemed the most important hint as to why Armand was angry with him. Marius straightened his back and stripped off his coat because he was feeling terribly hot and suffocated. “I didn’t proposition you as an afterthought, Armand. I didn’t proposition you first because I assumed you wanted nothing of the sort from me. I don’t know if you’ve taken note of your behavior and attitude toward me, but you appear to, most of the time, barely tolerate my company.”
“What an absolute lie!” Armand snapped, so exasperated that he threw his hands into the air as if to beg God for the strength. “Because I’m not falling at your feet? I can’t tolerate your company, Marius, because if I let myself, I get hurt. This happens! How many times do I need to tell you? I told you when you came to Trinity gate that I—” He cut himself off, so frustrated that his breathing was uneven. What was the point of trying to communicate it once more when it fell on deaf ears? He wanted to scream. “Could you not have held off, just on this?”
Confronted with the force of Armand’s anger, Marius had to also confront the fact that he had mismanaged something far more important than he’d anticipated. Did it matter to Armand so much that he wasn’t Marius’s first sexual encounter as a mortal? Well, obviously. Which made it starkly apparent that Armand wanted, maybe even minimally—no, not minimally; he wouldn’t be so upset over a small desire—a sexual relationship with him. Or at least the chance to explore whether he did without Marius wandering to others.
But his pride, his very honor, reeled at Armand’s boldness to speak to him in this way. “I’m not lying, Armand.” He couldn’t impart his sincerity enough and didn’t know if Armand would believe it anyway, especially now. “It’s just sex. I just wanted…” No, Armand wouldn’t want excuses. Waste of breath to try. “Rather, I didn’t think it was important to you. I assumed you’d prefer sleeping with Daniel, your current companion. Or Louis, a more meaningful and important relationship than me.” It might sound stupid to Armand, but it was the truth.
“Louis, more meaningful than you?” Armand asked in a low, disbelieving voice, through gritted teeth. “Anyone, more meaningful than you! Who found me and molded me and created me to find you the perfect specimen! You say these things because you want me to say those things. You play with me, you—” He struggled to think of a good enough insult, one that would satisfy his anger. “Horse’s arse!” Well, it felt good, whatever it was, but his hand was itching to strike, so he turned away to clear his head.
It didn’t work.
He turned back on his heels and smacked Marius square across the face, surprised at himself that he had done it and that Marius hadn’t halted his arm in time. “Arse! Go and ask Lestat to go to dinner!”
Marius didn’t know which stung more, the crass insult or the sharp slap that left his cheek feeling hot and sore. He struggled painfully with his anger, because he knew how vicious he could be when he let it take over. Anger made him say and do things he regretted, and he was in a precarious place, delicately at the edge of Armand’s last good grace.
But he knew he wasn’t ‘playing’ with Armand as he accused, and he knew there was no one on earth he wanted like he wanted Armand. It struck him as a bit odd for Armand to declare Marius had raised him to find himself the most attractive, as if it weren’t a matter of Armand’s natural tastes and desires, but instead something he was forced to feel, given no choice in. Manipulation and compulsion, not attraction at all. He’d ponder that later. But it filled him with so much uncertainty, and that uncommon emotion filled him with anxiety, which fed his last nerve.
“Get dressed, Armand,” he said in a low, stern tone. “Go in your closet, select something nice, and get dressed, or else we will be late.”
Armand frowned, too stunned to speak. He’d just told Marius no, that he wasn’t going. He’d just struck the man! What was he playing at by trying to push for this night to continue? Something in Armand wanted to relent and submit to the command, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Marius and Lestat together, and the rage and jealousy it filled him with.
“Why?” he pushed after a moment. “Why do you want this so badly?” Armand didn’t want flattery and lies, he just didn’t understand. Once he understood, then he would tell Marius no again.
As it was, Marius was too angry for flattery, which he gave in abundance when sweetened. He touched his cheek again, which felt less warm, but still hurt. Such a strong boy. It emboldened him a bit that Armand didn’t outright reject him, and that there was no hint of direct defiance in his question. “Because I want you, Armand,” Marius said, direct and to the point, though he knew Armand might doubt him solely on the basis of his tryst with Lestat. He squared his shoulders as if expecting a fight, not needing to summon further courage to persist, as he rarely lacked in it.
Armand looked up at him again, folding his arms. His expression was unreadable as he registered and tried to categorize Marius’s answer in his head. Even if it were true, it was secondary. Even if it were true, it was apparent that Armand was just some sort of conquest. Perhaps at best, a way for Marius to see if he could have him just because he wanted him, before moving on to others. Armand wanted to trust him, but he simply couldn’t. Yesterday’s fantasy seemed so far away now.
He scoffed and moved into the bedroom, not knowing what he could say or do now. Part of him hoped Marius might leave, but even so, he still found his eyes drawn to his open wardrobe, considering.
Marius didn’t want to force Armand to spend this night with him. He couldn’t really see a way to salvage a date out of this, but they had the responsibility to go as it was last minute. Reservations needed a twenty-four hour cancellation notice. But it was understandable if Armand needed to cancel despite that.
As a single man, Marius hadn’t imagined himself physically or emotionally attached to anyone, and hadn’t thought others might expect otherwise of him. Did Armand expect him to sit around celibate and alone until the boy decided what he wanted, feeding Marius the equivalent of physical and emotional crumbs to sustain any need he had?
It didn’t matter. Armand was hurt. And the tiny progress Marius had made was obliterated. His unforgiving child wouldn’t let this pass, it seemed. Marius bit back a sigh and tried to think through his crushing disappointment, reminding himself these emotions he felt suffocated by did not matter, because how he felt was inconsequential.
“I’m sorry for ruining your night,” Marius said, and he meant it. He strode into the bedroom and went to Armand’s closet, reaching inside. “Still, you made a commitment, and you must go,” he insisted as he flipped through shirts. “You don’t have to go with me. Louis, perhaps?” Daniel was still in Paris with Lestat and Fareed. “Or Bianca. She would be overjoyed by any invitation from you. I’ll still drive you to the restaurant, of course.” Marius wanted none of that, but this wasn’t about the things he did or didn’t want. It was the least he could do.
“I won’t go with anyone else, I’m hardly in the mood,” Armand sighed. He didn’t know whether or not to feel frustrated that Marius had just walked straight to his closet to pick out clothes for him. “We have enough money to sweeten the deal if we cancel, or I’m sure Bianca would be delighted to go with you. She is half in love with you, you realize.”
Marius wanted to insist it had nothing to do with the money, it was the principle of canceling and a matter of responsibility. And Bianca was certainly not in love with him, not even partly. And, further, he didn’t care whether she was or wasn’t. He already had his heart set on a thing, unfortunately, a love he didn’t think he was fated to have. Marius wanted Armand so completely that there was little room for anyone else to maneuver their way into his heart. He loved his fledgling too much to treat him poorly over this.
Armand stared at the back of Marius’s head, unable to get over his own very bitter disappointment. Even now, in his horrible righteous anger, he wanted to forget it all and say they should still go. They’d both been looking forward to tonight so much.
He gave a heavy sigh, a very heavy sigh, the weight of his thoughts driven into it as he continued to glare at Marius. “And I wasn’t going to wear a shirt, if we went.”
Fingering a slip of soft fabric, Marius looked over his shoulder with a faint, kind smile. “Oh?” It didn’t matter, since they weren’t going, but he was curious. “What would you have worn?”
Armand figured it wouldn’t hurt to show him, angry as he still was and very hurt. He could sit and mope about it and let it consume him, or he could think about clothes instead. That had been a good outlet for him for a while.
He stood and walked to the wardrobe, picking out the cream turtlenecked sweater and brown chinos he’d been planning to wear. “With a belt as well, probably,” he mused, though he felt very silly doing it. Why should Marius care at all about this? It was sad, really, they would have looked incredible together. It filled Armand with a whole new bout of sadness and anger both as he looked at Marius’s ensemble. But really, out of the two of them, he was already dressed and so he should be the one to go.
Marius took the sweater in one hand and the pants in the other, holding them up to see how the colors complimented the earth tones of Armand’s eyes and hair. The cream of the top emphasized the rosy color of Armand’s full cheeks, which was a very lovely sight to behold.
He lowered the garments enough for Armand to take them back. “Splendid, of course,” he complimented. “Now, please get dressed so that we may leave. Don’t consider this a date, if you prefer. Though if you do, please.”
“Marius,” Armand sighed, frustrated that he kept pushing for it. “I’m very upset, I’m hurting.” Didn’t that matter to him? Wasn’t that more important than some poxy restaurant’s reservation? Well, why should it be? Again, it was always about procedure, always about duty. Armand wanted to push back against this so much, because he wanted to try to have self respect. But beyond that, deep deep down under the layers of stubbornness and independence, he was almost glad that Marius was forcing this. He sighed, taking the clothes to put them on.
“Yes, I know how you feel, Armand.” How could Armand not understand that Marius had listened to his feelings and cared? Marius might have a lot of flaws, but he didn’t lack in empathy, and despite what others said, he was emotionally mature. “And I am sorry. I didn’t realize we were in any sort of exclusive relationship. I suppose you’ll have to spare me any further confusion and simply state what you expect from me. And then likewise, once we’ve clarified your stipulations and expectations, I will tell you mine. But I do promise I won’t be intimate with others going forth.”
“I’m not asking you for that,” Armand assured, moving to the privacy of the bathroom to get himself dressed, though he still wasn’t very happy about it. He looked in the mirror, half dressed, and twirled a lock of hair to get it to sit right. And then he looked at the whole picture. He was acting as young as he looked, even if he felt all of these things so strongly. If he wanted to be taken seriously, he would need to at least try to talk. That was what he could never do was talk.
“I am not expecting it,” he said through the half-open door. “I am not hurt because you did this, I am hurt because…” He took a deep breath, wanting to communicate but feeling very stupid and vulnerable for it. “I had expressed to you in New York that I had wanted to try to reconcile. And then there was Benedict, and then this. It happened so soon, it was as if you hadn’t thought of me. I am not angry that you had sex with Lestat, I am just angry that I wasn’t the first. We are not in any sort of exclusive relationship, I know that, I am okay with that. But part of me wanted to…try…to be in some kind of one. Or if not that, then at least learn to be around each other and enjoy each other.”
It sounded very easy, but Marius knew things were far more complicated than they seemed. “Reconciling means to settle a dispute, establish harmony, or become amicable. I thought you meant we were going to try to be…oh, perhaps friends?” It had seemed a stretch at the time to assume that included intimacy. He left Benedict out of the discussion. It was clear to most everyone that Benedict was entirely enamored with Lestat. The little monk was only being polite to Marius, and vice versa, as Prime Minister, Marius wanted to make him feel included in their coven.
But jealousy wasn’t always rational and logic wouldn’t matter. Marius would just be mindful to keep his interactions with Benedict very casual and always public to avoid rumors or assumptions. And it would be in horrid taste to point out that he’d thought of Armand quite a lot during the sex with Lestat, and desired him completely. Until this point, he’d kept his back turned to give Armand privacy, but he slowly turned around to catch sight of Armand in the bathroom and watch him.
“Are you really going to use dictionary definitions to settle this?” Armand asked softly, both reproachful and fond in his tone. He was totally dressed now, and leaning close into the mirror, checking something that looked like the very humble beginnings of a pimple. Horrific. Hopefully he’d have at least tonight for it to leave him alone.
He caught sight of Marius in the mirror, locking eyes with him. “We were never just friends. In fact, we weren’t ever friends, were we? There was too much of a power imbalance. By reconcile, I meant to be…as we were.” He turned around, leaning against the sink on his palms and watching Marius through the doorway.
Marius realized long ago he was entirely too pedantic for most people’s tastes. He shrugged his shoulders in reply, not willing to spoil Armand’s grace by defending his intellectual tendencies. “I’m not used to this,” he said softly.
“None of us are used to it,” Armand replied. “This is a strange and scary thing to have to navigate. Emotions mean different things now, don’t you think?”
Marius stepped into the bathroom and put his hands onto the sink counter, gripping the marble beside Armand’s hands. With his size and the cage created by his body and long arms, Armand was effectively trapped. While he was certainly mortal, and much weaker for it, Marius still had an obvious size and strength advantage. “We don’t have forever anymore, and we can’t afford to wait for the things that we want. You are young. You have many years. I don’t.”
Armand stared up at him, eyes wide and expression without mirth. Marius was effortlessly charming, and so it was very difficult to resist him when he was actually trying. And he must know precisely what he was doing by caging him in like this, exactly what sort of instincts he was awakening within Armand. Being so close to him and in such a compromising position set all of his senses alight in the best way.
He pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the sink, slightly more eye level as Marius’s words sank in. Armand didn’t like it, the notion that Marius might die so much sooner than he would. Forty was not tremendously old in this day and age though, in fact, it was really very young. They had time to figure this out, and Marius would be just as dreadfully handsome if they never came back to immortality and if he became elderly. Armand would love him all the same, he knew it.
“Well,” he breathed, leaning close, then closer still as if he might kiss Marius. Of course he wouldn’t, not yet, so after a moment of locking eyes with him, Armand moved to whisper into his ear. If Marius was going to try to tease him in some unfair way, Armand could play at this too. “Let’s not waste any more time, then.”
Marius leaned into Armand’s whisper, knowing his fledgling would be intoxicated by the heat of his body and the smell of his cologne just as he was by the way he could nestle into the fragrant pillow of the boy’s hair. He nudged Armand’s knees open with his hips and slipped between them, but he kept just a few inches of space between their bodies. Now that he knew Armand wasn’t seeking a casual relationship, he understood that he had fewer boundaries than he’d thought. And it stood to reason that Armand wasn’t intending to wait around too long to go further. Even if he wasn’t ready yet. Which was part of the reason Marius didn’t press his hips into Armand. That, and the thought of even his soft cock between Armand’s perfect, clothed thighs was too much. It was too arousing. Any friction would drive him to madness, and he’d have to have Armand that very moment.
For Armand, it was blinding and all encompassing, the tension between them in the interim of speech. With their breath almost labored and little space between them, Armand felt like even the slightest move, even to touch Marius to push him away would be their downfall. He felt like he could barely breathe with Marius between his thighs, and he closed his eyes and had to put every ounce of his strength into not moving.
Armand’s breath was impossibly hot and wet, and Marius made a low noise like a soft growl in his throat. That sound made it so much worse, so much harder, and without even thinking, Armand inhaled Marius’s cologne, just below his ear. He had to illicit his own soft moan then. Before, there might have been the scent of blood, where now, there was an intoxicating musk that drove Armand near to madness. He felt like he might even be trembling.
Resisting the urge to suck on the delicate shell of Armand’s ear felt impossible, but Marius wasn’t going to be the sort of man who gave into his lusts easily. It took every ounce of his self control, though, to keep his hands to himself, and he knew Armand had to know this. In fact, all he wanted to do was drop to his knees and pleasure his precious child within an inch of sanity. But he knew he had to wait, didn’t he? He wasn’t so hungry for food anymore, but the date was important. It just didn’t help that with every second he lingered, Marius was getting aroused, and he didn’t try to hide it from Armand. Even though, yes, he’d have to work harder in self-control. His body, new to these mortal reactions, felt entirely too much like an over-eager boy, and Marius was quite uncomfortable with that.
“Let’s go before I change my mind with what to do with you tonight,” he decided.
Armand hummed, somewhere between a purr and a whine as the threat came so low in his ear. “Move, then. Please. I have to get my coat, and you need to tell me what expectations you have of me.”
Somehow, Marius took enough steps back to give Armand room to slide off the counter and move past him without the two of them brushing. He followed a few steps behind to retrieve the coat he’d thrown over a chair and slip it back on, fixing and flattening the collar as he kept walking to the door. He considered this a victory, as Armand had gone from grumpy and sullen in his pajamas to dressed and trembling inside his arms. Marius wasn’t weighed down by the uncertainty he’d been afflicted with earlier, because he knew what the boy wanted, at least to a small degree. It was better than where he was.
“Tonight, my expectation is that you forget…” Marius waved his hand. “Here and this.”
Armand didn’t know what he meant by ‘this.’ Did Marius want him to forget the fight? The chateau altogether? Or did he want him to forget the encounter they’d just had? Unlikely, but he could see the wisdom in it—their whole night would be dominated by the tension between them if they didn’t try to forget it and talk the night away. He frowned as he thought, before nodding and slipping his shoes on.
Just before they left, Armand put on a few dabs of his own cologne, just under his jaw on either side. “Very well, I’ll try to forget. But going forward, what are your expectations?”
Marius slowed his stride to let Armand catch up, falling into step beside him. He ran his hand up Armand’s back between his shoulder blades, slipping under the feathery fall of his delicious curls, wrapping his hand warmly around the back of Armand’s neck. But his smile was sweet, and he didn’t grip too severely, not wanting Armand to think it was an angry or corrective gesture. “Why don’t we discuss that when we see how this night goes?”
Marius knew he could easily spoil the whole night simply by acting like his normal self. Pandora has warned him to ‘be nice,’ though he thought he was always nice. She also said to avoid being too serious, too Marius, which was wholly insulting.
With his tender hold, he led Armand to the chateau’s underground garage where his sleek Aston Martin stayed housed for the rare occasions he used it.
Notes:
This chapter written by B and T
Chapter 40: Protected
Summary:
The prospects for their newly begun relationship are looking promising as Armand and Marius embark on their first venture away from the Chateau since becoming human.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Why don’t we discuss those when we see how this night goes?” Marius had said about his expectations of Armand for this new phase in their relationship with each other.
Armand didn’t like this idea, that it was all conditional. It made him feel like if he failed at this date in some way, Marius would punish him for it, ostracize him and seek comfort elsewhere. But Marius’s hand gripping the back of his neck was as gentle as it was possessive, so he felt like he had no room to argue.
Then there was Marius’s car, and what a beautiful piece of machinery. Armand all but whistled, eyes wide, and looked up at Marius. He looked so sophisticated, and Armand thought he might be driven mad with desire for him all over again just to watch him drive the Aston Martin.
“Will you not be sampling the wine?” Armand asked, because at a fancy dinner, that was one of the more important things. He knew humans were very concerned about drunk driving, and they were human now, so he thought they should be too.
Marius clicked the button to unlock the car and reached around Armand, opening the passenger door for him. Though the question was amusing, it was still valid, as Armand had every right not to want to compromise his safety. Not that Marius had any intention of putting his most beloved in harm’s way.
“There are a number of solutions,” he said, walking around the hood of the car to slip in the driver’s seat. “If I drink too much, we might hire a driver to bring us home. Or, if that’s not permissible, I could simply refrain from drinking at all. It’s not as if I’ve developed a taste for it yet.” He pushed the button that started the engine with a low purr.
Armand slid into the car, clicked his seatbelt into place, and watched Marius to see if he would do the same. He wanted him to, but he had already been fretting over the wine, so thought it best not to say anything about safety. Here beside him was the most sensible man he’d known, well, ever. So Marius would do what was right.
“I think you could try at least half a glass, couldn’t you? Isn’t there a legal limit? We’re law-abiding citizens now,” Armand mused, so torn between practicality and new experiences. “We should keep it all open.”
Marius hit a few buttons on the dashboard, one the warmer to Armand’s seat to keep him comfortable for the wintery drive. He did not turn on his own. He actually liked the feeling of the cold. It was familiar and comforting.
“There is a legal limit,” he confirmed as he started them forward, slowly out of the garage, and then faster as they maneuvered down the drive. “I’ll be very careful, Armand. I won’t drink too much, and will deliver you safely to your own bed tonight. I promise.” He would drink designer water, which was far better for him than the wines, which had sugars and calories. “Now relax. Let me worry about the technicalities. Trust me, Armand.”
Relax? He would try, for Marius. Armand looked out of the windscreen to the world beyond, nodding. He tried to relax his shoulders, tried to think on other things. He tried to think about how fresh the car smelled and the warmth of his seat, but he couldn’t. And as they started down the mountain, he felt even less relaxed.
“I’m afraid,” he confessed after a moment, shifting in his seat to look at Marius. “I’m very afraid, I think, of leaving the chateau. But I think if I can let myself trust you…everything will fall into place.”
Marius curled his hand under Armand’s chin, still looking at the road as he reached, clasped, and tugged to turn Armand to face him. Only then did he take his eyes off of the road, maximizing the few seconds he had by making eye contact. “Let yourself trust me?” He didn’t talk until he turned back to the road again, driving with one hand while his other stroked Armand’s plump cheek. “You don’t trust me?”
Armand closed his eyes, breath bated as Marius’s hand found its way to his chin. The possessiveness of it fueled the fire within him that the taste of caramel yesterday had lit, and that the encounter on the bathroom sink had fanned. He wondered how he might go this whole night like this, coming and going with this desire. How long, how many goes of it, until his body either shut down or he finished on the spot without stimulation? He finally released the breath he’d been holding when Marius looked back to the road. He drove so naturally and confidently—that in itself was wildly attractive.
“Fear is a very powerful thing,” Armand defended after he had regained his senses. “I trust you.” He didn’t, not fully, he couldn’t after everything. But he didn’t dare tell Marius that.
And Marius didn’t believe Armand meant it, but he knew that Armand was trying, and sometimes that was enough. After 2,000 years, Marius was rarely afraid. What really had he to be afraid of? He wasn’t going to succumb now. He’d lived long enough. He’d met the first emperor of Rome, watched Rome fall, watched the pagan world die, smelled and witnessed the misery of the plague, spied on ecumenical councils, met Charlemagne, visited the palaces of all great rulers, danced in the Court of the Sun King, watch the west rise and fall again and again. If this was how it must end, so be it. This was but another new experience. But his beloved was so very young still.
His thumb caressed Armand’s too plump bottom lip, painfully aware that only a small nudge could have him slipping into its heat. But he wouldn’t. Not now. “I’m not afraid,” he said honestly. “Mortality is an inconvenience at its worst. As a mortal, I navigated a world far more dangerous, brutal, and unforgiving as this perfectly well. I might have nearly died a few times as a child and young man, but this age is so very…protected.”
Armand appreciated that line of thinking. It made him feel better, and made him just a little bit relieved so that his shoulders relaxed a touch, and he sank more into the seat. He held Marius’s hand to his cheek and kissed the pad of his thumb with affection. Marius was right, of course—in even Armand’s day, there was plague and cholera and terrible hygiene. Infections could kill, and a broken bone could cripple permanently. It was a miracle Armand had made it to the age that he had, and they were very well equipped now.
“I think that’s a helpful way to see it,” he agreed after a moment. “But I want a first aid kit in this car.”
Naturally Marius had no such thing, but he immediately committed mentally to buying the most extensive first aid kit. He couldn’t heal Armand’s ailments with his blood anymore, so keeping a few supplies handy was a necessity.
The tingles the kiss to his thumb had sent up his arm were still vibrating under his skin. “Of course,” he murmured, his gaze falling to Armand’s scrumptious thigh, which he’d love to run his hand over. But it might distract him from driving, and Armand wouldn’t forgive him if he lost concentration and even so much as jerked the wheel.
He gazed for a moment longer, though, imagining that impossibly soft, hot inner thigh against his tongue. The heat that rose in his body was chastisement enough, and Marius turned his full attention to the road. He scolded himself that he was better than this. He put his total focus on driving. Besides, it was beautiful to see the mountain road in new light. The sun was going down, but it was still out enough that he could appreciate the view.
“By the way, my love, where are we going?”
“It’s a place called Chez Guillerme,” Armand answered. “A Michelin star, and the atmosphere is supposed to be quite lovely.” He’d caught Marius’ eyes on him when they shouldn’t be, and it made him feel like the most important thing in the world. Well, so did being called his love. How could he do it, go from being so miserable and bitter over Marius to impassioned and giddy in the space of moments? “There were plenty of reviews. ‘Cozy and romantic dinner by candlelight, excellent service and food to die for,” he recalled from memory. It had been imperative to him to find a restaurant that would promote warmth and love.
It was completely surreal that they were here now. Only two nights ago, at the Christmas ball, Marius had felt so hopeless over the two of them ever having any sort of relationship, felt so distant from Armand. And now here they were, going to a place rated cozy and romantic, with him allowing Marius to touch and even giving little, sweet kisses. He never imagined he’d be here. It was a wonderful, golden moment.
Since he wasn’t familiar with the restaurant, he programmed the car’s installed GPS, and it was a shame that to do so, he had to take his hand away from Armand’s velvet cheeks. Marius was absolutely horrified to see the fingerprints left behind smudging the car’s formerly pristine display. He gasped, audibly gasped. “See?” he demanded, gesturing. “Inconvenient.” Annoyed by the sheer messiness of humanity, he reached for Armand again and rested his hand on his thigh. “I can’t endure the mess of it.”
“Well, what will you do then, if you can’t endure it?” Armand raised a brow and tried to bite back a smirk. He wasn’t surprised that Marius was particular about dirt. Meanwhile, the hand on his thigh was a delightful bit of attention, and he again placed his hand over Marius’s. If anything, this was more manageable than the hand on his cheeks, chin and lips. He could think straight—providing it didn’t move further. “Anything you touch rejoices at the trail you leave behind, so it might remember you longer. We can also get some alcohol wipes.”
“Yes, we will get those,” Marius said, voice less clipped and stiff than it otherwise would have been, due entirely to the soft, smaller hand that covered his own. He did realize the absurdity of his upset as he was bound to encounter a lot of mortality-centered messes and needed to adjust sooner rather than later. It was just a piece of glass.
His fingers moved up and down, stroking Armand’s thigh in a manner he did not mean to seem lecherous, simply attentive. Already his mood was improving. “I had to get eyeglasses this morning,” he confided in his fledgling.
“And I’m sure you look exceedingly handsome in them,” Armand answered quite quickly so that Marius didn’t think he’d had to think about it.
He held his breath, eyes fluttering closed as Marius’s hand stroked his thigh. Knowing he wouldn’t stay sane like this, Armand took his hand away and held it, kneading his knuckles. “You’ve not taken your hands off me since the bathroom,” he observed, but he wasn’t miserable about it. He turned his head to watch Marius, admiring his face in the sunset. The orange glow caught his eyes, and illuminated the line of his jaw in a way that made him look almost saintly. Not for the first time, Armand realized he knew him well, but hardly knew him. Would he now finally unravel the mystery that was Marius? “What makes you happy these days?”
Marius’s immediate answer was you because he couldn’t imagine being any happier than this. He simply couldn’t take his hands off of Armand, it was true. Now that he knew a bit of how Armand felt for him, and what his fledgling desired, it was easier for him. He wouldn’t be taking his hands off of Armand until it was either no longer decent or the boy asked him to.
The silence stretched for a while, but it was obvious from his contemplative face that Marius was thinking very seriously over the question. While he wouldn’t necessarily call himself generally unhappy, he wouldn’t be able to honestly say he was happy. Content, of course. Marius had never put as much importance on happiness as others, and he’d convinced himself that feeling satisfied and useful were the same as happiness, even though they weren’t.
But he truly did love the work he’d been doing at the Chateau, even if he remained aware that there was something missing inside of him. Some part of him that longed for things he reminded himself time and time again that he didn’t really need, only wanted. But he did enjoy things he did outside of the chateau. “I do historical consulting for authors, script writers, and video game programmers,” he said. “In the scheme of things, historical accuracy only matters if historical accuracy matters to the plot. But I commend the commitment. And I do art retrieval. Removing art illegally acquired from the black market. I don’t need the money, but I make a lot of it. I give it to charities and children’s hospitals. What matters is getting priceless pieces back into the right hands. I suppose I can’t do that for the time being.”
Armand smiled, delighted to hear it all. He absorbed Marius’s words as if they were life itself and relished this opportunity to learn anything new about him. He loved to think of Marius doing these things and helping in this way, but he found it particularly endearing that it was another work-related question. His hobbies, his passions, they were all work. They always would be. “What video games have you worked on?” He wanted to know this too, as he continued to massage the back of Marius’s hand.
The video games were a fairly new project, so he only had a handful. And knowing nothing about the world of video games beyond the most popular and thus unavoidable as pop culture topics go, Marius didn’t find any of them particularly significant. Maybe Armand would know some of them, since having Daniel around always assured a more modern perspective. “Right now, I’m consulting on the game Assassin’s Creed: Origins. It’s set in the late Ptolemaic Kingdom. You know, Julius Caesar, Cleopatra, Pompey. Most games only want information on military history, but they are asking for more cultural accuracy. Even down to dialogue. It’s commendable.”
“You know in Assassin’s Creed II, you could go about Venice,” Armand mused. “We should play it sometime, and you can see how well they did with the finished product.” Armand found it quite entertaining, that Marius posed himself as a historian and the game developers were none the wiser that this was the very first-hand truth they were receiving. Just as entertaining was the thought of Marius playing a video game.
But Marius liked the invitation, that Armand said we should play it, not just that he should. Thinking of Venice always hurt, but Marius never lost sight of its magnitude, and he never avoided memories. Why would he want to forget the happiest time of his life? No matter the way it ended, the tragedy and grief could never eclipse the love and happiness of then.
“That sounds lovely,” he said softly, caressing Armand’s jaw. He hadn’t really ever played video games before, but he’d do anything for Armand.
Notes:
This chapter written by T and B
Chapter 41: Benefits
Summary:
As Armand and Marius enjoy their fine dining experience, they surprise each other in ways they never expected.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The scenery changed as Marius’s car left the countryside and entered the city just as the evening crowds were emerging. Marius followed the course set by the GPS until they pulled up to the restaurant’s valet parking. He exited the car first so that he could walk around and open the passenger door for Armand, holding out one hand as the other passed the keys along to the valet.
Armand took his hand without thinking and led Marius into the restaurant. It was exactly as the reviews had said, a lovely ambiance with candlelit dining, a soft chatter about them that wasn’t too obnoxious. There was warm golden lighting all around so that they could still see their food, and the chairs were sturdy and plush. He sighed, feeling immediately relaxed, and gave the maître d’hôtel the false name their booking was under. He handed his coat over and waited for Marius to do the same, and thanked the gentleman as he took them to their seats.
Marius looked at the spread of cutlery, glasses, and other tableware. In theory, he knew what each object was used for, but he’d never had to use them. Still, he was grateful that he never neglected to learn proper dining etiquette, even if it hadn’t applied to him at the time. He assumed Armand had too. He hoped he wouldn’t somehow forget some rule and make a fool of himself or Armand.
Gazing up at Armand, who looked so young and vibrant under the golden light, he took a deep breath. “This is nice.” Of course, Armand’s taste was impeccable. Reaching across the table, he caressed Armand’s hand. Quickly. The last thing he wanted were stares, though that was hardly fair to Armand who couldn’t help how he looked.
“I’ve been studying nutrition. Modern foods are so processed. And yes, I know everything is a chemical…besides light, heat, magnetism, gravity…” Marius waved his hand, sometimes impatient with his own tangents. “You get my meaning. But you can never be too careful. At least this isn’t America with high fructose corn syrup in everything. I’m going to try to limit my dairy intake.”
Armand nodded, taking this discussion as seriously as Marius but smiling brightly at the waiter when he arrived with complimentary champagne. He was actually very glad to hear that Marius was looking to take care of himself as much as possible, although he was hardly surprised. Armand was afraid, after his comment in the bathroom, to see the aging process within Marius, because it would bring him closer to the end.
But why was he thinking this way? They would be immortal again.
He wanted to reach for Marius’s hand again but felt like he couldn’t, for the same reason that Marius had touched him only briefly. “I am impressed that you have found the time to study nutrition, though not surprised.” Armand smiled, holding the glass of champagne by the stem. He’d spent so much time amid the wealthy now, that even this felt natural. “The real killer is sugar of course, so perhaps if anything, you should limit those sweet coffees of yours.”
“Yes, I know,” Marius agreed in a tone that was resigned because he knew he couldn’t sustain a sweet tooth. His health was far more important than sweet things. And yesterday, in one hour, he’d consumed more sugar than he’d ever had in his previous mortal life. Granted, that was entirely because sugar wasn’t available aside from grape juice and honey. But, given his nature then, he’d probably have rejected it even if it were accessible. Marius had always taken care of his physique, feeling a strong body was necessary for a strong mind and vice versa. Training for the military had been instrumental to his journey, and then it was just a matter of restraint, discipline, and exercise. He’d always taken pride in being an exceptional creature both physically and mentally, and he certainly wasn’t about to let himself go now. Lestat would have to install a gym. Though… No. No, absolutely not. Too high a risk that someone would try to join him and socialize. He didn’t need a gym buddy. He’d find a private facility.
Sipping the champagne, he only didn’t make a face at the taste because it would be inelegant and rude. The bubbles were too whimsical and made his nose feel wet when they suddenly popped, which was a very unpleasant sensation. Well, it was a good thing he was supposed to stay sober tonight.
He set the glass down delicately. “After tonight,” he said about the sugar. “Tonight, I’ll indulge.” He looked at the elegant menu, making sure it never left the table as table etiquette required. Only…he reached into his pocket and slipped on his new reading glasses. “There, that’s better. I imagine you’ve encountered no problems. Youth has its benefits.”
“I have problems of my own.” Armand gave a slip of a smile, admiring Marius in his glasses. Armand was a younger man in love, and that was a problem because it could be all-consuming. It always was with Marius, anyway.
He looked down at the menu himself to survey what was on offer. It was strange, because he still couldn’t recall the taste of some of these things to know if he would enjoy them or not. Either way, he knew he’d picked the right restaurant for good food. He chose quickly and moved to the wine list, before giving a light sigh as he realized he didn’t really know what any of it meant either.
Marius stared through the lenses of the eyeglasses (they’d take some time to get accustomed to) at Armand rather than down at the sleek menu. It wasn’t as if he had any idea what the items were in the sense that he was familiar with the taste. In a literal sense, he knew the dishes and their ingredients, but how would he know if he’d favor the flavors?
As much as Marius suspected he’d love garlic, he would avoid it, as he wanted no lingering smells, just in case… In case what? He was being rather presumptive to think Armand would be close enough to him to be bothered by the smell.
Yet, just in case…
“What problems of your own?” Marius never wanted to minimize Armand’s struggles. It had to be hard to be again thrust into the midst of late puberty. To be a centuries-old man locked in a young body must be maddening at times.
“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Armand quipped, because it seemed much easier than admitting that Marius was the problem. Even when they weren’t arguing and things were good, Marius was the problem in the best possible way. He crossed his legs under the table to get comfortable, before turning the wine list to Marius. “I can’t decide, and you’ll have a little, won’t you? Will you choose?”
Marius took the wine list, scanning it briefly, bothered again by the slowness of his human brain. It would normally take only a cursory glance to memorize the entire page, but now he had to reread. Fortunately, Marius had extensive knowledge of wine pairings, as he’d had others over for dinners and banquets frequently in the past, even when he did not dine with them. “Of course I will choose,” he assured, not wanting Armand to fret any over wine. “What are you planning to eat?” One couldn’t select wine without respect to the accompanying flavors and ingredients in the food.
“Steak, and chocolate, I think. Anything heinously rich.” Armand hadn’t given much thought to keeping himself fit or cutting out indulgences the way Marius already clearly had, but he knew that tonight was a special occasion, and that tonight, at least, he was going to indulge in every way that he could.
He took another sip of his champagne, wondering why Marius had left his. Perhaps he should do the same. After all, it was likely that he would feel the effects much more quickly, and he didn’t want to ruin the night with his bad behavior. He was so prone to bad behavior.
“What will you have?”
Marius laughed because he did so adore that Armand wanted to indulge, and that he didn’t feel he had to restrain himself. But he really was quite serious about picking out the right meal for himself, as it was his first proper one—perhaps his only proper one, depending on the results of Fareed’s work with Lestat last night and today—and he wanted it to be both suitable and pleasurable.
“Well…” He looked down at the menu with a very thoughtful expression, the gravity of the situation apparent. “I do remember I didn’t like red meat, though we didn’t really have it. It was a very Greek thing to eat.” He said that as if it perfectly explained his reasons for avoiding it. “And I didn’t like pork, because pigs are odd creatures.” That was a good enough reason for him. “And parasitic. Though I have to consider that I have caloric needs. I do remember that I ate constantly. Even as a man, I was always hungry. My father would deny me food because of my barbarian appetite, and I would get so terribly hungry that I’d vomit… This is terrible dinner conversation. I’ll eat fish.”
Armand frowned, not at the fact that Marius was sharing like this, but at the story itself. It never got easier hearing about the suffering of a loved one. He nearly reached for his hand, but realized that Marius had been sparing with the touches since entering public and understood why. “Well, it’s a very good thing that in this time and place, we are not so shamed for what our body needs to survive. Besides, you can try a mouthful of mine if you’re curious.”
Marius didn’t feel as if he had a particularly terrible upbringing. The world he was born into was rigorous and strict. Parents thought they were doing the right things, even if in hindsight, they did a lot of horrific things. How sweet that Armand would share with him.
When the waiter returned, Marius ordered Armand’s wine, a full red, as well as for himself. But he stopped at outright ordering Armand’s meal, because he didn’t want to be too pushy or presumptuous. They’d have their wine soon enough. Finally, he reached over and placed his hand over Armand’s, caressing his fingers. “Have you had a medical checkup yet?”
“Near enough yes, I had the standard one we all had while you were napping the first night, the vaccinations.”
He looked around at everyone, and they all seemed so absorbed in their own dinner and conversation that they barely noticed them. That was nice, it felt like there was more room to relax. He brushed his own fingers over Marius’s and smiled. “And I suppose you’ve found time to research and consult ten different doctors within an hour’s radius to make sure what they’re saying to you is accurate? I joke, but in truth, you amaze me. You always seem to have so much more time in a day or night than anyone else I know.”
Armand likely didn’t know how right he was. But it was only three doctors Marius had consulted. He’d had a lot of questions of the safety of vaccines in a body that stopped biologically evolving 2,000 years ago. While it seemed silly, he had to cover all his proverbial bases and not bring harm to himself. A phone call to Fareed had assured him it was safe, and Marius trusted him, and so far he was quite well.
“There is not enough time now,” he said. “Everything I do, I do so dreadfully slow.” And he couldn’t stop craving blood. For two millennia, the taste had overcome him and filled him with pleasures immeasurable. And he was expected to forget that? To not want that ecstasy back? Oh, he knew there was no point drinking it now, and to do so would be bad for his health, but nothing he’d tasted or experienced yet had come close to substituting for it. It was a struggle, but he wouldn’t confess it. Food was a strange texture.
“And I’m allergic to lavender, which is unfortunate.”
“Oh dear, that is unfortunate. I suppose there will be no picnics in the gardens and flower crowns that I’ve made you about your head,” Armand lamented only half seriously. They would be vampires again long before winter was over and the lavender would be blooming across the French countryside. Hypothetically though, frolicking in the flowers seemed a wonderful thing to do, but there were plenty of other places they could spend time together this winter.
Suddenly, Armand never wanted to be apart from Marius again, but he knew well that after a couple of hours, one of them would say something to the other that totally soured everything.
“I was given medicine for my allergy,” Marius said, a rather forlorn expression crossing his features. “I can hardly stand it. I’ve only been a human for two days, and I’m already on a medicine regimen.” That reminded him. He reached up and removed the reading glasses, tucking them into his pocket. “I blame it all on Mael, of course.”
“But of course,” Armand agreed with a smile. Because naturally, it was Mael’s fault. Almost everything could be blamed on Mael if they tried hard enough. But before he’d disappeared, Armand hadn’t always minded Mael so much. After all, if Mael hadn’t abducted Marius, then he wouldn’t have been able to find Armand.
“But do tell me why.” He said this for two reasons, one to continue the conversation and the other to soften Marius up as the waiter brought out an amuse bouche. There was nothing he could do, there was no mention of amuse bouche on the menu.
Marius smiled at the waiter because it wasn’t his fault the restaurant did ridiculous things. Nor was it Armand’s. Well, he could most certainly say his mouth would not be amused. “I will tell you exactly why,” Marius declared as he studied the tiny morsel that looked rather artistic. “Because I was a very active, healthy man. And then he and his cult threw me into a dark…cottage, kept me drunk to keep me docile—I am certain I died an alcoholic—and barely let me see the sun, let alone exercise. Lack of exercise, and of course the sort of malaise that comes with knowing you could be murdered by idiots at any given moment, takes an immense toll on your health.”
Armand’s sadness returned for the suffering Marius had undergone. For Armand, becoming a vampire wasn’t a choice, as such, but a necessity, and he had been made by somebody he knew and loved. The thought of being held captive and forced into vampirism made him shiver, though it was mightily strange how well Marius and Lestat had adjusted to it, all things considered.
“Why don’t we get you in such good shape that you can find him wherever he’s gone and put him in a headlock?” Armand asked, probably teasing in a way that he shouldn’t. He rephrased then, so Marius didn’t take offense. “He lived by his ways, and was a blind follower of those ways, and unfortunately it was to the detriment of other people. I think the best revenge was to do what you did and run, and live your own life, and continue to prove how much you are enjoying life.” Again, Armand second guessed what he was saying. Marius didn’t need to be told that what he’d done was right, because he already knew it. He might even find it patronizing.
Armand sighed, trying to think of another way to express it. “I mean—I’m sorry. Never mind. I admire you,” he landed on finally, before sizing up his own tiny dish.
It was sweet the way Armand tried to sympathize with him. If only his fledgling knew how many times Marius had fought the internal struggle to keep himself from reaching out to throttle the bird-nosed barbarian. The problem was, Marius was not above saying and doing the pettiest things to the Mael, though he’d never think to be so immature to others.
“Would you like to know a secret?” Marius asked, gazing up from the small morsel as he simultaneously decided it would be rude to ignore it even though something about its texture was a bit off-putting. Really, every texture but blood was highly off-putting to him, so it wasn’t fair to the delicacy to judge it based on that alone. “But you can’t ever tell him. I’ve been holding onto it for 2,000 years for the right moment.”
Armand looked up, full of hope and surprise. “You would trust me?” he asked, tremendously touched by this. Marius had kept a great many large secrets from him in the past, that was the way he was. A man who played his cards very close to his chest. The fact that he would open up in any regard was wonderful, and very exciting to Armand. “You can, of course, and I would very much like to hear it.” He made work on the amuse bouche then, delighted by the richness of its taste.
Marius watched Armand intently as he ate the tiny offering on the expensive plate. “Mael and the other priests assumed I didn’t know their language,” he said, poking the food with the fork, but not lifting it to his lips, still uncertain as to whether he should indulge. “Which was very naïve of them. Of course I knew the language of my slave family. They were my family as much as the Roman half, and they taught it to me from birth. I would pretend that I had no idea what he was saying, when I knew perfectly well, and he would get so very frustrated and despondent that I wasn’t learning fast enough.” As childish as it sounded, Marius understood why he’d stooped to petty lengths. In a situation where all power was stripped from him, even the smallest victories gave him a sense of having some control over what little life he had left.
Armand relaxed back in his chair with the glass of champagne in hand. He’d hung on Marius’s every word, but wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or not, if Marius had shared the secret to amuse him. It did, regardless, the thought of Mael being so frustrated and slandering Marius while being none the wiser thoroughly amused Armand. He smirked, locking eyes. “I’ll tell not a soul, on my life,” he swore, hand on his heart. “Was it the same language your mother spoke? She was from the same area, was she not?”
“Besides some minor differences in dialect, the same language,” Marius confirmed, fingers twitching a moment before he pushed the tiny plate he hadn’t touched toward Armand. “But people reveal a lot when they assume you don’t understand. Nothing too meaningful, but I knew more than they’d ever have willingly told me. Mael was always easy to manipulate.” Before they’d come to hate each other… Marius had still hated Mael singularly. But Mael had quite adored him. It wasn’t until the betrayal of Marius’s escape that the Druid started to resent him.
“But you always understood me, even when I spoke my mother tongue, right from the beginning,” Armand reflected. Of course, it was because Marius could speak it, either because Marius had lived so many years that he knew how to or because the dark gift allowed him to speak to anyone in any language. Armand knew these things now, but he cast his mind all the way back to when he saw the world with more wonder. “I would imagine he was easy to manipulate. But you really should try it,” he gestured at the morsel food. “I know you don’t trust them, but it’s very good.”
More than anything, Marius wanted to please Armand. Even if his fledgling hadn’t noticed, which he probably had because he was very clever and knew Marius well, he was trying to avoid his particularities tonight. His quiet, his reticence, his stubbornness, his secrecy; all of those things that kept distance between him and those he loved. Bianca had given him very good advice this afternoon about what to do and what not to do and she’d be very angry with him if he backtracked their progress over an amuse bouche.
He put a finger on the edge of the plate and tugged it back to himself and finally ate it. The texture was indeed strange, but that was due entirely to all food still being foreign to him.
Armand was pleasantly surprised to see Marius concede so quickly, or even at all, and he smiled warmly to see that he enjoyed it as he swallowed.
“It wasn’t bad,” Marius admitted. Yes, it really was quite pleasing. Not as pleasing as blood, nothing even close to the taste of Armand’s blood in particular, of course, but by human standards, very nice.
He sighed softly and leaned forward. “Armand?”
This sudden moment of Marius’s undivided attention overshadowed everything; his voice was so intimate that it commanded Armand and excited him. He had something to ask of Armand, and no matter how big or small the question, it made his breath hitch with anticipation.
He leaned forward as well, subconsciously, and trained his eyes on Marius. “Yes?”
Marius knew no one was listening or could hear them, but he still spoke in a hushed tone because it seemed only appropriate for the ghoulish topic on the tip of his tongue. “Do you miss it?” he asked in a low voice, speaking of blood. There came from him a soft sigh that was almost longing. The desire was completely psychological, but a psychological want could be as powerful as a physical one. For 2,000 years, blood had been his sole pleasure and sustenance, and he was just supposed to forget that and move on to something else?
Armand thought on this, tapping his bottom lip with the pad of his finger. The straight and easy answer was no. As if his brain had simply completely stopped thinking that way the moment his body had changed. “I feel as though I should say yes,” he began, because that would make him a proper vampire. “I think as I experience new things, human things, the thought of it gets further and further away. But the ever-looming fear of death is rather exhausting.”
Marius was quiet as he pondered this. Perhaps he was having trouble adjusting to this life, and he would have to work harder not to obsess about everything he once was. It was time to let go. “We won’t die like this.” Of that he was sure. This was just a temporary change. “I don’t intend to die, not like this, and not anytime soon.” He paused the morbid conversation as the waiter came with the next course, and he waited politely until he left to begin again. “There are benefits to being human. Not many. But some. What is one thing you’d like to do? There must be something.”
Armand smiled, a quirk of his lip that denoted a smirk before he could even control it. “There is at least one thing,” he conceded, though he didn’t elaborate. Marius didn’t appreciate lewdness unless it was a very private affair, and he was in no mood to make waves. “Go and see a beautiful tropical beach by day, I should think, with the sunlight glittering off the sea. Get a tattoo.” He didn’t know if he was serious at all about that last one, but it was fun to think about. “Get a part time job at a war museum and talk the tourists’ ears off. What would you do?”
Marius couldn’t help but laugh, but it was an amused laugh. “A tropical beach?” Of course, he immediately seized upon that, as he really wanted Armand to come to Rio with him, to the home he still kept there where he once lived alone with Daniel. “I happen to own one of those.”
Armand smiled a little wider, happy to play into the idea. “And you would have me visit it, and lounge along the shore half naked with the water lapping at my skin?” he teased, but really it sounded heavenly. Perhaps he was flattering himself. He doubted it, though he would love to have Marius there with him.
Half-naked? Marius wanted to laugh. Wanted to point out it was a private beach. No need to be even half-dressed. But it would be a terribly lewd thing to say, and the implication may be unwelcome, even though Marius was all but completely certain that it would be welcome. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself and wouldn’t spoil the moment by pushing Armand too far outside of his comfort zone. Instead, he dropped it there and changed the subject. “What would you get tattooed?”
Armand took a sip of the rich wine, and could immediately feel it relaxing and warming him as he thought on the question. “Oh, as if I know. I could go in there and pick one at random, ask the artist to do as they wished. What could I have that’s meaningful? Too many things and somehow none of them seem right.”
“You pay a set price, they give you a quarter, you go to the shop’s gumball machine, eject a random bauble. And within is a sketch or word you must have tattooed. What if you end up with…a cow? Or a pie?” Really just two things off the top of his head. Marius was friendly to both cow and pie. “You’ll end up with Pikachu on your ankle.”
Armand laughed, surprised Marius even knew what Pikachu was. He’d clearly been spending enough time with Daniel in any case. “Maybe a tattoo isn’t for me. I can’t very well be taken seriously with a Pikachu tattoo. Or a cow or a pie.” And of course, the ink would disappear from his skin the moment he became a vampire again. Armand chuckled, and lifted his fork to begin the next course.
Notes:
This chapter written by B and T
Chapter 42: The Things of Dreams
Summary:
Armand and Marius say some words to each other that neither expected to hear, and their dinner ends with a surprise.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Armand sighed as he enjoyed his dinner, but then a thought came to him. He was sheepish in expressing it, not wanting to upset the balance of his evening with Marius, but they would have to discuss it eventually. What would become now of the trip they had planned with Daniel only several days ago? “Italy…”
But Marius had forgotten about their tentative travel plans entirely, and assumed it was only the food that brought his home country to Armand’s mind—as odd as that was for the steak Armand was eating. For Marius, Italy had a much different flavor profile, but he was enamored with the fact that Armand could be taken back to a time far finer than this one with a mere taste. Where there was more beauty, love, and happiness. A time of such perfection that Marius was certain it could never be recreated. It was once in a lifetime, a fact worth grieving when one was immortal and had an infinite lifetimes. What did Armand associate? For Marius, it was incense, dim candle light, red, the smell of the canal, and intoxicating kisses. The things of dreams.
He gave a faint smile and finally sampled his own entree. It was nice enough, and he was resolved not to succumb to more comparisons with what he was used to. It still felt all wrong, this tedious chewing.
“It’s unfair,” Marius at last decided.
Armand knew his first sheepish instinct was correct when Marius didn’t even press what he’d meant by bringing up the topic. And it was for the best, really, wasn’t it? This night here was wonderful, but it could sour at any moment between them. To go to Italy again with him would bring a whole torrent of emotions to the surface, and Armand didn’t know how he might cope with them as a human.
He poked at his steak a little before eating some more of it, and he raised a brow at Marius. “I suppose it is. But we are here, aren’t we? And we have this.”
It wasn’t Armand’s responsibility to comfort him while he despaired, so Marius would have to try to be more mindful and less selfish in the future. He had to admit, if he had only one life to live, he was glad he had Armand back with him to live it. So really, what did he have to complain about? This was all his heart ever wanted, really. Just one life with Armand was worth the entirety of eternity without him, of this Marius was most certain.
He couldn’t help the sweet smile or expression that came over him. What did it harm to admit how utterly in love with Armand he was, if only to himself? “What was your favorite thing to do as a human?”
Armand was caught by the smile, enough to place his fork down and smile back. For a moment he just took in the view, from the softness and depth of Marius’s eyes to the gentle curve of his perfect mouth. “Well…sex was good, as was alcohol. But…and you’ll probably get a fat head for this, my favourite thing to do was see you, and wonder about you. Look into your eyes and try to fathom your secrets in my own naïve mind. Listen to your voice.”
Marius filled with a sadness that made his throat squeeze and his stomach lose all appetite. Armand had adored him. How could he forget the way the boy’s eyes filled with beautiful, heartbreaking tears whenever Marius left him every morning? Or the relieved panic that radiated from him every night that Marius would return? The two of them lived opposite lives as Amadeo was a creature of the day, but they still found their hours together. Even if it was only to let the boy curl up in their bed and sleep, so safe and so loved.
Marius loved him with a passionate intensity that still reigned without comparison. He’d accepted the fact that losing Amadeo meant losing his heart, and he’d never really wanted to fall in love again, because how could he when his heart festered underground in Paris and was no longer even within him? It belonged to Armand and always would. “We will share all things you enjoy together now.”
“Alcohol and sex?” Armand chuckled, his voice quiet. Again, he knew that Marius believed firmly in a time and a place, and he didn’t want to upset him. But he had seen the passing of sadness over his eyes, he knew him better than Marius even knew and didn’t know him very well at all. But he’d wanted to lighten the mood.
Marius just smiled because he didn’t want to be lewd, but he also wasn’t going to deny his desire for Armand. Of course he’d probably also liked sex and alcohol, as many humans did, and he didn’t remember himself as being too unlike the other men around him. But he’d been raised much differently than Armand.
“Do you remember what you liked to do the most?” Armand asked.
“My father was a stoic,” he said. “So I was allowed to like necessary pleasures such as food and wine, and sex, but never to excess. We were taught that if we liked something too much, it wasn’t good for us, and we had to abstain. So, I liked…” Marius thought again back to the things he did a lot. “I liked exercising and sports, which I was pushed heavily into because I was big for my age and my father thought it was the best way to get me away from books and the men who’d give them to me. I was a fast runner…long legs. A fairly good boxer…long arms. But I especially liked trigon, even though we always ended up bloody and sore. Alas, puberty came early, and while the other boys got to keep playing, I was shuttled into military training.”
It was the strangest thing. Whenever Marius spoke about his mortal life and the things he had been made to do, Armand wanted to hug him. To shield him from it all. Marius had protected him before, Armand wanted to be able to protect and comfort him now. Even though Marius didn’t seem so upset by these things, the thought of him going through them upset Armand in a way that he’d never expect.
“Did you get armor?” he asked after a moment, because it seemed more neutral and appropriate than what he was really thinking. He’d never mollycoddled Marius before, and he didn’t think he’d cope with it well.
Marius sucked in a deep breath, a sign he was about to launch into a passionate speech. He even had to put his fork down because there was no way he could focus on food when he had a subject such as the Roman military to talk about. “I did,” he confirmed. “My youngest sister made me the nicest focale, which was my most necessary piece, as the armor chaffed the neck and shoulders terribly. My father was very proud, and I was exceptionally miserable at the idea of walking all day, every day, for two years. I was given my uniform, weapons, and, of course, my two boards of wood to make our fortifications every night. I’ve never been more exhausted or more bored, and I thought it cruel that I had to do this while the other boys my age still got to play and visit brothels. I’ve never in my life been called useless so very much. Yet, I saw the world and I wanted more. Rather than settle me down, the experience made me want more, and I never wanted to stop wandering. On my own terms.”
Armand nodded. He knew well as much, that Marius had been a wanderer, had almost always gone from place to place. That he hadn’t taken a wife because of it, and that he had been compiling his own histories of the world when he was abducted. Again, came that pang of sadness. The thought of Marius being called useless…
“I am glad, for what it’s worth, that you have chosen to settle here for the foreseeable. But I suppose these days, the world seems much smaller, and none of us are ever so far away from one another.”
“I’m sometimes sad that I missed so much of the world that coexisted with my mortal years simply because the world was so very impossible to fully traverse. I would have loved the East.” Marius picked up his fork again, wanting to merely poke at his food but abstaining as it would be poor table manners. “Like Han China. I would have taken one look at the women and never left. It’s for the best. Mael, the literal walking dungeons and dragons monster that he is, would never have found me there.”
Armand laughed without even being able to think about it. He’d not seen Marius so completely heated about something like this for a long while. And what funny insults they were, what imagery they conjured. “I suppose you’re almost right then, when you say he is birdlike. A vulture has a great mass of body and teeny legs. Though I didn’t know you played dungeons and dragons…” He trailed off, the image precious to him. “I can’t hate Mael the way that you do. Selfishly I think, in a roundabout way, he brought you to me.”
Marius wished it was easier to reach across and touch. His long arm would stretch the length of their small table, certainly. But the gesture was too obvious. Yet, wasn’t their mere presence here obvious? Didn’t this date expose everything about them already? So what would it hurt to reach over? Armand meant everything, and these people with their puritanical judgments meant nothing.
Finally, he reached and tucked Armand’s hair behind an ear, and he kept his hand there, stroking the shell of his ear and scalp. “It’s strange to think,” he mused. “That 1,500 years of decisions and mistakes led me to you. If I’d made one different choice, gone some other way, I’d never have ended up just where I needed to be. You’d think something as powerful as that wouldn’t be so horribly fragile, too.”
Armand’s breath hitched and his heart warmed. He leaned his head into Marius’s hand, reveling in his touch and closing his eyes briefly. This was all he’d ever wanted, so much that he thought his chest might burst here and now. And the words to accompany it left him almost powerless. He nearly said it right there, those three words that he hadn’t said to him for so long, but that surely Marius knew.
“Where you needed to be…” Armand mused softly. “I didn’t know you truly felt that way.”
There was a lot Marius had never said, but he assumed on a basic emotional level, that Armand knew. Which was naïve of him, but he wouldn’t admit he could be withholding things his fledgling needed to hear. And the emotions were so big and deep. How could words express them without cheapening them with superficial language? Marius would never be able to express their true depth.
How could one explain a thousand years of emptiness? A hollowness in the heart so vast that one ceased to feel? At least feel nothing but crushing disappointment. And then all at once, to hold Amadeo, and feel life come back into his heart and soul. A reawakening. And a love like he’d never known before. It was like being reborn into complete bliss.
All Marius wanted now was just a piece of what he once had. Even the smallest sliver of that kind of happiness would reinvigorate his soul until the end of time. “I love you, Armand,” he said, cupping his soft, plump cheek.
Armand inhaled, a soft draw of breath. His eyes widened, and he let those words wash over him. When had he last heard them? It was a sudden jolt to the senses, a pleasant electrocution, wherein the warmth began to spread throughout his body and settle under the surface of his skin. His cheeks were red with it, and his spirit swaddled in this pleasant feeling as it ascended along with his heart.
He laughed, a soft, infinitely happy laugh. He put his hand over Marius’s and held it there, and let the world fall away. “Only you can make me this, this giddy schoolboy. Let’s be like this forever and never fight again.” He looked into Marius’s eyes then, as he loved to do, and sighed. “I love you too.”
How Marius loved those words, said in that sweet, boyish tone, in that particular voice. He didn’t deserve it, but he was too greedy to deny it or give it up to anyone else, even someone who deserved it more than he did. “I don’t want to fight with you ever.” It was a romantic notion, and of course, they’d fight their small spats and petty outbursts, but if they were both patient and gracious, nothing that would tear them apart.
It wasn’t fighting or discontent within their relationship that had originally ripped them away from each other. And now Marius just wanted a chance to love Armand again, as he had when they were torn from one another. It was possible. Armand still loved him. Even though Marius had failed so many times and in terrible ways, this beautiful boy still loved him. “I only want to take care of you.”
How many years had Armand wanted to hear those words from Marius’s mouth, to be swept back up into his arms and told everything was going to be okay? How many times, in his darkest times, had he longed for Marius to take care of all his problems? It was a beautiful sentiment and he never wanted this moment to end.
“Marius…” He smiled, moving Marius’s hand from his face to kiss it. He couldn’t go further with it, because he didn’t know how to put the intensity of what he was feeling into words. “I’m glad we came.”
Marius was committed to being a decent human and abiding human customs as much as was tolerable or convenient. At the moment, his heart wanted as much as his body to gather Armand into his arms. Just to savor how, for now, the coldness had warmed and the emotionally protective barrier that Armand had kept between them was gone. He knew Armand had always loved him. But that love was guarded and volatile, mixed up with resentment and betrayal, too much to salvage the purity of love. Yet maybe they could.
“My love, me too,” he said softly, so close to getting what he wanted, his hand tingling from the kiss. There was so much more he wanted, but he knew he had to be patient. “You are still so much like a dream.”
“Even after it all, even after leading a cult and a coven and all the rotten things I’ve done?” Armand asked with a small smirk, his voice and breath soft. He said it quietly enough so that it wouldn’t raise suspicion, and he lowered Marius’s hand to the table but kept his hand over it so that the touch was never broken. “Or is all of that so easy to look past now that I am again the boy you found and loved, and my gravest sins have been dalliances with men and women and overindulging in alcohol?” He didn’t mind either way. He was vain, and to be called a dream by Marius of all people touched his heart.
Marius wished he could see Armand as the boy he once was. Not because he didn’t love the boy Armand was now, or found it difficult to reconcile the things Armand had done with his feelings. But because it had been such a simple time for the two of them, and a time of unashamed happiness for them to share. Armand had known cruelty from an early age, but Marius’s love had been enough to heal him. It had been enough because of Armand’s innocence. Yet now, the pains were too big, too deep, the scars too much for something as fleeting as love to heal.
He smiled nevertheless, leaving those thoughts unvoiced. “We have all done rotten things, haven’t we?” He couldn’t justify the cruelties performed by his fledgling, but he also knew he wasn’t in any position to judge him. “The theater wasn’t a completely terrible idea. A bit grotesque at encore, but very charming to that point.”
Armand hummed, remembering that it was Lestat who had initially come up with the plan for a theatre. It stood then to reason that Marius approved of it; he did love Lestat so very much. “I think my taste for being in the public eye has dwindled since then. I’ll leave that to the orators of our kind.” He smiled, knowing full well Marius’s penchant for long speeches when he was able to give them.
He looked down at their plates and then locked eyes with Marius, basking in the buzz of their conversation. Marius loved him, and found him to be like a dream. He wanted to drink wine with him, walk hand in hand in the streets. Armand was too excited about the prospect of exploring all of this that he wanted to rush off and do it all. But he didn’t want to lose this moment either. He sighed, soft and happy, before tucking into his food again.
“It’s a sort of burden to be good at something you don’t particularly enjoy,” Marius mused as he watched Armand eat, not touching his own food. Something about the heaviness of the solid mass in his stomach was uncomfortable. No matter how well gluttoned on blood as a vampire, it would melt into his body and be eaten up by his muscles and powers too quickly. But this human food just sat there, slowly processed into usable, necessary nutrients. How he wished he could live any other way than this. How could humans endure their horrible, sluggish bodies?
Marius realized as he mused this that he had begun to frown, and so he softened his expression and looked down at the dish. Determination would have to see him through. And he couldn’t let Armand know how absolutely miserable he was. He let his eyes drift about the restaurant, approving of the sophisticated clientele. At least they were quiet and kept to their own business. And thankfully, Armand could hide his youth in the sultry shadows of the restaurant. Marius had to focus on good things only.
“Bianca asked about you earlier, wondering if you might perhaps accompany her to Monet’s Garden. I offered to ask as she is…” Marius thought for a second. “Unsure how you’d feel.”
Armand frowned, looking up from his plate. “I don’t ever give her a reason to think ill of me,” he remarked, almost defensive in it. It hurt him that she wouldn’t even approach him about such things, their darling Bianca, their very precious Bianca. “I promise you I am a perfect gentleman with her. Even in my terrible moods. Of course I would want to go with her.”
With that he placed his fork down, a perturbed. Besides, it felt strange to be eating when Marius was quite clearly uninterested in it. It felt almost like he were doing it for an audience now rather than sharing a dinner. Well that was okay, they had the money to waste on these things.
Marius knew what Bianca felt and why, but it wasn’t his place to speak of such things. Of course Marius knew how much Armand adored their little beauty, and he knew just how much she loved him in turn. It was because of Armand’s effortless love that Bianca agonized over her guilt. Though in the end, Marius always reminded her that it wasn’t her responsibility to feel guilty for things she had no power over. The guilt belonged to him.
“Why don’t we get the bill?” Armand said.
“Yes, perhaps we can find a place to get drinks.” A dark bar, some light music, local art on the walls.
Armand didn’t want to sound disparaging, nor did he want to agree. If Marius drank, he would not be able to drive them back to the chateau tonight, which would pose a problem. “Why don’t we find a show to see or a film?” he asked after some thought, not wanting to push Marius away. He asked the waiter for the bill and pulled his wallet out, prepared to tip generously.
Marius felt a bit awkward watching Armand pay for them as it went against his nature and most basic essence. It had nothing to do with mortal convention or what others may think, as he cared very little for their opinions. But before he could say anything about it, Armand was distracted by a rather violent buzzing from his phone.
As Armand pulled it out of his pocket, he caught sight of an amber alert for severe weather, and sure enough when he glanced to the window, there was tremendously thick snow.
Marius rose to gather their coats, pondering the snow build up. It was hard to know the condition of those small rarely used roads that led to and from the chateau. While Marius was certain he would get them home without slipping or crashing, he couldn’t account for the pass-ability of the roads.
“We could get a room for the night.” Marius was quick to explain further, rushing to the next part to cut off anything Armand might say. “Two rooms or two beds.” He knew Armand knew him to be an honorable man, having never forced himself on him or any of their associates, but he wanted the boy to feel safe and assured.
Armand felt like he was at an impasse as he shrugged on his coat and walked out of the restaurant with Marius. The snow was so thick on the ground already, and beneath it there was a concealed sheet of ice in places. Even if the roads weren’t closed, the thought of driving in this filled him with an abject horror that he tried to tamper down. The hotel idea seemed the only logical solution, and he nodded, trying to come to terms with this change of plan. He wasn’t always good with changing plans.
“Shall we do drinks then?” he suggested. “We’ll need somewhere warm and dry to research hotels.” After all, Marius’s drunkenness had no practical bearing on the night now. It might even turn out to be endearing.
Notes:
This chapter written by B and T
Chapter 43: Brief Things
Summary:
When Lestat comes back from his time with Fareed in Paris bearing only bad news, Gregory is determined to distract him from his woes—in bed. Explicit
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Gregory’s head cold had lessened greatly over the past day and a half, and he was thankful for that. But here he was, still locked up in the castle when everything in him wanted to be out exploring all the sensations and experiences he’d not been able to know in over six thousand years. After Greta injected him with several vaccines early the previous night, she’d warned him not to leave the room, to remain inside sleeping and ‘hydrating’ as long as it took to clear up the coldlike symptoms. He’d slept all day. He drank many the teas and juices. He visited the bathroom to urinate many times. Always so fascinating to flush the waist and see the water suck down into the bowl!
He’d grown bored with the television and lying around. Lestat had been in Paris since yesterday evening, and Armand and Marius had gone out somewhere tonight, apparently no longer afraid of enemies of the Court trying to obliterate them. There wasn’t really anyone else Gregory felt like seeing. He decided on another shower. The water was so hot and the steam so relaxing against his mortal muscles. He took longer this time, thoroughly washing his body in soap and rinsing.
After washing his hair, he found his mind wandering to his blood spouse, Chrysanthe, and how lovely her long bronze hair was, and how she often let him wash it when they bathed together. This led to other thoughts, which resulted in his fist wrapped tightly around his engorged cock, working himself to a very strong climax. His seed splashed against the tiled wall, then washed down into the little drain.
How satisfying… And also, how very unsatisfying. He frowned at the wall where his release had been evident moments before.
After the shower, he decided to cut his hair and groom down his long beard to something more manageable in this modern time. He shaved it close, as men in business tended to wear. He trimmed his hair short and clean. All the hair he cleaned up and placed in a trash can, but he didn’t have the fire gift to burn it now. It would take some getting used to, not having to immediately groom and trim all his long hair every night. He stared down into the trash at it, a small horror suddenly threatening to take him over. But he looked away before it could. He dressed in comfortable clothing and returned to the main parlour, at a loss once more for what to do.
Just as he’d come to a decision to go see who was downstairs, a knock came at his door and he rushed to open it. “Lestat! Come in.” Gregory pulled him into his parlour, perhaps more excitedly than he should.
How could Gregory have such energy, such light in his eyes, at a time like this? All optimism Lestat had taken with him off to Paris yesterday was now shattered into the smallest pieces. He still felt somewhat numb to the shock of it, and when he’d stepped out of the helicopter into the snowy yard a few minutes ago, he’d looked up at his ridiculous house, not knowing where to go first. The news was bad, and his instinct was to keep the full of it as secret as possible.
Marius and Gregory, then. The only ones who need know for now.
He took hold of Gregory, embracing him in greeting, though with none of the same enthusiasm, his breath coming out slowly over Gregory’s shoulder. He released him and went to slump down on the couch where he’d napped yesterday, rubbing at a slight mortal headache between his eyes.
“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said, because that was true. He hadn’t thought Gregory could have come down with anything serious without being exposed to disease vectors, nothing more than a chill. But all the same, Lestat was glad it seemed to have passed.
How unhappy Lestat appeared. Of course, he was not as thrilled to be experiencing mortal existence again. Gregory wondered if he could somehow help Lestat to feel at least a little excitement for things he may not have tried his last time as a mortal.
He shut the door and followed Lestat, but he did not sit down. He stood before him, hands clasped behind his back. “Yes, I am feeling much better. Although my arm is a little sore from where Greta jabbed me with needles. And she says I still need several more.”
Lestat’s hand came up to rub the side of his own shoulder where Fareed had stuck him with additional needles, though apart from the soreness, he was glad not to be having any of the other possible side effects of the countless injections he’d received over the past couple days.
Gregory looked him over, remembering that just two nights prior, he had tried to drink this man’s blood, and it had been sorely disappointing. Meanwhile, the passionate bruises Marius had left on the other side of Lestat’s throat appeared nearly healed.
“You went to Paris? What did Fareed say? It must not be good; you look like someone kicked your puppy.” Gregory sat beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me.”
Lestat nodded a little, glancing at him from the corners of his eyes. Yes, his puppy had very much been kicked.
With a flick of his hand, Lestat indicated the new bandage on his throat over the bite mark Gregory had left behind. “Nothing would heal it… Nothing! Not Fareed’s blood, not Seth’s, none of the blood products he’s synthesized from our materials in his laboratory… He cut me again, here.” Lestat shrugged off his jacket and pushed up the sleeve of his knit shirt to show Gregory another bandage on the back of his forearm. “Nothing healed that either. Neither topically, nor by ingestion.”
Lestat made a disgusted little face at the memory of the taste of Fareed’s blood. What agony, that the flavor of blood repulsed him now! Tasting his own blood had been slightly less bad, but still meaningless. Just water and salt.
“So it’s not just that it was your bite, Gregory. I am—we are immune to the Blood. It was the same for Daniel and Cyril. Completely immune.” He waved a hand at his throat again. “The doctors said it was healing well enough on its own…in typical mortal fashion. For what that’s worth.” By the defeat in his tone, it seemed Lestat didn’t consider it worth much at all.
Gregory couldn’t help but touch his arm, to give him his most sympathetic look and to try and soothe him with a small sound of empathy. Lestat leaned into Gregory, drawn by his touch. Even mortal, his hand offered such strength and assurety.
“What do you think might have brought this on? It must be the work of some spirit. Or…” Gregory hesitated to say the next thing, but felt it had to be placed on the table. “Perhaps Kapetria has some knowledge of what has happened. She is specially gifted in such sciences. Just as Fareed is.”
“Yeah, yeah, we’ve thought of that,” Lestat said with a sigh. “Gremt joined us at the labs, and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it. He knows where to find her, and he feels sure she’ll be eager to assist—for the scientific curiosity of it all, if nothing else. She’s insatiable that way, our Kapetria.”
Gregory was glad to hear it. “We can do nothing more, in that case. You have set into motion all that can be done to find our cure. Now you must simply let others do the work and bring the results.”
“No one has any guess what did it,” Lestat continued. “Blaming a spirit is as good as any. Or a witch’s curse. Though whatever or whoever has the power to do this to us—why now? Why not ever before? We had the Court… We were all ready to live in harmony with the world. We had our laws, our constitution. Why now??”
Lestat rubbed his hands over his face, then dropped them again. “It’s confirmed that it was only us in the chateau, by the way. The whole rest of the world is just the same as it always was. Lucky us. Merry Christmas.”
Gregory’s hand moved of its own volition, smoothing Lestat’s golden hair. He had a great attraction to blond hair, which was no secret. As a mortal, Lestat’s hair was pale honey, sun kissed and youthful. The tender touch made Lestat’s eyes fall closed, and he made a soft sound in the back of his throat.
Gregory’s gaze lingered on the strands between his dark fingers and then on Lestat’s handsome profile. Then Gregory’s mortal brain flipped back to the shower and the memory of what he’d done there. Instantly, he was aroused again. Painfully so.
He let his hand fall back to Lestat’s shoulder. “I’m sure there are things you can do to take your mind off this ordeal?”
Lestat’s eyes opened, and he flopped back against the sofa cushions. He was about to say that this was the worst thing that had ever happened to him (a mighty claim, all considering) and everything was darkness and tragedy, and nothing at all could possibly make him stop lamenting it, that he could only push the feelings down so that he could help those who needed him—but then he saw the way Gregory was looking at him.
Lestat arched an eyebrow, rolling his head toward him against the back of the couch. “…Brief things,” he acknowledged, though there was a sheen of interest behind his eyes. He was thinking now of the way he’d kissed Gregory four nights ago under the mistletoe. He’d done it with flair with full intent to tease him, and Gregory had warned him then to be careful what he started with him… Lestat hadn’t taken that warning at all seriously at the time. “Is that really what you advise, hm? No thinking at all?”
A slow smile curved Gregory’s lips. “That’s exactly what I advise,” he said, voice deep with arousal. In only a few movements, he’d climbed over to straddle Lestat, hands braced on the back of the couch on either side of Lestat’s head. Gregory leaned down, his breath ghosting along the unbandaged side of Lestat’s throat. Slowly, he ground down over Lestat’s lap, his hardness more than evident. “Doesn’t have to be brief,” he hummed, lips trailing along the line of Lestat’s jaw and up to his lips, claiming them in a bruising hungry kiss.
Lestat’s hands snapped up to clutch Gregory’s hips, and he breathed in sharply through his nose, his lips parting naturally to accommodate Gregory’s. All the nerves under his skin seemed to wake up all at once from his malaise, shooting erotic shimmers straight down to his groin. Of course, Lestat had long known how Gregory loved him, but this intensity was beyond whatever he’d expected. He could see Gregory’s point now about how very much it could drive out all thought…though how brevity factored into it would remain to be seen.
Gregory smelled so fresh and clean, like luxurious shampoo and crystal waters, and his weight was so warm and solid. Lestat wasn’t even sure he could have pushed Gregory off him if he wanted to—what a thing it was to feel the effects of weight now—and as Gregory continued to grind on his lap, Lestat groaned into his mouth.
The needle-like hairs of Gregory’s freshly-cut beard scraping against Lestat’s cheek and throat was a sensation he wasn’t used to, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. His hands came up and caught Gregory’s face, shifting it back enough so that he could turn his head and kiss him again at a better angle, tasting his tongue experimentally. When he needed to come up for air, Lestat’s grip on Gregory’s face got firmer, forcing him to pause so he could look at him.
His lips parted to speak, but it had to wait as another groan was ground out of him, and then he fixed Gregory with glazed but narrowed eyes. “Don’t you dare leave any marks on me.”
Gregory almost laughed at this order. How could he possibly promise such a thing? Already he’d been fighting an overwhelming need to bite and suck on Lestat’s throat. Leaning back slightly, Gregory pulled his own shirt off and tossed it aside, holding eye-contact all the while, not wanting to break it for anything. He undulated against Lestat’s lap sensually, groaning with the heat of pleasure it brought and with the obvious effect it had on Lestat too.
“I will make every effort not to leave marks,” he promised with a small breathless laugh, leaning down to kiss and suck at that mouth as he encouraged Lestat with deft fingers to remove his shirt too.
“Love you, love you, please, please,” Gregory purred, a little shocked by the needy sounds he was making here. Rarely did he lose control of his passion as a blood drinker. But this whole mortal thing was making it hard to keep rein on his longings and needs.
“Lestat,” he growled low in his throat, returning to nuzzle and lick along the strong expanse of throat and collarbone, then back up to kiss and kiss more, fingers sliding into that golden hair he so adored.
Gregory wasn’t the only one a little shocked, and again Lestat’s breath caught to hear him say such things. The heat stirring within him turned into a bubbling warmth of euphoria that rose right up behind his eyes, and his arms came up to embrace Gregory around his back with effervescent affection, pulling him too tight to even kiss for a moment.
The feeling of his warm, solid chest against his own bare skin made another lustful groan rise from Lestat’s throat, and one hand slid up to the back of Gregory’s neck, clutching to hold him still long enough for Lestat to bury his face against his throat, mouthing and sucking the tender skin there—though not enough to leave any marks himself, he would give Gregory no excuse in return.
So much felt different about this than the other night with Marius, the clarity of sobriety giving each touch and kiss a sharpness to fuel Lestat’s arousal all the more, Gregory’s unguarded adoration going straight to his heart. His hips rolled under Gregory’s in return rhythm to increase the friction between them, and his hands ran down his back, relishing every ripple of muscle and bone until they reached his waistband.
Gregory found himself slightly frustrated by the bandage on Lestat’s throat. That was, after all, his favorite side to feast on, and here this plastic and gauze was in his way. He had to make do with the other side, where Marius had clearly already had his way. Gregory licked and kissed and sucked as gently as he could, but the urge to bite was almost overpowering.
Luckily, there were other things to distract him: the mirror of returned passion and love on Lestat’s face, and the feel of skin on skin, and most importantly, Lestat’s hands pushing between their bodies to unfasten Gregory’s pants.
Of course! They needed to be naked, fully.
Gregory slid off Lestat’s lap, freeing himself of the pants, his arousal more than evident and jutting up proudly. How lucky that he’d already brought himself to completion in the shower, as he would certainly have finished embarrassingly early already.
He held a hand out to Lestat, who already looked thoroughly disheveled simply from the kissing. Lestat would have hopped up already on his own, but the sight of Gregory stripped had him rapt. What splendor, just look at him! Already Lestat’s heart was racing, his breath coming more and more shallow.
“Come, my love, my prince, I want to do this on a bed. I want to be able to feel all of you.” Gregory’s words tumbled out breathlessly as he tried to pull Lestat up from the couch, again shocked by having to put actual physical effort into it.
That word, ‘prince,’ snapped Lestat out of his lust-driven stupor with a flinch of pain. But he didn’t want to think about any of that now. He would bury it all beneath passion. Obliterate it completely!
He stood, wrapping his arms tight around Gregory and kissing him, his hands running over all that he could reach now that Gregory was nude. All that fresh young skin, Lestat relished in the shifts of texture between where it was smooth and where hair grew.
Pushing firmly against Gregory with his body, Lestat made him walk backward through the door to the bedroom. Only when they reached it, did he finally let up enough to let Gregory go so that he could take off his own shoes and pants. He had to lean against the bedpost to do it—all his usual balance was gone! Lestat felt half-drunk just from the mortal limitations alone. But he managed to get his clothes off without falling over, and then he pounced on Gregory, knocking him off his feet and tumbling with him into the giant bed.
A joyous deep laugh spilled from Gregory as he fell into the rich soft comforter and pillows. Every inch of his skin felt electric with the thrill of what was happening. Lestat, handsome, golden, perfect, and all his for this moment in time! Gregory stretched out beneath him, hands exploring all the smooth planes and tight muscles, slipping along Lestat’s back and down to the taut globes of his ass, pulling him tighter, closer. Aligning their erections for some sort of friction.
“Lestat…” he groaned, the name ragged and needy on his lips as he kissed and kissed, sucking and tasting that mouth and tongue. He could not get enough of it. A great coiling tension was building within, and Gregory tried to press up harder against Lestat, longing suddenly to meld into him, be one with him. Hunger was what it was. Desperate needy hunger and want. But there was no blood, nothing to consume!
He tangled a fist in Lestat’s hair and licked sucking kisses all along his throat and collarbone. “Do anything you want, I am yours,” he growled.
“Anything!” Lestat laughed. But he had no plans or intentions, caught up purely in the moment by moment, glorying in the feel of Gregory beneath him, their hands all over each other, their legs tangled. Gregory had such a different body type from the people Leatat was most used to being with. So much to explore! The way their cocks slid against each other was just perfect, each undulation sending a wash of heat through Lestat’s loins. But he couldn’t touch enough of Gregory this way. It wasn’t fair.
Shifting back, he pushed his knees between Gregory’s thighs so that he could rise up a bit and give his mouth space to move over Gregory’s chest, kissing and nipping, his tongue flicking over one nipple, while his hands roamed free. They ran down Gregory’s sides, then tucked under his hips so that he could clasp great handfuls of his ass.
“Anything…” he repeated musingly as his lips and tongue tasted every part of Gregory’s glorious chest. “Mine… Hmm… What a beautiful body you have, Gregory.”
Gregory gazed up at him, his mortal brain too blissed out with endorphins and excitement to even come up with a coherent reply. He gave Lestat a languid smile. Inviting. He remembered this, somehow. His mind reaching back so far into his history and remembering how he’d been the seductive willing lover, for not just Akasha, but many of the women in court before her.
“You are quite the golden god yourself,” Gregory finally replied, and he slowly licked the palm of his own hand. Reaching between them, he wrapped it firmly around Lestat’s cock, stroking and watching his face and those blue eyes for every single reaction.
Lestat almost fell right over, but he managed to catch himself, and was just getting steady when it happened again, and a low groan rose from him. He clutched Gregory by his waist, not wanting to hinder his arm, his head hanging so that his hair covered his face.
Working Lestat a little harder, Gregory’s thumb slipped over the head again and again, tightening his grip the way he had on his own cock in the shower. “I didn’t have a lot of experience with men as a mortal… You might have to teach me,” he said, eyes half-closed, wrist working faster and then slower, just to keep it interesting. Gregory was very thankful, in this moment, to have Lestat here with him, sharing this intimacy. He wanted more than anything to make it memorable.
Lestat was staring at Gregory’s hand, trying to keep his breath even, though Gregory kept catching him again, making him gasp. “What do you want to learn?” he managed to ask, his hands clenching tighter with the effort it was taking to keep control of his body. Honestly, he thought Gregory was doing just fine. Lestat could keep kissing and touching him this way for hours. Why not just stay in bed until Fareed figured out this problem? What better way was there to avoid spiraling into the abyss? What was Louis doing right now? Smelling flowers, riding horses? There probably wasn’t even any abyss for Louis at all. He was probably loving every minute of whatever mortal frivolity he undertook.
Lestat flipped his hair out of his face so he could see Gregory again. The heat in his dark eyes made them bottomless. He put one hand against Gregory’s face, enjoying the grain of his beard, and how soft his lips looked, the color of roses, framed by the sharp black. Lestat ran his thumb over them, then gently pushed it past them to stroke his teeth. So flat and square, those evil little knives completely gone. A mouth of goodness it was now, speaking words of love that lit up this dark night.
He bent over enough to kiss Gregory’s mouth, folding one arm over Gregory’s head to brace himself on the pillow. His other hand reached between them to join Gregory’s. “Put us together. Like this.” His uneven breath buffeted against Gregory’s cheek, as he adjusted himself to guide Gregory’s hand to hold both of their members. “Mmm… Tell me what you want to learn.” The tip of his tongue circled Gregory’s ear.
Gregory’s whole body was alight with a sort of electric thrill, not unlike that of the kill. He turned his head to capture Lestat in another deep passionate kiss, his fist working firmly around both of their erections now, which somehow doubled the carnal sensuality of it all. “This is more than enough,” he was finally able to rumble out between the gasps of pleasure. He tangled his free hand in Lestat’s hair groaning deeply into another hungry kiss. He could not keep his own hips still, something instinctual taking over entirely.
Lestat’s hips rolled in turn, thrusting deliciously against Gregory and into his hand until one particularly sensuous tug made Lestat gasp as his arm gave out from under him. He fell onto his side, tugging Gregory with him so that they stayed facing each other, tangling their legs together, keeping their hips hitched close. His hand moved with heavy pressure up Gregory’s back to the back of his head, and on instinct his fingers curled for something to grab onto. But with his hair clipped so close, there was nothing, and Lestat made a little desperate sort of growl.
“Gregory,” he whispered on the edge of a breath, as if he was about to tell him something, but then he lost his air again, and all that came was another, “Gregory,” spoken with eager affection against his jaw as he trailed kisses over his beard, minding its sandpaper roughness less and less the more they writhed against each other. “Why have we…ah!…never done this before?” Obviously not the sex part, but this rolling around in bed together seemed like a year and a half of wasted opportunities.
A huff of laughter escaped Gregory but was lost in a deep groan. He nuzzled against Lestat’s throat, his hand still working between them, the other wrapped around him, grasping his firm bottom, clutching him closer. “We haven’t been human before,” he managed to get out between kisses. He didn’t have the mental ability just now to further elaborate that he’d also been too fearful of rejection to even approach Lestat with the intimacy of blood exchange.
Soon, Gregory could not stand to draw this out any longer, and rolled them so he was now over Lestat, straddling him. He had to use both hands to brace himself up, grinding their cocks together in an erotic friction, hips pistoning ever more aggressively. Gregory dipped his head to capture Lestat’s mouth in another ravenous kiss as he felt every ounce of sensual pleasure coil within his body and explode, the seed spilling between them and making everything more slippery and warm.
Gregory buried his face in the crook of Lestat’s shoulder, panting, still moving against him, riding through the sensations and encouraging Lestat to follow him.
And he did, almost immediately. He couldn’t help it, so intense were Gregory’s dark eyes, so insistent his expert tongue. Lestat would have gladly tangled with him for hours, so new and exciting it was to be with Gregory of all people, and so seductive the offer to keep putting off facing reality. Just now, he never wanted to leave this bed, or Gregory’s arms. Lestat’s grip clung tightly around the back of his muscular shoulders, his face buried deep in the crook of his neck to stifle all the gasps and groans that rode atop the wave of his spent pleasure.
He pulled Gregory to roll one more time so they were on their sides again, facing each other in the opposite direction, one of Lestat’s arms trapped beneath Gregory’s weight. He was too blitzed out to mind. Or at least he wanted to be. Be gone, stay gone, he urged every dark thought that threatened to sneak back into his mind now. He didn’t want to remember the blood and how much it eclipsed this. No. He didn’t want to think of the faces of those he loved who were out of his reach. He was here with Gregory now, Gregory who had loved him so long and wanted him so openly. Only Gregory…
Lestat didn’t think he was going to be able to catch his breath anytime soon, but that didn’t matter. A lovely blanket of sleepiness was being drawn over him, the exhaustion of the past couple days enfolding him, but the fear crawled in the back of his mind that if he let himself drop off now, he would wake up alone again, like always.
“Don’t go,” he whispered against Gregory’s salty skin, a plea so soft, it was almost inaudible.
Gregory trailed soft lips along Lestat’s brow, curling his body closer. His mortal ears could only hear the word ‘go,’ and his blissed-out brain was hardly able to process that one word too clearly. “Go? No, stay with me here,” he rumbled quietly against Lestat’s temple. “Go to Paris with me tomorrow. Let’s get in trouble together.” Gregory gave a small chuckle and nuzzled in against Lestat, head resting on the same pillow. He considered getting up and fetching a wet cloth from the bathroom, so as to wipe clean the sticky mess they’d made between them, but this mortal body was having none of that. It just wanted to lie here like a sloth.
“Mmmm,” Lestat said, because it sounded like an excellent idea, letting the fuzzy feeling in his brain take over, the heat of Gregory’s body so comfortably warm against him, that he didn’t even long for a blanket. But just as sleep was about to claim him, he realized exactly what Gregory was suggesting.
“Can’t,” he murmured. Lestat had just walked in the door from returning from Paris an hour ago. He couldn’t turn around and go right back tomorrow. There was so much to do here, so many orders to place and staff to hire to make this house livable for mortals. His free hand caressed from Gregory’s shoulder down his side and then around the base of his back, as if to lock him there so he couldn’t jump out of bed and scamper off to Paris right now. “Why Paris?” he asked sleepily. “It’s so far…”
“That’s where my company is. I’ll go back to my office in Geneva, too. I’m excited to be there in the day hours.” Gregory trailed off with a great yawn. “Besides, it’s not that far by helicopter.”
He opened one eye to look at Lestat, but found his view was mostly all messy blond locks and pink skin. He placed a hand atop Lestat’s head and kissed what was directly before him. “Are you okay?” Gregory was loath to bring up Lestat’s recent visit to Fareed, but he didn’t want to seem as though he was blind to Lestat’s obvious distress over what he’d learned.
“Oh yeah.” Lestat rolled his eyes behind his closed lids. His arm around Gregory’s waist tightened, and then he rolled on top of him, his arms clutching around him. Kissing against his hatefully prickly beard, Lestat nudged his head up and to the side so that he could bury his own face to the smooth and soft part of Gregory’s neck, which was very nice.
For a minute, it seemed he intended to just pass out that way, using Gregory as a luxurious pillow and mattress; his breathing even, and his body becoming the dead weight of slumber. But then he spoke again. “Your company…” He chuckled low, under his breath, and then bit Gregory’s throat softly, his grip growing even tighter.
Gregory drew in a sharp breath. Lestat’s teeth at his throat and the tight hold around his body viscerally reminding him of the blood and the hunt. A low sensual groan escaped him, a tidal wave of lust washed over him, pooling into his gut and then lower, so that he was growing erect again. So soon! Well, he wasn’t more than twenty-three or -four years in body, and had been, for the most part, quite a virile young thing.
“Lestat!” he gasped, wrapping his own arms around, and relishing the weight upon him. Gregory tilted his head further to the side, offering more for kissing and biting and whatever Lestat might want, longing for that feeling of the fangs pressing into him, the blood flowing out of him, the deep connection of the mind and body with another.
“What?” Lestat said, as if he had no idea why Gregory would say his name that way. He nuzzled deeper, seeking whatever hairless spaces he could find. He nipped lazily behind Gregory’s ear and along his throat, but the spikes of his beard still scraped the side of Lestat’s face. It was a sensation he would have absolutely relished as a vampire, such a rough human texture, but now that his skin was soft and sensitive, it actually hurt, and the pain only got worse the longer it touched him.
He could feel Gregory’s dick twitching against his hip, and the realization that Gregory was being turned on again by him when he hadn’t even been trying, was powerfully exciting, and it began to drive some of Lestat’s exhaustion into the background. “You can’t go to Paris if I don’t let you up,” he said against Gregory’s ear before sucking slowly at his earlobe.
Gregory didn’t know how to react to this. Certainly, he was strong enough to roll Lestat off of him… Or was he? He didn’t want to make Lestat move at all, though. But neither did he want to be held here… And Lestat was no longer their Prince, so he certainly held no power over Gregory in that regard.
Perhaps he was over-thinking.
Gregory stretched beneath Lestat, again offering more of his throat. “It’s best if we rest and regain our energy before another round. I promise I won’t leave tonight.”
Lestat laughed and bit Gregory again, harder this time, possessive. He was too tired for another round, too tired to even get up and go upstairs to his room to sleep in his own bed. So he would be staying right here, snuggled up with Gregory.
He continued to trail lazy kisses over Gregory’s throat and shoulder until his head became too heavy to lift, and slowly, he fell asleep with Gregory in his arms.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and D
Chapter 44: Full Rein
Summary:
With the sudden snowstorm keeping them trapped in town, Armand and Marius continue their date night at a bar with a mission to determine which alcohol they like best as mortals now.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The wind outside the restaurant was so cold that Marius felt stunned by the pain and discomfort as the iciness sliced and stung. He slipped off his dark cashmere knit scarf and wrapped it around Armand’s neck, bundling him up in the thick warmth and smell of his cologne. “I will find us a place to have drinks,” he said because he had to establish some equilibrium after letting Armand pay for his dinner. There were still plenty of people out, though it seemed most of them were in their attempts to get home or find a warm place for a while. But the snow was beautiful as it fluttered and gusted about, and the silver and golden light cast from the windows was quite lovely.
He offered Armand his arm to take in case he wanted some more stability against the threat of slipping. On a street like this, they’d come across a bar within only a block or two as there were so many clustered about. They’d simply go into the first one they encountered, which Marius could already spy across the street and not too far. “This way,” he prompted, already looking across the street and back before stepping into it to cross. “I will text Bianca, as she will worry herself into a frenzy when we don’t come home.” Pandora, too, but he didn’t mention her.
“Perhaps we can send her a picture as proof that we’re alive.” By God, could Armand smell the cologne on Marius’s scarf. Spicy, earthy, heady. He felt more intoxicated by it than the wine at dinner, and was so enveloped by it and the softness of the cashmere that he could scarce feel the cold at all. He knew Marius needed the scarf, it was bitterly cold, but Armand didn’t try to give it back. Likely Armand paying for the dinner had made Marius feel some kind of way, and Armand would need to hand responsibility of the night over to him now.
His footsteps were slow and deliberate as they crossed the white street, his heart pumping in his ears, the fear of slipping was so intense. He was never more glad to see the inside of a bar than in this moment, when they finally found reprieve from the cold. It had been all of two minutes, if that, but it had been scary and Armand had not liked it. But he liked the warmth and the lights in here.
There were more people in the bar than otherwise might have been on a normal night, a higher-than-average patronage who all sought reprieve from the cold. Like them, unwilling to make the trek home or unwilling to let a night be spoiled by a sudden blizzard. There was still plenty of room, though, so it was easy to find a spot to sit.
Marius slipped his coat off again as the packed bodies made the air quite warm. Almost uncomfortably warm, so as soon as he sat, he went through the painstaking process of incurring and rolling his shirt sleeves up. It struck him again how pink his skin was, and how dark it looked in this light even though by human standards he was still quite pale.
Bars were easy to get distracted by with their lights, music, conversation, menus, and everything else. It was a much more charming environment now that Marius didn’t hear every thought and sound. The music was up just loud enough to catch, but not to overwhelm. He truly loved bars. “The last time I was in a bar as a human, I left with a grievous head wound.”
“If the ice stays that slippery, we’ll both attain one, I’m afraid,” Armand murmured, tugging at his earlobe absently as he watched the world outside with a mixture of awe and respect. When had he last had to worry about the snow? Life was so different for them now—he’d gone from a fearless and ruthless creature with a reputation to match, to a boy frightened that he and the person he loved most in the world could fall and hit their heads.
He shook himself of it, knowing that it was a morbid topic and he must seem very rude and said instead, “They must have changed so much since then. The last time I was in a bar as a human, I met Harlech, so they seem to harbor ill portents for the both of us.” He smirked.
“I knew I should have killed him immediately,” Marius mused, though the whole matter was offhand, as it was long ago and there was no going back with the benefit of hindsight. It wasn’t lost on him how casual murder still seemed to him, how common, even with human blood coursing through his body. Was he still capable of it?
He shook his head, still thinking of that awful Englishman and his drunken antics that had cost Marius too many precious children. “But I told myself, ‘Let Amadeo enjoy his youth, let him live his passions and his follies.’ What’s the worst that could happen, indeed. I wouldn’t have even needed to intrude upon your lovemaking, though I would have ruined it nonetheless. But it would have been so easy to render him nothing more than a quivering pulp with barely more than a thought. But no, I wanted you to be happy.” To think, all that immense power he had, powers of wind and fire, killing and telepathy…gone. “We won’t make that mistake again.”
Armand was worried for a moment that Marius was angry with him for this. He supposed he still had every right to be, the same way Armand would forever be angry at himself for what had become of Riccardo. If he’d just had a modicum more of self-control, he might have been able to make him immortal. If he’d had more self-control than that, then he wouldn’t have hurt him at all. He realized he was frowning, because of all things he still held to heart, his murder of Riccardo was one of those which hurt the most, which never got easier over time.
He pushed the thoughts away as Marius gave him a playful look and asked, “What would you like to drink?”
Armand smiled. “What would you like to drink? You have full rein now if we are staying the night.”
Marius looked around the room. It seemed the assumption amongst mortals was that you’d know your many and plenty drink options, but Marius was new to all of this. His age had been simpler. Wine. Beer was for barbarians, and his people were a long way from grain alcohol. But now there were a multitude of spirits and seltzers, liquors and syrups, and an infinite number of combinations. And most mortals knew what they liked, but he didn’t.
Still, not knowing was no excuse not to learn. Which he would do, seriously, and with a lot of consideration.
“I think I need to try a lot of options to find the one that suits my palate.” He hit his fist against the table with no strength, only purpose. His eyes wandered to the young man behind the bar with his slick hair and tight shirt, considering. “The truth is so absurd,” he whispered. “I’ll certainly die if I try everything, so I must be discerning.” He did overthink everything. “So top shelf. Scotch.”
Armand thought he might die if he tried scotch alone. It was something Daniel used to drink, along with everything else, and the smell of it had always stuck with him. It was so potent, as if it were made purely of chemicals, which, he supposed it was? Hm. Still, there was something cozy-looking about a scotch on the rocks in this weather with the glowing lights around them. And Marius, of course, would suit any drink in his hands.
“We can take some time to try all of the drinks. We don’t have to do it all in one night.” He smiled. “Unless, of course, you plan for this to be our only date night.” He turned to smile at the waiter as he arrived, and then to Marius. He didn’t want to order for him, again he wanted Marius to feel in control. Armand was comfortable when he was in control.
Marius assumed the statement was rhetorical, as surely Armand knew Marius wanted to pursue a relationship with him, which included many and regular dates, whether with alcohol while human, or with blood when they became vampires again. Unless Armand still had his doubts about Marius’s desire to court him, and needed more assurance? That was something Marius was always willing to give.
“No, this will not be our only,” he promised just before he turned to the waiter to give his order. If only he could read the man’s mind to know if he chose well. He turned again to the bartender who was staring at them, and wished even more he could glean a hint of what he thought, too. Especially with the way the man looked a bit too long at Armand. Marius wasn’t jealous, but it was poor manners.
He sucked in a breath and pulled out his phone. “A room. Rooms. Would you like me to get two, or is it acceptable for one room and two beds?”
Armand didn’t answer for a moment. He thought on it, what he might say and how he might say it without Marius thinking he was trying to pull away from him. He never faltered in his confidence like this—he thought what he thought, and those who didn’t like it had the problem. But this was different now, this was Marius. They were ageing day by day, minute by minute, and what if they could not become immortal again? If he pushed Marius away, he was in such danger of not being able to reconcile until they were what, in their 30s and 50s?
Armand felt sick and dizzy to think there was a chance that he might be and look thirty. He took a soft breath. “I worry I might get overwhelmed. I love you so much and we want so much.” His voice turned low and softer as the waiter arrived, a stout glass with a big ball of ice and golden swirling liquid for Marius, and the glass of red Armand had ordered. He knew he’d made the right choice for himself just by comparing the two.
Marius looked up from his phone for a few seconds, holding Armand’s gaze silently until at last he gave a warm, kind smile. An understanding expression. “Of course,” he agreed. “And I love you, too.” It didn’t offend him that Armand wanted his own room, and he didn’t feel any sense of rejection. They were a long way from the time when they were last lovers, and the simplicity of their passion and romance had grown complex and deep. This was Armand, not Amadeo who gave his body night after night without fear or reserve. Marius couldn’t expect the same.
He set his phone down and reached for the scotch, studying the color and shimmer of the liquid in the light. He held it up to his lips and smelled, and didn’t particularly like it. But he wanted to still try, so he took a long sip of it, surprised at the way it burned his throat going down. Not the pleasant burn of scorching blood, either. Something that made his throat feel raw. Still, the flavor lingered pleasantly and was surprisingly sharp. “It’s nice.”
Armand wasn’t sure Marius really meant that, but who was he to say anything about it? If he liked it, or pretended to like it, then he supposed it was money well spent. He certainly liked his own wine enough for the both of them anyway.
He took his phone out, snapped a candid and magnificent picture of Marius with his glass, and sent it to Bianca to fill her heart with ease and joy. Isn’t he beautiful? he typed before sending. Then he placed his phone down and locked it entirely. He wouldn’t be accused of not attending to Marius. “It looks like liquid fire,” he said of the scotch, swirling his own by the stem before placing it before Marius. “Try mine.”
Marius liked the way the red wine looked, had always liked how clean it appeared. In his day, wine was always added to, whether it was vinegar for a soldier or rich spices to mask the flavor of wine going spoiled, and water to dilute potency. There was always something floating in the wine, whether it was pepper, cinnamon, or flower petals. This wine was pure, no need to balance spoilage or bitterness. In his mind, Marius could remember this wine. He smelled the wine as if trying to extract the memory, but he could not.
Very carefully, he took a sip, paused to assess the flavor on his tongue and then nodded. “This is far better,” he decided because, as it seemed, you couldn’t take the Roman out of the man, and wine would always be superior. “This,” he said as he pointed at the scotch, “I can tell is the more expeditious way to intoxication. What’s wrong with humans, honestly?” He set the wine glass down and slid it back toward Armand.
“Life is just that hard, really hard for some people,” Armand said thoughtfully, eyes never leaving the glass. He remembered well the struggles that Daniel underwent and the fact that he had probably caused half of them. “I guess getting drunk on a mission takes the pain away, or at least makes you pass out so you’re not thinking anymore. I think being a human might be harder than being one of us, one of what we were.”
“Do you think so?” Marius asked softly. If anything, being human was fragile and tragic. Short, messy, and emotional. Armand would remember far better than he. He didn’t mean for his fledgling to grow so solemn.
In one quick motion, he drank the entirety of the scotch, which wasn’t much as a single drink. Armand was impressed to say the least. He assumed it wasn’t easy to put something so potent down—he’d been able to smell it from where he sat.
Setting the glass on the table, Marius leaned forward over it. “Drink. For a much-needed reprieve from thinking.”
“Maybe, and I am sure your brilliant mind never stops thinking,” Armand remarked, tapping his own glass against Marius’s empty one and taking a healthy gulp of the wine. Its rich taste unfurled over his tongue in a way that was almost orgasmic. Not that he’d know, after so long. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to make a habit of that, but why should we not get drunk for one night?”
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Marius promised with notable, in fact outright, tenderness. He didn’t promise that he wouldn’t do anything to harm or violate Armand, because of course that went without saying. Armand had nothing to fear from him. Marius was a man of many faces and identities, but he was always a gentleman, and he believed honor was vital to a man. “Just one night. If you drink into oblivion, I will carry you through these streets myself.”
Armand smiled softly, shaking his head. “It’s a lovely image,” he began, though he wondered how many strange looks they’d receive. He also wondered if Marius would even be able to lift him still, if his arms wouldn’t get tired. “But it won’t be necessary.”
At least, at that point, he didn’t think so.
Later, three drinks in, he was feeling the warm buzz, marveling at the sensation of drunkenness that was at once so familiar and alien to him. He flexed his hand, trying to grow accustomed to the feeling, but his enraptured eyes never left Marius as they conversed.
Marius tried a few other liquors. Whiskey, which wasn’t too much worse than the scotch, and vodka, which he declared quite vile. After his attempt at tequila, a popular drink amongst tourists to Brazil as he recalled, he decided to switch to wine. He’d heard of the dangers of mixing alcohol and wine, especially the darker varieties, but his stomach felt fine.
Whether it was his size or his age, he wasn’t feeling too intoxicated after four drinks and one glass of wine. But he did gaze at Armand, chin propped on his hand, posture almost lazy. He had deep eyes, but his look of alertness, his attentiveness kept his expression bright. Void of that, his features became broody. “The bartender has been staring at you all night,” he mused in a soft voice. “Is he worried? Enamored? Lustful? Does he recognize you? I don’t know. What do you think? You’re used to the ways men look at you. What does his expression say?”
Armand frowned a little, then smirked. He hadn’t noticed. He couldn’t perceive things like that anymore, not as a human and not three drinks in. Besides, why should he be looking at such things as that, when he had this man in front of him? He glanced aside to the bartender, who met his eye for a short while before looking back to what he was doing. In the past, he might have immediately claimed that the man was lustful, enamored. Why wouldn’t he be? But now he was human, he didn’t have that same allure. Yes, he was beautiful, but he was a tipsy human with a pimple on the way.
“I don’t know anymore,” he said quietly, turning his eyes back to Marius. “Does it matter? Does it bother you?” he teased.
Marius turned his head, still propped in his hand. For a long moment, he was quiet, watching the bartender shake a drink in a metal container that he then poured into a glass. It was true that Marius had never been particularly jealous or possessive of Armand. There was no reason to be. While Armand enjoyed passions with many, he only ever loved Marius. Since Marius couldn’t give him what a human man could then, it was only fair that he let Armand meet his own needs.
“It doesn’t bother me,” he decided. “It’s not logical to be bothered. I know that, if given a choice, you would choose me. I’ve no reason to be jealous.”
Armand smiled, absorbing everything Marius was saying. It was true, of course. He loved many of the men in their coven in a deep, carnal sense. But if needed, he would give them up for Marius. Still, it was fun to not immediately agree, but to tease and play now that for once they were on slightly more even footing. “Good. Because if you’d said you were jealous, I might have had to kiss you to set things right,” he murmured, finishing his drink and looking to get the waiter’s attention to order another. “I couldn’t say I’d be as mature as you if the circumstances were flipped.”
Maybe because Marius was drunk and not in complete control of his reactions and expressions, or because he simply didn’t care to be in his mild inebriation, but a rather sullen expression darkened his face when he realized he’d lost out on a kiss. The disappointment didn’t linger long because Armand’s own admission of jealousy was rather cute. “You’ve nothing to worry about, I assure you.”
“Oh, yes? And how would you assure me?” Armand asked softly, gently quirking a brow and leaning on his hand to look at Marius. “After all, I am young and impetuous. I don’t have the ability to rationalize like you, my strong and beautiful Roman. I am fragile and need that reassurance.” Oh, he knew it was a game. After so long, he knew what Marius was like still, knew how to cater to his wants and needs in a way that he liked to keep close. In addition to this, he was drunk. The next drinks were placed before them and Armand took a sip immediately, and he had to focus on his words. He liked it, he liked the freedom this feeling gave him.
Marius’s palm hit the table with more force than he’d intended, splaying large, fingers curling over the edge and gripping. His muscles moved under his shirt as he pulled himself forward, an interesting sensation to him, that tension, as it was so long since he’d had to rely on that sort of strength. Leaning over the relatively small table, close to Armand’s face but not too close, he could feel the heat and see the pinkness in the boy’s round cheeks. “You’re a light too bright, too blinding, and I can’t see anyone else in the glare. I don’t want to. Why would I look to these simple creatures when you are a god? Neither god nor man has ever created anything more beautiful than you,” he said in a whisper, aware of how absurd he likely sounded. Aware Armand had drunk men whisper this drivel to him a thousand times already.
Armand absorbed this, dumbfounded in a way that he wouldn’t express. He kept his voice as positively trained as he always tried to, but in his heart and in his mind, he was deeply affected by the heat of these confessions, by the flattery of these words. He could not believe his own luck that Marius said these things, Marius meant them. Marius was spouting the same poetry that drunk mortals had thrown at him believing they were utterly in love with him. What had he done to warrant this from his gorgeous Marius of all people? He didn’t believe it of himself, but Marius would never know this.
He smiled softly, the color of his cheeks if nothing else betraying his emotions, and he turned to gaze into Marius’s eyes. “If only you knew,” he mused, coiling a finger tenderly around a lock of Marius’s bright hair. A light too bright, a god? Marius was the light, and Armand the shadow that skulked and followed him faithfully always. His utter servant, tenured in a way he couldn’t now regret. “Ah, but you don’t believe in God or gods. And our bartender is no longer bothered to look at me.”
“How would you even know when he looks at you, how often his eyes linger on your face and hair and body as I’ve noticed? You’ve barely been able to take your eyes off of me.” If said in the wrong tone, such a thing might have sounded like a challenge, or maybe even smug, but Marius said it in the same fervent murmur. It was neither a challenge nor arrogance. He reached over the table and slid his fingers under Armand’s chin, stroking, making Armand’s breath hitch. “I can almost believe in God and heaven when I look at you. I’m a rational man, but to think that biology, messy chromosomal coincidence produced a beauty like you? It’s absurd. Irrational. All of your pieces were intentional, they had to be.”
Armand’s smile never dwindled. It was as if Marius were taking all thoughts out of his head and firing them back to him. Every last inch of Marius had always been intentional and Armand was in constant awe to look at him. “Of course I can’t take my eyes off of you,” he began, wondering if he should keep saying such things. “You are the reason I still believed in God after being abducted, raped, and sold into slavery. You acted with his gentleness and looked with his grace. You were put together with such intention from the finest clay, and your eyes and your nose, your lips and jaw all attest to that. He even took great care with your brain.”
Marius smiled at the flattery because it did please him that Armand in particular found him attractive, but his ego in that regard was modest. He was exceptionally handsome, but plenty of men were, at least in their world. Every man in the chateau was such. He was no more handsome than Lestat, Louis, Gregory, or any other. Perhaps among humans he stood out—he certainly had his share of propositions and strange carnal requests. But even among their kind, Armand was different. Marius may be handsome, but Armand was celestial, heavenly, and transcendent.
“I wasn’t gentle,” Marius said as his eyes wandered to Armand’s shoulders and chest, the table blocking any further stare. “I was always too hungry for you to be gentle. My desire could tear us both apart.”
Armand’s cheeks felt hot again as the implication sank in, what it meant and how much he wanted it. He wanted to be torn apart like that again. He lifted his hands to his cheeks to see if they felt warm, this feeling that had been so strange to him was becoming very common. “If you weren’t gentle when I was a mortal and you weren’t, I would not be having this conversation with you now. You were gentle enough—it took tremendous control to withhold your strength, I’m sure,” he mused. “Regardless, I meant gentleness in all things. In your kisses and your teachings. Marius…” He felt suddenly overwhelmed with excitement, as if the gravity of it all were hitting him all over again. They could totally and completely make love to one another now as Armand had always wanted as a boy, in a way that they never could before. He looked at him and laughed breathlessly, raising his glass to his lips again.
Marius sat back, letting go of where he’d gripped the table, hand sliding across the smooth and polished service as it retreated back toward him and his own recently forgotten glass. The amber liquid reminded him of Armand’s eyes. Armand’s laugh sent a thrill through him because he’d always loved the sound of the boy’s happiness. As he raised the glass to his lips, he thought of all the times he’d punished the human Armand. Was there gentleness, too? A complex issue, to be sure, as he knew too well how Armand had enjoyed those punishments. And Marius had hardly used even a fraction of his strength or stamina, so he had been considerably gentle when accounting what he had been capable of.
The bartender was looking at Armand again, his motions automatic as he went about his job, notably distracted. Marius had leaned close to Armand… Had the bartender thought Marius would kiss him? How inconvenient it was not to be able to read minds. The silence was aggravating, the not knowing concerning.
“Tell me something, Armand,” he said, speaking slow and with purpose to keep from sounding slurred or dull. “That you think would shock me or something you think would thrill me.”
Armand didn’t think much to answer, which surprised him immediately after he spoke because Marius’s request had a thrill and gravity to it that was notable. “Santino and I stopped sharing blood, and that was because every single time we did, I thought only of you. He was frustrated by it, by the fact that I couldn’t give every last part of myself to the cause.” He didn’t know if it would work, if it would shock Marius or thrill him at all or if he would have expected it. He looked again to the bartender, who did keep looking at him for some reason or another. Well, let him.
“To the cause?” Marius said, the distaste in his tone too thick to miss, laced with too much scorn and bitterness to mistake for anything but the rancid hatred it was. “Sounds like he wanted every last part of you given to him in particular.” It was well known by now that Santino had been a hypocrite, quick to abandon his ideals for a better life. For jewels and comfort and luscious fabrics. How committed could he have been? His interests had always been selfish, and Marius knew without a doubt this was rooted in that selfishness, too. “I hope he loathed the image of me in your head. Just as I am certain he knew he’d never measure up to me. How many tall blond men have you kissed with your eyes squeezed closed in the passing centuries?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Armand teased, his lips curling slightly into a smile. There had been too many to count anyway, from those he had been obsessed with to those who just fit the bill. “None of them compared, none of them came close.” It seemed that Marius was neither shocked nor thrilled to hear his confession, but he had little else to give in this moment.
Marius was satisfied to know as much even without all of the particulars. He knew he shouldn’t, and maybe it was only because he was drunk and not thinking too clearly, but he was excited by the idea of Armand submitting to countless men, trying to find his ghost, trying to relive the pleasure, but always finding it lacking. A reminder that only Marius could give him what he needed. He wanted to say as much, but decided it might be too crass. Yes, it had to be the alcohol. He had to be careful.
Armand tried to follow Marius’s line of thought as he sat in silence for some time. He could see the grand machine of his mind was working away in there, as finely oiled as ever, if not just a little slower-paced for the alcohol and humanness. He couldn’t do it though, anymore than he’d ever been able to.
He nudged Armand’s foot with his own, bringing him out of his own endeavor. “May I ask you a personal question?”
Armand inhaled softly, brows furrowed as he concentrated on this question. He always felt such a way when Marius asked him things like this, for what would he possibly have to offer him that he hadn’t already? “Of course, anything.”
Marius moved his empty glass to the side of the table and left it at the edge to be collected. For a moment, he was distracted by the warmth of his own body, suddenly overcome in need of cold air or a splash of cool water to his face. Something in his stomach churned, a reminder not to ask questions he might not want the answer to. But his curiosity was insatiable, and it all too often won out over caution. It wasn’t the first time curiosity had led him astray. Pandora insisted his curiosity was a symptom of his need to control everything around him, that he soaked up information and minute details like a sponge because it gave him the upper hand. She would say something like that.
“Did you and Santino merely share blood for, as you say, the cause, or were you lovers in a more…intimate sense?”
Armand found he didn’t like the question. He didn’t like being asked questions about Santino, least of all by Marius, when the whole thing had created so many wounds that were now septic, even if they were bandaged. But it was he who had brought Santino up, and he had to accept it. And this time he was very glad that he could be honest, and that his honesty would cause no strife. “No,” he said finally, finishing his drink as well. “Just the cause, and there was no other intimacy. The blood sharing was a way to make sure I was as dedicated as ever.”
Marius was certain that, from Armand’s perspective, there was nothing more to it than indoctrination and dedication. But he wasn’t so sure that was Santino’s intent or desire. Not with Armand’s beauty and allure. And time had proven Santino to be a shameless hedonist and pleasure-seeker like those he condemned, not the monastic acolyte living a life of denial and suffering. He was a vile, dangerous hypocrite. It was too hot. Marius rose carefully. “I need to put water on my face,” he murmured.
Armand drew back a little, frowning without being able to stop it. In that moment he cursed having brought up Santino at all. He should have just said something completely fun and shallow, but he had wanted to try to thrill and shock. Now Marius knew that there was nothing truly between them and still his mood seemed soured. In that moment, everything felt so desolate and unsalvageable when moments ago, they were drafting poetry on the spot just for looking at one another. Was this the other side of drunkenness? Volatile emotions where the highs were high and the lows were the loneliest thing?
Armand nodded, not knowing what to say to make things better, not wanting to crowd Marius, and he glanced down at the drinks menu with a heaviness in his heart. Whether or not he would order anything else after this, he didn’t know.
Marius found he wasn’t so unsteady on his feet and actually felt quite stable. It pleased him to know he did not have a weak disposition for alcohol, as he’d have been disappointed in himself to find he did. He stepped out from around the table, needing to pass by Armand to get to where the bathroom was. But he stopped next to his fledgling, reaching to put his fingers under his chin again. With his finger against the side of Armand’s jaw, he turned it and tilted it back, forcing Armand to look at him. It was terribly hot underneath his hair and his clothing, and it certainly did not abate at all when he rotated his hand and pressed his thumb next against Armand’s plump bottom lip. For a moment, he wanted to push until the mouth opened, but they were in public, it would be indecent, and there were already people looking. And he felt his breathing quicken, the horrible but easily masked first sign of arousal. No, this wasn’t the place or time. He needed to ground himself, to sober up, to approach his feelings more rationally and let Armand have his distance and boundaries until he was ready.
So, he dropped his hand, hyper-aware of the lack of stimuli to his skin now that his arm hung uselessly at his side, fingers curling in. He moved to the men’s restroom, glaring at the bartender on his way past. And how Marius hated, absolutely and without restraint, human bathrooms. This one was perfectly clean, but his nose still wrinkled in disgust and he wanted to recoil from any surface. He’d read the blowing dryers were disgusting, so he gingerly grabbed a paper towel to turn on the sink with, not letting any part of his body touch the counter.
“This is horrible, absolutely loathsome,” he said to his reflection as he ran wet hands over his pink cheeks. They felt rough, the facial hair already trying to peek through. Nothing at all like the smooth, supple cheeks Armand had with such grace. Like hot velvet. “You can’t think those things,” he chastised himself.
Well, Armand certainly did order another drink after that. There were some people looking, but he didn’t care. His head was swimming from the look in Marius’s eyes, the focus and intensity as if he were going to say or do something of utmost importance. But then he didn’t, aside from tease him again with such a touch. He was breathless, and he went straight for a triple gin and tonic in a moment of impulse. He did the same for Marius.
Only Marius stayed gone a while, and halfway down the glass, Armand began to realize quite how affected he was by all of this. And not the conversation nor Marius’s swift exit so much as the physical. He wasn’t tipsy anymore, he was sure; he was drunk. He watched the snow fall outside, half focusing on the drunkenness and half chastising himself for bringing up Santino.
To get more air to his skin, Marius unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, wishing for a cold breeze to come, which of course it wouldn’t inside of this centralized heated building. His hand was made cooler by the water, and he wrapped it low around his throat. The thick vein throbbed and Marius realized he still felt the familiar craving. So, it was habitual. It made sense; it was really all he knew. Would Armand… No, it wasn’t something to think. He’d never think it.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he frowned. His lips were so pink, his eyes sleepy in their drunken state. The water was drying on his heated skin, which was also too pink for his liking. But he did so love the rosiness to Armand’s young skin. So sweet and plump. When he closed his eyes, he could remember all of the hottest little nooks and crannies. He ached for the back of Armand’s knee, or behind his ear, or where his thigh met his groin. Under his soft hair, up his ribs into the underarm, every sacred little place that felt like home.
Oh, this was too obscene.
Sucking in a deep breath, Marius stood tall and gave himself a scolding look. He didn’t bother rebuttoning his shirt as it felt quite nice to be so unrestricted. With purpose and feeling much cooler, he pushed the bathroom door open and stepped out to rejoin Armand at their table. He was stopped for a moment by a couple at another table, with whom he spoke very briefly with as much impatient politeness as he could muster because Armand’s hair was too resplendent in the light, and how on earth could he have a conversation with it in his sight? He’d had quite enough.
Sitting down with all of the grace left in his body, Marius leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. Daniel called this his ‘dad pose.’ Marius immediately dropped his arms in self-awareness. It made him look too serious. “Give me your hand,” he requested.
Armand could see it now, strangely even though he was feeling it all perhaps more intensely. It was in the heaviness in his movements and the look in his eye. It was in his less reserved behavior. Marius was also drunk. He smiled, because he couldn’t fight the urge to. He smiled because it was endearing to see him like this. Marius had always seemed too godly, too perfect to have ever been human. He had looked so radiant speaking to those strangers, in such an easy and casual way. Armand decided he liked it a lot to see him this way, although it also frightened him. He kept that thought and pushed it far away from this moment, extending his hand with a slightly puzzled look. “I ordered you another drink.”
“Thank you,” Marius said Because he still had his manners even if he was lacking in sense for the moment. He had to lean forward some, but he had a long torso by virtue of height and it was a small bar table. His hand cradled Armand’s small hand palm up, placing Armand’s hand around the back of his neck where his skin felt absolutely scorching, at least to him who was very unused to feeling such a sensation on his own body. It was even a bit sticky with sweat, which bothered him and he hoped for a shower before bed. Not to say he disliked sweat, as the thought of the taste of Armand’s was erotic to a degree that was maddening. Marius just…didn’t like it on himself.
“I feel like I’m burning, like my blood is boiling and I’m some hot spring about to blow steam,” he said with a smile.
Armand was quite shocked by the sensation. It really was quite wet and so, so warm. He might have recoiled for the feel of it, but being so close to Marius and touching any part of him was still such a thrill at this point that he didn’t mind so much. He frowned, his other hand lifting to Marius’s forehead so he could feel the heat there too. “Tremendously warm,” he agreed. “It seems though, if you do not feel ill, that it is the warmth the drink is producing, and the warmth of the room.” Armand didn’t feel any different either way for temperature, but he would say that he felt really quite drunk now.
Armand’s hands were soft, and it was a tremendous pleasure for Marius to have both of his hands on his sticky flesh. The sensation brought on a delirium distinctive from the haze of the alcohol. “I feel beautiful,” he said because of the dual pleasure of alcohol and Armand’s touch, which he was greedy for more of. “Do you want to go? There’s a small hotel down the street. More like a bed and breakfast.”
Armand nodded, thinking the idea was very sensible if nothing else. They were both clearly intoxicated, and if they didn’t slow down, they would end up in all sorts of trouble. “You are beautiful,” he mused, removing his hands reluctantly from Marius to shrug on his coat. He passed Marius’s scarf back to him. “Though I’ll not release your hand at any point, even to go down the street. That ice frightens me.”
Marius went to the bar to settle the bill, internally so pleased at the compliment. He didn’t even glare at the bartender this time because, really, it wasn’t necessary. Leaning against the bar, he held the scarf to his face to pull out any lingering scent of Armand’s skin or hair. Which sadly, under the dense smell of his cologne, there seemed to be none of. Such a disappointment.
He grabbed Armand by the shoulders and led him to a bar stool. “You’ll have to stay here for…five minutes. I’ll go to the car alone and get my bag.” He, as a relatively transient person until recently, always had a bag packed with the few necessities he had. Daniel usually refreshed it, and he wondered if he’d had time to add the necessary mortal items before leaving. There was a strong chance he had. “Stay warm here and I’ll be back very quickly.” He had the benefits of long legs that could span quite a distance, even in snow drifts.
Armand couldn’t help but wonder for a moment if this all had been premeditated—why would Marius have a bag packed otherwise? But then he remembered this was Marius, who was prepared for all eventualities always, and never missed a beat. He waited as patiently as he was bid to, though he couldn’t help but fear for Marius’s safety on that desperately slippery street.
Marius wrapped his scarf around his neck, preparing to brave the cold. He pushed out of the door and stepped out, immediately catching the freezing breeze, the flutter of snowflakes all over his head and shoulders, and the crunch of fluffy snow packing under the weight of his steps. It was amazing the way his hot breath billowed with smoke in front of him, and he paused to watch it for a few beats, fascinated by it.
The valet parking lot wasn’t far, so he put his hands in his pockets and fortunately, he kept his footing as he walked quickly to its spot, feeling quite frozen by the time he got there. He explained the situation to the valet and paid him enough to keep the car at the restaurant overnight. Grabbing the small bag that contained little more than a change of clothes, something to sleep in, a phone charger, and hopefully, at least, a toothbrush, paste, and deodorant, he made his way back to the bar. Under the awning, he dusted as much snow off of himself as possible to avoid leaving wet trails on the nice bar floor. It had only all taken him about five minutes, so his promise to be quick was kept when he finally stepped back into the bar and motioned for Armand to come.
Armand approached him perhaps a little too eagerly. Those five minutes had felt like the longest five minutes of his life. He had visions of Marius slipping and falling, hitting his head. He had visceral fears of them in the hospital. Without thinking, he put his hands on Marius’s icy cheeks and moved his head a little this way and that, checking him for any injuries.
In his soft, drunken state, Marius silently watched Armand fret over him, perfectly pliant in his hands. It was uncommon for him to be fussed over in such a way, and at any other time, with any other person, it might have annoyed him. But it was too cute, the look of pinched concern on Armand’s face, and his hands were wonderfully soft and warm.
When Armand was satisfied, he breathed a sigh of relief, taking Marius’s hand and walking carefully with him out of the bar. “Being human is just so frightening in a way I hadn’t anticipated. I am filled with anxiety constantly,” he confessed, steps very tentative as they walked through the snow in the direction of the bed and breakfast.
“Try not to let fear spoil your experiences,” Marius said. Clasping their hands together, he slipped them into his roomy coat pocket, and thought on how he felt about this evidence that Armand was no more a reckless boy, as mortal boys could be very ignorant of their own fragility and mortality.
Notes:
This chapter written by B and T
Chapter 45: Better Than This
Summary:
Marius and Armand check into a hotel to wait out the snowstorm for the night. But oh no! There's only one bed! Explicit.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The intimate, friendly hotel was only a short distance from the bar, which Marius made carefully with purposeful steps so as not to slip in the piling snow and bring Armand down with him. He smiled at the young woman behind the polished desk, letting go of Armand’s hand because he didn’t want to make his fledgling uncomfortable.
As Marius knew, simple charm and friendliness went a long way, and he was good at the performance of it. Plus, he could tell the young woman found him quite handsome. This was predictable and didn’t matter in the scheme of things, it just made her more receptive to meeting his needs and wants. His French was perfect to the point where hardly anyone would guess he wasn’t a native.
There was another couple milling about the lobby, bundled in their thickest coats, gloves, and hats. In quick conversation, Marius learned that the bed and breakfast was almost fully booked by others who also sought a safe place to sleep out the snowstorm, but there was one room left. He inquired about beds, hoping for two so that Armand would feel comfortable. He frowned when she informed him there was only one bed, but she was quick to assure him there was a couch that also made a perfectly acceptable bed for the night. Marius had no problem sleeping on a couch. She took his incredibly believable but forged identification, remarking on his name, which he smiled at as if he didn’t hear that often. In ready time, he had the key and motioned for Armand to walk up the stairs with him to the second floor.
The room was glamorous in its own way, but cozy too. There wasn’t the most space, but that didn’t matter. It was warm and dry, and Armand found a lot of comfort in small spaces as much as big. There were towel robes hanging in the bathroom, which he thought a nice touch, and he made a mental note to make use of the facilities.
Marius looked around as he slipped off his coat, hanging it in the wardrobe provided, looping his scarf around the hanger and slipping the gloves in the pocket. The room was designed to have an older, vintage feel, but he could tell the items were new with very few antiques. There were modest lamps, the couch he would endure for the night, which wasn’t as long as him, but he’d make do, a modern television, an alarm clock, and thick curtains, which he pulled open to watch the snow fall.
Armand didn’t say anything—he felt completely in his own world. Marius had handled all of the semantics of this, had paid for the room. Marius had led him up to the room, and where a moment ago there was chatter and music around them, now there was radio silence. It was peaceful, but it left Armand alone with his thoughts, and now he had a reality to face. After everything that had transpired between them tonight, they were finally alone.
He glanced to an alarm clock on the nightstand. It was late, but he felt so awake, like there was electricity in his veins. He didn’t want to seem strange or unwell, so he removed his coat and smiled at Marius. “It’s lovely.”
Through the reflection of the window, Marius secretly watched him take off his outerwear, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable or violated. Everything still felt soft around the edges and dreamy thanks to the alcohol.
“Yes,” he agreed. “It’s clean and quiet.” He set his bag down on a table, not wanting to dirty the bed Armand would sleep in. Hoping, of course, Daniel had added a toothbrush. Which, after a quick dig around, Marius was immensely pleased to find he had. Next, he pulled out the night clothes, which were about the only truly casual sort of garments he owned. A long-sleeved t-shirt Daniel had bought him, which read ‘I’m not gay but my boyfriend is,’ which made Marius sigh with exhaustion, and the long, loose, thin bottoms. “You can sleep in the shirt. It will be long enough to provide modesty.”
There was something about the suggestion that made Armand immediately want to crumble and submit. It wasn’t quite a command, but there was a firmness and confidence to it as if it were the only natural course for the night. So he nodded, he didn’t fight it, and he took the shirt with the utmost respect. The words on it made him smile, knowing the arrangement immediately in his heart. “It’s like he’s in the room with us,” he chuckled, though he felt a small pang in his chest to think of Daniel off in Paris tonight and miss him.
Marius missed Daniel, too, but he knew how important it was for the young man to be useful. He’d return soon enough, and then Daniel and Armand could pick up where they left off. Hopefully both immortal again. Marius considered what failure to reverse their condition meant as Armand moved to the bathroom to change, and how every day mattered as they all aged, withered, and became more feeble. At least Armand had time.
Armand found the too-long sleeves needed to be rolled up around his wrists so as not to become a sensory issue. But he caught himself in the bathroom mirror and smiled without control at the reality of it all. Here he was in his maker’s shirt, and he thought back to the tension they shared at Trinity Gate. A million miles away from this! Armand would make this his whole wardrobe if he could, with different slacks and pants of course, so as not to be indecent around the castle. He buried his face in the collar—it didn’t smell of much yet, but of course it didn’t. Marius was likely still dead when he’d worn it last, if he ever had. Armand folded his clothes and when he came out in his new nightshirt, he placed his clothes and shoes neatly by the bed.
Marius pulled himself out of his thoughts. He was a gentleman, but still a man, nonetheless. Which meant he looked at Armand, particularly his bare legs, but he didn’t stare or linger longer than what could be excused as a passing assessment. Even drunk, he had free will and had to be in control. Alcohol wasn’t an excuse to forget manners or decency. He would just have to make sure he kept his eyes up, and he didn’t think too long about Armand’s lovely bare legs.
He walked to the bed and turned down the covers, patting the soft mattress where Armand should lay. “I’m going to shower quickly. I hate this smell.” At least on himself. He wagered Armand smelled absolutely delicious where he sweated. In fact, he knew it from experience, and also knew it must still be true. He reached for the television remote and put it on the bed, too. “The woman at the desk…” He paused as he tried to remember her name from the tag. Horrible, human brain. “Patricia. Yes, Patricia said if you are in need of anything, call the desk. Water, wine, food, et cetera…”
Armand sat on the bed on top of the covers, sinking into the plush service. “I think we’ve both had enough food and wine,” he laughed, smiling up at Marius. God this smile wasn’t going to fade now, was it? He was sure he looked the perfect idiot. And idiotic about other things too, as he absorbed the rest of what Marius had said. “I’m so sorry, it didn’t occur to me to shower. It should have, I am also covered in sweat. I’ll go after you of course, but I’m afraid I’ve dirtied your shirt now.” He must seem rather disgusting to have not thought of it, but the simple matter was he was still getting used to this, being human, and it was taking time to build up these routines.
“No, there’s no need,” Marius said quickly. Too quickly. He couldn’t assure Armand in any way that wouldn’t reveal his own feelings and desires. “It’s not dirty; you’re not dirty,” he assured in a softer and more patient voice. Leaving out completely the fact that he’d rather the scent of Armand’s skin and sweat than soap. And that he didn’t consider such things as dirty when it came to Armand.
After a second thought, he smoothed Armand’s hair away from his forehead and kissed him there, chaste and quick. How he wished the taste would linger, but it would not. Leaving his fledgling safely propped on the plush bed, he went into the bathroom. He closed the door but did not lock it in case Armand needed to use it, and then he turned on the water to allow it to heat as he stripped himself of his clothing. The skin was absolutely pink and alive, which made him feel swollen and fleshy even though he was as lean and tightly constructed as ever, still the same muscles and bones, just weaker. He touched his chest where the hair that had been shaved off the day of his making had begun to grow, following its prickly path down his stomach. It was strange, but not displeasing. A bit itchy.
Stepping into the shower, he was quick and efficient, cleaning anywhere on his body that could have sweat twice, scrubbing at his skin viciously. When he was content that he’d gotten everywhere necessary, he stepped out, dried off, dried anywhere he might have trailed water, and then slipped on the pajama pants. He’d given his shirt away, but he didn’t think Armand would be scandalized by the sight of a shirtless man considering their kind lacked modesty. When he emerged from the bathroom, he went to the couch he’d be sleeping on and sat down. “What are we watching?” he asked, sinking into the cushions and wiggling to find a better spot.
“Some sort of game show it seems,” Armand remarked, watching Marius from his new position, where he had been laying on his stomach mindlessly gazing at the TV. Now though, he couldn’t care less if it were Die Hard, a documentary, or a dog shitting in the woods on the screen. Marius was shirtless and he’d not had the pleasure of this sight for a long time. Too long, frankly.
Armand’s eyes followed the contours of his arms and the slight stubble that seemed to be coming through, the tight stomach that had only the slightest of softness to it around his hips. Marius was just all man, beautiful, alluring, and built entirely for Armand. He sighed a little without realizing—they’d had such free contact all night and wonderful words had passed between them, and everything felt just a little bit empty and final now that they sat apart. Just a little.
He looked out of the window again, delighted by the softness of the snow. It posed no threat at all to them now that they were warm and safe, and all the surfaces had grip. “Come on then, cozy up with me,” he offered in a way that sounded casual as he looked back at Marius, but his heart was pounding. “We’ve said so much tonight, and now you’re afraid to lie next to me? If nothing else Marius, you are far too long for that couch and you will give yourself cramps in your legs. That won’t do.”
Marius wasn’t a dull-minded man, neither vague nor vacant. And he wasn’t naïve or innocent, either. Of course he’d noticed Armand looking at his bare chest and stomach, and he sat still and let him, perfectly comfortable under his wandering gaze, maybe too confident, and certainly too pleased. He watched, too, after all, to glean anything Armand may think or feel. It was a bit shameful the way his heart quickened, excited to be looked at, a lump in his throat at the sound of a beautiful sigh. He was becoming accustomed to the stirrings of arousal, but it still unsettled him. There was no chance he’d refuse the offer to join Armand in bed, though he didn’t intend to use it to take advantage. Then again, Armand knew that if he wouldn’t invite. Then again…maybe he did want Marius to? Good gods, being a human male with all of these confusing desires could be aggravating. Besides, it was right that Marius wouldn’t fit on the couch.
“I’m not afraid,” he finally said, lifting himself up and walking to the bed. There was plenty of space for them to lay but not touch, but Armand did say, and so cutely, to ‘cozy up.’ So when he slid into the bed, Marius moved close, close enough to feel Armand’s wonderful body heat.
Did Armand have anything on under the shirt? Goddamnit, stop this, he scolded himself because he should be better than this. Fortunately, Marius kept the amiable, innocent expression on his face even as he pondered whether Armand wore any undergarments. What to think about…? Game shows. “I haven’t watched many game shows. Too many unnecessary sounds. I do like the parodies on Horrible Histories. You know, wife swap, come dine with me…” He waved his hand to dismiss his rambling, wondering what was the reason since he wasn’t nervous. Because when was he ever?
“Horrible Histories? I’ve not heard of it. But I’ve lived enough of them that I’m sure I could relate,” Armand jested.
So close now, it didn’t seem natural to resist touch. He leaned into Marius and rested his head on his shoulder, and he wound an arm around his middle with a confidence that surprised him. In that moment, it was so easy to pretend that they were a mortal couple, had ever been, with only love between them. Holding him like this made him feel like Marius was his man in a way that warmed him, and to know that they were behind closed doors and nobody else had access to him also helped. Possessive, then. He gave another small sigh, full of them, but all of them meant different things.
Marius’s heart pounded against his breastbone, furiously fast, threatening to crack him open. It was such a simple gesture, just an arm wrapped around his body and soft hair tickling his face. Marius wasn’t an easily affected man—he’d been touched a thousand ways by a million people. But he was keenly aware of the sweet scent of Armand’s hair, and the softness of his small body, and the sensation of the boy’s naked forearm touching his bare skin.
Turning his face, he breathed in as much as he could, just in case this was a slip in sense and Armand never let him this close again. Marius was too disappointed by life to assume anything good could ever happen to him, that he’d ever get close to the things he wanted the most. And he couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than Armand. But he still couldn’t bring his heart to even hope. His heart and body were at war again as his body cared very little for repercussions.
He did, however, wrap his arm back around Armand, caressing his back and feeling the bumps of his spine and shoulder blades. His movements were bold, not tentative, even more so when he reached down and wrapped his large hand around the back of Armand’s thigh and pulled it up and over his hip. And that was it because he had to give Armand a chance to relent or refuse.
“Christ alive Marius,” Armand whispered, very very low under his breath. It had been featherlight touches, then firmer, each point of contact burning his skin in the most sparkling way. Then the way he maneuvered his leg with a possessive touch, their bodies interlocking in a way that felt beyond natural. He couldn’t handle it anymore. The whole night had been tests of his strength and resolve, he had been aroused and brought back from arousal so many times that his body was screaming. And why should he deny it anymore?
He arched his back into Marius’s touch, drawing patterns over his chest with his fingers as he thought. He couldn’t think much, of course. His judgment was clouded by both alcohol and fever pitch arousal. Surely Marius could feel how he throbbed against his hip. He knew even in his addled brain that if he gave into this now on this first night, he would be completely at Marius’s mercy all over again. His utter servant—his willing subject. Marius would hold his heart in the palm of his hand once more and have the ability to crush it on a whim. Would he?
He made a very small sound, caught between a moan and a groan, because he knew that the damage was already done. And so he tipped his body up enough to turn Marius’s face to his, and pressed their lips together.
For once, Marius didn’t have to fear Armand would be repulsed by the cold hardness of his body, or that he could unwittingly hurt the boy should he become overcome. He deepened the kiss as soon as he recovered from the shock of it, not expecting Armand to be the one to instigate the first kiss. Armand’s lips were softer than he remembered, and the inside of his wonderfully wet mouth radiated a sweet heat that ran through his veins to his groin.
Besides his singular experience the first night they awoke human, Marius hadn’t time for arousal and sex, and so had denied himself either. He was helpless to the morning erections, but found simply ignoring them deflated them quickly.
Sliding his hand up the back of Armand’s thigh under the shirt, he felt the slick, tight boxer briefs, and squeezed at his backside. The hardness pushing against his leg was impossible to ignore, and he didn’t want to. He wanted to take the succulent cock in his hand to stroke and suck it until Armand could only tremble and cry. This clothing wouldn’t do.
He pulled back, lips swollen and hot from the hunger of his kiss, to tug Armand’s nightshirt off. He was topless in record time, as fast as if Marius still had complete vampiric speed Armand would wager, so that he was dazed by it.
Distracted by his rosy pink nipples, Marius wasn’t ashamed that the mere sight of Armand could make his cock so hard he felt every heartbeat like an agonizing throb; it had a life of its own. When he reached for the waist of the boxer briefs, he looked into Armand’s eyes for consent.
His chest was heaving, his whole body alight. He feared that he wouldn’t last seconds if they proceeded with this. Marius had achieved this kind of release already with Lestat, while Armand had been teased relentlessly with no such luxury. Not one part of him wanted to take this slowly now.
He looked at Marius with pupils blown wide and nodded, easing himself out of the shorts, before climbing onto his lap and crushing their bodies together. “I can’t get close enough,” he murmured, the feeling of Marius’s warm skin on his intoxicating and orgasmic both.
It was sweet how needy Armand seemed as he clung on to him. Their relationship had been so strained, so cold and distant for too long, that he’d never thought Armand would ever hold on to him like this again. Of course, he still couldn’t ignore Armand’s erection, or the fact that Armand on top of him made his own unmistakably hard cock ache from having just enough stimulation to feel, but not enough to satisfy.
He wrapped his arms around Armand’s body and rolled them over so that he was on top, fitting snugly between warm thighs, propped up by his arms so that they connected only at the waist. It wasn’t a position that would suit them as their height difference meant Armand would smother on his shoulder or chest. Then again, Armand might want to bury his face. They’d see.
Marius sat back on his heels and gazed down at the lovely sight of a naked Armand. The mere sight of which filled him with so much excitement that he could barely keep from touching himself. But he didn’t, he kept his hands on Armand’s thighs, holding them spread.
“Have you been with a man or woman yet?”
“No, I’ve not been with anyone at all,” Armand breathed, looking up at Marius.
Marius wouldn’t have asked if the answer would disarm him, though he’d thought abstention was the least likely of the two as surely, with Daniel around initially and Louis present, Armand would succumb to desire.
Armand didn’t care that he was fully naked and Marius wasn’t. He brought his hands to Marius’s chest, just wanting to touch him however he could. He felt mad with desire, flush with it, as if it would drive him to insanity. “It’s too much and not enough, all of this. Don’t you tease me after you’ve teased me all night.”
His desperation filled Marius with a tenderness that softened the urgency he felt, and he lowered back down to cover Armand with his own body. This time, rather than connect at the hips, he slid down so they were eye to eye, of course noting the erection now driving into his stomach. It really was humbling to be the first, and to be with Armand in a way he’d always wanted but never thought possible.
“I’ll give you more,” he offered, voice a low rumble, thick with desire. He slid further down the length of Armand’s small body until his succulent pink cock lay there, inches from his face. Certainly the most beautiful he’d ever seen, and the most delicious ever tasted. His mouth was ready for it, and when he gripped it at the base and opened his lips over the plump tip, wetting it as he took it into his mouth without pause, Marius let out a hard sigh.
He hadn’t anticipated how his own body would react. His unstimulated body aroused by an act, by the silkiness of Armand’s smooth skin working against his wet lips. It was agony, the throb, the heat, the swollen heaviness between his own legs. If he could just touch it… But no, he’d be patient. He’d take his time and give Armand an experience that would make him delirious. And to do that, he had to focus.
Armand released a long, deep sigh as Marius’s mouth stroked his cock. His aching, desperate cock. How long could he be expected to last? His body had been demanding this stimulation since their coffee date yesterday morning, and it was more dire than ever now. Here he had the man he loved and ardently desired more than anything in the world servicing him, and to show his appreciation he took his hand and kissed his fingertips. “You taste just as good even without caramel,” he purred, the sweet relief and pleasure that Marius’s mouth brought coaxing such praise from him.
Marius watched, these kisses an almost chaste affection in its innocence. It sent a thrill through him nonetheless because he’d forgotten the softness of Armand’s lips, or how erotic his passion-heavy voice sounded. Marius could recall these things in a much different way, remembering the excitement and the hunger it roused. Of course he wasn’t prepared again for the way his human body responded to these familiar stimulations. What had been overwhelming when he’d just had his lips on Armand became a force that could undo him now that he had Armand’s lips on him.
He let Armand fall from his lips and spoke softly. “Armand, may I ask for something?”
“Oh, anything,” Armand whispered, his breath curling over Marius’s fingertips. If anything, strangely, he felt a relief for Marius’s mouth leaving his cock, a sweet respite to cool off. He’d been at fever pitch, and though he’d desperately wanted it, he didn’t want it all to be over so soon. He kneaded Marius’s hand reverently and glanced down into his eyes. “What would you ask of me?”
There was a lot Marius wanted to ask for. At any point, they could have the chance to return to their former state. It could be possible even tomorrow night, and Marius didn’t know if either of them would want to wait, to risk enjoying mortality for the sake of it a little longer. On the other hand, since Gregory’s blood had no transformative effect on Lestat, it might turn out to be forever impossible. Marius had to balance two truths at once: they could be human forever or return at any moment, and he had to prepare for both outcomes at once. So it was hard not to want to experience everything with urgency, knowing this could be their only night. But he couldn’t be greedy.
He slid up Armand’s body until they were eye to eye again. “This could be our only chance,” he breathed. “May I record us?
Armand frowned, his immediate response to say no. He felt vulnerable and exposed to the core at the idea of someone holding onto such footage, in a way that surprised him. The shoe was on the other foot now—he was aware of that from the start. He had subjected Daniel to this and now karma had come to him. He didn’t want it, but he didn’t want to tell Marius no. He didn’t want to disappoint him so that the mood was ruined, and he didn’t want to take away from his experience. So Armand nodded, kissing Marius’s palm with a deep breath.
While Marius couldn’t read Armand’s thoughts, he still knew him very well. As much as one could, anyway. He could often misjudge the complex emotions, but the straightforward ones were easy: anger, happiness, jealousy, and such. So he could see the hesitancy in Armand’s nod, perceptive enough to notice the obvious lack of excitement at the idea.
He pressed a small kiss to Armand’s nose, smiling, stroking his chest. “Armand, you’re allowed to say no,” he said gently, because if they were going to have a sexual relationship, for however long it lasted, Armand had to know that.
It was hard for Armand to feel too guilty when Marius smiled at him with such softness and adoration. It was hard for him to feel as though he’d displeased the man when he was showing him such gentle affection as kissing his nose. He sighed again, this time delighted and besotted, his body still attuned to every slight touch.
He shook his head. “Would pictures suffice?” he asked quietly, hoping that to offer this compromise would be to continue this affair.
“I just don’t want to forget this moment,” Marius confessed, not trying to persuade Armand to give in through guilt, but using the explanation as a form of apology because he did see that Armand wanted to please him very much and needed Armand to know his request wasn’t rooted in deviancy, but in fear.
He pushed himself up onto his knees, resting back on his heels, so he could study the spread of Armand’s prone form. Unthinkable that he should forget any of this, and surely his weak human mind wouldn’t let a single second or minute detail fade. Armand was too beautiful and naked, and Marius still wore his pajama pants.
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pulled them down. The sight of the erection that sprung free bothered him because it looked out of place on his body. It was too strange, too unnaturally alive, and terribly uncomfortable. He supposed objectively, it looked nice. It was a good size, was straight and without curve, and balanced between the shaft and head, but it still didn’t suit him.
“I’ll make sure you never forget,” Armand whispered, half entranced by the sight of Marius’s cock breaking free of its confines. Not for the first time, he felt so lucky, to have what he as a boy in Venice craved and wanted above all else. He leaned forward without thought, magnetized to want to bring Marius this ultimate human pleasure, and he was delighted by the warmth and weight of it in his hands. He did nothing but caress in this moment, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin as he thought.
“You promise, that the film would go nowhere? You would keep it somewhere encrypted, safe and away from your phone even?” Armand looked up at him as he spoke, working him with gentle reverence.
Marius couldn’t speak at first, too overcome by the pleasure. His brain couldn’t process the act or function of speaking, of thinking and forming actual words, and it took everything in him not to just close his eyes and ride this feeling to the end. Armand’s hot breath sent a shiver through him, stifling his immediate reaction for both of their own good. His hand flexed at his side, resisting, wanting to grab Armand by the hair and force into his mouth. But no, he wasn’t a violent man, or given to force, and he’d never forced an act before; he certainly wouldn’t now with his most beloved, the tender boy who trusted him above anyone else in the whole of the world. Instead, he clung to Armand’s words, let them distract him from the hunger and burning desire.
“My love…” Marius purred in pleasure. “I never want to share you. Why would I let others see what belongs to only me?”
Armand smirked, keeping the eye contact as he pressed his chest to the bed and arched his back, giving him a much better angle to lick around the base of Marius’s cock and traverse the length of it, stopping just short of the sensitive head. He hummed. “Only to you?” It was true, of course. Marius was his whole world just now, and even in his darkest moments, he had his heart. But it was fun to tease in more ways than one. “As long as you promise…”
Marius stared down at the curved length of Armand’s smooth back, utterly transfixed by the sight of his supple ass in the air. He was silently stunned by the strength of the sensations in his body. Armand’s delicate licks were small and teasing, but Marius was overcome by the heat of his plump tongue, and how every drag of it sent thrills through his entire body. The pleasure made him feel unfocused and dreamy, a step behind the moment, and he knew he moaned, not because he heard it but because he felt the rumble.
He’d never hurt Armand. He’d never violate him in any way. Not this boy who was, right now, his heart and soul. But he wanted so badly to force his way into his mouth, which he surmised was an instinctual desire because he didn’t actually know what it would feel like or how it would please him exactly. He only knew that his body knew it would and craved it. His mouth opened to speak but nothing came out, and he wanted to laugh at how amazing it was to be unable to do something as simple as speak.
Sucking in a deep breath, he tried again and it felt forced, “Are you certain?”
“I am certain.”
Notes:
To be continued
This chapter written by B and T
Chapter 46: Wrecked, Ruined
Summary:
For the first time in their existence, Marius has the chance to do to Armand what Amadeo always longed for. Explicit
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Are you certain?” Marius asked. He wanted to make sure Armand really wanted to do this, to make a recording of their time in bed together, to preserve the memory of this human experience for when it was something they could no longer do with each other again.
“I am certain,” Armand breathed, knowing that his breath would ghost over Marius’s far too sensitive cock and counting on this, thriving on it. He knew that if he conceded to making a video, it would make Marius happy, and he trusted that the recording wouldn’t make it outside of the two of them. Armand kissed the head of Marius’s cock, then teased it with his tongue before enveloping it entirely with his mouth. He had to rely on muscle memory alone to take him to the hilt, to not need to breathe and to relax his gag reflex.
For the first time since the start of this ordeal, Marius forgot his longing for blood, his relentless grief that nothing his mortal body could experience would ever match the pleasures of blood. The impossibly tight and wet suction made him feel ravenous in a way he didn’t understand, but knew his body did. The alcohol made him particularly hedonistic, and it was with unashamed delight that he closed his eyes and moaned, overcome and so very appreciative.
He ran a hand down Armand’s back, petting him, forcing his eyes open because he’d be damned if he’d miss a moment of this. “Still such a good boy,” he whispered, more breath than words, then bit his tongue because he’d have to be more mindful of his words just in case he offended his young lover. If Armand took offense, he’d find a way to coax him back here to this.
Armand couldn’t respond if he were to continue his adoration, and so he didn’t. He moved his hands to tease at Marius’s inner thighs, delighting in the fact that for the first time ever he was able to give him this pleasure. Marius’s rich moans vibrated through his body and turned him into putty, his touch only adding to the pleasure of it.
After another moment of lavishing affection upon him, Armand pulled away, only to smile up at him. “For you, perhaps.”
“It’s that so?” Marius asked, breathlessly amused, teasing. Armand was being so obliging now, and in this moment, he could think of no one in the world he loved more. His fingers carded through Armand’s hair, loving the way it went wild and voluminous as he moved it around. When his fingers tightened, he was still careful not to hurt. The purpose wasn’t the hurt, to tear the lovely hairs from his scalp, but to give him a grip that he could use to tilt the youth’s head back as far as it could go. Beautiful and vulnerable. Perfect Cupid’s lips reddened from the friction. It was still everything Marius could do not to push himself forcefully back in. But he was drunk, not wild, and he loosened his grip to let the hair go, petting, coaxing his mouth back. “I suppose we will see,” he breathed.
Armand licked his lips unconsciously, and then the underside of Marius’s cock as he was pressed against it. He wanted nothing more than to continue affecting him in the best possible way, to keep hearing those rumbles of appreciation and that breathlessness. To fluster Marius was in equal parts powerful and beautiful, and he held the ability very close to his heart. Besides, if Marius wanted him to be the dutiful pupil, then it was all he could do to pretend that he was, and perhaps it was easier then for Marius to believe it. He gave a moan himself though there was no deliberation to it. He was simply enamored with the taste, smell and feel of this man he loved so dearly.
Marius’s long, gentle fingers stroked the back of Armand’s neck, warm under his hair, sweaty, flexing beautifully with the movement of his head. He was suddenly too hot, wondering in a vague, clouded way if he should throw open the window and let the frosty air in. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this hot, burning out from his core, so that even his exposed skin burned from within and out. But no, all things considered, he rather liked this feeling, and he had not a single desire to stop Armand. Armand who may grow too cold. Who was, to Marius’s immense pleasure, pride, and dismay, performing with spectacular skill. It was truly no wonder that perfectly civilized men would go to ridiculous lengths for this. Even with his limited recent experience, he knew what was happening when it did. Armand was too seductive, too skilled, his mouth too unfathomable hot and tight, and how was Marius supposed to hold on?
But Marius didn’t want this to end, so he moved quick, withdrawing his penis, probably too fast and with no explanation. Yet he knew Armand would understand as soon as he saw Marius squeezing under the head, effectively stopping the orgasm he was deliriously on the brink of. And Marius quite hated it suddenly, as his body and then mind rebelled against the end. It hurt, his cock giving a painful throb, aching, too heavy and full. He sucked in a deep breath to maintain control because the violent, hungry part of him was too present. The part created by blood, and now lingered, unsure of what would satiate it. Marius never wanted to hurt Armand, never the one he loved most in the world. But he still wondered what lovely sounds the youth would make if he were held down, helpless, and…
No…
Marius couldn’t let himself think that way. Just skirting the edge of such fantasies had his cock leaking again, and profusely, which was as interesting as it was embarrassing. Men were supposed to have more control. He’d have to reign it in.
Armand wasn’t a slave to his sexual desires and needs. Though perhaps Armand might want to be, even a little and from time to time. It was a discussion for another night, but not now. Maybe Marius just didn’t know how to be gentle enough with his beloved one. There was always roughness in their tender moments, whether it was Marius’s strike, him ripping off the boy’s clothes and tossing the rags aside, or biting deep into his flesh for his sweet blood.
Armand was surprisingly easy to toss around still. Marius had only a fraction of his former strength, but he was still strong. Bigger, older, stronger than his little lover, and when he hooked his hands under Armand’s armpits, it took little effort to push him about, first only his back and then up where his head could lay comfortably cradled upon a soft pillow.
The bed was still bouncing and quivering when Marius lay back over Armand, nudging his legs open as if he had to force his way between them. “Tell me what you want,” he said, not asking or requesting, but telling even in his whisper. Oh, Marius knew what he was going to do and Armand couldn’t change it, but he did so want to hear Armand say it.
Armand very much did want to be a slave to his sexual desires. Perhaps it was the wine talking or perhaps this perfect night they’d had. Maybe it was the flame that had been lit and tended since Marius made him suck the caramel from his finger yesterday morning. Maybe it was five hundred years of yearning for his touch and denying it both, or maybe it was the fact that for the first time ever, they had the potential to come together as Amadeo had always wanted, as other men had taken but as he wanted to give to Marius most of all.
He looked up at him then, hovering over him, this radiant God of a man who took his breath away all the same every time he looked at him since the first. “God, I want you inside of me, finally, after never knowing it. You have been inside of me in every other way, in my heart, your fangs, your blood. Let us join together in this way now, please, and as many times after as time will allow.” It was between a purr and a beg, but he didn’t have the self-consciousness to fake control anymore.
Marius smiled, taken by Armand’s candor and passion, captivated by the sultry way he sounded and by the importance of the words themselves. He wondered if Armand was nervous. Sex was sex, sure, but he didn’t think Armand could ever bed him casually the way he could other men, and in giving Marius his body, he was also giving his heart. The two were linked when it came to their relationship, which was probably why Armand gave Marius very little in their decades since reuniting. It was too frightening, too raw, too fragile and easily broken, and always would be with them. But that was how Marius knew there was a strength and purity to their love that didn’t exist anywhere else. Because it persisted. It survived, beaten and bruised, but still there with the same heat and hunger.
There would be plenty of time to explore that later. Ample time in their now limited future for romance. Right now, he just wanted to fuck all sense and sanity from his young lover and leave him utterly wrecked, ruined, and completely spoiled for all other men who could only hope to be a pale shadow if anything at all.
Reaching over to the bedside table that held a lamp and clock, Marius stuck his hand blindly into the small zippered bag that held items packed by Daniel, packed for a night like this. The first bottle he pulled out was flavored, so clearly intended for something else. The second time, he found the bottle of lubrication, which Marius knew nothing about and Daniel knew plenty.
He pushed his hair back and sat up, opening the bottle. The liquid was thicker than he’d expected, but it was more a gel than a water-based formula. And it was cold, the feeling of it coating his cock made him suck in a soft breath. It heated quickly though.
“Stop me if it hurts and you don’t want to continue.” Marius couldn’t remember the pain, only his thoughts toward it. He knew he hated the sensation, that it hurt and burned and he had never once enjoyed it. But Armand surely did. Once. Hopefully would still.
“Of course I won’t stop you if it hurts, that’s half of the fun.” Armand smirked. He remembered that much well, the deliciousness of pain. The burn of being stretched overcome by the pleasure of being filled, even the sting of Marius’s fangs at his throat had always been delectable. He supposed it might have something to do with Marius taking at any point. If it were him doing it, then it was all the more arousing.
He took the bottle from Marius’s hands gently, squirting some onto his finger before passing it back. To kickstart the process, he began to spread it over his own entrance, almost breathless with anticipation just from the thought of it. So many hundreds of years without this thing he had so thoroughly enjoyed as a human, and now he would share it with the one who mattered most.
Armand had to know the beautifully lewd performance he put on would drive any man to delirium. Even a man like Marius, who wasn’t as susceptible to erotic acts, though unquestionably a voyeur. It was the alcohol, surely, and the pulsing hard on between his legs. But watching Armand casually and naturally apply the slick lubricant until his tiny, pink hole glistened made Marius feel feral. A feeling that made him feel upended and out of control. It took everything in him to rein it in and act with restraint.
It was then that Marius realized he was a bit nervous, though he’d never confess it. He slipped his arms under Armand’s slim legs to hold him steady, never taking his eyes from his face. Intent to memorize his every expression and sound, afraid to even blink and miss a second of it. He guided himself to the slippery entrance, feeling its resistance. Armand said he liked the pain, but Marius still wanted to be gentle. The only thing that could pull his attention from Armand’s angelic face was what happened between their bodies, and he stared with rapt interest as the head of his cock pushed, his hips applying a gradually increasing strength against the hard ring of muscle until it finally gave.
Armand had not expected no preparation, not at all, but the alcohol helped and the love for Marius helped. His fever pitch arousal helped to bring the level of pain to enjoyable. A delicious burn that awoke his body, a part of him that had been dormant for so long, giving way to a sensational ache as Marius pushed far enough within him already to reach that wonderful spot.
Marius sucked in a deep, hard breath when Armand’s exquisite body opened up. It was so unexpectedly smooth, the way he could glide in, stretching the agonizing and blissful snug space so that it fit around him tightly, molding to his width, accommodating him perfectly. Inside of Armand was a work of art as much as the outside, gorgeously textured and soft, plump and yet firm like a glove made to his exact dimensions. Marius only returned his gaze to Armand’s face when he was fully sheathed, their bodies flush together. “I love you,” he said, failing to make it sound rational and groaning it softly instead.
Where Armand’s hands had first come to caress Marius’s forearms, now his nails dug into his flesh, but in a way to ground himself more than to hurt. “I love you more,” he insisted, wrapping his legs around Marius’s waist to hold him there, to savor the moment. He felt so full in every way, so complete now that he had this thing he’d forever wanted. “Never leave.”
Armand’s nails reminded Marius of the sting of sharp bites, and his sensitive skin throbbed in the assaulted spots, a wonderfully familiar pain that elevated his pleasure. Armand’s legs were surprisingly strong, and they kept him rooted deep. The urge to thrust was maddening as he remained still, body eager and hungry for some relief. But Marius didn’t want to hasten this experience to its end. Amadeo had always wanted him this way, and Marius had always wanted to, though never for his own pleasure because he couldn’t imagine it in any capacity to want it.
“Never,” he said, knowing it wasn’t a promise he could keep. Not anymore.
If they could not become immortal again, how long did he have left in this body? Twenty or thirty years? Not long enough for Armand. But for now, Marius was strong, healthy, blood racing through his veins, and cock rock hard, and he didn’t care about sickness or dying, just fucking Armand’s tight body to exhaustion.
He fit so perfectly, and he looked down at Armand’s belly, knowing he was sunken deep, staring at the spot the head of his cock nudged. He felt perverse for his strange fixation, but he so adored their size differences in intimate moments. And something about Armand made him feel insatiable. Marius remembered being sexually moderate in his life as his father taught him to be, at least come his official manhood. He didn’t sleep with his slaves, always thinking of his mother’s pain, nor did he like the filthiness of brothels or of eager plebeian girls.
By adulthood and after his military service was complete, he liked to be alone to read and write, traveling lightly, never really associating for any extended period with women or boys, and not having any attraction to men with whom he had greatest access. But fucking Armand was absolutely decadent, too unspeakably exquisite. Had he met Armand then, he’d have been absolutely voracious. If he had a slave even a fraction of Armand, he’d have not been so easily controlled. This was too much.
“Call me Master,” he breathed.
It might have been shameful for Armand to have such a visceral emotional reaction to that, but he was drunk, and he didn’t feel shame. He was so lost in the euphoria of the moment—that he would have Marius like this, that he would be able to have this all in the way it was and should have been in Venice, that he could go back to that golden and happy time again.
His hands glided along Marius’s skin, feeling every contour of it as if it were the most decadent of marbles, and cupping his face as he pulled him in for a hungry kiss. Hungry in the way of humans, not the biting way of vampires. How frightened he had been before, but how delighted now.
“Naturally, as if you were ever anything else,” he breathed between kisses. “Master, Maker, Reason for my heart to beat.” He loosened his legs a little, wanting Marius to move, wanting to lose a little of his pleasure just to gain it back tenfold.
Marius believed it. Even if Armand had, for the last three decades, been cold and distant toward him. He’d always understood why it was necessary, which was why he’d endured it without complaint or hostility. He’d done so because he knew that the time would come eventually when Armand’s anger and grief were at last satiated, and then he’d be ready to love Marius again.
He didn’t waste a second of time when Armand released him from his tight embrace. Immediately, Marius drew his hips back, staring with familiar intensity, so eager to see the way Armand’s face would change with pleasure. He was momentarily concerned by the bed that creaked in time with his thrusting, but knew it would hold. Though he did find putting a hand to the wall above the headboard and using the strength in his bicep and forearm to stop the bed from rocking too far forward and knocking into the wall helped significantly.
The pleasure was indescribable—Marius would never be able to articulate the unrestrained ecstasy his body drowned in from the simple sensation of Armand’s tight body stroking his cock. It was relentless and breathtaking. It made Marius’s always racing brain submit, for the first time in as long as he could remember, to his body so that he was a man ruled by his senses, his pursuit of higher pleasure, and nothing more. It reminded him of the pillowy softness of Armand’s tongue, only more and all over.
He couldn’t endure it stoically. He’d lose his mind if he had to force the restraint he felt he needed to show. In some way, he was almost ashamed that he couldn’t. Ashamed that he could not do this with a calm, controlled expression, hoping Armand would not think less of him as he proved, once again, that he was no better than any other man. Discomfited by the way he panted, flushed all over, eyes half-lidded and vacant. It made him want to cover Armand’s eyes and ears to hide it from him. But it was impossible to detach from the act enough to remain restrained. Not with his ears full of the sound of his hips slapping against the cheeks of Armand’s ass every time he thrust his cock in hard and deep. And that was just one of a dozen things he observed and experienced all at once that made Marius feel nearly mad with desire and ecstasy.
Armand was a mewling mess. Perhaps he should have been as concerned with keeping dignity as Marius, but he couldn’t recall a time when sex had felt so sinfully good. Perhaps because he couldn’t recall quite what sex had felt like before. Was it so wonderful, was it so intense? He was sure not, because he didn’t love anyone the way he loved the man who was buried within him.
He felt the heat blossoming in his cheeks in a way that he couldn’t be ashamed of because he was far too preoccupied with the sensations within him to be aware of it. He let out a stuttering breath, knowing the pleasure had yet to increase, and when he pulled Marius down for another kiss, it was as if he would try to devour him. How could he get them any closer? How could he show him how much he hungered? “Master,” he breathed again, because he knew that would be a start.
Marius realized something as he was once again shaken by the hunger of Armand’s kiss. But he didn’t have time for meaningful revelations of the heart at the present, and certainly did not have the focus for it either. Later, perhaps tomorrow when he had time alone, he’d revisit this moment and come to a few understandings about his feelings for his fledgling.
Marius had, for most of his life, thought he’d never love again as he had Pandora. Even though they fought endlessly and viciously. It was never an easy or satisfying type of love. In the over 1200 years between Pandora and Amadeo, Marius had experienced superficial love, too, but always withheld as much as he could. It wasn’t until Amadeo that Marius experienced a new sort of love, one he knew from poets but never understood enough to seek out. It was a love that brought such comfort, happiness, pleasure, and desire that he needed nothing more. Armand’s love made him able to forgive himself, to find the strength and purpose he’d almost forgotten. Despite the millions of ways Marius tried to forget it all, he never could. There was darkness in it, in the cravings Marius kept to himself. Armand was better off without him.
It didn’t matter—Marius wouldn’t let him go.
He broke from the kiss, burying his face in Armand’s neck, made hot and slippery from their activity. His hand dropped from the wall, long fingers threading through curls, grabbing, careful and demanding, pulling his head to the side. The hot tickle of Armand’s breath against his bicep made him shiver. A moment before he bit, a fraction of a second, Marius remembered it would be pointless. It filled him with such frustration, an anger by no means Armand’s fault, that he growled and relaxed his fingers in the boy’s hair before he could actually hurt him.
It didn’t matter, he reminded himself, not when there was still such delight to be had in Armand’s body, which submitted to anything he wanted as naturally as it always had.
Oh, but Armand had wanted him to bite. The tug on his curls burned him in a way that sent him wild, and he arched up against Marius’s lips in a desperate display. Nothing came, of course nothing came, but he was hardly left bereft. The wordless, desperate passion between them absolutely triumphed and left anything around them confetti. This was them as they had never been, completely human and completely hungry for one another in the most carnal way. He thought he might faint from the pleasure, the onslaught of adoration and the slide of Marius within him, hitting that spot every moment. He wished he could put it all into words but he didn’t know how, and so he did his best to grind down on that cock and meet him thrust for thrust. Nothing mattered but Marius.
The rolling of Armand’s hips sent waves of exquisite pleasure through his dick and then into the rest of his body. In his veins like blood. It left Marius feeling untethered, and yet wholly grounded in the sensations. It was no wonder he once had to turn away so many obsessed and spurned lovers, men desperate to have Amadeo again at any cost, driven to obsession and madness. Men willing to give up their families and fortunes, already having abandoned sanity and will. Marius had pitied them, but now he understood them. Amadeo was beautiful, but that couldn’t be it, not the whole reason.
Gazing down at the youth with his cheeks pink, skin hot and sticky, moaning, quivering, plump lips open for escaping breaths and sounds, gorgeous young cock bouncing, thoroughly debauched and loving it, head thrown back like a saint in the midst of painful and holy rapture was transcendent. It was easy not to be jealous when you didn’t know what you were missing, or permitting others to freely have.
He knew he was going to finish soon (perhaps he should have practiced more), but he wanted Armand to finish first, to clench around his cock so tight it almost hurt and send him over the edge. “I love you,” he whispered, stroking Armand between their bodies.
Armand made a desperate sound, something between a moan and a sob. It wasn’t just the delicious friction that Marius was allowing him with each stroke, it was the look on Marius’s eyes, it was the tone of his words. He meant them and Armand felt it, in the pit of his belly and warming his soul. Everything combined was simply too much. He felt the heat coil between his legs, he felt the blinding rush of the climax, up, so far up that he thought he was in heaven. But he wasn’t, he was under Marius.
Perhaps, then, he was.
He lost all breath, he could think of nothing but riding this ecstasy to the last moment, and of clenching Marius’s own end from his pulsing cock. He couldn’t speak, the pleasure was too great.
There was nothing more beautiful or more erotic than the sight of Armand in the throes of his orgasm. The spasming cock in his hand released delicious streaks that painted Armand’s stomach and chest beautifully. The last bit Marius milked out, watching it as it dripped into his fingers. Shamelessly, he lifted the wet fingers to his lips, into his mouth, and began to suck the ejaculate from them. It was of course delicious, and he moaned, marveling that Armand’s wonderfully tight hole felt far hotter than the inside of his mouth. It was all his throbbing cock could take.
Naturally quiet, he could have muffled his moans when he came, but Armand deserved the hear the pleasure he gave to his Master, the pleasure Marius took with relentless, hard thrusts from his succulent, submitting body. The orgasm was almost too much, burning him from the inside out. Eyes that had closed to savor Armand’s taste flew open because Marius wanted to come with his vision full of Armand, only Armand, and nothing else. Still, he kept some measure of control even as he felt torn apart. Every time his cock released another stream into Armand’s body, Marius felt like it was almost too much to endure. It was beautiful the way Armand’s insides grew slippery and sticky with his come, a tiny detail he would never forget. His hips snapped until it was done, over, leaving him taking deep breaths of cool air as his heart pounded and he grew soft, still inside his beloved.
Armand held Marius to him now as if he were clinging for dear life. He made sure there was not a fraction of an inch between them, even as Marius caught his breath. He’d seen Marius’s lewd display and loved it, and now as he had witnessed him at the peak of climax in this way, he found himself overcome with emotion. He hadn’t a modicum of control over how he responded now, over how the tears began to well in his eyes. He shed them silently, because they were not unhappy tears. They were tears of shock, disbelief, satisfaction, fulfilment. They were tears of realization, that he had everything he had ever wanted in the palm of his hands, that he had been so far from any level of reconciliation with Marius not a week ago, but now he had this. He didn’t say anything yet, only lay with him, coming down from this high, and held him in this iron grip.
Marius wasn’t put off by the tears. He understood the onslaught of emotion, even in his warm, blissful afterglow. For them, sex could never be purely physical, separate from emotion, from their love, and also from their grief. Armand held him tightly, and he lay there in his clutch, shifting to pepper small, affectionate kisses along Armand’s face, from his sweat-slackened forehead to his trembling, luscious lips.
Though he didn’t want to, he carefully pulled out of Armand’s body, going slow as the head of his cock opened the ring of muscle at Armand’s entrance wider for a second. His limbs felt like they weighed double for how relaxed and at ease they were. “Don’t cry, my love,” he murmured, voice sluggish but still clear. Pulling back, he stared into Armand’s lovely amber eyes, almost nose to nose. “My heart and soul are yours forever.”
Oh, but Armand still wept. He looked up at Marius through bleary eyes, the tenderness clenching his heart and almost hurting it. It felt raw, it was scary to be this vulnerable again. Being with Marius was so overwhelming for his every sense, the sound of his post-coital husky voice and the scent of his sweat was maddening.
Slowly he released him, but only to lift his hands to Marius’s face and feel along his jaw. He brushed his knuckles along it, then the pads of his fingertips, feeling that familiar and venerable curve upwards from his chin that made his jaw so impressive. He felt then at his lips, full and perfect, sculpted so that they filled his face just the right amount, and made primarily for his kisses. These features were so familiar to him, he knew them like the back of his own hand.
Marius closed his eyes as Armand’s elegant, artist’s fingers explored his face. Each caress left his skin humming with pleasure, tiny trails of pleasure traced into patterns that followed Armand’s seeking touch.
Armand wound his finger around a wave of pale hair so beautiful in color that it seemed spun from a waterfall of the heavens. He looked into his cobalt eyes and knew that they hadn’t changed even though they had. Marius was the first of them Armand had seen human whose eyes hadn’t seemed to have lost any luster or liveliness. If beauty could make one ache, it would be Marius’s beauty. It made him ache so much that the lump at his throat grew bigger, and the tears thicker.
“Mean it? No secrets, not this time. Mean it forever,” he whispered. “I can’t lose you again, after letting you back in. This time it really will kill me.”
Marius refrained from closing his eyes again because he couldn’t indulge in such things when his beloved sounded so wounded, so frightened and vulnerable. “My love,” he murmured, kissing both of the boy’s tear-stained cheeks. “I have no secrets. I have nothing.” Wasn’t that his story? Ashes, ashes, ashes, and finally ruin. Over and over, destroyed with the shifts of time and era. And his one persistent secret was gone for four decades now. Though the absence of Akasha sometimes consumed him, and the freedom made him feel untethered and confused more than free.
Akasha hadn’t liked Amadeo, the boy had been too consuming, too distracting, and for the first time ever, there existed a person more important to him than Akasha. Of course he saw to his duties, unable to hide the resentment fully bloomed after 1,500 years from the powerful monarch. The dark silence was soothed by the persistent, lingering scent of Amadeo’s skin on his clothing. He wasn’t lonely then, but the distance and absence of his beloved still made him ache, and he’d curl up behind the dais with the fabric to his face, breathing in and in until it lulled him to sleep.
He thought it quite wonderful that now after five hundred years, he had a chance again. He’d rather die than squander what Armand offered. Part of him wanted to say the same, to make Armand promise not to hurt him, but men did not say such things, so he did not. “I only want you.”
“I don’t need that,” Armand said as he had said earlier that night, coasting his fingers over Marius’s cheeks. Marius might be taking pleasure from his touch but Armand was enjoying it just as much. What he needed was Marius’s attention, these words. To have him at his fingertips and locked away with him for the rest of the world. “I just need you not to leave me.”
He blinked away his tears, again heaving a soft sigh. His heart hurt so much even though he should be happy, the moment was marred with fear. “You told me earlier that you would have expectations of me. Tell me them now, while there’s snow outside and we’re tucked away from the rest of the world. While everything is quiet and we can be ourselves.”
Marius was hesitant, to say the least. He’d been told before, by Pandora and up to very recently, that his need to control the people around him would always act as a barrier between him and others, and anyone who could love him would inevitably be put off by his demanding nature, his cold manner, his serious demeanor.
He lay his weight on Armand, slowly and purposefully, unbothered by the cold ejaculate smearing between them, though conscious of his weight placement and the boy’s comfort. “I know that you are your own man. And I don’t wish to limit your happiness in any way, as I know I cannot fulfill all of your needs and desires. I won’t suffocate you.” Isn’t that what Pandora said he did? “Though I must insist that you at least tell me your decisions beforehand, ask for my permission, so that I am not blindsided or ignorant of the things that occur outside of my purview. I don’t want to be the last to know. Or worst, not know at all.” And such was the basis of his discomfort, lack of knowing, of having no knowledge.
Laying beneath Marius, completely enveloped by him and gazing into his eyes, Armand couldn’t imagine possibly ever wanting anyone else. His eyes held pure starlight and all the wisdom of the world. Armand would spend nights picking his mind and learning from him, and he knew Marius would be happy to teach.
But, he knew himself. Marius held his heart and Marius alone had the power to break it, but they were all of them very attractive men and women, and Armand knew that now that he had made love, the floodgates were open, and he would find it immeasurably hard to restrain himself.
“For you, I want to. For you I will do this, and I will do my very best.” He said it with sincerity because he meant it. “I love you. I didn’t return your words before when you took me to the edge, because I was so overwhelmed. But they meant the world in that moment, and indeed contributed to my pleasure.”
Marius, well-versed in semantics, could only laugh. He knew Armand meant it, and that was enough. Wiser to have realistic expectations than to be unbendable. And it was easy to dismiss the complications of the future when everything felt so warm and relaxed. Honestly, he couldn’t remember a time his limbs felt so faint, the tension common in his shoulders and neck melted to nothingness.
He knew that if he stayed this way, he’d drift off into effortless sleep soon. To have Armand’s declaration of love his last recollection of the waking world would send him off to the sweetest of dreams.
“A prostitute told me once,” Marius murmured low and drowsy. “Never believe a man who only tells you he loves you during sex. So it bears saying in this moment, I love you, Armand.” He heaved a great sigh and drew his arms closer, lifting his body up. “Let me carry you to the bath and bathe you. I do not want you to sleep like this.”
Armand, having a little more freedom to move, stretched his arms up above his head and his torso as a result. Marius stared at Armand’s body, eyes roaming over his elongating torso and chest. He wanted to touch the beautiful, rosy skin, loving every inch of it as he always had. Naturally, he found Armand beautiful and arousing, but what overcame him rather than lust was a sense of comfort, a warm feeling that the missing and fractured pieces of his life were finally mending, molding back together into all of the places they belonged. Just as he had known then and as easily understood now, this was all he wanted. Armand, a warm room, and the dark starlit sky. He dreaded the bright day, the pangs of hunger, the human pains he’d awaken with in his joints and muscles. Now that he was bound by it, time felt suffocating.
With a content sigh, Armand sat up, and then kneeled and leaned to kiss Marius again, which he received happily. “Carry me away then, if you will. I love you,” he said again. He didn’t know if Marius liked to hear it so often, but it was such a delight to him personally, to be able to say these things with total abandon.
“Wait here,” Marius instructed, unable to imagine taking Armand into a cold, empty tub. He was careful with the water temperature as he liked his water uncomfortably hot and did not want to discomfort his beloved. With the water running, he returned to the boy and quickly scooped him up. It wasn’t as effortless as before, an arm tucked under his knees and the other supporting his back, but Marius carried him through the warm room into the bathroom where he was sunk immediately into the warm water, and then he kneeled by the tub, resting his arms on the rim, one hand already sliding along the youth’s wet thigh.
Armand realized once he was enveloped in the water that he had been half afraid the peace between them would be interrupted when they moved. But no. Things felt as calm as the snow beyond the walls, and Marius still looked at him and touched him as though he were made of fine and impressive China. “Do you plan to join me?” he asked very quietly, taking Marius’s hand, not to still it, but to feel it in his own.
Marius slid his other hand over the enameled rim of the tub, stretching out its full length. It was a suitable size, but it was an antique and probably cast iron in its core. Heavy, hard to move, kept to a modest size to reduce the weight, with care of course to the volume of water needed for it to fill.
“I’m afraid I won’t fit,” he confessed, smiling. The tub was, at most, one and a half meters. He was content kneeling on the floor, sloshing hot water over Armand’s exposed skin, loving the way it flushed pinker. Of course he couldn’t stop thinking about the blood pumping beneath the surface because old desires lingered even if he didn’t confess to them. It was too tender a moment to corrupt with wickedness.
Armand hadn’t stopped to think of such things. He knew that his desire to be skin to skin with Marius was at the forefront of his mind, and he was utterly driven by it. That was his way in this moment after being so long without him, after holding off for so long even when it was killing him. Marius was ever a drug, and now he was lost in the euphoria of him again. He sat up after a moment of allowing this tender display, before sliding his arms around Marius’s neck and kissing him again.
Marius used his body to push Armand back to recline in the tub. The plump tongue made his mind wander to selfish things. He considered that perhaps he could fit if Armand put his pretty, shapely legs over his shoulders. And then, like that, he could have the boy again. Armand wouldn’t refuse him, no matter how he ached down there from being used. Marius wasn’t nearly as rough as a man his size and strength could be. But he hardly remembered the limits of a young body, only faintly recalling his own experiences that he’d loathed.
Curiously, his hand went into the water and between Armand’s legs where they found the entrance. His fingers were exploratory more than probing, and he only lightly caressed the slightly swollen skin at the hole. His cock was already stirring again, which was a humbling thing as Marius had to wonder if he was no better than every other man who saw Armand and naturally desired him. Did the boy grow tired of such things? Certainly the charm of objectification wore off quickly. And now that Marius’s blood no longer ran through Armand’s veins, he was really nothing more than just another man, too lustful and narrowly focused on having Armand’s body at the expense of the beauty’s own wants.
It couldn’t be so.
Marius knew he loved Armand in a way that no one else could, sins and all. Therefore, it couldn’t be helped.
The displacement of water with his added size was almost comical, a little concerning too as it sloshed over the rim on the floor. He only needed space for his legs as he fit himself between Armand’s. It was very cramped for his long limbs, but there was no place he wanted to be now other than between Armand’s legs.
Notes:
This chapter written by B and T
Chapter 47: Lay Waste
Summary:
Benedict ventures out of the castle at night for a moonlit ramble, but soon regrets it when a certain vampire finds him.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Benedict walked along the frozen mountain stream with his hands in his pockets, taking in the beauty of the winter night. It seemed counterintuitive now, after so many hundreds of years, to walk around in the night and not the day, but he still found a great comfort in it. There was something quite wonderful about the moon and the stars through mortal eyes, something so humbling, it almost brought him to tears. There was something blessed about the crunch of frozen grass beneath his feet as he wandered further from the chateau and into the wilderness on the mountainside, and something so fascinating about the quiet, solid stream that glittered in the moonlight. Nearby he could hear an owl, and that was wonderful too. He felt an inner peace tonight that he hadn’t felt for many years, and he was glad to not have to share it with anyone.
That feeling would not last very long.
It had been twelve hundred years, since Rhoshamandes had last heard Benedict’s thoughts, but they hit him now with such a crashing wave of nostalgia, as if it had only been yesterday that he could be embraced by the childlike innocence of this one’s mind, so that Rhosh nearly trembled.
After their reunion last spring on this very mountainside, he and Benedict had lived together for months until his most beloved fledgling had left him yet again, several weeks ago, for the insipidity of Court. Their parting had not been pretty, and just like the last time, Rhoshamandes intended to do nothing to draw him back. Unlike last time, though, he had no friend in which to confide his agony. They had slaughtered Roland, those tyrants of Court, and Rhosh’s other fledglings were even further gone. He had no one left at all.
It would be so easy to take hold of Benedict now, to work the mental spells that would make him bend completely to Rhosh’s seduction and not even think of resisting his claim. They could start over again, fresh, thanks to whatever mystic magic had transformed him mortal again. But Rhosh was well aware of what had happened to Gregory when he drank from Lestat, as well as the results of the experiments Fareed had been conducting in his Paris laboratories. Rhosh could not risk the same horror befalling himself.
He told himself he had only come to watch, to listen, to seize the moment when his Benedict was outside the chateau’s cursed walls and for once not in the company of them , those hypocrites who condemned him so unjustly. But Rhosh could not control his own movements as he emerged on the opposite side of the frozen stream, allowing Benedict to see his shape in the moonlight. He was unkempt tonight, his soft, dark golden-brown hair long to his shoulders, his mustache and beard unshaved, his large iridescent blue eyes piercing through the shadow of the hood of his plain gray cloak.
Benedict felt his whole body freeze, cold as the stream at his feet, to see the figure standing there on the bank, as still and silent as a ghost. He felt a lump in his throat as his whole soul was flung into panic.
His maker looked alluring as ever, and so fantastic through mortal eyes. He’d so thoroughly seduced Benedict as a mortal by looking this way, his gaze intense and his gait imposing. He was frightening, always had been.
Why was he here, why had he chosen now to come, when Benedict was alone and utterly vulnerable? There was only one reason for that, surely.
Benedict looked in the direction of the chateau, then closed his eyes and turned back to Rhoshamandes. When he opened them, he was still there. Not an illusion, then, or a figment of his imagination.
If he tried to run, that wouldn’t help; Rhosh would take what he wanted regardless.
If he even wanted Benedict at all.
Rhosh didn’t care, he was sure. Besides, Benedict’s feet were planted firmly to the cold ground, and he knew if he moved, his legs would completely buckle.
“Why are you here?” Benedict’s voice trembled. The question wasn’t malicious, it was desperate and sad, because he knew he was utterly powerless in all of this. His heart hammered in his chest so that it almost hurt; he knew Rhoshamandes would be able to hear it.
This fear from Benedict shot jagged lightning bolts of pain through Rhosh’s chest. It was bad enough to see it on his expressive mortal face and flicker behind his soft brown eyes, but to now also hear it so vividly in the boy’s mind was a whole new level of agony. Rhosh turned his face away, one hand coming up to cover it, and he shook his head. He had no clear answer for that question.
He could take Benedict by force—and he wanted to. But he did not know if merely touching him, if getting too close and breathing the same air as he did, would be enough to cause his own immortality to fade the way Gregory’s had. He could not risk it.
“I can do nothing to you,” he said bitterly. “You needn’t treat me like a monster.”
Benedict felt that like a knife to the chest. How could Rhosh say that after everything he’d put Benedict through? Why did Benedict now feel like such a villain over it? Such misery to be had all around, and it made him want to sink into the frosty ground and weep. Rosh could make him feel so wretched, and still, he loved him more than anything else in the whole world.
“You can do whatever you want to me, and you know it, besides make me a vampire again,” he lamented, his voice trembling less but still small. “Why did you come if you don’t mean to do anything?”
Ah, but Rhosh was doing something, simply by being here, wasn’t he? He hadn’t known his presence would intimidate Benedict so much. Benedict had been the one so full of rage and condemnations weeks ago when he left, and nothing Rhosh could say in his defense had made Benedict want to stay. It had not even been a year since Benedict had confessed that if Rhosh was going to die at the hands of the Court, that he wanted to die too. And now Benedict was the one dying with every breath he took.
But even if Rhosh were courageous enough to join him in this new mortality, Benedict wouldn’t want him to.
Rhosh’s hand slid from his face, back to his side, his gaze on soft white nothing in the middle distance. “Would you be a vampire again?” he asked. “When those accursed scientists unravel this mystery, would you return?”
“I don’t know,” Benedict answered quickly and without having to think much about it at all. He’d enjoyed far too much these few days being able to eat and drink and feel the sun against his skin. The only thing he hadn’t done yet was make love, and he’d certainly like to before it was too late, if he were given the choice to turn back or not. He’d like to do that, at least. It hadn’t properly sunk in yet, the fact of aging and of dying. The only thing he knew of this existence so far was pleasure.
He looked at Rhosh, who didn’t look at him, and still couldn’t understand why he had come here other than to do harm. Still, Benedict took this opportunity to admire him and fill his heart with the image of him to sustain him through the lonely nights. And then he asked, because he cared, even if Rhosh didn’t, “How have you been?”
Anger flashed across Rhosh’s face, but by the time his eyes were on Benedict’s again, it was gone, replaced only with a heavy look of disappointment. “Do you actually want me to answer that?” he asked, because he couldn’t fathom that his fledgling couldn’t guess how unhappy Rhosh had been since Benedict abandoned him again , the second time since all the disaster of last year.
Slowly, he stepped forward, toward the frozen stream, as if he intended to walk across it to join Benedict on the other side, but he did not yet put a foot on the ice. “You can’t be happy here,” he said, almost too quiet for Benedict’s mortal ears to hear, though his voice carried across as if on the wind. “They all despise you as much as they do me.”
Benedict gasped, his heart hurting. Rhoshamandes always did this, knew just what to say to get under his skin and make his spirit writhe in pain. Nobody could do it quite like Rhosh. And Benedict knew it was true, that he was wretched, that everyone hated him despite what they said. But he had a choice to make now. He could cower before it and let Rhosh lay waste to him once more, even as he advanced and looked like he would cross the stream, he could give him that power, or he could fight it. He could fight for himself, to the death if he had to.
Tired of being the useless, cowering creature and trying to believe that he had some worth, Benedict fought past his tears and fixed Rhosh with an attempt at a glare. “That may be,” he breathed, “but it is still preferable to living with you.”
“That is clear.” Considering it was what Benedict had chosen for himself. Rhoshamandes had never tried to pressure Benedict to return to him. Last spring, he’d come back home entirely on his own, because of what he feared Rhosh might do if he didn’t. And it could have very well been true that Benedict’s return was the only thing that prevented Rhosh from waging war on the Court, and thereby signing his own death warrant. Benedict had said he could not live if Rhosh died, that he would rather die with him, but now he was doing the very opposite of that. He’d come alive again, and was once more the ripe and tender youth who had captured Rhosh’s heart so many centuries ago.
Yes, it was true, Benedict still could not live if Rhosh died. It would be a tremendous grief that he would never recover from. But he couldn’t live with him either. Even just this interaction was exhausting and distressing him in every way.
“You should not be out here,” Rhosh said, still giving him that disappointed look. “Do you think I am the only one who would find you here? I have no wish to harm you, my beloved, but those among us who would see you condemned for what we did could destroy you now with a thought.”
