money is the anthem, god you're so handsome

by matchsticks_p (matchsticks)

Summary:

Louis is a very rich, very successful, very newly turned and abandoned fledgeling with a thriving art business, a private jet, and a whole bunch of family problems. Lestat is a 200-year-old vampire who wants Louis to be his sugar daddy.

Or: Lestat likes being spoiled and Louis likes how buying him things makes him feel powerful. But things are never really that simple, are they?

Chapter 1: 🤑

The night before Louis is scheduled to take Lestat back to Dubai with him for the first time, he wakes up to his boyfriend slash sugar baby offering to experiment with feeding him blood from his cock.

Two months earlier:

Lestat looks exquisite in candlelight.

This is a fact he clearly knows, because Louis had been positioned closer to the candelabra when they first came in to the restaurant, and Lestat had stepped around him to choose the seat that would catch more of the warm flickering glow. And then he had stood there waiting until Louis pulled the chair out for him. Louis found it all annoyingly charming — charmingly annoying.

And now he sits there, blond hair gleaming in the candlelight, daintily holding a menu in his long fingers bedecked in sparkling jewels, pretending to seriously consider the options.

"Hm, fruits de mer en gelée," Lestat murmurs in faux interest.

Louis rolls his eyes. "You ain't gonna eat that." Obviously. "I'll order for you."

When their server comes, Louis orders champagne and wagyu steak for them both, as rare as the kitchen will serve it. Lestat looks pleasantly surprised when Louis doesn't give him the chance to speak, tells the server "That'll be all" when she makes eye contact with Lestat to double check.

Neither of them eat human food, and they're enjoying a second date in one of the most expensive restaurants in New Orleans because Louis said that Lestat could choose the place.

"You were telling me about how you could sense me as soon as I landed in town," Louis prompts him to continue their earlier conversation, once their server walks away.

"Not you in particular, in all your glory. But a presence of another vampire, someone new. Do you recall the feeling when you first met me, and you instantly knew I was one of our kind?"

Louis does recall that, being half insane with grief after Paul's funeral and several rounds of pointless arguments with his mother and being in no mood to be accosted in the street by some petty thief attempting to rob him at knife point. He had pulled out a butterfly knife of his own and dared the lowlife to try it. And then a blond demon had appeared at his side out of nowhere, backing him up, and the thief had run away when he saw he was outnumbered.

In that moment, Louis had known that the blond stranger was like what he had recently become. He knew it the way a newborn knows she is hungry, without needing to be taught. He just knew.

"It's like that," Lestat says, cutting himself off to smile at the server who returns to their table with a bottle that costs as much as some folks' rent. She fills two glasses and Louis thanks her, taking one.

The champagne tastes like soap and ash and Louis knows it won't do much for him in the way of inebriation, either. He had tried to keep himself as drunk for as long as possible shortly after he was turned, and all he gained from those efforts was the knowledge that vampires clear the alcohol from their systems a lot faster than humans do.

He sips the champagne anyway because ordering it made Lestat happy.

"With practice, you can expand your senses a lot further," Lestat continues. "You can feel a whole city. If you concentrate, you can feel all the vampires in the whole country, and beyond. I will teach you."

"And who taught you?"

Lestat's smile slips, his eyes go a little distant. Only for a moment though, and then he's back with Louis fully, the intensity of his gaze on Louis already starting to feel familiar and welcome. "Autodidacte," he says. "Self-taught. The thing that happened to you also happened to me. My maker, who was supposed to show me the way, jumped into the fire shortly after turning me." He downs the rest of his champagne in one gulp.

"Is that common? Is that a thing they do? Just make a new fledgling and then immediately abandon them?"

"Not as far as I have learned, no. We are bonded in our unique misfortune, Louis."

Something about the brief quaver in Lestat's voice makes Louis reach across the table to touch the back of his hand, and then to hold it when Lestat turns it over to grasp at Louis' fingers. He squeezes before letting go when their server arrives with two plates for them.

Lestat's attempted and then quickly aborted retelling of how he was made doesn't give Louis a very clear picture. And it doesn't sound much like anything Louis can relate to. Louis' maker had been a stranger to him, just a sudden curse visited upon him without warning, appearing in the timeline of Louis' life only long enough to irrevocably change him forever before taking himself out of existence. Louis didn't even learn his name. But Lestat had known Magnus, and Lestat doesn't want to talk about Magnus. Even though Louis is ravenous for more information, he doesn't force him to say more.

Lestat cuts into his borderline raw wagyu and runs the tines of his fork through the bloody juice that seeps out, bringing it to his lips and taking tiny kitten licks.

After a moment, he declares with an authoritative bravado, "We don't need them. I've done well teaching myself, and you have me to teach you now. You will never have to learn alone."

"Sounds good to me. What else you gonna teach me?"

Looking mighty pleased by that question, Lestat slides his foot halfway up Louis' calf under the tablecloth. Louis chuckles. "I don't need any teaching in that department, I know plenty."

"Oh, I'm sure you do." Lestat doesn't remove his foot. "And what about in the hunting department? How to pick your prey, how to hide your kills, how to stay unnoticed by the human institutions of law."

"Ah, well. I've already figured out a blood supplier. Plenty of folks out there willing to give blood for the right price, you know. I don't have to kill."

Lestat makes a disgusted face.

"In fact, I'm thinking about how I can scale this into a business. There must be other rich vampires out there who would pay a premium for a service like this."

The next face Lestat makes is so exaggerated that it's comedic. "A vampire start-up creator. You truly are an abomination unlike any I have ever seen."

"Oh shut up," Louis says good-naturedly. Lestat is being a brat and Louis hates that he likes it. "Don't you want me to get even richer so I have even more money to spend on you?"

Lestat ducks his face down to hide how wide his smile gets, and it comes across more flustered than it does performative. Louis had pressed the right buttons.

And speaking of blood, there's only so much of it they can wring from their rare steaks, and eventually Louis calls for the bill even though their meals are left mostly uneaten on the table. The restaurant is so