“Beloved,” Benedict scoffed, dabbing at his eyes. It all sounded like some thinly veiled threat, and he hated the look in Rhosh’s eyes. “Well fine, I’ll go inside then, and I don’t expect to come back out until this whole affair is over.” He kept his eyes fixed on Rhosh with a heavy sigh, before finally turning to go.
Rhosh was already there, in front of Benedict, by the time he’d turned around. Not exactly blocking his path, as there was no path to speak of, but standing in the trail of Benedict’s footprints that had brought him down to the stream. Benedict had to stay still and will his heart to stop hammering. Even though Rhosh still kept his distance, standing about six feet ahead of him, Benedict was terrified of what he might do.
“Do you think you are safe in that castle?” Rhosh asked. He had no idea what the residents of the chateau were doing to ensure their security and protection. What was to keep any vampire from bursting in? Was it true that anyone who even set foot in those walls was afflicted with the malady as well? How could they be sure? He genuinely wanted to know.
“I don’t know,” Benedict breathed, eyes never leaving Rhoshamandes, as if he could prevent anything he might do. As if. “I don’t know.” He took a fearful step backward and very nearly slipped on the icy ground. He had to put in a great deal of effort into keeping his balance, and even then, his eyes didn’t leave Rhosh. “I wish I could say, and I feel even less safe now.”
Ah, such cruel words. Rhoshamandes knew Benedict was just saying this to hurt him, and he wasn’t going to be baited. He only gave Benedict a quietly reproving look, as if he expected better from him. “You will always be safe with me, child. You know where your home is.”
Oh, Benedict wanted to scream and cry and hit him then. It was just Rhosh’s way, to make him feel so guilty for defending himself, to make him feel like the scum of the earth for saying something that didn’t fit with his narrative, even if it were true. He wanted to tell Rhosh he hated him, but it just wasn’t in his nature to say such horrible and unnecessary things.
Besides, he was not safe with Rhoshamandes; had he been human living with him, he would have the marks on his body to show it. There was no home with him anymore. The chateau was home. And he would go there now.
The anger was just enough to give Benedict the boldness to move past Rhosh in a wide circle without another word or glance, intent only on falling apart when he got home.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and T
My first time ever writing Rhosh!
Chapter 48: To Be Useful
Summary:
Even though he worries about taking up too much of Lestat's time, Benedict comes to him with the news of Rhosh's visit, and gets an unexpected and surprising reaction.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Benedict simply didn’t know who else to turn to. He’d been a barrel of nerves and tears, a veritable frayed end since his encounter with Rhoshamandes, and he was afraid that he would have a complete nervous breakdown if he didn’t speak of it to someone. But there was something else, too. Rhosh had threatened him, the safety of the chateau, and even though the threat may have been empty, Lestat had the right to know of what lurked beyond these walls. They all deserved to know.
So the next afternoon, Benedict knocked on the door of Lestat’s private chateau apartment, and let himself in when he was bid. Looking at him, he could tell that Lestat was exhausted and something was deeply troubling him, but if Benedict didn’t force himself to say what was on his mind now, he didn’t know if he ever would. “I have something to tell you, I’m sorry for the urgency.”
“Benedict,” Lestat said with a relieved sigh and he took him by the sides of his shoulders, pressing him gently in greeting. What he wanted was to draw him in close and embrace him fiercely, but he was still wary about being overly-familiar with Benedict after he seemed so uncomfortable around Lestat the morning they went to the café. “Don’t be sorry,” he said, giving him a tired sort of smile. “I’m glad it’s you. If it were anyone else, I’d have hidden under the bed and pretended not to be in.”
Benedict frowned, trying to hold himself together. “I want to hear about it, I want to know why you are so sad and why you want to be alone, I want to,” he assured, because he didn’t want Lestat to think him inconsiderate for pushing past such things to talk only of his own plight. He felt himself grow more frantic by the moment. He heard it in his voice and felt it in his trembling hands. “Only I was walking around in the woods last night, just a little while away, not too far, and…and Rhoshamandes came and…” He struggled to get it out. Came and what? Stood there? He’d done nothing but said hurtful words, but it had been so frightening all the same. Benedict breathed, trying to be competent and coherent enough to communicate with Lestat now. “He spoke like he means to hurt us.”
Lestat’s heartbeat tripped into double time, and he almost put a hand against it. It had been doing that a lot since he’d become mortal and fleshy again, a damn nuisance. Had his sensibilities been this quickly triggered when he’d been young?
He took Benedict by the arms again, on instinct this time, because it seemed the boy might shake right out of his skin if someone didn’t hold him down. “What did he say?” Lestat asked urgently. “Is he coming back?”
“He asked me if I think I’m safe here. He said other things too, but they’re not…not relevant.” Lestat didn’t need to hear about all the disparaging things that had come out of his maker’s mouth. Benedict felt the desperation in his heart and mind run anew, and his breathing become ragged again as he thought on the severity of it all. “I don’t know, it was the way he spoke! There was an intonation to it. What am I meant to make of it when he of all people asks if I think I am safe? I think, though, he thinks if he gets too close, he will become human too. He didn’t come within more than two meters of me. Maybe that gives us some time to…I don’t know! I just thought you should know. Maybe I should leave. Maybe, just maybe it is only me this time.”
Lestat’s fingers tightened on Benedict’s sleeves for a moment, then he moved one arm around his back to lead him over to the parlour sofa where he could sit. “Breathe,” he urged, and he knelt on the floor in front of Benedict, tilting his head to try to keep his eye. He didn’t want to tell Benedict not to be afraid, because all this was undeniably frightening, but the urge to settle him rose paramount. “You’re right to tell me all this. But don’t talk about leaving us, not yet. Could…could it be that maybe he just wants to be sure that you are safe?”
Benedict scoffed, though no ire was in it. He shook his head immediately. “No. He doesn’t care. I can’t pretend to know what he is thinking or what he wants to do,” he murmured, touched by Lestat’s tenderness in this moment and the calmness in his words. It was all so inspiring that for a moment, he did feel better. And then he remembered what Rhosh said about them. That they despised him. It rang through his mind in that metallic and cold voice of his.
He palmed at his eyes to try to keep from weeping in front of Lestat and stood. “But I do know that there is a chance that me leaving would keep you all safe. If I stay here and he besieges the castle, there is little I can do to help defend it. If I leave and it’s me he wants and he follows me, and leaves you all in peace, then I’ve succeeded.”
Lestat sat back on his heel and watched Benedict move away, his fingers digging into his palm to keep himself from grabbing his leg to hold him there. A fluttering panic rose into the back of Lestat’s throat at the thought of Benedict leaving. “Or perhaps your presence here is what keeps him from besieging! What’s to stop him if you’re gone?”
Benedict just felt like he couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t argue with Lestat, he couldn’t pretend that he belonged here. He couldn’t shake Rhoshamandes from his mind. He couldn’t leave because, selfishly, he loved it here too much. He couldn’t stay because he loved everyone here too much. So much couldn’t, and everything felt so overwhelmingly hopeless.
“I don’t know,” he said again, sinking back onto the couch. It was such a knife to his heart to think that he didn’t know, and it filled him with fear. He was so tired from the emotional duress Rhoshamandes had put him under, not only from this one visit, but his whole life. From not being able to turn his heart and his mind away from him ever. He felt the tears come now and hated himself for it. What a wretch he was. “I’m so sorry,” was all he said, burying his face in his hands to hide his eyes.
Lestat gazed up at him from his spot on the floor, then shifted his legs so that he could fold his arms over his knees instead. “Don’t be,” he said, and though his voice was quiet, it wasn’t a whisper. He was silent then, thinking over it all and giving Benedict a moment to settle.
“Look,” Lestat started again. “Anyplace else you go would be equally unsafe as here…probably even less safe. So you might as well stay here with me…with us. I want you here. I’ve always wanted you here… I was sorry when you left us last spring and went back to him, though I know why you did it. I don’t blame you. It’s…” Lestat trailed off, pressing his lips together and turning these thoughts over, his fingertips brushing against each other with pent up energy. “To be honest, I don’t fear him. There are others…other things I would fear long before I thought of him.”
Benedict just cried, so overwhelmed by the reality of what he was facing that he felt there was no other option. Finally, he sniffed and tried to clear his voice to speak. “And what about everybody else? Not everyone is as understanding as you, as welcoming. There are people here who would want me dead if they found out I’d brought Rhoshamandes to your door.” He could name them, at least one of them, and as soon as they were vampires again, he would target all of his wrath toward Benedict, he was sure. He wondered also how much damage Armand could do with just human strength, given his temper.
“Well, it’s my house, isn’t it?” Lestat said with a scowl. “My door.” And none of the people who were actually of his household—that is, permanent residents, not just frequent visitors like Armand—so really just Louis, Marius, Antoine, his bodyguards, and who else now? Thank god, David and Gabrielle had not been home when this happened—none of them would say a damn thing against Benedict, Lestat knew that. And now…now that they no longer had a place among vampirekind, could no longer stand as any sort of Court, it really was just a house, wasn’t it? A big, lonely house in the remote countryside that would serve none of them much good for much longer…
“But look,” Benedict said to change the subject. “I’ve been so selfish since coming in here. What troubles you?” Reaching out, he took Lestat’s hand. He wondered immediately if he’d done too much—overstepped in this or offended.
Lestat winced and squeezed Benedict’s hand, grateful for the contact. How warm and soft it was…such a delicate hand, the hand of a scholar, of a lover. He shook his head, his eyes remaining on their joined fingers. “Don’t worry about me. I’m troubled that we’re mortal now. That’s the all of it. You’re not selfish. Don’t say that.” His eyes lifted a little, looking up at Benedict through his golden lashes. Lestat sometimes had such trouble remembering Benedict was his elder, was one who ought to be a mentor to him. He was so precious, Lestat constantly felt the urge to shelter and protect him. “You’ll stay,” he said decisively.
Benedict locked eyes with Lestat’s and was taken aback by the conviction in them. So he still couldn’t argue then, or could argue no more. It took his breath away that Lestat would extend such concern and devotion to him. “I’ll stay,” he agreed with a quiet sniffle, because it felt like he had no other option now that he had been told to. “But we’re not going to be mortal forever, are we?” he asked, never letting go of Lestat’s hand. Suddenly a palpable sense of dread overcame him. It settled around the room and lay heavy over them both. The ancient walls of this castle had never felt more like an abandoned medieval ruin rather than a modern home. “Or…are we? Is that what you found out in Paris?”
Lestat cringed and craned his face away to hide his expression, but his hand around Benedict’s gripped all the more desperately. “No, of course not,” he insisted, and then shook his head to emphasize it. “But it’s…” He hesitated, carefully choosing his words; he didn’t want to tell Benedict the full truth. Taking a quick breath, he looked back to him. “We can’t be brought over again the usual way. Any vampire who tastes our blood will be afflicted just as we are, like Gregory was. Our blood would have to be drained…medically…and that poses significant risks. Once a man loses that much blood, it can’t be transfused back into him with needles and tubes. If the dark gift swallowed directly from a vampire’s veins doesn’t save him, nothing will. It is too much of a risk to attempt now. Needs to be studied further. I don’t…don’t know…how long that will take… Pleasedon’tpanic.”
Benedict nodded, and kept himself composed. It was a hard thing for Lestat, it must be, to be so completely responsible for the well-being of everyone who lived under this roof. He looked so young, because he was, this dashing young man just past the cusp of boyhood with his sharper jaw and larger build, but all the spirit in some ways of a teenager. Twenty was such a strange age, Benedict had to imagine, because he’d never reached it himself. A twenty-year-old should not have to worry about so much. So Benedict didn’t want to make it any worse.
He leaned over his lap and placed his spare hand on Lestat’s jaw, his thumb caressing his cheek. “It’ll be okay,” he promised, though he really didn’t know if it would be. This was always the way with him. “You won’t let me, I am sure, but I am happy to be the one to test the experiment.”
Lestat’s breath caught in the back of his throat, and his eyes widened a little, gazing up at Benedict wondrously. Carefully, his hand came up, as if he were afraid of scaring Benedict’s away, and then it covered his softly to keep him there. It seemed for a moment that he hadn’t even heard what Benedict said, he was just looking at him, but then finally he nodded. “You’re right. I won’t let you.” Lestat gave him a small, sad smile. “You can’t get away that easy.”
Benedict smiled, then sighed, eyes falling to the carpet but keeping his hands with Lestat as Rhosh’s words from last night once again assaulted his mind. “He told me that you all despise me,” he confessed, feeling hot in the face to remember it. “I know you always say to me that you want me around, and I want to believe it. But it can be difficult… Don’t ever think I’m ungrateful, please? He told me I can’t be happy here.”
Slowly, Lestat’s fingers folded over the back of Benedict’s hand and his wrist. His face wanted to turn into it, to press his lips to the center of Benedict’s smooth palm, but he checked himself and took a soft steadying breath.
“Anyone who doesn’t want you around can leave,” Lestat said quietly, with determination. He didn’t think Rhosh was lying about what he saw in the minds and hearts of the others in the castle, and knew many had reason to hold a grudge against Benedict, but Lestat didn’t care. They knew where the door was. The chateau wasn’t a vampire refuge anymore for the time being, so none of them had any reason to stay here. Which only made the last thing Benedict said all the more true, and Lestat shook his head a little, enjoying the excuse of it for how it made his face rub against Benedict’s touch.
“Can any of us be happy here?” Lestat’s eyes flicked to the window, which was lit up with only the dimmest of daylight as snowfall beat softly against it. It would be like this for months. “This is no place for mortals to be happy. Maybe we should all move to Paris… We’ll be close to Fareed that way, for whenever…” He shook his head again. Gregory was in Paris too, now. He’d texted Lestat a couple times to check in since leaving early yesterday morning, but Gregory didn’t seem to be missing him or anyone else at the chateau very much. A kernel of bitterness knotted in Lestat’s chest at the thought, but focusing back on Benedict’s gentle face made it fade almost as quickly as it came.
“I don’t know, but I would like to try to be happy at least,” Benedict mused. He didn’t know how true it was, that Lestat would turn others away for his sake if it came down to it, but he didn’t want to fight him on this. “I don’t see why it’s such a horrible place for mortals. The rooms are luxurious and have so much character. So many humans dream of living in a place like this. Why the library alone is the stuff of dreams! It was a mortal’s house before, wasn’t it? So why not now? We’ll get plants.”
“Plants.” Lestat chuckled. He’d actually been thinking lately, before all this happened, about building a greenhouse on the property to grow flowers year-round. He’d have every room of the chateau constantly filled with fresh flowers if it were possible. Living here as a vampire hadn’t felt constricting at all, when within minutes, he could be a thousand miles away if he wanted to be.
He shook his head now, though, his hand sliding down Benedict’s arm a little, but not letting go. “It’s a beautiful prison, but a prison nonetheless. When I was a boy, the thought of wasting away my mortal years out here in the middle of nowhere could put me in a perfect terror. But is the retiring life of a recluse to your tastes?” He tilted his head with interest as he let himself take full advantage of this time to soak up Benedict’s closeness.
“It is, when I am not being abused in the place of retreat,” Benedict admitted, a sad smile over his lips as he’d said something that might be construed as heavy, but again might not. As vampires, they’d known so much more pain and trauma and violence than any other members of society. There was no real standard of behavior amongst them, was there? “So it doesn’t feel like a prison to me, when it’s beautiful and everyone here is lovely. It’s like the monastery—I loved it very much. But I couldn’t abide the shame that came with the way I wanted to love others in that place. And when Rhoshamandes took me, I suppose I wasn’t sad to be saved from the tonsure.” He smiled a little at this, because it was very silly if not a little bit true.
Benedict moved from the couch then to sit on the floor beside Lestat, having to look up at him now instead from this new angle. He too wanted to take advantage of this closeness. Lestat seemed to enjoy it, and Benedict always thoroughly enjoyed it and needed it with the way he had been feeling. His other hand came to Lestat’s other cheek, and he held his face reverently. “Wherever you want to go, I’ll follow.”
This took Lestat by surprise, and whatever amusement he was enjoying at the thought of Benedict in monk’s robes with a bald pate slipped away. “Really?” he asked with slightly wide eyes, but then he smiled apologetically, because it was a stupid question. What he’d really wanted to ask was ‘But why?’ but as ever, he was wary of offending Benedict at all.
He rubbed lightly over Benedict’s arms with both hands, enjoying the feel of their slim shape beneath his soft sleeves. “I see what you mean,” he acknowledged, his eyes finally peeling from Benedict’s to sweep slowly around the room, as if seeing it in an entirely different light. “About it being like your monastery… I once wanted that life for myself as well. Wanted it desperately. But for me, it would have been the opposite of hermitage. It was a world that opened so many new, bright possibilities that were denied me here in this house with my family.”
His family here now—such as it was—was altogether different, of course. Though it was still a far cry from any traditional mortal family. More like the camaraderie of a dormitory. Would some of them now want to pursue the traditional mortal lives, make new families of their own with any mortal out there in the world who could love them now without fear? Get married, have children, join a community, all that? Gregory was already gone, who would be next? Lestat frowned faintly, desperately trying not to think of who specifically he might lose to such a venture, and his hands tightened on Benedict’s arms, drawing him a little closer, all the more grateful for this offer of his to stay with him for now.
Benedict hummed, welcoming the closeness as he marveled at how different their perspectives on monastic life were. “It can be like that, a brotherhood where knowledge is abundant and your purpose in life brings you close and at peace with one another,” he agreed. “But it is too restrictive, and I wonder if maybe you wouldn’t have been frustrated after a while. I certainly was, and you are far too wonderful a spirit to be holed away from the world in a monastery.” He never stopped looking into Lestat’s eyes. “I will follow you, because you have shown me generosity and kindness and understanding, and something akin to love. And for that I feel loyal to you.”
Lestat was so damn relieved that Benedict didn’t say anything about him being Prince, that his reasoning had nothing to do with any of that now. A truly happy smile came over his face, and his hands took Benedict’s shoulders to pull him in for a tender embrace. “You don’t know what good that does me,” he said as he held him.
Benedict smiled too, his face lighting up to see Lestat’s radiant expression. How tremendously beautiful he was, with his eyes that still seemed to absorb every color somehow and his smile that could launch a thousand ships. He didn’t know what good it did Lestat, but Benedict certainly knew that he was glad to make him happy.
Lestat didn’t know where he wanted to go yet, or when he would even be able to get away from all his responsibility here. He did know he didn’t want to be far from Paris, though. Or wherever Fareed happened to be. “But surely I’m not the only one?” he asked as he shifted back enough to see Benedict again. “To show you these things?” Generosity and kindness and understanding and…love.
Benedict’s smile faded just a little bit to think on this. “It’s complicated. Isn’t it always with us?” he asked with a little sigh. “Well currently, yes, you, and Louis. The Prime Minister is also very kind to me. In my life, you are the only people.”
With us… But they weren’t an us anymore…at least not that us. What was Marius even Prime Minister of now? They were all just as regular as any other weak and helpless and lonely mortal in the teeming masses the world over.
Lestat pushed this despair down, wanting to keep up the lie of optimism for Benedict’s benefit. He would not reveal just how dire Fareed had concluded their situation to be.
“I’m glad you mention Louis,” he said with a slight smile. He’d be frustrated to learn Benedict was thinking of Louis as ungenerously as he seemed to view the rest of the coven. “He’ll come with us wherever we go.” Leatat paused, considering what he just said. “Well, he might…” He’d barely seen Louis around at all since he’d come back from Paris two nights ago. Lestat hadn’t been avoiding him, of course, he was just constantly helping other people or on the phone placing orders and making arrangements between short bouts of exhausted sleep. Lestat hadn’t slept more than three hours in a row since all this began. How Louis was feeling about his mortality now was anyone’s guess.
“Well, we’ll talk him into it,” he said, squeezing Benedict’s shoulders reassuringly. “I can talk him into most anything. And so you’ll have both of us still.”
“I need you,” Benedict confessed with surprising ease, melting into Lestat’s embrace and burying his face into his shoulder. There was something about the warmth of the room, and the size of Lestat compared to himself, that made him feel like no harm could come to him in his arms. And he might feel the same about Louis if they ever embraced. Of course, logically, now it wasn’t true. But it was easy to pretend just for today in this room in Lestat’s arms that Rhoshamandes wouldn’t be able to do a thing to him.
Lestat allowed himself the indulgence of putting a hand to the back of Benedict’s thick, curling hair, and it was all he could do not to draw him right into his lap as he held him. How soft he was, tender, how human…no sign at all that this had once been an ancient being, hard as stone.
“I was very scared,” Benedict murmured. “I’m still very scared. But we will all be okay.”
“I can’t stand being scared,” Lestat said just as softly, his hand moving slow and soothingly over Benedict’s narrow back. “It makes me so angry. Positively furious.” His face turned to press against Benedict’s golden-brown hair, inhaling the good scent of it, letting its softness tickle his nose. “That’s how you can tell I’m not scared right now. Or I’d be rampaging.”
“I’m glad, that you’re not afraid,” Benedict said earnestly. He could tell that Lestat was taking some sort of joy in holding him, whether it be the physical contact alone or the scent he was inhaling. It was a shampoo Benedict had used now that such things would linger on them, chamomile and honey. He wondered if it were pleasant to Lestat, because he’d certainly enjoyed it himself.
An urge came over Benedict then. He didn’t know if it would be at all welcome, but he knew that he had always been a slave to it, this contact, and he wanted more. So he moved into Lestat’s lap to be closer, and his fear was renewed with the added possibility of rejection. “I aspire to be like you.”
Benedict’s weight settling on his thighs made Lestat freeze, unsure exactly what was happening, not wanting to assume. But then when he simply sat there, the air went out of Lestat quiet and slow, and his arms slid fully around Benedict. He held him against his chest, tilting his head so that he could see his face still. “I’m not always fearless.” After a thoughtful moment, he continued, “I should just go talk to him myself, nip this in the bud.”
Panic seized Benedict and he pulled away to look at Lestat. He shook his head profusely, taking Lestat’s face in his hands again. “You can’t, no, absolutely not,” he insisted, locking eyes with him as the fear overflowed. It was so visceral that he almost threatened to leave the chateau again, or at least find Rhoshamandes himself and try to reason with him. “Promise me you won’t go, not yet.”
Leatat frowned, startled by the intensity of this reaction. “Why not?” he said without even thinking about it. “If he meant me harm, he would have killed me long ago. He’s had enough opportunities.” Lestat was thinking about that night he and Rhosh had spent alone out on the Benedicta, just the two of them and the sea and nothing at all to stop Rhosh from setting him ablaze with a thought. Their little voyage hadn’t been very awkward at all, almost downright companionable.
His hands smoothed down Benedict’s back, enjoying the way it made his body press against his own all the more securely. “Why not yet, I mean. What should I wait for?”
“I don’t know,” Benedict stressed, still looking at Lestat even as he was held closer. “Until I—” Until he what? Went to Rhoshamandes himself to reason with him? What would that come to? Benedict held no power, he held no sway. But he knew how to handle Rhosh, and there was that. “Until I figure it out. Let me think, let me try to figure it all out. I’ve been so useless because I’ve been so scared by it all. But let me think now once I’ve calmed down, and I’ll do whatever I can to make it all okay. Just promise me you won’t go.”
“It’s all right,” Lestat soothed, feeling like a heel for sending Benedict into this paroxysm of concern. The frown on his face tightened, but his hand moved to Benedict’s arm, smoothing down it with heavy reassurance. “It’s… I won’t. I’ll promise. Don’t worry about figuring it out. You don’t have to do that. You’re not useless. And you don’t need to be useful, either. I only… I don’t want you to be afraid. Not of him, not of anything.”
“I am useless,” Benedict maintained, pushing his face into Lestat’s neck out of relief, to thank him for agreeing to this. “I’ve brought nothing to you of use because I left him with nothing. And now I’ve brought him to your doorstep. But thank you, thank you for not going. I would be beside myself if anything happened to you.”
Lestat sighed, his hand sliding up Benedict’s back, under his hair to cradle the back of his skull. “Nothing would happen to me,” he said wearily, and he really believed that. Rhosh could have easily destroyed him so many times by now, and he never had even tried. And why should he bother, and draw the malice of other powerful vampires, when all he had to do now was wait a few years for age and nature to take care of the job for him?
A wave of furious sorrow came over Lestat again to remember all Fareed had found out so far and how hopeless it all looked for them. But he had to hide it, keep it down, for Benedict’s sake. Sweet Benedict mustn’t know the full truth yet. Lestat had only told Gregory and Marius so far, and both agreed to keep it secret for now.
“You brought you to me,” Lestat pointed out, to keep his attention on Benedict and off these thoughts. “What more could I ever want from you than that?”
Benedict didn’t like to hear that. Even if it was genuine, and it was, he didn’t know what to make of it. He didn’t have anything to bring to anyone, and Lestat had the world in his soul and his eyes and his hands. He pulled back again, to keep looking at him, knowing he was selfish in even being here and taking Lestat’s time and his space like this. “Thank you,” he whispered again, though it wasn’t just for his agreement for this time. It was for everything—the comfort, the time, the generosity and kind words. He kissed Lestat’s cheek, wanting to be selfish for just a little longer, wanting that contact with him. If asked, he would say it was gratitude alone.
Lestat frowned into the middle distance over Benedict’s shoulder, and tried not to react to the pinching feeling in his chest. He could tell he’d misstepped again, made Benedict uncomfortable, which Benedict was handling with so much grace… His hands moved lightly down to a more appropriate position, embracing Benedict tenderly around his back. He nodded a little, accepting Benedict’s polite thanks, his gentlemanly gratitude, and tilted his temple against Benedict’s.
What did Benedict even think of him? Lestat was such a child beside him, he knew that. And yet Benedict was curled up in his lap as if he were the younger, more tender one… But if this comfort was what he actually wanted from Lestat, he would give it as long as it was accepted, using his size and strength in the best way he could to make Benedict feel secure, if only for a little while.
Benedict knew he was taking up so much of Lestat’s time now that he had frankly no right or claim to. He knew that the lord of the house had people to see or places he needed to go to, or at the very least, he just wanted to be completely alone. And Benedict understood that, really. So why wasn’t he moving? Why was he wrapping his arms around Lestat to return the embrace? Why was he pulling back again to study his handsome face and search for a reason not to leave, not to do what he had this burning urge to do? His cheek had been so warm and soft, Benedict wanted more against his lips. He didn’t know what possessed him to lean closer and press his lips to Lestat’s other than pure madness.
Lestat closed his eyes and sank against this kiss. Was this more gratitude? Well, it was very nice…
Or did Benedict want more from him?
Did he need more? Something only Lestat could offer in a world such as Benedict’s that had become so diminished?
He’d said Lestat was one of only three people who he could feel comfortable with now, and he might just as well be kissing Marius or Louis… But he was here with Lestat now, and Lestat considered that this might just be his good luck in this moment.
His hands came up to cradle the sides of Benedict’s head and face, and he parted his lips to softly take in Benedict’s, tilting his own face just a little to make the seal between their mouths more complete.
When he pulled back, his thumbs stroked the soft skin over Benedict’s cheekbones, and he searched his warm brown eyes. How much he looked like he needed Lestat just now, and the drive in Lestat rose to not let Benedict down. Not Benedict… The maker of his maker, the tender heart that had somehow maintained such perfect innocence even after twelve centuries of murderous evil.
“You want this?” Lestat asked softly. Kisses, he meant. The one he’d just given, of course, but also as well as any more that might follow.
Benedict was initially filled with fear and shock over what he’d done. Oh how he hated himself for overstepping like this, for asking and expecting so much of Lestat in this moment. But…Lestat had returned it… On some level, he must want this too. So Benedict nodded, convincing himself it was okay to want this, and he searched Lestat’s eyes in turn. But God, how he wanted it, to fill his heart with all things Lestat rather than fear and self-loathing. “Please.”
Lestat’s thumbs traced softly under Benedict’s eyes, and he didn’t need preternatural hearing to detect how his heartbeat began to pound, how the pulse fluttered in his throat against his fingertips. His own heart tripped, his breath catching in the back of his throat to watch how wide and glassy Benedict’s eyes became. He just looked so damn sad, so needful, Lestat wanted to wrap him up and never let the world touch him again.
Drawing his face gently forward, Lestat kissed Benedict’s mouth again—so soft! Lestat tried to muffle it, but couldn’t fully keep back the little sound of pleasure that rose from him, and his hands slid hungrily under Benedict’s hair.
Behind the dark of his closed eyes, as his lips parted Benedict’s with soft, exploding pressure, rose the memory of Gregory’s voice… Things you can do to take your mind off this ordeal… Ordeal, indeed… And now Gregory was gone, off in Paris with his precious company, getting into all the trouble his frivolous and carefree senses craved. Did he ever even think of Lestat anymore?
Flash of that first pale pink sunrise, and the pressure of Louis’s hand around his as they watched it together. How painfully beautiful, how perfectly human Louis had looked in those first rays of daylight… How frightfully vulnerable. And then Louis’s anger and avoidance the last two days, which Lestat couldn’t even begin to let himself ponder, lest it drive him to absolute darkness.
Lestat breathed in sharply through his nose as pain twisted like a dagger in his chest, and for a moment, his kiss became rather desperate.
Perhaps he needed this as much as Benedict did.
Tilting his head, the tip of Lestat’s tongue traced the inside of Benedict’s lower lip, and it was all he could do to not make a downright bawdy sound as he sucked on it. He hadn’t even realized how one of his hands slid all the way down to tuck under Benedict’s soft and supple behind in his lap.
It was Benedict’s turn to moan, soft and desperate. He gave a trail of shameless moans as Lestat kissed him with such skill and desire that it drove him mad. He had no qualms with this, and he very much felt like he needed it if he were to continue surviving. Lestat’s touch, the surety of it as he pulled him close, he thought he needed that too.
Lestat drew back, his eyes scanning Benedict’s face, the blood risen so beautifully under his cheeks, his eyes impossibly, irresistibly large… So many centuries of pain behind them, and yet he looked just as young and uncertain as Lestat felt himself.
“Do you want to go to bed?” Leatat asked without any sense of self-consciousness. If Benedict told him no, he would just kiss him again. Lestat could spend all day kissing a mouth this sweet.
“I do,” Benedict admitted easily, his fingers sliding over Lestat’s shoulders. “I do, but I feel so audacious for it, as if I shouldn’t dare want it.”
“Why shouldn’t you?” Lestat asked with confusion. His first guess was that it had something to do with Rhosh, but after a second’s thought, that didn’t seem right. Benedict had left Rhosh. Why would he restrict anything he did because of him?
“I want you to want it too,” Benedict said hesitantly. “Do you?”
His hand at the nape of Benedict’s neck curled, his nails scratching lightly through the baby fine hairs there, and he tipped his face down, touching his forehead to Benedict’s as he stared into his eyes, so close. “I want it,” he said in a low, intimate voice, a shiver of thrill running over his skin, just to say it aloud. “And you should dare, Benedict.”
He let his lips brush over Benedict’s again, just barely, before he shifted back. Unfolding his legs, Lestat slid out from under him and got to his feet. Taking Benedict’s hands to pull him up, he said, “Come on. You’ll love my bed. It’s absolutely luscious.”
Notes:
To be continued!
This chapter written by Me and T
Chapter 49: Look at Me
Summary:
Benedict is thrilled when Lestat offers to take him to bed, but they're not the only ones indulging in erotic experiences. Explicit
Notes:
Consent-related CW on this one, but it's kind of a spoiler, so I put it in the end notes. For those who need the CW, click the link below to drop down to the end
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Benedict’s breath hitched as he was led to Lestat’s bedroom. What a privilege it was to see it, he felt like the luckiest man in the world just to be here, never mind to be doing what they were going to be doing inside. He looked around, eyes wide as he absorbed their surroundings before looking back at Lestat. Eager to continue, he moved to kiss him again, sliding his jacket from his shoulders. He couldn’t think of anything else but having this from Lestat, but feeling the arousal peak and attaining the release he was so desperate for.
Even though Benedict hadn’t given him an answer for why he shouldn’t want this to happen between them, Lestat supposed Benedict wasn’t going to let his ‘audacious’ feelings get in his way. Not with how he was kissing him right now. Despite the building excitement with each connection of their mouths, there was nothing hurried in Lestat’s actions as he began to undress himself and Benedict, and he only stopped kissing him when absolutely necessary to remove one item of clothing or another until every last scrap was gone.
His hands slid over the smooth skin of Benedict’s stomach and waist, and Lestat took a moment to step back enough to look down and admire his body. What a lovely pale pink blush covered his skin, and Lestat felt his arousal spike at the sight of it. It always seemed that way for mortal men, it was connected to the eyes. And so localized. Instead of the heat of lust licking under every part of his skin, in every vein, it pooled and gripped him in just one place, slowly engorging him with every passing second.
A low groan rumbled in the back of Lestat’s throat, and he stepped forward, pressing Benedict back so that his legs hit the bed and he had to sit. He kept pushing, making Benedict lie back so that he could bend over him, and Benedict gasped to be so open and vulnerable beneath him.
One of Lestat’s knees gently wedged Benedict’s thighs apart so that he could kneel his weight on the bed between them, his arms caging Benedict’s face as he kissed his mouth once more. Then he kissed over his face, so beautifully soft, almost like a girl’s. Benedict gasped again as such intense attention was lavished upon him. He flushed intensely, the heat under his skin causing a pleasant tingling sensation wherever Lestat touched, and he was a flurry of quiet moans with each brush of Lestat’s lips. It was good, every part of him, and his scent, too.
At his throat, Lestat inhaled, then made a soft humming sound. “What is that?” he asked and sniffed again. “I like it…” His lips left a trail of kisses over one sloped shoulder, and his hand smoothed down Benedict’s soft body, stopping at the base of his stomach, just the tips of his fingers spreading into the curling golden hair there. “I like all of this.” Good lord, how easy it could be to become obsessed…
“It’s honey and chamomile,” Benedict answered, because he very much felt like he should even in this moment. His hands slid around Lestat’s powerful shoulders to hold him close. He felt his cock give a dull pulse as Lestat’s hand neared to it, the promise of the mere thought enough to excite him. He let his hands roam freely, his fingers grazing over every contour of Lestat’s well-shaped arms and in his hair.
“You’re beautiful,” Benedict praised, losing himself in his luminous grey eyes and his strong presence. “I want you. Tell me what you want and I’ll make sure you have it.”
Just now, he would give Lestat anything.
Meanwhile, unseen by either of them, Louis stood in the doorway, transfixed by the sight before him, struck silent by the shock of it as equally as he was by the fervent desire to see more. He had come to this room seeking Lestat, having kept his distance on purpose for longer than he meant. It was always this way with them, of course, and so like Louis to delay any sort of gratification until he was practically bursting with the need for it.
A lightning bolt of jealousy had rippled through him when he had come into Lestat’s suite of rooms and heard the noises from the bedchamber. But when he saw who Lestat was with and how beautiful a spectacle they made together, he said nothing, sinking back from the bedroom doorway so that he might instead spy from just around the corner.
His breath shallow, Louis’s hand moved of its own accord, sliding down his chest and stomach in an inevitable path toward his own pleasure. And yet he stopped himself, and leaned his shoulder against the door frame, quiet, watching with eager and hungry eyes, not daring to make a sound lest he disturb the gorgeous specimens of male virility before him.
“I want you to think of nothing but me,” Lestat was telling Benedict, his voice low and close to his ear. The way Benedict’s hands moved over him was making him tremble. Neither Gregory nor Marius had touched him with such tender adoration, and Lestat’s mortal flesh craved it. Yes, he wanted more of that, too. Turning his face, he kissed along the inside of Benedict’s arm as his fingers caressed the back of it.
After another worshipful moment, Lestat took Benedict by his sides under his arms to shift him further back on the bed so that he could crawl more fully over him. Kneeling between his legs, he resumed kissing and tasting him, down his ribs, to his hip. His fingers tucked under Benedict’s thigh, lifting his leg and bending it up beside him so that he could kiss his inner thigh. As he settled the leg over his shoulder, he bent back over Benedict, pushing his face against his throat under his jaw to kiss him there while his other hand slid back down his body. This time it went all the way, caressing over his now throbbing cock, and then cupping him underneath exploringly, his fingertips circling his warm hole as his palm stroked him.
“Keep touching me,” he whispered against Benedict’s throat, a little bit desperately. “Don’t stop.”
That wasn’t too difficult a request to grant, neither of them were. Think of nothing but Lestat and continue to touch Lestat unwaveringly. Besides, Lestat’s hands were in the most wonderful of places now, working an even greater flush to Benedict’s cheeks as he caressed his cock and began to press at his hole. How was it fair, having been uninterested in sex for so many many years, to suddenly feel pent up with the tension of those many years as if he’d never stopped wanting it?
He laced one hand into Lestat’s hair as his hot breath came across his throat, and allowed the other to wander over shoulders and chest, as far as he could reach for their difference in size, to bring Lestat pleasure too. He was thoroughly pinned, in the most vulnerable position with his leg over Lestat’s shoulder, and he was positively in love with it. “As long as you don’t,” he pressed.
“How could I?” Lestat said between breaths, barely able to get the words out, so aroused was he by how pliant and yielding Benedict was beneath every single touch. There was nothing here of the resistance, the battle he was used to with certain other persons who ever deigned to allow him a rare night of attention…and only after an entire song and dance. Everything with Benedict had been so simple so far, so sweet.
As Lestat slowly pressed one finger into him, and then two, and then three, taking his time, he enjoyed every sound of rapture Benedict made, knowing he wasn’t thinking of anyone else but Lestat right now. He knew he couldn’t have said the same thing for Gregory or Marius when he was with them, of course he couldn’t. Why wouldn’t they have been thinking of who they really longed to hold? But with Benedict just now, Lestat truly believed he was the only one on his mind.
By the time he’d fully prepared Benedict, his own cock was so slick with precum that he needed nothing else to slide into him, one inch at a time, wanting Benedict to feel nothing but pleasure in this endeavor. Lestat kept his eyes on Benedict’s, watching him closely to make sure he was all right, and then smiling at him when he was finally deep in where he wanted to be. Benedict gave a gentle gasp as he was filled to the hilt, followed by a breathy moan.
“Come here,” Lestat said softly, letting Benedict’s leg slide back down beside him and tucking his arms under his body to draw him up. Sitting back on his heels, Lestat settled Benedict over his lap, the weight of him making his eyes roll back as he groaned. “Yes,” he gasped, and his arms wrapped tight around Benedict’s back, locking him against him chest to chest, and then Lestat began to thrust up into him. “Yes… Please, yes…” he breathed against his ear.
In the doorway, Louis bit his lip so hard that it started to bleed, and he brought a hand up quickly to his mouth to stifle the sound of his wince as well as his hitched breath. He was impossibly hard and bereft of any relief, unwilling to move to try to take himself in hand but equally refusing to interrupt them and put an end to such a ribald and glorious tableau. He wanted desperately to be Benedict and Lestat equally in this moment, to be buried to the hilt inside Benedict and have Lestat just as buried within him. His cheeks and ears burned and he trembled, his knees growing weaker, so that he had to lean hard against the door frame for sheer purchase.
Benedict rested his hands on Lestat’s chest, the only real movement he could achieve as he was maneuvered and held so tight as this. It was an almost unbearable pleasure, and there was nothing for him to grip onto to ground himself through it. He was forced to feel and enjoy every inch of Lestat within him unbridled and without aid, and he continued to gasp and moan.
His head fell to Lestat’s shoulder, he felt delirious with the pleasure as Lestat hit that most wonderful spot within him. “Please,” he echoed, bearing down as much as he could to keep that delicious full feeling. He kissed Lestat’s clavicle and then his throat, open mouthed and hot, and almost lazy for how pleasurable it all felt.
“Benedict…” Lestat groaned at his ear, his breathing becoming more and more rapid. “You feel so good.” It felt like his heart was racing straight into Benedict’s smooth palm, and as Lestat whispered out his name again, it started to sound almost like a prayer. Not too hard to do with a name like Benedict’s…
One of his hands tangled in Benedict’s angelically soft curls to lift his face so that he could kiss his gasping mouth again, his other sliding down his narrow back to tuck under his soft round ass and hold him up so he could thrust harder. Lestat felt desperate to keep Benedict’s attention on him, to keep his mind from wandering into any of those dark places that had driven him to his room today, driven him to seek refuge at Lestat’s castle in the first place, and so he kissed him just as deeply as he drove into him, his energy only growing, the muscles of his lower body rippling taut with the exercise.
It was when Lestat lifted his face to come up for air that he finally noticed Louis past Benedict’s shoulder, over there lurking like a tormented specter in the shadowy corner of the columned doorway. He couldn’t see much of him past the velvet curtains gathered at the bedpost between them, but when Lestat flipped his hair out of his eyes, he caught Louis’s gaze. The heat and longing was so obviously repressed behind his green-eyed surface, that Lestat felt a burst of vindictiveness. His face remained somewhat stoic as he just stared back at him, stopping nothing he was doing.
Louis’s breath caught in his throat, a jolt of electricity in his heart igniting and shooting straight to his groin, making his knees buckle. He almost moaned aloud for it, but kept the hand over his mouth pressed tight for fear of making any semblance of a noise that could disturb them further. Louis wanted above all else to turn on his heel and run from the room while Lestat joined their eyes so fiercely, but his feet were rooted to the spot, his body held captive, paralyzed. His gaze locked firmly on the two entwined and intimately connected bodies before him, Louis trembled for the heat beneath his collar and the well of desire that began to fill inside of him.
If Lestat noticed or cared, he made no sign of it. He simply turned away and focused on Benedict again. “Look at me,” Lestat whispered to him, wanting to see his soft doe eyes, tugging his head gently up by the hair to urge him. Lestat could hardly blame Louis for wanting to watch… He’d always been one to watch, and if it would keep Louis from being angry with him for being left out like he’d been with Marius, so much the better. But if he scared Benedict off just now, Lestat would never forgive him. “See me…”
Benedict could have sworn in that moment that Lestat was a vampire again. The seductive tone was unreal, the quiet but unwavering insistence that he focus on nothing but him was so powerful that Benedict felt he had no other option, even if he wanted one. Perhaps this was just Lestat, so seductive in his own right that he was destined to be a vampire.
Benedict’s breathing began to labor as he locked eyes with Lestat, putty in his hands, his whole body yielding to every thrust. He felt his cheeks burning as if he’d come in from the snow, and he felt the intensity of it all so much that for a moment he had to cast his eyes downward, a flurry of soft moans as Lestat hit his sweet spot. “Oh God,” he breathed, hands over Lestat’s shoulders again.
“No,” Lestat gasped, almost a growl. His hand clasped around Benedict’s slender throat, his thumb pushing under his chin, urging his eyes back up to meet his again. “Stay with me.”
But it wasn’t enough. Abruptly, Lestat pushed Benedict forward so that he fell on his back again, his head landing in the deep valley between the pillows at the headboard. Curling over him, he grabbed Benedict’s shins to fold his legs up so far that it made his hips arch off the bed several inches, the angle allowing him to increase the speed his own hips could move. Lestat had to desperately bite back the vulgarity that wanted to rise to his tongue, not wanting to offend Benedict with such sinful language, not when it was God he was calling out to. So instead, the would-be curses came out as deep, inarticulate moans, though Lestat couldn’t mask the carnality of their tone.
He could feel Louis’s eyes on his back like two laser beams, and for a moment, despite his resentment, Lestat ached to feel Louis’s hands on him as well, to have the heat of his breath at his ear and the hungry pressure of his cruel lips across his burning skin. Damn him!
Realizing his own eyes had fallen closed, Lestat forced them back open to search for Benedict’s again. He pulled his legs to wrap around him, urging Benedict to hold on so that Lestat could free his hands. Molten metal was rippling under every inch of his skin, bursting to find a way out, and he took Benedict’s face between his hands to kiss him deeply one more time, as if he might die if he couldn’t somehow completely swallow his tongue.
And then Lestat braced one hand on the bed so his other could reach between them for Benedict’s cock. The slick wet heat of it was startling, nearly burning his palm, and he gasped. “Fly away with me,” he whispered as he pumped Benedict in increasing rhythm with his own pounding. He would go absolutely insane if they didn’t find that release they both so needed at the exact same moment.
Benedict was almost entirely there already, Lestat’s grab to his throat had been so forceful and possessive that he had no choice but to respond with arousal. Benedict loved all forms of making love, but he knew this kind of behavior best of all and had grown to love it dearly. It felt as though he had no space or opportunity to make any sound, because his breath was knocked out of his lungs as Lestat pushed him into the mattress and forced his legs in a way that they almost hurt. Almost. He could think of little more now than keeping his eyes on Lestat as commanded, and the raging pleasure that each thrust was sending throughout his body.
His hands curled into the bedsheet as he felt his orgasm rise, his first one in hundreds of years, and the intensity of it took his breath away all over again. With Lestat’s touch on his cock, it didn’t take much more for Benedict to clench and release, two or three strokes, but he didn’t feel at all embarrassed for it. He was hot and breathless and in so much bliss. For a moment he was blinded by it.
Across the room, Louis bit down on one hand to keep from moaning aloud to see such a display, and his other gripped the door frame, knuckles white to keep from sliding to the floor.
Lestat was doing nothing to stifle his own deep groans as he let the orgasm slam into him. Why should he? It wasn’t like they were in a house full of psychics and eavesdroppers anymore. And if Louis minded, well then he deserved it.
His hands clenched Benedict’s narrow hips to hold him fast in place as he let everything he had pour out into him. His body jerked in sharp spasms and his breath strangled in his throat, but through it all, he managed to keep Benedict’s gaze, desperate to cling to any thread of connection he could, lest they both slip back into the solitude of their own minds and be reminded how achingly lonely moments like this could be.
And a thin thread it was indeed, little more than a strand of spider silk in comparison to what it would have been with the blood they might have once shared instead, or even a glimmer of the mind gift they’d lost. How Lestat ached for what it could have been, even in this rapturous moment. Even with their eyes locked, Lestat had no idea what Benedict was thinking now.
Well, hopefully he wasn’t thinking much of anything at all, as that was the point of this exercise… As much as Lestat longed for Benedict to be thinking of him, he would feel accomplished if he knew Benedict’s mind was blasted of all thought entirely.
As the last of the waves receded from him, slowly, Lestat’s gaze drifted, noting from the corner of his eyes how Benedict’s hands gripped the bedsheets, and a pang twisted in Lestat’s chest for how he wished they’d held onto him at the end instead.
But how beautifully ravaged Benedict looked, his skin flushed and gleaming, his soft hair sticking to his forehead. Lestat wanted to collapse atop him and cover his face and shoulders with kisses, but he wasn’t sure if that would be welcome, so instead he shakily sat back on his heels. Gently, he unwrapped Benedict’s legs from around himself so he could put his feet back on the bed and relax fully down against it.
Wrapping his arms loosely about Benedict’s bent knees, Lestat leaned against them for support as he panted, nowhere close to catching his breath, his hair in his eyes. He ducked his head a little as his face contorted in a brief grimace as he let himself slide out of Benedict. But then he looked up at him again searchingly, wanting to make sure he was okay.
Benedict was more than okay. He looked up at Lestat adoringly, fingers dancing up his arm as he sat up before finding his cheek and holding it. He gazed at him, giving a little breathless laugh. He couldn’t believe his luck, absolutely not. He’d never expected this level of interest from Lestat and had almost entirely expected to be pushed away from the very first kiss. If this had been a slip of judgment or spur of the moment decision, Benedict would still cherish it for the rest of his life. He sat up completely and took Lestat’s face in both his hands, kissing him again.
Lestat made a muffled sound of surprise, nearly tipping over backwards with the abruptness of Benedict’s movement. But he caught him by the arms to steady himself, and after a moment was able to return the kiss, nearly laughing as well. His hands slid along Benedict’s arms to his wrists first, as if he’d move his hands, but then seemed to change his mind and slid back the other direction toward his shoulders. Just the feeling of Benedict’s tender hands on his face, the exceptionally sweet intimacy of it, it nearly made Lestat want to weep with how raw and exposed he had become in this post-coital moment—and that didn’t even take into account what his lips were doing.
He was still so out of breath, though, that he had to pull away much sooner than he would have liked, and he stared into Benedict’s eyes, his own full of hopeful uncertainty. “Benedict, I…” He what? Lestat didn’t even know where he meant to go with this. Something was bubbling up within him that seemed of profound significance, but he didn’t even know how to begin expressing it, or even if he should.
Benedict didn’t know what Lestat was going to say, but his heart raced. He waited with bated breath, but Lestat only shook his head apologetically. His hands squeezed the sides of Benedict’s shoulders, and then one moved to the back of his head, drawing him close for another softly affectionate kiss, full of tranquil gratitude.
Benedict wasn’t sad nothing came of Lestat’s words. After all, this was enough, and he was besotted enough with this moment and with Lestat in this moment to lament nothing. He giggled softly, kissing him again.
Yet, across the room, Louis was so hard from the watching, overstimulated and frustrated all at once. He moved, shifted in place to try and gain some semblance of traction, and in the process, the floor creaked, or perhaps it was the doorway. He winced, frozen like a stag in headlights as he stared outright at the two on the bed, his tight slacks doing very little to hide his interest.
Benedict’s head whipped in his direction and he gasped in mortified shock.
Notes:
CW: Non-consensual voyeurism--Louis secretly watches Lestat and Benedict have sex, and when Benedict finds out afterward, he feels violated.
This chapter written by Me, T, and K
Chapter 50: Defeated Gloom
Summary:
When he realizes Louis watched him have sex with Lestat, Benedict is afraid to admit how upset about it he is.
Notes:
CW for continued discussion of the consent issues of the previous chapter
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When Benedict suddenly whipped around to stare at the bedroom door, Lestat’s head jerked to follow his gaze. Oh, right. Louis was there, watching them from the corner. Likely regretting every single minute he’d avoided Lestat since he’d come back from Paris the other night. Lestat had been far too distracted in kissing Benedict to remember Louis at all for a minute there.
Louis was so obviously uncomfortable in more ways than one, and Lestat was in just enough of a lightened mood now to find it amusing. His eyes glinted and his face twitched as if he were about to laugh at him.
Until he realized Benedict found nothing funny about the situation at all.
The deep redness of embarrassment crept all over Benedict’s naked body, and he felt extremely ashamed and vulnerable all in one. He pulled the sheet to his chest to cover himself. All sorts of things flew through his mind, but he tried to tamper them down. “Excuse me,” he breathed, because he felt he should, and he almost stumbled from the edge of the bed as his brain half committed to gathering himself.
Lestat’s heart clenched in something like fear, and his hand shot out on instinct to try to keep Benedict from getting out of bed, but his reflexes were nothing like they used to be, so he missed him entirely. And it was just enough of a moment for Lestat to realize what he’d done and that it wouldn’t be right of him to stop Benedict, if going was what he wanted. So he shakily drew his hand back to keep it to himself. He made no move to cover his body at all with any of the tangle of sheets around him, and wouldn’t have regardless of who it was who’d come into the room; Lestat never cared who saw him naked.
Louis shook his head, raising one hand tentatively, thin fingers outstretched in a way that seemed to beg for some semblance of forgiveness for his intrusion. “No…no… Excuse me, please,” he croaked, his words breathless, as he found it hard to speak. “Please don’t get up… Please don’t go.” He stepped further into the room so that he could steady himself with a hand on the back of a velvet high-backed chair.
“It’s all right,” Lestat said to Benedict, but then immediately felt stupid for it. Obviously Benedict was not all right, and Lestat gave him an apologetic little smile, his brows pinched in uncertainty.
It didn’t feel all right, not at all. Benedict looked over at his pile of clothes on the floor, so out of reach, and then back up at Louis. How long had he been there? Had he just happened upon them in this moment? Benedict supposed he should feel guilty for sleeping with Louis’s longtime partner, but he certainly didn’t regret what they’d done. Neither of them seemed angry with him at all, which was a sweet relief all in itself.
Still, he couldn’t shake this feeling of violation to know that there were eyes on him he was unaware of. He wrapped his arms around himself to cover his chest, and he wanted to be okay with it the way the others were. He tried to force himself to be.
“Are you okay?” he asked of Louis after a moment. “You seem unwell.” Flustered at the very least. Benedict hated to think he might have caused a rift between Louis and Lestat.
Lestat blinked. What possible reason on earth would Louis have to not be okay? If he was too embarrassed or flabbergasted by seeing two people having sex, he could have left at any time. Lestat wasn’t about to tell Benedict what a voyeur Louis could be sometimes, but really, did Benedict think Louis had never seen sex before? He wasn’t a six-year-old walking in on his parents.
Louis nodded in response, still leaning against the chair and attempting to right himself in more ways than one without being overly obvious about it. “Forgive me,” he murmured, and finally managed to look at them both.
Stretching out on his stomach, Lestat put a hand on the floor to brace himself as he reached out with his other arm. He snagged up the pile of clothing Benedict had been staring at so longingly, and then he sat back up again to sort through it and quietly give Benedict the few of his things he’d been able to grab. Once more, he had the sense of Benedict’s vast age, the dark scope of the twelve centuries he’d lived through, and Lestat felt like something of an insignificant child beside him again.
Raising his gaze to Benedict, Louis felt almost spellbound by his beauty, his mussed hair and cheeks colored by his previous efforts. “I couldn’t leave. Didn’t mean to intrude, but was frozen in place…” Louis swallowed his anxiety and stood a bit taller. “You were both so incredibly gorgeous, beyond even reason,” he said in hushed awe.
Lestat found he did not like the way Louis was looking at Benedict. A flash of jealousy, which caught him off-guard and confused him…because he didn’t know which one of them he was feeling possessive over right now. But instead of the emotion inciting any sort of bristling temper in him at the moment, the feeling was instead followed, quick on its heels, by one of a sort of quietly defeated gloom. How could he blame Louis? Lestat would be looking at Benedict the exact same way, were their positions reversed. Gorgeous was probably even an understatement.
Benedict’s cheeks went scarlet, and he cast his eyes downward to the bedding where he still clutched it to his chest. It upset him in a way he wasn’t expecting to know that Louis hadn’t just stumbled across them at the end, but had been standing there for some time. It was infinitely worse, because this intimate act had been watched without his knowledge. He didn’t want to complain about it though. If he did, that might turn the two of them away from him. He needed this companionship so much.
He smiled gently as he looked back at Louis, taking his shirt from Lestat and shrugging it back on. “It’s okay. It was probably quite the shock to happen upon.” He looked at Lestat then to check if he was okay, and he seemed it, but Benedict didn’t dare touch him now. So he imparted all the love that he felt through his gaze and into his smile.
Well, this was a mess… Lestat wasn’t quite sure what to make of Benedict’s adoring expression combined with his otherwise extremely uncomfortable body language. But Lestat felt an overwhelming sense of admiration for him, for the grace with which he was handling this situation. What a class act. Lestat was lucky for every last minute Benedict deigned to spend in his presence. Whether Benedict ever came to him again or not, he would cherish this hour they spent together for the rest of his days.
Lestat’s hand came up and rubbed the back of his own head in a helpless little gesture, and he returned Benedict’s smile with an apologetic one of his own. He wouldn’t say it aloud, because it would ruin everything, but at least Benedict wasn’t thinking about Rhosh anymore!
Then Lestat glanced back over his shoulder at Louis, speaking for him now in response to Benedict’s previous words, his tone glib. “Why should it be a shock to happen upon? What else would he expect to find, coming into my bedroom unannounced?” And here, he arched an eyebrow at Louis in challenge that was mostly teasing, yet with something a little more serious lurking beneath.
Louis hadn’t missed the color in Benedict’s cheeks despite his gracious words and he felt ashamed all over again, though he too was nervous to let on that this was so, afraid to make the situation even more awkwardly worse and loath to give Lestat a reason to tease him all the more. And Lestat’s words burned too in an unexpected way. Why shouldn’t he come in unannounced? Hadn’t he done so countless times?
“I was looking for you, and came in as unassuming as I have ever been, as I have done so many nights before.” Louis’s expression fell slightly, though he remained behind the chair and attempted to look as unperturbed as possible, afraid to upset Benedict most of all.
The fact that he’d hurt Louis both gave Lestat a cold sense of satisfaction as well as an uncomfortable feeling of shame of his own, but he quickly pushed that down, not willing to focus on it right now. Anyway, he hadn’t meant that it was unusual that Louis should come, just that it should have been no shock to Louis to find what he did upon coming. What else would Lestat be doing in bed in the middle of the day? So if Louis was shocked (as Benedict so graciously granted), he only had himself to blame.
Lestat wished Louis would step out from behind that chair so he could get a good look at him again, but he was also in a way grateful for that barrier between them. He hadn’t even been able to let himself think too hard about Louis ever since they woke up mortal, because every time he even began to, he could feel a fuzzy sense of panic creep in. As soon as his breath would start to accelerate, he pushed all those thoughts away before he’d hyperventilate. He dove into business or the needs of others or reached for the bottle. Anything to put The Louis Issue off his brain for another day.
Lestat looked back to Benedict again, wanting to reach for his hand, but refraining, clutching at the sheets by his own knees instead. “He’s fine,” he told Benedict soothingly. For Louis, this had been a treat; it was Benedict who Lestat was worried about now. Taking him to bed was supposed to have made him feel better, and now Lestat was worried it was all ruined.
Benedict relaxed just a little, soothed by Lestat’s insistence. He smiled, just a little more genuine, before finishing dressing under the covers. Even if Louis was okay, he didn’t know how to feel. Had Lestat known that Louis had been there this whole time? Benedict couldn’t know, but it hurt to think they were both in on it. He felt very strange and sad, but he didn’t want to show that.
“Well, I wouldn’t like to get between the two of you, especially if Louis has come here with a purpose.”
Lestat bit his tongue to keep from mentioning that Louis never had purpose, and he silently watched Benedict get out of the bed and straighten the sheets in his wake.
He looked at Lestat again. “Thank you, really. It was…” Benedict trailed off, feeling like he shouldn’t say in front of Louis. “I’ll see you soon?”
Lestat nodded a little, his eyes searching Benedict’s, though trying not to be too obvious about it. Benedict was back-lit from the window, which made it even more difficult for his weak human eyes to decipher his expression. “I hope so,” he said, giving Benedict a private little smile that Louis, behind him, wouldn’t be able to see.
Again, he wanted to reach out and clasp Benedict’s hand, pull him in by the wrist for one last kiss, but Lestat now had no idea what would make this better or worse, so he just watched him. God, he hoped Benedict wasn’t going to go right back to being miserable for the rest of the day. He knew Benedict had enjoyed himself for the past half hour, but Lestat felt so helpless that there was nothing he could do that could actually pull Benedict out of his unhappiness. For some reason, this felt so incredibly important to him…
“You don’t have to leave,” Louis said quietly, his tone somewhat lamenting, guilty even, because of course it was. “You aren’t between us… You’ve done nothing wrong,” he added, a bit more quickly. “It was me, I shouldn’t have come in.”
Finally, he stepped away from the chair. “Let me leave instead, I’ll be the one to go. Please. I’m sorry,” he breathed, then realized he was standing once again in front of the door, and this time he turned sideways so as not to appear imposing or demanding.
“Really, Louis, it’s all right,” Benedict assured kindly, moving to find his shoes and put them on. He turned then so he was looking at Louis, and he smiled once again even though he felt quite strange about it. He thought about reaching out, but he wouldn’t dare presume to be able to touch Louis. “I want to go. Have a lovely day.” He looked to Lestat again and smiled softly at him. “Both of you.” He turned then to leave, the emotions within him turbulent and hard to decipher.
Lestat didn’t try to stop him, determined to give Benedict what he wanted, though he couldn’t deny that it stung, him wanting so badly to leave. He couldn’t see his movement through the apartment after he passed the bedroom door, but Lestat heard the outer door open and close shortly after, and then he slumped in his bed with a sigh.
Scrubbing his hands over his face, he stretched out to grab his black bathrobe from where it had landed yesterday around the bedpost at the footboard, and he threw it on as he finally climbed off the bed. “Well, now you’ve done it,” he grumbled at Louis as he jerked the ties into a knot.
It wasn’t that Lestat hadn’t wanted Louis to watch… He’d found he actually rather liked it for a tangle of reasons he did not have the capacity to analyze right now. But he felt all twisted up about poor Benedict, and a sense of shame hovered at his edges, which he soundly did not appreciate.
His eyes narrowed as he stalked over to Louis, taking him by his sides and pushing him back. Louis’s heart leapt to his chest to find himself so suddenly and if not shockingly, quite deliciously, pressed with full force against the wall beside the door. His breath caught in his throat, and he felt the oncoming swoon coupled with the urge to relent to whatever might come next.
“Next time,” Lestat said in a low, serious voice, his face very close, “Hide.” He gave Louis one more disapproving glare before letting him go and striding through the doorway, over to the bathroom. Once inside, he shut the door soundly behind him.
Louis had only managed to catch his breath and adjust his too-tight trousers before the bathroom door popped open, and Lestat came right back out and returned to Louis, lifting a finger as if he’d poke him in the chest. “And don’t go outside alone after dark.” He didn’t give Louis a chance to agree; it was an order. Just as sternly, Lestat turned around and went back into the bathroom. Slam. This time, the door stayed shut.
Louis sighed, shook his head and stared for several minutes at the door, as if willing Lestat to come out again, rip off his clothes and bend him over the side of the bed as punishment for interrupting his rendezvous with Benedict. It was wishful thinking, of course, and finally, Louis made his way out of Lestat’s rooms to retreat to his own, hoping to bury himself in something intellectual, anything to rid his mind of all that he had seen and desired.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me T and K
Next up, Louis and Lestat finally have some time alone together! It's a 14,000-word explicit scene, so I split it up into 4 chapters (similar to how I did with the Marius/Armand date), so lots to look forward to for the Loustat fans who have been suffering 😅
Chapter 51: Damned Beautiful Mess
Summary:
Fed up with waiting in the background, Louis finally demands Lestat's attention for himself, but finds him in an unexpected state.
Notes:
It's my birthday, and my gift to you is the first part (of 4) of our epic Loustat scene! Parts 2 and 3 will be explicit. I know I made you wait 50 damn chapters for it, but I hope you enjoy! 😊
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
How could it have only been a week? A week since Louis had drawn Lestat into this dressing closet for his surprise. Lestat could still even smell traces of the heady perfume of all the flowers that had filled it then. All those beautiful white flowers surrounding the shining golden crown on its bed of velvet. Or maybe that was just the wine playing tricks on his mind. Surely his pathetic mortal nose had nothing of the power to pick up such a scent, even if it were only a week old. But it felt like eons had passed since that night. Everything that had seemed to matter so much to them then was meaningless now.
Lestat leaned his head back against the jewelry case as he stared at the crown in his hands, turning it slowly so that it caught the dim closet lights. Then he sighed and let it fall into his lap to reach aside for one of the bottles on the floor beside him. Empty…damn it. It was a good thing he’d brought three. Letting the first one roll away from him, he reached for another and blearily examined the label. Claret? Well, fine. Cheers. He drank straight from the neck.
Where had all those flowers gone? Did someone get rid of them before they rotted? Did Louis do it himself? Lestat suddenly felt like he might weep for the fact that he hadn’t even thought to save one of them to keep before it was too late and they were gone forever…
Meanwhile, not about to repeat his mistake from yesterday, this time when Louis came into Lestat’s rooms, he paused and listened, then gave a short knock at the door even though he had already opened it. When he heard no response, he continued through the apartment with careful steps, quiet as possible, but loath to say Lestat’s name aloud, lest he disturb him with someone else. Rather, Louis intended to turn right around this time and leave if he detected even the lightest sound of Lestat’s already being occupied.
Louis found him amidst bottles instead, on the floor of his huge closet, crown in his lap. Louis made a short quiet sound of worried alarm and went to Lestat’s side, kneeling next to him and picking up the empty bottle to set it upright and put it to the side. Reaching out, Louis touched Lestat’s shoulder first, clasping it gently, then moved his hand to Lestat’s hair to tuck an errant golden curl away from his forehead.
“What are you doing here?” Louis asked, fully kneeling now, tucked close to lean over him, their knees touching where Lestat’s leg was outstretched on the floor. “What’s wrong?” he added, whispering the question, knowing asking such a query was usually met with obstinacy or avoidance between them. Louis pushed more hair from Lestat’s forehead, combing his fingers through the strands at his temples and tucking a lock behind Lestat’s ear as carefully and sweetly, with genuine affection, as if he were righting a much beloved, delicate and precious possession.
Lestat squinted one eye and leaned back to get a better look at Louis, seeing two of him for a moment, as close as he was. He lifted one hand to try to bat Louis’s fussing fingers away, though his coordination was off, and he missed. He didn’t know which question to answer first, but after a moment, decided on the second one, as he thought it was pretty obvious what he was doing here—looking at this crown and getting drunk.
As for what was wrong…
“What do you think?” he asked with quiet bitterness. “I’m dying. We all are.” Here, he patted the floor, gesturing for Louis to get off his knees and sit at his side, and then Lestat offered him the bottle. “I hate this.”
“Lestat…” Louis said, with all the measure of a doting parent, amused but empathetic all the same to a child’s sorrow. Easing down beside him, the length of their arms pressed close together, Louis sighed, then leaned his back against the jewelry case, his head bent to rest on Lestat’s shoulder.
Carefully, Louis considered his next words, not quite sure what approach would yield the desired outcome, which was for Lestat to regain his effervescence, to be the charming devil once more, who laughed in the face of whatever vexed him and defied the world to stop him from seizing the day.
Louis took the bottle, sniffed it once and then took a long drink, unsure if he liked the dryness, and a bit overwhelmed by the sharpness of the taste.
“But does that not make you want to live all the more?” Louis couldn’t help but think to himself that Lestat certainly had seemed to be living in all his recent dalliances, but he kept that to himself because Lestat in this moment, seemed more truly miserable than he had in quite some time.
Louis ventured a second taste of the claret, then made a face and pressed the bottle back into Lestat’s hand. By rights, he should have set it stealthily aside, but just how much wine could Lestat actually drink?
Lestat snorted and let his head flop against Louis’s. His hair felt strange against Lestat’s cheek, coarser, dryer. It made Lestat want to pout.
He set the bottle down on his other side with a heavy thunk and then lifted up the golden crown, turning it slowly in his hands so that the closet lights bounced off its gleaming surface. It seemed he might follow up his snort with an actual answer to Louis’s question, but all that ended up coming was a sigh, heavy with defeat.
After one more lingering moment of sadly running his fingers over the beautiful goldwork, he pushed the crown into Louis’s hands. “You should return it. Get your money back.”
Louis at first seemed as though he didn’t register what Lestat had just said. He lifted his head and held the crown with a measure of stunned awkwardness, then sat up more fully. It was hard not to feel immediately insulted at such a statement, and Louis’s lips pursed with consternation.
“Absolutely not!” he pronounced, a bit too loudly, then pushed the crown back into Lestat’s lap. “It is yours! I would not suffer it to sit on any other head but your own! It was made for you, and this…whatever this is we find ourselves in, changes nothing in my eyes! Mortal or no, you are my Prince! I refuse!” Louis’s cheeks were tinged red, much more ruddy, and his eyes even more full of emotion than they were able to show when he was immortal. He remained where he was, pressed close to Lestat’s shoulder.
Lestat glowered down at the crown sulkily. Did Louis expect him just to keep it in the safe until he died? It wasn’t like there was a single place or reason he could ever wear the damn thing as a human.
He picked it up again, balancing its edges on his fingertips. “I could have a display case built for it downstairs,” he quipped. “An exhibit for relics of the dreams of fools.” He was about to say they could put Marius’s constitution in there as well, but he supposed Seth and the other vampires left the world might still have use for that. It couldn’t have all been for nothing…could it?
“I’m no prince,” he muttered a little more seriously, not looking aside at Louis but tilting the crown so that he could see something of Louis’s reflection in its polished surface. “Not yours nor anyone’s. I’m not even your maker anymore. I’m just…” His eyes drifted up to the ceiling, picturing the vast castle and snow-covered grounds surrounding them and thinking of all the people who were at the moment relying on him to provide a place of refuge and community. Lestat would let them all stay here as long as they needed, but they would all surely go off to start new lives of their own eventually.
“Just…your landlord.”
The only reason he didn’t fling the crown across the room then was because he didn’t actually want to hurt Louis right now.
Louis tensed, annoyed and surprisingly angered all of a sudden, to be relegated so succinctly to a mere ‘tenant’ in this expansive castle, as though the two of them had not spent so many years as so much more, connected to one another’s hearts intimately, whether together or apart.
“My landlord!” he blurted, jerking away but not rising yet to stand. It had come out much louder than he meant it, but he couldn’t stop himself. “What utter bullshit are you on about? Is that all I am to you! A tenant! Someone who merely lives here under your roof! Nothing more?”
Lestat had been looking sideways at Louis while he ranted, but now he rolled his eyes and shook his head. Louis was missing the point entirely. And did he have to do it so loudly?
“I’m not talking about what you are,” Lestat scoffed. He’d been talking about himself and whatever crown-wearing authority he didn’t have anymore. He was lord of this house and estate, but that was all now, and that only mattered to anyone who decided to stay here. And Lestat wasn’t even sure he wanted to stay here! But now that they weren’t vampires, he had no claim of possession over Louis as he had when he was his maker or his ruler. The only connections and relationships left to them now were of the frail mortal sort.
“Obviously I’m still your friend. I wouldn’t be sitting here letting you yell at me if I weren’t. You think just any ‘tenant’ has that privilege?” His hand shot out to catch Louis’s wrist to keep him from pulling any further away. “I think you need another drink.”
“Friend.” Louis said the word as though it were some kind of insult, then half pulled his wrist away, yet not enough to break Lestat’s hold on him. “Oh? Another drink!” Louis snatched up the bottle of claret with his free hand and took a long swig of the stuff, downing nearly half the bottle with three large swallows then slammed it to the floor. “Anything else you think I need, friend?” It was ridiculous really, this sudden argument, and Louis knew it. But deeper was his self-centered ire and resentment that this curse of humanity had seemed now to rob him of that which he valued above all else.
“I’ll say there is!” Lestat glowered at him as if what he thought Louis needed was a slap upside the head, his expression tense to cover the pang of hurt. Why did he even bother trying to explain how he felt to Louis?
Lestat gave him his hand back with a toss and slumped back against the jewelry case, glaring at the crown in his lap. Hooking one finger through it, he set it on its side on the floor and then gave it a sharp flick to make it roll across the closet. Wobbling, it didn’t make it far before it fell flat, halfway under the hanging shirts on the lower rack of the opposite wall.
Louis growled and jumped up, snatching the crown and rushing to set it carefully back on its velvet pillow display in the case. He adjusted it, brushed a stray piece of lint off of one side, and then whirled around to face Lestat.
Louis’s face was a mask of indignation, his ego and heart bruised, but as he looked down on Lestat’s sprawled form on the floor and the bottles, he knew the alcohol was likely running thick in his veins. If he were a vampire in this moment, Louis imagined he might descend on Lestat in a fury, sink in his fangs and rid him of that inebriated blood. Louis trembled with anger. And good God above, how he loved this absolutely infuriating man.
“What am I to you? Now? Truly? Tell me!” Louis demanded, and his tone slipped, anger giving way to desperation.
But that was the problem; Lestat didn’t know.
Five fledglings Lestat had, living, at least now and then, under this roof. Maker and master, he’d been both, for eternity. Of all of them. And now that bond was severed, and they were all free of him. How jealous he used to be of any blood that wasn’t his flowing in Louis’s veins with each mortal who filled him. But now there was nothing of Lestat in Louis anymore.
Lestat’s head rolled against the jewelry case as he stared up at him. How alive Louis looked, his face ruddy with frustration and the quick effects of the claret. How different he looked to Lestat’s mortal eyes compared to when he first chose Louis as a vampire. Lestat had no idea what the future of their brief mortal lives would look like now. He didn’t even want to try picturing it because of how devastating many of the possible outcomes might be. He could still feel the sensation of Louis’s touch against his forehead and hair from a few minutes ago. No sign of that tenderness now, of course. Why was Lestat always pushing it away while it was there, when he missed it so once it was gone?
“Human,” he answered finally, though not with any disdain. It was just a tragic turn of events they would all have to cope with. Lestat leaned over and caught the claret bottle around the neck to bring it to his lips and take another swig.
Louis growled again, but instead of whirling away, he was upon Lestat at once, kneeling over his legs, his hands shoved up into Lestat’s hair, and he held the sides of his face firm so that Lestat could not look away. “Then let us live, God damn it! If we are human—” he seethed, giving Lestat’s head a little shake as he cursed, willing Lestat to see him here and now and not look away in despair. He wanted to add something like ‘Revel in me!’ but it was too desperate, too unseemly, as much as he wanted it, and so Louis let the heat of his gaze do the talking, staring into Lestat’s eyes.
Lestat gasped, trying to regain the wind knocked out of him, and the ceiling lights seemed to swirl above Louis as his head tried to catch up with how he shook it, the alcohol making him see two of him for a moment. Good god…two of Louis…imagine!
He did. And the thought made him laugh a little deliriously even as his hands came up, gripping Louis hard by the sides of his shoulders, as if he’d try to push him off. The effort never came. Sparks were shooting through his scalp as Louis’s fingers combed back through his hair, his grasp and expression possessive and needy. The warmth of Louis’s breath against his cheek was making Lestat realize just how cold the floor was under them.
But of course, he pushed all these feelings away, too.
“Oh, yes, shall we go ride our horses, smell some flowers? Or—Louis—is it them you want us to live among? We never can, you know. No matter how fragile and mortal our bodies, how we wither and age and die like they do, we’ll never actually be human. Didn’t you say something like that to me once? You can never truly be part of them, Louis. Never actually have life in this world. You still killed all those people!”
“Shut up!” Louis snapped, the sound of his own voice shocking, even to himself, as though he had no control over his body when the words came spewing out. “I don’t want to be part of them,” Louis growled. “I want to be part of you!”
Louis’s eyes widened, his lips hanging slightly parted as he stared stupidly at Lestat, again shocked by his own outburst and how absolutely truthful and raw it had been. Letting go of Lestat with one hand, he snatched up the claret bottle and took another long, hard swallow before slamming it back down again.
Lestat couldn’t help laughing, just because Louis looked so damn appalled with himself. And of course, Lestat didn’t believe him. Even if Louis thought he didn’t care about belonging with other humans, he’d soon realize how wrong he was, how much of a perpetual sentence it was to be one of them, yet still unable to be known by them, still the outcast, the monster, yet now with none of the pleasures of immortality left.
But yes, they could be part of each other. They only had each other now, the two of them and the few dozen others this curse had befallen. The remaining vampires were just as lost to them now as the world of humans. How was this not driving Louis absolutely mad yet?
Lestat put a hand around the back of Louis’s neck and jerked him close so that their foreheads pressed, and he closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see how angry Louis was about having to admit ever wanting him at all. He could smell the good wine on Louis’s breath, and the hot weight of him over him made Lestat shudder. He wanted to tell Louis that he was wrong, that being a part of them very much did matter, that he would change his mind. But Lestat didn’t want Louis to make any sort of foolish speech of denial. He would realize the truth of it all in his own time.
His fingers massaged heavily at Louis’s nape and worked their way up inside his hair at the back of his scalp. “Let’s get so drunk that we can’t think at all.”
“All right,” Louis said, breathless, shivering with the pressure of Lestat’s fingers in his hair and at his neck. His hips involuntarily rolling as he settled more fully atop Lestat’s legs and he slid closer, toward his lap.
It was overwhelming this heat between them, Louis’s throat going dry, the speed of his heartbeat causing him to draw his breath more ardently, every sensation taxing his body in a way that he hadn’t experienced in so very many years, if ever at all.
Lestat laughed again, but the sound turned into a sort of groan as Louis’s weight on his lap affected him, even as well on his way to drunk as he was. He wanted to ask what Louis was doing. Was he angry or not? Or was this how he was angry? Did he intend to torture Lestat as recompense? Lestat would protest that he certainly did not deserve it, not this time, but his thoughts were leaping in so many directions, and all he wanted was for them to stop. Without the clinical brilliance of the preternatural brain, he felt he barely even knew his own head anymore.
Putting one hand against Louis’s chest, to make a little bit of distance, Lestat managed to reach the bottle Louis had set aside and bring it back to his own mouth. He took three long swallows before offering it back to Louis, his fingers on his chest curling into the fabric. “I don’t think you were sober a single minute in the three nights I knew you when you were alive,” he mused. Dizzyingly, it felt like an entirely new Louis was sitting on him right now, one Lestat would have to get to know all over again, and his own heart was already racing.
Louis’s mind reeled to think on it. Those last few nights of his mortal life had been a fever dream of sheer horror and pure ecstasy combined, as terrible as they had been wondrous, as appalling as they had been enticing. Louis closed his eyes, swaying slightly as he gulped down more wine, then even more, until the bottle was nearly empty, trying to think back to it all, and how deliriously maddeningly intoxicating that short time had been for him.
“That may be true,” he admitted. “I didn’t know whether it was some lurid dream brought about by my despair, or an impossible reality until the moment you took me to the very edge of death. It was too painful to be anything else.” Louis’s \hand gripped the bottle’s neck, the fingers of his other clinging to Lestat’s shoulder, his loins positively throbbing with his own heartbeat pressed against Lestat’s lap.
Thinking of those nights only depressed Lestat further. How irresistible he knew he’d been then, how powerful, and he’d ensnared Louis so completely, despite his pain and despair. Hearing Louis’s thoughts those nights had been nonstop euphoria, how instantly in love with him Louis had been. Lestat had clung to those thoughts for years after, often the last thing on his mind before the dawn took him in his coffin each morning, to drown out the crushing disappointment of how instantly Louis had become repulsed by him the moment his vampire eyes let him see through the preternatural allure.
Lestat had none of that allure left now. He was just a pathetic sack of meat and bones and apparently-disgusting blood that was slowly rotting with every breath he took. And there was absolutely nothing to do about it but these constant distractions. The brief things as he’d discussed with Gregory, the way he’d comforted Benedict yesterday, and now getting too drunk to think with Louis.
As he took the bottle back for his own turn, his eyes fell to the obvious bulge in Louis’s trousers as he drank. The fingers of his free hand itched to trace its outline, and his palm yearned to cup its full shape, but he held back. Partly because he was still mad at Louis for upsetting Benedict and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but also because of how well he knew how Louis’s body and what Louis wanted—and what he wanted to want—were often at odds with each other, and Lestat wasn’t about to assume anything now. Louis had been so ashamed about kissing him in the shower the other night and admitting his jealousy in the café. And with as judgmental as he was of Lestat’s methods of distraction, how could Lestat guess if Louis would actually want to allow himself to indulge in anything similar?
His eyes flicked back up to Louis’s, and he gave him a narrow, reprimanding look over the bottle as he finished the last swallows left in it. His tongue circled the bottle’s mouth to catch the final lingering droplets before he dropped it on the floor and let it roll away. He had another one around here somewhere, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from Louis’s face just yet to look for it.
“You weren’t really worried about me, were you?” Lestat asked, his fingers running up the outside of Louis’s thigh. “When you came up here?”
“Before I came up here? No, I wanted to see you. Needed to see you,” Louis said, his tone with an edge of defiance. “And the second I saw you here like this…” Louis gave a gesture about them now, indicating the empty bottles and Lestat in one small sweep of his hand. “Yes, at once I was and am more than worried! Half inebriated on the floor, looking a damned beautiful mess!?” Louis stared back at Lestat, their eyes locked. God, he was so human, ruddy cheeks and snarled blond hair. But his eyes, perfect pools of pale violet blue, a deep well Louis could and would let himself fall right into. Yes, those eyes were just as magnificent and magical to Louis now as they had ever been the first night he was snared in Lestat’s web of dark desire.
Louis dipped his head close and caught Lestat’s lips against his own, forcing their mouths together in a heated and hungry kiss.
Lestat’s first impulse was to resist this kiss out of spite. Let Louis go on needing him and not give in. But he ran into the same problem he always did when Louis’s mouth touched him, and his resolve crumbled immediately. And as a human, it was even worse. All the damned mortal chemicals in his brain. It was like Louis’s tongue turned a key inside him, and out poured the hot flood of desire he’d somehow let himself forget about for a little while.
Breathing in sharply through his nose, Lestat arched his back from the case to sit up straight, his arms wrapping around Louis to pull their bodies tight together as he kissed him back just as hard. Louis’s tongue tasted like wine, and the landscape of his mouth felt unsettlingly strange without the fangs, but it was still undeniably Louis, and this conviction made a firework or relief go off in the back of Lestat’s mind.
He laughed against Louis’s lips with the giddiness, but then just kissed him all the more deeply to make up for it, to push all these dour thoughts away again for another brief time.
Notes:
To be continued!
This chapter written by Me and K
Chapter 52: Blindingly Hard
Summary:
After a week of stubbornly denying themselves their mortal desires, Lestat and Louis finally give in to their passion for each other. Explicit
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Good god, he was kissing Louis! Really kissing him!
After a minute of it, Lestat’s arms tightened around his back and he tipped over to the side, pulling Louis with him to topple to the closet floor. Without ever breaking apart their mouths, Lestat rolled on top of him. He laughed then, so grateful that the alcohol was finally starting to really get to work in him.
A muffled moan and gasp against Lestat’s lips was all the resistance Louis offered. Beneath Lestat, Louis arched his back and gripped Lestat’s waist in both hands as if he might try to wrench him off of him. But the pressure he exhorted only served to push their hips together even more invitingly. Louis grunted, shivering, his grip faltering, his hands trembling as he pawed and tugged at Lestat’s clothing with little real effort to do anything close to making him stop.
Lestat’s lips moved hungrily up Louis’s jaw to his ear. “Louis,” he said there as if he were trying to get his attention. Then he slid back a little and up him again to switch to the other ear. “Louis.” Then he bounced back to the first side. “Louis.” But this time he continued, “Do you want me to fuck you, Louis?” Another laugh. “You do, don’t you? You do!”
His name on Lestat’s tongue, followed by such words so close to his ear sent an electric shock up Louis’s spine that plummeted right back down again to settle in his loins. Such vulgarity was usually enough to send him into a right fit of rage, but the human blood rushing in his veins was sending a wholly different signal to his body now, making it hard to be too angry for want of melting right into the floor from the heat beneath his collar. The word ‘no’ was on his lips, his mouth opening to form the syllable, but the sound came out instead as an unintelligible exhaled and shuddered breath.
Louis disentangled his hands from Lestat to press them to his own face, as though he might somehow hide behind them, as futile as that was. He was rock hard and wanting, a million lurid thoughts catapulting through his mind of all the things Lestat could and likely would do to him in this human body, all the things he had wanted him to do, all the ways he had wanted to be throttled, broken in half and breathless for it, that night in 1791 they had first locked eyes. All the ways he had refused to think on or admit so long ago, but surely Lestat’s vampire mind had read it all so plainly.
“Yes!” It was a yelp of a word. Louis shook his head from side to side, the balls of his hands pressed to his eyes, his hair splayed out beneath him.
Oh, this was hilarious. Just look at Louis now. And he’d actually admitted it! Lestat laughed low in the back of his throat, though it was almost a groan as his own erection snaked down the leg of his jeans thickening with each shift of their hips. What would Louis do if Lestat denied him now? Would he hate him? Or would Louis be grateful for being saved from these desires he so loathed in himself?
Lestat pushed his face under Louis’s arm to get back to his ear without making him remove his hands from his eyes. “How do you like it, Louis, hm? You’ll have to tell me what you like.” The tip of his tongue traced a line up Louis’s throat behind his ear before he spoke again. “Do you like it on your back? Against the wall? Over the table? Hands and knees?” Here he caught Louis’s earlobe lightly between his teeth and sucked.
Louis groaned audibly to hear such things, a full-body shudder wracking his frame even pinned against the floor under Lestat’s weight. It was too much. Just imagining it all made Louis’s desire rise within him, and he cursed beneath his breath with the ever growing sensation of what Lestat’s words were doing to him all over. Thank God he wasn’t standing with how weak his knees felt.
“I want… I…” He couldn’t say it, couldn’t make his mouth work right to form the thoughts, so lurid and outlandish were they. “Anything! Anything with you,” he blurted, just to get Lestat to stop his teasing.
“Oh, no,” Lestat chuckled again, nuzzling against Louis’s throat, inhaling deep his mortal scent. Mostly that of some expensive soap, his own human nose too weak to detect anything beneath, though the taste of his skin was growing saltier the faster Louis’s heartbeat sped. “No, you have to tell me,” he urged mercilessly. “You expect me just to settle for ‘anything’? No, Louis, never.”
Lestat nibbled along his neck until he returned to Louis’s lips, kissing him deeply again, but only for a moment, not about to give him more reason not to answer. Propping himself up in his elbows, he clasped Louis’s wrists to tug his hands away from his eyes so he could gaze deep into them, his expression exceedingly smug. “Well? I’m waiting.”
Louis shut his eyes tightly and gave another desperate shake of his head. “Lestat, please!” he whispered, his cheeks florid, his heartbeat throbbing in his groin. His teeth caught his bottom lip as his eyes opened, his gaze wide and timid, his throat going completely dry.
“Talk to me sweetly, but…” Louis pressed his lips together, his mouth was at war with his mind. “But touch me with…with a firm hand.” Louis shivered all over with this admission, his blush traveling down his neck and to his ear tips, and he let out a shuddering breath as though just speaking such a thing out loud might be enough to push him to release.
Lestat’s eyes widened, and he was too surprised to even laugh—or perhaps surprised wasn’t the right word, for he knew Louis more than well enough—but he was impressed. He could feel the heat radiating off Louis’s face against his own, yet Louis had still said it! And now Lestat only wanted to hear more.
His grip on Louis’s wrists clamped tight, and he pinned them to the floor beside Louis’s shoulders as he pushed up on his knees between Louis’s legs, forcing his thighs far apart. Excruciating space between their bodies now as Lestat bent over him. “What else, what else?” he whispered as his gaze traveled over every part of Louis he could see, trying to decide where to start, though inevitably ending on his belt. Lestat wanted to rip it open.
A shudder went through him, then his eyes shot around the room for inspiration and settled on the damask ottoman a few feet away. Abruptly, Lestat sat back on his heels and hopped to his feet, yanking Louis up with him by the wrists, but only enough to twist him around and shove him down again over the ottoman.
Delirious with desire, it took Louis half a moment to register the shift in their positions until he was already bent over the thing, palms flat to brace himself. They were both facing the huge full-length triptych mirror now, somewhat at an angle, but Lestat was too distracted by Louis’s prone shape before him to even look up at it. The way his trousers stretched taut over his famously shapely behind made Lestat’s hands clench at Louis’s sides and his cock throb achingly against the confinement of his jeans, pleading to be freed.
Jerking Louis back by his hips against himself, Lestat sought some friction while his hands tucked under, working rapidly to undo Louis's belt and unfasten his trousers. Louis could see it all in the mirror, Lestat’s determination creasing his brow, and that devil-wide smile, unmistakable even with how all the wine in his bloodstream made him dizzy and slow-to-wit.
“What else, Louis?” Lestat asked again, his voice still low, but not about to let the question go.
“I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know,” Louis murmured in a stream of words so fast they were more slurred together than actually spoken. “God, please, just…” Another shudder as Lestat’s hands brushed against him, freeing him so effortlessly. Louis looked a right mess in the mirror—his face red, hair mussed and clothing askew, his erection jutting up and visible between his arms, a lewd and bawdy sight that made Louis’s heated cheeks all the more ruddy. It was ungodly hot in the small room now, and Louis found it hard to draw breath, so arresting was the picture of them both in the mirror, like a homoerotic pornographic movie with an overblown set budget.
“Be forceful,” Louis breathed, his words coming out in a shuddered breath as he stared into the mirror, his eyes glued to Lestat’s in the reflection. “Tell me I’m yours,” he whispered, his arms trembling.
Whatever pang Lestat might have felt at Louis asking him to speak such a lie was immediately overruled by the way all his hot mortal blood seemed to surge in him at once at the sight of what was revealed as he tugged Louis’s trousers down past his hips. And as the cool air of the closet connected to the exposed skin of his backside, a paralyzing shudder coursed down Louis’s spine, his self-consciousness-fueled adrenaline spiking and filling his ears with a rush of suffocating white noise.
“Oh…” was all Lestat could manage, unable to breathe as he stared down at his ass. He’d certainly seen this side of Louis before, and his extraordinary beauty never failed to make Lestat’s heart flutter. But now his human system was reacting to the sight in such an intensely consuming way, his eyes intimately connected with lightning speed to his arousal. Lestat was absolutely ravenous with lust, and for once the desire to utterly devour Louis had nothing to do with blood.
With two hands, he pushed Louis further over the ottoman, forcing his hips higher in the air and then he buried his face in the flesh of Louis’s ass. He only realized how hot his own cheeks had become when he found Louis’s skin to be cool against them in the most pleasant of ways. Wrapping his hands around Louis’s thighs, Lestat forced his legs apart to expose more of him. And then he opened his mouth and ran his tongue over the base of Louis’s scrotum all the way up his crack. He tasted a bit like that expensive soap, but after another couple long exploring licks, Lestat found he didn’t mind it at all, and his fingers dug hard into Louis’s thighs to keep him put exactly where he was.
Louis cried out, shock and over-arousal bludgeoning his senses in tandem, dragging him under the surface of his usual placidity and plunging him into the deep delicious darkness of his most secret and deplorable desires. “Good God, Lestat!” he shouted, then moaned out a piteous, “Not there,” scandalized and besotted all the same. God damn him, this fiend, this incubus, this relentless devil! Louis’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. He could scarce think with all the things Lestat’s hot tongue was doing to him. It was downright obscene!
Droplets of pre-cum poured onto the brocade cushion beneath his hips in an amount that had Louis fearing he had prematurely climaxed. His grip on the ottoman mirrored that of Lestat’s to his thighs, and Louis shook his head, his eyes and lips shut tightly to keep himself from sobbing outright for how unbelievably good it felt to give himself over to this wanton bliss.
“Hm?” Lestat asked without looking up. “Not where? You mean here?” He gave Louis another long, slow lick all the way up his crack, and then with his thumbs, he tugged the supple flesh of his firm round cheeks to spread them wide apart. “Or here?” With this, he made a dart of his tongue and pushed it straight inside the puckered, pink softness of his entrance.
Try as he might to clamp his mouth shut, a piteous cry of scandalized ecstasy escaped Louis’s lips. At the same time, a deep, lustful moan rumbled in the back of Lestat’s throat, and his breath came out hot from his nose as he fought to not let the shudders overtake him. His own erection was throbbing where it was trapped down one tight leg of his jeans, burning hot and pleading, but the noises escaping Louis even as he tried so desperately to hold them in were too enrapturing for Lestat to stop what he was doing just yet. Alternating between running the tip of his tongue around Louis’s rim, lathing wetly over it, and plunging deep, Lestat refused to let up.
Louis nearly lost his hold on the ottoman in the process of trying to stifle his own cries with one hand, which caused him to tip forward awkwardly, face first into the cushion. Lestat’s hold on him was iron however, and his floundering did nothing to diminish the sensations of Lestat’s unrelenting ravenous assault.
A stream of whispered curses flowed from Louis’s lips between his mewled whimperings. He was so close, so near to the edge of his own release that the next full-body shudder that wracked him had him almost certain he would ruin the cushion beneath him.
“No, please! Lestat! You’ll make me…” He couldn’t say it, too embarrassed to utter such ridiculousness. “It’s too soon!” Louis cried finally, hating the way his voice hitched up an octave with his sudden desperation.
Lestat’s arm came up and snatched a great handful of Louis’s hair, fisting it tight to make his head lift from the cushion to face the mirror again. When he rose behind him, Lestat for the first time finally noticed their reflections. The sight was arresting enough to make him completely forget what he’d been about to say, and he stared in open-mouthed silence.
How godforsakenly debauched Louis looked, the hot color beating in his cheeks, his knuckles white where they gripped the ottoman. And Lestat didn’t look much better off, messy blond waves hanging in his own flushed face, his chest heaving for breath.
They were at just enough of an angle that he could see plenty of the smooth pale curves of Louis’s exposed flesh, with his pants down around his knees. Lestat’s other hand pushed up the clothing on Louis’s back until it caught around his shoulders, and then he bent over him, this time to run his tongue all the way up his spine, salty with sweat. “Mmm,” Lestat said against him as he pressed his cheek to Louis’s skin, easily hearing his heart thundering through his back while he stared at Louis’s face in the mirror, his fingers snarled in his hair not letting him even try to duck away.
A jolt of intense pleasure pushed another deep shudder surging through Louis to his very fingertips and toes. He felt he might die before he would ever be able to fully admit how much he relished the feeling of Lestat’s hand fisted in his hair, how much he craved the surrender, the belonging and connection he’d been missing with the loss of the blood between them. And how much he hungered for the same type of control Lestat could enact over him, with these physical intimacies that could absolve Louis of what he felt he shouldn’t want nor could ever deserve.
Lestat’s other hand ran down his side until it pushed under Louis’s hips, hiking them up so he could reach for his cock, as if he needed to verify by touch that what Louis had said was true. Holy hell, he was wet! What hadn’t rubbed off on the cushion slicked Lestat’s hand, seeping between his fingers.
Wrapping his palm around Louis’s length quite tightly to deter him from attempting to move as he released his hair, Lestat straightened on his knees. The sight of the fleshy pertness of his ass when he looked back down made Lestat groan deeply with need, and he ran his thumb between Louis’s cheeks, pausing only briefly to push it into his now very wet hole. The forced sight of them both again in the mirror, the messiness and heat, and the delicious pressure of Lestat’s hand at his cock and that one fiendish thumb combined to send Louis into another stream of quietly unintelligible curses and whines.
Lestat made himself stop so that he could finally take the time to release himself from his jeans. As they settled around his hips, the belt buckle jingling, Lestat’s hand released Louis to grasp himself, slicking his own oozing organ with Louis’s precum, mingling it with his own. The sensation wrenched an unexpected vocal gasp from him, and his other hand came down hard on the center of Louis’s back to brace himself from toppling. As if drawn by magnetic force, his hips connected Louis’s backside, his cock sliding vertically between his cheeks, up and down, while Lestat tried to get his bearings.
But it was no use.
Louis had asked for sweet words, but Lestat was absolutely inarticulate with desire, and it was the most he could do just to keep himself from uttering the particularly un-sweet vulgarity that might have otherwise rushed out of him. By the time he was pushing himself into Louis with firm, steady force, he was biting his tongue sharply against it, his breath coming out heavy and fast from his nose. The heel of his palm dug in hard at the base of Louis’s spine while his other hand clenched his hip in a bruising grip. Slowly, Lestat pulled out a little, and then pushed back in, hard but slow, loosening Louis up. But he did not keep it that way long before he abruptly slammed in to the hilt without warning.
“My god!” Lestat shouted aloud as it felt like a wave of warm honey poured over him head to toe. “Are you kidding me?” he gasped, his fingers clenching in his skin. “Louis??” Had anyone ever felt like this around Lestat before? Impossible! His breath was absolutely ragged as his cock throbbed, thundered against Louis’s inner walls, and he stared down at his pale back with crossed eyes, seeing him blur into two, four, ten. “My god, my god…” And he hadn’t even started moving yet!
But that didn’t matter, the moment he was breached completely, and Lestat had thrust so deeply and suddenly inside of him, Louis came, blindingly hard. The whole of his body shook with it, his hips spasming, arms shuddering, his cried shout echoing through the closet chamber. White hot liquid smattered in a thin line across the ottoman cushion, the floor just before it and the bottom half of the gilded mirror in front of them, so great was the force of his climax, so long-denied and wanton had Louis allowed himself to become since the curse of mortality had befallen them all.
He had no chance to savor it, though, much less recover, before Lestat was pounding him into the ottoman. So intent was he on staring down at Louis’s prone form that he somehow forgot entirely about the mirror until the force of their rhythm had scooted the stool across the floor to bump into it. Lestat’s head snapped up then, and he stared at what he could see of Louis’s reflection, his heart feeling like it was going to hammer straight out of his chest, like it would turn liquid and run out his ears.
Now that they were wedged against the solid surface, he was able to drive into Louis all the more forcefully, and he made a point of holding himself back from coming longer than he needed to, just for the sake of making Louis get what he asked for, whether he regretted it by now or not. He deserved every minute of it for having the audacity to feel the way he did inside. How was he even human? Had some of the old magic of their previous state clung to him somehow? It hadn’t been like this with anyone else Lestat had taken in the past week.
By the time Lestat exploded within him, he was so out of breath, he collapsed on top of Louis, grinding him into the cushion, feeling like he was choking on his own racing heart, his vision going white and then black as endless shudders wracked him. It was a form of death, yes, just like the poets had always claimed.
Utterly debauched and deliciously so, Louis breathed heavily, sweat beading along his brow, as he lay still under Lestat’s weight atop him. It was strangely comforting, so oddly satisfying, and his body ached in all the right ways in the aftermath of their efforts. A warm feeling of buzzing numbness lingered in Louis’s limbs. Lestat was still inside him, and Louis didn’t want him to move or pull away even now, as wrecked as they both were.
His cheek against the mirror now, his own hair and Lestat’s too, sticking to his face, Louis gave a shuddering breath of his own. “I thought you might never come to me,” he whispered.
Breathlessly, Lestat laughed, because Louis was probably right…though his brain wasn’t working well enough just now to really consider why. He turned his face, nuzzling through the hair at the back of Louis’s neck, as if he’d kiss him there, but he didn’t let himself do it. It was far too tender a gesture, it had no place here, and a flush of embarrassment touched Lestat to realize what he’d almost done. He took a long, slow breath to recover himself and then eased off of Louis to flop down to the floor on his back.
Louis groaned aloud, a throbbing and wanting emptiness left inside of him in Lestat’s wake. Despite the stickiness and mess, Louis was shocked to realize he wanted still more of this. Wanted Lestat in this way over and over. How patently peculiar this feeling. The realization froze him in place atop the ottoman, his inebriation blurring the edges of what he would usually balk at or shun.
The ceiling was swirling as Lestat stared up at it. Yeah, definitely drunk. Good. Lestat wondered if he could just fall asleep right here and cling to blessed oblivion for a while.
But as his gaze lazily roved the closet, he thought again of the last time they were in here, the night Louis had given him the crown, and how mad Louis had driven him by staying so long on the other side of the riot of flowers, keeping that fragrant barrier between them… But Louis had known exactly what he was doing, and he came around to Lestat’s side eventually… Like he always did…
Nearly always…
Letting his head roll to the side, he looked up at Louis through the yellow hair across his face. What would he say if Lestat asked him to come to bed with him, to stay the night? Probably yes…which was why he couldn’t ask it. Not now…
God, how insipid these thoughts were. Leatat needed another drink. Where did that last bottle go?
Notes:
To be continued!
This chapter written by Me and K
Chapter 53: Maybe I Do
Summary:
After making a mess of themselves on the closet floor, Louis demands Lestat take a shower with him. Explicit
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Gathering himself as much as was possible, Louis pushed off the brocade ottoman to sit on the closet floor beside Lestat, but he hissed when the result of what the two of them had just done began to seep out of him. He made another sound of discomfort and reached out to grasp Lestat’s shoulder and give it a jostle. “Shower,” he said, then more insistently, “Now.”
Lestat was about to tell him that he wasn’t stopping him from going to shower, but when he looked at him, he realized that Louis meant he wanted Lestat to come with him. Lestat had to laugh, because of course Louis would immediately want to wash away everything they’d just done. But he couldn’t erase it that easily. Louis couldn’t be that drunk after only three quarters of a bottle of claret, so there would be no way he wouldn’t remember this tomorrow. Lestat had no sympathy for his regrets whatsoever. Louis had come here practically begging for it, after all.
Lestat’s hand was still trembling as he brought it up to push his sweaty hair out of his face, and then he sat up and crossed his arms over his front to snag the hem of his thermal shirt and pull it off over his head. His eyes stayed fixed on Louis’s, as if in challenge as he next bent his knees to push his jeans and shorts off his hips and down his legs, pulling his black socks off with them.
A breath caught in the back of Louis’s throat. Every new inch revealed of Lestat’s body before him pulled at the reins of Louis’s desire and sent a warm and desperate sensation through to his very core. Louis watched him intently and pushed off his own shoes, socks and pants with his feet, nudging them aside. The whole while, his eyes remained locked to Lestat’s magnetic gaze.
Fully nude, Lestat rose slowly to his feet, extending a hand down to Louis. “Well, come on,” he said, with a tilt of his head and a smirk as if he half expected Louis to run away now instead.
Half undone buttondown shirt remaining, loose and rumpled, Louis clasped Lestat’s hand, allowing him to pull him up. He made a disgruntled sound to feel the inevitable slickness begin to work its way down one of his thighs and he stood awkwardly, somewhat stumbling against Lestat for it, but he righted himself quickly. Mortal clumsiness, lightheadedness and fuzzy euphoria mingled in his mind, and Louis found himself leaning against Lestat more ardently than he meant to, but he was surprisingly unbothered by the closeness and his momentary helplessness to even want to correct it. He’d been helpless enough beneath Lestat’s arduous onslaught just a few minutes ago, hadn’t he?
One hand in Lestat’s, Louis exerted the smallest amount of pressure with his other against Lestat’s chest, urging him backward out of the closet in the direction of the bathroom, unwilling to break the spell that had befallen him with any of his usual misplaced words.
Lestat’s other arm wrapped around Louis’s waist, his hand finding its way under his shirttails to clasp his supple behind as he let Louis push them through the apartment to the bathroom. He didn’t bother turning around to walk normally, holding onto Louis the whole way there, tugging him along, amusing himself by watching all the tangled emotions revealed by Louis’s human face.
When they reached the spacious, glass shower stall, he finally let go of Louis, but hooked two fingers between the buttons on his shirt. “Going to leave this on?” he teased. He actually wouldn’t mind if Louis did… Seeing it get all wet and clinging to Louis’s body definitely had its appeal.
“No,” Louis said, somewhat defensively, though he well-remembered the source of the jest, having looked back on his half-clothed stint in the shower with Lestat that first mortal night with a healthy amount of embarrassment. At the time, he'd been worried for Lestat, yet so overcome by desire that he didn’t trust himself without that barrier of fabric between them. Now however, Louis fixed him with a look of sheer determination mingled with pride, and he undid the buttons one by one and slipped from the garment, letting it fall to the floor.
Well-practiced after five days of being human now, Lestat knew where to stand in the shower so that the first icy blast didn’t hit him while the water warmed up. It never took long, even in the dead of winter. He’d loved hot water as a vampire and had seen to impressive water heaters in his chateau long ago.
Louis could still feel the lingering remnants of Lestat’s grip on his ass from before, how thrilling it had felt to be pulled along in that way, even if he might never admit such things aloud. Fully naked now, Louis stepped into the stream and turned so that the blast of water superficially stripped him of the evidence of their lovemaking.
Then perhaps it was the wine, or the lingering endorphins that caused Louis’s momentary lapse in his usual self-directed shame, but he reached out to Lestat, taking him by the wrist and pulling him into the stream of water. He ran his palms, fingers splayed over the front of Lestat’s body, sluicing away the sweat and grime, one muscle at a time. First his shoulders, then chest, Lestat’s abs and his hips, Louis’s hands roamed, massaging and rinsing. And finally, gently, with a feather-light touch, Louis’s fingers delved lower.
He took Lestat in hand, encircling with his fingers that part of Lestat that had so deliciously breached him and driven him mercilessly and perfectly into the ottoman cushion. Stroking slowly, Louis made a sound not unlike a moan, as he lovingly cleaned Lestat of their shared stickiness, wanting nothing more than to sink to his knees on the shower floor in front of him, but resisting.
Lestat’s own knees felt ready to go out from under him, whether he wanted them to or not, and he only kept himself up by holding onto Louis with one arm around his shoulders and his other hand braced against the tile wall. Despite how spent he was, his cock twitched in Louis’s hand, the blood in his loins slithering down to fill it again.
It had already been too much when Louis was washing him, his hands running all over his body laid bare, the slickness of the water almost making their skin against each other feel somewhat vampiric again. For those few moments, Lestat had been in absolute heaven, so much so that he had started feeling guilty; a monster like him certainly had no place in heaven. Such adoring caresses affected him in a vastly different way than the passionate madness of how he’d taken Louis in the closet. The sheer tenderness of it was frightening, enough that Lestat could almost weep.
But Louis’s shift in focus now had snapped Lestat back to the simpler feelings of temptation and rising carnality. What a relief.
A low moan rumbled in his throat, and his arm around Louis pulled tighter, pressing their wet chests together, though still leaving room for Louis’s hand below. He pressed his face to the curve of Louis’s neck, licking the warm water from his skin in long strokes.
“You’re forgetting the soap,” he mummed before nipping at Louis’s throat. For the love of hell, Lestat wanted to suck on that tender skin, to leave it covered in bruises and love bites. But he wouldn’t give Louis any further reason to regret this day.
Louis damn well knew he was forgetting the soap. Subconsciously if not intentionally, he knew the faster they got to the soap, the sooner this little interlude would end. Louis was savoring every second, liking a bit too much the helplessly besotted expressions that were somehow more evident on Lestat’s face as a mortal man. Louis wondered if his own expressions betrayed him so easily now, and for the moment, he didn’t care if they did.
Lestat pushed against him with his own body to press Louis’s back into the wall, leaning heavily against him, his hands now free to roam over Louis’s sides and thighs. “You want to go again, don’t you,” he said against Louis’s skin, and he pushed one knee between his legs. “I think you do.”
“Maybe…” Louis murmured, holding his ground to keep from swooning outright, even with his back against the tile. He shuddered with want, his arousal growing, his hold on Lestat just as tender, his head on Lestat’s shoulder, lips brushing the wet skin of his neck, their positions mirroring one another. Though he couldn’t see what he was doing, he caressed Lestat’s slowly thickening erection with a gently growing pressure, and relished the feel of Lestat’s intrusive knee that seemed to be goading him that much further to the possibility of another round.
“Maybe I do.”
Lestat’s body undulated, his hips rolling and pressing himself harder into Louis’s hand. Whatever words he might have responded with came out only as a needy groan. For all the sexual experiences he’d had so far this week, Lestat had not yet done it in a shower, and the heat of the water and slipperiness of their bodies against each other aroused him in a wholly new erotic way. It seemed to be having a similar effect on Louis, and this made Lestat laugh as he crooked his fingers and dragged his short nails up Louis’s thighs, loving the way the wet hairs on his legs caught against his sensitive fingertips.
Tucking his head under Louis’s chin, he forced his head up so that he could claim his mouth in a hard, demanding kiss. The water was spraying against their faces now, and it had a faintly coppery tang as it seeped between their lips. For a brief, rapturous moment, Lestat could almost imagine the heat of it was blood, mingling over their tongues. Meanwhile, his hands gripped tightly at the bones of Louis’s narrow hips, his thumbs tracing the angled lines down his groin on either side.
Louis returned the kiss with a heated fervor of his own in the form of a muffled gasp and stifled moan. Stroking the length of Lestat that much more firmly, Louis’s shoulders trembled with the effort in accent to each pull of his fisted grip. Numb to his own reproach now, Louis was fully engulfed in the moment to the point that none of his previous shame would dissuade him from this, from what he wanted the last time in this very shower, or from what he had yearned for since he’d stared across the table at Lestat’s infuriating smirk in the little bakery down in the village.
Lestat imagined himself spreading Louis’s legs and hoisting him up so that he could plunge inside him again while he was wedged against the wall. It would have been the simplest thing to do when he posessed his vampire strength, but now he did not know if he could manage the position the way he ever had with women in his past. Louis was no small man, and the marble tiles were so slick beneath his feet, and he was still very drunk.
Louis relished Lestat’s hands on his hips, the way Lestat’s thumbs smoothed along his wet skin and sent tremors of pleasure up his spine. It was too soon, far too soon, but he was becoming hard again, his erection half-mast already, in response to all of what they were doing. Louis’s tongue delved past Lestat’s lips with an insistence, as if daring Lestat to press him for still more.
Each pull of Louis’s hand dragged a deep groan out of Lestat that vibrated between their lips, rippling the warm water that mingled over their tongues, as he took deep thirsty kiss after kiss. He could feel Louis getting harder and harder against his thigh as he slipped back and forth over him with each move of his hips, unable to stand still even though his knees were beginning to feel like they might go out from under him with how he had to brace away enough to leave room for Louis’s hand.
One tug was finally just too good, and Lestat slipped, gasping as he fell heavily into Louis, crushing him to the wall. The spray of the shower hit him full in the face, the plastering his hair in his eyes, and he could see nothing.
“You’re going to kill me.” He laughed and bit Louis’s shoulder playfully, eliciting a grunt of sound from Louis. Straightening, Lestat shoved his hands between Louis and the wall to grab hold of his ass and jerk their hips tight together, rubbing against him in a slow circular motion.
Louis gasped aloud with this new and delightful friction between them aided by Lestat’s clamped hold on him. His shoulders against the shower wall still, the water mostly hitting the back and side of his head, Louis reached up and snaked his fingers through Lestat’s hair to pull it from his eyes so that Lestat could better see him. His own hair streaking across his face but not so much that he couldn’t see, Louis stared right back at Lestat, his gaze magnetic.
Copious steam billowed about them now, warming the full interior of the shower, and Louis pulled them somewhat sideways to get Lestat out of the brunt of the force of the spray. It was also easier to claim Lestat’s mouth from this angle, and so Louis did, locking their lips, his tongue delving inside once more for a heated moment.
When at last he pulled apart from Lestat this time, he exhaled, shuddering with a spasm of pleasure. “Take me again,” he whispered, low and wanting, his lips brushing Lestat’s as he spoke. To accentuate his words, he ended his command by grazing his teeth in a gentle pulling bite to Lestat’s lower lip.
Somehow the heat rose to Lestat’s cheeks enough for him to feel the blush even through the water and steam. But it didn’t stop at his face, it kept rising into his skull in a way that made him feel his entire head would burst if he didn’t find a way to get back inside Louis right now! The buzzing of it spread down his shoulders and the back of his arms, and his fingers clenched into the taught muscles of Louis’s backside.
He stepped back, jerking Louis away from the wall to twist him around in his arms and then shove him back against it face first this time. A surge of excitement coursed through Louis with the strength and quickness with which it had been done. Louis’s heartbeat pounded in his chest and his breath hitched with anticipation.
Lestat looked at his back, his hands running down it as if wiping the water away would do any good at all when the mist from the spray coated it continually. How rosy and supple Louis’s skin was beneath his fingers, heated through from the shower, making him extra pliant and so, so soft and wet.
Lestat allowed himself the indulgence of running the length of his now desperately hard cock between Louis’s cheeks up and down a few times, spreading his own stance to lower himself enough that the tip of it snagged against the rim of Louis’s entrance each time it passed. “Oh, for the love of hell!” he gasped, already afraid he’d fall over again. The sound of the water around them had been eclipsed by the roaring of the blood in his ears, and everything except the length of Louis’s body beneath his eyes blurred completely out of Lestat’s vision. A shuddering groan pushed past Louis’s lips with how mercilessly Lestat was teasing him, rutting against him in such a way.
“Hold on,” Lestat managed to breathe out as he yanked Louis’s hips away from the wall to bend him at a better angle, though what exactly Louis was supposed to hold on to, Lestat couldn’t have said. But he sure as hell hoped Louis figured it out, because he at once plunged back inside of him.
It was a maddening and overwhelming satiation to be tugged backward so harshly, so that he could scarce get purchase, then to be so ruthlessly penetrated again, almost before he was fully ready for it. It was just the way Louis wanted it.
That rippling, viscous, golden warmth oozed over Lestat head to toe again, and all coherent thought abandoned him. Absolutely unreal! He at once proceeded to drive Louis relentlessly into the wall, crying out to god all the while.
“Yes, God, yes!” Louis cried. Bracing himself against the tile, he did his best to square his footing, worried that he might slip or fall, so frenzied was Lestat’s conquest. Don’t stop! Yes! Just like that! Please! Harder! Make me pay for wanting it! Good God in heaven! Louis’s thoughts were a jumbled mess and he mumbled and gasped out some of the words he was thinking unintelligibly. His cheek against the tile, head wrenched sideways as Lestat pounded him into the wall, his eyes shut tight, fingers and toes curling with how this sweetly blissful mixture of pleasure and pain threatened to send him right over the climactic cliff all over again.
It was perfect, this feeling, the emptiness swallowed up entirely by Lestat’s hard driving need, penetrating him to the core, both physically and otherwise. It was spiritual, a euphoria that approached the taking of the blood, his own heartbeat ringing in his ears, Lestat’s labored breaths behind him.
By the time it was finally finished, Lestat had become more beast than man, reduced to snarling incoherence, the climax torn from him with a guttural roar. His arms locked around Louis, one at his hips and the other across the chest, wrenching him up tight against his body with enough force that he fell backward. His back hit the glass wall behind him, keeping them from toppling, and his grip only clenched tighter, as if he’d twist Louis apart in opposite directions as he emptied himself out into him with great pulsing bursts.
With it went the last of his strength, and as Lestat’s legs folded under him, they slid slowly down the wall until he was sitting on the tiled floor with Louis crushed in his lap, just under the arc of the shower’s spray.
His breath labored in ragged bursts, Louis’s head fell back against Lestat’s shoulder. Spent and delirious, Louis had also come again in the frenzied rush. He was still throbbing from it, inside and out, the milky fluid still leaking from his dwindling erection, slowly washed away by the spray around them.
Louis didn’t move. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. A rosy warmth, a blessed ache of muddled numbness settled over him. It was a pale shadow of the aftermath of the taking of the blood, to be sure, but it was satisfying in a wholly different way, this culmination. Lestat had been everything Louis had wished for, had taken him twice now with such fury and power, and Louis had relished it. He dreaded too, even now, coming down off of this high.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Louis could not help but think the words, even if he couldn’t bring himself to say them. It felt cheapened to utter such words now, after such carnality. He would say them eventually, he knew it. He had said them before, hadn’t he? But they had been immortal, and now, they simply weren’t. What if Lestat didn’t believe him any longer, and thought he was only saying them out of incoherent bliss?
Still, Louis didn’t move, only tilted his head to press a soft but fervent kiss to the side of Lestat’s neck, where his hair was stuck to him in wet golden rivulets.
It made Lestat shiver, and his arms around Louis tightened, his legs coming up to cross over his, wrapping as much of Louis up in his own body as he possibly could. For a few minutes, as he held him this way, in this steam filled oasis, Lestat could imagine Louis was really still his, all his, that it wasn’t a lie and the Blood had never been lost between them. And he was just drunk and delirious enough to actually believe it in this moment.
Notes:
To be continued!
This chapter written by Me and K
Chapter 54: Beloved Weakness
Summary:
As Louis and Lestat finish their shower together, and Louis offers Lestat tenderness he's afraid to let himself accept, Lestat tries his best to not dwell on the dark prospect of what their future might—or might not—be.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Lestat sat wrapped tight around Louis on the floor of the steaming shower, his fingertips moving softly against Louis’s skin, his face nuzzling the side of Louis’s warm wet hair. It was a long time before he was able to speak again. His words came out muffled and slightly raspy. “Now I can’t reach the soap.” As if that were all entirely Louis’s fault.
“Too bad,” Louis said, groggy but the smirk evident in his tone. His hand came up to latch onto Lestat’s arm, the fingers of his other hand tracing little swirls into the skin of Lestat’s wet thigh. He could feel Lestat’s hardness inside him waning, but impossibly, Louis didn’t want to part from him just yet.
“I don’t want this to end,” he admitted, lamenting. I want you with me. Here, like this, as often as is humanly possible.
He kissed the side of Lestat’s head, then twisted enough to find his wet lips, enough to press their mouths together, to taste him, kissing him openly and wantonly.
But it did have to end, as ever. And they could not stay like this all day. Their mortal bodies would not allow it, after all.
Louis shifted, moaning as he gently forced Lestat’s hold to loosen, squeezing Lestat’s thigh as he moved to his knees. He reached for the soap atop one of the built-in shower wall shelves. Turning back to Lestat, still kneeling, he wet the soap and brought it to Lestat’s chest, his fingers splayed, rubbing the warm lather across Lestat’s sternum, and down his abs, his eyes moving to meet with Lestat’s gaze fully.
Again, the sheer tenderness of these ministrations from Louis affected Lestat on a wholly different level from any of their savage carnality, and the look in his pale blue eyes was wondrous at first, but soon became almost fearful. Through the rush of the water, a continuous ringing sound echoed in his ears, and Lestat felt like he was about to choke on his own heartbeat.
Quietly, his hands came up and caught Louis’s wrists. “Don’t,” he whispered, for some reason, even though the last thing he wanted in the whole world was for this to stop. His lips moved, as if he might say something more, offer some explanation, but he couldn’t, and he just shook his head as his eyes pulled from Louis’s to land on the soap instead.
“Come on.” Lestat got to his feet, drawing Louis up by the wrists with him so that they were both fully in the water’s spray again.
Louis turned to face the water, closing his eyes and holding his breath so that it could wash fully over his face and head. He pushed his hair back from his face, blinking, his long dark lashes beaded with droplets. His eyes went back to Lestat. “Let me,” he pleaded, pressing the soap back to Lestat’s chest and running it up along his shoulder, his expression almost sad, the longing in his voice palpable. Again came his other hand to chase after the soap, his fingers pressing into Lestat’s musculature, kneading his shoulder, massaging. “Please.”
Lestat flinched, having to look away, his breath still coming shallowly, but he didn’t stop Louis this time. His hands settled against Louis’s hips, his thumbs lightly stroking the bones there as he tried to ground himself, to make the room stop spinning, to keep himself from going utterly to pieces while Louis touched him this way. God, was he trying to kill him? What a way to die… And wasn’t he supposed to be angry at Louis anyway? Why again? For the life of him, Lestat absolutely could not remember. Every time it seemed just about to come back to him, Louis’s soapslick fingertips caressed another part of Lestat that he wasn’t sure he could even recall ever having been touched before. All previous touches in Lestat’s history ceased to exist.
One of his hands slid up Louis’s spine to catch the back of his head and hold him still so that he could kiss his mouth again, softly sucking the water from his lips. Blindly, he reached for where the shampoo bottle was mounted and pumped some into his palm so that he could begin working the pearly liquid into Louis’s hair.
Louis made a small sound of pleasure, a hum of contentment, and what was before a frenzied desperation, now became gentle, their kiss slow and soft, tender even. An entirely new sort of warmth began to spread within him then. Starting at the center of his chest and emanating out in all directions. Louis opened his mouth to accept Lestat’s tongue, pressing his own against it, even as he smoothed the soapiness along the muscled landscape of Lestat’s shoulders and back with grasping and massaging fingers, bathing him. His touch mirrored Lestat’s in his hair, caressing, loving and reverent, mildly trembling for the weight of this feeling between them, this love unlike any other in the whole of his existence.
By the time they had finished washing each other, Lestat could have forgotten that they had ever been monsters at all, or ever even been two separate beings, or anything other than this soft, warm entanglement of tenderness. That the water needed to be turned off and towels to be reached for seemed like crimes against nature, against the very essence of goodness. And Lestat was still just drunk enough that he was nearly ready to curl up and weep over it. But the way Louis’s focus remained so completely on him kept Lestat from slipping over that ledge of self-absorption, kept him here, present with Louis in the bathroom.
He pulled his eyes from their streaky reflection in the mirror where he’d wiped it with his towel and turned to face Louis again, his hand going to his gaunt cheek. “It’s really all real, isn’t it?” he asked with moist eyes. “This really is where we are now…”
Louis nodded, dreamily, the warmth in the room from the water and steam permeating his body in a way that it never could have done when he was a vampire. “Yes,” he said, lifting his hand to cover Lestat’s, leaning his face into it, his eyes closing. His towel was tied loosely about his waist and small beads of water clung to his chest and shoulders, his damp hair clean and beginning to curl up into its usual defined waves.
“I think I don’t mind. But I know it scares you,” he whispered to Lestat, opening his eyes to look at him again, his fingers flexing against the back of Lestat’s hand. “There are parts that scare me too, but…being with you like this, makes up for it.”
Lestat’s towel had ended up on the floor, and he pushed it aside with his feet as he stepped closer to Louis, his other hand taking him by his side, his fingers flexing and moving against his ribs as if they couldn’t settle on a single place to touch him. He wanted to deny his fear, but the truth was that he was terrified…though perhaps not of quite the same thing Louis was assuming. He searched the green depths of his eyes, distantly frustrated with how blurry everything looked to him right now, but desperate to find something within to hold on to.
“Do you think… Louis…” Lestat’s fingers curled into the side of Louis’s hair, and he looked down for a moment before meeting Louis’s eyes again. “Do you think she would have liked it?” A quick breath. “I mean, would it have been…” Lestat trailed off, lost on how to phrase what he was trying to ask.
Louis felt his heart twist in his chest, the sudden and acute sorrow piercing it like an arrow. He stared back at Lestat, his expression slowly falling into a melancholy mask of contemplation tinged with agony. Lestat’s hold on him steadied him, kept him grounded and made it so that he did not sink to the floor physically, or into himself mentally, imagining all of the varied and many reactions their beautiful daughter would have experienced were she still with them now.
“Yes,” he said simply, and it was almost as if he could hear, even now, her chilling little laugh. Yes, he was certain she would have laughed herself into a stupor were she here to witness and experience all of this. How desperate would she be to age, how impatient and demanding of Fareed she might be.
“I cannot imagine the lengths she might go to, even now, even after all this time, to ensure no cure was found that would affect her until she absolutely wished it. And even then, I don’t know that she would choose ever to go back to what we knew. I don’t… I don’t know if I would choose…” Louis admitted, his voice stuttering for a moment, because of the weight of what he had just said aloud.
“I think, Lestat, you are the only one in the world who might convince me to go back to it, as you ever were my tempter, have always been my beloved weakness.”
Ah, yes, and how Louis would hate him for that… Of course Lestat knew he could tempt Louis into it. How could Louis possibly resist him once he was a vampire again? It would be easy… Or even if it weren’t, it was a challenge Lestat knew he could defeat without question. But should Lestat do such a thing? Make Louis want to be a killer again despite everything? Could he? Would he? Or would he have the heart to spare Louis this time?
Fortunately, Lestat was still just drunk enough that he could tolerate these questions so much as touching his brain without them driving him straight back down into the despair Louis found him in when he first came into the closet.
But still, he shoved these thoughts away, and focused on the question of Claudia. Yes, absolutely, she would want the chance to age and grow. And if she could be brought back into the Blood again at the age of her choosing, she would have all she ever desired. But this doomed state of being immune to the Blood? Of having everything Vampire robbed from them forever? She had never known anything else, and Lestat couldn’t imagine her not as a killer. What kind of woman could she possibly be? Would she have hated all her human weaknesses and dulled senses? Would she rage against being so robbed of her power? Would she have become a mortal murderer for sport instead?
A great shudder went through Lestat and he winched his eyes shut and let his head drop, as if he’d rest it on Louis’s shoulder, though a couple inches of space remained between them. His hand slid down from Louis’s face to rest loosely against the side of his neck, and he just shook his head, too overcome to respond.
Watching the myriad shifting light and tell-tale signs in Lestat’s eyes, expression and posture, Louis knew he must be thinking on so much, yet not sharing it. It was just as well. No different from what they were used to, and so Louis didn’t mind. He lifted his hands to Lestat’s drying shoulders, his thumbs stroking up and down comfortingly.
“I’m hungry,” Lestat said abruptly, his voice quiet. “Starving, actually, as the young people like to say…” Lifting his face, he looked at Louis again as he let go of him, his hands slipping from his skin as if they’d lost all strength. “Let’s go downstairs?”
The pronouncement nearly sent Louis into laughter, because he had been just about ready to enfold Lestat into his arms, kiss his temples and cheeks and nose and lips to try to give him some relief from that haunted look that had been so keenly present in his eyes.
“All right,” Louis said instead. “Surely you mean to get dressed first?” he added with a somewhat raised brow.
Lestat glanced down at Louis’s towel. “Do you?”
Despite the lack of windows and the trapped steam, it was already getting chilly in the bathroom. Lestat knew he’d be uncomfortably cold when they left it unless he put on his robe. He pulled it off the hook by the door and wrapped it around himself, then he scooped his towel off the floor and flipped it about Louis’s shoulders so that he’d have a little something more. His hands kept hold of the ends, tugging slightly, as if he’d draw Louis against him with it…but then it seemed Lestat changed his mind, and instead he let go. The look he gave Louis after was still tinged with the anxiety from a minute ago, but then Lestat left the room.
He made a mental note for perhaps the fourth time that he needed to order several crates of electric space heaters to place around the private rooms in the castle. Even with his modern heating system and the insulation his contractors had added to the structure, the windows he’d installed in his palace had all been chosen for their beauty, not their heat retention properties. There was no way to keep the winter chill out entirely, and everyone needed to wear layers of clothes to stay comfortable.
Once they’d dressed and made their way down to the room that had become the chateau’s larder, Lestat was starting to feel unpleasantly sober again, and he hoped to find some more good wine. But before he even had the chance to look, they were met by other residents of the castle who needed his brain to be at least somewhat functioning, and he quickly became fully distracted in a different way, which worked just as well to keep at bay all the dark and troubling thoughts Louis’s nearness inspired.
And Louis remained near him for some time, lingering in the background, occasionally joining the conversation if he was addressed, so as not to appear rude or disinterested. But after a while, knowing how fully Lestat was in his element, and seeing a renewing fervor of purpose in his forever-Prince’s demeanor, Louis slipped away. A small squeeze of Lestat’s forearm and a meaningful smile for him, the briefest of eye contact, then he took his leave.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and K
Chapter 55: No Authority
Summary:
After a week of enjoying life as a human, Gregory gets surprised by a vampire's intrusion.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Something Gregory loved was attending a Friday night office outing to one local establishment or another. He was able to do this even as a vampire, because it generally happened in evening hours. This week was different, as he had been able to spend most of each full day in his company’s Paris office and laboratories. This location was new, as he had most recently built it up for Fareed. But many of the employees who worked there had been with his company for years. Especially those in the upper management. Gregory had been living it up as a human all week, eating so much food, drinking coffee and alcoholic beverages of which he would never have dreamed when he was mortal over 6,000 years ago. He’d even done a few recreational drugs. He would sleep late in the morning. He was the boss, who would question him if he was late?
And he’d had several liaisons with beautiful mortals. Men and women, but mostly the women. Interesting that he found himself still mostly attracted to women, as he had been in mortal life. But he also hadn’t turned down the proposition from one handsome young man he’d met.
Gregory sat now at a table in the corner of a lavish Parisian cocktail bar, his colleagues and employees around him. They all ate, drank, and laughed, and he was quite happy. Rarely had he even thought about the fact he would no longer live forever. It was odd this had not yet struck him fully, but he’d been enjoying life too much thus far.
No one noticed when the vampire joined them, sitting at the bar. It seemed he had always been there, and he exuded an aura that made their eyes glance off him without interest. It was only Gregory who was allowed to focus on him in any lasting way, though the vampire’s psychic influence mixed with the alcohol in Gregory’s bloodstream made the moment feel dreamy and almost surreal.
Nebamun, a voice whispered in his head. Gregory froze, a small shiver slipping up his spine. His old given name whispered within his mind, as if someone were sitting just beside him speaking it. Gregory knew this trick. He’d used it many times on mortals. His eyes glanced around the darkened establishment. There at the bar was the culprit.
Rhoshamandes blended in with the bar patrons in similar clothing as the after-work crowd, his face shaved and his hair trimmed short as he usually cut it every night. His hands were folded on the glossy bar, and beside them sat a glass of clear spirits adorned with a lime wedge. Of course, it hadn’t been touched. The expression on his face contained no hostility, but neither was it jovial as he watched the antics of the mortal men surrounding his ancient friend.
Gregory wasn’t actually surprised to see that Rhosh had tracked him. But Gregory also knew that members of his own small family, Chrysanthe, Avicus, Flavius, Zenobia, all were taking turns watching over him. So either they did not see Rhoshamandes as a threat, or someone was sleeping on the job.
Gregory excused himself from his staff and made his way around the other tables and humans until he came to stand at the bar beside his old companion. It was rather eerie to be in this predicament. Rhosh was beyond powerful. Even the very youngest among their kind would be powerful compared to Gregory’s mortal state. And he was hard not to stare at. His beauty, his very aura was meant to lure in prey.
“Rhosh,” Gregory greeted. “Can I help you?”
The vampire said nothing at first, taking the time to absorb the mind of this man, which had always before been blocked to him. Even though Nebamun hadn’t been his actual maker—they’d both been made by the Queen—their generations were too close in the Blood to ever avail of the psychic link most vampire brothers could share. It had been the same with the great Sevraine; even though she had been brought over by Nebamun and not the Queen at all, her mind was likewise forever blocked to Rhosh.
And what did he see in Gregory’s mind now? An endless tableau of human joys and concerns, as if he truly were a mortal man of this era and had never been undead at all. A profound look of sadness touched Rhoshamandes’s eyes as they swept over Gregory from head to toe.
“I had to see it for myself,” he said quietly.
Gregory rested an arm on the bar and stared into Rhosh’s large, blue eyes. They were memorizing. It felt as though his very soul was drawn to them. “Rhosh,” he said, his voice low with the emotion. He reached out and touched the fine fabric of Rhosh’s clothes, leaning into him slightly. “So you see for yourself… I am mortal. Have you been watching us all from a distance? Benedict is human as well. Are you haunting him?”
Rhosh’s psychic eye had been following closely the goings on in Fareed’s laboratory, the experiments he’d done on Lestat and the blood he’d drawn, as well as the ongoing tests with Daniel and a couple other volunteers who remained with him in Paris. Neither Fareed nor any of the other vampires had been affected by the mystery, and the conclusion was that it had befallen Gregory only because he had drunk from Lestat or breathed the air within the chateau walls. So Rhosh no longer worried that being near to him now could change him.
He could not bite Gregory, but there were many other things Rhosh could do to him—or any other who stepped foot outside the chateau—and bitter thoughts of the ways he might dispose of Gregory now rolled through his mind. He could snap Gregory’s neck, make his blood boil in his veins with the heat of his mind, or rupture the vessels in his brain with a thought. This man who had once been his greatest friend, and more, his guide and mentor in the Blood from his very first night as a vampire, his only tender companion in the darkest nights of his life, but for whom none of that meant anything now.
Betrayer. Hypocrite.
“It depresses me, to see you brought so low.” Rhosh’s gaze drifted over to the people with whom Gregory had been so frivolously and shallowly enjoying himself. “The ancient Nebamun, captain of the Queen’s guard, eldest and greatest of all our kind…now nothing but a tiny little man.”
Gregory barked out a great laugh. He was just drunk enough to feel little concern for insults such as this. “I’m hardly a tiny little man, Rhosh. I hold great wealth and power in this world. I rub elbows with world leaders and those who pull strings behind the curtains. Do I seem concerned to have lost the Blood? I’m not worried about it. I’ve lived long enough in the night, now I can live fully in the day and experience so many things I’ve longed to know over the eons. Potato chips, for instance!” Gregory held up a small bar bowl of thick crispy salty chips. “Did you come here to kill me? I have my family watching, you know. They will retaliate.”
Then perhaps Rhoshamandes should destroy Gregory’s family first. He was infinitely more powerful than any one of them alone. It would only be if they acted together that Rhosh would have anything to worry about. He could pick them off one by one before they had a chance to do that.
Gregory picked out a chip from the bowl and popped it in his mouth, savoring the saltiness before crunching down. Rhoshamandes’s lip curled in disgust. Had Gregory so quickly forgotten the pleasures of the blood? How every single possible mortal experience was but a pale shadow to it, flavorless and weak in comparison.
“It means nothing,” he pointed out calmly. “You world leaders and string pullers will be nothing in fifty years, will be dust in a hundred. Everything you do with this puny mortal life will be forgotten and replaced.”
What a wet blanket, Gregory thought. Of course Rhosh could easily read his thoughts now, so he stared at him, at his mesmerizing eyes and beautiful visage, and ran down a list of such phrases in his mind. Buzz kill, killjoy, fusspot, party pooper.
“I’m perfectly aware of the shortness and often easily forgotten nature of a mortal life, Rhosh,” he said seriously.
The bartender approached, and Gregory ordered a dark beer then turned back to Rhosh. He should probably be more alert, more on edge or even feel some fear around this being. He knew he should, yet he didn’t. Gregory didn’t know fear very well, after so very long on this Earth. Even in this weakened form, he hadn’t yet really felt it. “Did you come here to threaten me? To speak down to me this way? What do you want?”
Well-practiced at avoiding appearing too still, Rhosh moved his hand to turn the glass with his drink in a seemingly thoughtful gesture. “I have not threatened you,” he said in a low, even voice, his eyes remaining on Gregory’s, not at all minding if they worked the naturally hypnotic effect the eyes of any of their kind could. “But your paranoia is understandable. Now that your Court is no more, there is no authority that could punish me if I did.”
A lightheaded feeling passed over Gregory, and he felt a momentary rush of adrenaline at these words. No more Court? No more authority. He blinked a few times and forced his gaze away from Rhosh. But what about Seth? Certainly the title of Prince would fall to him next. Gregory knew Seth didn’t want it, though. In fact, no one really wanted the title. Lestat had only reluctantly accepted it because it was pushed on him.
Gregory reached for the cold beer the bartender placed before him and he drank half of it down. A moment later, he belched softly and then chuckled to himself. He was drunk for certain.
Rhosh was like a statue beside him, no matter how he kept making subtle movements. Had Gregory appeared that way too, despite all his efforts to blend in with mortals?
“No, I suppose no one would have authority to punish you. But you know very well no one needed authority before the Court existed, either. Is that what you want, Rhosh? Because you will be even more outside the Tribe if you kill me. You have a demonstrated affinity for killing the very ancient, haven’t you? Lestat will not be able to keep you safe any longer if his word means nothing now.”
The only vampires left in existence who could match Rhosh in strength were Seth and Sevraine…at least until some other rogue ancient emerged from some forgotten cave and decided to blast him with fire for what they could only have heard rumors of, never knowing the full story of how Rhosh had been deceived, duped into everything he did by their hideous progenitor.
“It does,” he said, consideringly. “Mean nothing. Lestat is an even tinier man than you now.” It seemed Rhosh would leave it like that, the threat hovering in the air between them, his eyes boring into Gregory’s soul as if he were thinking just how he might like to destroy him tonight—so many options, and how insanely easy it would be. But then he spoke again. “You wrong me, Nebamun. Why should I wish to kill you now? When have I ever wished this? Haven’t you been my friend?”
Gregory eyed him. “I have tried to be your friend, Rhosh,” he began, slowly. “You have made it difficult of late.” Gregory sipped at what was left of his beer. “You have been respectful since the last confrontation…so far as I know.” He gave a small shrug. “I’m obviously no threat to you now.”
The table of his employees and friends were hollering at him to return to them, and he waved at them to be patient. “You’ve seen me. What more do you need? I would like to return to my table.”
With the power of his mind and gaze, Rhosh fixed Gregory in place where he sat, so that he could not move, even to turn his head again. Rhosh would not allow him to walk away from him until he was ready.
Anger rushed through Gregory’s veins, to feel that he had been frozen with the mind trick. How very petty. He was a weak human now, and this show of power was completely unnecessary. But obviously Rhosh wanted some sort of payback for the times in recent history when Gregory had done the same to him.
“It does depress me,” Rhosh said somewhat sadly, coming back to his original point. “To know how soon you will be gone from this world. You were with me from the very first night. You taught me everything about immortality.” And this was such a pathetic way for Gregory to go, too…so disappointing.
Gregory glared at him. “I’m sorry, that my fall to mortality has depressed you. I would have thought that you would have come to visit me at some point in the past seventeen hundred years if you were truly so attached to my existence in the world.” Gregory continued to glare at him, as there was not much else he could do. “Fareed is still researching. This is not necessarily permanent.”
Ah, but Gregory could perish before Fareed solved it—if solving it was at all possible. Perish in so many unexpected ways that killed mortal men everyday. And then the world would never contain the pulse of his ancient presence again. How frail his heartbeat sounded now…
Rhoshamandes studied him silently while he was frozen in his seat, searching deeply through Gregory’s thoughts and memories, into all the buried places of his soul he had never known before. Searching, yes, for any sign of the finer feelings they once shared so long ago, any hint of the old Nebamun he’d so loved and risked his life to save from the Queen’s prison, any reason to care at all now for this mortal man who sat before him.
With a disappointed frown, Rhoshamandes released him from the mental hold, giving a small wave of his fingers to grant Gregory permission to return to his little friends. “I will be thinking of you, Nebamun,” he said as he stood to leave the bar. “Thinking of you, and your family.”
Gregory was furious at this tawdry movie villain behavior. He straightened his suit, though it had never been wrinkled. He gave Rhosh a parting glare and final words, “Nebamun is dead. Don’t use that name.”
With that, he turned heel and returned to his table, his mood soured for the evening. What was he most angry at? He couldn’t really say. It wasn’t entirely Rhoshamandes. It was that Gregory had been forced to see his own vulnerability. Forced to look at what he’d been mentally blocking thus far. He didn’t like weakness. He especially didn’t like that Rhoshamandes felt a need to rub his nose in it.
Gregory reached for the drink on the table before him, the men and women around him carrying on in loud chatter and laughter. With a slightly shaky hand he downed the rest of the cocktail then quickly ordered another.
Notes:
This chapter written by me and D
Thank you for your patience waiting for the continuation of this story! I am sunk deep in the AMC TV Show these past couple months, and it's taken over my life so that I have no time for editing and uploading chapters. But once the season is over, I'll be back to regular updates!
Chapter 56: Vastly Different Men
Summary:
After his frightening encounter with Rhoshamandes, Gregory drunkenly confides in his former blood spouse.
Notes:
I'm back!! Thank you for your patience with the long break. The AMC TV show season consumed my entire existence for three months 😅
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Somehow Gregory found his way back to his hotel. Literally his hotel, as it was one of several he owned in Paris. This would be the first night since he’d come to the city that he’d not brought home someone to share his bed, or spent the majority of the night at another’s home.
He was still feeling the rush of alcohol in his body, and there was still that frisson of something like fear, which Rhosh’s visit at the bar had left him with. He didn’t want to be with anyone tonight; not in this state of mind.
For some reason he couldn’t get his keycard to work in the door to his penthouse suite. Try as he might, his stupid mortal fingers kept dropping the card or sticking it through the little reader slot incorrectly. He cursed in his ancient language and leaned heavily against the fireproof door, wishing it to open. His blood drinker self would effortlessly have it unlocked with less than a thought. He did miss that mind gift.
A small, hard hand reached around Gregory from behind and gently plucked the card from him, the gloved fingers icy against his mortal flesh, flushed with even more heat from the alcohol warming his blood. Gregory’s heart leapt at the sight of his beloved blood wife, Chrysanthe, suddenly before him. She smoothly swiped the key, and the door clicked open. Putting an arm around her former-maker’s waist, she easily swept him into the penthouse, his stumbling drunk weight nothing compared to her immense strength.
“Sit, my love,” she murmured as she eased him onto the couch in the living room.
Gregory blinked several times up at her, as this was truly the first time he had seen her with mortal eyes. Tonight, she wore a long cream wool coat with ermine at the collar, fully fastened so that the only skin visible was her face, which looked ghostly and impassive in its unnatural stillness, framed by her lush bronze hair. Many words came to Gregory’s alcohol-soaked brain, but in no coherent order that he could create a full sentence or poem for her, though he suddenly longed to.
Ethereal, mesmerizing, stunning, otherworldly.
He raised a hand toward her and then let it fall back to his side on the couch. “You are the most beautiful woman ever. We should be married!” he announced with a small hiccup-laugh. “Did you follow me? Why did you let Rhosh in the bar?” His fumbling hands went to the tie hanging loosely around his collar and managed to get it over his head and off, his hair sticking up oddly where it mussed.
Chrysanthe stood by, statue still, but watching his every move and gesture with a reserved sort of fascination. “I came as soon as I could,” she said with gentle apology, finally moving, but only to loosely clasp her gloved hands together. “Zenobia was with you tonight, only a breath away should you need her, but she did not dare call out to us until he was gone, lest he perceive it as aggression.”
Chrysanthe and Avicus had come as soon as Zenobia’s mental voice reached them once it was safe, and joined with her, watching and following Gregory for the rest of the night. True to the decision their coven had made not to interfere in any way with Gregory’s mortal experience, they never would have made themselves known to him, but Chrysanthe couldn’t let him stay stuck outside his door. She stood there now, looking ready to leave again at any moment, though of course she wouldn’t go far. They would keep watch over him until sunrise.
Gregory rubbed his hands over his face and then massaged the back of his neck, which was tense and sore. He tried to focus on Chrysanthe, and see her beyond just the preternatural glow. To see his beloved fledgling and blood spouse of 1700 years. His closest confidante and friend.
Then the memory of Rhosh, invisibly holding Gregory’s whole body immobile and trapped, seized him. The realization that he was completely unable to protect himself. He was no longer a powerful, ancient immortal! The horror of it came crashing in. The thing he’d been avoiding thinking too much about! He might die!
“What will happen?” he asked, helplessly. “I have lived so long… But now…” He trailed off, unable to even finish his sentence.
Chrysanthe longed for nothing more than to take Gregory in her arms and offer all the soothing comfort she once had been able to, but she knew that she would only feel hard and cold and unnatural to him. His fear of vulnerability was such a thick swirling cloud in his mind, that she did not want to add to it by letting him feel so viscerally how weak he was now compared to her.
“Now you will truly live,” she offered softly. “Among the humanity that you have loved for so long. The life that was stolen from you so young by your wicked queen is yours again. You are now the same as that which you love, finally part of it in the way you have only been pretending to be all these centuries. Every day will be filled with the pleasure of true mortal experiences…” She hesitated, wetting her lips in a gesture that almost made her look human for the briefest moment. “This horror and helplessness you feel now is perhaps even the most mortal experience you can cherish.”
Gregory stared at her, unable to pull his gaze away. He wanted more than ever to pull her into his arms and offer his throat. He knew she could see the image vividly in his mind.
“This fear…” He absently placed a hand on his chest, where he felt it most. “It’s so foreign. I had forgotten the helplessness of it.” He looked away, finally. He shouldn’t be so weak before her. He must be strong. She worried for him, though she wouldn’t say it, and he knew this. “Mortals distract themselves with little tasks. I remember Lestat wrote that in his book about his adventure with the body thief. So I will throw myself further into experiencing humanity, as you say.”
Giving a great sigh, Gregory rolled his head back along the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling plaster. “I might throw up,” he announced suddenly, as the alcohol and shrimp cocktail he’d consumed seemed to not be cooperating with his stomach.
In the time it took Gregory to blink, the solid metal wastepaper basket had appeared at his side. “You might feel better if you do,” Chrysanthe offered kindly as her hand withdrew from the bin. She was closer now than she’d wanted to let herself get, and she couldn’t bring herself to draw away. She could still feel the warm, shifting weight of his body against hers from the minute it took her to help him through the door and put him on the couch.
The bin was oddly comforting, just to know that it was right there and he could lean over and expel the contents of his stomach if suddenly necessary. But at this very moment, it seemed things were settling again, and Gregory was thankful he wouldn’t have to do such a revolting thing in front of his enchanting wife. Though they had certainly witnessed much worse bodily functions from mortals during their hunts together. But somehow, being a mortal and doing such an act before her felt repulsive.
“My—” Chrysanthe realized she was about to call him one of her usual pet names and she stopped herself and took a breath to reorient. He wasn’t anything of hers, not in this state. It had only been a week since their family had lost him to this curse, only seven days, but the gaping hole he’d left in her nightly life was so full of sorrow, she felt tears begin to burn the back of her eyes.
“Gregory,” she started over. “He wouldn’t dare to hurt you or us…would he? What would he gain from it? You know him better than anyone, save his fledglings, would he do it for petty revenge?” From all she’d ever heard of Rhoshamandes, she didn’t think so… But then, she could not guess what his goal had been tonight in so frightening Gregory.
“I don’t know. I knew his mind when he was a young blood drinker, but he is a 5,000-year-old man now. He and I are vastly different men from what we were in the beginning of his dark journey. And I think he has proven, as Seth has pointed out before, that he is not spiritually strong within himself. He has hidden himself away, with his fledgling Benedict, for so many centuries. He has not grown with the ages, as you and I have, my love.” Gregory looked again upon her and felt sleep weighing down on his eyelids. “I wish that you could experience this with me, but only if I knew for certain that we again would be immortals. How have you been handling it, my absence? How is Davis?”
Chrysanthe’s face went blank to hide her emotions, making her look like a carved statue from the Louvre’s hall of ancient marble masterpieces. But that she took just a little bit too long to answer belied her feelings. “We miss you,” she said gently. “Nothing feels right without you in our home.” Her entire little coven had gathered in the Geneva penthouse since the disaster occurred, keeping close to each other for now while watching over Gregory as well as the other unfortunate members of Court they most cherished. “But we keep each other in comfort.”
Gregory felt a great guilt now for not being more aware of how his affliction might be affecting those he loved most. For a full week, he’d been dancing around like a fool, oblivious to their fears for him and to Chrysanthe’s obvious sadness. But she had not responded to his question about Davis, and this made him more concerned. Had something happened to him? To his youngest beloved? He tried to clear his mortal head and focus more on her, though she was like a stone before him, giving little away.
She hesitated, her eyes shifting to look toward the window pensively. “They all defer to me now… Would have me be the head of household.” She would not use the word covenmaster. “But I am neither the eldest nor strongest among us…”
“You are the strongest, my love. I always defer to your judgment and wisdom. They all do the same.” He reached out to touch her arm, longing to comfort her in some way. “How can I fix this? Fareed, Gremt, Kapetria, they are all brilliant minds. They must collaborate and fix it.”
Her eyes flicked down to his hand on the sleeve of her winter coat. Even through the thick layers of wool and silk, she could feel the heat of his touch, inflamed by all the alcohol in his blood. It made desire for him bloom through her veins. When her face lifted again, her eyes had a glazed, hungry sheen, though she betrayed nothing else, clinging to her self-control.
“They are collaborating,” she reassured him softly. “They are focused on nothing but understanding this. But there is nothing you can do, Gregory. “ Despite her better judgment, she let one of her hands slide over his on her arm. “If it can be fixed at all, they will solve it.” But it was clear by her careful tone that she did not actually believe it was fixable now. “Do not waste your mortal moments worrying about us. This is your time now, Gregory. You must cherish every minute of it for yourself.”
Her gloved hand was so cold over his own, and instantly Gregory flashed back thousands of years, to the Queen, to her stone cold hand pulling him into the dark royal chambers where he was unceremoniously made into a blood drinker. It was terribly disorienting, and he pulled his hand out from under Chrysanthe’s without meaning to. A slight tremor of something he could only identify as anxiety crossed over him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice deep with emotion. “I can’t always explain my reactions. It’s very interesting, actually. After thousands of years of personal exploration into my own psyche, and now here I am a mortal man again, and I have very little understanding of myself in this form.” He laughed a little nervously, wiping suddenly sweaty palms off on his suit pants.
Chrysanthe folded her hands in front of her in a calm, neutral position, and took a step back to give him more space so that her powerful presence would be less uncomfortable for him. “It’s all right,” she soothed. She wondered if she had better understanding of him in this form than he did of himself, as she could hear and feel every shifting emotion and reaction in his mind. It was fascinating to her, addictive even, to have his thoughts so spread open before her when as maker and fledgling, they’d always been locked to each other before. She was discovering him anew, this man, who had always been the sole focus of love in her entire life, the man who had taught her what love was, who had become her entire world, when she’d had no understanding of romance in the simple mortal life she led before him. But the pain of the irony was not lost on her that she only now was able to know his mind in this way once he had been taken from her.
“I slept with Lestat,” Gregory announced suddenly. “Did you know?”
This was a welcome distraction from her grief, and Chrysanthe’s eyes lit up, making her for the moment look almost human with the sudden animation. “Oh!” She took another step back to sit on the edge of the table before the couch so she could be on his level, her smile heartfelt and genuine. “You must be so happy!” She knew this was something for which Gregory had longed for many years, and her shared happiness for him warmed her from within.
Was it suddenly hot? Gregory began to unbutton his dress shirt, revealing his chest. His head fell to the back of the couch, exposing the expanse of his throat. Flashes of his night in bed with Lestat crossed his thoughts. The weight of his body, hands caressing and touching, igniting the feverish sensual flame between them. Every touch, every whisper, every gasp, imprinted in his memory. And every sexual encounter he’d had in these past nights since had paled by comparison.
As enticing as Gregory’s skin was, the heady, masculine scent of him, and as seductive and arousing the images in his mind of his time in bed with Lestat, Chrysanthe was frozen in place from daring to taste him by the fear of contracting the curse from his blood. Her tongue brushed over her fangs behind closed lips, but she forced herself to keep her eyes on Gregory’s and not look further at any other intoxicating part of him. Much too dangerous for both of them. His blood would taste like poison, she reminded herself.
“Will you…” She hesitated, not sure exactly what she meant to ask about him and Lestat. She was getting ahead of herself. But then suddenly a troubling thought occurred to her. “That’s not why you left the castle, is it?” The thought that something Gregory had wanted so much could turn out badly would break her heart.
Gregory rubbed his tired eyes and cleared his mind of his erotic thoughts as best he could. He lifted his head, eyes finding Chrysanthe once more. “What? Why I left the castle? No. Of course not. I left because I wanted to experience all of life. I wanted to be working in my offices in daylight hours. I wanted to be in cities where there was life and endless choices of entertainment available. I tried to get him to come with me. He wouldn’t leave the Court.” Gregory felt a surprising sadness over this as he thought about it now.
She nodded with relief to hear that there was no trouble between him and their former Prince. But even though Lestat was no longer a vampire ruler, she could well guess at all the responsibilities that kept him tied to the chateau for now in the wake of this disaster. “You mustn’t take it personally,” she soothed, wishing she could caress this sadness away from him. “The drink is making you maudlin. Surely, he will be able to get away in time?”
“Perhaps.” Gregory thought again of Lestat and how he’d held so tightly to Gregory as they slept. “I should contact him again and ask. Or…” He hesitated, remembering Rhoshamandes’s sudden harrowing appearance. “I should maybe go back to the castle.” He took a deep breath, reminding himself he was safe now, Chrysanthe was here and his other family were just outside somewhere. “I’m not used to this uncertainty, this unease. I won’t give into it.”
He sat up straight then, a little too quickly, as he felt lightheaded and the room went out of focus before returning to normal. He placed a hand to the side of his head, as if he could right it. “I need to get some water and aspirin. It helps stave off the sickness in the morning.” He stood, unsteadily, one hand using her shoulder as support before he made a swaying walk to the kitchen to find water.
Chrysanthe caught him before he’d gone four steps, her arms tucked up under his, her hands over his shoulders from behind, and she gently drew him back to the couch. “Sit,” she soothed. “I’ll fetch it for you.”
Before he had any time to object, she whisked away and was back in less than five seconds with a bottle of French mineral water and the aspirin, as well as a few other pain relieving medications she’d found in the cupboard. As she took in the sickly swirls of Gregory’s mind, she grimaced internally, wishing she could simply give him a swallow of blood to cure his pains. But according to all of the doctors’ studies, it would have no effect on him whatsoever.
How fast she moved! Gregory had barely registered that he’d been placed back on the couch and suddenly she was there with the water and medicines. He knew it was just speed and surprise, but it was still disorienting to his mortal senses. He stared at the water bottle in his hand for a moment before twisting off the cap and swallowing down half of it.
“Tomorrow is Saturday,” she reminded him. He would have the whole weekend to recover himself if needed before he could make any excuse to go back to work. Not that he ever needed to be at the office if he didn’t want to be. But she’d seen how important he’d made it over the last week, as if his mortal sanity depended on the need to now be valuable to the daily workings of the company that had previously survived just fine without him ever making a daylight appearance.
He was struggling with the lid on the aspirin, feeling like a fool because it had one of those tricks to it to stop children from getting into it. His fumbling fingers and alcohol-soaked brain couldn’t make it open. He held the little plastic container out to her.
“Okay, you win. I won’t go into the office tomorrow. I’ll have the helicopter fly me to the castle and stay there for the weekend.”
He gave a great sigh of resignation. “I suppose I shouldn’t be out every night getting drunk and sleeping with every stranger. It’s going to start making the news.”
Chrysanthe opened the bottle and poured out a little pile of the small white pills into her hand, holding it out so that Gregory could take as many as he wanted. She had a feeling he might need more than the legally recommended dose.
“I haven’t seen any paparazzi,” she said. But he was right, it would surely happen at some point.
Gregory was relieved to hear those vultures with cameras hadn’t picked up that he was behaving like a playboy lately. He examined the little pills in her hand and selected four of them, washing them down with the tasteless water.
“I am glad you have been enjoying yourself so much,” she added with a kind smile. She and the rest of the family had been taking turns watching Gregory all week, so there was no fear of him getting into dangerous situations with his drunken and promiscuous ways. Unless he did it in the daytime, of course. But as far as she could tell, he was still finding daylight work so novel, that all his attention was kept at the company.
“I could take you,” she offered, instead of the helicopter. The thought of holding his hot human body against her own again was too enticing to refrain. “Unless you’d rather go to bed here first.”
“You? Fly me?” He almost immediately rejected the idea, the instinctual human fears crowding in again. To be flown so high up without the safety of metal surrounding him! But truly, to fly within her arms would be a hundred times safer than any engine and winged vehicle could be. And he was just drunk enough still to be able to shove away the doubts. “Yes, please fly me, my angel. I want that very much. But…” He hesitated, lightly biting his lower lip as he gazed upon her. “You are not still nervous to go near the Court? Fareed is firmly certain it’s in the blood and not the environment of the castle that causes the change?”
Chrysanthe shook her head a little. She would absolutely not be stepping inside that cursed castle. “I’ll set you down outside the gates, near the car park.” Even just the reminder that this affliction could befall her too made her shiver in terror. She had never once in all her immortal centuries missed her human existence. The gift her maker had given her was the best thing to ever happen in her life. She wouldn’t know who she was at all anymore if she became a frail mortal woman again.
“Would you like to go now?” she asked, her eyes moving over Gregory again, drinking up the sight of his exposed throat and the top of his beautifully brown chest before he would be wrapped up against the cold again. How she longed to be the one biting that lip instead, or even just to clasp one of his hot mortal hands between her own and press his palm against her face. She suddenly achingly missed the feeling of his fingers running through her hair…
Gregory nodded, his eyes fixed on hers. She was so seductive and dangerous. He knew this, even as her maker, but experiencing her in this mortal form was almost overpowering. How did men resist her?
“Yes, now. I want to go immediately.” He stood, a bit wobbly, and found his coat. He felt for his phone and wallet and found both. A bit of nervousness threatened to take over, but he refused to give in. “So… Out the window?”
“Yes.” First, she went around the suite, turning off the lights and making sure it was in a fit state to be left for a few days, and then opened the balcony doors to go out. Once Gregory had joined her, she shut them and secured the lock with the mind gift. She looked up at him, not making any move to touch him yet, transfixed for a moment by the hot clouds of steam his breath made in the inches between them.
“How would you like me to carry you?” she asked gently. Although he’d carried her often when they’d flown together throughout their life, she’d never been the one supporting his weight. Her initial thought was to lift him bridal-style, but she wasn’t sure if that would offend his pride.
Gregory chuckled. How endearing he found her. How sweet and deceptively naïve. “I am a strong young male. I will not break. Let us simply embrace as we always do in flight. He slipped his arms around her in the familiar way, but was again startled by the coldness of her body, the unyielding feel of her. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled. That was the same, the soft floral scent, the silky softness. “My love,” he sighed, settling against her. “Just don’t fly too high into the atmosphere, I will freeze.”
Chrysanthe’s arms wrapped around his sturdy waist almost too tightly, until she caught herself and loosened. How soft the lapel of his coat felt against her cheek, and she nuzzled it, inhaling the fragrance of the wool mixed with all the strange new scents of Gregory now that he was mortal. Salty and musky after a full day of work and a full night of drinking. If only it were possible for her to taste his blood now, she might be able to enjoy the giddiness of the alcohol along with him. With her ear pressing against her chest, she could hear the slow slither of the blood moving through his fragile mortal veins even now, and by god she wanted it.
Gregory had not anticipated his body’s reaction to her being this close, pressed against him in such a familiar intimate way. And her eyes bright and gem-like in the moonlight, so enchanting.
Before she could let herself become too glazed with the thirst, she lifted up from the balcony, rising about a foot into the air and hovering there to test how secure he felt in her arms. Gregory gasped. He was more than familiar with flight, but in this new mortal frame it felt momentarily unstable.
She wasn’t afraid of dropping him, but she wanted him to be comfortable for this journey. Since he was holding onto her tightly, she was able to better adjust the positioning of her arms, and then she turned her face up to look at him. “Ready?” she asked softly, trying not to dwell on how very close his throat was to her mouth.
He held a little tighter to his blood spouse. Was she still his spouse? They still wore their wedding bands. He still felt deeply within his very being that she was his completely. Of course they were still spouses.
Gregory nuzzled into her throat, kissing along the cool column of her neck. Why had he not thought of doing this earlier? Why had he not thought of taking her into his bedroom and pressing her down upon his lavish bed? He was fully capable of the sexual act now, as he had more than proven over these past nights. Why had he not seduced her into it? Yes, there was the danger of her taking his blood and becoming fully mortal herself. It would be foolish and selfish for him to do such a thing.
With a deep sigh he closed his eyes and kept his face buried against her throat. “Yes, I am ready,” he murmured.
These thoughts from Gregory were making Chrysanthe dizzy with lust, and she was deeply tempted to set back down and take him inside to act out every last one of his fantasies. She would feel nothing from allowing him to penetrate her, but the thought of seeing him in such a heightened state of passion, feeling the waves of carnal pleasure rolling from his mind, would be more than worth the experience.
But how could she refrain from biting him then? The thirst would take over her senses, and before she knew it, he could be dead in her arms. The erotic horror of it made her shudder, and she nodded against him. Yes, they must go, she’d lingered too long with him already.
Instead of shooting off into the sky faster than a bullet as was their usual way, she took her time to rise up into the night until they were hidden by the lowest layer of snowy clouds, and then she turned toward Auvergne at a speed that would make the journey take closer to twenty minutes than the usual five.
Once there, she set Gregory down gently beside the entrance to the underground parking garage, and with great effort, untwined her arms from him and took a shaky step back, her breath coming rapidly as if the flight had taken her great effort, even though that wasn’t the reason at all, her dark eyes glazed with a predatory sheen.
Gregory took a few stumbling steps to the side and then righted himself. The journey had been without incident, and he had nearly forgotten he was in the air at all, but for the hazy clouds enveloping them the whole flight. But the change in atmosphere and the sudden stop had him reeling. His stomach lurched up into his throat, and he had to turn away from Chrysanthe, thankful to find some carefully pruned bushes where he might expel the contents of his evening meal.
When he was done, he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his coat, and felt far better than he had earlier in the night. He turned back to Chrysanthe. “I apologize,” he said, hoping she could read in his mind how truly sorry he was to have displayed this act in front of her. Especially since they were having such a wonderful time, and clearly longing for their former intimacy. Chrysanthe, perhaps needed the reminder that he was not as attractive in this mortal form.
The vomit did not bother her in the slightest; all things that were repulsive to humans became mere curiosities to the vampire due to their detachment from mortality. Mortals were attractive because of their mortality, and the unsavory moments were all part of it. Besides her ever-present thirsting desire, all else she felt now was sympathy for Gregory, that he was suffering, but she knew there was nothing she could do to help him.
“Thank you for the smooth flight, my love. I will call you tomorrow evening.” Gregory felt at a loss, wanting to kiss her, but that was not the best choice, considering.
“Get inside,” she urged softly. “Before you catch another cold.” The snow here was up past their ankles, though it would be cleared away come morning.
Of course he didn’t want to catch another cold. Gregory gave her a loving smile. Could this really be the rest of his life? Growing old and watching her remain a porcelain beauty frozen in age.
Her hand came up, as if she would put her fingertips on his arm, but then she thought better of it, and they curled back. Though she would watch over him until he was safely indoors, it seemed she’d say nothing more, but then she added, just as softly and full of feeling, “I love you still.”
“And I love you, forever and ever. It will never change for me.” He stuffed his cold hands in his pockets. He gave her a small decorous bow. “My queen,” he said quietly.
He turned and began the trek up to the castle. It was rather longer than he remembered it being when he was a blood drinker. Luckily, he was wearing a decent pair of boots. When he finally made his way to the front entrance of the chateau, he had to use some strength to open the heavy door and enter. It seemed almost abandoned, despite the lights left on for the evening, and even a fire in the giant hearth in the entrance hall.
“Honey, I’m home!” Gregory yelled out in the echoing chamber. He chuckled to himself, and made his way up to his rooms.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and D
Chapter 57: A Siren of Temptation
Summary:
Armand and Gregory reconnect over breakfast at the chateau, and Gregory is surprised by how attracted he is to Armand.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It had been a fitful night of sleep for Gregory, filled with unwelcome dreams of Rhoshamandes, Akasha and Enkil, and then one particularly erotic dream of his wife. He’d had a long hot shower thinking about that one. He felt rather bedraggled and hungover from the prior evening, but the shower, a quick brushing of the teeth, and dressing in clean clothing helped. He didn’t have to be the business CEO today, so he chose some denim pants and a soft dark hoodie. He looked much younger… Or perhaps more his actual early-twenty-something years in this clothing.
Now he was partaking of the abundant breakfast buffet in the ballroom. How thoughtful of Lestat, to provide such for those who still remained here in the castle. Gregory loaded a plate with scrambled eggs, bacon (so much bacon!), waffles with butter and syrup, and orange slices. He also poured a large glass of orange juice for himself.
He sat at one of the tables arranged nearby and took time to admire the feast before him. He’d found himself of late making a small prayer to the gods, thanking them for the food. He knew, of course, this was foolish, but some of his old mortal habits had crept back into his routines and he was oddly comforted by them, no matter how unnecessary they were in this day and age.
“It’s good to see you back,” came a voice from past his shoulder.
Gregory looked up, having just popped a piece of bacon in his mouth. Armand!
He held a black coffee and a croissant which he’d been on his way to take upstairs to eat in private. He’d almost walked entirely past the shrouded figure at the table before noticing out of the corner of his eye that it was Gregory.
Armand smiled, glad to see him there and with a full plate of good food. Though he looked a little worse for wear. Yes, it was good to see him back, because even after his dalliance with Marius in the city last weekend, Armand would still prefer every last one of them to stay in the chateau as much as possible. He didn’t sit down, not wanting to encroach on the man’s privacy.
Gregory chewed and swallowed the delicious crunchy salty bacon and stood, one hand waving to the seat opposite his own. “Yes, I am back. For the weekend, at least. Please.” He gestured again, encouraging. Armand considered the offer for just a moment, before deciding that it truly was genuine and taking the seat opposite Gregory.
“This is all you are eating? Coffee and a tiny croissant? Armand, you must eat! You are a growing adolescent male, are you not?” Gregory couldn’t help but let his gaze travel over the well-proportioned body opposite him. This was a very welcome sight at breakfast.
“I don’t wake up overly hungry, I’ve found, and I am only a couple of years younger than you on this mortal plane.” Armand looked at him thoughtfully, seeing the bags under Gregory’s dark eyes and considering what had put them there. Still, Gregory seemed so chipper for someone who may be unwell or out of sorts. “Where will you go after the weekend? Back to Geneva?”
Gregory took up his knife and fork and began slicing up his Belgian waffle into bite-sized pieces. “Yes, back to my office. I was between Geneva and Paris all last week.” He brought a golden piece of syrupy waffle to his mouth, savoring the crispy yet fluffy texture, the buttery-sugary mixture on his tongue. A pleased curve to his lips as he chewed, eyes on Armand’s angelic face. He licked some syrup from the fork before stabbing another piece of waffle into it.
“I find a large breakfast helps soak up the hangovers. Apparently I enjoy drinking rather too much.” He gave Armand a small wink without even planning to. What was this flirtatious nature he had? Had he been this way as a mortal? It had been so long, but he suspected he had. He’d never lacked for bedmates.
Armand smiled. He found it rather amusing actually that the oldest and most powerful among them was brought low by a hangover. But he was young in this body, it wouldn’t take much for Gregory to recover.
“What have you been up to?” Gregory asked. “Are you adjusted to this human form at all?”
Armand decided not to answer the question, but rather cruelly tease him and see if he could exacerbate it a bit. “What was it, beer? Wine? A mix of both? Spirits as well? I bet you’re a tequila man.” Served Gregory right really, for winking at him like that, for being so handsome even with a hangover. Armand should only have eyes for one man just now.
Gregory munched thoughtfully on another piece of American bacon as he considered the question, enjoying the sight of Armand across from him. “I have not had tequila yet. I found I’m not a big fan of wine. I’ve only been sampling the varieties for a week, so I’m certainly no expert yet.” The discussion of alcohol oddly made his nausea worse, but he shoved that away, knowing it was psychosomatic. He gave Armand a charming smile. “Whiskey has been going down smoothly.”
He reached for the tall glass of cold orange juice and took several long slow swallows of the sweet citrus liquid before setting it back down. “There are so many flavors to experience. Nothing like the blood, obviously. But for too long, I have longed to know these foods and drinks, beyond just tasting the hints of it in the victim. Have you had chocolate yet? Or fried potatoes?”
Armand laughed and nodded, amused by his smile and the way he ate his food. There was just something effortlessly charming about Gregory. He supposed that was how he had gotten through so many years of life. “We went to a Michelin star restaurant, and it was fantastic. Though I certainly do see the comfort in fried potatoes.” Then he remembered something, and took a sip of his coffee. “Our business plan… The sunken treasure. Will we still proceed with it?”
Gregory’s dark eyes sparkled at the mention of business. He set his fork down, his other hand reflexively reaching across to Armand’s hand, resting over the warmth of it. Even a week into being human, and he still wasn’t used to feeling the warmth. He let his thumb trail along Armand’s skin. “Of course. Our business! I’m very excited still for this. I can make a few calls and have us on a flight to Spain today, if you like.” Gregory tilted his head, an image of Armand on the deck of a ship slipping into his thoughts, the sea breeze ruffling those auburn locks; and then an image of Armand spread out on Gregory’s bed belowdecks was all the more vibrant.
Where had that come from? Well, his testosterone-driven young male body, clearly. Gregory tried to ignore it, though he found it difficult to do so. “A Michelin star restaurant? With Marius, I assume.” Why did this news spark some competitive urge within him? “Perhaps we could be adventurous and explore Valencia’s streets until we find some hole in the wall gem.”
Armand smiled, taken by Gregory’s enthusiasm in this. He had not expected it, nor had he expected him to reach for his hand. He didn’t know why though, Gregory had shown himself to be a man who expressed himself through touch. He turned his hand beneath Gregory’s to offer more contact. They’d so freely given it as vampires in their little commune--why should this change?
He bit his lip as he thought. “Maybe not today…a couple of days? I need time to prepare myself to go further than the towns around us,” he explained, before smiling softly as he thought back on his dinner date a week ago. “Yes, with Marius… But of course, if we are in Spain, we must try the food and wine.”
How seductive Armand’s voice was even in this mortal form. Gregory found himself drawn by it. “A few days? How will you be prepared in a few days? Are you so frightened of the outside world?” Gregory’s hand gripped Armand’s more firmly. “I will allow nothing to harm you. I come from a long history of keeping guard and protecting the most sacred among us. I promise no hurt will befall you under my watch.”
Armand laughed softly, surprised by the intensity of his voice, his eyes and his grip. Some things never shifted, it seemed, and this protector mentality would not leave Gregory anytime soon. “Be that as it may and as flattered as I am because of it,” he began, because really there was something rather exciting about this grand and powerful man amongst them being concerned about his well-being. It was a miracle they’d not liaised before, with Gregory’s charm and Armand’s lust for powerful men. But it didn’t matter. This was strictly business, and Marius was powerful enough in his eyes to last him a lifetime. “You cannot totally safeguard against viruses or allergies I may not be aware of yet. You can’t protect me from simply slipping and breaking a bone, or rogue waves. I need time. Of course if you really don’t want to wait for me, you are more than welcome to continue this yourself.”
Gregory let go of Armand’s hand, feeling slightly insulted. Was he not exuding enough protective energy? Something he’d struggled with over the past week with his company employees. As if the Blood was what gave him the boss-like dominant aura, and it was nothing at all to do with his core, his soul. All Armand saw here was a twenty-something year old young male. Strong and well built in body, yes, but many were. Gregory wasn’t exactly fully mature, heavily muscled, celebrity body-guard material of the modern day.
“I suppose Marius wants you safe and tucked away here. I would perhaps be the same if I had a fledgling suffering this magic with me. Though it seems a reckless waste. Human life is short, as we all know. Every moment should be seized and experienced and lived to the fullest.” Gregory wondered suddenly if he could go find Lestat and drag him out for some fun. Certainly Lestat would be up for it.
Armand raised a brow, surprised and a little agitated that Gregory had withdrawn his touch so suddenly. He retracted his hand completely and folded his arms. “This is nothing to do with Marius and everything to do with me. I am my own entity in my own right with my own money behind me, money I may not deign to share with you in this venture if you continue to be so fickle,” he quipped. He took his mug and took another sip of the coffee, enjoying the bitterness of it. “I will remain here for at least three days. You will either be here by then or you will not, and if you are not, I will take it as confirmation that this venture will not proceed.”
Gregory stared at Armand, stupefied to be spoken to this way. So assertively. Only Chrysanthe dared to speak this way to him. What was his recourse? He certainly no longer possessed the ancient power which so intimidated others. And Armand was used to being the little coven master in his world. Armand gave the orders in that arena.
Gregory blinked, then cleared his throat, taking another swallow of orange juice before replying. “I will wait for you, Armand,” he said, voice low. “But I don’t require your money in this business. I simply want your company and your experience with such ventures.”
Gregory focused again on his food, the fluffy eggs and the syrup and waffles. He placed a few pieces of bacon on a napkin before Armand. “You must have protein with your morning meal,” he offered. “You are still growing.”
Armand found himself surprised that Gregory hadn’t reacted with harsh words or indifference. He was very surprised that he agreed to wait. He wondered if it had been difficult for him or if it didn’t take any effort at all. Either way, it was appreciated. As a way of thanks, Armand decided not to fight him on this bacon thing. He was going to get underestimated now more than ever, only this time his body would start reflecting their estimations if he didn’t treat it properly.
He picked up a rasher and began to chew it, enjoying the crunchiness of it. “Please don’t think me weak for this, this needing time. Perhaps I am, but I can’t bear to think it.”
“No, never weak,” Gregory quickly reassured. “We are all of us adjusting in our own ways. I simply think three days will make no difference. How could it be any better in three days? And I do have the medical expertise of the entire mortal world at my beck and call. Broken bones, allergic reactions, a sunburn, these things I can’t control, but I can provide expert healing remedies for.”
Armand smiled again, taken with his eagerness to help. They needed people like Gregory around, and not just for the medical backing. For the unflappable positivity, surety, and firmness in all things. It was good to know that things were under control and Armand didn’t need to control them himself. That, at least, gave him some peace. “And what about rogue waves?” He smirked, but wasn’t really expecting an answer. “I don’t know what good three days will do either, but I feel I need them.”
“Then I grant you three days,” Gregory said with a warm smile and small bow of his head. “As for rogue waves, we will make sure not to go out unless the sky is clear. You may wear one of those life vests that puff up with air and keep one afloat. I will alert the Spanish coast guard to be always on watch for our vessel. If worst comes to worst, I was raised in the Tigris River. I was an excellent swimmer, and I’m sure I still am. I will dive and find you.” Gregory felt this was all overkill, but he didn’t want Armand to feel anxiety on their trip. “I promise, again, I will watch over you as if you were my own blood.” With this, he gave Armand a long meaningful look. “Are these truly the things that cause you to hesitate? Or is it that you don’t trust me? I will not bite you,” he said, an unmistakable glint in his eyes.
Armand smiled yet again; it was easy to do around Gregory. He watched every facial expression raptly as he listed every measure he would take. No wonder he became somebody’s whole world whenever they fell in love with him. “It is all of those things,” he assured, “and nothing personal to you. Besides…I couldn’t swim, as a human. I was brought over to Italy on a ship, and mightily feared water for years. I think some of those anxieties, even though they are so many hundreds of years old, are coming back to me.”
“I so understand. I find myself reverting back to the man I must have been as a mortal. It has been so long, though. I hardly remember this person. Yet it is all so familiar.” Gregory finished his breakfast and placed the plate to the side. “But you owned and captained a fleet of ships, did you not? You must know on some level still that as a blood drinker you could face water. That knowledge of water is not just gone. I still understand how to be CEO of a large company. I did not lose that.”
“I’m just afraid,” Armand tried to explain. He brought his foot up onto his chair and rested his chin on his knee, clasping his hands around it. He watched Gregory pensively, admiring his strength and tenacity in all things. “And I’m not used to that.”
The small headache from Gregory’s hangover was rapidly disappearing, along with the nausea. He raked fingers back through his thick black hair, always a little shocked by the shortness. He eyed Armand. Armand had not cut the length of his hair. Did Armand even need to shave yet?
“Fear can be crippling,” Gregory observed. “Again, I won’t let harm come to you. If you like, we can remain on land and allow the more experienced mortals to do the retrieval of the treasures. That’s really what I’d intended in the first place. There is no reason we ourselves must pull up this bounty.”
Armand didn’t quite like that idea either. He hadn’t been afraid of such things for a long time, and very much liked being involved in the action. Usually he liked directing the action, creating it, and he already got the impression that Gregory would take the lead on this expedition. “I think we go out there,” he said finally, looking into the depths of his coffee cup as if that might give him the answers. He was getting to the bottom of it now, and could see the settling grains that so resembled the silt of the ocean floor. “I will start making arrangements.”
Gregory raised one dark brow at this. His own innate need to assert dominance and take the lead on the project warred with his desire to be a full partner with Armand, and take advantage of the younger man’s experience in such treasure retrievals. Gregory wanted this to be a true partnership, in which they both combined their strengths. And Gregory knew, of course, that to be a great CEO and leader, one simply had to relinquish some control. He couldn’t do it all.
He gave Armand a charming smile. “Of course,” he said, pulling out his phone. “I will text you the location of the sunken ship. You may do what you need to set things up. I will also give you the contact information for my assistant. She can provide any additional assistance you need.”
Armand smiled in turn, slightly more curt than Gregory’s smile. A few of his words this morning had put Armand on edge, but he wouldn’t word this. There were no stakes Armand had in this, not if Gregory didn’t want his money at all, and it could be very fun and a chance to form a stronger bond with Gregory. So he smiled a little broader, standing with his empty coffee cup and his half eaten croissant. “Until then, three days.”
Gregory gave Armand a parting nod and watched his exit. He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he was curious what it might be like to bed Armand. The man was a siren of temptation. Gregory wanted a taste of the young seductive adolescent body that brought even the great Marius to heel. What sort of lover would Armand be in Gregory’s bed? Would he be vocal and demanding? Docile and sweet? Something else? Gregory contemplated it and then found himself becoming far too aroused for a public setting.
Forcing his thoughts away from that topic, Gregory returned to the tables of food with his plate, reloading it with ham slices, grapes, and a sweet treat he’d come to love, a chocolate-frosted donut. Then he returned to his seat and focused once more on the exploration and enjoyment of food.
Notes:
This chapter written by D and T
Chapter 58: Sad Creatures
Summary:
Lestat joins the besotted Gregory for breakfast, and Gregory tries to convince him to leave the chateau behind.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As usual, when Lestat made his appearance in the ballroom for breakfast, he was at once swarmed by all the people—humans now, all human—who had been waiting for this very opportunity to speak to him. Why they never just called or texted him, he didn’t know. It was always when he was trying to eat or get from one place or another that they needed to ask him questions or express some concern about their stay in his house.
After a week of it now, he’d stopped putting off his own needs for their sake, and if they minded that he went about filling his plate while they spoke, they at least hid it well. He grabbed a croissant and a good helping of meat and cheese, and noted that the small selection of American breakfast foods has been nearly cleaned out. People liked the novelty of them, he supposed. He’d have to tell the caterer to increase those options going forward. He kept to the typical continental fare for himself.
When Gregory caught sight of him from his table, excitement burst within his chest. Mortal Lestat, selecting food and chatting with the few others staying here at the castle. Just as if this were all perfectly normal now. Gregory had not seen the man since their sexual encounter a week prior. He’d texted a few times to check in for news and to say hello, but he hadn’t wanted to bother Lestat. He hadn’t wanted to come across as some besotted youth, unable to think of anything but his newfound crush. How nice it was to look on him again. Memories of their tangled limbs and shared pleasures filled Gregory’s thoughts.
What was this? Had he really been this much of a player, a lover, a pleasure seeker, as a mortal man? Certainly, he’d had other pursuits.
Even now, Gregory was unsure if he should wave Lestat over to sit with him. Would Lestat agree to the offer? Would he already have plans to sit elsewhere with those who surrounded him? Perhaps he was taking the food up to his rooms. Perhaps he had someone up there, waiting in his bed for breakfast. Though, it didn’t seem like Lestat was gathering enough food for two.
Making up his mind, Gregory caught Lestat’s eye and smiled, gesturing to the empty seat Armand had vacated earlier.
Lestat blinked in surprise. Gregory was here? Just here now, eating breakfast amid the scattered guests, as if it were nothing at all that he was suddenly back without even having alerted Lestat that he was visiting.
Although he would never admit it as such, even to himself, Lestat had been hurt when Gregory so immediately left the chateau after the night they spent together. Hurt that he seemed to give no thought at all to returning or being at all involved with the struggles the former vampires were going through, much less anything personal weighing on Lestat’s mind and heart. Could it be that Gregory had his fill of the charade among true mortals already, and was here to stay for a time? Lestat wouldn’t let himself hope. Not when it seemed to mean so little to Gregory.
He arched an eyebrow at him across the room, his expression questioning, even as he continued to listen to the young woman in front of him who was needlessly pleading with him for permission for her coven mates to come back to the castle to join her, as they were finding integrating among humanity back home harder than they expected. “You don’t even have to ask,” he reassured her. “Please have them come at once. There are dozens of rooms available.”
Once she’d finally moved on, Lestat made his way over to Gregory’s table, though most of his food was already gone by the time he set his plate down with two hands. “You’re back,” he said, looking down at Gregory from across the small table, his eyes flicking over him and trying to glean what they could from his appearance to guess why. Gregory looked tired, yet energetic at the same time, shadowy smudges under his eyes despite the glint within them. He was much less slickly groomed than Lestat was accustomed to seeing him, but he liked that. It made Gregory seem like a real man for once…
Gregory blinked up at him, all words having evaporated. Lestat’s smooth voice, his French, his lovely eyes, the very way he stood there, like it was nothing at all. So regal…
Gregory laughed a little. He looked away, because it was the only way to get his thoughts in order and to make words form. Was it warm? He wasn’t blushing, was he? So unlike him to be this awkward!
“Yes, I am back. For the weekend. I was a drunk mess last night. My beloved Chrysanthe flew me here.”
Just for the weekend? Well, there went any hopes Lestat might have been stupid enough to let himself harbor…
Gregory recalled suddenly that he’d seen Rhoshamandes last night. That he’d been truly frightened for the first time in centuries! His eyes returned to Lestat. “Please, sit with me. I have news to tell you. “ Gregory leaned closer, across the table, his dark eyes looking up to Lestat, who was eying him quietly, seeming like he might decline his offer for the seat. But Gregory spoke low, beneath his breath, “Rhoshamandes visited me.”
Instantly alert, Lestat forgot his personal concerns. He shot a rapid glance around them to make sure no one was close enough to hear, and then he slid into the chair, pushing his plate forward to make room for his arms to lean on the table, closer to Gregory. “When?” he asked in a low, urgent voice. “He came here, too. Six nights ago.” That there’d been no sign of him since had given Lestat hope that Rhosh had only wanted to see Benedict for himself and that was the last of it.
“Last night. In Paris. He followed me into a bar where I was celebrating with some of my employees.” Gregory gazed into Lestat’s blue eyes, momentarily forgetting his thoughts. He reached for his glass of orange juice and took several long swallows. The sweet cold citrus sensation distracted him enough to return to his recounting of the previous night. “He was his usual threatening self.” He gave a small shake of his head and a slightly self-deprecating laugh. “I’m afraid I was rather drunk… I don’t recall the full details. Simply that he held me still with the mind trick for some time. Luckily, Zenobia was near enough to see and called in the rest of my kin to the scene.”
Lestat’s golden brows pinched into a frown. He was glad Gregory didn’t seem to think there was any reason to take Rhosh’s visit too seriously, but he saw nothing to laugh about. No other vampires had come so near to the chateau as Rhosh had, all afraid of being too near the miasma that transformed the rest of them. “But what did he want?” Lestat asked, his tone deeply concerned, pushing Gregory to ponder the question if he didn’t readily know the answer. “He came here because he wanted Benedict, but what would he want from you?”
Gregory blinked, feeling slightly insulted by the question. “What would he want with me? I was his mentor. The Queen gave him to me after she made him. We hold a bond, no matter how many eons have passed. We have a history, Lestat. Rather like you and Armand share history, even if you are not close. He wanted to see me as a mortal. He wanted to see me weak.”
Gregory looked away, to the mortals at a table some distance from their own. He hadn’t enjoyed the visit from Rhosh at all, and he’d rather forget it ever happened. “I’m trying to bury myself in new experiences, Lestat. I’m trying to do all the things I ever felt the least amount curious about. If I don’t keep myself busy and distracted, I sink. Rhosh scared me. I don’t handle fear well.” When he looked back at Lestat, he felt the prickle of terror threatening deep within his belly. He grabbed the near-empty glass of juice and finished it off, concentrating once more on the sweetness.
Lestat’s frown slipped into a slightly more confused expression. He still didn’t understand what Rhosh wanted, what sort of plan he might have, what they needed to be prepared for if he would be making more visits like this. Did he intend to destroy them all before they could find a way back into the Blood again? Was he just biding his time for a way to manage it without invoking the wrath of those still immortal? Lestat couldn’t believe Rhosh had simply meant to toy with Gregory or gloat. There had to be more to it….
The harried look that flickered across Gregory’s gaze pulled at Lestat’s empathy. He knew just what Gregory meant about sinking. Reaching across the table, he put warm fingers on the back of Gregory’s hand, searching his eyes. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know,” he said softly. “You left us so quickly… I thought…thought perhaps we repulsed you, being around those who were like yourself, who reminded you of the monster we cannot escape. But isn’t it terribly lonely for you out there with only mortals around you? Mortals who can never know who you really are anymore than they could when you had the Blood? Even if we are still weak when we are together, or afraid, at least you would not be alone.”
Gregory frowned a bit. He turned his hand over and clasped Lestat’s. “No… No, I want to be with the regular humans very much. Even when I was the ancient Blood Drinker, I wanted to be among them. And now I am so much closer to them! I can dine with them, drink with them, sleep with them. I am not interested in being locked away here in this castle for days and weeks on end. This is not life, Lestat. Yes, these people all share the same experiences of being previously immortal and thirsty for blood. But I don’t need to spend my days among them with nothing but these stone walls around us. Weak, alone, afraid, as you say.” Gregory looked sincerely into Lestat’s eyes, trying to make him see his point of view in this matter. “Even with the danger of other Blood Drinkers out there still, I won’t hide away here. There is no more safety here than out there. Think on it, Lestat. When was a mortal ever able to escape you once the thirst set you on the hunt?” Gregory gave a knowing smile. “Never. So this place is no more safe or secure than any other place would be.” Gregory gave Lestat’s hand a slight squeeze, lowering his voice to something more intimate between them. “Come back to Paris with me. You don’t have to stay here either. I want to spend more time with you.”
Lestat’s gaze fell to the empty orange juice glass on the table, no longer connected to Gregory’s, his expression pensive. He shook his head a little. “It is not this place,” he corrected. It was the company. It was being around people who understood what they were going through, not having to ‘fake it’ like he did the night he spent in Paris after his disappointing meeting with Fareed, and whenever he spent time down in the village with the mortals there. “I hate it here now, honestly,” he added, his gaze still distant. Although he did not withdraw his hand from Gregory’s, it was limp and unresponsive in his grasp. “Being so far away from the world. It’s as bad now as it was when I was a boy in these remote mountains. I would not be out there alone, as you like to be, with no one to ever know me.”
The thought of doing it with Gregory as a companion, however, would make up for that…but it was impossible.
“They need me here,” he explained. “Someone has to look after them. For as long as it takes for all of them to get on their feet.” He would have loved to have had Gregory’s help with it all, but he understood Gregory had other priorities and wanted to focus only on his own pleasure. “None of us think we’re safe, my friend. That’s not it at all. This just happens to be the place where we are now. And there is much work to be done.”
Gregory looked around the ballroom once more. There were not many here now. Not so many that they needed real leadership, as far as he could see. But perhaps Lestat needed to feel useful in this way, so that he too would not sink. Just as Gregory needed to be the company CEO every day. Distraction. “What work needs to be done?” he asked with genuine interest. “How have the people been this past week? How is Louis managing?”
Lestat shrugged and let go of Gregory’s hand to pick up a piece of cheese and chew it slowly. He didn’t think he really wanted to know how Louis was managing, was afraid to know… If Louis was doing well, enjoying himself, thriving, Lestat would be miserable. But neither did he want Louis to suffer or struggle… No, neither answer would set him at ease. Best he just not know.
Of course, Lestat had been thinking about Louis constantly since the night they’d drunk too much claret and he’d fucked him in the closet. How could he be thinking anything else after that experience? The memory made a sensual little shudder run through him even now. He’d seen Louis around since then, of course, but Lestat really had been busy with all the work that needed doing, with the couple dozen people in his house who pulled his attention in different directions every day.
“Having construction done on that room back there,” he said, pointing to the ballroom wall behind Gregory, to answer his first question. “So they can install the industrial sized refrigerators and dishwashers. They need to bring the plumbing up, and getting competent people up here in this weather has been a pain in the ass no matter how much money I offer.” He rolled up a thin slice of meat and popped it in his mouth as his fingers ripped little pieces off the croissant. “Do you have any allergies? It seems every other day, someone here is discovering a new one and we’re rushing them off to the medic. You came on a good day, it’s finally warm enough in here with the new curtains.” He waved a hand toward the glass wall that covered one whole side of the balloon, now hung with giant velvet drapes. “Took eight of us all day to get those up. They weigh a ton. Literally. We probably should have waited to get a crane lift in here, but we couldn’t see each other while we ate, our breath was so thick in the air. I thought I was going to have to close off this room completely until springtime.”
He shook his head, he could go on and on, but he didn’t actually enjoy complaining, never had. “As for how they’ve been…” Lestat gave a discreet glance around the room. A few of them had been watching him, but quickly looked away when they saw him notice. He lowered his voice. “Morale is low. The ones who have come back here, well… Let’s just say, all the ones who went home, or wherever, are probably having just as much fun and frolic as you’ve been. They have no need of us here. But the ones who do…” Lestat’s lips pressed into a tight line. “They’re all waiting for me to tell them it’s the day… They don’t know what Fareed told me. I never told anyone the whole of it besides you and Marius. He’s kept it just as tight. They’re restless, confused…but every damn one of them is still only surviving on the fantasy that this is temporary.” Lestat would have to break Fareed’s conclusions to them somehow…but he wanted more information first before the news had them throwing themselves out the highest turret windows.
Gregory looked at Lestat with a small curve to his lips. “I apparently don’t do well with dairy. Learned that quickly.” He gave a small laugh. “But the magic of modern humanity has produced this little pill one can take to combat the reaction. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the little paper-sealed pill to show Lestat he didn’t leave home without them now. “I have discovered no other allergies.”
He was silent for a moment, watching Lestat eat his small portion of food. What was this small breakfast preference? Armand had barely eaten his own croissant and the piece of bacon Gregory pushed on him. “You don’t want to gain weight? Or you simply can’t handle food?” he asked, wishing he could read Lestat’s thoughts at this moment.
Lestat’s face scrunched in confusion and he looked down at the croissant and meat and cheese and fruit on his plate; he’d already eaten a good deal of it while talking to the others before sitting here. “It’s breakfast,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. This was what people in France ate for breakfast, and a far better version of it than he ever had when he was a boy. The midday meal was the one meant to be large and cooked. He eyed the remnants of sugar and grease all over Gregory’s plate. It made his stomach cramp just to look at it. “You’ve been spending too much time with Americans, my friend.”
“These others,” Gregory said, “who are not adjusting as quickly as I apparently have. I can help them adjust more quickly.”
Lestat honestly wasn’t sure Gregory really had adjusted as quickly as he claimed. He seemed somewhat in denial to Lestat, and he wondered when the reality was going to come crashing down on him. “I would appreciate your help,” he said evenly, watching him closely. “Some of them need jobs. Maybe you can find something for them in Paris.”
And then they’d get out of my house, he thought bitterly. As long as this place was full of people who needed him, Lestat was stuck here, taking care of them. He couldn’t hire mortals to take over, (it was all too suspicious, too many things out of place, and the former vampires shouldn’t have to live with their pain in secret, should be free to talk about it around the house as they needed to). And no other former vampires had stepped up to offer to take Lestat’s place. He had Marius at his side, but he would never leave everything to him. He wondered if Marius was just as resentful of being stuck here as he was.
Lestat picked up his winter peach and took a big bite of it, keeping his eyes on Gregory’s the whole while. “What else could you do?”
Gregory looked once more over the few others here, eating their small plates of food. Sad creatures, all of them. He looked again to Lestat, across from him, and he too seemed stamped with the sadness. “Just tell them. Tell them now that Fareed says he sees no way to turn us back. They deserve the truth. You can’t protect them. And you are no longer responsible for them, other than as some glorified hotel manager now.” In fact, Gregory realized his decision to return here was perhaps misplaced. He was encroaching on Lestat’s hospitality, the same as all these others. “You don’t want all these guests, do you? I certainly don’t want them working for me. They’ve, most of them, been alive long enough. They should know how to find work and shelter. They should have money stashed aside already. Do you want me to announce it to them? I’ll tell them to get out. I’ll go too. You and Louis go back to New Orleans. Be warm and happy there… In fact, I may go to New York, now that you mentioned I’m too Americanized. I would love to see that city with mortal eyes.”
“No!” Lestat almost choked on his peach, and had to take a moment to swallow before he could think. The response had been pure instinct—he didn’t want Gregory to leave! He’d been upset all week at how easily he had left before and how little Gregory seemed to care for any of the struggles going on here in their bereaved community. And it hurt more than just Lestat’s pride to think that Gregory would think nothing of sending him to New Orleans while he went off to New York and forgot all about him.
But pride was what kept him from admitting this now, and instead, he stammered out, “I don’t… It’s not the winter I dislike. I want the snow. It is only being a hundred kilometers from the nearest supermarket or hardware store or restaurant or…” He shook his head. He had the snowplow for his streets and the village, but they had no control over clearing the rest of the road back down to civilization. Relying on the helicopter had always been fine for the needs of the villagers the past couple years, but for the kind of work the castle required to make it habitable in the long run, they needed heavy trucks getting up the mountain, and each storm that came through could put a halt on that for days at a time.
“Paris,” Lestat blurted. “I wouldn’t go further than that.” He’d just been talking with Benedict the other day about such a relocation…though he wasn’t sure if Benedict would still be interested in tagging along anymore. He got the feeling Benedict had been avoiding him since the day he caught Louis spying on them in bed. That thought made Lestat feel more like a failure than anything else. If he couldn’t even help Benedict through this time—sweet, gentle Benedict, who was impossible not to adore—then what good would he ever end up being to any of the others who were relying on him?
“But don’t go to New York.” A hint of desperation glinted in Lestat’s eyes.
Gregory looked deeply into them. How could he fix it for Lestat? Make the supply chain move more easily into the castle. He certainly had his own resources. Perhaps ones Lestat didn’t have.
He leaned in close, voice a whisper between them. “I want to help you. I may seem flighty and indifferent, but I’m not unaware. I can have people assigned to help move things more easily, even through hard winters. I’ve lived and worked in Switzerland since the 800’s. I know snow too.”
Gregory laughed softly. He reached again to place a hand over Lestat’s where it lay on the table. “I won’t go to New York,” he promised. Besides, he had to go treasure hunting with Armand in three days. His eyes darted to Lestat’s plate and then back to his face. “Do you want to spend some time together…in my room?” he suggested with a rakish grin. Certainly a little alone time would brighten things for the both of them.
Lestat was glad he hadn’t tried to take another bite of his peach. The color rose to his cheeks, and he stared at Gregory for a silent moment, considering this proposition. How was it his mortal body could go from simmering frustration and bitterness to blossoming arousal in the span of five seconds? The effect that look in Gregory’s eyes, that smile, the heat of his hand, had on him… There ought to have been a whole list of objections to rise to Lestat’s mind, but they were nowhere to be found, and all he felt now was the pulsing urge to throw the table between them aside and pounce on Gregory and drag him to the floor.
He blinked a little, trying to shake off this effect, but he knew he’d already given himself away entirely, so he did not try to deny it. Smiling slowly at Gregory, he set the peach down on his plate, and then sucked a rivulet of juice off the side of his thumb before speaking again. “Now?” he asked, just to make sure Gregory didn’t want to shove more sugar donuts in his face before leaving the ballroom. The thought of how sweet his mouth would taste had Lestat’s jeans growing tight right where he sat.
Heat pooled in Gregory’s belly and then lower still as he watched Lestat’s mouth. That tongue could do magical things, Gregory remembered all too well. “Well,” he started, his voice thick with desire. “Now… Or after you finish that peach.” His gaze slid away from Lestat’s lips and up over the handsome contours of his face and finally to his eyes. “Have you had many lovers this past week?” he asked. Curious and jealous all at once. “I’ve been getting some practice in, myself.” Another slow smile curved his lips. “None of them could compare to you.”
Lestat laughed out loud, because he was quite certain that couldn’t be true. He’d valued his time with Gregory, but the terrible news he’d been digesting at the time had cast a pall over the whole day. He’d been desperate that night, needy, clinging to Gregory because he’d known he was going to leave in the morning and he was already upset about it. Of course, it hadn’t made a bit of difference to Gregory. But at least he’d given in and stayed through the night. That was the only night Lestat hadn’t slept alone. Although he’d had four other ‘lovers,’ as Gregory put it, since becoming human, his encounter with Gregory was the only one that had ended in sleep. And he’d spent more hours in a row asleep with him in his arms than he had been able to sleep any other day since all this began, his schedule wildly erratic.
Now, of course, it was first thing in the morning. Nothing would be the same, and he smirked as he considered just what he and Gregory might do with each other this time. “I don’t think you really want to know,” he said, his eyes shimmering with amusement and anticipation. Lestat’s fingertips alighted on the peach, but he only rolled it a little back and forth on the plate as he looked Gregory over with equal slow interest.
Yes, maybe Gregory didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to think of any others in bed with Lestat at all, really. Not even if it were Louis. Gregory’s eyes narrowed as he considered it. But then he was distracted again by what was in front of him; Lestat looking so delicious and flirting with him. How beautiful Lestat would look, all stretched out and naked in the sunlight coming through the windows.
Gregory returned the smile, ducking his head, tongue sliding over his lower lip, eyes large. “Yes… Let’s go now, up to my rooms… Or yours. I don’t care,” he purred.
Entirely forgotten were all the other people in the room, inevitably watching Lestat as they broke their fasts. If they noticed what was going on between him and Gregory right now, Lestat wouldn’t even know how to care. His eyes followed Gregory’s tongue like they were tied by a string, and he found himself desperate to know exactly what thought had put that shimmer behind Gregory’s gaze. It made Lestat’s heartbeat shiver up toward his throat, and he was becoming too excited to stay seated one moment longer.
His hand clenched around the peach, as if he’d crush it, and he leaned forward across the table, his eyes fixed on Gregory’s. “Yours are closer.”
Rising then, he barely managed to push his chair in before he was leading the way from the room through the servant’s exit in the back hall, leaving everything but the peach on the table without a thought as to who’d clean it up.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and D.
Chapter 59: Everything For Him
Summary:
Louis seizes the opportunity to apologize to Benedict for watching him and Lestat have sex, and try to make up for how hurt and violated Benedict feels.
Notes:
Woo! We've passed 200,000 words!
CW- Discussion of past non-consensual voyeurism.
Since it's been a while, refer back to chapters 49 and 50 for a refresher on what Louis and Benedict are discussing here.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Louis stood transfixed just inside the main entryway to the ballroom as he watched Lestat and Gregory get up from the breakfast table together and hastily leave through the back hall. Lestat with that twinkle in his eyes, that self-assured swagger, and Gregory, besotted of course, following along after as if pulled like a magnet.
Louis found himself unable to move. A foreign feeling seized his heart. Not jealousy, really. Envy perhaps? It was not that Louis wanted Lestat never to have such experiences, not that he wanted to remove Gregory or anyone else from the equation…
The smell of freshly baked bread finally turned Louis’s head, and he moved as if he were soulless, toward the long table where the spread was arranged for the taking. He plucked a croissant from the pile, spooned a few berries and fruits onto his plate and paused in front of the cold meats, the sight of anything more heavy making his stomach turn in a way that was counter to how it should react. Why wasn’t he hungry anymore? Why did his mind keep stuck on Lestat, and imagining all the ways he and Gregory might fit so perfectly together?
Louis shook his head and pushed the thoughts away only to turn and find in his line of sight, the lovely Benedict seated in an alcove on the far side of the ballroom, looking forlorn. Louis paused, his mind racing off down a different path that inevitably ended up in the exact same spot. Lestat, and all the ways he had fit so perfectly with Benedict too.
Louis made a face of self-disgust. What was wrong with him!? The last he had seen Benedict had been awkward indeed because Louis had not had the wherewithal to be any sort of decent or self-respecting, and had simply stared at him and Lestat like some starved animal in the bedroom doorway. It was a source of shame to Louis, as much as he had relished the display.
He almost turned away and went straight back up to his rooms at this, but something snared him. The way Benedict slumped in his chair at the furthest table mirrored Louis’s own despondency. Louis’s guilt tugged too at his heartstrings, and so he approached.
Benedict stared down at the toast on his plate with a bite taken out of it. He’d not been able to stomach anymore than this, and it had been much the same way the last five days. Around day two, he’d remembered he’d always been like this in mortal life. If something thoroughly distressed him, as often it did with his sensitive soul, he would lose all appetite. And here, now, he was very thoroughly distressed.
He was hurt, and it had taken him a while to accept that he was even angry. He’d been violated, in a way, but Lestat and Louis had seemed so eager to play it off as if it were nothing, and so he wondered if he’d mistaken it for violation. After all, they were all still, in their hearts, vampires, and what was the shame in one vampire walking in on two others?
Well, everything for him.
He’d been vulnerable with Lestat and he felt violated. But he felt like he didn’t even deserve to be angry with them. He’d taken too much in sharing Lestat’s bed as well as his roof. And then there was Rhoshamandes, too. The constant fear of nightfall in case Rhosh decided to lure him outside of the castle walls or creep through the windows, the fear of what Rhosh might do to him and everyone else here if he wished it. He was, after all, tremendously old and powerful.
Benedict pulled his feet up onto the edge of the chair with his knees up to his chest, feeling very close to crying again. There was no peace, there was no solace, and now, there was no companionship either. He was deciding to make the journey back to his room when he saw a man’s feet approach and stop before him. He looked upwards, wondering if they were after the table—he was done with it after all—but, it was Louis.
Benedict’s breath hitched and his heart hurt, and again he was so angry, but he tried not to project it. He tried to smile. “Good morning.”
“Is it?” Louis asked with the barest hints of a self-effacing laugh, and nervously he looked over his shoulder, back toward the rear hall doors, now shut and empty. “May I sit?” he asked, looking back to Benedict. There was something in Benedict’s eyes that made Louis hesitate, something that seemed to say ‘tread carefully’ and Louis wanted to oblige. “You don’t have to say yes.”
Benedict wished he didn’t have to say yes. He wished he could have any sort of strength or value to stand up for himself and what he needed. But he didn’t. He wondered if he had always been a wretch or if Rhoshamandes made him that way.
He looked out of the sliver of window between the curtains for a moment, not answering Louis’s first question. It obviously wasn’t a good morning. “If you’d like to,” he nodded, with the same small smile. “Please know before you sit that I don’t have much strength, mental or physical, to hold a decent conversation. I have nothing to offer you just now.”
Here was a man with strength beyond his own recognition, Louis thought. To be able to articulate such a small but powerful phrase as that. To admit that he was in such a state aloud.
Louis sat, staring at Benedict briefly then quickly pulling his eyes away, down to his own plate. “I could say the same, but am too prideful and weak to admit it. You may be stronger than you realize,” Louis said, finding his own breakfast unappetizing now. Typical. Unwilling to touch the buttery flakiness of the croissant, Louis took his fork and pried one triangular end away from the whole, stabbing it, starting at it, trying to work himself up to taking a bite.
“I am the weakest person I know,” Benedict confessed quietly, looking at Louis again finally. He studied his face, this man beyond beautiful and so desirable, much the same as Lestat, that it often sent him to fever pitch. But he couldn’t forget the sight of Louis once he and Lestat had just finished, a deer in headlights, guilty but still there. And how long had he even been there? And Lestat, too, his face guilty, but as if there were a small humor to the situation. Lestat had tried telling him it was all right. All right for who? Certainly not Benedict, and he was angry to have been told otherwise.
“I owe you more apologies than I can make,” Louis said, quietly, still staring at his food as though that singular morsels of bread, like everything else, were just an unfortunate inevitability of life that he had to swallow.
“I am inclined, as always, to say that of course you don’t owe me any apologies. You were roaming in your own home, in your own lover’s room. I was an unwelcome intrusion. I am inclined to put all blame on myself once again and wear down my own self-worth and spirit again so that I am crumbling under the weight of living. But…” Benedict felt his courage faltering then. This was uncharacteristic boldness for him, but it hadn’t felt like boldness or courage until now. It had felt effortless, listless, like he didn’t care or that he was so in the right he didn’t need to fear retribution. For a moment, he faltered to remember who he was talking to and how much he owed Louis. And then he frowned again. “But you do owe me an apology. I don’t like what happened, one bit.”
Louis put down his fork slowly, the bread untouched and looked at Benedict, watching his expressions, hearing his voice and understanding. His heart twisted in his chest, wounded but deserving of that wound. Louis nodded. “I do. I know. I am sorry,” he said, still so quiet, meek. “You had every right to be where you were. Every right to your privacy. Lestat is not my possession; I am not his. I am sorry. I should not have stayed.” Louis rested his hands flat on the table, submissive but resolute.
“I am sorry,” Benedict countered. Knowing he had hurt Louis was worth putting aside all of his own hurt, and that was his problem, it always has been. “I am lost…I—” He nearly told Louis about Rhoshamandes, but wondered if Lestat wanted anyone to know. He didn’t want to risk throwing the whole chateau into a panic just because he was hurting. “I am no good to be around just now. I’m wondering if I need to find somewhere else to live, so that I can learn to know myself and how to behave. I don’t know who I am without him, without Rhoshamandes. I am hurt, I don’t know if I should be, if I am right to say it, if I should shout it from the rooftops. I feel alone but I don’t want to see anyone, I feel wounded. How can I be a person? I’ve spent twelve hundred years at someone’s heel.” Louis didn’t deserve this rant, he didn’t have the answers.
“You shouldn’t have to leave. No one wants you to go.” It was the first thing Louis thought, and he couldn’t stop himself from blurting the words. “But neither would we make you stay against your will. If you needed the space—the solitude.”
Louis could not possibly fathom just what it meant to exist so long feeling like Benedict did. He shook his head. “I can’t begin to understand the whole of it,” he admitted. “But I am at your disposal. I will do what I can to aid you. Even if it is your wish that I do nothing and leave you be. I owe you that much, to express my apology, if not more.”
“I don’t think anyone can do anything,” Benedict admitted, running his hands over his face and pressing his palms into his eyes so as not to cry in front of Louis. Louis’s voice was so gentle, he was so genuine, and he’d taken the criticism so well. Something in Benedict worried Lestat wouldn’t receive it all so well. “I think I’m fundamentally broken, if you must know, and I don’t even know where to begin to fix myself. But such a thing should not be put on anyone but me. For so long I have had such a strong, ancient presence about me, an answer to all questions even if they were wrong. Now I feel so completely fractured. I don’t know what I will do. I don’t know why I’m telling you this in a public room, or at all.”
Louis could at least understand the sentiment of feeling fundamentally broken, even if his own experiences were likely very different from Benedict’s. “I don’t mind to hear it,” he breathed, surprised to be privy to all of this but accepting of it nonetheless. It was the least he could do, be an ear for Benedict’s grievances. He had half a mind to ask about Rhoshamandes, but thought better of it, the anguish in Benedict’s expression clear enough when he had said Rhosh’s name just moments before.
“If I stop to think too long about what has befallen us,” Louis confessed, “I feel I may go mad. It is different, but I feel as if a vast endless well is opening up beneath me, and I exist because I am tethered to this body, with its needs and its yearnings that I have not felt in over two hundred years. To think how that feeling might be multiplied six times as much, I can only imagine.”
Benedict placed his head in his hands, feeling utterly despairing and alone. Things certainly felt like they couldn’t get any worse in this moment, but he knew they could. He knew the threat of Rhosh was still out there. He knew they might never be vampires again. He knew Lestat might lash out to hear how badly Benedict felt about Louis having watched them, and Lestat having known. He would go mad if all such things happened, with how rotten he felt now. “Please, never do anything like that again. Please. There probably won’t be another opportunity for it in any case, but I found it mortifying. Not even that you watched, but that I wasn’t asked.”
“I know,” Louis whispered, feeling it, just to look at Benedict and the pain so evident, written across his face. “It wasn’t seemly, went against everything moral and right in my sensibilities, and still I stayed, for reasons I would rather not speak aloud. Too shameful. I’m so very sorry. Wish that I might do it differently, make the choice to turn around and leave.” Louis winced, not only to see Benedict’s anguish and know he was the cause, but because it seemed the act of watching had also stripped Lestat of ever enjoying Benedict in such a way as that again. “I promise, that I won’t.”
Benedict might have argued that he was entitled to hear Louis’s reason even if it was shameful. It was his naked body Louis had been staring at after all. He decided not to push it. Louis seemed so contrite, and it seemed very uncharacteristic of him to do these things. Maybe it was simply an innocent lapse in judgment.
Sighing again, Benedict looked back out of the slit of window so he didn’t have to view Louis’s beautiful face and hurt even more. “Thank you. As it stands, I don’t think it will be a problem again any time soon anyway. But really, I appreciate your gentleness and your willingness to listen to me.”
Louis hesitated, thinking on all the unspoken reasons for why he had stayed and watched. That he had deprived himself at the time of what he ultimately wanted too did not help. But there was no viable excuse for his actions that day, no real sympathetic reason he had lingered and watched other than his own desperate want to be touched in that way by Lestat, and his own wish to witness such carnal acts played out in the flesh by two people such as the lovely and delicate Benedict and the powerfully handsome Lestat. There were myriad different ways he could have acted that would not have resulted in Benedict’s pain, and Louis knew his own lustful desire was to blame.
“Ask of me anything and I will grant it,” Louis said. “If it is within my power, I will do whatever I can to make it happen. You owe me no thanks; I owe you my undying remorse.”
Even in the asking of this, Louis felt his guilt rising ever more, worried now that he was pressing too hard for his own want for absolution, afraid instead that he should merely make himself scarce so that Benedict might have peace from him.
“There is nothing you can do for me that is within your power to do. Take all of my pain away, make me forget everything ever…help me get a good sleep,” Benedict pressed, though the last suggestion didn’t sound too impossible for Louis to at least try. Benedict had barely slept, the odd few hours here and there since it had all occurred, again enough to survive but not thrive. And it wasn’t just because of Louis and Lestat. Again, at night, he felt he needed to be alert of Rhoshamandes. “Help me get some sleep?”
Louis stood up abruptly. Somehow his chair didn’t topple to the floor, though it made somewhat of a clattering racket as it slid. “Of course,” he breathed. “Yes. I can try. Some sort of herbal tea perhaps to relax you, a quiet dark room with curtains drawn. Soothing music? I will even sit outside your room or any room you desire. I’ll ensure you aren’t disturbed.” For one fleeting instant, Louis nearly called out to the whole of the occupants in the ballroom to get out of the castle completely, but he stopped himself. It was a large enough structure, despite how its halls echoed, that completely vacating the place likely would not be required.
Benedict’s eyes widened. He held the table fast and looked around as Louis caught a few people’s attention, and he was a little embarrassed. If they were looking at Louis then they were looking at him, and he simply didn’t want to exist to anyone at the moment. But he couldn’t be too angry, with how passionate and determined Louis was to help him achieve this. He really was sorry, he really did want to help.
“I don’t know, I haven’t tried much. I haven’t really left my room. I’d like clean bedsheets and a bath, maybe some tea. I don’t have the energy for any of that, though, and again I curse this new human nature. It was much easier to rot as a vampire, when we didn’t have to worry about truly physically rotting.”
“I can see to that. Wait here a moment.”
Louis seemed to collect a bit of his composure, so heartened was he by the prospect of a clear direction, a possible way to ease Benedict’s suffering, and he left the room at once. Benedict was startled, to say the least. He remained seated, too full of thoughts and surprise to think of moving.
Notes:
This chapter written by K and T
Chapter 60: Let Me In
Summary:
Lestat and Gregory chase away the miseries of mortality in bed together, where Gregory bottoms for the first time in his entire ancient existence. Explicit
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It had taken great effort for Lestat not to stop and accost Gregory in the servant’s hall behind the ballroom as soon as the door was closed behind them, but he strode on. Though Lestat didn’t rush, his step was light and full of energy, and he finished his peach along the way, even as he took the stairs two at a time up to Gregory’s private chateau rooms.
Lestat let himself into Gregory’s suite, leaving him to follow, and he flicked the peach pit into the waste paper basket by the writing desk. He licked the juice from his fingers as he crossed to the window and threw back the curtains, letting the sunlight stream in over him, just as Gregory had imagined it downstairs.
When Lestat met him again in the center of the room, he slid one arm around Gregory’s waist to at last press their bodies close. Gregory couldn’t help the reflexive motion of his hips, grinding against Lestat’s thigh, a deep groan in his throat. Turning his face down against Gregory’s throat, Lestat breathed him in deeply before softly biting his earlobe. “Take off your clothes.”
A muscle ticked in Gregory’s jaw as he drew in a stuttering breath. “Take off my clothes?” he asked, voice gravelly and deep. What an odd thing, to feel at once this need to be dominant and submissive. He was the older one here, after all. He was the stronger one, if they were still in their immortal forms. But he also came from a history of serving the Court. Serving the Queen’s pleasure, and that need to please never really washed out of him. He knew how to be yielding, compliant, with the right partner. And Lestat was a hundred percent the right partner.
Gregory smiled slyly as he took a step back, taking hold of the bottom of the hoodie he wore. Pulling it up over his head, he let it drop to the floor, his eyes fixed firmly on Lestat’s the whole while. He toed off each of his shoes, then went for his pants, efficiently undoing them so that he might let them slide down his legs as he stepped out of them.
Lestat had planned to undress as well, but as soon as Gregory started to strip, he was far too distracted and didn’t end up getting off so much as a shoe. He merely stared, the back of his mouth getting dryer by the second.
Gregory stood there, fully nude, the sunlight bathing every inch of his skin and pooling around him on the floor. His arousal obvious, jutting up, his breathing a little quicker than usual. Gregory tilted his head endearingly, eyes large and dark. He licked his lips, heart thudding, as he stared at Lestat’s mouth, longing to kiss and taste. “And now what?”
Lestat laughed out loud and came forward to meet him with an elated smile. “Damn you,” he said, laughing again as he pulled Gregory into his arms and covered his face in a flurry of kisses before pushing him to walk backward to take him to bed. The sheets and comforter were still rumpled from when Gregory had risen only an hour ago, and that suited Lestat just fine. They had made such a sticky mess of everything last time they were in this bed together.
He let go of Gregory long enough to rip off his jacket and pull his sweater and shirt off over his head, but then he couldn’t keep from embracing him again, relishing the heat of Gregory’s chest against his own. Despite the sparkling wash of sunlight, it was still the dead of winter, and without clothes on, the large rooms in the chateau could not help being very cold indeed, no matter how high Lestat’s heating bill.
Once more burying his face against Gregory’s throat, Lestat kissed and nibbled along its length. The urge to tell Gregory how much he missed him was on the tip of his tongue, but Lestat wouldn’t let himself say it. Too saccharine, too sentimental. Words not to be spoken aloud. Not after how easily Gregory seemed ready to leave again come tomorrow night. Lestat’s lips would only reveal such things in unspoken ways.
Gregory wondered if this might be the very definition of bliss, to be so thoroughly adored and the center of this man’s attention. Could he draw it out all weekend? Would anyone care if they spent a full forty-eight hours in these rooms together? He stretched beneath Lestat in the bed, wrapping arms around him, feeling all the smooth lean muscles along Lestat’s back and shoulders and arms. And the kisses, so delicious and sweet, tasting of winter peaches.
Gregory tangled his hands in Lestat’s hair, holding him still so that he might feast upon these kisses even longer, his hips and engorged erection pressing up against the denim of Lestat’s pants, seeking friction of any sort. A deep thirsting growl reverberated in his chest as he made his way from lips to jawline and then just along the jugular at Lestat’s throat, his teeth grazing over the pulse. The urge to bite was almost too strong to resist.
Lestat laughed again, shaking his head as if he’d pull away from Gregory’s grip in his hair, but not really trying. “I know,” he murmured, fully sympathetic to the frustration Gregory was feeling. When his mouth snagged at the place where he’d bitten Lestat last week—though the bandage was long gone and little wounds were mostly healed by now—the area was still tender, and it made Lestat wince. Ah, but how the blood had flowed that night…
“None of this is any good without it, is it?” Lestat teased as he rolled their bodies to give his hand the ability to explore Gregory’s back and behind, relishing in just the thickness of him. “We might as well not even bother.”
“Don’t joke like that,” Gregory growled, nuzzling back into Lestat’s throat. “We can at least have this.” Lestat’s hands on him sent a deep feeling of sensual connection through his whole body. Gregory hummed happily against Lestat’s throat, licking and kissing that same spot over and over. While he kept one hand firmly in Lestat’s hair, the other slid down to the waist of his jeans, trying to work at the button and zipper there. His hips rolled sensually against Lestat’s without conscious effort on his part. It was all so stimulating and erotic. And with Lestat, another layer came with it: deep love and affection.
Lestat let go of Gregory long enough to shimmy out of his jeans, having to contort himself in their tangle of limbs to get his boots off as well, and it all ended up in a pile beside them in the bed. But finally, he was just as bare as Gregory, and he climbed on top of him, with one knee between Gregory’s legs so that they could grind themselves against each other’s thighs. He took Gregory’s jaw in both hands to hold him firm and kiss his mouth deeply and then up under his scratchy, bearded chin and the front of his throat, his own face already feeling raw from where Gregory’s had been scraping him.
“We should slow down,” Lestat said against his skin. “If this is all there is.” He took Gregory by the biceps and pushed him onto his back, so he could use him as support. Arching his back, Lestat braced himself up to look down at him, though his hips never stopped moving, and it took considerable effort to keep his eyes from fluttering closed with each grind. He smiled down at him, through his hanging hair. “Or do you have a conference call to get to?”
Gregory huffed out a sound that was part laugh and part groan. “No work this weekend,” he managed to say between spikes of pleasure as Lestat rubbed against him in just the right way. His hands gripped Lestat’s hips, caressing up over the firm buttocks. He wanted more than this and spread himself out under Lestat, offering. Gregory’s lips made their way along Lestat’s throat once again and he spoke breathless words against Lestat’s skin, “I’m yours. Take me any way you want. Please.” He was prepared to beg, if necessary, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be. They seemed to be in sync.
Lestat’s breath caught in the back of his throat. Those sublimely erotic words, combined with the sensation of Gregory opening beneath him, shot an even sharper shaft of arousal through Lestat than he’d thought possible, and an electric tingling erupted over all his human skin.
His mouth found Gregory’s again, and he caught it in a deep kiss, as if he could drink down the very essence of what he’d said, swallow him whole from the inside out. All sugary maple sweetness was his tongue, and at the same time, his knees pushed between Gregory’s muscular thighs, their cocks sliding against each other now, Lestat’s already oozing in anticipation.
With a groaning shudder, Lestat braced himself on his elbows beside Gregory’s shoulders to look down at him, his eyes clouded with lust. The combination of intensity and adoration in Gregory’s fiercely handsome expression made Lestat suddenly convinced that if he didn’t have him just as Gregory asked, he might just die on this spot.
“Yes,” he answered just as breathlessly, and his palms smoothed over Gregory’s face, pushing his hair from the edge of his forehead. “Fucking hell, I want you. Yes.” His hips ground heavy circles between Gregory’s legs, but despite how fast his eager heart was beating, Lestat knew it would take some work to get inside him.
As his body curled up to straighten, Lestat’s hands slid over the angular muscles of Gregory’s chest and stomach, down to catch his cock in one fist, taking a moment to relish the weight of it. Lestat took himself in his other hand, pressing the wet head right up against the dark hole beneath Gregory’s heavy sack. “Yes, this,” he breathed as he pushed only a fraction past the entrance, just the very beginning of a stretch. At the same time, his thumb flicked over Gregory’s tip, and his other hand tucked under Gregory’s thigh to make him bend his leg up. “God, yes. But you have to let me in.”
Gregory felt as if he were vibrating with pure happiness and love and all the sunlight in the room was filling him. How could anything be better than this? His whole heart flooded with love and passion under Lestat’s touch. He could easily read the same overwhelming desire there on Lestat’s face. What a rush it was!
“Yes, yes, I know,” he breathed heavily, sitting up suddenly and untangling himself from Lestat. He took Lestat’s face in his hands and kissed deeply, tangling tongues and biting lightly at his lower lip before pulling away. “I have something. One second!” Gregory all but leapt from the bed, dashing to the bedroom. With shaky hands, he found the small bottle of argan oil he used on his hair and beard sometimes, to keep it soft and shiny.
Gregory flew back to the bed and pressed the bottle into Lestat’s hand, kissing him hungrily as he did so, as if just those few seconds away had been torture. “This will make it all the more pleasant,” he purred against Lestat’s lips, straddling his lap and grinding down against him in a sinuous dance. “I’ve never allowed myself to be taken this way,” he said, voice thick with desire. “But you are an exception, for certain. I want to feel this with you.”
“But you were a soldier!” Lestat said, astonished. What else was Gregory doing with his brothers in arms back then if not constantly cheerfully having their way with each other? And he certainly knew how to move. Each roll of Gregory’s hips had another groan rising to the back of Lestat’s throat.
He put one hand against the front of Gregory’s shoulder and leaned back from him enough to peer at the bottle. The viscous liquid swirled the dark brown glass and it gave off a pleasantly familiar nutty smell even with the cap still on. Lestat pulled Gregory close again, kissing along his jaw and inhaling the scent of his short-cropped beard. Yes, there it was, mixed under Gregory’s usual sensual bouquet.
“Perfect,” he murmured against him, running his tongue along the trim edge of his beard, enjoying the taste of it as well, now that he knew what it was. “This is going to be fun.” He gave Gregory an abrupt shove to knock him on his back so that he could climb over him again.
Gregory fell into the pillows, shocked by how easily he’d been pushed off balance. He was not accustomed to being essentially at the same level of strength as all those around him. He was a strong young male, yes, but he wasn’t the unbreakable granite God any longer.
He couldn’t let himself examine this too closely, especially in this moment. He stretched out like a giant cat, eyes half-lidded as he gazed upon Lestat, his golden beauty. Gregory wanted nothing more than to be fully connected, wrapped around him and sharing this carnal intimacy. “I was not fucking my fellow soldiers,” he chuckled, his hand sliding down his own abdomen to wrap lazily around the thick shaft of his arousal. His tongue licked along his lower lip and his eyes closed as he worked his fist over himself. “We had our feast days and festivals, and there was sharing of pleasures, but I was for the most part chasing the women not the men… Or I should say, the women chased me.” Gregory’s eyes slid open and he gave Lestat a lazy smile as he worked himself slowly, knowing exactly the sensual picture he presented.
“Well, you’re going to love it,” Lestat said with a laugh, enjoying the show, the excitement taking on a thicker sheen in his eyes. Hooking his hands under Gregory’s knees, he bent his legs up on either side of him, then took his time to stroke over the hard muscles of his thighs as he pressed a kiss to the inside of one of his knees.
Returning his attention to the argan oil, Lestat slicked some over his fingers before leaning the open bottle against Gregory’s side. “Don’t knock it over,” he warned with a smirk just as he stroked oily fingers heavily over his asshole. Then twisting his wrist, he caught Gregory’s balls in his palm as he pushed his long middle finger inside him. Lestat’s other hand came down on the bed by Gregory’s shoulder, leaning over him as if he might kiss him again, but he was too intent on watching his expression to come close enough to do it.
Gregory hummed deeply, entranced by Lestat and the obvious expertise he had in this arena. His touch firm yet gentle. Gregory didn’t really need gentle here, but he appreciated it all the same. He was perfectly willing to bend and twist himself in any way Lestat desired. “My love, my prince,” he purred, gazing up at Lestat’s beautiful face. He stretched his arms out wide, gathering up fists-full of blanket and sheet as Lestat pressed into and prepared him.
He wondered again how many Lestat had been with in this way since they turned human little more than a week ago, but then banished these thoughts, lifting his hips, encouraging Lestat to move more quickly. “I’m not going to break,” he teased. “I want you in me, now. I want you.” Gregory undulated like a sensuous belly dancer. “I miss your mouth on mine,” he growled softly, lifting his head to capture Lestat’s lips.
Lestat inhaled Gregory’s tongue, sucking on it ravenously. He tasted so sweet, all sugar and maple and orange juice, and the pressure of the kiss sent a buzzing shock all under Lestat’s skin that sizzled straight down to his groin, making him throb so that he nearly whimpered with need against Gregory’s mouth.
His arm folded with his elbow on the bed so he could shove his hand under Gregory’s head, grabbing tight hold of the back of his hair to hold him in place. He withdrew his fingers that had been well stretching Gregory, and took hold of his own cock, slicking it with the oil as he lined himself up and pushed hungrily inside.
Gregory returned a slow hungry kiss, and a deep growl of pleasure emanated from his throat. The taste and feel of Lestat, entirely enveloping him. Gregory wrapped his legs up and around Lestat’s waist, his arms around the strong back.
Although it was a welcome full feeling to have Lestat filling him, there was also a slight sting to it, a stretched feeling Gregory had to adjust to. He held Lestat’s hips firmly against him with his legs, and slowly the needy urge to feel more returned.
“So good. Slowly, like this,” Gregory said through more kisses, rocking his own hips up, encouragingly. He whispered against Lestat’s throat in ancient words, filthy needy things he would be glad later that Lestat couldn’t understand. “Lestat, Lestat…” he hummed, licking and biting and sucking at the expanse of throat available to him. “Please, slowly. Make it last,” he begged again, never wanting this to end, this heady sense of being purely in love and cherishing every moment of it.
Oh, it was hard, because each word out of Gregory’s mouth shot further shafts of arousal through Lestat—even the ones he couldn’t understand. And how he clung to him! He was so strong, and Lestat had honestly never felt a lover latch on to him so powerfully. He wasn’t sure he could have gotten out of Gregory’s grip even if he wanted to. Which, of course, he didn’t. He wanted to give Gregory absolutely everything his heart desired! He felt nearly frantic to please him, to make him forget entirely about wanting to leave the chateau again.
He made himself let go of Gregory’s hair and put his hands on his shoulders instead to brace up as he rolled his hips in a slow and sensuous rhythm, his stomach sliding up and down Gregory’s hard length pressed between them. But Gregory was doing such wonderful things to his neck—he didn’t give a damn anymore if he left marks—that Lestat soon feared he wouldn’t last much longer this way either.
Pushing his back against Gregory’s embrace, he lifted himself up, his hands pinning Gregory’s shoulders now, and he flipped his hair out of his eyes to look down at him, his breath coming out in shallow pants. “You’re getting used to it,” he said with a fond smile. “Feel that?” He pulled himself out nearly the entire way, and then slowly slid right back in, so slick and smoothly with no resistance at all, getting even further inside from this angle than he’d been able to before. It was so good, the oil making it so slick, Lestat groaned, his eyes closing. “Yes, that.” He did it again, and again, speeding up, but not too much, and his hands slid down Gregory’s arms to find his hands and lace their fingers together, watching his face now, wanting to see every expression of pleasure come across it.
All Gregory could see, feel, taste, was Lestat. All he wanted was Lestat. It was all consuming. Too long he’d held in his not-so-secret love for him, and now he had him in this way. It was overwhelming and thrilling.
He stared up into Lestat’s eyes, which were an incredible stormy blue-gray, passionate, focused on him. Gregory’s fingers clasped and entwined with Lestat’s on the bed, at either side of his head. “Yes,” he breathed, feeling every spike of pleasure Lestat produced as he began to hit just the right spot inside with each slow thrust, Gregory’s own cock weeping and slick between them.
He shut his eyes, the bliss like a current flowing between them. Almost too strong to bear. A groan of deep pleasure fell from his lips as he opened his eyes once more to find Lestat still focused on him. “I love you so much that it’s painful. Do you know this?” he whispered, his focus intense, longing to impress upon Lestat the vastness of his feelings in this moment.
Lestat’s eyebrows went up, and it seemed he might laugh at such a declaration, but he didn’t have the air for it. “Painful!” he repeated on the edge of his breath. “And to think…” He pulled Gregory’s hands up, crossing them over his own chest and bending his face to kiss his dark knuckles between his pale fingers. “To think… If it had worked, when I asked you for the Blood, I might have been yours…” And there was pain in the loss of that, yes, pain for both of them…
Lifting his eyes, he looked back down at Gregory. “But I don’t want you in pain… “ Leaning over again, he came close so that his face was only a few inches above Gregory’s. “Unless you like it?”
Gregory felt a small sting at the center of his chest, thinking that perhaps Lestat had not taken his declaration as seriously as it was meant. But Gregory couldn’t really think all that clearly just now, not with the pleasure in this moment, the feel of Lestat completely engulfing him and pushing all his logical thinking away. Besides, declarations of love made in the heat of sex were never taken as seriously as those made while clothing was on.
Gregory had to laugh a little, as best he could between the waves of bliss Lestat’s attentions produced. “I don’t think I like pain. I’m too much of a hedonist for it.” Gregory rolled his hips to meet Lestat’s movements. He lifted his head to kiss inviting lips and whispered into them, “You are mine.”
“Mmm.” Lestat smiled against Gregory’s lips as he kissed him again, all the while never stopping his rhythm. He caught Gregory’s lower lip between his teeth, tugging it, tempted to draw blood somehow if he could, shivering as he imagined it pooling in the well before Gregory’s gums, but he knew it would do nothing for him, taste like nothing more than water and salt.
Lestat’s hands slid down Gregory’s sides to tuck under his muscular thighs, lifting his hips up to change their angle, wanting to go even deeper. It made Lestat gasp, but after he caught his breath again, he spoke against Gregory’s cheek, near his ear, his voice shaky. “If Fareed finds a way for us to go back, you’ll do it, won’t you? No question?”
“Of course,” Gregory answered without hesitation. Why was Lestat asking such a thing at this moment? Gregory wrapped himself more completely around Lestat, pulling him as close as possible. How he enjoyed this slow love-making. No rush or fumbling or race to the finish. Though his body longed for the final glorious climax and even now he could feel it building inside, his cock hypersensitive to every movement, pressed between them, Lestat’s movements sparking against just the exact right spot inside.
A flood of relief and deep affection for Gregory flowed through Lestat at his answer. Even if the possibility never came, just knowing for certain without any question that Gregory’s heart so aligned with his on this matter made Lestat feel closer to him than ever.
He kissed Gregory’s ear, breathing in deep the musky scent of him, then all over his neck and face and lips. His arms around Gregory’s thighs tightened, keeping his hips up so that they would not lose this perfect angle, so, so good. Lestat couldn’t stop himself from speeding up, his hips bucking of their own accord, faster and faster.
“I have to,” he breathed against Gregory’s cheek, only slightly apologetic. It was too good for him to feel very guilty at all about it. “Please…yes… Gregory… yes…” And then a ragged shout as lightning struck and his entire body seized with the electric spasms, his grip on Gregory’s legs clenching as if he could crush them.
Gregory at once followed him over the edge, trying desperately to commit to memory the deep moans of pleasure Lestat made. As his own release spilled hot between them, he spoke his love’s name in a prayerful mantra, “Lestat, Lestat, Lestat…”
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and D.
Chapter 61: Purely Platonic
Summary:
As Louis helps Benedict settle into bed for some much needed sleep, they both have to work to keep their minds from going to less appropriate places.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
When Louis returned to Benedict in the ballroom, he bore a tray with a small pot of steeping tea, a pleasing and warm herbal aroma in his wake. There was an empty cup upside down on a saucer, several utensils and additives as well, should Benedict prefer them.
“Mint,” Louis said. “If you’ll agree to my following you to your rooms, I’ll carry this up for you. Once we’re there, you may stay seated and sip the tea, while I run a bath for you. Then whenever you’re ready, I’ll see to your bed linens while you soak.” Louis stood there a half second longer then added, “If you’ll permit…”
Benedict furrowed his brow, trying to digest everything he was saying, but he couldn’t understand why. People didn’t do this for other people, did they? Not unless they were being paid. People certainly didn’t do this for Benedict, and he wasn’t sure anyone ever had. “As lovely as it sounds, Louis, I can’t let you do all of that for me. I wouldn’t know how to behave. But your company wouldn’t go amiss.”
Louis’s expression barely wrinkled, the center of his brows pinching the only clue that he was mildly distressed at this. “At least let me change your sheets for you, and put on low music. I don’t mind to sit either, just outside your room, read quietly while you try to rest.” He felt suddenly overbearing and tried not to let that nagging feeling pull him too far in the opposite direction. Benedict had asked for help, hadn’t he? And Louis owed him the effort, at the very least, to make up for his transgression.
“It sounds very nice, Louis. I’d like it very much,” Benedict admitted, because the more he thought on what it might mean to be looked after and waited upon like this, the more he selfishly desired it. “But I can’t entertain just now. I am terrified I’ll bore you to death and push you away.” Even now as he said it, he felt his resolve crumbling, because he could smell the mint tea and it smelled like relaxation itself.
“You’ll be sleeping. No entertainment will be necessary. This is truly the least I can do. Please let me?” Louis placed his as yet untouched breakfast plate and fork with the single bite of croissant still skewered on it onto the tray as well. Lifting the tray, he nodded toward the doorway that led up to the living quarters. “After you,” he intoned with a small and nervous yet hopeful smile.
“You make sure you eat that croissant,” Benedict protested weakly as he stood, because he didn’t have it in him to deny Louis anymore. He wanted to be looked after, to have a bath run for him, to pick out some pajamas and bed socks and fall asleep in good company.
He rubbed at his eyes, and began the ascent to his room with Louis in tow. He was worried they might get some strange looks—what did he do to deserve Louis following him with a tray like this, like some sort of indentured servant? But nobody paid them much mind.
His thoughts were soon distracted from all that when he allowed Louis into his room. It smelled stale, the bed was unmade, there were a few articles of clothing scattered about, and he hadn’t thought of any of this. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, hyper-embarrassed that he had brought Louis into the mess. He moved to open the windows first to get some air in, then began to quickly retrieve and fold the clothes.
Louis made no comment, merely set the tray on a small table that stood snuggly next to a curved-back chair. He picked up the teacup, righting it and then poured the steaming mint tea into it. “Never mind any of that. Please sit.” Louis motioned for Benedict to approach the chair and offered him the cup upon the matching saucer. The scent of the stuff wafted about the room, its strong crispness with a deep soothing quality. “Drink,” Louis urged, then stepped back, turning toward the bathroom and disappearing.
A few moments later, the sound of running water could be heard from the bath, and Louis busied himself inside. A small amount of lavender and rose bath oils were stirred into the water, and the bottles placed carefully next to the tub lest Benedict prefer more of the scents. Next, Louis laid a stack of fresh towels atop the plush bath mat, so that Benedict would have them close at hand, when he exited the water.
Appearing in the bedroom again, Louis closed the bathroom door gently behind him so the warmth and steam would not dissipate too much as the tub filled. “The bath should be ready in a few minutes, and I know where the sheets are kept, so give me a moment.” He went out to the linen storage closet in the corridor, then quickly reappeared with a folded mass of bedding in his arms. He set it aside while he rolled up his sleeves and began stripping the bed.
Benedict fought every urge to get up and help. It was in his nature to tidy himself where possible, to mind himself and to inconvenience everyone else as little as possible. He took a deep breath, a sip of the tea, and then released it entirely. He forced his shoulders to drop and he counted to ten. He couldn’t do it. He set the tea down and walked to the wardrobe full of clothes Lestat had given him to find a set of pajamas, to keep himself busy. He wanted the thickest, warmest ones he could find.
When he achieved this, he wandered back to the chair, eyes drifting to the back of Louis’s head as he bent over the bed and then involuntarily, decidedly, lower. Hm. If he were in a playful mood and they knew each other better, Benedict might have made a comment, but he wasn’t about to objectify the man who was trying to help him.
Corner by corner, Louis moved about the mattress, tucking in the fresh fitted sheet, the new sheet atop it, and then a knitted soft blanket. Finally, he pulled up the plush down-filled coverlet from the foot of the bed and turned it down, re-casing and fluffing the pillows to make the whole of the bed more appealing overall.
Louis returned to the bathroom, opening the door to a haze of steam, and soon enough the sound of the faucet’s roar ceased. “I think it’s ready for you, when you want. If you want,” Louis said, standing in the doorway. At this, he finally came close to Benedict and took the plate with his croissant from the tray, taking the first bite and chewing slowly and thoughtfully.
Benedict nodded and thanked him. He plucked the fine china cup from its saucer, his folded pajamas and socks in his spare arm, and made his way to the bathroom. There was something to be said about Lestat’s penchant for combining modern luxury with classic elegance. He adored the clean, light space of the bathroom. He inhaled the scent of the oils reverently, shut the door, and shed himself of his clothes. It was pure heaven to sink into that warm water now, the cleanliness and peace enveloping him, and as he took a sip of tea, he felt his eyes beginning to drop already. He reflected on what had brought him here, in general and in this moment. He reflected on how lucky he was to have a man such as Louis to show such care, even if it were in the form of selfish absolution.
Louis remained in the bedroom while Benedict bathed, in case Benedict needed any assistance or had forgotten something. After a while, when it was clear the man was well content, Louis busied himself with locating a means with which to play some soothing quiet music. The Victrola proved far too unwieldy to move now by himself, a fact for which Louis found exceedingly frustrating. As an immortal, it would have been nothing for him to carry it wherever he wished. Instead, he managed to locate a small portable CD player, and a collection of CDs beneath one of his many bookshelves. It had taken no time at all to leave and return to arrange it all before Benedict was finished.
After a lingering bath somewhere in the ballpark of half an hour, he washed himself and dried and dressed. The second movement of Ravel’s Piano Concerto in G major, volume low, greeted Benedict as he exited the bathroom and returned with the empty teacup to where Louis sat reading in the chair. He smiled warmly at Louis, feeling if not at peace, then relaxed and clean. He was too tired to be anything else. “Thank you very much,” he said sincerely. “I needed that more than you or I knew.”
Louis looked up from his book, meeting Benedict’s eyes with a soft smile. “Of course,” he said, closing the book and rising.
“Please, don’t stop reading on my account, don’t stand. I don’t mean to distract you from your peace,” Benedict implored, taking a moment to listen to the low twinkle of piano from the speakers and let that wash over him too. It was all of it perfect, Louis had done a marvelous job.
He walked to his bed and lifted the covers, ready to slide in. He’d been feeling so dreadfully lonely these past nights, more than usual, and it had made it incredibly difficult to find enough peace to sleep at all. He paused, looking up at Louis who was so gentlemanly and eager to please. “Might I ask you one more favor? There is no expectation that you might oblige.”
Louis could not imagine Benedict asking him anything he couldn’t rightly provide. He set the book atop the seat cushion of the chair. Louis expected him to request another cup of tea, an extra blanket or a pillow. He had already turned off the main lights in the room, leaving only the side bed table lamps lit, so that the room was bathed in a warm glow. Benedict might ask him to dim one or both as well, and so Louis nodded. “Yes of course.” His voice was soft and quiet, so as not to jostle the already dreamy mood of the music.
“Do you think you could lay with me?” Benedict asked meekly, embarrassed of the request and knowing it was too much to ask. It was certainly crossing a line, and he looked down and away from Louis’s beautiful eyes and perfect face to continue. “I think where I allowed myself to have contact…” He swallowed, trying not to think too hard on his time in Lestat’s arms. “I realized I’d been craving it, and now these last few nights I have felt painfully lonely. I think that’s partly why I can’t sleep.”
Of the many things Benedict could have asked of him, Louis had not expected this request, most especially because of his voyeuristic infraction and the way Benedict had seemed to shrink from him, all entirely warranted of course. Louis blinked, somewhat shocked, momentarily frozen and unsure how to answer. He didn’t want to make Benedict even more uncomfortable than he likely already was either.
Reaching for his book again, Louis tucked it beneath his arm and neared the side of the bed. He pushed off his shoes one by one and then eased himself onto the edge of the mattress. “All right.” He offered a small smile to Benedict. He had agreed to help him sleep, and so he would try.
Benedict wished he didn’t overthink every last thing that ever happened, every last interaction he ever had. It would have been so simple to crawl in next to Louis and thank him, and fall asleep. But he couldn’t. Louis had responded, through no fault of his own, as if he was coerced into it. Or at least that was how it felt to Benedict’s sleep-deprived and miserable brain. It probably wasn’t that way at all.
“I am sorry for asking,” he said softly, wanting nothing more than to break down and cry all over again. “I don’t know what I was thinking, it was such a huge ask of you. I am not thinking, that’s the problem. I’ve thought too much for so long that I am afraid there is no brain left. You’ve been wonderful to help me with all this-please feel free to leave if you wish to.”
“It’s all right,” Louis said again, gently patting the mattress beside him. “I don’t mind. It simply surprised me, given how I’ve wronged you, that you would wish me close. It only speaks to how desperate you are to get true rest, how much you need it. I want to help, and so I will. I’ll stay here for you. I’ll read while you sleep.” He lifted the book slightly in his hand.
Benedict watched him for a moment, no longer than ten seconds, just to be sure that there was nothing at all coercive about it on his own behalf. When he saw nothing but earnestness in Louis’s eyes and face, he moved to sit in the bed beside him. He leaned, only slightly hesitant, to kiss his cheek. The gesture was nothing between their kind, and barely anything between even the mortal French. “Thank you,” he murmured before settling down and bringing the duvet over himself. The bed was an absolute heaven of cloud that cradled him, soft and a solid force all at once. There was nowhere else he’d rather be, and Louis’s gentle breathing and mortal warmth only made him believe that more.
How sweet was Benedict? Seemingly so innocent and mild, tender of spirit. Louis found himself unable to resist looking him over, admiring the young man’s soft and attractive physiology, though he was not young, neither of them were anymore.
Louis adjusted himself to allow Benedict to settle down more fully into the blankets as he wished, the mattress so plush and full that once Benedict was settled, Louis found that their sides were flush, cozy. Louis pushed himself up so that he was somewhat reclined, half sitting, his elbow resting along the top edge of the pillow where Benedict’s head lay. Opening his book on his lap, he resumed his reading by the warm glow of the bedside lamps.
Benedict fell in and out of sleep, mildly frustrated that he couldn’t achieve total peace even when he’d completely listened to his body and mind. He tried to take the pressure off himself by allowing this, light dozing and coming to, but after some time, he grew bored of it. With a small sigh, he opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, and then glanced to Louis with a soft smile. He looked the picture of peace and contentment.
With a slow movement so as not to startle him, Benedict rolled onto his stomach and pulled his large pillow under him to embrace it, hoping the change of angle might appease him. “How do you find sleep when you desperately struggle to? I miss when the dawn would just take me, and no matter what, I had no choice.”
“It isn’t easy,” Louis admitted, unmoving from his position. He’d reread this one page several times over now, having to stop and restart from becoming mildly distracted by all of Benedict’s little twitches and unease. The lad had fallen asleep and awoken so many times now that Louis had begun to worry he might be suffering from something more acute.
“As much as I miss the dawn’s embrace, I’ve sat and watched the sunrise several mornings now. It’s hard to sleep though, hard to fathom the unending silence that was littered before with so many ambient sounds when I would doze in my rooms by night. I can’t hear much of anything now, even if I try very hard. It’s unsettling after becoming so accustomed to hearing so much for so long.”
Louis turned his head to look down upon Benedict finally, taking in the sight of him, his slight shoulders, the line of his back, the twin mounds of his hips and backside. It occurred to him quite suddenly that a shoulder or back rub might be soothing to him, but the thought of where his eyes had been before having such a musing gave Louis a pause and caused his ears and cheeks to begin to buzz with warmth.
Benedict frowned a little, watching Louis’s face. It was very easy to watch Louis’s face, he was too beautiful to watch other things. He saw the rosiness creep over his cheeks and was concerned. It was so easy for them now to pick up viruses, diseases, allergies, fevers. He was frightened that maybe this was happening to Louis. Without thinking, he raised the back of his hand to Louis’s forehead, feeling for uncharacteristic warmth. They were all so warm now, though, it was hard to tell.
Louis flinched only slightly, more out of surprise than any revulsion. He simply had not expected Benedict to touch him.
“Are you feeling okay?” Benedict asked outright finally.
“Ah, yes… I am,” he assured, shifting on the bed, righting the book in his lap. He couldn’t very well tell Benedict that he was blushing due to having just been staring at his ass and imagining putting hands on him. A purely platonic back rub, yes… That’s all it had been in his thoughts. Louis repeated the mantra, ‘purely platonic’ in his head over and over again.
“It is you we should worry for, anyhow. You and your sleep that eludes you. Are you tense? Do you ache anywhere at all?” Louis added, hoping to shift the focus away from himself.
Benedict thought on this, humming in a soft tone. He did this now and then to buy himself some time, as if he needed it. He thought on Louis’s question truly and profoundly as if its answer would honestly benefit him. He thought on all that his mind had been battling with and how his body had tolerated it. “My shoulders, perhaps, are quite tight. I don’t realize it until I feel the ache in my body at night.” He couldn’t presume that Louis was asking because he was offering to alleviate it. Really he’d asked too much of him tonight. He felt very much obnoxious for it and had half a mind to offer again for Louis to leave.
Louis eased his book aside, laying it on the nightstand with an expression of keen thought. He was nervous to ask the next question, afraid he would be taken for some lascivious opportune seeker. “I think maybe you have been tense in your sleep as well, and it only adds to the stiffness. May I…try something? If you’ll sit up and face that way, I may be able to help, though it’s been, well…never since I’ve attempted such a thing. Also of course, simply say the word and I’ll stop,” Louis said, waiting for Benedict to comply before he gently set both his hands on him.
With long deft fingers, Louis squeezed Benedict’s smallish shoulders, rolling the muscles with a firm but gentle pressure, and feeling for the tension, then applying the same gentle effort where he felt the most resistance. Such things had certainly been done for him on occasion by others, and he had massaged his horses in the past to help warm their muscles before a hunt or a ride. This was wholly different though, and more intimate than Louis really intended to begin with. It wasn’t disagreeable though, as much as Louis worried it would become so to Benedict.
Benedict was shocked at first, unsure of how to feel about the gesture. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever been on the receiving end of this particular kind of attention. It made him feel more tense in a way, anxious about Louis going out of his way to help. But he pushed past it and just allowed himself to feel. Louis was good at this, working at the trouble areas with a particular dexterity that made Benedict melt into his hands. He hummed a little, the sound involuntary and followed by a sigh. “Thank you,” he said helplessly, because he felt like he should. He didn’t want him to stop.
Louis kneaded the shoulders and upper back, only delving as low as his middle back before the palms of his hands and his long fingers moved upward again. He didn’t dare to give off an impression of anything untoward in this, and hoped Benedict would not think this was some excuse to touch him like this, as comely as he was.
“I wonder if there might be a professional who could do this, somewhere in the village. Maybe we should call them for you if so. You seem in need of it, much more than I can remedy, though for that I am sorry.” Louis continued in the same manner a few more long minutes before he ceased finally, running his hands palms flat along the tops of Benedict’s shoulders and down to elbows on each side as he finished. Letting go, Louis sat back a bit, studying the back of Benedict’s head and his profile, wondering what exactly had him in this state and afraid he would not want to hear the answer. Surely it could not be all his fault, he hoped.
“I don’t know if I could face a stranger,” Benedict admitted with a small sigh. He remained with his back to Louis for a while, looking out of the window. He stood to tighten the curtains to keep any piercing daylight out, eyes wide with uncertainty as he did. The fear at night of Rhosh coming past this window gave him enough anxiety that trickled into day.
He turned back to Louis and approached the bed again. “But I thank you for thinking to do it, for attempting everything you have. In fact, I can’t thank you enough.” He moved to sit beside Louis, reaching to touch his hand for a reverent press and looked back up at him. “I think I’m a lost cause.”
“Surely not,” said Louis, glancing from Benedict to his hand and then back again. Such a tender small touch was enough to make Louis’s heart ache for the way Benedict seemed to be suffering. Melancholia, Louis well knew, most especially the way it clung to the senses in the face of all that could be good, and rightly should be.
Benedict didn’t know about that, he really feared he might be a lost cause. Not in this particularly but in all things. He felt so broken and aimless and wondered how he might ever piece himself back together. But he didn’t fight Louis on it.
Louis reached to fluff the pillow again, then patted it gently. “Try again,” he urged. “Lie down here and let me read to you. I don’t mind to start over. La Tulipe Noire, Alexandre Dumas. Do you know it? It’s quite short.”
Benedict lay down and removed his hand from Louis’s, letting Louis’s beautiful voice lull him at first into relaxation and then to sleep. It seemed to do the trick, his gentle and sophisticated cadence the perfect thing to make him feel both safe and calm.
Louis kept right on reading, even through Benedict’s eventual rhythmic breathing which signified his sleep. Louis was thankful at least that something he had done had managed to help the seeming-young man, so many years his senior.
Tentatively, still reading, Louis reached to smooth Benedict’s hair, with a soothing featherlight touch. Benedict’s brow still seemed knit at the center, even in his sleep, and Louis wondered what it was that vexed him so, knowing well from his own disposition that it could just as easily be everything or nothing at all.
Notes:
This chapter written by K and T
Chapter 62: Eternal, Unseverable
Summary:
Recovering after their time in bed, Lestat and Gregory contemplate their fledglings and who they would ask to be their own new vampire makers.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
How unusual for Gregory, this feeling of having another man within him. He could feel the warmth of the white seed and the thickness of Lestat’s organ even now as they came down from their shared blissful moment. He ran fingers over Lestat’s smooth back, relishing in the weight of him, the masculinity. “You’ll stay here with me?” Gregory asked in a lazy, gravelly voice. “We’ll do this all weekend,” he added matter-of-factly, kissing along Lestat’s jawline.
“Mmmf,” Lestat said, his face buried in the pillows. Shakily, his grip on Gregory’s thighs loosened, and his fingers stroked up them, tracing the lines of muscle and pattern of dark hair.
With a groan, he rolled to the side, bringing Gregory so that they did not have to separate from each other. “We just had breakfast,” Lestat said, amused through his breathlessness. How appealing that sounded, though. Spending the entire day and all night and tomorrow right here in this bed, doing all kinds of things, taking their turns with each other.
He brought his hand up, pushing his tousled yellow hair out of his face and then putting it to Gregory’s, his thumb tracing the thick line of his black eyebrow as he gazed at him, his vision still blurry with pleasure. “They’ll all be wondering where I am.”
A small tremor of delight passed through Gregory at that very simple touch of Lestat’s finger to his brow. He stared into clear blue eyes, seeing each variation of color in the irises. “I think they know where you are. We made no secret of leaving the ballroom together. I think I saw Louis enter just as we left.”
Gregory pulled away, untangling from Lestat, as things were becoming decidedly sticky between them. He flopped onto his back, still touching along his side, one arm stretched beneath Lestat. The winter air that managed to seep into the room cooled his skin in a delightful way.
“It’s interesting to think we could procreate now,” he mused. “Have you thought of this yet? I could donate my seed to banks and always have it available to create life.”
“I’ve already procreated.” Lestat frowned, his head falling back on the pillow and his eyes drifting to the ceiling as he thought about his son. Viktor had gone back to Paris with Rose and Fareed and Seth on Christmas morning, and all four of them were still vampires. Lestat had seen them there last weekend at the laboratory, but he hadn’t spoken to anyone but Fareed since. And Fareed continued to have nothing to say that Lestat wanted to hear.
If Lestat managed to stay alive, he might grow old enough to actually look like Viktor’s father one day. He’d gotten the impression that his children felt sorry for him, and though he'd been too preoccupied with their experiments at the time to focus on that, remembering it now bothered him, made him feel stiff and frustrated and sad, which Gregory’s mention of Louis also hadn’t helped.
God, Louis…
“What was it like?” Lestat asked quietly without looking to Gregory, though the fingers of his hand trapped under him curled against his hot skin. “Seeing your… Seeing Chrysanthe last night?” He took a shuddering breath. “To be near them and know that they’re not ours anymore… “
Gregory frowned and turned his head on the pillow to look at him. Why did Lestat want to know this? It seemed he was having some struggles within himself about this mortality situation. As of course they all were.
Gregory admired the profile of him, the artful line of his nose, lips, chin. “I felt fear. A foreign thing for me to feel. I feel terror that I will be lost behind them as I age and they continue in eternal youth. My wife is like a foreign thing now… On some other-dimensional level while I am outside. It is terrifying. And Rhosh’s little visit didn’t help.” Gregory resisted an urge to curl into Lestat’s side. Burrow into him for any sense of connection he could find at all. Was this why he was so promiscuous over the past week? Was he desperately seeking connection and security?
Of course, Louis would age too, so Lestat knew he at least wouldn’t be left behind that way, but did that matter when they’d lost what it was that bonded them in the first place? Their connection as maker and fledgling had been eternal, unseverable, the one thing that would always be true no matter what else happened between them. But now it was just…gone. They were just two men like any other men in the world, nothing at all to connect them but their past, which would serve neither of them to try to live in.
Lestat closed his eyes tight, trying to push these maudlin thoughts away and reclaim the buzzing euphoria that Gregory had given him. He took a breath and rolled toward Gregory, sliding his hand over his chest and pressing his forehead against the side of his hair. “You understand what it’s like… You were like me. A maker with no maker left on this earth, no master. Them looking up at you, and nowhere for us to look but right back to them.” Lestat had once felt this kinship with Marius as well, but now that Marius’s maker had revealed his existence and they could be together, it was a little different. It wasn’t the same with Magnus’s ghost…not at all.
Gregory mulled this over from many directions, trying to make sense of it. Lestat seemed so suddenly intense and sincere and he didn’t want to hurt him by not fully understanding. But Gregory couldn’t make sense of this comparison between them. “I’m not sure I understand,” he reluctantly admitted, placing his own hand over Lestat’s on his chest. “Explain more.”
Lestat’s brow furrowed as he tried to sort out his thoughts, how he could explain why Louis and Chrysanthe’s positions were so different from his and Gregory’s, and why that felt so vitally important right now. But his mushy human brain lacked all the preternatural brilliance he’d once possessed, and he found himself at a loss. It made him feel incredibly lonely, and his hand slid around Gregory’s side, holding him tightly.
“Will you choose her to be your new maker?” he asked instead, holding back from adding the caveat that the chances of Fareed finding a way to make it work grew less and less every day. They both already knew it. Marius knew it too, but Lestat still had told no one else.
Gregory mirrored Lestat’s hold, pressing into him. He’d noticed there was no further elaboration as to his previous comment. But now there was this new question. As if they might have a choice who they could select for a maker. Gregory had given it little thought. It seemed an impossibility.
“I don’t know… “ he hedged, trying to imagine Chrysanthe as his maker. “I think it would be too much of a change in the dynamic between us, were I to ask her to be my maker. I suppose, if I truly had a choice, I would ask Seth. He dislikes me, but I’m not exactly looking for a father-figure. Just the ancient blood. And he is the closest to Akasha’s as it gets for us.” He paused a moment before asking, “And you? Who would you ask?”
Lestat had been thinking about Seth too. Seth adored him, and he certainly owed him one after keeping his son secret from him for twenty years. But Gregory’s comment about Seth being the closest thing to his true maker gave Lestat another idea.
He was quiet for a minute, turning this thought over in his mind before suddenly deciding that yes, it was absolutely the best choice.
“Rhoshamandes.”
Gregory couldn’t help his immediate reaction. His hand froze from making small caressing movements along Lestat’s skin. His breath stopped.
“Rhoshamandes? The man would never in a million years give you his blood, Lestat. How do you intend to convince him?” Gregory was both horrified and curious at once. Would Rhosh willingly do such a thing? Especially knowing Benedict had left him and chosen Lestat’s Court over his maker? After Lestat humiliated him by taking a limb from him in front of so many of their esteemed members?
Lestat’s eyes opened, though he couldn’t see much past Gregory’s hair, his mind suddenly buzzing. Pulling his arm out from under Gregory, he flipped over onto his stomach, propping himself on his elbows so that he could look down at him, his clear blue eyes bright with dangerous ideas.
“I already had his blood. His blood was in Benedict, was in Magnus, and so it was in me. I would have my own blood back, or the closest thing to it. And we struck a truce, didn’t we? He and I. We shook hands. I spent an entire night with him last spring, he took me out on his boat, The Benedicta. We gazed at the stars and talked for hours, and there was no hostility between us then. Didn’t he once imagine I would be his perfect companion, before we ever even met? And besides all that… “ Lestat leaned down over Gregory’s face, the hanging waves of sunny blond hair caressing his forehead, their noses almost touching as he smiled at him suggestively. “Don’t you think I could seduce him?”
Gregory wanted to point out that he too had felt Lestat was the perfect companion for his soul. That he’d been waiting all this time for Lestat. A wave of unexpected jealousy and possessiveness washed through Gregory. “You are mine,” he said, one hand reaching up to cup firmly at the base of Lestat’s skull. “I love you. I was entirely serious when I declared it minutes ago.” He kissed Lestat, capturing his mouth with heat, sucking and licking and tasting, deepening it into something hungry and claiming, biting at his lower lip.
Lestat laughed against Gregory’s mouth, perfectly charmed by his possessiveness. Had anyone ever felt this way about Lestat before? Had anyone ever dared try to lay claim to him? Not even Akasha in all her power and dominance had said such things. And the desperate fervor in Gregory’s kiss was positively exhilarating.
“Of course you could seduce him. Of course you could,” Gregory breathed, feeling his own cock threatening to grow again simply by the look of Lestat; a great golden lion over him.
He put a hand against Gregory’s face, pushing his forehead to keep his head against the pillow so that he could talk without Gregory’s lips distracting him. “But it would be perfect, don’t you see?” His smile turned mischievous. “If he does hate me, what better revenge could he have than to make me his? It beats killing me. What better way to have immunity from my Court, to make a permanent stalemate between us, if we couldn’t have true peace? And think what satisfaction it would give him just to know he had this over me. That he could call himself my master. It could settle everything between us in his mind, and he’d never even want to threaten or intimidate any of us again. He’d be a fool not to say yes.”
This all sounded terrible to Gregory. He stared up at Lestat with an incredulous look. “You would give him such power over you? Rhosh would essentially have immunity with the whole Court! You would tolerate having that man as your master? I think maybe you don’t understand what it’s like to have a tyrannical master, Lestat. To be always under their power in some manner. Even the gentlest of makers holds a rein on their fledglings. To give Rhosh that power over you… That’s a terrible decision. Ask Seth instead,” Gregory urged, as if this were all entirely possible at all. “You and I can be brothers.”
“But he wouldn’t have power over me,” Lestat said, not at all deterred. “Not if I were Prince. Not if it were still my way above all. He wouldn’t be able to touch me. You and the ancients would still guard me as ever you have. That’s why it would be a perfect stalemate. The power would only be a satisfaction in his mind and heart to know he had such prestige as to be the Prince’s maker. It would quiet all inclination in him against us, make any vendetta he holds moot. He could be at peace in the reclusive, retiring life he wishes to keep.”
Gregory was speechless. He stared up at Lestat, certain he looked like a fish out of water. Lestat was known for his sudden and terrible life choices. Gregory knew from reading the Vampire Chronicles that rarely could Lestat be talked out of a bad decision once made. Luckily, this whole thing was a desperate grasp. A thing unlikely ever to come to pass. They were mortal now. If ever Fareed found a way to turn them back, there was simply no chance Rhosh would even take such a request from Lestat seriously.
Gregory took in a deep breath and relaxed. He smiled at Lestat, reaching to tuck the wild locks of blond behind his Prince’s ear. “I’m sure you will win him over, if such a need ever comes to pass. But let’s not rush. I want to enjoy our time together in this mortal form. I want to drink with you and see the blue sky and make love over and over.”
Lestat could tell Gregory was humoring him and he smirked down at him, all the more determined to prove him wrong. It was so much more fun to fantasize about these things, after all, than let himself remember the truth of how absolutely at a loss Fareed was in gathering even the slightest bit of scientific insight to their wretched, cursed state.
“How much do you love me, Gregory?” he asked as he gazed down at him, his teasing smile verging on devilish as his fingers stroked back through his thick black hair. “If we both chose Seth, if we could be brothers... Do you love me enough to let me go first?”
This seemed an odd request to Gregory. But it sent his memory back, back in time. To the beginning, when Akasha had made him. He had not been her first fledgling, obviously. There had been Enkil, then Khayman, and then Gundesanth. Gundesanth, made nearly the same night as Gregory. Not many hours separated them. His brother, his beloved, his Gundesanth. He had not thought of him in hundreds of years. Gregory’s heart clenched at the memory. Lestat would be much the same, if such a daydream came to be. A brother, a twin of sorts.
“Of course, you may be first, if that is what you desire.” Gregory gave Lestat another warm smile, full of affection. “I love you,” he said simply, gazing up at him. “There is no measurement great enough to define it.”
The thought of being a more powerful vampire than Gregory, of Gregory receiving the depleted blood after Seth gave Lestat the first, stronger infusion, didn’t feel right to Lestat at all. He’d honestly expected Gregory to say no, knowing his ancient strength and power as the oldest vampire left alive in the world had been one of the greatest parts of his identity. He’d never thought Gregory could love him more than himself.
But the truth was, Lestat couldn’t diminish Gregory by taking the blood first; the very thought did the opposite of excite him, despite his teasing.
Well, he supposed that meant he loved Gregory enough to let him go first, too.
The wickedness went out of his smile, and it became as warm as Gregory’s as he gazed down at him wondrously. Who else might he ask to be his new maker? The great Sevraine, perhaps… Or should he turn to his own fledglings? Wouldn’t David relish the opportunity to exchange their roles? Or maybe his mother was the obvious choice, as she’d always be his mother no matter who made who. Neither she nor David had made a fledgling yet, and as their first, Lestat would be extraordinarily strong even before he ever took additional infusions of the Blood from his ancient friends.
Gregory stretched beneath Lestat. “We should wash ourselves. Perhaps watch a film on the television together. Light a fire in the hearth.”
“You really do intend us to be lazy all weekend?” Lestat asked with an amused smile as he reached down for a handful of the soft sheets and used them to wipe away the stickiness on Gregory’s stomach. “What’s the point of washing off if we’re just going to get messy again?”
A slow sexy smile curved Gregory’s lips. “I agree. Next time, I get to top.” Rolling them both over so that he could brace himself over Lestat, he dipped his head down for another deep and lingering session of kisses.
“But we need some recovery time first,” he said, finally coming up for air. Gregory stretched out beside Lestat, one leg thrown over him, and one arm reaching past his chest for the remote control on the bedside table. With a quick flick he turned on the large screen television mounted in the open wardrobe opposite the bed. “Let’s find something to watch.”
Lestat had no true objections to any of these suggestions. He was warm and comfortable, and although the malady of mortality was back in his brain, the horror of it seemed distant for the moment. It wasn’t making him angry or melancholy now while Gregory was wrapped around him.
When Gregory settled on some sort of reality television program, Lestat watched the people on the screen, curious about their human ways. But it wasn’t the sort of show that usually ever held his interest, and very soon, Lestat dropped right off into a contentedly dreamless sleep.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and D.
Chapter 63: Lestat's Friend
Summary:
When Louis meets one of the village girls who's been spending time with Lestat since he turned human, he's surprised by his own reactions to the knowledge of their intimacy.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Louis stood in the recreation of what had once been the chateau’s stables, which actually served as a parking shelter of sorts now that automobiles were the preferred transportation of the era. The last few horse stalls had been left intact, a historical nod to the structure’s original purpose and Louis surveyed them now, assessing their potential.
He was bundled against the winter, wrapped in a black and red Burberry scarf, leather gloves, wool double-breasted coat and close fitting riding pants with tall black boots. His hair curled about his face wildly in the winter air, messy and full. He would need to purchase quite a bit to keep a horse or two up on the castle grounds, not to mention assuring their daily upkeep, and he wondered if it would simply be better to board one instead down in the village where those who had actually cared for horses in the last two centuries could manage for them properly in the current era.
Not long later, he found himself standing outside the livery stable on the east side of the village square, his cheeks and nose rosy from the cold brisk walk down the mountainside. It wasn’t a large establishment, but he knew from Lestat’s chatter about it that it was run by a small staff and housed eight or nine horses of varying types, that he let the villagers use in whatever functional or frivolous ways they required.
“Pardon me?” A polite feminine voice spoke in French behind him. Louis turned toward it, imagining perhaps that he had dropped something and someone was returning it. A young woman came up to join him on the path. She was bundled against the cold in a thick coat with a fur-lined hood covering her dark hair, and she was breathing fast, as if she’d been jogging.
“Salut.” She smiled up at him, her pale green eyes widening, as if seeing him up close surprised her in some way. “You’re Lestat’s friend, yes?” She paused, catching herself with a little nervous laugh. “I don’t mean the Lestat, but the other one, his nephew? I’m Claire, I work at the patisserie.” She gestured across the snow-dusted square to the row of shops on the other side.
Louis visibly flinched, recognizing her at once from when he and Lestat had visited the café with Benedict the first morning they were human. The girl who had incited in him such a foreign and strange feeling of longing for Lestat simply because she had drawn Lestat’s eye. He immediately felt guilty for his expression of repulsion and quickly he tried to right his face, affecting a long-practiced mask of gentlemanly pleasantness for her.
“I remember you,” he said, bowing his head slightly. He almost lifted his hand to take hers, but he quickly changed his movement to shove his hands instead deep into his coat pockets so as not to look more of a fool than he already felt. No one exhibited that type of formality anymore, though in his day of mortality, he would have never dreamed to address a lady in public this way at all.
He smiled, somewhat sheepishly, “I am, yes… His friend.”
Had his tone been too revealing with that one word, ‘friend?’ Louis found himself sweating beneath his coat, his cheeks reddening more than they already were from the cold.
Her smile brightened, as if just being in the company of one of Lestat’s friends was a cause for joy, her pretty cheeks going round and her eyes taking on a dreamy glow. She wore only a little makeup, and had a natural sort of fresh loveliness that gave her an air of innocence, even though she couldn’t have been more than a year or two younger than Louis appeared.
“Is he okay?” she asked hopefully. “His phone’s been going straight to voicemail since last night. And even before that, he wasn’t picking up, and my texts still aren’t marked as read. And his voicemail box is full.” She laughed a little as if that fact were especially endearing.
Again, Louis sought desperately to hide his sudden and visceral reaction to the knowledge that Lestat had exchanged phone numbers with this girl. Just what else had he done with her thus far? Louis didn’t think he truly wanted to know. For a brief moment, he was stricken dumb and didn’t quite know what to say in response. He hadn’t seen nor heard from Lestat either since he watched him leave the ballroom with Gregory yesterday morning.
“Did he go on another trip to Paris?” she offered.
“No, he didn’t.” Thankfully, Louis managed not to frown. It had been since their fraught day in the closet that they’d truly spent any certain length of time together, and Louis had become increasingly frustrated in the days since that Lestat didn’t seem inclined to pursue him, as Louis so desired, desperately at times.
“He’s been busy,” he said, flatly, trying as ever not to have the last word sound more loaded than it needed to be.
“But he’s okay?” she asked again. “I know he’s got a lot going on. Maybe he just forgot to charge his phone?” She smiled at Louis, but hesitated before speaking again, her cheeks coloring, and she seemed a little anxious as she lifted a mittened hand to brush a stray lock of dark hair back into her hood behind her ear. “We, um, have plans… For when my shift ends at three. Do you think he’ll still come down?”
Again, Louis went red in the face and turned to look out over Claire’s head, back in the direction of the castle, only to frown with consternation when no thoughts or psychic visions of Lestat from others came back to him in this human form, all minds locked against him now.
“I don’t know,” Louis said, unable to hide the irritation in his voice. So unlike him in every way was this sudden frustration, a strange sort of envy to wish Lestat would be making plans with him instead of this bakery maiden with her pretty eyes and dark hair.
“I am sorry,” he amended, sounding more like himself, gentler and calmer as he talked himself into trying not to care when there was little he could do to stop Lestat from doing anything. “He hasn’t been forthcoming in sharing his schedule with me. Rest assured, my frustration lies entirely with him.”
“Oh!” she said, looking mildly surprised, as if anyone ever being frustrated or irritated with Lestat was such an unexpected concept for her. As if he were perfection incarnate.
“It’s all right.” She smiled at Louis again, her eyes taking on that dreamy sort of quality, as if looking at him made it impossible not to smile. Whether that was because he was a friend of Lestat’s, or simply due to the merits of his own face, though, was hard to say. “Can I ask… If you’re going back up to the chateau before three, and you see him, would it be possible for you to…oh, I guess, just remind him for me? Or ask him to check his phone? If it’s not too much trouble?” How hopeful she looked, clearly trying to restrain her eagerness, but not doing a very good job at it. “I’ll give you a pain au chocolat,” she added with a little laugh, gesturing again to the café. “Or a muffin or whatever you like.”
This time Louis was successful at disguising his annoyance, his expression a placid mask of calm. “If I see him,” was all he said in acknowledgment as he nodded once, then looked from the livery stable back toward the patisserie with seeming resignation. “Very well,” he agreed, turning in the direction of her establishment instead.
“Are you the baker yourself, or are you an apprentice, or simply instead a clerk?” Louis asked, though as he spoke, the French terms for baker, apprentice and clerk, he chose the pronunciation that was more common in the 1800s than the ones widely used now without thinking anything of it.
It seemed to charm more than surprise her. But then she was well used to it, working for the eccentric inhabitants of the chateau who styled themselves as creatures of the night. There was some curiosity in her gaze, though, to hear what seemed to be a ‘normal’ person speaking in such a way. “I do some of the baking,” she explained lightly. “But I’m not in charge. It’s Lucerne’s kitchen. I’m more of an assistant than an apprentice, I would say. My mother got me the job last summer. She runs the post.” Claire gestured with a mitten in the direction of the building that contained the village’s small post office, along with their bank and security department. “I like it though, the baking, the customers… But it’s not like a career for me.”
They’d reached the shop and the silver bell tinkled as she opened the door, holding it for him as if welcoming an esteemed guest to her establishment. An older woman poked her head out from the kitchen door behind the counter at the sound, but then ducked back inside when she saw Claire. No one else was in the café at the moment.
Claire tugged off her mittens and scarf and coat as she went around the pastry case. “What would you like?” she asked him eagerly, but then hesitated, realizing something. “I’m sorry…I don’t know your name. I didn’t even ask, I’m sorry.” Her cheeks colored, as if realizing how silly she must have been coming off with her singular focus on Lestat.
“You may call me Phillipe,” Louis said, browsing the baked items behind the curved glass. He knew it would be exceedingly boring of him to order the exact same item he had last time he was here. Luckily that choice was taken from him as the assortment was mostly different today, which meant there was an entirely new host of confectionery wonders for him to peruse, which intrigued Louis, much to his surprise. Too, it made him appreciate the establishment a little more than he had before. He could imagine Lestat would have been appalled to know this, as he so prided himself on the little village and all the mortals there, so Louis felt momentarily guilty for having somewhat taken it all for granted.
“The lemon mille-feuille,” Louis decided, eying the stacked pastry’s crisp layers and artfully decorated creme flowers on top. Yes, lemon again, but he simply couldn’t help himself, having a particular affinity for anything and everything sweet lemon in his mortal life.
“And I don’t intend to take it for free,” he added, fishing out his money clip and sliding the appropriate amount out along with a little extra. He would never dream of being seen as cheap nor someone who expects handouts simply because he was ‘friends’ with the woman’s love interest. In all likelihood, Lestat had probably forgotten all about her, the poor thing. Though from the way she was acting, all Lestat would have to do was bat his golden eyelashes in her direction to be immediately forgiven.
“Would you like to eat it here?” she asked, as it wasn’t the sort of pastry he could really eat on the go. “Or take it in a box?” She stuffed her coat under the counter and smoothed down her hair and clothes from the inevitable static electricity. “Can I get you some coffee?” she added, hopefully, as if needing to make up for him paying for the dessert.
“I’ll stay. And yes, un café allongé will do nicely,” he answered, glancing over his shoulder to see if there was a suitable spot near the front window for him to sit.
“Were you going to see our Jean-Richard at the stables?” she asked as she slid open the case.
“I used to ride,” Louis explained. “So I intend to do it once more, though I am severely out of practice. I don’t think the stables at the chateau are equipped currently to handle any inhabitants. I may yet hire a stable-hand if I decide to purchase a gelding.”
“Does that mean you’re not just visiting?” Her voice held a little too much interest for the code of conduct the villagers were expected to keep regarding the chateau’s residents. Placing the pastry on a doily-topped ceramic plate along with a delicate golden fork, she set it on the counter.
He shook his head. “No, I’m…” He hesitated, unsure what to say as she turned to the espresso machine to pull his coffee. “It’s an extended stay this time. Do you know of any grooms looking for work?”
“No one here is looking for work.” She glanced back over her shoulder to him with an amused smile. “But for the past year, more and more people are being brought on. My mother says that the village has tripled in size since she started here. Everyone has their place and purpose. It feels kind of like living in an amusement park.”
Instead of passing the coffee cup and plate to Louis, she brought them around the counter to set them on the table by the window he’d looked at. “Oh, I forgot,” she said, glancing up at him. “Would you like milk and sugar? Lestat says everyone drinks it that way in America.”
He stared at her oddly, annoyed all over again that Lestat had simply given her his real name, as if nothing were implied in that nor risked. “If he insists, it must be good, hedonist that he is,” Louis mumbled, taking his seat and turning the pastry plate about so that he could admire its delicate form from all sides.
Claire laughed a little, the soft blush rising to her cheeks again, and she nodded as if she knew what Louis meant exactly, as if remembering something particularly charming about Lestat’s hedonistic ways. Returning behind the counter, she took the milk from the small refrigerator by the espresso machine, but she had to go back into the kitchen to get the sugar. It was only a minute before she returned with a small amount of each poured into two demitasse cups for lack of other appropriate containers. She also brought him a tiny spoon, and set everything gently on the table before him.
Instead of leaving him then to enjoy his repast, she lingered beside the table, hesitating as Louis busied himself with the sugar and milk, only putting a little of each into his cup and stirring.
“May I ask you a question about him?”
His eyes snapped back up to her, and he looked momentarily pale, somewhat frightened of the possibilities the question could bring. “I… suppose,” he said hesitantly, setting his spoon down, albeit a bit shakily, on the edge of the saucer that held his coffee cup.
“Oh! Nothing about your whole…thing up there at the chateau,” she said quickly. Residence in the village was strictly contingent on the people never questioning or discussing the nighttime goings on of the wealthy eccentrics who used the castle for their highly exclusive parties.
“I just wanted to ask—what kind of movies does he like? Oh, and what’s his favorite color?” She blushed a little again. “Two questions, I guess.”
Louis did well not to grouse outright at these innocent questions. The dear clearly was besotted with Lestat, and really, why shouldn’t she be? But this was entirely too much for Louis to simply sit by and listen to, and he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose as if he had suddenly contracted an intolerable headache. Louis wasn’t about to reveal these little details to her, and she couldn’t possibly know just how intimately he knew Lestat.
“I really don’t know,” he lied. “His tastes change like the wind. You might just as well ask him, as I’m sure he’d regale you with an entire essay on either subject.” Louis pushed at the pastry with his fork, then couldn’t keep himself from adding, “I don’t mean to be indelicate, but you could do so much better than to pine after the likes of him.”
She pressed her lips together tight, and seemed uncertain what to make of this or if she was offended on Lestat’s behalf, her fingers fidgeting anxiously with the edge of the empty tray she held. “I’m not pining,” she said after a moment, her smile seeming a bit forced this time. Then she gave a little shrug as if to say it was no big deal at all. “We’ve only been dating a week.”
She bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder as the shop’s bell rang with the arrival of a new customer. When she looked back to Louis again, her smile was a touch more natural. “Thank you, Philippe, for talking to me.” She gave him a polite, nearly formal nod before returning to the counter to do her job.
Louis felt a right heel after she walked away, and he frowned as he ate, guilty. But he was angry all the same at Lestat for his dalliances, and at himself for letting it affect him so much that he had said something so rude. He finished his coffee and the pastry quickly, then slipped outside when the girl was distracted with her customers, knowing the whole while that he should apologize to her. He didn’t.
To the stables he went next, perusing the stock and asking to ride a large Friesian gelding along some of the horse trails that circumvented the village and the large snowy fields surrounding it that had once belonged to the farms that supported the feudal community lorded over by the Marquise de Lioncourt. Careful and steady, it took Louis little time to fall back into the rhythm of riding, and he found he’d missed the way the activity could help stress roll from his shoulders. The gelding seemed all too eager for the leisurely ride as well, more used to heavier labor. It wasn’t the sort of horse he might usually pick, but there was something about the big black animal’s strong physique and large hooves and head that made Louis feel secure, especially in this weather, and gave him more confidence that he could not inadvertently injure it in his lack of practice over the centuries.
Later that afternoon he returned to the castle, windswept and chilly, his cheeks, nose and ears rosy from the cold, a slight sniffle which he remedied with a handkerchief and a large cup of hot tea. And of course, three o’clock came and went with absolutely no sign or word from Lestat.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and K.
This was so much fun to write 😆 I just love torturing poor Louis.
Chapter 64: Opportunities Now
Summary:
Lestat tries to hide his bitter feelings as he says goodbye to Gregory after their weekend in bed together.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Gregory stood before the floor length mirror in his dressing room, examining the full effect of the clothing he’d selected for his trip back to Paris from the chateau. He’d chosen black pants, black dress shirt, and ankle boots. He slipped on his silver and diamond watch and checked the time. It was almost 10:00 pm, Sunday night. His helicopter would be here soon to pick him up.
Glancing again to the mirror, he raked his fingers through his short, dark hair one more time. He exited the dressing room and found Lestat still in the sitting room area. He was mostly dressed now in the same clothes he’d been wearing when they met down at breakfast yesterday morning, though he hadn’t put his shoes on yet and his feet were up on the couch as he stared out the window, watching the fluffy white snowflakes drift past against the black sky.
Gregory gave him a small smile as he went on a search for his coat. This was not an easy thing, leaving the Court this time. He and Lestat had spent quite a passionate weekend together. He’d declared his undying and deep love for the man many times. Whether Lestat truly believed it or not, Gregory didn’t know. But he did know he didn’t want to leave now. There was a rather large meeting tomorrow morning at the Paris headquarters office. One he couldn’t skip out on. Though perhaps he could do it by Skype or phone. “Have you seen my coat? Did I leave it in the ballroom?”
“No,” Lestat answered to both questions without taking his eyes off the window. “You weren’t wearing a coat.” Not at breakfast yesterday, in any case. “Do you need one?” he asked still without looking over at Gregory. “There are dozens downstairs, brand new, you can take your pick.”
Gregory glanced to him with a bemused smile on his lips. “I am grateful for the offer, but also quite certain I arrived with a coat. It was a frigid cold flight in Chrysanthe’s arms. I was drunk and may have forgotten one, but she certainly wouldn’t have taken me without a coat. She would have insisted.”
Gregory detoured into the bedroom to look for it. Then back out into the parlour. He found it finally in a small closet not far from the main door entrance. He draped it over the back of a chair and moved to Lestat, taking a seat on the ottoman before the couch. Gregory hated saying goodbye just now. He longed to take Lestat downstairs for another breakfast tomorrow, and then to perhaps go out and enjoy the daylight, maybe find Louis. He longed to take him back into his bed and spend another night exploring one another. “I am sorry I must leave at this hour. Won’t you consider coming with me?”
Lestat’s hair was damp from the shower and yellow strands stuck to the cushion as his head rolled to look at Gregory, a faintly amused but tight smile on his lips. “I won’t,” he said with some regret. “I can’t.” Too many people at the chateau needed him, and he’d already been neglecting them for two days straight.
He reached out to run the collar of Gregory’s fine shirt between his fingers. How he loved touching expensive fabrics, even still after losing the preternatural sensitivity of his fingertips. “This is nice.” Turning his hand, it brushed the warm skin of Gregory’s throat, and his thumb stroked over the edge of his beard at his jaw. He wanted to ask when Gregory would come back, if he would come back, but his pride wouldn’t let him.
“You’ll call me if you see Rhosh again?” he asked instead.
Gregory gave a small nod of confirmation. “Of course.” He turned his head just slightly, so that he might place a kiss on Lestat’s wrist. “I hope not to see him again. I pray he has found something better to do with his time than follow me.” Gregory exhaled on a deep sigh and looked out the window at the slowly falling snow against the dark sky. “I don’t want to go,” he admitted in a quiet voice.
“Why keep the job?” Lestat shifted around in his seat to put his feet on the floor, his arms on his knees, hands hanging between them, his eyes flicking back and forth over Gregory’s sharply handsome face. “You’ve already been doing it for how many years now? Is it really how you want to spend the last few you might have left? You could do absolutely anything on earth you like instead.”
Gregory stared at him, almost shocked by the question, but only because it revealed how little Lestat really understood Gregory’s inner passions. “I love the job. I love being the top of the top in a world industry. I love that thousands upon thousands of mortals look to me for advice, including world leaders. I have a large ego, if you haven’t noticed. I would never hand off this position now. Not if I do have only this one lifetime left. This is exactly where my passion lies, Lestat. This makes living enjoyable to me.” Gregory tilted his head slightly, reaching to place a hand on Lestat’s knee. “Do you have a passion in life you would never give up? This Court, perhaps?”
“There is no Court.” Lestat’s gaze fell to Gregory’s hand. “All that’s over.” It was true that as an immortal, the Court had given Lestat a new joyful reason to live, to give up his drifting vagabond ways and make something good for their people, to put an end to the loneliness and solitude that was the perpetual suffering of so many vampires. He hoped Seth and Fareed created a new court, with the assistance of the other great magnates of their society, Teskhamen, Sevraine… But if that had been Lestat’s passion, as Gregory put it, it had been taken from him the moment he woke up human.
Most of the two hundred former vampires cursed along with him were now scattered back around the world in their homes, and the few dozen who remained here, in need of assistance and shelter would surely soon follow once they’d settled their affairs. Lestat didn’t think it would be very many weeks at all before this castle was empty of all but five or six heartbeats perhaps. And then Lestat would be free to leave as well. To find a new passion? He wasn’t feeling terribly optimistic about that right now.
Gregory held in a sigh. It was true, the Court was no more. This was the very reason Gregory couldn’t understand why Lestat remained behind here. Yes, those few people still here needed support, but in Gregory’s view, Lestat shouldn’t feel obligated at all to be that support. They were all adults, some of them hundreds of years old.
“Can you really be happy living only for your ego?” Lestat asked him, his hand sliding over Gregory’s, and he met his eyes again, the uncertainty in his gaze making him appear especially young in this moment. “How are you not devastated to have lost her? Lost your whole family! Your employees and world leaders make up for it so completely?”
Gregory’s heart ached at the mention of his wife. He looked away from Lestat. Of course this was a painful thought, that she might not be his anymore. But it had been only a week, he had not fully faced such a devastation yet.
“I have not lost them. They are still wholly mine. It has been only a week, Lestat. I’m not one to fall so quickly into predictions of doom. I’ve always been a positive being, until suddenly I’m not, and then I fall hard. I’m not going to just drop the thing that gives me purpose and pleasure so I can sink into doom and gloom.” Gregory leaned forward, wanting to impress this upon Lestat. “If this is the last span of time you have left, should you not be doing the thing you love most? What about acting? Singing? Those were your passions as a mortal man? Do you have no desire to continue them? You have opportunities now, as a mortal, that you didn’t as a creature of the night.”
Desire? Lestat didn’t have desire for anything now except to be a vampire again, to taste blood again, to hear into the minds of those around him and connect with them in a level of intimacy impossible for humans. Everyone was a closed door to him now…
“I tried playing the piano the other day,” he said, quietly. “I couldn’t remember any of the songs.” As a vampire, his preternatural mind had memorized thousands of pieces of music, and they flowed right through his fingers. But as he’d sat at that piano, and started out on several different pieces, he could get no further than a few bars in before he tripped up and went blank.
He shook his head and sighed. “I had small dreams as a mortal man. As a vampire, I made them huge; I was world famous for like five minutes. But without those gifts now, without that allure, what could I possibly accomplish? To anyone else besides the people here who rely on me, my tenants down in the village, I’m just an ordinary man.”
Gregory wanted to object, to tell Lestat he was a golden god! But he could see his beloved was in a deep hole. Understandably so. Lestat and many of those still here at the castle were less than half a century old. Gregory was ancient. He’d had more than his fill of life as a blood drinker. Of course he missed all the preternatural skills that went with it, but he thrilled at all opportunities mortal life gave him. He was not unlike those aged mortals who’d lived out a long happy life and were unafraid of death because they’d experienced all they desired.
“It’s true, I’ve had time to build myself up to the business tycoon I am today. But you have a whole lifetime ahead of you to build your career. You have money and connections beyond any average young actor who blindly moves out to Hollywood and prays for a big break. And you still have vampire connections to help you.”
Gregory felt a bit ridiculous pushing Lestat this way. The man would make his own choices, after all. “I only want your happiness.”
Lestat smiled softly at him, touched by his sincerity, and he was struck by the thought that he didn’t think Gregory was a person who would ever give up on him. It was an odd thought, a relief to an odd insecurity Lestat didn’t even realize he’d had. It made a loving warmth bloom in his chest, and he suddenly wanted very much to go with Gregory to Paris tonight after all. It was only the fear that Louis might be gone by the time he came back that kept Lestat from letting himself tumble into it.
Shifting to the edge of his seat, he pulled Gregory into his arms and breathed him in deep. The scent of his cologne didn’t fully mask the sweet nuttiness of the argan oil, even though he couldn’t have put any in his beard tonight, as they’d used up the entire bottle over the past two days. That scent would forever remind him of this weekend now. They’d tried all kinds of things together and given each other some truly shattering orgasms. But all of that paled to his appreciation for Gregory’s loyalty. God, Lestat hoped he came back.
“I’ll be happy again,” he whispered against Gregory’s temple. “I always am. Can’t help it.” He kissed his hair, then drew back.
Gregory looked so sharp and ready for action in the clothes he’d chosen, and the thought that he might be doing anything tonight other than going straight back to his hotel penthouse in Paris to go to bed to get enough rest for his damned meeting in the morning, made a spark of jealousy go off at the back of Lestat’s skull. “I’ll sleep alone tonight if you will,” he offered, his hands on Gregory’s sides tightening just a little.
Gregory couldn’t help the grin that crossed his face. He leaned in and gave Lestat a long tender kiss. “I’m drained after these past two days. I’m going to do nothing but lie in bed reviewing some reports with the television on.” He smoothed a lock of Lestat’s damp blond hair between two fingers. “I will come back next weekend for another round. I’m addicted to you.” With this, he gave Lestat another kiss. “This week there are too many matters for me to see to, or I would return sooner. Armand and I will be working on a project, too.”
Lestat arched an eyebrow, but he didn’t ask. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know about this project. Gregory hadn’t convinced him at all that keeping a day job was a worthwhile way to spend his short mortal years, but he wasn’t going to disparage Gregory’s choices any further. At least not at the moment. His mention of Armand, though, reminded Lestat how little he’d seen of his old friend over the past week, though he knew he was with Marius often enough, and Marius hadn’t mentioned much about him, so Lestat assumed he was handling things.
“Until next weekend, then,” he said, betraying nothing of his disappointment, and his hands smoothed lingeringly over Gregory’s thighs before finally letting him go.
Bending to grab his boots, Lestat pulled them on and stood. “I’ll walk you out. I mean to kiss you one last time before you get on that helicopter.”
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and D.
Chapter 65: Something Good
Summary:
Lestat finally has a chance to reconnect with Benedict, who is still angry and hurt about him letting Louis watch them have sex.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As the rising sun spread over the chateau’s eastern garden, Benedict stood watch over the small ice-crusted pond, hands stuffed in his pockets. It was so still, empty and in mourning for the loss of its lily pads but beautiful nonetheless. Sad but beautiful, that seemed to be everything he knew. He felt very well rested now after two days and nights of sleep, but to himself alone, he almost cursed that, too. His brain was functioning more, and he had to confront and deliberate much more on his feelings. He took a deep breath, hoping the morning air would, if not clear his mind, then make him feel a little more at ease, but it barely scratched the surface.
The sight of him down there made Lestat’s breath catch as he happened to glimpse him through a third story window. It has been a solid week since the day Benedict had slipped out of his room so awkwardly, and they had not spoken since. It was such a large castle, and their schedules so erratic, that Lestat told himself it was easy to miss each other…but Lestat was always easy to find, and it had become clear Benedict had no wish to find him. The stinging feeling this evoked in Lestat made him almost afraid.
And Lestat hated being afraid, he railed against it.
He felt no anger toward Benedict, of course. Lestat blamed Louis entirely for driving this wedge between them. Benedict hadn’t quit the chateau at least, that was something, and so Lestat felt desperate now to unwedge it.
He dropped what he was doing and ran downstairs, stopping only briefly at a salon full of cardboard boxes of all the necessary human items he’d been having delivered, spread in a half-unpacked disarray. Rooting through them, he found the carton with the thick down-filled parkas and pulled one out that seemed close to Benedict’s size, and then a larger one for himself, ripping off the plastic.
Stuffing his body into the coat, Lestat raced the rest of the way outside, his heart pounding with the fear that by the time he got down to the gardens, Benedict would have disappeared through one of the myriad stone passages and be lost again in the labyrinth of the castle. As he drew close, though, he slowed himself and pretended to be at a casual pace, thankfully not at all out of breath, well used to such exercise.
Benedict was facing away, and the snow on the path muffled Lestat’s footsteps so that he was able to come all the way up behind him before Benedict noticed. “Please, take this,” he said, holding out the puffy coat to him. “Yours is nowhere near thick enough for this cold.”
Benedict froze, his world turning slow as he absorbed Lestat’s voice. He turned to look at him, breath hitching at the sight. He’d not seen him since that day, not even in passing, and he was struck by the beauty of his face as ever. He seemed so genuine, so full of concern and so dedicated to help. It struck Benedict not for the first time that he didn’t deserve to be so heavily involved with such beautiful, wonderful men, even if they had upset him so tremendously. He didn’t deserve their light. His heart hurt so much still over what happened between them, but at least Lestat knew about Rhosh. At least he didn’t have to hide that.
He realized that he had been standing there, saying nothing, with a sour little face, so he smiled, taking the coat from Lestat. He shrugged into it over his thinner one, not wanting to cause an argument over this of all things. “Thank you,” he imparted, and went back to looking at the pond. “How are you?”
Lestat flinched, feeling a twisting in his chest. He didn’t bother to hide the expression since Benedict wasn’t looking at him anyway, and he stared at what he could still see of his profile. He couldn’t tell if Benedict looked more sorrowful and withdrawn than he’d been last time they’d spoken, or if this was simply the same shroud of melancholia he’d been wearing ever since he’d sought refuge at the chateau. What Lestat would give to have the power to pull it away, to shred it to pieces so it could never cover Benedict again. The memory of the brief smiles he’d managed to evoke before this last week hurt all the more now for how they’d been lost.
“Benedict…” He trailed off, knowing his tone was too beseeching, and not sure what he could even say that wouldn’t just make Benedict feel some other sense of unhappiness. God, if Louis were here right now, Lestat would smack him in the face or shove him straight into the frozen pond for doing this to them. “Do you want me to leave you alone?” he asked quietly.
Benedict felt like he could crumble on the spot. Briefly, very briefly, he wished Rhosh would kidnap him tonight after all, and it would all be out of his hands. He wanted to sink to the cold floor and hold his knees to his chest. He sighed before he could control it, his eyes falling to his feet instead of the pond. If Lestat stayed, he wouldn’t be able to hold back, but he didn’t want to lash out or hurt him in any way.
He nodded, turning to look at him with all of the energy he had left. “Yes, please, and I’m sorry for it. I can’t bring myself to hold a conversation or to give you the attention you deserve.”
“I don’t need attention,” Lestat said on the edge of his breath, perhaps a little too desperately. “Or even conversation. You don’t have to say anything at all. Benedict… I hate seeing you so alone. I’m afraid you’re doing it as some sort of self-punishment or because you think you deserve it for some unfathomable reason. You… You don’t have to be alone.”
“It’s not that. It’s not just that,” Benedict corrected himself quickly, because he felt like on some level, he needed to get it off his chest. Or at least, in some way, defend himself and his own feelings. “I want to be alone, it’s better that way for everyone.” Much easier that than actually confront it, than be pushed to fight with him. He didn’t have any right to be upset with Lestat, and yet he had every right. He wanted to hold him, kiss him and fuck him again, but he also wanted to give him an earful for what he had done. The conflict hurt, and he didn’t want to address it. “Please just don’t worry about it.”
“Do you think I can help it!” Lestat bit the inside of his cheeks, immediately feeling ashamed for speaking to Benedict that way. Benedict was his elder, Maker of his Maker, and Lestat had no place to expect anything from him, even though Benedict had turned to him for comfort and pleasure before. He tried to make his tone more respectful, his voice quiet again, his blue eyes large and shiny in the pale morning light. “It’s not better for anyone, really. I miss you.”
As if Lestat missed him. He looked at him then with those wide eyes, like a rejected puppy, and Benedict almost felt angry all over again. Angry that Lestat had done what he had done, and angry that he had to be angry about it. He shook his head, wondering how straight forward he could be with Lestat. Never in a million years did he think he would need to confront Lestat on anything.
“I am upset,” he confessed finally, sighing again. “There is nothing you can do. I am upset that I gave a part of myself to you and there was someone there to witness it without my knowledge, if I am to be frank. Which is very hard for me to do, you realize. Being frank, being blunt, it feels like a grindstone to my soul. Because it hurts others, which hurts me in turn.”
Lestat clenched his teeth, all of his anger at Louis rising straight up his spine and erupting at the back of his skull in a wash of heat that spread out to color his cheeks. This wasn’t the only reason he’d been avoiding Louis since the night they got drunk together, but it was absolutely part of it.
“I’m upset too,” he said, thrusting a hand out in the direction of the castle, where it happened. “I’m…I’m furious.” All the more so now to see how truly hurt Benedict was by it. And to have it confirmed that this was why Benedict was pushing him away. It made Lestat’s heart feel like it was being ripped in half. “Benedict… What can I do? Do you want me to reprimand him?” It felt strange to ask. Lestat didn’t have any authority whatsoever to reprimand Louis. But when it came to this, he had the feeling Louis would take it regardless.
Surprised at first, Benedict was too stunned to speak. And then it registered with him that Lestat was being serious, and Benedict’s heart broke all the more. “I’ve reprimanded him,” he returned, and left it at that. It seemed as though Lestat really only saw that Louis was to blame.
The thought of Benedict reprimanding Louis, of them spending time together, of having such a private and serious conversation sent a fissure of emotion through Lestat that he couldn’t define, but it wasn’t good.
“You weren’t furious at the time,” Benedict pointed out. “When you let him stay that long without putting a stop to it.” Immediately he regretted what he’d said. Not the content of it, really, perhaps it needed to be said. But it was so very bold of him that it frightened him and made his body go into panic, his shoulders tense all over again. His eyes were wide and he was frozen with fear, until he felt himself begin to weep. “For God’s sake.”
The sight of Benedict’s tears broke Lestat’s heart. Completely clear tears… How tragically young he looked now, just a boy, and so frail and mortal. Lestat was struck with the fear that Benedict would leave because of this. Would go off somewhere in the world and be absolutely alone and miserable. Or worse, go back to Rhoshamandes and subject himself to the devil he knew.
“I was!” Lestat’s anger was rising, as it always did when he was afraid, which made him all the more frustrated because he didn’t want to scare Benedict. “I was furious! But I didn’t…didn’t want you to know. I thought it was an accident, that he would leave again. I don’t know why he stayed.” And that had made Lestat all the more angry at the time because of how judgmental Louis had been about Lestat’s activities, how prudish Louis was being about his human nature in general.
Benedict flinched, Lestat’s anger frightening him in a way that burned his insides and made him even more tense. He’d expected it though, he didn’t know how, but he knew that if he confronted him, he’d be met by anger. And that was why he didn’t want to have this conversation at all. Lestat’s words made it marginally better, just a little bit, just because there was a reason behind what he had done. But just marginally.
“I felt violated. You didn’t tell me. I would have wanted to know,” he explained quietly. “Be as angry as you want about it. I’m sorry that you’re so angry. But I can’t pretend that I am all right, not anymore, not after twelve hundred years of doing it.”
“I don’t want you to pretend! Benedict…” Lestat realized his hands were shaking. He hadn’t taken time to put on gloves, but it was more than just the cold. He clenched them in tight fists, turning away a little to try to make himself calm down, hating that he was upsetting Benedict all the more.
Lestat knew how he felt. He’d been doing pretending of his own, last night when Gregory left again to go back to Paris and all his mortal concerns, and Lestat had pretended not to be bitter about it at all and gone back to his own rooms to sleep alone. No one had been in his bed since Benedict, and even though he’d changed the sheets days ago and his human nose was too weak to detect any memories, Lestat couldn’t help thinking of Benedict there. It had almost made him go downstairs and find an excuse to stay up all night. But his two days with Gregory had left him exhausted, and sleep won out.
“I didn’t tell you,” Lestat admitted when he’d managed to breathe more evenly, his tone remorseful. “I didn’t want to stop… You were so beautiful, and I wanted… I was trying to make you happy. To give you something good. I didn’t want to let him ruin it. I thought he would go away and that it could still be good for you.”
“But he didn’t,” Benedict shot back, wiping at his eyes. He felt his own anger levels rising, and he was surprised at himself. It was all he had energy left for it seemed, having spent so much emotional and mental wherewithal on staying in one piece. “You didn’t know he was going to go away, you just assumed, and that isn’t okay for me. I told Louis too, I’ve shouted at him too, it isn’t just you. But you must see how it made me feel!”
“I hate that you feel this way!” Lestat’s arms folded over his chest, his hands tucked tight beneath them for warmth. His breath was coming out in thick puffs now. God, why couldn’t Louis have just hidden himself?? Or backed out as soon as they were done before Benedict had the chance to lift his head from the pillows and see him?
Oh, Lestat could have given Louis some gesture to go away from the start, mouthed the words without Benedict seeing… But deep down, he knew the truth was that he had wanted Louis to watch. Wanted to torment Louis a little, make him frustrated and envious, punish him for how happy he was at being human, as well as for his judgmental attitude and his restraint. And so Lestat had let him stay.
He shook his head, pulling his eyes from Benedict and looking down at the icy pond. “It was supreme arrogance on my part. To think that anything I could do would help you.” Instead Lestat had just made another one of his classic blunders. And that it was Benedict of all people who got hurt in the process—sweet, tender Benedict—Lestat couldn’t stand it.
He looked back up, his eyes beseeching. “Is there truly nothing I can do?” Or would he just keep making it worse?
“You could apologize, and mean it,” Benedict answered truthfully. It had worked with Louis. Maybe not fully, not yet, but it had meant so much and been such a big step. It was healing for him, it meant that he was able to begin to move on. But he felt half stuck in this state of limbo, and perhaps Lestat’s apology was what he needed. Lestat seemed very intent on blaming the entire thing on Louis, or placing the blame on himself in the wrong places. He rubbed his eyes and sighed, struggling both to look at Lestat and look away. “It wasn’t arrogance, it helped. I needed it, and it might have continued to help.”
“I am sorry for it! Benedict—this was the last thing I wanted. If I could undo all of it, I would!” Even just saying that made pain seize Lestat’s chest and he had to turn away. Maybe it wasn’t true… Certainly he’d thought of Benedict often since their time in bed together, and he’d enjoyed it much for his own sake beyond just trying to do Benedict a service. But that any goodness in it had been completely overshadowed by this unhappiness made a furious sense of panic rise in Lestat, and yes, he’d give it all up to know that Benedict could feel at peace and comfortable.
Benedict took in a deep breath, Lestat’s sudden and almost aggressive apology hitting and stunning him. He needed to allow it to wash over him, followed by all his other words like a steady stream. He turned the words over in his mind, absorbed the hurt in Lestat’s voice as he was rather good at doing.
Lestat ran one hand through his hair, clenching at it so that it hurt his scalp as he stared down at the snow. “I wanted this to be a place of refuge for you, Benedict. I wanted…wanted to be the one who could make things better for you.” Good god, what vanity! No wonder it had gone so badly. Frustrated tears burned at the back of Lestat’s eyes. It was a sham, all of it. They were all going to die, and any glimmer of joy they found along the way was nothing but a lie.
Benedict turned and brought a hand to Lestat’s arm, and then to his other arm, to comfort and to almost embrace. “I don’t know if anyone can do that. I feel so fundamentally broken, I don’t even know if I can fix me. You can’t take twelve hundred years of trauma onto yourself Lestat, that isn’t fair on you.” He moved his hands up to Lestat’s face to hold it, sighing again. His own pain felt so raw and fresh. Had he been stupid in those brief moments between climax and noticing Louis’s presence, to think that he might have been able to have something real with Lestat? Had he been selfish and presumptuous? “I don’t want to lose that feeling we had.”
Lestat stared down at him, frozen, stunned, afraid to move, as if one touch from him might shatter Benedict like glass. His winter-kissed hands felt so cold on his face, like vampire hands, ancient hands, and the weight of centuries hung heavy behind his large boyish eyes.
“I get so mixed up with you,” Lestat confessed in a whisper, his stinging eyes shimmering with moisture. “Child or father? A fathomless being five times my age, or the sweet boy I see before me now? This drive that rises in me to protect and cherish you—even before we changed—is it condescending? I am loath to disrespect you. When I was Prince, perhaps that authority meant something, could shield you if you needed it. But now I have nothing good left to offer. And I'm sorry.” His hands moved, wanting so much to pull Benedict into his arms, but he stopped himself, afraid of making it worse.
“I need it now Lestat, more than ever,” Benedict confessed himself, feeling utterly vulnerable to do it. “I can’t… I don’t have the physical strength that I had. I don’t know how to talk to people the way you do, humans out in the world. All I’ve known since the monastery is the life Rhoshamandes gave me, and I am frightened. I am frightened I have nothing left to offer. Without you, I feel so much more unsafe.” He took a breath, the anxiety and fear working its way through his body and setting his nerves on fire. His throat felt tight in a way that almost stopped him from breathing, and he had to be very careful to speak. “I need protecting.” Suddenly the whole argument didn’t mean anything. Without Lestat, was Benedict due to live his entire life the way he had the past week? He’d sooner kill himself, surely.
Lestat took the word ‘you’ in the collective sense, thinking Benedict meant that without the community provided by the former-court, he felt unsafe. Because surely Lestat alone wasn’t worth much on that front, though he wished he could be.
His hands finally came up, gently sliding over Benedict’s on his face, hoping to infuse some warmth into them between his palms and cheeks. “Why would you need anything to offer?” he asked with confusion. Benedict had been asking for ways to be useful around Court, but that was just to keep him busy, to keep his mind off Rhosh. None of it was necessary or at all a condition of Benedict staying in the safety of the chateau. “I just want you to be here.”
Benedict closed his eyes, the feeling of Lestat’s hands so enveloping that it brought him to tears again. He blinked them so they rolled down his cheeks before looking at Lestat again. “I need to make myself useful, worth it, worth the protection and the space,” he explained. It wasn’t the same when he lived with Rhosh, but this was all so new. “But look at me, I’ve gone off on a tangent. I am hurt, but I can’t even bring myself to feel that now when you offer me this attention. I just want this, with you, and I just want peace.”
“I want that, too.” Lestat’s fingers stroked over the delicate bones of Benedict’s hands and wrists, gazing down at him as if he were afraid that if he blinked, all of Benedict’s despair would rise again. “Nothing useful you could do could make you more worth it than you already are. Not to me.” His hand twitched, wanting to put it to Benedict’s face to brush away his tears, but Lestat was afraid to cross a barrier of intimacy that was unwelcome, especially now with how hurt Benedict was. Instead, he folded his fingers around Benedict’s and gently pulled his hands down. “Come inside,” he entreated, taking a step back and drawing him along. “Cry all you need to, but not out here. Your tears will turn to ice on your skin. Come in and sit by the fire with me.”
Benedict immediately relented. If there were ever any question of it, it was laid to rest now. He didn’t want to fight, he wanted to be enveloped and to feel safe. Even though they weren’t vampires anymore, even though all that stood between them and Rhosh was a few feet of stone and fear, yes, he felt safe here.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and T.
Chapter 66: Taste the World
Summary:
Lestat and Benedict cuddle by the fireplace and talk about the future.
Chapter Text
Benedict allowed Lestat to lead him into a ground floor parlour with a roaring fire. He took off the down-filled coat Lestat had provided and folded it neatly, pressing at his eyes to keep his tears at bay. “I want to be able to feel the love that you present me with,” he admitted. “I want to be able to know that it’s true.”
Lestat tossed his own coat on a chair near the fireplace before crossing to a credenza against the wall. He pulled open a drawer to find a handkerchief, and he went back to Benedict, gently taking the folded coat away from him and giving him the soft square of fabric instead.
“I don’t lie about love,” he said with an uncertain frown. His fingers curled into his palms to resist the desire to wipe Benedict’s tears away himself. “Sit with me,” he offered, gesturing to the sofa by the glowing hearth.
“No, no of course not, nobody does,” Benedict agreed, hoping Lestat wouldn’t take offense to what he was suggesting. Or, what he was trying to suggest. “I mean there’s a barrier of sorts, in my mind. I seem to be unable to feel the love even if it is true. I can’t begin to know why, when my entire life I have valued love above all else.” He sighed, using the handkerchief to blot at his eyes, and sitting as asked. Lestat eased down on the couch with him, as if he were afraid moving too quickly would scare Benedict away, and he left a couple cautious feet between them.
“I am exhausted,” Benedict said. “And exhausted with being in such turmoil. I didn’t mean to make you feel any kind of way with it.”
“Well, I do,” Lestat admitted quietly, sliding one arm over the back of the couch as he faced him. “What is it you need, Benedict? You have absolutely every bit of safety and refuge my house can provide, but I don’t want you to languish away here in turmoil. Never that. These mortal lives we’ve been…given are brief, fleeting. Each day now could be our last, and I want you to experience joy. Let it not be wasted.”
Benedict dissolved into more tears at this, the threat of death and also Lestat asking him what he needed. It was more the nature of the question and less the tone he took—it made Benedict feel like a burden, something that wanted too much and couldn’t be pleased. He felt like that though, that he couldn’t be pleased, because what he needed, he couldn’t even ask for without feeling deeply embarrassed and pathetic.
“I am not built for the world,” he said, because that just about summed it up without him having to say what he needed. The epiphany left him even more helpless—what else was there? Suffering or death.
A bolt of fear went through Lestat. When he still possessed the mind gift as a vampire, he’d sometimes picked up on a darkness in Benedict that inspired a similar dread. His conversation with Gregory at breakfast the other morning came back to him, the dilemma of how he could break the hopeless news to everyone without a good number of them immediately turning to suicide. He shuddered, and he finally couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Scooting close on the couch, he folded Benedict into his arms, holding him against his chest.
“Don’t,” he pleaded in a strained whisper. “You haven’t even tasted the world yet, not in this form. There’s so much… And you’re not alone, Benedict. You’re not.”
Benedict didn’t know if he could believe that, and he didn’t know how to taste the world! It frightened him. All he’d ever had was Rhosh, and now all he had was Lestat and Louis. He didn’t know how to exist out of the circle of others, he didn’t know how to be a whole person.
And yet, Lestat had known that he needed this embrace without being asked, and as Benedict melted into his arms, he felt better.
“I’m scared,” he confessed, as if it weren’t already obvious, as if he hadn’t said it already in a thousand different ways. “We’re all afraid. I shouldn’t be doing this. I should be handling myself at my age, the way you do.”
A dry laugh came out of Lestat, and he felt the threat of tears burn at the back of his eyes. He didn’t think he was handling himself at all, only able to keep from going mad with continuous distractions and busywork on making his house a human-friendly environment.
“But you don’t have to,” he urged Benedict as his hand smoothed over his narrow back. “Nobody here expects it of you. We are all leaning on each other, keeping each other afloat. You don’t have to feel guilt for needing us on top of all your other turmoil.”
Benedict didn’t know how he could ever believe that. It had never been an option for him, whether or not he had to feel this way. He just did. But he didn’t want to argue with Lestat for the same reason that he didn’t want to bring up the incident in Lestat’s bed. He didn’t want to lose him. He buried his face against Lestat, inhaling his scent as if he’d never get to do it again. He didn’t know if he’d ever have the privilege of being in his bed again, and that thought upset him greatly.
He let his tears flow, before he pulled away so he could lock eyes with him and adore him. “Are you all right?” he asked, because in a way, if Lestat was, nothing Benedict was going through seemed so terrible.
It took Lestat a moment to answer as his pale blue eyes searched Benedict’s. “I am right now,” he said quietly. He thought perhaps he should let Benedict go again now, but he didn’t want to. Though he did manage to keep himself from putting a hand to his cheek, from stroking his angelically lovely face.
His twitching fingers picked up the handkerchief instead and he gently blotted at the streaks of tears. “I keep the horror of it all at bay for now by doing what I can for all the others. You can help me by letting me take care of you. Would that make it easier to accept?” He managed a small smile for Benedict. “If you were doing it for my sake?”
Benedict shifted, confronted with this offer that really would work for both of them. He wasn’t expecting his reframing of mindset, and he studied Lestat’s face to make sure it was something he was serious about. His heart clenched as his eyes traveled downward and snagged on Lestat’s throat, where he saw dark, narrow marks. Love bites. Of course Lestat had been coping so well. Benedict had been in pieces for the past week, and Lestat hadn’t even batted an eye about taking another into his bed, and after everything with Louis! It hurt. Had what they’d done meant nothing to Lestat?
He pushed his feelings back from the surface to save face—it probably wasn’t even fair that he had them—and he smiled. “It would help.”
A faint pinch between Lestat’s fair brows appeared as he noticed a flicker in Benedict’s expression, and he studied his smile uncertainly. But even if the smile wasn’t sincere, that Benedict was making the effort was commendable, and Lestat didn’t want to do anything to set him back again. False smiles would become real ones sooner than tears would.
He managed one of his own in return to mask the popping of a little bubble of hope for something he hadn’t even fully realized he’d wanted until now, when it seemed any chance for it was ruined. But even if Benedict never wanted him in such a way, it did not change Lestat’s desire to care for him and find some other way to bring him peace and contentment.
“Good,” he said, clasping Benedict’s shoulders affectionately. “We’ll stick together, keep each other sane. Is there anything about being human you especially enjoy? Food and drink? The warmth of the sun? I love seeing it sparkling on the snow, but is it too cold for you here? We’re not chained here, you know. Once everything’s settled with the others, we could travel.”
“I don’t know, I haven’t been in the head space to enjoy anything. Louis came to me the other day and read to me to help me sleep. Maybe that’s something that we could do as vampires, but it was such a different sensory experience, that I think… I think the small pleasures are what help me enjoy being a human. A good pillow and a warm bath.” He knew he was rambling, so put off by the marks on Lestat’s throat that he couldn’t gather his thoughts. “God forbid if we are still like this by April, but it will be asparagus season, and I’d like to go to the food markets then. I certainly miss summer days. You are so good in crowds; I admire you for that. I’d like to try that too, but I don’t know if I can.”
“I’ll help you.” Lestat gave Benedict’s shoulders an affectionate squeeze before reluctantly letting go. “It really is marvelous, being among them, surrounded by them, and completely free of any desire to hurt them. I still think of blood…all the time, really. And the thoughts still have an…effect on me. But I never think of killing. I never feel like I have to distance myself from any mortal now or be plagued by the lethal urges.” How tender Benedict looked…the tilt of his delicate jaw. Lestat wanted to cup it in his hands, to touch his pink lips with his thumbs…
He took a steadying breath. “Want to go shopping in Paris this week? You’ll see what it’s like in the press on the Champs-Élysées.”
“Shopping in Paris?” Benedict repeated, breathlessly enchanted. The thought that Lestat would want to take him somewhere, to do such a thing with him, it meant a whole deal. It made him feel special and wanted, it made him feel like he meant something. But on the other hand, he couldn’t quite believe that Lestat wanted it. “I would like it…very much, yes. Do you mean it, that we could go?”
“I mean it!” Lestat said with a little laugh. Why wouldn’t he mean it? “We’ll take the helicopter, make an afternoon out of it. Or if going there and back in the same day is too much for you, I keep rooms at the Plaza Athenee.” He’d been wanting to go back to Paris as it was to check in with Fareed, to see his children perhaps… Well, perhaps not. But certainly to make sure the other newly-minted mortals who had relocated there were doing well enough.
“Stay the night in Paris…” Benedict felt like he must look so stupid just repeating everything Lestat suggested, but he simply felt so lucky to even be considered for it. A damn helicopter! He’d never been in a helicopter. He felt dazzled, but before he agreed to anything, he remembered what a lovely thing Louis had done for him in helping him sleep, and how calming he’d found his company. “Can Louis come?”
Lestat was quiet for a moment, as if he weren’t sure how to react to this request. But then he smiled brightly and took Benedict’s face between his hands, leaning close. “We won’t give him a choice.”
It was the least Louis could do after upsetting Benedict so much. Before they became human, Lestat and Louis used to spend many nights in Paris, just walking their favorite paths, or sitting at cafés, people-watching. He didn’t see why Louis would have any objections to doing the same in the light of day.
Benedict released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Then he realized how presumptuous he had been in thinking Louis’s presence would cause any tension. Why would Louis and Lestat’s relationship be even remotely affected by what had transpired last week?
He smiled, a real smile now and not some fake one that he felt he had to give. “We could go to the Louvre? All of us? Would that be okay, or would you find it boring?”
“We love the Louvre. Louis and I go all the time. Won’t it be something to not have to break in after dark and dazzle the security guards?” His own smile became a little softer, warmed by the improvement in Benedict’s spirits, and he let his hands linger just one second more before they slipped away again. “And to actually taste what we order at the cafés instead of pouring it all down the drain.”
A little wistful sigh escaped Lestat, and he slumped back against the couch cushions, studying Benedict with a fond, hopeful expression. There were questions Lestat wanted to ask him, about whether he would want to be a vampire again if it were possible, about whether he would turn to Rhosh to be his maker. But he had the feeling the answers might upset both of them, and they were so cozy and comfortable here now in front of the small crackling fire.
Benedict smiled again and nodded, imagining the day in Paris as well. Tentatively and in one brave moment, he moved to take Lestat’s hand and hold it. He didn’t know if he would ever have what they had in bed again, even if he desperately longed for it. Lestat had been an attentive lover with the perfect smattering of dominance. Benedict felt a light heat to his cheeks as he remembered it, but he would put it down to the heat of the fire if asked. Even if he couldn’t have it all again, he would take contact where he could, and so he pressed his hand.
“I imagine there will be a lot of children around during the day. I always imagined that if I hadn’t become a monk, I might have had a child. I find them very fascinating and completely adorable. But I could never see myself married to a woman, and in those days, that was instrumental. Not that any of it matters. I became a monk.”
Lestat laughed softly, charmed by this confession, and his other hand smoothed over the back of Benedict’s. “It wasn’t instrumental in my day,” he pointed out. No one had ever questioned in any serious way why Lestat and Louis were raising a child without a woman. Men kept wards all the time. Had it been so very different 1200 years ago? “Children are wonderful. You have a chance now to make one, you know. And if you do not wish to make use of a woman, Fareed can help you.” It probably would be even easier for Fareed to manage while Benedict was human and able to provide the seed with no scientific intervention.
“I couldn’t be a father, I wouldn’t know the first thing about it. And I don’t have a disciplinary bone in my body.” Benedict laughed, the thought of it more absurd than ever to him. He looked down at his body, imagining that if he wanted, it really could produce a child. “Can you imagine me trying to discipline?” he reiterated, shaking his head in response for Lestat. In another bold move, given that the hand holding had been taken so well, he tucked in against Lestat and wrapped an arm around his middle.
“That’s what the nannies and teachers are for,” Lestat said as he shifted to allow Benedict to get comfortable, trying not to let on how closely he was watching his every shift in expression. Lightly, he let his hand settle against Benedict’s back, holding him in a way that would be very easy for Benedict to pull away from if he wished. “You would only have to do the fun parts. Make them happy.” There had been a few times Lestat had needed to get strict with Rose beyond what her caretakers managed, but most of that had revolved around the dark secret he was keeping about his true nature. Benedict might never have that challenge. Or if he did regain his immortality, he might raise a child the same way Fareed had with Viktor, no secrets at all.
When Lestat spoke again, his voice was much softer, nearly a whisper. “For what it’s worth, I think you would make a wonderful father.”
Benedict didn’t laugh this time. He watched the fire, enamored by its gentle crackle, and truly considered Lestat’s words. “I’ve got a while ahead of me to decide, hey? Either all of eternity or at least twenty years. I don’t think I’m stable enough to do it just now.” He didn’t want to pull away, not now and not ever if he could help it. He curled his knees up and leaned them into Lestat’s lap, calmed by his breathing and warmth.
Benedict’s gentle weight against him was so soft, and Lestat was starting to feel exceedingly comfortable and cozy. Slowly, the tension seeped out of him, his arm settling more securely around him, and he allowed himself to simply enjoy holding this lovely, sweet boy.
“I wonder what Rhosh would think, if I had a child.”
“Would he be jealous?” Lestat asked, and though his tone was merely thoughtful, he was very curious to hear anything at all Benedict might say about Rhoshamandes. “Do you miss him?”
“Ah, what do you think I should say to that? What would you have me say?” Benedict asked, without any malice or reprimand. Almost every night when he fell asleep, he expected to wake up next to his maker, vampiric once more, and it would all have been a strange dream. He craved Rhosh’s touch as much as he feared him, craved his voice and the intensity of his gaze.
His thumb caressed the back of Lestat’s hand as he thought. “He was all I ever knew. Can you believe I’m so old?”
“It’s difficult to remember,” Lestat admitted. He let his head tilt to rest his cheek against Benedict’s hair. He could fall asleep so comfortably like this, if it weren’t only a couple hours after he’d just woken up in the morning. “He misses you immensely, I’m sure. I’m afraid he’s going to come steal you away and keep you like he did before he gave you the Blood. But if he does, I’ll come after you.”
“I am not so sure that he misses me. I am half afraid that he will come to take me, but more out of spite. More for the fact that I am weaker than I was. But if he took me, it would be much the same, I think.” Benedict closed his eyes, trying to think not on Rhosh but on their upcoming day and night in Paris. But then he registered what Lestat had said about coming after him. “I wouldn’t expect that of you, it would put you in all sorts of danger.”
“But you know I’ll do it anyway,” Lestat said, his tone just as easy and comfortable as before. “I’d come during the day,” he reassured Benedict with a soft squeeze of his arm around him. “I’d bring help.” The last thing he wanted was to add to Benedict’s stress by giving him anything to worry about him as well. Lestat wasn’t worried in the slightest, though he did feel sorry for Rhoshamandes, that he might be upset enough about losing Benedict to resort to such a measure. “You are safe with me.”
“I feel it,” Benedict said quietly, smiling at the notion of Lestat rescuing him in such a way. He could almost believe it would happen.
He let himself rest against Lestat and rest well, holding his hand as if it were a precious treasure. He let himself listen to Lestat’s breathing again and fall into his own calm rhythm. “If we stay here for much longer, I fear I’ll fall asleep.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Lestat said softly, his eyes on the fire. It looked like it had about a half hour left to it, but he didn’t at all want to get up to add another log. If Benedict fell asleep for a mid-morning nap, Lestat would keep him warm one way or another. For his part, though exceedingly comfortable, he wasn’t tired at all. But he would stay right here as long as Benedict liked.
Unless Benedict had only said it as a segue to leaving?
“Do you want to go?” Lestat asked to be sure.
“No,” Benedict all but whispered, eyes closing as he rested against Lestat. He couldn’t recall when he was last at so much peace as this. Not fully at peace, never ever, but this much. He also couldn’t understand how he had gone from so much turmoil this morning to now this, but it wasn’t any of his business.
It gave Benedict hope, if nothing else, that somewhere between Lestat’s kind touches and protection, and Louis’s stories, he might find something akin to belonging. The thought made him smile.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and T
Chapter 67: Having Fun
Summary:
Armand meets with Lestat for a flirtatious goodbye before leaving on his treasure hunt, and he isn't prepared for how Lestat's new human form affects his own.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Armand had packed the last of his bag, aside from the laundry that wasn’t back yet, had checked off his list of supplies that he wouldn’t normally take on these excursions—toothbrush, deodorant, sunglasses of all things! He still marveled that he was able to do that. He also marveled at the daylight through the chateau windows as he made his way up to Lestat’s apartment.
“Am I interrupting anything?” he called from the foyer, supposing Lestat was somewhere. He’d come only to let him know that he would be away for just a little while, but he supposed he could be cajoled to stay and chat for a bit if it came to it. There was a calm to these rooms today that delighted him, but that may well have been the rare calm in his mind altogether.
“Always,” Lestat answered from the next room.
Armand smirked, recalling every slight against each other with fondness in that moment. Good. If he was interrupting, he was glad for it, then he could leave knowing he’d annoyed Lestat. The man appeared in the doorway, an equally amused expression on his face. He was dressed in the usual warm layers their frail mortal bodies needed against the midwinter: thermal shirt, sweater, velvet jacket.
His gaze roamed over Armand with interest as he came to meet him in the parlour. “Where in the world have you been hiding?” he asked, wondering if Armand had been spending any time with Louis, since Lestat hadn’t seen much of either of them in the past week.
Armand’s smirk turned into something a bit lighter, a bit more wistful as he thought on just where he’d been hiding. “I am young too and just as hungry as you,” he noted, eyes falling to Lestat’s neck and the obvious marks upon it, which his hair was and collar were just not quite succeeding to conceal. “I’ve been tucked up in my boyfriend’s bed. I take it I’ve not been needed for anything?”
Lestat’s hand went to his throat under his hair, pressing against a few of the very many little bruises Gregory had left on him yesterday, damn him. At the same time, his eyes went to Armand’s throat, and he noted similar marks. “Which boyfriend?” he asked, bemused to hear Armand use such a word. As much as Lestat embraced and enjoyed modern slang, that wasn’t one that he was used to.
Armand laughed, placing himself down without invitation on a plush couch. “Marius. He’d hate to be called that of course, or I think he would. Maybe he wouldn’t now… But I think we need to try to come to terms with these terms.” He looked around, noting he’d never seen these rooms in the daylight. “I’m still very afraid, but less so after so many nights by his side. So, who has been giving you those marks on your throat?”
“Am I supposed to keep track?” Lestat leaned comfortably against the back of the chair beside the couch, his ankles crossed, looking down at him. How young and full of energy Armand was now, gone entirely was the stone angel, the unfathomable creature. “Besides, what do you care?” He paused, then added, “It wasn’t Marius,” because he could see why Armand would care about that, actually. Since he was his boyfriend now. Lestat would certainly have to bring that up when he saw Marius later for their usual daily conference.
“Ah, I suppose I’ve overstepped,” Armand conceded, though he didn’t sound apologetic about it. He wasn’t, especially after that comment about Marius. He supposed he didn’t even mind so much now if Lestat and Marius found themselves in that situation again, not when he was secure in the way Marius felt about him. Before, he hadn’t known that, and so learning about him and Lestat had stung so much more.
He looked up at Lestat from this angle, admiring the cut of his jaw and the frame of his golden lashes. “I care just as much as you care about my escapades. I know you like to keep an eye on all of us, so I thought I’d tell you I’m going away for a few days.”
“How far away?” Lestat straightened and came to him. He rather thought Armand going out into the world full of so many ways he could die was much more understandable a thing to keep an eye on than Lestat’s sex life, but he didn’t say so, not wanting to call any more attention to his private activities. “Is there anything you need for your trip? Are you having a driver take you? Or do you need the helicopter?” As a vampire, Armand could pass for years older than his mortal age, but now that the preternatural gifts were stripped from him, he couldn’t help looking just like a teenage boy, especially if he was going to keep his hair long like this, and Lestat was already thinking about all the trouble that might cause for him out there in public.
“I have an escort.” Armand smiled, seeing that Lestat was more concerned about it—if not worried—than he was letting on, and he was letting it on a little as it was. “I’ll be going with Gregory. He made a business proposition before we were transformed, and doesn’t see any reason why it should suffer now. He says he doesn’t want my money even, just expertise. I wonder if it’s just an excuse to show me his yachts, but I think it could be interesting. We’re going to Spain, I’ll be a radio call away.”
“Gregory and his damn business,” Lestat muttered, scowling and looking away, one of his hands coming down to brace himself against the end table beside Armand.
He recovered himself after only a moment, though and looked back down at Armand thoughtfully, evaluating his smile. “You’re excited,” he said, clearly thinking that was a good thing, and trying to focus on that. “You’ll have fun. It sounds fun.” He couldn’t guess what sort of ‘business proposition’ involved yachts off the Spanish coast, but he figured knowing more would probably just frustrate him, so he wouldn’t ask.
It seemed he’d leave it at that, but then took a breath and abruptly added, “Don’t drown.”
“Ah, yes, I never could swim as a boy,” Armand lamented. He’d thought a long time about whether or not he should even go on this trip because of that fact, but he figured plenty of people who couldn’t swim went on boats. That’s what life jackets were for. Besides, he didn’t know that he couldn’t swim—his vampire body had been able to do it automatically—he just knew that last time he was mortal, he couldn’t swim. “I am excited. I am excited to try Spanish food and wine. You really must go out for a very fine meal, you know. Marius wasn’t impressed. He’s still not used to eating yet, doesn’t enjoy it. He resented an amuse bouche—can you imagine?”
Lestat stared down at Armand a bit wondrously as he rambled. Where did he get the energy? He was taking very well to being human… But then, Armand didn’t know the truth, that this state very well might be permanent. Marius had said he wouldn’t share the news with Armand when he and Lestat last discussed it. To Armand, this was just a temporary adventure. Lestat absolutely envied him the ignorance, even though he’d already had one such temporary adventure in his past and had never wanted to repeat it.
“But why do you resent Gregory for doing business?” Armand asked.
Lestat sank down on the arm of the couch, watching him closely. “Because we won’t be this way for long,” he answered. Let Armand think he meant they’d be vampires again soon, not that their mortal deaths were only a few short decades away. The reason was the same. “He has more money than God. He doesn’t need business. And anyway, his company would keep generating income without him ever lifting a finger to be part of it again. As a vampire, it was his way of connecting to the mortal world. Of having a tender foothold in it. But now he is the mortal world, and it’s pointless. There’s so much…so much else he could do instead…”
Armand laughed and nodded. “We need the money more than ever, if you think of it. But he will need to find more of a work-life balance or it will catch up with his body. He’ll get sick again and either one of us will have to bolt him to the bed.”
The thought of bolting Gregory to the bed sent a scintillating shiver through Lestat, reminding him of several of their exploits over the last two days. But it was quickly followed by a less-pleasant feeling at the thought of Armand doing it instead. Lestat didn’t like it at all. But this realization troubled him. It meant he cared more about Gregory than he should… Not good…
Armand put his hand on Lestat’s arm, kneeling up on the couch to be closer to him. “Try not to worry as much about him. Even if for the pure reason that you can’t tell him anything. And you need to have all the fun you can before our time as human is up. I trust you’ve been doing that, outside of that little dalliance?” He gestured to the marks on Lestat’s throat with a smirk.
“Little!” Lestat repeated, halfway between amused and defensive. He took offense at the word ‘dalliance’ as well, for that matter. Gregory was one of his closest friends in all the world! He caught himself, though, wondering if Armand was trying to bait him into sharing the details. How frustrating it must be for him now not to be able to use his intense psychic powers to scrape Lestat’s brain for information whenever he wished to.
He gathered Armand’s hair in two hands, lifting it behind his head so that he could see his throat better. For a second, the texture of the hair caught him off-guard, so thick and scrunchy, but then Lestat focused on the dark red marks on Armand’s pale neck.
“I have fun,” Lestat said lightly as he studied Armand’s bruises as if to decide whether Armand’s own ‘dalliance’ was just as ‘little.’ “I’m glad you’re having fun with Marius. He needs fun more than any of us.”
Armand looked up at him with heavy eyes as Lestat’s hands moved in his hair, happy for the touch and happy that he had been victorious in his prying. “Marius is very fun-loving; he just forgets that until his hand is forced.” He smiled lazily as he recalled their first night, in the hotel, the tension in their date that set his whole body to boiling point by the time they were alone together.
“What does he think of your yacht business?”
“I don’t think he minds it too much. I think he worries, just as I worry for him. But truly, we need to experience all of this, no? If we will only be human so briefly?” He fixed Lestat with a gaze that held a bit of challenge. By all of it he meant all of it, but he wondered if Lestat would ever even entertain the notion.
What was this look Armand was giving him? Lestat twisted the auburn hair in his hands, giving himself one more moment to enjoy holding it before he let it fall back behind Armand’s shoulders. “Are you propositioning me, Armand?” he asked with a wry smile.
“Not if you were the very last man on earth,” Armand said after a moment of hesitation, though his eyes and his face said the complete opposite. Lestat wasn’t stupid. If he was interested enough, he’d figure it out. But for the moment, Lestat only smirked and flicked a loose curl of Armand’s hair back over his forehead.
“How is beloved Louis?” Armand asked.
The question seemed to take much of the lightness out of Lestat’s demeanor. “Loving every minute of this, I’m sure,” he said with a shrug, his eyes drifting in the direction of the bathroom where he and Louis had shared such a passionate afternoon last week. “It’s what he’s always wanted, from his very first night of regrets.”
Armand hummed, face also falling a little bit. He supposed it was what Louis had always wanted, and it bored a hole in his heart to think that when they returned to vampirism, Louis might not join them. He knew, even if Lestat didn’t show it, that the thought utterly terrified him as well, but Armand didn’t say it. Instead, he reached out and held Lestat’s hand. “And are you loving any minute of it at all?”
Lestat’s eyes fell to Armand’s touch, but he didn’t seem to mind it. “Yeah.” He shrugged again. “There’s so much I hate, all the little pains and inconveniences, but of course I don’t ignore the pleasures. Last time I was like this, I spent so much of it sick in bed. Revolting or not, I won’t let the experience go to waste this time.” Because that very well might be letting the entire remainder of his existence go to waste, and despite Gregory’s accusations, Lestat wasn’t that negative about life now.
Armand released his hand, nodding and smiling. “Good, then there is that. And you are in a much better position than last time. But we need to still be cautious, and avoid danger like the plague. Is being on a yacht very dangerous, do you think?” He reflected for a moment but shook his head and rose from the couch. As if Lestat cared.
“Yachts are designed to keep soft pampered people safe and comfortable,” Lestat pointed out. “I think you’ll be in much more danger just on the drive to get to the port.” He paused, then added, “Don’t drive yourself.” Armand always seemed to prefer limos and chauffeurs in general, but Lestat got the sudden frightening image of him behind the wheel, and even if it was a short distance from an airport to a seaport, he did not like it at all.
Armand chuckled. “Well, safe or not, I’m going on the yacht. I’ve agreed to it now anyway. He’s so insistent, isn’t he? And firm. Makes you almost forget that you can say no.”
Lestat arched an eyebrow at him as if there was something quite telling about what he’d just said. That wasn’t Lestat’s experience with Gregory at all. Gregory was always deferential and doting with him, though Lestat understood why he would be an exception in that regard.
“I think you just like to say yes,” he said with a smirk. For all his stubborn hold on control, he did think that Armand really did like to be bossed around sometimes.
“I do not like to say yes,” Armand shot back, fixing his hair as he moved to stand before where Lestat was perched on the arm of the couch. He looked over him inch by inch. He’d not ever shared details of his ‘love life,’ as they call it, with him face to face. But of course they knew things of each other, and so it didn’t feel like such a stigma. “I like to be forced to. There’s a distinct difference. Daniel says I’m a bratty bottom, whatever that means.”
Lestat laughed out loud. He wasn’t quite sure what it meant either, but it certainly triggered his imagination. “Well, he would know best, wouldn’t he?” He looked Armand up and down with a smirk, as if this information caused Lestat to see him in a new light. His fingers came up to catch Armand’s sleeve. “Promise me you won’t drive. Say yes.”
Armand was startled by the touch, when Lestat had seemed so unreceptive to his own gestures. But when he caught his eye, he saw what he was doing, and leaned down a little closer. “Don’t you think I would look handsome behind the wheel?” He tilted his head, a smirk of his own playing over his lips. “Make me.”
Lestat’s eyes narrowed stormily, as if he weren’t at all in the mood to play this game. He took Armand’s safety seriously, and Armand must do the same. His hand clamped around Armand’s forearm. With a jerk, he pulled Armand close as he stood up to loom over him, though he bent his face so that they were very close. Their noses almost touching, their lips only an inch apart, Lestat whispered, “Say. Yes.”
Armand kept himself as unaffected as possible, though he couldn’t help but gasp. He thought about saying yes straight away, and of course he was never going to drive, but he didn’t say it. He smiled instead, locking eyes with Lestat and sliding his free hand to his shoulder. He’d not been so close to him since he’d become human. “What if I don’t want this moment to end?”
Lestat’s other hand came up to tuck the side of his fingers under Armand’s chin, pushing his face up to make him crane his head back. He smirked, though the dark look remained in his eyes. “Then you won’t be able to get behind a wheel, will you?” He tilted his face, as if considering what could happen while they were so close to each other. “But don’t actually try me, Armand. You won’t like it.” Because as much as Armand was clearly enjoying himself at the moment, Lestat did know quite well how to effectively torture him. And he didn’t actually want to hurt his heart.
Armand hummed, once more trying to control his expression so he didn’t betray himself. Well, how was anyone meant to feel this close to Lestat, being utterly commanded by him? He had to recall everything that had happened between them ever to keep his strength, though he was sure by the pattern of his breathing and by his dilated pupils that Lestat knew how he felt.
“A few weeks ago, maybe I would have been able to take you, to fight off any of your torture. Maybe. But now I am not so sure.” He sighed, his hand moving to cup Lestat’s throat. “I will not drive.”
“That’s right,” Lestat said, satisfied. His grip on Armand’s wrist loosened, but did not let go. Tilting his face down, he gave Armand a somewhat patronizing kiss on the forehead, then chucked him under his chin before sinking back to resume his half-sit on the arm of the couch.
“You’ll come back?” he asked, studying him thoughtfully. “When you’re done in Spain. I mean—you like it here? No plans to go home to New York?”
Armand thought on this and shook his head. Sybelle, Benji, and Eleni were still there, and he couldn’t live with vampires. And even if they left, the only reason he would return to Trinity Gate, so far away at this point, was already away in Paris working to get all of them back to normality. “Not without Daniel. And even then—he likes it here too much to go back. And I like it too.”
His mind was still on Lestat’s kiss. He hadn’t minded it, not when he’d just been threatened with torture. And he would not go back on the promise Lestat had exacted. “I’ll have some chauffeur or another take me to the airport and wish that it was Marius. You know he drove us into the city for dinner? You should ask him to drive you somewhere, maybe he’d like that. Or maybe not. It’s still so hard to know his mind.”
Lestat did know about Marius and Armand’s trip to the city last week, actually, and was glad Marius had been able to drive well on the icy roads. Lestat preferred driving himself, though he hadn’t had occasion to yet. He probably would do it, though, the day after tomorrow when he took Benedict and Louis to Paris. Just thinking about Louis now made Lestat clench his teeth, but he tried not to let it show, not about to explain to Armand of all people why he was angry.
“Sure,” he said lightly to try to stay in the moment. “I’ll ask your boyfriend to give me a ride. He’ll have much more free time while you’re gone, won’t he?” Lestat smiled innocently at Armand. “Maybe time for several rides.”
“One ride.” Armand narrowed his eyes, and he certainly meant in the car. He meant for Marius to have both hands on the wheel and Lestat to have hands and mouth to himself. And eyes, if he had anything to say about it. Lestat had had his fun with Marius now, and he hoped never to learn of another of their escapades. “If anything comes of it, I’ll take matters into my own hands.” What he meant by this, he left up to interpretation, but in particular, he meant he would refamiliarize himself with Louis. Which he truly should do when he got back from Spain regardless.
Armand straightened his clothes out and looked into Lestat’s eyes. “Don’t miss me too much.”
“Why must you ask the impossible of me?” Lestat teased, leaving it to Armand to decide whether he was talking about missing him, or about behaving himself with Marius, or both.
He stood then to give Armand a hug goodbye, ruffling his hair in a way that actually left it mussed, unlike how it always used to fall back into place as a vampire. “Remember to apply sun blocking cream,” he added as he looked down at his pale Slavic forehead.
Armand quirked a brow, suspicious over the look but nodding all the same. It would be foolish not to, to invite the risk of skin cancer when they were susceptible to all things now. “I’ll be back in a few days. Look after yourself, and everyone else where they need it.”
He nodded again, making for the door, but paused and turned back. “And for the love of God, look after Marius where you can. He can’t even get used to eating yet, barely touched his food all week. He’s so stubborn, but he is struggling.”
“We’ll be all right,” Lestat promised him with sudden soft sincerity.
Armand had to believe it. Fun or no fun, it was the only way he’d be able to endure his trip at all.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and T.
The next 4 chapters are Louis and Lestat together again!
Chapter 68: Haunt You
Summary:
Lestat confronts Louis over what happened with Benedict, but Louis has his own bone to pick about the girl in the village.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
For the second day in a row, Louis went down to the village livery stable and took out a horse to ride. This time it was an Anglo-Norman roan mare which Louis found complacent enough, though he refrained from pushing the animal too hard as the cold temperatures and patches of ice on the trail meant he wasn’t comfortable yet at an all-out gallop.
He stayed longer in the village this time as well, chatting with Jean-Richard, the stable master and visiting the large Friesian again, even asking to help clean out a few of the stalls because it had simply been so long since he’d done any such thing.
When he returned to the chateau later that afternoon, the sun had just begun to set. Louis stood to watch it go down, then headed into the castle, chilled to the bone, which he went down to the newly refurbished kitchens to remedy. What he didn’t expect was to find Lestat there, leaning against the counter with his arms folded, talking to Cyril. They were both bundled in coats and scarves, like they’d also just come in from outdoors, though they looked far less chilled than Louis.
Lestat straightened at once and Cyril glanced over his shoulder to see who he was looking at. He nodded to Louis in greeting, but before he could say anything, the microwave beeped. Cyril pulled it open and snatched out a hot Cordon Bleu in a cardboard wrapper. “See you later,” he said to Lestat and then ducked past Louis to leave the room.
“Hey!” Lestat pushed away from the counter after him. “Where are you going?” But Cyril only waved the Cordon Bleu in goodbye and disappeared down the hall.
Lestat didn’t go further than where Louis stood at the door. He glanced aside at him, as if expecting him to know why Cyril might not want to be in the same room with the two of them, but Louis looked just as perplexed as he was.
After talking with Benedict this morning, much of Lestat’s anger with Louis had faded into a sort of resignation, and he couldn’t help how his traitorous heart tripped at the sight of his face. Had someone turned on the chandeliers in the next room? It suddenly seemed so much brighter in the kitchen. The color in Louis’s cheeks was practically glowing, his eyes like sylvan glades. Lestat realized he was staring, and he blinked and shook his head. This was why he couldn’t let himself be near Louis. He took a half step back.
“Why do you smell like a stable?”
“I went for a ride,” Louis said, a bit breathless as he loosened the scarf at his neck and let it hang off of his shoulders. It was much warmer in the kitchens than elsewhere in the castle and the juxtaposition of coming from outside to this made Louis feel as if he were sweating despite having just been so close to freezing instead. Or was that Lestat? Lestat practically looked like a hungry animal just now, staring at him, and Louis was surprised, but found himself relishing in it a bit, after his regrettable encounter yesterday with Claire at the village café.
“I intend to visit the livery stable regularly, if not almost every day,” Louis added, going about making himself a steaming cup of tea. He sniffed, resisting the urge to bring up the handkerchief from his pocket, feeling suddenly as though that would be wholly disgusting in front of Lestat, who was looking at him so earnestly.
Lestat’s eyebrows went up. His first inclination was to object to Louis riding around in the snow. The icy earth beneath it was often slick, and he knew for a fact Louis had no practice handling a horse in such a climate. But he didn’t want to admit how quick his heart jumped to concern, so all he said instead was, “Ah. I’m glad you’ve found a hobby more interesting than sitting around reading.” It was one thing to idle for hours or nights or weeks or years at a time in the alternate reality of books when one was immortal. But now? Time was impossibly short. Every heartbeat could be their last.
He eyed Louis’s tea, trying to decide if it looked appetizing. Not really. But he was hungry, and the smell of Cryil’s microwave meal that lingered in the air was making his stomach twist. Lestat wanted real food, though. Not any of this processed modern rubbish. He wanted to go down to the inn in the village and have a great big bowl of rabbit stew. For now, he plucked a loaf of bread out of the basket on the counter and broke it in two. Leaving one half behind for someone else to take, he took a big bite out of the soft end of his piece, his eyes never leaving Louis.
“I missed riding, more than I realized,” Louis was saying. “But I still read.” His eyes moved to Lestat’s mouth unconsciously, his own lips pressing together to watch Lestat’s close about the bread and take another bite. Louis caught his bottom lip on his teeth, then turned back to his tea.
But of course, Lestat noticed, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Well, now…
Louis sipped his tea gently as the steam rose about his face, warming him. “Is that all you’re eating?”
“Why?” Lestat asked, poking Louis’s shoulder with the hard pointed end of the baguette. “You offering?”
Louis’s cheeks were already rosy from the cold, and any color that had been chased away by the hot tea came flooding back at this deliberately crude reference to their drunken time together in his closet last week. The gleam in Lestat’s eyes showed he intended to hold nothing back. Flustered, Louis made a short inhaled sound of scandal that he certainly would have kept in check, and handled with far more stoicism, if not for his damned mortal body and its sudden florid reaction.
A flash of the bakery girl, and Louis frowned. “You’re a damned tease,” he said flatly. “I might be offering, if I didn’t think you’d simply forget I existed all over again the next morning, like that poor girl at the bakery.”
“Claire?” Lestat asked, thrown off by the surprise of Louis mentioning her at all. He’d just spent half an hour on the phone with her this afternoon, though he hadn’t seen her since Friday. He might have gone down to the village to make up for missing their date yesterday, but when he noticed the sucking bruises Gregory had left on his neck (and several other places), he was frustrated to realize he’d have to avoid seeing her until they faded. Women had a way of taking such things out of proportion. When he made the phone call, she’d been only excited to hear from him again, more than satisfied with the apologies and excuses Lestat gave her, and they’d set plans for later this week that he was very much looking forward to. A far cry from forgetting her existence, as Louis accused him of.
“How could I forget you exist, Louis?” Lestat said, nearly rolling his eyes. “You know, sometimes, I wish I could. Instead you have this damned annoying habit of haunting everything I do, and sucking all the fun out of it. What is it now, hm? You think I should never have any mortal friends? I don’t deserve them?”
Louis felt he might actually see red to hear all of this thrown at him so flippantly. Jaw clenched, he willed himself to inhale and exhale slowly, and set his teacup down gingerly on its saucer. “That isn’t it at all, and you damn well know it,” he growled evenly. “You barely even look at me, you never seek me out. Haunt you? I might as well be a ghost. And don’t act like you didn’t forget the girl! She was practically salivating, accosting me with questions of you, so looking forward to your meeting again yesterday. I know what you were doing all weekend, and it had nothing to do with her!”
Lestat just stared at him, waiting to see if he was done, or if there was more coming. Then he took a bite of his bread and slowly chewed, his eyes never leaving Louis’s, and he didn't speak again until he’d swallowed. “She asked you questions about me?”
Thank goodness the teacup was out of his hand, or Louis might have slung the thing directly at Lestat’s smug face.
Again, he made a gasp of a sound, incensed. A thousand things rose up in his mind to say and were too horrid and unseemly to actually utter. Louis vowed he was above such things, even as his jaw tightened and his shoulders tensed. Excruciating, infuriating, maddening, was the embodiment of everything that was Lestat in this moment. He wanted to yell, to break something or worse, but it was folly, all of it.
His bottom lip trembled only a little and Louis instead shook his head. “No, I’m not doing this.” He turned abruptly to leave the room.
Lestat tossed his bread on the counter and stepped after him, grabbing his arm. “Why not?” he asked, sounding on the verge of laughter, though there was an intensity burning behind his eyes. “Got something better to do? Horses to ride, flowers to smell, books to read to Benedict in bed? You’re angry with me for not seeking you out? Where have you been for the past week?” Yes, Lestat had been keeping himself away from Louis in his anger as well as all the other painful feelings where Louis was concerned, but it had been an exceedingly easy task to manage. Louis had hardly sought him out either. He wanted to ask how Louis knew what he’d been doing all weekend, and furthermore, why it mattered, but he waited to hear this answer first.
Louis wheeled back to Lestat and looked as if he might actually attempt to swing a fist at him, but didn’t. He struggled a moment to wrench his arm away, but there was no real strength behind it, as though he wanted to be held firm this way on some deeper and unmentionable level. “Waiting for you!” he shouted directly at Lestat’s face.
He flinched in surprise, taking half a step back, but he didn’t let go of Louis’s arm. This answer didn’t come as any great revelation, but it frustrated Lestat as much as anything else. Just like how Louis said that he would only become a vampire again if Lestat tempted him into it, not for any joy of simply being a vampire in its own right. It was up to Lestat again to pressure Louis into doing anything else with him as a mortal at all. But why should Lestat have to? Why should he at all cater to or encourage this farcically reluctant attitude of Louis’s?
Lestat was stiff and silent, just glowering at him for a moment before speaking again. “I talked with Benedict this morning. He hid from me for a week because of you, you know. And would have kept doing it if I hadn’t managed to catch him out in the gardens.”
The mention of Benedict stilled Louis’s ire, and his tension relaxed momentarily, his expression shifting into remorse. “I know,” he said. “I spoke to him too, apologized profusely, did all I could to try to make amends. I’ll do more if it’s what’s required of me, and he knows this.” The last of his words were trending toward anger again.
“What about me?” Lestat asked, finally letting Louis have his arm back and crossing his own over his chest, his coat creasing thickly at his elbows. “Where are my amends?”
Thankfully after their talk this morning, Benedict was speaking to him again, wanted to spend time with him, was willing to let Lestat help pull him out of his emotional quagmire. But Lestat had lost the hope that there could be something more between them. He would not dare push Benedict’s boundaries now, and this realization had left him even more disappointed than he would have expected to be. He’d been too inebriated to focus on any of this the day Louis found him on the floor of his closet, but now it was fresh in Lestat’s mind again, and he had to wonder if Louis was actually glad to have ruined things with Benedict. Louis certainly must think Benedict deserved better than anything Lestat could offer him. And maybe he was right. But Louis could at least pretend to have some damn sympathy.
“You don’t need amends!” Louis snapped. “You enjoyed it! You liked seeing me there in the doorway, don’t even try to deny it! I saw your smirk, you didn’t care! You only care now because you think something has been taken away from you! Well, it hasn’t!”
Lestat scoffed. However he might have enjoyed being watched by Louis was an entirely separate matter from Louis allowing Benedict to catch him in the act, and subsequently sending the poor boy into a week-long spiral of despair and tears that resulted in his withdrawal from Lestat. Louis’s complete lack of remorse on this part now only confirmed for Lestat his guess that Louis must be glad that he ruined it for him. Had his revelation to Benedict actually been deliberate to that end??
A wave of tightness gripped Lestat under his ribs, and he felt a prickling behind his nose that made his crossed arms tighten crushingly over his chest. He clenched his teeth and looked away from Louis finally with a sharp jerk of his head. “And you wonder why I don’t seek you out,” he muttered.
“You were ignoring me before anything of the sort happened!” Louis insisted, stepping closer on pure instinct, something in Lestat’s posture giving him the impetus and confidence that he could press him. “For Benedict, I have nothing but remorse! He seemed horrified! You didn’t! You only seemed amused!”
Once again, it was abundantly clear that trying to explain how he felt and what he needed from Louis was a fool’s errand. Lestat might have questioned why he ever even bothered trying, but he knew the answer was that he would be a fool for Louis until the day he died. His eternal tormentor, or beloved weakness, as Louis so recently put it.
He turned away from Louis again, but made it seem as if it were only because he wanted to find his baguette on the counter, though he did not touch it. He spoke with his back to him. “We’re taking him to Paris the day after tomorrow. Be ready to leave by ten.”
“We—what?” Louis blurted, reeling from this sudden turn in conversation. “Benedict? I… Well… All right.” He blinked, his adrenaline abating, the roller-coaster of emotions making him somewhat dizzy.
Louis reached for the tea again, taking another sip then setting it down, leaning his full weight with both hands against the counter, trying to right his bearings.
Lestat ground his teeth, trying to school his expression to hide both the anger and the hurt now, but he knew he was utterly failing, so he kept his back to Louis and just gave him a stiff parting nod before leaving the kitchen.
Louis snatched up his tea and the baguette, hurrying after Lestat, though he said nothing, simply walking briskly after him, intent to not let him get away.
Lestat hadn’t expected him to follow, but he managed to refrain from looking at him in surprise. Instead, he kept walking as if it were perfectly normal that they be going through the halls together like they always did. He remained stubbornly silent and kept expecting Louis to give up and go off on his own, but as he followed him around every turn and up the staircase, Lestat knew that if anyone’s stubbornness was a match for his own, it was Louis’s. Still, the only acknowledgment he gave was to finally reach over and take the baguette out of Louis’s grasp, ripping off small pieces of it to eat as they walked.
Notes:
To be continued! This sequence with Louis and Lestat spans 4 more chapters, and all of them are explicit
This chapter written by Me and K.
Chapter 69: Unleash It
Summary:
Louis and Lestat's argument continues up in his room, but Lestat's attempt to gain the upper hand backfires when his human body betrays him with the lust only Louis can inspire. Explicit
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
By the time they got upstairs to his apartment, Lestat didn’t even try to pretend that he wasn’t leaving the door open behind him for Louis to come in after. Unzipping his coat, Lestat shrugged out of it and let it fall to the floor, purely because he knew it would annoy Louis. His hands went up to the white cashmere scarf around his neck, but as he caught sight of himself in one of the mirrors, he remembered what it was concealing, so he decided to leave it on.
Louis said nothing as he closed the door behind him, a bit harder than he truly meant to. He set his teacup on a side table, then bent to snatch up the haphazardly discarded coat from the floor and fold it to drape over one of the camel-back couches. That done, Louis closed the distance between them abruptly.
His gaze suddenly quite predatory and determined, he stopped a few inches from Lestat, their noses almost touching. “Don’t walk away from me,” he said, below his breath, his tone half a growl and half in sorrow, a strange sort of expression, irate and helpless all in the same instant.
Lestat glared at him, his teeth clenched, his face feeling hot. “If you have more to say, then say it,” he snapped. For his own part, he’d given up on the conversation. That was why he’d left the kitchen.
His hands came up between them, and he tugged Louis’s scarf off his shoulders, then began to unfasten his coat. Now Louis smelled like horses and tea. Lestat should just shove him into the shower.
Louis wasn’t quite sure what Lestat meant to do, why he was being undressed this way, but there was an element of suspense to it all that kept Louis tethered to the moment, unwilling to break it. Pathetic, if he had the wherewithal to stop and think about it long enough, but he didn’t care. There was time enough later to ridicule himself over it all.
“Why pursue so much?” he demanded. “Why feel the need to possess everything within your reach?”
Lestat bristled. Aside from Claire, he hadn’t pursued anything. And even she had hardly taken any effort at all. Things just kept…happening. What was Lestat supposed to do? Say no??
He did think of Louis while he was with others, not because Louis had asked him to that first day at the cafe, but because Lestat simply couldn’t help it. But thoughts of Louis had all been tinged with bitterness and heartache lately.
“How are you able to give yourself such freedom, Lestat, and so easily, to anyone and everyone who catches your eye, yet…withhold it…from me?” Still so close, Louis’s voice only changed pitch with the rustle of Lestat’s movements at his outerwear.
As if on a whim, Louis reached up and plucked the scarf from Lestat’s neck, tugging it down. Lestat tried to grab it back, but his hands were too slow, and he practically growled. Immediately, Louis saw the bruises Gregory had left on Lestat’s skin, much darker than the previous ones from Marius, and more numerous.
Again came the sound of surprise, a small inward pull of air between Louis’s teeth, a reverse gasp of sorts, and he blinked, turning his head, pressing his lips together to keep from uttering some crass expletive.
“Is that what you want from me?” Lestat demanded, the mocking edge to his anger covering his hurt. “You want your turn?”
Yanking Louis’s coat off him, Lestat threw it aside and then pushed Louis to the wall, his arm bent across Louis’s chest, and his other hand clenching one of Louis’s wrists. Louis gasped aloud this time, shutting his eyes tightly against the onslaught, somehow expecting all of Lestat’s usual preternatural strength. And while he was still strong, quite so, there was such a difference now that it caught Louis by even more surprise.
“No,” Louis said, through gritted teeth. “Lestat please! That’s not… This isn’t—!”
Lestat’s chosen words sliced a wound through Louis’s heart. ‘Your turn,’ as if that was all Louis wanted of him, when he wanted so much more, needed so much else from the man whom he still regarded as his Prince and maker, regardless that it had all been stripped away with the reinvigoration of the mortal coil.
“Lestat, I want all of it. Not just a turn. I want all of you!” Louis was breathless as he said it, desperate sounding, his voice a rasped whisper full of sorrow and apology. As much as Louis usually did relish this sort of treatment from Lestat, the mood just now was entirely different.
“I don’t hold any delusions of grandeur to think that I might be the only one in whom you seek such company. We both know that could never satisfy you. But I… I want to live with you, to experience what has become of us by your side! Not drifting as a ghost at the edge of your vision, not someone you avoid.” Louis’s heartbeat felt as if it might skip right up his throat and out of his chest for how it was hammering against his ribcage, and his eyes were wide, as his own words shocked him. To say all of it so boldly and with such rawness sent him into almost panic, and he swallowed now, trying to regain his bearings.
Flinching, Lestat’s eyes shut tight, and he sank heavily against Louis, his entire weight on his arm over Louis’s chest, and his face falling so that his hair hung past it. “Don’t,” he pleaded. Because he knew what Louis really wanted, what he wasn’t saying. That he wanted to live with Lestat, that if a way was found for them to become vampires again, Louis would want Lestat to refuse it and stay alive with him to the end of their brief mortal days. And that simply couldn’t happen. Nothing could stop Lestat from taking the Blood again, not even Louis in all his tender love and open affection.
Perhaps they wouldn’t have a choice, and Louis would get what he wanted after all. But the thought of Louis having that triumph, of being happy that Lestat was denied… How could Lestat ever forgive him for that?
“Don’t what?” Louis breathed, his hand that wasn’t captured by Lestat’s iron grip rising to smooth down Lestat’s upper arm. And as Louis spoke, his lips brushed against Lestat’s golden hair, which smelled of his shampoo and the lingering scents of the kitchen where they had just been arguing. How strange to realize this now, the difference in how Lestat’s hair clung to so many varying scents whereas before it had been impervious.
Louis lifted his head and stared out across the room, his hand smoothing up and then down Lestat’s arm. “What’s wrong, Lestat? What has happened to us?”
Louis damn well knew what had happened to them. They were human! They were dying! And that it was a state Louis relished while Lestat abhorred it? It would always come between them. So damned unfair, when in these past two decades, Louis had finally made peace with his vampire existence, and he and Lestat could live as equals. Finally there, with each other, only for it to be ripped from them now.
The intensity went out of Lestat’s arms, and his hands moved to Louis’s shoulders, holding on and lying fully against him as if to keep himself from sliding to the floor. He told himself that if it was inevitable that he would lose Louis, he ought to make the most of their time together now. But that would make it all the more devastating when they eventually separated, and Lestat wasn’t sure he could survive that. So, yes, he kept Louis at a distance now, to keep it from being so much worse later. It all came much more out of instinct than any conscious decision, using his anger over Benedict as a convenient excuse. But when he was close to Louis like this, everything stopped making sense, and Lestat just felt so muddled and desperate. His very nearness was an intoxicant.
“Tragedy,” he finally answered without lifting his face, his fingers kneading Louis’s shoulders. “We can’t change who we are. I… I love your limitations, I always have. But Louis… I’ll never be satisfied in this form.”
“I know,” Louis said, so quiet, his words muffled in Lestat’s hair. “It’s who you are, and I love your intemperance, as much as it has vexed me, I love you for it all the more. I only want… I want you to unleash it upon me.” Louis held him upright, bracing back against the wall. Both arms about Lestat now, he slid his hands up Lestat’s back.
Lestat moved his hands to the wall beside Louis’s shoulders and pushed back enough to slowly lift his face and look at him again. The anger still burned in his eyes, but it was less directed at Louis now and more just at the entire state of their existence. Even though he was supporting his own weight again, his hips remained heavily against Louis’s, their feet laced between each other’s.
Quietly, he searched Louis’s face, reading every single crease and divot in his expression. His cheeks still retained the color that had risen to them, and his lips were moist and rosy. Lestat wondered if the tea had warmed them. He wanted to find out, but he refrained.
“Who told you what I was doing all weekend?” he asked instead, recalling what Louis had said down in the kitchen.
“No one,” Louis admitted. “I learned my lesson and didn’t disturb you this time,” he said darkly, though his own anger too was diminished, the old familiar sorrow taking over again. He stared right back at Lestat, so close, the press of his hips doing things to Louis’s heart that he would rather ignore just now given how they had argued, were still arguing.
Had Louis come to Gregory’s room and overheard them? Or even come inside to see without either of them noticing? Had he done it more than once to know that they were in there for two days straight? Or perhaps Louis knew less than he implied, and didn’t even know exactly who Lestat was with or where they were… Not that Lestat would have minded Louis knowing, if he didn’t have to be so damn judgmental and superior about it.
“I took to the village instead, to riding. It helped,” Louis murmured, staring now at Lestat’s lips too.
“It helped,” Lestat repeated, his dry tone adding layers of suggestion to the words. He glowered into Louis’s eyes for another frustrated moment before lowering his face to inhale the scent at Louis’s throat. “Hmm.” At least much of the smell of the stables was diminished with his coat and scarf off.
Softly, Lestat pressed his lips to skin, and he kissed a slow, experimental line up behind Louis’s ear and then back down. At the tender flesh just under Louis’s jaw on the left side of his neck, Lestat’s lips parted, kissing more fully, tasting him, and then he sucked on Louis’s skin in a delectable way that he absolutely knew would create a deep purple bruise by morning.
“Aah!” Louis gasped, fingers twisting in Lestat’s clothes at his back as though for an instant he might attempt to yank him away. Instead he shuddered and clung to Lestat all the more, one leg sliding against his inner thigh as a low moan left his throat.
Louis shut his eyes tight against the pressure of Lestat’s sucking mouth, and bent his neck to the side, giving him even more permission to do what he wanted, relishing the possessiveness of it, though he might never tell anyone aloud. His hips made a slow grind against Lestat’s, unbidden, but no less wanton, and Louis grasped at Lestat’s shirt, his fingers pressing into the muscular flesh of Lestat’s back and pulling downward, nails scratching until he got to Lestat’s waist, where he dug his hands into both of Lestat’s back pockets and used his purchase to grind their hips together all the tighter.
“Damn me to Hell,” Louis growled. “I need you more than life itself.”
Well, now Lestat was turned on. He was getting hard so fast, it nearly made him dizzy. Why did his attempts to frustrate Louis always backfire? He groaned, and his hands came down to catch Louis’s hips, but they entirely lacked the fortitude to actually try to hold him still. All he could think about was how he wanted Louis’s hands inside of his pants where they were, instead of in his pockets. Yes, damn him right to hell.
Lestat nipped at Louis’s neck and then sucked on him again, high up on his throat where it would be difficult to hide the bruise. Pulling back to where he could see Louis’s face, Lestat glared at him. “You don’t know what you need. You never have.” His hand snapped up to snatch a fistful of Louis’s hair, making him crane his head to the opposite side, and then Lestat went in to give him a matching bruise on the right.
Louis let out a hiss and a gasped groan for the way Lestat’s fingers pulled his hair and that viciously sweet mouth worked to leave its mark. His hands in Lestat’s pockets pawed and pulled, forcing their hips together over and over in quick succession.
“Show me, then!” Louis choked out, desperate, and he shuddered. Yanking his hands out of Lestat’s pockets he forced them between their bodies, clawing at the button and zipper of Lestat’s pants, though the effort was stunted with how he was being pressed against the wall, pinned with Lestat’s lips to his throat.
Lestat pulled back to look down at Louis’s frantic hands. If he were in a better mood, he would have laughed at him, at his flagrant desperation. It was like he’d gone mad. Lestat had to wonder how much of Louis’s reaction before, about not just ‘wanting a turn,’ was born out of denial.
He let Louis unfasten his jeans, but before he could do anything next, Lestat pushed his hands away so that he could jerk Louis’s riding pants open just as quickly, and then he shoved his hand down inside them to feel what state he was in. “Why is that my job?” he asked testily at Louis’s ear as he caught him in a firm grasp.
Desire surging, blood rushing, Louis became almost instantly hard in Lestat’s grip, so much so that he nearly buckled from it, dizziness overcoming him in a heady rush. Thank God he was already leaning against the wall, or else he might have tipped backward where he stood.
He clenched his jaw shut, steadying himself against Lestat’s shoulders. “No don’t,” he stammered, then shook his head. “It’s too much. I… Not here,” he pleaded, then clung to Lestat all the more, damn him. Louis had resolved to focus on Lestat so that he might ignore his own such need, but Lestat had shifted the momentum back to him, and Louis found it hard to think much less act in return just now. “But don’t stop,” he snapped, remembering Lestat’s previous demand the last time they were in this predicament that Louis tell him what he wanted. So exceedingly difficult.
“Why not here?” Lestat sounded just as snappish, and he stroked Louis’s length with a heavy palm before grasping him tight again. “What’s wrong with here? You want to go back to the kitchen?”
The thought of having Lestat’s hands in his pants this way in such a public place as the kitchens sent a jolt of mingled horror and excitement racing up Louis’s spine. “I can’t stand!” Louis gasped out, clinging in desperation, his arms thrown about Lestat’s shoulders.
Lestat shifted to the side against Louis’s right shoulder to make it easier for his wrist to move, and his other hand pushed between Louis’s back and the wall to find its way into his loosened trousers to clutch at his backside as well. The memory of what it looked like when he’d had Louis bent over the ottoman last week sent a full body shudder through Lestat, and made his breathing accelerate along with his heartbeat. “I want to bite you all over,” he admitted breathlessly.
“I want you to want me!” Louis breathed. “Do whatever you want, as long as it’s me you do it with.”
Louis wasn’t kidding about not being able to stand. His legs felt as if his bones had melted to jelly, and the wall as well as Lestat himself were the only thing keeping him from toppling entirely. Lestat’s hands moved to catch him around his waist as he collapsed against his chest.
As Lestat turned him away from the wall, Louis’s loose pants slid down his thighs, and Lestat tugged on his underwear to make it follow. Then he dropped to his knees and pulled Louis down with him.
Who needed to stand, anyway?
Grabbing a handful of Louis’s hair again, Lestat bit his ear, managing to restrain himself from doing it as hard as he wanted to. Meanwhile, his other hand shoved up under Louis’s shirt and sweater to grope his chest, flicking at one of his nipples before tugging on the fabric with the back of his arm. “Lose this,” he commanded.
The sounds that came from Louis’s lips were anything but coherent, murmured curses perhaps, or sighed exultations, maybe both. He shuddered against Lestat’s touch, twisting to tug his clothes over his head, which caught at Lestat’s wrist at Louis’s hair. Naked, the cool air in the room was a balm with how hot his blood was running, his heartbeat pumping in his ears. He was unfathomably hard, and he made a sudden move to block the sight of himself with a hand, but lurched sideways and caught himself instead with a hand to the floor and the other to Lestat’s waist.
Legs entangled as they were with Lestat’s, Louis sought his lips, though it was difficult with Lestat wrenching his head to the side, his teeth at his ear. When Lestat let go of him long enough to fling the clothes away, Louis finally managed it. Lestat made a strangled sound against Louis’s lips, and he wanted to resist the kiss, to deny Louis this out of spite, but his resolve dissolved into ashes immediately. He groaned in the back of his throat, and his mouth yielded to Louis’s, a fluttery feeling filling his head, his heart flipping in his chest. He tasted like tea and fresh bread, and his tongue was so soft and warm.
His hands had slid into the sides of Louis’s hair and Lestat was drinking him in deeply before he caught himself—No. This wouldn’t do. He was supposed to be angry. He was angry!
He stiffened, and he pushed Louis’s head back, glaring at him accusingly before twisting him around in his arms to face away from him instead. It made Louis sort of tumble into his lap, his lower legs still tangled in his pants. Shoving Louis’s hair up, Lestat nipped at the back of his neck, sucking to start the blossoming of another bruise there, and then he pushed Louis off of him so that he could get back to his knees.
Good god, look at him! Lestat’s heart was racing now, and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. The audacity of Louis’s body having this effect on him! Infuriating!
Reaching around Louis’s waist, Lestat grabbed hold of his erection again. “I should make this fast,” he threatened, his voice nearly a growl, recalling how Louis had begged him to slow down before.
On all fours, the taste of Lestat still on his lips, Louis groaned. His hips gave a lurch involuntarily as though he might attempt fucking Lestat’s hand outright just to relieve his own tension. The vulnerability of his position sent another delicious shiver up his spine. Braced on one hand, his other darted to join Lestat’s grip about him, and Louis held fast to his wrist as though seeking some sort of loving contact even in this debauched state. “Fast, slow, I don’t care,” he said between panting breaths.
“We’ll see about that,” Lestat snapped.
Oh, yes, they would see.
Notes:
To be continued!
This chapter written by Me and K.
Chapter 70: Hold Me
Summary:
Despite their anger, Lestat and Louis give into their furious passions right there on the floor. Explicit
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
On the floor of his parlour, Lestat wrenched free of Louis’s grip so that he could pull off his own shirt and sweater. He wanted to feel Louis against his bare chest, and now that Louis was turned on his knees to face away from him, he wouldn’t have to worry about Louis seeing how far down the bruises Gregory had left on Lestat’s throat and chest extended.
His arms came around Louis from behind, and he let the clothes fall on the floor in front of him, between his knees, as he worked them off his wrists. Then he pulled Louis tight against him, burying his face in the hair at his throat and inhaling as if he’d just come up from the depths, and Louis was all the oxygen to be had.
“Better,” Lestat muttered now that the smell of the stables had diminished with Louis’s clothes off. He might have bitten him again to leave another punishing bruise of his own if it wouldn’t have given him a mouthful of hair.
With one arm locked around his chest, his other hand slid heavily down past Louis's stomach to encircle the base of his desire. His voice was low at Louis’s ear when he spoke, “Are you going to come as soon as I enter you again?”
Louis groaned aloud, his shudder causing the sound to come out in a wavering rush. “No, I won’t!” he quipped, or tried to, his words raspy and strained. Those crude words had sent another rush of blood to his groin, making him swell to full mast in Lestat’s hand as it moved. Louis hoped to God he was correct in his denial, because he was so close even now to feeling overwhelmed enough to do exactly what he said he wouldn’t.
He could feel Lestat’s own hard length pressing in the cleft of his ass, tight together as they were, a promise of what would ensue. Louis could almost beg for it. He’d wanted it so badly, had wanted all week for Lestat to come seek him out and press him for it. To think that Lestat had instead elected to wait to be approached. It only made sense though, as Lestat had no shortage of would-be lovers, and Louis could hardly blame them.
“Please,” Louis whispered, his knees trembling, spine arching just to feel the press of Lestat’s hardness that much more.
Lestat ground against Louis’s backside in rhythm with each pull of his hand. His weight heavy on Louis’s back, he might have folded him over if his other arm weren’t holding him up with equal strength. He let out a strained, desperate sort of groan. “Why do you keep doing this to me?” He had every reason in the world to keep himself away from Louis, to resist this capitulation, to give him no satisfaction at all, but as soon as they touched each other, Lestat was done for all over again. He needed to be inside Louis. He needed to find out if what he’d felt last time was real, or just an effect of the wine they’d drunk and his maudlin imagination. He’d just had a wonderful weekend with Gregory, he was hardly wanting for sex. Why did he feel now like a dying man in the desert at last finding his oasis?
Forcing himself to let go of Louis, Lestat pushed up on his knees to work his clothes down past his hips, and then he sat back on his heels with his knees pinning Louis’s trousers that connected his ankles. He pulled Louis by the waist over his lap, where he lined himself up, bracing it with one hand.
“Sit.”
He’d given Louis no preparation this time, and they had no lubricant beyond what Lestat naturally excreted, of which there was a fair amount already. But Lestat didn’t care if it hurt Louis. He was going to get exactly what he asked for.
And by God, Louis wanted it.
Wanted it so badly and so keenly that he could scarce process what Lestat had meant with his earlier question before he was acquiescing to that command. Without a word of protest or even a moment of hesitation, Louis did as he was bid, pressing himself down onto Lestat’s lap, forcing that singular source of intimate contact deep inside himself.
Wracked by the electric jolt of pleasure and pain alike, Louis rocked backward on his knees, then eased up, only to press back again in quick succession. And with each downward thrust, he impaled himself that much more fully atop Lestat’s shaft.
Hands flat on the floor in front of him, Louis braced himself, as best he could, a swoon overtaking him and making his vision tip sideways. “My God, my God, yes, please God, yes,” he said, the words strung together as if he were speaking in tongues. Without relenting the backward rolling of his hips, Louis threw his head back and let out a low moan, the muscles in his back flexing, sweat beading on his skin. The initial ache melted into a warm and electric pleasure, the tingling buzz that signified the release of every tense nerve spreading to his every extremity. Louis had been so utterly desperate and ready for all of this, and it had only taken a moment of heated words in the kitchen for it to ignite all of his desire and strip away every defense.
“Holy shit,” Lestat gasped, his voice breaking and his hands clenching for purchase at Louis’s thighs where he straddled Lestat’s lap. Without the alcohol to dull his senses, the uncanny feeling of being inside him was even worse. Better? Good God, he could die like this. Last time it had felt like warm, thick honey flowing all over and through him; this time, everything inside him was absolutely molten.
“Louis! How are you—Louis…” Falling over him, his arms locked around Louis’s chest, and he pushed up on his knees. Pulling out only a little before thrusting back in to the hilt was already enough to make shudders wrack his body, and Lestat was afraid that this time, he would be the one to finish too soon. Gritting his teeth, his arms clenched Louis as if he were trying to break his ribs, and he managed to hold him still so that he could get control over himself.
His breath hot, heart hammering, Louis allowed him the motionless moments he needed, relishing in the way Lestat tensed and throbbed beneath him and inside. Taking a deep, tremulous breath, Lestat exhaled heavily, and then loosened his grip. Louis’s chest under his hands thudded with his heartbeat. After a couple more breaths, he stroked to Louis’s shoulders, then down his arms to clasp his wrists, which he made him lift from the floor. “Hold me,” he breathed, his voice ragged, and he pulled Louis’s hands up behind his neck, making his back arch deeply. “Here.”
Again, Louis did as he was asked, spine arching, his fingers pushing into Lestat’s hair at the base of his skull, interlacing so that he could hold firm and keep himself planted with their bodies united. How Louis longed for Lestat’s blood now, imagining all the ways it might connect them further, ignite his nerves and send even more pleasure to his core and throughout his limbs. This would have to be enough.
He ground his hips downward again, but not as quickly this time atop Lestat’s lap, rising and then pressing himself back down with a deliberately slow, perhaps even teasing pace. It felt so damn good to be this full, this breached, the point where despite his measured efforts, he still found his breath staggered and his body trembling.
“How am I…?” Louis whispered, echoing Lestat’s words of disbelief, with a tone that suggested he was both teasing Lestat’s former words and yet too, genuinely asking for critique. “How do you… nnn…want me?” His voice hitched with another of his downward presses.
How? Undead and immortal. That was how Lestat wanted him. This thought was enough to remind Lestat why he was angry, why he’d kept his distance from Louis to begin with, and a growl at Louis’s ear was the only answer he gave to the questions.
Seizing his hips, Lestat straightened his back and pushed up on his knees, lifting Louis along with him. “Don’t let go,” he threatened as the position tipped Louis forward at a steep angle. His fingertips hard around Louis’s hip bones, Lestat’s thumbs pressed into the flesh of his ass in a way that would surely bruise if he held him as long as he intended to.
Arching his own back, Lestat pulled nearly all the way out before shoving back inside again, testing Louis’s stability. Louis cried out in surprise and pleasure both, trembling, his arms aching, but he held fast to Lestat’s neck and did not let go.
“Good,” Lestat snapped, barely managing to contain the groan that rose in the back of his throat for how staggeringly perfect it felt to be inside him. Could Lestat just live here? Just set up camp and never leave? God, did it feel this way for Louis? Impossible, he was sure. Louis wouldn’t be able to handle it if it did.
Lestat was moving faster now, and the warm tension of Louis’s hands was shooting stars up his scalp. He was transfixed, watching the strain of the muscles in Louis’s back and shoulders, the curve of his spine and the way his hair bounced against his neck with each powerful thrust. He tried to let himself imagine it was possible he could hammer out of Louis every last thought of the beauties of mortality.
Louis gasped with each thrust of Lestat’s hips, humming out a wavered groan when the thrusts came too quick in succession for one of his exclamations to end before the other began. Lestat’s grip at his hips was painful, but it only accentuated the euphoria, added to it, deepening it.
He came then, hard and fast, the evidence of it smattering across the heap of Lestat’s clothes that littered the floor in front of him. Normally this might have vexed Louis, but it was better than soiling the Turkish carpet, and he barely registered it as it was, so blitzed was he, his eyes closed, mouth slack. As much as Louis had tried to hold back, it was simply too good, this pressure, this friction, this carnal contact. A pale shadow of the blood, yes, but still enough to cause Louis’s vision to blur and black and his world to spin. Despite his release, he held firm to Lestat’s neck, the buzzing electricity in his limbs too good to give up on just yet.
But it wasn’t much longer before Lestat’s arms were grappling him again, crushing Louis against his chest. His voice was all deep snarls at Louis’s ear as his entire body spasmed uncontrollably, pouring out into him all his frustration and anger in a white-hot streak.
They teetered together, but Lestat managed to keep them from falling onto their faces by sitting back on his heels, his viselike embrace around Louis’s ribs unrelenting. What did Louis’s face look like right now? Lestat desperately longed to see, but he also dreaded knowing, could not let himself know.
Absolutely dizzy with the aftershocks of pleasure, he buried his eyes against the side of Louis’s throat, panting for breath. Louis smelled sweaty now, his skin clammy. Lestat let his lips part against his neck to taste the saltiness of his skin, which only made him shudder again, his fierceness belied by the soft, yearning moan he couldn’t contain.
“Don’t say it,” he growled quietly against Louis even as his embrace only grew all the more possessive, claiming. “Don’t say any of it.”
“Any of what?” Louis whispered, his heartbeat slowing, breaths labored, though quickly calming now that they sat still. He leaned back against Lestat’s chest, his head falling limp to lay at his shoulder. He loosed his grip at Lestat’s neck slowly, and didn’t even try to move from atop him, liking the way it felt to be full of him like this, even as that dullness was beginning to wane.
Louis said nothing after that, his hands moving atop Lestat’s wrapped around his middle, holding him in place. He wanted to beg Lestat not to let go, to hold him like this a bit longer, but he was afraid to vocalize it in case that was what Lestat had meant he should not say. Why he was so obedient in this instant, Louis could not quite tell. But just now, all he wanted was to stay like this.
Slowly, the tension in Lestat’s arms relaxed, satisfied that Louis was keeping silent for now, and as he cautiously allowed himself to savor the euphoric afterglow, his embrace around Louis became less fierce and more tender. His fingers curled, and the tips of them traced softly against Louis’s ribs. Quietly, Lestat held him this way while his panting breath took its time to even out and the thrumming of his heart eased back toward a steady beat.
“Hmmm…” He nuzzled against Louis’s ear, breathing in the scent of his now damp hair, and after another minute, he finally spoke again, his voice low, though not quite a whisper. “I did think of you, you know. I always do.”
Louis sighed, releasing every tiny sliver of bitterness, anger and tense frustration, his whole body relaxing back against Lestat as if he were the one support beam keeping him from buckling. Still he said nothing, not wanting to break the spell his silence had cast. Slowly his hand came up to Lestat’s face, and Louis pressed his fingers up into his golden curls, so softly, tenderly stroking his scalp, the ridges of his ear, curve of his earlobe and cheek.
“When you think of me,” Louis whispered, so quiet, “come find me. I want you to devil me as of old. I want that. I do.”
Pain pinched Lestat’s heart at the thought of them just falling back into their old patterns. Could he do that for Louis? Probably. Maybe he’d get so caught up in it, he’d stop thinking about reality or the bleak horror of the future. Lack of future. Wouldn’t that be something?
He sighed, his chin resting on Louis’s shoulder as he savored each caress of his hand. If he were a cat, he’d be purring right now. He didn’t want to be angry at Louis anymore, this was so nice, so easy. If he could let everything else go, they could just have this.
Turning his face, he kissed Louis’s palm, unspoken agreement in the gesture that he’d do as Louis asked.
Lestat was content to sit there holding him, stroking his chest with his fingertips… until his knees started to hurt, and he realized his feet were going numb. Such obnoxious human limitations! He hated his weak body now.
With a grunt, he let go of Louis and eased himself back, wincing as he slid out of him. Louis made a noise of protest, hating the sudden emptiness and loss of that deeper contact. Lestat reached behind himself to pull off his shoes so that he could wiggle out of his pants and adjust how he was sitting, crossing his legs instead.
“I’m sore,” Lestat muttered. Besides the strain on his knees, his muscles were aching from all the exercise they’d been getting lately.
Louis turned to face Lestat, and tried not to wince at how the evidence of Lestat’s release threatened to drip down his inner thighs. “I am too,” he began, only for his words to stop short, his eyes widening at the sight of so many small bruises dotting Lestat’s neck and chest, all over. Was there anywhere that these little marks of conquest did not touch?
Louis blinked. “Good God,” he whispered. But despite the tone, he found himself bordering on a laugh. A smirk of a smile pulled at one corner of his mouth and Louis did not resist when Lestat gathered him into his arms, pulling him close once more. He shouldn’t be surprised really. For all Lestat ever was, was a man who would not turn away from pleasures and delights if they were presented to him.
“Do they hurt?” Louis asked, smoothing his fingers gently over a particularly dark bruise along Lestat’s collar bone. “Gregory must have been voracious,” he added, a slant to his tone that bordered on jealousy.
“What? Oh…” Lestat frowned down at his skin. He couldn’t see the bruise Louis touched, but there were a few others lower on his chest and the pale skin of his inner thighs. “No, I don’t feel them at all.” He’d certainly felt something when Gregory’s insatiable mouth had been sucking and nibbling on the skin all over his body; it had been heavenly. But they felt like nothing at all now.
He brushed the hair back from the side of Louis’s face, so that he could see his throat. Yes, already his bruises were beginning to bloom. Lestat felt a little bit ashamed of himself now for the anger that had led him to cause them. They weren’t given in adoration or playfulness the way Gregory had done with him, but out of bitterness. Softly, contritely, he smoothed his palm over the side of Louis’s neck.
“Want to hear about it?” he asked, ready to recount beat by beat the entire weekend for Louis. How often had he done that in their past life together? Coming home from one affair or another with his mortal conquests and regaling Louis with all the passionate details. When Louis hadn’t refused to listen, the times he’d sat there and silently endured Lestat’s chatter, admonishing him with his steely glower, Lestat still always knew how it affected Louis deep down, whether he let himself admit it or not, knew how aroused it made him. He’d especially relished knowing how Louis must think about it later, unable to help himself from imagining Lestat in all those erotic situations. God, what fun it all was back then…
Of course, he never asked Louis if he wanted to hear about it back then, because he would have always said no, even though it was a lie. So Lestat didn’t bother giving him the choice if he could help it. But now, in their new life together of kindness and honesty, he thought Louis might actually say yes, might readily want to be included in this part of Lestat’s life. Especially now that it was life, and there was no deception, betrayal, or killing involved. Louis had nothing left to be sanctimonious about. At least nothing Lestat considered valid. If he was going to insist upon judging and admonishing Lestat for being promiscuous, then Lestat had no sympathy for him.
Louis regarded him in silence, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, his lips pressing together in contemplation, though his fingers continued their languid path along Lestat’s upper chest. “How many days and nights was it?” he asked, answering the question not with an outright yes but with a question that would surely prod Lestat into beginning his narration.
And whether Louis wanted or hear all about it or not was more complicated now than it had ever been in the old days. Did he want to hear? Yes and no. Was he jealous? Yes and no. Was he judgmental? Also yes and also no. Louis hardly blamed Gregory for his adoration of their Prince, nor Lestat for his appetites and proclivities. Why not experience all that was set before him? Why not revel in it without shame or repression as Lestat could allow himself? Most especially because it was with another of their kind, an ancient, Gregory who had not experienced such pleasures for millennia. And though Louis found it more difficult to revel, was always so reticent, such things always came easier in Lestat’s arms, with Lestat’s influence.
He made a sound of discomfort as he shifted himself on Lestat’s lap, knowing he was filthy now, but for the moment allowing it in light of his position, in light of Lestat’s attention upon him. Louis brought one arm up to drape it about Lestat’s shoulders, the other hand traced a path down Lestat’s chest, his fingers connecting the bruises, as if drawing on a children’s activity book.
As he watched Louis’s hand, Lestat too was impressed by just how many he was finding. They were much darker now than they’d been in the mirror this morning, and he frowned again as he thought of what Claire would think. He didn’t want her to see him this way, but he doubted they’d all be gone by their date planned for Thursday. Maybe she wouldn’t notice if they kept the lights off…
He had to take a minute to think about Louis’s question. His time with Gregory had been a blur that felt like a week had passed, but it had hardly been any time at all, had it?
“He left last night,” Lestat said, then lifted his eyes to Louis’s face again. “So…one night, two days. Back to Geneva and Paris and his company. He really wants nothing to do with all of us here, and would leave the others cursed as we are to sink or swim on their own. And he thinks I should too… He wants me to join him in Paris.” As he spoke, his hands smoothed lazily over Louis’s back, tracing his shoulder blades and each ridge of his spine.
“Surely, he cannot mean to truly just leave everyone to whatever might befall them? Maybe he instead knows his company and scientists are already helping as much as they can.” As to Paris, Louis seemed to ignore that statement for the moment, his hold on Lestat’s shoulders tightening, his fingers near a bruise spreading so that his palm came to rest flat against Lestat’s side.
After a long moment in silence, Louis spoke. “If you were to go, to leave me here…” He trailed off, his eyes moving askance, his chin tucking as he thought on it. “Don’t,” he said finally, looking up into Lestat’s eyes.
“I told him no,” Lestat said lightly, but then when he focused on Louis and really took in the intensity of his expression, something of Louis’s true meaning succeeded in striking Lestat. His hand came back up, and he cupped Louis’s jaw, tilting his face so that their eyes were aligned. “I told him no,” he said again with much more hushed intensity, and he smiled at him fondly, though there was a touch of distant longing in his eyes, his thumb stroking down his cheek.
“Hey…” His thumb brushed over Louis’s lips, almost parting them, but not quite, his face coming so close, the tips of their noses touched. “Follow me anywhere, Louis. Always. I’ll never let anyone stop you. He loves you too.” At least, Leatat was certain Gregory must. How could he profess to love Lestat as much as he did if he didn’t also love who Lestat loved?
He smiled at Louis again, the tip of his thumb running just under the edge of Louis’s perfectly shaped lower lip, though there was something more sad in his expression this time. “I won’t be the one to leave you,” he promised. Even though Lestat couldn’t see a future for them together now where their desires could align, that didn’t mean he’d be going anywhere. He’d stick by Louis in one capacity or another, take whatever scraps he could manage to salvage as long as he could once it all began to dissolve between them. He was in no hurry to let go.
Louis pressed himself closer to Lestat, both of his arms now wrapping about Lestat’s shoulders. He caught Lestat’s mouth with his own, his eyes closing, lips parted as he sucked upon Lestat’s in an abrupt, heated kiss. Catching Lestat’s bottom lip between his teeth, gently Louis grazed a harmless bite there, then pulled back enough that he could see Lestat’s face and lock their gazes once more. “Promise me,” Louis whispered. “I’ll follow you, yes, anywhere, yes. Just let me. Don’t avoid me. I’m yours. Always had to be, don’t you understand?”
Lestat blinked, completely disoriented from that kiss, his cheeks pink, and he tried to keep up with what Louis was saying, though it felt like he was seeing and hearing him through a fluttering gauze. “I, ah…no?” Understand what? He blinked again and shook out his head, his arms twining around Louis just as tightly, as if that could help his mind gain purchase as well. And he hadn’t even been drinking this time! “I mean, yes, I won’t avoid you. I promise I’ll…” Wait, what was he saying again? Couldn’t he just kiss him instead?
“Promise you won’t leave me, no matter who comes along to tempt and entertain you. I don’t care who you’re with. I don’t care what you do with any of them. Just don’t, in all of it, forget that I am here, that I am yours alone,” Louis whispered the words in a hushed flurry, the last few spoken so close that his lips brushed against Lestat’s as he said them. He clung to Lestat now all the more, jostling him somewhat, in an effort to make him focus and pay attention.
But how could he with Louis’s mouth so close? Each brush made Leatat’s brain just that much fuzzier. “Mmm,” was all he could manage as he pressed their lips together, parting Louis’s with his own so that he could lick his tongue.
How could he ever forget Louis anyway? There was a Louis shaped brand on his soul that could never fade. And when kissing him like this felt like finally breathing after a decade in the sand? Impossible.
Notes:
To be continued!
This chapter written by Me and K
Chapter 71: What This Was
Summary:
Louis and Lestat have forgotten what they were fighting about, forgotten anything they were saying at all, and now it's Louis's turn to top. Explicit
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Kissing Louis was nothing short of a transcendent experience, and Lestat was lost in it, even after all they'd just done. His hands smoothed heavily over Louis's back, one pushing up into his dark hair, catching it tight between his fingers, which made Louis moan into his mouth, thrilling for the way the burning at his scalp sent his heartbeat pumping fast all over again. Any further attempt at speaking about the shape of their future was futile like this. Louis’s words melted away, replaced by contented murmurs of acquiescence.
His palms slid from Lestat’s shoulders, smoothing over his arms to push beneath them, wrapping about his waist, hands roaming Lestat’s back, massaging, then dipping lower, the fingers of both hands splaying to grip and hold firm to Lestat’s backside. It made Lestat groan, and he rocked where he sat to feel more of Louis’s hands, his mouth never relenting against Louis’s, kissing him as thirstily as he’d ever drawn blood. How he loved being touched and caressed, and it was even more delectable from Louis because he usually wasn’t in a position to do much of it. Of course, that was by design, though Lestat was in absolutely no state to examine that fact right now. Louis had rendered him downright stupid, but he didn’t care one bit. This was too good.
Tipping sideways, he pulled Louis down to the floor so that they could stretch out. It gave his own hand room to grope fully over Louis’s luscious behind, his other arm trapped under him still in his hair. Lestat hardly noticed their scattered clothing strewn beneath them, though as their legs tangled together, his feet pushed at the pants that were still caught around Louis’s ankles. If he possessed his old strength, they would have been so easy to rip off, to shred like tissue and forget all about them. He’d cheerfully lost so many fine clothes that way in the past…
Louis moved his leg so that the fabric caught beneath Lestat’s foot and pulled it upward, helping him remove the clothes entirely and kicking them all away. With reckless abandon, he gave himself over to their fierce and voracious kissing. Kneading with fingers just as hungry, his own arm pinned beneath Lestat’s side, Louis pressed their chests together and used his free hand to cup beneath Lestat’s backside, sliding his fingers along and beneath it to pull Lestat’s thigh and hitch it up over his own hip. Closer still, Louis pressed their bodies together, their tongues entwining, hot and wet, their saliva and sweat alike mingling.
He danced his hand back along Lestat’s thigh, his fingers drawing small curling lines back toward Lestat’s backside once again, then further beneath to ghost a teasing touch between the underside of Lestat’s scrotum and further up toward his delicate entrance. Far more daring was this than anything Louis would have allowed himself in life. His heartbeat in his throat now, Louis gasped for air against Lestat’s lips and shuddered.
Lestat’s body jerked involuntarily, which made him laugh at himself against Louis’s mouth. Mortality had really done a number on Louis, hadn’t it? Compared to his dark desires as a vampire, anything he was feeling now was so comparatively innocent and pure, that he seemed to be reveling in it. Lestat knew, though, if he teased him about it, it would make Louis withdraw, and he absolutely did not want to stop anything they were doing.
His body was writhing against Louis’s now, unable to lie still, his hips rutting Louis’s thigh between his legs, a new erection already growing. “You saved all this for me,” Lestat whispered between kisses, wondrously, thinking of how Louis said Lestat was the only one he’d been with at all since they became mortal.
“Yes,” Louis whispered, a low growl in his throat as he said it.
And here he’d been perturbed at Louis denying himself. Now Lestat was reaping all the benefits, and all he had to do was promise…something… What had Louis been asking him a minute ago? He was still unclear on exactly what Louis wanted from him, but as far as he was concerned right now, Louis could have it all.
Despite the deep but satisfying ache Louis still felt from Lestat’s having so thoroughly fucked him before, a new kind of hunger grew now within him that was thrilling in a way totally unlike that of his usual lust for Lestat’s venerable Blood. He nipped at Lestat’s lips, then withdrew his delving hand, pushing Lestat instead squarely and firmly on his back, looming over him, his hair hanging in Lestat’s face as he kissed him fiercely again and again.
Forcing Lestat’s legs further apart with a knee, Louis held him down with one palm pressed to his shoulder and then returned his other to dare ever lower and further. Stroking Lestat’s growing erection several times over in deft but teasingly slow pulls, Louis gathered enough precum to then push one slicked and ardent finger inside him. Delving deeper with each small thrust of his hand, Louis worked until he was able to fit two fingers both knuckle deep inside.
“My God, you’re beautiful,” Louis whispered, his smoldering emerald gaze locked with Lestat’s azure, Louis’s expression as intense and predatory as it was adoring and awestruck.
Somehow Lestat’s flushed face grew even pinker, and he was practically trembling with the effort it took to stay put, to allow Louis to manipulate him this way, to resist the urge to seize him and take back control. His neck felt frozen stiff so Louis’s face was just enough too far to kiss for the moment, and Lestat’s lips were tingling with how swollen they’d become.
One of his arms was stretched up with his bicep against his forehead, as if at any moment, he might slide his arm down to cover his eyes. That Louis was doing this face to face had Lestat’s heart hammering and his breath so shallow he would have felt dizzy if he weren’t lying on the floor. Lestat had been in nearly this very position with Gregory yesterday, and he hadn’t minded at all, had found it entertaining, and when he and Benedict locked eyes while they made love, Lestat had absolutely relished it. And with Claire, of course, it was the entire point. So why with Louis did the prospect facing each other through this seem terrifying?
Lestat hated being afraid, his instincts immediately fighting against it before he even truly realized it was how he felt. He refused to give in to fear, but his usual substitute reaction of anger wasn’t rising now either. Instead, he was dumbstruck, mesmerized. Louis’s brows were knit as if he were in total concentration, his expression one of serious focus, as though what they were doing and his getting it right, was the most important thing to him in all the world.
As vampires, he’d absolutely adored seeing Louis’s aggressive side come out because it meant he was finally for once not denying his nature, was reveling in what he truly was, what they both were, and they could be twin spirits in darkness. But now that they were just men, it was different—Lestat wasn’t sure how, exactly, just knew that it was. If Louis’s touch weren’t evoking such pleasure from his flesh, Lestat might have been able to focus enough to figure it out, but each slide of his hand inside him made Lestat’s breath catch just on the edge of a vocal gasp. His other hand came up and locked onto Louis’s wrist over his shoulder, just because he desperately needed something to hold on to, but despite it all, he didn’t want to stop anything Louis was doing.
One corner of Louis’s mouth twitched upward. He liked that very much, Lestat’s desperate touch giving him the reassurance and confidence he needed to progress to the next step.
Removing his fingers, Louis positioned himself on his knees, then he tugged Lestat’s hips toward him, up into his lap. Gently he lifted his wrist, catching Lestat’s hand there before he could pull it away and dragged it to his lips, kissing Lestat’s fingers, the side of his hand, his knuckles, burying his face in Lestat’s palm and breathing him in, kissing, licking, nipping, his other hand smoothing over Lestat’s thigh and holding him in place on his lap. Only then did Louis let go of Lestat entirely, so that he could position himself properly to prepare to take him in full. Louis was completely hard again, a telltale tremble in his muscles all over for the anticipation of what he was about to do.
“I’m going to have you now,” he whispered, aligning himself firmly against Lestat’s tightness, then pushing past it with one quick but shallow thrust, just enough to seat himself inside and begin to pump. Louis groaned aloud despite himself, gripping Lestat’s hips and scooping his hands up under his backside to keep him anchored there, making each thrust that much more solid and firm.
“My God!” Louis gasped. “Heaven above… You’re everything… Yes!” he breathed, his words spoken like a prayer, so quiet, but no less profound. Without much warning, he scooped up Lestat’s hand and pulled him upward so that his back arched off the floor, making it so that Lestat could more properly sit in Louis’s lap. Pulling Lestat’s arm about his own shoulders, Louis wrapped both arms around his chest.
Scrambling, Lestat managed to fold one leg under himself so he could brace on one knee over Louis’s lap, his other foot planted on the ground to keep that side elevated enough to allow Louis to move. And was he moving! Lestat couldn’t catch his breath, could barely even have held on if Louis weren’t embracing him so tightly against his chest.
Louis’s hips moved beneath Lestat with slow but ardent upward rolling thrusts. And with each one, Louis grunted, holding back small exultations of pleasure, trembling but refusing to relent. His hands at Lestat’s back groped and massaged, and Louis locked their lips together again just as fiercely as before, opening his mouth and joining their tongues, desperate for every method and mode of intimate contact.
By then breathing became entirely out of the question for Lestat. Louis was siphoning everything out of him, as surely as if he were draining his blood, which he might as well have been for as little power Leatat had to do anything about it. A buzzing was growing in his head, and his face was starting to tingle before it occurred to him that if he didn’t stop kissing Louis, he was in danger of passing out.
Jerking back, Lestat gasped for air, his eyes snapping open, but his vision was a blur, and each thrust of Louis beneath him drove out any rational thought just as it was beginning to form. He grappled desperately around Louis’s back, his chin over his shoulder, the pattern on the wallpaper behind him swimming before his eyes.
“You’re going to kill me!” Lestat barely managed to gasp.
Sweat beading at his bare shoulders and forehead, Louis grunted beneath him, holding him fast, their chests pressed together, hearts beating frantically. “No, never,” he answered, slowing his pace, beginning to thrust more slowly, trembling for his effort to keep himself from driving back into Lestat like he wanted to, so desperate was he to feel that friction again. “You want me to stop?” he asked, his voice wavering, one of his hands sliding up into Lestat’s hair at the base of his neck, gripping at his scalp gently and coaxing his head back so that Louis could kiss at his throat softly.
A breathless laugh was all Lestat could reply for a moment and his eyes rolled back, staring up at the ceiling blearily as each press of Louis’s lips made him shiver despite how he too was sweating. “I’d rather die,” he finally managed, and he laughed again deliriously.
His fingers curled against Louis’s back, his nails digging into the soft flesh over his shoulder blades. His head lolled against Louis’s hand, and for a moment, it seemed he could barely even hold himself up, but then a fierce shudder ran through him and his hands moved to the front of Louis’s shoulders, pushing hard to knock him on his back. Without unseating himself, Lestat shifted to his knees and pinned Louis’s upper arms to the floor so that he could straighten up and take over the movement to ride him just as hard as he wanted to.
The wind knocked out of him from hitting the floor, Lestat on top of him, Louis gasped then let out a breathless laugh. His hair splayed out behind him, his gaze was one of surprise and adoration alike as he stared up at Lestat. Groaning, his hands fluttered about Lestat’s hips before grasping for purchase to steady him there, his grip angling him forward just slightly so that he drove down at the perfect angle that had Louis’s head spinning with rapture.
A moment later, Louis came without warning, his shoulders shaking, though this time the force of his release rolled out of him in spasms of warm ecstasy, as if he were floating atop the surface of a calmly rippling ocean. His breaths in small gasps with each spasm, Louis murmured his exultations of Lestat’s prowess in a stream of flowery French.
He didn’t stop, but gradually, Lestat slowed down, squeezing every last bit out of Louis. His hands pressed on the center of Louis’s chest, bracing himself up, Lestat’s head hung down, his hair falling past his face, obscuring it. His eyes were open though, and he was watching how Louis’s chest moved with his shuddering breath and pounding heart beneath his palms.
Lestat’s own erection hadn’t flagged, but he wasn’t concerned about it. How blissful Louis sounded, and Lestat felt an outpouring of warmth for him, glad that he was feeling good, without any sorrow or bitterness tainting the emotion for once. Lestat did want Louis to be happy, after all, he did. Happiness had always been so rare for Louis that Lestat couldn’t resent him now for feeling it. Louis deserved to enjoy himself and Lestat wanted to let him. Louis held on loosely to his waist as the last spasms of climax dwindled.
Quietly, Lestat bent over and pressed a kiss to his forehead, and then let himself actually look at Louis’s face. “Yes, I like to see you smiling,” he murmured.
His expression utterly blitzed, he smiled up at Lestat, his golden God of desire. “Then don’t make me wait and want anymore,” Louis said, one palm smoothing over Lestat’s waist to his exquisite abdominals, fingers playing lightly along the diagonal line that separated Lestat’s hips from his stomach. And as his hardness waned and softened inside Lestat in the aftermath of release, Louis wished he could bite him there, could bring that passion that was now all-too-fleeting, roaring back to life in the blood.
Every coiled muscle now relaxed, every stretched nerve now at rest, Louis lay there contented and placid in the wake of his spent passion that had obliterated every worry and anxious thought from his mind, for the moment at least. “I don’t want this to end, don’t want you to part from me,” he confessed, inhibitions pushed so far backward that they might not have existed any longer, to say such a thing.
Lestat smiled down at him softly to mask the fact that he suddenly wanted to cry. He wasn’t sure why, it was still hard to think with all his blood in his cock. As Louis’s hands moved on him, he thought for a moment Louis might touch him there, but was hardly surprised that he didn’t. His hands smoothed Louis’s damp hair back from his forehead, and he kissed him there again, then at his temple, then between his eyes.
“All right,” he said finally. Lestat wouldn’t part from him. Easy. He wasn’t sure exactly what ‘this’ was that Louis didn’t want to end. He couldn’t just mean rolling around passionately on the floor together, but Lestat wasn’t feeling any clearer on what Louis was trying to make him understand from before. He felt as if he were drunk even though he hadn’t had a drop today. But he wasn’t pressed about it. They were here now. He nuzzled against Louis’s ear and breathed in the scent of his hair. Oh, right, the stables…
Lestat laughed under his breath and then braced to ease himself off of Louis. With a grunt, he collapsed against Louis’s left side, still half on top of him, and he stretched out his sore and aching legs. His arm over Louis’s chest, Lestat held him tight as he waited for his heartbeat to slow. “You can stay in here tonight… Any night… Whenever you want.” Distantly, Lestat remembered how hungry he was, which half a loaf of bread had not done much to sate. But the thought of going down to eat now seemed impossible.
Louis turned toward him and nuzzled into Lestat’s cheek and temple with a murmured sound of utter contentment. Lestat hadn’t come despite being atop him, and Louis could feel his neglected hardness jutting into his hip. Interlocking their legs with a gentle insistence, in spite of his grogginess and that light floating feeling that always lingered in the aftermath of climax, Louis reached to take Lestat’s erection in hand, his fingers closing about the shaft as he began to slowly caress and stroke.
“Ah!” Lestat gasped, his skin oversensitive under Louis’s fingers, but it soon turned into a low groan.
“Do you want this too? I’ll do whatever you ask,” Louis said against Lestat’s cheek, his lashes brushing against Lestat’s skin. “I’ll stay. Yes, I want to stay,” he breathed.
But if he expected Lestat to understand any better what ‘this’ was while he was touching him that way, he was going to be disappointed again.
“I’ll stay. Yes, I want to stay,” Louis breathed.
His hand clenched around Louis’s back and his hips writhed of their own volition, pushing himself into Louis’s hand. God, just the sound of Louis’s voice in his ear had Lestat shuddering already. He’d always been weak for Louis’s voice. It had lost the preternatural resonance, but it was still unmistakably his, polite and low as it had always been. It didn’t take long before the shudders overtook his whole body as Louis coaxed another climax out of him.
It was nothing like the raw explosion of before, but this time a cascade of warmth that made his fingers and toes curl. Blindly, his hand groped for one of their discarded shirts to attempt to catch the rush in, but he had no luck, and it came out right into Louis’s hand.
“Nnnn…” Lestat was too exhausted now to speak, his eyes too heavy to open, and he was ready to drop off to sleep right there, tangled up with Louis on the floor.
Louis couldn’t help but breathe out the barest of laughs, touched and in disbelief for how sweetly Lestat had come for him. The evidence in his palm, Louis trembled, the liquid warmth igniting again a desire within him for Lestat’s blood. He brought his hand to his lips, suddenly opening his mouth to lathe and lick, swallowing the whole of the salty stickiness so quickly that he barely thought about what he was doing before it had already been done.
It wasn’t the same, not even close, but it was what they had now, and Louis gasped with the realization of his actions, then turned to bury his face at Lestat’s cheek and throat, kissing him there and wrapping his arms about him so that he could pull Lestat atop him more fully. Lestat was utterly limp as Louis moved him, dead weight, yet completely pliant. Like this, Louis lay, silently, quietly, breathing in the scent of this man whom he loved above any and all others.
Louis’s body was so warm beneath him compared to the chill air above as the sweat cooled on Lestat’s back. Even through his sleepy haze, Lestat curled into him, every part of his body possible pressed tight against Louis’s. Distantly, he wished he had a blanket to draw over the two of them, but he was too exhausted to do anything about it. Louis was all the heat he truly needed.
As he drifted in and out of sleep, tiny aftershocks of pleasure now and then kept him from being able to fully succumb. For half a minute, Lestat was dreaming, dreaming that he was himself again, that he wasn’t dying, that he really could have everything Louis seemed to be saying he wanted—but then a shiver brought him back to fuzzy reality and he remembered that it was all a lie.
They really were going to die.
Maybe they would even die together.
Thought: Perhaps then when it happened, when he dislodged from his flesh and became spirit, he would finally feel the freedom of immortality again.
Something to look forward to?
For now, sleep. Together, sleep. Death could wait another day.
Notes:
To be continued! After a short break where we'll check in with Armand for a chapter, Loustat will be back in 73.
This chapter written by Me and K.
Chapter 72: Not a Small Thing
Summary:
At sea on their treasure hunting adventure, Armand and Gregory's flirting leads to an unexpected surprise.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Armand was a little more nervous than he would let on, hands wrapped around the railing as the yacht drifted further and further away from port. It wasn’t, of course, drifting, it was being directed somewhere with utmost purpose. But it felt like drifting in a way that Armand had no control of, and oddly he couldn’t find as much comfort in it on a bobbing ocean as he could a private jet thousands of feet in the air. Still, the sunlight on the water was mesmerizing, and the wide luxurious boat made him feel as though he had the world at his fingertips.
Gregory had decided to take out the more expensive of his yachts for this first little venture with Armand. They’d mapped out the location of the sunken ship and contacted a few large ships to go ahead of them and start the process of the great treasure dive.
He was dressed in casual attire, light pants, and pale blue linen shirt. He adjusted his sunglasses and gave Armand a bright smile, stretching his arms along the back of the deck couch where he sat. How invigorating the bright blue sky was, the misty spray of salt water in the air as the yacht sped along over the beautiful turquoise waters off the Spanish coast.
“You don’t need to worry. There are no clouds in the sky,” he called out. Poor Armand seemed tense about the ocean.
Cloudless skies didn’t stop rogue waves, Armand was at least a little bit sure of that. He looked at the water just below them as it smacked against the hull, and took in a deep breath. It was half exhilarating and half terrifying, and this was a calm ocean! He decided not to press upon Gregory all the things he feared could go wrong.
“Would you like a drink?” Gregory gestured to the bar that was just below deck. “To take the edge off?”
Armand nodded, allowed the sun to soak into his skin and moved to join Gregory on the couch. “Just to take the edge off,” he agreed gratefully. “I seem to be more of a lightweight than I remember.” Gregory looked so at home here, glistening and bronze with his dazzling smile. Armand knew in comparison he was almost milk bottle white and that he no longer had any excuse. But he also remembered that he gained color easily, and after a few days of this, he’d be able to count his freckles.
Gregory ducked down into the below-deck rooms to quickly secure Armand a wine and also one for himself. He grabbed a bottle from the top shelf of the wine rack, as it looked dark and old and expensive, so probably delicious. He also slid a coat on. Predicting temperatures and proper clothing to wear had been an oddly difficult thing to master for Gregory since turning human. Though the sun was out and they were heading further south by the second, it was a cold January breeze on deck.
When Gregory reappeared, he sat with Armand, handing him a glass of red wine and clinking his own against it. “To adventure and a profitable relationship,” he said, by way of a quick toast.
Armand nodded deferentially. “It must be such a luxury for you to enjoy this during the day now, to actually use the bar!”
Gregory sipped the wine, letting the taste linger on his tongue. Disappointing that it wasn’t blood, but also not without flavor. His dark eyes gazed over Armand’s lovely face. “Yes, it has been fun to do things in daylight that I never thought I would. Although, did you know that Fareed was working on discovering the cause within vampire bodies for the inability to wake in sunlight? I think he might fix it one day.”
“We’ll be truly unstoppable then,” Armand mused, tasting and thoroughly enjoying the wine. He didn’t expect Fareed to solve such a problem, not when he had this much bigger current one on his hands. What was making sure they could be beasts under the sun when they were so rapidly on the path to death? He admired Gregory’s optimism, though. “Maybe he’ll make it so we can enjoy blood and food both. Do you know how he’s getting on with all this, in his work?” He looked to Gregory with bated breath.
Normally, Gregory had no problem lying to people’s faces. It was a prerequisite of his position in the human world. And he could do it quite gracefully, too. But this face? Armand with his wide eyes and expression hopeful for good news?
He hesitated, brought the glass of wine to his lips to stall. How could Lestat and Marius expect to never give this information out? Did Armand not deserve the truth? They all deserved the truth. Gregory hated that so many of their kind were unaware and therefore unable to process and move on with what was likely their last lifetime. They all deserved all the time they could get.
He looked again at Armand. This was a man over 500 years old. He was not the young boy he appeared. He’d lived through great struggles. He was a great leader in his own right.
“I’m afraid Fareed has been unable to find anything that might support our return to the immortal life. I’m not sure he will be able to solve this for us, Armand. In fact, he’s said as much himself.” Gregory reached a hand over to rest on Armand’s arm, offering physical connection with this dire news.
“Oh…” Armand felt himself stiffen and his stomach drop, and he stared at the wine glass in his hand.
Suddenly none of it seemed fun anymore. What the hell was the point of it if they were all going to die? What about those who were older in body who had less time? He wanted to hurl himself over the railing and drown, get it over quickly. He felt like he’d not had enough time, when of course he’d had far, far more than almost all of the world’s population.
He was going to die, they all were.
He was going to die.
“Thank you for telling me,” was all he could think to say, taking another, longer drink.
Well now Gregory felt like a pile of dung. Perhaps he should have lied after all. “Armand,” he began, voice warm yet assertive. “This is not a death sentence. Simply because Fareed has no present leads, does not mean he never will.” Gently, he squeezed Armand’s arm. “It’s not just Fareed on the job, either. Our new Replimoid friends are researching day and night. Kapetria is a gifted scientist herself. You saw what she did with Lestat! Removed an invisible entity from his brain and returned him to us perfectly fine.” He gave Armand a deep warm smile. “I have not lost hope. No one should lose hope.”
Armand’s spare hand flew to Gregory’s and squeezed it, finding him a grounding force. Touch had always been a love language for him, especially as a human, and he needed it more than ever to know that they were stuck like this forever. He nodded and finished the wine, doing his very best to talk himself down from the edge without talking at all.
Did Marius know? Marius, Armand’s world and everything, the oldest of all of them now. Or at least most of them. Armand wanted to leave now, to hold him and never let him go. He felt sick. All of them, Daniel, Lestat, Louis…Bianca! Ah, his lovely Bianca.
“No one should lose hope,” he agreed, but he didn’t mean or care to mean those words. He turned to look at Gregory. “Oh my God.”
Gregory always found Armand’s reactions to be fascinating. It was more often than not some polarizing response to even the smallest thing. But this was arguably not a small thing, and Gregory already regretted mentioning it. How terribly Marius had done with this one. Brought over at the pinnacle of young male hormonal upheaval then abandoned, terrified, scarred, isolated and forced to adapt. Most all of them had such traumas in their history, but Armand was maintaining that exploited street urchin victim trauma. Gregory knew that if Armand had only had the proper guidance and a stable support system for even just one more decade after his making, he might have come out with far better coping skills.
He looked into Armand’s eyes, trying to impart to him his own strength. “Armand, my darling, you are just fine. The mind loves to spin into the worst scenario, to plan for all outcomes. This news is frightening, but you must not let it swallow you whole. Tell me your fears. I want to help you through. I should not have sprung the news so flippantly.” Gregory took one more sip of wine then placed the glass on the table before them. Turning to give full attention to Armand, he held his hand in his own, strong and supportive.
“What aren’t my fears? We are all going to die, Gregory,” Armand breathed, gripping his hand like his life depended on it. He couldn’t say anything else, nothing that would be productive or useful. He didn’t have it in him now to fake positivity or say something inane. He took a deep breath and frowned. “I don’t know what to do.”
Gregory frowned a little too. “I’m afraid there is nothing to do, Armand. We are simply living moment to moment. I have chosen not to dwell or allow myself to focus on the existential terror of it all. That may not be the best choice, as I have tended to spend my time buried in work, drinking and eating too much, or sleeping around. But these are also things I longed to do as a blood drinker, so I’m thrilled by it all still. Perhaps when the realty fully sinks in, I will dissolve into depression over it.” Gregory gave a small shrug of a broad shoulder. He gave Armand’s hand a squeeze. “I will ask the pilot to take us back to shore, if you desire.”
Armand ran his hand through his curls with a very heavy sigh. He almost did ask Gregory to do this, but what good would it do? He was right, the world went on and so did business. Humans came to terms with inevitable death easily enough, didn’t they?
A thought occurred to him then, irrelevant and completely asinine. But he couldn’t keep it quiet. “Is it called a pilot for a ship?”
A burst of laughter erupted from Gregory’s chest. Well, perhaps Armand was not as affected as it seemed by this news. He also raked fingers back through his own hair, unconsciously mirroring Armand. “I suppose the more appropriate title is Captain. But here is where my own history still influences me. I held that title myself for so long, Captain of the Guard. I forget others might hold it too.”
But Armand’s mind had already jumped to another thought, “Lestat thinks you spend too much time buried in work as well. I think he’s mad you’re not spending as much time buried in him.”
Gregory squinted slightly. The statement didn’t seem like anything other than sharp wit, but just the same, Gregory smiled slowly at Armand. “Lestat had plenty of time with me this past weekend. I’m giving him some recovery time.”
Armand laughed, pushing down all feelings of discord within his heart and mind as much as he possibly could. While he knew and loved Gregory as much as anyone in the coven, he was sure Gregory wouldn’t appreciate a violent meltdown on his beautiful crisp yacht. “I knew it,” he murmured, because Lestat hadn’t officially admitted it, of course.
Gregory gathered up his wine glass once more and looked down to find he still held Armand’s hand. Another sip of the wine and the tart flavor spilled over his tongue. “And you? Marius allowed you to leave his side after all?” He let go of Armand’s hand and rose to collect the rest of the bottle of wine, returning to refill Armand’s glass.
“Marius isn’t so controlling, I let him know I was going.” And they’d even exchanged texts an hour or so ago while the boat was still close enough to shore for the cell signal to manage it. If anything, Armand was the one who was more worried about Marius, which had him reminding him of a whole list of concerns:
Watch out for ice always, and make sure you buy a first aid kit for the car like we said. Keep steering clear of lavender at all costs. We’ll tell Lestat to remove any bushes from all of the gardens before spring.
Then he’d realized how that sounded, and sent another message with, I love you.
Marius had replied: Yes, of course. You don’t need to worry about me. Bianca wishes me to assure you that she will “take care” of me. We are both worried for you out on the water. Be vigilant and observe all proper ship safety protocol. I love you, too. How long will you be gone?
A few days, tops. I don’t plan to swim, and my feet are planted firmly on the boat, was Armand’s answering message.
And then the last thing that had come through from Marius said: I’m proud of you for your courage to go because I know the idea of travel was quite frightening for you.
These words had taken a weight off Armand’s shoulders that he hadn’t realized he was carrying until it was gone. And in just a few days, he would be back at the chateau again in Marius’s arms. They would both be all right.
“His main concern is how well I might be able to swim,” Armand mused, looking over the sea again.
Gregory followed his gaze. It seemed Armand had an unusually strong concern about his ability to swim. “Perhaps you would like some lessons. When we are on shore again, of course. In a pool. I am certain you still know how to swim, though. You know the basic mechanics still. Even if it’s only mental at this time.”
Armand was quiet on this point. He wondered if Marius would give him swimming lessons, or if he’d even learn from him as well as he used to.
Gregory stretched one arm out along the back of the couch, behind Armand. He felt a sudden protective urge where this one was concerned. “Would you like something to eat? I have a cook on this boat somewhere. And please, have anything you like. More wine?” he urged, glancing to Armand’s glass. “I find alcohol so much stronger than it was in my time. More fun to drink too.” Gregory finished off his own glass.
Armand thought about how many drinks it had taken him to get drunk before. Did it matter if he got drunk again? He was around someone he knew, felt safe with. Also, he’d just been hit with the most devastating news of his recent life, and he needed something to take the edge off. “More wine would be ideal.”
Kneeling up on the couch and turning around, he lay one hand gently on Gregory’s arm to regain that grounding force and the other along the banister as he looked out over the sea. They were in deep waters now. The yacht rolled with the waves in a way that relaxed him rather than frightened him, and he had to admit it was very beautiful.
Gregory found himself transfixed by the balanced sway of Armand’s body as they moved over the waves. Such a perfectly proportioned yet petite form he had. The sunshine made his auburn hair into a halo of inviting browns and reds around his youthfully handsome face.
“What do you suppose we’ll find down there?” Armand asked “Is there a legend attached to the shipwreck?”
“I only know it was a rich successful merchant’s ship from the late 1400’s.” Gregory gave him a slow smile, unable to repress his own natural talents for flirtation. “Shall I make a story up for you? Would you like something with swashbuckling pirates and beautiful maidens?”
Armand hummed, mulling the idea over in his head. He had been through so much, he felt that he shouldn’t find so much joy still in childish stories. But there was an innocence to them that he found very appealing, a sense of right and wrong that was so blurred among their kind. He rested his head on his arm and looked down at Gregory with a soft, but slightly challenging smile, and fixed him with an attentive gaze. “How good can you make it?”
It seemed perhaps that the inquiry was not entirely about Gregory’s storytelling talents. There was definitely some sexual chemistry working between them. Gregory found himself leaning infinitesimally closer, lured in by those brown eyes. “I can make it very good,” he replied, his words low, voice sultry. “Do you like a lot of action, or something more slow, building up to the climax?” His voice dropped to a more intimate register, a slight smile still on his lips as he watched Armand closely. He could almost count the eyelashes framing his lovely eyes. “Of course there would be a ruggedly handsome captain of the ship, fearless and charming.”
“Oh, and I suppose this ruggedly handsome fearless captain looks an awful lot like you?” Armand laughed quietly. He hadn’t meant to start anything with this, he had genuinely meant to challenge Gregory to tell a good story. But he couldn’t deny in any capacity that there was a tension between them. He couldn’t deny that since he had found Gregory as a human wandering the castle grounds, the little touches they’d been exchanging had been giving him pause for thought. He also couldn’t deny that Gregory was flirting very heavily with him.
Well, what could it hurt to play along a little? His own voice dropped almost subconsciously, because there was no need to be any louder as he followed Gregory’s intimate tone. “Tall, broad with immaculate facial hair?”
Gregory chuckled. He found himself stretching both arms out behind him along the back of the couch, his head turned toward Armand, his posture one of openness and relaxation. “Of course. This is a strong, secure man in his prime. Charting a vessel full of treasures to the unknown. His crew trusts him implicitly. Including their newest member, a lovely young male, seeking to learn the ways of a ship and sailing the seas. Bright and curious, eager to be under this particular captain’s command.” Gregory gave Armand a quick wink. He looked out to the ocean, the sun sparkling off the waves around them. “It was a day much like this one…the day the pirates came.”
Armand laughed again softly. It crossed his mind to fight back on the young male’s backstory, to interact with it. But he didn’t want to take away from this moment. Besides, the tale was starting how so many stories started. He wondered if Gregory had some grand twist on it or if he was going to run out of steam very soon.
He patted the tips of his fingers along Gregory’s forearm with featherlight touches and took the moment that Gregory was looking outward to study his face. Strong, handsome, put together. And so much age in his eyes even as he recounted this fictional story. “What did the pirates do?”
“It was a menacing pirate ship, The Black Pearl,” Gregory continued, pretending not to notice the soft touch of Armand’s fingers, or the obvious interest he was taking in the story. “It closed in on the unsuspecting merchant vessel. The evil pirates, eyes glittering with greed, swung from ropes onto the merchant ship, swords at the ready!” His gaze returned to Armand’s. He paused for a moment, struck once again by Armand’s seductive beauty, even in mortal form. “The dashing captain of the merchant ship pulled the young shipmate to him, pressing the hilt of a dagger into his palm. ‘Take this blade, and defend yourself. Escape in the lifeboat!’“
Armand faked a gasp, playing as though he were truly riveted. “And did he stay and fight, or did he flee?” He held Gregory’s gaze, eyes locked, even when he looked away. He’d felt it in that pause in the story, that something was happening between them that was undeniable and perhaps even irresistible, a little addictive. They were both young and virile, both attractive, and it seemed both attracted to each other. He wasn’t about to lose that intensity just because Gregory looked away. “I should be rather upset if he did leave.”
Gregory’s eyes returned to his, trying to read his thoughts by visual observation alone. “Why? He was frightened. The captain only wanted him to be safely away. The captain knew the pirates would take the ship. It was loaded with too much bounty, too much gold and treasure.” Very lightly, Gregory encircled Armand with the arm that had been stretched out along the back of the couch. “Do you think he should fight and go down with the ship too?” With his free hand, he offered the second glass of wine to Armand.
Armand took it and eased gently into Gregory’s grasp. It was almost sweeter for how tentative and gentle it was, as if Gregory were testing the waters. “I wonder if I know him well enough to say what I think,” he murmured, taking a sip of wine. “But I would like to. Besides, if I say yes then we know how it ends, at the bottom of the ocean. But if they both walk away, then maybe they both survive.”
Gregory considered this. The truth was he’d been making it all up on the spot with no real attachment to how it turned out. And now that he needed to create an ending to the story, he found himself desiring to please Armand with it, to not disappoint. “You are right. There is not enough backstory for a young shipmate.” He tilted his head, feeling the light breeze of salty air, hearing the lapping of the waves against the boat.
“His name was Markus. He was raised by his uncle, the village blacksmith, who was also an old seadog. Markus longed to be on the seas. His uncle recognized the forceful spark of determination in his nephew and set him up for his first voyage on the handsome captain’s ship. He knew this captain from his own days on the sea and knew him to be a trustworthy man. Markus was a strong, determined shipmate and the more experienced sailors aboard soon came to respect the younger man, taking him into their confidences and sharing with him the skills every great sailor should know.”
Gregory became so involved in spinning his tale, he hardly noticed he’d maneuvered Armand closer still, and had placed a hand on his thigh.
“That is a good, strong name for a captain,” Armand purred, the wine coaxing his shoulders to relax and utter calmness to flow through his body. It wasn’t lost on him that Gregory was touching him far more intimately. He took another drink and raised a hand to Gregory’s chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt. “How did he come to be one?”
Gregory didn’t recall giving a name for the captain, just the young shipmate. Perhaps the wine was already going to Armand’s head. He’d gulped down a whole glass quickly enough. The feel of Armand’s touch against his chest ignited something. A spark of desire that had been there all along but now it was burning steady. Gregory’s arm slipped from around Armand’s waist, his hand moved up Armand’s back, coming to rest firmly on the back of his neck, beneath all those curls. “I don’t know how he made captain. I imagine he showed great leadership skills, was more dominating than the other men, had a powerful influence, perhaps wealth as well.” Gregory’s words were raspy, his thumb caressed the line of Armand’s jaw.
“Dominant, powerful and wealthy,” Armand whispered, smiling a little as he thought on it. He enjoyed Gregory’s hands upon him like this, because it was dominant, and he craved such behavior almost at all times, but he could tell by the way Gregory’s rich, strained voice that he also was affected by this encounter. “But still brought to his knees by the slightest touch of skin on skin. A man all the same, just like the young shipmate.”
Gregory’s gaze slid from Armand’s honey-brown eyes to the plump kissable lips. “You are very inquisitive, Armand. Have you always been so?”
He kept his eyes on Gregory’s, steeling his own breathing, and he was going to answer—when a new noise and movement in his peripheral caught his attention.
“Oh, is that a whale?!” Utterly delighted, Armand pointed over as a large tail fin slapped against the surface of the water very close to the yacht.
Gregory turned to look. There was indeed a large splash of something and then the sounds of water spraying in the air. He immediately stood, letting Armand slip away from him. “Yes, there are whales out, of course. I’ve never seen them in daylight, except on a film screen.”
“We should turn the ship off,” Armand said. “Let it swim without disturbance.”
Gregory smiled brightly. What an exciting thing! Even as an ancient immortal creature, he always found whales thrilling. “Did you ever swim with them, as a blood drinker? I used to go down to see the ocean creatures.” He watched a bit longer before turning toward the stairs. “I will tell the captain to turn off the engine for a few minutes. Stay here,” he ordered, though it was ridiculous. Where else would Armand go? Gregory quickly went up to find the pilot’s rooms at the top of the yacht.
Armand was sad to realize that he hadn’t ever swam with whales. As the boat ground to a halt, he saw the breach of a huge, smooth head, and was full of joy and wonder to see a much smaller fin also appear. He downed his wine quickly and snapped a picture of the whales to send to Marius, and then alone on this spot, he realized the reality of it all. He realized he was out on the very open ocean with nothing but nature around him. He tightened his hand against the railing and took a deep breath.
Meanwhile, Gregory was excitedly pointing out the whales to the captain after the engines stopped. They drifted lightly over the ebb and flow of small waves, the whales swimming closer to the boat. For a few minutes Gregory listened intently as the captain told him a fishing tale involving a great white shark. Gregory shared one of his own stories about a pod of dolphins. When he looked again, he could see Armand down on the lower deck, standing on the couch and leaning over the railing. Dangerously close to the lapping water the whales were stirring up. A protective instinct overtook him, and Gregory quickly excused himself from the captain’s company to make his way back down to the sitting deck as quickly as possible.
But Armand had begun to relax as he realized that there was no inherent danger, and how at peace the whales seemed swimming with one another. The wine helped, creating a serene and warm atmosphere in his mind that enveloped his body as well. He was utterly delighted when the whales drifted toward the boat, close enough for him to make out their eyes. What a gorgeous sight! He took another picture for Marius, before putting his phone down on the couch.
They were right up along the silent boat now, and he could almost convince himself that he could touch them. How many people could say that, that they had touched a whale?
Just as he was thinking of reaching out to try it, a huge tail fin came down onto the surface of the water with such a colossal slap that it jolted the entire boat.
Armand barely had time to panic before he lost his footing and grip and fell headfirst overboard into the sea.
Notes:
This chapter written by D and T.
Chapter 73: Come Here
Summary:
When they wake up together the next morning, Louis refuses to let Lestat out of bed. Explicit.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The midday sun sliced through the window, landing full upon Lestat’s face and rousing him with a headache right behind his eye sockets. Unfair. He didn’t even have any wine last night!
His head wasn’t the only thing that ached. Even in the soft luxury of his princely bed, his entire body felt sore and creaky with the burn of overused muscles. A soft groan rumbled in his throat, and he tried to throw up his arm to cover his eyes from the light, but it wouldn’t move. As he blinked away the sunspots, he realized that was because it was trapped under a very asleep Louis.
Because he was facing Lestat with the sun at his back, Louis had been spared the cruel harsh light of morning. His black hair was a tangled nest, matted to his head in places and sticking out in others. Lestat laughed under his breath, but refrained from smoothing it as his free hand was tempted to do, not wanting to wake Louis. He was so beautiful in slumber, and he didn’t look dead. Not dead at all.
The second thing he noticed was that Louis wasn’t wearing a scrap of clothing, and neither was he. Good god, what had they done last night? Thanks to the lack of wine, Lestat remembered it all. He had ruined everything, hadn’t he?
Well, no… It wasn’t too late. Lestat didn’t believe in too late. But he wasn’t sure what to do about Louis now, either.
Very carefully, he slipped his arm out from under him and went out to the bathroom, where he took a very hot shower and brushed his teeth and combed all the tangles out of his own damp hair. He was half terrified that by the time he came back, Louis would be gone, but no, there he was, right as Lestat had left him.
Pulling the sash of his thick black robe tight around his waist, he sat in the center of the bed and finally let himself touch Louis, stroking his hair back from his warm forehead.
There was a slight stirring of Louis’s brow and he made a murmured sound that was somewhere between a hum and a sigh. Slowly, his lashes fluttered and his eyes opened, finding Lestat immediately. Even as a human, the sudden appearance of Louis’s eyes took Lestat’s breath away.
Louis’s expression shifted between confusion, shyness, and a hint of satisfaction, the heat coming into his cheeks more than evident in his blush. As the whole of everything they had done the previous night came rushing back to his memory, Louis’s face was awash with emotion, his eyes locked to Lestat’s with an intensity of feeling.
His hand moved from beneath the blankets to grasp gently at Lestat’s wrist, his fingers curling tenderly there in silent plea to keep Lestat from even thinking of leaving. “You showered… Smell nice,” he said, barely above a whisper, his voice thick with sleep.
Lestat shook off the effect of Louis’s eyes and laughed softly at himself as his fingers stroked through Louis’s hair. His touch on Lestat’s wrist felt cool, his own skin still warm and softened from the shower. A tangle caught Lestat’s fingers, but he worked them out and instead brushed Louis’s hair away from his neck so he could look at the bruises he left on that side. Gently, he traced over the vicious dark purpley red marks with a fingertip. Did he feel sorry for leaving them? Lestat wasn’t sure, though on this sunny winter morning, he was having difficulty remembering why he was so angry enough last night to do it in the first place.
“You’re a mess,” he said with a smirk, though the look in his eyes remained soft, fond. He could sit here all day just looking at what a mess Louis was.
Louis shifted, seeming for a moment ticklish of the touch to his neck. “I know,” he agreed, momentarily frustrated and disappointed that Lestat had not forcibly woken him and hauled him along to the shower too. He wanted to be clean and fresh just now, but not enough to move and distract Lestat’s attention which was so squarely fixated on him. In another time, he might have become self-conscious and wary of Lestat’s ardent focus, and there was still a part of him that felt the age-old unease. But that had given way now, in this new humanity, to allow himself this. He could self-chastise and feign shame later. Louis imagined himself pulling Lestat down on top of him and biting, then kissing that self-satisfied smirk right off his face.
“Come here,” Louis said, low and dark.
Lestat’s eyebrows went up and his lips parted as if he would laugh. Although the sound didn’t come, the amusement sparkled in his eyes. He waited a moment, just taking in this rare demanding look on Louis’s face, and then he abruptly bent over him. His elbows on the pillow, Lestat’s forearms caged Louis’s head and his face hovered two inches above the tip of Louis’s nose. “Here?” he asked, still seeming on the verge of smug laughter. Because his hair was still wet, most of it stayed back, but one damp curl escaped to fall past his cheek.
Without so much as a word, Louis’s teeth found Lestat’s bottom lip, nipping him there to pull him further in. A surge of heat shot through Louis’s core then, and he tightened his grip at Lestat’s wrist and threw his other arm about Lestat’s shoulders at his neck, crushing their bodies together, deepening the forced kiss with the application of his tongue. Louis groaned against their joined mouths for how the electric pulsing pleasure erupted within him. Such suggestible things, these mortal bodies, passion so easily ignited.
Lestat was powerless to resist. And not just from the way Louis’s touch liquefied his bones. Something he’d done with Gregory two days ago had caught up to him, and his shoulder muscles were aching. The hot shower had helped somewhat, but he still had no strength at all to push back against Louis’s grip.
A groan rumbled in the back of his throat, half pain and the rest delirious arousal as the kiss worked its power on his flesh and blood. His hands came together over Louis’s head, tangling his hair, using the snarls to his advantage to secure his grip. This way, he finally managed to keep Louis against the pillow while he lifted his own face to look down at him.
Lestat’s tongue ran over his bottom lip, sore from Louis’s bite. “What’s the matter?” he asked, still seeming on the verge of outright laughing at him.
“You,” Louis said, as if that were answer enough. “Always you.” He made a small grunt for how Lestat’s fingers twisted in his hair. “Why didn’t you rouse me when you bathed?” His whispering lips almost brushed Lestat’s.
Lestat didn’t know how to answer the question. Did he have a reason why? He didn’t want to think about it.
Louis’s grip about him eased, and Louis let his arms drop to the bed, his hands ghosting gently along Lestat’s robed waist on either side. Why he felt as if Lestat might simply disappear if he ceased touching him, Louis could not fathom, but the fear was there without warning, a nervous longing that all of this was fleeting, despite that Lestat had gone and come already from the bath.
Lestat tipped his face down and ran the tip of his tongue over the shape of Louis’s lips. Even through his thick silk robe and the covers between them, the hard shape of Louis’s body beneath his own was unavoidably enticing. It was his turn to bite Louis’s lower lip, though he was much gentler about it, sucking on it more than anything. A full body shudder wracked him, and his fingers twisted tightly in Louis’s hair before he was able to speak again.
“I roused you now,” he said as if that was all the reason he needed for not doing it before the shower.
Roused indeed. Louis was now fully hard between them, his length evident in its ardent press against Lestat’s thigh even beneath the comforter.
Louis grunted further, shuddering, his head turning to ease the pressure in his hair. “You like me like this, don’t you? Want to see me a mess, disheveled and out of sorts, when you are not.” As perturbed as his words seemed at face value, Louis’s tone was far from bothered, his voice instead low and almost sultry, as if he were basking beneath the attention, wanting it. His eyes lidded, Louis glanced away, bashful and demure, his fingers flexing at Lestat’s sides.
“What makes you think I like you at all?” Lestat grinned and nipped along Louis’s jaw until he was back at one of the bruises he left last night. His kiss there now was tender, though not at all apologetic.
It took some doing, but he got his hands out of Louis’s hair to smooth them over his bare shoulders and along his arms. “I was just going to ask if you wanted to get breakfast,” he murmured against his skin.
That was Louis’s pulse he could feel against his lips. His heart pumping through his veins. He tasted somewhat salty, and Lestat could still pick up the scents of the stables in his hair, but he didn’t mind. It was a homey smell that reminded him of good times long ago.
“Mmm…” Louis moaned. He was hungry, yes, his stomach felt right empty after his strenuous horse ride, a mere cup of tea, and then another quite strenuous sort of ride. “Yes, eventually,” he admitted, but one of his hands clamped tighter at Lestat’s side to silently keep him from starting that journey toward the kitchens. “But not just yet,” he whispered, a tremble in his voice.
As he stared at Lestat’s face, he marveled at how striking it was to see the mortal man above him, unlike anything he’d ever known of the hard, enchanting creature that had weakened his resolve and swooped in upon him at his most vulnerable.
Well, that wasn’t wholly true.
Lestat wasn’t completely different really, but this warm body atop him, malleable and soft, his curling wet hair, the sparkle in his eyes, was a different thing to Louis, and had an entirely different ability to make his knees grow weaker and his resolve to crumble into dust and float away on the wind.
“I love you,” Louis said. “Always have, always will. You infuriate me. Drive me mad, but still, I love you. Want you.” His eyes glistened, in the rays of sunlight, and unspoken was their silent plea of, ‘I’m begging you to tell me you feel the same.’
But Lestat couldn’t speak. The feelings were too great, and he could only stare down at Louis, utterly dumbstruck. After a frozen moment and a somewhat ragged breath, Lestat’s hands slid up Louis’s arms to cup his face. This time when he kissed him, it was all tender adoration, the mockery far gone, all pretense abandoned. It overwhelmed Lestat how much Louis needed him. Absolutely overwhelmed him, but his instinct as always was to at once fight against the chaos of such feelings, to conquer them.
God, Louis tasted good. Even with a mouth full of sleep, Lestat couldn’t get enough of it. If he still had fangs, he’d have bitten deep into Louis’s tongue by now. As it was, he had to drink him in with kisses alone, and quickly the tenderness began to turn more ravenous. “Louis,” he breathed against him between kisses, and now his tone was pleading, though what exactly he wanted from him, he couldn’t even say.
“Lestat,” Louis managed between kisses in answer. Lestat had pronounced his name like a prayer for sustenance. “Anything you want, I’ll give it.” He shuddered with a thrill, his heart wrenching with the anticipation of what Lestat might ask. Debauched things the man could ask of him, and Louis would have no choice but to comply. Louis’s lips closed about Lestat’s tongue, suckling gently, accepting and meeting each of his ever growing and hungry kisses with open abandon.
His hand ghosted up Lestat’s side, then slid beneath him to press his palm upward and into the opening of Lestat’s robe, cupping the source of his need, and gently squeezing there. It elicited a deep groan from Lestat and his weight atop Louis pressed twice as heavy as he melted into him.
The visceral memory of what it felt like to be inside Louis seized him then, and Lestat instantly hardened in his hand, nearly doubling in size in a matter of seconds. At the same time, any recognition of the aching pain in his shoulders and thighs dissolved. He didn’t understand how it was possible that Louis could feel as he did around him each time Lestat had plundered him. He’d never felt anything so good before, even in his vast experience in his mortal youth. It was like their bodies had been made for each other by some grand design.
“I need you,” he gasped against Louis’s lips, his cheek, his jaw as he writhed under his touch. “I need you! I need…” His gasp turned into a growl of frustration at the bed covers between them.
“Have me,” Louis whispered. “Have me any way you like.” Breathless against Lestat’s skin, his words were calm, lazy in a way that made it seem they had all the time in the world. Such a stark contrast to Lestat’s hurried frustrations with the bedclothes.
Pushing back up to sit, Lestat tried to jerk the covers off Louis, but they got stuck under his knees. If he’d still had his vampire strength, he would shred the damn things!
Louis laughed, finding him a beautiful mess just now with his damp hair in his face and his cheeks ruddy with want. And the sight of Lestat’s arousal, blushed and jutting from between the folds of his robe that hung loosely about his muscular form, was all too alluring. It made Louis’s mouth positively water, and the color rose to his cheeks as well to realize this, and to see the work a mere few strokes of his hand had made of Lestat’s desire.
Louis wriggled from beneath the blankets, attempting to free himself from the sheets but soon remembered how utterly naked he was, a fact that had somehow escaped the bulk of his nerves until the air of the room chilled him. He sprawled somewhat sideways, his hand jerking as if he might cover himself, as absurd as that gesture would be in the aftermath of all they’d shared until now. Redirecting his hand, Louis caught Lestat’s cheek instead, pushing his fingers up into his wet golden curls as he sat up more fully, the fabric falling away between them.
His hand snapping up, Lestat grabbed Louis’s wrist, as if he’d force him to let go of his face, but he only gripped it there and stared into Louis’s eyes. His own were flicking back and forth, as if frantically searching for something in Louis’s depths, and his breath was coming shallow. God, how he wished he could plunge his face against Louis’s neck and tear into his throat so that the sparkling blood would shoot against the roof of his mouth as it used to on the precious occasions they spent time in bed together as vampires. To see, to truly see his soul, his heart. But that was gone, now, all of it, and blood was meaningless between them. They might never have that connection again, and all Lestat could do was smash himself against Louis’s body, ever bouncing off of him, with no way at all inside.
Besides the obvious, of course. Which was wholly different, nothing even close, though in this moment, Lestat was craving it nearly as desperately. Certainly, all the blood in him warmed from the shower had rushed straight to his loins. Once again, the memory of what it felt like to be sheathed in Louis’s tight walls wracked him in a full body shudder. Abruptly, he tucked his hands under Louis’s arms and shoved him back against the headboard so that he was half sitting up, and he put himself between his legs.
“I can’t…” Lestat breathed against Louis’s shoulder as he bent over him. Can’t what? What was he going to say… Can’t wait? But as much as Louis had asked for a firm hand the other day, Lestat didn’t truly want to hurt him. If he shoved straight inside of him now, it would be painful for the both of them. Ah, this was excruciating! He flashed on the oil he and Gregory had used over the weekend. He’d give anything to have something like that on hand now! But he’d just been in the bathroom and he knew there was nothing there that could help. Lestat could nearly sob in frustration, though it came out more like a growl.
He flipped his damp hair out of his face to look at Louis again and then after a second, pushed himself up on his knees and gripped the headboard with two hands so that his throbbing cock was right in front of Louis’s face. “Get it wet,” he commanded, but though his expression was intense, nearly dark, there was a note of pleading to his tone as well.
His breath, like a punch to the gut, caught in Louis’s throat, and he stared ahead wide eyed and shocked as his brain caught up with what was happening. Lestat’s hardness jutting before him, Louis’s lips parted as his heartbeat hammered against his ribcage like a bird trying to escape its bars. Utterly scandalized and yet, inevitably hungry for it, Louis attempted his best mask of cool calmness, his eyes narrowing with an expression that suggested he might actually refuse.
“All right,” he said instead, his voice a strangled rasp. Louis’s bottom lip trembled with his anticipation and he swallowed his nervousness. Lestat smelled of the shower, a warm and soapy freshness that made every reason he could think of to refuse melt away.
He leaned forward, his hands sliding into the robe to Lestat’s waist, resting gently at his hips as Louis’s tongue slid beneath the head of Lestat’s cock. His lips encircled its girth then slid downward to the base. His eyes fluttered closed and Louis pulled back slowly, then eased downward again, his tongue cradling Lestat in his mouth, his fingers kneading his hips more insistently each time he pulled back, holding Lestat firm so that he could take him in deeper each time.
Lestat had been so focused on the functionality of the act, that he completely neglected to consider how it would feel, and he was totally unprepared for the staggering effect Louis’s mouth had on him. The sudden tightening of his grip on the headboard would have made it crumble if he were still a vampire. He was so suddenly lightheaded, that he might as well be drunk. One hand snapped down to clench a fistful of Louis’s hair, trembling, but all he could do for the moment was groan.
Forcing his eyes back open, he stared down at Louis’s face, enraptured by every twitch of his fine black lashes, the air moving under his cheeks, the way his delicate nostrils flared as he breathed. The urge seized him to thrust deep into Louis’s mouth, to feel the muscles constrict around him as he slid down the back of his throat.
Lestat gasped aloud as he fought this impulse, the heat blooming inside him too quickly. He grabbed Louis by both shoulders and pushed him back against the headboard. “Enough!”
Louis’s lips made a sucking pop of a sound as they disconnected from him, his breath knocked from his lungs with the force of the shove. He stared up at Lestat, his lips red and slightly swollen, his chest rising and falling with his shocked breaths, eyes wide. He had given himself over quite completely to the task at hand and hadn’t expected to be parted from it so quickly. His fingers flexed on Lestat’s hips beneath his open robe as if he might urge him close all the same, as if he might secretly want to be throat-fucked into oblivion.
Louis already missed the tug of Lestat’s fist in his hair, missed the way having his lips around Lestat’s need had made him forget himself enough not to be self-conscious for it. He wanted to taste his skin again, wanted to smell up close again the crispness of the scented soap.
“Stop that.” Lestat couldn’t stand the way Louis was looking at him, it was just too much! It nearly frightened him, and he hated that out-of-control feeling. Dipping his face, his mouth claimed Louis’s again, sucking at his irresistibly swollen lips, so lusciously soft.
When he pulled back to look at him again, Louis’s expression was no less unbearably needful. “I said stop!”
Reaching behind his right hip, Lestat grabbed Louis’s knee, folding his leg up and pushing it against his chest so that he could force Louis to let go of him and roll over. Once he was facing the headboard, Lestat locked his arms around his chest and stomach, one hand clutching the front of Louis’s throat to keep him from trying to look back at him again with those impossible green eyes. His wet-slicked cock slipped against the supple skin of Louis’s backside and then between his cheeks in a way that made Lestat gasp, almost choking and losing his grip on him just as quickly.
But before Louis could use the moment to his advantage, Lestat reached down between them, so that he could finally insert himself into Louis and reclaim that unearthly sensation that had been haunting him since their first night together in his closet.
“Oh God!” Louis moaned aloud, trembling, unable to keep himself from clenching against that singularly blissful intrusion. Flipped and pinned, soft fingers with an iron hard grip at his throat to keep him constrained, Louis could very well die like this, besotted and uncaring that he was the very picture of depravity.
Gradually he opened for Lestat, accepting him deeper, relaxing into it with a heavy sigh, enjoying the pressure and overwhelming fullness. But otherwise, constrained as he was, all Louis could do was brace himself against the headboard and plead for more in a heated whisper. “Yes, god, yes!”
Each word from his lips drove Lestat further into frenzy. What a thing to hear Louis’s voice—Louis’s voice—this way, so thick with need and rapture, so erotically human, as if he really could die from pleasure at any moment!
Each time his fingers started to tighten too much around Louis’s neck, Lestat caught himself and made them loosen, but it was impossible to keep that way, and it happened over and over again. His other hand pressed hard against the base of Louis’s spine, keeping his back curved at the angle he needed to drive again and again to that perfect spot where their bodies linked in the way that made liquid warmth ooze over his entire being and fireworks go off behind his eyes. Lestat couldn’t keep quiet either during all this, calling out to god and the devil both in French amid strings of rambling desperate exclamations.
There were moments Louis thought he might pass out; between the grip of Lestat’s hand at his throat and pressure where their bodies connected, Louis felt his world tilt sideways more than once. His own mumbling came out strangled and desperate, but when they were intelligible, he choked out the words, “Yes,” “More,” and “Just like that!”
He came with the same violent heat as when they’d fucked on the closet ottoman, when he’d been staring at his own reflection in the triptych mirror. Just the thought of that now sent him over, and pressed into the mattress as he was, his release burst beneath him, slicking his stomach and stickying the sheets, even as Lestat continued his ramming thrusts inside him.
It was everything and more, this feeling, and Louis groaned aloud again, wanting Lestat’s onslaught as ever, not wanting it to end and wishing for Lestat’s fist in his hair, so that he could be plied ever more impossibly in order to take him that much deeper.
It was not long before he got his wish. First Lestat’s hands gripped under Louis’s hips, hoisting them up and back over his knees to combat how limp his release had made him. When the position pushed Louis’s face into the pillows, Lestat snatched him by a great handful of black locks to keep his head craned back instead.
Lestat didn’t want it to end either. Each time slid back into Louis, that perfect liquid hot feeling rushed over him. It was like he was flying again, streaking through the night clouds, incalculably powerful and weightless, free. The effort of holding himself back from the edge had his hands on Louis growing far more than firm. Rough, even violent, his grip twisted in Louis’s hair, the strands straining at his scalp. But even that wasn’t enough in the end, and Lestat erupted into Louis with a series of final slams and a guttural cry, sounding absolutely furious that it had happened at all.
It was only as the wracking spasms faded amid his snarls that Lestat realized just how hard he was pulling Louis’s hair and twisting his body. His hand felt stiff and cramped as he forced it to let go, and then he collapsed, dead weight on top of Louis, his face buried in soft black strands.
It was some time before he could speak again, but when whispered words finally came between the panting breaths at Louis’s ear, the tone was concerned. “I hurt you.”
“In the best of ways,” Louis breathed, shuddering beneath Lestat, liking the deep way his scalp hurt now just as much as his loins. He could feel his heartbeat everywhere Lestat had levied his onslaught, and the lingering ache was comforting in a strange sort of finality that made everything they’d just experienced all the more true.
“I want to hurt like this, want it from you. Have always wanted it,” Louis confessed, barely audible. He felt downright filthy now, the sheets sticky beneath him, clinging to his stomach and thighs. He didn’t care in this moment however, as long as Lestat’s weight kept him pressed into the mattress, impossibly close, still inside him.
Relaxing with relief, Lestat kissed the back of Louis’s head. His hair still smelled like horses and hay and stable muck. In the dreamy afterglow, Lestat let the scent take him back centuries to when he was a boy in this countryside, and all his escapades with the lovely girls from the farms speckling his ancestral lands. With his long robe still covering his back, spread over them, and Louis’s hot mortal body beneath his, Lestat was so comfortably warm, and he tucked his hands under Louis’s chest to hold him.
But slowly his empty stomach began to remind Lestat of one of the many human inconveniences that were his lot now. Eventually, he nuzzled against Louis’s ear to get his attention. “Breakfast?”
“Mmm…” was Louis’s malcontented response, the thought of moving seeming insurmountable, the thought of dressing and going down for food even more out of the question with how sorely he needed bathing.
“Shower,” he managed finally, slurred, though he did not even feign to move just yet. “Then breakfast,” he added, because he was indeed hungry, couldn’t help but be so after everything they’d done last night and just now. “Wait for me to finish in the bath?” he asked, quieter than before.
For a moment, Lestat had tensed, afraid Louis would want him to join him in the shower. But now he relaxed, for Louis’s actual request was so much easier to grant. “I’ll give you five minutes,” he said, though as he breathed in again the horse stable scent of Louis’s hair, he reconsidered. “Seven and a half.”
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and K
Chapter 74: Incredible
Summary:
Man overboard! Gregory jumps into action as Armand is tossed out to sea with the whales. Explicitish.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Armand!” A surge of panic gripped Gregory. Armand had completely disappeared over the side of the yacht.
Without a second thought, he raced to the railing, leaped and plunged into the frigid water, his heart pounding in his ears, the breath knocked out of him such that he had to gasp for precious air and fill his lungs with it. Salty waves splashed over him and into his nose and eyes despite every effort to keep his head above it. The vast, murky depths swallowed Gregory, and for agonizing moments, he couldn’t see Armand anywhere.
Frantic, he kicked through the water, desperately searching for any sign. Damn this coat he’d put on! The whales were so close, adding a whole new level of alarm to the situation. Finally, Gregory found air enough to call out and focus more clearly on the splashing waters, the horizon his buoy. “Armand! Where are you?!”
Armand hadn’t panicked much even when he’d fallen in, when the water hit his eyes and nose and mouth and he began to flounder. It didn’t even occur to him to panic. He needed to find something to hold onto, that was all he could think. He knew he had the hull, but there was distinctly nothing there. He felt fear through blurry eyes when he saw the huge form of the whales, dark shapes blotting out the light.
No, it was Gregory’s voice that sent him into a panic, knowing that he was down here too, knowing there was no way to get to him, and realizing there was no way to get to anywhere. With everything in him, Armand kicked up to breach the surface. He spluttered, and teetered there for a moment before being sucked back under.
Beneath the turbulent surface, Gregory’s eyes stung, searching frantically for any sign of Armand. The whales’ majestic forms loomed nearby, adding an eerie, surreal quality to the scene. Panic gnawed at him as he continued to call out for Armand, the words swallowed by the sea.
Finally, he spotted a pale figure below him. With powerful strokes, Gregory propelled himself downward. Reaching out, his fingers brushed against Armand’s body, and he grasped hold, pulling him back toward the surface. It felt like an eternity, but finally, they broke through the water.
Gasping for air, Gregory reached for and clung to the last rung of the ladder at the back of the yacht’s hull, his arms trembling with exhaustion as he held Armand’s sodden form. The rush of adrenaline and fear coursed through him as he fought to catch his breath.
“Armand,” Gregory panted heavily. Was he even breathing?!
Armand had fought valiantly, or he thought he had, but perhaps he had succumbed too easily. He hadn’t had much room for thought, he didn’t know what to do at all once he’d started panicking. And now as he was coming back to awareness, he didn’t think about what else he could have done to save himself, because he was trying to cough the fluid out of his lungs and because the salt around his tongue and lips was making him wretch. Later, perhaps, he would reflect on everything he had done wrong and worry about his own stupidity. But now, he was just happy to be alive.
Somehow Gregory pulled them both up rung by rung. Two of the hired hands were at the top, fussing over the both of them with towels and blankets and worried words. Perhaps it was the squeeze of his arm around Armand’s mid-section as he pulled them back up to the deck, but at some point, Armand started writhing. Gregory had never been more grateful. For a moment the vision of breaking the news to Marius and Lestat had flashed before his eyes and it had been the most horrific thought!
“Armand,” Gregory said again, shedding his wet coat. He pulled one of the extra-large fluffy towels from the staff and wrapped Armand up within it. Armand’s hair was a wet mop of auburn curls, some of them plastered to his forehead. “Forgive me for leaving you.” He held the younger man to his chest, willing him to keep breathing.
Armand didn’t think to hold Gregory in turn, but Christ, was he glad for those arms around him. He was glad for the solidness of his chest, and he was glad to know that he had chosen the right man to travel with. He thought all that, even as he took gasping breaths to regain the oxygen, and then forced himself to level his breathing. He knew if he didn’t, he might get out of hand, and then what?
He took a deep breath, counted to seven, then released it, and did it enough times to ensure he was breathing well. And when that was fine, he allowed himself to think more, though he knew he was trembling, and nothing could be done about that.
“I swam with whales,” he murmured finally, laughing. Of course, inwardly he was full of turmoil, struck by the fear of death, but it would do no good to say it out loud. “You didn’t leave me, you were there. Thank you.”
Gregory was also shivering and finally noticed it. He stood, bringing Armand up easily with him. He gave some instruction to the staff that they should tell the captain to turn back to Spain. They could find treasure some other day. Or simply pay the experts to do it for them.
Armand chose to ignore the fact that Gregory was still able to lift him even in their mortal forms. There was some primal delight in it, even as he was fraught by the threat of death or perhaps even because of it, that he had to push to the recesses of his mind.
“That wasn’t what I meant when I said I swim with whales,” Gregory replied, choosing not to address the rest of Armand’s words. He deserved no thanks. He’d been a terrible guard! Letting Armand out of his sight in the first place!
He took them to the lavish bedroom below deck, steadying Armand on his feet but not letting him go completely just yet. What did one say after such trauma? Gregory reached back through memory to his original mortal life, but nothing came to mind that wouldn’t sound flippant or overly pragmatic. “We must get out of these wet clothes and dry off.”
Armand brought the towel around himself, hoping to impart the warmth into his bones. “Don’t—don’t have the boat turn back,” he pleaded, embarrassed and annoyed and disappointed that he had caused this. “We can get dry, we can make a nice day of it.”
“Are you certain?” Gregory asked, beginning to unbutton and remove his own shirt. “We are hardly in a clear state of mind now. Wouldn’t you prefer the safety and comfort of a nice room in the city?”
He let his shirt fall to the floor, then looked down to see his pants were clinging to him as if painted over his thighs. Gregory removed his shoes and socks, water squelching out of them. Such a horrible feeling, to be so wet and cold. He then took off the pants and stood nude and shivering. He stalked over to a little control on the wall and turned it so that heat might enter the room through vents in the floors.
When he turned back to Armand, he was struck by the sight before him. “How rude of me. Undress, come get warm over this vent.” He pulled Armand over to where the heat flowed.
Armand couldn’t feel much other than shame. Shame that Gregory had needed to get naked to dry off, that his clothes were wet and that he had gone overboard for him. He let Gregory tug him closer but made no effort to undress himself. “I owe you my life, I think,” he muttered, totally in awe of it as the fact began to sink in. Slowly, he removed the towel, making sure it was folded neatly. The last thing he could do now was make a mess.
Gregory’s eyes followed Armand’s movements. “You owe me nothing. This is what I do, Armand. I guard and protect.” He gave him a genuine smile. He had always been the guard. Since his mortal life as the Queen’s Guard, since his thousand years as the captain of her blood army, and even as the master of his own little coven family. He always had his eyes and ears open for danger and the protection of those near him.
“Come here,” he said softly, pulling Armand to the heat again. “Take these off, we have robes we can wear for now. Would you like something warm to drink?” Gregory raked fingers back through his own wet hair, looking about for his phone to text one of the yacht staff for some hot tea. But it was probably ruined by salt water, in the pocket of his soaked coat.
Armand nodded, thanking him again. He remained silent other than that for a moment, weighing up his options. Gregory had pulled him to dry off, told him to remove his clothes. He wondered if it were appropriate, but really what was a bit of nakedness between their kind? He supposed perhaps a basis of comparison. He wasn’t half as tall or broad as Gregory. It didn’t matter with his lovers, because Armand knew they liked him for what he was, but he wondered if Gregory would look down on him. Either way, time went on, and his clothes got wetter and colder, and Gregory got drier and warmer.
Meanwhile, Gregory found the robes on hooks in the bathroom. They were long and dark and made of soft thick material. He slid into one and held it closed about himself while he stuck his head out the cabin door and called for someone to bring them some hot tea.
“What sort of whales do you suppose they were?” Armand asked, finally unbuttoning his shirt and folding it as well.
Gregory closed the door and returned to him. Something like impatience triggered in him to see Armand only with his shirt off and taking the time to fold. This slowness was not helpful. Armand should be making every effort to be rid of the wet clothes and getting warm. He stood over him, extra robe over his arm.
“They were humpbacks,” he replied absently, his brows drawn down slightly as he watched Armand. What a pretty thing he was. Wet and shivering and apparently nervous to undress before him. “Are you in shock? You’re moving very slow.” Gregory tossed the robe onto the nearby bed and reached for Armand, his hands immediately working to unfasten the wet pants and slide them down boyish hips, revealing plenty of pale inviting skin.
Armand inhaled, gentle and soft in a way that hardly betrayed the surprise he felt to be pulled like this and to have Gregory undress him. He didn’t think he was in shock, didn’t people in shock not move at all? Weren’t they practically mute? Of course they were humpback whales. He’d known that, somewhere in the recesses of his brain. He got the distinct impression that he was upsetting Gregory. Or perhaps irritating was the word. Maybe that was why Gregory had turned the ship around, because he wanted to be rid of him.
“I’m sorry,” he offered, trying to make quick work of shedding his pants with Gregory’s aid. He tried not to ponder the thrill that Gregory’s commanding air sent through him and instead focused on drying off.
Gregory found he rather liked the way Armand seemed so meek. But it wasn’t a thing he would ever admit out loud. He knelt before Armand, undoing the laces on his shoes and allowing him to step out of each. He removed the wet socks as well and placed them with the shoes.
He hadn’t anticipated the effect the sight of an unclothed Armand would have on him. So recently he’d spent a weekend of pure pleasure with masculine perfection itself. Lestat! Gregory’s thoughts had been only replaying the heated encounters they’d had all weekend. He didn’t think he’d be so easily aroused again by another.
But who wouldn’t be so taken with the sight of a nearly nude Armand? The body so perfectly proportioned, compact and strong, curves and edges in all the right places. The lips begging to be kissed, the hips begging to be held down and…
Gregory blinked and looked away. He was still kneeling and he knelt upwards now, hooking thumbs into the underwear, the last wet clothing that clung to Armand. He dragged it down off his legs and encouraged him to stop out of it too. Then he stood, arranging the robe more securely about himself, as he could feel he was becoming hard while looking upon the full picture before him. Was his breathing a little more shallow?
Gregory paced a slow circle around Armand, enchanted by every angle. He cursed under his breath and murmured, “You are incredible.”
Normally when told this, Armand would have puffed up like a peacock. He knew how beautiful he was. Even if he was rotten on the inside, he knew he was beautiful. But there was something about the way Gregory moved around him as if he were fine wares, something about the intensity of his gaze. Even as a warm, young human, Gregory still held his age in his eyes. He felt utterly stripped bare by somebody twelve times his age even before he was naked, but now, totally unclothed, he felt vulnerable in a very profound and powerful way.
He rubbed at his arm, brows furrowed in a slightly confused manner. He thought back to the exciting tension they shared up on deck not an hour ago. He’d admitted it to himself then, but to come from almost drowning, to being saved, to being surveyed so blatantly as this, Armand was reeling. Why had Gregory cursed? He didn’t know what to say—the compliment was just too powerful.
“Thank you,” he finally answered calmly, looking the shark in the eye. Something about this felt dangerous in that highly addictive way that had always been Armand’s downfall. “I am surprised I live up to others. But so are you, incredible.” He might have asked for the robe, but that might imply shame. He would pretend it was for the purposes of drying off that he remained totally naked.
A knock at the door broke the strange silence of the room. Gregory grabbed the robe from the bed and handed it to Armand before opening the door and accepting the tray of tea. He instructed the waiter to let the captain know they would continue on to the treasure site after all.
After some small discussion, the door was shut again and Gregory placed their tea on a table in the corner, near a port window. “Please, come join me,” he offered. “They’ve brought us some treats as well. Pain au chocolat.” Gregory sat and poured the tea for each of them, gesturing to the available armchair on the other side of the table. “I find I have quite the sweet tooth in mortal form. I suppose I need to start an exercise regimen if I don’t want to start putting on weight.”
Armand was a good half relieved and half disappointed by the interruption. He was robed now, not half as vulnerable, and there was a table between them as he sat upon the chair. He didn’t pick the cup up yet, knowing the tea would be far too hot. “I also have a problem with sweets. But not in my coffee…I like my coffee very bitter,” he mused, watching the ocean go by, relieved to know they would be continuing their journey.
He’d stopped trembling now, but he felt sluggish and as if he weren’t quite present. The only thing it seemed that was keeping him in the room spiritually was Gregory. What was before little sparks of tension was now a blazing fire, and he couldn’t get that compliment out of his head. Incredible… Had anyone ever called him that before? Many things, yes, but never that. He felt like if he spoke of it, it would all shatter, and the last thing he wanted to do was chase this feeling away.
His eyes traced over Gregory’s figure, what he could see of his chest between the lapels of his robe, and he made no secret of it. “It’s all about balance.”
“Balance,” Gregory repeated with a half-smile on his lips. “Wise words.” He placed a pastry on each of the small plates before them, then picked up his cup, blowing lightly on it before sipping. It was rather hot, but it didn’t scald.
He watched Armand from across the table. What a puzzle he was. Difficult to read sometimes. “Relax,” he said, voice infused with the type of tone he usually used with his employees when they came to his office for one reason or another. “You are safe now. Breathe deeply. Focus on me.” Gregory set his cup down and pulled off a piece of the chocolate-filled pastry, placing it in his mouth and savoring the sweet flaky textures. After another sip of tea, he asked, “Will you tell Marius you fell overboard trying to pet a whale?”
Armand didn’t know about breathing deeply, but there was a command to Gregory’s tone that had his eyes upon his face, eyes upon his eyes. He hadn’t even thought of how to tell Marius. He’d be furious, wouldn’t he? All because Armand was so stupid. It all could have been avoided if he’d just stayed seated.
“Of course.” He nodded, but the thought made him feel profound dread. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed, resting his head in his palms. His hair was still sodden, the ends just starting to curl again, and he could feel how coarse from the salt it was going to be.
With a sigh, he sat back up and took the teacup. “Every response of his is rational. I’m sure he’ll give me some swimming lessons.” He laughed, focusing on Gregory again as he’d been told to do. It kept the sharp guilt of disappointing his beloved Marius at bay, if only a little. “I’m sure he will thank you, though, as I have. I know you say you are a guard by nature, but that does not mean we should take you for granted.”
Gregory raised a brow at this. He wasn’t so sure Marius would thank him at all. But it was best to expect the positive. “I’m sure he will have some words for me,” he said with a small smirk. “I’m far younger than he is now, if we go by mortal years. He might not see me as such an equal anymore.”
He wrapped his hands around the cup of tea, feeling the heat of it melt into him. It reminded him of the old trick all vampires used, holding a hot beverage in cold hands. His eyes returned to Armand. He looked pale and like a drowned mouse. “Why haven’t you eaten yet? You need sustenance. You need to hydrate. Shock can be a dangerous thing. Eat, and tell me what you are feeling. Don’t hide.”
God, Armand felt on trial around this man, as if every move he made just now were a disappointment to him. But he didn’t resent it—it made him want to strive to impress, or at least satisfy. It was ever how he responded, at least to this type of man, and so he took a bite of the pastry despite the fact that his stomach was churning. He took a bite and he tried to speak about his feelings. “Vulnerable, embarrassed, angry and stupid.”
Gregory took another sip of the tea, considering this confession of sorts. He rubbed a hand over his bearded jaw, thinking. Armand was not this young male body that sat across from him now, and Gregory found he had to remind himself of this too often. “Vulnerable, angry, and even embarrassed, I can understand. Stupid, though? Why?”
“Because I was the idiot who leaned over, if only slightly. What did I truly expect? They were more than a few feet away best-case scenario,” he huffed. “I was stupid enough to do it, then you had to get your lovely clothes wet and…” And get naked, and send Armand’s imagination running wild. “And I have to tell Marius what has happened. Oh, I know I don’t have to, but I don’t want to keep things from him. Not if we are to be mortals now. God knows there’s been enough of that in the last five hundred years.”
He took a sip of the tea and another bite, then put the pastry down. He just didn’t want it, he wasn’t hungry. “I feel stupid as well because I looked stupid, flapping about out there like a damn fish on land.” And he wasn’t cold anymore. He was hot now, hot with the embarrassment and anger, and he adjusted his robe slightly to give him more relief.
Gregory frowned at this. He placed his own cup down and almost reached across the small table to reassure Armand with a touch, but thought better of it. “Armand, I was also flapping around like a fish out of water, as you say. I was the only one who truly saw anything. No one will think ill of you for wanting to touch a whale. There are many ancient tales of one being swallowed by a whale and bravely surviving.” He gave Armand an encouraging smile. “We can certainly say the whales caused you to fall and not that you fell on your own. Everything can be spun to make you look good.”
Armand brought his knees up onto the large chair, leaning into it and holding his cup with both hands now it had cooled a bit. He smiled, appreciating Gregory’s handsome smile and the way he tried to make this all seem. “We’ll say it was the whales,” he agreed with a small smirk. “We won’t tell anyone it happened, but if they find out, then it’s the whales.”
Gregory pushed the small plate with his half-eaten pastry to the side and folded his hands on the table before him, his eyes never leaving Armand. He had a strong desire to help Armand, and he couldn’t understand why. Didn’t he have enough on his plate already? But something called to him when it came to this one.
“Armand,” he spoke softly. “You don’t need to worry about me or my wet clothes or feel in any way you burdened me with this whale adventure. I have a whole wardrobe on this yacht. If I’m being honest, I find myself dangerously like the young male I was 6,000 years past. Seeking new experiences and thrills. Too excited for life to think twice. I was very likely to jump into that ocean to see the whales myself.” He gave Armand a quick wink and sly smile. “Do you find this true of yourself? That you’ve reverted to your past self at all?”
Armand looked at him, his own face soft if his expression didn’t show any surprise. He didn’t know why he was surprised—tenderness seemed to be the meal of the day, and Gregory had been showing him the utmost gentleness since saving him. But coming from this man, it was magical, and he wanted to bask in it, and he wanted to respect him by not ignoring his questions.
“I am still partial to alcohol and sweet things.” Armand paused for thought, wondering if there was anything else. No, he knew there was something else, and decided in that moment he had been so vulnerable with Gregory so far that this admission couldn’t hurt. “I think I am meeker than before, some wilting, cowering thing. Perhaps even more than when I was a human. At least when I was found in that brothel. I think, perhaps, knowing everything that happened, looking at it through this strange new lens of humanity…and age, age has made me more upset and afraid about it…but I am not making any sense.”
Gregory had to push his mortal mind to think back on Armand’s biography. It was a rather sad depressing existence for him as a mortal. “You do make sense. But you are opposite myself. I don’t allow my mind to think on these matters of the frailty of life. I keep myself busy. Would you like a job? You need to have a purpose. That’s what mortals do. They find purpose and throw themselves into it. I have an opening in my offices in Spain. Since you’re all but the lead on this treasure hunt, perhaps you could take up the position there. It’s a large office, top floor. A few hundred employees.” Gregory looked hopefully at Armand. This could be exactly a perfect fit for both Armand and Gregory’s company!
Armand frowned a little, but not by way of upset or disdain. He was considering it, letting the offer sink in. His immediate reaction was to say no—it would pull him away from the chateau, for one. For another, he had no idea what he was capable of anymore. It was as if since having his powers stripped, he couldn’t remember what a human body was good for, that people would see him for what he was. He looked down at his hands, his painfully warm looking, human hands. “Do you think a few hundred people would be happy to be managed by someone like me?” He meant it in a very genuine way. “Do you think I could do it?” What a glamorous life it would be, a huge skyscraper with a view, to see everything by day…
“They will be happy about it because I tell them to be happy about it,” Gregory spoke with the steely conviction of a man used to being obeyed. “I would not offer the position if I didn’t think you could do it. Are you not a man with 500 years of life experience behind you? Armand, don’t let the reflection you see in a mirror define you. This is a blessing of sorts, isn’t it? A chance for you to age beyond this young cherubic image that doesn’t really reflect all the life experience and leadership strengths you possess. You are not a meek boy from the brothels. You are far beyond that.”
Armand thought on this. He wondered if he felt so in touch with that short part of his life because he and Marius leaned into it so much. It was their happy time, after the brothel and before Santino, and he wasn’t much sure he wanted to lose it. But perhaps he could separate it from this, balance different facets of his life and categorize. “It’s a fascinating offer.” He smiled.
Gregory got the feeling that was a gentle way of turning the offer down. He stared hard at Armand, wishing suddenly he could simply give an order and Armand would have to accept the duty. “Perhaps you are not ready to leave your master’s side. I shouldn’t assume such things.” Gregory smiled brightly, taking up his cup of tea once more. “Marius would be unlikely to allow it, anyway. I’m surprised he allowed this venture at all.”
Armand normally would have hit back at this, irritated over being told that someone controlled his life other than him. But it wasn’t someone, it was Marius, and wasn’t this in a way the point? He decided not to answer how he normally might. “You know how you love Chrysanthe more than anything in the world? Imagine you had been separated from her for 500 years, just imagine it, for me. Then imagine you find happiness with each other again, this person that you loved more than anything else but still couldn’t find peace with, even when nothing was standing in the way but yourselves. Wouldn’t you do everything you could do to keep it? It isn’t that he won’t allow it, it’s that I like to hear his thoughts.”
Gregory remained silent, contemplating this imaginary scenario. He grabbed the rest of his pastry and gobbled it down with a gulp of tea. “I agree this would be a terrible thing, but I simply can’t envision a situation that would hold me away from my fledgling that long. Not even the Queen Akasha could keep me from Sevraine when she tried. It was Sevraine herself who hid away. I only have two children of my own blood, and I can only imagine I would be the same amount of devoted to any future fledgling I might have had.” Gregory felt a great sadness suddenly, to think he might not ever have more fledglings. Not unless they were biological human children.
He stood suddenly. “I must wash this ocean water off my body. Please join me, if you like. The shower stall is large.” Gregory moved away, to the en suite bathroom. “We can further discuss the Spain position at a future time, if I haven’t filled it yet.”
“It isn’t always so simple, staying close to a fledgling,” Armand remarked as Gregory walked away. He decided he would follow him, but take the shower after him. For now, he checked his face in the mirror, surprised by the state of himself as the shower began to run. How many times had he looked in the mirror now as a human? Too many times to count. But this startled him more than the others. He looked almost ill, sort of colorless. But not in the radiant way of vampires.
Gregory had to chuckle softly to himself at this newfound modesty Armand was displaying. As if he didn’t have the reputation among their tribe as the most seductive young servant of the devil. The shower’s steam was already billowing up from the floor. There were three shower heads with strong sprays. The entire stall was a beautiful blue tile and the doors clear glass. It would be impossible to not see the full show of whoever was inside.
Gregory dropped his robe and stepped in. He couldn’t help the deep rumble of pleasure from his chest as the water hit his skin, sluicing away the ocean in salty rivulets down his body. He dropped his head back and let the water soak his dark hair, his throat, his beard. When he stood straight again, he spat out some shower water. He glanced over to Armand as he reached for the bottle of pine scented soap, dropping a dollop out on his hand and beginning to lather his body. “You don’t need to wait, I promise I won’t touch… you.” He chuckled again, slowly lathering his abdomen and chest with soap.
Armand smirked, Gregory’s words resonating with him. What a threat if it meant what he thought it meant. Well, if he wanted to play this game, then what was the problem with just harmless flirting, and nothing more? Besides, it might take his mind off things. He turned to Gregory and approached the shower. He dropped the robe from his shoulders but nothing else, just giving the man a taste of what it seemed he wanted. In the meantime, he took his fill visually of Gregory’s fine, broad body, and the flutter of his muscles as he moved. He was a very beautiful man, and if Armand weren’t thinking straight, he would hop right in with him. But his mind was all full of all things Marius. He was high on Marius, perhaps because he only had limited time left on this earth and he needed to prioritize who he spent it with. “Perhaps next time.” He smiled wolfishly, then turned to leave the bathroom and finish his tea.
“Tease,” Gregory mumbled to himself. Bare shoulders were all he got? He’d expected a little more from the great seducer, Armand.
Gregory turned into the water, feeling disappointed. He let it wash over his face and chest, the soap sliding along his tanned skin and into the drain. He found himself thinking then of Lestat and their last weekend together. They’d showered a few times together, too. The mere memory of Lestat’s strength and toned form against his own had the blood rushing to his groin.
Ignoring his own obvious arousal for the moment, he grabbed the shampoo, washing his dark hair as his thoughts continued to weave through images of Lestat. Would Armand be able to hold a candle to Lestat’s talents? Gregory found himself taking his erection in hand, stroking slowly, recalling the feel of Lestat’s cock in his fist. It didn’t have the same girth as his own, which he knew was greater than average, but it had fit perfectly in his palm and was a most satisfying length.
He stroked himself harder, his body reacting to the sensory memories of the past weekend, the decades of deep longing desires for Lestat finally realized by their joining. A particularly strong memory of their entwined bodies and their combined climaxes had Gregory spilling his seed against the tiled blue wall in several powerful waves of passion.
It took a good few minutes to regain his composure under the hot water before Gregory could finish his shower.
Notes:
This chapter written by D and T
Chapter 75: Make It Good
Summary:
With Armand gone on his voyage, Marius can no longer stand the dark winter at the chateau. He meets with Lestat to ask permission to go abroad.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Marius walked into the chateau’s largest salon with a purpose, eyes looking about because he no longer had the benefit of the mind gift, of supernatural senses such as hearing, that would tell him who occupied each room immediately. There was no thunder of heartbeats, no sounds to drown, only the crackle of the fire and silence. It greatly troubled Marius, this loss of his life, the only life he could remember. The silence had been peaceful at first, but now it just unsettled him. It reminded him how vulnerable they all were. He was glad Armand had left for a few days, because his distance from the Chateau protected him.
But the room wasn’t unoccupied after all. He found Lestat there looking at his phone. Marius silently joined him, pulling a chair close to sink into. Marius was tired, sleep difficult to come by as all he did was toss and turn with nightmares since Armand left yesterday. He tried, with Bianca’s coaxing, to eat a little each day. It was only to ease the worry in her eyes that he joylessly ate a few bites of food each day. He’d begun to have constant, terrible headaches that he did not complain about or else Bianca would truly cry in worry. He just kept busy, burying the exhaustion, the hunger, and the nightmares at the bottom of his concerns. Despite that, he was able to give Lestat a smile.
Lestat looked up and returned the smile, though there was concern in his eyes as they took in his haggard appearance. His usual deep, brooding eyes looked even more so with shadows of exhaustion. It seemed to him that Marius was looking more and more worn down every day since they’d become human, despite how much fun Armand claimed he was making sure Marius had.
Respectfully, Lestat set the phone aside on the table beside his armchair to give Marius his full attention, as he always did when they met to check in with each other every day. Or nearly every day… Lestat hadn’t seen him since Friday, before Gregory effectively trapped Lestat in his room all weekend.
“Everyone’s happy with the ballroom curtains,” he said to start them off.
“They are lovely,” Marius complimented the new heat-retaining drapes kindly, as it was vital now to keep a comfortable, safe home for everyone in residence. Marius considered them a valuable asset. The ballroom was now at least ten degrees warmer thanks to the curtains, and people could eat their meals there without being able to see their breath.
“And I’ve got those space heaters on order,” they would hopefully be the last thing they all needed to get through the winter. Lestat wondered how he ever survived here as a boy. A lot more fur, he supposed. “How are your rooms? Warm enough yet?”
A quick frown touched Marius’s lips, there and gone. Because he found himself uncomfortably cold lately, and no heater could warm him deep in his muscles and bones. He thought perhaps even a space heater wouldn’t unfreeze his body, but that was no one’s fault. Lestat was doing his best.
“That’s actually why I’ve come,” he said softly, putting his hand to Lestat’s forearm and squeezing in a way both comforting and familial. The only person who would miss him was Lestat.
Lestat smiled, though the concern remained in his eyes as he studied his friend’s face. He looked more than just tired, there was a sorrow there as well. “Some of the rooms in the lower wings are warmer,” he offered. “The ones on the courtyard side, if you want to move down? Take any one you like.”
Marius spoke with care, considering each word before vocalizing them. The last thing he wanted to do was make Lestat think he was failing his loved ones in any way, or to believe himself solely responsible for Marius’s well-being. He leaned forward, sliding his hand down the length of Lestat’s arm and grasping his hand.
“I’m…” and suddenly Marius was lost because he was almost overwhelmed by everything that he could say. Everything he could admit to, every weakness, fear, and discomfort. But none of that needed to burden Lestat. “I need to go to Brazil for a few weeks, two weeks.” Quantifying would help, he figured, to remind this wasn’t permanent. “Bianca will accompany me.” Perhaps, Pandora, too, but he couldn’t dare say it. Saying it would fill him with a hope he didn’t deserve. And the inevitably crushed hope would be too terrible for his heart to endure. She hadn’t been out of Arjun’s company since they had all lost their immortality.
This was not what Lestat expected to hear, and his clasp tightened on Marius’s hand, as if afraid he’d get up and leave that very moment. “It’s all right,” he breathed, as he could see how tense Marius was over this. His handsome face was going to develop a permanent crease between his brows at this rate. “We’ll manage here somehow without you.” Lestat gave him a soft, fondly teasing sort of smile. He wanted to ask why Marius needed to go, but Marius would tell him if he wanted Lestat to know, and he had no good reason to pry. It couldn’t be anything to do with Fareed’s progress. Not all the way over in Brazil.
Lestat’s face abruptly fell into a thoughtful frown as he remembered something. “There is one thing, though…”
One thing? Marius could think of so many things, so many reasons to stay or concerns to keep him rooted in the chateau. He realized this small getaway was a bit selfish—he should stay to support Lestat in every way, which he had pledged to do. But he ached for the sun, the warmth, the familiarity of the sands and beaches that had been his most recent home until here. Here where it was so cold, and he felt himself slipping into a sort of despondency that he hoped the heat of Rio would cure. And he would stay just long enough to find his strength and return, more certain, stronger, with a clear mind and purpose. He’d already accepted they might never return to their former selves. He’d accepted he had a few decades left in his ancient body, a body designed for 2,000 years ago and not now.
“Yes? What is it?” he asked.
“Rhoshamandes came to Gregory.” Lestat had to pause to try to remember what day it was. Tuesday, right. “Friday night.” He’d told Marius last week about Benedict’s experience with Rhoshamandes, but although Benedict had been upset and afraid, it had seemed no great surprise that Rhosh had wanted to see with his own eyes what had become of his most beloved fledgling. But now to Gregory as well? Was this going to become a pattern? “It was in public this time. He didn’t threaten, or even say what it was he wanted, but Gregory felt intimidated, frightened. He used the mind gift to prevent Gregory from removing himself.”
Marius didn’t like that Rhoshamandes even knew about the condition that had befallen them, but had merely found it concerning, not quite alarming, that he came to see Benedict. Marius would have rather let their new state of being remain in secret, as impossible as that would be. But he could hardly stop the ancient from communicating with his fledgling. Marius would have been at Armand’s side in an instant had they been in that situation. Yet that Gregory had been accosted was a more grave concern, because it exposed their weakness and vulnerability, and that one of their enemies was aware of this.
“Lestat,” Marius appealed. “Come with me. I know this is your beloved home, but we are weak and exposed here. If you allow me to bring you to Brazil, you will be far safer.”
“From Rhoshamandes?” Lestat waved a dismissive hand in the air. “We made a truce. All is even between us. I’m not afraid of him. Whatever’s kept him from killing me before now will keep doing so.” He was touched, though, that Marius wanted for him to come, and he briefly entertained the idea. January was the height of summer down there, and how warm and sunny Rio would be… And to see all those beautiful people in the golden light of day? Exquisite.
“Will keep him from doing so, until the moment it no longer does,” Marius warned. He trusted a truce between near equals more than a truce between two men of alarming and very different strengths. Of course, Rhoshamandes would agree to a truce when Lestat was powerful, formidable, and influential. He had a lot to lose. Now, Lestat had none of the strengths and powers that Rhoshamandes feared. There was no benefit to the truce now, and Rhoshamandes had nothing to lose. No doubt he was off, asleep for now perhaps, ready to wake and scheme. He was seized with fear again, and longing for Armand, wishing he’d stayed here, wishing he was here to come to Rio even though he’d already said he had no intentions of traveling with his maker anywhere.
But Lestat was sure Rhosh still feared retribution from Seth and Sevraine and the other powerful ones who still cared for their former Prince despite his mortal state. Rhosh would be a fool to cross them even now. Lestat had always been the only thing standing between them and Rhosh all this time. They would have destroyed him a year ago if Lestat hadn’t forbidden it. So he wasn’t worried about Rhosh now. Why would he risk punishment by doing what age and time would do for him in a few short decades anyway?
Lestat sighed reluctantly. “I wish I could let myself come with you… What fun we would have. But still too much to oversee here. I don’t trust it all to get built and installed and done correctly if I’m not keeping an eye on it. When things settle down,” he offered with a fond smile, his gaze drifting over the chiseled features of Marius’s face, imagining how good he’d look once he could finally relax and all that tense exhaustion faded.
Marius shook his head, and appealed to Lestat’s hedonism, his love, and his vanity. “Come a few days. That is all. The sun, I imagine, is so bright and warm. Temperatures hot. Beautiful, young humans everywhere, golden and happy. There’s always music, dancing, and drinks.”
The offer was tempting indeed, and Lestat bit his full lower lip in thought, as his eyes locked on Marius’s. After a moment, he picked up his phone again to check his schedule. “Got a shipment coming in Friday, but after that?” he offered. The construction crews and deliveries always took the weekend off, and he could leave the inhabitants of the chateau under the care of Pandora and Thorne, if it was only for a few days. “Cyril will insist on coming along,” he mused as he looked back up at Marius.
It was a small victory and Marius would take it. He’d feel more secure if Lestat were at arm length; or, at the very least, down the hall. His scheming mind went again to Armand, thinking perhaps Lestat could convince him where Marius could not. How long would Armand be gone on his sea voyage? A few days? What did that vague number even mean? Logically, Marius supposed one could not put a time frame on treasure finding. Marius knew nothing of such things because he had little interest in it. Though honestly, what did the two already obscenely rich treasure seekers need with more money, and was that even the actual point?
Well, Marius was too old and too experienced to play at naivety. It didn’t suit him. Marius knew his fledgling. How many days would it take the two treasure hunters to bed each other? No. How many hours? He imagined the desire in Armand must be great for him to run off on the trip, risks be damned, when he seemed so scared of them in any circumstance. Well, maybe he’d do it for Lestat, too, or for certain, Louis. It would be enough, no matter who coaxed Armand to Rio, because then at least Marius could keep him close enough to watch over him.
“Cyril may come, of course. I know how protective he is of you and welcome anyone who would see to your safety.”
Lestat knew there wasn’t a damn thing Cyril could do for him if he were truly in danger from any immortal, but there were so many random human threats that could befall him in this state, that it was nice to have his hulking friend watching his back in public. And Lestat was fond of him and enjoyed his company. He never talked too much.
Marius scooted closer to him, intent, with purpose. “But you must convince Armand to come.”
A little surprised laugh escaped Lestat. “What, you can’t?” Intriguing. The memory of Armand’s flirtations yesterday during their brief talk came back to Lestat then. “I’m sure I can manage it,” he answered with a smirk.
Marius gave him a wry smile, admitting defeat. It didn’t matter how Lestat managed, as long as it happened. It wasn’t as if Armand were wrong to believe Marius couldn’t protect him. He no longer had the power to bring him back from the brink of death. Granted, neither did the men Armand did trust, but they didn’t have the history of failure to do so that Marius did. He knew his age counted against him, as many assumed the older you grew, the weaker your body became. Marius was absolutely in his prime, and he knew it and comforted himself with that knowledge no matter who believed it. He was likely much stronger than some of the svelte and waify-youths around him, given that he was a very active mortal man with the physical regime of a Roman military soldier as he was raised under such an ideal.
Perception is as valid as reality, he reminded himself.
He pat Lestat on the arm, satisfied. “Thank you for this,” he said with absolute sincerity. “If you can bring him to me, I will be in your debt.”
“Anything for you.” An intrigued smile quirked Lestat’s lips as he thought of a few ways he might make use of a debt from Marius, and he felt all the more determined to get him what he wanted. He’d lie to Armand about the trip if he had to in order to make him go, but Lestat didn’t think it would be necessary.
He made a note in his calendar to arrange for a private jet for Friday night. He’d flown a commercial airline the last time he was human, and it was one of the most terrifying parts of that experience. He hoped this way would be a little bit better, at least.
“What about Louis and Benedict?” he asked as he looked back up at Marius. “They want to stick with me when they can.” He would understand if Marius didn’t want Benedict’s presence to draw Rhosh’s attention, but that was also the reason Lestat was wary about leaving him behind.
Whenever Marius thought of Benedict, he filled with alarm and something else he didn’t dare consider. Only enough to know his weakness, and to remind himself to use his reason and self-control at all times. Because he knew a few important things. One, he was attracted to Benedict. Two, Benedict wasn’t attracted to him. Three, Benedict was developing a romantic relationship with Marius’s dearest friend. Four, it would hurt Armand should Marius stray to another. All of that was enough to keep him acting with perfect restraint. If Benedict came too, he’d have to be mindful, which was quite easy, really.
He gave a smile and a nod. “They are both welcome.” Would Rhoshamandes cross the ocean to find his fledgling? It would compromise their safety, but it was already compromised here.
Lestat laughed a little self-depreciatively for the fact that Marius had invited him alone to Rio and now he would be bringing an entire entourage. But he wouldn’t impose on Marius’s hospitality for long. It would just be a nice weekend. Something niggled then at the back of Lestat’s brain, something about what he was meant to do this weekend… But there was nothing at all on his calendar, so he pushed the thought aside and focused on his friend again.
He took Marius’s hand, clasping it warmly. “We’ll have fun,” he promised. “I want to go swimming in those blue waters. I want to see what the beautiful people there are like in the freedom of the light of day. You’ll have to show me all your favorite places.”
“You’ll adore it.” Marius was confident of this. Lestat loved beauty, and like him, understood the elegance of humans to a degree. While Marius didn’t find beautiful humans as seductive as Lestat, he appreciated them with the eyes of an artist. Lestat would love the tanned and oiled bodies lying in the hot sand, dripping with ocean water, listening to the music and enjoying all manner of delicious food and drink. One could spend a lifetime there and still only experience a fraction of what the country had to offer.
Marius leaned over, pressed a kiss to Lestat’s temple, and then he rose. “It will be good for Bianca, too.” The young darling wanted things Marius would never be able to give her. Perhaps spending time with younger acquaintances and friends would be good for her.
Lestat’s hand shot up and caught Marius’s. He sensed a sorrow in his friend, a loneliness that concerned him. Lestat knew well how it was to feel alone even when surrounded by loved ones. He wouldn’t ask Marius about it, or make him uncomfortable by calling attention to it, but he couldn’t help how his heart went out to him. Rising, he pulled Marius into his arms for an embrace, and he hoped he might feel the sense of understanding even with the mind gift lost to them. Quietly, Lestat kissed the side of his face as he held him.
Marius wasn’t sure if Lestat needed comfort or wanted to provide it, but it didn’t matter, because Marius needed the embrace. He wrapped his arms around Lestat’s waist, returning the kiss, but to his friend’s lips. He’d never admit it, not to a single soul, but it felt nice to be held. Bianca tried, but Marius didn’t like to let her touch him now. He had none of those reservations with Lestat, perhaps his only true friend.
“This isn’t for good,” he promised, wondering if Lestat felt slightly abandoned. “And not for long. This is my home. I will never abandon you.”
“I understand.” Lestat brought his hands up to take Marius’s face between them, giving him a reassuring smile. “Believe me, I do. Don’t suffer over needing to go for a little while. And I’ll be there with you soon.”
Softly, Lestat brushed a limp curl of Marius’s hair back from his forehead, and then he kissed Marius’s lips again, because Marius seemed to like it, and Lestat wanted the excuse to chase the zinging thrill he’d felt after the first time.
“And I’ll bring Armand,” he promised. His mind drifted for a moment as he once more recalled how playful Armand had been in his room yesterday. “You know he’s going around calling you his boyfriend?”
The way Marius’s attention had lingered on the kiss was broken by that vexing revelation. Boyfriend? Such a modern word and concept, really, at only around a century old. He’d been called many things over the millennia, but never ‘boyfriend.’ If it were said by anyone else, he might not have liked it, but that it was Armand was rather sweet. And he wondered what it meant to the boy.
“I did not know that,” Marius confessed. After a moment, he gave a slight and soft smile. “I’m sure he only said so to see your reaction. He will do anything to get attention from you, and the more extreme the better. Even if it’s anger or shock.”
Lestat’s lips parted, about to deny this speculation, but then he had to pause and wonder. Was that why Armand had said it? If Lestat had been shocked, it was only on Marius’s behalf, assuming the man in all his dignity and refinement wouldn’t enjoy being called such a thing. He didn’t care at all that Armand and Marius had entered such a relationship beyond being happy for them…didn’t he? Why should he?
Should he?
He studied Marius’s face, thinking about how it felt to kiss him, and also thinking about what he’d felt when Armand had been so flirtatious in his room yesterday. Could Armand really have been trying to needle him? To what, make him jealous?
Had it worked??
He laughed abruptly and squeezed Marius’s shoulders before letting him go. “Tell him to cut it out, if you don’t like it.” Whether he meant seeking Lestat’s attention or just using the B word, he left unclear.
Marius did not reply immediately, but seemed to be thinking, quiet, head tilting ever so slightly as he pondered. But his gaze stayed direct, focused on Lestat’s face. Two separate yet connected considerations tumbled about as he thought of the strange yet sweet term ‘boyfriend,’ understanding it to be both practical and cute. These thoughts were woven through his reflection on Lestat and Armand’s difficult and contemptuous relationship. Did it bother him that Armand sought the attention and perhaps intimate affection of Lestat?
When he came to his conclusion, his smile returned. His hand lifted, placed upon Lestat’s cheek and jaw. It rested there for a moment before his thumb moved, stroking over Lestat’s soft, full lips in its path to the other side of his jaw, cupping his face. “I like it,” he assured, speaking of both the term of affection and anything that might happen between his fledgling and his dearest friend.
What the devil was going through Marius’s brain? Lestat could not decipher whatever process led to this new expression. The way Marius touched his mouth made his own brain even less capable of figuring anything out. He stared at Marius dumbly for a second, and then blinked, a soft laugh puffing past his lips, as he felt his heartbeat trip.
Marius liked it… Liked what? What had they been talking about? Marius’s hand was so firm and warm as it held his face, and the shadows cast upon him from the morning sunlight in the window at his back made Marius’s eyes look so deep and intense. How was Lestat supposed to keep track?
His hands came up to the sides of Marius’s head, his fingers sliding into his hair and drawing him closer as if he’d kiss him again, but he couldn’t stop looking at his deep blue eyes, transfixed. “It’s good, isn’t it?” he whispered dreamily.
“Yes,” Marius whispered, resting his forehead to Lestat’s. “It is. We will make it good. Beautiful.”
Somehow.
Because even though Marius was at heart an artist and even a poet, and he knew their kind tended to romanticize humanity even as they brutalized and hunted it, buried under his hard exterior and logical foundation, Marius never found the human condition inherently beautiful for all of its imperfections and fragility.
But now they had no choice, they must find beauty together or perish.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and B.
Chapter 76: Perfectly Horrible
Summary:
Lestat is on his best behavior for the day he spends in Paris with Louis and Benedict.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Benedict felt lost in the fever of it all. To his left there were people and murmuring voices, to his right there were people too, a screaming child and a fed-up parent. Before him stood a bookshelf of endless possibility, unrelenting in its stillness. It wasn’t even that tall a bookcase, not really, it was about Lestat height. Which was certainly tall enough for a man, but about average for a bookcase. So why was he so dumbfounded and overwhelmed by it?
There was simply too much choice. It wasn’t a marvel before. Before he was safe in the knowledge that he could read every book in this whole store and more with his eternity. But now he had limited time, limited years, and these decisions seemed so much more important. Perhaps he wouldn’t even buy a book at all.
“I’ll never find the time,” he mused, as if he had the busiest life of anyone ever, as if his life were filled to the brim with too many serious tasks.
Lestat pulled his eyes from the young couple he’d been watching debate the merits of Houellebecq, and he glanced over to Benedict with an amused smile. “Perfectly horrible, isn’t it?” That they’d have to be selective with their entertainment, that they’d have to prioritize… Lestat could almost scream out loud over it, and yet that was rather funny in its own right. “The true human experience,” he quipped.
Speaking of which, he was starting to get too warm in his wool coat and scarf, a nuisance that had plagued him on and off all day with every shop they’d entered along the Parisian boulevard. Flicking open the buttons, he let the coat hang loose, though he didn’t touch the cashmere wrapped around his throat.
Louis stood nearby, his arm outstretched, his fingers lingering over the hardback spine of a particularly crisp copy of The Moonstone with a special edition embossed and foil gilded cover. Clad in a turtleneck sweater and slim-fitted slacks, he too seemed to be keeping a particular consciousness toward the visibility of his neck. Plucking the book from the shelf, he turned it over in his hand, then slid his fingers between the front cover and title page. The paper stock was so smooth, a velvety petal finish to each page.
Louis tucked it beneath his arm then moved closer to Lestat and Benedict. “Feel this paper,” he said to them both, opening the book and turning it toward them both, expression expectant and open, as though this singular tiny detail were the most interesting thing in the entire world at this moment. “Like a rose petal, is it not?”
Benedict brushed a fingertip delicately over the page, eyes lighting up. It did feel so much like that, so soft and fragile. “Is that how you choose your books?” he asked curiously. He wondered if Louis, the ultimate lover of books and reading, also had trouble with the notion of running out of time. But he looked so calm, and humanity suited him so beautifully, so Benedict doubted it. “I was only just saying I don’t feel like there’s any time now that my days are limited, and Lestat called it the perfectly horrible human experience. I certainly have some current of anxiety within me over it.”
“It’ll pass,” Lestat assured him easily. Instead of stroking the page as Benedict had, Leatat plucked the whole book out of Louis’s hand. He lifted it to his face to smell that lovely expensive paper scent, then he used his teeth to pull off the tight calfskin glove from his other hand finger by finger. Louis tried not to stare in open interest.
“I choose them based on a variety of factors,” he said. “Story mainly, though there’s nothing quite like holding the weight of an exquisitely printed book in hand and feeling the softness of the pages as you take in the story.” Louis had a wistful sort of expression as he spoke and he pressed his lips together, perhaps not having considered before now the insistence of time.
Lestat’s bare fingers were taking their fill of the paper’s texture. “Good stuff,” he said with complete sincerity. “If you’re going to buy any, tell the clerk to have them delivered to the hotel.” Carrying around a sack of books all day would have been nothing to them before, but now he imagined it would get tiresome quickly.
Louis took the book back from him and nodded. “I believe I will buy it.” Turning back to the shelves again, his eyes scanned the volumes level by level. “I suppose I hadn’t considered it,” he admitted. “The urgency of time. I won’t be able to read them all as quickly, though I never did particularly rush.” He paused, then looked back to them both. “But to call it perfectly horrible? Really? Here with you both, now, today. It’s anything but horrible and everything perfect.”
“I hadn’t meant to make it sound like that,” Benedict said, feeling immeasurably guilty. He liked being a part of this with them. They didn’t have to invite him into their life like this, and now he seemed most ungrateful!
Louis smiled at them both, then moved on to the next shelf, stopping again at another mystery and pulling it out as well. He seemed more alive than ever here in this book shop, more lighthearted, his usual calmness with a hint of gaiety rarely apparent.
Lestat couldn’t help staring, a somewhat wondrous expression on his face. Louis just looked so…happy. There was a lightness to him Lestat wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before, something profound here hovering just at the edges of his mind that he couldn’t yet capture with words. He watched as an old man moved past Louis in the opposite direction, their coats nearly brushing, and the man reacting in no way as if Louis weren’t an ordinary man just like him, his brother in livelihood, connected in this web of existence that was humanity. And it all looked so exquisitely beautiful on Louis…
Benedict saw the way Lestat was looking at Louis and his heart clenched. He loved it very much for both of them, even if he were filled with an envy to witness it. Had Rhoshamandes ever looked at him like that?
Lestat swallowed past a lump in his throat and tried to shake the feeling off. His eyes flicked to Benedict and he gave him a private little playful smile. “Buy whatever you want,” he insisted for probably the fourth time so far today. “My treat. Even if you’ll never have the time to read it, but just want to possess it, buy it. Especially if we may have only one lifetime left to enjoy the having of it.”
He nodded, eyes perusing the bookshelf again. “Thank you.” He touched Lestat’s arm, genuinely so grateful. Grateful for the frightening and thrilling helicopter ride into the city, for everything that had been allowed to him today by this wonderful man. “Let me do something for you when we get back.”
Lestat’s gaze went down to Benedict’s fingers on his sleeve, as if drawn by a string, then lifted to meet his again. “Like what?” he asked, intrigued, as he studied his sweetly youthful face with a soft smile on his lips.
Benedict returned the smile. He wished he knew what he could say to Lestat to delight him, to make him happy. He wore his emotions openly, yes, but he was a rather complicated man. Benedict decided he would try to act and respond as felt natural to him, and if Lestat liked him then maybe he would enjoy it. “Maybe I can invite you into my bed,” he said loud enough only for Lestat to hear. “I can do whatever you like. If you tell me your ideal day, I will create it for you.”
Lestat’s eyes widened and a soft blush rose to his cheeks. For a moment, he couldn’t speak as his memory was filled with visions of their time in bed together last week. How passionate and yielding Benedict had been beneath him, how soft and warm his skin, how eager his mouth. He’d done his best to give Lestat what he’d asked for then, keeping his hands on him, and his eyes, nearly the entire time. Had Benedict been thinking about it since? Or had he banished it all from his mind once Louis’s arrival ruined it? Would he want to replace those tainted memories with a second try? He’d said ‘maybe.’ Maybe…
“My ideal day?” he repeated, trying to get his brain back in the present, and he blinked a little. “I…” Lestat was quite abruptly at a loss. His ideal day would be spent in a coffin in the death sleep, no day at all. But he was determined not to be depressing on their Paris trip, so he nipped those dark thoughts immediately.
He shot a glance in Louis’s direction and wet his lips, then met Benedict’s eyes again. “Would you come to karaoke with me?” he asked as he clasped the side of Benedict’s arm, his pale eyes seeming to catch some new light in the cozy room. It was the sort of fun Louis would never enjoy with him, and Lestat could already think of several songs he wanted to sing for Benedict.
Benedict schooled his face to not react at all, lest he show embarrassment or disappointment. Had that been a rejection? Not outright, but a change of subject. It seems Benedict had been tremendously bold and presumptuous both to think Lestat might want to come to bed with him. In addition to this, he couldn’t think of anything worse than singing on stage in front of strangers. But he didn’t want to disappoint him, not after he’d offered his perfect day. “I would come.” He smiled, agreeing with an unusual easiness and surety. “I’m not sure I have the makings of a singer, but I would be elated to worship you from the sidelines.”
“That’s all I want,” Lestat said with a smile, and Benedict sighed with relief. The thought of being Lestat’s audience at karaoke was downright exciting.
Crouched down about ten feet away, Louis was pulling another volume onto the already three-book-deep stack in his arms. He rose to his feet then circled back to Lestat and Benedict, looking between them, curious.
“Maybe we’ll find a fun karaoke place in Rio this weekend.” Lestat squeezed Benedict’s arm before letting go. He glanced between him and Louis. “By the way, we’re going to Rio this weekend. To visit Marius and Bianca.”
Benedict’s eyes widened, nervous over the prospect. He hadn’t been told, he was sure, that they were going to Rio, and so he’d had no time to process it. “I am sure I couldn’t impose like that, to visit his private home…” It was different in the chateau, but this felt very much like an invasion of privacy when he’d not been explicitly invited by the master of the house. After all, it wasn’t very often that he and Marius spoke, though Benedict thought fondly of him.
“I believe this is our invitation,” Louis said, with a sideways sort of smile for Lestat. Louis was well used to this sort of spur of the moment thing and seemed at relative ease with it. “All right,” he said, amiable and complacent. Inside and in truth, he was overjoyed to be included in such a trip, especially imagining the sort of visual wonderland the country might be in the light of day, something he’d never witnessed.
“Well, I’m not very well going to leave you behind,” Lestat said to Benedict with a roll of his eyes, completely dismissing any further excuses he might make to try to get out of going. He was determined to keep Benedict as safe as he possibly could, and he couldn’t do that with an ocean between them. “Cyril will come with us,” he added, if that might make Benedict feel better about it, though Lestat was quietly disappointed that Benedict didn’t seem to want to come. “Oh, and Armand.”
Benedict, once more terrified to put a foot wrong and lose these people who had been so good to him, had no choice but to go along with this. Lestat’s eye roll frightened him, especially in light of his earlier rejection. He knew that Armand hated him, too. Could he possibly lay low for the whole weekend? Stay in whatever room was given to him, or find somewhere to sit around the gardens that wouldn’t bother anyone?
“Armand too?” Louis was a bit surprised, though it made sense if Marius indeed had invited all of them.
“Marius begged me to convince him to join us,” Lestat explained lightly. He hadn’t tried to do it yet, but he was sure he would succeed once he did. Supposedly Armand was returning from Spain the day after tomorrow, so there was no reason why he wouldn’t be able to get on the jet with them when Lestat, Louis, Benedict, and Cyril flew out in the evening after Lestat was done with his construction crew. The flight would take eleven hours, so they’d all sleep on the plane and arrive ready for the morning on Saturday.
Louis smiled at Benedict, his expression one of empathy, since he appeared anxious. It occurred to him then that Benedict likely had no real experience before with Lestat’s impetuous spontaneity. “You won’t be an imposition,” he assured. “I want you to come too.”
Benedict rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, smiling at Louis in a way that showed he appreciated his kindness. He didn’t have to say such things, not when they would be perfectly happy without him there. Probably even happier without the tension Armand’s hatred would cause between all of them. No, Benedict couldn’t go. But before he could insist, Lestat spoke again:
“Are you hungry?” He gave a little laugh. “It seems I’m always hungry. I thought when I was a boy it was because we were too poor to ever have enough food. But now that there’s plenty, it still never seems to stop.”
Food, yes, a welcome distraction, and Paris supposedly had some of the best of it. Benedict would find a way to get out of the Rio trip later. “I feel it too,” he said. “Always hungry. At least three times a day. It’s so strange, when before I was old enough…” He trailed off, cautious of what he might say around these people. “I could eat.”
“Sure,” Louis agreed, quiet and contemplative, thinking on Benedict’s halted words and wanting to ask him what he meant and why he had stopped himself, but Louis was simply too polite to do so.
Lestat, however, was not. “Before you were old enough…what?” He gave Benedict a reassuring smile. He was always holding himself back because he was afraid of being a bother, but Lestat wanted to encourage him to cut that right out. He was fascinated to hear anything at all about Benedict’s past life.
Benedict looked around, trying to be sure that nobody was listening, and wrung his hands a little nervously. “It wasn’t anything so interesting… I just meant… It’s strange to feel hunger now when before, with my age, I was barely feeling thirst once a week.” He looked around again. Thankfully everyone in the book shop seemed very swept up in what they were doing, though of course he couldn’t pry their minds to be sure. Oh, what did it matter? Maybe they thought they were just a trio of those people who went around pretending to be things.
Louis nodded with understanding. “I’m not so much hungry as I thought I’d be, but I do enjoy the tastes. Things seem sweeter than before. I wonder, are they truly? Or, is it instead how foods are made now, so different, the ingredients almost seem more saturated, more intense.”
“We’ll just order you plenty of wine then,” Lestat said, nudging him with his elbow to go out of the aisle in the direction of the checkout counter.
Louis went to the register as he was bid, purchasing the stack of books. The cashier was more than happy to have them all sent to their hotel, and when he was done, Louis pushed the receipt down into his pocket, then buttoned up his coat and led Lestat and Benedict back out to the boulevard. Perfectly enamored, was he, with the streets and scenery, taking it all in in the daylight, breathless and marveling with eyes no longer hidden behind dark glasses.
Notes:
To be continued!
This chapter written by Me, K, and T
Chapter 77: When the Demons Come
Summary:
Louis, Lestat, and Benedict sit down for a fine Parisian meal.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Louis’s eyes moved around the elegant restaurant to take in all the patrons with the same sort of rapt interest he’d possessed on the short walk to the place. He’d let Lestat pick where they would eat, since he seemed the hungriest among them. It was all so bright, all so new, and Louis felt as if he were seeing it all with new and eager eyes.
Lestat stuffed his gloves in the pocket of his coat and hung it on the provided hook, but once again kept his scarf on. Before he sat down, he caught the elbow of a passing server and told her to bring them a bottle of good wine. He didn’t care what, he left it to her taste. His smile was enough to charm her out of being offended, and she promised to do it at once. He slipped her €100 and then gracefully threw himself into his seat at the square table, between Louis and Benedict, who were opposite each other.
Just as he was opening his mouth to speak, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Plucking it out, his eyes skimmed the message on the screen. It arrested his attention immediately, and his lips pursed, though it was hard to guess his mood from the expression. One-handed, his thumb began swiping out a reply while his left hand idly stroked the tablecloth beside his place setting, enjoying the feel of the expensive fabric under his fingertips.
Benedict also felt the tablecloth, a sense of peace and pleasure running through him. Places were so fancy now compared to his time, and he was so lucky to be able to experience it. As he glanced across to Louis, he was brought back to the night of heaven they shared, not passion, but simple, innocent company in his warm and comfortable room. Benedict wanted nights again like that, with both of them. He would need to make sure he didn’t upset Lestat again if he truly wanted that. For now, though, he thanked the waiter sincerely as he handed him a leather-bound menu.
“Mademoiselle Boulangerie is it?” Louis asked of Lestat’s texting, without lifting his eyes from the menu he held in front of himself so that Lestat couldn’t see his set jaw and annoyed frown. He was only a little perturbed over Lestat conversing with the girl from the village right now, but could not help himself making the comment.
Lestat’s eyes snapped to him, and he just stared at the menu covering Louis’s face, not sure whether to laugh or to be annoyed. It was hard to think of their fight the other night when they had been having such a nice day. But was Louis really actually jealous of Claire? An overly smug smirk tugged at Lestat’s lips.
“Monsieur Thorne, actually,” he said, his tone dry. “He wants to chop down one of my trees.” Lestat pushed back from the table to rise. “Excuse me.” He tapped the button to call Thorne so they could just discuss this out loud. As he put the phone to his ear, he politely headed out to the restaurant’s antechamber to take the call.
Louis scanned the lunch offerings, not at all disappointed in the variety, then lowered the menu slightly, something the girl Claire had asked him sparking his memory. Fixing Benedict with a smile, he asked, “What was your favorite meal? Before, I mean.”
Benedict pulled his eyes from Lestat’s retreating form to turn his attention back to Louis with utter dedication. “I don’t remember at all. I liked beer. You might think of my royal upbringing that we ate extravagantly, but it was only very hearty, no nonsense, and meals were even simpler at the monastery,” Benedict mused, somehow surprised that Louis had asked him a question. “What was yours? You lived in New Orleans in a time of prosperous wealth, you wanted for nothing. I would suppose it was a good piece of high-quality fish?”
“Duck, most certainly, roasted and with hints of citrus and star anise,” Louis said, closing his menu slowly. “I did like seafood too, but there’s something so rich and warm about duck.” He sat back carefully, considering, his expression dour for a few moments. “And you’re right. We indeed wanted for absolutely nothing. And somehow, I still found reason for displeasure. It’s all so strange to me now, thinking back on it.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it, Louis, I swear,” Benedict said gently. “When you want for nothing, when you are not focused on eating, getting a roof over your head, keeping warm…that’s when the demons come, because they know you have the capacity to entertain them.” He didn’t know if it made sense, but he felt it very strongly.
Louis nodded. “I suppose you are right there. What is it Chaucer says of idleness?” He blinked and opened his menu again.
“Which time?” Benedict joked lightly. “I should like to try the duck here. It sounds magnificent.”
“And so you may,” Louis said with an easy smile.
As soon as Lestat returned to their table, the sommelier appeared to present a bottle of wine. He’d clearly been waiting at the ready. Lestat combed back his hair from his forehead and gave him a dazzling smile, smoothly approving of the choice as if he were a great connoisseur of the drink of the vine, even though he had not the slightest clue of what he was looking at.
While the man used his key to open the bottle. Lestat looked between Benedict and Louis. “I need to see my Paris agent. When we’re done here, I’ll drop you two at the museum then get that over with.” He paused as he was handed a wine glass with a splash of red at the bottom. Lestat played the part, sniffing it, tasting it, yes, yes, it was excellent, thank you. As the sommelier poured them three glasses, Leatat continued, “I won’t be long with him, promise.”
Benedict thought it was strange that Lestat was so back and forth, as if he didn’t much want to sit down and converse with them. But again, he was so lucky to have been asked along to this. He thought once more about the few hours they spent in the chateau salon together the other day, with the quiet crackle of the fire, and he felt calm and happy then, and he nodded. He tried the wine, delighted by its depth of taste. “I look forward to seeing the Louvre by day.”
“So do I,” Louis said, that whimsical dreamy quality returning to his voice with the mere mention of it. “Keep your promise,” Louis added quickly to Lestat, “I want us to see as much of it together as is possible. Or better yet, just come with us then see your man after. Surely he can wait,”
“I want him to see me in the light of day,” Lestat explained, and since they happened to already be in Paris, it was convenient to show his face for once instead of just calling his agent on the phone like he usually did. The reason for the visit was an excuse to show the ma he was actually human, for hell knew what he’d suspected all these years. But it made Lestat smile, how eager Louis was that he stay by his side.
“It will only take a minute.” Even though he was turned toward Louis, Lestat’s hand slid over to cover one of Benedict’s to include him in this. “I need him to arrange for men to come convert all the fireplaces at the chateau to gas. Thorne says our firewood store is nearly empty already. When we’re back tomorrow, I’ll go out with him to choose a tree we can chop down to last us a while longer, but I don’t want to burn up my whole forest. Some of those trees are older than I am!”
Benedict shifted, moving his hand to hold Lestat’s without question and perking up a little for it. Briefly he wondered if Louis minded him being affectionate with Lestat… He’d never truly asked him. “A tree as old as you isn’t so uncommon… A tree as old as me though,” he laughed, his voice still very quiet in case people overheard.
Louis’s eyes slid between them both, though not with any raw or undignified emotion. Instead his lips curved at the edges and his small gentle smile was one of genuine affection. They were so beautiful, Lestat and Benedict both, and Louis tried not to let his mind slide toward his unseemly actions at having seen them intimately entwined.
It was so difficult to imagine the young face before him was so much older, even though he had spoken it plainly. “They must exist,” Louis said, folding his menu and setting it aside, taking up his wine glass and sipping the rich liquid.
“Not in my forest, they don’t,” Lestat said lightly. He glanced back to Benedict and gave him a soft, private smile. “Whenever you’re in it, you’re the oldest thing there.” He squeezed his hand affectionately before letting go to pick up his own wine glass, though he didn’t sip yet. “I offered to bring back a chainsaw with us in the morning, but he wants to do it the old fashioned way. I think he must be desperate for the exercise.” Leatat shrugged. He didn’t mind, and he could probably use the exercise himself too as he helped Thorne with a second axe to split all the logs into firewood. Doing it himself was the least he could do if they were going to kill something as old and venerable as one of the giant firs on the mountainside.
“It’s funny,” he mused as he watched the light bounce off the red as he gently swirled the wine in his glass. “After all the terrible things I’ve ever done? That it’s nearly breaking my heart to think of destroying one of those trees…”
“I suppose because people can be multifaceted but trees aren’t,” Benedict mused. “They’ve never done anything wrong. Did you know there are some trees that migrate?” Benedict felt immediately stupid. Why would Lestat not know that? He’d been around his own few hundred years! “I spent far too many years in the house learning things through books, and then TV. I think now I’m excited to have somebody to share them with and excited to have experiences.”
Louis leaned forward with interest. “We could talk on such things for hours,” he offered. “Trees also communicate and support one another. For example, the roots of the trees closest to water sources will often ferry moisture toward those who are further away. Please talk me, to us, all you wish about such things.”
Lestat smiled wanly at Benedict. He’d find him a dozen people to share and have experiences with. A hundred. He’d make sure Benedict would never want for friends or companions again.
His gaze drifted back to the wine in his glass, and he stared deep into the base of the red where it was nearly black. For some reason, he didn’t feel like drinking it, but he liked to look at it, liked the smell, liked the smoothness of the glass stem against his fingertips. So much less sensitive than they used to be, his fingertips, but the expensive glass was still nice.
He was thinking about going deep into the forest tomorrow, to choose a tree far off enough that he’d never notice its absence. But then it would be such a nuisance to port all the wood back home… Better to pick one close. Pain winched in his chest again as he imagined felling it. Such tragedy… He couldn’t get the castle converted to gas fast enough.
“That’s fascinating,” Benedict was saying. “The mycelium from mushrooms works together to transfer nutrients to the trees protecting their fruit.”
Louis nodded with interest. “For a long time, I theorized that the Blood between us all was similar to that very thing.” He spoke a bit too excitedly, though his voice was low enough that he wasn’t broadcasting their conversation to the rest of the restaurant.
“Also—” Benedict cut off. He’d been so excited to engage with someone like this had he’d not noticed Lestat’s pensiveness. He looked at his glum expression, and wondered if it still had to do with cutting down the tree. “You could say thank you, to the tree. That’s the way of people who get their food straight from the land, to take what they need and to thank the plant. I don’t know if it does anything, but I suppose it might make you feel better?”
Lestat blinked up to look at him, struck by the suggestion. Doing such a thing had never occurred to him, but might it actually help? What a thought… He could try it. Surely Thorne would amenable to such sentimentality. A soft smile lifted his lips and he gazed at Benedict wondrously.
When Lestat looked at him like that, it took Benedict’s breath away, but he wondered if the smile were due to surprising him or invoking pity for saying something so stupid. He didn’t mind, he would keep saying stupid things if it would earn him these looks.
Louis regarded Lestat and frowned. “What about the Christmas trees from the ball?”
“Used up days ago. That had always been their planned fate.”
“Why not simply ship in more firewood from elsewhere?” Louis asked. “Tell Thorne you’ve changed your mind since there are other ways that don’t involve altering your land and ecosystem.”
“He’s called everyone.” Lestat sighed. When the chateau’s usual firewood supplier had been unable to send more, Thorne tried every other option in the entire region. “The way this winter’s going, no supplier is available to get what we need up there in time. It’s going to take at least one tree to tide us over. A big one. And I’d rather make the conversion to gas than rely on that afterward. If this is… this…” Lestat had been about to say if this was how much wood they’d need there every winter now that they were human, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak aloud the possibility that they’d still be this way a year from now. Besides how much it hurt, he wanted Louis to keep thinking their return to vampirism could happen any day.
“That’s a year from now,” Benedict said gently, seeing that Lestat was struggling with the reality of their mortal state. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t prepare for our future needs, but I am saying one night here with us and trying not to worry is something you should entertain. Have one day off.”
Louis couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up from his throat. “He’s always on, asking him to stop and slow down… If anyone could, it’s you,” he said fondly, quietly, and he looked between Benedict and Lestat, loving them both so much that he could feel the threat of tears begin to rise, a hint of adrenaline in the back of his throat, something new and human forming in his emotions, nerves perhaps or excitement.
“Yes please,” Louis said finally, still so quiet. “For us, try not to worry for one day, and I’ll attempt to do the same.”
Lestat laughed, the sound soft and strained. He took a moment to look between the two of them appreciatively before finally taking a drink of his wine. And then another.
Aside from the death of the tree, Lestat was looking forward to the exercise of chopping it down, getting outside in the fresh air of the forest, using his muscles in a way that had come so naturally for him in his youth. Expending all his frustrated energy--outside of the bedroom for a change. Not that he hadn’t been enjoying himself, but Lestat never did well with being cooped up for long.
When the waiter returned, Lestat told him all three of them would have the duck, and then he was gone again before Benedict or Louis could say otherwise.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, K and T
Chapter 78: Relax with Me
Summary:
Out at sea on his yacht, Gregory shares some edibles with Armand, and his intoxicated mind immediately turns to sex.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Not for the first time since he’d set out on the treasure hunt, Gregory was scrolling through his recent text conversations with Lestat, reading and rereading. Their very last one had begun when he sent Lestat a selfie from his first hour on the yacht, with blue ocean behind him and wind ruffling his hair.
Gregory did not know how long it had taken Lestat to reply. Catching any cell signal at all this far out at sea was nearly impossible. But at some point the next day, a selfie of Lestat had come through. Although he was bundled up against the cold in a sleek cashmere coat and scarf, the sun was shining spectacularly on the crowded Champs-Élysées with the Arc de Triomphe in the background.
They'd then had time for only a scant few messages before the signal had dropped again.
Gregory: You wouldn’t go to Paris with me. Who convinced you? ☹
Lestat: Come to dinner with us.
Gregory: I’m in the middle of the Atlantic. How long are you there?
Lestat: Only for the day.
Gregory: Then I will have to take a rain check. ☹
Lestat: Bad luck. Next time.
He hadn’t known what to say to that, and by the time he’d tried to reply, all cell signal was long gone again.
“Think that’s a chest?” Armand’s voice pulled Gregory’s attention from Lestat’s dazzling face on the screen, and he tucked his useless phone away.
Armand was scanning the monitors with the underwater camera feeds of the shipwreck site, scrutinizing every shape and shadow for promise of loot. It was all he could do to keep distracted from his own thoughts. Where he thought he would become more relaxed over the last two days, he only felt more tense, still shaken by the incident with the whales. Since becoming human, he’d been so nervous about traveling anywhere, and when he finally gained the confidence to do it, he’d nearly died. Gregory had been doing what he could to distract him, but there was little for it.
He tapped the screen where a rectangular shape lay just off starboard and looked to Gregory questioningly.
“Could be.” Gregory leaned casually into Armand’s space to view the object on the display. They’d find out soon enough when all the preliminary work for the salvage was done. But Gregory didn’t want to think about the treasure right now. For two days and nights, he’d tried not to touch Armand in an indecent way, but it was a challenge. For example, at this moment, Gregory fought the urge to press his face into those auburn locks and breathe in the very scent of him.
Damn this testosterone-driven, young male body. Like a fledgling vampire only able to think of blood and the next kill, all he could think of was sex. It was always there in his thoughts, and he found he had to press it aside endlessly. Last night he’d had a dream of Lestat, and woken with his dick straining and hard. Again, he’d had to take himself in hand and finish himself off to memories of Lestat’s golden-spun hair and cerulean-grey eyes, the impish devil-like smile. How he longed to call Lestat and hear his seductive voice.
Gregory gave a great sigh and settled back on the couch they shared. He stretched his arms out behind Armand and gazed at the cabin ceiling above. Suddenly, a thought came to him. “Armand,” he said with a hint of mischief. “Would you like to relax with me? I mean…reeeelax.” Gregory’s smile grew slightly bigger.
Armand paused in his surveillance of the map, turning to look at him. For a moment, he just stared, his expression almost numb, as he tried to work out what Gregory was talking about. He came up with nothing. But he did smile back, Gregory’s smile infectious. “I truly don’t know what you mean.”
Was Armand so naïve? Gregory tilted his head, watching. His companion seemed legitimately clueless. Gregory considered his options. Explain it to Armand or simply offer it? After some reflection, it seemed more likely Armand would refuse the offer if he understood fully. Armand was awfully skittish as a mortal.
Gregory stood and left the cabin for a moment. When he returned, he held a small bag. “You enjoy sweets. You said that earlier.” Gregory smiled brightly. Reaching into the bag, he pulled out what appeared to be a small green frog. “They are called gummies.” He offered the frog to Armand on an open palm, as if it were in fact a living creature.
Armand understood now, though Gregory’s lack of directness with it was curious to him. His eyes lit up and he smirked, popping the frog in his mouth without question. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so casual with it, perhaps he should have thought more. But the fact of the matter was that his shoulders almost hurt for how tense he was, and if he could do anything to alleviate that, he was going to. “How many would you recommend?” he asked, sinking back on the couch and away from the map of the ocean floor.
Gregory blinked. Well, now they were going to have fun. He flopped on the couch beside him and reached into the bag, taking out a couple more frogs. “I’d suggest two for now,” he said, biting the head off one. He reached for the television remote on the coffee table and flipped on the screen. “What would you like to watch? We have many films.”
“Have you much experience with this sort of thing?” Armand himself had a few experiences with drugs through the blood of others, most notably in the 1970’s with Daniel. But he’d not felt their effects for a long time, and he wondered how much different it would feel. “What do people watch while high?” He took another gummy from the bag and figuring he was in it for the long haul now, ate that one too.
By Gregory’s count, that was three gummy frogs Armand had consumed. He didn’t want to be left behind, so he reached into the bag and collected a third one for himself. He then placed the bag away from Armand, on the side table.
“Since we are in a sweets mood, how about a film about the same?” He scrolled through the menus on the television screen and found the original Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Harmless and amusing entertainment. He slid down to become more comfortable on the wide couch, his shoulder against Armand’s. “When I was a young mortal—the first time around, I mean—we did many drugs to bring on relaxation and to participate in rituals for the Gods. Many the blissful night under the influence of this or that ritual potion or plant.” Gregory chuckled lightly. “Perhaps I was always destined to be in the pharmaceutical world.” He watched the large screen as the opening credits rolled.
“Mm, it sounds heavenly if you are in the mindset for it, and just terrible if you are in a bad place. I’ve heard sex can be mind-blowing when you take drugs,” Armand remarked. It was something Daniel would often say…he wondered if he could convince Marius. Had Marius ever done a drug?
As if reading his mind, Gregory said, “Don’t tell Marius I got you high.”
Armand turned to eye him, a little confused. “Why shouldn’t I tell him?”
“Because he doesn’t like me. He won’t like that I almost let you get eaten by a whale or that I allowed you to consume narcotic substances.”
“I think he likes you just fine. You’re a man who stands for his own convictions, and there’s nothing more respectable than that.”
Gregory blinked large eyes at Armand for a moment. “Sex is mind blowing on drugs. Many was the orgy I participated in as a mortal in the Queen’s court.” His memory traveled back and back to those times as he watched the movie before them. How odd that he could remember such details after such a long stretch of time. Yet other things he could not recall so clearly. But he wasn’t the forgetful imbecile Khayman had been.
After a few minutes, he turned back to Armand and blinked heavy-lidded at him. “Didn’t you do any drugs as a young mortal? Or was it purely alcohol for you?”
Armand ignored the film for Gregory’s attention. Besides, he’d seen it before, and he always got worked up by the Grandfather. “Opium, on occasion, which is a bit of an oxymoron I suppose. I wonder if that had anything to do with already being addicted to the notion of vampirism.”
Gregory laughed under his breath. “I think having a vampire master is what presupposed you to the notion of being a vampire.” His head drooped to rest back on the couch. How odd to be here in this cabin on a boat in the middle of an ocean. Gregory wondered suddenly why they were even doing this. His head turned towards Armand and he gazed upon him for a long while. “I used to read minds. Doesn’t it seem like we should still be able to?” He focused hard on Armand’s pretty face, trying to think at him about the whale and make him see it.
“It’s just like being clamped in iron, only we can move around freely,” Armand agreed. Old habits died hard, apparently, and time and time again he found himself shocked and bereft for having lost yet another ability. He raised a brow, watching Gregory stare at him with burning intensity. “Also our eyes, the colors hardly move around in them the way they used to. Makes it even harder to read a mind without the gift.”
A slow charismatic smile crossed Gregory’s face. “That is a shame. Such pretty eyes we all had. Though yours are still incomparably mesmerizing,” he said in a low silky voice, gazing into the amber-brown irises before him. Like warmed honey is what they were.
“Incomparably?” Armand mused, knowing full well Gregory had a wife he adored above all else and worshiped. Was this the sort of flattery he was accustomed to giving? Did he give it just for the hell of it?
Suddenly Gregory had a great desire for honey. He sat up straight and looked around them, as if the thing he desired would simply be there out of thin air. Such a shame that it wasn’t. He looked around them with large eyes, the boat swaying gently over each ocean wave was lulling. He was too relaxed to call the staff for honey to be delivered, so he simply slumped back down into the couch and stared at the large colorful television screen on the wall. “You’re good company, Armand,” he purred beneath his breath.
“Strange that you should say that. Is it my riveting conversation or the fact that you don’t know what will come next? Perhaps I’ll get snatched by an albatross when we’re next on deck. That would keep the mystery alive,” he mused. He was very much about keeping the mystery alive, never wanting people to be able to predict or read him too much. Those who could had him in the palm of their hands, and this was a dangerous thing. He watched the profile of Gregory’s face for a while before looking back to the TV. He could feel the deeper effects of the drug now, a pleasant heaviness to his limbs and a peaceful buzz around him.
Gregory contemplated this albatross speculation for a long, long while. Could an albatross carry a man away? A man smaller of stature, as Armand was? Gregory blinked slowly at Armand, finding him far more interesting than the movie. “You are riveting. You know this.” Gregory closed his eyes then, only because they felt heavy with relaxation. “Riveting,” he murmured, playing the word over and over in his mind. “Armand is riveting.” Gregory chuckled quietly to himself. “Oh! You know what?!” Gregory exclaimed, lifting his heavy head from the back of the couch and staring round-eyed at Armand. “I slept with Lestat!”
Armand’s lips pursed, a little annoyed that thoughts of him had become thoughts of Lestat. It implied that he wasn’t riveting enough. “You along with everyone else, it seems,” he said calmly, remembering how it felt when he found out about Lestat and Marius. Just a few hours they’d been human, and Lestat had been Marius’s first thought. His expression softened though as he looked at how excited Gregory had become. It was hard to resist such an expression, even when Lestat had caused it. “I’m happy for you, truly.”
Gregory stared hard at Armand, again wishing he could read minds. “Everyone else?” he asked carefully. “Have you been with him too?” That had not occurred to Gregory. Would Lestat sleep with Armand? Gregory’s heart felt a sudden jealousy at the thought. Gregory flopped back on the couch and slid closer to Armand. How he enjoyed being able to feel the body heat of another. But he missed greatly being able to hear the beating heart without pressing his ear to a chest. Gregory reached out and touched Armand’s chest, needing to feel the beat against his palm suddenly. “Armand,” he spoke, eyes half-lidded, voice slow and deep. “I’m very good in bed. I know you must be as well. Do you want to go explore one another?” How could Armand resist? The edibles would only heighten the pleasure of it all, and Gregory longed to experience such a thing.
The audacity! Armand had been propositioned in many ways—subtly, outright, by politicians in the shadows and by drunkards in the streets. How long had it been, though, since he’d been propositioned like this, where the one asking had led by boasting about his body count and skill, and had reached to touch him so overtly?
He gave his own small smirk, meeting Gregory’s gaze. He slid his hand up to hold Gregory’s as it spread across his chest, and let him feel the beat of his heart as he seemed to so terribly want. “Well…you’re handsome, charming, and oh so generous… You’ve saved my life, and I am in your debt,” he purred, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. He imagined them wrapping around Gregory, caressing him in and drawing him closer. It was much harder to will these things without any psychic powers of seduction. “And I am good in bed.”
Gregory gazed into his eyes. Was that an invitation? It certainly seemed like a return of the same seductive energy he himself had used. He was too far under the influence of the edibles to know for certain. “I don’t mean as a debt repayment,” he said, leaning closer to press one gentle kiss to the soft warm skin at Armand’s temple. “You owe me no repayment,” he whispered.
Gregory sat back again, a small smile playing on his lips. “Tell me what makes you so good. Tell me your talents and I’ll tell you mine.”
“I can do things with my tongue that will change your perspective on life and make you wish you had two cocks,” Armand breathed, barely above a whisper himself. He’d still not agreed, but it was fun, at the very least, to tease. He didn’t show that the warmth of Gregory’s kiss had affected him in any way. “I can make a little rhythm with my hips and clench in just the right way to keep you perpetually on the brink, so that when you finally climax, you cry. I can leave a man with naught but my name on his lips for days after I’m done with him.”
Gregory found himself speechless for several long moments after these words had been spoken. His whole body warmed, the blood pooling into his groin at the images provoked. Oh, to have Armand spread out beneath him in such wanton erotic ways. Or to be beneath him as that supple body rode him to blissful completion. How mad Marius must be to have let this luscious young man out of his sight at all. Gregory would never have let it happen.
He lowered his own gaze to make meaningful eye contact with Armand. The drugs and the sexual energy caused his voice to become deeper, more gravely and thick. “Such a picture you’ve created for me,” he said, placing a warm hand on Armand’s leg, a thumb caressing the thigh beneath it. “I myself am quite the dominant lover. I don’t know that I would let you lead from the bottom like that. I will tell you what pleasures I like, and when. And you would be thoroughly satisfied, I assure you, by my choices, whether it be slow and torturous or hard and fast. You would beg for my hands on your body as I drive into you over and over.” If it were possible, Gregory’s voice lowered to something even softer, deeper, as he watched Armand’s lovely face. “I assure you, I would do filthy, filthy things to you, Armand. You would be ruined for other men.”
Armand was swept up in it all there for a moment, the hand on his thigh and the tone of Gregory’s voice, the half feral look in his eye. He had no doubt that Gregory was all of these things, dominant and powerful, dark in the most wonderful of ways. He didn’t doubt that they would have a fiery and debauched time with one another that would leave a lasting mark on him in some way or another. But that last remark…he laughed, shaking his head. “Please be clear on one thing. I am already ruined for any man other than the one for whom my heart beats, and for whom my heart has beaten since 1496.”
Somehow, in his sluggish brain, Gregory registered these words. He sat back slightly, still closely watching Armand. Of course. Marius had made certain of that. Gregory and all his little coven and the whole of 15th century Venice society knew this. Armand had been quite deliberately educated and seduced by Marius for Marius. It was an impossible thing to overcome when taken at such an impressionable age.
Gregory gave a small bow of his head. “Forgive me. My mind is not so alert just now and I spoke stupidly.” He sat up again, a small smile still on his lips. “You are invited to my bed if you so desire, but I will not push the topic again unless you choose to.” It was disappointing, but Gregory, even under the influence as he was, did not want to make Armand uncomfortable with his aggressive advances.
Armand laughed softly, watching the cogs turn in Gregory’s mind. The way he retreated, the gentleness of his words, well that was almost arousing in itself. Though not quite as arousing as the image of him dismissing everything Armand had told him and deciding he would provide his own type of pleasure. After all, the most exciting thing for Armand was a man who took with power and abandon. He wondered how much Gregory truly wanted him, or if he just wanted everyone now as a notch on his bedpost. Either way, he leaned forward, and pressed his lips to Gregory’s. Just a kiss, just to relieve some of this tension so they could concentrate on other things.
Gregory did not anticipate the instant explosion of carnal thrill this one kiss sparked within him. He stared into Armand’s eyes, mere inches from him, and without further logical thought, he reached out and grabbed him, pulling him to his chest so that Armand was all but in his lap now. He cradled the base of Armand’s skull in one palm and wrapped the other around his throat, a clear demonstration of dominance. He kissed Armand hungrily, sucking on those soft lips, licking into his mouth, tasting and claiming.
Ever since they’d left port, he’d been wanting this and restraining himself from an all-out seduction. It was time they finally gave in.
Notes:
To be continued
This chapter written by D and T
Chapter 79: So Exquisite
Summary:
Louis is ecstatic to see the art at the Louvre in the daytime with human eyes, but his joy gives Lestat an uncomfortable realization about their future.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
His fingers pressing lightly at Benedict’s shoulders, toward the center of his back, Louis urged him through the large hall with its tall ceilings and huge glass windows, sunlight glittering through and illuminating the whole of the Cour Puget of the Louvre’s Richelieu Wing in bright splendor. Sculptures of magnificent mastery lined the various levels here, and Louis looked upon it all, an intense emotion welling within his chest.
“My God, it’s more than I could have imagined in daylight,” he whispered, reverent. Louis trembled, his palm heavier against Benedict’s shoulder as if he needed the contact to keep himself upright.
Many mortal people milled about the large greenhouse-like structure, and Louis’s eyes moved to them, studying their faces as they took in the art surrounding them. He had only ever seen the Louvre at night, the museum having officially opened around two years after his making, long after his early mortal years in Paris, and Louis felt he might actually shed tears right here and now to see the opulent hall flooded in shimmering rays of golden warmth.
“Are you all right?” Benedict asked, seeing the shine in his eyes. He could tell it was happiness, but perhaps still it was overwhelming and that could be scary in itself. He didn’t mind Louis’s hand on his back, guiding him along. Perhaps another day it might feel pushy, insistent, but today he needed that guidance. Contact was how Benedict knew he was wanted—contact was his love language. But he knew there in his mind that he wasn’t appreciating the museum enough. He looked up and around the palatial area. There was so much to see, so much to absorb with these human eyes that could now miss most things. How could they possibly do it all by the time it closed?
“I am…more than all right,” Louis all but breathed, his eyes large, expression rapt. “I was afraid,” he admitted, “that I might not find the works as captivating. That something about our otherworldliness made it so that I might see intricacies within the works that a mortal eye could not. But it simply isn’t so… it’s all so exquisite…masterful as ever. I cannot wait to see the paintings—those of pre-Impressionism just before the cusp of change gripped the art world—there are so many of my favorites here, spanning years of various movements. Tell me, have you visited here lately?” Louis looked at Benedict with interest, gazing upon him as though he too were a work of art. He could not help but marvel at how the sunlight shone against Benedict’s hair and cheeks, giving him an ethereal glow that might as well rival that of his former vampiric countenance.
Benedict shook his head, casting his eyes downward in shame as he had to admit it. Well, he supposed he didn’t have to admit it, but he wasn’t the sort of person to lie. “Not in very many years. Towards the end, we didn’t do much of going anywhere. Still, I’ve done the most recent virtual tour, and now I get to see it as intended. I get to mill about and listen to the enthusiasts talk. That isn’t a thing to be taken for granted.” He looked up, meeting Louis’s gaze and taken aback by his focus and intensity. “What is it?”
“You look beautiful beneath the sunlight,” Louis said with the calmest of smiles, his eyes moving about Benedict’s face with clear awe. “There is such vibrancy in your eyes, a symphony of variance in color to every strand of your hair.” Louis’s fingers against Benedict’s shoulder flexed involuntarily, and his cheeks began to flush with his words. As if suddenly aware of this, Louis looked askance, nervous to seem too eager or forward. He supposed he had become so caught up in the beauty of the place that he let his thoughts run wild with aesthetic appreciation. Still, there was no excuse for it if it would make Benedict uncomfortable.
Benedict frowned a little, his brow delicate and his expression bordering on confusion. He didn’t know what he had done to receive such lovely words. Benedict didn’t need compliments day to day, and he never knew what to do with them. Or, perhaps he needed them more than he realized, but even then, he knew not what to do with them. Now he had to confront the fact that Louis at the very least thought he was pretty, and he had for a very long time thought Louis highly attractive.
“Please tell me not to say such things if you find them inappropriate,” Louis said, realizing that even now he was still touching the seeming-young man. He allowed his fingers to fall to his own side once more. Daring to look back at Benedict if only to see his reaction and know whether he had said too much, Louis swallowed the growing lump in his throat.
“Oh,” Benedict said gently, his expression softening and a deep redness coming over his cheeks. He didn’t know what he looked like, of course, there were no mirrors in this area. He looked down at his hands and flexed them. “Not inappropriate I should think, just…wholly unexpected. But I think the same of you too, you know.”
Louis was taken aback, pleasantly shocked. “You do?” he asked, feeling stupider the second he’d said it. A warmth spread within his chest, peculiar yet no less welcome. It seemed for a moment as though Louis were about to say more, but instead he simply returned his hand to Benedict’s shoulder and guided him further throughout the large room. His smile seemed ever more heartened now, and his energy had a renewed sense of wonder as they headed up several flights of stairs, as though Benedict’s admittance had lit a sort of fire beneath Louis’s feelings, prompting him to ensure all the more that Benedict had the best of experiences now that he was here to witness it all in the daylight hours.
What a pair they made, such serenity in their poise as the beauty of the palatial museum spun its magic over them. As he watched them from afar, Lestat wondered for the first time if there might be a possibility Benedict might not want to return to darkness if the chance arose. God, could he lose both of them?? Lestat pressed a hand against the sudden ache in his chest, and tried to swallow down the threat of panic. They would have each other, he told himself. That would be good for them. He wouldn’t have to worry about either of them being alone.
Stop these thoughts. If he weren’t in public, Lestat might have smacked his own face. Taking a long trembling breath, he willed away every negative emotion from his expression. It helped to focus on their beauty. Yes, think of their beauty and how it is yours to drink in today. You get to spend this time with them, and you love that.
He managed an energetic smile by the time he caught up to them. Putting a hand on Benedict’s shoulder from behind, Lestat gave him a squeeze in greeting. As usual, he refrained from touching Louis in public. “What’d I miss?” he asked cheerfully. “Told you I wouldn’t be long.”
Benedict jumped, a little startled as he couldn’t sense a presence the way he could before, and he had been deep in thought. He smiled warmly when he realized who it was, his hand coming to cover Lestat’s on his shoulder. “Nothing we can’t double back to see again,” Benedict murmured. They’d already seen such beautiful things in the hour Lestat was gone, and Benedict didn’t want him to miss any of it at all. Now he was back with them, Benedict wanted to show him positively everything, and never let him leave.
“We’ve only just been admiring the bulk of the sculpture,” Louis added, then looked back to Benedict. “Tell me what you like most of the visual arts?” he urged with an even greater interested enthusiasm. “Painting? Sculpture? Architecture? Textile?”
“Sculpture, painting. Painting is my favorite of all. I’d like to see the Caravaggio, if we may.”
“Ah yes! Caravaggio.” Louis all but swooned, imagining the sight of the massive painting that would greet them in the Grande Galerie. “There are three of his works here, the largest of which is his most controversial. We will visit them all,” Louis promised, his eyes moving from Benedict’s face to Lestat’s, pleased he was back so soon.
Lestat lifted his eyebrows at Louis’s effusion, but kept his mouth shut. The two of them had spent countless nights roaming this museum, and neither of them could ever get enough of it. But for Louis, this enthusiasm was excessive. Lestat turned around to make a slow survey of the space. Did the sunlight really make that much of a difference? Well, here under the glass, sure. But inside the windowless galleries with the paintings, none of them would look anywhere near as brilliant as they had to their vampire eyes. Lestat was preparing himself for another disappointment and crushing reminder of all he’d lost with his powers.
“Do you know he had a temper?” Louis was saying to benedict with a slight frown. “Killed a man at sword-point, and was always getting into brawls, Caravaggio.”
“Mm, I did know. If only my Rhosh had turned his temper to painting, perhaps that might have helped to avoid some upset,” Benedict postulated, though he couldn’t blame it all on Rhosh. He knew he had done his own fair amount of dark work under his thrall. “Or myself.”
He looked at Lestat, and though he could no longer discern things through his preternatural abilities, Benedict had certainly been on this earth long enough now to pick up hesitation, melancholia or malcontent. “Come on,” he urged fondly, taking Lestat by the hand. “We’ll be seeing it all as it was meant to be seen! We were very lucky to have seen it any other way. And I suppose all of these artists would be rolling in their graves to think there were some who could pick up on every minute detail and scrutinize for hours and hours. Imagine that.”
Louis laughed. It was an easy sort of sound, uncaring of judgment, unlike him really. And Lestat was rather amazed at how directly Benedict spoke to the darkness that hovered on the edges of his every waking thought, and he laughed as well, though the sound of his was one more of wonder and appreciation than humor, and he pressed Benedict’s small hand affectionately. He could feel the heat of it even through his glove, where his own fingers were still somewhat icy from outside.
Louis followed along behind them, just a few paces so that he could look at them both. There was no jealousy, he realized. Instead, he felt a longing to be able to do the same with Lestat, hold his hand in public despite his nerves to the contrary. Why was it that he could easily touch Benedict’s shoulder and lead him along while the thought of doing such a thing with Lestat sent a jolt of self-conscious anxiety through him? After all they’d shared together the past few nights, Louis reasoned it had something to do with his vulnerability. Benedict was easy of spirit and kind, putting Louis at ease. Lestat on the other hand… no less beautiful, but there was an element of danger to the interaction that Louis could not deny. Perhaps that was it.
“I’m not surprised he had a temper,” Lestat was saying, bringing them back to Caravaggio. “He was Italian, after all.” The jibe was in part self-deprecating, as Lestat was a quarter Italian himself on his mother’s side. Not that his mother had ever possessed anything close to a temper.
Not for the first time since this had happened, he wondered where Gabrielle was. Why hadn’t she come to the Christmas Eve ball? Did she know what had happened to everyone at the chateau? Lestat was beyond grateful she hadn’t been there, as she’d been minutes away from natural death when she took the Blood from him. Would she have returned right back to her previous state? Too horrible to think about.
“That’s no excuse, Marius has the finest of tempers,” Benedict observed quietly.
Lestat gave an amused snort, but otherwise kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t going to disparage his sometimes-cantankerous old friend to this one who seemed to so idolize him. Marius needed to be idolized once in a while, and he’d let Benedict keep his rosy view of him.
But Benedict’s mind was already on Rhoshamandes and his temper, Greek though he was. His maker was just a man who never cared how his moods affected others, and expected everyone around him to just be okay with it. Benedict always was, would always take it because he loved him and because a look from Rhosh made him weak. He was okay with it until he simply couldn’t handle it anymore.
His train of thought stopped as they came upon the first of the Caravaggios, and he gasped. It looked so different now in a way he couldn’t dislike. The use of shadow and light was so striking, even with his lesser vision, and now it all felt so much more meaningful. “Oh, but he was just a master!”
“La Buona Ventura, The Fortune Teller,” Louis breathed, his eyes moving over the masterpiece. “This is one of two paintings by Caravaggio depicting these subjects. This is the second, commissioned because the patron wanted his own version upon seeing the first. The faces and hands are all so lifelike, the whole thing seems illuminated from within.”
Louis stepped closer to the painting, hovering. Every detail was crisp and shining, despite the loss of his preternatural sight. And Louis could still make out the telltale line at the top of the painting where a strip of canvas had been added in order to make the work fit its intended space among other works. So subtle were the expressions of the subjects, the fingers of the fortune teller easing the ring off the besotted and pompous young man’s finger.
Meanwhile, the sight of the painting didn’t quite disappoint Lestat as he’d feared; it was still Caravaggio, after all. But neither did he feel any of the rapture that so consumed the others. The whole interior of the museum felt dim and dull after the glistening sunlight spectacle under the glass pyramid.
As Louis continued to gush on, his mortal face infused with such color and feeling, that echo of dread began to sink in Lestat again. This was a Louis he had never seen in those few nights he’d known him as human before Louis agreed to join Lestat in eternal night. The Louis before him now, so full of pleasure and delight in all things around him, never would have made that choice. Was this what he’d been like before his brother’s death? Lestat could almost be glad now that all signs pointed to their mortal state being permanent. How would he cope taking the Blood again and knowing he could not in good conscience ever bring Louis back into it with him?
Lestat made every effort to push these thoughts away. What good did it do to mourn a possibility that would never happen anyway? He needed to allow himself the pleasure of enjoying what was right in front of him. How the happiness and excitement infusing them made both Louis and Benedict all the more beautiful and fascinating.
“Exquisite, truly,” Louis was saying. “Just wait until we see the largest of his works.”
Lestat laughed under his breath and put a hand against the small of Benedict’s back to guide him. “We won’t keep you in suspense, it’s this way.”
Oh, but it was just too beautiful to move. Benedict felt as though he’d lost his focus, no he knew he had. Everything was blurrier, even with Caravaggio. His lights and darks were hazier around the edges, and it added an almost romantic glow to a painting that was quite normally unromantic. He wanted to touch it, and raised his fingers as though he might, but he knew he would only find glass and that he would get in trouble. And indeed, when he glanced at the volunteer in the corner sheepishly, she was looking at him with narrowed eyes. “Let’s go there then,” Benedict laughed a little, letting Lestat lead them away. “There are things that I miss.”
When they came upon the large masterpiece, Louis stopped in his tracks and stared from a distance. The work was massive, the subjects nearly life sized and so intricate and realistically rendered. The whole of it was at least twelve feet high and Louis marveled at the play of light and shadow, and the intricacy of detail. Onlookers mulled about, staring up at its majesty, and Louis looked to Lestat and Benedict to judge their impressions before he continued. “The Death of the Virgin,” he said with quiet reverence.
Lestat had seen this painting and various printed images of it dozens of times, but for the first time, the dead woman on the canvas looked to him like a vampire’s victim. How many corpses had he left in their beds in just such an array? Why was he only thinking this now, when as a vampire, the masterpiece only struck him with its beauty?
He couldn’t stand it, and he had to look away. While he waited for Benedict and Louis to spend as long as they wished admiring the work, Lestat’s eyes spent their time avoiding the painting by studying the humans in the hall who were mesmerized by it. What were they all thinking? Being only able to break in at night, Lestat had never been here in the company of humans when he had the skill to hear their thoughts. His only insight to their minds today were the looks on their faces, and these were much more fascinating to him now than the dead paint and canvas and wood.
He was with them, part of them, they were his brothers and sisters now in mortality. They would all look upon him and treat him with the same care and consideration they would have for any other human. But how much was that really worth? He was just like them now, but if they really knew him, knew how many tens of thousands of their fellows he’d murdered in his cursed time on earth, he would be just as much of a monster to them as ever he’d been with all his preternatural gifts. Lestat was truly in the worst of both worlds now.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, K, and T
Chapter 80: Just This
Summary:
While high on edibles, Armand and Gregory finally confront the sexual tension that has been brewing between them for weeks. Explicit.
Chapter Text
Armand gasped against Gregory’s mouth as he pulled their bodies close. Immediately a feeling of fear overcame him. Had he been stupid to kiss Gregory and trigger this passionate embrace? Gregory was so bold and rough with his movements, perhaps he wouldn’t have a chance to change his mind now. But Armand could feel it in himself—he was like putty in the man’s hands. His heart was pounding and he could feel his cock straining with a fervor he hadn’t expected. Gregory’s large hand grasping at his throat was borderline violent, something Armand was weak to. But he could handle this. He put his hands on Gregory’s broad arms to keep steady, surprised he was able to keep up with, and he settled as if his body commanded it into Gregory’s lap. Yes, this was fine. He could put an end to it whenever he wanted. Just a little while longer of this desperate kissing…
Gregory explored Armand, and as long minutes passed, his fervency began to slow into something more controlled. Finally, he pulled back to examine Armand’s pretty face, releasing the grip on his throat and letting his hands slide down to Armand’s hips where they straddled him, pressing them closer so they might both feel the arousal between their laps. Armand gave a small, sultry moan, the pressure drawing it out of him. Gregory answered with a low growly hum against Armand’s throat, kissing his way up under the line of his jaw and Armand slid his arms around his neck, pressing his throat to Gregory’s lips’ reverent assault, and now everything felt lazy and feverish.
“I like you,” Gregory purred, one hand slipping into those auburn curls and tangling into a fist. “You are the prettiest,” he murmured. A small part of Gregory’s mind knew he was saying ridiculous words right now, but most of him was too intoxicated on the edibles to stop or even to care much.
“Prettiest?” Armand laughed, half registering what Gregory was saying. “You are high.” Everything felt so good, as if luxury were a physical thing and they were wrapped in it. The edges of life were softened and every brush of Gregory—his hair, his skin, his clothes—was electrifying. It was as if each movement were catalyzing a tiny orgasm under Armand’s skin—the closest thing so far to how his vampiric skin had felt. “You smell so good,” he whispered, powerless to it. Gregory smelled purely like a man, earthy cologne covering a heady musk. Such a musk had always been a drug to Armand: stability, protection, power. He buried his own face in Gregory’s neck to get more of it.
A deep wave of pleasure rumbled within Gregory’s chest and seemed to flow into all his limbs. Armand’s weight against him was so satisfying, and he let his head fall back so that Armand might have more access to his throat. “I use soap,” Gregory explained and then a bubble of laughter escaped him. Soap was such a nice word to say. But the friction of Armand in his lap distracted his thoughts right back to the erotic fun they were having. He was almost painfully hard between them. He had to get them naked! But first he would lie here enjoying the incredible warm feelings of Armand’s mouth along his throat. “I want you to use that talented mouth on my cock,” he purred in a gravelly voice against Armand’s ear.
“Do you indeed?” Armand’s voice was barely above a whisper. He thought about it, and was silent as he did, the only sounds between them their slightly labored breathing and the pounding of their hearts. Perhaps this would be the thing that released this tension, if Armand gave Gregory pleasure in this way. They hungered for one another in a shallow and carnal way, and only needed to purge this thing from their system.
He moved his hands from Gregory’s neck to his knees, sliding off of his lap to kneel before him. With deft, expert movements, he released Gregory’s cock from the strain of his pants, and impressed by the sight of it, allowed it to stand proud. Gregory relaxed back completely, arms stretched along the back of the couch, eyes half-lidded and sensual. A small grin ticked at the corner of his mouth as he watched Armand appreciate the sight of his erection. It rarely failed to impress. What a gorgeous vision Armand presented, on his knees between Gregory’s legs, those big eyes, that young masculine face, those lips, that pink tongue as he leaned and began the use of it, though not on the shaft or head. For now, just a gentle, barely-there assault on his sack.
A low moan spilled from Gregory’s throat as he watched, and his cock jumped slightly of its own will. He looked deep into Armand’s eyes, holding the contact as he spoke, “If you’re as good as I imagine you are, I’ll reward you…hard and deep.” Gregory licked at his own lower lip as he continued to watch, resisting any urge to instruct or touch Armand.
Armand laughed again, quiet and in a way that made his tongue vibrate for Gregory. But he shook his head. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, his vow to Marius had been dormant, probably something to do with the drugs and his almost having drowned. Perhaps they weren’t excuses—Armand had been thinking only lustfully again, and was now wholly unused to denying himself when he wanted such things. He felt terrible, truly he did, in a way that made him feel a little nauseous, and now he was between a rock and a hard place.
He shook his head, a coy look in his eye, and he moved from Gregory’s sack to kiss the underside of his cock and then the head. “Just this,” he reasoned, though gave no explanation as to why. Gregory didn’t need to know such things.
What did that mean? Just this. Gregory wished his own brain were not so befuddled with the edibles. He wished he could read Armand’s signals a little better. But perhaps that was part of the game for Armand. He wanted to be unpredictable. Pursued. Dominated. Told what would happen. Gregory stared into his eyes, waiting for him to proceed. His cock was certainly not having doubts, a small liquid pearl appeared from the top and rolled ever so slowly down the vein along the thick shaft.
“Take yourself out,” Gregory ordered in a dangerously soft voice. “Stroke yourself while you pleasure me.”
If Armand didn’t have a couple of hundred years under his own belt, he might have been afraid of that tone of voice. Perhaps he should be, but his deep-down instincts told him that this was Gregory, and Gregory wouldn’t dare to hurt him. He shook his head again, but made sure he didn’t lose the seductive air about him. He made sure to keep his perfect assault of Gregory’s senses going, a hand to his balls, lips and tongue to his shaft. All the while, he kept his gaze heated. “Just this, just for you, for now. Maybe you’ll be driven to madness by me, and one day when you can’t handle it anymore, you’ll come and get me.”
A soft laugh escaped Gregory. Did Armand think he was so easily manipulated? He’d been the Queen’s chosen, he’d been pursued for his own talents in the bedroom, his handsome, commanding demeanor. He didn’t chase.
But he was in a young mortal male form now, and he was not about to turn down a free blow job. His mind was too under the influence to put up any real logic against it anyway. If Armand wanted to give this pleasure with no return, so be it.
“Your loss,” Gregory murmured, eyes fixed on Armand’s beauty, his elegant fingers, his perfectly flushed cheeks, the lips against his shaft, the tongue so heated and wet against the leaking tip. Gregory drew a sharp breath as a particularly pleasure-sensitive spot was lavished with attention. His hands curled into fists where they remained stretched along the back of the couch.
His head fell back, eyes closed, thoughts flooded with sensual erotic imaginings of Armand, nude, Ganymede’s rival in young masculine beauty. Armand against him, a welcome weight as Gregory guided him to engulf the steel heat of his cock. “Armand,” he hummed deeply, willing himself not to touch or control this but to let Armand show his talents.
Armand said nothing despite how Gregory made his name sound like a low, irresistible purr, like a prayer to the devil. He did reward him though, enjoying the rumble Gregory’s voice sent to his cock. He placed his lips around the head, twisting his tongue around it once more before taking Gregory to the hilt. Suddenly he wanted quite badly to do this. He wanted to know what Gregory would sound like the whole time, how his pitch would change, how he would taste as he spent. If this were to be the one time and the only thing they did, then it should be savored.
A low drawn-out groan fell from Gregory’s throat as he slid fully into Armand’s throat. His hips thrust up of their own accord before he could still himself. Oh, how he longed to thrust hard into the welcoming heat and that talented mouth. He opened his eyes again and watched Armand work, reaching out and slipping fingers through the auburn curls that swayed with the movements of Armand’s head.
Suddenly, he couldn’t help but fist a handful of that hair in his grip and force Armand’s head back so he could look at that face, the wet lips blushed red, the large eyes so full of carnal promises. “Let me fuck you, Armand. I want to feel all of you,” he purred in his most sultry voice. “You have no idea how much I want you right now. I won’t let you regret any of it. I promise.”
Armand closed his eyes and breathed in, truly hearing these words. He felt the vibration of them around him almost as if he still had his vampiric senses. He let himself feel them as if it were Gregory himself feeling him, all of him as he so wanted to. “I want you,” Armand began, because he didn’t want Gregory to think that his hesitance was over such a thing. But a promise was a promise. He opened up his eyes, and would have pressed another kiss to the head of Gregory’s cock were he not held so firm. He locked eyes with Gregory and saw the danger and arousal there, and Christ, but it made him want to submit. A promise was a promise, and in France was a man who had asked him to make the promise, who could make him feel such things and more was awaiting him. “Another time…”
Gregory was not used to being turned down like this. It was a real struggle, along with the influence of the edibles, to make any sense of it. Another time? A challenge then. Gregory knew how to accept a challenge and his mouth curved slightly, the hint of a smirk.
“Another time,” he repeated, leaning in to claim Armand’s tempting full lips, tasting that tongue and the mouth that had just been pleasuring him so expertly. His fingers loosened their grip in Armand’s hair and he pulled back to stare into those deeply seductive eyes, to feel the charged electricity between them.
Gregory relaxed against the couch again, his cock still at full mast and waiting for the return of that sweet heated mouth. “Take me in your throat then, swallow me,” he hummed, eyes still fixed on Armand, as he couldn’t seem to look away no matter what. He was completely entranced with this man kneeling before him. This vision of sexual young male beauty.
Armand was glad for Gregory to relent in this. In fact, he needed his cooperation with it. As determined as he was to keep his promise to Marius, it was admittedly less challenging when this highly attractive man wasn’t trying to fight for it. He nodded, doing exactly as asked with ease. He teased for a little around the head then swallowed it completely, determined to make Gregory climax within an inch of his life. Wondering if his own pleasure might spur him on, Armand began to palm himself. Never with intention to finish, only to allure Gregory all the more.
He fisted the cushions of the couch several times as Armand’s mouth did wonderful things to him. He tried and failed to keep at least some semblance of quiet, but the sight of Armand between his knees, the lips along his shaft, the wet heat of his mouth, and the expert movements, all dragged the occasional sharp gasp of breath, the hiss of sucking in air between his teeth as he tried not to groan too loudly. A hand found its way back to Armand’s hair, brushing dark auburn curls back from his forehead so he might better see those eyes. Armand was clearly as turned on by this as he. The erection in his pants obvious. Gregory let his hand slide lower along Armand’s jaw, feeling it working as he took in Gregory’s cock. His thumb caressed along that tender pulse point at the jugular, feeling the beat there beneath the flesh. The canine teeth, where Gregory’s fangs were no longer, ached. Actually ached!
Armand sighed as Gregory’s hand caressed. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment. It was an assertion of dominance that gave just a taste of what they might have had, but it was enough to sustain him. Besides, he knew it wouldn’t be long now. Gregory lay his head back on the couch and shut his eyes with a low deep groan, his breathing so ragged, his whole being focused down into the feel of Armand’s throat working him to the edge. Armand knew by that sound and by the heave of Gregory’s chest that it really wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t contain himself. He took him even deeper, burying his nose into the dark hairs and committing his scent to memory. He relaxed his throat and with the tip of his tongue where he could, he lavished attention on Gregory’s balls, a trick he’d never forgotten.
A rush of expletives in ancient languages spilled from Gregory as Armand pulled him closer and closer to what promised to be an incredible climax. The tiny part of his brain that could still form thought wondered if Armand wasn’t somehow equating the act of fellatio with that of drawing the victim to the tenuous edge of death before letting go. That place that was the penultimate pleasure for a blood drinker.
Gregory’s whole body strained with an inner struggle to hold out just a little longer and drown in the blissful feeling of Armand lavishing such focused attention on his dick. But it was a losing battle, and Gregory stretched his arms out, grasping at the cushions, eyes half-lidded as his vision blurred and pleasure tightened into a pressure within his lower belly. “Armand, Armand, Armand,” he groaned deeply. Unable to stop himself, he grasped that soft hair again to hold Armand’s head still so that he might spill deeply as Armand swallowed him down. A great glittering pleasure exploded within as he continued to pump into Armand until the very last of it left him a limp rag, boneless and drained.
He let go of Armand finally, his vision slowly clearing as he rubbed hands over his face and lifted his head to see a rather beautifully debauched angel between his legs. Gregory gave him a lazy smile. “You’re very good at that,” he said, his voice still laced in pleasure.
Armand laughed softly and deep in his throat. Slowly, he drew his tongue around his lips, looking up at Gregory as he did. The man himself was just as debauched, his chest rising and falling and his dark eyes intense. “It’s not for nothing that I’ve driven men mad.” He stood then and fixed his clothes about him, sitting back beside Gregory.
Gregory actually felt a bit lightheaded as he sat up, tucking himself back into his pants and raking his fingers through his hair as his beating heart began to slow to its resting pace. He glanced at Armand, who seemed quite proud of his work. Beautiful Armand, with his flushed face and that mouth… Gregory longed to lean forward and pull Armand onto his lap and devour him in feverish kissing. Perhaps taste himself there still. He did lean slightly towards Armand, eyes fixed upon him. “And what if you’ve driven me to this madness now? Am I to simply long for you again only to never have you?”
“Oh, I’m not an idiot. I’m sure someone as mighty and adjusted as you could never fall for such things,” Armand quipped, the smile still on his face. He moved his hand to Gregory’s knee, squeezing it as he locked eyes and held his gaze for a moment. Of course, it would be very powerful to have Gregory become obsessed with him, but even he in all his arrogance wasn’t sure it could happen. “Why don’t we finish this film after all?”
Adjusted? Was he so well adjusted that he wouldn’t be among Armand’s many heartbroken conquests? Even now, only minutes after one of the most mind-blowing orgasms he’d had, Gregory was reliving the lead up to it.
As they watched the remainder of the film, his mind brought up images of Lestat and Armand. Could he make that happen? It would be a challenge, certainly. Armand seemed fixated on his Marius, so it might have to wait for some while.
Gregory’s thoughts drifted further back to Lestat… his beloved. His heart literally fluttered within his chest as he brought up the memory of his handsome Lestat. Gregory longed to be back on shore already, so he might spend a night or more in Paris with Lestat. Take him to an expensive dinner, walk along the banks of the Seine, talking of anything at all. And then spend another long weekend in one another’s arms in a hotel suite. He would call Lestat as soon as they returned, and make this fantasy a reality.
Chapter 81: Big Enough
Summary:
After a lovely day together in Paris, Louis, Lestat, and Benedict retire to the hotel for the night, where there is, of course, only one bed.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Benedict felt both exhausted and full of energy, overstimulated and delighted by everything he had seen and done in Paris today with Lestat and Louis. He felt like a child at Christmas who had been given so many nice things that the choice was overwhelming, so that this quiet moment as they now all came into the hotel room was very much a welcome one. Even then, the luxury of the accommodations was something fascinating. The warmly lit interior and comfort was very pleasant and the twinkling city view out the wide dark windows spectacular. He sighed pleasantly, then laughed, then turned his back to the window and looked at the two of them with sincerity in his eyes. “Thank you for a lovely day.”
Lestat dropped his winter coat over the back of a chair at the living room’s round table, which was covered with the shopping bags they’d had delivered so they wouldn’t have to carry them all day. He’d already forgotten half of what they’d bought—never a problem as a vampire. But the sight of Benedict’s saintly joy banished those thoughts.
Crossing to him, Lestat looped an affectionate arm around his shoulders, squeezing him in a half hug and indulging in the softness of Benedict’s hair against his cheek. “Our pleasure.”
“Yes,” Louis said as he hung his coat in the closet by the door and slipped off his shoes. “It truly is our pleasure.”
“Get some rest,” Lestat said. “And we’ll take the helicopter home as soon as the sun’s up.”
Nothing in the world could have gotten Lestat in that helicopter after dark, where any vampire strong enough could blast it out of the sky. He felt relatively safe in this suite, as he’d chosen it well to keep him secure as a vampire in the first place years ago when he began keeping it, all the usual mortal security guards arranged. And Cyril was near at hand with his flame thrower to do what he could, though Lestat allowing it was more for Cyril’s peace of mind than anything. His large friend had slept through the day while they were out, catching up to trail them just before sunset, and would now stand guard all night, though Lestat had no idea where he was actually stationed. Cyril said it was better that way so that no vampire could know it from Lestat’s thoughts. Stifling a yawn, he flopped down on one of the modern style couches. It and the electronics looked out of place mingled in among the other eighteenth-century style furniture, but it was undeniably more comfortable.
Idly, Louis searched through the bags on the table and pulled out one of the books he’d purchased. His hair mussed from the wind outside, he smoothed it back from his face then moved toward Benedict, smiling down at him softly. “We will have to go back to the Louvre sometime to see the works we didn’t get to.”
Benedict gazed up at him. “Can you imagine how long it would take us, to see it all and give it all the thought and attention it deserves?” He laughed a little breathlessly, charmed by the thought of going around with the two of them again and again and again.
Removing his shoes, then his coat, Benedict also hung it up neatly. It wasn’t often he shared a space with people like this, and he was determined to be considerate. He did intend to do as Lestat said though, to get some rest. Squeezing Lestat’s hand as he passed him, Benedict went toward another couch. “We shall simply have to move here.”
“That’s what Gregory wants me to do,” Lestat said absently as he covered another yawn.
Louis couldn’t help but wince, though in the same breath, he couldn’t deny the appeal of moving to Paris now that they were so limited on the speed in which they could go from place to place.
Benedict was going to ask if Lestat would do it, move here, but before he could, Lestat waved a hand at him on his couch, and then swept it to indicate Louis as well. “Take the bed,” he insisted. It wasn’t as large as his bed at the chateau, but it was big enough for the two of them, and Benedict didn’t seem at all repulsed by Louis now, if ever he had been after their awkwardness.
But Louis found himself at a loss for words, nervous as to how Benedict would react or what might say. Quickly he recovered himself, then shook his head. “Benedict, you should have the bed to yourself,” he suggested. “I wouldn’t dream to put you ill at ease.”
Benedict hadn’t thought about it for a moment since walking through the door, but it made perfect sense that they should want to wind down. After all, they’d had a long and full and vibrant day. They’d been drinking on and off, and that was tiring in isolation. He didn’t want to hold them back from sleep if they wished for it, only it pained him to just accept the offer. “Thank you, but I couldn’t, and besides, it makes much more sense for yourselves to take it.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Lestat said easily. This was his suite, he was host here, and the two of them were his guests. “Don’t argue with me. I sleep out here all the time. It’s fine.” He’d taken countless naps on this couch as a vampire, and it was perfectly comfortable even to his much less resilient mortal body. Folding one arm under his head, he stretched his legs out, his boots against the opposite arm. Of course, he wasn’t ready to go right to sleep now, but he wanted to make sure the two of them knew where they’d be once it was time.
Louis felt his temperature rising. Slowly, he slipped off his turtleneck sweater and smoothed down the shirt beneath. “It’s really all right, I assure,” he said to Benedict.
Benedict couldn’t stop his head from going a certain way. What seemed so flippant and harmless to Lestat could positively torture him and have him over-thinking to the point of exhaustion. “I’m sorry, if you insist,” he conceded quietly. The other thing was that there was a tension between Lestat and Louis, and good or bad, Benedict was now able to see how Louis’s bare neck was covered with the discoloration of scattered love bites. Perhaps he and Lestat just wanted their space now, and for Benedict to be out of their hair. After all, they’d treated him to such a lovely time, it was more than they deserved.
He stood then, and moved to his overnight bag so that he could fish out his nightwear and toothbrush. “Thank you.”
Louis’s expression changed to one of concern. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I only meant to make you more comfortable, to help you sleep easier, without me hovering so close. I mean to take the spare coverlet from the closet and lay it out on the floor there at the foot of the bed.”
“Why the hell would you do that?” Lestat rolled his eyes. The bed was large enough for two people. They could sleep head to toe if they had to be weird about it. “Benedict’s not afraid of you.”
Louis’s eyes narrowed, but then they shifted to where Lestat’s shoes were against the upholstery. Gritting his teeth, he stepped over and swatted Lestat’s feet with his hand that wasn’t holding the book.
“What?” Lestat winced and drew his feet back from Louis’s smacking hand. Now his shoes were on the cushion. “It’s not your couch!”
“No, but there’s no need to put your feet all over perfectly nice furniture!” Louis swatted his feet one more time for good measure.
Lestat curled his legs up further, sitting up a bit to glower at him. “Yes, there is. I’m tired. And my feet hurt.” Ever since he’d turned human, all his shoes rubbed his newly baby-soft feet in all the wrong ways, giving him obnoxious blisters. Only now after two weeks was he finally starting to get used to them, but they weren’t quite there yet.
Benedict couldn’t help but smile at their bickering, but he didn’t comment on either side of it as he prepared his things. “Yes, I’m not afraid,” he finally agreed. “I only meant that if you two were to take the bed, I would fit very comfortably on the couch. But Louis, I couldn’t abide that you sleep on the floor. There is no need for it in a place of such luxury. If possible, I would like you to join me.”
Louis felt an odd flush of heat rise to his cheeks to hear him say such a thing. He would like to share the bed? Was Benedict simply saying this so that Louis would not be uncomfortable? No, Louis reasoned, there had been little hint of timidity in Benedict’s final words.
“All right, if you’re sure. I certainly don’t mind to share with you,” he said quietly, schooling himself internally not to look in any sort of way. In the face of mortality, Louis had come to realize how difficult it was to hide his emotions behind his usual placidity. It seemed in this new rush of life to his body, that all things bubbled right to the surface, raw and bared for all to see. It was something he had to remedy, something for which he was always conscious.
Lestat was watching the two of them quietly, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure he liked this plan after all. Maybe he should have let Benedict stay on the other couch out here so Louis would have the bed to himself. He kept these feelings hidden, though, not about to darken the lovely day they’d shared. He’d been on his best behavior since they stepped out of the chateau this morning, determined to give Benedict the experience of settling in among mortal crowds that he’d promised.
Looking to Lestat again, Louis frowned. “Take your shoes off, if they pain you so.”
“I’ll get to it,” Lestat shot back. He wasn’t going to sleep in shoes, after all. But he’d just walked in the door and sat down!
Louis sighed, then he bent to kneel, placing his book beside Lestat on the couch and taking his ankle in hand. Lestat was expecting another smack or for Louis to tear his boot off, and was startled when instead he slid it off very carefully and set it aside. Then his fingers flexed to begin to gently massage Lestat’s ankle and heel
“You might consider thicker socks,” he suggested quietly, and he gave Lestat the smallest of smiles from his position on the floor.
Lestat stared down at him, too taken aback to retort, but then his eyes flicked to Benedict across the room. His back was to them for the moment as he rooted through his bag. Abruptly, Lestat leaned forward, took Louis by the sides of his head, and planted a giant kiss on his mouth, his tongue pushing inside as if he hoped Louis could swallow it. It was something he’d been longing to do all day, but that wasn’t the only reason he did it now. The thought of sending Louis away to bed all frustrated by it both amused Lestat and gave him a sense of triumph over the thought of whatever Louis might be feeling about Benedict tonight.
Louis was startled, but pleasantly so. He didn’t flinch or pull away, hanging on Lestat’s lips as though struck by a sudden and intoxicating spell, until Lestat was the one to end it. He was sure to do it before Benedict had the chance to turn around and see. As much as he enjoyed teasing Louis, Lestat didn’t want to actually embarrass him in front of their timid friend.
As he withdrew, Louis couldn’t help but hold his gaze, but then all he did was reach for Lestat’s other foot to remove the shoe all without taking his eyes from Lestat’s. And with the same care as he had done with the first, he set the black boot aside and pressed a firm but gentle thumb along the heel and then the arch of Lestat’s foot.
“Why not share the bed with both of us?” Louis asked. “It’s surely big enough.”
Lestat’s eyes cut sharply in Benedict’s direction, telling Louis without words that his reason had to do with respecting Benedict and keeping him comfortable. He understood now how violated and wronged Benedict felt after Louis spied on their time together, and Lestat refused to do anything at all now that might remind him of that anguish.
He sighed softly, and his fingers stroked through Louis’s hair above his ears in their last stolen moment before he sank back against the couch cushions. Now it seemed a million miles of distance loomed between them, and he smiled at Louis tiredly. When he noticed Benedict going into the bathroom to change, he called over, “There’s a jacuzzi tub in there. Make the most of it.”
Louis remained on the floor, his fingers massaging in gentle circles at Lestat’s ankle. The lingering feel of Lestat’s hand in his hair and the longing way he was looking at him pulled at Louis’s heartstrings in a way that was so completely new and different than anything he could remember feeling in his mortal life before. It was almost frightening, but there was a warmth to it too that made it seem as though there was no better ache in all the world.
He pushed his fingers up beneath the cuffs of Lestat’s pants to massage his calves and shins in slow elongated circles, pushing and then pulling Lestat’s muscles to force them to let go of the tension there. Louis himself had had some stiffness in his calves with all the walking they had been doing, and he could only assume Lestat was suffering similarly. “Try to relax,” he said quietly, jostling Lestat’s leg a bit to drive the point home that he needed to loosen up in order to let Louis work more effectively.
If possible, Lestat somehow became even more tense, as if preparing for Louis to spring some surprise attack on him, and he stared down at him with a bemused combination of uncertainty and wonder. The things Louis’s strong, determined fingers were doing to the muscles of his calf nearly made Lestat’s eyes roll back into his head. He had to clench his teeth to keep his focus present.
“What else hurts?” Louis asked, his eyes returning to Lestat’s, his faint smile never leaving.
Lestat gave him a look as if to say ‘how dare you ask that question?’ And then, after a pause, a slow catlike smile spread over Lestat’s face. “Why? Will you stroke whatever I say? Will you kiss it better?”
Louis narrowed his eyes, taking a moment to grind his thumbs up into Lestat’s calf muscle in a way that would hurt, even if it was ultimately good for them. Lestat winced, but more than anything it was a burst of amazement that a simple flex of Louis’s fingers could actually cause him pain, that their power of strength had become so equalized, when only a couple weeks ago, Louis’s touch would have felt like nothing more than the batting of moth’s wings, no matter how brutally strong Lestat’s immortal blood had made him.
Now there was no blood connecting them. Nothing at all beyond the simple human touch of Louis’s fingertips upon Lestat’s leg, no different than any touch between any other pair or mortal men in this world.
“I might,” Louis said curtly, to accentuate the point, but then his ministrations turned soft again, one hand holding Lestat’s leg in place while the other kneaded the back of his leg above his ankle. Next, he moved downward both thumbs, pressing up into the arch of Lestat’s foot, the way he had seen mortals do at salons when getting their feet pampered.
When Louis’s hands were back upon his black sock, it was easier. For each stroke that had come above its edge under his pant-leg, against his bare skin, Lestat had hardly been able to remain still in his seat. What Louis was doing to him was meant to be relaxing, pampering. Didn’t mortals love this sort of thing?
So why was it so excruciating?
“What?” he whispered to him, low, so that Benedict wouldn’t hear through the door, his eyes boring down into Louis’s. “I’ve behaved myself, haven’t I?” As far as Lestat was concerned, he’d been a saint this entire day, doing absolutely everything to maximize Benedict’s enjoyment of his time in public to help get him more comfortable with mingling in mortal crowds. So why was Louis torturing him so deliciously now? It was hard not to groan aloud for how good his touch felt, and Lestat dug his fingers into his palms to keep himself from grabbing Louis and pulling him right into his lap to devour him with kisses.
“You have. Unusual that, which leads me to believe you’re saving it up for some more nefarious purpose,” Louis admitted quietly, his small smile unwavering as he released the leg he had been focusing on to reach for the other, pulling Lestat’s ankle closer to himself so that his foot could rest on the slope of Louis’s thigh as he knelt. Louis began anew on this leg and repeated the same motions he had used on the first.
“Who, me?” Lestat’s eyes widened in mock offense. “I’ll have you know, I did absolutely everything I wanted to today.” Short of groping Louis every five minutes regardless of where they were, but that would have meant humiliating Louis in public, and Lestat didn’t actually want to do that, so his point stood.
Louis’s thigh was so warm against the sole of his foot, even through his sock and Louis’s trousers. His toes curled against it, and he hummed in pleasure at the work Louis’s hands were doing as his foot began to slide up his inner thigh.
Louis firmly pushed it down and away from his groin, fixing Lestat with a mock glare as he massaged up the back of his calf with one hand and pressed against his shin with the other. A moment longer, and he was finished, withdrawing his hands from beneath Lestat’s cuff and rising to stand.
“Did everything you wanted to? Truly?” he asked, seeming dubious to believe it. “Then you’ll sleep well, I trust?” He patted Lestat’s knee affectionately and scooped up his book again. Turning away, he walked toward the bedroom.
Lestat couldn’t help watching the shape of Louis’s ass as his trousers pulled taut with each of his slow graceful strides. He’d been deploring all day that it had been covered by Louis’s long overcoat. His palms itched to take hold of it, to grab Louis around the waist and unfasten his pants so he could shove his hands in and massage the flesh the way Louis had been doing with his calves. If he shoved Louis up against the wall, would he have time to finish with him before Benedict came out of the bathroom?
Louis stopped at the bedroom door and looked back. “You’ll be missed,” he said with a bit of a secretive, telltale smirk.
Lestat just glared at him until he disappeared into the other room. Then groaning, he flopped back on the couch, scrubbing his hands over his face to try to clear his head.
By the time he returned to the living room, Benedict could sense that the atmosphere had changed, which was something he cursed his now human senses for. Louis had retired, it seemed, or left to do something or another, and Lestat looked frustrated. Once again, Benedict was struck by the notion that he was intruding on the couple, so he felt very sheepish as he looked upon Lestat. “Is everything all right?”
Lestat popped up off the couch and went to meet him with an easy smile. “It is now.” He took him by the arms, giving his elbows a little squeeze.
Benedict ruminated on this—it is now… He wondered how deep that went. He wondered how much Lestat meant things like that, how many people a day he said them to. Benedict didn’t believe for one moment that he truly meant it. After all, how on earth could he elicit such feelings from a man who seemed to owe little of his radiance to vampirism at all, considering how awe-inspiring Lestat still was.
“Did you find everything you need? Are you hungry? We could order room service before we retire. You know,” Lestat mused. “I’ve kept these rooms for decades, and I’ve never done it here.”
Benedict realized he had a smile on his face, and quite a dopey one at that, and that his response was delayed. He cleared his throat. “I think it’s something that must be done then, don’t you? They may get offended otherwise.”
Lestat laughed, charmed. “I like the way you think!” At the console by the entertainment center, he plucked up the plastic-coated menu. In true grand Parisian fashion, it displayed a vast array of options. Lestat skimmed it as he brought it to Benedict, but it was all too much choice for how giddy his head was now. “What strikes your fancy? Don’t limit yourself. Absolutely anything you want.”
“Well, that hamburger positively can’t have so many toppings,” Benedict pointed out, reading over the large list. “It must be the size of a head!” He wondered if anyone could actually eat it, or if the chefs just had a great big laugh each night trying to fool people. Then he smiled, the smile of someone with too much confidence for no reason. “I could try.”
Lestat laughed again. “If you think this is a lot, you should see how they serve them in America. I’m sure you can handle it.” He went to the hotel phone, ready to call in the order, but he didn’t pick up the receiver yet. “What else, what else? Dessert? You have to get dessert. This is Paris!”
“Dessert too?” Benedict laughed, delighted by the frivolity of it. What would happen if they couldn’t eat it all? He supposed it didn’t matter. Always worrying about something, he was, and perhaps this was the night not to worry. “Why not one of each?”
Why not! Lestat called and ordered the hamburger for Benedict and a Quiche Lorraine for himself, three bottles of wine, then one of every dessert on the menu, along with extra utensils.
When the noise of the food’s arrival drew Louis back out of the bedroom, Lestat shoved a bowl of chocolate mousse into his hands along with a spoon. He also shared his quiche, and they watched in amusement over their wine glasses as Benedict tackled the giant cheeseburger.
When it grew late, Lestat once more insisted the two of them take the bedroom, and he flopped back down on his favorite couch to sleep until dawn broke, banishing all monsters for the day, and it was time to return to the helicopter.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, K, and T.
Chapter 82: A Pressure Point
Summary:
Armand is back from his voyage, and Lestat makes good on his promise to Marius to try to convince Armand to come with him to Rio.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Ahoy there.” Lestat’s voice came from Armand’s bedroom doorway. When he’d heard that Armand had been seen disembarking a Collingsworth Pharmaceuticals helicopter upon return from his treasure hunting voyage, Lestat let himself into the chateau apartment he’d gifted him without knocking or announcement, and found his old friend unpacking in the master suite.
“Miss me?” Armand asked coyly, though he didn’t look at Lestat. He pulled out his clothes that needed to be laundered, and began to fold the clean things on his bed. At home in New York, Armand had staff to do all these things, but they’d been wary of bringing mortal servants into the chateau any more than absolutely necessary, and Armand liked a tidy environment when possible. It reminded him how far he had come from the wretched catacombs.
Only when that was done, did he kiss Lestat’s cheeks in greeting. “Do I have a story for you, by the way, but tell me first of what I’ve missed.”
A story? Lestat was immediately intrigued and at once forgot his reason for seeking Armand out. He sat on the edge of the bed with one leg folded under him to watch Armand unpack. There was a scent of the sea on the pile of clothes he set aside, and it brought back memories of the last time Lestat was human, when he’d swam under the moonlight and then that very last day alive he’d spent aboard that dreadful cruise ship.
He frowned a little, his eyes following Armand’s hands. “Story first.” He waved a hand quickly in the air. “You’ve missed nothing at all. Thorne and I chopped down a tree on the mountain yesterday. That was fun.” He was only being slightly sarcastic. There was a certain element of satisfaction that came with the task, even if his palms were spotted with broken blisters now from the axe.
“Oh, but your hands must be hurting, to be human and doing that,” Armand fussed. He went to Lestat and took his palms, and indeed found that they were inflamed. “My father, all those years ago, he had a salve for such a thing that he swore by… Peasant medicine though, I’m sure there’s much better stuff these days. In any case, I don’t remember what it was, and you’re probably aware of anything from when you used to do it in your youth.”
“In my youth, I had callouses.” Lestat watched Armand closely. His smaller fingers were warm and soft against his palms. “The Blood stripped them all away.” His hands were as smooth as a newborn babe’s the day he awoke as human. Same with his feet, and all of his boots made them hurt.
“Mm, I’m sure you did,” Armand hummed, imagining Lestat’s rough, calloused hands fondly. He imagined Lestat in his youth, in the old clothes, wandering through the wind of the mountains to provide for an ungrateful family. And he looked now and saw the same Lestat. What a strange gift they had been given, beautiful and tragic.
“But what’s the story?” Lestat asked. “You found the treasure?”
Armand came back to himself at the question, his thoughts having consumed him. Gently, he set Lestat’s hands down, palm up, and Lestat was a little surprised at the slight disappointment he felt when Armand stopped touching him.
“We found the treasure, yes. But that isn’t it. Or…that isn’t all. I nearly drowned! Swam with whales even.”
“For the love of hell, why would you do that??”
“Well of course it wasn’t intentional. There was some jolt. I was leaning over the railing a bit, yes, fancying I could almost reach out and touch it. But then a wave slammed or something, and I was in. If only I could swim, it would have been fantastic.”
“You can’t swim??” Lestat balked, and he snatched hold of Armand’s wrist as if afraid some giant wave would sweep through the room and wash him away right then. Armand inhaled, surprised by the sudden movement. He looked down at Lestat’s grip on him and wondered if he should have said anything at all, but he made no move to break free.
Lestat was about to ask if he’d been wearing a life preservation vest, but it would have been a pointless question. Of course Armand hadn’t been. Damned idiot. “Did the captain fish you back out with a giant hook?”
“Gregory fished me out, as it were, and I am grateful to him for it,” Armand sighed. He wondered what sort of reaction Marius would have if this was Lestat’s. “But hey.” He smirked. “I didn’t drive.”
Lestat snorted, unable not to be amused by the glib attitude, though still feeling the ripples of that shock of terror of the thought of Armand in mortal peril. He rolled the delicate bones of Armand’s wrist under his thumb before letting him go. “Did he use the hook?”
“He wasn’t so repulsed by me, if you can believe that. He came straight in after me himself—so embarrassing.”
Gregory went into the ocean too?? With those giant animals?? Lestat’s heart felt lodged in his throat, but he tried to swallow it down. Armand was acting so carefree about it, that everything was obviously fine, but the thought that he might have lost both of them out at sea left Lestat trembling from a spike of adrenaline, these uncontrollable chemical reactions of the god forsaken mortal body.
Armand moved his travel bag to store it in his dressing room, then returned to sit beside Lestat on the bed. He could tell Lestat was affected by the mention of it all, and perhaps he shouldn’t have brought it up. He put a comforting hand on Lestat’s shoulder. “Honestly, Gregory is an extremely strong swimmer. He didn’t struggle a jot,” he said with a smile. “In any case, I’m alive. Have you seen Marius?”
Lestat was rubbing his hands over his arms in effort to smooth out the pickling goosebumps under his sleeves, and he answered Armand distractedly. “Oh, yeah, no, he’s gone.”
Armand drew back and stood as if he’d been struck, then his brow furrowed as he tried to process. “What do you mean, gone?” Marius wasn’t allowed to be gone.
Lestat blinked and focused on him again. “Just from the chateau!” he blurted, realizing his phrasing might have made Armand fear the worst. “Well, and from Europe. He went back to his old home in Brazil. Bianca went with him.”
“Oh,” Armand said softly, sitting back on the bed. If he were less affected, he might be embarrassed about the little bounce his body made when he hit the mattress, like a deflated toy, but he was too in his own thoughts to pay it attention. He looked down, gathering himself. Marius hadn’t hinted at this over their text conversation while he was gone, he’d not mentioned it before they’d parted. Had Armand already done something to sour things between them? This certainly wasn’t the news he had been expecting upon his homecoming. “Did he say for how long?”
Lestat tried to remember and once more came up against frustration with his dull mortal brainpower. If he didn’t write down everything that happened to him right away, it slipped straight from his head. “Not long, he said. A couple weeks?” He took a moment to absorb Armand’s expression, comparing it to how downtrodden Marius had seemed the day he told Lestat he was leaving. “I’m flying out there tonight to join him for the weekend. Come with me.”
Armand recalled that Marius had mentioned his Rio home their first morning as mortals as they tested their taste in coffee. Marius had said then that though he’d like to travel to it, to the warmth and comfort, he would not do it because his duty was here at the chateau with Lestat. He remembered Marius’s offer, that Armand might accompany him on such a trip, if a time did ever come when he was free to take it, but he’d never said a thing about going so soon.
Though of course, even Armand with all of his jealousy and terrible attitude, could see it wasn’t fair to ask Marius to wait around when he himself had been traveling. Or was it? The only thing he’d asked Marius to promise the night they first made love was not to leave him. And now he was gone.
He felt a sigh escape him. “Did he give any indication that he might want me to follow? How many have gone? The chateau seems so quiet.”
Marius had, in fact, specifically asked Lestat to convince Armand to come along, but he held off on mentioning that just yet. “I want you to follow,” he said, his hand squeezing Armand’s arm as he leaned closer, giving him a pointed look that wasn’t too serious, and not about to answer his other question until this was settled.
Armand looked up at Lestat as if fooled for a moment, as if his tender touch had addled his brain. And then he laughed quietly, and with a soft breath, he shook his head. “As if you want me to come. What are you going to do, teach me to swim better? Besides, you and he have a lot to catch up on, I’m sure.”
The sinking disappointment Lestat felt in his chest surprised him. Was it that he’d wanted to be reason enough for Armand to make the trip? Why did that matter? Well, in any case, now he knew he wasn’t.
He frowned at Armand for a moment before letting him go and sitting back again. “What is this, hm? Last we spoke, you were calling him your boyfriend and practically glowing about it. And now you don’t even want to visit for a weekend? Maybe it’s for the best you don’t come with me, then. He deserves better than that from you.”
“Don’t you tell me what he deserves from me,” Armand shot, indignant and defensive as quick as anything. Marius had always been, for better or worse, a pressure point, and Lestat knew that well enough. “I do not need to tell you my thoughts and feelings. My desire to see him has not changed, and to find him was first on my agenda today.”
“So let’s go find him!” Lestat fished his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “I have a jet standing by for us in Clermont-Ferrand to go as soon as a delivery I’m expecting gets here.” He waved a hand in the direction of where Armand had stowed his suitcase and gave him a bright smile. “Get your luggage back out, and pack for the beach.”
Armand’s gaze followed Lestat’s hand to the doors of his dressing room with little emotion over his face. “Did he give any indication that he wanted me to follow?” he asked again. God, he wanted to see Marius, but his damned pride would stand in the way of this. At least for a little while.
Catching Armand’s soft, round face between his hands, Lestat made him turn back to face him, and leaned in like he had a secret to tell. “Armand, everything he does gives indication he wants you with him.” He pressed his lips together in thought, as if he’d say something else while they were this close, but then just smiled and patted Armand’s cheek before letting him go again. “You should have seen how despondent he was around here while you were off not-swimming with the whales.”
Armand smiled in spite of himself, his heart filling with warmth at the notion that Marius wanted him around at all times. But it quickly shifted to a frown to know he had been despondent. “Perhaps I was rash in going on the treasure hunt,” he mused, before setting off to retrieve his suitcase. “In any case, Rio will be warmer than Spain, and I already miss the sun.”
“So much warmer,” Lestat said with a rather sensuous sigh as he relaxed back against the pillows at the head of Armand’s bed and looked up at the chandelier. It was a dull gray day in Auvergne, and though snow wasn’t falling, there was very little sunlight through the window to catch in the crystal, even with the curtains wide open. “Cyril’s coming too, of course,” he added as he listened to Armand begin to repack. Lestat hadn’t packed anything at all himself yet. He hated packing. He probably wouldn’t bother and instead just buy whatever he needed once he got there.
“Of course,” Armand answered. It mattered little to him where Cyril did or did not go, and he was hardly surprised by it. “Who else will go? Louis? Like I said, it seems quiet.”
“We can bring Louis,” Lestat said as if it hadn’t been his plan all along, and only considered it now because Armand suggested it. “I think he’d like that.” Lestat sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Armand that he intended to make Benedict come too. He’d leave that little surprise for once they were all on the jet with no escape.
“Good. Long has it been since I caught up with him.” Armand smiled to himself. He nearly always smiled to himself when he thought of Louis for some reason or another, and sometimes because of that one night in Louis’s room when they’d chosen to deny themselves. Shaking off the erotic memory and knowing he had things to do, Armand chose a bunch of clothes that seemed appropriate for the trip and moved back out to the room. “Who else?”
Lestat’s eyes tracked him, seemingly lazily, but he was paying closer attention than he let on. “Pandora and Arjun have gone to England with a few of the others. Kapetria and her people are there. They’re building some sort of spa or resort in the countryside as a front for her studies and experiments. She wants DNA from multiple subjects who have become human to sequence. Who do you think will solve this for us first, Kapetria or our Dr. Fareed?”
“I should say Fareed, shouldn’t I, with all of his experience? But I respect Pandora greatly. She is infinitely intelligent and if she has chosen Kapetria, I want her choice to be right.” It didn’t mean Armand wasn’t threatened by Pandora, not when he knew what she had meant to Marius. But he would be an idiot to not respect the woman, and not to like her. “But there is something you’re not telling me, that you are evading. Where will Benedict be? He’s not left your side since this whole thing kicked off.”
Lestat’s eyes slowly shifted to the space at his side where Benedict very pointedly was not. “Is that so.”
He knew why Armand didn’t like being around Benedict himself, but did he care about Lestat keeping his company? A flicker of sadness crossed Lestat’s features as he thought of the recent distance Benedict had preferred between them, but he tried to turn his face away before Armand could see. At least Armand hadn’t started off on another tirade against the replimoids at his mention of Kapetria, Lestat could be glad for that. Also, Armand seemed to still fully believe that their return to vampirism was imminent, good. Lestat did not want him to have any idea of how bleak their future truly looked, and Marius had agreed keeping it secret from Armand was best.
“You’re right, I didn’t tell anyone except Marius and Gregory.” Lestat pushed himself up to sit as he came up with something else to pretend was the big secret he was keeping. “Rhoshamandes came to Benedict last week. Here. Well, out in the forest.” His hand waved in the direction of the window. “He truly frightened Benedict. Don’t go out of the castle alone after dark. Or at all if you can help it. He came to Gregory in Paris a few nights later. I was honestly afraid he might show up on your boat one night while you were out there. I’m glad the worst you had to deal with was an embarrassing dunking.”
Armand eyed him with pursed lips, trying not to let the shape of him on his bed, the way his movements rumpled the covers, distract his mind. There was still something Lestat was holding back, it was obvious. “Well, he didn’t. And if you don’t want him causing trouble, give Benedict back to him.” When Lestat’s eyes narrowed, Armand lifted a hand before he could speak. “Oh, I know. You’ll never listen to me. But all this is to say that you’re bringing him along to Rio, isn’t it? To keep him under your wing, like some white knight shielding the princess from the monster. Or does Marius want him to come?”
“Marius wants you to come. He said so,” Lestat finally admitted. He didn’t know why he’d so wanted Armand to agree to come just for Lestat’s sake. What did he care about why Armand chose to go where he did? “I promised him I’d bring you.”
Armand’s heart gave another flutter despite the lingering sting over Marius leaving the country, the continent, the hemisphere, without so much as a word to him. But he hid this behind a neutral face, and despite the fact that he was packing for the trip as they spoke, he only hummed thoughtfully and said, “I’ll consider it.”
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and T.
Chapter 83: Absolutely Not
Summary:
Louis is in agony as he learns much more than he ever wanted to from the girl at the village cafe about her liaisons with Lestat.
Notes:
This is one of my favorite chapters so far 😆 I just have so much fun torturing poor Louis!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Bundled against the weather, his deep black coat collar turned up against the cold, black and red Burberry scarf wrapped tightly about his throat, and leather-gloved hands shoved deep into his pockets, Louis picked his way carefully down from the chateau toward the village, choosing his steps so as not to slip into the icy divots or the somewhat melted puddles along the road. The sky was cloudy, the weather what one might call gloomy, but Louis had to admit he loved this sort of day. The way the wind sent little gusts of dusty snow up into the air in curling swirls and the wispy mist of clouds that seemed to drag endlessly by, had him stopping now and again on his way to stare up into the dim daylight sky to marvel at it all. Occasionally, a scintillating ray of sunlight would break through the cloud-cover, like a beam of heaven, only to be swallowed up once more by the thick gloom.
He reflected that he was thankfully aware enough at least, not to blindly walk while gazing upward into all of this beauty, lest he slip and fall and injure himself. The last thing he needed was to wind up with a twisted ankle or broken bone that might render his impending trip to Rio tonight a boring experience of sitting around healing, or at worst, entirely canceled. It was the topmost thing that Louis really found troublesome about their current mortal predicament, their fragility, the possibility of sickness or injury, the threat of hospitalization.
When he at last made it into the village, he immediately turned toward the stables, and asked where he might find the stable-master. The man was attending to feed organization in one of the side storage rooms. “I’d like to inquire about the Friesian,” Louis said, without any pretense.
“Ah, did he give you trouble on your last outing?” the man asked. “He’s more of a worker that one, less for the leisurely ride, which is a shame really, considering his breed.”
“Quite the opposite,” Louis said. “Of all your stock, I found I enjoyed my rides with him the most. I’d like to reserve him for myself. Is that something I might arrange? I don’t want anyone else riding him, and don’t want him used for work anymore, only for myself.”
The man stared at Louis as though he were about to interject his opinion, but he held back, knowing Louis was from the chateau and to be respected.
“You may arrange to purchase a replacement if his work duties are valuable,” Louis added when the man didn’t immediately respond. “Spare no expense to that end. And as to Beau,” he said, using the horse’s name, “spend what’s needed for him as well. I’ll see that it’s taken care of.”
The stable-master seemed reluctant with his answer, but he was polite and accommodating, going at once to inform the hands of the change.
Louis moved out of the side room and found his way to Beau’s stall, where the horse seemed to recognize him at once and pushed his velvety nose between the bars. Louis removed his gloves and stuffed them in his pocket, then pressed his palm flat to the dark snout, rubbing his hands up along the creature’s muzzle, bridge and forehead. “You’re mine now,” he whispered to him.
Exiting the stable, Louis decided it wouldn’t do to ride today, given what he’d seen of previously melted puddles frozen over on the way down, likely giving any other paths he might try a more treacherous coating of ice. The wind coming off the mountain was especially biting as well on this side of the village, and Louis’s nose and cheeks were quickly numbed. As loath as he was to do so, he needed something warm to sip, and so he changed directions, hoping the damned bakery girl, Claire wouldn’t be on her shift today.
But of course she was right there behind the counter, her pretty green eyes lighting up at the sight of Louis, the tinkling bells as he came in the door drawing her attention at once.
“Oh, hi! I’ll be right with you,” she said in French over her shoulder as she finished preparing an order for a middle-aged couple sitting at one of the cafe tables. They glanced at Louis as well, but then politely and professionally turned their attention away when they saw it was one of the people from the chateau. Their jobs and place in the village depended upon respecting the privacy of all the chateau’s residents and guests. Another table was occupied by a teenage boy on his laptop. With his headphones in, he didn’t even seem to notice Louis at all.
Once Claire had delivered the tray of pastries to the couple’s table, she gave Louis her full attention. “American coffee?” she asked, far too cheerfully for such a cold day.
“I want a café allongé with milk and sugar,” Louis said, schooling his expression and softening his words so that his precise French didn’t come across as rude. Despite not being this young woman’s biggest fan, he could hardly blame her for her interest in Lestat, when Lestat’s attention had clearly been so focused on her in their meetings. It wasn’t her fault, he told himself as he took his money clip from his pocket and pushed the appropriate amount for payment across the counter to her.
Rubbing his hands together, gloved as they were, he lingered near the counter, glancing about to see where he might sit, as much as he wished he didn’t need to. His eyes moved toward the baked goods beneath the display glass. “Ah, and two financiers, please,” he added, placing more money on the counter and gesturing to the small gold-bar shaped almond cakes that looked to have blueberries baked into them.
His aloof demeanor seemed to only come off to Claire as somehow charming, as if nothing at all could darken her mood today. She practically seemed to glow in the warm, soft lights of the patisserie. “It’s taken care of,” she said with a sweet wrinkle of her nose, and she pressed the money back toward him before turning away to prepare his order.
Louis stared at the money on the counter, contemplated accepting, then left it there instead. Moving to a table that was furthest away from all the other patrons as he could manage, he pulled free his scarf from his neck, shrugged out of his coat and folded them both neatly over the back of the opposite chair, then sat. It was only then that he remembered the bruises on his neck, left there by Lestat. They had turned a sallow greenish brown over the past three days from their previous deep red and purple. Louis quickly leaned over and snatched up his scarf again, hastily retying it.
By the time Claire arrived with his coffee and plate of cakes, there was nothing left to see, and once again she smiled as if he were her very favorite customer. She set the dishes before him, the cup on its saucer positioned perfectly with its handle in a precise right angle to Louis’s seat.
“Here you are, Monsieur. An excellent choice today. Madame Durant has surpassed herself with the financiers, if I do say so myself.” Claire lifted a finger to her plump pink lips and glanced in the direction of the back door that led to the kitchens. “But if she hears that, they’ll never be the same again.” She gave Louis a smile then that was far too familiar for any regular customer, as if they were secretly the best of friends.
Louis wrapped his hands around the coffee cup and breathed in the scent of the brew along with the aromatic steam, liking the way it began to warm him so much faster than it had when he had been a vampire. True to her word, the small cake was a masterful mingling of flavors, buttery and sweet, not too dry nor too moist, the blueberries melting on his tongue. He swallowed it, then took a sip of the coffee far too quickly, and tried in vain to hide his reaction to the way the coffee seared his tongue and the back of his throat as it went down. He coughed once, the sound short and quick, muffled by his free hand, then sat the cup back down.
He glanced back up at the girl. She was beaming down at him still, stupidly happy, and Louis wondered why it seemed she was positively glowing just to look at him. “Hot but good,” he said, awkwardly, hoarsely, with a nod.
A pleased shimmer came to her eyes at the compliment. “Do you need a glass of water?” she offered, though despite his cough, it seemed very much like it could be an excuse to just linger around him a bit longer. “I’ll get you some water!” She bustled off before he could object.
When she returned half a minute later with a small bottle of sparkling water, she set a crystal glass beside his saucer and then unscrewed the cap to pour it for him. “What brings you down to the square today?” she asked brightly. The question earned her a chastising look from the woman at the other table, but Claire didn’t seem to notice.
“The stables,” Louis answered, trying his best not to sound annoyed. He’d known on some level this might happen by coming in here, but imagined even if she was on shift, she could hardly want to spend her time talking this much to him. What exactly had Lestat told her about him to have her acting so enamored? Suddenly he didn’t want to know. “To reserve a horse.”
“Ah, yes! You were looking at the horses the other day, I remember. You must be a very passionate rider.” She gave him another little smile that seemed almost conspiratorial this time, as if she ought to be winking along with it. “Please let me know if there is anything else you would like.” She gestured back to the pastry case. “Like I said, it’s all taken care of. He told me not to charge you a cent.” She seemed beyond elated to be sharing such a connection with Louis as she turned back to her counter. There, she put the cash Louis had left all straight into the brightly colored tip jar and began to wipe down the espresso machine from the coffee she’d made him.
Such a relief for her to let him be to enjoy the rest of his meal in peace, with nothing but the soft café music and the clouds rolling through the sky beyond the frosty window to keep him company, even as much as the news Lestat had expressly forbid her to let him pay for anything vexed him. It only meant they’d certainly been talking about him, and Louis wondered then too, if Lestat had also already visited the stables to tell them to do whatever he said no matter the ask. Why something that should be quite touching annoyed him, Louis could not say.
The financiers were divine at least, true confectionery works of art, even for being so simple. Louis was lost in their taste, finishing the last bite a little while later when Claire turned to say goodbye to the middle-aged couple as they left the café, and then her eyes settled on Louis again.
“Oh, would you happen to be going back up to the chateau?” she asked him. The teenager with the laptop and the headphones continued to not register their presence in the slightest.
Louis flinched, glancing toward her, unable to stop his momentary grimace, which he quickly schooled. “Eventually, yes,” he answered, one brow rising. “Why?”
“I have something,” she said, patting her apron pockets. They were flat and empty, though, which made her laugh at herself a little. “Lestat left it at my place last night, you could bring it back to him. One small moment.” She slipped through the door behind the counter into the kitchen area, humming to herself as she went.
Louis’s cheeks began to burn, and he could only hope the sensation wasn’t causing him to flush. A surge of anger leapt through him, which he pressed down and away quickly, lest it be too apparent on his features. He certainly didn’t need this sort of blatant reminder of Lestat’s dalliances with the girl, even if her very presence was doing just that. He felt his insides twist, and hated himself for it almost immediately. Why should he care? Lestat was ‘chateau nobility’ in any case, and could very well take his pleasure in whatever way he wished, as his right. But the sheer thought of him with Claire, kissing her, caressing her, pushing her up against a wall or into a mattress, whispering to her with that crooked and delicious smile of his, made Louis’s hackles rise and sent his teeth to grinding. Jealousy was a bitter thing indeed, and Louis generally thought himself above such things. In this case, however, he simply could not deny it.
When she returned to his table, she had one of Lestat’s silk neckties in her hand. It was folded in a neat square, but the slippery silver fabric made it fall into a loose pile as she offered it to Louis. Though it was made of expensive material as all of Lestat’s things were, its length was incredibly creased and wrinkled, as if it had been tied in all sorts of knots a necktie normally never saw.
She smiled down at it with a dreamy expression, as if caught in the memories of her time with Lestat yesterday evening. “I wouldn’t bother you, but I know he’s leaving on an overseas trip tonight, and I wasn’t sure if he would need it.”
“He has a thousand more just like it,” Louis quipped too immediately, then pressed his lips together to keep from glaring up at her and to prevent himself adding something like, ‘just like you.’ He didn’t truly want to be outright rude to the girl, really.
Quickly he scooped the tie up and pushed it deep down into his pocket as though the thing were a glaringly loud and highly inappropriate indication of every little tiny detail of what she and Lestat had gotten up to last night. Louis couldn’t help glancing at her wrists then, as damnably crude as the impulse was, and his eyes widened at the telltale marks he could see peeking out beneath her long sleeves. He felt himself flush all over again, and felt too the betrayal of his sudden arousal, for how this knowledge led his thoughts hurtling off down an entirely different path.
Thank God his napkin was in his lap.
His cheeks red, he looked up at her, locking their gazes. “Please tell me he’s at least practicing some modicum of safety with you,” he breathed despite his reservations, despite his anger and despite his longing that Lestat would debauch him in such a ruthless way. His bottom lip trembled as he stared at her and he thanked whatever force now truly governed his actions in the universe that he had kept his voice civil and calm.
A soft pink leapt to her cheeks, and she bit her lip, though she did not look in any way offended, just caught off-guard. Then a note of appreciation came to her eyes, as if assuming Louis were only some protective gentleman, worried after the wellbeing of a vulnerable young lady. “Ah, no, it’s all right,” she assured him with a somewhat bashful smile, waving a hand lightly in the air. “I’m on the pill.” Clearly, she had misunderstood the reason for Louis’s question. If she was even aware of the marks ringing her wrists at all, she gave no sign.
Louis blinked, confused. The pill? It took him several seconds to realize what she had meant by ‘the pill,’ and when he finally did, a whole new feeling washed over him. Outrage, scandal, perhaps even disgust, all such unbecoming feelings, and so uncharitable of him. But they were human now, mortal as anyone, and there were so many unfortunate things they might risk upon themselves apart from accidental pregnancy.
“That’s not… I didn’t… No. Absolutely not,” he blurted, stumbling over his thoughts, shaking his head, raising a hand to her and averting his eyes with embarrassed agony to look down at his empty plate.
Her brow furrowed in intense confusion, though her expression wasn’t unsympathetic. She seemed not to know what to do or say for a moment, her mouth opening then closing again.
Finally, her hand appeared in his field of vision to quietly take the plate and fork. She stepped back from the table but then paused. “I know the two of you are close,” she said, her tone sounding almost apologetic, as if offering a reason for why she felt comfortable talking to him about her affair with Lestat at all. Then she spared him any further discomfort by taking the dishes back behind the counter and into the kitchen to put with the washing.
Louis hastily downed the remains of his coffee, then did his best to press his feelings of stupidity, anger and embarrassment equally down and away, so that he might gather some shred of decency back to himself. He needed to get back to the chateau, to pack for their trip to Rio, but the thought of what it would do to his insides to face Lestat now and having to confront him about his indiscretion, bordered on excruciating. Louis stood, scooped up his coat and began to put it on.
Before he could make it out of the shop, the kitchen door swung open again, and Claire emerged. Her attention was on the phone in her hands, her thumbs brushing over the screen as she texted, a faintly giddy smile now on her face. As she slipped the phone into her apron pocket and took her place at the register, her eyes caught Louis’s. “Have a good afternoon, Philippe,” she said to him, her smile shifting to one of repressed amusement.
Louis was about to go up to the counter, to apologize profusely for his indiscretion, to explain that he had been asking about the faint bruising on her wrists and not about anything more. But the phone in her pocket chimed, and she drew it out again. Whatever message was on the screen made her press a hand over her mouth to stifle a girlish laugh, and this stopped Louis in his tracks.
He managed an awkward, “Good afternoon,” for her, nodded curtly, and then swept out of the café, fastening his coat about himself and tugging on his gloves. His footfalls were heavy, his steps hurried as he made his way across the square toward the pathway and road that would take him back up to the damned chateau.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and K.
Chapter 84: Truly Lovers Now
Summary:
Gregory is excited to spend the weekend romancing Lestat, but when he finds out Lestat is going to Rio with Louis instead, his jealousy flares.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As the sun dipped below the Paris city skyline, Gregory relaxed into the leather of his executive chair and reached for his phone where it lay among the files on the polished mahogany desk before him. Having spent so many days at sea, hunting treasure with Armand, he’d returned to a few corporate fires that needed putting out. The hours had been long, filled with a whirlwind of important decisions and boardroom meetings. But now the day was done, the weekend officially begun, and he was relieved to have the silence and escape his office provided, much as he did love his work.
Gregory had tried to reach Lestat first thing that morning when they got off the boat, only to get his voice mail. Luckily the day had been so busy on his side that he’d had little time to wonder why Lestat had not picked up his call. Now Friday was over and Gregory had their weekend plans all laid out. Reservations made. Fancy hotel suite prepared. Lestat and he would be spending the next two days falling in love and sharing every minute. Giddy schoolboy excitement swelled within him.
Loosening the silk tie at his throat, Gregory stretched his legs out, resting the expensive leather soles of his shoes up on the corner of his desk. The call dialed through to Lestat’s phone and he waited expectantly as it rang, a small smile on his face. Too many days he’d been longing to hear Lestat’s voice again.
At 30,000 feet above France, and climbing, Lestat’s phone nearly shot out of his slippery hands when it buzzed with the incoming call. He’d been gripping it fiercely, teeth clenched, as he stared rigidly out the small oval window, the world growing terrifyingly tiny beneath the rented private jet, and the sun nearly gone over the western horizon.
He fumbled for the phone, catching it with his knees, and then the sight of Gregory’s name on the screen was an excruciatingly welcome distraction. It took him three swipe attempts to answer, his fingers leaving moist streaks on the glass.
“Well, hello,” he said breathlessly, his gaze still cemented to the window, as if a missile might come screaming at it the second he looked away. “Why didn’t you send me any more pictures? You expect me to survive off only one?”
Gregory’s smile immediately widened. Any stress left over from the day melted from his body at the sound of that masculine, slightly breathy, voice. “I didn’t want to flood your phone with too much of my charm,” he replied with a soft laugh. “Anyway, you don’t need selfies when you have the real thing. I’m back on land, if you didn’t know yet. Tried to call you this morning.” His gaze settled on the floor-length office windows, watching the last of the sun’s glow dissolve below the horizon. “I missed you.”
Lestat might have laughed if he weren’t concentrating on every breath in and out to keep from hyperventilating. God, not even fifteen minutes in the air, and he could use a drink. As soon as the jet reached cruising altitude, he planned to get out of his wide leather seat and either convert one of the couches into its bed form or even claim the single private bedroom in the back for himself and do his best to be unconscious for the full eleven hours of the transatlantic flight to Rio.
He had no idea how the others were holding up through this harrowing experience. He couldn’t bring himself to look, and the noise of the engines was too loud to make out any words in the soft murmuring between them in the other areas of the jet’s living room-like seating lounge. Truly this wonder of a plane was almost like a house. But he’d need to get through one of those bottles of champagne on ice up near the cockpit door before he’d be able to enjoy it.
“I figured as much when Armand came home this morning.” There might have been a slight edge to Lestat’s voice on that word home, considering how Gregory chose to live in Paris instead of at the chateau with the rest of them. “He told me you threw him off the boat to the sharks.”
Gregory hesitated, wondering if that was in fact what Armand had told Lestat. And then his traitorous brain flipped right to the memory of Armand’s hot mouth on his dick. Instantly, blood rushed to his groin. He shut his eyes and rubbed at them, as if that might get the memory out and set him back in the present.
“Sharks!?” he barked out and laughed, possibly too loudly.
Damn it! Don’t ruin this already! He mentally chastised himself. Over a blow job?! No!
He cleared his throat and focused again on the plan for the weekend. “No. A whale was there… A few whales. Not a big deal. He fell in with them. I got him out. We found the treasure. Everything was great.”
Oh no, did that sound flippant? Fake? Wasn’t that what mortals said today? Fake? Did Lestat hear it in his voice? Fortunately, Lestat was far too preoccupied with his own anxiety to pick up on Gregory’s.
“So, you were in Paris… With Louis?” he asked, changing the topic.
Lestat’s gaze shot over to Louis in his chair on the opposite side of the plane. He looked dour and tense. Lestat could hardly blame him while they were in a metal tube that could possibly explode in the sky at any moment, but it was a stark contrast to the lightness and buoyancy that had filled Louis two days ago in the Parisian bookshops and as he glided through the Louvre in a state of wonder and ecstasy. It had been a sort of exquisite torture, seeing Louis so happy and comfortable in the daylight world, fitting right in among the humans.
“Mmmhm. It was such a beautiful day for it too.” Cold of course, but the sky had been crisp blue and the sunlight glittered off the frost coating the bare branches of the trees lining the boulevards. “He bought far too many books. I’m surprised the helicopter could even take off when we went home the next morning.” How many of them had Louis packed in his luggage for Rio? Lestat certainly didn’t intend to let him spend the whole tropical weekend reading.
A bit of Gregory’s giddiness melted. He’d asked, begged almost, for Lestat to go to Paris with him, but it had been bad timing all around, with his treasure hunt already scheduled. “Next morning,” he repeated. So, there had been an overnight with Louis, in Paris. Now his great romantic weekend in the city of love seemed not so grand. Not if Lestat had just been here overnight.
“I’m glad you got out of the old castle and into the world,” he commented. “I hope you didn’t have to spend all your time in bookshops,” with Louis, he managed to censor himself from saying.
Lestat laughed a little. This was helping. Gregory’s familiar, friendly voice in his ear, the memories of his glittering day in Paris, it was all making the misery of his surroundings fade into the background. “We hit the Louvre,” he said. “Is that how young people say it now? Hit it? Toured through all our old favorites to see how they were to our mortal eyes. They were…different.” Lestat’s free hand scrubbed back through his hair. He wasn’t sure if Louis and Benedict could hear him, and he didn’t want to say anything negative about the trip in their earshot. “The food was an incalculable improvement over what we manage at home. We had just the right amount of wine, and the best duck I’ve ever tasted… Hmm… Not that I’ve had duck in over two hundred years. You had a five-star chef on your little pirate ship, I’m sure.”
Gregory found himself listening with his whole body, soaking in Lestat’s words and basking in the sound of his voice, forgetting his flustered state of only a few seconds ago. “Yes, I have an excellent staff on the yacht, including the cook. Sadly, Armand eats like a mouse. I don’t know why. I want all the foods I never got to indulge in as a human. I’m bound to gain some weight from all the gluttony.” Gregory chuckled at this. “Six thousand years I haven’t had to worry about weight gain. Such things we take for granted.”
His assistant, who he’d thought had left already, entered his office and slid a document in front of him. She pointed firmly at a line for him to sign on. Gregory dropped his feet from the desk corner and leaned forward, pen in hand. Quickly he scribbled his name and she exited with the paper, shutting the door behind her again.
“I’m sorry, I was distracted,” Gregory apologized and cleared his throat. “I want to see you. When can you get here, to Paris? Tonight, or tomorrow morning? I’ve arranged everything; we have reservations at some of the best restaurants, and I thought we might go to this particular club tomorrow night. I’ve been hearing rave reviews and I want to experience it all with you. You’ll come, won’t you?” Why he even added that last question he didn’t know. Of course, Lestat would come. They were truly lovers now.
The plans all sounded so attractive, that for a moment, Lestat forgot he was on a jet heading five thousand miles in the opposite direction. Gregory really was eager to spend time with him, wasn’t he? And not just in bed as they had been so far. Compared to shy Benedict and reserved Louis, Lestat imagined Gregory would be enormous fun to spend a night with out on the town. Who knew who they might meet at the sort of club a billionaire business tycoon would be drawn to!
He was already thinking about what he might wear, before what Gregory said about the timing caught up to him. “What, tomorrow?” He laughed breathlessly and leaned back in his seat, shooting a threatening look out the window as if daring the dark sky to try to do anything suspect. “Tomorrow won’t work, I’m afraid.”
Gregory gave a small laugh. Certainly Lestat was joking with him. Playing the hard-to-get flirtation to see how Gregory would react. “No? I suppose my invitation didn’t fully express my desire for your company,” he purred seductively into the phone. “I want to be in your presence. I want to talk about anything and everything with you. I want to share all these new mortal experiences with you. Let’s explore things we never thought we could before. I want to dine with you, walk the city streets and shops, drink, dance. I spent too many of the past nights remembering our last weekend, your taste, the feel of your body against mine. I need you again. Please, my love, come share the weekend with me again.”
As he went on, Lestat had slowly begun to sink down in his seat, and by the end, his face was feeling rather warm. He bit the side of his finger as he entertained the idea of telling the pilot to turn the plane right around and drop him off in Paris instead.
“Come to Rio,” he blurted. “If you arrange it now, you won’t be very far behind me at all. We only took off twenty minutes ago. We’ll have just as much fun there.”
“Rio! You’re going to Rio— You’re on a plane right now?” Gregory’s heart sank right out of him. Lestat had not been chaffing to see him? Had not at all anticipated a weekend with him. Had in fact jumped on a plane for South America instead.
Gregory stared in silence at the desk before him. He hadn’t tried hard enough today to contact Lestat. How stupid and foolish he felt now. All his plans to be alone with him…
“Why are you going to Rio?” he asked, trying not to sound dejected. “Are you alone?”
“Of course I’m not alone,” Lestat reassured him, thinking Gregory was only worried about his safety. “Cyril goes where I go, though I convinced Thorne to stay back at the chateau to look after things. And Louis’s here, of course. We’re delivering Armand to Marius there and then intend to make the absolute most of the tropical warmth while we can.” Lestat had been confused and disappointed this afternoon when Benedict firmly decided he would stay behind at the castle. But the rest of them would have a marvelous time, he was determined.
Gregory didn’t like the sound of this. Why did Armand need such an escort? Didn’t Marius have a private jet with perfectly capable pilots to fly his fledgling? It sounded as if half the court was up in the air right now, flying off to the beaches. No one had informed him of such a trip.
“Follow me, Gregory,” Lestat urged, his voice low and enticing.
“Why is Louis going too?” Gregory asked the real question that plagued him. Hadn’t Lestat spent the entirety of last weekend in passionate bliss with Gregory? “Are you sleeping with him?”
One of Lestat’s eyebrows went up. What was this about? His gaze shifted again to seek Louis out of the corner of his eyes. His head was turned, and Lestat could see nothing of his face beyond his rich black hair, especially from his now slouched position in his seat.
“You said you didn’t want to know,” he reminded Gregory.
Had he said that? His mortal brain, while amazing, did seem to forget things more quickly. It was a wise thing, though, not knowing such details. But the thought that Lestat was in fact regularly sleeping with Louis now set Gregory’s possessive tendencies on high alert. Louis wasn’t Lestat’s fledgling any longer. That Blood connection was no more. They were a terrible match, and had proven it time and again.
“Need I remind you of my many declarations to you last weekend, my Prince, my Lestat?” he said, his words deeply sensual.
Gregory drew in a deep breath, held it, and gave a great exhale. He glared at the windows, the Paris city lights glowing pink against the clouds. They should be out there together right now. Not one of them on a plane and the other thousands of miles away. “Lestat,” Gregory began, raking a hand back through his dark hair and standing up from his chair so he might pace a bit. “I genuinely want more time with you in my life. This isn’t a silly affair. I think we share a deep connection, and I’m not going to give up on you. I’m texting my pilot now to get the jet warmed up and ready for a flight to Rio. I’ll call you when I land. Where are you staying?”
Lestat blinked, genuinely confused. What did anything Gregory was saying have to do with Louis? His hand came up to rub at his forehead, feeling the deep perplexed furrows between his brows. So soft and fleshy, he hated them.
“With Marius,” he managed to say after a moment, to buy himself a little more time to try to understand what Gregory said before the question. It was all true, yes, basic, but why say it that way? And what leap of logic got Gregory there from Louis? Nothing about any of this was silly. Gregory had become one of his closest friends and confidantes since the night they’d first met at Trinity Gate a year and a half ago. Nothing about being human changed that…other than how much more a pain in the neck travel was to see each other. But it wasn’t Lestat’s fault Gregory chose to live four hundred kilometers away from him or that he’d gone out to sea for three days.
Of course, thought Gregory. Marius wanted a house party in his Rio home. Why had Gregory only just been told of it? Well, why should they have told him? He was always so involved with his company. They must have not felt he would even be interested. But Lestat… Gregory thought they were at least at a level of telling one another these things. Perhaps he was just too accustomed to the perfect communication he shared with his wife… Gregory frowned. Was she still his wife? Wouldn’t she always be? Even if they no longer shared eternity?
Gregory shook these thoughts from his head. He wouldn’t go down that dark path right now. He had a company headquarters in Rio, as he did in many of the world’s major cities. He’d duck in for a surprise visit while there. Write this all off as a business trip. Convince Lestat to stay with him in one of the five-star hotels he owned there.
“I guess I do need you to remind me,” Lestat finally said with a flirtatious lilt.
Gregory’s whole body thrilled at that tone in Lestat’s voice. “I’ll be happy to remind you. Many times,” he crooned. “Tell me… Are you alone right now?”
This time Lestat’s gaze swept all the others in the seating lounge. Cyril was watching him with a faintly amused smirk on his face that Lestat refused to acknowledge. Armand was sitting in front of him and Lestat couldn’t see anything but a bit of his hair. Louis, he guessed, was reading. The pretty flight attendant up by the bulkhead was strapped into her seat rather stiffly, clearly doing her best not to stare at any of them, her fingers twitching on her smoothly stockinged knees.
“There’s the bedroom in the back,” Lestat told Gregory. “But I can’t go shut myself in it until the captain gives the all clear.” Well, technically, he could. Who would actually try to stop him from unfastening his seatbelt? But Lestat was too concerned with not dying right now to risk it, no matter how the tone of Gregory’s question intrigued him.
A laugh bubbled up from Gregory, thinking of Lestat obeying this one rule when he’d so blatantly broken far more important ones in his life. “Okay, no phone sex on the plane. I get it.” He found his overcoat and checked his pockets for his wallet. Yes, he had all he needed.
Lestat wasn’t sure he liked the idea of phone sex. What did it even entail? He’d never been one for pleasuring himself, much preferring to carry out his erotic experiments with others. He wasn’t sure Gregory’s voice in his ear would be enough. Perhaps if he turned on his camera…
He was so caught up in pondering this that he almost missed Gregory’s next words:
“I have a plane to catch myself, anyway. I’ll have a suite waiting for us at Copacabana Palace. See you soon,” he promised.
“Wait!” Lestat pushed himself up in his seat. He didn’t know why he said it. Maybe he just didn’t want to go back to sitting here in silence with nothing but the dark expanse of open sky beyond the little window. But he didn’t know what else to say, and the pause was stretching too long. So he finally just muttered, “See you soon.”
Gregory paused, one hand on the office door knob, the other holding his phone. There was a certain edge to Lestat’s voice that was foreign to hear. Was it fear? No. Impossible. But perhaps nervousness. “Lestat, you will see me soon,” he replied firmly. “Get some alcohol in you when that seatbelt sign turns off. And think about that flight attendant that must be there. They fly so often on so many flights every day. They go decades doing it and retire from it. That plane is safe. I promise you.”
“Yeah, yeah…” Lestat rubbed hard at his eyes. Marius and Bianca had made this flight just fine four days ago. Logically, he knew it was all fine, but somehow his body and adrenaline couldn’t get on board. He didn’t want to keep Gregory from getting to his own jet, though, so Lestat was already glancing around the lounge for inspiration for some new form of distraction once he hung up. Alcohol would definitely be happening. “You can help me forget all about it in the morning.”
Gregory was already heading out of his building and to the elevators. “It would be my pleasure to help you forget. And I promise you, I’ll get some meds to help you remain anxiety-free before you have to catch the flight back. Even better, you’ll fly back with me in my plane.” He punched the button to make the elevator open, glancing at his watch as he did so. “I bet my little executive jet gets to Rio before yours.” Gregory gave another amused chuckle. With a few more words of promise to see him soon, Gregory hung up, certain Lestat would be drunk and listening to Louis read books to him for the next ten hours.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and D
Chapter 85: Filthy Disgusting Pieces
Summary:
Furious with his knowledge of Lestat's behavior with the village girl, Louis tries to soundly scold him. Too bad he forgot how quickly fights between them tend to turn erotic. Explicit.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Louis leaned his forehead against the cool airplane window, his thoughts all a-jumble. One of the books he’d purchased in Paris was open in his lap, but he had barely read two pages for the way his mind would not let him think past Lestat’s dalliances with Mademoiselle Boulamgerie.
They were using no protection, whatsoever? None at all? Forget that modern birth control pills could fail for a myriad of reasons, but the way such intimate diseases were so rampant now had Louis on edge and had him thinking such terrible things about Claire’s possible discretion or lack thereof, that he felt half mad with guilt for being so uncharitable where the young lady was concerned.
A glass of champagne appeared under his nose, held in a familiar hand. “You look like you need this,” Lestat said from over his shoulder as his weight sank against the back of Louis’s chair. Lestat had already finished a glass of his own as soon as the attendant began to pour. He wanted another, but not until he saw that Louis had some too.
Louis glanced up, his expression tortured and unnerved, his eyes large and stricken. He took the flute almost reverently in hand, holding it for a few moments before hazarding a sip, then a gulp.
“Thank you,” he managed, once he had downed half the glass, when what he really wanted to say was, ‘Damn you!’ instead.
Lestat beckoned the attendant near and took the bottle from her with polite thanks. There wasn’t much left, but he topped off Louis’s glass to the brim, which made Louis’s eyes narrow, and then he poured the rest into his own empty one, which he finished with one swallow. “I think there’s another in the bedroom,” he said with a frown as he set the bottle aside. “Let’s go look.” Never mind that she was back up front already opening a fresh bottle as well. Cyril and Armand could share that one.
Louis’s eyes shot upward to look at him, suspicion behind his narrowed gaze. Traitorous loins be damned, as with just the mere mention of the bedroom, Louis felt his heartbeat skip. But no, they needed to speak, and seriously, and Louis had half a mind to refuse going to that room if for no other reason than avoiding Lestat’s new enticing mortal magnetism when near a bed most especially.
He hesitated, then sighed. He hardly wanted to discuss any of what was on his mind in front of the others, if at all, and the privacy of another room would have to suffice. His book discarded, Louis undid his seatbelt with one hand, while balancing the glass in the other, stood and followed Lestat back to the bedroom in this overly opulent modern marvel of a plane.
“I can’t believe you,” Louis said curtly, as soon as they were behind closed doors.
Lestat was already pulling the bottle of champagne out of the ice bucket beside the bed, but he paused and glanced back at Louis. Well, didn’t he look angry. Lestat’s thoughts flashed back over the last couple days since they’d come home from Paris, trying to figure out what he could have possibly done this time, but he came up blank. Had Louis overheard his phone conversation with Gregory? Lestat couldn’t think of anything he’d said then that would upset him either.
He turned back to the bottle, twisting the wire off the cork. “Hold on, I’ll definitely need a drink before whatever this is,” he said as if an eye roll could be words.
“Your dalliances with the bakery girl have gone quite too far! What if she’s diseased?” Louis hissed, ignoring completely the request to wait. Lestat had already had a glass anyhow, and Louis looked down at his own full flute, then took a hearty drag from it, swallowing as if that would somehow gird his loins for what surely would be an argument to come. “The least you could do is use protection. It’s much more sanitary now, and worlds more effective than ‘skin’ of old! Haven’t you read? Damn it all!”
Squinting at Louis with a bemused expression, Lestat popped the champagne cork with one thumb, catching it deftly in his other hand without taking his eyes off him. Tossing the cork over his shoulder where it bounced onto the bed, he picked up his flute again and poured it three quarters full, then took a long drink before he finally deigned to answer Louis.
“I know all about modern prophylactics,” he said evenly. “She doesn’t want to use them. I offered. She manages things her own way. Are you seriously worried that sweet young lady is going to give me a disease?” he asked as if it was the most ridiculous fear, like she might as well have sprung up fresh and pure out of the mountain snow five minutes before Lestat met her.
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about. You don’t know where she’s been!” Louis snapped, the liquid in his glass sloshing with his emotion. “And furthermore, if you know all about modern methods as you so claim, then you sure as hell know that those pills can fail. Worse still, she may want them to! And don’t you dare tell me you don’t think she’s capable of that sort of duplicity. She’s besotted with you!”
“Why do you care?” Lestat snapped, though he still looked more confused than at all angry yet. “You don’t know her at all. But even if I have her all wrong and she’s some scheming strumpet who wants to get me on the hook for a payout, so what? I have the money for it.”
“Because I’d prefer to enjoy this new century without contracting some God-forsaken rot, that’s why!” Louis trembled with the volume of his voice and slammed his glass down in the process, thankfully not too hard to rend it shattered. Steeling himself, he pressed his lips together and ran his hands back through the hair at his temples as though he might just rip it out. His cheeks were flushed, and he hoped he hadn’t yelled loud enough that the others heard him.
Lestat’s eyes went down to Louis’s glass, then back up to him, as if to ask, really? He took his time to drink the rest of the champagne in his own, then he set it on the table by the head of the bed to give Louis his full attention.
“She doesn’t have syphilis, Louis.” Lestat smirked as his eyes roved over Louis, as if he were feeling smug that Louis was thinking right now about having sex with him in order to arrive at this concern, when just a minute ago, he was claiming to be worried about bastard children. “Or anything else I could catch. I’ve always provided the best health services for my people. She wouldn’t lie to me, she’s not that desperate. And she doesn’t know who I am, not really,” he added as he walked toward Louis, coming closer with each word. “She just thinks I have some wealthy distant uncle. No reason to be besotted, as you say. Other than perhaps she just likes to have fun? What do you have against fun, Louis?”
“Get away from me,” Louis snapped, but his eyes never left Lestat’s, and he seemed rooted to the spot, did not even try to back up or turn away as Lestat grew nearer by the second. “I don’t want your fun if it’s already had its roll in bakery flour.”
Lestat scoffed, pretending to be offended. He lifted his hands, as if he’d put them on Louis at any moment, his fingers wiggling in the air. “So now you’re afraid to touch me? I could be riddled with all sorts of human infections. You’d better stay very far away from now on, I suppose.” He was only inches from Louis now.
“Stop it,” Louis groused, glaring. “Damn you! Touch me all you want, but if you think I’m letting you put that anywhere near me…” Louis couldn’t finish his sentence, having pointedly looked down at Lestat’s crotch, his words dying in his throat, his insides twisting with the realization that his resolve was not so ironclad as he would like.
Lestat made a snorting sound as he held in a laugh, and his eyebrows went up, so amused and very poorly trying to keep a straight face. “Have it your way,” he said, knowing full well he’d have his own way in the end, just like he always did.
Catching Louis by the wrists, Lestat tugged him close so that their chests were touching lightly. He inhaled the scent of Louis’s hair at his temple, the tip of his nose tracing against his cheek. He was thinking about how little Louis had reacted to the kiss Lestat laid on him the other night in his Paris hotel room, and how Louis had chosen to tease him instead. “My mouth could be full of diseases too, you know,” he said an inch from his skin, his champagne fragrant breath hitting Louis’s cheek softly. “I’d better not touch you with that, either.”
Louis shut his eyes as if he might shrink away, but he remained, upright, stiff as a board, trying with every ounce of his new mortal being not to have any of the traitorous reactions that so easily came to him now. He inhaled slowly, breathing in the scent of Lestat’s hair and cologne, frustration on his features, something he might have better hidden before.
“I don’t want to think about what you’ve done with that mouth,” he seethed, his thoughts branching off in all manner of directions, imagining Lestat’s tongue entangled in so many different ways with so many others, and how it was both disgustingly appalling as well as delectably enticing. Damn him.
Lestat laughed low at his ear, pressing the top half of his face against Louis’s, but keeping his lips an inch away, and his hands slowly twisted Louis’s wrists. As funny as it was, though, the inside of Lestat’s chest cinched in his pain. Louis has always been judgmental and derisive of the way Lestat behaved with humans, but that was because lives were on the line. There was no cruelty or betrayal involved with Claire. Lestat was a perfect gentleman with her, nothing for Louis’s moral superiority to snub.
No, this was different. Louis was upset on his own behalf now, not the mortal’s, and he never had felt that way when they were vampires. And so he would keep Lestat at a distance now? And there wasn’t even any ‘until.’ The crime had already been committed as far as Louis was concerned. No undoing it now.
Well, fine. But if Louis thought Lestat was just going to walk away, he had another thing coming.
His hands slid up Louis’s arms to take him by the shoulders, and then Lestat twisted him around so that Louis’s back was to his chest. His arms went around Louis’s wait to hold his body tight against him. “There, is that better?” he said into Louis’s hair. “Are you safe from all my filthy, disgusting pieces?” Meanwhile his hands ran over Louis’s stomach and chest, and one untucked his shirt and slid up against his skin while the other dipped into his waistband. “Oh, should I go wash my hands? Sanitize them with alcohol gel? Or would you prefer latex gloves?”
A sound not unlike a moan broke forth from Louis’s lips, and he shifted beneath Lestat’s hands, his chest heaving, his hands seeking Lestat’s arms as though he might pull them off, when instead they only held loosely to his forearms with no attempt to dissuade his roaming touch.
“Call it off with her,” Louis whispered, his back arching as he drew in a short breath. “Or use a damn condom if you can’t satisfy yourself with…with the intimate company among us.” He sounded more perturbed than angry, flustered and writhing in an attempt to gain some balance to the situation.
God, it was hardly any use protesting as a mortal man beneath Lestat’s attentions. He had to know it, too, the way he was touching Louis, teasing him. This was payback for Paris. It had to be.
“Lestat, don’t…” Louis whined, gasping shortly. But his heart was hardly in it, and he held fast to Lestat’s arms, pressing his touch more tightly to himself, silently begging him not to let go.
Lestat’s fingers were curling into the hair below Louis’s stomach, his fingertips just barely brushing the base of his desire as he breathed in the scent of Louis’s hair, then nuzzling under it, then his throat.
“Don’t what?” he asked, his breath hot against Louis’s skin. “Do this?” His hands came out to unfasten Louis’s belt and open his trousers. “Or this?” One slid back into his underwear and caressed his cock to stroke it to life. “Tell me what not to do, Louis. Hm? Just what is it I should stop?” Meanwhile, Lestat’s hips ground into Louis’s backside as he writhed.
“Damn you! Damn you to hell!” Louis whispered low in French, his voice enflamed with desire, his hips spasming as he fought with himself to keep from rutting into Lestat’s hand outright as it stroked him so devilishly. “I hate you,” he whined. It sounded like a love song, full of longing, the sentiment within it the exact opposite of the words.
“Promise me you’ll be more careful, that you’ll think of the consequences for once.” Louis drew in a ragged breath as if he might actually shed tears. “It’s not just about you, you know! Think of me!” And with these words he gave into his desire, pushing himself against Lestat’s hand to increase the friction, his hips rolling, the contact between them from both directions quickening his blood ever more so.
“Oh, I am,” Lestat said as if it were a curse, his voice low.
Even though he had only begun this to torment Louis, he couldn’t help being aroused by how easily and readily Louis came undone under his touch. Was Louis just like this with anyone as a mortal? How could Lestat know? He didn’t think Louis had been very adventurous since they’d become human, but the way he’d mentioned ‘the intimate company among us,’ had him wondering what he got up to right at home.
His arm tightened around Louis’s chest possessively, and he pushed his face down into the curve of Louis’s throat, his breath coming faster. He had to clench his teeth to keep his mouth from opening, wanting desperately to taste his skin, to suck on it, to leave more of those wicked little bruises that let anyone who saw them know that Lestat had been there. Shuddering, his own hardening organ inside his jeans moved rhythmically against the groove at the back of Louis’s trousers, and his wrist strained at the elastic of Louis’s underwear as he fisted him all the more mercilessly.
More curses in French slid past Louis’s lips as his head pulled back against Lestat’s shoulder craning his neck as though he were expecting Lestat to sink in his fangs and devour him. But that was impossible now, and his hardness in Lestat’s hand throbbing was all the more glaring a reminder. Louis thought he might actually come then and there just from imagining Lestat’s fangs buried deep, but he clenched his hold on Lestat’s arms and willed himself back from the precipice.
“Slower, not yet, I’m not…” he begged, this time tugging at Lestat’s forearm to urge his hand shoved in his pants to slow down, to take it easier. “Not ready. Can’t…” Louis managed between breaths and sighs and desperate writhing.
“What’s that?” Lestat said on the edge of his breath, as if he’d been far too distracted and hadn’t heard Louis at all. A particularly rapturous undulation of Louis’s hips against him made a bolt of electricity crackle up Lestat’s spine to the base of his skull, but he bit back the gasp it inspired. “Not? Yes… Of course.” His hand on Louis’s erection came to a stop, though the nails of Lestat’s other hand raked across Louis’s chest under his shirt with the effort it took him to manage the restraint. “You’re right,” he panted, and he let go of Louis, pulling his hand back up to his stomach, as if Louis had asked him to stop completely instead of just slow down. “After all, none of it is truly safe, is it?”
“That’s not what I…” Louis started only to pause when another shudder wracked him from head to toe. His erection, left as it was suddenly, was thick and wanting and he groaned aloud for it. “I only meant…” Another groan, and Louis twisted in Lestat’s arms, bringing them face to face again, their cocks pressed to one another beneath their clothing. Louis held fast to him with both arms, his lips brushing against Lestat’s as he whispered harshly. “For you to slow down,” he finished, nipping Lestat’s lips with grazed teeth.
Somehow Lestat managed to keep his mouth firmly shut as Louis’s touched it. The effort made a sound not unlike a whimper come from the back of his throat. His hands came to Louis’s shoulders and he pushed back to make space between them, though he couldn’t escape Louis’s clinging arms.
“Promise me you’ll be more careful! Promise me!” Louis seethed, pawing at Lestat’s shoulders, his back and his sides, tugging at the fabric of his shirt all the while, but too restrained even now, despite his trembling, to try to get it off of him.
“I am careful!” he hissed, angry at Louis for how badly he wanted to clutch him by the hips and grind against him, at how fast his heart was pumping now, his breath heavy, for having this effect on him no matter how he tried to hold back. “Do you think I want to get sick? I almost died from sickness last time I was mortal! She’s not diseased, Louis. I have her god damned medical records.”
Louis’s eyes widened in shock, but how he had managed to overlook this was almost more shocking to him. How inexplicably unsettling it was to imagine that Lestat likely had every single record on file for each and every one of his villagers. Living so close to a castle full of vampires, of course it was essential to know everything about the inhabitants below. Still, he quite frankly hadn’t expected Lestat to actually keep up with it all. Louis blinked, his momentum slowing for the way this revelation knocked the wind from his anger-laden sails.
“Why didn’t you damn well tell me that in the first place?” he growled, then he shoved Lestat backward onto the bed. He was furious all over again, imagining how Lestat was likely enjoying every ounce of his ire, and drawing it out just to see how Louis would react. That didn’t stop Louis climbing immediately on top of him, though, straddling Lestat’s hips, emboldened by his fury.
“You just want me to be angry! You’re doing it all on purpose, pushing me until I’m half mad for it, just to see what I’ll do!” Their hips flush, Louis sucked in a breath to keep from making the lewdest of sounds, though he couldn’t stop the slow telltale roll of his arousal against Lestat’s, delicious friction spreading between them.
“You do it to yourself,” Lestat snapped as he regained the breath the fall had knocked out of him. Truth be told, he was rattled by how easily Louis has been able to knock him down. “You’re always doing it to yourself!” His hands came up to try to shove Louis off him but lost all resolve when Louis ground against him again. Instead, his fists just gripped Louis’s loose shirt, and his head fell back against the bed, his back arching as he did nothing at all to contain his own lewd sound.
“You should give me more credit,” he snapped between panting breaths. “You don’t trust me. You think I’m some idiot who will just go off and get himself killed. You sanctimonious, condescending bastard! You forget that I have more experience at this than any of you. You forget—ah!” Lestat’s angry words were taken over by a trembling groan caused by the heated friction between them, and he lost his train of thought. His hips bucked up against Louis’s then in attempt to knock him over so that he could gain the upper hand, but Louis was too heavy and too firmly planted for it to have any effect.
“You are an idiot. I know this! But so am I, because I love you! Can’t help but loving you and worrying over your every move, your every whim, which might lead you off down some new and terrible dangerous path, dragging me along with you!” Louis held himself firm, both palms flat on Lestat’s chest to stabilize himself and keep Lestat right where he was. “And don’t you dare think that means I want you to go off without me!” Louis clarified, fire behind his eyes as he stared down at him, his teeth bared. “Don’t you dare leave me! But just think once in a while! If you get yourself killed, you’ll kill me too! Don’t you see!?”
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you!” Lestat’s hands gripped Louis’s wrists, and he tried again to squirm out from under him but to no avail. He felt practically liquid from the waist down, no control over his muscles at all. “How many times have you left me for dead??”
But Lestat had heard Louis say these things before. He knew he was difficult to love, but no matter how much Louis wished he could stop or how hard he tried, he just couldn’t escape it. Was Lestat supposed to feel sorry for him??
Louis’s breath caught. “I only meant it truly, once, only imagined I wouldn’t come back to you that time because I didn’t expect to live.” His voice was quiet now, his expression melting from anger to sorrow throughout the course of his words.
He shook his head, dark hair in his eyes, and his hands at Lestat’s chest softened their press. “I just… Use protection, all right!?” Louis breathed, quiet and somewhat defeated, the fight having somehow left him.
Lestat only glared up at him, his jaw clenched, not about to make any promises. Neither was he moved by Louis’s sorrow. He’d long ago forgiven him for the swamp and the fires and abandoning him the first time he was mortal—At least, he told himself he did. Some nights he wasn’t so sure—But it was Louis’s hypocrisy that rightly pissed him off now. How judgmental he was, always so determined to think the worst of Lestat.
“With you?” he asked, the edge not gone from his voice.
The question stung, and Louis winced, his eyes averting, his grip trembling at Lestat’s shirt. “You should with everyone,” he said, his brows pinched. “But if you won’t, then yes. With me…you must!” He turned his eyes back on Lestat, his gaze fierce, though his voice held a pleading sort of longing within it. He wanted Lestat so badly, wanted to be debauched in every way by him, save the way in which both their now very fragile lives could be endangered.
Lestat’s brows went up, as if to ask Louis if he was sure about that, but the glowering look didn’t leave his eyes. Letting go of his wrists, Lestat’s hands went to Louis’s knees to slide heavily up his thighs. His thumbs met in his groin to rub over the hard, hot bulge beneath his undone fly, making Louis’s breath catch. “Fine,” Lestat finally said, his tone stiff. “I presume you’ll do the same?”
“I’ve only been with you, only you,” Louis said. “Who else would I be with?” he managed, half delirious, unable to think properly for how his blood rushed to all the wrong places.
Lestat wasn’t sure if that was what he wanted to hear. He didn’t want to think about Louis with other people. It was one of those things he always put straight back out of his head whenever he was reminded of Louis’s exploits with others. So he wouldn’t entertain any speculation of the future now. But on the other hand, the idea of Louis being so devoted to him made Lestat anxious, and gave him the sudden compulsion to keep him at arm’s length, lest things become catastrophic between them now that they were mortal.
“But yes,” Louis said, with a small groan. “Yes of course,”
“Yes of course,” Lestat repeated in a nasal mocking tone, and his fingers dug into Louis’s thighs as if he wanted to bruise him, though at the same time, one of his thumbs found its way into the slit of his underwear to stroke flesh to flesh.
A bolt of electric pleasure shot straight up Louis’s spine at that sudden contact, and he flinched, screwing his eyes shut and clamping both hands to his face to cover his unbidden and wanton expression. His hips rolled, pressing ever downward against Lestat’s.
But before anything else could happen, the plane suddenly gave a lurch with a hiccup of turbulence.
It ended the second it began, but still it sent Louis tumbling sideways on the bed, perpendicular to Lestat. Lestat’s heartbeat spiked in terror, and his eyes snapped to the windows, but they were all shuttered. He was very still for a moment, waiting, but when nothing else happened, anger surged through him, and his teeth clenched.
Their hips were still locked, Louis’s legs clamped tight about Lestat’s thighs. Louis didn’t remove his hands from his face, even with the sudden position change and he moaned into his palms, wishing he didn’t care quite so much about decorum or safety or disease or anything save the pleasure he always felt at Lestat’s hands, whether gentle or exacting.
Twisting on the bed, Lestat pushed Louis’s legs apart with his thighs so that he could free himself, bracing up on his knees. Using both hands, he pulled Louis’s away from his face and up over his head so that he could clench his wrists in one grasp and keep him from hiding. This way, every microscopic nuance of his expression was laid bare to Lestat as his free hand then shoved the front of Louis’s underwear down, hooking it under his balls so that Lestat could take his cock in hand again and pick up where they left off before his teasing had made Louis knock him off his feet onto the bed.
Without his hands to stifle his mouth, the moan Louis made was louder than he meant it to be, and he bit his bottom lip to muffle the subsequent mewlings that threatened to pour forth from his lips. A full body tremble overtook him, his back arching off the mattress though his wrists and hips were anchored by Lestat’s hold, the phantom weight of Lestat’s attentions which held Louis firm to the spot, fisting him back to full mast.
Through Louis’s blurred vision, the anger on Lestat’s face was unmistakable, his jaw set with an expression Louis was more than accustomed to. It was having a wholly new effect now, in their shared mortality, the heat between them mounting, the anticipation of release wrought by Lestat’s hand and the way his heartbeat pounded in his chest, echoing in his ears a reminder of the rush of the blood. Or was it the saltiness? Louis must have bitten his lip for that taste on his tongue. A pale shadow this was, yes, but still so all-consuming. A buzzing warmth and surface numbness spread from his groin to his extremities, coloring his cheeks and bringing beads of sweat to his forehead.
“You’ll be the end of me!” he gasped.
“Good,” Lestat grit out. He wanted nothing more. His eyes on Louis were merciless, not giving him even a scrap of illusion of privacy or modesty in this moment. They feasted off every raw and exposed twitch and flutter of all the tiny muscles in Louis’s too mortal face that he couldn’t control in a state such as this. The more beautiful and passionate Louis looked in his salacious throes, the darker grew Lestat’s anger. Anger that they were mortal, anger that they would die, anger that they had to live in fear of such meaningless things as diseases, anger that they’d been entirely robbed of their future. Just when they’d come back together, when they finally had each other again, after all the decades they’d lost and wasted. Gone. Destroyed. It made him want to scream, to sob, and as he held it in, his grip on Louis’s wrists crushed all the harder, grinding his delicate bones together as his other hand worked him relentlessly toward his end, desperate to see him fall apart, as if the rest of his frail, pithy life depended on it.
Straining against Lestat’s grip, Louis let out a stream of muttered French curses. Desperately, he tried to hold himself back, to keep from coming utterly undone in Lestat’s hand, but it was to no avail. His eyes shut tightly, his head pressed to one side, as if he wanted to bury his face in the mattress but could not. His hips gave an involuntary spasm in his climax, an arc of white bubbling forth from between Lestat’s fingers, dotting Louis’s crisp shirt along his stomach with droplets of sticky wetness. Louis groaned, shuddering, tears collecting on his dark lashes, his hair a mess and sticking to his face.
He managed then to wrench his wrists free of Lestat’s hold, but instead of pushing Lestat away, he grabbed onto his shoulders, clinging to the fabric as if he would fall off the bed, though he was soundly anchored there with no risk of it. Pushing his hands up into Lestat’s hair at the back of his neck, Louis let out a choked sob, despite the faint blitzed smile of his lips. “I can’t lose you. Don’t you see how much I need you?”
His eyes finally closing, Lestat let his head fall so that his forehead was propped on Louis’s and he sighed. His hand curled down to slide his fingers through Louis’s hair at the top of his head, clutching it tight while his other hand remained on the base of his stomach with the mess.
He wanted to kiss the tears away at the corner of Louis’s eyes, to cover his whole face with kisses, but he continued to refrain from letting his mouth touch Louis, since he’d claimed to be so disgusted by it. Liar.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered. “I’m not.” But even though he was promising this because he wanted Louis to feel reassured, he wasn’t sure at all how he felt about it himself.
In truth, it frightened him that Louis needed him so desperately. He didn’t know how to be what Louis needed. Louis hadn’t been this clingy and attached to him since their very first life together, when his wretched anxiety would drive him to beg Lestat never to leave him, no matter how bitterly they fought. In the century and a half since then, Louis had learned how to be alone, and found his peace in his solitude. Lestat knew how Louis loved him, of course, that was never in question. But now that they were mortal, what could Lestat even do for him anymore?
He sighed again, biting the inside of his lip to once more refrain from kissing him, and once Louis relaxed, Lestat rolled over to sit up. Reaching to the ice bucket stand, he took the towel to clean his hand, and then he dropped it on Louis’s stomach for him to use as he liked.
There was a shower in the bathroom at the end of the cabin, but Lestat didn’t use it. He only washed his hands and brushed his teeth with the toiletries the plane provided, before returning to the bed. Pulling back the covers, he got in fully clothed aside from his shoes. And when Louis was ready to join him, Lestat drew him into his arms, tucking his chin over the top of his dark head, and no more words passed between them as they fell asleep to the drone of jet engines.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and K.
Chapter 86: Nothing Special
Summary:
The vampire David Talbot checks on things at the chateau while everyone is gone to Rio, and decides to take matters into his own hands when he meets Lestat's new girlfriend.
Chapter Text
Like all the vampires of the former Court, David Talbot had been keeping a psychic watch from a distance over those who had somehow miraculously become human at the chateau that fateful Christmas night. In the wee hours of the morning after Lestat and the others he most cherished had left on their trip to Rio, it seemed a safe enough time for David to finally visit the snowy mountainside and check on things with his own eyes. He didn’t intend to enter the castle where the other humans remained. No vampire had stepped foot inside since Gregory had transformed as well after doing so. The chance of being immediately afflicted with whatever the curse or spell might be was too much of an unknown.
Did he want to be mortal again? David was still trying to come to terms with it all, to understand his own feelings on the matter. Certainly this wasn’t how it would be now. He, the immortal, Lestat and Louis lost to humanity. But for the time being, he only planned to lurk about outside, like some common hoodlum. For hours, he walked around the castle grounds, not even sure why he’d felt this need to see it in person.
As the morning approached, he made his way down to the little village, walking along the cobblestone walkways he’d come to know so well. A small bakery on the square was just opening for the morning, and David found himself entering, a tiny bell jingling on the door to announce him. He was dressed impeccably this night in a suit of modern cut, his hair brushed back off his forehead, his brown eyes alert. He even wore a long cloak of warm wool.
He settled at a table nearest where the heat vented into the room. The scent of baked sweets and yeasty breads and coffee was so welcoming, despite his inability to consume it. A young woman was the only presence in the front area, while bakers worked behind a wall at the back. His eyes roamed over the menu above the front counter, looking at the coffee and tea selections.
When the woman’s eyes lifted from her work at the register in expectation of one of her usual pre-sunrise customers, she startled at the sight of David. One of them! her thoughts gasped, so loudly David couldn’t miss it even if he tried, and she swallowed anxiously.
“Good morning!” she greeted him in French with a nervous smile. Smoothing her palms a few times over her apron, she came around the counter to approach his table. It was obvious from her mind that she wanted to ask who he was, if he was new to the chateau, for surely he’d come from the chateau, where they all had their strange midnight parties that she and her fellow villagers were paid very well to never ask about. She dutifully gulped her questions down and tried to keep her eyes averted, as she was trained to do.
“Would you like a coffee?” She knew he wouldn’t eat any food, understating how they styled themselves as vampires, and seemed eternally committed to the bit. There was no judgement in her mind, just an eagerness to please and do her job well.
David looked the young lady over, and he gave her the warmest smile, aware of the nervousness she seemed to be trying to hide for his benefit. “Yes, I will take a coffee, with cream, please. And a croissant.” He wanted to be able to smell the croissant and perhaps pull it apart and look at all of the delicate buttery layers. “My name is David,” he told her, perfectly able to read her curiosity about him.
She could do nothing but stare at him for a moment, mesmerized, then she blinked to clear her head and smiled bashfully. A pretty little smile. “Right away, monsieur.” She turned back toward her counter, but then stopped abruptly and looked to him again sheepishly. “My name is Claire.” She gave him a reverent nod, and then bustled off to make his café crème.
While the espresso machine was warming up, Claire discreetly took her phone out of her apron pocket to text Lestat, Has your plane landed yet? When she received no reply after a minute, she sighed and put the phone away to prepare David’s order. He had been watching a wisp of a ghost that was pacing the other side of the café, flickering in and out of view, but her thoughts of Lestat caught his attention.
By the time she returned to his table with the cup and saucer and the plate of croissant, she had managed to get a hold on her nerves, and was giving him a perfectly professional smile. “Would you like anything else, David?”
He looked more closely at her this time as he wrapped his hands around the cup of coffee, though it was quite hot. How innocent she was. How fresh and excited for life. “You know my friend, Lestat,” he said. “I think he mentioned you,” he quickly added. David found himself achingly hungry for information about his maker’s new mortal days. Perhaps he’d been in denial of it all until this night, but being here, at the Court, made it too real. Would he ever see them again as vampires? Would he be forced to witness Lestat age to an old man and face death, the same way Lestat had witnessed David’s aging body grow closer to the grave as years passed?
Claire’s eyes went wide, but she managed to keep from gasping. “Ah, no… That is, I have seen him from a distance. Once, no twice. It was a couple months ago. But I’ve never met him. I’ve heard he’s—l” She cut herself off before she said something she wasn’t supposed to, her cheeks flushing the prettiest shade of pink. “Unless…you mean the other Lestat? His nephew?” Her Lestat had only arrived into their fold two weeks ago, and it seemed uncanny that this strange and mysterious man might have known him previously. Her eyes were fixed on David’s hauntingly handsome face now, trying to hide how eager she was to meet anyone who might be connected to her new beau.
Ah, that blush on her cheeks. David couldn’t help but hear the pumping of her heart within her chest and smell the blood in her. Without much effort at all, he could see the images in her mind. Lestat in her bed, Lestat with his boyish grin and his charm. This poor girl was completely besotted. “Yes. His nephew,” David confirmed. “He speaks of you often,” he lied. David had to wonder if Lestat was bedding any other men or women in this village. Barely more than two weeks mortal, and already spreading himself around. “I feel obligated to warn you, his fashion sense can be horrendous at times.”
She blinked, rendered speechless for a moment. But then she laughed softly, because David had to be joking. Lestat had looked so unbelievably handsome in his suit and tie Thursday evening when he drove her in an unbelievably luxurious car an hour out to the city to see an unbelievably incredible live show, and to a dinner that must have cost more than she made in a week. She had given him everything in return when they’d come back to her place, and loved every minute of it. She’d begged him to stay the night, but he left at around two in the morning, and she hadn’t seen him since, though he’d texted her last night on his way to the airport.
“Why do none of his friends have anything nice to say about him?” she said with another little laugh, recalling all the disparaging implications Philippe had made the last couple times she spoke to him about Lestat. At the same time, she was nervous. David was already being much more friendly and open than Philippe, but there was a sense of danger about him that had her holding herself stiffly and taking tiny steps back as they talked, even though she kept the feelings off her face.
Oh dear, David sighed inwardly. She was doing that thing all mortals eventually did in the presence of their kind: sense the danger and look for the exit. David took his eyes off of her and looked down to his coffee and croissant. Her thoughts were so open and available to him. Clearly Lestat was using her for the sex. And Philippe? An alias for Louis. David longed for Louis now. Why couldn’t Louis have been spared this? If only he had his brother here with him now.
“I have plenty of nice things to say about him. He’s endlessly generous. He’s always unpredictable and adventurous. He loves love. And you should use protection when you’re with him,” David said, wanting to reiterate what he’d seen in her thoughts of Louis’s talk with her yesterday. Why, in just the short time he’d been human the last time, Lestat had slept with two women then tried to seduce David into his bed.
It was clear to Claire that Lestat’s friends were trying to warn her that he slept around a lot. But he’d told her he’d gotten a checkup only a couple days before their first date, and the doctor had given him a clean bill of health. He also told her that she was the only girl he was seeing right now, and she could tell he wasn’t lying. He did lie about some things, she could tell, like when she asked him about his life and past (which she didn’t really mind, because his mysteriousness just made him all the more sexy) but he wasn’t lying about that. She knew all the other girls in the village and who worked up at the castle, and he’d never spent more than a minute or two even looking at any of them since he arrived on Christmas day.
David frowned a little, hearing these thoughts. The only girl indeed. But David knew well enough that Lestat had been making full use of his ‘Slut’ title around the castle. And really, David didn’t have a great concern about the current sexual diseases of the world, as they were all so newly mortal and hadn’t gotten fully out into the world yet. But what appalled him was that Lestat had used wordplay to manipulate this innocent girl into his bed. She was blissfully unaware that her new beau was sleeping with men as well.
Well, who was he to upset Lestat’s romances? Who was he to break this news to her? He gave a light sigh and stared into his coffee, so glad to feel its warmth against his hands. A thing he greatly missed from mortality was warmth. Not fighting this constant battle of feeling cold inside and out.
“Thank you for your concern,” she said with a polite smile for David. “I guess he must talk about me a lot?” She was troubled by the thought of him sharing intimate details of their romance with his buddies, and her stomach tangled in a little knot. But at the same time, a giddy warmth came over her to know that Lestat was thinking about her so much when they were apart.
“Yes, he speaks of you,” he confirmed for her. At once her thoughts were eager to know what Lestat said about her, and she looked to David hopefully, though she knew she wasn’t supposed to ask.
A thought came to him then, and it was a rather impish one that he really shouldn’t act on. But Lestat wouldn’t be harmed by it, and neither would this girl. “Let’s send him a photo, shall we? Let’s send a selfie together.” David smiled charmingly at her. “He will love it.”
“Yes!” Her eyes brightened, thinking how surprised Lestat would be to see her getting to know one of his friends. It excited her, this further connection to his life. She hesitated, though, unsure whether he wanted to use his phone or hers.
“Coming from your phone might be more meaningful, don’t you think?” David stood smoothly from the table, so they might take the photo from a standing position together. “I’m sure he will be quite thrilled to see we’ve met.” David knew it would be anything but thrilling for Lestat to see such a photo, but even now, even when his maker was at this low point, stuck in mortal form, he couldn’t resist this urge he had to needle the man.
Her heart was beating faster with a nervous sort of energy that wasn’t quite fear. Guardedness, perhaps. Her head had to tilt back to look at him, and an impressed thought flickered through her mind that he was even taller than Lestat. Why were Lestat and his friends all so impossibly gorgeous?
Taking her phone out of her pocket, she stretched her arm out as far as she could to get both their faces in frame while still finding a flattering angle for herself before she took the photo. A girlish grin covered her face as she texted it to Lestat, her recent text history visible on the screen as she typed in French, Look who stopped in for a café!
“He probably won’t get it for a while,” she explained to David. “He’s on a plane to Brazil, though I think he must be landing soon…” He hadn’t replied to her last text last night either, even though he told her he’d buy the on-flight wifi for the eleven-hour trip.
David glanced at the watch on his wrist. “Well, I’m certain he’ll reply soon enough.” He sat once more in his chair. “I’m surprised he didn’t take you along on his trip. Tell me, how has he been of late? I haven’t actually seen him in a while.” David longed for some details on Lestat’s state of mind. If he was managing to blend into humanity or making blunders of it all again. “And Philippe? I do need to chat with him again. Did you say you’d met him already? Such a fine fellow he is.”
She smiled politely down at him, but her fingers gave away her anxiousness as they brushed back and forth over her phone screen. “I have. I saw him just yesterday, in fact. He was, um…” She didn’t want to say anything disparaging about how cold and aloof Philippe was toward her, and his awkwardness after he’d asked her such a personal question, so she just smiled again.
She had indeed fantasized about Lestat asking her to come to Rio with him, but even if he’d offered, she wouldn’t have been able to do it on such short notice. She had her responsibilities here. And they’d only been dating for two weeks so far, it was a bit soon for vacationing together. But it had been nice to imagine how romantic it might have been in such a beautiful tropical place.
She sighed wistfully as she remembered the night before last when Lestat had come home with her after their date, and they’d made love in her bed, in some…experimental ways she’d never tried before. He was truly amazing. “He’s been wonderful,” she said with a dreamy smile, finally answering David’s first question.
David resisted a childish urge to roll his eyes. This poor girl, he thought to himself. Again, he considered informing her that Lestat had several male lovers right along with her. The images he was getting from her of the terribly uncomfortable looking Louis… That was just about enough to tip him toward telling her what Louis probably wanted to himself but couldn’t find the fortitude to do so.
It should at least be done with some tact, as David didn’t want to hurt this innocent thing. But how could one avoid hurt in the face of such a reveal? It was inevitable. And it was also inevitable she would find out eventually, so why not just get it done now before she fell too much harder for Lestat?
Damn that man for doing this. Why hadn’t he just been more honest with this girl himself? David found himself staring stupidly at her, no words leaving him. What must she be thinking of him? That he was as odd as ‘Philippe?’
In the silence, she allowed her eyes to meet his curiously, and as the moment stretched on, their mesmerizing effect took hold. Gradually her thoughts faded out into soft static, and her expression became dazed and even more dreamy as she fell into his power.
As David realized he was inadvertently transfixing her with his preternatural charms, he considered that perhaps she didn’t need to be directly informed of Lestat’s transgressions. Perhaps she simply needed to be nudged away from the man. Distracted. Certainly, that would be the wiser path.
In a graceful fluid movement, he stood again, all but towering over her. He smiled softly, mirroring her own manner. There was no one here but them. The bakers were distracted in the kitchen. “Don’t be frightened,” he intoned, slipping a cool hand to cup the base of her skull as he bent to her throat, his fangs sinking in ever so gently, a crooning groan of satisfaction falling from him as the hot innocent salt of her blood flooded over his tongue.
So vague had she already become, that even if there had been pain, she would not have registered it, and she only let out a contented sigh as she sank against him. From her mind swirled beautiful memories of her time with Lestat, a candlelit dinner at a bistro, violins playing in the background, his large hand soft and warm in hers as they sat side by side in the theatre, the way they’d held in their laughter as the two of them snuck late into her little house so as not wake her mother as they stole up to her bedroom.
But as these images came, David’s psychic influence pushed the significance of the feelings associated with these memories away. No big deal… Lestat was no different than any other boy, nothing special at all…
Then with a monumentally difficult effort, David stopped drinking. Swiftly, he bit into his own tongue and licked at the tiny wounds his fangs had created, healing them almost instantly. He pulled away, his own head swimming with the visions of her and Lestat entwined as lovers are wont to do, his mouth full of her taste. His own experiences of sharing Lestat’s passion had never been so gentle, so tender. But then he’d never been a young pretty mortal girl such as this. He and Lestat had always had a certain rivalry, a tension that played out.
David watched Claire closely for any sign she might not remain upright after such an embrace. He’d certainly done what he could to push her infatuation with Lestat to the side. To hopefully help her focus on things other than the blond devil.
He glanced to the window and could see, and feel, that his night was coming to a close soon. Reaching into his inner coat pocket, he withdrew a large amount of money and placed it on the table. “You’ve been so helpful. Please keep this tip for yourself,” he said softly with a small smile.
Claire blinked dazedly up at him, confusion rippling through her mind for why he was leaving now. Didn’t he just get there? He didn’t even touch the croissant or coffee… Oh, right, he pretends to be a vampire… But he was far too handsome and kind to be a vampire. He seemed much more like an angel than a monster. And dressed so properly like a gentleman…
“But…” She bit her lip, catching herself from saying anything she was forbidden to, and instead gave him a shaky smile. “I hope you come back. I’m always happy to get to know Lestat’s friends.”
And as he left, the last thought David heard in her head was, Even the crotchety ones like Philippe.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and D.
Chapter 87: A Touch of Drama
Summary:
As he awaits the arrival of his loved ones in Rio, Marius is surprised by a visit from his vampire Maker.
Notes:
Meant to post this yesterday, but forgot, sorry!
Thank you all so much for leaving me comments 🥹 They seriously make my entire weekChristmas is coming again! It's been a year since I first started posting this fic, and it feels like the characters have been going through human trials forever. But it's actually only been a little over 2 weeks for them. For reference, this chapter takes place on January 10th (at about 2am).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Marius still liked it best at night. He had initially thought he’d enjoy the world bathed in sunlight, every color vivid without the shadows of night diluting their brilliance. But it was so terribly bright, painfully so at the height of day, especially in the heavy heat of Rio de Janeiro in January, and his blue eyes still had trouble adjusting. The quiet darkness of night was familiar and comforting, though he did have to flood the balcony porch of his beachside palazzo with artificial light to see the work he attended to in his hands. And he was only slightly drunk. Just enough to dull the hunger, and not for just human food, which he still struggled with.
Occasionally, he could stomach warm fruits and olives, but too often he felt a creeping discomfort rooted in the strangeness of having something solid in his stomach. And then it grew heavier and harder until at last his stomach rolled and the food was expelled back out. The starvation made him feel clean, though, and he preferred the lightness, the emptiness. Sleep too was difficult, plagued with endless nightmares. He kept his mind busy to distract himself. It was fortunate he’d spent his life practicing humanity.
This night, he sat outside slowly painting a miniature portrait, tracing the lines of a sleepy Dionysus, squinting behind his new eyeglasses and annoyed by how often they slipped down his slim nose due to the sweat and oils on his face. He huffed and pushed them up again, grabbing for a clean brush and sticking it in his mouth, using his tongue and a quick twirling motion to work the small tip into the finest point. He was about to put it into the paint when a sudden noise startled him, and he gasped, jerking abruptly enough to send the brush from his grip. It hit the wooden porch, rolling until it fell between the slats and down to the ground below.
“Exactly as the night I made you. Well…almost,” the ancient Egyptian vampire Teskhamen observed from the spot where he’d just materialized on the balcony. Not truly materialized, of course, he’d landed there after using the cloud gift. But to Marius, it seemed as though he appeared out of thin air, and this thought amused him. What would it have taken at any other point in time to sneak up on the Great Marius?
Marius relaxed at the sight of his vampire Maker. Kind, friendly, harmless Teskhamen. The racing of his startled heart began to slow, panic releasing its tight hold on his chest and breath.
Arms folded, Teskhamen studied him. He could see why his ancient druid followers had chosen Marius to be his successor, the new White One, the God of the Night, the God of the Oak, the Lover of the Mother. Of course, he always could see, but Teskhamen had not been quite prepared for how the sight of him up close as a mortal again would affect him.
Marius’s heart was quicker and softer than ever before, but it sounded like thunder to Teskhamen’s sensitive ears. His blue eyes, though dimmer, were beautiful in such an entirely human way, in the way of a man who thought he knew more than he did, which Teskhamen supposed was most men. The cut of Marius’s jaw and curve of his lip had a softer quality to them now, and how delightful that he could make out the beginnings of stubble around his chin. A rivulet of sweat caught Teskhamen’s attention, from the place behind Marius’s ear down the length of his throat. It settled in his broad clavicle, but as alluring as it was, Teskhamen pulled his focus back up to Marius’s eyes. He smiled at him. All of this had happened in seconds.
Marius gazed up at the seemingly-young man, his sunfire-bleached white hair bathed in moonlight. Marius thought of the night they’d met inside the enormous ancient oak—two strangers forced in their own tragedies into that fatal encounter. The creature he’d been forced to meet was a wretched thing, a husk of ancient pain. None of his famous youthful beauty had survived the Great Burning. But now long since healed, Teskhamen possessed it again copiously.
Marius had never resented his Maker for tasking him with the burden of the Parents, or for never coming to his aid when it was needed, for letting Marius think he was alone. Teskhamen had his own healing to tend to, then his own love, and his insatiable curiosity. Why give up the happiness he had at last with his beloved Hesketh and the Talamasca, the loveliness which had been denied him a millennium under the oak tree, for a man he hardly knew?
“More color to your skin of course,” Teskhamen remarked. “But that must be the Italian in you.”
Marius had to break the spell of staring at his beautiful Maker, unnatural to his eyes, pale and smooth as Marius had once been. Of course he’d forgotten what vampires looked like to mortals. He looked down at his own golden arm, and then at the same color on his chest peeking out from the opened shirt he wore. Suddenly, his mouth felt dry, and it took a most undignified amount of time to stand, his back feeling too tight and his knees too loose. But he at last did, setting the half-done painting aside.
“It’s the only blessing of humanity so far,” he replied.
The lost paintbrush appeared in Teskhamen’s fingers, and he twirled it, analyzing the color of the paint on Marius’s palette he’d been about to dip it into. So many different shades, each element separate and detectable but perfectly blended by an expert hand. He wondered if Marius could still see such nuances.
“Surely not,” he mused, and in a flash he was only a foot from Marius, handing the brush back to him with the utmost gentleness. “Sex, food, drink, the ever-present threat of death that inspires you to cherish every moment—surely they are blessings?” He narrowed his amber eyes and tilted his head at Marius from this new angle. “I must say I find it all fascinating.”
Marius had already decided his mortal condition came with few blessings, and certainly not enough to make the hunger in his stomach and pain in his back worth it. Being drunk was pleasant and relaxing, but he couldn’t live in that delirium because he had responsibilities to attend to. Sex was certainly magnificent, and perhaps the only thing he liked about mortality. Granted, he’d had none of it since Armand had left the chateau on his treasure hunt, but Marius wasn’t exactly eager to blindly seek out casual dalliances. He rebuffed the flirtations of others because it was just better that way.
He told Teskhamen none of this, though, because he did not want to sound dramatic.
He set the paintbrush down next to the half-finished miniature and then righted himself to stare down at Teskhamen. “Is that why you’ve followed me across the globe? To observe us with your own eyes, to analyze? Would you like a vial of blood? I don’t know if ours is different from that of other mortals.”
“You insult me, darling creature,” Teskhamen said, though he didn’t really sound overly insulted. It was difficult to insult him in any capacity after the things he’d seen.
He brought his hands to Marius’s face in what was meant to be an affectionate, calming gesture, and caressed his cheeks. He was jarred by the warmth and moisture of his skin. Meanwhile, it was actually very strange and slightly poetic to Marius that the last immortal to touch his human skin was now the first immortal to do so in his new form, thousands of years apart. Teskhamen had been too withered and injured during his making, and Marius had never forgotten the rough texture of burnt preternatural tissue against his body, under his grasping hands, and beneath his hungry lips. And so Marius didn’t know how it felt, as a human, to be touched by the true cold hard flesh of their kind, so smooth and made of animate silk. The coldness brought such pleasure to him that he sighed heavily to repress the shiver, closing his eyes.
But remembering Marius was a man who didn’t always seek touch, Teskhamen pulled his fingers away gently. Such a quick touch, but Marius knew it was for the best, and he opened his eyes to resume normalcy.
“I am here to watch over you.” Teskhamen was quietly pleased with the knowledge that his touch had so affected Marius. “How many of our most foremost and powerful have been taken out by this phenomenon? I know that Rhoshamandes has visited from time to time. For my own peace, I want to be near you. Unless, of course, I am not welcome.”
“You are always welcome.” Marius’s voice sounded strange to him through his tightened throat. Clearing it, he tried again. “It is wise that you’ve come all this way. Lestat is arriving tonight and he must be protected at all costs.”
Teskhamen smiled. “Yes, I know. In a private jet that will land soon, alongside his beloved Louis, and your own Armand. Followed in another jet by Gregory.” He closed his eyes and stretched his mind out the many miles needed to catch them. “They are all safe.” He turned and looked out at the dark eastern sky. “For what it’s worth, I don’t foresee any danger. Although it is always good to be prepared.”
How badly Marius wished he could hear across the distance, too, as he’d once been able to. The silence unsettled him. He thought he’d enjoy it, which he had at first, but had quickly come to understand that the silence made him feel powerless. All he could hear was the crashing of the waves and the faint music coming from the portable Bluetooth speaker brought by a group of young humans who’d snuck into his private beach area and thought he was unaware.
His heart was skipping with the confirmation that Armand was coming too, which he’d been too realistic to even dare hope for. He did wonder why Gregory followed—likely to keep an eye on Lestat, though he was as powerless as the rest of them. Or maybe he’d forged a valuable friendship with Armand while out to sea and wanted to watch over him, too, which annoyed Marius. He reminded himself, again, not to let himself be overcome with petty thoughts and emotions, as they all felt too big and volatile.
“How curious,” he mused, looking out over the water that looked like ink in the darkness.
Shaking off his musing, he motioned for Teskhamen to follow him. “Come inside, please. Make yourself comfortable. There is a crypt below where you may sleep come sunrise.” He hoped to have use for it again himself soon.
Stepping into his home, the air-conditioned space sent an immediate chill over his sweat-covered body, which had adjusted to the heat and humidity of a night in Brazil. It made his skin prickle and nipples harden, and both sensations, while not unpleasant, were still strange. He ran a hand over the thin material of his light shirt, unsticking it from his wet skin. Smelling his own sweat bothered him. “I need a shower.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have thought so,” Teskhamen remarked, eyes raking hungrily over Marius’s form and observing every minute reaction of his skin. He blinked and moved to make himself comfortable on a sofa, removing his boots. He felt no shame or remorse for such a comment, for what would shame would he feel for calling a spade a spade, or an attractive human man who smelled better sweaty just that? He stretched out his arms above his head and ruminated on what felt like all things at once, eyes roaming the tastefully decorated space. “I’ll wait, of course, until you are all together to retire.”
Besides the servants in their loft at the far end of the house, for now, it was just Marius and Bianca, the sweet pearl of his life, who was content to simply be near him. Who never asked him for anything, just hovered like a star caught in whatever emotional gravitational pull that kept her from leaving Marius to enjoy her life as she should. Sometimes, when he felt the weight of her soft stare, he wanted to ask what she wanted from him. But the question was a cavern, a growing hole in the earth, that would swallow him up.
How could he give her the things she wanted when he did not even know what he wanted? Teskhamen would know. Or would he? Bianca had an amazing human mind that she could cloak from their kind as she had with Marius centuries ago. Bianca was of Teskhamen’s blood, his lineage, though all of them liked to define themselves by Marius’s patriarchy and not his Maker’s. Did this offend Teskhamen? Likely not. He had his own family, selected and loved in a way Marius had never been, which he did not resent. And he had been made by Akasha herself, and of course they were all of them of her lineage in the end.
Marius chose a chair off to the side, slipping into a comfortable slouch because he had no one to pretend for. Comfortable, he gazed at Teskhamen through half-lidded eyes, still slightly drunk and much more at ease for it. “Ne absorbeat eas tartarus, ne cadant in obscurum,” he murmured with a smile at last. Stretching his long legs out, he ran his hand through his sweat-damp hair.
“Not on my watch. Pragmatic as you are, you Romans were always prone to a touch of drama,” Teskhamen remarked fondly, locking eyes with Marius for a long moment. Then he glanced down at himself, staring at his socked feet, then his black wool trousers. He looked at his nondescript shirt and surveyed the sleeves of his jacket. He preferred the modern, casual styles these days. There was distinctly nothing dramatic about him, save for the smudged kohl that rimmed his eyes, and he reflected on that. “At what point of age does one get irreversibly dull?”
Marius laughed, low and deep in his chest. “There is no age,” he assured his Maker—former Maker—with a kind voice. “It’s whenever you forget whatever qualities, talents, or traits that make you uniquely you. There is always someone somewhere who will find everything you do exciting and interesting.” He thought of the young apprentice who’d curled up like a feline upon their Venetian bed, watching his Master write quietly with sleepy eyes that kept sliding closed but never gave up. Again, the crushing ache, the breaking of his heart.
Teskhamen’s face fell as he thought over these images. He had his companions, but when had he last seen that kind of light in their eyes? The kind of light of unbridled rapture and fascination?
Quickly, Marius sat up, banishing the boy from his thoughts and leaned forward toward the immortal. “I’ve been doing it for centuries. Pandora says my personality is all smoke and mirrors.”
“She is a woman with quick wit who knows how to maim with her words. But I’m sure it’s not all truth.”
Marius propped his elbow on his knee and perched his chin in his palm, studying the way emotions played upon the expression of his smooth, white Maker. It was subtle, but there, and Marius couldn’t help but wonder what made the man turn so silently solemn. It was normal for their kind to become untethered from the times now and then, and they struggled to catch up, to find whatever purpose would keep them sane and open their eyes to each new night without defeat.
“You, my son,” said Teskhamen, “have always been brimming with a subtle kind of personality.”
A smile spread over Marius’s wide, full lips, just a fleeting hint of playfulness that vanished behind the intensity of his eyes. “Oh?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Do I? How would you know?”
“I know everything.” Teskhamen looked over the casual figure that Marius cut. So far from the image most had of him in their head—stiff-backed, disciplined and serious. It suited him in a way that Marius likely didn’t realize or didn’t even care for. “You were full of personality in the months leading up to your making.”
Marius couldn’t help but smile. In that bleak time between his abduction and making, he’d steadily progressed through all the stages of trauma and then back again, looping through denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance on repeat until he was led out to board the coveted cart that took him to the Samhain festival to die. At least, as he’d assumed. It would make sense Teskhamen would have heard Marius begging, screaming, threatening Mael’s life with increasing creativity toward the way he’d do it.
“You’ve been full of it,” Teskhamen continued. “In your quiet moments from dusk ‘til dawn and even your chaotic moments. I’ve watched you here and there always, you know, and though I’ve never known your thoughts before now, I see it in every facet of you. Even now you are full of it, and indeed, humanity to me has made you appear so much younger.”
“I feel my age,” Marius mused, removing his eyeglasses. Perhaps some of it was that he barely ate and it was very obvious to the eye that he had dropped weight, the softness of his overfed and drunken captivity falling away. “I…” He hesitated because it was perhaps too much. “I don’t know what I want, only that my time is dangerously limited now, and I must prepare for that if anything.”
Teskhamen hadn’t thought too much on this fact yet. The thing about immortality was that it wasn’t often you had to think about the future, and so he’d not stopped too long to think about other than what was right in front of him with Marius. Would he start thinning on top, would he have to cut his hair short? Would he develop arthritis? How long would he live now if they didn’t manage to solve their immunity to vampire blood?
He found the idea actually quite horrifying, and not just due to the implications of what would happen to Marius. All of them really, generations of vampires who had changed the way their kind interacted, viewed themselves, perceived the world altogether and irrevocably. Louis, the one who had started it all… Daniel, who had spread the word to the world. Lestat who had done far too many things to number in his comparatively short time on this earth and who had established a structured and safe haven for their kind. Gregory, the broad and formidable warrior and military captain-turned-entrepreneur, who had been there since the beginning. Armand, the psychotic mastermind with the face of an angel, a face that would now change and strengthen, then wrinkle and sag with age…
Suddenly, it was all unbearable for Teskhamen, and he felt so terribly sad and horrified that if he succumbed to these feelings, he might never find his way out of this trench of despair. But he kept his face unreadable. The very last thing he wanted to do was upset or worry Marius even more.
“Like I said, pragmatic,” he said finally, his eyes soft. “Not knowing what you want. I think, is quite characteristic of being a human. They are so sensitive and complex. Nothing is ever quite right for them.”
Marius agreed with that wholeheartedly and wearily. Nothing is ever quite right… There were a lot of decisions to make outside of the daily struggles of learning to enjoy human food, what to do with his headache, or how to stop craving blood. If he did, at most, have thirty years left, how did he wish to live them? He couldn’t saddle Armand with caring for him as his life came toward its end. No. Armand would need to have his own life. He deserved to be young, to grow, to start a life with someone not nearly at the end of theirs. Armand couldn’t waste the beauty of his youth to watch the withering of his former Maker. Marius had to do what was truly right for Armand for the first time ever. He’d have to find a way to convince Bianca to leave, too.
At least Marius wasn’t afraid to be alone.
He decided to shake it off for tonight because he’d had too many glasses of wine to make heavy decisions. “Would you like to see my studio?” he asked Teskhamen, not because he was arrogant about his work, but that vampires tended toward the beauty of art, and he thought his former Maker might appreciate even that of his now minimal mortal talent.
Notes:
This chapter written by B and T.
Chapter 88: Underlying Satisfaction
Summary:
On their way to Marius's Rio villa, Lestat is shocked to see the selfie David took with Claire, but Louis, Armand, and Cyril have their own opinions.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Lestat had been happy to let Armand manage the transportation arrangements, so he didn’t even think to look at his phone until the four of them were comfortably arranged in the limo that would take them the hour’s drive to Marius’s beachside villa. Cyril sat beside him on the spacious leather seat while Armand Louis sat across from them with their backs to the window separating their cabin from the driver.
As he brought his phone to life, Lestat saw a notification from Claire right away, but he saved it for last, checking his messages from the chateau and Thorne first. Well, nobody had died in the eleven hours he’d been in the air. What more could he hope for?
When he opened his text thread with Claire, and was greeted with a smiling selfie with David beside her, Lestat gasped, nearly choking, and his hand snatched at the car door as if he’d throw it open and jump right out of the moving limousine. Or that seemed to be Cyril’s fear, as his large hand shot out to grab Lestat’s arm to keep him firmly put.
Lestat’s head snapped to look at him, and then he stared across at Armand and Louis. His heart was racing, his face hot with the jolt of adrenaline.
“What is it?” Armand asked, pushing up in his seat with alarm.
Lestat shook his head, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “It’s David. He… He was in the village, and…” He shook his head again and swiped out a rushed reply to Claire, trying to sound nonchalant: I hope he behaved himself.
Seconds ticked by, and Lestat grew more and more tense as the text continued to go unread.
Watching from across the cabin, Louis’s gaze moved between Cyril and Lestat’s flushed face, trying to work out just what was the matter and why Lestat should be so worried over David. “Has whatever this is that’s turned us moral affected David too now?” he asked, slightly horrified.
“No!” Lestat said, as if that was the exact problem. His eyes were glued to his phone, waiting for the dots to appear that meant Claire was typing. The longer it didn’t happen, the tighter he gripped it, so that his hand was trembling.
Silently, Armand’s hand slipped aside to clasp Louis’s knee reassuringly, as if to say, He’s surely overreacting, don’t become distressed.
With a frustrated snarl, Lestat jabbed the screen to call Claire, and put the phone up to his ear. It rang several excruciating times, then went to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message and then called David before he had a chance to realize what he was doing. He wasn’t sure exactly what time it was, somewhere around three in the morning in Brazil. What was the time difference again? The selfie from Claire had been timestamped less than an hour ago, so the sun might not yet be up in France.
Regardless, David didn’t answer, and when Lestat heard his voice on the recorded message, a chill shot through him. A vampire’s voice. He hung up quickly, suddenly aware that he would not have known how to handle talking to his former fledgling now that he was mortal. Terrifying.
Panic was setting in, and he tried calling Claire again. When she didn’t answer, he did it again, and then a fourth time, and then finally she picked up.
“Hi,” she said in a low voice, the soft din of café noise in the background. “What is it?”
Relief flooded Lestat, and he slumped back in his seat, sliding halfway down it. “I…” His hand was shaking with the infuriating adrenaline as it came up to rub over his forehead, and he turned his back to his friends, staring out the limo’s tinted window into the night. “I just…wanted to hear the sound of your voice,” he said quietly.
“Aw, aren’t you sweet.”
Lestat swallowed, wanting to ask her a million questions about David, but at a loss for where to start without alarming her. She sounded fine. Just fine.
“I’ve got a line of customers, though, so…”
“Of course,” Lestat breathed. “Call me on your break?”
“Oh… Um, sorry, I’m getting lunch with Michele.”
Lestat frowned. Where was all her usual eagerness to cling to any possible moment she could have of him? “After your shift ends, then?”
“Oh!” she said, as if the idea would have never occurred to her. “Yeah, sure. Have fun in Rio!” And then she hung up before Lestat could say another word.
He stared down at his phone, absolutely perplexed. She was fine, perfectly fine. David hadn’t hurt her, or even frightened her.
And yet… She wasn’t acting like herself at all… Or, at least…
Lestat’s brows furrowed deeply. He was so confused.
“Why are you so worried about David?” Louis asked through gritted teeth, his anxiety spiking even though Armand’s touch on his thigh was a balm, helping him to keep from being so on edge as Lestat appeared. “Why didn’t you let us all talk to him?”
Lestat’s face snapped up to look across at him. “Talk to him?” What? How was Lestat keeping them all from talking to him? The sunrise was responsible for that. “I am worried because he is a vampire! And he was in my village! With my people! My friend, Claire sent a photograph with him. Why was he with her? Why send the picture?? Is it a threat?? She sounds…fine, thank hell, but I don’t know what he could have done to her!” It made Lestat shudder, and his stomach twisted in sickened knots.
“He did it to frighten you,” Armand mused.
“Exactly! But why??” David! One of his greatest friends in this whole world! What was happening??
“Surely not!” Louis shot Armand an indignant look. “Why would David want to frighten Lestat at all?” He frowned, not liking the weird feeling that came over him, rooted in his gut. Of course he didn’t want anything to happen to Claire. She was innocent really, a villager and under their protection. But what was this underlying satisfaction he felt, this mild suspicion that David had somehow done whatever this was on his behalf? Did David know Louis’s feelings? Had he been spying on his thoughts in the dark hours of the night?
“David wouldn’t ever harm a villager,” Louis insisted. “He’s likely been watching over all of us, witnessed your dalliances, and became curious about her. That’s all.”
Lestat wanted to believe that, desperately. But why would David have even shown his face to Claire? When he could have absorbed her entire mind from the shadows outside the patisserie.
He stared down at the photograph on his phone with clenched teeth. There was a certain smugness to David’s expression that made Lestat bristle with protective anger on Claire’s behalf. Had David touched her??
“He well knows my rules about leaving my people alone. Who knows what effect his very presence alone might have had on her psyche! And now that I am so powerless to protect them…” Lestat shuddered again. “And no way to contact him until nightfall.” Not that Lestat knew how he could possibly bring himself to talk to David at all now as a human. Not David. Especially not David…
“If he did not intend to frighten you,” Armand said, though more pointedly at Louis’s defensiveness of David, than at Lestat, “he should have at least considered how you would react.” And Lestat was obviously shaken. David had caused this, and Armand could not believe David didn’t know better. Armand was convinced David had done it on purpose, the same way Lestat told him yesterday about the quiet way Rhoshamandes had threatened Gregory.
“That one is a hard read,” Cyril said, speaking about David, though as he glanced across at Armand, he couldn’t help thinking the same thing of the apparent-young man who seemed a little royal sovereign the way he held himself so importantly. Lestat was obviously rattled, and Cyril resisted the impulse to keep his hand clamped about Lestat’s bicep. Their Prince didn’t seem to be trying to hop out of the car any longer, so such a gesture was likely unnecessary.
“Claire will be fine,” Louis said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, and thankfully keeping the sarcasm from his voice. “Maybe her thoughts of you were so prolific, David just couldn’t stay away… He probably wanted to see first-hand what all the fuss was about, since you’ve taken such an over-liking to her.” Louis stopped himself and frowned, immediately wishing he’d kept his damned thoughts to himself.
Armand’s head turned to stare at Louis, not at all missing how obviously Lestat’s involvement with this Claire person bothered him. Add it to the endless list of all the ways Louis needed protecting from Lestat. His hand slid from Louis’s knee to clasp around his arm instead.
“Over-liking?” Lestat narrowed his eyes. He did not like the idea of David having been monitoring Claire’s thoughts, or of him secretly ‘keeping tabs’ on Lestat in any capacity.
Since he’d become human, he’d not heard a thing from David or Gabrielle, and only the barest minimum from Rose and Viktor when he’d visited Fareed. And he was glad for it. Lestat couldn’t cope with facing how much things had changed between him and his fledglings. How he’d become nothing to them overnight. He presumed they innately understood this, and had been respectfully keeping their distance. But now David was up to…something. That Lestat couldn’t know for sure what it was, threatened to send him spiraling.
“Oh, let the man have some fun,” Cyril told Louis with a sort of cavalier nonchalance.
Louis only groused, and looked out the dark window. “I have,” he announced sourly.
Lestat bit his tongue to keep from laughing. Now that was a friend! Cyril had never judged or derided him the way Louis so loved to.
Louis felt the heat rise to his cheeks for the mere fact that he cared at all, actually really cared, to the point that he had to chase back the taste of jealousy in his throat. So foreign, so strange this feeling, a slowly twisting tightness in his core, so beneath him, and so base. Louis said nothing else and kept his eyes on the window, his lips pressed together, a tenseness in his form that Armand could feel through his tender hold on Louis’s arm.
Armand’s fingers pressed, then slid down to gently clasp Louis’s hand in silent comfort, though he did not try to draw his attention away from the window, allowing him whatever escape he could achieve in these awkward close quarters.
Lestat rolled his eyes. So now Armand was glaring at him disappointedly? As if Lestat had done something terrible, which didn’t surprise him at all. Let the man have some fun. What was so terrible about fun? Claire was a perfectly sweet lady, who never made any demands of him, was only ever happy to be in his presence when she could. And Lestat very much enjoyed how easy she was to impress.
Would Louis begrudge him any fun he had? He’d probably go straight through the roof with sanctimonious condemnation if he knew about the blowjob the pretty flight attendant had given Lestat on the plane.
He’d woken up hungry several hours into their journey. A fine dinner was meant to be served, but he and Louis had missed it. When she gave him the menu, he told her he didn’t want a hot entrée he had to sit down to eat. Did she have something simple? Like a sandwich? She’d taken him back into her small galley to show him the options, and when their warm bodies brushed in the tight space by the refrigerators, one thing had led to another, and she’d ended up on her knees with his cock in her wonderfully enthusiastic mouth. By the time Lestat had crawled back into bed with Louis, he was quite sated, and slept much more comfortably through the rest of the flight, turbulence and all.
With a heavy sigh, Lestat slumped against the limo door, his thumb swiping back up through his text thread with Claire. Even though they’d only met two weeks ago, it was extremely long. He knew the café kept her busy, especially during these breakfast hours, but there’d been something off about the way she spoke to him. So distracted... So dismissive. What had David told her??
Lestat sent her another text, some flowery words he knew would make her melt inside. His phone indicated she read the message only a few seconds later, but the only reply that came back was a plain smiley face emoji react.
Lestat clenched his teeth and jammed the button to power off his phone entirely. Then he shoved it into his jacket pocket where he planned to forget all about it while he made a point to have as much fun as possible on his tropical vacation with Marius.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and K.
From here on out, all the Armand chapters are written by meeeee
Chapter 89: Virtues of Severitas
Summary:
Marius welcomes Armand, Louis, and Lestat to his home in Rio, but they're startled to find a vampire with him.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Ah, they’re here,” Teskhamen said quietly, just loud enough for Marius to hear. Everything in Marius’s studio was so calm and intimate, and he was loath to interrupt the man as he spoke about his paintings.
It was the sketchbooks Teskhamen had found the most delightful—the inner workings of a man who might be classified as a genius by today’s standards. He closed the book he held with so much gentleness, not wanting to contribute to its decay in any form, before standing.
Teskhamen moved some hair from Marius’s deep blue eyes and tucked it behind his ear with a smile. His fingers were cold, though they touched too lightly for Marius’s liking. The sensation of those icy fingers on him was incomparable, such an exquisite pleasure that he closed his eyes. It was a coldness that he hungered for and missed with an urgency that humbled him, discomforted by the immensity of the desire. In the moment, his heart skipped and he let immediacy slip away. But Armand was there and all he wanted was to see him. He really should have showered.
“You look very handsome,” Teskhamen said. He had seen Armand in and out of Marius’s thoughts all night, including thoughts of Gregory and what the two may have been up to on their recent ocean voyage. He was certain, though, that Marius had nothing to worry about. “Shall we?”
“Yes,” he murmured, nodding in an effort to shake off the spell. Quickly, he peered into the mirror he used from time to time to see himself for paintings, to make sure he looked put together. He fixed his posture, standing tall and rod straight, making sure his shoulders were aligned and not lazy.
It was around half past four in the morning, Brazil time, when the limo arrived at the beautifully lavish villa, which was slightly elevated above the tropical paradise surrounding it and overlooking a panoramic ocean view. Breathtaking, all of it, even in these dark wee hours.
Cyril got out of the car first and held the door open for the other three, then he helped the driver with the luggage, what little of it there was. Louis had a single travel-sized suitcase in tow, a bit heavy due to the hardbacks he’d stuffed between what clothing he’d packed. Armand was less discriminating, with a medium sized trunk, while Cyril was the most unusual of the group, carrying only a single-handed 36” sleek black case that looked as though it could just as well be conveying a hefty load of firearms and ammunition, or an amount of cash in cold hard bills that would rival any local mob boss. Lestat had nothing but his computer bag and coat.
The four of them made their way up the front steps, and the door swung open before they could touch it to reveal a smiling house staff member and a faintly sleepy-looking but ever-lovely Bianca just inside. Armand embraced her adoringly in greeting, then Lestat swept her up into his arms, spinning her around and covering her face with kisses. He whispered all sorts of flattering words in her ear, which made her wonderful bell of a laugh ring out, but he could tell she was tired. He wondered if she’d waited up all night for them, or if she’d just been roused abhorrently early by their arrival.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lestat noticed Armand go straight to wandering into the deeper parts of the house, as if he owned the place, touching things here and there as he passed them. Gently, he set Bianca back on her feet. “Where’s Marius?” he asked, eager to see his friend after almost four days apart. It didn’t even occur to him that Marius might be asleep, as most mortals tended to be at this hour.
“I’m here,” the man himself announced from the corridor, stepping into the room.
Lestat’s expression lit up at the sight of him, so glad to see him still alive and well—anything could have befallen him over the past few days—that he didn’t even notice how run-down Marius truly was. He embraced him with effusive warmth. “I love everything about it here. We’re going to have fun,” he promised. Marius held onto him in a firm, full embrace. He felt lighter with his friend near, the sullen weight of his humanity dissipating for now, leaving him with a mix of happiness, comfort, and relief.
Pulling back, Lestat glanced around for Armand. “I brought you something, but it seems to have wandered off.”
Marius supposed it didn’t matter if Armand had already vanished, but he wondered if it meant he was displeased to be here. Perhaps he was resentful to have been brought here when traveling frightened him. Marius realized he’d been selfish to demand this, and resolved to make it up to Armand somehow.
Louis pulled his eyes from admiring the beautiful foyer and decor. Exquisite. Every detail, which wasn’t surprising at all given Marius’s predisposition for decorum and style. “Thank you for having us,” he said to their host, but then he was struck dumb as Teskhamen stepped into view behind Marius. How absolutely otherworldly he appeared, more so than even Gregory had seemed to him that first night, when he had bitten Lestat and sealed his own mortal fate.
Lestat stiffened in in instinctual shock at the sight of the vampire. His arms at once went back around Marius, ready to pull him to safety. The suddenness startled Marius, who wasn’t used to being protected with such insistence. He stopped glancing about for traces of Armand and followed Lestat’s alarmed gaze.
Teskhamen had expected eyes on him of course. He had expected to be marveled at in the exact same way any mortal would marvel at a blood drinker, perhaps even more so given the fact that they were newly mortal, seeing things this way for the first time in centuries. What he had not expected was the onslaught to his own senses.
He’d not expected their soft breath, the pinkness of their skin, the sound of their voices and the scent of their sweat to combine in such a maddening way to assault and allure him. Humans were his prey, yes, but at his ancient age, he scarce needed to feed anymore. His self-control was iron to the point of ease now around the most irresistible of humans. Was it the fact that he knew these men, loved these men that made them all the more alluring? They were of course all of them picked for their beauty. He leaned against the door frame and remained silent, allowing Marius to speak. And though he felt this dizzying desire, he pushed past it and kept his façade casual.
Marius slipped a strong, reassuring arm over their Prince’s shoulder. “Teskhamen only just arrived himself. He wants to help us, and protect us if needed. He won’t hurt anyone here.” Though could Marius really promise that? Yet he knew the restraint of elders who were used to being within crowds of mortals and never succumbed to madness.
Still tense, Lestat hesitated, staring at Teskhamen. He believed Marius was right, of course, the wise and peaceful ancient Egyptian vampire would never hurt them. But just being in his presence was instinctively frightening. The spike of adrenaline, the fear for his friends who might fall victim, desperate to protect them… Lestat pushed this feeling down, telling himself it was just the natural human response to being in the presence of a vampire.
“It’s good to see you,” he said, completely serious. He hadn’t been letting himself think of their safety while across the ocean in Rio, so far from the protection of Seth and Fareed in Paris and Gregory’s former coven in Geneva. Had Teskhamen been elected to follow them? That it seemed the vampires had already sorted it out made him immensely grateful. “Thank you,” he managed for this offer of protection. He was so ancient and powerful, Lestat was sure no other vampire would get through him.
Slowly, he let go of Marius, trying not to show how he trembled as the rush of adrenaline began to fade. Marius kept his arm around Lestat’s waist, keeping him close, feeling him tense and tremble. Realistically there was nothing Marius could do to protect anyone here, but even a false sense of security could bring comfort enough.
Meanwhile, Armand was drawn back to the foyer by the sound of the voice that had whispered throughout his dreams for centuries. He appeared, carrying one of the little statuettes Marius had scattered about. It hadn’t looked good where it had been, so he placed it on one of the tables in the sitting room beside a lamp before he finally joined the group and faced his former maker. His ‘boyfriend’ as he’d teased Lestat before he went out to sea. Armand wasn’t so sure of that anymore.
“Thank you for having us.” Armand’s eyes narrowed, as if he thought Marius had forgotten all about him, and the only reason he was even here was because Lestat persuaded him.
As always, he drew Marius’s attention, and unlike these recent years, he didn’t have to pretend otherwise. The youth did not look battered or exhausted by his recent sea adventures. Not even a sunburn to pink his nose. He gave Armand a warm smile, refraining from sentimental gestures or romantic phrases since they currently had company. But his heart raced, and he hoped he’d be able to interact with Armand soon without the sudden, distracting surge of desire in his core. Perhaps with time, as he got used to these feelings. Men were supposed to have restraint—Marius was accustomed to the rigor and denial imposed by the important and often-ignored virtues of severitas. “You don’t need to thank me.” After all, Armand did not have to come and had to have mastered his fear enough to do so.
Teskhamen was smiling at Lestat, half amused and half enchanted by him. “You have absolutely nothing to fear from me,” he assured. “I will spend my time in the shadows and corners of this place where you’ll never notice me, or far along the shoreline or in the trees if you all wish it. I only want to know you are safe.”
“Don’t,” Louis whispered. He’d been stalk still, frozen in place from the moment he saw Teskhamen, rooted to the spot. Now he tried to will himself to move, to think properly, and to regain some ounce of composure so that he might appear as placid and unshaken as he ever did as a vampire. “Stay near instead.” The words came out much more entranced than he meant, and he pressed his lips together, with the barest shake of his head.
“As you wish.” Teskhamen smiled at him, his intense gaze perhaps a little too fixed by Louis’s famous beauty. They were all of them, so lovely and enchanting. Even Armand, who was staring at him silently, his face nearly as blank as he could keep it when he was a vampire, and his thoughts naturally shielded, making it impossible to know how the presence of an immortal impacted him.
“How was your trip?” Marius asked him.
Armand’s eyes remained firmly on Teskhamen as he replied, “Long. Too long.” He hadn’t slept well on the jet, even though the fold-out bed had been more than comfortable. But also he’d been too tense to do anything with the time, so he spent most of the hours huddled under his blanket, staring into the dark. Thankfully Cyril’s snoring in one of the nearby beds had been steady enough to keep Armand from feeling so alone through the terrifying flight. “Too long,” he repeated. Marius was silent and still, gazing back at him, as always unable to tell what was happening behind Armand’s empty eyes.
Finally, Armand pulled his gaze from the undeniably pretty vampire and looked to Marius. Something twisted at once in his chest at the sight of his face, how downtrodden he looked. Marius wasn’t supposed to look like that! Nothing was supposed to beat Marius. This spike of fear was enough to push down for the moment Armand’s bitterness over the way Marius had left Court without a word to him.
Armand closed the distance between them. Since Marius was still holding onto Lestat, Armand did not reach out to him, but the mask had slipped from his eyes to lay his worry bare as he studied up close Marius’s tired—yet still frustratingly handsome face. Marius only smiled at him reassuringly.
Lestat shot Armand an annoyed look, which Armand ignored, until Lestat put his hands on his shoulders and said, “Stop being weird.”
“No,” Armand said, even though he was sure he wasn’t ‘being weird’ at all, and he shrugged off Lestat’s touch.
Lestat bit back a retort. He’d reassured Armand yesterday that, yes, Marius did in fact want him to come. He hadn’t elaborated on how needfully Marius had asked Lestat to bring him, but Armand had no reason to think he wasn’t wanted, and Lestat didn’t get why he wasn’t throwing himself into Marius’s arms already.
Marius couldn’t help finding their interaction simply too amusing. Especially that anyone would call Armand, who was absolutely terrifying on a good night, ‘weird.’ He wasn’t sure why Armand was being so reticent; perhaps because of the crowd, or he didn’t want to show how sweet, affectionate, and submissive he could be. And Marius would never force him to reveal these qualities. But he did slip his arm over Armand’s shoulders, refraining from pulling him into an embrace. These things would come at the right time, in the right place, when the two of them retired alone together.
“It’s quite all right,” he decided. “Long travels leave me feeling not quite myself, as well.”
“Who said I’m not myself?” Armand looked up at him out of the corners of his eyes, not at all moving otherwise, as if Marius’s arm around him completely locked him in place and he was powerless to resist it. He took a breath, about to say something else, but then suddenly remembered the others watching them and held in his sass. How was it that Marius’s mere touch had made him absolutely forget the five other people in the room in a split second?
Marius was unquestionably amused at this implication that Armand’s default state was unapologetically weird. But, he was wise enough to keep that to himself, especially given the company, and also because of the youth’s flat affect toward him. It was perhaps not the right time to tease, no matter that it came from a place of love and affection, not scorn, and he too refrained from a reply.
Dear Bianca, always uncannily adept at reading social situations, at once turned her attention to Louis, Lestat and Cyril, offering to show them to the three rooms she had prepared. After their journey, they would want to rest for the few hours until breakfast, no doubt all of them exhausted from the trip.
Although Armand’s sharp ears tracked their movements as they disappeared down the halls of Marius’s spacious villa, he did not watch. And once he felt they were alone, he turned to peer again at Teskhamen, the first vampire he’d seen since becoming human, other than Gregory’s brief appearance that very first night. Marius withdrew his arm from around Armand, in case it made him uncomfortable. Teskhamen was harmless to them, except should he decide not to be. But there was no cruelty in the man, and he was old enough to resist the blood hunger even if Armand made a most delectable treat. Marius knew that first-hand.
Though Teskhamen heard these thoughts, he did not contradict them aloud. But it wasn’t Armand that he was most tempted by, though he was quite lovely in his own right and quite amusing. The way Louis had looked at him, enchanted, the way he spoke, and that entranced expression on his face… Teskhamen recalled his previous conversation with Marius, how nobody had seemed to find him overly exciting or interesting for years. Not in the way that a vampire by his very nature desired.
Marius turned, wanting to sit down in his chair and roll his shoulders to work out the tension, but Armand’s hand shot out to catch his wrist to keep him close. His eyes remained fixed on Teskhamen. “Where will you sleep?” he asked, a question too forward to be at all polite.
Teskhamen was quite amused. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he teased.
Armand’s eyes narrowed, a dark look coming into them. “He would put us in danger,” he said to Marius.
“We are already in danger, with or without him,” Marius reminded him in a gentle whisper. “No harm can come to Lestat. Teskhamen is loyal to him, and would do everything in his power—powers we lack—to protect him.” Even though he spoke softly, he knew his former Maker could hear. But it was no matter because he spoke the truth.
“Lestat?” Armand’s lovely face screwed up in confusion in a way that made him look all of his seventeen years and not a minute more. “Why are you talking as if Lestat is the only one who matters?” Was Lestat really what was first and foremost on Marius’s mind? Well, Armand should have expected that, shouldn’t he? After all, Lestat was who Marius had turned to first to sate his newly mortal desires the very night they had become like this. Lestat was the one who Marius had invited here to join him in Rio for this trip. Marius hadn’t even informed Armand he was going this week, much less invited him himself. It was Lestat who had done all that.
God, Armand was a fool, wasn’t he? Why had he allowed himself to fall back into Marius so quickly, as if all his sense of self-preservation had disappeared along with his immortality? Limply, his hand let Marius’s wrist slide from his grip.
Marius did not reply immediately because he was processing Armand’s mood, rolling over in his head the words to better understand what had the boy so upset. But he did not let Armand slip away, catching his wrist this time, encircling the small bones in his large hand but holding with so much gentleness and care.
“I mean to Teskhamen, Armand,” he clarified, hoping he was addressing the correct issue and not wildly, humiliatingly off base. And he did not bother whispering as Teskhamen would still hear, and the attempt would be outright offensive. He had other things to say, too, but he would reserve them for a time when they were alone. “Not to me.”
Now Armand was confused. Why would Teskhamen care more about Lestat than the rest of them? He was Marius’s Maker; did he have no love for him? And Armand’s immortal blood had come down from him. But what was Lestat to this vampire other than a brat who had called himself Prince for but a minuscule year and a half before disaster had dethroned him and left him with nothing more to rule?
Marius changed the topic, hoping to sweeten him up. “You look exhausted. Why don’t you come to bed? There is an extra private room, though I would like very much if you’d stay with me.” He paused because he thought Armand might bristle to think Marius only wanted him for intimacy. “I’m not expecting anything of you.”
But If Marius thought Armand was going to let him out of his sight while there was a vampire nearby, he was mad. As it was, Armand felt uncomfortable with Bianca being elsewhere, not even to mention Louis and Lestat. But he wasn’t about to go anywhere Marius didn’t, and the serious look in his dark eyes said as much without words.
He looked to Teskhamen once more, his gaze challenging him to dare try anything at all with them. Armand would find where he slept and brick him in with cinder blocks and the strongest cement in the country.
Wordlessly, and with more bravery than he truly felt, Armand turned his back to the ancient vampire, so that Marius could lead him upstairs to the bed he promised. Perhaps he was just exhausted, and that was the reason why all this struck him as so suspect now.
Marius let go of his wrist and put his hand in the space between Armand’s shoulder blades. He wanted to apologize to Teskhamen, but perhaps it would be best to do so in a way that would not be obvious to Armand, as he did not want the boy to feel that his feelings and fears were dismissed.
He let his thoughts talk for him, knowing the powerful vampire who was his former Maker would hear them with ease. I apologize for him. He does not trust strangers easily. He will see that you mean no harm to us. If you truly mean no harm.
After all, they were in Brazil which had violent, dangerous districts full of corrupt blood to feed on. It wasn’t as if they were the only mortals near and Teskhamen was starved for blood and too ravenous to be careful.
There is a room below. In Marius’s mind, he showed the vampire how to get there, a living map of the hallways and turns he’d need to take before descending to the secure resting place Marius had once shared with Daniel. A room he hoped he would need again.
At the same time, he guided Armand up the staircase and to his large, sumptuous bedroom, adorned with dark oiled wood, plump cushions, and rich silks and velvets.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, B, T, and K.
Chapter 90: The Physical
Summary:
Things are oddly tense as Marius takes Armand up to his bedroom.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Marius guided Armand up the stairs to his large, sumptuous bedroom, adorned with dark oiled wood, plump cushions, and rich silks and velvets. The door to the balcony was still slightly ajar, so he closed and locked it.
When he turned around, he discovered Armand bent over the bureau, examining the contents of one of Marius’s drawers. “Would you like to change?” he offered.
Armand looked up, about to answer, but his breath caught. It was too sudden, the sight of Marius framed against the windows, the night sky hazy and aglow with the perpetual city lights in the distance. Magnificent. Even despite how tired and downtrodden he seemed tonight.
He wanted to take a picture of him like this, and he felt at his pocket for his phone before remembering he had left it in his luggage. Was that still downstairs? Damn. He did, in fact, want to change. His clothes from the plane felt old and rumpled, but he wasn’t about to go back down to get his things.
His slender fingers slid the drawer shut without taking his eyes from Marius. “I’m all right.”
Marius could only stare at him with a furrowed brow, trying to solve the impossible riddle that was Armand’s thoughts and feelings. He looked unsure of what to do. Was he hesitant to impose? How could he ever think his desires an imposition to Marius, who lived to please him? Or was he uncomfortable to be here alone in this intimate space? That couldn’t be true. Armand did not indulge people when he did not want to, and that he stood in this bedroom meant he wanted to be here.
His eyes swept Armand in the dim room, taking him in from his feet to the lovely curls on his head. Marius wouldn’t at all be adverse to letting him sleep in the nude, but in a crowded house, perhaps modesty was advisable. He could offer his own clothes. Perhaps a shirt, leaving his legs exposed. The idea sent immediate arousal through Marius, which he chastised himself for. He was by no means insatiable, just unaccustomed to these feelings and still learning how to navigate them. He’d kept strict control over his urges, neither satiating them with others or giving in to self-pleasure. Keeping busy was the remedy. Busy and alone.
He’d have to work harder. Armand deserved better than to be a mere object of desire. The best action would be to have the servant bring up Armand’s bags, and he reached for his phone to deliver his instructions, expecting a prompt reply via action, not a confirmation through text.
“How was your time at sea,” he inquired, removing his watch and turning to slide out a thin drawer that had organized in it all manner of watches, pieces made from various precious materials, adorned with gems of all shapes and sizes. “Did you find anything?”
A pink tinge rose to Armand’s cheeks as he remembered his humiliating ordeal with falling overboard with the whales. Part of him wanted to tell Marius about it, just to see how he would react. Would he be afraid and concerned and rush to cherish that Armand had escaped the peril unscathed? Pull him into his arms and shower him with adoration at the thought of possibly having lost him? No, somehow Armand doubted that. Marius might be angry, but likely he would just chide Armand’s stupidity in that cold way of his. Armand had wondered if drawing passion from Marius might be easier now that he was a hot-blooded mortal, but even as a man, he remained so aloof and distant.
Armand drew near to him, wanting to see the sparkling things inside the drawer before Marius closed it, just like he wanted to see and explore every nook and cranny of this home of his. Marius had lived here for many years before he moved to Court. There was so much of him in every little detail of the house. Daniel had lived here too, and Armand wondered what of him he would also find in the many rooms.
“We did,” he finally answered, only inches from Marius’s elbow as he admired the watches. “The wreck wasn’t quite exactly where Gregory had pinpointed, but it did not take long with the cameras and underwater drones to locate it another league off.” His fingertips dipped into the drawer and stroked the elegant links of one of the golden watch bands. “We’ve already had the salvage crew sent out, and they should have it dredged up for us soon.”
“I imagine treasure hunting has some measure of guessing involved,” Marius said, watching him touch the watches.
They were perhaps the only thing Marius wore that could be considered designer as he considered designer clothing brands cliché, silly, and common. They stank of new money, the fads of the rich, whose plebeian obsessions with labels and looking rich separated them from the truly wealthy. Marius preferred his clothing handmade by Italy’s finest tailors, crafted to his body and preferences more than something off a rack would be. It didn’t occur to him that part of his preference was shaped by the values he held as a human. That a patrician could wear no garment better than the one handmade by his wife, sisters, or mother. It was a mark of status and a subject of much pride. And though some of his watches were made by elderly master jewelers and craftsmen, they lay side by side with Patek Philippe and Louis Moinet.
Armand looked so innocent as he fingered the gold and jewels. Marius remembered so clearly the time when Armand’s happiness was the world. The grip the mortal boy had on his heart was frightening. How many times had the boy stared wide eyed at some beautiful jewel, novel trinket, delicious treat, or new invention, and Marius, who meant it when he said he’d give anything the boy could want, would immediately purchase it for him? How many times had Marius removed the jewelry from his own body to slip onto Armand, covering the boy in both wealth and possession. His own possession. A signal that, though the lovely youth presented a sumptuous treat, he was kept. Yet it didn’t matter, did it? The child had his own erotic affairs, which Marius was fine with because he saw into the boy’s heart and mind, saw that these lovers were nothing but a temporary replacement for the things he wanted from Marius.
Marius wished for that neediness again. That desperation and ache. But every drop of innocence in Armand was gone, buried beneath sacred dirt in holy ground. “I’ve never Gone treasure hunting at sea,” he said so casually, as if his heart wasn’t breaking.
“It’s how I made my fortune, you know,” Armand mused. At least part of it, which was why Gregory had recruited him in the first place. “You need a human partner to manage it. I was never able to amass real wealth as a vampire, not until… Until I had Daniel.” A somewhat sorrowful frown wrinkled Armand’s brow as he thought back over all those centuries he’d lived in utter abnegation, wearing the same black rags for decades on end, only changing when they fell apart. Over the past forty years, he’d made every effort to live the opposite, finally restoring the princely extravagance and comfort in which Marius had raised him, the only time in his life he’d been happy.
Reluctantly, he let his hand slip from the drawer so that Marius could close it. He knew where it was; he could always look more at the jewelry later. Craning his neck, he looked up at Marius beside him. “I am tired. Lie down with me.”
Marius nodded, and as he did, a soft knock sounded. No doubt Armand’s luggage was now waiting outside of the door. Once again, Marius was troubled by his lack of heightened senses. Someone had been right outside of his bedroom door and he hadn’t known. It made him aware of how unsafe they were, and worst of all, how helpless he was to protect Armand. How did mortals endure not knowing what was happening around them?
“Let me get your bag,” he said, turning and approaching their door. And sure enough, Armand’s suitcase, which he picked up and brought inside. It wasn’t much, but then again, they didn’t plan on staying long. And Marius knew he’d return with them, both him and Bianca, who he had to admit looked quite lovely in her bikini, shoulders pink, hair pulled up to reveal her elegant neck. Not that he looked. He’d never. One didn’t stare at a woman in such a way, not if one respected her.
He set the case down. “Undress,” he said firmly. And then he paused because he remembered what Bianca had advised about being less overbearing. “Please.”
Armand blinked at him, though there was nothing challenging in his expression. It just seemed he was surprised Marius would even say such a thing at all. Instead of obeying immediately, he came over to Marius, but once he was there, he simply took his bag to set it on the bench at the end of the bed where he could unzip it easily. His hand moved through the folded clothing within, but after a moment, he withdrew without selecting anything, and turned to face Marius again.
“You want to watch me undress,” he said, his lips twitching, though not quite forming a smile. As if to say that was a different thing than Marius simply wanting him to be undressed, which was amusing in some way. Marius didn’t deny it, which was as much an admission as agreeing.
Without taking his eyes off Marius, Armand slipped his light jacket off his shoulders and tossed it over his bag. When he pulled off his soft sweater, he had nothing on underneath. He gave Marius another look, again seeming on the verge of amusement, then he sat on the bench to take off his shoes and socks.
The lights were low, but Marius could see well enough to stare at his naked chest. His skin looked velvety soft and beautifully pink, especially the darker circles of his small nipples. Marius wanted to drop to his knees immediately to kiss his soft belly and to trace the perfect circles of his nipples with his tongue. Armand already knew Marius was his eternal slave, so he knowingly teased; there could be no other explanation for the look on his beguiling face.
Marius’s eyes dropped as soon as Armand removed his pants, staring without shame at the limp organ nestled in soft pubic hair. What an absolutely stunning sight, both sweet and erotic at the same time. “Are you planning to sleep like that?”
Armand cocked his head, considering it. He hadn’t been ‘planning’ anything at all, other than keeping Marius close to him. He didn’t like the dark shadows under Marius’s eyes, how lethargic he seemed. Marius needed to sleep, and if it took demanding he come to bed with him, Armand would make it happen.
“Would you let me sleep like this?” he retorted. If he didn’t put clothes on, there was a likely chance neither of them would sleep at all. Not that that would be the worst thing…
Marius wasn’t prepared for how complicated that saucy question would be now that he had other factors to consider. He didn’t see nudity as inherently sexual. And he wasn’t the jealous type, but that was mostly because the things Armand sought out others for were things Marius could not provide. Likewise, the things Armand wanted Marius for were only things Marius could give. There was no overlapping. But now this human body and its needs complicated things. And he didn’t know if he’d be easily jealous and possessive or not. Yet none of it mattered since Armand had been clear about his intention of having many lovers.
“Of course I would.” He would gladly strip and join the boy.
Armand put one heel up on the bench, wrapping his arm around his bare knee to lean his chest comfortably against his thigh as he considered Marius. Did he want to please Marius tonight? He was still angry with him…. Or, not angry, not really, but he felt let down. He’d had it in his head that things between him and Marius were a certain way ever since their time at the hotel two weeks ago, and the disappointment rang with a hollow ache to realize Marius didn’t feel the same.
“Why didn’t you tell me when you left France?” Armand asked abruptly, his face pinched into a frown that, as weary as he was, held no fire or accusation, just a shadow of sorrow.
“There would have been no point to it,” Marius said, as always reasonable first and emotional last. Marius was still very good with understanding emotion, with a high emotional intelligence, but he felt the heart often led one astray. Armand’s face didn’t change much, but Marius knew he had displeased the boy. “There is no cellular service out at sea.” And Marius did not know how to explain that he was a bit caught off-guard that anyone might want to know where he was. For two thousand years, he’d come and gone as he pleased, as most of their kind did. Perhaps he was out of practice for normal relationships. He’d have to figure this out as soon as possible or else jeopardize everything he wanted.
No point to it…
“Ah,” Armand said before he could help himself. As much as he wished his face could stay the unreadable mask that had become its default as an immortal, hiding his feelings came much less easily now, and his brow pinched with a little frown as his gaze fell.
He stared down at his foot on the bench as he waited for the wave of pain to pass. He’d thought there was a point, he’d thought that Marius would have wanted him to know where he was…or even to have waited to say goodbye to him in person. The least he could have done was left Armand a voicemail to hear when he came back to signal…a text…a note slipped under his door… Anything.
Armand had come home fully expecting Marius to be there, eager to see him and tell him all about the trip and to pick up where they’d left off from their previous week since they’d fallen into each other at the hotel. Instead, Armand had been humiliated to have his expectations dashed by Lestat of all people. He hated that he hadn’t been able to hide from Lestat his disappointment and dejection at being so casually dismissed by Marius.
And now Marius was saying there was no point… Why did Marius even welcome him here now? Why bring him to his own room instead of giving him a chamber like he had with the others? Well, Armand could guess, as he stared down at his naked thigh. He should have known what Marius always wanted from him, and he was an idiot for actually hoping there could be something more than that between them.
Quietly, he turned away and got into the bed, covering himself up with the luxurious covers. “I told you to lie down with me,” he said as he stared at the opposite wall. “Why aren’t you doing it yet?”
Marius could only chastise himself as Armand turned his back, the voice muffled and lost of all enthusiasm to be here with him. And Marius couldn’t fault Armand for that. No one was harder on Marius when he failed than Marius himself. He knew while others were afforded the luxury of imperfection, excused for mistakes as it was only natural to make them, he had to be faultless. Everyone had such high expectations and standards for Marius, the great one, the wise one, spoken of with such respect that he was almost mythological. Everyone needed him to be level headed, rational, logical, able to sift through conflicts to find truth and balance. Until, of course, they wanted the opposite of him, and then everything their world always demanded of him were sources of disappointment. Failure. He knew he was the problem, of course. There were no excuses he could or would make. And he knew deep down that, really, what did a 2,000-year-old man know of love when he’d spent most of that time alone? And because he was supposed to be perfect and wise, no one would extend to him the grace or patience to simply teach him.
But there was no excuse. He could surely teach himself. There were entire rows of books about love and relationships in bookstores. He’d go promptly tomorrow and seek some out.
He didn’t say anything because he’d said enough. Deftly, he unbuttoned his shirt until he could shrug it off. Honestly, he was glad to be rid of the thing that held the smell of his sweat and oils. While he should shower, he did not want to press Armand’s patience any further. He left his pants on and followed Armand into bed. Immediately, he fit the boy’s back to his chest, lining their bodies up snugly. He wasn’t suggestive with it, only wanting the comfort of Armand’s body. He snaked an arm around to press to Armand’s small chest, feeling his heartbeat, surrounded by the perfume of his hair. It would be impossible to explain the bliss, the comfort of these small things. Maybe like this he’d finally be able to get the sleep that had eluded him.
The effect was immediate. With Marius wrapped around him, even now that he was warm and soft, the opposite of how he’d ever been, Armand dissolved into him. It suddenly seemed much less heartbreaking that Marius only wanted the physical with him. Would it really be so bad not to have anything more than that between them? Armand could live and die in the physical when it came to this man.
He waited, but when it seemed Marius intended to do nothing now but hold him, he grasped Marius’s wrist, pulling his hand up to press it to his face, as if he could burrow into his skin. Then rolling over to face him, Armand put his hands to Marius’s chest and peered into his eyes. “No,” he said sternly. “You don’t get to restrain yourself with me. You owe me that much, at least. If nothing else, that.” He squirmed his hips to press into Marius’s thigh. And his hands pushed up to tilt Marius’s head back on the pillow so that he could press his lips to the hollow of his throat.
Notes:
This chapter written by me and B
Chapter 91: A Cavernous Ache
Summary:
Armand is not about to let Marius get away with restraining himself from the passion both of them crave. Explicit.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Armand’s vacillation between cold and hot made Marius’s head spin, but it could have also been the immediate arousal that lit every nerve of his body at once as they kissed. The assault was one that he loved. Amadeo was a needy child. He loved the way the heat gathered beneath his skin, turning it a sticky pink he’d never thought he’d experience again, not with his ancient body. What a wonderful sensation, though unsettling in the way it gave him away and he was helpless.
Armand’s mouth burned, and Marius knew that feeling too well. Lips that kissed him in ways he’d never permitted any other. He was too often discomforted by the vulnerability of intimacy, and then the strangeness of his desires. Yet how could he deny the one he loved with his whole body and soul? Had he ever told Armand? Of course not. He’d assumed in some instinctive, tacit manner, Armand knew. Surely, he knew. If asked to describe Marius, most of his friends and old lovers would ascribe adjectives like reserved, cold, stubborn, pragmatic, unforgiving, controlling, absent, logical. Armand was the only one who could say Marius was passionate, romantic, warm, hungry, and affectionate.
He closed his eyes and could only hear the wet kissing, his own obscenely loud breathing, and the rush of his blood. The tips of his fingers ghosted up Armand’s spine, splayed as if wanting to grab, but finding only endless velvet skin to caress. At last, he found the back of Armand’s neck, buried in a blanket of hair, and he grabbed there. He wasn’t sure what compelled him, but he grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled, always so careful and tender with even the heaviest handed ministrations, forcing the boy’s head back, away, breaking the kiss.
Marius slid down until the tips of their noses almost nudged together. Just looking into Armand’s eyes made him shiver, something about their color, their innocence and emptiness lighting fires throughout, igniting him. “You’ve always been so naïve.” He said it with so much whispered adoration and unashamed love that it was clear he was not mocking the boy. No, he reveled in the sweetness even now. How could a creature like Armand ever exist? How could evil wrap itself in such a veil of purity and beauty? “You should be grateful for my restraint.”
“I’m not.” Armand's eyes smoldered with the dark combination of frustration and lust. He didn’t want to let Marius’s condescension get under his skin, no matter how adoringly he delivered it. Ever since he’d become mortal, Armand’s emotions seemed sometimes on a hair trigger, and he couldn’t rein them in. Damn Marius, that he had this effect on him, that the mere caress of his large hands made Armand’s entire being so helplessly desperate to be consumed by him. And Marius would restrain himself now, after everything? Armand was not in the least grateful for the torture.
His hands pushed against Marius’s chest, not to try to make distance between them, just to feel the solidness of his shape, his size, to reassure himself that Marius wouldn’t disappear in a puff of smoke the way he seemed to have done while Armand was gone on the boat.
“I know you’re not threatening me,” Armand said. “Or are you?” Turning his head back and forth on the pillow, he tested Marius’s grip on his hair, as if seeing how well he might be able to break free should he decide to. His mouth opened, wanting to taste Marius’s skin again, but he couldn’t get close enough with how Marius held him.
It was distracting the way Armand pressed against him and squirmed, their bodies too close not to have an effect on Marius, as each motion made points of thrilling contact where Armand slid and ground against him. How Marius wished for his pure, aloof body again. This new one was too affected by everything. The time apart had been difficult for Marius, partly because he worried and partly because of the desires of his body. He was able to resist the urges by isolation, but now that he had Armand’s pliant body against him, it was not so easy.
He elected not to answer the question, aware that might annoy Armand further. Releasing the curls clasped tightly in his hand, Marius grabbed the back of Armand’s neck and pulled him in for a deep kiss. He put all of his immeasurable love and desire into the kiss because he did not want the boy to think that his absence was not noticed. There was something in Armand’s urgency that felt like more than just physical want.
As delicious as the inside of Armand’s mouth was, Marius pulled back just enough, loving the wet sound of their lips separating. “I am…very glad that you are here,” he said, breathless, trying to summon up sweet words that would not sound too saccharine. “I’ve thought of nothing but you since you left.” A perfectly innocent thing to say if not for the fact that Marius took Armand’s delicate wrist in his hand and slid it down between their bodies, leaving it at the last plane of bare skin just above the waist of his pants.
Armand didn’t believe him. Marius hadn’t thought enough of him to let him know he was leaving or where he’d gone, after all. Not before he left, or even after the fact. He’d thought enough to tell Lestat, but for Armand, there was no point.
The anger that had been swept away as his brain dissolved under Marius’s kisses surged again, and Armand snatched Marius’s waistband, jerking him close, his eyes fiery as they bored into Marius’s. He knew what he needed to do. He needed to make it so that Marius’s words became true, so that he absolutely couldn’t think of anything but him. So that he was irreparably tortured in every minuscule moment of separation from Armand. So that there would be every point in keeping Armand abreast of his comings and goings.
His other hand joined the first and he made quick work of the fastenings of Marius’s trousers, pushing the fabric down so that it hooked beneath the full glorious package that waited beneath. Armand’s hips hitched close again, pressing himself to Marius, a sinful little moan rippling from the back of his throat as his eyes rolled back in his head. “Show me what you’ve thought of,” he challenged.
Marius could remember a time when Armand was innocent. When his cheeks would burn from both passion and shame, and each moan committed him deeper into the depths of the hell his kind feared more than any earthly condition or consequence. Marius never had to force or coerce Armand into bed with him, which only deepened the boy’s belief that he was damned for eternity, for the sins came too eagerly, too easily, his submission too natural, and he enjoyed them too much. Marius, with his Roman sensibilities, tried his hardest to convince the child that nothing done in love was ever a sin, no matter the differences in age or their same sex.
There was no innocence left, and Marius could only stare into Armand’s angelic face with a mixture of awe and desire. The way Armand’s body rocked against his muscular thigh had his breath quickening, and the small breathy moans were the most erotic thing Marius had ever heard. Of course, he’d felt and heard such things before, only he’d never had them affect him like this.
Marius was hesitant to show Armand what he fantasized about because he was certain he’d frighten the boy. He had contemplated it alone only nights ago, trying to recall from his memories of his previous human life what his sexual proclivities had been. He’d thought of the men when he was a boy, the brothels, the playmates his own age, the plebeian girls in alleys, but he simply couldn’t remember.
Perhaps the monster in him, without its hunger for blood, still lingered but wanted other pleasures still dreadful and dangerous. And he loved Armand more than anyone else in the entire world. How could he commit such atrocities against him? How could he explain that his immeasurable love for the boy made him want to hurt him? It didn’t make sense. Armand would think him quite insane, and rightly so. Marius had suffered, but no more than he deserved. Suffered when he thought of Armand tied up and aching from some abuse because his imagination was too creative and vivid.
Maybe a blindfold. Perhaps his wrists bound to the baroque headboard with his ankles tied to his thighs and his knees opened mercilessly wide by a spreader bar…
No, Marius could never do such things. He’d have to be normal for Christ’s sake. Though Marius was alone when he envisioned these things, he was still humiliated by how the fantasy aroused him, angry at the betrayal of his flimsy, shameless body as he had stared down at his rock hard member. He’d gotten up and promptly taken an ice-cold shower. The discomfort of the freezing water was punishing and he’d promised to never let his mind wander that dark path again.
“You do not want that,” was all he could confess.
Marius rolled over and lay on top of Armand. His knee stayed pressed between the youth’s succulent thighs, letting him continue to enjoy the friction. Once again, he had to hold himself up or Armand would smother in his broad chest. But their hips fit nicely and Marius wrapped his hand around both of their cocks, stroking them together, loving how sweet Armand’s looked against his. He let out a soft shuddering breath, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue as all of the panting he’d done tonight made them feel dry. “Do not offer me such things.”
“Offer?” Armand might have scoffed if his breathing hadn’t already become so difficult to manage. His heart was beating so hard, it was a wonder it wasn’t throbbing through the skin of his chest. His hands went down to Marius’s forearm, but if he meant to stop his ministrations, he failed utterly, and his fingers only dug into his skin clenching the muscle and bone. His other hand came up to push Marius’s hanging hair back from his face, but when he opened his mouth to speak again, all that came out was a desperate little moan, and his back arched his head throwing back on the pillow.
“You tease me!” he accused through panting breaths and clenched teeth. “How do you know what I want?” It wasn’t fair for Marius to make such claims, even if they were pretty lies, and then not share the details! Why else even bother saying it to begin with other than to be a tease?
“I don’t,” Marius admitted, voice mostly breath and desire, trying to spare even the smallest attention to the conversation. He usually had no difficulty keeping up, even when his attention was divided amongst many thoughts and events. But this? Aroused, hot, listening to Armand moan, feeling him toss about underneath, it was simply too much.
How on earth could humans live like this? So sluggish and slow. It was excruciating just to speak. And his thoughts were terribly simple, him now incapable of complexity. It seemed most of his body and brain’s attention was now isolated between his legs, which was not something Marius was comfortable with. Yet, for now, he could not dislike it too much. No, the way he stroked their hard cocks together made him feel delirious and reconfirmed why he had avoided such things all this time.
“Why don’t you tell me, my love. What do you want?”
“You king of demons!” Armand moaned plaintively. “Dark magician! You would claw me to ribbons!” His words dissolved into panting gasps. Just the feeling of Marius’s large, unforgiving hand around him, of his weight bearing down upon him, of their organs pressed and ground together as if they were equals, as if Armand weren’t an insect beneath his boot—nothing more than a forgotten plaything until he was in front of Marius again, demanding his attention—the mockery of it enflamed Armand’s arousal so that it eclipsed even his anger and indignation.
Marius was used to hearing Armand say such things. Demon, monster, negligent father. Armand hated him as much as he loved him and likely always would, and for good reason. He ignored it all, used to Armand’s theatrics and tendency toward drama. It was always cute and did not dampen his passion at all. His hand was a sticky mess as he stroked them together, both of their preseminal fluids mixing, and it excited him. If he had the will to stop, he’d bring his palm to his lips and taste the both of them together. But that would require him to stop, and he was already so close.
Marius felt like he was dying in a most beautiful way, ready to combust and reduce to ashes. This was the only feeling he treasured. His night sleep was restless and plagued by nightmares. No food or drink sat comfortably in his stomach, and it all eventually came back up, expelled, rejected, leaving his skin sticky with miserable sweat and his body overcome with nausea. He’d developed a strange cough in the French winter air that had alarmed Bianca who wanted to send him off to a warm place immediately, which truly was for the best. But he thought that if he could rest his head in Armand’s lap for just a moment, he would be lulled into a safe, deep sleep, shrouded in the comforts of the youth’s nearness.
“I want the truth!” Armand cried in a rasped breath. But then it was replaced by, “Oh, god above me, please!” He was so close to the edge, but Marius wasn’t applying quite enough pressure in the right way to pull him over, and he was nearly ready to sob with need even after only so short a while.
Hearing Armand plead to God to help him was like a wave of cold water, and the sudden freezing chill was awful. Immediately, Marius let go of the both of them and sat up onto his knees. Though the room was dark, the frown on his face was unmissable. “Please, what, Armand? What would you like him to do? Do you pray that he delivers you from your cruel demon Master?” Which was partially wrong because Marius was no more the master than Armand was the pupil, not anymore, but Marius did not know what else to call them. He was no more a Maker, certainly not a boyfriend (he was too old for that anyway) or companion. Father maybe.
Armand stared up at him in shock, feeling like he’d been slapped. Quickly, his stunned confusion turned to anger again and he sat up, shoving Marius’s chest hard with the flats of his palms. “My cruel demon master who taunts me, teases me, denies me!” He felt nearly ready to sob. He had been so close to release and then Marius just stopped. Went cold and pulled away! He had to dig his nails into his palms to keep from beating his small fists against Marius’s shoulders. “I’m not a toy, Marius,” he rasped, trying not to cry with his frustration. He felt drunk, the entire room spinning around him in a delirium of confusion and unfulfilled need. “I am a mortal man as much as you are now!”
Marius frowned, but it was a look of contemplation, not anger. Armand’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, large like a doll, so full of emotion but also so naturally bewitching that it was easy to become distracted. Nonetheless the frustration and despair were there. And Marius was frustrated, too, but he wasn’t by nature heavy handed, and his first reaction to highly emotional moments was not to give into them.
It occurred to Marius that their differences in age and experience gave them different tastes and tolerances. Armand was young, his body full of fire and needing quick release. Marius was older, more patient, able to tamper his lust to enjoy the entire experience. Able to draw it out and deny himself over and over, knowing the final release would be all the better for it. How could any man with a beautiful boy like Armand writhing desperately under him want to last only minutes? No, Armand was meant to be savored. This upset was nothing more than the result of imbalanced communication, just miscommunication. His child was too clever to purposefully misunderstand. It wasn’t ignorance, but fear.
“My love.” Marius’s voice was calm and smooth, bordering on sweet. “You are not a toy or a child. You are my every hope and dream.” How else could he explain that the word love was even too meager to encompass his feelings?
Again the emotional whiplash stopped Armand short, and he stared at Marius, his lips parted in dumbfounded bemusement. Marius’s deep, rich voice was so earnest, so sincere, that the instinct to bend to him took him immediately. But no—how could he know if these were just pretty nothings? A suspect light had filtered over all the words Marius had spoken to him since becoming human. Ever since he’d just left home without any word at all. It wasn’t that he thought Marius spoke lies or meant to manipulate him—he hardly needed to resort to such measures to take tonight what Armand was so ready to demand himself. But Marius’s brain was human now, all his preternatural brilliance gone, and human brains did and said careless things, were incapable of rationalizing in moments of passion such as this. Armand couldn’t let himself become so lost to him now as his own senseless brain and fragile heart seemed so ready to be. The fickle vacillations of Marius’s moods were beyond his control, and neither of them could trust them.
Slowly, Armand’s fists unfurled and his hands smoothed up over Marius’s shoulders, his arms looping behind his neck. Despite the tenderness of his touch, his expression remained stormy, guarded. “I thought of you every day we were apart,” he said. “Do you think I forget you when you’re not in front of me? You do think that, don’t you.”
Marius sank into Armand’s embrace, moving into him as gently as a man his size could without being burdensome or too heavy. He closed his eyes so that he could pretend for a moment that this was only love and comfort, such tenderness he knew he did not deserve. Blocking out the coldness of Armand’s expression that reminded him that he was still far, so very far, from the things he wanted and also did not deserve. But he was tired, his back hurt, his head hurt, his stomach ached, and he wanted to forget all of that for a moment. Every second of comfort he stole, aware Armand wanted an answer and wishing he did not have to give one.
Since he could not linger where he pressed his body and lay his head, he pulled back to relieve the boy. Somehow, he knew nothing he said would be received well. “I’m very new to this,” he confessed, not expecting it to be enough. But Armand knew that Marius had spent three times his entire life, 1500 years, wandering the earth alone. Sometimes he forgot what was customary as what was custom to a 2,000-year-old man who blinked and decades passed? And relationships? He knew terribly little about those. Not even to mention that Armand had only recently accepted Marius into his life, and Marius did not know what he expected or wanted.
He said none of this because he did not want Armand to think he was shifting blame. “I try not to assume anything about you.”
Despite Marius’s doubts, these words had a soothing effect on Armand. The sincerity to them, the vulnerability of the admission without him even truly saying it, it chipped away at the stony crust that had seemed to be creeping back over Armand’s heart.
His head tipped forward, his warm breath coming out softly against Marius’s lips in a sigh filled with longing, his hair falling against his face, tickling his cheeks. After a moment, he shifted to sit over Marius’s lap, his arms tightening around his shoulders as he met his gaze again.
“I asked only one thing of you, Marius. Don’t you remember? That night in the hotel with the snow muffling the entire world beyond our walls? Making us the only two beings left in existence. When you said you loved me, and I said it too. When your touch wrung ceaseless tears of ecstasy from my eyes. I said I only needed one thing from you.” He paused, searching Marius’s gaze, siphoning from the cobalt depths every last part of his soul that he could take for himself. His greedy heart wanted all of it. Armand had been so happy that night. So blissfully, perfectly happy. So foolishly, stupidly, idiotically happy.
Marius wanted to go back to that world. He’d live there happily for all of eternity, reliving that single night in unrelenting happiness. Just the snow through the window and the moon, the soft foreign bed, and Armand’s luscious body to traverse in endless and unashamed pleasure. This body of his own was a thing Marius had come to loathe, only beautiful to him when Armand touched it, and in touching it showed Marius that every ache and pain was easily forgotten, meaningless, when Armand loved it.
“I told you not to leave me,” Armand finished, shuddering at the memory of how his stomach had sunk when Lestat told him Marius was gone.
Marius couldn’t help but smile at the youth’s neediness because he’d always indulged it, encouraged it even. It played into his inherent need to nurture and protect. The fact that it was often unintentional is why Marius felt they were suited to one another. This was the boy who threatened to beat on his door until dead if he were ever cast out. It was a lovely memory, but it still opened a cavernous ache in Marius’s chest.
No time for that now.
Armand was warm and Marius wound his arms around him, pressing them close. Marius wasn’t erect anymore, and he felt that a blessing because his head felt far more clarity without lust clouding it. “I will not leave. You are all that I want.” Which was true. He’d ignored the advances of others, waiting for only Armand. “Will you go out with me tomorrow?” It would just be nice to spend time together, even if just to walk or run errands.
“Anywhere,” Armand breathed, the air coming out warm and moist against Marius’s bare shoulder where his cheek pressed, his fingers clutching. “I want to know this place where you live, to learn the mysteries of what fascinations held you here for so many years. Show me everything that you love, at least everything that is still possible to love without our gifts and without the thirst. Show me the places where you painted flowers that Lestat wrote about in his book. Let us walk your favorite beaches in the daylight. Have you done that yet? Or have you only been brooding in these pretty rooms for the past three days?”
“I haven’t been brooding,” Marius insisted softly. He’d gone out, but he did not admit that the furthest he went was his own yard and private section of beach. It wasn’t that he was avoiding humans, it was just so very strange to be among them as one of them. Marius wasn’t afraid, it was just very new, but being with Armand would counterbalance that. Someone like him. His biological composition could change, but that didn’t alter his identity, his history, and his nature. Armand was like him.
How perfectly distracting to explore this sunny human world with Armand’s smile and beauty. They’d still have to be careful, though. “And I would love this very much.” Armand’s heartbeat lulled him, the warm breath, too. Everything was perfect. Marius was suddenly very happy that he had not given into his darker urges as this was infinitely better. “You must be tired from your very long travel. Let me help you sleep.”
“How will you do that?” Armand asked, feeling barely able to breathe as his mind drifted in a hundred dreamy directions. Fantasies he could hardly bear to let himself consider for the thought that Marius would not think to do such things. Yet the promise in his deep blue eyes was so soft, so alluring, that Armand couldn’t help but long to dream.
Marius replied with a series of delicate kisses, laying them upon the soft skin of Armand’s youthful face, each one patient and precise and drawing from Armand little humming sounds of dreamy pleasure. None of the places Marius kissed were random, each one purposefully lain where he wanted to touch. He started with Armand’s hot, pink cheeks, then his cute little nose. He took the boy’s jaw in his hand to tilt his head back and to the side where he could kiss his jaw and where it met the lobe, biting that softly, too, because he wanted Armand to grow dazed and submissive in his arms.
“I could hold you like this all night.” A part of it was self-indulgent. Marius had barely slept and was sure that what he offered would remedy his problem as well.
“You must,” Armand sighed as his arms twined all the more clingingly. “But say all day,” he demanded, his face nuzzling against the side of Marius’s. “There is not enough of the night left, not by miles.” He wasn’t sure what time it was now, and couldn’t see a window from here, but based on the travel itinerary he’d meticulously arranged for the trip from France and when they’d landed, he knew sunrise had to be imminent.
Marius was very subtle in his movements for the sake of decency as he put his penis back into his pants. Armand was beautifully bare and Marius wanted to keep him that way. Exerting what strength his sleepy limbs still possessed, Armand tugged to draw him down to the bed, and Marius directed his body to lie next to him and not on him as that would be an unbearable weight once Marius fully relaxed.
He didn’t intend to untangle himself in the slightest, lest Marius try to get up without him at some point. “Don’t leave me again,” he whispered, as his eyes closed and he began to drift.
Marius smiled into his hair, sweetened that he was insisting this yet again. Marius would give him endless assurance if necessary, never tired of the neediness or dependency. He loved and cherished any time that Armand let down his guard enough to be vulnerable and to give Marius what he wanted most.
“I will never leave,” he promised, holding Armand to his naked chest, stroking down his spine. “You are all that I want in this entire world. I will be right here.” Even if Marius woke hours before Armand, he’d stay just like this as long as he had to.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and B
Chapter 92: Beguiling Devil
Summary:
When Lestat gets out of the shower, he's pleasantly surprised to find Louis waiting in his bed. Prelude to explicit.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Cyril was exhausted, and he dropped his large leather bag on the floor of the guest room Bianca had given him. Glancing back out the door, he watched her show Lestat to his own room across the hall, unable to keep from staring at her shapely backside. He felt like he could sleep for a week, yet knew he’d never be able to let Lestat leave his sight for that long. A half hour though—maybe an hour, just long enough to keep his wits about him. And so he left his door cracked open, but went and flopped down on the bed in all of his clothing and quickly set his watch alarm to go off in 45 minutes time.
Meanwhile, Lestat pulled Bianca into his arms for a lingering embrace, and he was tempted to invite her into the room with him. Valiantly, he refrained. It wasn’t that he feared rejection, he would handle it with grace if she had no interest, but he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable or introduce any awkwardness into their friendship, no matter how the press of her ample breasts against his chest inflamed his desire. He kissed her adoringly on both cheeks and made her promise to tell him soon all about her time in this tropical paradise over the past few days, and then he reluctantly closed the door behind him.
Alone in the handsomely appointed bedchamber, Lestat took a minute to explore and admire all the furniture and decor, and then he stripped off all his clothes on his way to the en suite, leaving them in a trail on the floor behind him. He brushed his teeth and took a gloriously hot shower, but it was too lulling, and he nearly nodded off with his shoulder against the wall as he reminisced about his enrapturing ten minutes with the flight attendant on the private jet. Thankfully, he jerked back awake before he slipped on the tile and broke his neck.
Toweling off, he didn’t bother putting on any clothes, intending to just crawl right into bed. He certainly hadn’t packed any nightwear. He hadn’t packed anything at all, really. Nothing in his closet at home would suit the tropical climate. He had the shirt and the jeans he wore on the plane along with a couple extra shirts and undergarments stuffed into his computer bag, and that was about it. Of course Marius’s bathroom was well stocked with all the toiletries he would need. Once the sun was up and the world awakened, he intended to do all the shopping.
He was still rubbing the towel over his hair as he emerged from the bathroom, but when he pulled it off his head, Lestat stopped short.
There was a Louis in his bed.
Good god, he was beautiful. He sat silently against the headboard, his lower half beneath the covers, waiting. He still wore his button-down shirt, but his trousers were folded neatly on the bottom shelf of the nightstand.
Earlier, he hadn’t so much as looked at Lestat as he’d politely thanked Bianca for showing him to his own guest room. Lestat assumed he was still sulking about Claire and had thought nothing else of it. But in truth, it was that the memory of Teskhamen’s voice had been ringing in Louis’s head like the insistent bell of a summons.
He’d found himself glancing back over his shoulder as he followed Bianca down the hall, the weight of those inhuman eyes behind him, like a gentle touch to his shoulder, which he tried to shake off, a nagging long-forgotten sort of curiosity and longing settling into his core. He didn’t like it, didn’t like to be reminded of those centuries-ago restless nights he’d spent in his rooms, tossing and turning, and remembering the thrill and horror of what Lestat’s preternatural press had seemed.
Bianca must have noticed his unease because she showed him to his room first, and Louis hung reluctantly in the doorway as he watched her take Cyril to his, just across the hall from Lestat’s, which she directed his attention to last. Louis had closed his own door slowly, and stood there, his forehead against it as he waited several long beats until the sounds died out in the hallway.
Trembling, he’d then pressed it open again and glanced down the hall, half expecting to see the startlingly striking visage of Teskhamen looming in the darkness. He couldn’t bring himself to look, afraid for his resolve which was not so stalwart of late. He kept his eyes downcast as he hurried to Lestat’s door and slipped inside without knocking. The shower was running by then, and Louis had sighed, relieved he wouldn’t have to face Lestat with the harried expression he surely wore. Indeed, by the time Lestat discovered him in his bed, Louis had regained his composure.
As much good as that would do him.
The surprise on Lestat’s youthfully handsome face shifted into an irritatingly smug smirk, and he laughed. He flipped his towel over his shoulder, not bothering to cover his naked body in the slightest and strode to the bed. Crawling onto it right over to Louis, he dropped the wet towel over Louis’s head. Laughing at him again, Lestat pulled him into his arms and kissed the shape of his face through the plush terrycloth.
Struggling feebly, Louis pushed against the onslaught, his hands fluttering to strain at Lestat’s shower-warmed shoulders and chest. But there was not one ounce of strength behind it, as though resigned to his fate, the protest merely for show and nothing more.
“Lestat don’t,” he tried, but his words were weak, his grip at Lestat’s broad shoulders shifting to clinging instead of refusal.
Again, the memory of Teskhamen’s voice rang in Louis’s mind, but he would be damned before he admitted such a thing to Lestat, especially when he was being so playful and carefree. If only Louis could allow himself that. If only his nerves would allow him.
Lestat snorted, seeing right through Louis’s rebuff, even though he wasn’t sure exactly what he was saying ‘don’t’ about in the first place. He knew Louis claimed he didn’t want Lestat’s mouth or his dick touching him, but that’s what the towel between them was for.
He let Louis cling to him for a minute, his hand stroking over the towel as if it were Louis’s hair, a mockery of intimacy. And then he finally peeled up the fabric and ducked under to join Louis in its damp fuzzy enclosure. Enough light from the bedside lamp shone through the white fabric that he could see Louis’s face well enough, and Lestat only looked all the more amused at the sight of it.
“You came to me,” he gloated, though his voice was low in the intimate seclusion of their little tent.
There were so many things Louis wanted to say: ‘Because I love you. Because I’m frightened. Of course I did, and I don’t want to be apart from you just now!’ They all seemed so frivolously stupid and saccharine. And Louis was still somewhat cross with Lestat after all, still frustrated with him beyond belief that he didn’t seem to think about anything before he simply just did it.
Pressing his lips together to keep himself silent, Louis glared at Lestat in the dim space beneath the towel. His hands at Lestat’s chest, the tremble in his core was unmistakable. Despite it all, Louis closed the distance between them and ghosted his lips along Lestat’s. “I did,” he said finally.
It took great effort, but Lestat managed to keep his mouth closed, only breathing in sharply through his nose, resisting the surge within him that always wanted to absolutely devour Louis anytime his lips touched any part of him. Louis’s hands felt cool against his chest, which was still all soft from the shower’s heat, and likewise Lestat tried to ignore the shimmering feeling under his skin spreading from each spot Louis’s fingers pressed.
His hands wrapped around Louis’s wrists to hold him there, though not with any force, his fingertips stroking over the delicate bones in the backs of his hands of their own accord. “What do you want to do first once the sun’s up?” he asked, still looking extremely smug.
“I don’t know,” Louis admitted shakily. The thought of getting up and going just now was so utterly overwhelming with how he’d not been able to get much rest on the plane that he couldn’t imagine being up when the sun rose in a mere hour or two. “See the ocean, walk in the sand, nothing at all but exist,” he breathed quietly, his lips brushing the corner of Lestat’s mouth.
A shudder went through Lestat’s whole body, and he clenched his teeth behind his lips to keep back the amorous sound that wanted to rise from the back of his throat. He couldn’t, however, keep his hands from clutching Louis’s wrists more tightly, pressing his palms heavily to his chest. He couldn’t tell if Louis was teasing him, or if he’d already forgotten all his demands from the plane. Lestat had no intention of letting him off the hook for all of that anytime soon.
He turned his face away enough that he could speak without brushing Louis with his own lips. “Sounds…cozy.” His fingers loosened and slid down inside the stiff cuffs of Louis’s shirt, stroking over the sensitive skin of his inner wrist.
It made Louis’s whole being vibrate with pleasure, this small and sweet caressing beneath his sleeves. His breath was hot against Lestat’s cheek beneath the damp towel. Slowly, he pulled one of his hands free and tugged the makeshift tent from their heads, which made Lestat’s nakedness all the more evident, along with the deep flush to Louis’s cheeks.
“Are you going to stay like that?” he asked, then couldn’t help himself grazing a soft bite to the lower of Lestat’s lips. The moment he did it, he regretted it, as his desire flared to life, making his heartbeat stutter, despite his exhaustion.
“Mmph!” Lestat protested, clenching his teeth again in extreme effort at restraint and pulling back to give Louis a mockingly chastising look before glancing down at himself and back up. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked with another smirk, extremely confident that despite what Louis might tell himself, he knew how much he liked Lestat like this.
As Lestat reached over and tugged the covers down on the other side of the bed, at least as much as they could go with him still sitting on them, Louis said nothing, as good an affirmation as any. He finally leaned back and away from Lestat to help him with the bedding. Again, Louis glanced pointedly at Lestat’s nakedness, then back up at his face. Get in, said Louis’s expectant gaze, and he settled down further under the covers, his right cheek resting on the pillows as he faced Lestat’s side of the bed.
Lestat was about to tease him again, ask what his hurry was, but before he could speak, he was caught by a yawn and remembered why they were going to bed in the first place. Despite the bottle of water he’d drunk in the limo, his eyes still felt dry and scratchy from the long plane ride.
Shimmying between the sheets, he turned toward Louis, his legs slipping between and over his out of habit. He kept about six inches between their faces, but his hand ran up Louis’s bent arm, then he tucked down the collar of his shirt for him. There was a much softer and more sincere smile on Lestat’s lips now as he brushed Louis’s hair back from his temple and stroked his knuckles and thumb over his perfect cheekbone. He couldn’t guess what Louis actually wanted right now, whether to be ravaged or to just sink into the comfort of sleep for a couple hours, or something else somewhere in between. He almost started to ask, but Lestat realized he wasn’t sure he actually wanted to hear the answer.
Louis sighed, staring back at him, his green eyes large, as if he might be about to let himself ask, though humbly, for his heart’s desire. Instead, he said nothing and closed his eyes, soothed by Lestat’s touch to his face. Their bare legs entwined, Louis reached for Lestat’s waist, his fingers sliding tentatively and gently against the curve of his side. Two pads of his fingers found the divot between the muscles at Lestat’s abdomen, and traced the line down between his hip and stomach before sliding back again to trace the lines up toward his rib cage.
Lestat’s eyes fell closed, his skin feeling like it was shimmering under each faint caress, and he did nothing to suppress the soft moan of yearning that rose up from his chest. His face tipped closer, wanting to kiss Louis’s mouth, his cheeks, his jaw, everywhere. But he continued to keep his lips from touching him, not about to let Louis win this one.
But that didn’t mean he wasn't going to do anything at all.
Rolling into him, Lestat’s chest pressed heavily against Louis’s, as if he’d move his weight completely atop him, but he stopped there for now. His hand found its way under the covers and to Louis’s hip, his fingertips tugging along the elastic of his shorts.
“Hmmm.” Lestat pushed his face into the curve of Louis’s neck, inhaling the scent of his hair. “It’s too bad about all those diseases,” he murmured into the dark strands. “The things I’d do to you right now…”
Beguiling devil he was. Exacting tempter, and ruthless fiend. Louis shuddered beneath the caress of Lestat’s breath, his hips writhing, legs curling against Lestat’s in anticipation of whatever might come next.
“You’re a fiend!” Louis spoke his last thoughts aloud, but they came out low and wanton. His fingers that played along Lestat’s side gripped him fully, pushing against him with only the barest pressure, then tugging back after several more moments. His heartbeat was pounding in his chest, his loins feeling heavy despite his sluggish exhaustion.
“I don’t want to think,” Louis breathed, in half a whine. “Just be more careful, that’s all I ask,” he insisted, craning his neck to afford Lestat’s mouth access, if only it would take it.
“That’s not all you ask,” Lestat argued with a low laugh. He nuzzled against the soft hair that fell over Louis’s cheek, still avoiding letting his mouth actually touch him. His hand slipped under the elastic at Louis’s waist to run over the cool roundness of his behind, languidly squeezing and fondling.
“I haven’t not been careful. That’s what I was telling you. I checked it all out, made sure there was no risk. I knew what I was doing. Trust me, Louis.” His lips opened just over Louis’s ear, as if he’d suck the lobe into his mouth, his breath hot, but still, Lestat didn’t close the distance. His voice went even lower as his fingers on Louis’s behind found the open space between his legs, tucking up to where he could wrap his palm around his scrotum. “It’s oh so difficult for you, I know. But just think how much more fun you’d have if you did.”
Betrayed by his own lips, Louis let out the barest whimper. Unbidden his legs parted for Lestat affording him easier access for the intimate contact. “I know, God dammit,” he groaned, nearly whined. “I want to trust you, I do.” He wished he could find Lestat’s lips with his own, but he was frozen to the spot with that breath at his ear. He twisted beneath Lestat as much as he could without breaking their bodies from one another. Bringing his hand up that had been tucked beneath himself, he pushed his fingers into those golden curls.
“Kiss me,” Louis pleaded, languid and breathless.
Lestat stared into his eyes, the need in them making his chest rise and fall heavily against Louis’s as his breath quickened. It smelled fresh with the expensive toothpaste Marius’s bathroom had supplied. “But Louis,” he breathed, his lips only a hair’s breadth from that kiss he begged for, his own eyes growing dark and glassy with desire. “Who knows what I’ve done with this mouth?”
Louis’s gaze narrowed, his lips pursing with indignation at his own words being thrown back at him. He scoffed and his grip at Lestat’s nape and waist tightened. “Damn your mouth! Would that you reserved it only for me,” he seethed in a hiss, his heartbeat pounding.
It wasn’t exactly that. Not really. As far as Louis was concerned, Lestat might do whatever he wished with those who were part of their formerly immortal family. But to imagine Lestat gallivanting about all over the world, being with anyone at all who struck his fancy, people neither of them knew. It was unthinkable. Louis wanted to imagine too, that he might overcome his personal envy with any of their own. But Claire, despite her being a part of their little village family, was right out.
“I don’t want your lips on anyone else!” There was a slightly uncomfortable pause. “Anyone not of our tribe,” Louis admitted with exasperation. “Kiss me, you damnable devil! Do you really delight in torturing me so!?”
The question was just amusing enough to keep Lestat from thinking too hard about what it might mean that Louis actually cared who his lips touched. Lestat didn’t know what to make of these feelings from Louis at all. He wasn’t so blind that he attributed them only to Louis’s fear of illnesses, but considering any other obvious reasons for Louis’s possessiveness of his lips made Lestat quite uncomfortable, and that was the last thing he wanted to feel right now.
So he just grinned at Louis as he answered, “I really, really do.” His face dipped close as if he’d finally grant Louis that kiss, but he just added, “Only when you deserve it, of course.” Louis had been the one to start this fight, after all. Lestat had only been doing as Louis claimed he wished!
Another hesitant moment trembled between them, as if Lestat still might decide to refuse to kiss him, but then he finally let himself sink into Louis, their hearts beating hard against each other. His lower lip caressed wetly over Louis’s before his mouth closed upon the upper one, sucking at it softly. The taste was so sweet, the suppleness of the flesh so good, that Lestat moaned deeply with pleasure, his hand around Louis’s backside clutching hungrily at the inside of his thigh, pulling their hips fully together. The texture of Louis’s underwear between them sent desperate shivers over Lestat’s bare flesh, and he wanted it gone. His tongue plunged into Louis’s mouth, capturing his and sucking on it, savoring it, and he moaned again, the sound releasing all the restraint it had taken to keep from doing this since the moment he pulled the towel off his head and discovered Louis waiting like an offering in his bed.
Louis devoured Lestat’s mouth, opening for him and sucking in that delicious pink tongue to entangle it with his own. His own moan, quieter, more reserved, mingled with Lestat’s, and Louis cleaved lengthwise to him, his desire surging to turgid life between them. He groaned louder, his thighs parting for Lestat’s hand as his own fingers tangled in Lestat’s hair, fingernails at his scalp and sides, tugging him closer.
“I’ll always want you, no matter where you’ve been,” Louis whispered in confession, in a brief moment where their lips had parted. His heart ached with his words, the core of his chest so heavy, a weighted lump of a stone within him to say such things aloud. So vulnerable, Lestat always did this to him, had always done it, from the moment he had lain eyes on that cat-like and exacting smile.
“I know it,” Lestat laughed against his mouth. “Why else would you be so angry?” It was never that Louis didn’t find him irresistible, how could he not? It was that he forever wished he didn’t.
Well, too bad for him.
“Damn you,” Louis whispered. “Defile me.”
Notes:
To be continued!
This chapter written by Me and K
Chapter 93: Forget Gently
Summary:
Louis has asked to be defiled and Lestat is more than ready to oblige him. Explicit.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Defile me.”
Every nerve under Lestat’s skin caught fire, and the sparks zinged through him to ignite right between his legs. His hand locked around the flesh of Louis’s backside, his wrist stretching the elastic of his underwear to push it below his hips so that he could grope him with unrestrained desire.
“Since you asked so nicely,” he said, his voice more breath than sound by now.
Without warning, he clenched a handful of Louis’s hair, jerking his head back so that he could finally put his mouth and teeth and tongue on that inviting column of throat, so perfect despite the dark bruises already marring it. There would be more of those before the sun rose.
Louis trembled beneath him, pliant and loose in Lestat’s arms, without any hint of resistance now. His underwear about his thighs, he shuddered, his hips giving an involuntary spasm in search of better friction between their bodies.
“Gently,” he pleaded in quiet supplication, knowing how he’d have to wear an ascot on the morrow with Lestat’s ferociously wonderful attentions to his throat.
“I can’t defile you gently, Louis,” Lestat chided against his skin.
“You could make an effort,” Louis managed between bated breaths and shuddering sighs, and his hand at Lestat’s side slid lower, pressing between them to search out Lestat’s erection, to tug at it softly, palming the length of him with a reverent and light touch that somehow seemed all the more worshipful. Lestat’s breath came out in a gasp, his eyes closing and his head falling back.
In truth, there had been a part of him that had ached with worry—no matter how satisfying it was to torture Louis—that Louis really would never relent to having Lestat’s organ (that, he had called it) anywhere near him again. Lestat had instantly needed to call Louis’s bluff because he couldn’t bear the thought of never being inside him again. He would die. Absolutely die.
His hips rolled, thrusting slowly, heavily, through Louis’s grasp. His erection was growing so quickly, his ears were ringing with the dizziness of the blood rushing out of his head. A deep, lustful moan rumbled in Lestat’s chest, the vibrations going straight through Louis’s.
Pushing up on his side, he rolled fully atop Louis, forcing him onto his back, his knees braced between Louis’s thighs to keep his hips elevated so that Louis still had room to hold him. Both of his hands pushed up under Louis’s shirt, bunching the fabric high so that he could put his mouth on his chest, kissing every part of it hungrily to make up for all the kisses he’d held back since the plane. As his tongue flicked at Louis’s nipples, Lestat’s hands squeezed his hips, his fingers thrust under to stretch his cheeks apart.
Louis’s own ministrations were becoming more haphazard and sluggish, intermittent by the moment, the more Lestat nipped and tugged and pried at his body in so many dizzying and gratifying ways. He couldn’t think clearly with Lestat’s hardness growing so thick and heavy in his hands, much less with his breath and tongue working such magic, and those merciless hands.
Louis could feel himself opening up to it, his stalwart resolve to keep some semblance of pride crumbling. “Please,” he moaned in a sliver of a whisper, knowing from the way Lestat pulled him apart so ardently, that the eventual onslaught was coming. “Gently, please.” Like a prayer Louis said it.
Lestat chuckled breathlessly against Louis’s skin. He and Louis must have very different definitions of the word ‘defile.’ But there were plenty of other things he could do to Louis gently. His hands on him softened, his thumbs stroking the crease of his inner thighs up his groin.
Louis's fingers wrapped about Lestat’s cock from a different angle only to slide his grip to its head, cupping him there against his palm and applying pressure in slow short strokes, and once again, his touch made Lestat’s heart miss a beat. He gasped for air, the room around them going in and out of focus. It had been four days since he’d felt the singularly mind-melting sensation that came over him when he was inside of Louis, and that needed to end right now.
Tugging at Louis’s hips, Lestat bent over to put his lips to his ear, sucking at it before speaking in a low voice, “Roll over, Louis.”
God yes. Every fiber of Louis’s being sang, a lightheaded sort of anticipation overtaking him to hear those promising words at his ear. Louis did as he was asked, but not before giving one last delicate twist of his wrapped fingers about the head of Lestat’s wanting cock. His face pressed into the plush pillows, Louis couldn’t help the shudder that took him for how much he wanted Lestat inside him, and damn the risk. Damn everything, in fact. All of it, and to hell with his own stupid words and ultimatums on the plane.
And yet, they were still very much on Lestat’s mind. He didn’t appreciate Louis trying to dictate what he did with other people, but when it came to Louis’s requests for himself, Lestat would adhere until Louis said otherwise. Even if he could tell Louis already regretted those requests, it was up to Louis to be the one to choke on his pride and admit it. And when it came to condoms, Louis had said, ‘With me, you must.’
For the moment, Lestat settled heavily upon Louis’s back, melding into him, his chest hot against his skin with his shirt bunched all the way up to his shoulders. He shuddered as he breathed in the heady scent at the nape of Louis’s neck, his hands roaming his bare sides, his engorged cock sliding slickly up and down between his cheeks with the insistent rolling of his hips.
It took an extreme amount of effort, but Lestat finally managed to put his hands on the bed and push himself up on his knees between Louis’s legs. “Be right back.” His voice was raspy with restrained desire, and before he lost complete control of himself, he forced himself to get up and reach for his computer bag, where he’d packed plenty of condoms for his Brazilian adventures.
Louis raised his head from the pillow, his grip about the plushness tightening with worry for Lestat’s weight leaving him. His hair in his face, he cast his gaze about to see what was the matter, only to spy Lestat digging through his belongings. In an instant, he knew, and Louis’s heart swelled with ever more love for Lestat’s care in adhering to his heated requests on the plane, even in such passionate lovemaking as they had surely been about to do.
“You remembered,” Louis said, beneath the veil of black locks, his cheek against the pillow, backside bared to Lestat. He was breathless, his heartbeat pounding into the mattress as a shiver of wanton desire and appreciation overtook him.
Well, it wasn’t like Louis had given Lestat any chance to forget! Lestat was certainly no fan of the prophylactics, though it was mostly in the removal of the ugly little things that his disgust rose. At least in this decade, the technology had improved somewhat from his use of them during his last mortal go around. He absolutely did not want to impregnate some poor girl (unless, perhaps, she wanted him to…), so he kept a ready supply on hand in order to never be stymied in his adventures. At least the ones in this package were lubricated, which eliminated one problem often presented by getting caught up in the throes of passion without any other resources available.
When he settled heavily atop Louis again, he groaned with such relief and pleasure, like he was coming home for the first time in ages. His arms tucked under Louis’s stomach, hitching him close while the head of his sheathed cock nudged wetly against him. His lips trailed down Louis’s spine before Lestat forced himself back up to his knees between Louis’s legs.
He hiked up Louis’s hips to shove one of the bed pillows beneath them, and then he let out a slow breath as he gazed at Louis’s ass, his hands smoothing over the velvety skin. Good god, was there any more perfectly designed shape in creation? The globes were full, yet taut, the muscles faintly quivering beneath the pale flash; and propped up this way, they split deliciously to reveal the line of soft dark hair that led straight up from the heavy sack beneath to swirl around the mouthwateringly pink hole. Lestat wanted to shove his entire tongue straight into it, indeed to run his mouth and lips and teeth all over every inch of Louis’s backside, sucking on his flesh until he mewled in desperation.
But more than that, Lestat needed to be inside him, to be locked to him so that there was no place where one of them ended and the other began.
God above, if he could swallow Louis whole right now, he’d do it—and then turn himself inside out to fold just as far into Louis.
The sound that came out of Lestat was somewhere between a snarl and a desperate whine, and his long fingers wrapped just so around the bones of Louis’s hips as if they were made to fit together, and then he pushed into him. Louis was so ready to accommodate him, and with the lubrication of the condom, he tensed only a millisecond before he relaxed again entirely against the press of Lestat’s sudden breach. With a gasp and a groan, Louis opened up to him so completely that they were one, Lestat plunged in to the hilt, fully seated inside of him in only a mere moment’s passing.
A quiver of pleasure pulsed throughout his body, and Louis moaned again for how he wanted to press himself over and over again back into Lestat. From this position however, face down and propped just so amid pillows, plied and held firm by Lestat’s insistent hands, he could only accept whatever Lestat might have to give him. A sublime predicament If ever there was one. If only it were possible to forget himself entirely in this bliss.
“Yes, please God yes,” Louis mumbled, frantic, into the pillows, and mustered enough wherewithal to brace himself as much as he could manage on his elbows and push back against Lestat to try to goad him into abandoning entirely his former restraint. “Forget gentle,” he breathed.
Lestat already had. He’d been holding his breath, gritting back the compulsion to release immediately into Louis the moment that indescribable symmetry locked in between them. A thousand invisible hooks dug into every part of his body, trying to drag him down into the swirling maelstrom of oblivion. He fought through it, kicked ruthlessly against the tide, knowing it would only be that much more transcendent with every moment more he could eke out of their union. His fingers dug bruisingly into Louis’s hips with his efforts, and it was only when his chest threatened to burst that he finally took in a great, ragged breath, nearly doubling over him.
“No!” he rasped, as if he thought Louis would take the moment to escape him, and one hand slammed down on the base of Louis’s spine, his other clamping hard to the back of his neck to keep him in place. He withdrew nearly all the way, then slammed into him this time. He felt looser already and Lestat groaned, sounding nearly in pain, feeling like his ribs were about to slip open. “Yes!” he said this time, and then he couldn’t stop repeating it with each following thrust. This couldn’t possibly be real, none of it could! He really was going to die!
Louis gasped, he groaned, relishing in the ruthless grip of Lestat’s fingers at his nape pinning him down, with each driving thrust, made all the more satisfying with the bountiful lubrication the condom offered. He relaxed easily into the rhythm of each joining slam of their hips, shut his eyes, and dropped his face into the plush pillows, glad that Lestat wouldn’t be able see the likely ridiculous, blitzed and contented smile that would not budge from his lips. To be used this way, so recklessly fucked, was his most dark and depraved desire. And to be the object of Lestat’s desire, his most ardent wish. Lestat had to know it. Just had to. And if his pliancy and openness for it was not enough proof, then Louis’s breathless keening moans of, “My God! Yes! Please!” would have to suffice.
That word shot Lestat’s memories back to nearly a year ago, to the night Louis had agreed to be his companion at Court, had vowed to follow him anywhere. You shall be my god. And it wasn’t the first time Louis had said something like that. Decades ago, it was You might as well be God. Hadn’t Lestat written those words in a book once?
And yet, they’d been separated for so many of those years in between. Immortality had allowed Lestat to take Louis for granted, even when his existence wasn’t granted, those times Lestat thought Louis was dead and gone from this world. But now that their immortality had been stolen, it truly would happen this time. Even if Fareed solved the mystery and Lestat could be vampire again, Louis wouldn’t come back. Deep inside, Lestat knew it. He couldn’t be the reason for Louis to choose damnation a second time, and there was no other reason for Louis. Lestat really was going to lose him this time.
A guttural cry came out of him, and Lestat’s hands clamped onto Louis’s arms, making him release the pillow he clung to. He wrenched them behind his back, making Louis’s chest lift from the mattress so that his back was deeply arched, and Louis cried out in bliss and shock both. It was a wonder Louis’s erection hadn’t pierced through the pillow beneath him by now with how Lestat rammed him into it over and over again. How many days had it been since the last time he’d taken Louis this way? Why had he waited so long? He would live every minute of every day inside Louis if he could. He would devour him whole so that he could keep him until the final end.
This being yanked upward and wrenched back was all the shift in friction Louis needed to tip him right over the edge. His mouth hung open, eyes shut tightly as his body began to shake, tremors of pleasure wracking him from head to toe. And despite Lestat’s pace, he began to come slowly in one long stream of prolonged climactic release rather than a sudden expulsion and cessation of feeling which was usually how it happened. A buzzing warmth filled his limbs and still he came, moaning aloud throughout. Tears on his cheeks, his shoulders aching, when at last he had no more to give. “Don’t stop,” he gasped, barely coherent, afraid to lose the feeling, afraid to cease the connection.
But try as they both might, it couldn’t last forever. When Lestat finally released Louis’s arms and collapsed on top of him, crushing him into the bed, he felt blissfully exhausted in the aftermath of pouring himself out into Louis. Or rather, not Louis, thanks to that thin latex barrier between them. How beautiful it would be to fall asleep on Louis’s back, with his hands tucked under his chest, staying tucked inside him for the rest of the night. Lestat put it off as long as he could, his panting breath ruffling Louis’s hair over his temple as it slowly evened back out. But it was already becoming stickily uncomfortable, and he grimaced.
With an extremely put-upon groan, he rolled off of Louis and staggered to the bathroom, where he removed the disgusting thing, letting it splash into the wastebasket. When he came back, he had just enough energy to turn off the light before flopping back down on the bed and pulling Louis into his arms.
Louis had managed to regain his senses long enough to move the soiled pillow off of the bed, pull down his shirt and get his underwear back on. Lazily, he melted into Lestat’s arms, liking that the latex barrier that had been between them meant that he didn’t have to rush to the bathroom and rid himself of the evidence of their lovemaking, and instead he could simply revel in Lestat’s tender attention. The return of Lestat’s breath to his hair turned Louis’s thought back to how they had been mere moments before, joined so carnally. Louis knew he would long for that shimmering ecstasy until Lestat would seek to have him again.
Sated and relaxed, he turned sleepily in Lestat’s arms to face him, his breath at Lestat’s throat, his arms sliding around his waist in a fierce and almost desperate hold. “Thank you,” Louis whispered, lips against Lestat’s neck. But for what, he didn’t say as he dropped into a deep and satisfying slumber.
The edge of a delirious laugh shimmered under Lestat’s breath and he did not try to hide the flinch that crossed his features as Louis couldn’t see it anyway. “At your service,” he murmured even though Louis was already too asleep to hear.
His fingertips stroked tenderly along the hairline behind Louis’s neck, and he stared past his shoulder, watching the darkness between the window blinds slowly change to gray. Which direction did this window face? Would he be able to see the sunrise? He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Carefully shifting away from Louis a few minutes later, Lestat rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow, blocking out all light until sleep claimed him as well.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and K.
Chapter 94: Worn Out
Summary:
When Gregory arrives in Rio hoping to spend a romantic weekend with Lestat, he wasn't expecting to walk in on him in bed with Louis.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
By the time Gregory’s jet landed in Rio, it was nearly 4:00am. He’d managed to sleep most of the flight, so he wasn’t feeling any jet lag just yet. Still, he wanted to get to the rooms at the Copacabana Palace to get a quick shower and change into some lighter clothing for this part of the world. He took a few moments to watch the sunrise from his balcony as he texted Lestat again that he’d arrived. Perhaps his prince had lost his phone again, or forgotten to turn it back on after his flight. A quirk Gregory found both endearing and frustrating.
Gregory knew he was staying at Marius’s place, and he knew that location well enough, having scoped it out a few times when he was still a blood drinker. It was an hour or so drive from the city, but he did some work on his laptop to pass time while the private car made the trip, his security team following in a second vehicle. He’d alerted his execs at his company’s Rio de Janeiro headquarters that he’d be making an impromptu visit. How excited they’d been!
When he arrived at last at Marius’s beautifully palatial home, Gregory's heart was nearly bursting with the giddy thrill to finally see Lestat again. To hold him and talk of everything. Bianca was kind enough to let him in and even to lead him through the unfamiliar maze of hallways to the very room she said was Lestat’s. She left him at the threshold with a sweet smile.
He stood there for a moment, massaging the back of his neck, feeling the heat and humidity of this country even inside the artificially cooled rooms of this house. Finally, he made a quick rap on the door, turned the knob and entered, for certainly Lestat would be up by this late morning hour. Up and waiting for Gregory. But when he stepped into the room, he found quite the opposite.
Lestat lay in bed, asleep on his stomach, his arms loosely hugging his pillow. They were bare, as were his shoulders and back which showed above the luxurious comforter drawn over the rest of him. His face was turned toward Gregory, and in the morning sunlight slanting into the room, he looked like a sleeping archangel with his hair spread over the pillow and shoulder.
Heat spilled across Gregory’s skin at the sight of him, all lazy and golden and bathed in daylight. A lump of joy formed inside his chest and threatened to burst out. But then, just as quickly, a chilled ice washed over it all. For Lestat was not alone in his bed. There on his other side, very comfortably snuggled close to Lestat beneath the covers, was a sleeping Louis.
Lestat’s eyes blinked open, and he looked blearily toward the sound at the door. It took him a moment to recognize what he was seeing, but when he realized it was Gregory, his entire face lit up, a sleepy smile at once rising.
Gregory quickly tried to cover the scowl that came over him. He looked away, at the window with the sunlight pouring through, jaw tensed. Why was Louis here? Had he not just spent a day and night in Paris and a whole plane trip with Lestat, not to mention all their time at the castle the past week? Certainly, this house had enough rooms for all of the party that had come to visit.
He made himself look back to the bed, despite the bitter sting that had drowned his premature joy. “My Prince,” he said, voice low and rough with hidden emotion. “Sleeping in, I see.”
Lestat sat up and put his feet on the floor, and though the covers didn’t fall off him completely, it was clear from the visible sliver of his hip that he wasn’t wearing a scrap of clothing. He yawned and his hands went up behind his neck to stretch out his back, the muscles of his chest and arms flexing. Gregory’s breath hitched in his throat as the nearly full naked beauty of Lestat was revealed so lazily before him. Heat washed over his skin again and pooled into his belly.
“What else am I supposed to do while I wait for you?” Lestat asked, as if nothing else held any sort of interest without Gregory there, so he might as well just curl up and sleep.
Gregory couldn’t help his gaze darting to where Louis slept and then back to Lestat. What else indeed.
He gave Lestat a smile, only slightly forced. “I don’t know… Perhaps go for a swim. The whole beach is out there. Eat a wonderful breakfast. Explore this amazing house Marius has.” Gregory stepped into the room, leaving the door ajar. He walked over to a small round side table beside an armchair and touched the petals of the beautiful blooms of flowers in a vase. “Anyway… I’ve come to collect you now. Let’s go explore the street markets and buy everything,” he said, infusing his quiet words with the enthusiasm he’d felt only moments ago.
“Yes! I need clothes for this climate.” Lestat hadn’t even brought a suitcase. Nothing he had at home would suit Rio, and he loved any excuse to shop, so he’d just put an extra shirt and some underwear into his computer bag, trusting Marius would have plenty of anything else he might need. He hopped out of bed and went for them now, then pulled on the same jeans he’d worn on the plane.
Finally, he went to Gregory, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind and resting his chin on his shoulder as he looked down at the flowers as well. But then he turned his face and gave Gregory an excited kiss on the cheek before loosening his hold to tug him to the door. “Let’s go!” Despite his enthusiasm, his still voice kept very low so as not to wake Louis.
Gregory was glad he wouldn’t have to do any convincing for Lestat to come with him. He allowed him to pull him out the door. It was still unusual, to feel he could be pushed or pulled by another at all. So very long he’d been the strongest. Immovable.
Outside the room, Gregory found he could breathe a little more easily. “I have a car and driver out front,” he said, a genuine smile crossing his face as he looked to Lestat. The hallway was empty, and without even thinking about it, he pressed Lestat into the nearest wall, almost disturbing a framed painting of a lush green garden. Gregory laughed and kissed Lestat deeply. “I missed you,” he purred.
Lestat laughed against his mouth in surprise, his hands coming up to catch him by the elbows. It seemed he might be about to protest for some reason, but then the length of Gregory’s body pressing against his thoroughly distracted him, and his eyes lost focus as he made a low contented sound in the back of his throat. “Your own fault,” he teased as he got his bearings back, and his hands slid around Gregory’s behind so that he could hitch their hips fully together.
Gregory took this moment to allow himself to sink fully into Lestat, to remember the feel of him and how well they fit together. “Yes, my fault. I won’t leave again on such an extended trip without you.” He kissed along the side of Lestat’s throat and slowly pulled away, his hand reaching down to grasp Lestat’s.
Lestat was about to comment that he didn’t have any intention to go on any extended trips even with Gregory, not so long as people needed him at the chateau, but Gregory was already whisking him out of the house.
They walked down the long pathway to where a car waited. Gregory slipped on sunglasses that cost nearly as much as the Bentley they got into the back seat of. He thanked the driver and asked him to take them to one of the many street markets he wanted to explore today.
At the same time, Cyril climbed into the SUV behind the Bentley, where Gregory’s three-person security team waited to follow their charge. Garnering surprised looks from the trio, he motioned with a nod of his head toward Lestat who slipped into the other car. “Chief of security for that one,” he stated, uncaring whether they intended to argue his presence or not. Everyone else would be fine at Marius’s villa, and he wasn’t about to let Lestat get out of his sight, given his Prince’s track record with adventurous notions. A concealed firearm tucked into a holster beneath his jacket, Cyril shifted in his seat and leaned back against the soft leather of the seat, settling in for what was sure to be an interesting day.
Gregory turned to watch Lestat’s profile as they pulled out onto the roads. Lestat was watching the scenery go by through the windows, mesmerized by the brilliance of colors under the bright blue sky. The sun reflecting off everything was hurting his eyes, even this early in the day. He hadn’t thought to bring any of his tinted glasses with him. He hadn’t so much as touched them once since he’d become mortal. He added shades to his mental shopping list.
“So, you survived your flight?” Gregory began. “You got plenty of sleep… With Louis?” He didn’t want to sound accusatory, but this Louis thing was starting to dig at him.
“Hmm,” Lestat answered noncommittally. “On and off. I don’t like the turbulence. I think he slept through it, though. He was…” Lestat paused to think, how to put in words Louis’s attitude last night on the plane and the tension that lingered even after they’d stopped fighting. “Worn out.” Shifting in his seat, he turned to face Gregory. “There was an entire bedroom on the jet! It was like a house in there. And full fold out beds for the others.”
Annoyance pinched at Gregory. Worn out. No doubt he was. Lestat could be intense in bed. But this all only confirmed that there had been more than sleeping involved, and Gregory found he didn’t like it. Of course they were all of them sleeping around, exploring the return of sex to their lives. But Gregory didn’t want his newly blooming relationship with Lestat to be encroached upon by anything serious with anyone else. And Louis…. He was clearly getting too close.
“Speaking of beds.” Gregory smiled. “You should stay with me in my suite at the Palace Hotel. You would not believe the view. I have a surprise for you there.”
Lestat’s brows went up, intrigued. He certainly was interested in seeing Gregory’s fancy hotel suite, and spending time alone together, speaking of beds, but he didn’t think Marius would appreciate him coming all this way only for him to spend his time over an hour from his place. “Why don’t you stay somewhere closer?” he asked. His fingers reached to hook over the side of Gregory’s hand. “Or stay with us? There’s room.”
Stay at Marius’s place? But Gregory had not been invited by Marius. And besides that point, why did Lestat not jump at the opportunity to be alone with him for the weekend in a lavish suite, with nothing but each other? Were they not deeply in love? Isn’t this what one did as a new lovers? Spend time alone, learning and exploring and sharing with one another. This was certainly what he and Chrysanthe did at the beginning of their relationship. For well over one hundred years, it was only she and him before Flavius showed up. And even then, Flavius was like the moon circling the planet of Gregory and Chrysanthe. There should be no others involved at this early stage. This was, for want of a better phrase, the honeymoon stage.
Ah, but how could he expect Lestat to understand this on the same level as Gregory himself knew it? Lestat had never fully experienced a functioning healthy deeply loving relationship with another. Lestat was perhaps afraid on some inner level. Afraid that this would not be longstanding, that Gregory was not serious or fully committed. Lestat wanted the safety and security of the others around them. Gregory gently squeezed Lestat’s hand. How could he deny him this comfort? He would give him anything he desired, and this was apparently what he needed right now. He gave Lestat a charming smile conveying love and acceptance. He leaned in and kissed Lestat sweetly.
This kiss surprised Lestat. It wasn’t the usual aggressive, passionate treatment he’d come to know from Gregory, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. He was so distracted by it that he almost missed when Gregory spoke again.
“Of course. If this is what you want, I will happily stay at Marius’s home. Assuming, Marius is amenable to this.”
“I, ah…” Lestat blinked and tried to get his brain back into focus. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
A bright vivid memory flashed in Gregory’s mind of Armand kneeling between his legs on the boat, licking, sucking, worshiping, and bringing him to the height of such incredible sexual pleasure. Heat flushed over him, and he had to look away from Lestat’s beautiful handsome face. He watched the scenery fly by outside the window. The deep blue of the ocean water, the mirror of that blue in the sky. Perhaps it was best not to inform Lestat of his dalliance with Armand on their treasure hunt. Or should he tell him? A strong relationship depended on truth and honesty. This was what accounted for his and Chrysanthe’s longevity.
Letting go of Gregory’s hand, Lestat brushed his knuckles along his cheekbone, giving him a sparkling smile. “Marius begged me to come here with him, but I couldn’t leave until last night. You’ll come back with me for dinner tonight, and as it gets late, I’m sure he’ll insist you stay. He was just as ready to welcome Benedict along with us. He changed his mind about coming, though, when he heard Armand was of our party. So there’s certainly room for you. At least for tonight?” He knew Gregory had business with the local branch of his company in the city, but it was the weekend. It could wait until Monday!
Gregory gave a nod and agreed with this plan. Hopefully Armand hadn’t spilled too many details about the sea trip. Marius surely wasn’t the sort to hold a grudge over a blowjob anyway.
But, yes, perhaps it was best not to tell Lestat just yet. Gregory wanted this day to be perfect for them.
Just the two of them.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and D.
Chapter 95: A Tempting Idea
Summary:
Lestat and Gregory go shopping and get drunk in the tropical heat, then decide they need a swim to cool off.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The drive to the first street market they wanted to explore wasn’t more than twenty minutes, and when he and Lestat arrived, Gregory quickly found them a stall that sold cold bottled drinks. Gregory’s was a citrus flavor he found he enjoyed. “Where would you like to start?” he asked as they stood under a large shaded frond tree on the edge of the market, his thoughts drifting as the sounds and smells and people swirled around them. “This heat is more like my mortal days in Egypt. Though without the humidity, obviously.” Gregory stared out at the blue ocean opposite the market stalls, memories of the cool flow of the great Nile suddenly vivid and slightly unnerving.
“The tropics feel like home,” Lestat said, wistful and dreamy. As they shopped, he bought way more than he needed for the few days he’d be able to spend in Marius’s equatorial paradise. But Lestat liked to have options. He’d leave all the clothes here when he went back home, so that they’d be ready and waiting for him next time he came to visit.
A few hours later, they’d ended up in a tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurant famed for the best moqueca in the region and had been drinking far too many caipirinhas than were advisable. Gregory was slowly savoring his third Brigadiero chocolate for dessert when Lestat announced, “We should go swimming!” They weren’t anywhere close to the beach at the moment, but he’d bought a couple swimsuits at one the quaint boutiques, and there was no reason why they shouldn’t do it as the heat of midday baked into them.
Gregory was just comfortably drunk enough to consider this a great idea. Honestly, any chance to be wet and nearly nude with Lestat was a good plan in his estimation. “Where? Where should we go for this swim?” He sucked a bit of chocolate from his fingers, eyes on Lestat.
How happy Gregory was in this moment. What a wonderful day it had been so far for them, sharing these moments as two mortal men, the easy conversation, small jokes between them, the meaningful looks, and the leisurely walks through the market stalls and sharing opinions on the various art and jewelry and clothing. These things Gregory cherished more than anything. For this was what falling in love was, and Lestat certainly must recognize it as well, how easy and uncomplicated it all was between them. It brought a bittersweet ache to his heart, how reminiscent it was of his first years with Chrysanthe.
Swimming. Yes, they should swim together in the ocean. “You tell the driver where to take us for this swim. You lived here for a short while before, with David and Louis. You know it better than I.”
“Yes!” Lestat was suddenly flooded with memories of the months his little coven spent in this country, relishing in the tropical paradise, Louis actually enjoying himself in all their explorations. “I’ll take you to our favorite beach!” If he could fly up into the air, he’d be able to pinpoint the exact spot along the coast, but as a gravity-bound mortal, he’d have to find it the hard way.
He tapped his lips with his fingertips as he thought. He couldn’t remember the name or any roads that led to it. He never took roads, after all. Pulling out his phone, he opened a GPS map and squinted at the satellite picture of the coastline. “There? I think?” He pointed at it, leaning close to Gregory to show him.
Gregory blinked slowly, the alcohol slowing all his usual reactions. He leaned into Lestat, pushing aside a plate with one bread roll left on it. The roll tumbled off the table and onto the tiled floor. Lestat’s body heat burned into his side and he struggled to focus on the little phone screen.
“This one?” he asked, caressing the screen with his fingers and enlarging the map image. He tried to pronounce the name of the beach but failed miserably then laughed at his own drunken self. “I don’t have a swimsuit with me. Is it a private beach?” He looked into Lestat’s blue eyes, so close. So blue! “You’re pretty,” he purred in a velvety voice.
It took Lestat a moment to register what Gregory was saying, and then he laughed, delighted. “Aren’t I?” He grinned and lifted Gregory’s chin to keep him from flopping over. “I just bought three swimsuits at that shop on the hill. Use one.” They were in one of the dozen-plus shopping bags in the cars. “We can rent a room in one of the B&Bs on the water to change clothes in.” The beach wasn’t private, though of course Lestat had only been there at night, when he and Louis could have the stretch of sand and water to themselves. And of course, they’d never bothered with swimsuits then. But this time of day, there was bound to be other swimmers they would need to consider. His thumb traced along the sharp line of Gregory’s beard, and he leaned close, his eyes shimmering with amused anticipation. “I think you’re drunk, my friend.”
“Nooo,” Gregory objected immediately. “I’m fine. You’re drunk. It’s okay. We’re not driving.” Gregory leaned in for the kiss Lestat clearly needed, slow and perhaps a little sloppy. “I’m a good swimmer, you don’t even need to worry about that,” he said when this kiss ended. “I used to swim in the Tigris… We didn’t call it that back then.” He frowned slightly, thinking back thousands of years. “Everything changes names, over and over,” he lamented. “Idigna,” he pronounced it perfectly despite the alcohol. “That’s it’s true name.”
Lestat only heard about half of what Gregory said, still reeling from the kiss. He was just drunk enough to not even think about the other people in the restaurant around them and how they might react to the sight of two foreigners engaging in such a public display. That was for the security team to worry about.
“You don’t care about true names.” Lestat laughed a little as he caught back up to the moment. “Gregory Duff Collingsworth.” He grinned at him and leaned forward as if he might kiss him again, but Lestat only got close enough to tease before drawing back and pushing away from the table. He fell to his feet off the tall stool a bit unsteadily, yet somehow still made it look alluring as he swept his hair back from his eyes and gave their server a flirtatious parting smile.
In his inebriated state, Gregory forgot he wasn’t in the States and left a sizable tip on their table even though he’d already paid the serviço included on the bill. Once they made it back to the car, he settled in, pushing aside several bags of purchases. He laughed as Lestat had to do the same. “We should have Cyril come and gather all these bags and put them back there in the car with the rest of the security. Did you know he is following us with my men?”
“I told you! Cyril goes where I go. There’s no doing anything about it, so don’t bother trying.” In truth, it gave Lestat relief that Cyril had his back with heavy weaponry. True, there was nothing he could do against any undead foe, but there were countless daytime threats that targeted the wealthy and frivolous. And Leatat didn’t want to have to worry about looking out for himself. He never had, and it didn’t come naturally to him in the slightest. God bless Cyril, who cared about doing it for some reason Lestat just couldn’t fathom, but would never complain about now.
Gregory found it all rather entertaining, Cyril still taking his duties so seriously even as a mortal man. But who was he to judge? He, himself, was clinging to his career in the mortal world as well. “But which bag has the swimsuits?” Gregory looked around them at all of the brightly colored items. Lestat had bought an entire wardrobe. “Or is that in the trunk? Are the trunks in the trunk?” He laughed again at this terrible play on words.
It was cut short as Lestat caught him by the lapel and tugged him close enough that their noses almost brushed. “Marius has a pool. We could just go back there to swim and not have to worry about the trunks.”
“Such a tempting idea,” Gregory replied, his voice deep velvet. He stared into Lestat’s eyes, both of them so close they really should be kissing, but it seemed a crime to break the moment. “Of course, if this is what you want. But I did want to see you on the beach.” Finally, he did lean in and kiss slowly, savoring. “I want you to myself. How private is his pool?”
Why did Gregory keep asking him questions after kissing him like that? How was Lestat supposed to comprehend anything? “Pool?” he asked as his hands slipped around to grasp the backs of Gregory’s arms to keep him close. Tilting his face, he kissed his jaw under the edge of his beard, where his skin was soft without any of the prickling hairs. Yes, this was better. Lestat’s fingers tugged Gregory’s collar aside to kiss lower along his throat, and his mind absently wondered how this might taste with a sheen of chlorinated water over his skin. “Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.” Gregory took a sharp inhale as Lestat’s lips and proximity lit a burning flame to the electric current of passion that had been simmering all day within him. His own hands reached for purchase on Lestat’s body, tilting his head and stretching his throat so Lestat might have more room to place his kisses. Gregory’s eyes fell shut, everything focused down to the feel of those lips and hands on him. “I just want to be alone with you. I think of you every minute of every day. Let’s be alone, finally.” He found himself returning these heated kisses where he could. Along the side of Lestat’s face, his hair, his brow. “My love,” Gregory crooned.
The vibrations of Lestat’s laugh shimmered across Gregory’s skin where his mouth trailed. “Such pretty lies. Never stop telling them.” His hand came up to clutch the back of Gregory’s head, his fingers locking into the short strands of his hair, and he held him firm as he took his mouth with his own again, kissing away any objections Gregory might have. He wanted to insist all his words were true, none of them a lie. But Lestat’s kisses had his mind spinning away again and his body taking full control.
“Don’t you love my friends?” Lestat teased as he came up for air, his nails scraping along the back of Gregory’s scalp. “Marius has a private beach,” he finally relented. “Down below the palm grove. There are parts of it no one can see from the house.”
“That sounds like a perfect place for us, then. Beneath the palm trees,” Gregory hummed, nuzzling against Lestat’s throat. “And of course I love your friends… Our friends.”
They made out like adolescents in the backseat for the rest of the drive, and Gregory was so heated up by time the car came to a stop and the engine turned off that he wasn’t sure he could even make it to the beach grove without embarrassing himself. This was ridiculous. He had to get a better grip on these urges. He was 6,000 years old! He could control this young male form of his better than this, couldn’t he?
Lestat was laughing as he practically tumbled out of the car, his hair a mess and his lips swollen from so much kissing. His eyes shimmered with the euphoric effects of the alcohol and the lingering high from spending money on beautiful things. He grabbed all the bags he could carry from the back seat of the car, leaving the rest for Gregory’s staff to bring in. Walking into the front of Marius’s house, he paused at the shock of cold from the powerful air conditioners, and then he cut straight through the large center room to the glass wall that opened up to the pool deck in the back. There he dropped the bags by the door and stepped out into the blazing afternoon sunlight. He pulled his shirt off over his head, wanting to dive straight into the pool’s glittering turquoise waters to relieve the heat, the intended short journey down the path to the beach already forgotten.
As Gregory followed him, it was somewhat difficult to maintain his usual sure swagger with the alcohol in his system and the raging erection that bordered on painful at this point. When he caught up and saw Lestat had chosen the pool over the private beach, Gregory couldn’t be bothered to point it out now. He slid up behind Lestat, pressing his hips against the strong globes of Lestat’s ass, wrapping arms around him and nuzzling against his throat. “Forget the trunks,” he growled. His skin was as hot as Lestat’s and they needed to be in that cool blue water. Releasing his hold, he began stripping out of his clothing as well, stumbling slightly on a pant leg and nearly falling into the pool before righting himself with a burst of laughter.
Lestat lost his jeans with much more ease, and as soon as they were both fully out of their clothes, he grabbed Gregory around the waist and pulled him tight to his body. Skin to skin, muscle to muscle, organ to organ, Lestat groaned lustily. Once more their faces were close enough that their noses brushed, and it seemed he might close the distance to kiss Gregory’s mouth again.
But instead, Lestat gave him a devilish grin and yanked him over the edge of the pool so that they both splashed gloriously into the water.
Notes:
To be continued
This chapter written by Me and D.
Chapter 96: Human Activities
Summary:
While Lestat and Gregory are busy in the pool, Cyril checks in with Marius about their security situation.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As soon as the clothes had started flying out on the pool deck, Cyril reasoned now was as good a time as any to give Lestat and Gregory some space and seek out the master of the house. He found Bianca first, and couldn’t help appreciating her finer features as he inquired whether she knew if Marius might be about and willing to accept his presence. Cyril intended to acquiesce to the man’s wishes when it came to the safety of all.
When Cyril reached the room Bianca sent him to, the door was open, so he knocked on the door frame. Marius looked up from his book and smiled, setting his work aside to meet Cyril at the door and usher him in. He had not seen nor heard from Lestat yet today, but that Cyril was here meant that Lestat was near and most importantly, safe.
“Sorry to disturb you Marius.” Cyril’s gruff voice sounded unusually humble as he gave a slight bow of his head. “I wanted to run a few questions by you if I could about general house rules and safety precautions. Was wondering first where a good place might be to see to the maintenance of my…” He paused, unsure of how to phrase it since he wasn’t all too sure Marius would be amenable to his having brought firearms into the house. “Equipment,” he said finally.
“It’s no disturbance.” And he meant it. He’d been alone all morning and was quite glad for a bit of company. Even if it was official and technical. It made sense that Cyril would want to discuss measures of safety in a home he was not familiar with. It took Marius only a moment to understand what was meant by ‘equipment,’ though he was mostly unfamiliar with such weapons. In a limited capacity, he knew that they had to be properly cleaned and cared for to keep in good shape. He immediately thought of the perfect space for it—an old work room with storage, a table, no windows, and an independent lock for security, though Marius preferred the term ‘privacy’ for his needs.
“I have a room,” he said, putting a hand on Cyril’s arm to guide him down the hall. “Are you comfortable here, Cyril? Please tell me if there is anything else you need.”
“It’s a nice place you’ve got here. Couldn’t be more comfortable,” he assured Marius, relieved that the man of the house was more than willing to see to his needs and espouse them. “It’s been an adjustment—needing weapons for this job, where all I needed before this change in us was my own two hands, though I’m finding it easy enough. Only hard part is keeping up. Lestat’s got no shortage of energy.”
He followed Marius with deference to his authority, though glanced in the direction of the pool deck as they passed the great room. “He and Gregory are…” He made a vague gesture with his hand. “Out in the pool. That all right?” he asked with one brow rising. “Figured I’d clean the guns if that was going on, but seems a bit crass to say that out loud, considering.” He smiled with a hint of sheepish mirth.
Marius didn’t show surprise to hear that Gregory was at his house, though surprised he was. Silently, it struck him again how much he missed his former senses. He’d have known Gregory was near with those, but now could only rely on human senses and inventions. He wondered also, very briefly, why Gregory did not see him first as host, if only to greet and receive some sort of accommodations. What were human manners and customs to them, though, even Marius still held on to his too-Roman preferences? Ultimately, Marius was pleased Gregory had come, as he and Lestat were notably quite close. It seemed a very strong bond was forming between them, which was only natural between two men powerfully attracted to one another who also loved one another. All Marius wanted from Lestat was his happiness, and he was glad for him that it had been found with Gregory.
“It’s quite all right,” he said with a smile. Marius stopped at the work room door, using the keypad to enter a code, and when it beeped with acceptance, he opened the panel to reveal the door knob that would allow them entrance. Pulling a slip of paper and pen from his pocket, he wrote down the code for Cyril. “Bianca will be even more pleased—she loves having all of the guest rooms full. And we can’t fault young men for their…virility.” Carefully, he separated the page from the book so that the edge would remain clean.
“Hmm,” said Cyril. “No, I suppose not.” Taking the sheet of paper, he glanced at it and then folded it and slipped it into the breast pocket of his button down. “They’re so immersed in each other they didn’t even notice Louis was already out there on the patio lounge, reading a book.” Cyril gave a short shrug with a little shake of his head.
It was a lot to unpack, and with only a part of the complete story, it was impossible for Marius to anticipate all of the ways this situation could snowball into something much larger and more troublesome. Their kind did not favor monogamy, but as all relationships had, there were still boundaries unique to each couple.
Marius had relationships that could be defined as monogamous on the surface, first with Pandora and then Bianca, but not because he intended for that or strictly desired it. It merely ended up that way because he was disinterested in others. Most of them had a primary partner or companion with whom they spent most of their time and gave priority. Louis and Lestat were primary partners, and Marius assumed, given Lestat’s human activities with himself, Gregory, and sweet Benedict, that Louis was fine with Lestat seeking physical pleasure with others.
But at the same time, Louis was very sensitive and often too meek to speak up for himself and the things he wanted. And Lestat was entirely too self-indulgent to stop long enough and think about the feelings of others, even the ones he loved the most. Louis would never speak his feelings, then. Lestat would have to notice, though he was likely to defend his actions by saying that Louis hadn’t said anything was wrong, which was very purposefully a refusal to accept responsibility and consequences.
Lestat was not giving priority to his primary partner. Louis had both physical and emotional needs that Lestat was neglecting as he cared only for his own. Eventually, Louis would also seek fulfillment. And it would likely be with Armand, who was a safe and reliable choice, given their past lengthy relationship. Armand would be eager for this, mostly because of his love and desire for Louis, and also to punish Lestat as he hated him as much as he loved him. All that mattered to Marius in this scenario was Armand’s happiness, so he promised himself that he would stay neutral and supportive to all parties until they decided what and who they wanted.
“Well, that’s very unfortunate for Louis to see.” If Marius walked in on Armand with someone, one of them would be leaving in a terrible condition. “I will try to find things for Louis to do, things that will bring him pleasure and take his mind off of all of this.”
Cyril reached to touch Marius’s forearm. “You’re a generous host,” he said quietly. “But if what I’ve learned from watching them all holds true, I think they’ll weather it.”
The sensation of the heavy, warm hand on his arm was foreign enough to make Marius smile because there was a distinct difference in the way a man touched compared to what he was used to. He put his hand over Cyril’s and nodded, patting it in appreciation.
Cyril’s other hand set his duffel bag on the work table. “Though my primary concern is the Prince, I hope you’ll allow me to place you and your household under my protection as well.”
While Marius wasn’t used to being protected, too commonly the sole protector, and usually one of the strongest in any room, the offer was kind and more than Cyril, whose duty was to Lestat, had to pledge. “That is very kind of you.” Marius actually would like another set of eyes on Armand, who his mind obsessed over constantly. “Only please report to me anything you see that may be a concern of mine. Regarding both Lestat and Armand.”
“I will,” Cyril agreed with a quick nod. His eyes slid down to where Marius’s hand rested on his own and he marveled at the warmth between them, unlike anything he was used to between himself and other vampires for centuries over. Mortal as they were now, the touch was entirely and curiously different, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it now that he was considering it. A sharp mind was essential to perform his duties, and this sensation certainly had the potential to dull one’s faculties. “While we’re under your roof, your desires are my commands.”
“Any desire? Is that so?” Marius said with just a hint of teasing before he relented because, really, Cyril was kind and sincere. He only wanted to be of service.
Marius did hope that Cyril would step away from his duties long enough to see to his own needs and desires. If Cyril insisted on only caring for others, Marius would have to make an effort to see to Cyril’s needs and desires lest he forget he was entitled to them, too. The transition was difficult and the human body was needy. It needed good hygiene or else it became smelly and itchy, the stomach needed nutritious food and hydrating liquids, and the body needed pleasure and indulgence from time to time. Even if it was just a nice sweet, a nap, or a bottle of good wine. Duty could not take over or else the caretaker would burn out, which Marius knew all too well but adamantly insisted had never actually happened to him.
Ever.
Marius was having a dreadfully difficult time. He was hungry all of the time. Worried about Armand and Daniel, missing Pandora terribly, and always right at the edge of human male arousal because they all were constantly on his mind. What a silly thing. And an utterly useless problem to face.
“Then I hope you will come to me with your desires, as well,” he added. “We are all equals here.”
Cyril blinked, somewhat surprised and mildly intrigued at the implication inherent in that slight teasing tone. But he nodded all the same. Equals, yes. They were.
“Very well. Thank you. I’ll just take care of this then and meet you all later.” Cyril stepped back from Marius, moving to the duffel bag and unzipping it, revealing a long black metal barrel and several other firearms nestled within foam inside.
Marius was curious and tall, so he looked over Cyril’s bent shoulder into the bag at all of the weapons. As always, endlessly interested in things he knew little about. He tried not to crowd Cyril as he studied the weapons, which looked sleek and very well kept. It was no wonder Cyril wanted a place for upkeep as he maintained them in such excellent condition.
Not wanting to be overbearing, Marius refrained from any questions. He was already being quite rude, lingering nosily when he’d already been dismissed. He smiled to himself as he thought that Bianca would probably insist upon Cyril giving her private shooting lessons, as if that were even a thing. She loved anything that made her feel powerful. Sometimes that was a tight dress, or to dress as a boy, or to hold and try new weapons.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Marius said politely, at last taking a step back. “Do call for anything at all. I will instruct others to avoid the pool area for now. Thank you, Cyril.” Civilly and softly, he shut the door behind him and secured Cyril away in this room that was to be his for the time being.
Notes:
This chapter written by K and B.
Chapter 97: Be Mine
Summary:
Unaware that they're being observed, Lestat and Gregory defile Marius's swimming pool. Explicit.
Notes:
Thank you all so much for all the comments lately 🥰 I'm having so much fun with this story again now that I'm getting to see your reactions! ❤️
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The plunge into the cool water was such a shock to Gregory after the passionate heat between him and Lestat, but wasn’t as if he should be surprised to be shoved into the swimming pool by him. Lestat was notoriously a devil, after all. With a great splash, the water enveloped them both and, for just a moment, Gregory flashed back to his recent ocean experience with Armand. The whales, the waves, the panic that he wouldn’t survive, much less rescue Armand.
But this was a swimming pool. And there was Lestat with him; he could feel and see under the frothing water that Lestat was right there. Gregory reached and found his arm and both of them surfaced at the same time. He gasped for air, even though they hadn’t been under long at all.
He laughed, pulling Lestat close and kissing, the chlorinated water making his eyes sting. “Imp,” he growled, then laughed between kisses. For a silent, weighted, moment, the world was just them, alone in this pool, and Gregory’s heart wanted to burst with giddy love. How young he felt. How alive and full of happiness for them to be here together. Without warning, he playfully splashed Lestat with a great arc of water.
Lestat’s arms came up to shield his face. Such an instinctual human reaction. He would have just stood still and savored the caress of the water as a vampire, even where it touched his eyes. But he wasn’t going to think about that now. No. The alcohol was supposed to drive all that away.
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” He laughed and lunged for Gregory in a dive, seizing him around the knees, pulling his legs out from under him so that they were both submerged again. How wonderfully shiny Gregory looked through the crystal waters with all the sunlight caught in the sloshing waves they made above. Lestat tugged him closer and pressed his mouth to Gregory’s pushing his lips apart and letting out playful bubbles from his mouth to Gregory’s.
The salt and chlorine mingled in their kiss, and it burned slightly inside Gregory’s nose and the back of his throat. But it didn’t matter with Lestat’s mouth on his, their bodies tangled together and the sounds of the world muted by the water. They shared breath and oxygen between them and Gregory pulled Lestat so they were chest to chest. They were weightless, lovers entwined beneath the water. Would that they could hold their breath longer. Be like mermen under the waves. But he couldn’t maintain it, and his lungs soon cried for air.
Gregory pulled them back to the surface where the water fell away from them in great rivulets. He cupped Lestat’s head and claimed his mouth again, sucking and tasting, claiming more thoroughly. The carnal need to have him building again, his erection hard where he pressed Lestat’s thigh. “You’ve starred in many of my hot shower sessions the past week,” he confessed.
Lestat laughed, charmed. “You don’t say?” With his arms low around Gregory’s waist, his hands holding the globes of his muscular ass, Lestat pressed into him, making him walk backward until he hit the wall, and he could lean his entire weight against him and enjoy the slick gliding of their erections against each other’s thighs. Cradling Gregory’s jaw in his hands, Lestat tipped his head so that he could lick and suck the water from his throat and shoulder. Such an interesting taste, nearly metallic. He felt no desire to swallow it, but the exploration was uniquely arousing.
Gregory let his head fall back along the edge of the pool, exposing more throat and bare skin for Lestat. How beautifully the cerulean blues of the lapping waters reflected in Lestat’s eyes. He wrapped one leg up and around Lestat’s hip, pressing them all the closer for better friction. Gregory’s breath hitched as carnal pleasure shot up and through his body. “Maybe we should go find a bed or something,” he suggested between kisses along Lestat’s shoulder, his hands finding purchase on Lestat’s ass, hips moving in a not so subtle dance.
“What’s wrong with right here?” Lestat asked against Gregory’s skin. The dappled shade from the palm trees and the angle of the house made it so the sun wasn’t beating directly upon them, and although he was sure the color of his skin would change from being out in all this light, Lestat wasn’t worried about it becoming painful.
A snort of unexplainable laughter erupted from Gregory but quickly turned to a groan as one of Lestat’s hands slid down Gregory’s body to tuck under the leg he’d lifted, his fingertips teasing along his crack and the underside of his balls. “I just don’t know if we should defile Marius’s pristine pool this way,” he replied between gasps of pleasure.
Yet Gregory found himself wrapping both strong legs around Lestat now, the water making everything so buoyant, so much easier and lighter. He found himself wanting this more than he expected. Never had he anticipated being the receiver, the bottom, so to speak. But for Lestat… He was all for it. Gregory explored the muscles of Lestat’s back, the wet silken waves of his hair, the pool water lapping at the tiles around them, the sunlight almost blinding as it filtered through the palm fronds above, and Lestat there eclipsing everything else. “Do it,” he encouraged in a deep rumble.
Lestat laughed, half drunk and half high from the euphoria of just being in this exotic tropical paradise. “You’re not much for foreplay, are you?” he teased, and his tongue ran up the bulging vein in Gregory’s throat, longing desperately for his fangs. How he would sink them into Gregory now, crack through the skin and draw out the pleasure that would make his brain explode into fireworks. But Lestat would just have to settle for impaling him otherwise.
Hooking his hands under Gregory’s hips, Lestat bent him against the ledge of the pool until he found the right angle to push inside him. “Relax,” Lestat growled at his ear. “Open for me.”
Relax? How much more relaxed could he get? While they’d had several encounters where he’d submitted to Lestat in this way, dominance was by far Gregory’s more basic nature, so perhaps he wasn’t as relaxed as he imagined? But why should that be? With Lestat something yielded easily within him when they were alone in this way. Gregory felt no struggle at all in relinquishing this control of their sexual exploits. Perhaps it was just the setting they were in. This was slightly more public than he was used to.
A shudder racked Lestat’s body as his previously playful mood transformed into a demanding lust. The sparkling blue day around them disappeared, his entire focus narrowing to nothing but the beautiful man in his arms, his hot breath against his wet skin, fire burning in his loins, desperate to be quenched as he pierced at his entrance. “Gregory… Gregory, be mine.”
A low chuckle rumbled within Gregory’s chest as he pulled Lestat in for another heated kiss. “I’ve been yours,” he whispered against Lestat’s lips. “I’m yours, you fool,” he purred, kissing again and again. Happily, he pressed onto Lestat’s hardness, taking him in inch by solid inch, unable to swallow the groan of aching pleasure.
It took effort for Lestat to brace himself, he feet fast to the bottom of the pool, his weight leaning hard into Gregory to keep from wanting to float off completely on the lapping waves of sensual gratification. It took longer than the frenzied passion in his mind had the patience for, but the effort was worth it once Gregory was fully seated. Lestat’s groan vibrated deep in his throat, and he bit Gregory’s full lower lip, sucking on it hungrily. How slippery Gregory felt wrapped around him. Lestat clenched him tight to keep him in place as his hips began to roll, slowly at first, loosening him up, and then gradually increasing in speed and force, loving also how Gregory’s thick cock glided against his stomach under the water. “Don’t let go,” he pleaded, though it held an edge of command.
Everything narrowed down to the two of them. Gregory clung tighter to him, feeling the rapid beat of Lestat’s heart against his own, the powerful thrust against him, the water lapping and splashing around them in response. He tried all he could to merge into Lestat, meld into him so their souls might entwine forever. It was his greatest desire to accomplish this!
Rushed words whispered in ancient languages fell from his lips between the kisses. “My Prince, my love, my Lestat,” he purred. The alcohol, the heat, the relaxing waters and Lestat all conspired to drain his control away so that he was nothing more than a conduit of carnal pleasure. He groaned deeply as the climax spilled from him in waves of heat and love. Lestat’s arms locked around Gregory’s back to crush him against his chest, his mouth clamping to his throat, sucking hard on the wet skin. It only took another minute more before he tore his own release from their union.
Once the spasms began to slow, Lestat’s strength left him, rendering him limp. His arms slipped from Gregory, and he sank back fully into the water, as if there was no reason left to stay breathing now that he’d been so sated. Gregory floated there with him for a minute, his thoughts slowly returning to reality. He was far too relaxed to maintain the strong grip on Lestat, his legs slipping from around his hips, muscles complaining slightly after having been so vigorously used. It was still foreign to him, these bodily aches and reminders of mortality.
“Lestat,” he hummed, turning his gaze to his lover where he floated nearby.
Gregory felt then a bit of shame. Had they truly just coupled in Marius’s pristine swimming pool? Gregory frowned a bit at the waters around them. “Is this pool self-cleaning?” he asked in a hushed voice. “Do pools clean themselves? Or does Marius have pool boys…” Gregory looked around more fully now, half expecting one to appear with some netting of some sort and some cleaning chemicals. Maybe giant sponges or something.
“The chlorine,” Lestat murmured, his voice distant and dreamy as he floated on his back, staring up at the sky. Lifting his hand, he let the water spill through his fingers as if to show Gregory the pungent chemical. “It kills everything, you know.” He was sure Marius also had staff to clean his pool of the leaves and insects that must fall into it regularly, but any evidence of his and Gregory’s activity was already thoroughly diluted.
Blindly, he groped to the side to find Gregory’s arm, and he tugged him close again, though his gaze never left the crystal blue above. “Is that really what you’re thinking about right now?” he asked with a breathless chuckle. “Why this anxiety, my friend?”
“I don’t know,” Gregory murmured before letting his body sink lower into the waters, his nose and mouth beneath the surface, dark eyes and wet hair the only visible thing. He watched Lestat float for some while. Thinking. Perhaps he felt some lingering guilt of some sort over what he’d done with Armand. And now he’d come to this house Marius owned and taken full advantage of this sparkling pool in such a way.
Before he came up for air again, Gregory blew some bubbles in the water. He let himself push these thoughts away with the bubbles and think only of his new love. Lestat was all things male perfection to Gregory. Golden and brave and relaxed.
Gregory slipped beneath the blue surface and kicked off into the deeper side of the pool. He swam back and forth several laps, then reappeared at Lestat’s side. “Do you have a room here? A private room?” he asked, one brow raised, a small grin on his lips.
Lestat glanced aside at him, his own intrigued eyebrow arching in return. He pushed his legs back down to stand, and pulled Gregory loosely into his arms, relishing the way their skin slipped and slid against each other’s. “You saw it,” he said with a contented smile. “Louis has his own room down the hall. That one’s for me.”
Gregory frowned at this. Recalling that Louis had been in Lestat’s bed this morning when he’d walked into that room. Irritation tinged with jealousy reared within him. He kissed Lestat abruptly, claiming, sucking and licking, hands gripping him so that he might fully devour. “You are mine,” he rumbled when finally he pulled away.
These little possessive declarations from Gregory always made Lestat laugh, for how ridiculous they were, albeit rather adorable, especially coming from such a formidable man as Gregory.
“I want to see your room.” Gregory licked a rivulet of water from along Lestat’s collarbone, up the side of his throat, lingering at the pulse, feeling it against his tongue.
Lestat sobered immediately, and his fingers dug into Gregory’s skin, pulling him tight against his body. “It’s quite impressive,” he teased, turning his face to nip at the side of Gregory’s. Of course everything in Marius’s home was impressive, but no more so than Lestat was used to after years of living in palatial luxury.
Eagerly, he slipped out of Gregory’s grasp and put his hands on the ledge of the pool to launch himself up over it with his seemingly inexhaustible youthful energy. At the rack of towels, he pulled one off to scrub himself dry. It was wonderfully rough, and warm from the sun. He tossed one to Gregory as well, and then went to where they dropped their clothes, rooting through them for his phone, but it wasn’t there.
“Hmmm…” Lestat glanced around the deck, wondering if it had slid out when he’d flung his garments aside. He didn’t see it, but something else caught his eye. On one of the lounge chairs tucked behind the fronds of the tropical bushes, a brightly colored blanket dangled askew, half on the wet tiles. Odd, as it was the first time Lestat had seen anything out of place here. Marius’s staff was quick to tidy up everything within minutes. How recently had it been left this way?
As he padded over to the lounge, he found a book lying beside it, its open pages wrinkled under its weight. Lestat picked it up curiously, and when his eyes caught the cover, he immediately recognized it as the book Louis had been reading on the plane last night. A bright laugh came out of him, and he turned around. Gregory was clearly visible past the bushes. Squatting to the level of the chair, Lestat eyed just how much of the pool would have been visible to Louis from this angle.
“What are you doing?” Gregory wrapped the towel about his hips and came over. Crossing his arms over his chest, he eyed Lestat. “Clearly someone likes to relax here. Perhaps Bianca,” he suggested. “What are you doing down there on the pavement?” he asked, amused.
“It was Louis,” Lestat said with distracted mirth. “And he left in a hurry.” Straightening, he tried to fold down the damp and creased pages of the book, but they would never be lying flat again. Laughing once more to himself, he tossed it onto the chair.
Picking up his towel, Lestat wrapped it around his waist similar to Gregory’s, reminded by his mention of Bianca that there was at least one actual reason for him to cover up here. He never cared about anyone seeing him naked, but he would not want to surprise the lady of the house that way without permission.
Gregory’s hackles raised. “Louis sat here?” He pointed obviously to the lounger. “When?” He looked around them, seeing no others outside. “Did he see us?” Gregory didn’t know how to feel about that. One part of him felt satisfied that Louis might have witnessed Lestat so thoroughly fucking him in the pool. Another part of him was flustered, embarrassed even, to have been seen in that submissive position. And still another part was equally irritated. Why was Louis constantly coming up between them??
Gregory felt firmly that Lestat and he were at the beginning of an amazingly deep, longstanding relationship. Louis needed to step back, and Gregory decided then that he would in fact speak to the man about this. And why was this only amusing to Lestat? “Why are you laughing about this? He invaded our personal intimacy.”
Lestat gave Gregory a look that said ‘seriously?’ Then he laughed again and countered, “I think we invaded his personal reading spot.” When one partook of personal intimacy in public, one took the risk of being seen. Honestly, he was surprised Gregory cared at all. He’d always seemed to like showing off, rather than keeping private. The opposite of Benedict.
“And clearly, he didn’t stay to watch.” Lestat gestured to how haphazardly Louis had left his things as he must have rushed away from the pool the moment he realized what was happening. Lestat clasped a reassuring hand to Gregory’s shoulder and gave him an easy smile.
Gregory huffed out a great exhale of air and raked fingers back through his wet hair. Lestat’s smile was temptingly distracting. It would be easy to just return that smile, laugh at the whole thing, go back to Lestat’s room now and do anything and everything together. But the alcohol had worn off enough, and Gregory wanted more than anything to make Lestat understand his view on this.
“My Prince,” he began. “My feelings for you, my desire for you, it’s very real. We are real. Even as blood drinkers, I desired to be with you in this way. And now, as mortals, I am! We are together! I don’t want Louis coming between us. He isn’t your fledgling any longer. You don’t owe him your protection and guidance or need to feel obligated to him anymore than any of the others any longer.” Gregory looked deeply into Lestat’s eyes, trying to impart how serious he was.
Lestat flinched, the pain impossible to miss on his face. He knew what Gregory was saying was true, but he didn’t like being reminded of it. These facts were hard enough to stomach every time he looked at Louis. Louis claimed he needed him, but Lestat knew that was only his fear, that it would not last, that the longer they remained mortal, the less he would be able to hold onto his oldest, most beloved companion.
But at the same time, he was confused. Why was Gregory saying this? What did Louis fleeing the scene in his scandalized propriety over the sight of them together have to do with anything between him and Gregory? Yes, Lestat knew how Gregory desired him; he’d written all about it in his last book, hadn’t he? It was a warmth their entire friendship was built upon, why he could trust Gregory so completely. Louis had nothing at all to do with that.
“Of course, he won’t come between us,” he reassured Gregory easily, though his expression remained pinched, perplexed. Hadn’t Louis done the exact opposite of coming between them by leaving the pool deck instead of interrupting? And just last night, Louis had told Lestat that he was comfortable with him indulging with their other former vampires. It was only those outside their tribe that he had strange confusing issues with. Louis had always been pleased and supportive of his friendship with Gregory.
His hand squeezed Gregory’s shoulder again, the dark bronzed flesh so alluringly damp and warm beneath his palm. He opened his mouth to say something else, but then the sound of his phone ringing from across the yard distracted him. “There it is!” His eyes brightened, and he bounded away from Gregory to find it buried inside one of the shopping bags he’d left by the glass doors.
Seeing Thorne’s name on the screen made Lestat’s heartbeat trip in anxiety, and he answered immediately. “A little moment please.” With Thorne on hold, he returned to Gregory, wrapping his free arm around his waist, pulling him close. “Give me a few minutes,” he said with an apologetic smile. “You know where my room is. I’ll find you there.”
Gregory frowned, wishing he could further explain to Lestat that Louis was an issue between them. But the phone call was obviously important. He leaned in and Gave Lestat a kiss. “Of course,” he answered. “I’ll have a hot shower running for us to rinse off this chlorine. Then…” He gave Lestat a wicked grin before turning to go. Gathering up his discarded clothing, he folded it over his arm and returned to the cool interior of Marius’s home.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and D.
Chapter 98: So Inappropriate
Summary:
After witnessing Lestat and Gregory in the pool, Louis is desperate for release of his own. Explicit.
Chapter Text
Behind the closed door of the guestroom Bianca had given him last night (before he’d relocated to Lestat’s), Louis sank onto the bed and exhaled a shaky breath. His heartbeat was pounding and his loins were threatening to betray his heart for how he could feel it throbbing there, trying to bring him to life. Traitorous desire, to have seen Gregory and Lestat in the swimming pool together, two smoldering specimens of male virility, locked together in the heat of passion.
Only a few minutes ago, Louis had been lounging on the patio in a pocket of dappled palm shade, a light linen throw over his legs to shield them from the too-hot sun, a book held in hand. The warmth had seeped into him in the quiet sunlight, and he relished the way the sounds of nature added their ambiance to the Kipling in his hands. Gregory and Lestat hadn’t even noticed him there when they’d come out, so tucked back was he into the shade, and he had watched in hushed awe as they stripped completely and then playfully fell in the pool together.
Louis had flinched with the splash and quickly set his book down, scrambling, wanting to leave as quietly as he could. And then they were kissing beneath the water, then atop it, tangled together, the very picture of masculine desire. And as they sucked at one another, reciting hot words, Louis watched in wide-eyed stricken wonder.
He’d slid from the lounge chair and commanded his pounding heart be still, his growing need to stay chaste. The last thing he needed was another repeat of the Benedict debacle, and Louis didn’t want either man to hear him, much less see him. He finally fled after several moments more, after Gregory’s sated groan that left nothing to the imagination.
Pushing back through the trees to a side entrance to the house instead of the glass doors the two lovers had come through, it was only when he was safely back inside that Louis realized he’d left his book, the linen blanket askew and half on the ground in his wake. He’d cursed beneath his breath, bringing a hand up to clutch at his chest to stave off the growing nagging weight that began to pool there in his heart, then resigned himself to the oversight and the agony, and went back to his room.
On the bed, Louis swallowed for how his mouth had begun to water at the memories. He licked his lips, a tremble wracking his form, which only served to ignite him further. He squeezed his eyes shut to block it out, but behind his lids was the same enrapturing vision, his mind’s eye recreating what he most certainly had not seen, what transpired below the pool water’s surface.
Making a hushed sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper, Louis found himself leaning back into the plush pillows and mattress, his hand sliding down along his stomach, trembling as it untied the lacing of his swim shorts. Then it slipped beneath the waistband.
Warmth and a tingling rush of blood set every nerve alight. As he began to work himself, Louis imagined that his hand was Lestat’s, teasing him, the curl of that wicked smile goading him, chiding him for all his put-upon prudish restraint that clearly meant nothing in the face of all that was his Prince. And damn this mortality, Lestat would be his Prince until his dying day, if it came to that. Louis vowed this to himself, his breath catching, and tears threatening to squeeze past his tightly shut eyelids.
Memories of his previous early morning and their intimate coupling blended in Louis’s mind with those of witnessing Lestat and Gregory joined. And no matter how it stung, it was all the wind Louis needed to fill the sails of his lusty desire and send it hurtling across the choppy waves of building pleasure.
-------
Such a large sprawling home Marius had. Gregory had to stop and try to regain his sense of direction, to recall what hallway Bianca had taken him down this morning. His bare feet were quiet on the floors, his attention distracted by the works of art that adorned the walls. He wished his mortal brain could recall things as effortlessly as his immortal one had. But this was certainly the right hallway, and thankfully he found the door he thought he remembered as well.
His towel slipped dangerously low on his hips as he held his clothing in one arm and turned the knob with his free hand. Swinging the door wide open, he entered, and then he froze.
Louis was there… On Lestat’s bed! His face the very picture of concentration and bliss, eyes closed, black silken hair such a contrast against the white bedding. His head back and throat exposed, displaying obvious marks of past passion all along the pale skin. Gregory scowled at those marks. They were familiar marks. Lestat had just given him one in the pool as well.
He was about to speak, to demand to know why Louis was here on Lestat’s bed, but then something more caught his attention. A fisted hand in swim trunks making an all too familiar movement. A movement Gregory knew well after the past several days of abstinence at sea.
But it was too late to step back into the hallway. Louis moaned beneath his breath, the quiet and stilted sound hissing out between his clenched teeth, as he pumped himself to completion. His release was messy, a darkened shadow blossoming on the fabric at the front of his shorts with the sticky moisture beneath. Gregory had walked in at exactly that culminating moment. He stared, unable to take his eyes off such a carnal sight. But then, irritated once again that Louis was in Lestat’s bed doing this, Gregory cleared his throat loudly.
Louis was only just coherent enough to hear it, his mind’s synapses sputtering on half-empty as he registered Gregory’s barely towel-clad form, standing there in the doorway, just staring at him. Would that he had locked his door when he’d come in! Louis cursed his frazzled and lust-dazed past self for the oversight, while he scrambled to the side awkwardly, as though that might somehow hide what had just transpired, though there was no way that was possible. Worse still, he twisted so abruptly that his wrist got snagged beneath his waistband, which prevented him from pulling his hand out!
A half-stuttered curse mangled with a sound of exasperated shock was all he could manage at first before Louis blurted out a hoarse, “What are you doing!?” Looking back over his shoulder, he added, “Don’t just stand there!” His cheeks were growing redder by the second, and again he tried to disentangle himself from the shorts, managing to withdraw his hand; it shone glistening and wet. Humiliating.
Gregory watched all of this with a warring sense of annoyance and vicarious embarrassment. He tightened his grip on the doorknob, the door still wide open onto the hallway. Don’t just stand there?? Annoyance won out over any sense of empathy he felt for Louis in the situation. This was Lestat’s room, and really, by default of their relationship, Gregory’s room too.
“I’m sorry, Louis,” he said firmly, his gaze never wavering from the other man and the obvious mess he’d made of himself. “But that is so inappropriate, what you just did. I really thought that you, of any of us, would be a little more respectful. Does Lestat know you are here doing this?” Gregory couldn’t help but glance from Louis’s flushed face to his hand and his shorts.
All at once, to look at Gregory’s stern and disgusted face, Louis was overcome with a very poignant and visceral memory of his first mortal life. He’d been a young man then, and his brother Paul had walked in on him having just relieved himself of pent-up desire. Paul had gone on an exhaustive and disparaging biblical lecture about the sinful wastefulness of spilling his seed without a garden to sew it in, much more disgraceful too to do so out of wedlock. Louis had thought he’d never see the end of his brother’s disdainful looks for months on end after.
Louis’s complexion reddened just to look at Gregory as he was now, with that towel barely covering him. And especially to know he had been moments before entangled in the most lurid display of public indecency with Lestat. “Inappropriate!?” Louis barked, looking about helplessly for a cloth or towel, and trying to shield himself from scrutiny of Gregory’s pointedly judgmental gaze. “You’re one to talk! And just why should Lestat know at all what I’m doing!? Why should he possibly care at all, after what he’s surely just enjoyed!? Why should you care either, having enjoyed the same!? For the love of us all, Gregory, please just leave me be with some semblance of dignity!”
Gregory’s jaw tensed and his black brows drew together as he continued to glare at him. “Louis,” he began again, trying to rein in his blossoming anger. Lestat would certainly be here any moment, thinking he would be joining Gregory in the steamy shower he’d promised. He needed to get Louis out of the room, or Lestat’s famously short attention span would turn to his former fledgling and the romantic mood would be broken.
“Look, we can discuss this later,” he said, gesturing haphazardly at the bed and Louis. “But it’s wildly inappropriate to be entertaining yourself this way on Lestat’s bed when you knew well enough he and I would be returning to his room together after the pool. Clearly you knew we were at the pool together.” Gregory frowned at him. He stood aside from the doorway, so that Louis might leave.
“Yes I knew, and I left you to your lovemaking the moment I realized what was transpiring, though I certainly was reading there bothering no one when you two crashed onto the scene!” Louis blurted, red faced. “And this house is Marius’s, not Lestat’s! This is the damned room lady Bianca showed me to last night for my own use! It isn’t his room or his bed by any wild stretch of imagination! What even are you on about? Did you come here to gloat!?” Louis could feel his eyes misting over, his shoulders beginning to shake. He’d be damned if he was going to full on cry over this. He’d been perfectly gentlemanly in all of this, letting Lestat have his fun without complaint, as was his right, and now Gregory was here rubbing his nose into it.
Gregory froze where he stood. Slowly, his eyes took in the rest of the room, not just Louis and the bed. This room was not Lestat’s? He tried to recreate the room he’d been in this morning, and in fact, now that he looked more closely, he saw that there was no small table with the vase of flowers he’d admired. And the walls were not the same shade of color. And really… nothing was the same at all, but for the bedding perhaps.
What a fool he was! It was now his turn to flush with embarrassment. “I apologize,” he stuttered, looking away from Louis now. “I thought this was Lestat’s room. I see now I had the wrong door.” Gregory stepped back to the open doorway, feeling cold with guilt for accusing Louis of anything untoward. “Please forget this. I do want to speak to you later, but please accept my apology, Louis.”
Gregory gave a half smile, smoothing a hand over his wet hair and rubbing the back of his neck, the towel threatening to fall off his hips. He then dared to glance to Louis again. “And a friendly word of advice, perhaps? It’s far easier and less messy to remove all clothing, or at least have a wet cloth or some tissue available.”
“Get out, please!!” Louis shouted, unable to keep the desperate pitch from his voice that bordered on pitiful, the epitome of embarrassment. He was shaking now, squeezing his eyes shut as he shook his head from side to side in an attempt to right himself.
Scrambling off of the bed, he yanked the coverlet from the mattress and pulled it about him, as if that would somehow shield him from scrutiny or erase any of it from having transpired. Rushing toward Gregory, Louis reached out (thankfully with the unsullied hand), and desperately shoved him outside the rest of the way. Louis shut the door after him, managing not to slam it, though it was from the weight of the door alone and not for lack of trying. The lock clicked into place audibly with Louis’s quick actions and he let out a short sob, dropping the blankets on the floor and moving as if through some kind of invisible thickness toward the bathroom.
Inside, he stripped away the dirty clothes and twisted on the shower faucet, shoving his hands under the rushing water to cleanse them of the filth. Stepping beneath the spray so that his face was met full force with the blast, his tears began to fall. Would that the heavy stream could simply wash him clean away. He could disintegrate entirely, dissolve into it and join the waste water amidst the rest of the refuse of the world. Only once it became unbearable, he stepped back, the water gushing against his chest, then stomach, and finally his groin, washing away all evidence of former impropriety with it.
Notes:
This chapter written by K and D.
Chapter 99: No Secrets Held
Summary:
Gregory tells Lestat about walking in on Louis, and gets an unexpected and upsetting reaction.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Gregory stared stupidly at Louis’s closed door. Yes, the encounter had been embarrassing for both of them, but to be so abruptly pressed out of the room and the door shut and loudly locked? It was rather insulting, actually. Had he not profusely apologized and offered gentle advice to assist Louis as well?
He found himself contemplating the entire scene over again as he made his way to Lestat’s actual room. Lestat had not yet arrived and Gregory found an armchair to slump into. He tossed his clothing on the ottoman. How far they had all fallen. They had all become these young sexually-driven mortals. Was that all they would be now? Gregory found himself thinking deeply of his blood spouse, missing her. How would Chrysanthe have handled all this? If she had turned human, would he be off with her right now? Focused only on her? Would she be keeping him grounded in this the way she had in their immortal lives?
When Lestat swept into the room ten minutes later, he was wearing a pair of light linen pants, the tags still attached to the hip, and absolutely nothing else. In his hand were only a couple of the shopping bags from earlier. He stopped short at the sight of Gregory, his breath catching in his throat. He looked like an ancient king, lounging in his throne, the white towel around his waist not so different from the attire of those times long ago, his bronzed chest glistening in the diffused sunlight from the veranda windows. Lestat’s phone came up, and he took a burst of photos before Gregory could move and ruin the effect.
“Bored without me?” he asked with a grin. Gregory looked so pensive and withdrawn. They’d only been apart a quarter hour at most!
As soon as Lestat’s rich voice filled the room Gregory’s maudlin thoughts melted. He brightened, though the small nagging embarrassment over his misstep with Louis remained. He knew, from many centuries of experience in making mistakes, that the best cure was to come right out and admit them. “Well…” he began, trying to think of the best words for this while Lestat swung the bags onto the bed and began going through them curiously; he’d already forgotten half of what he’d bought this morning. “I got lost. And I may have run into Louis. And he was… preoccupied.” He gave Lestat a sheepish grin.
Lestat glanced back over his shoulder and laughed at the look on Gregory’s face. “Why, because you don’t have any clothes on?” He could hardly blame Louis if he found the sight of Gregory in nothing but a towel arousing, and the thought of how flustered Louis might have been while trying to hide it, as always, was hilarious.
Gregory glanced down at the towel, having forgotten he was even wearing it. Certainly this had been part of what had flustered Louis, but not all of it. Gregory stood, tightening the towel around himself before it fell to the floor. “No… I’m afraid it was far more than just my god-like masculine beauty,” he said with only a hint of self-deprecation.
He stepped across the room to stand at the bed with Lestat, looking into the bags. “What I mean to say is: I walked in on Louis while he was pleasuring himself… At the very climax, you might say.” Gregory couldn’t help replaying the image in his head, the sensual picture Louis presented. Had he been thinking of what he’d witnessed only minutes prior at the pool?
The silk shirt Lestat was admiring fell out of his hand, and he blinked up at Gregory. “He—what?” Was that something Louis ever even actually did? Well…how would Lestat know? When had they ever been mortal together before? He likewise immediately wondered if it had anything to do with what made Louis run away from his comfortable lounge chair beside the pool.
Just the image in his mind of Louis in such throes of self-driven pleasure turned Lestat’s cheeks pink and sent a shudder through his entire body, shooting his memories back to the dark hours of this morning when they had tangled together in this very bed. Had Gregory been blessed with the chance to glimpse a sliver of that? Good for him. But…
“He didn’t see you, did he?” Lestat asked warily.
Gregory found himself staring fixedly at Lestat, trying to interpret the play of emotions that crossed his face. It was damned difficult sometimes without the mind gift. But he felt he knew Lestat well enough to guess at those thoughts. Yes, Louis had been here in this bed just this morning, and Gregory doubted it had simply been a chaste sleep between the two of them. He found he greatly disliked that thought. Lestat wasn’t in a relationship with Louis! These encounters between them needed to stop. And now Gregory was here and he would see that Lestat had no time or need to engage sexually with Louis any further.
Lestat’s eyes narrowed sharply. “Gregory?”
Gregory tilted his head slightly as Lestat seemed to demand an answer. Well, Gregory wasn’t going to lie. Louis would certainly confess to Lestat himself. And why should Gregory feel any guilt about this? It had been a mere misunderstanding. He’d gotten lost.
“Of course he saw me. I walked right in, thinking it was this room.” He held his arms wide to encompass the space. “I thought he was on this very bed, getting himself off before you and I came back from the pool. I was insulted by it. It was a terrible, awkward thing for both of us once I realized.”
Lestat’s gray eyes went wide, and he just stared at Gregory, dumbstruck, feeling like the wind was knocked out of him. After a moment, he remembered to breathe with a quick gasp, and then he dashed straight out of the room.
This reaction was not one Gregory had anticipated. But perhaps he should have. After all, if another man had walked in on Chrysanthe in such a personally intimate situation, would he not have an immediate protective reaction himself? But this instance was certainly different. He and Chrysanthe had been blood spouses for over 1700 years. Truly committed and tied together. Lestat and Louis were the absolute opposite of committed, with their notoriously on-again-off-again rocky partnership.
Gregory stood in the doorway, watching as Lestat ran down the hall. He tried Louis’s doorknob, but found it locked. Rattling it, he called through, his voice urgent, “Louis?” When he got no answer, he slapped the door with the palm of his hand a couple times. “It’s me,” he said, which was a stupid thing to say, of course Louis knew it was him.
When there was still only complete silence beyond the door, Lestat’s hands slid down and he took a shaky step backward, staring at the wood of the door. Although he had no clue that Louis was in the shower and couldn’t hear him, Lestat wasn’t surprised to be ignored. It was Louis, after all. With a shudder, he turned away and went back to his own room, his teeth clenched and a deep frown wrinkling his features.
Hurt stabbed at Gregory’s pride and his heart, but it was quickly replaced with anger as Lestat slumped in as if his whole world were collapsed, not even seeming to see Gregory at all, not noticing that his lover stood there mere feet away.
Gregory shut the door, perhaps a bit too hard, and an ancient version of something like “What the fuck?” burst from him as he frowned at Lestat, brows drawn downward. “What was that?!” he demanded, still in the ancient language, gesturing to the closed door.
Snapped out of his thoughts, Lestat blinked at him. His head tilted to the side, making him look rather like a confused golden retriever, and then he glanced over his shoulder at the door, looking for what Gregory was shouting at. He couldn’t mean it to be at him, could he? Had Gregory wanted him to try harder to get Louis to answer? Lestat would try again in a little while, but he’d let Louis have some time. But none of this was any of Lestat’s fault, and Gregory’s ancient ranting seemed far out of proportion.
He narrowed his eyes a little. “Why are you angry? Speak English.”
Gregory took a deep breath, and then another one. Had he lapsed so easily into the ancient tongue? This was at least one familiar thing left to him as a mortal; anger always brought the old languages back to him. How often had he and Chrysanthe argued in their familiar Phoenician? And here was Lestat, clueless as to the words spoken to him and apparently even as to why Gregory might be angry at all.
He combed fingers back through his damp hair, and took several more deep breaths before addressing Lestat, in English this time. “Why am I angry? I am angry because you, my love, immediately rush out the door to check on Louis. As if Louis is in some dire distress that requires your rescue of him. Louis is just fine. A little embarrassed, but just fine.” Gregory crossed his arms on his chest, giving Lestat a very serious look. “I understand you feel responsible for Louis, but do you not see how I might feel rejected by your sudden reaction to immediately prioritize Louis and whatever awkward feelings he was having over my own confession of feeling embarrassed about the situation? Are Louis’s feelings more important to you than my own?”
Once again, Lestat was dumbstruck, and he just stared at Gregory with his mouth hanging slightly open. He took a breath and blinked, trying to shake out his confusion. “You’re that upset by what you saw?” he asked, having trouble believing it.
He knew how nightmarishly mortifying this had to be for Louis. ‘A little embarrassed?’ Did Gregory even know Louis at all?? How abjectly and wretchedly humiliated Louis must be in a way that absolutely enraged Lestat if he let himself think on it, which he was trying not to, because it had been an accident, and he loved Gregory too much to take out that rage on him. But Gregory possessed none of Louis’s shy reservation or soul-crushing shame. Gregory had seemed nearly ready to laugh the encounter off when he’d first mentioned it.
Gregory blinked at him, feeling as if his very words had not even been processed. “My Prince,” he began again, trying to keep calm in his voice. “Yes, I am upset. Would you not feel upset if you were recounting to me some uncomfortable encounter you’d had with someone and I immediately exit the room to go check on that other person then walk back in as if you were not even a concern in the matter? Louis is an adult. He had no trouble pushing me from the room and slamming the door in my face even after I’d apologized profusely.”
To be honest, Lestat had assumed Gregory was telling him about the uncomfortable encounter for Louis’s sake, that Gregory had been just as worried about Louis because he knew how this would affect him of all people, and therefore he was advising Lestat about this terrible thing that had happened to Louis so that he could go to Louis’s aid at once. Or at least try to.
It didn’t even occur to Lestat that Gregory might need anything from him in the wake of such an experience. Gregory wasn’t the one who had been violated here, no matter how awkward making such a mistake must feel. And if Gregory was so upset about accidentally violating Louis, then wouldn’t he want to prioritize Louis too?? Lestat was so confused.
Gregory rubbed at his jaw then returned to sit heavily in the chair. “Why are you worried about him? Tell me why you raced out to check on him.” He wanted to fully explore this, as he didn’t want their budding relationship to be impaired by it.
Lestat pressed a hand to his forehead and looked over his shoulder at the door, already itching to go back down the hall to try Louis’s door again. He hated when people asked him why he did things. Did they think he thought about it beforehand? How was he supposed to put a rush of instinct into words?
“I…don’t know,” he admitted. Maybe Lestat shouldn’t have raced out to check on Louis, considering Louis had ignored him at the door, rejected anything Lestat had to offer. Maybe he would have made it worse instead of better. “I’m not worried,” he mused, because Gregory was right about Louis being an adult fully capable of handling his own feelings, and Lestat didn’t think he was a danger to himself. “I just… I can’t stand for him to be humiliated. Even the mere idea of it. It makes me furious!”
Gregory nodded sagely. “Of course not. No one wants to see another humiliated. I myself felt it for him, vicariously, as they say. And I tell you this because I wanted you to hear it from me first. I want no secrets held. If I have learned anything about what makes a relationship a long and healthy one, it’s that no secrets are held. Things must not be kept unsaid between lovers.” Gregory paused and looked away from Lestat. Was he not holding a secret though? The pleasure Armand had given him on the boat…
Gregory set that aside for later. This Louis situation was enough for the moment. “I tried to assuage his embarrassment with some advice, even. Alas, this was when he threw me out of the room.” Gregory stood once more. “Let’s go see him together to discuss it. Wouldn’t that help the situation? To lay it all out in the light? This is why I told you, after all.”
Lestat stepped forward and caught him by the arm. “You’re still not wearing any clothes,” he reminded him, and as he looked down at Gregory’s body above where the loose towel clung. Lestat wasn’t sure he wanted that to change. It was more of an excuse than anything, though. Lestat was sure if he and Gregory barged in together so soon after the debacle, Louis’s humiliation would only compound. No, Lestat needed to check in with him alone first. Make sure he wasn’t…spiraling, or whatever the young people called it these days. Pull him back to the surface with a bit of the tenderness Louis sometimes so craved.
He gave Gregory a little shake of his head. “It’s too soon. Maybe tonight…after dinner.” Bianca had suggested their entire group go out to a famed churrascaria nearby, and Lestat was certain not a single one of them would dream of saying no to her.
Gregory’s lips curved into a sly smile. He knew Lestat wanted him distracted from all this talk, and he wasn’t about to push it any further if it wasn’t what his beloved desired right now. Besides, there was a glint in Lestat’s eyes as he looked at his body, and Gregory returned it, his own gaze raking over Lestat’s body and the way the light pants hung so loosely on his hips.
He moved forward, closing the small distance between them. “I could be more naked if you like,” he purred before capturing Lestat in a slow sensual kiss, one warm hand against the naked skin of his chest, the other at his waist. “After dinner, then,” he agreed as the kiss ended. “That gives us many hours to… play.” Gregory’s hand caressed from firm chest down to the waistband of Lestat’s pants.
A tug of Lestat’s finger loosened the towel so that it fell in a pool of white fluff around Gregory’s strong calves. “Oh no,” he said, not sounding sorry about it at all. Gripping his hips, Lestat tugged them against his own, grinding lazily into him as his mouth sought the soft part of Gregory’s throat under the line of his beard. “Changed your mind about the shower?” he asked as he nibbled and tasted, his fingers tracing the lines of definition in the firm muscles of Gregory’s backside.
The relief of the subject being dropped and not having to answer any more hard questions about Louis did wonders to rekindle Lestat’s appetite for play. He didn’t want to be angry, not at Gregory for his mistake, and not at fate for abandoning Louis to such a tortuously mortifying position.
But he couldn’t help wondering…
What had it looked like when Gregory walked in? Just how much did he really see? Lestat had never seen Louis pleasure himself, and imagining it now sent a crackling shock of desire through him that had his hips press to Gregory’s all the tighter.
Louis must have been powerfully aroused to resort to such a measure, his erection engorged beyond bearing. How had his body moved as his long, slender fingers worked his desperate organ?
How had his face contorted with each pull of his wrist?
What keening sounds did he make as he brought on his own little death?
And what visions were in his mind?
Lestat’s fingers dug into Gregory’s warm flesh, and he claimed his mouth in a kiss much hungrier than Gregory’s had been. “Mmmm,” he groaned into his lips, his eyes closed, images of Louis filling his mind. He pulled Gregory in the direction of the bed with sudden renewed fervor.
A deep rumbling laugh fell from Gregory’s lips. “Shower later,” he replied, voice gravely with carnal desire, and he pushed Lestat down onto the bed.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and D.
Chapter 100: The Intruder
Summary:
Armand checks in on Louis and offers his unique brand of assistance with the Gregory situation.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Out of the shower, dried and dressed, Louis managed to regain some tiny sliver of his pride, though every time his mind slid back to before, to Gregory’s expression taking him in, a jolt of renewed shame, guilt and humiliation gripped him to his core. How could he ever show his face again? Would Gregory tell everyone else? Would they all chuckle over the retelling of what a disgraceful scene he’d painted?
Louis wanted to go to bed, pull the covers over his head, and pray for sleep to take him into sweet oblivion for just a few hours of respite. But before he could, there came a soft knock at his door.
He paused with one knee on the mattress and almost called out to tell whoever it was to leave him alone. But that was rude, wasn’t it? What if Bianca had come to ask him something, or one of the house staff was merely doing their job, asking to be let in to clean or straighten things?
Slowly, Louis made his way to the door and cracked it open, coming face to face with the large and imploring golden brown eyes of Armand. Louis’s cheeks bloomed in heat all over again, and he was seized by a sudden fear of derision, even from his dear and beloved friend.
“What’s happened?” Louis forced his voice to normalcy, hoping Armand at his door had nothing to do with his dishonor.
“That’s what I came to ask you,” Armand said softly, his gaze full of concern. His eyes lowered to the door between them, then rose back up to Louis. He considered asking to be let in, but then instead simply pushed against the door with his fingertips, gently making Louis step back until it was open enough to allow him through.
“I saw you come in from the back deck,” he explained as he pressed the door quietly but firmly shut behind him, his eyes never leaving Louis’s, so filled with misery. “What did he do this time?” Because of course Lestat must be the cause of it.
Where to even begin? Louis couldn’t truly blame Lestat for any of his actions with Gregory. He’d said as much to him last night, and Gregory was one of the Court, not some possibly-diseased stranger, and an intimate friend to Lestat, as it should be.
“Only what is his right,” Louis said, gesturing subtly with one hand in the direction he imagined Lestat might be now. “It’s nothing,” he added, lying. Knowing Armand would see through it, Louis shook his head. “Should be nothing. In fact, it’s nothing more than I would expect of him. He is simply enjoying himself.” Louis sounded resigned to it, as though he were relinquishing some object over which he had been fiercely possessive.
Armand’s jaw clenched, the protective urge he always felt toward Louis rising. Even without his former psychic powers, he could tell Louis was truly despondent. He had looked harried when he’d rushed through the porch door of the dining room without noticing Armand at the sideboard, and Armand had at once known it was to do with Lestat. But this was different than the night Louis had ranted to him about Lestat jetting off to Fareed’s lab in Paris without him. Louis was hurt.
“Enjoying himself. Without you.” Armand scowled and took Louis gently by his forearms so that he could examine him. He should have knocked on his door sooner, but when he’d followed Louis down the hall and saw how fast he shut his door, Armand had decided to give him a few minutes. Those few minutes had turned into nearly an hour with everything else that happened outside Louis’s door since, and so Armand had waited for what felt like an appropriate time for the sake of Louis’s comfort. But he should have checked on him right away. “Yes, we all know what to expect from him,” he added with quiet bitterness.
Louis sighed. “It isn’t that I begrudge Lestat these experiences,” he admitted. “It’s only that I seem to be forever cursed to witness them firsthand.” Awkwardly he stood there, looking down at Armand with an expression that bordered on shame. “The first time, I walked in on him with Benedict. I froze, unable to move, and simply watched. A massive blunder on my part as Benedict found himself violated by my gaze.” Louis shook his head to remember. “And today at the pool, he and Gregory appeared so suddenly, without realizing that I was already there. Again I froze. But reminded of my former transgression, I managed to slip away without being seen.” Louis paused there, swallowing audibly. It was then that he realized he perhaps deserved to have Gregory step in on him in such a compromising position, if for nothing else than it was justice for poor Benedict that Louis suffer in a similar manner what he had inflicted on the young man.
“You would rather remain ignorant,” Armand concluded, sympathy in his eyes. Of course it was Lestat’s fault for being the one to be in places Louis didn’t expect him to be, doing such things. Louis would never intrude intentionally, and it was Lestat who so carelessly set him up for these blunders. Although his judgment was apparent from his tone, Armand didn’t go so far as to say these thoughts aloud. He wasn’t interested in hearing Louis defend Lestat or disparage himself any further.
Pushing Louis gently by his grip on his arms, Armand bid him sit on the bed, and he settled beside him. “Did he tell you Gregory would be joining us here? He didn’t tell me.” It wouldn’t have changed Armand’s decision to come if he knew it, but he didn’t like being blindsided. His memories of the way the edibles had influenced his and Gregory’s behavior on the boat that day they celebrated finding the wreck were fuzzy…but not forgotten. Sober now, Armand still didn’t know what to make of the way that whole experience had made him feel.
“I don’t even remember,” Louis admitted. It was frustrating to think his mortal mind was weak enough now that he could let such a detail disappear into the ether. “But of course Gregory is here, and I’d expect nothing less. They’re close.” Louis frowned, wondering why that pronouncement made his chest tighten, worry rising in his core unbidden. In fact, he’d been plagued by that feeling almost as much as he’d felt it in his mortal years, found himself spiraling into so many potential outcomes to countless situations. His obsessive worry had been the cause of his staunch insistence when it came to the prophylactics as well.
Again, that feeling threatened him, and this time it came when he remembered for the umpteenth time how Gregory had stared openly at him while he, Gregory, wore nothing more than a cotton towel.
“He barged in here as if this were Lestat’s room and I the intruder.”
“The intruder!” Armand might have been uncertain which he Louis was talking about if he hadn’t witnessed the whole encounter unbeknownst to both of them. He expressed now the same indignation he had felt at the time. “Marius didn’t even know Gregory was coming, and he treats you like the intruder? Does he think he owns Lestat? Does he think anyone ever could??” The way Gregory had spoken so glibly of sleeping with Lestat the other day at sea had made Armand think there was nothing serious to it all. Typical for Lestat. But when Louis was upset, especially at that devil’s doing, Armand took things seriously.
Louis stared down at his hands, unsure how to answer or if he even wanted to answer at all. It was true. Lestat was a swirling vortex of beautiful frivolity, unfettered by all that might tie him down, a free thinker and joy seeker, a lover and a fighter both.
“He’s merely in love,” Louis said, as if that were all the explanation needed for Gregory’s actions. “And they are both rather used to going wherever they like and doing whatever they like without regard. I should have expected all of it. On some level, I did.”
Armand bristled. Who wasn’t in love with Lestat? That was no excuse to treat Louis in such a way—all the more reason not to, in fact! Besides, Armand didn’t really believe it. Gregory hadn’t seemed so in love at all during the days and nights they’d spent together on the yacht.
Once again, Gregory’s expression as he stared down at Louis in his indecency flashed in Louis’s mind, and he dropped his head into one hand. “Barging in like that… Mortifying…”
If Armand hadn’t eavesdropped, he would be rather confused by the extent of Louis’s embarrassment just based on what he’d said so far, but he knew exactly what Gregory had interrupted and how Louis had been affected. If Gregory hadn’t been so contrite after realizing his mistake, Armand might have begun to think very differently of the man. As it was, it was difficult not to remember all the flattery Gregory had lavished upon him the other day, the seduction, the filthy, filthy things he’d promised he could do to Armand…
Ducking his head to see Louis’s face again, Armand slid one soft, warm hand against his cheek, gently urging him to look up. “Just because you expected it doesn’t mean it has to be.” He knew right out that encouraging Louis to do anything about getting what he truly wanted from Lestat would be pointless. This was not the sort of rare circumstance that would spur Louis into becoming a man of action. “You don’t have to accept this.”
Because it need not necessarily be Louis who did anything about it at all…
“Perhaps I can help you,” Armand mused, his brain going back over his conversations with Gregory on the boat. If what he told Armand was true, and they would be stuck this way ‘til death parted their mortal flesh from this earth, then Armand would not see Louis spend his few short remaining decades suffering over Lestat.
Louis peered back at Armand, his brow pinching at the center. He knew Armand well enough to know that he could be exacting and methodical in order to get what he wanted, and Louis wasn’t quite sure he was ready for that when it came to himself and Lestat. At the same time, Armand’s gentle touch was soothing, and Louis locked his gaze to Armand’s, finding himself inexplicably drawn toward thoughts of what the two of them had done the last time they were seated together on a bed.
Was this what Armand meant by helping? Was that what he was implying?
Or did he simply mean to find some way to pull Gregory from Lestat so that Louis could insert himself instead? It wasn’t that Louis wanted Lestat to cease completely with Gregory, after all. The last thing he wanted to do was stifle the burning flame that was his Prince.
“How?” Louis asked, not looking away.
Armand was not blind in the slightest to the heated way Louis gazed at him, and his mind also shot back to that night when they had almost come together. The heat of Louis’s mouth against his, the shape of his hardness through his clothes… Armand had stopped it then, because it felt wrong to engage with his beloved Louis while they were both angry at their makers and his head was so full with Marius. But they had promised to come back to each other, hadn’t they? When it could be just about the two of them.
Armand still wanted that, yes. Even with everything that had changed between him and Marius, his love for Louis was not diminished, and the memory now of Louis pressing him down onto the bed, of the hunger in his kiss and the way Louis’s hips had ground against him made Armand bite his lip and nearly lose his train of thought as a heat bloomed low in his stomach.
But, ah, Louis had asked him a question…
“I could…” Blinking, Armand took a sharp little breath to try to focus, his fingertips tracing like feathers over the seam of Louis’s lips. They parted somewhat with the touch, as though the response were second nature.
Armand tried again. “I could distract him. He wants me. He’s told me so many times over.” And Gregory’s propositions had been so very tempting… It would hardly be any kind of sacrifice on Armand’s part. And besides giving Lestat more time for Louis, it would prove to Louis that Gregory had no great love for Lestat for which he need feel he must stand aside.
It took Louis a long moment, staring into Armand’s liquid eyes, to register what he said. He wants me. At first Louis thought Armand meant Lestat, and his heart did a few somersaults imagining what that particular rendezvous might entail. A beautiful image indeed the two of them would make. Louis might watch them for hours. But then he realized that Armand must mean Gregory, owing to their treasure-hunting adventures together, and he blinked, then frowned.
“No, you mustn’t,” Louis whispered. “Think of Marius. If Gregory and Lestat bring me such frustration, you must imagine what it would do to Marius to watch you entice Gregory.”
Armand’s youthful brow furrowed, and his expression shifted into one that could almost be called suspicious. Guarded surely, confused perhaps. Why was Louis speaking of Marius? What could Louis possibly even know about Marius with regard to Armand? Armand had said not a word to Louis about Marius since that night a fortnight ago when he vented his frustrations and anger over Marius’s audacity after his indiscretion with Lestat.
But Armand had spoken of Marius to Lestat, hadn’t he? Had Lestat repeated their conversations to Louis? Armand would not have minded that…being so on Lestat’s mind that he was talking about his affairs idly to Louis, that he made up any portion of Louis and Lestat’s time together… No, he would not have minded that at all. But somehow, he doubted that was the case. That was the entire thing, wasn’t it? Lestat wouldn’t think of him that way, much less speak of him… So then what made Louis say this now?
“You have been speaking to Marius?” he asked cautiously. After all, he didn’t know exactly when Marius had left the chateau while Armand was at sea. He’d had ample time to say whatever he wanted to Louis, he supposed. “What did he say about me?”
“Nothing I’ve heard. I haven’t spoken to him,” Louis said, noticing the shifting expressions playing across Armand’s features, no matter how slight. How remarkable it was to be able to imagine he could decipher even a sliver of them, whereas before their mortal mishap, Armand could so easily shield his thoughts and conceal his true feelings behind a mask of firm resolve. “I had only to look at Marius’s face when we arrived, and you had slipped away, to know he must be looking for you. His desperation was palpable in that instant, though I don’t know that anyone else noticed. How can I think anything else now?” Louis reached up to smooth a lock of auburn hair back over his angelic cheek. “And too, from something I overheard Lestat say on the plane: Marius wanted you to come here.”
This explanation still didn’t help Armand’s confusion for why Marius was a reason he couldn’t help Louis by distracting Gregory away from Lestat. His head tilted into Louis’s palm as he stared at him, trying to puzzle it out, absolutely aching for how he could no longer instantly understand Louis on every minutest level from the openness of his mind, with which Armand had never shied from maintaining intimate connection.
“You’re deflecting the subject,” he finally said, though his voice was gentle. “Will you let me help you?”
“I’m not,” Louis insisted, with a soft sigh. He was mildly frustrated on Marius’s behalf, only because he knew well enough how he felt watching Lestat play with Gregory, unwilling to begrudge him the experience, yet feeling something about it all the same. Adjacent to jealousy, similar to envy, but something else was the sensation. “If I asked you not to, would you listen?” Louis asked, suspecting very much that Armand would proceed with whatever course he believed to be in Louis’s best interest regardless of what Louis thought. Louis smiled as he asked the question, his fingers caressing Armand’s jaw.
Armand couldn’t help his eyelashes fluttering as he drew in a soft breath. “Yes,” he said on his exhale, and he could do nothing but gaze at Louis through the fringe of his lashes for a moment before he was able to speak again. “You have accepted your lot then?” The thought of Louis resigning himself to unhappiness made the insides of Armand’s chest squeeze, and already he was trying to think of other ways he might help him instead. Ways he might be able to protect him from the resultant loneliness…
Louis shook his head. “It isn’t so terrible. I’ll survive,” he murmured, not totally believing Armand’s pronouncement that he would stand down if Louis asked. “Lestat knows how I feel, he knows.” Louis’s hand dropped to Armand’s shoulder, stroking the side of his neck beneath his curls, arrested by the young man’s gaze.
The soft, yearning way Louis was looking at him was starting to make Armand forget what they were even talking about as his mind shimmered over countless memories of quiet nights they’d shared in each other’s company over the decades. Despite the ready activity of the rest of his family at Trinity Gate, an emptiness had permeated Armand’s house since Louis moved out of it last spring, putting an ocean between them—almost a year ago now. Armand had been happy for him then, had known how much he and Lestat needed each other again. But what was it all worth now if Louis wasn’t getting what he needed at all?
“You don’t have to be alone,” Armand told him, both a promise and a bit of a chastisement if Louis was thinking of resigning himself to spending this tropical holiday in isolation.
His hands on Louis’s arms slipped down to rest warmly atop his thighs, smoothing over the fabric of his trousers. He’d seen the swimwear Louis had on when he ran inside the house earlier, and he wished he’d had the chance to be this close to him in those clothes instead. Armand had spent the first half of the day catching up on sleep in Marius’s bed, and he hadn’t yet had time to explore outside.
“I know,” Louis said, his smile a placid one of acceptance, as though in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t really anything to get worked up about. Both hands came to rest atop Armand’s, and his thumbs traced little circles against the pale pink skin. “I’ll be all right,” he added. “Don’t worry, please. This place is too gorgeous and bright, too alive to be dragged down by anything weighing on me.”
Armand was so pretty in the sunlight streaming in through the windows, the glittering rays catching his curls in shifting hues of cherry, gold, and chestnut. No wonder he’d been such a scintillating subject for immortalizing in paint…
“Let’s find Marius,” Louis whispered.
Armand’s soft brown eyes widened, and he felt almost hurt. Was Louis…putting him off? This was unexpected, and he didn’t know how to react. Once again, Louis marveled at the shifting emotions perceptible upon his features.
In his state of confusion, Armand nodded, letting his hands slip away from Louis entirely, and clasping them together to keep from any further urge to touch. “He said he was going out to the garden.” Armand turned away, looking in the direction of the bright windows on the far wall of Louis’s room. “We’ll find him there.”
Ah, Louis had done it, he supposed, as Armand’s touch slid away. He would have to find some way to make it up to Armand, some other time. How easy it would have been to sink against the young man, bury his face in those auburn curls and lose himself to everything that was Armand.
But this was Marius’s house, and Louis would not do to Marius what Gregory had done to him, not when Marius had looked about so longingly for Armand when they arrived last night.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and K.
Chapter 101: Enticingly Beautiful But Deadly
Summary:
Louis and Armand find Marius out in his gardens, and they are both more struck by his beauty than either of them are prepared for.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
When they stepped out into the sunlight, Louis wore darkened shades and a wide brimmed hat to shield himself from the bright rays. Bianca sat on the veranda in a lounger, her eyes traveling from the pages of the book in her hands to the figure of Marius down in the garden and back again. Louis dared not stare at her too adamantly; she wore a pastel fitted sundress that hugged her curves deliciously, with a bodice that accentuated and lifted her ample bosom. Louis imagined what it would be like to rest his head there in comfort. He quickly pulled his eyes away after giving her a polite nod.
Armand hadn’t even realized Bianca was there until Louis acknowledged her. His eyes had been drawn straight to Marius, and the sight of him in such bright daylight, under such a vivid blue sky, surrounded by lush green life left him too stunned to do anything but stare. In France, there had only been the weak winter sun filtered through hazy gray clouds, and the stark white of snow against black branches. Here was Marius, alive and surrounded by life. The very air was thick with it, with the tropical insects and melodious bird calls from the distant trees.
“The place is as beautiful outside as it is in, Marius,” Louis said as they approached, one hand resting gently at Armand’s shoulder blades.
Marius looked up from his flowers, squinting against the sun as his very blue eyes struggled with the direct glare. Louis was wise to wear sunglasses and a protective hat as Marius wore neither. He had the benefit of his Mediterranean blood to keep him nicely tanned, but he was still red on his cheeks and nose, partly from the sun and partly from the heat, and he sweated enough to stick his clothes to him in the most uncomfortable way. It made him feel thick and sticky, and because his hands were dirty from his gardening, all he could do was use his shirtsleeve to wipe his sweat from his face and make him feel more presentable. He looked at Louis’s silent companion for a moment before he finally smiled at the man initiating conversation.
He was pleased by Louis’s compliment, as he had honestly tried to make this home both stylish and comfortable. For a while, Marius had kept very minimal spaces. After losing his Arctic home thirty years ago, he’d lived simply because he felt that starting over again was pointless. How many homes had he lost with everything he cherished? Too many. But when he’d brought Daniel to live with him, he wanted him to be comfortable and happy, so he started putting in a real effort again. This villa had been their second such home together.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Have you found everything that you need? Perhaps the library? I could show you my private collection if you would like.”
Slowly, Armand wet his lower lip and tried to swallow some moisture into his throat. “Don’t do that,” he warned. “Then we’ll never see him again for the rest of the trip.” And as he glanced aside up at Louis, Armand found the light had an entirely different effect on him, and he marveled. It seemed to Armand that Louis might truly blossom under light such as this, and what a shame it would be if he avoided it all to sequester in a cozy reading room.
To make up for his previous neglect in noticing her, Armand crossed to Bianca, leaning down to kiss her soft cheek in greeting. She said something to him that made them both look back over at Marius, and Armand laughed softly under his breath.
Marius, a master of expression control, watched the two former children of his whisper and giggle with a fairly blank expression, contemplating at the same time why it would necessarily be so bad for Louis to stay sequestered in his library if it meant that he was happy. But then the truth was in the phrasing, as it usually was. It wasn’t that Louis would be unhappy, but that Armand would be, because he must hope to spend time with Louis outside of the confines of Marius’s home.
Well, Marius did not want to ruin Armand’s time here by unintentionally depriving him of the company he wanted.
“I apologize,” he finally said, trying to follow some of the advice recently given to him about stubbornness and pride. “Perhaps some other time then, Louis.”
Since it did not seem that either were here because they personally wanted anything from him, Marius could only surmise that this was a random encounter and he may be waylaying them, which was unacceptable of a host. It was certainly kind of Louis to compliment his home. As a man of great vanity, Marius was pleased. He was about to squeeze Louis’s shoulder when he remembered his hands were dirty and dropped them back down to his sides. “Is there anything that I can do for either of you?”
“We came looking for you,” Louis said with a smile, and he stepped further into the garden with Marius and bent to look more closely at a particularly vibrant flower. “I haven’t seen your library, but I would like to, and I won’t spend every waking hour in there.” He glanced over his shoulder at Armand briefly.
“May I help?” Louis asked, looking up at Marius over the rim of his sunglasses and beneath the brim of his hat. “Are you pulling weeds? Or repacking dirt? What species are these?” Louis let the velvety petals of the flower slide between his fingers in a gentle caress.
Marius immediately dove into the horticultural conversation, quite proud of his gardening and his tasteful selection of various and colorful abundant flowers. It was still novel to get to care for them by day, though doing so seemed to sap all of the energy from him for a while. “Japanese balsam. And I am pulling weeds and trimming,” he said, putting his hands on his hips and surveying his work. After a moment, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out one glove and then another. “I try to incorporate as many species as I can, from as much of the world as possible, of course with sun and temperature in mind, as some flowers struggle in this heat. Would you like to see the spider lilies? They are a bit poisonous, so you must wear a glove.”
Louis let the bright petals slip from his fingertips and blinked up at Marius, adjusting his glasses so that he did not have to squint through the sunlight. It never would have occurred to him that some of these plants might be poisonous to touch, and Louis couldn’t help but think now that the blooms reminded him of what they all had once been. Enticingly beautiful, but deadly.
“Yes of course,” Louis said, standing again to his full height and following Marius where he led. “I did not even consider they might be harmful, though I well know it can be the way of the natural world. The more alluringly vivid, the more dangerous.” He accepted the glove from Marius gratefully.
Throughout this exchange, Armand did nothing to hide how obviously he stared at Marius, fascinated by the enthusiasm he expressed for this hobby of his. He’d spent most of the morning catching up on sleep in Marius’s arms, so he felt no jealousy now at how Louis captured his attention. It gave Armand the opportunity to observe, something he never took for granted, his sharp eyes noting every detail and nuance of their affects and body language as they discussed the oh-so-provocative subject of flowering blooms.
Marius slipped his glove on and looked at the strange and alluring flowers with their many stamens curling inward like a spider upside down. He caressed the petals of one with a covered finger, nodding in agreement to Louis’s observation. Humans were strange when it came to beauty and danger. Nature designed aposematic signals to warn, and even simple creatures learned avoidance. But humans were too drawn to beauty to avoid it. Then again, it made sense that humans found innocence and purity in beauty as that was how they designed it. From heaven and its angels to vast gardens of blooming flowers, beauty was good and the grotesque were evil. Marius could not decide whether it was nature or humans that were too simplistic. Perhaps that was the luxury of being earth’s apex predator, the greatest predatory species on this terrain. They usurped the natural order and redefined it to their pleasure.
He was about to tell Louis all of this when all of a sudden Armand appeared beside them, looking up at Marius with a pinch between his dark brows, absolutely lovely and too concerned, which aged his cherubic face. “How far is the nearest doctor?” he asked, disturbed by the thought of Louis accidentally becoming poisoned and not being in the vicinity of immediate medical help. Marius’s villa was a true paradise in its remoteness from the surrounding population, but such isolation presented risks of its own.
“Near enough,” Marius said, patient with Armand’s fears and always indulgent. “Though unless Louis eats every single spider lily in my garden, he won’t experience more than an itchy and uncomfortable rash.” He put his ungloved hand to the small of Louis’s back, gently guiding him to a ‘safer’ place for Armand’s comfort. “Perhaps another time. We will have an ambulance on standby, and then I will show you the full garden.” Admittedly, he was teasing Armand a little, even if he did sound serious.
Louis laughed, a full-bodied and exhilarated sound, coming from deep within his chest and culminating in several quick notes of barked out amusement, bewildered yet touched by both of them. “I’ll be fine, I’m not made of glass. Nor will I be eating the blooms right out of this garden like some blind deer any time soon.”
It was curious how the touch of Marius’s hand to his back held within it such commanding but gentle protection. Louis could not deny there was a part of himself that might wish to experience more of that. And within his thoughts, slowly, there formed an image of Marius and Armand together, embracing, kissing, and so on, until they were a tangled mess of desire in his mind’s eye. Louis shook his head to rid himself of the fantasy, the smile on his face unwavering as he regarded both of them with a new and blossoming secretive interest.
“Why not show me instead your favorite spot on the grounds?” he suggested.
Marius was delighted by Louis’s interest, as he’d personally designed everything on this property purposefully and by hand. Some of it was for him, and some of it had been for Daniel, who had his own private retreats and sanctuaries that Marius left still untouched. Waiting, perhaps, for Daniel to return. Yet as more and more time passed, he doubted that would happen.
Since Louis had assured him they’d been looking for him, Marius did not feel he was holding him and Armand up or that they were humoring him as host. The truth was, he felt better today than he’d felt since the morning after he’d spent the night with Armand in the quaint bed and breakfast. The insomnia he’d suffered since melted into deep, blissful sleep with Armand nestled against his body, held tight in his arms.
As he turned to give Louis the tour, Bianca came up from behind and slid her arm through Armand’s, linking the two of them together. Marius did the same with Louis, leading him down the garden path to where it would loop back to the villa. The familiarity of the gesture was both comforting and grounding for Louis. An anchor of sorts was Marius’s steadfast gait. Often Louis had strolled much like this, arm in arm, with another gentleman in his mortal days, as he was shown some great accomplishment in engineering or architecture. But now there was no pretense of responsibility, no weight of gentile facade or flattery or even guilt.
Armand’s own interest in seeing Marius’s favorite places was more than obvious as he followed close behind, just far enough to keep the full picture of him in his vision. Bianca was talking softly, telling him about all she’d been doing here the past few days, but Armand could barely listen, his attention so laser focused on the men in front of them. It didn’t take her long to notice, and she brought him back by blowing air in his face. His startled reaction made her laugh, and he gave her an apologetic look.
“We’re going out to dinner,” she decreed. “All of us. I’ve heard of a churrascaria in the neighborhood that is supposed to be the best around for miles. And I simply cannot go without five handsome escorts… Six,” she amended as she remembered Gregory’s arrival this morning. One of his staff had told her he was staying at a hotel in Rio, but he would certainly be invited to dinner with them before he returned to the city for the night.
“Yes,” Armand said with a small smile. He had no sense of anticipation for the food, no matter how good it was purported to be, still not finding pleasure in the act of eating, but he would agree to anything Bianca wanted, naturally. He slid his hand down her arm to lace his fingers through hers, and then looked ahead to Louis and Marius again, hoping he hadn’t missed anything important.
Marius had caught her announcement, his ears always listening for the sound of Bianca’s voice, even when he appeared distracted or busy. Just as he did Armand, too. Though the idea of eating made him feel a bit queasy, he’d do anything to make her happy, and she seemed so sweetly delighted to tell them of her plans.
He turned to look over his shoulder at the couple, and marveled at how natural and lovely the two looked together. As they always had. The way they held hands lit something in Marius’s gut, but his easy, harmless smile betrayed nothing. But it did remind him that he’d have to have a discussion with Armand in regard to Bianca sooner than he’d planned, perhaps.
“My favorite place will always be my studio, where I paint,” Marius said, returning his attention to Louis. “But I would like to show you something else that I have been working on, not a painting. If you’d come in.”
Louis’s eyes moved toward Marius’s strong jaw, the sun glinting off the perfect angle of his cheekbone, the faint lines at the edge of his eyes and his fine Roman nose was striking. A once perfect marble statue now painted and come to life was he, imbued by the sun and the warmth and crisp air.
“I’d be delighted,” Louis agreed, feeling as if he might hang off of every word the man would say to him, no matter how simple. “And if I could be so bold, I would love to view your paintings too, if you would allow me the honor.”
“Certainly, in what time we have before dinner.”
The guests were only here for a short while, so as much as Marius did not want to eat, he did want the chance to be with them. He’d not seen Lestat since they arrived, which made sense now considering Gregory had arrived and Lestat was naturally wrapped up in the heat and romance of new love.
There was still time, and he hoped with Armand, too. Selfishly, he wished he could ask Armand to stay for a while after the others left back to France. But he knew he could not. Armand wouldn’t be happy without those he loved, likely Louis the most, and he’d be too worried for his lover to enjoy the time alone with Marius. It would be very selfish to put Armand in such a position to choose.
Still, a man could dream, in secret, while denying he ever did such things.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, B, and K.
Chapter 102: The Way To Do It
Summary:
Even while in bed with Gregory, Lestat's mind and senses are filled with Louis. Explicit.
Chapter Text
Gregory lay over Lestat’s body on the bed, pressing against the contours of him, his cock straining between them. “My love, my Prince,” he growled between hot possessive kisses. In that moment, nothing mattered but this intoxicating connection between them.
This bed, while made, had clearly not been tended to by the house staff, as the pillows were askew, the bedding rumpled. Resisting the memory of seeing Louis lying here with Lestat this morning, Gregory shoved pillows out of their way, tossing them over to where a lone pillow already lay against the opposite wall. “I’m going to fuck you, devour you,” he promised, lips moving against Lestat’s throat. “Remember the blood? Oh, how I wish I’d been able to taste yours.” Gregory swallowed Lestat in another sensually possessive kiss, biting and sucking Lestat’s lower lip as he pulled away. “What would you taste like? I have always wondered.”
“Well, I know who you could ask.” Lestat smirked up at him wickedly. His hands gripped Gregory’s upper arms, and one foot came up on the edge of the bed beside Gregory’s thigh, his muscles tense as if he might try to roll Gregory over at any moment. He couldn’t help wondering if images of Louis lingered in Gregory’s mind just now as strongly as they did in his own. If after the awkwardness and embarrassment wore off, Gregory would have the good sense to let himself be thoroughly aroused by the thoughts of what he watched Louis doing. Lestat was suddenly ravenously jealous of Gregory’s memory, wanting to suck it right out of his brain so that he could see it all for himself. As he consumed Gregory’s mouth, it seemed nearly possible.
Gregory was going to ask who he could ask about the taste of Lestat’s blood. David? Cyril? Marius even? Or was it more obvious? Louis. He didn’t think they had been sharing blood, as there was no mention of it in Lestat’s books. But as he returned Lestat’s kisses and even ground his erection suggestively against Lestat’s thigh, the thought of Louis taking Lestat’s blood invaded him. He found he didn’t like the idea. It meant Lestat and Louis were far closer than he’d interpreted.
He pulled away from the kiss and stared down at Lestat for a long moment, so beautifully handsome and tousled. “I don’t want to ask anyone. You are mine now. Do you get it?” His eyes bored into Lestat’s.
Lestat’s eyebrows lifted, a look of challenge in his clear sparkling gaze amid silent laughter. He wasn’t being too serious; he absolutely had no opposition to being Gregory’s in this moment, and indeed all the remaining moments until it was time for them to get ready to go out for dinner. But after that, who could say?
His thigh came up between Gregory’s legs, pressing tight as his body undulated against his. “I’d let you taste it now,” he said with another devilish smirk, his hands pushing into the back of Gregory’s hair, the pressure seeming as if he might guide Gregory’s mouth to his throat. “But it would be so very disappointing for the both of us.”
Reflexively Gregory nuzzled into Lestat’s throat anyway, as if he would sink fangs in, licking at his jugular, biting and sucking enough to make certain he left a deep red mark. He ached to taste the blood again, his whole being vibrated with the need for it, but it was frustratingly impossible.
He shoved at the thin pants Lestat wore, removing them from his body and tossing them to the floor. He crawled back over Lestat, kissing and sucking his way back to that delicious mouth. “I bet your blood is the deepest liquid ruby jewel. Luscious crimson velvet on my tongue…down my throat…in my veins.” Gregory punctuated each phrase with a roll of his hips and a deep kiss.
Lestat felt his face grow hot, and his breath came so shallow that he might have gone dizzy if he weren’t lying down. His mind swam with the succulently seductive memories of not just blood, but of killing, the rich creamy flavor of the thousands upon thousands of souls he’d devoured. The craving came so sharp then, he gasped out in pain, and his arms locked around Gregory’s back.
“Stop it,” he moaned under Gregory’s onslaught. “You’ll make me weep. None of this compares.” Why hadn’t they picked up some wine while they were out? He desperately needed his drunk back. Surely Marius must have some bottles in this house—he was Italian, wasn’t he?
“Don’t weep,” Gregory crooned, nuzzling at Lestat’s throat once more before lifting his head to gaze down upon his arrestingly handsome face. His eyes traveled then over the bed. This bed Louis had shared with Lestat just this morning. And why was this thought plaguing him so? Had he not already thrown all the pillows aside? Had he not made it clear to Lestat that he belonged only to Gregory now?
No. He hadn’t made it clear enough. “Get up. I want these blankets off the bed. Only sheets.” He stood abruptly and pulled Lestat up against him. With swift movement, he yanked the comforter and blanket from the bed so that only the rumpled sheets remained.
He gave Lestat a sly sexy grin and pushed him back to the bed, pressing his legs apart with his knee as he again settled atop of him. “Now… What was I saying? Oh yes,” he hummed, kissing and nuzzling again. “Blood…”
Lestat gave a breathless laugh as his hands came to Gregory’s shoulders, and he wedged a knee up between them to make space, even as the trail of Gregory’s lips was making him shudder with desire, making the strength flag from his limbs. He wanted to ask what Gregory had against blankets and pillows, but it was probably for the best he’d thrown them off, just in case things got messy. That thought made him groan, and he caught Gregory’s head between his hands, forcing it up to demand a kiss that ended with a biting tug of Gregory’s lower lip.
“Keep talking about blood, and I’ll draw some,” he threatened with a grin, and again he pushed at Gregory’s stomach with his knee to try to roll him over.
Gregory growled, finding Lestat’s wrists and pinning them to the bed on either side of his head. It wasn’t easy, as Lestat’s strength equaled his own. He found this both maddening and thrilling, as he’d never had to struggle to dominate anyone as a blood drinker. He didn’t allow himself to be rolled over. Instead, he pressed his entire weight against Lestat, relishing the power exchange between them. “No more blood talk… Only this,” he purred, voice husky with carnal desire. “My Prince. My Lestat. My love.”
Gregory dared to release a wrist so that he might reach down between their bodies. Lestat’s hand shot up the moment it was free, but before he could do anything with it, his bones went limp as Gregory stroked their erections together as best he could in one fist. His head craned back, with a gasped “Ah!” His hips bucked under Gregory, and the feeling of their ridges rubbing against each other made him forget entirely why he’d been struggling for the upper hand.
“Gregory…” he said, stretching his name out in a long, lustful groan. His free hand reached out for something to grab hold of, but all it came up with was a handful of crumpled sheet. He yanked it close anyway, twisting it around his fist like holding on to a lifeline. His back arched and flattened as he writhed, helpless under Gregory’s touch, and when his face craned to the side, pressing into the sheets, they smelled like Louis. “My god,” Lestat gasped as he breathed it in deeply, his mind assailed again by how he imagined Louis must have looked when Gregory walked in on him pleasuring himself—not so very unlike what Gregory was doing to both of them right now. “Don’t stop!”
As Lestat writhed beneath him, Gregory’s own arousal boiled over, the evidence of it seeping from his engorged member, coating them both as he stroked. “So loud,” he chuckled against Lestat’s throat. “The whole house will hear.”
Unbidden came an ancient mortal memory of Akasha beneath him, her dark hair splayed out on the cool linen bedding, her eyes shut, lips parted as his touch and the thrust of his hips sent waves of pleasure through her. Her legs wrapped tightly around him, her breasts bared to his mouth, her nails leaving marks down his back. Gregory felt that old surge of power and virility, a young male with a powerful Queen beneath him. She too had called out his name in ecstasy, but it had been his original name, not this modern one he used now.
A pang of guilt flashed through him for having envisioned this at all. Not now, with his beloved golden prince against him. He gazed down upon Lestat’s beauty, love swelling inside of his chest, his fist gripping and stroking in tighter faster more frenzied movements. “Finish with me,” he groaned against Lestat’s throat, kissing and sucking along his jaw.
“What if I resist?” Lestat asked, though his voice was breathless. His ankles tugged at the backs of Gregory’s knees, as if it were possible to pull him any closer. “How much longer could you last?” Though even as he issued the challenge, he wasn’t sure he could last much longer either, not with the scent of Louis he inhaled with each breath against the sheets combined with the strength of Gregory’s hand and the luxurious heat and solidness of his body bearing down on him in contrast to the crispness of the air conditioning.
The question caught Gregory off guard. Last? He’d been so near the edge already. Now he had to completely stop his movements, release his grip on their cocks to press up on his arms so he might get some space between them. Lestat shouted in dismay to be released so abruptly. That was cheating!
“Resist?” Gregory asked, breathlessly. He took this opportunity to wipe their slickness from his hand onto the sheets. Lestat was so unpredictable. But that’s what drew Gregory to him, wasn’t it? Playful, unpredictable, dangerous. “I can last. Can you?” He gave Lestat his darkest grin, the one he usually reserved for his victims. “Is that what you want? A competition?”
Lestat glared up at him reprovingly, though the amusement still shimmered behind his eyes. “Well, when you put it that way…” Abruptly, he pushed up to sit at, an angle, the muscles of his stomach locking to hold the position, his face nose to nose with Gregory’s. His free hand caught the base of Gregory’s jaw, holding him firm, and he ran his tongue wetly over his rosy lips. “I’m just not ready to be done with you quite yet.”
“Done?” Gregory chuckled at this word choice. “What makes you define climax as being done with me? We have the whole rest of the day and even the night, should we choose not to go to this dinner.”
He pressed Lestat back down to the bed, taking both his hands in his own and holding them against the mattress. “Tell me what you do with others. Oh, I know we agreed not to discuss this topic, but my curiosity is extreme. Tell me if they make it last longer for you.”
Lestat chuckled, testing out the strength of Gregory’s grip, though not actually trying to get out of it. His fingers only folded around Gregory’s softly. The question was funny because Lestat was usually the one making it last longer for his partners, not the other way around.
“We are going to this dinner,” he said first of all. He stared up into Gregory’s dark eyes with a smirk. “I didn’t come all the way here on that god forsaken deathtrap of a jet to just stay in bed all day. I’m sure Marius is missing me. You’re going to have to share me, Gregory.” His smirk became a devilish grin and his body undulated, rubbing up against Gregory, making the most electrifying friction crackle between them. “Who do you want to know about?” he teased, as if he didn’t even know where to begin.
Gregory tightened his grip on Lestat’s hands. Jealousy roiled and mixed into the carnal passion already flaring inside of him. He rolled his hips to meet the friction Lestat was seeking, swallowing the deep moan he wanted to express at the blissful results.
Just how many people was Lestat having sex with that he had to ask this question? Gregory cursed himself for deciding he needed to hold Lestat’s hands down, because now he had no way to position himself to drive into him and fuck him properly.
“Louis,” he growled, because that seemed to be the one individual that kept slipping between them, and now Gregory wanted some sort of details, even if he might regret it later.
Lestat rolled his eyes and strained against Gregory’s grip a little. “Oh, leave him alone. He’d be mortified if I told you anything.” But as nonchalant as he sounded, that was only half of it. The thought of sharing Louis with anyone, even Gregory, made a fist of his own jealousy clench in Lestat’s gut. “Haven’t you seen enough for one day?” Once again, imagining what Gregory had walked in on made an erotic shudder course through Lestat. But interestingly, the feeling that accompanied it wasn’t the same possessive jealousy, but envy instead. He only wished he could have seen it too.
In an effort to distract Gregory, he arched up, increasing the friction between them, angling himself so that their organs moved against each other in the most stimulating manner, all the way down past the base and back. The sensation made the glaze return to his eyes, and his face grew warm again as he stared up at Gregory.
It was probably for the best that Lestat gave him no details. Gregory usually regretted his own rash decisions, and asking about Louis and Lestat’s sex was bound to haunt him if he truly knew.
He lowered his head, enchanted by Lestat’s lustful blush and the deep carnal electricity between them as Lestat’s hips moved against his. “I have not seen enough for one day,” he whispered, licking along Lestat’s collarbone. What he wanted most right now was to be inside Lestat, to flip him over and claim him against these sheets. He bit Lestat’s lip, releasing his hold on his hands. “Roll over,” he ordered, sitting up and back on his heels so Lestat might do as he was told.
But Gregory should have known better. Lestat only laughed as if to say ‘make me,’ and sat up, sliding right onto Gregory’s lap with his strong thighs on either side of Gregory’s. His arms locked around Gregory’s shoulders, one hand grabbing the short strands of hair at the back of his head to crane his neck back so he could kiss and claim his mouth. As he did, he shifted his hips to catch Gregory’s cock beneath his ass and he ground slowly over it, his own pressing hard into Gregory’s stomach with each rolling undulation.
A deep groan escaped Gregory. Of course, he’d been foolish to think Lestat would follow through on his instruction. When had Lestat ever done what was asked or told of him? He braced himself with hands on the bed behind him as Lestat ground into his lap. “You are so pliable,” he observed with laughter. “So bendy.”
To show Gregory just how bendy he could be, Lestat dipped all the way back before thrusting up tight against him again. “Aren’t you lucky,” he teased as he caught Gregory’s lips again, murmuring against him. “I don’t bend for everyone.”
He could feel Gregory’s cock growing slicker with each slide between his cheeks, and the thrill of it was making the heat in his face practically burn, the coiled feeling deep in his loins cinching tighter. It would be a simple thing now to seat himself upon Gregory’s shaft, but Lestat could see in his eyes how desperate Gregory was getting for it, and the wicked thing within him was enjoying prolonging his torment.
“Do you bend this way for Louis?” Gregory asked before he could stop the words from spilling out. “Is he this lucky too?” He found himself trapped between jealous anger and a deep sexual arousal. Taking advantage of Lestat’s new positioning, Gregory abruptly wrenched him around so that he was belly to bed, as Gregory had previously demanded of him. He wanted to cover this whole bed in their combined scent, among other things. It took little preparation at all to press into Lestat, to sheath himself fully, immediately thrusting in sharp hard movements, tangling one hand in all that gloriously golden hair and pulling Lestat’s head back so that he might bite and suck all along the strong line of his throat.
Lestat had one knee bent under him, but his other leg had landed stretched out flat, so he couldn’t push himself up very much, and he gripped the far edge of the bed for purchase under Gregory’s onslaught. The faint pain that crackled through his scalp contrasted with the pleasure of Gregory’s tongue made him laugh out loud, though he was beyond breathless, and it turned into a long groan.
“Louis…has…other…tastes…” he managed between panting breaths. Though he had to laugh again at the thought that Louis would rather like to be in his current position actually, with what Gregory was doing to him now. He tried to wedge one hand under his chest, to brace himself, but it immediately buckled and shot out to clench into the twisted sheets instead. Groaning again, Lestat pulled them against his face to muffle the sound. Who knew how thin these walls were? And Gregory was growing relentless.
“For the love of hell, Gregory,” he gasped and then laughed again, delirious, his head spinning with the scent of Louis in the fabric against his face that only made him groan more deeply, his eyes rolling back and closing.
Gregory released his grip on Lestat’s hair, needing both arms to brace himself now and his unrelenting pace. Again, the blood came to mind. The kill. How sex was so very like the kill. At least the sex he’d been having thius far. Gregory groaned, the pleasure almost too much with the memory of the hot living blood spilling over his tongue. He lathed and sucked at Lestat’s throat, a lion licking the deer under its claws.
How Lestat longed suddenly for a mirror in this room that he might see what they looked like during this act. The image of the mirror in his closet at the chateau the first day he and Louis had given into their passions shuddered through his mind, making his fingers and toes curl into the sheets and another long groan came out of him. He ought to set up a camera the next time he and Gregory had the chance to do this. Lestat was pretty sure Gregory would be game for it, and he certainly couldn’t say the same for any of his other lovers. He laughed again as he thought that if he let Louis watch the recording, then he wouldn’t need to lurk in doorways or behind poolside palm trees to spy on him anymore.
The laugh was cut off with a gasp as Gregory came so close to hitting him at that perfect spot. Galvanized, Lestat wedged his arms under himself to push up enough to shift his hips until he had Gregory right where he wanted him. “Oh, fuck yes!” he gasped as he pounded back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, soon feeling like he was on the verge of going blind.
Gregory renewed his efforts, angling to hit that magical spot as Lestat clearly wanted. He covered Lestat completely with his body, loving the feel of his damp heated skin against his chest. Gregory kissed and nuzzled against him, wishing to crawl inside of him if it were only possible. He couldn’t seem to get close enough. All the while, his hips worked rhythmically to bring them both to that final burst of explosive bliss. Lestat had to bite down on the wad of sheets to keep from shouting out as he came, but Gregory made no effort at all to dampen the sounds of his own powerful release, caring nothing for how thin the walls were.
Could Louis hear all of this in his room down the hall?
Panting for air, Lestat twisted to roll out from under Gregory so that he could see him, and Gregory fell onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.
“Feel better now?” Lestat teased.
Gregory could feel his heart thumping in his chest, his ears ringing, his body glistening with sweat. “Was I not feeling well before?” he asked, breathless.
As Lestat absently wiped himself off with the sheets, he laughed, pleased by the answer. Yes, that was the way to do it, drive all inconvenient and troublesome thoughts from their minds.
Turning back, he folded one arm over Gregory’s chest so he could look down at his face, smiling at him contentedly. The post-sex lethargy was settling in, making all Gregory’s body feel like a limp warm rag. He gazed half-lidded at Lestat’s deliriously handsome face above him, a half-smile on his lips.
“You know what I love about you?” Lestat asked, his fingertips softly tracing one of Gregory’s thick, dark eyebrows.
“What? What is lovable about me?” he asked, genuinely curious as to what it could be.
“You’re fun.” Lestat’s smile grew dreamier. “I have fun when I’m with you.”
And honestly, that was sometimes a rare thing for Lestat. So many of the other people in his life were far too serious for fun. Claire was fun, he’d had plenty of good fun with her over the past couple weeks since he’d been unmade into a human. But she had never called him back today like she’d said she would, and Lestat didn’t want to think about that. Knowing that David had something to do with her strange mood this morning made a sense of panic want to rise in him, but there was nothing Lestat could do about it in Brazil, so he forced her from his mind, and Gregory was an ideal distraction. This energetic, carefree, and passionate man Lestat was fortunate enough to call his friend.
As he gazed down at him now, felt his heartbeat against his arm on his chest, a flame of possessiveness sparked to life within Lestat that he’d never felt for Gregory before. Unexpected, that, but it only made his smile turn more catlike, and he pushed his fingers through the top of Gregory’s damp hair. “I like having fun with you.”
Such a warm blossom of love washed through Gregory at these words and at the obvious look of love Lestat lavished upon him. A slow smile curved his lips as he returned the look, reaching a hand up to tuck some damp locks of hair behind Lestat’s ear. “I’m happy we can have fun together. Chrys and my other family members get tired of my energy. I knew, as soon as I read your autobiography, that you were a match for me in this way.”
“Did you,” Lestat said as if he only half believed it, a lazy smirk on his lips, and his fingertips trailed along Gregory’s hairline. “If only you’d come to me thirty years ago.” He gazed down at him for another moment, his eyes soft and fond, and then he abruptly pushed himself up and hopped off the bed. “Shower!” he proclaimed as he headed for the en suite.
Gregory blinked up at the view of the ceiling where before it had been Lestat. He turned his head just in time to watch Lestat’s firm ass as he disappeared into the bathroom. “Sleep,” Gregory responded, because his whole body demanded it at this point. His eyes closed and the sound of the shower was the last thing he heard before he fell into deep slumber.
When Lestat emerged later and saw him there passed out, he laughed under his breath. He’d only been gone a few minutes, and he was surprised Gregory hadn’t followed him, since showering together had been his original plan. Quietly, he tore the tags off some new clothing from the shopping bags and put it on, then he slipped out of the room, sure not to wake him.
Making his way back down the hall to Louis’s door, Lestat tried knocking, but once again received no answer. When he tested the handle, it opened, and Lestat found the room empty.
He sighed and scrubbed his hand back through his wet hair, worried. After only a few seconds of deliberation, he decided to look for him. He wasn’t going to let Louis avoid him again and waste another whole week before they came back together in a clash.
But when Lestat finally caught sight of him, Louis was out in the gardens with Marius, being trailed by Armand and Bianca. He frowned to himself as he watched them through the wall of glass. He considered going right out to join them, but he wasn’t wearing shoes, and the paving stones had been hot enough to scorch the soles of his feet earlier when he came in from the pool. So he just watched until they were out of sight, and then he went back through the house to his room to start getting ready for their dinner.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and D.
Chapter 103: An Errant Moment
Summary:
Louis witnesses firsthand the tension roiling between Armand and Marius, and takes it upon himself to try to talk sense into Marius
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Marius knew he would have to shower soon to be presentable for dinner after working so long in the heat and dirt in his garden, but Louis’s rapt fascination in all he had to show him of his home was too enticing to put off.
The afternoon sun was beginning to go down when they made it to the house’s front door. Marius held it open for Louis, Armand and Bianca, then he was the last to enter. The destination was his studio, not just for his paintings, but where he kept the new project he wished to share. It was clear by the arrangement of the room that he was currently working on a painting series, which featured a black-haired young man, a veil, and little else.
But he did not stop to explain, only led the way to a series of pinned up drawings. More than just drawings—plans. The entire detailed layout for a Roman-style villa of immense proportion. Planned with an eye for complete accuracy in design (not amenity). “I’m going to have a new home built. Wealth allows eccentricity, and I am tired of these boring modern homes.” He brought Louis to the plans, standing behind him and reaching around to point at the different rooms and explain their functions. The position was nice, as Louis had a very nice smell—clean, rich, masculine, but soft too, sort of like his nature. Marius would have to be careful not to touch by accident and get the modest man dirty. In respect of that, he kept his chest just a half inch from pressing into Louis’s back.
Armand barely even noticed, too caught by those words, a new home. A bolt of something like fear shot straight down into his guts, and he left Bianca to come around to Marius’s other side, gracefully wedging himself in to see these house plans. “Where?” he asked, though his throat felt so clogged the word barely came out. He cleared it to ask again, turning his face up to fix Marius with a look that tried to mask how close he suddenly felt to hyperventilating. “Where?”
A new home? A new home far away? Good god, he was so stupid. Armand couldn’t stand that Marius had the power to frighten him like this, so abruptly and like he was talking about nothing more interesting than the weather. Armand suddenly felt on the verge of tears. Why did he let himself even consider believing anything Marius had said in bed last night?? He had to clench his hands at his sides to keep from slapping himself across his own face for his stupidity.
Marius stared at the small storm that was Armand from over Louis’s shoulder, the poor man now stuck between them and whatever would transpire. Armand wasn’t terribly hard to read, even without the mind gift. Marius had two years of reading into the boy’s very soul, night after night, in the most intimate of ways, and so he’d become a master of interpreting the young man’s every gesture and expression. That and only a very stupid man would miss the way anger flared in the loveliest of all amber eyes.
“Rome or Naples,” he answered, trying to use his soft tone to pacify Armand without coming across as condescending. That would only upset him more. Dismissing Armand’s concerns as irrational or childish would only exacerbate the issue, and more insecurities would fester. “I’m not making it a permanent residence. The Chateau is my home.” Marius couldn’t bear to think of being separate from Armand, but that was too tender a thing to say in front of company.
“So what are you making it?” Armand’s voice remained quiet, even, though his brow was knit in concentration, as if every word and inflection Marius uttered was of the utmost importance.
“A lovely villa on the Mediterranean, where I may go now and then when I want some time away from the affairs and almost constant clamor of the Court,” Marius admitted. When he’d begun these designs as a vampire, he did not suffer from mortal ailments such as anxiety or exhaustion, nor did he necessarily need to decompress, or, as more magazines these days advocated, time for self-care. But he thought it would be nice to have a place to retreat to when needed. A private place crafted with all of his preferences and peculiarities in mind.
Reaching over, he touched Armand’s hot, plump cheek—he’d always adored them and secretly loved that they were human again just as they’d been when he fell in love with them. “Are you afraid I will vanish one night? I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I can’t live without you and I won’t even try. And even if I do go from time to time, you may always come along.”
“Ah, may I?” Armand retorted, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed into a petulant pout.
“It is masterful,” Louis said, his touch to the edge of one of the blueprint renderings as reverent as Marius was touching Armand. Louis shifted the paper before him to get a better look, then glanced to Bianca who was staring with intent and interest at Marius and Armand. Louis followed her gaze, and was caught at once by the perfect picture they made despite the torrent of tamped down emotion in Armand’s fathomless eyes.
Louis knew in that moment, from the way Marius stared at Armand, that he had been correct in his assumption that Marius had sought out and yearned most for Armand’s company when they had all arrived last night. Lestat, by his own words too, had delivered Armand to Marius.
Turning his back to Marius, Armand looked up at the designs. Endlessly frustrating, that his mind could no longer scan them and lock away each entire page to the vaults of his memory in seconds. He’d have to spend an hour looking at this to take in all the details.
Why would Marius need a refuge from ‘Court’ now, anyway? There was no more Court. Was he just saying this because he didn’t know Gregory had told Armand the truth about their human states likely being permanent? To keep up the ruse that they’d all go back to normal one night? If so, then what was Marius’s real reason for wanting this new home, so far away from any parts of Armand’s life? And why not admit that reason now instead of using the lost Court as an excuse? What was he hiding?
Lifting a top page between his fingertips, Armand folded it up to see what was behind, and then dropped it back into place and turned away as if he were bored with them already. But as he moved over to look at the paintings in progress, he was already making plans to sneak back into this room while Marius was preparing for dinner and make those designs disappear.
Marius frowned at Armand’s cold response, not sure if he should accept the rejection or brush it off. He couldn’t hold it against Armand, even if the rejection stung. Armand had every reason to fear abandonment, but that wasn’t a conversation that Marius was willing to have. Yet he did wish that Armand would look at him the way he did Louis, with soft love and concern, or even Bianca, the two naturally affectionate and sweet with each other. Marius felt that every interaction they had was on a razor-sharp tightrope—deadly, unforgiving and delicate.
He gazed at the plans that really were marvelous. Page after page, detailing each room down to how he would paint every wall. The garden, too, with its lists of necessary flowers and fruit trees. He’d been working on them for some time. Years, in fact, though he’d put them away for a long number of years in order to help Daniel. It was only very recently that he’d dug them up and began to allow the fantasy to manifest itself again into possibility.
But now was a time to decide which had more value: Armand or this dream home of his. A dream very small and insignificant when compared to his desire for Armand. Perhaps it was time to let it go. And accept that not everything was possible.
In a quick movement, Marius gathered the papers in his hands, stacking them into a tidy pile, which he summarily ripped together into halves, and then again into quarters. Louis watched in shock and horror as Marius went about destroying the pages which represented likely countless years of research and effort to make them tangible. So aghast was he that he wasn’t even able to reach to stop the destruction, and wordlessly, Marius walked to the trash bin and dumped the pieces in.
“I will take my leave now,” he announced. “I must have a shower if I am to be suitable for dinner.” Keeping his feelings off his face came much more difficultly for Armand in his human form, but fortunately Marius didn’t look at him while he stalked out, so he missed the shock that seized his expression.
Perhaps it was his mortality that spurred Louis into action then, when before he might have remained silent, assumed it was hardly his place to question, and accepted whatever happened. He might have imagined too that Marius kept copies, or possessed the vampiric means to recreate the parts of his work that mattered most. But now, as things were, it hurt his heart to see Marius do something so finite, and Louis could not imagine staying still or silent. His empathy went out to Marius, and Louis turned with a set jaw and rushed out after him.
Armand clenched his teeth and shot a frustrated look to Bianca. She just sighed and shook her head. She was used to Marius’s mood swings, but that never made them easier to handle.
Quietly, Armand traced Marius’s steps to the trashcan, and he fished all the papers out, making a little stack of them. He rolled it into a tube and slipped his wrist through it so he could tuck it up his sleeve, where it was hidden, wrapped around his arm.
“I’ll talk to him,” he reassured Bianca softly, not wanting her to feel like she needed to step in and console Marius on Armand’s behalf. This distrust between them was centuries in the making, and he didn’t want it to burden her.
When he stepped out of the room, he could see Louis and Marius far down the hall, so Armand ducked around the corner in the other direction. Once he had hidden the torn designs somewhere so that he could deal with them later, he took the long way around to the stairs up to the room where he had slept with Marius. There, he positioned himself before the bathroom to wait for Marius to come for his shower.
Back down in the hallway, Louis had reached out to claim Marius’s still sweat-soaked arm to prevent him going any further. “Marius, wait, please!”
Marius was caught off guard. Louis’s grip was strong and insistent, and he was not used to the boldness of it, as few would dare touch him this way. It was a bit delightful even, that boldness, and he wasn’t offended. “Yes, Louis? What is it?” he asked in a smooth, calm voice, neither appearing nor sounding overly emotional or upset.
Louis stood there, his hand clamped onto Marius’s arm, his bottom lip with the faintest quiver, brows knit in confusion. “Are you all right?” he asked, because what else could he ask but that? He might have asked why he’d destroyed the plans, but something part spoken and even unspoken had passed between Marius and Armand in mere moments, and the outcome had been so abrupt and jarring that Louis was afraid to press too deeply where he was surely not invited. Still, he couldn’t let it go.
His grip eased at Marius’s arm, and Louis stepped closer, coming to stand beside Marius rather than behind him, so that they might face one another. “You worried me in there. Your work. All those years of effort.” Louis’s bright green eyes were large and moist as he spoke, his voice gentle, fingers at Marius’s arm now even more so, as though he feared to tread where he might cause further upset.
Marius was sweetened by the broken-hearted expression on Louis’s face, and by the concern he showed even though he did not have to. Seeing a look of genuine worry on someone else’s face directed to him was uncommon. Granted, he rarely needed anyone’s concern because he was self-regulated. Yet in rare moments of temper, sadness, or grief, he was always treated as if he was irrational or selfish. The way Louis looked at him made him miss Daniel terribly. The one who asked him what’s wrong and then listened without judgment. Granted, he wouldn’t answer that question for just anyone anyway. It was very kind of Louis to be upset for him.
“Louis,” he said tenderly, voice deep and soft, assuring and comforting. “I’ve never had a dream I did not lose.” He didn’t say this for pity, but to say that his idea of a dream was made different through continual loss, and he did not hold on to dreams or possessions in his heart the way others did. He couldn’t. He had to protect himself, and dreams made the heart soft when he needed his to stay hard. “If I am to be human for the rest of my mortal life, which is not long, there is no point. And if I am to regain my immortality, I have until the end of time for such dreams. In either case, there will never be any object or person that I’ll desire more than Armand. It’s not a burden to choose him, or difficult in the slightest to make that choice. I just want him…”
There was more, but he cut off the confession. There were some things he’d never want to admit. It would be entirely too pathetic to say that the only dream he would keep for himself was the one where one day Armand would look at him the way he used to. With love, not the cold, unforgiving look he used now. Armand would be angry at him right now for upsetting Louis, even though he hadn’t meant to. If Armand saw Louis so close to tears, things would only get worse.
Marius did not know much of comforting men, but he figured with a sensitive man it was no different from a boy or woman. He reached over and stroked the man’s face. His skin felt quite nice. Which was something he had to avoid thinking about at all costs. Marius could only imagine the combined anger of Armand and Lestat. Naturally, he tried to excuse the revelation as merely his easily stimulated body wanting the things that brought the body pleasure and ease, and his body was very intimacy-deprived. That was absolutely no excuse. And also, Louis’s sympathy wasn’t a signal of attraction. Marius wasn’t one of those men who confused signs of friendship as physical desire.
“You are very kind to worry about me. You do not need to. All that I can ask is that you take care of Armand.”
“Marius, please,” Louis insisted, though his voice was a whisper for the feather-light touch to his cheek and the way it caught him utterly unaware and caused his cheeks to flush. “I know how you feel. I feel the same whenever Lestat has me locked in his electric gaze. And I have railed against it, I know, cannot believe the way such feelings well and roil inside of me now that mortality has claimed my body.” His voice remained quiet, his bottom lip trembling, his breath hot. “I imagine that Armand must feel something of the way we do. And Marius, you are everything that is the epitome of anything to Armand, you must know.”
Speaking of Lestat, Marius wondered how Louis felt now that Gregory was here and Lestat had gone off this morning without a word. Though that was rather presumptuous of Marius to think. Lestat might have told Louis of his sojourn, just failed to mention it to the host. Still, Louis had Armand, so he was hardly alone. Then Marius wondered if Armand and Louis had had sex yet. There was just as much reason to assume they hadn’t as they had. He thought not, because surely if they had been intimate, Armand would be far more clingy with Louis, more needy and affectionate. And then again, perhaps they had, and that explained Armand’s lack of need of it from Marius.
Which was a topic of its own concern. Was Marius a poor lover? Had their nights together left Armand disappointed? If only Marius had an honest friend to proposition to help. Such a friend would only have to have sex with him once and promise to give honest and constructive feedback. But no, most people did not have a friend like that, as that was a most uncommon ask. And he, with very few friends, most certainly did not have one.
At last, Louis released Marius’s arm, his fingers squeezing one more time meaningfully, and then falling away slowly. Marius looked so defeated, and yet there was a determined glint to his eyes that spoke of a superior measure of calm acceptance. “I don’t see why you cannot have Armand at your side and your grand palazzo, both. And damn his petulance, I know you can make him see that too.”
“I won’t force him to give me anything he is not ready to, or does not want to freely give on his own. He is the one with the boundaries and the grudges, and I can only trust that he will communicate these things to me. I’ve only asked him for one thing, but I would happily do a million things for him if it was what he truly wanted from me.” It wasn’t the lack of sex that bothered Marius, but the lack of affection. Not even the lack of love, as why would he expect that at all to begin with? “I think he is afraid. It is jarring to wake up a teenage mortal and not a five-hundred-year-old creature of immense authority and power. And I think he’s sought me out as a habit, because he needed assurances and thought he would find some refuge or safety with me. Some comfort. And yet I think I have failed at this once again. How tragic it feels to be just a shadow in the world of the one who is the very center of yours.”
“I hardly consider you to be anything close to a shadow, Marius,” Louis said, thinking of himself and Lestat suddenly and wondering if the divide between them was something like this between Marius and Armand. “I think, truly, that you may be the only one among us that might really know Armand, his every facet. But even if it is as you say, and the grudges and boundaries are treacherous terrain, you know the landscape.”
That was a humbling thought. Marius was still passionately in love with Amadeo. On the first night they had been intimate, it had been Amadeo underneath him. Sweet, vulnerable, needy, and so wonderfully submissive with an unparalleled eagerness to please Marius. Since then, every day had been stark reminders that it was an errant moment, and to be few and far between. Marius was trying to figure out how to be in love with Armand, too, especially when Armand didn’t seem to need or even want it. To control it, yes, but Armand wanted to control everyone in his life.
He wasn’t ready to end the conversation, but he needed to make it to his bedroom and adjoining private bath. Slipping his arm around Louis’s waist, Marius pulled him along to and up the stairs. “For what it is worth, simply having him near is good enough. I am sorry that I’ve upset him, and I hope he isn’t angry at you for following me.” Armand had nothing to be jealous about regarding Louis, but feelings were hardly rational. But the last thing Marius needed was for Armand to think he was trying to seduce Louis and steal him away.
Louis shook his head. “It likely did not surprise him that I did,” he said, as Marius guided him toward the master suite. It was so jarring to recall the look upon Marius’s face as he’d ripped the papers in two, over and over, the finite stalwartness and resolution had been startling to behold. Did Armand appreciate the way in which he could affect this man’s emotions? Louis wanted to believe it.
“I feel it is all my fault for asking you to show us your favorite place. Had I not simply wanted to see more of this beautiful paradise you’ve created, perhaps those drawings would still be intact. I am sorry,” Louis breathed, then withdrew a step. “I’ll leave you to get ready for dinner,” he murmured and gave a short gentlemanly bow before he slipped back down the stairs.
Marius watched him vanish with a certain amount of disappointment. He’d enjoyed the company. At some point, he’d have to find a way to assure the other man that none of this was his fault. Marius blamed himself. He was the one who had indulged Armand, had raised him in such a loving, passionate way that the boy was spoiled.
As he entered his rooms, dark now with the sun’s disappearance beyond the window sash, and all the more so to his human eyes, it was still impossible not to notice Armand standing there, blocking his way to the adjoining private bath. If Marius was startled or surprised, he did not show it. He just closed the door and walked toward him.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, B, and K.
Chapter 104: Surely Heaven
Summary:
When Armand barges in on his shower, Marius tries with all his power to resist his rising lust. But it's never enough. Explicit.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Although Marius could not guess why Armand was in his room now after displaying such coldness downstairs, he was welcome to be there. It was just as much his room while visiting. As he approached, Armand made no move to get out of his way to the bathroom door, just looked up at him, his eyes large and round, his face smooth, none of the saucy affect remaining from his mood before Marius shredded the blueprints.
“Why are you waiting here in the dark?” Marius inquired in a very casual tone.
Was it dark? Armand hadn’t even noticed. He’d just been waiting.
“I want to shower with you,” he answered simply, his eyes fixed on Marius’s with no sense of apprehension or uncertainty. But neither did he seem cocky in the request, well aware that Marius was not in a good mood and might very well turn him away. No, Armand was simply saying what he wanted, and Marius could do with that as he liked.
Marius’s head was going to spin from the hot and cold, though no one would actually call Armand’s flat affect and empty expression conventionally or overtly heated. But Armand rarely did anything he did not want to do, and it was his idea alone to wait here for Marius with the offer. And Armand’s doe eyes made Marius’s heart pound with enough passion to fill every void in and between them both. If only he could see some of it reflected back. But he was patient, and it was enough that Armand was here.
Marius’s hands went to the bottom of his shirt, which he drew up and off to leave himself bare-chested and half naked. Armand would understand it meant yes. As if Marius could turn down any chance to enjoy Armand’s body, even if only with his eyes. Then he made quick work of his light pants, perfect for these hot Brazilian days.
The sight of Marius undressing made Armand’s weak human body react in a way impossible to control; his breath caught, his heartbeat quickened, a tight dryness claimed his throat, and the palms of his hands began to feel distinctly sticky, so that he had to ball them at his sides.
“Would you like me to undress you?” Marius asked. It wasn’t that he needed permission, because he did not. He just wanted to hear Armand admit to wanting something from him.
The question surprised him, and Armand had to take a second to think about it. Would he like that? His eyes drifted to Marius’s hands, so long and strong, and he imagined what they would feel like moving over him, tugging off his clothes. He wet his lips, tried to swallow some moisture into his parched throat, nodded. “I think I would.”
Marius knew that he was better than this. Stronger than this. It was shameful for a man of his age and disposition to be so fixated on the tiny slip of Armand’s hot, plump tongue. Perhaps he should heed Pandora’s advice and try masturbation to take the edge off. But he knew it was a slippery slope. If he indulged in the irrational, unnecessary needs of his body now, he would become a slave to them. Now was an important time to conquer and quell all of his dreaded human urges. Armand was no object of only desire, and deserved more from his Maker than only carnal attention. Marius had even considered a prostitute, but dismissed it for a number of reasons including disease and the likelihood that the prostitute was there by human trafficking and not by choice. Too many dangers.
Stripping Armand naked was going to be difficult because he’d have his hands all over the youth’s soft skin and body, and yet would have to maintain respect and decency when his baser urges commanded him to take and defile. Yet, he’d do anything for Armand.
Gently, he grabbed for the bottom of Armand’s shirt to draw it up and off. He could die for those tiny, pink nipples and soft, warm belly. The more troublesome part was next. As long as he kept his eyes on Armand’s face, he’d endure. Blindly, his long fingers slid down Armand’s stomach, a touch that alone almost undid him. They found where to open his pants and did so, Marius’s stubborn eyes never looking down, not even when he let the pants drop. No, it was too dangerous. If he gave in and indulged in even a quick glance at Armand’s delicious cock, he might fall to his knees then and there before it to suck it dry.
Still, his eyes were traitors and they looked down. And when he did, he let out a soft sigh of desire.
Quickly, he stepped back. “After you.” He motioned to the bathroom, voice soft but undeniably strained. He’d be able to collect himself behind Armand’s back.
Armand nearly stumbled, as if the very air between them had been thick enough to lean against, and when Marius moved, that support was gone. He had to put his hand out against the door frame to keep steady, and he stared at Marius, somewhat dazed. His heart was racing, he knew what he wanted, but he didn’t understand why Marius was being so restrained. Why hadn’t Marius wanted sex last night? Why had he left France without a word? Why was he talking about moving to Rome as if it was something he never even would have thought to mention to Armand if he hadn’t just so happened to be there when he showed Louis his blueprints?
A hiccup threatened to escape Armand’s chest, but he swallowed it back. Letting Marius see his fear now would only make it worse. No, he had to make Marius want him again. Want him enough to consider him when he made all these plans.
Swallowing again to steel his nerves, Armand went to him instead of into the bathroom. He looped his arms around Marius’s bare waist and softly pressed their bodies together, his head craned back so that he could keep watching Marius’s face. “Don’t be angry,” he whispered in his most coaxing voice.
Marius could feel nothing but love with Armand wrapped around his body. Love because that was what it felt to be in Armand’s arms, more than words could say. He adored Armand the most when he was small and needy, especially clingy and in dire need of validation which only Marius could give. The vulnerable look in Armand’s large eyes triggered the arousal response of his body, which was curious and concerning. Marius was still figuring out what aroused him sexually, and he filed that away for later study.
“I am not angry,” he breathed, voice too faint to his ears with the blood rushing and pulse racing. He pressed a series of kisses to the upturned face, helpless to stop once he had started. His hand came up to the back of Armand’s head to cradle and support in his large palm. When he at last found Armand’s lips, he couldn’t help but force his tongue between them, and he could have died for the taste. This was perhaps the last thing Armand needed from him at the moment, but Marius could not stop.
Bianca would be very cross with him if he made Armand late for the dinner that she had her heart set on. Not even that was enough to temper his desire. It took an immense amount of will for him to draw back. “Have you forgotten what it is like when I am angry?” he panted, trying to gather his thoughts.
“Maybe I have,” Armand said, equally delirious after those kisses. He rather felt he’d forgotten everything else in the world beyond this moment they were sharing right now. But he still didn’t fully believe Marius wasn’t angry. If he meant to split hairs about terminology, Armand would let it go, but Marius was bothered, troubled, upset, whatever he wanted to call it, Armand knew it, and in his opinion, Marius had no right to be. But Armand could either stew in indignation over it, or he could make it go away, and so he was choosing the latter option.
His hands slid over Marius’s back, catching a little in the stickiness of the cooling sweat on his skin, his fingertips tracing the divot of his spine. Pushing up on his toes to make his body slide along Marius’s, Armand placed a soft lingering kiss right at the corner of his lips before meeting his eyes again, his own large and clear. “I want you to be happy,” he breathed.
This was surely Heaven. Armand was unintentionally stimulating a very uncommon erogenous zone on Marius: his back. It took everything in him not to gasp and moan, but to stay composed and hide the way Armand’s fingers sent thrills through his body. Which was terribly hard to do with Armand sliding his sumptuous body against him and his traitor of a penis was already filling with blood, growing, hardening. Ye gods, did Marius hate this organ as much as he loved it. It had total control over him, and Marius hated it when his brain took a backseat to any sensation or feeling. Really, he couldn’t be blamed. The strongest man would not be able to resist a boy like Armand, not when their bodies were pushed together and their skin stuck.
Poor Armand, Marius marveled, as he had the misfortune to push against this sticky, sweaty skin. His face went into Armand’s hair, eyes closed, full of such bliss. “I am happy,” Marius promised in a dreamy voice, breathing in the scent of Armand’s hair. Not wanting the embrace to break, Marius wrapped his arms around Armand’s small frame. But shamefully, he lacked all decency, and both hands slid down to grab at Armand’s ass in a way that was all lust. “Can’t you tell?”
“Hmm…” Armand rubbed his stomach back and forth over the hardening shape of Marius’s organ between them, as if he could judge by it just how happy Marius indeed was. But really, it was the tone of Marius’s voice that reassured Armand the most, and he felt the tension at the back of his throat begin to melt away.
“Good.” His hands slid up to Marius’s shoulder blades and then he raked his snort, smooth nails down his back. Clasping him around his waist, Armand tugged him gently across the threshold into the bathroom without ever letting any space come between them.
Marius was very accommodating when he wanted to be, and usually only when Armand was involved somehow. Through the doorway, his hand went to the wall to turn on only the dimmer of the lights. Just enough to see, but not so high that they were too stark or bright. The mirror also emitted a soft glow.
Marius had to be mindful to not get Armand tangled in his long legs, but he did make it to the shower. It had a variety of shower heads for different angles and experiences, but he decided to keep it simple. The shower wasn’t operated by a series of knobs, but rather by a control panel to select spray, mist, color, and even fragrance. He selected the rainfall mode and the temperature, and left off everything else. If they had time, he would prefer a bath. “Get in,” he murmured, pulling away and staring quite shamelessly at Armand’s body.
The sound that came up from the back of Armand’s throat when he lost contact with Marius was so small and needy that it actually embarrassed him. He stared up at Marius for a dazed moment, his face glowing warm, but then he backed up into the shower. He couldn’t take his eyes off Marius, as if he might disappear if he so much as blinked. The fall of water helped to bring him back, though, and he tried to get a hold of himself. Reaching out, he caught Marius’s wrist to pull him in and draw him close again. His hands hooked over the front of Marius’s shoulders, and Armand pressed a trail of kisses over his chest and collarbones as the warm water flowed over the skin there.
Marius loved the needy little sounds Armand made, and the way Armand desperately had to touch him. He always loved Armand the most in moments like these, which were understandably still rare as the two tested out what their new relationship would be like. Too tragically unlike the one of old, which had burned to ashes, but still beautifully reminiscent in moments like this. It made Marius wish he’d chosen a bath. It would take more time, but he would be able to luxuriate more, to patiently enjoy all of the fragile delights found in Armand’s beautiful body.
There was something wonderfully frantic in the way Armand kissed him, as if at any moment he would turn to smoke and that would be the last kiss. If Armand made it to his nipple, he’d be lost. It must be frustrating for Armand like this, because Marius knew all of the places to lick and suck and touch to send him into a frenzy, and yet Armand knew none of his. Marius considered, as he ran his hands passionately down Armand’s slippery back, perhaps he should communicate what he liked. Though he’d keep to the more normal and tame for a while. But then again, he couldn’t say things so stupid, so needy. What sort of grown man asked to have his nipples bit? Better to keep it to himself and not sound desperate. Too hungry for something he should never let overtake his mind and will. His mind was at war with his body, which hadn’t experienced relief since his last night with Armand in France.
“Tell me what you want, my love,” he whispered, thrown off-kilter by his own need and deferring to his caretaker instincts over his demanding demeanor.
“I want you to want me,” Armand murmured against his skin, and then he tipped his face back to look up at him. His dark hair was plastered against his forehead, sticking to his cheek, one wet tendril stuck over his eye. He shook his head a little, which did nothing to get it to move, but he would not let go of Marius to push it out of the way. His hands slid up Marius’s sides, sluicing the water over his skin as if he were intentionally washing him, and not just needing to touch him. Then they skimmed his chest, marveling at the new golden hair that had grown there in the past couple weeks.
Marius peeled away the lock of hair stuck to Armand’s face, carefully lifting the wet strands. He liked the way it tickled when Armand’s hands caressed his sides, and even more the more he explored over his chest. It had always been charming the way Armand felt so free to touch him as no one else was. Others weren’t so bold, or brave, or stupid, perhaps too intimidated or put off by his stoic demeanor. Then again, he’d been none of that to the boy with him. He’d poured passion and love into him, and out came all he could ever want in return. Marius loved him with everything he had in him, but it wasn’t surprising that Armand didn’t know this. He wasn’t really one to say such things out loud. And he couldn’t point to his erection as proof, as lust was a superficial want. Armand had that everywhere he went, and so it was probably of little value.
“I want you in every way. I love you and only you.”
“Not enough.” Armand was nearly pouting as he searched Marius’s eyes. His fingers stroked Marius’s clavicles and then his hands cupped the sides of his neck as his body slid just slightly back and forth over the hard shape of his cock between them. “I warned you, Sir, I did… That if we let this thing happen between us… I’m lost now, it’s all over. It would be so easy for you to utterly destroy me now. To crush all that is left of me and leave me wasted and ruined…” Tipping his face forward, he pressed his mouth to Marius’s chest, gently sucking at the warm water that flowed over it. “I feel like I’m losing my mind,” he confessed in a whisper against his skin.
How could Armand say such things while touching and kissing him? Was he completely unaware that Marius was unraveling, too? That he would soon be afflicted with the same madness, just as wasted and ruined?
“Then you are thinking too much,” he murmured.
It was a lot to ask that Armand trust him implicitly, as he once had. He’d ruined every chance of that. Armand would forever anticipate the moment his heart would break again, though Marius wanted to promise he’d never hurt him. Marius had never wanted things to happen the way that they did, and he lost everything then, too, even his heart. Only his heart. But now that he was in this body, he had to think of his heart and his body. Was there a medication that could stop his ability to feel human arousal? He’d rather never feel it again than suffer needing release constantly. It felt coercive to expect Armand to tend to him as Armand would do anything Marius wanted regardless of what he wanted, and he would agree even if he truly did not want to.
Did Armand want a Master or a lover? Did Armand want to be Mastered or fucked? Soon he wouldn’t have enough restraint to give Armand a choice, and that frightened him. This was agonizing.
“Lower, Armand. I need your mouth.” Just this once. He would give in, he would suffer the resulting shame of his weakness, and he would never use Armand’s obedience against him for this again.
Armand’s face tilted up, his chin pressing into Marius’s sternum, and he looked at him with an expression so innocent that it seemed he had no idea what Marius was talking about. The moment stretched, as he quietly enjoyed how desperate Marius was growing and how foolishly he was trying to restrain himself. Yes, this was what Armand wanted, for Marius to need him, to want him so much that his shell cracked and all his need came slithering out.
Finally, a small smile lifted Armand’s angelically pink lips, revealing that he knew exactly what Marius was asking, and he sank to his knees.
Notes:
To be continued!
This chapter written by Me and B.
Chapter 105: Above Human Desires
Summary:
As he ravishes Armand, Marius is desperate not to reveal how weak he is for the pleasures of the flesh. Explicit.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Marius could hardly breathe for the anticipation that twisted in his stomach. He’d nearly come apart at the innocent expression Armand gave him. It was a face so pure, so sweet, that his cock throbbed with a surge of sharp arousal. He’d defiled Amadeo in every way possible to him already, so he could hardly pretend to be above violent urges to dominate and possess. The only thing that had spared Amadeo from submitting to more than what his Master had taken was Marius’s lack of human arousal, and as such no hunger for the things other men desired. Now he was no better than the other men who would use the cherubic boy for their own pleasure. Love had to matter. It had to make this mean more, or else he was incriminated with all the rest.
Armand’s face tipped down, the warm show water spilling over his cheeks as he looked at Marius’s desperate erection between them. Slowly, his hands slid down Marius’s sides, and he made enough space for them to come together around his sack, his thumbs hooked over the bend at the base of his shaft. The heaviness of him nearly startled Armand, and it made a frisson of arousal tighten his shoulders and snake down his spine and under to clasp firm hold of his own endowments.
“Oh!” he said in surprise at how viscerally his body was reacting, all his fears fading into fuzz and the edges of his mind, and suddenly he could think of nothing but his mouth being bulgingly full of Marius. He nearly slipped on the wet tile in his speed to be on his knees, but wrapped a steadying arm around Marius’s hips as his other hand cradled him to guide his shaft past his lips, unable to make himself go slow at first, sucking and licking all the warm water from him to begin.
Marius pressed his lips together to resist the urge to moan and reveal his desperation. It grew more difficult with every sweep of Armand’s tongue and suck from his small mouth. His hand slapped against the slick marble wall of the shower, fingers dragging uselessly as they found nothing to grab onto, and he stared at a spot on the ceiling, unable to focus. When he at last indulged in a look down, too weak to resist a glance, he could hardly endure the lewd beauty of it. Watching Armand worship that part of him was almost too much to bear.
Though his hand curled around a fistful of Armand’s wet hair, he was still gentle, rocking his hips softly to coax Armand to take him in deeper. His patience was not yet strained. He would let Armand enjoy playing with him for a while, would let him savor the taste and the stretch of his lips. “Tease me, my love,” he said in a tone of pure pleasure. He could think of nothing better than that irrepressible hunger.
Impossibly large brown eyes blinked up at him over a full mouth, the lovely dark lashes fluttering to release the water droplets that clung to them like priceless diamonds and shards of glistening crystal. Marius begged his weak human memory to remember this perfectly, as it had so far done very little for him. Armand was a human boy in every way, but he still looked like some impossible ethereal creature from a place where humans were forbidden. And everything that touched him was elevated for it.
Armand’s hands came up to wrap around Marius’s erection as if it were a serpent that needed to be held tight to keep it from striking. Pulling back so that his lips puckered only around the head, Armand’s tongue pushed at Marius’s foreskin, the tip of it flicking over his leaking end as lightly as butterfly wings. The look on Marius’s face then made Armand’s light up with a smile, and his thumbs stroked down the thick vein on the underside of his shaft.
The steam rising from the hot water encircled the boy as if to only caress his pink skin before disappearing, dying, its short life beautiful for the few seconds of rapture given it. How could his smile still look so innocent next to the horrible, shameful erection that he worked with such precision and delicacy? Marius hated himself that he had taken a perfect, innocent youth and corrupted him into this creature of desire and lust. Marius was supposed to be different.
His entire body shook with an irrepressible shiver at the way Armand stroked him, and he moaned softly from behind his closed lips. “Get up,” he said, surprised by the strain in the sound, his voice breaking, horse and thick. But he had no time for that. He gave Armand too little time to obey, waiting only seconds before grabbing the young man and lifting him up. Marius lacked his immortal strength, but even as a human, he was strong, solid, his leanness an aesthetic choice and not a sign that he was slight or weak. “Go to the bed.”
Armand stumbled backward, his head spinning, a whine of confused protest rising from his throat to be so abruptly torn from what he’d so been delighting in. He pushed his wet hair back from his face and was about to insist on going right back to where he’d been, but then Marius’s words caught up to him and Armand caught himself.
He was breathing too heavily to say anything coherent, but the commanding, nearly predatory look in Marius’s eyes had his heart racing with lustful anticipation, his whole body flushed plump and rosy, and he backed away from him, not taking his eyes off him as he made it through the bedroom door and to the end of the bed.
There truly was no one who could compare. No one alive or dead who could rival Armand in beauty or temptation, or who could stir in Marius such desire simply by sight and imagination alone. The way in which Armand backed away, never taking his eyes off of Marius, awakened something instinctual and predatory in him. Blindly, Armand reached behind himself to put his hands on the mattress, leaning back a bit, but he stayed standing, transfixed, unable to look away. Want me, his eyes were pleading, and it felt like the words repeated like a metronome with every beat of his heart.
Marius took his time to savor the sight of the naked youth, his nipples hard from the sudden cold of the air-conditioned room wrapping around his wet skin. It was a surprise he wasn’t shivering. Marius looked between Armand’s legs at the half limp organ there, wondering what he would have to do to get him fully aroused. It was obvious by the intensity in Armand’s unwavering stare that he wanted Marius. But he was still relatively unaffected by it, while Marius was rock hard, and that seeming imbalance of him being the needy one while Armand was the controlled one made him uncomfortable. Marius would have to find a way to re-balance the scales.
“Get on the bed, on your back,” he ordered.
Armand jerked to obey him, as if his entire being had been waiting on edge for a command. He scooted back on the mattress, and reclined, but stayed propped up on his elbows, unable to move into a position where he couldn’t keep his eyes fully on Marius.
“You didn’t let me finish,” he finally managed to speak, still lamenting what Marius had cut so short in the shower. “I wanted you to…to…” But the words dried up in his throat as he took in all of Marius. Even human now, there was still something of the marble statue about him, especially with the lingering water glistening over every contour of his musculature. Armand wanted to lick each gleaming part of him. “Please,” he whispered, suddenly afraid that Marius would start something and then leave him wanting again like last night. He would go absolutely out of his mind if that happened again.
The tiny word sounded so desperate that it was as if Armand were the one wielding a flush, aching erection. “Can’t you see that I’m in agony?” Marius breathed, his hand wrapping around himself just below the gland where his foreskin gathered. He wanted Armand’s eyes on it to watch the thick, viscous pre-cum dripping onto the shining floor. A sign of how tortured he was.
Yes, agony! That was what Armand needed to see. He wanted Marius to be in agony every moment they were apart so that he’d never idly plan to build a house in another country unless it was for the both of them.
Finally, Marius started toward the bed, walking around it to the side table, reaching in the drawer to take out a new bottle of lubricant. Popping the cap, Marius circled back to the foot of the bed. “Open your legs, my love. Where do you want me?”
“Everywhere!” Armand gasped, his legs falling open as if the bones had dissolved. He was in agony of his own that Marius was taking so long, that so much air was between them. His skin had gone allover gooseflesh as the warm water from the shower dropped temperature in the cool room, and he was trembling, half from chill and half from anticipation. Pushing himself up with one hand, his other reached for Marius, desperate for his warmth and hardness. “Don’t torture me,” he pleaded.
Marius let Armand seize his arm and pull him forward. He still stood at the edge of the high bed, but he was able to comfortably bend and cover Armand’s body with his torso. He pressed them together, chest to chest, feeling the faint peaks of cold and hard nipples, Armand’s soft belly flush to him. It was such a thrill to feel the small youth squirm underneath him. Even though both of them were frayed and raw from desire, Marius couldn’t resist taking a bit more. He kissed and sucked his way down Armand’s throat to his chest. His lips and tongue were slow but precise as he licked and sucked each nipple with shameless relish. It was more torture for the both of them.
He pushed himself up by the arms that caged Armand in, but not to get away. Anything but that. It was to prepare carefully as Marius did not want Armand to hurt, or to be uncomfortable at dinner later. The lubricant he poured on shocked his system, too cold. But he applied it thickly to his entire shaft and head. The silicone substance felt slick and pillowy, and it warmed up quickly once applied. Next, he grabbed Armand by the thighs and pulled, tugging his bottom to the very edge of the bed and letting Armand’s legs rest against his broad shoulders. Marius was, as with all things, tender but firm.
Sliding into Armand was just as he remembered: pure bliss. He let out a breathy moan as he eased himself in, his cock squeezed tightly by the resistant muscle. So small. If Armand weren’t so relaxed, it might have even hurt Marius a bit, which he wouldn’t have minded. As he discovered, most vampires were masochists, as their passion was satisfied by being torn open and fed on. He wanted to kiss Armand to distract him from the burning ache of being stretched open, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the sight of his cock disappearing into Armand’s luscious body. He put his hand to the boy’s lower stomach, wishing he could feel himself there, too. Gently, he held Armand’s hips and began to thrust.
Armand’s hands grappled at Marius’s shoulders, wanting to pull him close so that as much of their bodies could be touching as possible, so that they could twine around each other until they melded, but it was impossible with the way his legs were bent, and the most Armand could do was clutch at the back of Marius’s neck, seizing handfuls of his wet hair. Each time he thought he could catch his breath, it was driven back out of him by Marius’s powerful thrusts, and Armand grew impossibly weak.
His muscles trembling, he finally fell back on the bed, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling, and his grip settled for clinging to Marius’s wrists as the most he could do. The pleasure was coursing through him head to toe, making him delirious, but Armand fought to try to keep his head clear, to remember what he was trying to do, to think of how he could make this good for Marius, make him crave it as much as he did. As his body became more accustomed to Marius’s girth, Armand began to clench around it in rhythm with him, tugging on him, his hands locked on his wrists, as he stared up into his eyes as if he were afraid Marius would suddenly change his mind and pull out and leave.
Armand was sweet, so very perfect and generous with his luscious body, and Marius loved when Armand stared at him. He had always loved knowing that Armand’s unflinching eyes tracked him through crowded rooms, stared at him from across spaces, trailed him as if having him under his gaze was as necessary as air is to the lungs. A thing that sustains. The weight of them was delicious, not uncomfortable or daunting at all. It gave him an excuse to stare back without having to feel as if he were intruding on moments that did not belong to him. When he stared back, only the two of them existed in the world.
Marius had to remember that even though he was human, he could still hurt Armand. Restraint was really all Marius knew, never mind that arousal rewired pain signals to pleasure. The force of the controlled thrusting scooted Armand up the bed and Marius chose to follow rather than yank him back. First, only a knee on the mattress, and soon he had to join completely. He let Armand’s legs slip free so that the boy could position them how he liked, hoping they’d be wrapped around him soon.
What Armand was doing to his length, the tight and rhythmic flexing around his cock, made Marius feel something both strange and wonderful. His body superseded his brain, and his thoughts for once were quieted. It allowed him to simply feel, and his whole body was one nerve vibrating from deep within its core with unspeakable pleasure. The drowsiness of his brain alarmed him, alarmed some part of him that was scared to let go of his relentless and sharp vigilance. Terrible things happened when Marius let himself enjoy something so much that he lost attention of the things around him. But what was he to do when Armand’s body gripped his cock so tight that he felt like he was going to die from it in the most glorious way?
He wasn’t shy, but he couldn’t let Armand see him come undone. Quickly, he yanked free of Armand’s hold and grabbed his small wrists. He could have held them down with one hand, but he used both in order to resist exploring the magnificent plains of the boy’s body further. He pushed his face into Armand’s neck and started to kiss the wet skin, the smell of it a perfume he wanted to cover himself in. The kisses were rough, more sucking and biting than the press of lips, leaving marks behind wherever he pleased. At least it hid his face, and it hid his pleasure.
Why was he ashamed of it, though? Marius did not have the capacity now to think on it. Was it because he was supposed to be above human desires? Marble, pure, unaffected? Always alert and sharp, quick-thinking and clever. One look into his clouded, vacant eyes and Armand would see that his Master was gone and replaced with this simple, weak man. A man who could lose his capacity to think at all entirely when fucking Armand’s perfect body. Just like every other man. Marius wasn’t supposed to be like them. He was supposed to be better. Yet that didn’t stop him from moaning against Armand’s neck, trying to quiet the sound, trying to get himself under control.
And further, it did not stop Armand’s limbs from entwining him, his strong legs around his waist, slender ankles hooking at the small of Marius’s back. Armand’s arms held around his shoulders, but he could not keep his hands still, and they roamed over the planes of Marius’s shoulder blades, his smooth fingernails scratching down and up his spine over and over again as he moaned in response to every thrust. Armand could have come undone the moment Marius entered him, but he had been fighting it, holding back with gritted effort because he wanted to feel Marius dissolve into him first.
His head craned away on the bed to give his mouth further access to his throat. “Bite me,” he breathed between panting inhalations. “Do it, I know you want to. My god, my lord, I know how you want to. Take every last morsel of me.”
And by god, he did.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and B.
Chapter 106: Close Quarters
Summary:
Louis, Lestat, Armand, Marius, Bianca, Gregory, and Cyril all go out to dinner together. It's sure to be a wonderfully cheerful meal with no tension or drama whatsoever!
Notes:
Oooof this dinner restaurant sequence has been really tricky to edit! So I've broken it up into about 8 chapters. Hope you enjoy the drama!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The smell of cooking meats assailed Gregory and his mouth was already watering at the feast they would soon have before them. A beautiful young Brazilian man showed him, Lestat, and Cyril to their reserved table, and Gregory made certain to get a seat beside Lestat. The drive to the restaurant had been slightly awkward, as Cyril had been in the car with them this time. Gregory wasn’t quite sure if Cyril was here tonight to guard or be a dinner guest, but he’d certainly been a third wheel on the ride over. Gregory’s own security detail had pulled him aside to let him know the big guy was not in their operational procedures and it concerned them that they didn’t know his background. Gregory had assured them he would handle it.
The steakhouse was large and full of the Saturday evening dinner crowd. Gregory grabbed the menu of available drinks and began his perusal. “I love selecting food and beverages. How amazing it is, the number of options available in this modern age. Look at all of these beers,” he said to Lestat, nudging him lightly. But Lestat wasn’t listening; his eyes were fixed on the front of the restaurant where Marius had just arrived.
He had the arm of Bianca, escorting her into the busy, yet spacious establishment. The smell of seasoned meats rolled his stomach, but he kept his face expressionless, serene. Part of his mood could be that he bristled still from the seating arrangements for their own drive here.
Armand had invited Louis to join them in Marius’s car once he learned Lestat intended to be driven by Gregory’s chauffeur. Louis hadn’t asked for the ride, but he didn’t need to. Armand well knew how much Louis would not wish to be in close quarters with Gregory after the man had so violated his privacy this afternoon.
Armand had chosen to sit in the back seat with Louis instead of beside Marius, who was driving. Marius could see sense in this, as it would be very ungentlemanly to let Bianca ride in the back. But still—Armand had chosen Louis over him. It was fortunate that Bianca had over a century with Marius and knew what gestures and acts pacified him. She’d kept her small hand on his arm the entire drive, which had kept him focused on the road and not watching Armand in the rearview mirror.
They were told that the rest of their party were already arrived, and he was led promptly to the table where the three men sat. Lestat and Gregory, of course, and Cyril who never deviated from his duties. Marius gave them a nod and a smile.
Three chairs fit on either side of the long table, with one added to the foot to accommodate their party of seven, which Cyril occupied. Lestat sat to his left, and Gregory beside him, leaving empty the seat on Gregory’s other side as well as the three across from them. Marius at once determined he would sit in the middle with Armand and Bianca on either side of him.
Seeing to Bianca’s comfort first, Marius pulled out the chair on the right, guiding her into it. With her comfortable and positively glowing, Marius then pulled out the chair to his left for Armand. He and Louis had trailed behind, weaving between the tables in the dark, busy restaurant, and they’d had to pause while the man with the cart piled high with meats crossed before them. By the time the way was clear again, and Armand saw that the only two empty chairs remaining were the one beside Gregory and the one across from Lestat, he glanced back to Louis, to try to gauge from his expression if he noticed the awkward arrangement.
“Armand,” Marius said just in case the boy did not know the chair he held was meant for him. But before Armand could react, Lestat rose from his seat, came around Cyril, and brushed between him and Marius to go intercept Louis.
Turning his back to the two of them to give them privacy, Armand offered Marius a serene sort of smile, but then he turned to Bianca and took her small hand. He lifted it to his lips and settled into the seat across from her, choosing it over the one beside Marius so that Louis would not have to sit next to Gregory. Armand didn’t mind, really. Now Marius was across the table from him and Armand could gaze upon his handsome face through the whole meal.
Marius stood at his chair silently, the look of confusion that had crossed his face already gone and replaced with the same stoic expression he’d crafted perfectly throughout his life. He stood still because he was thinking deeply, trying to sift through the events of the day and identify anything he’d done to make Armand want to avoid him. True, Armand had just smiled at him in a most affectionate way, but his smile and actions seemed contradictory and utterly baffling.
He was startled by the feeling of a delicate hand touching his forearm, and Bianca saying his name very softly but with enough sharpness to grab his attention. Roused back to the present, Marius tabled his pondering and moved to sit as he had meant to beside her.
As soon as he was settled, he decidedly ignored everyone. His eyes scanned the table, identifying the utensils. He picked up the dinner fork and steak knife and laid them over the plate, the dining signal that he did not wish to be served food. At that, he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.
By then, Gregory’s beer had arrived and he found himself taking long swallows of it, savoring the dark layered flavors. It was a good enough distraction for now from the way Lestat had ignored his questions and then so quickly jumped up to meet Louis and pull him away from the table for some private conversation or other. Gregory couldn’t understand what could be so very important. His eyes followed Lestat, impressed he could even walk after all the hard fucking they’d been doing that afternoon.
He turned his attention to Marius, so stern and serious directly across the table from him. Why had Armand so obviously ignored the seat held out for him by his master? It was insulting, and Gregory felt a pang of sympathy for Marius, but his raised brow at the behavior was fleeting, as Armand sat beside him and spoke to him, and Gregory’s attention turned that way instead.
“Hello,” Armand said pointedly, since their paths hadn’t crossed in Rio yet, and it was rather odd that Gregory seemed to pop up out of nowhere to join on their trip. “I feel like I haven’t seen you since yesterday.” Which he had, when the boat docked early in the morning and they’d parted ways at the port to each go back home. Armand had no idea at the time that only a few hours later, he’d be on a private jet on his way here.
“Yes, all the way across the world in a day and here we are again.” Gregory gave him a small smile of his own and saluted him with his half-empty glass of beer before taking another swallow. Armand was a familiar presence to him now, after having spent those days alone at sea with him. “I recommend the ale,” he said, eyes sweeping over those who were settling in at the table.
Marius could feel the excitement in Bianca, more instinctive than observant. Of course she was a woman of quiet feminine decorum, but he knew from the way she sat up straighter that she brimmed with elation. It had always been a dream of hers, closed in and restricted by the roles of her gender in a time too cruel to the dreams of women, to commune with the traders and sailors from near and far in the taverns of Venice. She’d wondered of their crude jokes and vocabulary, so different from the poets and philosophers who filled her salon. She was positively enchanted by the thought that she could now sit here and drink ale with men.
Marius wouldn’t touch it. Ale was the drink of barbarians. Not that he considered any of those present to be such. Only that his old Roman prejudices still clung to his identity. There was comfort in the familiarity of the long gone bias. The first time Marius had seen Mael angry in those first days of his imprisonment was when he flung an entire flagon of ale at him. He’d felt such triumph in the way the hideous Druid had glared at him, wet from the dark brew. Then, of course, Marius had mocked him with tales of what a God should be served, and how. Wine with honey and sweet spices, hand poured by the most beautiful young farmer boy they could find. Which, as he’d reminded Mael, would be very difficult as Barbarians tended to be boorish and ugly. He meant none of it, wanting nothing to do with such a fantasy, but frustrating Mael was his only enjoyment.
Of course, Gregory hadn’t missed that Marius seemed to have no intention of eating, and he glanced now to the plate with the crossed silverware before him. “Are you feeling well, Marius?” he inquired.
Marius looked at him, his brooding expression becoming light and friendly. It was truly amazing how many faces he could wear. “I am feeling spectacular,” he announced. It was a lie and Gregory was no fool and would know this, but Marius was truly trying, as he did not want to spoil anyone’s night. “It is good to see you. I had worried you would carry Lestat far away, and we would not get to enjoy the company of the both of you.”
Gregory knew that he was trying to change the topic. Being a good CEO, having attended countless boardroom meetings, dinners, conferences and charities, he was more than familiar with the rules of bland small talk. He smiled genially and pretended not to know that Marius was probably not at all feeling well and thus not even going to eat in this amazing restaurant Bianca had chosen for them.
His eyes moved to the beautiful Bianca and he winked at her, but it was not too flirtatious. It was no more than the winks he would give his own employees when they came to him, nervous to be in his presence. He was an intimidating figure, even in this young mortal frame, and he always tried to play it down.
“No, of course I would not steal Lestat away for long, no matter how I desire to do so. He is impossible to hold down in one location, you know.” Gregory gave a small chuckle. “I want to thank you, Marius, for hosting this group in your home. And I apologize that I am rather crashing the party, so to speak. I will be returning to my hotel after this meal.” And Lestat would come with him for the night, of course. “How lucky you are, to live here in this warm climate, and to have your lovely wife with you as well.” He glanced again between Marius and Bianca. “I miss my Chrysanthe. I miss her gentle presence at my side, her guiding wit and intelligence.” With this Gregory looked away from Marius and Bianca. These words were perhaps too close to the painful core that he didn’t want to look at closely.
Meanwhile, Lestat had managed to intercept Louis a couple yards from the table, taking him lightly by the arm. His mouth had opened, but before he could speak, a waiter moved toward them, so Lestat gently tugged Louis out of the way of traffic to a wall lined with tall potted palms and hanging ferns. His face was a mask of concern, and he studied Louis’s expression intently, wanting to ask if he was okay, but knowing it was a stupid question.
Of course he wasn’t okay. He’d been through something terrible today, and all Lestat wanted to do was fix it for him, but he didn’t even know where to begin. But he would do anything. Anything at all. Anything Louis needed. Even if he wanted to turn around and walk right out of this restaurant and go straight back home to France at this very moment, Lestat would drop everything and take him there.
Louis met his gaze with one of confusion for having been pulled away from his path toward the table. “Is something wrong?” he asked, locking eyes with Lestat and feeling his heart stir, his chest clench with a mixture of anxiety and intense desire both.
“No,” Lestat breathed, and he gave Louis a tight little smile, his fingers massaging his arm in a subtle way. He continued to study him closely, as if signs of his humiliation would be visible in the texture of his skin. But he seemed… He seemed all right…
Again, he opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it and instead just slipped a tender hand against the side of Louis’s face.
Louis’s eyes darted to the side warily, as if he expected to find the prying gaze of strangers upon them. He hated himself for the sudden onslaught of shame to be touched this affectionate way, because in truth, he relished the attention. And yet, he was terrified of being seen in such an intimate state by those who did not know him in such a way. His eyes returning to lock with Lestat’s, Louis could not deny that at the same time, he wanted desperately to claim Lestat’s mouth in his own.
“Lestat, please,” he whispered. “What is it?” Gently he took Lestat’s hand from his face and brought it down to their side out of view of others, but kept it tightly clasped. “The others will wonder where and why we’ve gone.” If only he knew what Lestat was thinking, could divine the meaning of Lestat’s intent stare that made his knees weak.
Lestat stared at him one minute more, but he could tell there was nothing Louis wanted to tell him. Had he already forgotten all about it? Perhaps the situation this afternoon actually hadn’t been as horrible for him as Lestat had feared? Hadn’t been horrible for him at all… Gregory was right, wasn’t he? It had been foolish for Lestat to rush right to Louis as if he needed rescuing or comfort. He didn’t actually need anything from Lestat here at all. Louis really was just fine on his own…
His gaze fell to their hands and he nodded. “Of course.” Taking a sharp breath, he squeezed Louis’s fingers, then let him go and lifted his face to give him his best effort at a reassuring smile. Then he turned to lead the way back to their table.
Notes:
To be continued
This chapter written by Me, D, B, and K
Chapter 107: Not For Me
Summary:
When Louis and Lestat rejoin the dinner table, Gregory can't resist bringing up what he witnessed that afternoon, and Armand can't figure out why Marius is in such a bad mood.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Louis expected Lestat to lead him through the restaurant to where he could take his customary seat beside him, as it had always been in council meetings at Court. But there were only two vacant places available, and they weren’t even on the same side of the table. As Lestat clasped Cyril’s shoulder and went around him to slide into the chair next to Gregory, Louis was left to take the last empty seat, which was beside Marius.
At least from this position, he was facing Lestat directly across the table, and that was fine. Though currently, Lestat’s full attention was on taking a hearty swallow of a very large glass of red wine. When Louis’s eyes moved toward Gregory, some of the old embarrassment rose within him, and his mouth flattened into a thin line before he scooped up his menu to bury his face in it.
Cyril felt a little awkward, positioned so distinctly between Louis and Lestat at the end of the table. However, from this vantage point, he could easily see the entire party, and it afforded him an expansive view of the room as a whole, as well as a bead on both exits and all open windows. He could hardly ask for more as the group’s protector, so despite Louis’s obvious discomfort, he wasn’t about to offer to change places.
And Gregory was very glad to have Lestat back at his side where he belonged. He pulled his eyes from the beauty of his Prince to look across the table now… “Hello Louis,” he greeted with a small bow of his head. “You’re looking relaxed,” he observed.
Louis’s piercing gaze appeared over the edge of his menu as he lowered it slowly, his mouth tight. His brow pinching at the center, he reached to pick up the glass of water in front of him and took a measured sip. Placing it back on its square napkin, he gave a curt nod. “Should you wish the same result, a turn in Marius’s meticulously curated garden and guided tour of his most beloved rooms comes highly recommended,” he remarked genially.
Marius, who knew nothing about what had happened between Louis and Gregory that afternoon (and if he did would be considerably more protective of Louis in this moment), was surprised and highly flattered by the compliment both of his home and his company. He gave Louis a grateful smile, his mood a touch lighter for the flattery. And Lestat meanwhile, wasn’t focused enough to connect Gregory’s words to any deeper meaning, paying more attention to Marius, since Louis had put a menu between them.
Armand, on the other hand, picked up on Gregory’s lewd implication immediately, and the stiffness of Louis’s reaction made his protective instincts surge. It was one thing for Gregory to make such a blunder as he did, walking in on Louis pleasuring himself—but then to mock Louis for it now? Armand stared aside at Gregory, bemused, but he wouldn’t say anything. Any acknowledgment or attention at all would only make Louis feel worse. Instead, he decided to divert attention away from him.
“You have to eat,” Armand said to Marius, his voice soft, but his tone firm. Reaching across the table, he pulled the crisscrossed fork and knife off his plate to put them back on the napkin beside it.
Marius sat still, his only sign of life the blinking of his eyes as he watched Armand fuss over his utensil placement. He had already made the very calculated decision not to provoke Armand in any way. It wasn’t to his favor, and also because he just did not want to upset Armand. His curls looked like they were spun from vibrant, rare silk, and some scent he wore floated in the air between them and wrapped sweetly around Marius’s nerves. He was trapped between naïve happiness and confusing anger. If Armand cared so much for his state, why was he sitting across the table and one over instead of beside him? The anger made Marius want to withhold all affection until he understood why.
“Are you on a hunger strike?” Lestat asked Marius with a judging look, though he wasn’t being serious. Stretching his arm out, he offered his wine glass. “Try this. If you like it, I’ll order a bottle for us to share.”
Marius’s blank stare for Armand immediately turned to an easy smile for Lestat. He leaned forward (not over the table as he still had manners, of course,) and he reached for the glass. Marius rarely did anything accidentally. His mind was far too analytical, too calculated, but he’d also perfected plausible deniability. So it was really up for debate whether the flirtatious way he stroked Lestat’s hand with his fingers when he took the glass was intentional or accidental. Nevertheless, the caress made Lestat’s eyebrow arch and an intrigued smile touch his lips.
Marius looked at the wine glass, studying the rim, and quite intentionally drank from the exact place Lestat’s lips had been. “I do not have much of an appetite, but I will always drink.”
“Keep it,” Lestat said with a smooth grin that was slightly flirtatious in its own right.
Louis, having returned to perusing the dishes on offer, completely missed the physical exchange on the other side of the menu. “I’m sure working in the sun all day can make one wish for lighter fare in any case,” he murmured in Marius’s defense from behind the leather book. Everything on the menu and all they had seen so far looked and smelled so deliciously rich and heavy. “A bottle or two for the table would be nice,” he added, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the myriad choices before him presented. Duly, Lestat waved the waiter over and ordered three bottles of the same vintage. Each place setting already had a wine glass, so they were all set for that.
Gregory, however, had not at all missed the extra layer to the hand-off of the wine. His gaze moved from Lestat to Marius and back again before convincing himself he’d imagined the suggestion of any intimacy. Meanwhile, Marius’s dismissive reaction to him had been like a splash of cold water in Armand’s face. His eyes shot to Bianca questioningly, but she looked just as bemused as he felt. Biting the insides of his cheeks, he slumped back in his chair, watching Marius sip at Lestat’s wine with the rapt reverence one would pay a communion chalice. Now Armand wanted to try it too, and he almost reached across the table to take it from Marius so he could do so, but he resisted this urge and instead just slouched lower in his chair, sulky.
He didn’t even bother looking at the menu; he’d get the prix fix the restaurant was famous for that had made Bianca want to try it in the first place. He planned to order a drink as well, grateful that legal drinking age was never enforced in Brazil, though his fake identification said he was twenty-two. He could pass for that easily as a vampire, especially when he cut his hair, but he was somewhat dreading the first time he’d have to use it as a mortal, the scrutiny he’d invite. He’d naturally planned on wine, as it was what he was familiar with, but his eye flicked now to the frosty glass of beer in Gregory’s hand, and he wondered if he would like it.
Likewise, having already decided what he would order, Gregory did not need to look at the menu any longer and instead focused on those around the table. Cyril seemed the most at ease since turning human, like himself, and Gregory had to wonder if it was their ancient ages that made them so. Did Cyril also feel he’d lived more than his share of life and perhaps saw this mortality as potentially the last great adventure before death finally took them? “What will you order, Cyril?” he inquired.
Cyril smiled easily, having decided what he wanted to try almost immediately despite the dish not being one of the various delectable selections being brought about on the meat carts. “The vaca atolada,” he said. “I’ve found I have a particular fondness for spices, and that one seems to suit,” he explained. “That and garlic, which I have so heartily missed enjoying.”
Before he’d been addressed, Cyril had simply been enjoying the view before him. A strange shiver had crawled up his spine when he spied Marius’s hand and Lestat’s brush as they had over the wine glass. He was glad too, in their current mortality, not to have to consciously wall off his thoughts from everyone around him, which left him able to easily enjoy being a fly on the wall to watch the handsome Lestat in whatever antics he got up to. And this sacred duty was one he had no intention of abandoning, whether Lestat thought it a waste of his time or not.
“Not getting the buffet?” Lestat asked him, surprised. “Watching your figure?” he teased.
Without looking away from Cyril, Lestat reached across the table and plucked the menu from Louis’s hands, laying it flat. As much as he knew Louis loved to agonize over things, doing it over dinner choices hardly needed to be one of them in a restaurant of this style. Louis was just about to protest, when he realized it was Lestat who had done it. Instead, he merely looked resigned to his fate as Lestat and Cyril conversed.
“Well, someone has to,” Cyril joked, his smile amused. He was more than pleased to have his Prince’s attention, even in jest. “Never said I wouldn’t try anything else, though. I intend to indulge tonight.” His mouth widened into a grin that was rather akin to a crocodile, owing to his hungry gaze.
“I’ll wait to see what I fancy when the cart gets to the table,” Louis said flatly. As the server filled his wine glass from one of the requested bottles, he picked it up and made a hum of approval after taking a rather long and appreciative sip.
That little sound of pleasure caught Lestat’s attention immediately, and his eyes flicked to Louis just in time to see the accompanying expression that transformed his human features. It might have been extremely subtle to anyone else, but to Lestat, he looked downright wanton for a second or two, and he lost his train of thought. “Indulge, yes…” he replied to Cyril in some attempt to not forget him entirely.
Gregory was fascinated by all the talk around the table, however, he didn’t like this way Lestat was looking at Louis. Yes, Louis had made a certain small sound that even Gregory could interpret as something more than satisfaction over the taste of the wine. Particularly since he had only recently seen Louis at the very height of sexual gratification. He knew exactly what Lestat was thinking. Gregory inwardly sighed. Clearly, he was now going to have to have a more serious conversation with Lestat as well; not just with Louis.
He decided to turn his attention elsewhere, so his jealousy wasn’t obvious to all. He’d been about to engage Marius again and ask if he would in fact show Gregory more of his home and his gardens, as Louis had suggested, but Armand’s rich voice distracted him. That voice he’d been listening to for many days now during their time at sea. That voice he’d imagined a few times as he’d pleasured himself in his shower on the boat.
“May I try that?” Armand was asking, pointing a curious finger at Gregory’s frosty glass of beer.
Marius frowned behind his glass of wine, watching. He had no moral objection to Armand drinking—he was Roman, then Italian, and both were cultures built around wine. And while Armand was in a seventeen-year-old body, he was still centuries old and no child. Additionally, it would be very hypocritical for him to bar Armand from participating in the adult activity of drinking for being too young, considering the ways Marius did and wanted to defile him. He was no child then.
Gregory smiled at Armand, and Marius could see he was about to slide his beer over, more than happy to share. “No,” he told Armand before Gregory could agree to let him sample it. He extended his long arm to offer Armand his wineglass. “Drink this instead.”
Gregory knew that tone. It left little room for refusal. He glanced to Armand and back to Marius, one brow raised. “Is the wine that good? Perhaps I should have chosen it myself, considering these reactions it’s getting.”
“We have three bottles of it,” Lestat pointed out. He picked one up and poured into Gregory’s empty wine glass, and was pleased to see the waiter had filled Bianca’s as well. Now everyone at the table had wine except for Armand, who was looking a bit like a rabbit caught between two wolves.
Armand only hesitated a moment, then took the wineglass Marius offered, enjoying how warm his skin felt as their fingers brushed. “Can’t I try both?” he asked, confused why he’d said ‘no’ about Gregory’s beer. Was it something about Gregory? What would Marius care about beer?
Keeping his eyes locked on Marius over the rim of the glass, Armand put his lips to the exact same place Marius and Lestat’s had been and took a savoring sip. Marius watched him, temporarily mollified by the way he obeyed without making any fuss.
“It is excellent, of course,” Armand said once he’d swallowed. “But I am curious about the beer.”
“Beer smells atrocious,” Louis remarked, his nose wrinkling as he swirled his own wine, the glass cradled delicately in the curve of his long graceful fingers and palm. “The aftertaste as well leaves much to be desired. One sip and I’m unable to rid myself of its lingering odiousness. Wine, on the other hand, feels cleaner, more tart.”
Cyril frowned then shrugged. “It’s not comforting? I find it grounding and bold. There are all kinds, too, but my favorites remind me of fresh baked bread. And I do so love bread,” he said casually.
“When were you trying beer?” Lestat asked Louis incredulously. He and Louis had certainly spent time apart over the past couple weeks, but Lestat had never imagined Louis was using that time to drink beer.
“The village has a tavern where they serve beer, of course.” Louis gave Lestat a rather odd look across the table, one brow pitched curiously for his flabbergasted tone. Louis had gone into the tavern upon leaving the stable after one of his rides. He hadn’t particularly cared for any of the various types of beer they offered him, though he had made a good show of trying them each when the bartender suggested he order a flight. “It’s not for me.”
“Lingering odiousness,” Gregory repeated Louis’s phrase in a soft voice, a small amused smile curving his lips. Now that it appeared Armand wouldn’t be sipping his beer, he took several swigs of it himself, noting the yeasty bread flavors Cyril mentioned.
Lestat was staring at Louis half disbelievingly and half as if he was about to burst out laughing. He really had not at all envisioned Louis frequenting taverns on his own as a human, even the one in his little village. Ironic, he supposed, considering Louis’s alcoholic habits the first time Lestat knew him as a mortal. Somehow Lestat had only pictured him holed up in his room reading books every minute that they weren’t together. But he had to admit that was a lot of minutes, and he knew better, didn’t he? He knew Louis had been playing with Lestat’s horses down at the village stable.
Lestat himself had little interest in branching outside of wine. Last time he was human, he’d tried scotch and almost gagged. Now that was odiousness.
But he hadn’t tried beer yet, and Louis’s harsh criticism of it made him immediately want to disagree. So without asking, he took Cyril’s glass and tasted it for himself. The flavor and texture surprised him, but he didn’t react right away, making himself really taste it just to see if Louis was being needlessly harsh. It sparkled like champagne, but was smoother, creamier. It did have a yeasty quality, like bread as Cyril said, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. “Hmm…”
Meanwhile, Armand was still looking at Marius expectantly, waiting for him to actually reply to his question about trying the beer. Marius raised an eyebrow, and when he finally answered, his voice was calm, non-confrontational. “You don’t need my permission, do you?” he asked, more rhetorical than an inquiry. Armand hadn’t asked for permission for anything as of yet, so there was little need in pretending it was necessary in this matter. “I assumed you’d had beer before, considering the taverns you frequented in your youth.”
Armand still wanted to try it, and he looked disappointed that Gregory was close to finishing his by now. “There wasn’t beer that color,” he said, pointing to the nearly empty glass. He still had Marius’s (formerly Lestat’s) wine glass, and he decided to keep it. He took another drink. Even those small mouthfuls were enough to make him feel warm already, and the heat reminded him of the time he’d spent with Marius in the steamy shower a couple hours ago. His gaze flicked back to him and he bit his lower lip to see Marius’s eyes locked to him, silently watching him drink the remaining wine down to nearly the last drop.
Marius’s never shy gaze did not waver, showing no hint of the way his heart always skipped and began a harder, faster rhythm in his chest every time Armand looked into his eyes. He knew that way Armand bit his lip. Instinctively, perhaps. Or because he’d seen that small gesture before, and had always had the root of it revealed in Amadeo’s mind. Sometimes tentative, sometimes naughty. He couldn’t know which one any longer. But Marius could not help the way it made him smile at the beautiful boy, and he knew there was something predatory in that smile and in his unbroken stare. He couldn’t help it.
But it lasted only mere seconds, as the attentive waiter arrived to take their dinner orders.
Notes:
To be continued!
This chapter written by Me, K, B, and D
Chapter 108: Not Too Close
Summary:
Since Armand let Louis take the seat at dinner Marius had been saving for him, Marius might as well give Louis all his attention too. As the alcohol flows, the flirting around the table goes in unexpected directions.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As the waiter went down the length of their table with his notebook, Gregory ordered one of the salads for his first course and an appetizer of some fried vegetables with dipping sauce for the whole party. Lestat requested a fish stew for himself, and then took a long drink of his wine to make up for all he hadn’t been drinking the past few minutes. Louis ordered a salad as first choice even though Lestat having mentioned the stew made Louis consider changing his mind. Silly, that thought, that just hearing the words on Lestat’s lips could make him want to abandon his inclinations. Though hadn’t it always been the way of things? Why should dining be any different?
Armand asked for a glass of the dark beer. Even though he never got the chance to try Gregory’s, he decided that if he didn’t like it, they could just throw it away, or Gregory could have it. It wasn’t like they needed to save money. They were all going to die now well before they could spend their billions. When it was Marius’s turn, he denied any appetizers, asking for only a double scotch.
As Cyril ordered another beer, Marius turned his eyes to him, smiling with a sort of benevolence. “It’s strange,” he mused to the bodyguard. “Our unique associations with comfort. You smell beer and say you think of comfort. I smell it and all I can think of is fear and isolation.” Cyril nodded in deference and saluted him silently with a reverent and polite lifting of his glass.
The taste of beer only reminded Gregory of home and his life in ancient Assyria and Egypt. He didn’t say this aloud, feeling for some reason that he shouldn’t. He decided to attempt to change the topic at the table to something else. “Armand and I saw whales out on our ocean adventure.”
“How lovely,” Marius replied with genuine interest. True, he was usually very polite to company, though aloof and often superior, which made him far more unapproachable than he actually was. But he wasn’t so accommodating that it wasn’t obvious when he was faking interest. And particularly when he wanted the other person to know he wasn’t actually interested, but being polite, so as to kindly wrap up the conversation quickly or entirely immediately. This wasn’t one of those times. “I’m sure it was very exciting to see such amazing creatures.” He’d seen whales hundreds upon hundreds of times, but so could be said of the moon and flowers, and they retained their effortless beauty. Surely the same could be granted to the various beasts of the land and sea.
Armand’s eyes flicked to Gregory warily, afraid he was going to tell Marius about how he’d fallen off the boat while looking at the whales and had needed to be rescued. The fear shot a little spike of adrenaline through him, which made a blush rise to his face, but he tried to act outwardly nonchalant as if nothing untoward had happened at all. “They were breathtaking,” he agreed. “And to see them in the daylight…”
Gregory watched closely the interaction between Armand and Marius, unsure why it so fascinated him. But clearly Marius was trying not to show what was beneath his surface, blocking any sign of emotion. And Armand was trying not to upset Marius with any wrong words. Gregory had an urge suddenly to share more information. Why not? Wasn’t Armand a full-grown man? Even if not in body? Why was Armand hiding the details, and why should he?
“Armand saw them up close. Didn’t you?” He nudged Armand lightly.
Marius looked at the overly friendly way Gregory put his elbow into Armand—the frosty child’s—ribs and wondered what the youth’s reaction to the casual touching would be. Curious. He frowned at the topic, however. “I do hope not too close. It’s not safe, and swimming with whales must be done under the watch of professionals. Creatures so large pose a threat by virtue of their size, no matter how seemingly docile and friendly.”
Curious about all Armand and Gregory had done and seen on their trip, Louis listened attentively. He imagined being on the ocean in the middle of day had been thrilling indeed, and then to see such majestic creatures. “Did they come right up to the boat?” he asked, having watched many a documentary about curious whales inspecting vessels. “Did you get to touch one?”
“They did,” Armand said a little stiffly, hoping the restaurant’s lighting was dim enough to hide his blushing cheeks. Infuriating, the way he couldn’t control his body’s reactions, this adrenaline chemical surging through him, making his heart hammer. “I tried to touch one, but it was too far to reach from the boat,” he answered perfectly honestly, though he still couldn’t bring himself to meet Marius’s eye.
When Lestat made a snorted sound of suppressed laughter on the other side of Gregory that he tried to hide behind a swallow of wine, Armand clenched his teeth. Would either he or Gregory blurt out what had happened? To hell with both of them. He never should have told Lestat about falling overboard. Armand lifted a finger and jabbed Gregory in the ribs as if he was just returning the playful nudge, except his was much harder, a warning.
Gregory happened to be drinking the last of the beer in his glass, and Armand’s jab caused him to swallow it in just such a way that he began to cough aggressively until the liquid seemed to burn at the back of his nose. Once he’d stopped coughing, he cleared his throat a few times and rubbed at his own chest, as if that might help.
How awkward. What a way to go. Death by swallowing beer wrong! He pasted a bright smile on to cover the clumsiness. “I’m fine,” he announced, in case anyone had been concerned.
Since it was a conversation between Armand, Louis, and Gregory, Marius focused on the drink that had just been brought to him by the waiter. He sipped the scotch with care, since he had an empty stomach and was relatively new to grain alcohol. Bianca wanted a taste, so he let her sample it, smiling at the way she scrunched her nose at it.
“I can smell that from here,” Lestat said, scrunching up his nose as well. “I tried it last time I was stuck in a mortal body, because it was my dear David’s favorite, so I thought it must be something exquisite. Vile stuff.” He took another hearty swallow of his wine as if that could erase all memories of the taste, enjoying how the classic drink of the vine was already making him feel soft and content around all his edges.
“It’s not so bad,” Marius mused, observing the amber liquor. It really did have quite a sharp smell. A smell much different than what he’d smelled as an immortal. The different distinct layers had dulled to one solid scent, which in its blandness was very disappointing.
“There is certainly more variety, now,” Louis said. He’d noticed Armand’s unease and was glad to try to take the focus away from him, though he hardly knew what had caused the discomforting look on Armand’s features. “It depends on the scotch. Flavored or expensive aged isn’t half so bad.” He glanced at Lestat.
“My father made us drink vinegar every day,” Marius said. “And in the military, the wine was always spoiled and mixed with seawater. This is quite nice in comparison.”
Louis shook his head. “What was the purpose of the vinegar?” he asked, feeling as though he had read the reason somewhere before, but cursing his mortal fragile memory for its lapse of knowledge.
“For good health.” Marius liked that Louis was inquisitive, and that he wasn’t shy to ask questions. Marius could remember having that passion in him when he was young, and how relentless he could be when there was something he wanted to know or understand. “Our water was not safe for drinking, and it was better than the alternatives like wine that would have made us lazy or sloppy. Our upbringing was to make soldiers out of us, and then politicians.” His hand went to the back of Louis’s chair, flat against the lacquered wood.
It seemed no one was noticing them just now, so Gregory took this opportunity, leaning close enough to nearly press lips to Armand’s ear, speaking low so no one but Armand could hear. “Why are you afraid to share your whale adventure with him?” Gregory playfully punched a fist into the younger man’s bicep, as he had full freedom to do so at the moment and found it amusing in a way only young males tended to. The ability to return to his youthful exuberant nature and play fight with other males had been one of the best parts of turning human again for him. As the strongest of their kind, there had been few he could physically interact with in this way. The punch wasn’t as hard as he could have made it, but it was certainly enough to perhaps leave a bruise.
Armand suppressed a yelp and his hand came up to cover the sore spot on his arm. For a moment, Marius was distracted, and his attention lingered on the two of them, part curious, part confused, and part protective. But after a quiet moment, he returned to gazing at Louis and their conversation about Roman beverage history.
“Oh, shut up,” Armand hissed at Gregory as he rubbed his arm. “What did I ever do to you? Why are you afraid for him to know you got me high, hm?” He gave him a pointed look as if to say his reasoning was the same for why he didn’t want to share the whale adventure.
Armand had a point. Gregory didn’t exactly want Marius to know that he had encouraged Armand to participate in the consumption of many gummies. Many. And then what had happened between them afterwards… Armand on his knees between his legs, his lips so hot and wet… Gregory felt himself warm and flush from the memory that enveloped him, the arousal threatening to pool in his groin if he didn’t quickly redirect his attention.
Luckily, their first courses arrived and a salad was placed in front of him along with another glass of cold beer. Bread was also placed on the table and Gregory was quick to grab a piece of it and stuff it in his mouth. He gulped down some more beer as well, enjoying the mixture of the bread with the beer.
Armand picked up his own glass of beer brought by the waiter and began sucking it down until nearly half was gone. Only after he’d done it did he even bother to think about how it tasted or if he liked it. It was all right, he supposed, bitter, which suited his mood at the moment.
Meanwhile, Marius slid his hand up the back of Louis’s chair to grip the top spoke furthest from him. He didn’t touch the other man, just let his hand wrap loosely over the carved ornament that adorned the backrest. He held out the cut crystal glass of scotch. “Would you like a taste?”
Lestat’s chin settled in his hand, his elbow on the table as he gazed across, watching this exchange between them. “Go on, Louis, try it,” he urged with a calmly amused expression, as if he knew something about the drink that Louis didn’t. Mostly, he was just interested in watching the way Marius flirted. Lestat had never really seen him like this before, and it was as intriguing as it was entertaining.
At the same time, his ankle hooked around Gregory’s beside him, so that he could feel the warmth of his leg through their trousers. Gregory jumped slightly at the sudden feel of Lestat connecting with him under the table. His eyes slid over to his beloved and he gave him a sly grin.
“Ah, of course, thank you,” Louis was saying to Marius, accepting the glass gingerly from him as his salad was placed in front of him. He was, as yet, completely oblivious to Marius’s seductive body language, though when he looked up to meet the man’s deep blue eyes, a jolt of something like electricity shot through Louis’s core. His cheeks faintly flushed.
Marius was still observant, even if he was operating in the limited mental capacity of a human. His brain was slower, less keen to details, but he wasn’t stupid or thick in any sense. He smiled at the way Louis flushed because of course he noticed, but he wouldn’t say anything about it and bring shame to the man. Lestat and Armand might become upset, as they both saw Louis as theirs. So he merely gazed at the beautiful young man as took his sip of the scotch.
It was strong stuff, but smooth and with a velvety smoky richness beneath. Louis let out a hot breath after he swallowed, then licked his lips, a slight divot between his brows that came and went quickly the only indication of the prickly heat that clung to the back of his throat. “It’s strong to be sure,” he said, and the deep husky quality to his voice made Lestat snort half a laugh, but he was frankly impressed Louis didn’t choke or have to resist spitting the stuff out.
Marius was quick in a way that conveyed casual. His hand came up Louis’s shoulder blade to his far shoulder, which he squeezed in a friendly way. But then his long fingers slid up, warm and gentle, curling around his neck, slipping up the side of Louis’s bare throat to his pulse point. Marius was excited by the beating of the thick vein. “Strong but pleasant,” Marius decided, innocuous and friendly even as his fingers continued to caress. “We have to be careful, you and I. We both died hopeless alcoholics. Best to find new vices.”
“No truer words,” Louis said, saluting Marius with the scotch glass then offering it back to him. Louis’s ears felt warm, and the fuzziness of drink was coming in far too soon for his liking. Best stick to wine, and in measured doses at that. “Though I don’t seem to have the sort of tolerance I used to. Or the drinks have gotten stronger.” Louis reached over to pat Marius’s thigh, the man’s fingers on his skin sending a pleasant sensation down his spine. He might have pulled away in another time and place, but their table was tucked into a bit of a corner, and Louis felt he was not as much on display here as he might have been somewhere else.
Marius had the perfect academic answer, though perhaps too pedantic for a casual dinner. Louis was a man of learning, so maybe he would not mind a long lesson in alcohol proofing from the 1700s until today. He was distracted, however, by the warm weight of the hand on his thigh. Close enough to the knee and centered on the muscle so as not to be indecent or flirtatious. Easily excused as camaraderie or friendship, and Marius was a man of reasonable reaction and knew better than to look too deeply into any gesture. Still, it was good that it was hidden from the table, except from Bianca who saw but gave not the slightest hint of it in sound or expression. Marius, aware of their place and company, resisted the urge to open his legs more in invitation. He was never so shameless or out of control of his urges. Louis wasn’t for that, he knew, and he’d consumed not nearly enough alcohol to forget it. But he did take back the glass offered, not wanting to make Louis drunk or ill.
Lestat had been so fixated on watching every tiny movement of Louis’s face from across the table, that he hadn’t even noticed his own first course arrive until Gregory said, “What is that you have ordered? Soup of some sort? I wasn’t paying attention.”
Blinking, Lestat focused and looked down at the bowl of moqueca before him. “Hmm, let’s see.” He scooped up a spoonful and then popped it into Gregory’s mouth. “Is it spicy?” he asked with a grin. He’d assumed Brazilian bouillabaisse would have a lot more heat than what he’d been used to in France, but he wasn’t sure if it was the kind of spice that would cause pain.
Gregory was not prepared for a spoonful of fishy stew to be suddenly in his mouth. He expected another round of coughing and choking, but luckily it didn’t happen. Instead, a flavorful explosion greeted his taste buds. Rich sweet warm coconut mixed with a tomato, bell pepper zing, and savory onions and garlic. The fish was light and not overpowering. And after he swallowed, he realized there had been the hint of delicious lime as well. So many flavors!
He licked his lips, wishing suddenly he’d ordered this instead. “No. Not at all spicy,” he said with a small smile.
Lestat smiled, admiring how wholly Gregory enjoyed the food. If there was one thing Gregory was good for, it was knowing the right way to enjoy things. Lestat took a spoonful of the soup for himself and it was even better than he expected, which made him laugh in tipsy delight.
And as Louis watched Lestat’s playful way with Gregory, he felt something else stir within him… But then he was immediately distracted as Marius’s warm, firm hand began softly stroking his neck.
Notes:
To be continued, as they all just get drunker 😅
This chapter written by Me, K, D, and B
Chapter 109: The Payoff
Summary:
As the meat arrives at the dinner table, Marius is blindsided when Gregory can't resist an inappropriate comment about what he did during his time with Armand at sea.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Marius took a long sip of his scotch and then turned to Armand, even as he ran his hand under Louis’s hair, massaging into the muscles at the back of his neck. Armand had been making no effort to hide how he was watching absolutely everything Marius was doing with Louis, openly staring at them down the table. He wasn’t sure, but he was getting the sense that Marius was cross with him…again. But he felt perplexed about why that could be. Was it still about the blueprints he’d torn up earlier that afternoon to punish Armand for daring to be hurt that Marius had been planning to make a new home in Italy and hadn’t even so much as mentioned it to him? Not fair.
After a few silent seconds of gazing at the sullen child across the table, Marius held out his glass of scotch. “Would you like to taste this too?”
“Yes.” He stared at Marius unblinkingly, and then he straightened in his chair and put his hand on the glass, his fingers wrapping over Marius’s. He took a moment like that, trying to decipher Marius’s infuriatingly aloof expression, before finally taking the glass from him to take a sip.
Armand’s throat practically closed up as the fiery liquor blazed down. As he fought back the desperate need to cough, his eyes burned and began to water. It was nothing at all like the gin and tonic he’d tried the night he and Marius went to the bar, but he didn’t want to let that on. This aversion to the scotch felt unmanly, and so when he was able to open his mouth again without gasping, he forced himself to take another sip, a bigger one.
Oh, but it was too much, and he had to put the glass down on the table, barely managing not to drop it. As he pushed it back toward Marius with his fingertips, he held his breath and squinched his eyes into a glower that dared any of them to laugh.
“It’s all right,” he managed in a breathy rasp.
Marius stopped his attentions to Louis’s neck to employ both hands to help Armand. As his right hand took away the glass of offending scotch, his left clasped his own glass of ice water and wordlessly set it within reach of the distressed boy.
Armand eyed it warily. Even if the water was bottled, the ice was probably made from tap water, and he was afraid of making himself sick with parasites or bacteria that conflicted with whatever gut biome he’d been granted the night he’d awoken human. Better to stick to the naturally sterilizing alcohol. So he rejected the water and instead picked up his beer again, sucking down the half glass that was left until the smoky burn of the scotch was washed away.
Marius’s expression didn’t change as Armand denied his assistance. He just silently grabbed the water glass and set it back down into its appropriate place. In truth, he was a bit exasperated by all of this, confused by Armand’s countless rebuffs tonight, considering how needy and affectionate the boy had been before they left home, which was a terrible contrast to this denial and indifference, and indignant by the disgrace of it all that it should be done publicly for their friends to witness. Marius couldn’t think of a single thing he’d done to warrant this. But he wouldn’t address it here and cause anymore humiliation. He watched Armand drain the disgusting looking beer.
As he set down the empty beer glass, Armand was horrified as he felt a belch rise from his chest. He clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle it, turning his face away and hoping Bianca, Marius, and Louis weren’t paying attention. He didn’t care at all if Gregory noticed, of course. The great oaf would probably be more likely to congratulate him than be repulsed or offended.
But of course, Marius noticed. But the belch was entirely human and nothing to be embarrassed about. Best not to mention it at all to spare Armand embarrassment. Marius, who had raised Armand for a few formative years, had certainly seen and heard worse. Quickly, Marius swallowed all of the scotch left in his glass, then crossed his arms, moving only to wave away the bread Bianca offered him.
Louis meanwhile was watching Armand with a sort of sympathetic smile on his features. “If you aren’t expecting the burn, scotch is a bit less appealing as a drink,” he admitted quietly with no hint of judgment or mirth to his features, merely a gentle understanding.
Armand didn’t understand what was meant to be appealing at all about a drink that hurt to consume. He could get just as drunk off wine and beer, and feel good the whole time, the opposite of pain. He was a good way there already from what he’d had so far. The carefree floating feeling that was the closest thing that even crept near to what the blood swoon felt like. God, the memory of that monstrous euphoria already felt so distant, fuzzy… He was afraid he’d forget it entirely before too long, and he couldn’t stand to think of how tragic that would be.
“You like the burn?” he asked with a disapproving look. He didn’t like the thought of Louis doing things just because they hurt, though wasn’t surprised that he would. Louis needed to be protected from himself more often than not.
Louis nodded. “It’s less about liking or disliking, and more about enduring for the payoff, I suppose,” he explained gently.
“Just drink more wine, Louis,” Lestat said without looking at him, his dreamy gaze still fixed on Gregory, as he took such pleasure in his meal. “With infinite choice in drink, you never need have a drop you dislike if all you care about is getting drunk off your ass.” He knew Louis likely had more in mind as the ‘payoff’ than drunken oblivion, but he enjoyed teasing him too much to acknowledge that.
Gregory’s attention was on his salad, only too happy to experience all the flavors it had to offer. He’d found he’d become what mortals today called a foodie. It wasn’t lost on him that this, along with the constant sex, was perhaps a desperate need to replace the pleasure of the kill and the blood.
So distracted was he by each bite of fresh crisp vegetable that he almost missed the arrival of two servers to the table with a cart weighed down by giant slabs of meat, carving knives at the ready.
Marius looked at the pungent, charred corpses of animals butchered beyond recognition and felt disgust swell deep in his gut. He tried to manipulate his senses into finding the sight and smell pleasant, but he could not. Quickly he seized the utensils Armand had removed from his plate and returned them to where he’d lain them over the porcelain, crossed to signal he wanted no food. Everything about this was unappetizing.
He watched Bianca as she requested what she wanted, which was a bit of everything it seemed. But she was so very certain and unflinching. And for her part, she knew there was no point trying to encourage Marius to lighten up a bit. So instead, she beamed at Armand. “Try the picanha,” she said, pointing to the thinly sliced steak which had a delicious garlic and grilled scent. “And the linguica.” The sausages looked to burst with flavor in their casings.
Gregory could not resist a juvenile snort of laughter at Bianca’s entirely innocent recommendation that Armand try the thick sausages. He glanced to him, seeing Armand was more than tipsy at this point. He, himself, was feeling a buzz from the three glasses of beer he’d consumed thus far. That was the only excuse he had for the words that tumbled from his mouth without censoring, “Yes, Armand, you could handle that sausage. You’ve certainly had bigger.”
Lestat snorted, nearly choking on his wine, then tried to stifle his laughter behind his napkin, but he was too tipsy by now to really manage it well. “What would you know about it?” he jibed at Gregory.
Meanwhile, Louis had just taken a rather large slice of the sausage into his mouth and he struggled to chew and then swallowed the lump of meat awkwardly, finding the taste suddenly repugnant. He glared at Gregory from across the table. Curtly, he put down his fork and knife. “That is beyond crass and wholly inappropriate talk for the dinner table,” he snapped.
But Armand remained cool, seemingly unfazed. He’d actually been much more interested in the other steak options on the cart, but in the wake of Gregory’s crass joke, he stabbed his fork into the middle of one of the sausages a little too violently, lifting it before his eyes to give it a once over. “You think so?” he asked dryly, as if to say he very much doubted that anything else he’d had could have possibly been bigger.
At the same time, though, his mind was flooded with memories of his time with Marius that afternoon, how he’d filled Armand’s mouth, the taste and shape of him. It made the color rise to his cheeks and he flicked a glance across at Marius through his lashes.
Marius had his second scotch on the rocks, which had been held up to his lips, ready to drink. Gregory’s comment had him setting it back down on the table, frowning. “Please do not speak to him or of him in such a crude manner in front of me.” He paused. “Or any of us.” Marius was a man of honor and he had to protect Armand, even if Armand hardly needed him to. It was perhaps less that Armand needed him to and more that Marius needed to slip back into the protector role where he was most comfortable. He was distracted by the look Armand gave him, both seductive and demure. Too lovely. He could only imagine what the look was for, though Marius, the furthest thing from naïve, could guess. He’d never say it in front of company, but both he and Armand knew how well Armand could ‘take it’ as he’d done beautifully earlier. Which was part of the reason Marius was in such a relaxed mood. He gave the lovely boy a small smile and wink.
Gregory leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced from Louis to Marius and then back to Armand, who had managed to insult him with barely a few words. At least his beloved Lestat saw the fun in it. That is why he loved him so; why they were such a good match. Lestat wasn’t above any kind of humor. He took a moment to finish his current glass of beer and gestured to one of the passing servers that he would like another.
A thick steak, cooked rare, was placed on a plate before him, and his mouth watered at just the sight of it. Blood pooled around it. Blood. A small smile curved Gregory’s lips when he glanced back up to the party around the table. They were all of them blood-thirsty former-murderers who’d done filthy things on a nightly basis. He understood the need to be polite in the company of mortals and even with one another, but this prudish inhibited behavior under the current circumstances, especially while drinking and eating flesh of animals was ridiculous to him.
With knife and fork he sliced a piece of the steak and chewed slowly, savoring the juicy flavorful meat before addressing the table at large in a diplomatic voice. “I didn’t realize my comment would cause such a stir. I’ll be more cautious with my words.” His tone held a hint of defiance. “But, I would know,” he added, going back to address Lestat’s question, “because Armand was doing a good job swallowing my…” Gregory paused and glanced to Louis and then Marius, selecting his next words carefully, as he’d promised to. “Male appendage, just a few days ago. Quite expertly, I might add.”
Louis stared in shock at him, feeling the adrenaline rise into his cheeks for the anticipation of what type of argument those words might lead to between all present. His gaze flew toward Marius and then Armand, horrified, then he clamped his lips shut and looked down at his plate in attempt to steady his expressions lest they lead to further strife for everyone.
Marius’s face went flat, blank. He stared at Armand silently for a few moments longer than casual, but said absolutely nothing about this revelation. Armand did not have to be reminded of his promise, and Marius had no intention of making a scene. He silently drained his glass of his scotch and motioned for another. His empty glass was set down with the firm clink, the ice rolling around and striking in the unsettled chaos. “Is this your common post-intimacy behavior? To thoroughly humiliate your lovers in front of their friends so that their memory of you and your sexual interlude is stained with regret and embarrassment. It must be rare for someone to come back a second time if your behavior is barely above the quality of an immature ‘frat boy’ bragging of his sexual conquests. We are not impressed, and you should be ashamed.” Marius looked back at Armand. “And you. If you are going to humiliate the both of us in one fell swoop, choose better.”
It seemed then all the beer and wine hit Armand at once. His head was reeling, the sounds of the restaurant a rush in his ears, and all of a sudden everything was happening too fast. His knife came down with a loud clatter on the plate as it severed the sausage in half, but then he abruptly released the utensils to stare across the table at Marius in shock for such rude and uncalled-for words.
Gregory’s jokes had been crass, but they hadn’t felt cruel to Armand; on the contrary, his easy playfulness spoke to the comfort he felt in their group, of how long and well they all knew each other. Louis’s prudishness wasn’t unexpected, other than that he usually kept it to himself instead of calling attention to things. But Marius had slammed a sack of bricks down on the jovial mood of the entire table. Armand hadn’t felt ‘thoroughly humiliated’ by what Gregory had said—inappropriate as it was for dinner conversation, Gregory had been commending his skills, after all—but now Marius’s public castigation made Armand’s face burn red, and his entire body flushed hot with something halfway between fear and furious indignation. What right did Marius have to feel ‘humiliated’ in this moment??
“What, aren’t you proud of me?” he retorted in a low, slurred voice. “If what I do is a reflection on you, then doesn’t it make you just beam with pride to hear me so well complimented?”
Marius had three choices. He could ignore all of this as he was exceptionally skilled in stoicism and emotional regulation to the point where he had absolutely none. But that emotional denial was at war with his anger, which was his second choice. It was the anger he fought valiantly to suppress at the moment because it burned so fierce, capable of burning entire worlds. The look he gave Armand was both angry and incredulous. He was trying to understand why he was in the wrong for chastising Gregory when all he wanted was to protect Armand’s honor and dignity as any gentleman would when their beloved was spoken of dishonorably. His final choice was to walk away, which was probably the wisest choice of all three. Armand had some nerve to say something so horrendous at the end of it all. But he was not entirely surprised that Armand chose to defend Gregory. After all, he’d run away to the middle of the sea with little to no fear for his safety while claiming to be too scared to travel with Marius. And he wasn’t even sorry to have broken the only promise that had mattered to Marius, the only one Marius had asked him to make.
“I do not think it matters to you how I feel at all, does it?” Marius didn’t expect an answer. Did not need one.
The waiter came with his scotch just as he pushed his chair back, and Marius took it from the young man as he stood. He drank it in one long gulp and then handed the glass back. Bianca stared at her plate the whole time, and he stroked her shoulder in apology. She didn’t look at him, but she touched his hand and it was enough. “I apologize for making our nice dinner together uncomfortable,” he said to the others with as much grace and dignity as he could muster, which, for Marius, was always a lot no matter the circumstance. “I’m going to get some air, so please excuse me.” With that, he turned and walked away from the table, through the dining area and lobby, and out the doors into the warm, humid evening.
Gregory was hardly able to follow all of the words being flung around, but it was very clear Marius was angry at him for behaving in a ‘frat boy’ manner. The truth was, he did not consider Armand as his lover. Just a friend he’d enjoyed some adventure and sexual pleasure with. Although he still resented Armand for not allowing him to reciprocate the intimacy at all. Perhaps that was partly why he’d let his words get out ahead of him like that.
He looked to Armand and the mutilated sausage on his plate. Slicing off some of his own steak he placed it onto Armand’s plate. An offering. “Forgive me,” he said. And then looking around those still at the table, “I apologize for my words. I was only attempting to introduce some humor, as this seemed the right time for it. We are all too tense. Please, continue the conversation as if I said nothing.”
But Lestat’s eyes were fixed on the direction Marius had gone, and though he heard Gregory, he did not look at him. He considered mentioning how little sense of humor Marius had, and that Gregory shouldn’t be surprised by his stiff reaction, but his mind was thoroughly stuck on the mental image of Armand pleasuring Gregory’s male appendage, and Lestat’s own tongue felt stiff.
Pushing back from the table, he dropped his napkin beside his plate. “If you’ll excuse me,” was all he said before he followed the path Marius had taken.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, B, D, and K
Chapter 110: Personal Slight
Summary:
Lestat and Marius commiserate after finding out about Armand and Gregory's affair on the high seas.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Lestat’s mouthful of wine had nearly gone spraying across the table all over Louis when Gregory so casually announced his and Armand’s seafaring sexual escapades. But honestly? He should have expected it. What else would Gregory and Armand do with themselves three days alone at sea? It shouldn’t bother him. Not really. Lestat shouldn’t care one bit at all. They were all going to die, and nothing mattered anymore.
And yet…
He had to get away from the table, and going after Marius’s dramatic exit offered the perfect opportunity. Lestat quickly wove his way through the restaurant to catch up to his affronted friend.
Marius had not gone far—he couldn’t leave the premises altogether, as he’d been the one to drive Armand, Bianca, and Louis here, and he’d not leave them stranded. He’d found himself a not-so-quiet spot on one of benches placed close to the restaurant for patrons waiting on their tables, and was doing his best to block out the sharp clamor of a group of young women on the next bench talking and laughing.
He closed his eyes to shut out the last rays of the bright orange setting sun, resting his head back against the building, as he would not slouch. It would be inelegant, and he would only end up blocking the sidewalk with his long legs. But he did stuff his hands in his pockets and found it oddly comforting. The air was too warm and wrapped its sticky tendrils over every inch of his bare skin, but in the distance, he heard the thumping beats of music, and there was so much laughter. Probably Ipanema. And likely the gay district as there was a lot of heady bass and colorful lights already lighting up the horizon. Just east of Rua Farme de Amoedo. Shrill and intrusive, but who was he to begrudge another person’s happiness?
A large warm hand fell heavily on his shoulder, and then Lestat slumped down on the bench beside him. “A good idea,” he said on a long exhale. The lights in the distance blurred and came back into focus as Lestat’s eyes crossed, desperate to see as crisply as he used to. The alcohol in his blood certainly wasn’t helping. “Ever think about taking up smoking?”
Marius cracked his eyes open to watch him. His arm between them shifted, his hand slipping out of his pocket to rest behind Lestat in a gesture of welcome. “Absolutely not. There are at least sixty-nine chemicals in cigarettes known to cause cancer.” As a man in his Middle Ages, he had to be mindful of his health. More than that, he was vain. “They make you smell terrible, and stain your teeth.”
Lestat laughed dryly and turned his face to give Marius’s a rough kiss to his temple before slumping back against the wall, their shoulders pressing together. “We’re going to die anyway, what difference does it make?” He sighed and gazed out at the tufts of clouds drifting across the blackening sky. He couldn’t see a single star. Not a one. “Whether it’s fifty years from now or tomorrow, it’s still death.”
Fifty years? Perhaps for someone as young as Lestat, and certainly for Armand. But for Marius, who despite being rich and healthy as a human by virtue of his social class, still had a body built and summarily destroyed by the brutal and harsh reality of ancient life? He would have much shorter time now that his body was brought back to life and could begin again the degradation that had been halted over 2,000 years ago.
“Yes, you are right. But I need as much time as I can get. Armand…” No. He stopped that thread of thought abruptly, the words halted in his throat. Armand needed him? Certainly not. They’d lived most of their lives apart. But Armand wanted him, and might be very angry if he saw Marius intentionally harming his body and further limiting whatever time they had left together. Though wouldn’t it be wiser to just let go? Why would he burden Armand, in the prime of his life, with the care of his elderly body at the end of his own?
It made sense why Armand was drawn to Gregory, why he’d cast aside his fear of travel to venture out to sea, why he chose to sit next to Gregory at dinner, and why he’d defended Gregory’s obscenity over Marius’s defense of his honor and dignity. Gregory was young, full of vitality and energy. Armand should be consorting with those of his own age.
“Perhaps I do not have the stamina for this. I sometimes wish I were allowed to make mistakes.”
“You make mistakes?” Lestat asked, as if shocked, though he was only kidding. He tore his eyes from the sky and folded his ankle over his knee so that he could turn toward Marius on the bench. “Do you need permission?” he asked more kindly, and then he softly tapped his palm to Marius’s forehead. “As your former, extremely brief royal sovereign, I grant you permission to fuck up once in a while. Absolvo. There.” Lestat gave him a small, somewhat sad smile. “You’re the only one who holds yourself to these impossible standards, you know. Were you like this as a mortal before you died? Or did you simply enjoy your life? We’re here now, and you’re only human, as the saying goes. I’m sorry about Gregory. He’s drunk. And I think far more human than the rest of us have become somehow. I’m sure he’ll be riddled with all the proper shame in the morning.”
Marius was exactly like this as a mortal before he died. True, he lived an uncommonly free life, unbound from the shackles of civic duty, but that was because he knew he could. He knew his father permitted it. In a lot of other ways, he tried very hard to be perfectly Roman, perfectly patrician, because he knew by his blood that he could never be. And unlike other bastard children of Senators, Marius couldn’t hide his shameful origin because the features of it stuck out, visible and unmistakable. Hair blond like a barbarian or prostitute, the very worst associations. No. Slave was the worst, but it went without saying that he carried that stigma, too.
Expectation was relentless. Even as an immortal, he could not fail. The outcome would be too grievous. His protection of Akasha had been too important, which he’d of course failed at, but only because Akasha herself betrayed his loyalty. And now he just wanted to be perfect for Armand who was so quick to point out his imperfections and mistakes.
Gregory was an oaf, and one would think, with Armand’s seemingly impossible-to-meet standards, not his type at all. So it wasn’t Armand’s general standards that made it impossible for Marius to succeed, because they were actually very low. It was Armand’s standards for him and him alone that were high. Insurmountable.
“It is my fault,” Marius said. “I expected too much. Gregory did nothing wrong and neither did Armand. The blame is mine alone. If Armand failed to keep the only promise I asked of him at the first challenge, then clearly, I asked for too much. My expectations were set too high. I must try harder.”
“What promise?” Lestat asked, even though it was none of his business. He’d had just the right amount of wine to put aside his usual reverence of Marius’s privacy. Besides, they were just a gaggle of humans now. What place did vampire etiquette have in their lives anymore? “You can’t have expectations with Armand,” he mused as his own memories snaked back into the many past ways Armand had ever been surprisingly unpredictable. “Other than that when he wants something, he’ll be ruthless about getting it. “
Marius looked toward the horizon, grateful the sun was gone, turning the sky purple. “I had thought it a simple request. Only that he tell me if he is intimate with someone. Not to ask for permission, even. Just to tell me so that I am not caught in the middle of an embarrassing revelation.” Like he just had been during their meal. For Marius, ignorance was not bliss, and he hated feeling blindsided by news he was unaware of. He’d rather a hard truth and the knowledge it brought than ignorance. He hated being the last to know, or one who did not know. Knowing everything that happened around him made him feel secure, strong, and more informed to make the best choices.
Lestat was quiet for a minute, thinking about these words and how Marius obviously felt and trying to understand how he felt himself about the ‘revelation,’ but his wine-soaked mind felt like it was spinning in multiple directions, and his mouth tasted like the creamy coconut broth of the fish stew he’d eaten, and air was so hot and fragrant with the scent of the beach.
“You’re jealous?” he asked, not sure if that’s what made Marius embarrassed or if it was something else. Some sense of pride that perhaps shouldn’t matter such a great deal among close friends. And Lestat did so wish Marius would let himself feel close to them. They were all each other had. “I didn’t know about it either,” he admitted quietly.
Marius bent his arm behind Lestat on the bench and leaned his head upon it, which put his cheek only inches from Lestat’s. But he was comfortable with the closeness. “I do not think that I am,” he mused. “Armand was very clear from the start that he intended to enjoy his new body with as many lovers as he wished.”
Lestat wouldn’t begrudge Armand or anyone else doing that either, but why did one of those lovers have to be Lestat’s? He didn’t like it. It felt like a personal slight, somehow, though he couldn’t say why exactly. He was trying not to imagine Armand swallowing Gregory’s male appendage while they were out on the ocean alone, along with everything else they probably did together. How could Lestat blame them? Wouldn’t he have done the same? Still, he didn’t like it… Maybe it would make more sense when he was sober.
“I was never under the assumption that what we had was in any way special,” Marius continued. “Why would I be?” He and Armand were just sleeping with each other when the opportunity arose, which was no different an arrangement than what he assumed Armand had with others.
“In any way special?” Lestat repeated, his gaze tracing Marius’s handsome profile out of the corner of his eyes. “Is he going around calling any of his other lovers his ‘boyfriend’?” He quirked an eyebrow at him.
Marius couldn’t scoff at the word boyfriend because he knew it had to mean something to Armand. It simply had to. Otherwise what was the point? At the same time, he was very cynical about the whole thing. “What is the point of a special label if it comes with absolutely no perks or privileges?” he murmured. It was just a word. Armand might be secretly a romantic and like the idea of calling a 2,000-year-old man a ‘boyfriend’ because it was a charming and modern term for a very complicated relationship. Romantic or cruel.
“I just wish he would have kept his promise. Maybe I just wanted to see if he would.” Which was as close as Marius would come to mentioning his feelings. “Perhaps he likes to see me unhappy. I probably deserve it. I do not like to let feelings affect me, and he stands as the prime example as to why.” He smiled a bit and shrugged, then looked briefly at the group of girls on the other bench who had gone quiet. They were whispering. He could not hear them, but he imagined the cause was the sudden appearance of Lestat, who really was very attractive. The sort who always drew in attention everywhere he went.
Lestat followed his gaze, noticing the girls now for the first time. They saw him looking, and he smiled at them, which made their expressions brighten. “We could go home with them,” he suggested in a low voice to Marius. It would certainly be a rude slight to their friends inside the restaurant, but perhaps that was just the thing Marius needed.
Marius turned his head just a bit from where it perched on his hand. The glance he gave the trio of girls this time was quick and casual. He hadn’t been paying attention enough to register their language or accents. They looked to be in their early-to-mid-20s. One blond and two brunettes. They were all three beautiful by modern standards. Clothing tight, fast fashion. A lot of skillfully applied makeup, thick false lashes, acrylic nails, sparkling jewelry which did not look to be made of real gold or gems. They all looked like they smelled nice. But they were young, vibrant.
“I’m too old,” he decided, turning his eyes back to the horizon. “You could, I am absolutely certain. I am old enough to be their father.”
“They’re older than Armand,” Lestat pointed out with a wink. It earned him a scowl in return. But Marius knew it wouldn’t do any good to remind Lestat that Armand was well over 500 because right now he was in every way a teenage boy, with a 17-year-old body, brain, and hormones.
“You’re just the right age for women like that.” Lestat couldn’t imagine a woman who was so obviously ‘cruising’ as these three were turning down a man like Marius. “They probably think I look like a kid.” Not that Lestat cared. As soon as he started talking to people, he won them over, easily convincing them that he was older than he looked…because he was. “I don’t have much Portuguese,” he lamented. Even less than he’d thought he did without his vampiric memory and intuition to understand meaning from minds. It had been something of a rude awakening when he’d gone out shopping with Gregory that morning. “Or I’d go over and ask them what they think of you. Honestly, Marius, we could be brothers.”
“Father and son,” Marius corrected because that seemed to make more sense age-wise. It didn’t matter that they were different kinds of blond since most humans associated things in simple detail. Blond was blond. Not white, silver, yellow, or golden. Simply blond. He knew he drew in a certain type of young woman. Someone who wanted an attractive ‘sugar daddy.’ That is what he assumed, at least.
“I do not think they are locals,” Marius surmised by another Quick Look. “They look American. Perhaps here on vacation to escape the winter temperatures, too.” He stole a glance then at the one brunette with the very full figure, soft all over and beautifully curvaceous. Marius did not want to be arrogant, but being humble was just as uncomfortable. He preferred being honest with himself. He was tall, had a very pleasing musculature, his white-blond hair was currently very fashionable, and he had the sort of cheekbones and strong jaw women liked. Plus, he was obviously wealthy. He wondered if Armand would care at all. No matter how upset Marius felt, there was no desire in him to actually punish Armand. He liked to think he was more mature than to stoop to tacky revenge. “There are three of them and two of us.”
“I’ll summon Cyril,” Lestat said in a heartbeat. He hadn’t been so serious at all about this idea when he first mentioned it, but the suggestion was becoming rapidly appealing. The women had seemed to be waiting for a taxi, but more than one had come and gone without them taking it. What else could they be stalling for if not for him and Marius to approach? Lestat shifted to fish his phone out of his pants pocket, ready to text Cyril to get his ass out here at once if Marius approved.
Marius laughed softly, wondering whether the very upstanding Cyril would agree. Would he agree out of a sense of duty to Lestat? Certainly Cyril had needs; Marius had noted as much by his look toward Bianca, who was unspeakably lovely in every way. It wasn’t as if Marius needed sexual release either. Armand had seen to his exquisite satisfaction earlier that afternoon. The devilish youth had let Marius pillage his soft body most generously, satiating him in the way only Armand could.
But he’d not been with a woman yet since becoming human. If he had to choose, he’d choose Armand every time without hesitation because the sex of a person wasn’t something Marius ranked as important. Marius typically did not do things because they seemed fun, as fun was a want, not a need, and therefore not necessary.
He sat up straight again and dropped his arm back down to his side. “All right, then.” The good thing about Cyril was that he needn’t be reminded of the importance of discretion since, as Lestat’s security and shadow, that trait was ingrained into his very identity.
Lestat laughed aloud in delight, and frank surprise that Marius had actually said yes. One of the girls was looking at him again, so Lestat lifted a hand to beckon her, giving her a dazzling smile full of promise.
Turning his attention to his phone, he shot off a text to Cyril: Leaving with some new friends. You have 30 seconds to catch me. Then he hopped up off the bench to meet the women as they came up the path toward him.
“My friend here is having a bad night,” he said in English, and he was so very pleased when they understood him perfectly. “I need some place to take him to cheer him up. You look like you’re headed somewhere fun?”
Marius realized he was not equipped for this sort of situation. Not the sort to give easy smiles, flirtatious and charming conversation with the intent of sexual activity. He did not know how to flirt or have a superficial conversation, and his personality was serious and stoic, not lighthearted. He considered he might have been foolish to agree to this. He couldn’t pretend to be someone he wasn’t. It was so much easier to engage in established relationships with whom this artifice was not necessary, or to find a sex worker and conduct a simple business transaction.
He thought then that he should leave his car keys with the hostess for Bianca. She could drive his car back with Armand and Louis in tow. Some spiteful part of him wanted to let Armand rely on Gregory since he favored him so much, yet that would leave Bianca and Louis to have to do the same, and none of this was their fault.
Marius remembered then to smile at the girls so that they would not think him too strict and unapproachable, which he absolutely was.
The blond girl was looking at Lestat, excited. “We’re about to go back to our villa.” Rented most likely. “For drinks and a night swim.”
Lestat grinned. Why, yes. That would do perfectly.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and B.
Chapter 111: New Friends
Summary:
As Marius, Lestat, and Cyril go off with three women they just met, Armand, Louis, and Gregory are left alone in the restaurant.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Try it,” Gregory was saying about the rare and juicy morsel of steak he’d put on Armand’s plate.
Armand glowered up at him out of the corner of his eyes. When Lestat had left, he had half a mind to leap up from the table and shove him out of the way so he could run out of the restaurant to find Marius first. Instead, he just stabbed his fork into the slice of meat and shoved it into his mouth—Oh! It was good! For a hazy moment, Armand forgot everything else as the salty, bloody flavor melted over his tongue—until he was startled back to reality with a hiccup. God damn it, he probably wouldn’t even be able to walk straight if he tried to stand up right now, much less figure out where Marius had even gone.
“He has no right,” Armand muttered, staring sulkily down at the seeping red juices on his plate. “He didn’t even tell me he was leaving France. He said there was no point… No point! No point in even telling me he was going.” His face lifted and his eyes shot across the table at Bianca accusingly, because she could have told him, or pressed Marius to tell him! But the instant he saw her lovely, sympathetic face, he knew he couldn’t hold this against her, and his shoulders sank in defeat.
Gregory placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. The poor guy was drunk, and not in a good way. Mixing alcohols was a terrible thing, and Armand would be regretting it in the morning. “Here, eat some bread,” he urged, holding the basket for him. “He didn’t tell you he was leaving France because he was not able to contact you. You were on a boat in the ocean with me.” A server returned to their table topping off glasses of wine and informing them another round of meats would be arriving soon. “Lestat didn’t tell me he was leaving France either. Not until I called and he was already on a plane.” Gregory frowned slightly at this point.
“It’s no excuse,” Armand mumbled then clamped his mouth shut to repress another hiccup. The first thing he’d done when the yacht reentered an area of cell signal was check his phone for any messages he’d missed. There had been nothing from Marius at all. Nothing.
Armand had fully expected to get off the helicopter at the chateau, go inside, unpack and shower and change, then spend the next several hours reuniting with Marius. But instead, all he got was the humiliation of having Lestat waltz in and so cavalierly mention: by the way, Marius is gone. No, he didn’t leave you a note or anything, but he invited me to follow him, and you can come along if you want. And then again with this palazzo Marius had been drafting. You may come along if you want. Was Armand always destined to be an afterthought to this most frustrating man ever born?
“Don’t want bread.” He gave up on the utensils and just picked up half of the sausage he’d slaughtered and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing with determined malice.
Meanwhile, Louis sat at the other end of the table in silence. He was relieved Lestat had gone after Marius, because if he had not, Louis had been determined to do it himself. Especially after all of Marius’s kind attention this afternoon. For now, he just ate his dinner, chewing slowly, and feeling not at all relaxed ever since his anxiety spiked as the blood pressures around him were clearly rising.
Cyril put a hand on Louis’s shoulder and slid a glass of water closer to him. “They’ll be all right,” he said, as sure as anyone could be, confident and cavalier, seeming none too upset, as though he had expected as much all along. And why shouldn’t he? He had been around them all enough, a silent observer for a while now, so it could not have been a surprise that they would implode. Louis sighed, and Cyril turned his attention to Armand. “Bread helps. It’ll dull the unwanted effects.”
“He’s right. They’re both right. The bread will help,” Louis said, reluctant to second anything Gregory might suggest. Though to help Armand, he’d agree to almost anything.
As far as Armand was concerned, there were no unwanted effects. In fact, he needed to be drunker. He caught up one of the freshly filled glasses of wine—it might have been Bianca’s, he couldn’t tell, so many glasses on the table—and he used it to chase down his food. As he swallowed, he eyed Gregory, wondering if he could get drunk enough to not have any reservations about giving in to what Gregory had begged him for the other day on the boat. Armand wanted to do it now out of spite. And hadn’t he just been considering seducing Gregory a few hours ago when he’d offered to help Louis by taking Gregory’s attention away from Lestat?
But if he did it, would that just make him become even more of an afterthought to Marius? Armand already felt he was only holding on to Marius’s attention by the barest thread. The man could talk for hours about how he couldn’t live without Armand, but he sure as hell seemed to be living just fine without even remembering him.
So Armand pulled his eyes from Gregory and looked across to Bianca again. The expression on his face was so pitiful that she nearly laughed, but hid it behind a sympathetic smile. Reaching over the table, she took his hand, and Armand stared down at their entwined fingers, letting himself imagine finding solace in her bed instead.
Gregory too found himself becoming more drunk as he continued to consume the beers the servers brought him. He told himself he had to drink every one, as they were each different brands, different flavors. He wanted to know all the beers! He exchanged some amusing and cheerful conversation with Cyril and Bianca and even one of the men serving them. He also ordered a rack of ribs, and when they arrived, he grabbed a bottle of sauce from the table. Childishly he caught Louis’s eye as he shook the bottle suggestively before opening and squirting the contents onto the glistening meat with a deep laugh.
“Damn…” Cyril said beneath his breath, looking up from his phone that had just vibrated. “Lestat and Marius are leaving. I’ve got to go after them.” He rose from his seat, his napkin tumbling to the floor, which he promptly snapped up and laid in his chair.
Louis’s mouth fell open in mild horror. “Leaving!?” he stammered, looking incredulous and miserable at the same time. Instantly, he glared at Gregory, thinking at once that they only had him to blame for this ridiculous end to their meal.
Gregory frowned at Cyril as he licked sauce from his fingers then wiped them on the linen cloth on his lap. “Leaving? He hardly ate!” Gregory gestured to the plate piled in meats before Lestat’s empty chair. Why would Lestat just leave? And to do so without even a word to him?
“I’ll try to talk to them,” Cyril said. “But keep your phones on you so I can let you know what’s going on.” He shook his head and hurried off.
Gregory’s eyes darted from Armand to Bianca and then Louis. “What?” he asked Louis, because the man was still glaring at him. “Perhaps Marius was ill and Lestat had to get him home.”
Armand’s head snapped up. Ill?? Marius?? But after a second, he realized Gregory was only speculating, and he sank back down. In ill spirits, to be sure, but Marius didn’t get ill. He looked to Bianca for reassurance, and she squeezed his hand. Since Marius wasn’t coming back, apparently, Armand slumped his way around the table to collapse into the chair he’d abandoned so that he could rest his head against Bianca’s shoulder, and she gently stroked his hair while trying to convince him to drink some water out of the glass Marius had left.
Louis frowned at them, feeling helpless in the situation to make things any better for him, and nonetheless because Armand had been so quick to check on him in his distress earlier in the day, and had seemed so intensely confident that he could help Louis with his troubles between Gregory and Lestat. Louis put a hand to Armand’s thigh, squeezing him gently.
As Gregory was finishing the ribs on his plate, he contemplated why Lestat might need to make such a sudden exit with Marius. But he was also aware that Armand had sunk into some sort of morose drunken state across the table, and Louis was randomly glaring daggers at him.
He considered confronting the both of them about this. It was certainly not his fault that Marius had so abruptly exited the dinner party. Why was everyone so damn sensitive? So Armand had given him a blow job on the boat, so what? He certainly had not forced it to happen. Armand had been more than a willing participant!
Outside the restaurant, Cyril appeared beside Lestat and Marius just in time to hear one of the three young women they were talking to mention something about going for a night swim at their villa. He glanced toward the ladies, each very pretty in their own right, realizing what this situation was immediately. He tried his best to nod and smile as non-threateningly as he could at their ‘new friends.’
“What of the dinner bill?” he asked Lestat, beneath his breath.
Lestat waved off his concern with a flick of his hand. “Louis will cover it.” Or Armand or Gregory would. It was a table full of billionaires. But Lestat assumed Louis would take the opportunity to do the gentlemanly thing like he always did.
He smiled at the girls, though his eyes lingered on the one with the darkest hair. She reminded him a little bit of Claire…who still hadn’t texted or called him back. Lestat pushed his little village girl from his mind, and focused only on the friendly women in front of him.
“You love to swim!” he said to Marius, squeezing his arm, as if this were the perfect solution to cheering up his serious and stoic friend’s bad night. “Room for three more?” he asked the girls with one of his irresistibly dazzling smiles.
Marius was going to point out that he had no bathing suit, but then because he wasn’t naïve, he realized that might be the point of the offer. He realized by the flirtatious look and tone of the woman, she was proposing a nude swim. He had left his keys with the valet of course, so Bianca could collect the car if she wanted, and the dinner was paid for. Bianca was plenty wealthy on her own, but she had access to his accounts and his credit card, so he told himself he had no practical obligation to refuse this proposition.
The girl talking to Lestat turned to look at her two friends. No words were exchanged, of course, as they conversed in the silent language of women. Just looks, the complex shifting of eyes and lips. Asking her friends if they wanted this, too. Marius guessed the only trepidation was the thought of three strange men. But they were attractive and noticeably wealthy, and it was only a second more before she turned back to Lestat. “Sure! We might have to take two cabs, though.” But she looked at Lestat through her eyelashes so that he wouldn’t think she was trying to lose them. “We could give you the address…”
“Is it far?” Lestat asked, and when she shook her head and said the place was only a fifteen-minute drive away, he made an impulsive decision. “We’ll take the limo.” Lestat glanced to Cyril to confirm he knew what he meant. The two of them had arrived at the restaurant in Gregory’s company limousine, Lestat insisting Cyril ride with them this time instead of in the town car that followed with Gregory’s security detail. They could have the driver drop them off and be back at the restaurant long before Gregory would need the limo himself. Lestat wasn’t sure if Gregory would mind or not, but he’d make it up to him later. They’d spent all day together, after all, and he’d been neglecting Marius, the man he’d flown all this way to see. Gregory would understand.
If the girls were impressed by the suggestion of the limousine, they hid it well, maintaining their confident, carefree demeanor as Lestat beckoned the valet and gave him the instructions to have the driver circle round and pick up the six of them right here. Lestat then pushed a couple thousand Brazilian real into his palm and asked him to retrieve four bottles of champagne from the restaurant for them to take in the car, and he could keep what was left. Thank the gods, he spoke wonderful English, and it was all accomplished in a matter of minutes.
Marius stayed quiet, watching Lestat, taking note of how naturally his gestures and expressions charmed the girls. He was certain they’d all be more than happy to take just him home. Not too long ago, Marius would have been able to read their minds and peel away their desires. Now, he was trying to figure out how to be charming and approachable while also contending with his typical mindset that he certainly did not have to impress anyone. Naturally, he lacked these experiences.
The world in which he was a virile young man was vastly different. His first sexual experience was with an older man, and his first sexual encounter with a woman was a prostitute as was fitting his social class. Growing into a lusty young man was complicated by the fact that Patrician girls were protected, so naturally Marius could not engage with them in his complicated coming of age. Patrician boys would collect girlfriends of a certain sort. Pretty plebeian girls whose fathers overlooked the courting because the rich boys would gift the family with things they’d otherwise not have access to. Marius did not think any of these three girls would be charmed by a plum.
He thought again about Armand, feeling a surge of something strange. Guilt? Anxiety? It was hard to tell. But he considered how he did not have to impress Armand. Not that he did not try, but Armand knew his heart well enough to understand his sparse words and simple gestures of romance and love. And all he had to do was touch the youth to get him heated. He gave surprisingly little to the boy, but demanded a lot in return. It was a hard revelation, and he knew he’d have to think more on it later.
For now, he rose when the limo came into view. A voice in the back of his mind told him to turn around, go back inside, collect Armand, and take him home to their bed. Any bed of Marius’s was their bed, even if Armand never slept in it. Then again, maybe he was growing too emotionally dependent on Armand, and in his dependency actually beginning to stifle him? This outing might be just what Marius needed to sever this destructive obsession. For both of their own good. He’d love Armand no less, want him no less, but would not demand so much. And with him gone, Armand could enjoy his dinner with Gregory, no longer burdened by Marius’s emotions.
The driver came around and opened the door. Marius’s phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it. He waited until last to get in, considering that he did not have to sleep with the women. He could instead just watch Lestat with them, as he always enjoyed watching and couldn’t imagine any of these modern young women being attracted to him. In the enclosed space of the car, he realized all three of them smelled very nice.
Lestat wasn’t necessarily planning on sleeping with them either—between Louis and Gregory and Claire and that pretty flight attendant on the jet, he’d had so much sex in the past thirty-six hours that the predatory male part of his brain wasn’t commanding his attention at all. No, he just wanted to get to know these women who seemed so outgoing and carefree. Have fun in some cheerful company without lusting for the kill even in the slightest, and even though he doubted this excursion would actually pull Marius out of his sour mood (could anything truly do that?), at least it would be a distraction, and they could spend some time together.
“What’s your name?” the more vocal young woman asked Lestat. “Are you guys here on vacation, too?”
“Yes!” Lestat’s focus zeroed in on her as if she were the only person left in the entire world. “Just arrived this morning. I’m Sebastian, and these are James and Lucas. We’re from California. NorCal, where it’s nothing but rainy gloom this time of year. Had to escape.” When he asked about them, he learned their names were Yessica, Carly, and Lizette, and Marius had been right about them being American. Lestat laughed self-deprecatingly. “You came all this way, excited to meet some gorgeous Brazilian men, I’m sure, and here you are with us.” But to make up for it, he popped open one of the bottles of champagne, deftly catching the cork in his hand before it hit anyone or cracked a window, and he poured it out into the glasses that came with the car, passing them around.
Marius wondered which of the false names was intended to be his and decided that he seemed more a James than a Lucas. He held the champagne flute, keeping it at a distance. The last thing he needed was to feel the wet bursting of bubbles in his nose. Which of course made him think about how cute and arousing it was to listen to Armand giggle when tickled. Not Armand, though. Amadeo. He wondered if Armand was ticklish, too. It was almost enough to make him want to jump out of the moving limo and go back to the restaurant.
It wasn’t the fact that he’d likely break a bone that stopped him. It was his own quick internal reminder that this was his problem. This fixation on Armand, this obsession. What was it that Pandora had called him on the phone last night? Terminally horny. She was the absolute worst and there was no way he was that bad. But maybe there was some truth to that. Truth in that Marius was just very suppressed and needed to alleviate some of his tension. He wasn’t here to make friends. Now was the time to be decisive.
He looked away from gazing out of the window, unaware of how snobbish such a thing made him appear, and glanced at the curvaceous woman who had first caught his eye. The one who had called herself Yessica. She looked incredibly soft. She also looked a bit uncomfortable under his strange stare, but not to the point of being put off. Anticipation? Marius was good at wearing masks, and he gave her a warm smile, which seemed to soften her up immediately. Marius knew he had to speak, his accent anything but northern Californian. Fortunately, immigration was common, so his accents would be no cause for confusion. He doubted she had any interest in his interests, so he would have to figure out what she liked and cater to that.
A quick scan of her and he noticed a small tattoo on the underside of her forearm. Marius could appreciate the art of it, and he saw nothing wrong with modern forms of body modification. Everything one did to the human form was in some way modification: clothing, makeup, shaving your facial or body hair, even eyeglasses. There was no point ranking them on a spectrum of acceptability. It was art. Marius wondered if Armand would be interested in a tattoo now that his skin would hold the ink. And if he was, if he would let Marius design it. And then he sighed because he was doing it again. Everything led to thoughts of Armand.
“That is very pretty,” he told Yessica. “What is it?” He knew what it was.
She brightened at the topic as it was fairly new and tattoos were her new interest. She also liked the sound of his voice, deep and smooth, low and almost comforting. The kind of voice one imagined men in romance novels to have. Especially during the sex scenes when they started to growl commands. She was a huge romance novel fan. “Gardenia flowers. It means inner strength.” It didn’t mean that at all, but Marius wasn’t going to be the one to tell her, so he nodded. “Do you guys have any?”
Cyril gave a small shrug. “I do, but it’s nearly gone,” he said, opening the top two buttons of his shirt and pulling the fabric aside so that they could see the very faint hieroglyphic bull at the top center of his chiseled and muscular left breast. The bull was maybe an inch in size, drawn in line art, simple and crude. Cyril had almost blurted that it had been burned away to its faded state when he was made, becoming more faint during the times the mother and father had been placed in the sun. He had managed to stop himself though, and attempted an easy smile. He felt suddenly extremely awkward and old, far too old for these women even though his mortal body appeared perhaps thirty at the most.
He found his eyes drawn to the blond girl as she leaned in to study his chest. Her hair reminded him of Lestat’s. His gaze traversed the woman’s neck, following a particularly appetizing blueish vein beneath her slightly tanned skin down toward her cleavage. He could almost imagine sinking his fangs into the soft mound of her breast, the hot blood filling his mouth.
Marius also leaned forward a bit to see Cyril’s tattoo, infinitely curious, and also because he was forty years old with forty-year-old eyes in a dark limousine, and he couldn’t see the faint shape by his former distance. Marius knew ancient Egyptians tattooed their bodies, he’d seen them both with his eyes thousands of years ago, and also on the dried remains of unwrapped mummies. In Rome, only slaves, criminals, and soldiers would have tattoos, but no one within his circle of friends.
He smiled but said nothing because there were women present, but it did seem quite fitting Cyril should have a tattoo to represent strength and also virility. It was obvious the girls were attracted to Cyril as much as Lestat, and with his well-built body and handsome, masculine face it was no wonder.
Marius sat back to let the youth enjoy itself as the voluptuous woman he’d been speaking with and the blond began to question Cyril about his tattoo. A volley of questions like, “Is it your only one?” “What does it mean?” “Would you get any more?” “Why on your chest?”
“The only one, yes. And no, I doubt it,” he answered, then paused, unable to fully articulate why and how he had come by the marking since the reasoning and practices surrounding it were almost completely unheard of today. “Young and stupid,” he lied. “Bullheaded,” he added with smirk and an easy shrug. Cyril was hardly used to this much attention on his person, content always to be seen and not heard as one of Lestat’s loyal bodyguards. He repeated his new name silently in his head. Lucas, Lucas, Lucas.
Once the crowd around Cyril’s chest moved back, Lestat leaned in to take a look for himself. “How come I’ve never seen that before?” he asked with delighted surprise. It looked just like ancient paintings he’d seen on cave walls during his lifetime of travel and exploration around the globe.
Cyril tried not to notice how his heart leapt at the question. How could Lestat have known about it, after all? Despite the inordinate amount of time they spent together, it was always that Cyril watched while Lestat did whatever it was he might want to do. Cyril said nothing in answer, his throat too dry and not about to speak his true thoughts under the gaze of the three lovely ladies. He simply took a gulp of his champagne and tried not to stare too ravenously at the blond girl as he leaned back in his seat, appearing far more casual and at ease than he actually felt.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, D, K, and B.
Chapter 112: Step Back
Summary:
Gregory thinks it's time to have a word with Louis about how he's been spending too much time with Lestat.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Gregory’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was a text from his limo driver, who was also one of the members of his security guard. It was quick and to the point: Sir, driving your friends and three young women to a nearby villa. Back before you know it.
Gregory placed the phone back in his pocket, the mellow edge to his drunken buzz all but disappearing now. “Well,” he announced to the others at the dinner table in a tight voice. “Apparently Lestat, Marius, and now Cyril have found some young women who are down to f—” He cut himself off before finishing the last word and gestured to a server to bring him another beer. “I don’t expect we’ll be seeing them anymore this evening.”
Louis looked at him as though he had suddenly sprouted a second head. “Down to…?” He let the sentence hang there a moment, then the quizzical look on his face melted into consternation and annoyance. Louis would have expected this of Lestat when he had been a vampire, but now that they were mortal, the thought of Lestat dragging Marius and Cyril off with random women made his stomach turn. Surely Marius and Cyril were only going along for the ride to placate Lestat and make sure he wouldn’t do something irresponsible. Or maybe Lestat was instead trying to distract Marius? Louis found himself feeling even more sorry for Armand, and Bianca as well.
“Damn him,” Louis growled beneath his breath. He snapped his gaze up to Gregory, his brows pinching at the center. “Why did you insist on saying something so cruel to Marius? Why brag about something so private and intimate to him so heartlessly and in public?”
Gregory sighed, leaning back in his chair, adopting the composed, authoritative air he used in his company boardroom. He looked Louis in the eye as he spoke. “Louis, I understand you’re upset, but let’s be clear: this is about transparency, even if it’s uncomfortable for some to hear. Marius is an adult; Armand is also an adult. They can handle a bit of bluntness. Certainly Marius knows what young men with hormones get up to when we are alone together. I didn’t intend for it to be cruel, but apparently my humor wasn’t as amusing as I thought. Although Lestat clearly got it. Now, let’s move on from this and focus on other topics.”
“Beside the point, all of that!” Louis insisted, his voice low, though his ire was clearly piqued. He wasn’t about to be ‘CEO-ed’ as Gregory so often did when he wanted to gain the advantage in Court gatherings. “The fact remains you said it, and in front of everyone here, and seemingly boasting. It’s disrespectful to Armand as well as Marius, not to mention all of us.” He sighed, then drained the rest of his wine glass. “What’s done is done,” he said, pushing a cut of meat about on his plate as though he were considering taking another bite but lacked the will, all enthusiasm drained from him.
Irritation simmered beneath Gregory’s outwardly calm exterior. Perhaps the only sign being the tick in his tightly held jaw as he continued to look squarely at Louis. He was more than aware that Armand and Bianca were watching this exchange. Armand perhaps not as fully cognizant due to the alcohol. Gregory thought again of Lestat and how he’d taken off with Marius and Cyril with barely any consideration for letting them know. This was not Gregory’s fault, but the implication from Louis was that it was.
“Louis,” he began, placing the cloth napkin from his lap onto the table, and standing up from his seat. He held a hand out in the direction of the restaurant’s exit. “Please join me outside. I want to discuss several things with you.” He held eye contact, noting the still deep green of Louis’s eyes and the dark lashes framing them.
Louis frowned with suspicion. Glancing aside to Bianca and Armand, he said, “Rest assured, we will not just leave you both here unannounced.” Gently he stroked the top of Armand’s hair, down to his ear, then he fixed Gregory in a pointed look and stood. “Very well.” He followed Gregory outside, straightening his clothing as he walked. He could commend the man in one sense, at least, for requesting privacy for whatever it was he was about to say.
There was a stone bench along the wall outside the restaurant, and thankfully the air was not so stiflingly heated anymore after sunset. Gregory didn’t sit on the bench, choosing instead to stand. He turned to Louis, inhaling deeply of the fresh air and crossing arms on his chest. How should he broach this topic? Perhaps first he should address again what had happened at dinner. “Thank you for coming outside with me,” he started, eyes fixed on Louis’s. He wished more than anything he had his blood drinker abilities back at this moment, for he wanted to know what was behind Louis’s handsome visage. What he was truly thinking. Though he could guess pretty easily that it wasn’t positive thoughts about Gregory.
“Louis, for whatever I said in there that has so upset you, I sincerely apologize. It was not meant to upset anyone. Armand is not upset by it. Armand is just drunk off his ass. And as for Marius, he is responsible for his own emotions. I’m sure he would say the same. Bianca, Cyril, Lestat: they all took it in stride for the humor it was. Now Lestat has gone off with some women. It’s irritating, yes, but that’s how he is, and you know it. I’d appreciate it if you would not chastise me as if I were a clueless bumbling fool. I’m aware I’m coming off to all of you as very young, enthusiastic, perhaps not as serious as you would expect of one who just lost immortality. But this is my way. This is the way I was as a young man in the ancient world. This is perhaps what drew Queen Akasha to me. I’m not going to apologize for that.”
Louis, for his part, was at least somewhat impressed that Gregory had offered an apology. But he was still dubious about why exactly Gregory had elected to take their conversation outside, if this was all he meant to convey. “I don’t expect you to be serious,” he said, adopting Gregory’s stance of folded arms. “Lestat is anything but, after all. But at least, please, have some care for the feelings of your friends.” Louis’s voice had softened considerably, his ire subsiding in deference to Gregory despite everything.
Gregory gave a small smile to indicate he heard and understood this request, but he didn’t verbally acknowledge, as he didn’t feel he’d been particularly uncaring about anyone’s feelings.
He uncrossed his arms and instead clasped his hands together behind his back. Well, now that they had that aside, he wanted to address the real reason for requesting privacy. “Louis, I would like to discuss Lestat with you.” He paused for just a moment to select his words. He didn’t want to just immediately confront Louis with the issue. He needed to approach gently. “I understand you and he have a complicated history. However, we are mortal now. It’s time to let go of those dynamics and shift into this new way of life accordingly, don’t you agree?”
Louis simply stared at him, his gaze narrowing, brows pinched at the center. “What do you mean?” he asked, genuinely confused as to what exactly Gregory was hinting toward. “While he is no longer the Prince of vampires, he is every bit as much of a Prince to me. One I would follow anywhere, despite all.”
Gregory took a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds and then letting it out slowly. He looked away from Louis, at the lovely pot of bright orchids beside the bench. Perhaps he was going to have to dive right to the point after all.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Lestat. I understand. He’s familiar to you. He was your Maker, and perhaps you are falling back on feeling he is also still your protector in some way.” He looked back to Louis, meeting his gaze, ensuring his tone was firm yet calm. “What I’m saying here, Louis, is that it’s becoming a problem. Lestat and I are trying to build something together, and it’s difficult when you are always around, making him feel he must continue to be the guardian. What he needs really is space to be his own person in this new mortal lifetime, to be more present in our relationship. I’m sorry if this is painful to hear, but I think it’s time for you to step back and give us that time. I need you to understand where I’m coming from and to respect our boundaries.”
Louis’s expression hardened, his heartbeat speeding up. He could feel it in his throat, the tightness there threatening to strangle him, the odd spike of adrenaline making his face numb and his vision blur. He blinked then shook his head. “You feel you have more of a right to ask such a thing of me than I have to ask it of you?” he said, incredulous, though his tone was even, his back straight in an attempt to maintain his composure. His bottom lip trembled, no matter how he willed it to stop and his fists were clenched beneath both of his folded arms.
Gregory had everything he could ever want or need. And yes, they were still vampires, but he had a family and a wife, a little coven who loved and cared for him. What or who did Louis have in this world to cling to totally but Lestat? Armand would be there for him, would catch him if this were truly his fate. But Louis would never stand in the way of what connection Armand had with Marius, would never want to hinder them.
Louis felt the lump in his throat thicken, and his eyes threaten to mist over. “And what does Lestat say to all this?” he demanded, a bit more curtly than he intended.
Gregory hadn’t expected this vehemence. Though, what he had expected he couldn’t say. “Lestat doesn’t need to know about this,” he replied evenly. “I think we can agree Lestat has enough on his plate. And he would never himself tell you that you’re in any way intruding on his time. I’ve made it more than clear to Lestat what my desires and intentions are with him. He has never once said to me that he isn’t on the same page.” Gregory gazed placidly upon Louis, tempted to reach out and place a comforting hand on his arm, but not wanting to intrude on his personal space after having walked in on it earlier that afternoon.
Louis stood there in silence, rigid and tense, his teeth clenched shut and his arms folded so tightly that they began to go numb. After several more moments of glared daggers, he snapped, “Bullshit! I say nothing to him of his dalliances with you, because I respect his whims and inclinations. I begrudge you none of your time with him, allow him his freedom,” he said, thinking to himself, openly anyway. Again, he shook his head. “And now you say this, giving him no agency in this, or in his actions, expecting me to simply cower and acquiesce to your audacious request!? Again, I say, Bullshit!”
Gregory felt anger flare, a hot rush of frustration surging through him. He took a deep breath, reining it in, refusing to let it control him. His voice, when he spoke, was tight but measured. “Louis, you need to understand something. I was never a whim or a simple inclination for Lestat. Our relationship is real, and it’s serious.”
Gregory stepped closer, his eyes locked onto Louis’s with an intensity that was hard to ignore. He reached out and placed a hand on Louis’s shoulder, his grip firm but not aggressive. “Lestat has full agency. We all have full agency in this. So we will all of us discuss it. Tomorrow, over breakfast. How does that sound?”
Louis almost laughed in his face, not because he thought Gregory was ridiculous or because he thought the idea was a bad one. It was more that he found it funny that Gregory expected Lestat to show up for breakfast.
“Very well, then,” Louis said finally, finding it convenient too that Gregory was willing to give Lestat agency now that Louis had demanded it. “I honestly don’t know what you expect to come of any of this.” Louis uncrossed his arms. “And I still can’t believe you would even ask this, knowing all you do about our connection, about how much I…” Louis sucked in a breath and trembled, a lump catching in his throat. He hesitated, not because he was ashamed to say aloud these words in his heart, but instead because of sheer magnitude of their weight and how much it shook him to his very core to imagine he might never be able to say these words to Lestat again were he to agree to ‘step back’ as Gregory wished.
“I love him,” Louis pronounced, finite, proudly, true, his chin upturned as he stared at Gregory with an intensity of his own.
Gregory nearly scoffed at this. “Everyone loves him, Louis. Why is it even difficult for you to speak it? It should just flow off the tongue. I love Lestat!”
Gregory took a deep breath, raking fingers back through his hair. He didn’t want to be a bastard about this but, really? Was Louis really bringing up his connection to Lestat?
“Yes, your connection is undeniable. But it’s a history scarred by your rejection of him. Your abandoning of him over and over when he needed you most. Leaving him in heartache after heartache. And now, now you are human and you are suddenly his most devoted love? I don’t think even he fully believes that.” Gregory paused, taking in Louis’s full form. He was truly a beauty, even without the Blood. But Gregory knew it was a very dangerous beauty that couldn’t be fully trusted. And his poor Lestat was a sucker for it. “He deserves one who will stand by him consistently and not just when it’s a desperate fearful need. So yes, I want you to step aside, because he needs to experience happiness and security and not to be under this dark shadow of your shared past.”
“I vowed my devotion to him well before we found ourselves this way,” Louis snapped, wanting to defend himself immediately.
He paused however, knowing he would only be lowering himself in that futile attempt, as Gregory was a seasoned argumentative CEO, fully capable of twisting anyone’s words to his own advantage, to bolster his own exacting demands. Louis couldn’t properly express the pain in his heart to Gregory either, for how desperately he loved Lestat. How hopelessly besotted he was and always had been. Denying it? Yes. Protesting and holding himself back? Sometimes. If only to keep himself from plunging headlong into everything that was Lestat, in fear of losing himself entirely in that blessedly hedonistic undertow of Lestat’s all-consuming vivacity. He had cast all that repression and trepidation aside last year when he came to live in the chateau in Paris, and had thrown himself into supporting Lestat in whatever endeavors he wished, for the good of the people, Lestat’s people.
Louis was done here, done with argument, and was now regretting the choices of the rich meat with such delectable spices he had consumed at dinner. His stomach turned, and he put a hand to his face, his long slender fingers, pressing gently to the spot between his brows to ground himself.
“I am neither desperate, nor fearful,” Louis pronounced, dropping his hand back to his side. “I know what he needs.” And with that, he turned and stormed back into the restaurant.
Gregory exhaled deeply, his disappointment evident. He watched Louis go, feeling both frustration and empathy. He understood Louis’s love for Lestat, and he couldn’t dismiss Louis’s history with him, even if it was a turbulent painful one for Lestat. It was all so very beyond frustrating.
But he was Gregory Duff Collingsworth, formerly Nebamun. He was a man of great talent when it came to challenges of any kind. Did he not have a family of beloveds who all got along amazingly? Certainly, this could be fixed. Some balance reached.
He looked up at the stars that were beginning to appear and thought of the abrupt departure of Lestat, Cyril, and Marius. He was confused and slightly wounded by it. Had his harmless, and yes juvenile, comment really triggered their sudden exit? He might need to reevaluate the dynamics at play there too. Were they all truly this overly-sensitive? Gregory yearned for authenticity and openness, not the tiptoeing around that seemed necessary in their circle now. He wanted to speak boldly, to be heard and seen without inhibitions.
He took out his phone and sent a text to his security head, asking him to get another car here ASAP, as he wanted to go out to a club. The loudest most populous and engaging club this side of Rio had to offer.
Notes:
This chapter written by D and K.
Chapter 113: A Good Time
Summary:
Lestat is determined to get Marius laid, and Gregory gives Louis a challenge he instantly regrets.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Leaning back in the limousine’s rich leather seat, Lestat slung an arm over the top of it behind Marius’s shoulders as he sipped at his champagne. “James is an artist,” he told the women. “If you want more tattoos, you should ask his advice.” He grinned as this made all three of the lovely things turn their attention to Marius, and the one with the wonderfully round breasts, Yessica, asked him what kind of art he did.
Marius looked at her. She had nice, large eyes, but not innocent enough. Not doe-eyed. Not the eyes that made him feel like he was trapped in both heaven and hell. Quickly and without giving himself a moment to change his mind, he drank his champagne. For Yessica’s part, she couldn’t figure out if he was weird or shy.
“Painting,” he replied finally. She didn’t know much about it besides seeing it in movies about long ago. Most of the art she engaged with was online, and that was made up of digital art and drawings. She told him she thought that was ‘cool,’ which he thought was sweet enough.
It was a bit provocative when she asked if he did body painting. He admitted that he had not, but he kept quiet about the thoughts tossing about in his head starring, of course, Armand as the most beautiful and seductive canvas for such a project. So he motioned for her to come closer and leaned forward to close distance, and he took out his phone to show her a few pictures he’d done. He only had photos of them because he’d sent them off to Pandora because she said such things helped her fall asleep at night.
There was a notification on the screen of a voicemail from his lawyer, but Marius swiped it away and opened the album of paintings and handed it to Yessica. She scanned through, a bit surprised because she believed that he liked to paint, but not necessarily that he was skilled. She’d also expected maybe some fruit or flowers, or an outdoor scene ala Bob Ross. What she hadn’t expected was that he was good. Good like those painters she’d learned about in her Intro to European History class Freshman year.
“And what do you do?” the other dark-haired girl, Lizette, asked Lestat.
He took his time to swallow more champagne before answering. “I write books about vampires.”
“Like Twilight?” The blond one, Carly perked up.
Lestat smirked at her with a calm amusement. “Not quite.”
Lizette pushed her friend playfully and asked, “Anything I might have heard of?”
“No,” Lestat sighed as if he suffered endlessly from his lack of notoriety. “But perhaps one day I’ll make a name for myself.”
Marius restrained a chuckle. Lestat was the furthest thing from humble, but he was smart. When he let his head do the talking and not his heart. At least they were all good liars. Marius didn’t think eighty million copies worldwide, two movies, and a Broadway play counted as hardly known, but it was a far better story than the truth. Not to mention the rock album, music videos and concert. The plethora of merchandise. The fan club and yearly ball. He reached over and gave ‘Sebastian’ a comforting pat, a gesture of support for his distant literary dreams.
“Why vampires?” Carly asked, not to be deterred by the chastising of her friend. She’d recently begun diving into shifter romance, opening the door wider to the much bigger monster-fucker genre.
“Because I wish I was one,” Lestat answered with a grin. “Could you imagine being this forever?” he gestured to his whole self in a way that came off far more playful than conceited. “But tell me what you do with your pulchritudinous selves, each of you. I’m sure it’s far more stimulating than spending endless, shapeless hours typing away behind the gleaming sterile light of the computer screen.” The fact that they’d even asked what he ‘did’ indicated that they were of the middle class at least, with occupations beyond leisure and luxury.
Yessica looked up from the album of paintings on Marius’s phone to give him a puzzled expression because she did not know what pulchritudinous meant. Of course she knew enough by his manner that he was complimenting them, but not how.
The painter, James, seemed to read her confusion. “It means beautiful,” he told her in a soft murmur. “It’s from the Latin.”
She felt her stomach erupt in butterflies that the hot guy with the playful expression and flirtatious tone would say that. “I know some Latin, too,” she said to the men.
Marius tipped his head curiously because only lawyers, clergymen, doctors, historians, and Harry Potter fans bothered much, and he tried to guess which one she was. A pondering sidetracked when she started to stumble over the strangest, poorly pronounced exorcism he’d ever heard (which was more than one as priests had tried to exorcise him a few times in his life). Marius was utterly perplexed.
She smiled. “It’s from Supernatural.”
“I don’t know what that is,” he said kindly, which she thought was silly because everyone knew what that was surely. But she did not want to embarrass him, so she turned to ‘Sebastian’ again to finally answer his question about what they all did. “We’re in college.”
“You are!?” Lestat leaned forward in his seat, instantly invested. The modern structure of college wasn’t a form of education that existed at all when he was a mortal—not that he ever would have had the opportunity to attend it if it did. His young boyhood friend Nicolas had attended the equivalent in their time, and when Lestat had met his student associates, he’d found them pretentious and dull. But the college students of this era had such a different lifestyle that seemed like a whole lot of fun, at least from the outside looking in.
“What are you studying?” he asked. He’d thought these girls seemed too old to still be in college, so perhaps they were graduate or PhD students, which was all the more intriguing. “I never went,” he said with a soft laugh. “Let me live vicariously through you.”
It was just then that the limousine pulled to a stop in front of the rented villa where the women were staying, and Lestat opened up the door to hand them each out before following. He asked the driver to be a good chap and bring in all the champagne bottles, then slipped a thousand Brazilian real into his hand before letting him get back to his actual job of skulking at Gregory’s behest.
Yessica trotted close to Sebastian, encouraged by his interest in her life, which seemed so genuine. And he really did have the best smile, so dazzling and charming. She ignored the looks of her two friends who teased her with flirtatious eyes. “I am getting my Masters in psychology,” she informed him. “I wanted to be a psychologist, but now I want to move more to forensic psychology.”
Cyril followed them all into the villa, used to trailing behind so that he could survey the areas they entered, and perfectly content to do so. Marius too hung back walking just in front of him, figuring the protector in the other man would prefer the order. Though he did walk to the side, or else he’d block Cyril’s view of Lestat. He quietly took his phone out of his pocket, subtle in the dark. He couldn’t expect to see anything new on the screen, really, as he’d have felt it go off against his leg if someone had sent a message or attempted a call.
And he was truly torn between the things he wanted. Torn but still resolved because decisiveness was the only way to sort through this mess. If there was a text there from Armand, any text whether it was angry, sad, or unemotional, he’d turn around and go back to the restaurant. He’d run back if he had to.
And that was where he was torn. Deep in his heart, he did not want Armand to be sad over him. The best thing for Armand was to let him go. Maybe he already had, but it was so difficult to understand the Armand from dinner from the one in his bed earlier. The needy boy in his bed had been his soul’s greatest desire. The very thing that breathed life into his dead heart. The one who needed him, and he desperately needed to be needed. So different from the cold, angry one at dinner. The one who very vocally and publicly did not need him. The one who did not want to be near him. Where was the one in his bed who’d grabbed at him as if he could not get them close enough? It didn’t make sense. And he knew if he asked Armand to make it make sense, he’d just get angry because he’d expect Marius to just know.
There was nothing since the message from his lawyer, so he put the phone back in his pocket and then put his arm over Cyril’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“I am,” Cyril said, as calm and amenable as ever when following along behind Lestat on one of his whims. “I’m used to this. You know how he is.” Marius’s arm around his shoulders spiked something deep down within Cyril long dormant. A strange visceral longing, a rush of heat at his core. Glancing this way and that at the women only served to fan this flame within him. “And are you?” he asked Marius.
“Of course I am,” Marius lied easily, telling himself the small deception was a kindness to Cyril because he did not want the kind man to worry himself unnecessarily over Marius’s condition. He gazed at the three women who walked in front of them, disliking the absence of their thoughts. He wished he could sink into them and pull out their histories, their preferences, their secrets, and their intentions. He wasn’t worried about them, as they seemed sweet and harmless, but it would be so much easier to talk to them if he knew more about them. “Though I am afraid that I am horribly inept at small talk.”
Cyril laughed lightly. “You and me, both,” he admitted jovially. “But we might as well try, if this is what Lestat wants.”
Lestat meanwhile hung on the girls’ every word as they described their education and career aspirations, as they led him through the house to the back patio where a large lagoon-shaped pool was lit up from glowing lights below the waters. Carly skipped off to the tiki hut with its full bar to start mixing up a pitcher of Mai Tais.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Marius and Cyril trailing behind like the couple of old farts they were. He’d put an end to that right now. Catching Yessica lightly by the wrist—such soft skin!—he drew her close to whisper near her ear as his eyes darted in Marius’s direction. “My friend likes you,” he said with a conspiratorial smile. “He just saw his ex with the new man. Maybe you can help get his mind off it? He loves art, and history, and beauty,” he added a little breathlessly as his gaze drifted over her with obvious appreciation.
She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a girlish laugh and her eyes flicked to Marius. “He seems so…serious.”
“Oh, he is,” Lestat said lightly as if it were Marius’s best quality. “He is very serious about appreciating beauty. And extremely good at it.” This made her blush and laugh again, and he let her wrist slip out of his hand. “Show him the hot tub,” he suggested with a wink.
With an excited smile of her own, she crossed the flagstones to meet the other men as they came into the yard. Cyril stepped away as she began to chat with Marius. His eyes tracked Lestat as he went to join the blond girl in the tiki hut, asking her if they had a sound system so he could put on some music, then Cyril walked toward the pool to simply look at it and then slowly scan all of their surroundings in his usual habit of checking the perimeter.
When his gaze had made a full circle and once more landed on the tiki hut, Lestat’s back was to him now as he worked a stereo on the counter, and the other dark-haired woman was flirting with him again. But the blond girl was looking straight at Cyril with clear interest in her eyes. He paused and felt his heart jump. Surprising himself, Cyril found his feet taking him toward the girl, and his hand reached out to touch her arm as she bade him to follow her to the pool.
—————————————————
After his infuriating conversation with Gregory outside the restaurant, Louis returned to the dinner table, and sat back down, giving a miserable look to Bianca and toward Armand, though he didn’t expect poor Armand to acknowledge him, which was well within his rights given his state. Louis couldn’t even tell if he was awake or not where he was slumped against Bianca’s shoulder. “I am so sorry, Bianca,” he said to her as she softly stroked Armand’s hair.
“I’m used to it all really,” she said, but her tone was hardly sad, simply said with a knowing smile as though just maybe, she found it all a little entertaining.
“What of the bill?” Louis asked, reaching into his pocket for his fine leather folded wallet and money clip. “Let me pay.”
“Oh no, it’s already taken care of,” she said, giving him an appreciative smile that showed all of her beauty at once and left him for a moment speechless as he slowly put his billfold away.
Meanwhile, Gregory made a quick trip to the restaurant’s restroom before returning to his seat the table. What a sad group. He felt bad for lovely Bianca, as she seemed such a sunny positive individual, yet here she was with a morose Armand and angry Louis. And why was Armand so miserable? As if life itself was over.
Gregory grabbed the attention of a server and ordered several desserts to go. He checked his phone to see that the car he’d asked for would arrive in ten minutes and also the one coming back from dropping off Marius, Lestat, and Cyril. Placing the phone on the table he glanced to the three across from him. “I’m going clubbing. You’re all free to join me if you like. Armand, the world isn’t over. I’m not sure why you’re acting like Marius himself didn’t fuck Lestat the very same night they turned human. He’s no saint, you know. None of us are. He can handle the fact you gave me a blow job. In fact, he seems to be handling it just fine. And Louis, are you even capable of having a good time? Weren’t you a notorious drunk hanging out at the taverns with prostitutes on the waterfront in your time? Drink more hard liquors, please. The wine isn’t working for you.”
Gregory downed the last of his beer and gave a great sigh of annoyance. He really wished those cars would get here faster. He was going to shove chocolate cake in his mouth and maybe take some Molly.
Louis narrowed his eyes not for the first time at Gregory. Was everything a challenge with him? He wasn’t even going to grace those remarks about his former mortal life with a comment. Gregory had no idea what depths of guilt, sorrow and pained avoidance had driven Louis to such a state. There was a pang of anger and horror, dread and despair that gripped him all at once to remember such times and feel the memory tenfold as a mortal, deprived of what little detachment his vampirism had awarded him.
“It is working just fine.” Louis seethed. Back then, he had wanted to die, had wanted someone, anyone, to simply kill him and rid him of the burden of doing it himself. None of the drunken stuporous debauchery he had enjoyed had ever been about having ‘fun.’ But Louis knew if he pointed this out now, Gregory would simply double down on this line of reasoning. Louis certainly knew what modern ‘clubbing’ was, had certainly seen plenty of such scenes in all decades of the modern era. But again, he had experienced it all with that vampiric armor of detachment, not this frail and needy, wanton body he possessed now.
“I’ll go,” Louis snapped, as though he had just thrown down a glove. Immediately he regretted it. annoyed at himself and the sudden flare of pride that had driven him to such ridiculous words. From his seat he stared daggers at Gregory, as though that alone would force him to rescind the invitation.
A burst of laughter escaped Gregory at the look Louis was giving him. As if he could incinerate with eyes alone. “Don’t do me any favors,” he said, pulling a large sum of cash from his pocket and tossing it on the table for a tip to the servers. They brought him the desserts he’d ordered in to-go boxes. His phone buzzed as well, indicating the car had arrived. Gregory stood, glancing to Louis. “Let’s go then. Hope you like extra loud music and crowded dance floors. Do you enjoy recreational drugs?” He looked then to Bianca and Armand, a smile curving his lips. “You two are still invited too. It’s going to be memorable… Or not. Depending how messed up we get.”
Armand was watching Louis closely, a pursed expression on his face. Though his vision was blurry, he could read Louis’s expression and body language well enough. Pushing up from Bianca’s shoulder, he used the table to steady himself as he got to his feet. “You need me to come with you,” he said to Louis, and it wasn’t a question.
Louis didn’t argue. He knew Armand well enough to know that when he proclaimed something to be so that he would be hard pressed and to go against it.
Armand’s hand groped to find Bianca’s behind him. “Want to come?” he asked her, though his eyes stayed on Louis.
She considered it a few moments, her gaze shifting between the three of them, but then she gave a coy smile and shook her head in a delicate gesture. “I shall go home and enjoy the peace and quiet.”
Louis broke his eye contact with Gregory and looked at Armand, then Bianca, feeling sorry for her to be left in such a way, though she hardly seemed upset by it, which gave him some relief. He rose again from his seat, took up his wine glass, and downed the remaining liquid, then sat it back down determinedly and nodded to Armand as though they were about to march off to battle together. “All right then,” he said, his jaw set. “Let’s go.”
Gregory could only laugh.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, K, B, and D.
Chapter 114: Sad States
Summary:
In a moment of pride, Louis accepted Gregory's invitation to go clubbing, and once Gregory starts passing out the party drugs, Louis changes his mind about Armand's offer to "distract" Gregory from Lestat.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
A half hour later, Louis found himself in a lively, neon-lit nightclub, pressed close to Armand on the edge of the dance floor. The place was bustling and vibrant in the heart of downtown Rio, and the beat thumping in his ears and the smell of alcohol, perfume and cologne was dizzying.
“Damn my pride,” he said to Armand, watching as Gregory went to the bar to procure drinks or whatever else he had planned for them. The man seemed to positively come alive in this heady chaos, and others were inexplicably drawn to Gregory’s handsome form and commanding presence. Louis kept a hand at Armand’s shoulder, more for his own comfort than Armand’s, truly, as the both of them had already been smiled and leered at by several women and men, young and old alike.
As Gregory made his way back through the throngs of people, drinks in hand, some of the liquid sloshed over the rims of the cups as bodies bumped into him from all sides. He wasn’t sure what he’d even gotten them to drink, just that it was strong and made his throat burn when he tried it. He laughed at Armand and Louis, looking like a couple of statues on the edge of the dancefloor. Music and pulsing bass reverberated through the very floor of the club; how could they not be moving at all to the beats?
Gregory leaned into Louis as he handed off one of the cups to him, all but pressing his lips to his ear so he could be heard as he yelled over the music. “Try to relax a little, will you? Do you even know what a good time is?”
Louis took the drink, and tried not to have any visible reaction to Gregory’s sudden looming presence. The man seemed nearly as insatiable as Lestat in many ways, and Louis worried in that moment that perhaps it was true, that Lestat and Gregory were more well-suited and evenly matched.
Gregory reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic baggie with several small colored pills inside of it. “You need some help?” he asked both Louis and Armand, not sure they could hear him, but his meaning was obvious as he shook the little bag before them.
Armand’s hand shot out and snatched it from him. Holding it close to his face in the dark room, he peered at the pills. “What do they do?” he asked. His only experience with drugs so far was when Gregory gave him the gummies on the boat. Those had given him a sense of extreme confidence, and Armand wasn’t sure if that would benefit Louis at all right now.
Pulling Louis down a little, Armand spoke at his other ear. “What do you want, anyway?” he asked. “Punish Lestat for leaving us?” Armand didn’t blame Marius for the same, because surely Marius would have come right back into the restaurant in a few minutes if it hadn’t been for Lestat’s influence.
Louis had looked uneasy enough before, but with this question and his mind having already been on his golden-haired Adonis, he seemed to grow even more-so. “No,” he admitted, unsure what either of them could possibly do to punish Lestat who was capable of having fun any way he pleased, and with anyone as well. “Just something strong to drink. I’m not fond of the thought of losing brain cells to whatever those pills are,” he added, afraid now that both Gregory and Armand were going to chide him for being a mood-killer. Quickly, he downed a good measure of what was in the cup Gregory had given him, and then had to fight to keep from coughing, so strong was the stuff. He made a face. “This is far worse than what Marius had at dinner!” he said loudly, so as to be heard.
Armand’s fingers twisted in Louis’s sleeve to draw his attention back. “Answer me,” he said close enough for Louis to hear but not Gregory. “Why did you follow him here? What does the pride you damn in yourself hope for from this?”
Louis turned back to him, and watched for a moment as his golden-brown eyes glittered in the glow of the club lights, the edges of his hair beautifully rimmed in vivid red neon. Louis pressed his lips to Armand’s ear and breathed in. He didn’t want to answer at all, because it was so self-degrading, but he leaned against Armand and closed his eyes, wincing. “To prove I’m not boring?” It came out more as a question than an answer. “That he’s not more…enticing than me? I don’t know, it’s ridiculous. Please don’t make me explain it, Armand.”
Armand’s hands came up to the sides of Louis’s face, which would have been a tender gesture if not for the awkwardness of the baggie in one of them. “To prove it to yourself?” he asked, his eyes pulling Louis’s in through the flickering lights. “Not to me… To him? He is an exceedingly simple man, Louis.” A little shiver ran through Armand as he recalled how Gregory had entreated him for sex on the yacht the other day, how tempted he’d been to give in, but then how easily he’d been able to ensnare him. Tilting his face up, he pressed a kiss between Louis’s eyes as if he had the power to open his third eye by it, and a warm sense of calm washed over Louis with that simple but meaningful kiss.
Gregory took several long gulps from his own drink and grabbed the bag of pills from Armand’s hand. It seemed Armand and Louis were having a ‘moment,’ and he certainly had more than enough distractions all around him now. He opened the bag and removed one of the tablets. A little alien face was stamped on it, which he found amusing. He tossed it in his mouth with another swallow of the alcohol.
“It’s MDMA,” he told them. “It will make you happy and less…” Gregory gestured at both men, to encompass their overall anxiety-ridden sad states. “Here,” he shoved the baggy into Armand’s pant pocket, making sure to get extra close and personal before stepping away from the two and letting the crowds engulf him and pull him into the dancing throngs. How he wished Lestat were here for this. Why had he abandoned them so quickly? Luckily, there were plenty of beautiful women and men here to distract.
Armand could not keep his eyes from following Gregory as he retreated, or from concentrating hard on the warm pressing sensation his hand left behind on his hip. Just the alcohol, he told himself, though he knew even then it was a lie.
Louis sighed and pushed his fingers gently through Armand’s hair. It was so hard to hear amid the loud thrum of music. Again, Louis bent toward Armand’s ear. “He thinks he’s better than I in all ways for Lestat. He wants me to concede to him. I refuse. Never!” Louis felt the heat of anger rise in him once again just to recall that stupid conversation with Gregory outside the restaurant. The nerve of the man! “I take back what I said before. Distract him for me to your heart’s content.”
The blush that rose to Armand’s face then was due to how conveniently Louis’s words aligned with the tangled string pulling low in Armand’s being as he watched Gregory disappear into the crowd. Don’t want him, Armand told himself, nothing can compare. And yet, his heart was hammering now, something like the thrill of the hunt blooming at the back of his throat, that hot bloody craving that demanded to be satisfied.
Louis stood to his full height once again for a moment and took Armand’s shoulder in his hand, squeezing. Then his lips came back down to Armand’s ear and he pressed a kiss there to his cheekbone before urging, “But please don’t harm yourself on my account. I couldn’t bear it.”
“Of course not,” Armand murmured, barely able to focus on Louis at all. But it was true. What harm could there possibly be in it for Armand? Gregory had been begging him for it on the boat. Armand knew it would only take the slightest encouragement to drive the man absolutely mad.
Blinking, he finally looked down at his pocket and withdrew the baggie of pills, gently pressing it into Louis’s hand. Then he brushed a feathery parting kiss along the edge of Louis’s jaw before seeming to meld right into the crowd and disappear from sight.
Louis stood still, now alone against the wall, though the bustling crowd of gyrating bodies was only a few feet away. He could feel the thrumming powerful beat through to his very core, and he stood with his eyes closed, savoring the low grind of the bass drop that reverberated up through the floor from his toes and climbed his spine, making his scalp tingle. It was almost arousing, that luscious thrum, and the moment Louis realized this, he snapped his eyes open and stared at the bag in his hand, looking for whatever Gregory had popped into his mouth earlier. The little pill hung innocuously in the air in front of him, and then Louis looked back toward the crowd, squinting to see if he could catch a glimpse of Armand or Gregory, but they were nowhere.
On the other side of the dance floor, Gregory was engulfed in the sensory overload of the club, the pulsing music, the rhythm of the lights and the colors all around him. He let the bodies move him along, and he tried to get closer to the front, where it seemed the most excitement was to be had with all of the young humans swaying and moving with the beats. When had he ever been lost in such a sea of mortal experiences? Truly a part of them and not the hunter pretending to be like them. Memories flashed within him of his first mortal lifetime, and the great tribal dances and celebrations he had been part of. This was not so very different at all.
A gentle touch fell upon his wrist, and Gregory opened his eyes, having not even realized they were closed. It was Armand, directly before him, the lights coloring him in dazzling rainbows, looking as angelically out of place amid the spinning cloud as he ever might have as a vampire.
“My drink?” he said, gesturing to one of the two Gregory still held. His fingers slid over the skin of Gregory’s wrist, drawing the plastic cup close, his eyes locked up on his, the flashing colors of light glinting off their shimmering surface, as if fireworks were erupting between them.
Gregory had not realized he was still holding Armand’s cup, though it was not quite as full any longer, due to all the jostling around. Armand’s eyes were like liquid honey and Gregory laughed, not sure why he did so. It was just that Armand appeared like a sultry seraph, a vision of seduction, and it made him feel giddy.
Gregory licked his own lips involuntarily as Armand drank from the cup still in his hand. He watched as Armand swallowed, and every ounce of blood raced to his cock. Instantly he was hard, and the memory of those lips wrapped around him, swallowing him. He stared down into Armand’s eyes, speechless, mouth dry, longing to lean in and lick the sheen of alcohol from those lips.
Their corners lifted in a small smile, as if Armand knew exactly what Gregory was thinking, and very much enjoyed the fact that he was thinking it. Yet he did nothing to indulge his unspoken desires. He finished the drink, and only then finally released Gregory’s eyes to turn away and set the cup on top of a large black speaker.
When he turned back to Gregory, Armand’s face was lit up with amusement, making him radiant in the swirling lights. “It’s not that different from when we were at sea, is it? The swaying and the rocking, the rise and swell, and any step might just tip us overboard.” Except this time, it was a sea of bodies and music and intoxication.
Gregory couldn’t quite hear the words Armand was saying, as they were directly beside one of the speakers, and the thumping music was vibrating every cell within his body. He could only see that Armand’s luscious lips were moving, that his giant doe eyes were like liquid sensuality, and his body was so very close.
Every nerve within Gregory screamed to touch Armand. So he did. He closed the tiny distance between them and slid his hands down and around to cup the firm squeezable bottom, pressing his arousal against the younger man and moving erotically with the music. He nuzzled at the shell of Armand’s ear. “Did you take one of the pills?”
“Not yet.” Armand’s voice had a coy lilt, and his fingers danced up Gregory’s sides, as if looking for the perfect place to hold him, but in no hurry to decide. Shifting his body just right, he fit himself against Gregory’s frame, as if they were puzzle pieces. “You want to get me high again?” he teased. “You think I’ll suck you off again if you do?”
Those last words Gregory could easily read on Armand’s lips. Every cell within his body screamed for Armand right that moment. His mind flooded with the memory of Armand pleasuring him so expertly. He leaned in and captured that mouth with his own, kissing deeply. The tiny pill he’d taken was definitely doing its job, the kiss alone nearly enough to send him over the edge into bliss.
Armand allowed it, even returned it with heat, but only for a few seconds before turning his face to the side and pulling away with a pleased laugh. His hands clutched the front of Gregory’s shirt, one of his thumbs sneaking between the buttons. “Dance,” he commanded, loud enough to be heard, and he pushed at Gregory’s body to urge him to move with the music.
Why was Armand such a tease? Gregory’s hands slid from the globes of Armand’s ass, up to his waist. Such a compact little body Armand had. His own body thrummed simply to feel Armand under his hands. Even that tiny brush of Armand’s finger against the skin of his chest had Gregory struggling not to wrap strong arms around the younger man and dry hump him against this disturbingly loud giant speaker box thing they stood beside.
But Armand wanted to dance. Gregory stared deeply into his lovely eyes, happy to comply with the request. In fact, his body seemed already to have complied, moving provocatively with the rhythm. He was as confident in his dance skills as he was in most everything else he did. He’d been raised dancing in communal celebrations with crowds of his fellow tribes. And later on in more classical dances with his beloved Chrysanthe over the centuries. More recently with Davis, a man who had pure skill and talent when it came to dancing. Gregory knew exactly how to draw his partner into the music with him, and this he did, pulling Armand into the rhythm, thrusting and sliding against him, holding the eye-contact suggestively.
Every time the thick shape of Gregory’s erection slid against him intoxicated Armand. There was no sense in denying that this effort at ‘distraction’ benefited himself as much as he hoped it did Louis. In all his five hundred years a vampire, Armand could do nothing more than stand still in a corner and mortals would fall under his seduction. But now that he was a human boy again, to know that all it took was a little teasing to make a man look into his eyes the way Gregory was doing now, filled him with a sense of power he hadn’t once tasted since losing his dark gifts. It thrilled him to consider that it would probably only take minimal effort on his part now to get Gregory to a point where he might do absolutely anything Armand asked.
As they writhed and gyrated against each other, Armand forgot entirely about the drugs Gregory had offered, so high already off of the attention. And when Louis appeared and joined them soon after, Armand turned away from Gregory at once to dance with him instead, purely to spark the man’s possessive instincts.
Gregory felt a stab of insult that Armand would dare turn from him, but it quickly vanished beneath the euphoria of arousal flowing inside of him. At first, he hadn’t realized it was Louis who Armand turned to. For certainly, the great introvert Louis de Point du Lac wouldn’t submit himself to the push and pull of this crowd of human bodies. But then the flash of lights illuminated the handsome beauty of the man himself, his green eyes bright and feverish, his skin pink with heat. A slow smile came over Gregory as he realized in his own drugged haze that Louis must have taken one of the pills.
Louis had, in fact, taken two. Didn’t mortals usually ‘take two, and call in the morning’ or something along those lines?
The lights danced before his eyes, his mind steeped in a dull fuzzy warmth from the little alien-stamped pill. Was he floating in air, was he swimming water, and did the sounds of the heavy music in his ears really make the lights pulsate in time to the ebb and flow of the melody? He didn’t know, didn’t care, only let the sensation carry him as every thought melted away into freeing bliss.
Notes:
To be continued!
This chapter written by Me, D and K.
Chapter 115: A Competition
Summary:
High on ecstasy, things get carried away between Louis, Gregory and Armand at the club.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Deeply under the influence of the drugs Gregory had given him, Louis danced up against Armand, melting into him, and he marveled at the silken cool feel of his shirt and the pleasant curve of his waist. The way the deep thrum of the bass reverberated from the nightclub’s dance floor up through his feet to his knees, and further up his spine, made Louis’s hair follicles stand on end, along with his cock. Had music such as this ever thrilled him before in such a manner, that it could make him flush with carnal anticipation?
Armand’s closeness was not helping, and behind him, Gregory loomed like a great dark cat in the flashing lights, his piercing eyes staring right into Louis. Their eyes met, held a moment, but then Louis snapped them back down to Armand with a quickness for the electricity he had felt in that dark gaze of Gregory’s.
Armand was equal parts striking, electric, enticing, delicate but fierce, his commanding demeanor not at all like the image of his form, comely and soft, round cheeks and large eyes. Louis slid his hand up Armand’s side, snaking his feather-light touch up to Armand’s ribcage, his chest and then his shoulder. A delirious sort of euphoria washed over Louis as he danced, his graceful but sultry movements in contrast to the bawdy grinding of those around them.
Just so, the music was pulsing in Gregory’s skin. Everything was vibrating. The crowd of bodies were a living, writhing mass, and he could feel everything, just like when he was a blood drinker. He could feel every single thing. With no conscious decision to do so, Gregory slid around Armand and came up alongside Louis. He was hungry for physical connection and obviously Louis was too. His limbs were loose as he danced against the other man.
He could tell by the dilated pupils in Louis’s eyes that he was very much under the influence. He leaned in close, pressing lips to Louis’s ear so that he might speak and be heard. “Did you take a pill?”
At first Louis made no indication he had heard nor cared for what Gregory said. He turned as he danced, his back to Gregory, side to Armand, continuing to move to his slow and writhing rhythm. It seemed he wouldn’t answer at all, but then he turned his head, glancing over his shoulder, as one hand found its way up into Armand’s hair at his nape.
“What do you think?” he said, his pupils blown, his gaze holding a sensuous and molten quality that spoke to his heightened sensitivity and continued ire with what Gregory had demanded of him tonight and all he had witnessed this afternoon.
If Gregory had been hard before, he was an iron rod now. Louis, so sensuous and inviting. Images of seeing him earlier today at the pinnacle of release as he lay on his bed, hand pumping at his groin, replayed in his mind. Gregory’s body slid against Louis’s back, and he made certain his arousal was evident to him. He wanted suddenly to feel what Lestat felt when he was with Louis. To know him completely. Had Armand even had that yet? Gregory dipped his head to kiss Louis’s throat where he could, the heat of that pale skin burning his lips.
Louis was incensed, on fire in more ways than one. The thrumming pulse of the music’s bass sent shock waves of vibration up his legs to his groin, and Louis could not ignore the sudden looming presence behind him, those lips at his throat, the unapologetic hardness pressing against him there. It was only then that Louis realized that he was also absolutely aroused, the music having taken him there, and the drugs too, most likely. The soft curls in Armand’s hair, the satin smooth skin of his neck and velvet tenderness of his ear had only inflamed his desire all the more, and Louis’s fingers tangled against Armand’s scalp. His other hand shot up over his head to fist into the hair at the back of Gregory’s head, yanking him downward, pressing him all the more against himself.
“Bastard,” Louis hissed, but craned his neck despite his words, giving Gregory all the more access to kiss him.
Gregory chuckled at this and took immediate advantage of the offered expanse of throat. His lips kissed languidly along warm skin, sucking ever so softly. His arms slid around Louis’s waist holding them all the closer together. He pressed a kiss just behind Louis’s ear, and then purred against it in ancient words, speaking erotic desires he was feeling for Louis in this moment, on this floor, with all these bodies pressed around them, all these beautiful lights and the vibrations of the music in his very blood. His hips moved of their own will against Louis, slow and sexual.
The pulsing sound, lights and sensations overwhelmed Louis, as if he could feel it all buffeting his skin, like he was floating in the ocean and each sensation was a new wave washing over him. He exhaled, his back arching. Gregory’s whispered words mingled with the music and beat, and Louis could almost see each word floating in the ether of chaotic beautiful color and sound, though he knew not their meaning.
He turned slowly, letting go of Armand so that he could face Gregory, and the hand that had been in Armand’s hair grasped Gregory’s shirt, his fist balling in the fabric to tug the man closer. “You won’t win,” he said, against the corner of Gregory’s mouth, grazing his teeth there, his gaze smoldering with righteousness.
Gregory’s lips curled into a knowing smile against Louis’s. His breath was warm, teasing as he murmured, “Is it a competition?” His mouth found Louis’s more completely, slow and deliberate, lips parting just enough to taste him. His hands slid down Louis’s back, possessive and coaxing, drawing him closer still until there was nothing between them but heat and the pulse of the music vibrating through their bodies. His hips rocked in time with the beat, his fingers tightening in Louis’s hair to anchor them both in the haze of light, sound, and flesh that surrounded them.
“You made it a competition,” Louis said against Gregory’s mouth, the words slurring. His nerves were on fire in the best of ways, everything breathing electric, the pulse and sound magnified. Each movement and subtle shift in Gregory’s body pressed against his sent his senses overboard. Louis’s fingers raked at Gregory’s shoulders, up into his hair and back down again. Their hips colliding, Louis rutted into Gregory’s own thrusts, his loins buzzing, desire growing alongside his anger as if they were weirdly inexplicably intertwined. Teeth at Gregory’s lips, Louis growled and kissed him violently.
Gregory made an involuntary sound of surprise at this sudden onslaught of aggressive carnality. Louis, though slight in build, had a strength to him that Gregory hadn’t predicted. He groaned deeply into Louis’s kisses, his own hands sliding down to grasp at his hips and then the firmness of his bottom, grinding against his thigh. The drugs made everything thrum and sing inside of him with an echoing lust and hunger. Could he possibly get Louis to agree to more?
Gregory pulled his mouth away from passionate kisses long enough to purr against Louis’s ear a suggestion that they go find a private location.
Louis felt his world turn sideways, the pumping beat heavy in his ears, Gregory’s words half lost between the sound of the people crowding them and the music. Even in his dazed state, Louis reached to grab Armand’s wrist, but wound up instead with his hand fisted in Armand’s shirt at his chest. He bit at Gregory’s jaw then, teeth scraping hungrily before he spoke. “Fine,” he growled.
Gregory’s whole body lit with an overwhelming passion to hear Louis accept the offer, and he stared deeply into his eyes, mesmerized by the green circling large dark pupils. Then he captured another deeply gratifying kiss, fueled by the hungry need on his side and the obvious angry lust on Louis’s.
Louis grabbed a wad of Gregory’s shirt in the same way as he’d taken Armand’s, and he pulled them both backward, toward the edge of the dance floor, though beyond that, the dark interior of the club was disorienting and confusing, and he wavered on his feet, steadying himself against the both of them, breathing heavy, as his heartbeat pounded in his ears and throat, in his chest and groin, out of time with the rhythm of the music, so that he swayed and fell into Gregory.
Armand’s arms came around him from behind, pulling him back against his chest, trying to separate him from Gregory so that Louis could lean his weight back against him for support instead. Although Armand was five inches shorter than him, he was a solid boy, and he could hold him. “Not fine,” he said with a little high-pitched laugh, just thinking of how ashamed Louis would be to remember doing such a thing in the morning, no matter how entertaining it might be in the moment. Pushing up on his toes, he pressed his lips close to Louis’s ear so that he could hear him over the music. “You have nothing to prove.”
Louis was momentarily caught off guard, the cognition of reason intruding into his heady and haphazard thoughts after Gregory’s hungry kiss had threatened to undo it all over again. “No, but he does,” he said, more determined than he meant, his words slurred for how the inebriation and euphoria warred for his body and his mind.
Gregory stared at Armand. Why was he trying to separate them? “Louis is a big boy. He can make his decisions on his own. Do you want to join us?” he offered with a wicked smile. A smile that had never failed to win lovers into his bed. Not even Akasha had been immune to this smile.
Dizzy, Louis let Armand support him, but his fist stayed balled in Gregory’s shirt, and he pulled them both sideways so that they all three ended up against a low backlit wall rimmed in pink and purple neon, a dark corner of the club where their every outline was rimmed in the glow of color. Armand’s hair looked as though it were burning magenta in the light, and Louis dipped to capture his lips, unable to help himself. After a moment, his fist tugged at Gregory’s chest, pulling him down toward their kiss so that Louis might turn his head easily to take Gregory’s mouth again, more aggressive and aggravated.
Armand was too stunned to notice at first. Had Louis ever kissed him like that before? Armand’s mind was reeling from the shock of arousal that burst in his center even as the alcohol sloshing in him quickly dulled its edges, made everything swim, and the pounding of the music made it feel like his feet weren’t even touching the floor. It was only by his heat that Armand realized how close Gregory was to them again. The man was positively radiating it, an inferno!
Squirming away from Louis’s grip, Armand wedged himself between the two of them, forcing their kiss to break so they could not reach each other’s mouths again, and he took hold of Gregory. One hand was over his shoulder and the other against the side of his chest, just under his arm, caressing the sensitive skin there through his thin shirt. Meanwhile, he stepped back so that his back pressed into Louis, pinning him somewhat to the wall behind him. Louis only gave a mild sound of gruff disappointment, but then, immediately distracted, buried his face in Armand’s hair, breathing in the scent of him and rubbing his cheeks into the curls, relishing in the softness.
Armand’s eyes locked up on Gregory’s, full of heat and challenge. “You’re forgetting yourself, don’t you think? Or are you really just this desperate?” A sparkle came into Armand’s eyes as his cheeks went round, as if he found Gregory’s uncontrollable adolescent lust so laughable.
A deep line appeared between Gregory’s brows. His dark eyes fixed on Armand, his hands pressed to the wall on either side of Armand and Louis, caging them both in. He could feel the vibration of the thumping music even in this wall, and it seemed to travel up his arms, pulsing into his body. It was a deeply pleasurable thing, thick and sensual. He smiled, eyes half-lidded. Their bodies were pressed so closely. He could feel the hitch in Armand’s breathing, the heat of him sinking into his own heat.
“I’m not desperate, Armand,” he purred, leaning in for a slow taste of that cherubic mouth. With monumental effort he pulled back and pressed his lips to the curve of Armand’s ear. His voice a deeply seductive whisper. “I’m drugged,” he admitted. “That’s what drugs are for. To make you forget yourself.”
Armand rolled his eyes, doing his best to ignore how dry his throat had gone. He’d never been very attracted to overly masculine men like Gregory. They were the antithesis of his first love, his master, the untouchable marble angel, cool and clean and so far from this earth. The opposite of Louis’s delicate gentlemanliness and sensitive heart, or Lestat’s sharp and challenging wit, or Daniel’s naïve boyish charm. And yet despite his very specific ingrained preferences, Armand’s body was very much reacting now to Gregory’s deeply earthy physicality, which wasn’t the same thing at all that had drawn Armand to him that day on the yacht, even in his similarly inebriated state. But damned if he was going to let it show.
“Well, I’m not,” he managed to say. Drunk, yes. Really rather drunk, but not drugged—and damn glad for it now! With the way they were both behaving, he never would have been able to take care of Louis if he were similarly affected! Armand would be lucky if he got Louis out of here with all his clothes on at this rate.
He put his hands flat on Gregory and slid them up his chest, but with enough pressure to make him back up a step so he could see his face again, that taunting look still in his eyes. “Don’t tell me you came all the way here only to kiss the ones you brought with you?” His gaze shot around the room to all the beautiful young bodies dancing and writhing in the hazy colorful dark. “Such a buffet to choose from. Or were your fangs not the only thing you lost with the transformation?”
Louis’s face in Armand’s hair, he moaned into the scarlet hued neon-lit curls, his hands ghosting up either side of Armand’s waist beneath his arms, snaking around to caress his abdomen and chest hungrily, relishing in the feel of his shirt’s fabric and the shape of every curve and angle below it. Fingertips ghosted over a nipple, then skirted along his ribs before daring to venture lower toward his hips and thighs. Louis’s arousal was plainly evident, his hardness pressed against the comfortable curve of Armand’s ass, and to the beat of the music overhead, his hips rocked into Armand’s, a rolling slowness and sensuality reminiscent of the way his immortal body would move of its own accord when he took the blood.
Armand nearly choked on his own tongue, his mind shooting back to earlier that afternoon when he and Louis had sat on his bed, discussing…distraction. How close they’d come, how soft and heavy the look in Louis’s eyes before he’d broken the moment and insisted they go looking for Marius. As light as his touch was, there was nothing tentative or unsure about Louis’s hands now. They perused the pleasures of Armand’s body in their own carefree way, and with each hard press of Louis’s erection into him, he could tell Louis had entirely forgotten they were in public.
And yet, by god, Armand didn’t want him to stop. His heartbeat was hammering in his throat as his breath stuttered, and he could only pray it was dark enough that Gregory couldn’t see how crimson his cheeks and ears had surely gone, and that he could keep his gaze locked to his own so he would not look down to see the bulge straining in Armand’s trousers.
Gregory’s gaze flickered between Armand and Louis before settling somewhere beyond them. Even in his drugged haze, the message was clear. He wasn’t wanted here. A lesser man might have felt insulted, but the drugs made it difficult to care for more than a fleeting second before the next distraction took hold.
There were plenty of bodies in this club, bodies eager for him, willing without hesitation. He didn’t need to convince, didn’t need to seduce, just choose. The thought alone was enough to dull the sting of rejection. With a slow exhale, he raked his fingers through his dark hair, considering some parting remark, something smooth, something dismissive, perhaps a simple ‘your loss.’ But what was the point?
Instead, he simply stepped back, casting one last glance at them before turning away, disappearing into the pulsing rhythm of the crowd. The music swallowed him whole, and within moments, he had already found his next distraction.
Louis hung on Armand heavily, as though letting go would mean he’d simply tumble to the floor and lay there staring at the swirling ceiling. His hands roamed Armand’s shoulders and chest from behind hungrily, and he tugged at Armand’s shirt as if trying to get him to turn around and pay any attention at all to him. “So warm, so soft, you feel so incredible,” he murmured into Armand’s ear, his words slurring with his lips pressed to his temple.
“So do you,” Armand had to admit, tilting his head far back against Louis’s shoulder and sinking into his chest, the tension slowly seeping out of him now that he didn’t have to grip tooth and nail onto every sliver of self-control. If Gregory had kissed him one more time, Armand would have crumbled, he was sure of it. His heart felt more like a steam engine right now, ready to shoot pressure straight out through his ears and eyes. He was panting for breath and his hand was trembling as it came up to cover Louis’s on his stomach. He gripped it softly to keep him from pulling his shirt up out of his pants, and then he finally turned around in his arms and brushed the faintly damp black hair back from his forehead to try to see how far gone he really was.
Pupils completely blown, the barest sheen of sweat on his forehead, Louis stared right back at Armand, green eyes nearly black for how the two ecstasy pills had flipped his brain on its side. Armand’s eyes were so golden brown, Louis felt he might sink into them as if they were the sun and be immolated for it immediately and gladly. Except he wasn’t immortal anymore, and the worst the sun could do was give him an intolerable sunburn.
Louis leaned closer, trying to kiss Armand’s luscious lips, his hands moving all over Armand’s body wherever he could touch. Armand knew he should stop him, knew if he didn’t get them out of there soon, things could get bad. He’d always protected Louis, protected him from himself as much as anything else. Yes, he would take him home. Yes, soon… Maybe after one more song…
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, K, and D.
Chapter 116: For the Best
Summary:
Armand and Louis make it home from the club, but they're not done with each other yet. Explicit
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It was nearly two o’clock in the morning when Armand and Louis stumbled out of the hired car and into Marius’s villa. Armand had been having blurry imaginary conversations in his head over and over again the entire ride home, of what he expected Marius to say—or not say—when they finally faced each other. He was ready to fight, ready to throw out all his frustration upon the infuriatingly stubborn man he couldn’t help loving, and he was banking on the hope that Marius would fight back. Armand could only ever get the truth out of him when Marius’s emotions were tipped beyond his damnable steely control. Or at least, any truth Armand could let himself believe.
All the wind went out of his sails, though, when the majordomo told him that no one else had come back home yet since Lady Bianca returned some hours ago, and she had retired to her chambers. If Armand had been alone, he might have sought her rooms and crawled into bed with her where he could let all his tension loose and simply wallow in the soft warmth of her calming presence. But Louis was here, and Armand was worried about him too.
He hooked a steady hand under Louis’s arm, supporting him as if he still processed even a fraction of his former strength—easy to forget he didn’t when he was so inebriated. On drunken footsteps, he began making his way through the house automatically up to Marius’s room—his and Marius’s room.
Louis let himself be led along, his vision blurred and a tingling warmth prickling his skin. His nose was strangely numb, as if it no longer existed. And he kept stepping on Armand’s feet. He laughed at that, unable to help himself, the sound coming out through his lips which he immediately pressed together to stifle the noise.
When they fell onto the large plush bed at the center of the room, Louis pulled Armand down with him. He pushed one hand up through the hair at Armand’s temples, his other arm pinned beneath Armand’s weight, and Louis found himself nuzzling his nose against Armand’s dark curls, breathing in his scent.
“I can’t think,” Louis managed, his words slurring. He sounded somewhat distressed but mostly amused at the situation. The room seemed to be spinning about him as though he were a fixed point.
The heat of Louis’s breath sent a buzzing tingle across Armand’s scalp and down the side of his neck. “Don’t think,” he breathed, and his hands smoothed down Louis’s chest. “I’ll do the thinking for both of us.” At the same time, he was envious of Louis, the freedom to be unchained from the weight of his mind. Armand’s had only been growing heavier by the hour, no matter how much he drank.
He had followed Louis to the club to keep him shielded from Gregory after what the man had done to Louis this afternoon, but the longer they’d stayed, the more it seemed Louis was pushing himself into Gregory’s space, battling his antagonizer rather than needing to be protected. There had been a fierceness to him that once upon a time, Armand had been maddeningly desperate to see again, and it left him in a combined state of nostalgic misery and awe.
But all of Armand’s true misery tonight was over a different man entirely. And so was Louis’s for that matter.
“We don’t need them!” Armand announced, even though they both knew it wasn’t anything close to true. Even now, the very scent of Marius in the room around them was conjuring longings in him that could never be satisfied by any other.
“Hmmm? Who?” Louis asked, delirious. He was still quite inebriated, suffering the lingering effects of the little alien pills. He had no idea what room they had come into, where they were in the expansive villa or how they got here. He hardly cared. His faculties were fuzzy, and he nuzzled into Armand’s hair, kissing his temple.
Who? The obvious who! Who else was there?? But Armand completely forgot the question as Louis slowly rolled onto his back and began to haphazardly unbutton his shirt. It was too hot in here all of a sudden, and Louis pushed off his shoes and socks as he shed his other garments as best he could. Armand sat up, scooting back on the bed to watch him. Louis’s casual lack of inhibition in the act of undressing was enrapturing, and Armand wondered if he’d already blacked out from the drink some time ago and this was all a dream.
Toeing off his own shoes, he let them drop by the side of the bed and then got on his knees to face Louis, taking him by the bare shoulders. His skin was warm and clammy under his hands, and he looked flushed all over, every part Armand could see. “You feel good?” he asked, not bothering to hide his envy. “I should have taken one of those pills.”
“I don’t know. I feel…” Louis gave him an easy smile, then reached up to brush Armand’s cheek with the back of his fingers and then cupped it in his palm.
Everything felt so much more than it should. The coverlet beneath his shoulders and back was so luxurious and inviting, causing his nerves to fire all over, erupting in tingling pleasure all over his body. Armand’s cheek was just as warm and just as soft, and Louis was suddenly aware of his pants’ restriction.
He began to undo them, his fingers working quickly to unfasten the button and unzip the fly. That was better, but not quite right either. Somewhere there was a voice inside him that hissed to get a hold of himself, but he would do that later, of course. There was always time for later. He blew out a soft laugh. Feel good? “Yes, I think I do.”
Armand laughed, but also felt on the verge of tears, and his brain was far too sloshed to know why. He watched with unguarded fascination as Louis’s hands continued to move over the front of his pants, and all that swirling turmoil in his chest seemed to spiral right down as a very different feeling into his groin. “Louis,” he breathed, not in any tone of caution, just admiration and gratitude. Armand bent over him, pressing an appreciative kiss to his lips.
Louis’s lips parted and his tongue slid out to meet Armand’s, his hands smoothing up Armand’s shoulders to encircle his neck. It was a quick kiss, as lewd as it had been in the moment. Armand tasted of alcohol and sweat, salt and vodka. Louis’s arms were heavy about Armand’s neck and he pulled him closer, groggily holding onto him, his fingers splayed and smoothing all over him in an effort to feel more, yet lacking the wherewithal to get up and do anything about it.
Armand sank onto the bed beside him, his head resting on Louis’s right shoulder so Louis could keep his arms around him. This way, his hand could stroke over Louis’s naked chest and stomach, and Armand took full advantage of the ability, feeling Louis’s body freely in a way he never had before in all their years as companions.
Pressing lazy kisses along Louis’s jaw and cheek, his mouth came to a stop at his ear. “I want to feel what you’re feeling,” Armand whispered, though it was nearly a whine. He hadn’t taken any of the pills Gregory offered because he was afraid if he did, he’d end up throwing himself at the man and ruining his plans of seduction, the plan to drive Gregory absolutely crazy with longing so that he had no room left to think of Lestat. But now Gregory was gone, back to his hotel in the city center an hour away, and if Armand had saved one of the pills, he could have taken it now.
“Put your hands in my hair again,” he pleaded. “That was good.”
Louis did as asked, scratching his nails gently up into the hair at the back of Armand’s neck, long thin fingers entwining with those satin-soft auburn curls. And as if in thanks, Armand’s own hand slid down Louis’s stomach toward his open pants.
Armand’s touch sent little fireworks of sensation alighting on Louis’s skin, his chest, nipples, stomach and hips. Louis gasped, his back arching up just an inch as Armand’s fingers skirted his groin. He squirmed beneath the touch, unabashedly aroused and his grip fisted in Armand’s hair as though he were fighting for purchase to right himself. “Armand,” he whispered, breathless and low, his breath at Armand’s cheek, lips ghosting there.
His name on Louis’s voice in such a sensual way sent a crackling of electricity through Armand, and his breath caught. Had Louis ever said his name that way? Decades ago, he would have laid down and died to hear such passion coming from Louis. And that feeling of appreciation and gratitude spread through Armand in a flooding warmth.
His hand slid the rest of the way into Louis’s open trousers, cupping his bulge through his underwear, stroking, and then finding the slit and pulling the fabric to allow his erection to slide through and jut into the air. He tried to move down, but Louis’s hand in his hair was too tight. “Let me,” he breathed as his soft fingers teased the head, spreading the leaking moisture down his shaft.
How could Louis resist? He offered not a hint of protest, his grip loosening in Armand’s hair so that he might pleasure Louis as he pleased. A scintillating rush of blazing euphoria pulsated through him as his erection was taken in by Armand’s soft, warm and inviting mouth. It shot to his very toe tips and back again, moving up to the smallest hair follicles atop Louis’s head, transforming him into a vessel to be filled with it.
Everything heightened by the tiny pills, he gave himself over to Armand’s lips and tongue and throat simply because it seemed it would be a crime not to. His mind and his sensibilities, the parts of himself that wanted to protect Armand on Marius’s behalf, were trapped somewhere beneath the heady and overwhelming sensation and the overloaded firing of Louis’s nerve endings. Forgotten. Gone. Nothing left now but the luscious, shimmering feelings heightened beyond all reason.
——————————
Well, it had been a very nice night indeed out with their new friends. Lestat felt rather proud of himself that he’d actually learned and remembered all three of the women’s names. The dark-haired beauty with the pale eyes, Lizette, had given him a tour of their rented villa that ended with a charmingly amorous encounter in her bedroom. By the time the two of them had finished with each other and gone back out to the pool deck, both Marius and Cyril had been well occupied with their chosen companions—Marius in the hot tub, and Cyril on the couch in the tiki hut—and Lestat would never dream of interrupting.
Back inside the villa, Lizette had proclaimed that what they needed were fresh baked brownies, but that experiment had ended with both of them spent a second time on the kitchen floor, smeared with chocolate batter. Not that Lestat could complain. By the time he and Marius and Cyril were in a hired car on their way back to Marius’s house, all three of them were in such a state of drowsy comfort that they needed no words between them at all.
Lestat didn’t know what he expected to find upon their arrival at slightly past three in the morning. Marius had told him of the text message he received from Bianca several hours earlier, informing him that Louis, Gregory, and Armand had gone into the Rio city center to enjoy the boisterous nightlife. So when there was no sign of any of them, Lestat guessed they were still out there.
He was surprised on Louis’s part…though perhaps impressed might be the more apt word. After all, what did Lestat know at all about who Louis was as a mortal man? ‘Clubbing’ could be his ‘scene’ just as much as anything, he supposed. He should be glad for Louis, really…proud…that he was embracing his human self to so closely mingle with those who had once been his prey. It was good for him, really. For the best.
When Lestat beheld the crisply made bed in his own room, with fresh linens courtesy of Marius’s house staff, it looked far too sterile to be in any way comfortable. And Lestat was tired. He’d had sex six times today with three different people, and he wanted nothing more than a week’s sleep. The thought of finding that sleep all alone, though, made a heaviness settle on his shoulders which he did not have the energy to analyze.
So without giving it any thought at all, he turned down the hall to the door he’d banged on this afternoon with no response. It opened this time, and though Louis’s bed was just as crisp and sterile, no sign left of what Gregory had walked in on, Lestat made short work of that. He stripped off all his clothes and snuggled under the covers, passing right out into blissfully boring dreams.
Notes:
This chapter written by me and K
Chapter 117: Inappropriate Things
Summary:
After his erotic encounter with Louis at the club, Gregory is surprised by a visit from his vampire wife, and she tries to aid in his concerns over Louis's attachment to Lestat.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The drugs and alcohol were wearing off, and Gregory felt an exhaustion he hadn’t known he could ever feel. He somehow found his way to the shower in his hotel suite, and there he rinsed himself clean of the night’s remnants. Dancing and enjoying himself at the nightclub, Armand had been against him, letting him think he had a chance. And perhaps he did have a chance, and Armand, expert in all things seductive, was making sure he wouldn’t forget him any time soon.
Or was Armand simply jealous of what Lestat had? Certainly that was it.
Gregory could hardly even think of it all now, couldn’t make any sense of it in his current state. His mind kept returning to Lestat. His beloved. How shameful of him to even be thinking about Armand in such ways. Even more shameful to recall Louis and what had transpired between them on the dance floor. Too close they’d been. Too intimate to have pressed and moved against him in such heated ways. The memory of it kept trying to override all the rest of his jumbled thoughts. Clearly Louis had been under the influence of the pill Gregory had encouraged him to take. The man would be mortified in the morning…
As if this weren’t all enough, Gregory had brought a girl back to the hotel with him. A beautiful young woman who’d latched onto him shortly after Armand and Louis had gone their own way. She had reminded him so of his beloved blood spouse Chrysanthe. The same bronze-streaked hair. The same bone structure, kissable lips, and eyes nearly as beautiful. She’d been eager to return to his rooms. More than willing to be in his bed. He’d been drunk and fumbling with her, but it had been a sweet and heated encounter. He’d invited her to stay the night but she’d declined, dressing herself quickly as she explained her reasons for leaving. Something about work the next day. Gregory could understand that reasoning well. A good work ethic was admirable.
And then, as if the very thought had summoned her—which it feasibly might actually have—when he emerged from the steaming shower, Chrysanthe was sitting on the stool at the vanity counter on the other side of the large bathroom.
Gregory stood still. His fight flight or freeze instinct apparently telling him to select freeze. The cool air conditioning swept over his shower-damp body, causing his skin to prickle. Or perhaps that was a result of his wife, a deadly vampiress, mere feet away, her glittering eyes fixed upon him. He knew that look on her face all too well. That was the look of hunger just before the strike. Would she?
She hadn’t intended to startle him, but she’d become so distracted by the thoughts running through Gregory’s head, that she’d forgotten her original plan of preparing him for her sudden appearance. She might have risen to hand him a towel, but the sight of him naked in all his human glory froze her to the spot just as much, made her eyes glint with that predatory sheen. The water droplets glistened over his muscles, caught under the dark hair on his chest and arms and thighs. Under her skin, her veins cried out with thirst, and if she hadn’t known his blood was poisonous, she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from drawing him into her murderous embrace.
Gregory gave a nervous laugh and raked his hands back over his wet hair before reaching out for the long white robe on the wall hook. He quickly shrugged into the garment, though his skin was still sticky with water. Why did he do this? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen him nude nearly every night of their immortal lives together. For some reason, now that he was mortal again, he felt very vulnerable before her.
“My love. My queen,” he intoned softly. “You are so stealthy with your entrance. How long have you been here?” Had she witnessed him with the young woman in his bed? Had she watched the whole thing? Had she been at the club as well? Of course, his little family was guarding him and also all the others that had come to Rio, but it was easy to forget once the alcohol took over. And he did consume a lot of alcohol.
He stared openly at his blood spouse, it was impossible not to. Her beauty glowed even in the dim lighting of the suite. He was becoming entranced, and he knew it. But he was just too exhausted from the evening to even fight it. Besides, this was his Chrysanthe, and she would not hurt him… Or so he told himself.
“If I took your blood, you would feel no pain,” she reassured him. And the insides of her cheeks ached just thinking of it. She had to remind herself with every new breath that his blood was cursed and would end her immortality. Fareed had concluded the uncanny circumstances had nothing to do with the castle, only those who had been in it. He’d had a volunteer bite Daniel in his lab-controlled environment, and then by the next night that vampire had become as human as the rest of them. Then another volunteer had drunk from that one, and the same thing happened. So yes, she must resist this roaring lust within her with all her power. Unfortunately, Gregory’s robe didn’t help suppress her desire for him in the slightest. In fact, it fanned the flames, as she imagined peeling it off him to run her hands over every inch of the hot, wet, supple flesh beneath.
She would have risen from the stool, but she didn’t trust herself to move, so sat as still and tense as a panther ready to pounce. “I could not stay outside,” she said in apology. She and the rest of their coven had agreed to keep Gregory as unaware of their constant presence as possible, so as not to interfere with his Mortal Experience, but she had failed that effort tonight. “Would you like me to leave?” she asked, even as the look in her eyes became all the more smoldering.
Gregory smiled despite the undercurrent of fear he was experiencing. He forced himself to look away, to break the spell. “No. Of course not.” He shook his head a bit, as if he had water in his ear and needed to dislodge it. Deliberately, he turned his back to reach for a towel, ruffling it over his wet hair before tossing it back over the rack.
“How long have you been here?” he asked, looking at the toothbrush standing on the edge of the sink and the little tube of complimentary toothpaste from the hotel. He reached for them, squeezing a small line of it onto the brush before turning back to see her, her flawless pale beauty reflecting even in the dim lamp lights.
She tried to make her smile softer, to look more like the kind and generous wife he was used to, and less like she desperately wanted to rip out his strong throat. “We’re always here,” she reassured him. If it hadn’t been her tonight, it would have been Flavius. Avicus and the others had stayed in Europe to watch over the people there. “You are frightened… But that is all right. It is your human nature. You cannot help it. You need not pretend.”
Gregory gazed at her, feeling a great relaxation fall over him. Was this her placing the mind spell on him? The one he’d used countless times on innocent mortals every night of his immortal life? He didn’t care. It was so pleasant and welcoming. Loving even. Perhaps it was still the drug in his system. He smiled again before turning back to the sink and brushing his teeth. The toothbrush was electric and did all the work itself once he pressed the little button. He’d made the mistake his first time of not placing it first in his mouth before turning it on. It was quite a surprise to have the toothpaste all over the mirror and other surfaces. But now he was expert at it.
He rinsed with the colorful little bottle of the thing called mouthwash. He dried his face on the towel and turned back to Chrysanthe. “I am very tired,” he said as he exited the bathroom. “It has been a long day.” She followed him into the suite’s bedroom like a shadow, though she did not allow herself to come closer to him than a couple feet. “Apparently, I said inappropriate things at dinner this evening and angered some of the others. I wished you were there with me to kick me under the table or some such. And I also seem to have angered Louis.” He shrugged slightly, crossing his arms on his chest, his eyes drawn to her again.
“Are you upset?” she asked kindly. His brain was too much of an inebriated swirl for her to tell, and often Gregory said things just to share them without any particular emotional attachment. But he was human now, and his emotions were tied on tight strings to every physical sensation he experienced. He could not help or control them, and after six thousand years of vampiric detachment, they were a truly foreign landscape for him to navigate. “Are you worried about the consequences of what you said?” She wanted to jump in to soothe and reassure him that she was sure there would be no difficult consequences at all, but she was more interested in hearing how he thought about it.
Gregory was so exhausted, he moved toward the bed, aware that she trailed noiselessly behind him. But it was a familiar thing to feel her here. How often had they gone together to their sleep chamber in that way? “Worried?” he repeated, as he thought about the question. He didn’t bother to turn on the light. He wanted only to be stretched out in the cool darkness. He all but fell onto the bed, rolling onto his back, the robe tangling around his legs. He was too tired to deal with that right now. “No, I’m not worried. I don’t think it was such a horrible thing, what I said. I think they are more upset that I said it at the dinner table. But I don’t know why. As if food could hear what we spoke of. As if it might be offended.” He laughed to himself at that thought, imagining the plates of meat in various states of shock at his mention of Armand and his oral skills.
She perched delicately on the edge of the mattress, and she plucked out the tangled fabric of the robe from his legs to make him more comfortable, managing to do it without her cold hand ever once brushing his skin. She could feel the heat radiating off him, though, and it made her mouth water. Slowly, her eyes traced the length of his body until she was looking down at his face again. “And yet, you are troubled,” she pressed. Even if she couldn’t read his mind now, she would have been able to tell. He may dismiss what happened tonight with his friends, but something was still bothering him.
Was he troubled? Gregory’s sleepy, drugged mind tried to sort through it all. Oh, of course she was right. She knew him too well. “Yes,” he said, opening his eyes to look at her beauty again. “You are correct, as always. I’m not happy with how Lestat so easily left the dinner with Marius and took up with some women for the rest of the night. Not even a word to me. Are we not lovers now? Are we not partners? How am I supposed to take that sort of disregard? And Louis. Why must he always be somehow this spirit hanging over Lestat, even when Lestat is with me? I don’t know how to make it more clear to him that he needs to step away.”
A soft touch settled on Gregory’s chest, Chrysanthe’s hand feeling as light as a bird over the plush folds of his robe. She thought quietly about his conundrum before she spoke again. “You have told Louis to step away. I did not eavesdrop on your conversation, but I can see these memories in your mind now. But he will not do it simply because you ask it. Why does he need to do it?” Perhaps she could help Gregory find a way to make Louis understand why this was indeed necessary.
Gregory frowned slightly. “Because he is upsetting Lestat. Causing Lestat to feel he must take care of him still. These maker and fledgling bonds no longer exist for us. Marius is the same with Armand. Armand does not need to be cared for like a fledgling either.” Gregory glared up at the ceiling, recalling the club and the dancing and how Armand was always so close and teasing his senses. And Louis too, for that matter. “Louis is not so above impropriety. He has base carnal desires just like the rest of us.”
Why did he care? Gregory blinked up at the ceiling. What did it all even matter? They would all be dead so quickly. Six thousand years made one see just how fast a human lifetime passed.
“But that is the very reason why you must live that lifetime the best way you can,” she urged softly, and her fingers brushed the side of his face to make him look to her instead of the ceiling. “For us, the years can flash by in a blink, but for mortals, you will experience each living moment. They will seem so much longer to you now. You will have at least eighty more of them.”
It was as if every hair on his body suddenly stood alert at her touch. Her very nearness so familiar to him. And the drug was still enough in his system to be adding its own flavor to the experience. As a tendril of her long, bronze hair fell past her shoulder to whisper against his cheek, cool and inhumanly soft, Gregory stared into her eyes, transfixed with love. In fact, it felt as though every ounce of love he’d ever felt for her washed over and flooded his whole body with the memories.
This was very dangerous, to be so close to her and to be allowing himself to fall into the bliss a blood drinker could so very easily bring on, whether she meant for him to or not.
But he couldn’t turn away from it now. He longed with a great aching need to be closer. To touch. He reached up and did just that, placing his large hand against the cool, ghostly pale skin of her neck. Oh, how he wished he could feel her pulse there, but he could not. “My Chrysanthe… How will we manage without one another? I’m drinking myself into the grave already.”
“You’re not,” she soothed, and her fingertips stroked carefully along his hairline, brushing the beads of water back from his forehead. How she wanted to bend down and kiss him between the eyes. “You won’t ever be without me,” she promised. “I will watch over you as long as you live.” Even though she knew it was best that she keep her distance as much as possible—especially with how the heat of his hand made ravenous shivers run from her throat down between her breasts and into her stomach—she would always be there at the periphery of his orbit.
Gregory knew she meant only to comfort him with this vow, but all it did was sadden him further. For he knew only too well how heartbreaking it would be for her to stay at a distance and watch him age, watch him deteriorate in mind and body as she remained vital and timeless. He’d been unable to do it with Sevraine. Had lasted less than a year watching her live her mortal life before he gave into the driving need to make her his. And thousands of years later, he’d done it again with Chrysanthe. He’d been unable to face the risk that any day she could meet her end and he would wake that night to find her gone forever.
He let his hand glide up and over the gentle curve of her cheek. How hard and cold to his touch she felt, how familiar yet foreign. “Is it odd, being on the opposite side now? Do you remember how I was to your mortal eyes?”
“Always.” She finally let herself lean down to kiss him, but she kept her lips to his hair, avoiding the temptation of skin. “Do not fear for my heart,” she said, her breath colder than the air conditioning against his forehead. “The love you’ve given me is more than I ever dreamed I could possess.” Her fingers tucked under the back of his neck as if she’d lift his head from the pillow, but then they only slipped away again. Taking one last deep fragrant breath of him, she straightened. “I will charm your mind into the most peaceful and content of slumbers if you will permit it.”
He wanted suddenly to seduce her into the bed with him and even perhaps take her as a man would. Would it be possible to do that? Would she submit?
But it was not right. It was selfish and desperate of him to even consider. And he was exhausted. He’d had more than enough carnal pleasure in the past twenty-four hours. He would perform terribly. And she would not be impressed at all with him. Amused perhaps, but not satisfied, because she couldn’t have his blood.
“Yes,” he agreed groggily. Though he wouldn’t need much help, he was already nearly asleep on his own. “Contented slumbers,” he said, eyes half-lidded as he gazed up at her.
The soft light behind her made her seem to begin to glow then in a way that blurred her into a haloed angel as she smiled so lovingly down at him. And it seemed her fingers were warming up now as they stroked through his hair… Yes, they were warm. Completely warm, as the psychic illusion of perfect comfort overtook his senses. Did she bend over him and press her lips to his, her hair whispering against his face? No, it was so soft, so warm, must be a dream… A dream that promised him she would be there by his side, in his arms when he woke… Too beautiful for him to realize it was a lie before the promised sleep claimed him totally for the next eight hours.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and D.
Chapter 118: The Rest of Time
Summary:
When Marius comes home from his night of bad drunken decisions, pining for Armand, his vampire maker is there to take care of him, but soon the temptation of his mortal body and blood becomes too much to resist.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Teskhamen couldn’t help but smile as he silently observed Marius return to his villa after his night out with Lestat and Cyril. He knew well all that had unfolded at the restaurant with the others and then his reactionary time spent with the women afterwards, and that this was not a smiling matter. He knew how his fledgling’s heart ached for what had transpired between Armand and Gregory, and he knew that he ached in other ways, but the stench of alcohol emanating from Marius and the slowness from his movements was the funniest thing. It was so completely non-Marius, the pinky glow to his cheeks not only from the booze and tropical heat, but from the glow of sexual intercourse.
Teskhamen had been keeping his distance from the men tonight, as he said he would, lurking in places he’d never be noticed or feared. He didn’t want them to feel intimidated by his presence when he only intended it for good. But just now he wanted to be inside the sleepy villa, and he simply couldn’t resist. Marius was too delicious as he tried to keep his long limbs from tangling, too drunk and lethargic for grace. In his mind, the living room was soft, all of its hard edges blurred, reality sluggish. He sank into a chair, wishing for light, but his head turned toward the sound of Teskhamen’s voice as it rose from near the sliding glass doors.
“Did you use protection or will we be hearing the pitapat of a little Marius?”
It was hard to miss the white complexion even in the dark, even with himself too drunk and afflicted with human eyesight. Marius longed for the cold skin of his former maker, imagining how wonderful it would feel against his flushed face and neck. Not that he’d ever experienced it himself. But he remembered how Amadeo had loved it when he was sick or drunk.
There was no point acting scandalized by the direct question. Of course the immortal knew what he’d done tonight, and Marius also knew he didn’t care, as matters of the body were of no concern to creatures such as he, who also didn’t attach emotions to their interactions such as pride or disappointment.
The memories of his time with the girl were blurry but there, and he could recall the slippery, tight condom. The strange smell of the latex still clung to his fingers, or at least he imagined that it did. He closed his eyes and hummed, almost a moaning sound that he did not intend. But the warmth was consuming.
The sex was fine. The girl was lovely. The condom was awful. Yet it was nothing compared to the way Armand felt with his body so perfect that it made Marius feel feral to be inside. What was her name? Yessica. Yes, that was it. She was soft and her breasts were a treat, but it wasn’t enough. He’d even liked the way she’d pushed him back and climbed on top, riding him with beautiful confidence, but he knew he was lost when his dominant thought was how he’d love it if Armand did that. She was a substitute, and he could not deny that.
“Yes,” he finally breathed, eyes still shut. “I would not put Armand’s health in danger for a mediocre ejaculation. Is he home?”
“Oh, my gentle lovely man,” Teskhamen breathed, his heart breaking a little and quite suddenly as he caught all of these thoughts, as he felt the pain emanating from Marius in waves.
He bridged the gap between them then, trusting himself to be able to resist the blood and heat of Marius’s delicious body. He was old enough, he was strong enough, and he placed his hand on Marius’s forehead. He gasped at the heat of it. Marius turned into the press of Teskhamen’s cold palm, soothed by the icy and hard skin that chilled his enflamed face. No wonder Amadeo had loved to bury into his body.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever known anyone quite so desperately in love as you,” Teskhamen said. “What does it feel like?”
“It hurts,” Marius murmured. Teskhamen had his share of grief and pain, and Marius could never understand what he had endured as God of the Grove, and the dreadful burnings. For all of that, it seemed his maker had been given the happiness he deserved with Hekseth, though that would be no happy ending. Marius wondered if Teskhamen had ever been in love before or after her, or if he’d remained faithful to his ghost beloved. What was it like to love as a ghost? Perhaps he would know himself soon.
“He is home,” Teskhamen finally answered his question. “He’s not long tumbled into bed with Louis.”
It was good Armand was safe with Louis. It was no surprise that the two of them retired together. Marius was under the impression they had rekindled their romance, though it was none of his business, so he did not inquire about it. “That is good,” he sighed. He’d expected Armand to run off with Gregory for the night since he’d preferred him so much. Sitting next to him at dinner, defending his atrocious and immature behavior. It made sense why Armand had been so quick to sail with him into the ocean. Nothing would convince Marius that Armand hadn’t gotten on that boat with no plans to seduce the man. It was the plan all along. And Marius did honestly want Armand happy, even if not with him. Marius wasn’t a fool, and he did not lack insight into himself. Who had he ever brought happiness to? Bianca would likely be angry with him in the morning, and he dreaded her silence. He would have to make it up to her. “Something pretty for Bianca, do you think?” he asked out of nowhere because Teskhamen could read his mind.
“Mmm, but something to stimulate her mind, too. Perhaps one of those ornate puzzle boxes and inside you’ve hidden some diamonds,” Teskhamen offered, though it was the least of his concerns out of what he gleaned from Marius’s mind.
For the moment, he was too enraptured by the softness of his voice and the contrast of his pale hair against his newly sun-bronzed skin so that he couldn’t even address the other concerns. It put him in mind of the night Marius was first brought to him—his scent was the same, and Teskhamen had been so hungry then…
He swallowed and smiled, retracting his hand and putting a little more space between them. “I can’t pretend to know Armand’s motivations for making you and himself suffer so, but I know two things. Gregory used as much of his own power as possible to get Armand into his arms, it was no one way street. Also, even as he lies with Louis and tries to convince himself that he’s renounced the pair of you, you drive him mad and consume his every thought. Why, just your scent in your room has him half hard and half insane. Oh, and a third—you’ve brought me happiness, always have—if mostly from afar. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you with pride.”
It was difficult to place the Teskhamen that stood before him there the night of his making. Only the white hair was the same, though it was tamed now and properly cared for, and it had been wild then. Marius hadn’t known that such a lovely and young man was the true form of the charred and wizened creature that silently called him from the depths of the tree. Despite that Teskhamen could not linger to teach him the ways of their kind, he’d left Marius enough lessons in their blood exchanges to set him on a path of strength and purpose.
Marius had done the same to Amadeo. The repeated give and take of blood mirrored his own making, but he did not let his beloved suffer long, and he poured his love into the act alongside the knowledge and lessons.
But he did not know how Teskhamen could be proud of him. Not when he’d ultimately failed in his assignment. Marius hated Akasha, but he loved her, too, still. She was there in his dreams, though the feeling of her hair on his face, her soft kisses, and the pillow of her thighs was long gone and only cruel laughter remained.
“I have done nothing to be proud of… Put your hand back on me,” he murmured.
Teskhamen flexed his fist instinctually. This was why Marius had been chosen—there was a command in his voice of a man who was so used to being unequivocally followed that he didn’t expect any sort of refusal, not even when he sat before him mortal and drunk and the being he tried to command was an ancient menace. It was such a natural command in fact that Teskhamen felt a compulsion to obey it, which surprised him to no end.
He swallowed again, rolled his shoulders, and knew when he opened his eyes that they were fierce with the focus of restraint. He did not touch Marius at his behest, and not because he was so afraid that he would immediately try to take him, but rather because he’d rather throw himself into flames a hundred times over than take that risk. Instead, he took a few steps back to a nearby armchair and sat upon it in thought.
“Armand is clinging to the idea of a man who died centuries ago,” Marius was saying, oblivious to Teskhamen’s struggle. “What he wants from me is a contradiction, and I cannot live up to his expectations. He wants a master but independence. He wants to submit and yet he defies me at every turn. And not as he did before, his innocent games to drive me to have a rough hand with him. He wants me to possess him with my whole heart but wants me to accept that he must share his. He wants to be my equal, but he won’t let me be his, and this whole thing is a mockery. And an affront to my dignity. He can’t have me both ways.”
“Have you told him this? Why must you suffer in silence for it? Are you not yourself a man with time in this world who deserves to value that time? And I’ve never known you to be one to suffer a slight.” Teskhamen put his face to his hand in thought. “Armand has so much of himself to figure out, you mustn’t be too hard on him. But neither must you let him run your life. Be honest, as hard as it may be to do. I know and have seen this time and time again, when two people dearly love each other, even when they are so different and never see eye to eye, they ultimately find a way. Lestat and Louis, they have had all their differences and even now they suffer. But they are drawn to each other always, neither one of them able to turn away and give up completely for the rest of time. It will be that way with you two, I know it.”
“I won’t be difficult on him,” Marius murmured, listening to the sounds of the dark house even though his hearing was far too weak to listen in on Armand in his slumber. He wished that he could watch his dreams as he used to, spying in and sweetening them each time they turned dark.
Were the two of them like Lestat and Louis, unable and unwilling to communicate their feelings to the detriment of their happy relationship? He hoped not. Marius knew he could not satisfy all of Armand’s needs, which was why he agreed to an open relationship. Marius had no grievances with the idea of multiple partners as it was frequently his own lifestyle choice. Well, he preferred to have a primary partner and attended to mostly them with a few on the sidelines, mostly superficial, mostly shared.
But it felt different. When he was immortal, it was easy to detach. With the luxury of forever, he did not worry about time and order, including how it pertained to love. Now his body had all of these new desires and urges, which he found were also annoyingly connected to his emotions, which was unwelcome. He did not want to feel anything this much.
“He will outgrow me. They always do.” It wasn’t self-pity, but rather a consolation to himself. They always did. Except Pandora, who sometimes looked at him with such longing that he wished she’d never look at him again.
He touched his own face but it was too warm, and he sighed. Being human was certainly filthy. Oily, sour, and staining. He needed to shower and rid himself of all traces of the night. There was no way he could go to Armand with any of Yessica on him. “I need to shower before bed.” Would he be sleeping alone? Armand was with Louis, so perhaps in the bed Louis had been given for his stay. But if Teskhamen meant they were in Marius’s bed, then he needed to clean himself off. “Will you help me? The ground is very soft, and my legs are too long.”
“Marius,” Teskhamen sighed under his breath, surprised he wasn’t picking up on the reason Teskhamen had put distance between them the last time Marius asked for his touch. But he looked at him and he saw a man struggling, a man who needed the support. A mortal man who was dreadfully tired and uncomfortable and sad. Teskhamen could put his craving desperation aside for that—he could do this.
He stood and took Marius’s hand, letting the warmth of it seep through his own icy skin and trying not to groan. Being around them was a task and a half, all these ones he held dear, who having been chosen as mortals for their beauty, were just as beautiful and alluring now that they were mortal again.
Marius resisted the urge to press the back of Teskhamen’s cold hand to his face again, knowing it would be overstepping, crossing an unstated boundary set in place when the immortal ignored his earlier request for it. He was drunk, hungry, and tired, but he was still decent. There was no excuse on earth for abandoning being a gentleman. If anything, this condition was all the more reason for it.
It was dainty the way Teskhamen held his hand. Marius couldn’t blame him for taking just the hand, as he’d certainly not want to touch himself in this condition either. Though he also didn’t think that was so true for himself, not quite. He’d loved to bury his face into Amadeo’s body when he was most fragrant, sweaty, covered in the remains of his lively day. It would make him shake from the inside out with hunger and desire, and the memory made Marius momentarily aroused. Which, of course he pushed away. It was not the time. The last thing he needed was to masturbate in a shower to relax.
“Give it the night,” Teskhamen advised. “Sleep this thing off. Tomorrow, I’m sure your head and stomach will feel in such a way that you won’t even be thinking of Armand.” He sighed, because Marius didn’t want to hear what he knew to be true—it seemed as though he wanted to wallow. He walked with him then to the stairs, careful as anything, and focusing in silence on his own restraint.
“I think about him every second of the day, and even in the night I dream of him.” Marius took the stairs carefully, sliding his hand up the banister as a way to ground himself.
Where was Armand? It was just silence. He’d know soon enough, as he’d have to pass through his bedroom to reach his private bath, and Armand would either be in their bed or not.
The manner in which he opened the door was cautious and considerate just in case the two slumbered within, but then once inside, he suddenly didn’t want to look and instead tugged on Teskhamen’s hand to drag him straight through the room and into the bathroom, focusing only on how he would need the immortal’s help with his clothing and getting into the shower. If he was going to die, it would not be bleeding out naked next to a toilet.
Teskhamen laughed, hoping the sound wouldn’t frighten Marius as it came out so unabashed and reverberated off the bathroom walls. He couldn’t help it, Marius’s thoughts were such a piteous mix of self-flagellation and sensibility that he had to laugh. “There is nothing shameful about masturbating in your private shower,” he scolded fondly, moving his hands to the buttons of Marius’s shirt. “Were you not weeks ago a creature who would tear into a human heart for sustenance? Surely there is scant little that is undignified, aside from wearing trousers, in your eyes. And you’d think you’d buy me dinner before dragging me into your room, honestly.” Of course he meant nothing by this last point. He meant only to lighten the mood, when it seemed so much what his darling fledgling needed. Besides, it distracted from the sheen and scent of his tanned skin as Teskhamen exposed it inch by inch, and he needed that distraction.
Marius was actually quite chuffed by the way Teskhamen began to undress him. It felt indulgent to be taken care of in such a way for once when he was always the caretaker. The role reversal was a new experience, and it seemed tonight was a night of new experiences, as Yessica had visited one upon him in the hot tub. One he hoped to revisit with Armand, whose pink skin peeking out from the sheets during their time in bed this afternoon was currently flashing through his memory.
“You should be grateful you do not need to go to dinner. Nothing compares to the taste of blood. I’d offer mine but it’s sour. Apparently, it’s quite disgusting.” Marius only knew from what he’d heard about the blood exchange between Lestat and Gregory. “I still want to drink Armand’s blood,” he confessed, helping to remove his own shirt, casting it to the floor. He couldn’t say more ,as it would lack dignity, but when Armand had let Marius bite him in the throes of passionate sex and that small taste of metallic blood hit his mortal tongue, Marius came disturbingly hard and quick. He didn’t say it, but he let Teskhamen see it in his mind and feel it. He didn’t know why he teased his kind, benevolent maker. Maybe jealousy that he still had immortality and Marius was here dying a little with each breath.
Teskhamen moved his hands to Marius’s bare chest and ever so gently pushed him away, his head swimming. It was all of it far too much—the languid images, the desire for the blood, the hunger and thirst for all things carnal and sanguine. Teskhamen was acutely aware that he had three mortals in his immediate vicinity now, breathing softly and oh so vulnerable, so warm and so full of fresh blood. Even he who needed to hunt so rarely found it hard to focus himself and resist. The most ancient of vampires would—hadn’t Gregory himself? And the mere offer of Marius’s blood had him almost baring his fangs, and he had to close his eyes and count to ten.
“Enough of that now,” he managed finally, hands on Marius’s pants. He made quick work of those, wanting to put distance between himself and these men he held so dear. “There we are. Into the shower and ready to go. Is there anything else you need?”
Teskhamen was spared further indignity by the fact that Marius was neither the type to be coy nor particularly playful. Marius lacked the boisterousness of youth, his confidence realistic, too serious to be flirtatious. Too old to be boyish and cute, teasing, or overeager. Even if the cold hands felt like bliss. It was really the first time Teskhamen had touched him. Like this. Gently. He’d never forget the way the charred fingers had grabbed him, and he’d been dreadfully afraid, and then there was pain and pleasure over and over until they were together as two dead gods. The blissful, ecstatic horror had only begun.
Marius reached out with muscle memory to turn on the water. It would be too much to ask his maker to wash him. The kind man had already given enough of his generous time and Marius was grateful. “Nothing,” he assured. He’d certainly be able to stay on his feet long enough to scrub the night off of his body and from his teeth. He knew where to find clean clothes. “Thank you for everything.”
Oh, but Marius was heartbreaking. He didn’t know, did he? Truly didn’t know that all of his perceived flaws were precisely what made him so attractive in his own right. This self-loathing and pity was something that seemed so uncharacteristic of him, or perhaps had always been there, only Teskhamen had been so severed from him and Marius so good at putting on a front that he’d never known it. The man didn’t even know if he’d make it through his shower, and still he didn’t say anything. Still he didn’t try to push for this thing for his own benefit.
“Marius,” Teskhamen sighed for the second time that night, his wonderfully cold hands sliding up his bare chest, the thrill of it making Marius’s skin feel too sensitive as if all of his nerves lit with hunger to indulge in this sensation.
This was the cold in himself that Marius missed. He experienced a reverse of his desire as he had always been the frigid God and not the overcome mortal. No wonder Amadeo had been helpless. He stood no chance against this pleasure, especially when accompanied by genuine devotion and fierce love. The excitement in his body was heavy and hot, waves within him, and there was no point denying it as Teskhamen would hear the quickening of his heartbeat and know. He would smell it in the way the rushing blood would flush and heat the surface of his mortal skin to make it even more fragrant and delicious to taste. Alarm was momentary when the immortal’s deadly, strong hands slid over his shoulders and came to cup the sides of his neck, but the fear was instinctive only because Marius knew his gentle maker would never harm him. Not in any way Marius would dislike, at least. He was all too used to desire coming with a bit of savagery.
Teskhamen had to force himself to ignore the thrum of Marius’s pulse at his throat, the roar of his blood. He had to try not to stare at the cut of his jaw and the depth of his ever so mortal eyes. He had to try not to swim in the scent of his musk. Teskhamen was hit with a vivid memory, a flash of how he was as a mortal boy so many thousands of years ago. He had been so drawn to this kind of height and power, he had liked to be on the receiving end of such things. He frowned and shut his mind, though there wasn’t a single soul in the vicinity who could read it.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered. “Stop thinking anything else, it hurts me.” And Hathor forgive him for how he was about to show it, because when he leaned up to press his lips to Marius’s feverish, lovely own, he thought he might die himself.
The kiss was a surprise but Marius was not shocked by it. He was pleasured, and opened his mouth because he knew the heat of it would be irresistible to Teskhamen’s icy tongue. All he knew was that his maker had to resist his blood. The consequence of it was too grave for a kiss. Yet Marius had nothing else to offer him. No blood, just heat and passion. It wasn’t as if Teskhamen was helpless. He had all of the strength, even as Marius drew his arms around him and pulled him close. Even as his mind played with the erotic idea of bending this powerful creature over and having him against the sink or shower wall. His maker would get nothing from it, but Marius would be in a new realm of pleasure.
Marius wasn’t pleasure driven, at least he knew himself not to be, and understood this was only his body coming to understand all of its new feelings and desires. His mind was old, but this body was new and learning what it liked, what it wanted, just as he also learned how to exercise restraint. A matter of mind over body. Gradually, he was conquering his physical needs. That was what he told himself as his greedy mortal cock came alive. The last bit of clarity in his intoxicated brain tried to temper it and cool it down, willing the deep rhythmic throbs that brought the blood to it to fill it to cease immediately. It was a disobedient and traitorous appendage.
Oh no, oh for the love of everything… The arousal pulsing off of Marius was an absolute intoxicant, heady and so powerful that Teskhamen could feel it in his own right. As Marius thought such things, about fucking him in that mortal fashion that was utterly debauched, Teskhamen gasped. He pressed his whole body into the man, melting entirely into his arms. Marius wanted him like that—most likely because he was there and Marius’s body had demands, but still it was an unusual thrill to be wanted in such a way. Teskhamen might have all the physical strength, but psychologically how could he be anything but putty in a mortal’s arms like this? Especially when—yes, just as Marius had thought—the heat of his mouth was just as irresistible as the rest of him.
Teskhamen kissed him now with a desperation he’d not expected of himself. It was all so much and he could hear it all—the rush of blood, the pulse in his veins, the pulse in Marius’s cock as it stiffened against him. His fangs hurt, by god, he thirsted.
It was unfair, Marius knew, to take so much when unable to offer anything in return. Teskhamen’s slender body was hard against his flushed chest, underneath where he wrapped his arms, sliding them up the back of his shirt to touch his naked skin. The cold sent wonderful chills through him. As Marius rediscovered his sexuality, some things felt familiar and some things felt new. Imagining Louis and Armand in bed together aroused him, and the barely contained fantasy of what Armand would look like conquered by someone for him to watch. It was familiar, though, so Marius surmised he was probably a voyeur in his previous mortality.
All of his sensual reasons for being drawn to Teskhamen’s body and the feeling of it were new.
The solid feel of the immortal’s body was grounding. Maybe it was the ingrained familiarity of Teskhamen, the God who existed in his blood. Being around the immortal made Marius feel peculiar, and not at all awkward about it, as awkward was the last thing he felt as he sought out more of the man’s body. The last thing that he felt when he stroked Teskhamen’s icy tongue with his feverish, wet one. Human bodies felt so damn much.
With great discipline, Marius stepped back, reaching blindly behind him for the marble sink top. He licked his swollen lips, trying to be dignified and controlled, hoping his cool tone seemed sincere with his thick erection betraying him. “Perhaps I should shower alone?” It seemed merciful to give his maker an out if he needed one.
With a growl, bestial and barely restrained Teskhamen stumbled back. With his chest heaving, he couldn’t even respond for some time, so horrified was he by how close he had been to his instincts taking over and harming Marius. Closing his eyes, willing the fierceness in him to die down and forcing himself to stop thinking of the heat and arousal in Marius’s body, he nodded. Gods help the poor soul that would become his victim this night, or perhaps one alone wouldn’t even slake his urges. Marius’s warm and desirous touch had left burning trails along his back, and he hadn’t known how much he needed to be touched until now. “You’ll be okay,” he breathed, more to assure himself that if he tore himself away, Marius wouldn’t slip and fall in the shower.
Marius wanted to echo the affirmation, but when he tried to speak, he found his throat tight, his words and breath stuck. His hands tightened over the carved rim of the sink, squeezing the marble, harmless even at his full strength whereas before, it would have crumbled into dust beneath his grip. He had to try again, even if all he could muster was the perfect facade.
Taking another deep breath, Marius found the steadiness to speak. “I will be all right.” He was not surprised at the confident steadiness of his voice, or the way it did not break or waver. This practiced and perfected calm was second nature. Even as his heart pounded, his cock throbbed, and he wanted his mouth full of blood. Something to satiate the warring hungers, whether by body or blood.
Would Armand consent to waking to service his needs? It would be selfish to ask when he slept so soundly and beautifully, safe in Louis’s arms in a way he would never be safe with Marius. Bianca? Ah no, certainly not. He’d have to make this night up to her to return to her good graces. This frustration and arousal was his punishment, then, for being selfish. Really, it was his own fault for letting himself feel too much, both physically and emotionally. Marius wanted to go back to being frozen in body and heart.
It was troubling too to see his maker hungry like this. A bit of a surprise, too, as Marius had never seen anyone so desperately hungry for him before, so violently in need of him. Men like him did not inspire such torment.
No, he was quick to correct himself. It is your blood. Human blood.
“You must go and feed. Do not be tempted by us, not unless you wish to end up with our same horrible fate.”
“It isn’t that,” Teskhamen choked out, the blood tears rising in his eyes. He took a moment to breathe to calm himself as best as he could. He didn’t care what happened to him, never had, but he knew he needed to remain a vampire to protect all of the loved ones within these walls. Or else, what? Seth and Fareed would send another over? Would that vampire succumb to the temptation too, and by and by, their whole species would be eradicated?
But that wasn’t even half of what Teskhamen was worried about. “If I hurt you, you, I would never forgive myself.” He needed to calm himself enough to pass by Armand and Louis in the bedroom without harming them, leave the house without giving into his instincts. Even as fast as he could go, he worried it would be the longest experience of his life. He couldn’t even look at Marius, with his half hard cock and his desperation.
The few human orgasms Marius had experienced so far were nothing compared to the centuries of blood lust. His idea of physical pleasure was blood, was the sensation of sharp teeth sinking into flesh, of skin under his mouth opening and gushing hot, sticky blood. And pain, the inevitable pain of having his own skin sliced, punctured, and torn in return, that was ecstasy. Teskhamen’s suggestion of pain now was no less arousing than the kiss, and would be just as welcome to his overworked body. But he kept this point to himself as his maker seemed very distraught. This wasn’t about him, really, but about the vulnerable pair just beyond the door. Armand and Louis were undeniably succulent, and their steady, wet heartbeats must be driving Teskhamen into a frenzy. Marius was sympathetic, as he knew how heavy the weight was to be the caretaker, the protector, the one who could not make mistakes as the consequences would be too dire.
“I’ll away,” Teskhamen said. “I’ll stay further away still, a few miles away. Then I’ll be able to keep a good eye on you all still, without this…” He gestured openly to the whole situation. “My love for you is too great.”
Marius felt deflated as Teskhamen vanished, his shoulders dropping, his head heavy. But this was for the best, wasn’t it? They were safer by far with his maker watching over them, as not every immortal thought of them with love and kindness, and they needed him to shield them from those who would hurt them.
Teskhamen didn’t know how he did it. He let his preternatural abilities take him where they would as fast as they would, and with his eyes focused ahead so he didn’t catch sight of the others, he was a few miles away on a beach within seconds. The sea breeze hit his face and his backside hit the sand, and he let the tears fall and dry as they would.
Notes:
This chapter written by T and B.
Next up, Marius needs to do something about Armand and Louis in his bed...
Chapter 119: Everything You Need
Summary:
Marius needs Armand's help taking care of the arousal his maker sparked, and since Louis's already in the bed, it's only polite to invite him to join them. Explicit.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Marius stood in the bathroom, eyes closed, trying to temper his arousal and ride the swaying of the earth beneath his intoxicated body. If he were more comfortable or in a better mindset, the drunkenness would be enjoyable. After so long, though, he knew he’d have to rouse because he could not stay here like this all night. It was wise of Teskhamen to leave the villa, but Marius’s body yearned for what they had begun, the fire in his belly frustrated and tense.
Blindly, he reached for the bathroom lights and dimmed them to a more comfortable, low setting. Maybe the shower would help. Moving with careful, slow precision, Marius reached for the already flowing tap and set the temperature. The hot spray of water from the multiple jets was a balm to his muscles and bones.
In a quiet murmur, he recited Cicero’s De Provinciis Consularibus, as nothing would temper a man’s lust faster than tax policy. “Si quis vestrum, patres conscripti, exspectat quas sim provincias decreturus, consideret ipse secum qui mihi homines ex provinciis potissimum detrahendi sint…” he droned on, trying to distract his body, trying to bore his relentless cock into rest. This speech had put him to sleep plenty in his boyhood, so it seemed a surefire cure for passion.
Annoyingly, this time, it relieved little. Patiently, Marius scrubbed his body clean, avoiding the offending organ until he could no longer and had to wash it, too. He stepped out of the shower softer but tense, which had to be his body mocking him. As it did too often, silent solemnity soured, and his mood turned sullen.
So quiet, Marius dried his body, his hair, brushed his teeth, and finally went into the bedroom where he slipped on a pair of pajama pants. As he slid his fingers over the band that encircled low on his waist, he stared at the pile of clothing and shoes discarded haphazardly at the foot of the bed. He sifted through it curiously. All Louis’s it seemed, except for the second, smaller pair of shoes.
Gingerly, he lifted the covers and beheld Armand, still wearing his pants and socks. His shirt was unbuttoned, but only halfway. Louis was almost nude, however, clad only in his underwear. They lay unconscious together, holding each other loosely in one another’s arms.
In silence, Marius pondered their states, the look of sheer satiation on Louis’s sleeping face, putting together a story of how they had ended up like this. It was an assumption to gather that they had been intimate, and also none of his business. Yet at the same time, he felt a rage settle, small and low, but with such potential. Of course Armand had replaced him in their bed. Because it wasn’t Marius who the youthful Lothario wanted, but rather the conquest of as many men as possible. He’d always been a lustful boy, but at least they’d been in love. The lust was still there, but the love discarded.
Yet what of that love long ago? How true was it? Amadeo had never troubled himself over the feelings of his Master, and Armand revealed himself to be still the same when he’d publicly chastised Marius tonight for wanting Gregory to show Armand respect. Armand did not want respect, and maybe he did not even want love, and that was why it was so easy to defy Marius, to humiliate him, to put him one rung lower than Gregory.
Probably a rung under Louis, too, but Marius was grateful that the two of them had each other. The protective way Armand watched Louis at dinner betrayed his feelings. At least that was love. Maybe Marius had forgotten what love was like or had never known. Armand did not want Marius’s love. Just his devotion, his attention, and his body. Such a superficial child still.
Gently, he grabbed Armand’s warm chin, so careful with his fingers so that they would not dig painfully into Armand’s plump, hot cheeks. He pulled Armand’s face until he could lean over the bed. But he didn’t kiss, rather he licked, gathering whatever lingered upon the surface of the youth’s full lips. There was a mild, almost missable flavor, salty and unique, but nearly worn away. The barest hint lingered, and Marius knew what semen tasted like. He’d kissed it from this terrible child’s mouth before.
Gregory, then Louis. Who remained? Lestat and Cyril here. Armand would seduce them eventually, he was sure.
“Armand,” Marius said, quiet but firm, still holding onto his tender and heartbreakingly beautiful face. “Wake up, my love.”
“Maestro?” Armand murmured blearily as his eyelids struggled to open. His small pink tongue came out to trace over the moist line Marius’s had left on his lips, and then he tried again, managing to actually see Marius this time in the dark of the bedroom. “You came back,” he breathed, still speaking Italian, a completely unguarded smile of happiness spreading on his face before he was awake enough to even think about trying to hide such vulnerability.
His arms struggled with the blankets for a moment before shaking them loose to wrap around Marius’s neck and pull him closer, inhaling deep the scent of him. He smelled like the same soaps and crystal freshness that clung to him when he’d ravaged Armand in this bed twelve hours ago. Felt like years ago now.
Marius sank into the soft warmth of Armand’s arms, letting himself be pulled down, skin tickling where the youth’s breath caressed. It was like this that Marius could believe in nothing else but their love. This was his favorite Armand, the one who was sweet and needy, and would never speak out against him. Marius smiled into his hair and climbed into the bed as best he could without disturbing his beloved too much. There was modesty under the covers, and Marius could feel the smallest bit of exposed skin pressed to his naked chest from Armand’s slightly parted shirt.
“I will always come back,” he promised. “But I need you to listen to me right now.” Armand did not have to rouse completely, just enough to consent.
Beside them, Louis stirred slightly, but remained steadfastly asleep, his breathing slow and even, undisturbed. As if he had unconsciously felt the movement of the body next to him, he withdrew his arm from beneath Armand and tucked it under his own pillow, an automatic reaction, unbothered in his slumber.
Meanwhile, Marius’s hand went down inside the back of Armand’s pants to find the tight, puckered hole. It was clean, not slick with lubrication, wet with another man’s seed, or swollen and tender from recent abuse. It was tight, obviously not used since he had it before dinner. “I need you right now, my love.”
Armand gasped to be touched in such a place, his breath coming out hot against Marius’s ear, and his arms tightened around him, his back arching so that his body cleaved to Marius’s.
Although Armand had given Louis pleasure generously, he had neither asked nor expected anything in return. The decision had been nothing like it was with Gregory on the yacht, where Armand’s inebriated mind had delighted in how desperate the formidable man had become for him, how Gregory had begged and pleaded for the reciprocation Armand had not allowed. With Louis, the pleasuring had been an act of the purest sort of love, a truly selfless desire to bring happiness to one whom he believed deserved nothing of the agonies that had been inflicted upon him of late. A moment of respite, which perhaps had not meant much to Louis, and he might not even remember in the morning, but there was nothing Armand would ever want in return from Louis, who ever needed his protection.
But that did not mean Armand was not left wanting. His time with Marius this afternoon had reminded him of just how addictive sex could be. He had not experienced orgasm since the last time he and Marius were together a week ago, and now that Marius had stoked those fires again in his hot, youthful blood, Armand was nearly panting with want. “Yes, please, anything!” he whispered, half asleep, half drunk, but all willing. “Anything for you.”
Marius pressed his lips to Armand’s soft, sleepy mouth, effectively cutting off his sluggish, sweet begging. He must have had quite a night to be so needy. As he was still clothed, perhaps he had not had his own body tended to by Gregory or Louis. A youth of his age had quite a bit of stamina, and Marius had only the faintest memory of the near constant and easy to summon arousal of the teen years, but the knowledge was of its long ago existence only with no hint of the actual physical agony that made young men desperate.
“Anything for me? Who am I, my love?” Marius murmured, sliding down the length of the boy’s body. His hand slipped out of the back of his pants and went to undoing the front. Marius had to push the blankets down and off because it was much too hot and would only grow hotter. He thought of Teskhamen’s cold and hard body, and he wondered if he would be just as cold inside. What an aphrodisiac to have such a powerful creature writing under him. No wonder Amadeo had been so delighted those few times Marius let him have full access to wander his body, and why he favored Gregory. To hold a man of power in such thrall was intoxicating.
He was gentle when he reached in and gripped Armand’s soft organ, drawing it deep into his mouth.
“You are my… my… Oh!” Armand’s reply was cut off as the heat of Marius’s longue shot to life his sluggish, sleepy body. He was awake now! Still fuzzy and sloshy from all he’d drunk, but the alcohol was doing nothing at all to hinder his arousal, which sprang up as if it had been waiting at the ready for even just a single breath from Marius.
Squirming, Armand pushed up on his elbows so that he could try to look at Marius down there, needing to see him to be sure this was real and not yet another of the many dreams he ever had in this vein. But as he moved, his arm bumped a hard shape beside him and Armand was abruptly reminded that Louis was there. He’d forgotten that! Waking up to Marius, nothing else had existed!
Armand clamped a hand over his mouth to keep in the moans that already wanted to seep from him, not wanting to wake Louis, who he was sure would feel just as awkward and uncomfortable to witness this as he’d been when Gregory walked in on him in his own room earlier.
But it was too late Louis shifted beside them, slowly coming to consciousness, his faculties still dulled and mind muddled by the alcohol and drug in his system. He opened his eyes slowly, but met with such a sight, he too wondered if he might still be dreaming. The moonlight filtered through the window, outlining the silhouette of Armand’s bent and quivering torso, his hand to his face, his trembling tension, and as Louis’s eyes focused and shifted downward, another silhouette came into view, unmistakably that of Marius, so stately and set of purpose, even in this activity, and fastidiously attentive to Armand’s growing need.
Louis found himself frozen in place, hoping he had not been noticed, his head canted slightly on the pillow. There was a part of him that wanted to bolt upright and roll away, make some excuse and run. But there was quite another below that, the part of himself that needed to see such acts enacted by others to fill its dark desire. Louis made not a sound as he lay still. A familiar and prickling, tingling heat arose on his skin to accompany that unmentionable desire. And damn him, he wanted to see more.
Marius gazed up, continuing the deep, slow working of Armand in his mouth. He was still waiting for the boy to finish his sentence, to tell him just what he was, though he understood why it had been cut off by the immediacy of his body’s reaction to pleasure. He ran a hand up under Armand’s shirt, fingers finding one of the fine hard peaks of a small, delicious nipple to stroke and pinch. But he realized then no further answer was coming, as Armand’s hand did not move from his mouth. How considerate Armand was to muffle his wanton moans and gasps. He always was a loud boy. Marius had to put his hand firmly to the boy’s soft lips more than once to mask the very loud sounds of passion that Amadeo sighed out with each breath.
His tongue played with the very sumptuous cock head for a moment and Marius glanced to their bed companion. Only then did Marius withdraw with a loud pop, as he could tell that Louis was awake and trying with all of the dignity in him to keep respectable. Which was likely difficult to do with Armand looking absolutely debauched.
“Louis, would you like to join?”
In an instant, it seemed all of Louis’s inebriation left him. He sucked in a breath, reeling to be so brazenly called to attention. Transfixed by what he was seeing, Louis could barely find the breath to articulate an answer to this casually bold invitation spoken from lips that had just been so intimately occupied. Join them? Louis’s cheeks burned with the suggestion, his whole body flushing warm, then cold and hot again as the adrenaline raced up his spine.
With a mixture of shame and thrill alike, he simply stared back, his eyes flitting in the dim light from Marius’s face to Armand’s and back again. How could he possibly answer such a question with any modicum of dignity? How could he respect Armand and Marius both in such a moment as this?
The invitation hung in the air, and Louis swallowed, then slowly eased to one elbow. For an instant, he almost rolled in the opposite direction, could envision himself mumbling some horrid apology of stupid words and bolting outright. But even that seemed disrespectful.
Propped up as he was, he wet his lips with his tongue and bade himself speak, his eyes locked with Marius’s. “Would you…both of you,” he began, his voice soft, barely above a whisper. Again, his eyes moved to Armand, though they were inexplicably drawn right back to Marius. “…let me watch?”
Marius’s gaze had followed Louis’s intense but uncertain stare to Armand. He couldn’t know what Armand was thinking, only try his best to discern. Armand loved Louis, felt a need to protect him in a way he felt for no one else, and Armand respected Louis above everyone else. Of course he desired him, too.
He thought on this, meeting Louis’s eyes again. Marius wasn’t shy or timid, not in any aspect of life. He liked to watch, too, though for two thousand years, watching was entertainment and interesting, not arousing. Would he like being watched? Marius decided to see, opening his mouth over Armand’s cock, sucking it into the back of his mouth, drawing every last inch into his throat. His tongue stroked as his mouth sucked. Yes, he did like to be watched.
But what would Armand like? Marius did not want to guess at it, to assume, and be wrong. Then this entire experience would be spoiled for the three of them. He was very gentle but firm as was his nature. With Louis lying on his side, Marius couldn’t wrap him in his arm to pull him close, so he reached over the short distance and clasp his hand around Louis’s throat. But he knew how to grip to not cut off breath or blood as he was not trying to choke the man, just hold him in place. Louis’s hands came up in a soft grip to Marius’s forearm as though he might move it, but then Marius was rising and leaning past Armand’s small frame to press their lips together. Marius let Louis taste the faint hint of Armand’s delectable cock on his lips and in his mouth.
Louis had not expected such an intensely deep and erotic kiss from the venerable Marius. With his large body pressing against him, the scent of Armand between them, their tongues colliding on top of it all and Marius’s hand at his throat, it sent Louis’s heart into overdrive, and he melted into it with a muffled and quiet moan.
Armand could barely breathe, it felt like a hand clutched his own neck as well, cutting off the ragged shallow wisps of air he struggled to take, reeling from being yanked into the deepest pleasure of Marius’s mouth and tongue, then to lose it, have it back, and loose it again, all while fearing for Louis’s sensibilities, that he would be upset now when Armand had only wanted to make him forget his troubles. And Marius’s amorous assault on Louis had shot Armand’s heart into his throat, but the sounds was Louis making now set it back down to ease, and he pushed himself up a little to watch them cautiously, his hand pressed over his own chest as if afraid his heart might fall right out of it.
“Marius,” he whispered, uncertain, wanting him to be gentle with Louis. At the same time, his hand caressed Marius’s bare back, down into the waistband of his loose pants, and Armand’s face nuzzled into his shoulder, trailing kisses over his shower-softened skin.
Louis seemed to like the kiss, at least that was Marius’s conclusion upon feeling the wet stroke of his tongue sliding against his own. Marius would stop at the slightest hint that Louis was not enjoying this, but for now he was reciprocating and Marius felt more than heard the moans that vibrated around his skilled tongue. There was something exciting about the taste of someone’s mouth and the unique sensation of their lips for the first time.
“You can watch,” he heard Armand answer Louis’s question finally, his voice infused with soft excitement. “Please watch.” So that was Armand’s consent as well, but Marius still wondered about if Louis wanted to join in. Though Armand might be possessive of Louis, and Marius could not blame him for not wanting to share.
But what Armand was remembering now was how Marius had asked if he could film them, and Armand had been so worried other eyes than theirs might see the video. But Louis here in the room with them was different. Armand wanted him to see. To touch, too, if he wanted. To make more of those thrilling moaning sounds. But he also wanted Marius’s attention for himself, and so his hand pushed down the waistband of Marius’s loose pants, between his legs to cup his scrotum from behind to draw his focus back, lest Armand end up being the one watching instead.
The distraction caught Marius back just as he was ready to apply more of his substantial weight, to using his size as he did at times to his advantage to lay Louis down underneath him. He could tell Armand did not like this by the way he touched his chest, the gesture one of anxiety or discomfort in this sort of context. Armand’s kisses were nice, though, and certainly no help if the youth wanted him to stop kissing Louis as the feeling of them trailing his sensitive back. The lower back was a common erogenous zone for humans, but Marius had always found his upper back just as hypersensitive. It was an area no one ever found out about on him, as who ever really touched that part of his back but Pandora, and he knew she wouldn’t tell anyone. Why would she? The topic was not one to organically wander into. It made him moan and the small hand on his testicles pulled his full attention, amused and aroused. Armand really was giving his best effort to separate them, so Marius decided to be merciful and give him what he wanted. The last thing he wanted to do was make the cherub angry or hurt.
“Would you rather I watch the two of you?” Marius whispered, really just wanting Armand’s pleasure. Of course he wanted his own, but he could see to that independently during their performance.
“I couldn’t,” Louis whispered, breathless from Marius’s kiss and missing it now that it was gone. A wash of shame came over him to know how hypocritical it was that he might balk at being asked to do something himself that he so readily wished to see of others. He shut his eyes quickly, afraid to douse the heat with his words and admission. How could he explain to Marius the depths of his understanding for what he believed Marius’s feelings were toward Armand? Louis imagined his own thoughts toward Lestat must be so very similar, to desire to hold him apart from others, to know his devotion singularly and fully, yet unwilling to disparage him whatever pleasure and inclination he might have in this new and vibrant mortal world.
“You were made for one another,” Louis whispered, his eyes filling suddenly with moisture, even as his arousal doubled with the imaginings of what two such immeasurably beautiful beings might look like, locked in intimate embrace. He was suddenly aware of just how little clothing he wore, and he could barely remember how it had come to be. Armand’s generous lips were not so forgettable, and Louis shivered with the memory, his hand sliding up along Marius’s arm to the wrist that still held his throat with such tender firmness.
Made for one another. Marius could have smiled at how very sweet the mere idea was, but he knew such things did not exist. He was neither romantic enough to succumb to the dreamy idea of it, nor did he believe in the confines of being fated to something. Still, it was sweet and he wished he still had some of that left in his heart.
Armand, meanwhile, was glad Louis declined, because he certainly was about to flat out refuse Marius’s suggestion. Although he loved Louis with infinite tenderness, Armand would be damned if he let Marius stand aside and not take what he had claimed he so needed only a minute ago.
Both of his arms slid around Marius’s sturdy torso, and Armand tugged at him, trying to bring him back to his side of the bed and away from Louis so that Louis could fade into the dark background the way Armand knew he wanted to. He didn’t care now one way or the other if Louis watched. He found no particular excitement in it—how could he when he was so consumed with his need for Marius at the moment?
“Don’t toy with me,” he pleaded at Marius’s ear as he vainly tried to claim him back from their bedfellow. “I’ll be everything you need.”
Marius could feel the solid press of Armand against his naked torso and wished for the heavy beating of his heart. If only to feel it reverberating through him. Marius was briefly troubled by just how forcefully and physically Armand was trying to remove him from Louis. The words were flattering, cajoling. Was he frightening Louis? Immediately, he released the grip and smiled apologetically. He’d work harder on trying to be more human.
He relaxed the strength and posture of his muscles, becoming pliant in Armand’s arms. Suddenly, very easy to pull away, he even turned a bit to give the cherub back his sole focus. “I do not mean to toy with you,” he murmured, shifting. There was a hard bundle of regret in his chest that he’d made Armand feel for even a moment that he wasn’t everything Marius could need and more. Armand was necessary but an indulgence, nonetheless, too luscious and rich to be only the bare minimum.
Louis’s moved from Marius to Armand, back and forth, his gaze sliding slowly up one limb and down another, across a rib cage to the line of a curved neck, skirting the indentation of Marius’s cheekbone, then brow to Armand’s large expectant eyes, and his lips open so expectantly for what Louis had only just tasted in Marius’s kiss. Louis drew in a quiet breath, watching them both, reveling in how their bodies fit together with such a clear and powerful contrast, Armand’s soft and angelic features augmenting Marius’s musculature and stature, and Marius’s power adding to the deceptive notion of delicacy and pliancy in Armand. Briefly his mind flashed to how Lestat and Benedict had looked that day last week, in one another’s arms, but he pushed it away. Here he was permitted, had been allowed, even asked to stay, and partake more. Louis laid his head back against the pillow, lying on his side, the sheets just barely covering his hips, as he watched the two beside him in the cool glow of waning moonlight.
Twisting to fully face Armand meant Marius must break from his grasp. Worth it to get to stare into his eyes. Worth it to pounce and scoop him up, fitting himself between the youth’s legs and settling, chest to chest, brushing their lips together but not kissing. The Armand he got when they were in bed together was much, much different from the Armand he was given when around others. The one who was cruel and dismissive. So he was going to enjoy this until it was over, and bask in the love and adoration he was given without reserve. “And what do I need, my love?”
Armand practically purred like a cat, so pleased was he to have Marius on top of him again. His arms encircled his shoulders while his legs wrapped around Marius’s hips so that as much of their bodies could be touching as possible despite the clothes they both still wore.
He could have said exactly what he knew Marius needed, but Marius wouldn’t appreciate such truths at a moment like this, so he smiled and arched his back to rub himself up and down against Marius between his legs. “You need my body, you need my tongue,” he said with casual certainty, and he ran the tight tip of his tongue up the line of Marius’s throat, relishing at the roughness of the invisible stubble growing there. There had been none the last two times they’d been together like this. His smooth, short fingernails scratched down between Marius’s shoulder blades. “You need to be nude, and you need me to be too.”
Marius was properly pleased that Armand did not play coy and tease him, which was always a torturous possibility with the devilish, breathtaking boy. He’d never disliked it, though, and having Armand constantly push him, challenge him, had been something that both excited and frustrated Marius. It did make it all the sweeter when Armand submitted without a fight like now. Armand was rubbing against him the way he’d wanted Teskhamen to do, and the satisfaction and pleasure made him feel more intoxicated, reversing the sobering effects of the shower.
It was simply awful, but he pulled himself off of Armand, quick with his efforts to strip the boy of his clothing. Every inch of sumptuous skin heated Marius’s blood by a new degree. He wasn’t embarrassed by the growing wet spot on his loose, thin pajama pants, which he divested himself of. Only when they were nude did he allow himself to luxuriate in the treat that was Armand’s body. His hands slid with notable reverence up his calves and thighs. He was utterly entranced and felt secretly foolish for entertaining that woman tonight when this was superior in every way.
He looked at the rosy head of Armand’s cock which had apparently been neglected all night. He slid down the short length of his body and took it back into his mouth. Armand did nothing to stifle his gasp, and his hands went up over his head, scrambling for something to hold onto for purchase, but he was too far from the headboard and could only clutch around the pillows in effort to keep himself from writhing straight off the bed
All this, Louis watched with bated breath, his eyes drinking in the vision before him that was Marius and Armand, fully bared to one another, and locked in such a bawdy and delicious display. Instinctively, Louis lifted one of his hands to his face, slowly covering his mouth and nose as though it were something substantial he might hide behind, as ridiculous a notion as that was. His heartbeat in his throat, he remembered how it felt to read the pages of Armand’s recounting of his human days with Marius, and recalling it now felt wholly obscene, though Louis pressed the feeling down and away, afraid to utter a sound or make a move that would interrupt this private showing which he’d been allowed to witness.
Armand’s neck craned in effort to watch Marius, desperate to see his face as he pleasured him. Every wire and circuit in Armand’s body had sparked to life in a way he had not felt since the night they spent snowed in at the hotel. Even their time together this afternoon had been somewhat strained, but the comfort of night gave him the freedom now to let himself go completely. And only Marius could make him feel this impossibly aroused. It was likely only thanks to the alcohol that Armand hadn’t shot off hotly down Marius’s throat immediately.
“Oh please,” he mewled, moaning sinfully, his legs wrapping tight around the back of Marius’s shoulders. For once Marius wasn’t torturing or teasing him, and tears of sheer bliss gathered at the corners of his eyes.
Marius had no way to communicate with a human Armand but verbally, but Armand had suffered enough. He’d not dare take the tight suction of his mouth away, not with the pain and desperation in Armand’s voice. The feeling beneath him of Armand’s body writhing, the soft and supple skin beneath his roaming palm, and the hardness that filled his mouth added new layers of eroticism to the sound of the breathy, anguished voice.
Marius did not know how Louis could merely watch such a display, as he would be ravenous to have Armand. Those lovely little whines made him so hard. Him. The paragon of unaffectedness. How could Louis endure to watch his spoiled angel come undone and not touch his burning hot flesh or kiss his wet, plump lips. The only thing better than the taste of Armand’s blood was the taste of the inside of his heated mouth. Perhaps his cock, too, which Marius delighted in without shame.
Yes, he would wring Armand out with his mouth and then have his turn to enjoy his loose, unfurled body. In the post-orgasmic bliss, Armand would be marvelously open and soft inside. Even better, Armand would be grateful for his orgasm and all the more generous with his body in return. And if all Louis wanted to do was watch, he was more than welcome to take in every hot, panting moment with nothing more than his eyes, but Marius would never be able to understand it.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, B and K
Chapter 120: Too Much
Summary:
When Louis leaves Armand and Marius to go back to his own bed, he's surprised to find Lestat there waiting for him, and he doesn't know how to tell him about everything that happened, so he throws himself into passion instead. Explicit
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
In the dim moonlight of the small morning hours, Louis was able to make out Lestat’s form in the bed as he entered the room. He lay stretched out on his stomach with his arms wrapped around the pillow that cradled his head. The comforter drawn halfway up his back revealed bare shoulders, bare arms. His face was turned toward Louis, tendrils of his hair falling past his cheek, but he was obviously deeply asleep. Immediately, Louis’s heart rose to his throat then plummeted to the very pit of his stomach.
For a moment, he wondered if he might have walked into the wrong room, but no. This was his room, not the one he’d shared with Lestat yesterday. This was the room Bianca had given him. Here was Lestat, lying in his bed. A thing Louis could not admit aloud to Lestat’s face that he’d desperately wanted every single night of his mortal existence was here now as if out of one of his fever dreams, and without his having had to ask for it. How long had Lestat been in here? Waiting for him?
Louis cursed himself inwardly that he’d been too drug-addled and drunk to make it back to his own room tonight. But the truth was that he had expected Lestat to stay out all night with the women he’d run off with, which had led Louis to simply abandon his wherewithal to the deep bass of the club, the taste of alcohol and the mindlessness of drug-induced euphoria. Never would he have imagined Lestat would come back here to this bed, and so Louis had simply stayed with Armand.
Louis’s cheeks burned with recollection of what he had just done and seen with Armand and Marius up in Marius’s bed, along with what Armand had done for him privately earlier. His warm lips, and Marius’s too—the way he had kissed Louis with such heat and passion. Louis felt he might actually faint for the muddled and mixed waves of anxiety, pleasure, thrill and guilt that washed over him all at once for all that he had experienced.
As Armand and Marius had finally settled in to sleep and Louis had slipped away from them, he’d hastily taken up his clothing to haphazardly redress and creep back downstairs. But now he stripped it all off again in a hurried rush, and shakily approached the bed, his hands trembling as he placed them on the mattress in order to steady himself to sit. He almost spoke, almost said Lestat’s name low and quiet to wake him, but the sight of him sleeping there in beatific peace, like a carved statue of a god in repose or some masterfully done work of art, kept him quiet. Nevertheless, the shifting of the mattress under his weight betrayed him.
Lestat woke with a start, fear flashing in his eyes before he remembered where he was and recognized Louis’s slender shape on the bed beside him. The sinking moonlight from the windows made his pale skin look almost blue in the dark, and Lestat was too caught by the sight of it to even wonder why he wasn’t wearing any clothes. He let out a slow breath, and one arm unhooked from around his pillow, his hand falling with a loose but solid gasp on Louis’s wrist as a very sleepy smile touched his face.
Louis stared down at him in the darkness, taking in every detail of his tousled hair, his dreamy expression. It was enough to make his heart burst for that way Lestat was looking up at him when combined with the gentle but possessive grip of his fingers.
Louis could only imagine he needed a shower after the whirlwind night he’d come from, between the heat of the restaurant, the bustling club, half of which he could not remember, and Marius’s bedroom with Armand. Louis felt a familiar stab of guilt thinking back on it all now, despite that Lestat had likely come from a similar situation. Who knew what he had gotten up to and who he had gotten into while away, after all?
And why was it that Louis could not muster up the annoyance to care?
Just to look at Lestat now sent all of that melting away in Louis’s mind. Slowly, he pulled back the covers to slip beneath them, right up close to Lestat. Face to face, Louis’s eyes traveled about Lestat’s in the dimness, and his hand slid up Lestat’s bare hip, to hold loosely to his waist. That he found Lestat to be entirely nude as well was hardly a surprise to Louis. But the fact Louis had completely divested himself of his own clothing in a mad rush upon seeing Lestat in his bed, now had Louis’s cheeks burning with self-consciousness and arousal in equal measure.
The sheer tenderness of Louis’s touch made Lestat’s breath hitch, and he began to wonder if he was dreaming. Well, he might as well be, so he would proceed accordingly. He rolled back a bit to be on his side, and he slid his right arm under Louis’s shoulders so that he could wrap him in his arms and pull him warmly against his chest, his legs weaving into Louis’s automatically out of habit. Nuzzling against Louis’s temple, Lestat breathed in his scent. His sleepy brain was just aware enough to think that Louis didn’t smell like himself. The fragrance was familiar, but Lestat couldn’t quite place it, though it might come to him later when he was more awake.
Louis’s skin felt clammy and hot under his hands and against his stomach, but Lestat dismissed that too, thinking he’d just come home from the heat of the tropical night without the chance for the air conditioning to make his skin soft and silky again. The thought that Louis might have been with other people never even entered his mind, especially after Louis told him the day before that Lestat was the only one he’d been with at all since they’d become human.
There were many things Louis considered saying, pressed so very close as he was. But having Lestat here like this, alone, finally, after all he had endured from Gregory’s words against their relationship and from Louis’s own self-destructive behavior, he could not bring himself to utter any of it, lest he ruin this moment between them.
It was hard to think straight too, even with the anxiety and worry creeping back into his senses with each waning moment that stripped the effects of the drugs and alcohol from his system. A hint of a headache was beginning to fester, and Louis let out a small, short moan of a sound, as if that could stave off the oncoming pain of the hangover he was sure to suffer.
Ah, that sound. Lestat laughed softly. Of course, Louis was suffering. Even here, like this, in the quiet darkness, with nothing but themselves, he had something to suffer over. Lestat pressed a lazy kiss to Louis’s forehead that was somewhere between patronizing and comforting. Once again, he took a long sniff of his hair. What was that scent? Familiar…scratching at the back of Lestat’s brain. But he was too tired, so he pushed it away and just snuggled Louis close up against him, and just like that, he very comfortably drifted right back into sleep.
By the time he woke up again, the window blinds were glowing bright with high morning sunlight. Louis had sunk onto his back, and Lestat was now lying mostly on top of him, their faces so close on the pillow that when he opened his eyes, he could only see tangled black hair and the rise of Louis’s delicate nose. Lestat’s right arm was cramped, and he worked it out from under Louis with a wince, though he didn’t do anything else to move off of him. Stretching his arm up, he flexed his hand a few times. He’d never felt any such aches and pains as a vampire, and he resented them fully now. Why must it hurt to simply hold someone? To sleep with a loved one in your arms? Cosmically unfair.
Louis awoke with the movement, momentarily disoriented and worried until he remembered it was Lestat that was draped atop him. “I’ll never drink again…” he lied, his voice a small weary whisper of a groan. He could feel his painful heartbeat in his forehead, and when he finally opened his eyes fully and glanced at the ceiling, the room seemed to spin by itself independent of him.
He shut his eyes again and wrapped his arms about Lestat, clinging to him as though Lestat could anchor him and keep his world from twisting sideways with the hangover. A flood of memory, conversation and flashes of the previous day and night assaulted Louis in that moment, and he made another groan, holding tighter to Lestat.
Lestat laughed softly, because Louis’s brand of misery was always funny. His chest vibrated against Louis’s, and he draped his arm back over him. How drunk could Louis have possibly been last night? Lestat had only seen him with a couple glasses of wine and a sip of Marius’s scotch.
But then it began to come back to Lestat that they’d gone their separate ways, and just why he’d so impulsively left the restaurant. How confused he’d been when Louis had acted like he had absolutely no idea why Lestat had pulled him aside with worry before he got to the dinner table. How Louis had ignored Lestat when he’d rushed to his door after Gregory told him what occurred between them earlier that afternoon. Louis wanted to pretend like nothing had happened, did not want to confide in Lestat, did not need to be rescued or comforted. Just like Gregory kept saying…
The air went softly out of Lestat, and he turned his face down into the pillow to try to gather his slowly clarifying thoughts as his sluggish brain booted up.
“Long night?” he asked muffledly after a minute, even though he knew obviously it was. But he hoped Louis would tell him something, anything.
Again Louis groaned, his hold growing more desperate to Lestat’s shoulders. Where could he even begin? It had all started yesterday when he witnessed Lestat and Gregory in the pool, and then had gone completely downhill from there, despite Louis’s attempts to push it all away and enjoy their dinner at the restaurant. Lestat had left with Marius, and then Gregory… Damn that Gregory and his demands, his challenges and his goading!
“I let my pride get the better of me, should have come straight back here after dinner, but Gregory…” Louis shook his head as best he could with his face pressed against Lestat’s hair. It felt shameful to blame anyone but himself for his own actions, even if a large part of it had been instigated by Lestat leaving him out of nowhere and Gregory demanding that Louis step away.
“Yesterday was wholly awful,” he admitted. “Embarrassing, demeaning, even though I tried to forget, to push it away as if nothing happened. I don’t begrudge you your dalliances, I really don’t.” Louis’s head was pounding and he felt he was hardly making sense, so he paused and tried to reorient his thoughts. He hardly wanted to tell Lestat that Gregory had demanded he step away; it seemed so petty, and part of him hoped Gregory would forget he had ever said such things or that he suggested they all talk about it over breakfast
“There was a nightclub,” he said instead. “Gregory took us to it, me and Armand. He said some things I couldn’t ignore, a sort of challenge. It’s all my fault, I could have simply ignored it all, come back here instead. But I didn’t, and when he handed me a bag of pills, I… I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking. I took them, I can’t even remember half the night. I feel wretched, Lestat. I don’t know what came over me.” It all tumbled from his lips without warning, this mishmash of words, a paltry explanation for the aching throb in his head and his shuttered memories that didn’t seem to quite connect.
Shifting so that his arms were on either side of Louis’s shoulders, Lestat pushed up on his elbows and stared down at him, his face a mask of confusion as Louis’s onslaught of words wormed their way through to the best of his understanding. “Pills?” he asked, thinking of all the tablets the doctor, Greta, had brought to the chateau. But then it clicked. “You mean drugs?”
He was about to ask what was so wretched about that, seeing no difference between that sort of inebriation and the one alcohol provided, but then he realized Louis meant he felt physically wretched, in pain. But Lestat was sure Gregory wouldn’t have given Louis anything dangerous. He was a pharmaceutical genius, and he’d know what Louis could handle.
“You just need some breakfast,” he said with a slightly forced smile, still too confused to let himself even try to think about what Louis meant by ‘challenges’ or contemplate Gregory, Louis and Armand clubbing and taking drugs together without him. “Food and water, and you’ll feel just fine again in no time.”
“No, I won’t,” Louis groaned in protest, staring up at him with an expression of torment. His grip about Lestat’s shoulders was unwavering, the strength in it as though he felt he might fall completely off the face of the earth were he not holding on. And even in this, Louis felt wretched and shameful, when he should have been stronger, more confident in his own resolve.
“It was all too much. And after the drugs, even more so. Everything was magnified, the drinks stronger, the music louder, every sensation like electric fire. I just wanted to forget the day only, but now I can barely place where or when I was for most of the night!” Louis looked half panicked as he tried to explain, didn’t know why he was even explaining to begin with, as though he suddenly lacked control over his mouth and mind. “And then when we finally returned here…” Louis shut his eyes tightly, and turned his head away. “Armand and Marius…All too much. Only to find you here, as though you had been waiting for me…”
“Too much for what?” Lestat was only getting more confused the longer Louis went on. Why was it such a big deal if Louis didn’t remember some of his night? Lestat had had plenty of nights like that as a drunken mortal boy, and if Louis had been wanting to forget his day, then wasn’t it for the best?
Louis looked back at him, their eyes meeting, green to blue, Louis’s rimmed in emotion. Abruptly, Louis realized all over again, with all of his swirling thoughts, remembering too how Lestat had looked lying here in the bed all alone, that they were both still so very naked and pressed so closely together. The ceiling spun slowly beyond the perfect golden halo of Lestat’s hair. And despite the throbbing in his head, Louis’s center began to vibrate with a tingling warmth as the vision of Lestat so beautiful and adoring above him brought Louis to a soft arousal.
“Louis?” Lestat was about to say something else but was very quickly becoming distracted by the way Louis’s body was shifting beneath him and the glassiness stealing over his emerald eyes. “Ah…”
“I won’t give you up,” Louis blurted without warning, trembling, and before Lestat could ask what he even meant by that, Louis’s fingers pushed up into Lestat’s hair at the back of his head, and he brought their mouths together, his teeth grazing Lestat’s bottom lip in an intense kiss.
And just like that, every question in Lestat’s mind evaporated. There was no way Louis could possibly know what effect his kisses had on Lestat; it was like he’d been knocked out of his entire plane of existence into a new realm where nothing existed except their desire for each other. All the blood rushed out of Lestat’s brain, snaked down past his heart and through the pit of his stomach and flooded right into his cock. His hands came together on either side of Louis’s head, his fingers tucking between his scalp and the pillow, and Lestat groaned against his mouth, his hips rolling into Louis’s thigh.
Louis too moaned into the kiss, his back arching up off the mattress in a slow rhythmic motion to meet Lestat’s downward thrust. The length of their bodies flush, tongues entwining, Louis’s arousal doubled with the sensations. And even as his headache pounded in his skull with each heartbeat, a measure of comfortable numbness began to settle over it with the mounting friction between their lips.
Louis broke the kiss a mere breath to mumble a sudden and desperate, “I love you,” against the corner of Lestat’s mouth. Then again they were kissing, Louis frantic and needy, his hands tangled into Lestat’s hair at his shoulder. “I love you, I love you,” he gasped in between his kisses, and he couldn’t stop the wetness that pushed past his eyelids.
Somehow, someway, it worked through Lestat’s all-consuming arousal that something wasn’t right here. Was Louis still drunk? It might have been funny, except the touch of fear in Louis’s voice made a finger of sobriety trace up Lestat’s spine and he turned his face away from Louis’s insistent mouth to catch his breath. He pushed up a little on his elbows so he could look down at him again. Good god, was he crying??
“Louis?” he breathed, though his heart was thudding so hard in his chest against Louis’s that his concentration was already slipping. “What is it? What’s wrong?” His thumbs traced along the line of Louis’s jaw, the dark shadow of morning stubble rough against their sensitive pads. One of them tugged at Louis’s moist lower lip and Lestat started to bend to kiss it again, before remembering he’d asked a question only a second ago.
“Nothing and everything,” Louis panted, wishing Lestat wouldn’t look at him that way and just keep kissing him into oblivion. He couldn’t very well tell Lestat that Gregory had urged him to step away, had insinuated that Louis was some kind of killjoy that Lestat would be better off rid of. To see Lestat’s expression now, the concern in his brow rather than happiness and bliss, Louis began to fear that Gregory was right, at least in his assessment of Louis’s propensity for ruining Lestat’s fun.
“He’ll tell you, Gregory. Let him say it. I can’t, don’t want to hint at disparaging him to you, for fear you’ll only resent the source…me.” Louis’s headache was slowly creeping back into his consciousness with passion’s momentary reprieve, and he winced. His vision threatened once again to tilt sideways. Damn this hangover, damn his frail inhibitions.
“Looooouis…” Lestat stretched his name out in a tone half sympathetic, half admonishing, and he bent to softly suck at his lip. There was far too little blood in Lestat’s brain to make sense of anything Louis was saying—beyond the conclusion that he must be entirely overreacting to something or other in his post-inebriated state.
Lestat’s hips ground into him again, shifting his body just enough so that their erections were sliding against each other now. Dipping his face, he began to nibble along the most sensitive part of Louis’s neck. “Don’t pay Gregory any attention,” he said between kisses and soft nips that would leave no bruises this time. “He was drunk, and he’s never actually serious about anything. Didn’t you hear what he said at dinner about what he did with Armand?”
Louis made the barest hint of a stifled groan, both in pleasure from how sinfully wonderful the friction felt between them, and in woe for how Armand’s name brought back to mind the sordid and fuzzy memories of last night. Not that he begrudged what Armand had done for him, or Marius afterward either, but he had no idea of how Lestat might react to know of it all.
“Armand…” he began, then sucked in a heated breath and shivered for how Lestat’s attentions were driving him mad. “He was drunk too…and Marius… I don’t know!” He gasped as a particularly arousing shudder wracked his body. “Lestat, please!”
His grip tightened about Lestat’s shoulders as though he might push him away, but instead he only tugged him closer. Louis’s arms wrapped desperately about his back and neck, and he bent his head to the side so that Lestat’s lips had better access to his skin there. How Louis longed for that luscious and ravenous bite, to feel the prick of painful penetration of Lestat’s needle sharp fangs that would melt into blissful surrender. Would that they could, just now Louis would have let Lestat take as much of his blood as he could ever want or wish for.
But he would have to settle instead for Lestat penetrating him in only the most human of ways. It worked, at least for the time being. By the time Lestat had put on a condom and was railing Louis into the mattress, neither of them could even remember the names of all the other men Louis had been frantically bringing up in their bed. Quite successfully fucking each other’s brains out.
The exercise left them a sweaty, panting tangle of limbs some time later with the tropical late morning sun streaming across them through the slatted blinds on the glass veranda doors. Yes, as they lay catching their breath, Lestat’s fingers limply twining the ends of Louis’s hair, there was at least nothing at all left in his blitzed out mind other than the sensation of Louis’s chest rising and falling against his and each soft thud of his tender heartbeat through it.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and K.
Chapter 121: A Worse Case
Summary:
When Armand and Marius wake up together, they try to discuss what they want out of their relationship, but Marius assumes he already knows what's best.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Armand had never seen Marius asleep. Not truly. Yes, there had been times five hundred years ago when they napped together in his grand Venetian bed, dozing for hours in each other’s arms, but each time Armand had thought he’d been the first to wake, had lifted his hot sleepy mortal head and caught sight of the marble god that was his master as still and hard as a statue, it would seem like an illusion, because the moment would shimmer and Marius’s eyes would be open after all, observing him with perfect alertness.
But Marius was certainly asleep now. For one thing, he was snoring. It wasn’t very loud, but it had been enough to wake Armand, and it hadn’t ceased. It was only as Armand rolled and pushed himself up on his elbows to look that he even remembered Louis had been there in the bed with them at all. Gone now, which neither surprised nor troubled Armand. He only hoped morning sobriety had not left Louis upset or ashamed. Just to be safe, Armand would never mention what they shared last night. He and Louis had never needed to speak of such matters, and things had always remained comfortable between them.
Just now, Marius had Armand’s full attention, and he seized upon this rare moment to study his beloved as if he were a specimen under a microscope. Leaning close to peer at his face, Armand took in the way his golden eyelashes lined up like soldiers, though a few were out of ranks, crooked, sticking out at just a slightly different angle from all the rest. The pores on the sides of Marius’s nose were larger than those on his cheeks, and when Armand tilted his head just a little, he could see the dark hairs just inside his nostrils. He was seized with the urge to extend a finger and touch them, to feel whether they were soft or coarse, but generously, he refrained. Instead, his fingertip traced lightly as a feather over the four faint grooves that crossed Marius’s forehead. Even in relaxed slumber, the lines were visible. The only times Armand had ever seen them before were when Marius had been utterly gorged on blood, and so florid with it that even the crinkles at the corners of his eyes appeared on his vampire flesh. Those times had been exceptionally rare.
Not rare now, these lines would be here all day, along with all the other odd little things that made him human now. Every last detail of this man’s face fascinated Armand, and he could have spent all day examining it if Marius hadn’t eventually woken.
Marius was roused by the faintest tickle to his face, but he was warm in bed, his limbs light. He knew a headache awaited him, and likely also a sore back. Drinking and staying out late had been much easier when he was a young man, he remembered. The penile tumescence he felt was not sexual in nature, but he felt oddly relieved for it in the most nonsensical way. It was only a standard morning erection.
He cracked his sluggish eyes and looked up. How on earth could Armand look this perfect upon first waking? His hair was sleep tossed and his eyes drowsy, but both only made Armand look very kissable. Whereas Marius felt like he’d died in his sleep and been resurrected with a zombie-like half-life, flesh heavy and brain half awake. At least there would be coffee if Bianca was not too angry at him for abandoning her thoughtful dinner with friends.
Briefly, he turned and looked, seeing Louis had left sometime during the night. His attention went back to the radiant angel above. “Good morning, my love,” Marius breathed, hoarse from the night before and the resulting deep sleep.
A light of surprise flickered in Armand’s eyes, as if shocked to hear Marius call him such a tender pet name, even though it was hardly the first time nor the only one. Perhaps Armand simply would never be used to hearing such words directed at him. But he could tell Marius had no ulterior motive or suspect reason for using them. And Armand supposed he should be grateful Marius hadn’t woken up angry with him again after the midnight lust had dissolved into the cool light of day.
Smiling, Armand let his hand lay flat over Marius’s forehead, feeling the small muscle under his temple shift as his face moved. “Good morning,” he repeated, his own voice soft and silky as ever. If he had drawn any conclusions from his examination of Marius’s face, he kept them to himself, and now only leaned in to give Marius’s eyes the same level of scrutiny. The hair-thin veins lining the whites were somewhat bloodshot, with the largest ones closest to the tear duct. The urge to press the tip of his tongue against them made him wet his lips.
Armand’s hand was warm and soft, and it was still strange for Marius to feel it this way—against his own warm, soft skin, and with an affection that he’d nearly forgotten how to receive. To be touched with this much tenderness made his heart ache. He didn’t deserve it, but he lacked the honor to deny Armand’s caresses, which made him selfish and deceitful at the very least. The peak of Armand’s tiny, rosy tongue was enough to make him forget his headache and sore bones.
He sat himself up, halfway laying, supported on his elbows to give the beautiful boy a good morning kiss to the lips. It was quick, but firm. “Shower first, or would you like breakfast?”
Armand needed to get his breath back after that kiss, and was only able to stare at Marius mutely with moist, slightly parted lips for a moment before he was able to answer him. “You’re hungry?” he asked, blinking in a little flutter to get his focus back. “Breakfast. I would like you to have breakfast.” Marius’s odd stubborn refusal to eat dinner at the restaurant last night was all coming back to him. “You’ll eat? I will if you do.”
The mention of food had Marius’s stomach in immediate knots and he fell back flat on the bed, shaking his head upon the pillow. “I am not very hungry,” he admitted. “I think my stomach is unwell from drinking so much last night.” At dinner, then the house of the young women. It had been quite a night. Only the young could sustain such adventures; he had slept all night and was still aching and exhausted from it. He should have stayed at the restaurant. Except…no, he’d not have endured the insult of that. As Marius thought of it, he scowled but kept the bitterness to himself.
“You’re cross,” Armand said with a small frown of his own he couldn’t contain, which was nearly a pout. He should have known it was too good to be true that Marius might have forgotten about last night when it had seemed like every last tiny thing Armand did somehow offended him, and Armand couldn’t understand why. Yes, this expression on Marius’s face had to do with far more than hangover nausea.
Armand adjusted his naked body so that he was sitting cross legged beside Marius’s chest, and he pulled one of his large arms into his lap so he could hold Marius’s hand between his own. Bending down, Armand softly kissed his knuckles, letting his messy and tangled dark hair fall forward to hide his face.
“I am not cross,” Marius denied. “I am tired.” He would have pulled his arm away and rolled onto his side, letting Armand confront his bare back, but he did not have the heart to abruptly end the sweet feeling of Armand nuzzling against him. The heavy, leaden weight of his body felt even more amplified and cumbersome as the events of the night returned.
While he was upset and confused, he’d admit to neither. There was so much he wanted to say, but he had learned too many hard, heartbreaking lessons about letting himself speak in anger. The truth was he would rather have Armand in even a worse case relationship scenario than be without him in the best possible world, and anything he said in anger would ruin everything. He had Armand’s heart, but only barely, and the cord that linked them was thin and fragile. One wrong word, one wrong move, which he may have already done, could sever it. He did not have the stamina for heartbreak before a cup of coffee. This conversation shouldn’t happen.
Quickly he sat up. “I will eat.” He would endure the horrible tastes, the sickness in his stomach, to avoid Armand’s anger and disappointment with him. Maybe even to delay the inevitable chewing out, the new list of rules and boundaries, whatever Armand had in mind.
Armand’s arms slid around him from behind, the skin of his chest to Marius’s back, chin on his shoulder. His voice was still just as soft when he spoke, “Why do you tell me lies when you know I can taste them the moment they leave your lips?” His breath buffeted against Marius’s ear in a sigh. He did not want to argue semantics. Marius was cross, regardless of what word he preferred to use for the mood instead. So different in the light of day than his mood when he came to Armand in the dark, speaking of how he needed him.
“You don’t like that I care about your health, that I want you to take care of your body. Do you think it shouldn’t concern me because all this is temporary, and when you’re a vampire again, it won’t matter? Ah, but I know the truth now. The truth you and Lestat have been hiding. Gregory told me.” As he spoke, his hands stroked idly over Marius’s chest, feeling the moist sponginess of his human skin, the fuzzy hair that had grown back over the past couple weeks. “Told me how there is no cure for this, how our bodies are completely immune to vampire blood. That it can’t even heal us, much less change us back to what we were. That we’ll be like this until we die.” His voice became lower, more monotone as he worked to keep his quavering fear from taking over as he admitted these things. “I don’t want you to die. You could live to be a hundred if you take care of your body.”
Annoyance coiled in the pit of Marius’s stomach, but he had to sort through the volley of emotions that both caused and accompanied it. Of course Gregory had told Armand. Had he done it to try and turn Armand against Marius so that he’d be more likely to engage in intimacy with him? Marius was convinced Armand had gotten on the boat with an affair in mind, so he’d have hardly needed convincing. Why else would the young man, supposed to be much too frightened to travel, consent to a middle of the sea adventure? It didn’t matter either way, Marius supposed. What happened had happened, and for whatever reason it had, which meant nothing now. Only the resulting fallout. Marius took responsibility.
“I won’t live to a hundred even if I do take care.” Marius wasn’t afraid of death, he just did not want to die, and felt grief for himself even though he knew he had been given much more than anyone could expect. It would be unfair to bind Armand to him, to waste away his most vibrant, beautiful years of youth watching a bitter old man whither. Gregory, in mortal years, was much closer to Armand’s age. They could match each other’s stamina, growth, and desires. It made sense. And so it also made sense why Armand had wanted to be near to Gregory, both in the vast wasteland of the sea and at dinner, and why he’d defended Gregory’s crass, boorish behavior and publicly condemned and humiliated Marius. Armand wasn’t to blame. He should never feel guilty for pursuing his heart’s desire.
Marius sighed, understanding his own selfishness and also knowing he had to overcome it. All he could do was make amends. “My scene at dinner was uncalled for, and I will apologize to Gregory as well.” He hated this. But that didn’t change the direction of truth: that he’d expected too much and then had acted out selfishly, which was a poor example to set at his age.
Armand’s fingers curled into his palms, the nails biting him, making him realize just how much they’d grown in his seventeen mortal days so far. He hooked his thumbs together, his arms around Marius tightening, ready to pull him back if he tried to get up. Turning his face down, he pressed his eyes to the back of Marius’s shoulder.
“I would have told you,” he began, his voice sounding tight. “Told you what I did. I was going to tell you, planned on it when I got back to the chateau from Spain. But you weren’t there. Still, I would have told you my first night here. I meant to, but then you said…” Armand took a sharp little breath and clenched his teeth, but then he just shook his head against Marius’s back.
“You do not need to explain yourself,” Marius murmured, knowing Armand too well not to note the distress in his limbs and strained voice. “If at the first test you failed, perhaps to begin with the expectation was set too high. The failure was not yours. It was mine. You are young and should experience all of the pleasures of youth. I do not wish to tie you down, and I can see this is what I was doing.” Perhaps he could sneak a glass of wine before eating breakfast to make sitting at the table that much more tolerable. “You were clear that you wished to enjoy the company of other men and women.” It was perfectly reasonable, too, that Armand should come to physically prefer some of them to Marius.
“But you asked me to tell you about them,” Armand insisted. “And I would, I wanted to.” The memory of the other night when he’d first arrived here in Rio knifed at him again. How much he had hoped that they could go back to the lovely first week of companionship they had shared at the chateau before his voyage, and how aloof Marius had been instead. As if four days apart were enough to make him regret giving any of himself to Armand at all. “I was going to tell you. But when you said that there was no point in keeping your promise to me…the one thing I asked of you…not to leave me again…I thought then there was no point in me keeping mine to you either.” He was half glad he was saying this to Marius’s back, that he didn’t have to face his withering gaze, but his other half was ashamed of his cowardice in avoiding it, and it all made him bristle and cling to Marius tighter. “But I never thought he would say anything about what we did. I thought you would just never know.”
The idea of sexual monogamy for a vampire was absurd. The lack of connection to sexual desires and impulses made the entire topic simply moot. Marius had never felt jealous of Amadeo’s sexual dalliances, of which there were many. As long as the boy was safe and eventually came home to him, he felt no jealousy or threat. The root of his hunger had been blood, not sexual. This, he would not have shared. He’d have crushed the life from any immortal who dared to sample even a drop of the blood that made Marius tremble. Amadeo’s body belonged to him in that way, and only him. The possessiveness was part of the bestial nature of the inhuman immortal, or an unfortunate consequence of their brutal kind of love.
But the blood was no more. And now? Marius could possess Armand’s body in only one way, the human way. The jealousy, the possessiveness wrapped itself up in human perspective and silly feelings. Armand’s body should belong to Marius. He was Lord and Master, after all. And as he had once had claim to Amadeo’s blood, he should now have sole claim over his body.
Yet that was not what Armand wanted. And Armand was not an object. He had his own wants, needs, and preferences, which Marius would have to adapt to. Had he been the jealous type as a mortal man? He didn’t know because he’d never been truly in love with another until after he’d died.
“You do not have to tell me,” he assured further, still quiet and without emotion. “You did what it was your heart and body wanted, which is your right as a man. I was made fully aware you wished an open relationship. I had just hoped you’d…warn me so that I am not humiliated in front of those I wish to maintain the respect of.” How did it look to them that Armand did not respect him? It was beating a dead horse, as they say, to push the point again. Marius had been humiliated at dinner, and he had not liked the crude and inelegant way Gregory had spoken to Armand. His precious love, the shining jewel of his existence. Was it so wrong for him to want others to treat Armand with appropriate respect?
Well, it wasn’t what Armand had wanted. That much was clear in the way Armand had defended Gregory, wanted to pacify any wounds to Gregory or slights to his honor, rather than rushing to do this for Marius. It had been quite a blindside to see Armand treat Gregory the way he had always stupidly assumed Armand would treat only him. Not to be the one on the other side, chastised and belittled.
Armand’s eyes opened, and he stared down at his lap with his forehead pressed against Marius’s back. He clenched and unclenched his teeth, then swallowed thickly, trying not to let his emotions seize hold of him and take him over. He wasn’t a child and he didn’t want to act like one, but everything just felt so huge. All of the time. Like thunder was cracking in his skull. Like any next moment could be the absolute end of his world.
This time when his arms tightened around Marius, it was to try to keep them from trembling. He swallowed again and asked stiffly, “So there is a point to me keeping my promise, but still no point in you keeping yours?”
“There is no promise to me,” Marius absolved him of that one seemingly impossible complication. Armand could now enjoy the intimate company of however many he wished and need not offer Marius a single word about it. Without a promise, there was nothing for Armand to violate and nothing upon which for Marius to fixate. That area of contention was dissolved. Marius did not see any reason for them to repeat this ever again. “I will keep mine to you, Armand. I want to.” The promise was no trouble, as all Marius wanted was a life with Armand. To be with him, near him, asleep in the same bed, domestic and quiet. He just needed to remember now they were human and he must think like a human. Which meant trying harder not to wander, to lose track of time or geography. Wandering was no longer part of who they were, as immortals were known to come and go without explanation or warning. Humans not so much.
“Then why did you say there was no point??” Those words had been hammering in Armand’s head on a loop nonstop since Marius had spoken them, no matter how he tried to drive them out. No point, no point, no point. It was why he'd put so much of his attention on Louis yesterday, and made a mission of protecting him from Gregory. Anything to try to get his mind off the fact that he meant so little to Marius, was so easily set aside or remembered only as an afterthought. Armand tried to tell himself that he was used to it. That for the vast majority of his life, nobody he lived with had ever even liked him, merely tolerated him. He was used to it. And the only way he could keep those he wanted was by sheer determination.
But it was supposed to be different with Marius… He was the one who had kept Marius at a distance these past three decades, who couldn’t allow him back in, couldn’t allow himself to become lost to him again. Marius had been the one waiting and wanting all that time. But now that Armand had taken that plunge, had let himself need Marius again, need him desperately, Marius didn’t even like him either! Yes, Armand was used to it. He knew he could keep Marius by sheer determination. And he would. But all he really wanted was to go back to that first peaceful and loving week that began with their night snowed in at the hotel.
Marius halted a sigh, too sure Armand would take it personally. The thin thread was fraying to a critical point. It would not take much for it to snap, and for Armand to walk away from him for good. They’d spent five centuries apart, therefore it wasn’t too far of an assumption to gather that they could exist apart for longer.
“You misunderstood,” Marius said despite his misgivings that he was only digging himself in deeper. Armand knew he was stubborn and Marius did not need to bring that fact into the discussion. “I was not saying that my promise had no point or that I felt it was unimportant. I was asking for your patience. I’m used to coming and going as I wish. Immortals wander. I do not know any other way. And I said there was no point to telling you I was coming here before I did because I already had. At our first dinner. I thought you knew. I had even asked you to come.”
“I expected you to be there at the chateau when I came back.” Armand’s voice was getting smaller the longer he spoke. He didn’t think what he was saying would make any difference to Marius or do any good. But he needed to say it, would hate himself if he left it unspoken now that they did not have forever to nurse and guard the pain they caused each other. “I wanted to come home to you.” His voice betrayed him by hitching on that last word, and he clenched his teeth again. Finally, he let his arms slip away from Marius, and he turned to lie on his stomach on the bed, wrapping his arms around the pillow that had cradled Marius’s head all night and burying his face into it to breathe deep the scent of his hair.
It felt cold in the wake of Armand’s retreat, his warm and soft body gone, leaving behind an ache in Marius. A fear almost, as if it meant something more, which was silly. His dread was ridiculous. Armand was just sad.
Marius sat up straighter, not wanting even the temptation to lie back down if it meant enduring the comfort of the bed without the accompaniment of Armand’s closeness. He wanted to draw his long legs up and drop his head onto his knees, but he wouldn’t fall into a posture of despair where any eyes could see him. Even sitting there, he felt stranded again. “Why did you even have to go on that trip?”
Notes:
To be continued!
This chapter written by Me and B.
Chapter 122: By Extension
Summary:
No matter how Armand tries to explain the crisis of his human feelings to Marius, it only seems to make things worse.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Why did you even have to go on that trip?” Marius asked, his back still to Armand.
Armand turned his cheek to the pillow so that he could breathe real air again and let this question soak into his mind. It felt thick, like something he could swallow. But not in the way blood could be thick, no, just like molasses or some other mortal syrup that coated the back of the throat. Because it was true, he did have to go.
“Because…” Something was glittering on the pillow, too close to his eye to focus on it. He shifted as he thought of how to put his feelings into words, and brought his hand out to touch it. One of Marius’s hairs, caught in the morning light. And it wasn’t the only one stuck there to the pillowcase. Their hair never shed in sleep as vampires, and seeing it there now, and all its presence implied, made Armand shudder, made that snake of fear slither back down his spine.
“I needed to prove to myself that I could,” he finally answered. “That I still could. I thought we wouldn’t keep the treasure salvage plan, now that we’re like this. I said as much to Gregory, but he said, why not? That being mortal shouldn’t change a venture like ours. And I thought… I thought that if I could do something in this body that I had planned to do in my old one, something so daring and adventurous, that it would mean…” He pressed his lips together, searching for the words, and dared to turn his head enough to peek at what he could see of Marius through his dark fall of hair. “It would mean that I could still…” He wanted to say ‘be me,’ but that wasn’t right. “Or…that I hadn’t lost so much as I thought?”
Marius could not invalidate Armand’s logic, though he still did not understand. Their personalities were too different for him to relate to the boy’s struggle, but he tried. No more than Armand could relate to his, and so they needed to be able to talk through these differences. That wasn’t what Marius wanted to do, though. He wanted things to be as he wished, and for Armand to be happy under the gentle hand of his confident leadership. What fears would Armand have in his own abilities if he let Marius handle everything of importance? Armand’s capacity to be the same as he was when immortal would not matter. Marius would handle everything.
Armand wouldn’t want that. Didn’t want that. That was why Armand seized the travel with Gregory to test his capacity, not the travel with Marius that was similarly offered. It would be so easy, so lovely for Armand to submit, but Armand would hate it. What he wanted was more independence and autonomy, not less. None of Marius’s sincere promises would change that. For the best, perhaps. Marius would just fail again as he did any time it truly mattered.
He stared toward the sliver of light streaming through the heavy curtains designed to keep the thick heat of the Brazilian sun from baking the house inside. He knew he should be encouraging Armand to be his own man. He should be pushing Armand to Gregory, to whomever Armand wanted, not trying to force him to stay dependent on him. It was too selfishly difficult to let go of what he wanted. At the end, only one of them could get what they wanted, and it should be Armand. Akasha had taught Marius to exist without a heart, and at least this one did not have to be eternity. Forty more years at most. A small blip in time.
He stroked the stubble on his chin, summoning his resolve. He hid his misgivings and the ache well, giving away not even the barest hint in his eyes or voice when he turned toward Armand. “And did you? Realize that you had not lost as much as you thought?”
“No,” Armand said with a sigh, his eyes falling closed as he recalled his days and nights on the boat with Gregory. There had been good times—the brilliance of the sunlight sparkling on the endless rolling blue, the warmth of the southern air after the icy chill of France, the five-star food and drink, Gregory’s attention and flattery, the triumph of when they’d found the shipwreck and were able to plot out the next stages of their plans—but Armand felt so weighed down by the bad, that none of that seemed to matter just now. “It was a disaster. I nearly drowned.”
It wouldn’t help for Marius to mention that this wouldn’t have happened if Armand had stayed with him. Chastising Armand would only cause more friction, and he knew not to insult Gregory to Armand, as that was a ready way to find himself at the receiving end of Armand’s displeasure. But it made him feel sick to think Armand could have died. Breakfast was an impossibility now.
He felt irrationally angry that both Armand and Gregory could be so careless, so flippant with something as important as Armand’s life. For a treasure neither of them needed. There was nothing in the scenario that truly warranted a boat adventure or a treasure hunt. Gregory was a billionaire and Armand likely was, too. And if he wasn’t quite, Marius’s own wealth was infinite. Not that he’d boast of such things… That was a distasteful habit of the rich. The novus homo, who were gaudy and arrogant. Charming to a boy like Armand, though. More than some quiet old man who just wanted to read, paint, and go for quiet walks.
“At least you proved your point, I think,” Marius decided, his throat surprisingly dry all of a sudden and voice hoarse. “You survived. So you have not lost that in all of this. You will still survive no matter what.”
Armand’s body went tense and his eyes snapped open. He was quiet, staring past his hair into the middle distance, and then he let go of the pillow and pushed up to sit again. He took Marius’s face between his hands, and leaned in close, searching his eyes, his own expression frustrated, struggling.
How could Marius be so calm? So passionless! Was there nothing Armand could say that could spark some true unfettered emotion in him?
“I took drugs,” he said bluntly, though his voice was still quiet with how close they were. “Hashish. Whatever it’s called now. It was in candy. Gregory gave it to me.”
Why was Armand telling him this? Surely, he knew Marius would be displeased? Was he pushing for some sort of punishment? Did he think allowing himself to be punished by Marius would absolve everything? Then he’d bear no debt to Marius’s emotions for last night. It was most definitely not to slander Gregory’s reputation, as he’d shown himself quite invested in protecting that over anything Marius felt or needed from him.
Or maybe to hurt Marius. It could be Marius he was hoping to punish. Armand’s cruelty could be devastating.
He did not yank away from Armand’s grasp, though he could have. Armand was a strong boy, but he was a boy. “Did you know what it was?”
“Of course I did.” Armand gave a little frown, his fingers curling against Marius’s face and then pushing his hair back away from the sides of it as if that could help him see him better. “He didn’t trick me into it, if that’s what you’re getting at. He said it would help us relax. It worked. I needed it. I was tense. After almost drowning.”
Marius knew the dangers of a grown man giving a boy drugs, and he knew that a boy could not consent to such things no matter how much he proclaimed to understand what he was doing or its effects. He’d been a boy once, after all, and they’d had opium wine in Rome, which he’d consumed plenty. Thirteen at his youngest. And he’d always thought himself quite smart and mature, even at that age, which in hindsight was naïve, stupid even. Armand’s seventeen-year-old brain was only a little better at reason and no better at making adult choices it seemed. It was always a trick to give a boy such things.
“Was this the same night you…” Oh the indelicacy of this all. “Let him enjoy the pleasures of your mouth?” If so, Armand could not have consented in such a state. And the thought of anyone drugging Armand and then coaxing him into committing sexual acts for only their physical pleasure and none for Armand, which felt like it made it worse somehow, made Marius fill with the familiar hunger for blood.
“It was the middle of the day,” Armand said, first of all. He pushed Marius’s hair behind his ears to keep it back, and then his hands fell to lightly settle on the top of Marius’s bare leg. “He asked me to go to bed with him. I told him no.” He paused as he thought back to that day, the memories hazy from the lulling effects of the gummies. “He begged me to let him have me. I told him no. I did what I did to tease him. To try to make him go a little bit mad. I wasn’t trying to be cruel to him, but…” Well, it was probably somewhat cruel, looking back on it, but the fun of it was worth that sacrifice. And it wasn’t like he had been above teasing Gregory to similar ends last night at the club—though that had been for Louis’s sake this time, not just to flatter his own needy ego. “Anyway, he wanted me. I told him no. I didn’t let him touch me at all.”
“But you touched him,” Marius breathed, Armand too close for the sternness in his deep voice to abuse. So he kept it soft, breathy and yet still clear and distinct. “And the difference is only semantic. Stupid boy, he had you, and in the best way. Don’t you understand men by now?”
Had he ever, in his five hundred years, since he’d never actually been one?
“He used you and you… What? Feel as if you achieved some great victory over him? Do you think you conquered him and his desire by denying him? You still gave him a hole, Armand. And worse, you did all the work for him while he sat back in full enjoyment, victorious nonetheless. He wanted you and he had you. It doesn’t matter if he touched you or you touched him. You weren’t the one with the power, that was still him, and he proved how much power he had over you by making you think you were the one winning because he ejaculated into your mouth.”
“You’re wrong.” Armand’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t look angry or offended so much as determined, challenging. “And I’m sorry you feel that way.” The color was rising to his cheeks and his hands curled into fists again, but he didn’t pull them back. “Because it’s not really me you feel was degraded. Because I wasn’t. I know what I felt. The one you really feel is degraded is you. Now that, sir, is what’s actually stupid. Do you think I wasn’t thinking of you? That you weren’t the reason I told him no to what he begged for? Or does it not even matter if it was, because you will only find some way to make the fact into another degradation in your mind?”
“I do not have to find a way to make the fact degradation. Reality does that already.” Marius was undeterred by Armand’s lack of respect or caution. Why would he now expect Armand to magically possess two things which he’d never had? But Marius was doing his best to keep himself level-headed, forcing his heart to slow and the heat in his limbs out because he did not want to get truly angry. As it was, he’d fisted his right hand into the blanket to keep from slapping Armand for announcing he was the one most degraded. It was true, and it stung. Degraded then, at dinner, and even now as Armand continued to defend himself and Gregory by humiliating and emasculating Marius.
“Am I supposed to be sweetened by any of this? Oh, merciful Armand, thank you for giving him fellatio for me. Do you see how ridiculous that sounds? If you were thinking of me, you wouldn’t have. In fact, you’d have not gone on the trip at all.”
“If you are degraded, it is only in your own eyes. Not in mine. Not in his. Not to anyone else here, either. Just look at them, you will see it!” Wasn’t the fact that Lestat and Cyril went off with Marius last night proof enough on their parts? And of course Marius knew how Louis respected him, and Bianca went without saying. “What would be degrading is if he thought of you as the sort of man who considers me a possession whose choices degrade you by extension, and not as a lover who sees me as my own man, don’t you think?” It was hard enough that Marius didn’t even like the man who he was now. Yes, Armand was used to it. Nobody liked him. Not really, no matter how much they might love him in spite of it. But how he wished Marius could be the exception.
Marius couldn’t speak, not with the wind taken from him all at once, his blood even freezing in his weak veins. Even if he could speak, he still wouldn’t dare. Not even torture could extract a confession from him as to why he felt stunned and crushed all at once.
So he was the one degraded after all. Not by Gregory or by Armand, but by himself. Wasn’t it always? He was that sort of man, and he knew it too well. How he longed for exactly what Armand spoke of with palpable distaste. To have Armand as his cherished, protected possession, worshiped and loved with every breath, was his greatest wish. Of course everything Armand did was an extension of him. He was his father and maker, his former Master. Hundreds of years ago. Now he was just a regular lover, one of many, no matter how he tried to deny it and convince himself he harbored in some special place of Armand’s heart.
All of this was his own failure.
“I understand, but I must think on it further,” he murmured when he could, too torn to realize the contradiction. Didn’t he think? He supposed he should figure out how to.
He pulled himself away from Armand, losing all sense of gravity as he turned inches into feet and then more when he rose from the bed in search of at least the pajama bottoms he wore to bed for only a few moments before they’d been yanked off. “I will apologize for being crass to Gregory, yes.” How was he supposed to understand when this did not make sense? How could Armand not want the love and safety he offered? He wished Lydia were there for a painful, aching moment, so deep it was bottomless and infinite. She would understand and explain it.
“I will respect you as your own man.” Marius was stupid to want something and to hope for it, to let his heart fill with the need for a dead emotion. At last, he found the pants and put them on, tying them around the waist that had shrunk as he rejected food for days on end. “Only when I do not understand immediately, please be patient. Explain it to me.”
Armand watched him stiffly from the bed, keeping his jaw clenched to hold back his emotions, fighting against the burning behind his nose and the ever-widening abyss in his gut. He was thinking all the pride and pain that had kept him from giving into Marius for the past thirty years, how much he’d never wanted to need him again. But he had thrown all of that away the night the snow trapped them down in the city, when the entire world around the four walls of their hotel room had ceased to exist. He had known then that if he let himself do this, if he let that pride go, it would over, impossible to go back.
Pushing himself off the bed abruptly, he flew at Marius, wrapping his arms around him from the side, and burying his face against his shoulder. “I wish you would just hit me. I know you want to. If you really could respect me, you would admit it.”
Marius knew that in this new reality, this new relationship, he could not hit Armand. No matter how much he wanted to. If Armand wished to be seen as his own man, which required a bit of equality, there could be no discipline. In that context, it was simply abuse, and Marius was no abuser. Armand could not have a Master who disciplined him while also undermining Marius’s authority at every turn and declaring himself an independent man. “I am not going to hit you, Armand. I will not hit someone who does not submit to me. If you wish to be your own man, you must be the Master of yourself. It is not my place any longer to force my authority upon you. You cannot have both a Master and an equal. You cannot make a Master out of a man you do not respect. If you cannot offer loyalty, if you cannot obey and defer, you do not get a Master. We are just lovers like this. I will not hit you.”
“Lovers hit each other.” Not that Armand wanted to be hit or hurt like that. He just wanted Marius to stop acting like a damned automaton. To stop hiding everything all the time. To let Armand really see him, to actually know him, for whoever he was now, for whatever they could be in this state with the pitiful scraps of existence they had left. Marius would just let himself waste away into nothing if Armand didn’t stop him, he was sure of it.
How could Marius be so passionate in bed, to act like he could live and breathe and die for Armand, and then when they had things to say to each other, when it really mattered, treat Armand like he couldn’t stand to be near him? If Marius weren’t so warm, it would feel like he was hugging a statue right now, a thing with no arms of its own that could move or react to him.
“Lovers are not supposed to hit each other,” Marius pointed out as surely Armand knew that and could not want some corrupted, abusive dynamic with him. Marius only struck to correct and discipline, not to release anger or frustration, and never hit for the sake of violence. He wasn’t going to start now. Such cruelty wasn’t in him and he loved Armand too much to abuse him. “One of your other lovers may be better suited or more inclined toward violence. I am not.”
Armand flinched in pain, and for a moment, his arms tightened around Marius, as if he thought if he could squeeze him hard enough, he could pull him into his own body and they could merge into one. But then they went slack, and his hands rested softly against Marius’s side and back. Armand rubbed the bridge of his nose against his shoulder and then whispered against his skin, “I need you.” He pressed a soft kiss in that spot before finally letting Marius go, and turning to go back to bed.
As he pulled the covers up over himself and gathered one of the pillows to his chest, his knees tucked up under it, he could only think that if he couldn’t figure out a way to make Marius love him for who he was, he would die.
Notes:
To be continued
This chapter written by Me and B.
Chapter 123: Right Here
Summary:
Stunned by Armand's revelation, Marius tries to reevaluate how they can move forward and still have something together.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“If you want discipline, you will have to be my pupil, not my equal,” Marius said, staying with his feet planted to the cold floor because he’d give in if he sank back into the warm bed with Armand.
Sullen Armand who wanted Marius to be two ways, two very contradictory versions of himself. “I love you with all of my heart. So much I do not think there is much room left there to spare another. What am I to do? I am so very bad at love. I want you to be my possession.” It felt terrible to say, but at least Armand would know what Marius sought. Not to give it to him, but just know. “I would take care of you, my love. Do you not wish to live without fear or worry? To let all burdens rest upon me? You need never feel anything but my endless love and happiness. Why is what they offer better than that?”
“Who are you even talking about?” Armand muttered into the bed pillows. Marius kept referring to all these hypothetical lovers Armand would have, but they’d only been mortal two and a half weeks. And Armand had had sexual encounters with exactly the same number of people as Marius had, and to a much lesser extent, he was sure, as he hadn’t been interested in taking or accepting any pleasure of his own from anyone but Marius. Maybe Armand would have other encounters as time went on, he didn’t want to close himself off to the possibility, but Marius was making some confusing leaps of assumption about who they would be with.
“Whoever else it is out there who will offer you what it is you are looking for.” Since Armand was asking for common, very average relationship dynamics, there were certainly a lot of potential lovers and partners out there. However many Armand would need to feel fulfilled. “The point is what you want, not who.”
Armand considered just closing his eyes and trying to fall asleep again. He was tired enough from his very late and very active night that he could probably sleep all day. And maybe his dreams would be kinder than reality.
It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to say—there was too much he could say. That Marius was being obtuse in his assumptions about what Armand wanted. That he didn’t want Marius to actually hit or discipline him like a child, just to stop stifling and refusing his anger, to admit how he cared. Or that he could turn Marius’s words right around on him, point out that what Marius wanted, a kept boy safe and pampered, wasn’t a thing that could last, even if Armand gave in and let himself slip back into that role in desperate attempt to keep Marius. What would happen in five years when he didn’t look like this anymore? When his youth and beauty faded and Marius had never learned to love him for the old thing he was inside? How could Armand ever truly feel safe ‘without fear or worry’ in such a temporary arrangement?
In the end, though, all he said was, “I want you.”
“I want you, too.” Marius couldn’t imagine Armand believed anything different. After all, he was fighting to have him more, not less. “And I need to be very clear about something.” No matter what Armand asked of him, Marius had boundaries. Strict ones. “You are never to contradict me in public ever again. Behind closed doors, yes, always. But never when there is an audience present.” He was a degraded man, after all, deep down to his very core.
“Yes, my lord,” Armand said quietly, no sarcasm or defiance in his voice at all. At this point, he was feeling so catastrophic that he wasn’t sure they’d ever even be in public together again, so it didn’t matter. Armand would just spend the rest of his life right here in this bed. It was the only place Marius seemed to want him, anyway. Because Marius actually didn’t want him. He only wanted who Armand used to be. Who Marius could pretend he was in the dark.
Those words were what Marius desperately wanted to hear, but the passionless, merely obedient way Armand said them made the phrase feel hollow. There was no pleasure in it for Armand, and how on earth was Marius supposed to find fulfillment in Armand’s robotic compliance?
Amadeo used to practically purr those words out to him, savoring the syllables and what they meant. Marius was no fool—this youth on his bed was not Amadeo. Was there not even a crumb of the boy left, though? Any shadow that hadn’t died?
“If I do anything that offends you, please wait until we have found a private place before discussing.” He would never expect Armand to endure everything with peace. It was all just a game Armand had to play, after all, wasn’t it? Marius wasn’t dictating his will for him, trying to keep him from other men, other relationships, other sexual partners. Therefore, Armand was no possession. But Marius was so desperate and so selfish that he was willing to settle for an illusion behind closed doors. Armand just had to play his game in the bedroom and be a bit more respectful in their daily interactions. But Armand wasn’t happy. Armand could never be happy with him as he was.
With a sigh, he sat at the edge of the bed and dropped his head into his hands, disheartened to his very soul. He let everything he’d allowed to flourish since their first date to wither away, to turn to dust. It was a relief to empty himself of the messy confusion and the sadness that felt like grief. He wouldn’t be able to face himself if he made Armand feel miserable for his own happiness. In this situation, Marius realized it was his own happiness that complicated things, and it was impractical to impose his if all it did was cause this much destruction and misery. Marius had worn a million masks, he would put another one on for Armand.
“You should dress and we will go downstairs. I have to apologize to Bianca and Gregory. I will also have to begin closing this home again if I am to return to Paris.”
Armand quietly rolled over, as if he would obey this request just as simply and passively. But after he sat up, he didn’t pull back the covers to get up, and they remained covering the lower half of his body. This time, he refrained from his urge to throw his arms around Marius and cling to him. Having done it so many times already this morning without Marius ever touching him in return had Armand wondering if Marius actually didn’t like it after all.
“We should stay,” he said after a moment’s thought. “I’m here now.” And even though his time on the boat had given Armand the bravery he needed to finally make the long flight to Brazil, he was not looking forward to doing it again anytime soon. “You wanted me to come,” he reminded Marius.
Marius wished they could stay, but he did not think Armand could be happy here with just him alone. Not that Armand was necessarily a social creature, but there were others he loved and wanted to protect. They could not pretend now that Louis, Lestat, Bianca, and Daniel did not exist. Isolation would only cause Armand misery, and he’d grow even more unhappy with Marius, exponentially more than he already was. Armand’s passive, almost dead affect was the opposite of the needy passion Marius wanted. They were so, so far away from each other. He had ruined this. Amazing how little time it took for him to ruin everything.
Marius hid it well and smiled, shaking his head. He reached over and began fixing Armand’s hair with tenderness. “No, my love. I only needed to escape the cold for a few days.” He left out why. He left out his recent illness and how much better he felt now, as he’d never alarm Armand. The boy had enough people to worry about. “Besides, it doesn’t matter where we are as long as we are near to each other. I have a responsibility to our kind… Well, we are not of the same kind anymore…”
Armand’s face tilted into Marius’s palm, like a cat begging for pets, relishing in even these smallest of touches. What a relief it was for Marius, the gesture soothing and sweet, utterly perfect. It settled in him a warm calm that made everything else in the world make sense. Nothing could possibly feel too big or too defeating when he had Armand’s faith in him.
“What is your responsibility?” Armand asked, trying not to sound like he was pouting. Because he wasn’t. Really. His eyes were large and liquid as he watched Marius’s face now that he was allowing him to see it again. “What is it they need you to do?”
“I do not know,” he confessed. “But I must have some.” He could not live an idle life. Service was his life, his duty, and he must find it. Or else he’d become a ghost, obsessively wandering, painting alleys, fading into nothing. He knew this about himself. “I do not know what else I would do.”
Armand could think of a few things, but now was not the time to argue with Marius, not even gently. His hands came up, clasping around Marius’s forearm to keep him from withdrawing his touch if he could help it. His silence made it seem like he accepted Marius’s decision to go back to France, but Armand just hoped he didn’t mean too soon.
“You don’t have to apologize to anyone,” he said, going back to Marius’s earlier words, his reason for saying they should go downstairs. “Bianca understands, she always does. And Gregory’s not even here. He’s staying at a hotel in the city.”
“It is the least that I can do to amend my ways.” Marius did not need to define those ways as all were familiar with them. Stubborn, cold, domineering, controlling, and emotionally unavailable. At least, that was the way he was described by others, though he wouldn’t go so far as to use those words for himself. Bianca had to have been crushed that Marius left dinner early and in a bad mood. She wouldn’t care why or that he was with a woman as their relationship was not an intimate one, but he had promised her a lovely evening. Armand also did not seem to mind his dalliance, which was a blessing. His memory of the girls was foggy, but he knew at least one had given him her phone number, which he planned to discard, as it could never happen again. But how did Armand know where Gregory was? Had he been invited to go? Clearly, he had chosen to come home and to bed with Louis, even if Louis was too demure to have Armand or to let Marius have him.
Was Lestat with Gregory or with Louis, who was also gone? Louis had likely awoken and realized how very uncomfortable he was next to Marius’s naked, hairy body. He would make up that slight to Louis, as well, as no one should feel so awkward and violated around him. In Marius’s brain, which had to compartmentalize and section to sort and understand, Louis was delicate and modest like a woman, and Marius desperately liked that to the point of arousal.
Not the time.
His thumb stroked Armand’s face, sliding over his warm, full cheek. He was such a robust, plump boy. Perfect. Being around Armand alone for too long inevitably left Marius excited. Thinking about modest Louis in bed likely did not help his condition.
Not. The. Time.
Armand was too raw emotionally and vulnerable right now. Marius had to care for him a bit before demanding anything from him. “Get dressed, my love. I will be on my best behavior for you today.”
Armand resolved to be too. He couldn’t risk driving Marius even further away, making him close himself off all the more, when all Armand wanted was to tear him open and crawl inside. Also he knew that if he didn’t go downstairs with Marius and keep an eye on him, he wouldn’t eat a thing. Armand wasn’t above going on a hunger strike of his own to get Marius to take care of his human body.
Turning his face, he pressed his lips to Marius’s palm, then trailed them along one of his long fingers, ending with a little sucking kiss to its tip. Marius was feverish and transfixed, balmy in his pajama pants, which were loose enough to hide his semi-hard cock, at the mercy of Armand’s teasing. Armand was no naïve boy; no he was a well-experienced faunlet who knew no man could casually accept his hot and tight mouth sucking on a finger.
Marius fought for composure, sure he was being punished when Armand then let him go to climb right over Marius’s lap in order to get out of bed. He did it slowly, lazily, as if there was nothing to it at all, and he wasn’t absolutely taking advantage of the chance to touch Marius as much as possible before he put his clothes on.
As their bodies slid together, his naked skin soft like a girl’s and Marius’s chest bare to feel all of it, it took all of his self-control not to grab Armand by the hips as he crawled off the bed, his firm ass too exposed, even giving Marius a brief glimpse of the tight hole that looked a little red and inflamed from Marius’s rough use of it last night and before dinner. Was Armand uncomfortable? In pain? Marius had been penetrated as a boy and had hated it, but he couldn’t remember how he felt afterward. Horribly carnal, filthy thoughts filled his imagination. If Armand was sore, his mouth and throat could provide the same relief. Gods help Marius endure this ceaseless desire. He must. He did not want to give Armand the impression that this was all Marius wanted from him. Best focus on the day.
Armand’s things had been unpacked into one of the drawers of the bureau. When he opened it, he took out the first items of clothing on top without even looking at them and put them on thoughtlessly.
Marius cleared his tight throat, sweating. “Armand, are you feeling all right?” He was too perceptive not to note the distracted, vacant way his beloved dressed.
“No,” Armand answered as he pressed the finely-crafted drawer closed with his fingertips, absently admiring how smoothly it glided into place. “And neither are you.” He sighed and turned around to look across at Marius. He hadn’t done anything yet to get dressed himself, and Armand wondered if he’d have to dress him as well as force him to eat, the way he once had to do with Daniel. Was Daniel taking care of himself in Paris? Armand couldn’t let himself think about Daniel now. He was surrounded day and night by a team of doctors. Armand had to believe they were taking care of him. Armand thought about brushing out his hair, but then decided against it. He didn’t even pull it out of the back of his soft shirt’s collar.
“That’s nonsense,” Marius said kindly. “I feel fine.” Coffee may make him feel even better.
Armand was thinking about how Marius was the night they went on their date, how much he had just talked and talked at the restaurant and bar. Armand had hung on every word, falling more in love by the minute under Marius’s charms, and how handsome he’d looked in his suit. Marius hadn’t been treating him like a child or possession that night, and yet Marius had seemed just as happy as Armand had been. And how right it had felt to finally give in to Marius later at the hotel.
“I miss you,” he confessed.
Hearing the quiet sorrow in Armand's voice was like a punch to the stomach, but Marius was determined not to feel defeated. Because he was no fool. He was right there, so Armand wasn’t saying he missed Marius’s presence. He missed something about him. He rose from the bed, crossing the room to help put Armand together. He fixed the boy’s shirt collar and fluffed out his fine hair. “What do you miss?”
Each hair Marius touched sent a tingling into Armand’s scalp that left him staring up at him, tongue tied. He wanted to wrap his arms around Marius and press his face to the divot between his collarbones. Wrap his legs around him too and cling to him like a koala. His hands fidgeted at his sides, but he kept them down.
“Your smile,” he finally answered, though what he really meant was that sense of carefree confidence that Marius had exuded at the restaurant when he insulted the food and spoke of his past. They should try going out again, he thought. Just the two of them, so there would be no one for Marius to feel ashamed of Armand in front of, and he could relax and be something of himself again.
“I am sorry,” Marius said with whispered sincerity. Neither of them had smiled much at each other since before yesterday. “But, for what it is worth, I am so happy to be with you. I cannot sustain myself with just dreams of you. I have to see you, smell you, and touch you, or else my own imagination is agony.” The nights without Armand, impossible to even contact due to lack of signal out to sea, were nothing short of pure misery. The only time Marius had almost succumbed to Bianca’s beauty, if only to distract himself. He’d also spent a few hours in Ipanema and Copacabana, lingering for only minutes in Black Cat and even less in Taurus, as it was more of a gay sex club than an establishment for socializing. Exhibitionism did not upset him as he enjoyed it himself, it just wasn’t what he was looking for.
Armand gazed up at him uncertainly. It wasn’t that he thought Marius was lying to him, but Marius was still hung up on dreams even with Armand here. Dreams that Armand could never live up to. Marius was obviously still in agony, even with Armand right here in front of him. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. It was what it was, and he still had Marius, even if Marius forever wished he could be someone else. Armand would take whatever he could get of Marius. It was that or die, and he was even more terrified of death now than ever before.
“I’m here now,” he repeated. His palms came up to lay flat against Marius’s chest, and Armand’s head tilted back as if he wanted to be kissed, but his eyes stayed open, staring up at him with caution. “Don’t leave without me again,” he added abruptly, though his voice was even softer than before, pleading.
It wasn’t easy to kiss Armand when they were both standing on their feet, face to face, but for now Marius’s back wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t bend low enough to press a soft kiss to Armand’s lips. He did not know how Armand could act so innocent and casual after sucking on his fingers and sliding against him as he had. Marius would have to endure having it linger in the back of his mind all day.
“I won’t,” he promised, their noses almost touching. “But you do not get to leave either. Whatever it is you need to prove to yourself, you will come to me.”
Armand’s hands slid up over Marius’s shoulders and he wrapped his arms around the back of his neck, pulling himself higher and pushing up on his toes to bring their faces more level. “I won’t try to prove anything,” he promised. Safer that way. He needed to stop thinking about who he was and what he wanted, and just be. At least for as long as he could. He had a few years at least until he grew into a man Marius no longer found attractive. He couldn’t waste those few years being terrified of what would happen after, no, he needed to get as much out of them as he possibly could.
The sensation of Armand’s soft palms slipping across his naked skin would never be anything short of delicious. “Prove whatever you need, just let me help.”
Marius was his age once, too, albeit in a much different world. He’d had his name day at fifteen, and was thus considered a full man. By seventeen, he was a member of the greatest military in the world, training to fight in case the brutal but delicate walls that protected the Pax Romana crumbled. That was how he’d proven himself. He’d had men who wanted him in the way he wanted Armand, but he mostly denied them, and at the age of thirteen he could hardly run off to be spoiled by some old, married man. But the role always fit like a shoe that was too small.
This was the one that fit: wrapping his arms around Armand’s willing, pliant body, pressing his lips to a mouth, smooth without the slightest hint of stubble like he had. The satisfaction of the kiss was only elevated by the denial he’d forced upon himself, seeing how long he could resist the lips he died to feast upon. Now that Armand was being sweet and agreeable, Marius wanted to return the sweetness. And so sweet it was.
Notes:
To be continued...after a short interlude to check in with Louis and Lestat.
This chapter written by Me and B.
Chapter 124: Truly Together
Summary:
Over breakfast, Gregory tries to explain to Lestat why Louis needs to get out of the way of their new relationship...while Louis sits right next to them.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
This morning, Gregory drove himself back to Marius’s estate on the beach. Sometimes he liked to be behind the wheel and not rely on a driver. His small entourage of security followed in their own vehicle. When he arrived at the villa, it was nearly past noon hour. He’d slept late, recalling vaguely that Chrysanthe had been visiting him and that she’d placed him in the most pleasant sleep he’d had thus far as a new mortal.
One of Marius’s staff placed Gregory outside at a table looking over the blue ocean. He asked for a coffee and removed his sunglasses, putting them on the table as he took out his phone to text Lestat that he was there. But just as he was tapping away his message, two figures emerged from the house together and Gregory couldn’t stop the frown that crossed his face. His beloved Lestat, and of course, Louis just beside him. Gregory forced a smile to his face and stood to greet them both.
The somewhat distant, dreamy expression on Lestat’s face brightened into alertness the moment he saw him there. He was in much too content a mood after his time in bed with Louis to at all remember the confused and troubled feelings Gregory’s words about his liaisons with Armand had inspired in him last night, and he only looked completely happy to see his friend on this new day, full of possibility.
Louis’s expression had been equally light and carefree until his gaze found Gregory’s form. His mouth flattened, and Louis looked away, out at the ocean and the warm bright sky, anywhere but at Gregory ,whose presence reminded him of all that the man had said the previous night about his designs on Lestat and his wishes for Louis’s disappearance from Lestat’s intimate life.
When Marius’s butler approached to ask if they wanted coffee, Lestat answered for himself and Louis both in the affirmative and joined Gregory at the table. Already the day was sticky hot, but the salty breeze from the ocean and the shade of the umbrella and palm trees went a long way toward making the veranda comfortable. Slowly, Louis moved to take the seat next to Lestat. Silently, he sat, watching as a particularly colorful tropical bird landed on a nearby palm frond and began singing its melodious call.
“We’ll have to remember to take that swim today,” Lestat teased Gregory as his gaze swept the sandy stretch of Marius’s private beach. They had never made it down there yesterday, after all.
Something about Louis was nudging at Gregory’s blurry memory of the night before at the club, but he couldn’t fully grasp what it was at this moment. Especially not with Lestat here across from him, so distracting with his brightness. Gregory’s entire being felt suddenly lighter just to be near to him again. He reached across the table to place a hand on Lestat’s arm, giving it a light squeeze before letting go so that the servant could place his coffee on the table before him. Gregory thanked her and began placing spoons of sugar into his cup.
“We all slept late, and I don’t know if there will be time for a swim now. I’m heading to catch my flight back in a few hours.” He glanced from Lestat to Louis and back again. “But I’m glad to see you here. You left so abruptly from the dinner last night. Were the women that enticing?”
Lestat grinned at him. “You should have seen them.” It wasn’t that they had been particularly gorgeous, though they were each certainly pretty in their own unique ways. But they had been fun and smart and interesting. So different from the uneducated and sheltered girls he knew as a mortal centuries ago. There had never been any conversation with those girls, nothing of substance. The poor things simply weren’t allowed to develop any brains back then. It was why Lestat had always preferred the company of men for anything beyond a roll in the hay.
“But of course we’ll have time for a swim,” he said airily as he eyed the basket of vibrantly fresh fruits in the center of the table. A ‘few hours’ was more than enough. Just how long did Gregory think they’d spend in the ocean?
Leaning forward, Lestat plucked out a banana to tide him over while he waited for his own coffee. He’d never even seen one of these kinds of bananas until he awoke in the modern era, and suddenly they were everywhere. He knew you were supposed to peel it from one end, and he turned it back and forth, trying to decide which.
“But I only went with them for Marius,” he continued to explain. “He needed the distraction, and he never would have gone if I didn’t make him. And I’m glad I did. I do think he had a very good time. Or if not, he managed to forget for a while why you made him so grouchy.”
The banana’s ends looked the same to him, so he just picked one and ripped it open the way he’d seen mortals do. The inside was much softer than he expected, his fingertips squishing right into the creamy mass. He rubbed them off on the cloth napkin at his place setting and then took a bite of the end.
“My god!” he gasped before he even had the chance to swallow. “You have to try this!” So sweet! Absolutely decadent. He’d eaten a dessert made with bananas the last time he was human, but the fruit had been covered with sticky caramelized sauce. He had no idea the things were so tantalizing simply on their own!
Looking back and forth between his two friends, he decided on Gregory because Louis was looking sour again—already! So soon after Lestat had done all he could to cheer him up! Reaching over, he excitedly shoved the end of the banana into Gregory’s mouth.
Gregory had in fact eaten a banana since turning human and loved it. Unfortunately, he’d taken a sip of the insanely sweet coffee just before Lestat decided to enthusiastically share his fruit. The taste on top of the coffee was not as pleasant as he’d remembered it being. Still, he moshed it and swallowed with a pleased smile on his lips then gathered a napkin from the table and attempted to wipe any banana that may have gotten in his beard. “Yes, thank you,” he chuckled. “They have potassium in them. Excellent for hangovers.” He glanced again at the chilly form of Louis. “You might want to have one, Louis. You can’t tell me you’re not experiencing that morning-after feeling, too.”
Louis groaned audibly, then turned finally to look at Gregory, then the half-eaten banana in his hand, and then Lestat. With a withering sort of expression, he sighed and reached for a banana of his own. Plucking it from the basket of fruit, Louis began peeling it as though he had done so a hundred times already, before taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully, his gaze returning toward the ocean and scenery.
Lestat stared at Louis expectantly, but he was only disappointed as he had no outward reaction to the taste and texture of the banana. Had Louis also already been eating them over the past two weeks? Where had he gotten imported tropical fruit in the middle of winter in the middle of nowhere Auvergne??
It seemed Louis might simply remain silent, but after several beats, he finally answered Gregory, “I don’t know what it was you gave me last night, but never again.” His gaze remained fixed on the large blue, green and golden expanse of scenery with its little dots of orange, red and lavender.
“Ah yes, the drugs,” Lestat said with some amusement as he rooted through the fruit basket looking for another banana. Alas, they were all gone. When Marius’s employee returned with his and Louis’s coffees, he asked her to add more to the house shopping list.
“But didn’t you have any fun while the drug high lasted?” Lestat asked Louis dubiously. He was about the gaps in his memory, but he wouldn’t be so ashamed of his experiences last night if he hadn’t been very much enjoying himself. Louis’s guilt came from pleasure, the old fool. If the drugs had led to an unpleasurable night, he wouldn’t be so twisted up about it this morning.
Gregory gave a small snort of amusement, as he suddenly remembered the evening before at the club and almost everything that happened. It was all dreamlike, yet still he was certain it had been real. Heat settled in his groin as he remembered the erotic thrill of everything in that club. The pills had been top market, highest quality. Of course Louis had felt that same effect. Gregory recalled clearly now the slow carnally-charged dance they’d done together. The deep kiss they’d shared. He watched now as Louis ate the banana. His own tongue darted out to lick his lips, and then he covered the unconscious move by sipping his coffee.
He looked back to Lestat with a small grin. “Louis had a lot of fun. And he was quite the dancer too.”
Louis’s brow pinched at the center and he shut his eyes as if that would somehow make him disappear so that he wouldn’t need to acknowledge any of it. Placing his half-eaten banana on the saucer next to his coffee cup, he slowly turned to look at Gregory, then Lestat and back again. “I don’t remember,” he confessed, looking positively miserable to admit such a thing. “Was I?” he asked, thankful at least that Gregory seemed to be paying him a complement.
Gregory gave him a sympathetic look. How very sad that Louis couldn’t even remember how he’d been, for once, uninhibited, even if it was drug-induced. “You were. We danced. You remember none of it? Perhaps it will come back to you as the day progresses.”
“I believe it,” Lestat said, amused. Louis had always been a skilled dancer. He had trouble imagining, though, what sort of dancing he might have done at the kind of place where one took drugs. And who had he danced with? He pictured Louis with some random woman in his arms, dancing the way couples did at nightclubs these days, and he nearly laughed aloud at the thought. Would Louis have known what to do with himself without it all being pretense in order to lean in for the bite? No wonder he was so miserable now. He must have had a very good time indeed!
Gregory was tempted to remind Louis now of the kiss they shared, but what would be the point? It would only cause him to over-analyze and perhaps shrink in on himself for having done such things.
It didn’t matter. What mattered was what Gregory had actually intended to discuss here with them this morning.
“I want to talk to both of you about a thing that has been weighing on me. I spoke with Louis about it last night, Lestat, but I want it to be clear with you as well. I hold no secrets with those I am deeply committed to.” He gave Lestat a bright, beautiful smile filled with love.
Lestat turned his attention to Gregory with curiosity. He remembered Louis saying something this morning when they were in bed about Gregory telling him something, and Louis not wanting to disparage him. Lestat had been far too distracted by Louis’s writhing naked body beneath him to give the words any thought at the time, but now that Gregory was talking about secrets, Lestat wondered if he should be concerned. Did Gregory have more bad news from Fareed?? Why would he have told Louis anything about that? They had agreed to keep all that secret; Marius was the only other person who should know.
Ah, but no. Look at Gregory’s smile! There could be nothing troubling to tell when he was smiling at him like that. Lestat swore, sometimes he wondered if Gregory actually worshiped him, the way he once had with Akasha. And perhaps that should concern him.
But it was nice to look at, regardless, the expression making Lestat feel a bit fuzzy and warm, drawing up the sensuous memories of their time in the pool together yesterday, making him forget to even respond to Gregory out loud. And what a difference it was from the way Louis’s face was looking just now. His frown had only deepened. From the way Louis ever looked, for that matter. Lestat wondered if there was anything he could ever do that would put a smile like that on Louis’s face.
Louis, meanwhile, wanted to tell Lestat how Gregory certainly had not acted as if he wanted Lestat to know anything about it all. How last night, it seemed he had wanted Louis to just silently step aside, concede the relationship and let Gregory have Lestat all to himself. But any attempt to tell Lestat any of this would only make Louis out to seem the vindictive and jealous one, and the mere idea of it that was entirely too uncomely for Louis to risk.
“To whatever you have to say to Lestat this morning, my answer is the same as it was last evening,” he said, his face now placid and resolute, his voice calm and measured.
Gregory was overwhelmingly tempted to make a face at Louis. Perhaps cross his eyes and stick his tongue out. But he held it in. How quickly he’d reverted to this juvenile young male. He kept a placid smile of his own on his lips. “I don’t recall your answer from last night. Was there one, other than you were generally insulted? In any event, I think Lestat will want to know your opinion. So you can’t just stay silent.”
Gregory drank another sip of his coffee and looked again to Lestat. “My prince,” he began, gazing into the blue-gray eyes he so deeply loved. “We are at the very beginning of our journey together, wouldn’t you agree? A delicate time for any blossoming relationship.”
The word ‘prince’ made Lestat tense and lose some of the dreamy daze that Gregory’s adoring smile hard worked on him. But it still took him an extra moment for his brain to get focused enough to hear what else Gregory was saying. He didn’t understand it, though. Did Gregory mean their journey of being human? Their journey as a Court was already over.
He glanced aside at Louis and then back to Gregory again. No, Lestat got the sense that by ‘we,’ Gregory just meant himself and Lestat. Certainly there was nothing beginning or delicate or blossoming about his relationship with Louis of all people. But still…
“We’ve known each other a year and a half,” he pointed out to Gregory questioningly. And it often felt like their friendship was much more established on top of that with all the knowledge of Lestat from his books Gregory had come in already prepared with.
“Yes,” Gregory smiled happily. “A year and a half. How time flies. And recently, you and I have become closer. Lovers. And I have told you of my love for you; it is no secret.” Gregory pushed his coffee cup aside and reached across the breakfast table to place his hand over Lestat’s. Lestat’s immediately turned over beneath it to clasp it loosely, his fingertips slipping between Gregory’s knuckles.
“We have spoken of this already,” Gregory continued. “I’ve sworn my devotion to you, to us. And I want to spend more time with you.” He glanced to the silent Louis quickly. “Just you. Do you understand?” How awkward this was, having Louis right here for this. Gregory wondered why the man had demanded Lestat agree that he was being too clingy while Gregory was present. But here they were. Gregory wanted to be as gentle as possible but Louis’s heart and ego were bound to be bruised.
Louis’s frown deepened even more so, and he felt his insides twist with heartbreak and worry. That he had all this time allowed Gregory whatever he wished of Lestat, while Gregory now had the audacity to make such demands was simply too much to accept and immeasurably unfair.
Louis trembled with the barest hints of despair and shut his eyes, willing himself to stay calm, to remain rational and steadfast, when he wanted to shout aloud that Gregory had no right to claim Lestat as exclusively his own. Instead, he said, “Gregory asked me last evening to relinquish you to him. And he acted as though I would simply resign myself to such an imbecilic notion.” Louis’s voice had risen an octave with the last few words. He clamped his lips shut, lest he be tempted to spout anymore.
Lestat looked back and forth between his two friends, so confused. He was missing something here. He and Gregory had spent almost all of yesterday with just each other. In fact, up until dinner last night, they’d spent all their time as humans together alone. Louis had never been a third wheel to them. And Lestat highly doubted Louis would even want to be, no matter how he doth protest too much about being fine with Lestat’s ‘dalliances,’ as he called them. Louis liked his time with Lestat to be just the two of them too. Like it already was.
Lestat figured the key to this baffling conversation had to be in Gregory’s word ‘more.’ I want to spend more time with you. But it wasn’t Lestat’s fault Gregory chose working for his pharmaceutical company in Paris over staying at the chateau with him. They’d talked about that, and Gregory had acted like Lestat was crazy for suggesting he give up his job.
“This is about Paris,” he concluded with a frown, looking back to Gregory. “You told Louis you want me to stay there, to live near you? Do you think he is the only thing keeping me at the chateau?” His thumb stroked the side of Gregory’s hand and he shook his head. “I’ve already explained all that. It’s not Louis.” After all, Lestat was sure Louis would have no problem moving to Paris right along with him. No ‘relinquishing’ would be required. “It’s the others. There’s still at least two dozen people at the chateau who need me. I can leave for a few days at a time, but that’s it. I have to go back. I can’t just abandon them.” This wasn’t the first time Gregory had diminished the needs of all the other former vampires sheltering under Lestat’s roof, and frankly Lestat still couldn’t understand how he could be so callous where those poor souls were concerned.
Gregory’s jaw tightened. Between Louis’s contribution and Lestat’s apparent inability to understand, his patience was dwindling. Louis was the more frustrating of the two, so Gregory looked to him now, giving Lestat’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Louis, you are a grown man. And I apologize for being so blunt now, but you do not need to lean on Lestat this way anymore. And Lestat—” Gregory turned to look at his beloved again. “It is not about Paris. And you owe nothing, nothing at all, to these wayward mortals who used to be infected with the virus that was Amel. Think of it as though we are all cured now, not that we are afflicted with a new incurable disease. We have but a short time left, yes, and we must live as we long to live. We must be happy and experience everything we can before the final breath leaves us! I want us to be truly together. I don’t know how much clearer I can be.”
Gregory fixed his eyes on Lestat’s, all his sincerity shining through. “You and I should be married. We should be looking for a great home to live in together. Paris, if you like. Any big metropolis where my company has a foothold is fine with me. But I can’t start building that with you if Louis—” Gregory glanced again to him at Lestat’s side. “And I apologize again, Louis, for this bluntness,” he said with a small frown. “But we can’t build that future with your prior fledgling, or any other hangers-on for that matter, constantly needing your attention.” Gregory rubbed Lestat’s hand with his thumb, wishing suddenly that the table was not between them.
Married!? Louis sat there in cold silence, staring with shock and surprise. The audacity of Gregory’s impromptu proposal had Louis struck dumb. And Lestat, too, was sitting there with his mouth open, thinking he couldn’t possibly have heard half of what Gregory said correctly.
Lestat pulled back and scrubbed at his eyes with both his hands. He tilted his head to the side to stare at Gregory as if he might understand him better from a different angle. He ‘didn’t know how much clearer he could be?’ Gregory needed to be a whole lot clearer, because Lestat had no idea what he meant by ‘truly together’ compared to what they already were, and how Louis was in any way impacting that. Yes, they could spend more time together if they made their homes in the same city, but Louis wasn’t what was preventing that at all!
Louis was the first to recover his faculty of speech. “What Lestat and I share has nothing to do with my being some sort of child to him! I am no mere hanger-on!” Were they all still vampires with their preternatural abilities, Louis might have held his tongue further, but they were both mortal men now, and Gregory was no longer able to dispel him with a single thought. “How dare you insinuate such nonsense as this!” Louis snapped out the words with vicious precision, trembling.
Yes, Lestat also didn’t like the condescending way Gregory kept reminding Louis he was an independent adult, but he was too overwhelmed by everything else to make a stand about that now. A few of Gregory’s words had jumped out at him the most: happy, future, constantly needing. Yes, Louis was right, it was nonsensical to insinuate that he needed Lestat constantly to the point of keeping him from enjoying his time with Gregory. And even Benedict had seemed amenable to the idea of following Lestat to Paris or somewhere else should he decide to relocate. But there were those other people who needed him that did keep him from moving to live where he and Gregory could be closer. So Lestat addressed that point first, the only solid point he could grasp onto.
“I don’t help everyone at the chateau because I owe them anything,” he stammered. He glanced aside at Louis, who looked nearly ready to explode with anger, and then back to Gregory, who looked so enticing and confident. “I do it because I can. And because no one else is doing it.” Aside, of course, from the others who had stayed at the castle to assist him, like Thorne and Cyril and Pandora and Arjun and Marius, not counting this little vacation. But it was him they were assisting, they couldn't do it without the resources he was providing.
And still, Lestat was a touch bitter that Gregory felt no sense of charity toward those ‘wayward mortals’ who had forgotten how to be human and were taking time to be brave enough to face the world again. “It won’t last forever,” Lestat tried to reassure him, refraining from pointing out that it might go faster if Gregory also did more to help all of them too. He could put his day job on pause for a few months to stay with Lestat and Louis at the chateau until there was no one else left, then it could be Gregory’s turn to work as he pleased, and Lestat and his loved ones could move to to the city to be near him.
Gregory reached for his hand again, squeezing it gently. “I know you feel you need to help the leftover members of the Court who remain in your castle. I love that about you most. Your strong sense of duty. I don’t agree it’s necessary in this instance, but if it’s something you will not budge on, then I can compromise and be patient.” This seemed to mollify Lestat immediately.
But Gregory could see that Louis was not going to be his usual mild and reserved self here. It had been a bit shocking to be addressed so vehemently by him. It was the very opposite of the intimate dance they’d shared last night which had culminated in the slow, sensuous kiss. He stared for a drawn-out moment at Louis, trying to connect that Louis with this one. Perhaps he was angry at himself for having shown his attraction to Gregory so openly. Gregory could understand that, and he gave Louis a gentle smile to convey his sympathy. “And I am not insinuating anything, Louis. I’m stating facts as I see them. Please tell us your understanding of what you are doing with Lestat. I can only see that he feels some need to protect you in this new mortal form. And honestly, it’s encroaching on our budding relationship.”
A headache flared behind Louis’s eyes, his heart rate elevating to a thrumming pulse in his chest and ears. He felt as if he might faint for how the feeling of adrenaline spiked in his blood so fiercely that he could taste it in his throat. “You liken me to a lost child, feeble and floundering so terribly that I need Lestat in order to survive. You act as though I am taking him from you in some way. I have done nothing to hinder your time together, neither complaining nor monopolizing his time from you, and yet you cannot extend me the same courtesy! You expect me to simply walk away from him and end what we have? I have devoted myself fully to Lestat, would follow him anywhere, and he knows this and so much more. I told you this yesterday, told you I refuse to simply leave him!”
Lestat turned from Gregory to reach for Louis instead, clasping his arm to try to ground him, calm him down. “That’s not what he’s saying,” he urged. Because it couldn’t be, right? Why would Gregory want Louis to leave him? If after his work was done at the chateau, Lestat moved to Paris to live near Gregory, of course Louis would come with him. This had to all be some ridiculous misunderstanding.
Gregory frowned. Clearly Louis was getting hysterical, which gave him pause. Perhaps Lestat did in fact need to be keeping a close watch on Louis. Perhaps this was in fact what had been going on all along. Not that Louis was intentionally monopolizing time with Lestat, but rather that Louis had been so traumatized by the return to mortality that he was now so emotionally fragile and he needed Lestat to be there, to reassure, and to be brave, as Lestat was so talented at being.
Gregory blinked a few times, looking from Louis to Lestat. “No, of course. I see now. Perhaps we should talk at another time about it all. Louis, I can help you with anything, you know. Anything medical. And mental health too. We all need help, when you think about it. I’m sure my contacts can bring us the best psychiatrists available.” Gregory smiled, though it was not a joyful one. He patted Lestat’s arm and sank back in his chair.
Once again Louis found his blood boiling for Gregory’s condescending words. He wanted to rebuff Gregory even now and explain all over again why all of his assumptions and demands were wrong, and in what specific ways. But there was no use arguing with a man like Gregory, who clearly believed himself right on every subject.
Instead, he looked to Lestat, his eyes large, though he held back the inclination to cry. It would only fuel Gregory’s condescension to show any further emotion or objection, and Louis refused to give him more ammunition. He placed his hand over Lestat’s, squeezing gently. “I don’t need a doctor,” he pronounced, with a flat intonation, deliberately devoid of emotion.
To Lestat he leaned closer, whispering at his ear, “Never again will I leave you,” he swore, “though I must excuse myself now from this table before I say something untoward.” Standing, Louis let go of Lestat and stepped backward. He nodded once to Gregory, curt but polite, then picked up his coffee and saucer, turned away and went back inside the house.
Lestat watched him go, itching to go after him, but he remembered what Gregory had said yesterday when he tried to rush to Louis’s rescue—even if it would have only been rescue from his own shameful misery.
So he just sighed heavily, his eyes falling to the half-eaten banana Louis had left behind. With nothing left to do, Lestat picked it up and ate it.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, D, and K.
Chapter 125: Just as Well
Summary:
Just as Armand thinks he's sweetened Marius up, it all goes sour again. But he's soon distracted by a very disgruntled Louis.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Marius’s sweet kiss came as a surprise to Armand after how much he had refused to react to or return Armand’s touch all morning. Armand had been wondering if Marius had been doing it to punish him or simply out of revulsion for Armand’s touch. But there was no revulsion here now.
His eyes closed and he sank against Marius’s chest, staying pushed up on his toes as long as the kiss lasted. He could feel Marius’s lust in the ardent press of his lips, even with how restrained he was being. Armand knew he could easily push him past the edge, get Marius right back in bed, drive thoughts of going downstairs for apologies to everyone for his temper yesterday right out of his head.
But he did want Marius to eat.
He decided he wouldn’t give Marius what he wanted today until he’d taken care of his mortal flesh well enough to put Armand at ease. If Armand had to drive him crazy with teasing to get him to do it, he would have no problem with that.
He took one last hungry moment to rub his body back and forth across Marius’s, and his tongue flicked at the roof of Marius’s mouth, but then Armand pulled away. His hands fell to the crook of Marius’s elbows, pressing at them gently to make him let him go.
“Get dressed,” he cajoled. “You need breakfast.”
Marius let out a hard exhalation of air, a sigh of desire. It had been the second time this morning Armand had done exquisite and suggestive things with his tongue, and also the second time he’d filled Marius’s head with amorous thoughts with the way he used his body to…what?
Get dressed?
This was surely a punishment for last night and this morning. Why else would Armand tease him?
Marius did let go of him, as he’d never force himself on Armand, but he wasn’t happy about it. The human body was very easy to stimulate, and once again he longed for his unaffected, cold immortal body that would be unswayed by such teasing attentions.
“I am not hungry,” Marius said, though he did turn to the dresser to find another one of the ridiculous t-shirts Daniel purchased for him. The one he always called Marius’s Ancient Reme shirt. Marius was very unhappy with his own forced compliance to Armand’s urging, but at least he did not have a semi-erection anymore. He would shower after coffee. For now, he would only put on slippers, put his hair up, and cover his skin.
“Doesn’t matter,” Armand said, folding his arms over his chest to keep them from reaching out for Marius and dragging him right back in. “Have to do it. What happened to your infamous self-discipline?”
“Avoiding pleasures except when absolutely necessary is self-discipline,” Marius argued, aware this was a very Roman way to think but completely fine with it. “I’m not hungry, therefore it is bad practice to eat. For what? The sake of eating. I just lost the weight Mael forced me to put on.” He really did need to work on his excessive drinking and his constant want of sex. At least he still hadn’t masturbated, so he hadn’t lost himself in all of the lust.
“If eating is not pleasurable for you,” Armand countered, “then your reasoning makes no sense. Eating is necessary. Taking care of your health is a duty. You’re not unhungry because you don’t need the food. It’s because you’re…” He trailed off, trying to think of the right word, but when he couldn’t find it, settled for, “depressed.” Before he had gone off to sea, Armand charged Lestat with making sure Marius ate well. Now he wondered if that was part of the reason Marius left France. So he could indulge in wasting away where no one would pressure him.
“Depressed! I’ve never been depressed a day or night of my life,” Marius denied immediately, not wanting to be classified in any way as someone not in perfect control of both his mind and body. He did not want to have a conversation about his emotions, so he grabbed Armand by the hand and led the way out of the bedroom and downstairs.
“Good, then you’ll have no trouble eating,” Armand said as he followed along. He considered his options, then added, “Do you think I want to see you become all scrawny and gangly like Daniel?” If that was low of him to say, Armand didn’t care. He had always loved Marius’s body exactly as it was; it was his ideal, his archetype. A selfish part of him didn’t want to see it change even the smallest amount. He didn’t feel bad about his reasoning, though, as it was also what was best for Marius.
Before they reached the end of the hall below the stairs, Armand stopped Marius by a tug of the hand. He didn’t know who they would find at breakfast, or if he would have another chance to speak to him alone anytime soon.
He’d been relieved earlier when Marius hadn’t asked him how or why he’d almost drowned during his ocean trip. Armand was still filled with shame at his own stupidity for leaning over the yacht’s railing to see the whales, no matter how much Gregory had tried to reassure him. It was the one part of it he didn’t want Marius to know, though he’d always planned to tell him the rest of it. And there was one more thing he must say to be sure Marius had all the information first if he did decide to go making any speeches of apology for his behavior last night.
When Marius turned back to look at him, Armand’s eyes flicked back and forth between his anxiously. He kept his voice low in case there was someone just around the corner. “You should know, he saved my life. Gregory did. When I almost drowned. He’s the only reason it was an almost.”
Marius’s agreeable, relaxed expression tightened with annoyance and then went flat. Even though his face emptied of emotion, his brooding eyes were stern. Honestly, he did not understand Armand’s obsession with bringing Gregory up. Was he so constantly on the forefront of his mind that Armand could not give up letting his thoughts wander back? Why was he still so insistent to defend Gregory and his honor when the situation did not call for it? For a moment, Marius had been considering his diet and weight, charmed by Armand’s concern for his health. But now he saw it was all a ruse to sweeten him up so that he could bring Gregory back into the conversation. How exhausting and disappointing.
But he would try to be nice. If it meant so much to Armand to bring up Gregory and his many wonderful characteristics and contributions, Marius wouldn’t argue. But he was disheartened that the flattery had not been true, because he’d been stupid enough to believe it.
“I will be sure to thank him for this,” Marius promised, then he turned on his heel and started to walk again. Armand could keep up if he wanted. “But do tell me how a five-hundred-year-old who owned a fleet of boats and salvaged sunken treasures wasn’t able to swim on his own.”
Armand watched him walk away silently. What point would there be in trying to describe how disorienting it had all been? How quickly he’d been sucked under, so deep, the water churning with the slapping of the whale’s fins, his mortal eyes stinging from the salt and his chest burning from the brine that went down his throat before he could close his mouth, much less take in any air to hold? He hadn’t known which way was up or down. He could see nothing but blurry light and shadow, and it came from all directions. The coat he’d been wearing against the cool sea air had become an impossible weight on his shoulders and arms as they frantically circled, not knowing which way to try to propel him, his feet leaden in his shoes that could only drag and snag through the water instead of kick. His time beneath had felt endless, his mind screaming with panic, though it couldn’t have been more than a minute before Gregory’s arms came around him and pulled him in a direction Armand hadn’t even tried to go.
No, there would be no point in trying to explain any of the terror of it to Marius, because Marius didn’t actually want to hear it. He just wanted to be told he was right to be angry about it happening at all. There would be no gratitude from Marius, and Armand wondered if Gregory would handle what was bound to be the most insincere of thanks and apologies from Marius with polite grace, or if he’d make some other snide or crude remark that would just irritate Marius all the further.
And to think, when Gregory had said on the boat that he thought Marius didn’t like him, Armand had denied it, had defended Marius, insisting Marius must naturally respect Gregory as a man who stood on his own convictions. Well, at least Armand could be relieved that Gregory was miles away at his hotel.
Quietly, he started walking again, and he turned into the room he knew to be the kitchen from his thorough exploration of the house the previous day. He could hear one of the maids in the butler’s pantry, but he ignored her for now and opened up the refrigerator, looking for something with a lot of calories that he could convince Marius to eat.
He was at it less than two minutes when the sight of someone stalking past the kitchen caught his eye. Louis! As Armand glanced up, the look of restrained fury on his face startled him. He dropped the block of cheese he was slicing on the cutting board and went after him.
“Good morning, Louis,” he said as he slipped in front of him in the corridor to block his path and caught him lightly by the arms, studying his expression with worry. “Or is it?”
Louis made a halfhearted attempt to resist his hold at first, trying to twist out of his grasp and push past him. But those large brown eyes slowed his fury, and instead he merely dropped his shoulders and sighed, his expression most piteous.
“It’s Gregory,” he said, as if that were explanation enough. “He’s trying to get Lestat to leave me, everyone else, and the chateau too, as if he could possibly keep Lestat for himself. It’s madness, exceedingly selfish and pompous. And all of it because we are mortal!”
Armand’s expression twisted in consternation. After the time the three of them had spent dancing so erotically last night, he’d thought Gregory would be more interested in keeping close to Louis as well. He was practically swallowing his tongue at one point! Armand hadn’t even kissed Gregory, hoping to tease him into desperation, but Gregory and Louis had gone right at it.
“He won’t succeed,” he said, sure of it. Well…pretty sure. Would Louis be this upset if there was no possibility of it? He squeezed Louis’s arms softly and frowned. “Do you think he might succeed?”
“Not at first,” Louis admitted. His brows wrinkled in worry while all of the things Gregory had said to him came rolling back through his mind, about how Louis wasn’t cut out for the thrilling and raucous life Lestat wanted to lead, about his being too reserved, about their sordid past together which Louis felt they were over but Gregory seemed very much convinced otherwise. “But eventually…I don’t know.” He shut his eyes tightly and shook his head. “It’s just as well…if that’s how it’s to be.”
Armand’s eyes narrowed, and his fingers bit into Louis’s arms, giving him a jostling sort of shake to get him to snap out of this defeatist mindset. “We won’t let it,” he vowed. They’d been very drunk last night, but not too drunk that it didn’t come back to Armand now with a rush of memory what Louis had asked him to do, to help distract Gregory and draw his focus away from Lestat. Further, Armand knew that when it worked, Gregory would realize he wasn’t so serious about Lestat after all, and he’d stop bothering to try to push Louis out of the picture.
“I refuse to be anything other than what I am. If I am not enough for Lestat, as Gregory so claims, then that is how it must be. Lestat is a man grown, our Prince. And it is his prerogative to do whatever it is he wants. I would never force his hand. And that I might stoop to even attempt to manipulate the situation…” Louis recognized that familiar look in Armand’s eyes, one of scheming and proud defiance. “I never should have asked you. I was seeing red.”
And yet, asked, he had. And Armand would not stand to see Louis resign himself to loneliness and lovelorn longing when they all knew how stupidly Lestat was in love with him. Not being ‘enough’ was one thing, for nothing was ever ‘enough’ for their brat. But Gregory trying to force Louis apart from Lestat was unacceptable, and Armand was sure that Gregory only needed some distance from his new fleeting infatuation with Lestat to realize it.
But Armand wouldn’t contradict Louis out loud. He’d always known what was best for Louis far better than Louis knew for himself. And if they were to be mortal now until they died, their time was too short to waste.
Did Louis know about that, though?
No, it seemed he was as in the dark as Armand had been, and that was how he could let go so easily now, thinking they would yet become vampires again and he still had eternity ahead of him. He didn't know the black finality of the truth. Yes, so all the better that Armand manage this matter for him for now.
His hands softened and smoothed down Louis’s arms. “I have to go out on an errand later today,” he said to change the subject. “Will you come with me?”
“Of course.” Louis looked down at him with an admiring and grateful expression. What would he do without Armand to balance him and bring him back to sanity when it seemed all else could be lost in the hurricane that was his love for Lestat?
“Just let me know when you’d like to leave, and I’ll be ready.”
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, B and K.
Chapter 126: Your Friend
Summary:
Gregory is determined to get answers from Lestat about the nature of their relationship, despite the fact that Marius and Armand join them at the breakfast table.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Out at the breakfast table, as he finished Louis’s leftover banana, Lestat was regarding Gregory contemplatively, like he was trying to decide what to do with him.
“Just leave Louis alone,” he advised. “He’s not in our way. Haven’t we been doing everything we want? He’s not my friend just because he needs or depends on me. Sometimes I think he even actually likes me,” he joked, though he still felt overall perplexed.
“Is that what he is?” Gregory asked. “Your friend? He seems to think it’s more than that.” The sunlight glinting off the blue ocean waters not far away was nearly blinding. Gregory picked up his sunglasses from the table and put them on. He relaxed, watching the way the leafy fronds waved in the light, salty breeze. He didn’t look forward to leaving the warmth and returning to the cold of France.
His gaze returned to Lestat. “Tell me what he is to you, really. Because I get the impression we are not on the same page. What is he to you and what am I to you?”
Lestat’s eyes narrowed. Louis had asked him this same inane question the other week, and he’d been just as irritated then by the niggling pedantry over whatever words he used to describe what they were to each other.
“I’m not fucking all my friends, if that’s what you’re really asking.” He took one of the breakfast rolls out of the towel-covered basket and began tearing off small pieces to eat. He really did want to spend more time with Gregory; he was disappointed, hurt even that Gregory insisted on living in Paris instead of staying at the chateau, and Lestat did miss him while he was gone. He never said any of that aloud because it seemed too saccharine, too pitiable. And he absolutely did not want to guilt Gregory into staying with him. That would only make him resentful.
Gregory had been angling a glare at Lestat for being so flippant about what Gregory personally felt was two soulmates on the road to becoming entwined for life in blissful happiness. Himself and Lestat, that is. But apparently Lestat defined them as what the young in this century called ‘fuck buddies.’ He was about to chastise the young man about this and insist on deeper conversation, but just then, the glass doors slid open and their host joined them on the veranda.
Speaking for friends he’d fucked! The annoyed look immediately fell off Lestat’s face at the sight of Marius, and he gave him a welcoming smile. He looked well-rested, which Lestat was glad to see, though not exactly in any sort of cheerful mood. His efforts last night to divert Marius from his unhappiness with a bit of fun and frolic had only been very temporarily successful, he could see.
Marius came quietly to the table, carrying a newspaper. He hadn’t arrived in time to hear any of the verbal exchange, but he wasn’t oblivious to the notable tension in the air between his guests. Still, he did not want to intrude, and it wasn’t polite to comment on things that were not one’s business. So he sat down, put on a pair of reading glasses, and opened the paper.
“Good morning,” he did say, looking over the edge of the newspaper to the two of them. He grabbed for none of the food.
Gregory watched him for a moment, thinking despite Marius’s mildly humorous t-shirt, he certainly cut the fatherly figure, with his paper and his glasses. “Good afternoon, actually,” he returned the greeting. “I hear you had an enchanting night.”
At the same time, Lestat reached over and squeezed Marius’s knee affectionately. Marius could spare a smile for him; Lestat’s warm reception made him feel happier himself. It was infectious, and Lestat had the kind of smile and energy that drew everyone into his light. Whatever the pair’s weighted conversation had been, Lestat did not carry it into this moment with him.
“When are we returning home?” Marius asked, planning to leave Brazil whenever they all did, as he did not want to linger here too long in idleness.
Gregory was slightly insulted that Marius had completely ignored his own greeting and inquiry. But he rarely let such brush-offs go without trying again. Try and try again was something he lived by, and it had always gotten him far. “I’m heading back in a few hours on my jet. Would you like to go with me?” he offered.
Marius folded his paper and set it in his lap, as he did not want to introduce the bacteria on it to the table holding food. It would be much easier for him and Bianca to return with Gregory, as then he’d not have to go through acquiring his own means. Bianca would enjoy the company. “That sounds quite nice, Gregory, thank you. Bianca and I would be delighted. And my night was indeed enchanting.” He did not elaborate because they were both adult men, and Gregory knew what it meant for such a night to be enchanting.
Lestat pursed his lips and studied Marius closely, trying to guess what was going on in his head. “What about Armand?” he asked. After all, Marius had specifically asked Lestat to bring Armand here to him, and they’d only just arrived very early yesterday morning. He wondered how many people Gregory’s little business jet could hold… But even if it had enough seats for all of them, Lestat would miss having that private room with the real bed in the back of the house-style jet they’d hired for the way here.
Marius turned to Lestat with a smile. “Of course him,” he clarified. It went without saying, though perhaps he should say it just to be clear. Armand was going to be by his side as much as he could orchestrate. Trying, of course, to still allow Armand to maintain some autonomy.
Gregory smiled brightly. “Excellent! I’ll let the pilot and crew know.” He pulled out his phone and began texting the news. He hadn’t expected Marius to agree, as it was such short notice. Apparently, the man wanted to get back to France for some reason. “There’s room for one more if you’d also like to come, Lestat.” Exactly one more, with the jet’s limited seating. “Or would you prefer to stay here with your friend, Louis?”
Lestat arched an eyebrow, giving him a quizzical look, as if to ask if he had something more to say. But then he only grinned at him. “I suppose you’ll never know. Because I couldn’t go without Cyril anyway.”
“Yours will be a nice, quiet ride with Louis,” Marius said as it sounded nice to have that sort of isolation and privacy. To him, having someone who worked as ‘help’ did not classify as an addition. He absolutely respected Cyril and enjoyed his company, but Marius knew how to see him as support staff, too, when the time called. A role meant to be so subtle one forgot he was there. It was ingrained in Marius from his upbringing, as slaves never left one’s side in some capacity. He ate, slept, bathed, had sex, and lived in sight of quiet slaves who tended to their duties while he enjoyed a rich, fruitful life. As unfortunate as that was. Especially now, when slavery was understood as a fundamental human rights violation. Still, the mindset allowed him to separate the man, Cyril, from the duty when the time called for it. And he thought Lestat and Louis may need the time alone and deserved it. Lestat had been notably distracted by Gregory and young women.
Lestat laughed, recalling how unquiet the ride with Louis had been on the way here, and the fight they’d had in the plane’s bedroom that had left him so angry. Things still felt tense with Louis in a different way, and Lestat hadn’t understood most of what Louis was trying to tell him this morning in bed, but at least Louis wasn’t angry with him anymore. And he hadn’t brought up Claire again since.
Claire, who Lestat was trying not to let himself think about, as she’d only replied to his last texts with simple emoticons. Whatever was going on, and whatever David had to do with it, Lestat would sort all that out when he got home. He just needed to get her in person again, and he was sure things would go right back to the lovely way they were before he left.
“I’ll be sorry to leave so soon,” he lamented as he gazed out over the sunny beach past Marius’s garden. He was glad for the umbrella over their table keeping the glare of the sun off them for now, but he did plan to go out there for a swim at least once before they had to leave. Yes, he did have to get back to his responsibilities at the chateau, but now that he was here, Lestat wanted to cling to the tropics.
The sliding sound of the glass doors clicked at the top of the deck, and Armand came through them to join their breakfast on the patio. He had on one hand a plate of food, thick slices of cheese and cured meats. In his other hand was a cup of coffee. Not the cafezhino with its heaps of sugar that the servant had brought out to Gregory, Lestat and Louis, but the plain bitter black stuff he’d found he preferred, despite his sweet tooth when it came to food.
He set the cup down, and put the plate in front of Marius, speaking to him as if he were the only one there. “Mangia,” he said with a smile. Marius looked down at the food with suspicion and some distaste, and then at Armand’s coffee with longing. Would he have to eat the food to get some coffee? Cheese did not sound so bad, though he was dubious about the meat.
Armand’s hand, heated from the coffee cup, brushed across the back of Marius’s neck as he went around him to take the empty seat between him and Gregory. It was a momentary distraction to feel the soft, warm caress. If they were alone, Marius would have made a sound of pleasure.
Reluctantly, he selected a piece of the Queijo do Serro, nibbling just a corner off of it. He felt like an utter fool, weak and pathetic to so gingerly eat cheese as it had once been a daily part of his diet.
“Good morning to you, too,” Lestat said, amused at how Armand ignored him. He considered throwing the banana peel at him just because.
Gregory, on the other hand, barely noticed. Buried in his own thoughts, he was frustrated yet again over Louis getting to have the flight back with Lestat. How had the very thing he’d intended to speak to Lestat about made absolutely no impact? Was he in fact completely wrong about everything he’d been feeling for the past two weeks?
Though it was terrible manners, he ignored Armand completely and took his sunglasses off. He looked directly at Lestat as he spoke his next words, not caring that Marius or Armand were here witnessing. “Am I just a friend you fuck? Because I see you as so much more than that.”
Lestat’s attention returned to him. Of course Gregory was more than that, but it amused Lestat that he was exhibiting such needy insecurity after all their conversation over the past couple weeks. His head tilted a little to the side, and he smiled at Gregory fondly.
As Marius considered his cheese, he was mindful of the crass talk, but unbothered by it at the private breakfast table. They were all men here, and he was used to immortals (well, now former) who did not soften their words. Plus, it was rude to watch as if two people’s lives were a spectacle and not an intimate conversation laden with emotions and very real consequences. His attention remained pointedly on the cheese.
Armand, however, watched every single beat of the exchange.
As Lestat gazed at Gregory, slowly his expression became more loving. His eyes took on a shine that blossomed into near-worshipfulness as he took in the handsome cut of Gregory’s cheek bones, his jaw, the way his broad shoulders and chest filled out his shirt so alluringly, the ancient depths of his eyes that seemed to reflect galaxies in their darkness if he looked into them long enough, the nimble strength of his hands and all he knew they could do. Lestat didn’t need to answer his question out loud when the overwhelming adoration was written so plainly all over his face, practically beaming out of him.
The weight of love emanating from him was so strong, so heavy, Gregory felt exposed by it. It was nearly impossible to breathe, for here was Lestat gazing upon him with such affection and such a golden love. A look that Gregory had only dreamed of over the decades. And now he questioned if he was even worthy of it. Was he worthy? Gregory smiled brightly, unable to contain it. His whole heart soared and nearly burst from his chest with happiness. Here was what he had been desiring, right across the table from him. How could he have doubted?
Armand could feel it, too. And it was so captivating, breathtaking, that it didn’t even matter that it wasn’t directed at him. Could Marius also feel it? It was as if the day around them had become golden, shining, and with a rush, Armand remembered how maddeningly addictive Lestat could be.
Which just made it all the more of a shock when Lestat finally spoke.
“Is that what Armand is to you? Just a friend you fuck?”
Marius nearly choked on his cheese but saved himself with a quick swallow, the small bit of food falling like a rock to his empty stomach.
Gregory’s joy sank a little. Those words. That single question, asked so simply. Had it all been faked? That glimmering look of love? Just so Lestat could fling that sharp question out with ultimate effect? Gregory narrowed his eyes at him, confused. And for it to have been asked right in front of Marius? After the obvious displeasure the Roman felt when Gregory spoke such things at dinner the night before?
Marius’s suffering stomach had completely soured, and he put the remaining bit of cheese down quickly, shoving the plate away from himself. Still, he would say nothing. Armand, who was not a helpless child who needed to be protected, wouldn’t want him intervening, and he’d learned last night not to get in between Armand and Gregory in any sense. It would only cause the situation (and Armand probably) to swivel and strike at him. He sought a quick emotional disconnect from the moment and seized his newspaper, unfurling it with a loud rustle and opened it to read.
Gregory glanced in his direction, able to see nothing of him now beyond the paper. Then he looked at the pale, shocked look on Armand’s face, then back to Lestat. “I haven’t fucked Armand. But yes, that’s what he would be if I had.”
Lestat’s smile remained serene, betraying nothing of that uncomfortable tight feeling just below his ribs—the same feeling he’d gotten last night after Gregory announced his seafaring escapades with Armand at the dinner table. The same feeling that had made him talk Marius into leaving the restaurant instead of going back inside. The feeling left him confused and troubled, though he still couldn’t name it. Not anger, or even jealousy, he didn’t think. Just a sort of dragging resigned sense of disappointment. Gregory kept trying to sound so serious about their relationship, but Lestat knew he couldn’t actually be serious about anything with the way he lusted after Armand.
Rising from his seat, he flipped his cloth napkin from his lap onto the table and stepped to Gregory. Lestat bent over him, taking his face between his hands and kissing him softly on the mouth. “Love you,” he said, and he brushed Gregory’s hair back from his forehead with a tender hand before walking around behind him and pecking a kiss to the top of Armand’s dark hair. “And I love you.” And then he wrapped his arms around Marius’s shoulders from behind and smooched the side of his face in a way that made his glasses go askew. “And I love you.” Then before any of them could react, he hopped off the deck and went jogging down to the beach.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, D and B.
Chapter 127: Business to Discuss
Summary:
True to his mission to help Louis, Armand keeps Gregory from running after Lestat by detaining him at the breakfast table, much to Marius's annoyance.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Armand stared after Lestat's retreating form, dumbstruck. Gregory was highly tempted to yell that running away was the coward’s way. He restrained himself. He might have been satisfied with Lestat’s response to his question before he’d left, but then Lestat went down the line at the table and declared his love for all of them. Somehow that made it feel hollow. Now he was alone here with Armand and Marius, and he certainly felt like an intruder.
Marius rescued the glasses that threatened to slip off of his nose by removing them, setting them delicately upon the table. There was a strange sense of longing in him as he silently watched Lestat simply jog away from the conversation into the warm sun and cool water, young, beautiful, so loved and full of love. The complicated problem upon his broad shoulders? Too many loved him too much and warred over his returned love. It was no doubt a burden, and he doubted Lestat felt the true depth of the love of Gregory, Louis, Armand, David, and so many others. Typical emotional barrier of a person who grew up in a home without love.
Marius’s problem? No one loved him enough, or at least in the way he wished. Too few loved him at all, and those who did, only enough to barely claim the word. He and Lestat were on opposite ends of the spectrum, and both wounded by it in their own ways. Then again, Lestat deserved the love and Marius certainly did not, so it was only right and fair.
Maybe there was some way for Marius to help Lestat sort through the feelings that crushed him in. No love was ever without demands or expectations. Lestat needed to learn balance and acceptance, and Marius had to learn to want less.
He decided then that he would look for transactional relationships to satiate his physical needs, someone lovely who would accept money to fulfill what he needed, and then anonymously move on. That way he could rid himself of this horrible sadness and be useful.
Meanwhile, Armand was trying to shake off the lingering effect of Lestat’s touch. He shot Gregory a frustrated look before turning back to Marius. Silently, he slid the plate back in front of him, and he picked up a fresh piece of cheese, offering it to Marius with an expectant look on his deceptively innocent face.
Marius knew when he looked at Armand, at first, he must look utterly heartbroken, the sadness sneaking past his mask. It wasn’t Armand’s fault. He was young, vibrant, and beautiful, too. Obediently, he opened his mouth and accepted the cheese. It was the least he could do. Armand shouldn’t suffer just because Marius was withered and bitter.
After he chewed, slow and considerate, he stood up. “I must excuse myself as well. I think I will go take a shower and get appropriately dressed.”
Armand’s hand shot out and caught Marius’s to hold him back. “Try the prosciutto,” he urged. “And here, coffee.” He slid the mug all the way to the edge of the table. Armand hadn’t touched any food at all himself so far, and he wouldn’t until he was satisfied with Marius’s consumption.
Marius only had one hand, but he used it to quickly and efficiently appease Armand. First, he grabbed the still warm but not scalding coffee and drank it as quickly and smoothly as water, in large gulps until the cup was empty. After he set the cup down, he grabbed the rolls of prosciutto and ate them one piece at a time until it was gone, too. The taste was actually very good, but the texture of it in his mouth was horribly unsettling, and he wanted to vomit. He probably looked paler and paler as the nausea grew, but he held it in with strength and valor. It took everything in him not to bring it all back up on this very floor.
Armand let him go then, but kept his eyes up on him hopefully. For some reason, the disgust on Marius’s face felt like a slap to Armand’s own. He was the one Marius was disgusted with, he knew. Why was Marius so angry about the fact that Armand just wanted to keep him alive, keep him from wasting away into a shriveled husk of his former glory?
Armand’s gaze fell sadly, and he didn’t do anything further to try to convince Marius to stay. Maybe Armand would go out on his planned errand early, and find some excuse to stay away all day so that Marius could have the space he so obviously wanted. Then by the time he came back, it would be bedtime, and Marius could have him silent and obedient in bed the way he wanted, the only thing it seemed Armand was good for anymore. The only way he’d be able to keep Marius tied to him.
Marius could see that Armand was disappointed with him, and he honestly could understand why. He was disappointed with himself, too. And worried for the fate of the food in his angry stomach.
Gregory stood. “Please, stay and eat your breakfast,” he said with a sincere smile as he placed the dark sunglasses back on. “I’m going to find Lestat and say my goodbyes.” Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d just return to his hotel and pack for the flight back and think about his recent life choices… Maybe drink a few caipirinhas.
Lestat’s name drew Armand’s attention at once. “Not yet,” he said, and though his voice was quiet, there was an air of command to it. After the state he’d just seen Louis in, Armand was all the more determined to do what he could to distract Gregory from Lestat. “We have business to discuss.”
Marius used Armand’s moment of distraction as the signal that it was acceptable to leave. He moved casually back to the porch doors, though not without snorting at the words ‘business’ and ‘discuss,’ which only made him further disappointed by his own pettiness. It did not matter. As soon as he was inside and no one could see him, he took off in an actual run to make it upstairs to his private bathroom in time to vomit.
Gregory watched him escape. The man seemed thinner than Gregory remembered, and it only then occurred to him that Marius probably needed actual medical help with his eating issues. He could help with that, call a dietitian or any other specialty he might need. Fareed would know.
But Armand had used the word business and that word alone was his Kryptonite. Gregory sat again in his chair. He set aside all the concerns that had been racing around in his mind, folded his hands together on the table before him, and focused seriously on Armand’s angelic face. “Tell me about business. Is the treasure find being dredged? Are there issues? How can I help?”
Armand managed to smile at him, to arrange his face to hide any sign of his turmoil over Marius. It was much less hard to do in the face of Gregory’s enthusiasm, which if Armand were in a better mood, might have even made him laugh. Taking his chair by the arms, he turned it to face Gregory directly, and folded one arm on the table, leaning closer. Quickly, he thought up something to say, improvising as he went.
“No issues. They’ve had the weekend off, only monitoring the site. But tomorrow, they’ll begin the salvage.” He and Gregory had returned from sea Friday morning once the ship of the hired crew met their yacht above the wreck. The team had spent that day getting their equipment set up, but they were Spaniards, and insisted on taking the weekend for drinking and fishing. Armand didn’t mind. It was far preferable to dealing with the labor unions on American jobs, and the shipwreck wasn’t going anywhere. Plus, he and Gregory had decided to keep everything about this expedition aboveboard now that they were human and couldn’t hypnotize and mind read their way around authorities.
“But I want someone we know out there with them.” Armand’s fingertips played with his plump lower lip as he thought about it. “Someone who already works for you, who you trust.” The crew they’d hired was reputable, of course, but Armand still didn’t trust them not to steal if they could get away with it, and he couldn’t hear it all in their thoughts anymore. “Someone who will count every penny and never look away.”
Gregory tilted his head slightly. He had trusted staff from the home office already monitoring the men they had hired to bring up the treasure. This staff would meet them at port to take stock before they brought anything ashore. But to have someone from corporate on the boat the whole time?
“I suppose I can arrange that.” Gregory sat back in his chair, then he had another idea. “Flavius. I can ask him to fly over to the ship and keep an eye on the crew and their work. Flavius is very meticulous in that way. Is this your only concern?”
“Well, what other concerns should I have?” Armand’s eyes narrowed as if suddenly suspicious that Gregory knew about something he wasn’t telling him, though it was only an attempt to draw him into further discussion.
Having a vampire watch over their project would actually put Armand more at ease, even though this concern was something he’d just made up on the spot. Flavius couldn’t watch the crew during the day, but he’d be able to read their minds at night to know what he’d missed. It was maddening, if Armand let himself think about it too hard, how little control he could keep over anything at all without his powers now. Money only went so far, even endless amounts of it.
“None that I’m aware of,” Gregory replied, standing again and checking his pockets to be sure he had his phone. He let out a small huff of air, a sigh, as he looked out toward the blue ocean. Apparently, Lestat didn’t care if he was going to be gone again soon. Louis was probably down there on the beach with him already.
Armand was beginning to wonder at how Gregory was having absolutely no reaction to him, to his nearness, to their solitude, as if all his attraction and desire for Armand had completely evaporated overnight, but before he could become too confused, he was thrown by what Gregory said next:
“I’ll be seeing you on the flight home. I’ll text you the takeoff time and send my car to come collect you and Marius and Bianca to bring you to the airstrip.”
“What?” Armand’s smooth, pale brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
Gregory frowned down at him for a moment. “Marius just told me you are going home with him and Bianca tonight…on my plane with me.” He shrugged a shoulder.
Tonight? Well, that might still work with Armand’s plans if he went early for his errand. He would have to check in with Marius to figure it out. Really, he was surprised Marius had agreed to this at all, when they could hire any jet they wanted to fly them back to France. Was this some kind of test? A punishment?
He frowned, turning things over in his mind, and then looked up at Gregory again, so stiff, so different from the carefree and seductive man he’d spent last week with on the boat.
“He’s upset,” Armand told him, glancing back to the barely touched plate of food. Even though Armand had been only refusing to eat until Marius did, he had no appetite now. “About you and me.” Hooking the edge of the plate with his fingertips, he slid it over, offering it to Gregory, as if to say ‘we’re not done yet, so you might as well sit back down and eat.’
Gregory looked at his watch. He really wanted to get back to the hotel and drink as many alcohol-based beverages as he could before the flight back to France. But he wouldn’t be rude, and he sat down again, selecting a cheese and some meat, chewing them thoughtfully. He narrowed his eyes at Armand as he savored the burst of flavors in his mouth.
“You and me?” he asked after he swallowed, one dark brow raised. “There is not a you and me. There was a blow job on a yacht, and your refusal to let me reciprocate. And maybe I need to explain it to Marius better. Make him understand it wasn’t anything more. I don’t want him angry about it. Do you want me to do that?”
“I tried to tell him,” Armand said with a sigh. “He wouldn’t hear it from me. Maybe he would from you.” But he didn’t sound very hopeful. He considered a moment, then shook his head, uncertain. “Tell him if you want to make peace with him,” he offered. But he wouldn’t be surprised if Gregory decided it wasn’t worth trying. Marius could be so impossibly stubborn, and he wouldn’t blame Gregory if he felt it was useless. Both of them knew Armand’s heart and soul belonged to Marius in this new life. Marius was the only one who doubted it.
Gregory looked over the rims of his sunglasses. He was of course very sexually attracted to Armand, but his own heart and all of his thoughts right now were on Lestat. Was Lestat out there on the beach, running in the sand? Didn’t he know how difficult that was? How exhausted he would get? Even the most experienced runners didn’t run in the sand on the beach unless they wanted a serious workout. And that sand could be really hot to bare feet. And it got in your shoes. Was Lestat running in his shoes or in his bare feet? Gregory glanced over his shoulder down to the beach beyond the line of trees.
It took Armand a moment, but then it clicked for him why Gregory was looking out that way. He put a hand on Gregory’s arm to draw his attention back. “He’ll never love you,” he lied, while at the same time, his expression seemed full of pity and understanding, coming from one who had once pined after Lestat for more than a century. “He doesn’t know how to love. Not really. Not in the way you want. And he never will.”
Gregory barely heard him, so focused on looking out to the beach and the ocean. He could see a golden head in the shallow waves, the sun glinting off of it now and then. And he was absolutely certain that was Lestat, taking a swim, not out running on the sands as he’d assumed. His heart leapt at the sight.
But then Armand’s words filtered into his ears and he turned slowly to look at the younger man. Although he was only about five years younger than Gregory in mortal age, Gregory felt far, far older. His brow furrowed as he studied Armand. “How can you say that? He is the very epitome of love. Everything for him is love. He loves even you, though you do not believe it.”
He leaned in then, as if he might kiss Armand. He suddenly wanted to. Wanted to taste those inviting cupid lips. He recalled vividly dancing with Armand at the club last night. And he recalled just as vividly the strength of his arousal for him, and how Armand was such a genius at captivating and seducing men but not always letting them have what they wanted of him. And Gregory knew this was something Armand could hardly control, but Gregory didn’t care. He did want Armand in every filthy erotic way he could imagine, and he could imagine many of them.
He pressed a finger lightly against Armand’s forehead, just between the dark auburn brows. He traced a deceptively gentle line down over the bridge of his nose, the soft indent of his upper lip and then the plump lower one, and finally his chin. He leaned in, his own bearded jawline barely touching cheek, and spoke against the lobe of Armand’s ear in a voice rough with male need. He recounted just one of those fantasies he’d played out in a recent shower with his fist and some liquid soap.
Then he pulled back and stood, looking down on Armand’s stunned face for a last moment before turning away and heading out toward the beach. “I’m going to find Lestat,” he called back. “I’ll see you on the plane later.”
By the time Armand recovered from the seduction enough that his eyes were able to focus again, Gregory was already too far down the sandy jungle path for him to possibly do anything else to try and stop him.
He cursed to himself and moved to push back from the table, but only then realized he’d gone completely hard in his trousers. Good god, was he sweating?
Shooting a frantic glance around the patio and gardens to make sure he wasn’t being watched, Armand pushed his hands down between his legs. Closing his eyes, he grit his teeth and put all his focus into willing the traitorous thing to subside.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, D and B.
Chapter 128: Detrimental
Summary:
Gregory follows Lestat down to the beach and tries to convince him Louis is bad for him, but it makes Lestat realize something else instead.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
By the time Gregory made it down to the shore, past the line of clothes Lestat had discarded across the sand, Lestat had come in from the waves and was sitting in the shallow surf. His arms were wrapped loosely about his knees as he watched a flock of gulls diving over a glistening school of fish. He could feel the sun burning the skin of his shoulders already, but he was too preoccupied to care. If it hurt later, he would just get drunk about it, like he always did.
Gregory stopped at the very edge of the lapping waters, his toes getting wet. He’d removed his shoes and socks before coming out on the sand, as the shoes themselves were expensive and he hated to ruin them. He’d placed them on a little outcrop of rocks nearby. He clasped his hands behind his back and watched Lestat now, not speaking for a long moment. Why did Lestat so insist on these dramatic exits? And then to be found here in the water, like this?
“You’re naked,” Gregory announced, as if that was the only thing he could think to say. But really he had many things to say. He simply didn’t want to distress Lestat with them just yet.
The words made Lestat jump where he sat, and his head whipped around to look over his shoulder. He hadn’t heard Gregory approaching at all, the rush of the ocean drowning out any sound he’d made, and his mind utterly deaf against picking up any extrasensory signs now. The sight of him, though, made Lestat relax. He was glad to see him, and only wondered what had taken him so long.
“You’re not,” he replied in much the same tone, as if Gregory’s state of dress was equally notable. But really, had Gregory expected Lestat to go swimming with his clothes on? Of course he’d taken them off.
Gregory instantly smiled at this and began undressing. He didn’t want to wrinkle this particular set of clothing, as he’d intended to be boarding the flight back to Paris in it. So he folded it as best he could and laid it out on the rocks. He stepped into the blue waters, finding it only slightly cooler than body temperature, and therefore easy enough to adjust to. For a fleeting moment, he flashed back to his time as a young man in Ninevah and then in Kemet, swimming in the great rivers. Then it flashed to the vast open ocean off the Spanish coast and the whales and the desperate grasping for Armand, pulling him up and to the surface.
Gregory pushed that memory away and swam out into the waves, diving down to the bottom and then swimming back to the surface and over to Lestat. The salt burned his eyes a bit and he snorted a little to get it out of his nose, as some had made its way there.
“Hi,” he said with a small grin, sitting in the shallow water beside Lestat, their arms and sides touching. “Here,” he said with a flourish of his hand, showing Lestat the small luminescent blue shell he’d collected for him.
Lestat plucked it from his hand, and lifted it to the light to admire its iridescence in the sun. It was beautiful, and yet… He sighed. “I can only think of what it would have looked like to my vampire eyes.” How well he could imagine the two of them sitting on this beach at night under a wash of moonlight glimmering off of the calm sea. It would all look just as bright to them as the day did now.
He folded his hand over the shell, absently rubbing his thumb back and forth along its ridges, appreciating its texture, and he looked back out to the distant horizon. “Ever read The Awakening?” he asked distractedly. “Chopin.”
Gregory had to think for a few seconds, but then he did recall the novel. “Yes. A woman’s tragic story, searching for freedom outside the confinement of marriage and motherhood. And why do you mention this book? Are you searching for meaning in your new mortal life?”
Lestat laughed, burying his face in his arms as his shoulders shook. “No,” he admitted. He’d only been thinking of how the little novel ended, at an ocean shore not so unlike this one. How far could he swim out before his mortal body could endure no more?
He lifted the pretty shell, rolling it softly against his cheek as his mind wandered, and Gregory leaned against him. The soft sand of the ocean floor was oddly pleasant-feeling beneath his bottom. No wonder Lestat was just fine sitting here like this.
Making an effort to focus on the moment, Lestat turned toward him. “What are you so worried about, hm?” he asked with a calm smile, and his fingertips brushed along Gregory’s wet arm. “Haven’t we been having everything just the way we like it?”
He gave a small exhale of breath, looking away from Lestat and out at the gentle waves. “I’m seeing Louis taking your time and attention far more often than he should. I don’t want to be competing for you all the time.”
“Have you been?” Lestat asked, surprised to hear it. Louis had only told him over and over again that he didn’t intend to keep Lestat from his other lovers, that he didn’t begrudge his time with them, that he wanted Lestat to be satisfied…whatever Louis thought that meant.
“This isn’t just about yesterday,” Lestat gathered, though he was still confused why it had upset Gregory so much that he’d run down the hall to Louis’s room to try to comfort him. But he accepted that it had. Again, Lestat wanted to point out that Louis wasn’t what ever kept them apart, Gregory’s job was. But he kept that to himself. Again.
“No, it’s not just about yesterday.” Gregory turned to him, looking into Lestat’s eyes, speaking from a place of great determination. For he wanted more than anything to make Lestat understand. Why was this not getting through to him? He longed suddenly for some way to create some sort of PowerPoint presentation, as that always seemed to work with the mortals in his company who weren’t grasping the great visions he had for certain projects. But this was not a work project, this was a very personal matter, and that made it all the more important to him that he make himself understood.
“Lestat, I am speaking of your entire timeline with Louis. I am speaking of your entire relationship with him. I can see that you spend a great amount of time not only physically with him, but mentally. And I worry that he will only do what he has done repeatedly in the past to you, and that is to cause you great heartache and loss when he decides that something you’ve done goes just a step beyond what he can handle. He’s done it repeatedly, and you know this. But you are like a battered spouse, continually returning to him and trusting that he will not do it again. My love, I want only for your happiness. And I want to provide that happiness. Can you not see where I am coming from? That he is detrimental to you, and here you are in this mortal life now, with very little time. Are you going to give your life to him again, and trust that he will not burn it all down?”
A faint look of dismay washed over Lestat’s face as he stared back into Gregory’s eyes. “Detrimental?” Could that be true? And if Louis was detrimental to him, what did that make him to Louis? Ten times worse to be sure.
Lestat believed in Louis’s love now, in his absolute devotion as he had professed it, but it had always made him a little worried. Only because he knew he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t think Louis would turn against him if Lestat went a step too far, as Gregory feared. But was that actually good for Louis at all? Or would he be stubbornly committing to the devil he knew and miss out on a mortal lifetime that could be better for him? Could Lestat ever not resent Louis for being happy to be mortal again? To be relieved without any hope of returning to darkness? And what would that resentment do to both of them?
He shook his head, not knowing what to make of any of these questions in his mind, and his gaze fell to the wash of crystal water between his feet, half buried in the white sand beneath. “To tell you the truth,” he admitted with a pensive frown, “I don’t know that I even believe in happiness.”
“Why not?” Gregory immediately asked. “You are the most positive being I know. Happiness is inherent in you. Yes, you have your down times, but you always bounce back. That’s what draws so many to you.” Gregory nuzzled in and kissed Lestat’s damp temple. “If you don’t believe in happiness, then you don’t believe in sorrow either, for they are two sides of the same coin. Now tell me what would make you most happy. I will be your genie and make it come true.”
Lestat laughed and tilted his head against Gregory’s, leaning into him so that their shoulders pressed heavily. “Having fun and being happy aren’t the same thing. Are they?” he mused, not arguing, just thinking aloud. “Isn’t the fun just temporary distraction from the absence of true happiness? I had fun last night, with those women, but I don’t know that I was happy. At least, not in a way that lasts. Who did you sleep with last night? I’m sure it was fun, but were you happy?”
Gregory wished Lestat would have answered his question instead of deflecting. But he was growing used to this way of communication with his Prince. But the reminder of the previous night dragged his attention away from the topic. For a long moment, he was silent as he thought of the woman he’d been with and then of Chrysanthe’s visit.
“I slept alone last night,” Gregory said before he could stop himself. Why did he say this? Did he think Lestat would be upset to hear of his exploits with a random woman, or that his wife had also visited? Of course not. But somehow the time with Chrysanthe felt scared; his and hers alone. He didn’t want to speak of it here and now.
“I am happy when I’m having fun with you,” he said, nudging Lestat lightly. “Are you not happy in that same way when we are together? Stop over-analyzing it. Do you feel a happiness with me or any other’s presence?”
“I was happy with you yesterday.” At least until dinnertime. Their day out shopping and drinking and tasting the local foods in the sweaty sunshine had been all kinds of fun. Then everything they did together after they got back to Marius’s house was pretty good too. Not counting the distress over Louis in the middle.
Lestat tried to think of when the last time he felt happy with Louis was. Louis was fun to tease…that always made him happy. To push Louis past his breaking points until he snapped and gave Lestat exactly what he wanted. Times like those probably didn’t make Louis happy, though… But still, it was so much fun. There hadn’t been very much of that since they became human and the dark cloud of inevitable doom descended upon them.
So, what did that mean for him and Louis?
Lestat didn’t like over-analyzing this anymore than Gregory did, and his brain never would have gone to these places if Gregory hadn’t brought it up, so for now, he firmly pushed the question away.
Gregory too had been thinking about yesterday, and the adventure he and Lestat had been on together. It was only the two of them. Well… The two of them and the security team trailing them the whole time. But still, it was only himself and Lestat in the bright daylight. There had been no one distracting Lestat’s attention and time. It had been a glimpse into what they could have more of, if only Lestat wouldn’t allow himself to be tied down by duty to others so often. It could be just the two of them against the world. Although, ‘against’ was the wrong word in Gregory’s opinion. He never felt that he was against the world. Rather, he was always trying to be part of the world, in it, surfing the waves of time and progress. He could show Lestat so much. They could have the most incredible life together, traveling, exploring, playing, and loving one another.
“Tell me about Armand,” Lestat said, still confused how he felt about what they’d learned at dinner last night. How different Gregory’s attitude toward Armand was then compared to at breakfast just now.
Gregory was quickly brought out of his daydream. He turned, looking quizzically at Lestat. “Armand? Tell you what about him?” His brows angled downward slightly. “Armand is a tease. But you know that.”
Lestat looked back at him quietly. He didn’t believe this confused look on Gregory’s face. Odd, wasn’t it, that Gregory would hold anything back from him, after all else he’d said? Or perhaps not odd. Hadn’t Lestat just told Louis this morning not to take anything Gregory said seriously? He was a wonderfully passionate man who let himself get swept away in the moment, and spouted off all sorts of dreams and declarations, but of course he couldn’t really mean most of them. And it didn’t matter, really. They had fun when they were together, and what they did when they were apart shouldn’t mean anything either.
It doesn’t, Lestat told the tight knot of disappointment that panged in the center of his stomach.
Since when was he so sentimental, anyway?
How he hated this revolting mortal body and chemically-driven brain that made him feel such irrational things.
This revelation about Gregory should be a relief.
Lestat needed to just let go and relax.
So, he smiled at Gregory serenely and rested his chin on his arms over his knees, and he let the topic drop. “So, next weekend?” he asked instead. “I’m sorry for spoiling your plans for this one.”
“Next weekend in Paris,” Gregory confirmed. He felt a great weight suddenly. Why did next weekend feel like an eternity away? He leaned back in the water, placing his arms out behind him, his hands flat in the sand. He looked up at the bright blue sky. “You spoiled nothing. I only wished we could spend more time together than we did.”
He let his head fall back a little further, the small waves lapping all around them and the sound of some birds nearby filled the air. “Louis was quite provocative last night at the club. He danced with me. We shared a passionate deep kiss as well.” Gregory laughed a little as he remembered it all.
Lestat’s head snapped around to look at him so fast that he felt a sharp pain in his neck. He pressed a hand against it, wincing. “What the hell did you give him?” he asked, amazed. “My god.” No wonder Louis was so upset this morning, he must be absolutely mortified. At least for what he could remember—he did say much of the night was gone. A blessing for him, truly.
“Just some molly,” Gregory laughed. “I was surprised he even took it. I don’t think Armand took any. Not while I was watching. But Louis definitely did.” Gregory continued to smile, recalling the heat and the arousal as they pressed against one another. “I would leave you some before I go, but I don’t want you using it without me. So maybe that’s our plan for next weekend…” He trailed off suggestively.
“Not my vice of choice.” The look Lestat gave him in return was one of faint challenge. He was still way too hung up on the idea of Louis being ‘quite provocative’ in a public setting at all, even if it was technically one where it was considered appropriate. “Why did you kiss him?” he asked, wanting to know just as much what had been going through Gregory’s mind last night.
Gregory looked back at him, admiring Lestat’s wet gleaming body, the salty water beading along his shoulders and chest. How easily he could pull Lestat onto his lap now, start something with him that would be another perfect memory to relive on the long flight back to Paris.
“I was under the influence too,” he replied, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s a powerful drug. And Louis is beautiful and impossible to turn away when he’s so willingly offering himself like that. I suppose I could have tried to go further, but he slid out of my grasp.”
Gregory realized, as he spoke these things, that Lestat perhaps was facing the same struggle with Louis. That this was all the more reason to try and separate them, for he would simply keep succumbing to the temptation of Louis. The suspicion was confirmed as Lestat gave him a knowing look and a thin smile, as if to say, So you see? You understand now.
Why Louis would throw himself on Gregory like that, though, Lestat could only wonder. Louis seemed so repulsed by the man these past couple days. Had it been some sort of power play? Had Louis’s inebriated mind been trying to prove some point? Or had Gregory’s charm and magnetism simply been equally irresistible? After all, Louis seemed to fully understand Lestat’s draw to the man. Gregory was the only one being weird about things.
But it was difficult to think too hard about these matters with the distraction of Gregory stretched out there wearing nothing at all, the sunshine highlighting every curve of muscle and bone along his radiantly brown chest and stomach and the sea water lapping up around his thighs. He looked good to climb on top of, and good to kiss, and Lestat wondered at himself that he wasn’t already doing it.
What had he just been thinking of? Louis? No, right, next weekend. Paris. He could bring Louis with him, and bring Benedict too to make up for leaving him behind on this trip, even though Lestat had tried everything to get him to come. The two of them could stay in his rooms at the Plaza Athenee and enjoy the city for a couple days in their own quiet way, while he and Gregory ran around doing whatever fun he had planned.
It would be an entirely different style of fun than this tropical beach paradise, though, wouldn’t it? Yes, who knew when they would get to experience something like this again? And in that case, why was Lestat letting any minute go to waste? Especially with how he understood that nothing Gregory said was ever that serious, no matter how much it might seem to Gregory at the time. Pleasant diversions would make him forget all the talk about his ‘detrimental’ relationship with Louis and leaving the chateau behind.
To that end, the next moment found Lestat atop Gregory, one knee between his thighs, hands pushing his shoulders to make him lie back in the surf, and his tongue languidly licking all the salt from his chest.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me and D.
Chapter 129: Irresistible
Summary:
Lestat is eager to speak with Teskhamen about the state of vampire politics, but he doesn't realize just how much Teskhamen is struggling to control his hunger around the mortals after his erotic night with Marius.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Teskhamen had glutted himself on blood two nights in a row, to the point where he scarce recognized himself in the mirror. That was good, that was what he needed, to feel more like his usual detached self again, to know that he was no risk to such dear people as resided in his fledgling’s house.
He had come back to his hotel room after the hunt this evening, and was lightly dozing near the open window with the sound of the sea in his ears. His mind was a grand contrast to his relaxed countenance, where he was being bombarded with images of his almost-tryst with Marius last night. The heat, the burn of his hands, the sound of blood, the caress of his warm tongue, the labored breathing and the strength in his arms, even as a mortal man…
Oh, the curse of the vampire to remember everything so vividly, when his own senses were alight to recall a small, slight moan rumbling at the back of Marius’s throat!
He had been beautiful. They all were so beautiful…
Perhaps he needed to go further away.
The hot and heavy flashes were interrupted by a familiar voice reaching the outstretches of his mind, a charismatic lilt with so much magnetism that again, even in his mortality, anyone would struggle to resist. Lestat was calling out to him—Lestat wanted him to come back to the villa, wanted to talk.
Whatever for? Please assure me all is well.
The crisp sound of the vampire’s voice in his head sent an icy spike down Lestat’s spine. To be reminded of the sheer incomprehensible power of an ancient being like Teskhamen filled his traitorous mortal body with a shudder of terror. But he grit his teeth and forced his way through the exchange.
Lestat no longer had the power to send out a psychic voice of his own, but knowing Teskhamen was paying close attention to them had given him hope his thoughts would be heard if they were deliberate enough. He tried to express, in the most mundane mortal thought process, that everyone was fine, just that he’d been disappointed to miss Teskhamen’s visit last night, as there was so much to discuss.
In spite of it all, Teskhamen couldn’t help but smile at the clumsiness of Lestat’s thoughts. But it was quickly followed by a pang of fear and regret. If they didn’t solve this mystery, one by one they would all age and die, succumb to illness and die, be taken from them in some sudden accident. What would the world be without Lestat?
I am ever at your beck and call. What do you wish to discuss?
He thought about whether or not he could submit to Lestat’s request to return to the house; examined the state of his body and its desires. It was too great a risk.
Lestat pressed his hands against his ears, winching his eyes closed, and fell to sit on the edge of one of the lounge chairs on Marius’s pool deck. The lively chirping chorus of the night creatures in the trees and jungle beyond became muffled, but nothing could depress the crispness of that terrifyingly unnatural voice in his head.
“Just come here, why don’t you?” he pleaded aloud. Even as a vampire, he couldn’t hold conversations this way, like some psychic sort of telephone. It was too much. The mind gift was good for a summons, a quick burst of information, conveyed more in feelings and understanding than specific words. If Lestat ever wanted to actually talk to someone, they found each other or just talked on the phone like civilized vampires.
Teskhamen rubbed his hand over his face in a most mortal fashion, frustrated and afraid. He sat up, bringing his knees to his chest as he watched the world go by outside the window. He so hated to deny Lestat anything, but that rich, luxurious voice in his head was tempting him even without his having laid eyes on the man. But if he hunted again on the way, if he kept his distance, if he only saw Lestat…perhaps he could manage it.
I cannot stay long, he sent back, and within twenty minutes, he was again at Marius’s house, having fed far more in the past two nights than he had in months.
He came to the pool deck, looked down at Lestat reclining like some self-assured and irresistible feline, and chose to put a deck chair between himself and Lestat as he lowered himself to sit. He fixed his eyes on the turquoise pool, knowing he looked uncharacteristically flushed and pink. “How can I help?”
Lestat immediately hopped over that deck chair to perch on it, so he could be close to Teskhamen instead, not one drop of fear or caution coming from him to be so near a man-eating monster. Teskhamen closed his eyes, and if he sighed, it was inaudible to mortal ears. Why couldn’t Lestat understand, get the implication? Teskhamen couldn’t be near him. What was the difference in a few feet? He could answer that when he turned his head and looked at Lestat through his eyelashes, when his breath hitched at the sight and the heat of the man and his earnest expression.
“What’s happening in Paris?” Lestat asked, his voice instinctively hushed even though there was no way Louis or the others could hear him all the way out here. Of course, he meant with Fareed’s laboratories and the vampire scientists’ nonstop work on trying to understand and solve the curse that had made them human. “Whenever I call, they put me off. Or, rather, they’re not telling me everything, I can tell. I need to know the truth. All of it.”
Teskhamen sighed audibly now, and turned his head to look at the water again. “Lestat, there’s nothing to report aside from their unwavering dedication and bravery. They try, and they fail, and still they try again. Their only thoughts are of you, their Prince, and all of you whom this fate has befallen. Daniel thinks primarily of Armand and Marius, and of course of you and Louis. He’s being so brave, Lestat, in spite of his madness. If there were such a thing as vampiric medals of honor, they should receive the Victoria Cross for all this. But there really is nothing else.”
Lestat’s jaw clenched. He didn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. But wasn’t this what he already knew? The understanding he’d been grappling with since the first night all the experiments led absolutely nowhere? Why he spent so many nights drunk and in so many beds? To do anything to avoid thinking about it, that immortality was truly lost to him forever. That he was going to die. And God help his soul, what would happen to him then? After the centuries of dark wickedness he’d wrought, it would be the bottommost pits of torment for him.
A sudden fury took over him, but he clenched it back for the venerable ancient one’s sake, covering his face with his hands, unable to speak for the moment.
Teskhamen pushed into Lestat’s mind to calm him, unable to find the words to do so. He pushed gently into his mind, enveloping him with enough warmth to take the edge off of the reality of it all—he knew how Lestat hated to lose control of himself and to be influenced. “My dear boy,” he sighed softly, wishing there was something he could say or do. Perhaps humor would be the best medicine. “Fear not, you’ll get this all sorted soon. You’re far too delicious for us to stand it for very long.”
“Not anymore,” Lestat mumbled, pushing his hands back through his hair and looking up again with a sigh. Gregory had been revolted by Lestat’s blood, and if any other tempted vampire stopped being able ‘to stand it,’ they’d end up in the exact same predicament as he had.
He forced himself to get back to his questions. “What are all of you doing about the Court? The constitution? Where is it being moved? Who leads you all now? Seth refuses, I know, but one of you must do it. You can’t let it become a tribe of orphans and wanderers again.”
“More than ever,” Teskhamen agreed pointedly, looking at him in an untempered way before setting himself right. He didn’t believe their blood tasted revolting. He believed he needed to be careful around them, that their blood would turn him mortal too, but he did not believe that he wouldn’t enjoy it.
“Try not to worry, my dear one. We have told any wanderers to report to Paris for now, and the eldest of us make decisions together. You could call us a consulate, I suppose, if you wanted to call us anything. Love for you has united us all.”
“I can’t help worrying!” Lestat flopped sideways against the back of the chair. “We were…so close. We finally had everything… We…” Oh, what was he even saying? He wasn’t part of the we anymore. “They’ll run the Court out of Armand’s house in Paris, then? Or will you take it all to your monastery?” That wasn’t a bad idea, actually, the secret retreat shared by Teskhamen and the other founders of the ancient order of the Talamasca would certainly offer more space. “Not that I think Armand would mind if you kept the house. He won’t need it; he wants to stay with me, for us all to stay together.” He'd said something along those lines last week, and Lestat assumed nothing had changed. He hadn't seen Armand since breakfast, though he knew he'd gone out to the city this afternoon with Louis on some errand and they weren't back yet. Why Gregory had ended up flying home to France alone after all that business with Marius accepting his invitation this morning, Lestat had no idea.
Teskhamen ached to reach out and caress Lestat’s anguished features, to run his fingers through his hair and soothe him. But a flashing reminder of the heat of Marius’s mouth and the piercing hunger it brought forth had him folding his arms. “We will decide in the coming weeks, but we have not given up on bringing you all back over.”
“Mmph,” said Lestat, most articulately. He didn’t doubt it, knew the mystery of their circumstance would keep Fareed hard at the task from sheer scientific curiosity alone. But that didn’t mean he’d ever solve it.
He knew the ancient vampire was just trying to make him feel better, though, and Lestat appreciated it. After all, what else was there to do? This was something he must bear, and any help to make the bearing of it lighter, he would accept.
“Decide faster,” he advised. “Even if I can come back into the Blood, I shouldn’t go back to being your Prince. The rulers you choose now will do better than you ever thought I could, trust me.”
Teskhamen sighed and rubbed his head in a most human fashion. He couldn’t think, not with the memory of last night so fresh and vivid in his mind, not with Lestat’s heartbeat and breath in his ear. Lestat was lucky he was making conversation at all in this state, never mind saying anything worthwhile.
“Hush,” he beseeched quietly, rubbing at his other temple with another deep sigh. He took a moment to recollect himself, pushing all thoughts of human blood from his mind and focusing instead on the rustle of leaves in the wind, the lap of the waves not far off and the crickets around the bushes. Once he’d managed this, he opened his eyes again and smiled softly, but he didn’t look at Lestat. “We chose you for a reason. The final decision is not up to me alone.”
“Well, why not!” Sudden flash Inspiration! “You established and managed a large organization that depended on secrecy for a thousand years. Who better to take the reins? Oh, I don’t mean as head of the tribe if you don’t care enough to lead, but you could be the architect of its new structure.” A sound at the garden gate made Lestat’s head snap in that direction, and he saw Marius's shape enter between the foliage. “Marius, tell him.” Lestat waved a hand at the ancient being that looked like a delicate young man, certain Marius would back him up.
Teskhamen might have winced if he didn’t have better control of himself. He’d not expected Marius back so soon, and in all his focus on getting through the bloodlust, he’d not noticed him approaching as much as he should. He closed his eyes again, Lestat’s urgency overwhelming him in a way that shouldn’t be possible for a human.
Marius had tried to maintain some of his nightly routine, though he had to push it to earlier hours for the sake of his mortal stamina and circadian rhythm. There were shops and vendors who would worry should he come to the area but never emerge to socialize with them. It was always known when he was in his beachside residence, as the deliveries and cleanings picked up significantly. So, he’d done his routine, and even stopped to have a drink with someone he met, before he walked his way back home. It wasn’t until he was almost at the gate that he heard the voices on the pool deck, and he’d been polite in quietly closing it behind him so as not to disturb the conversation, which looked intense and troubling. So much for that.
“We all agree,” Lestat was saying, “the elders must not leave the young ones directionless orphans ever again. That has long been decided. They cannot sit around on a hope and a prayer that you and I will survive this curse. They must begin their new regime at once.”
Teskhamen ran his hands through his hair, sighing again and standing. He put distance between himself, Marius and Lestat, his brain feeling as though it were pulled in every direction. All that blood, and to be near them, it still felt like he hadn't fed in months again. He refused to look at his fledgling for now, just remembering the heat of their encounter was setting his icy skin alight. “We will do what we do, you cannot rush these things,” he said absently.
“Like hell you can’t!” Lestat hopped up off the lounge chair. Turning to greet Marius, he slid an arm around his shoulders, looking expectantly to him to agree with his statements.
Marius didn’t have to tilt his body to adjust to Lestat’s height and let him comfortably stand arm around shoulders. He gave them both an easy smile, too charmed by the alcohol in his blood to mind the intensity. Not that intensity ever really bothered him, but he was more sweetened by it than alarmed. Teskhamen looked terribly troubled, and Marius knew that anxious distance, the increasing separation the immortal put between them. It was hunger that he struggled with. Marius wondered briefly what Lestat’s mortal blood would taste like, as he’d only had the immortal cocktail of transformed mortality and Magnus’s bloodline. His smile was so benevolent and innocent considering he was musing over the ripping of Lestat’s mortal flesh. Though nothing could compare to Amadeo’s, whose blood had made him tremble from the very first drop. Ah, poor Teskhamen…
“I think Teskhamen is right for the most part,” Marius mused. “I do think we were shortsighted not to come up with a contingency plan to determine some process for handling if you were indisposed. We relied on our immortality. Our strength made us arrogant.” He sighed because he should have known better. It was also too arrogant to assume he would have been the temporary contingency plan, which he would have hated but done, and been all too happy to relinquish upon Lestat’s return. A vital transition to power that was essential.
“We should have appointed someone, and the Court functions well under the authority of the council. I’m certain their top business is how to restore you, and then who could assume the role of interim Prince. I’m afraid…no one wants it. And if they actively do, they’d arouse a touch of suspicion.” Marius shrugged but not enough to jostle Lestat’s arm. “Have faith in the Council, who we have always trusted and looked to for support and wisdom. They will not fail our kind.” He thought of beautiful, intelligent Sevraine for a moment, unsure why and then casting it aside.
“I did have a contingency plan! It was Gregory!” Lestat sighed and his arm fell back to his side as he went around the chairs toward Teskheman. Lestat had always assumed that if anything ever happened to himself and then Marius, Gregory would be the natural next in line. And look where he was now!
Marius swayed a bit once the weight of Lestat’s arm and body were relieved, reaching to grip the headrest of a poolside chair for stability. He was quick to still the slight momentum, watching with more keenness than his glassy, slightly intoxicated eyes showed. Lestat stepped closer to the frayed, troubled immortal and Marius reached for his arm, missing.
“Do I need to appoint someone now?” Lestat asked, his eye raking Teskhamen up and down. “I’ll do it. What if I just appoint you?” Though he wasn’t being terribly serious. If anything, his mind had gone in the exact same direction as Marius’s. Sevraine was the natural choice, and the only reason Lestat hadn’t thrown her name into the hat from the start was that he didn’t think she deserved to be saddled with the burden of it.
The intensity in Lestat’s eyes sent a shiver down Teskhamen’s spine. He was too close again—first it had been the two men together, animated and breathing together, sweating together, their mortal heartbeats thumping slightly out of sync in a maddening canter. Marius’s low and sophisticated voice just made it all worse, fossilized the memory of last night in Teskhamen’s mind more than it already was. Why had his hands and tongue felt so good? Why were they both so beautiful? Now Lestat was approaching him again and threatening to crown him as their ruler, and he was overwhelmed. He should have been sharp and centered, but all of it together had him floundering for control. He needed to get away like he did last night before he hurt either of them, but he couldn’t be leader. “No! I—no, it couldn’t be me.”
“I do not think Teskhamen is right for the role,” Marius said quickly. “Hasn’t he served enough? As God of the Grove? Let us not force him back into a position he does not want.” Teskhamen was too peaceful, too kind, not the type who would want to make hard, harsh judgments to condemn others. Though he had once. Perhaps that was why he avoided it now. He’d done for centuries what Marius had done for a single night: judge the condemned and watch them burn or be beheaded, their piled heads decorating the flowered altar upon which Marius stood like some grotesque bouquet.
Of course, the great joke was that Lestat had absolutely no power now to appoint anyone. He was nothing to the other vampires now. Not even a potential meal with his poisoned blood. He might as well be one of the palm trees skirting this garden as far as any of the undead could be concerned now.
But Lestat still had vampires he cared about. His children were still immortal, and the others like Sybelle and Benji, so painfully young and in need of guidance and leadership so that they would not lead the lonely unguided decades that he and Marius once had. Before Lestat perished from this cruel curse, he must see that their futures were attended to.
“Someone will be forced,” he said, turning to look back at Marius. “I was forced, you were forced.” He let out and exasperated as he thought of all the elder vampires who’d been so supportive of his Court over the past year and a half. Where was Sevraine? Had anyone heard from her since that Christmas night of horrors?
The despondency in Lestat’s tone drew Marius to his side again and made him stroke down his arm in comfort, whatever he could provide in this moment. Lestat surely just needed a drink like him. Just a nightcap to ease him into slumber and allow him pleasant dreams.
“Think of what could happen if we don’t force it, and fast,” Lestat continued. “Rhoshamandes could seize it for himself.”
“No,” Teskhamen winced, protesting breathlessly as he tried to think through the suddenly roaring hunger. Why didn’t Lestat understand the urgency of this? “Anything but that! Fine, I’ll do it, if that’s what you want! Only let me think!”
Couldn’t either of them understand with their centuries of immortality past what they were doing to him and why he must settle this conversation now? God, it was all so trivial!
He watched Lestat before he could think not to, caught sight of him running his large hands through his luxurious hair, as if he had problems, and then he caught a whiff of Marius’s cologne. And then the even more irresistible scent beneath. Irresistible like the press of his mouth had been last night. The strength of his arms, the heat of his tongue… Poor Marius, the man who had tried to word things in his favor.
Poor, sensible, rational, irresistible Marius—who was in the wrong place at the wrong time—
Teskhamen was on him in a flash, and the brief second that his fangs sank into the pulsing throat was the highest of ecstasies.
Marius wasn’t expecting the cold press of Teskhamen’s hands, or the very tight grip that did not actually cause him any injury. Even the pain from the teeth slicing neatly into him was nothing, as he knew that pain and relished it, though his mortal skin was much different and the pain from it greater. He tried to stay on his feet as he wavered, not trusting his strength to see him through the ecstasy and swoon. There was no fear for his life—Teskhamen would stop before such a thing happened.
The force with which Teskhamen seized Marius had knocked Lestat back, making him stumble over the pool chair and he’d landed hard on one of his knees, the pain blinding him for a moment. But as his head snapped back up and he was able to see what was happening, a shout that was nearly a roar came out of him.
He shoved back to his feet and dove at them, trying with all his strength to pry the vampire off of Marius. But of course, he could not move him an inch. So he resorted to beating at Teskhamen’s shoulders and shouted at his ear to try to snap him out of the swoon, “Wake up!”
Distantly, Marius thought that he could have predicted Lestat would work up an understandable frenzy. If only he could tell him it was quite unnecessary. Surely as soon as the wretched taste of his poisoned blood registered, Teskhamen would let go.
Marius didn’t want it to stop. So selfish, as always. The only panic Marius felt was for Teskhamen. It was too late. The first drop of blood made it too late already.
I am so sorry, he sent his maker from his warm swoon, drowsy, holding on to his marble frame. Now you will be cursed like us.
Teskhamen couldn’t parse why Marius was thinking such things, what it even all meant. He had barely registered the taste of the blood at all before he became aware of Lestat touching him. His hands were so warm and his intensity was intoxicating, the thumping of his heart overwhelming him anew. His instincts wrenched him away from Marius, the bitterness of the blood inconsequential as he tore into Lestat’s hot throat now instead.
Ye gods, it was orgasmic, pull after pull.
Except, it…wasn’t.
It tasted wrong, empty, foul. How had it taken him so long to realize it?
He gasped, pulling away, falling to his hands and knees as his stomach heaved.
What the hell had he done!
Lestat had barely had the time to fight before he was too dizzy to stand on his own and then dropped so abruptly. His ankles went out from under him and he fell backward into the pool with an echoing splash.
A second later the water above him went dark as the blood from his torn throat bloomed up in a rush and churned into the rocking waves.
Notes:
This chapter written by Me, T, and B.
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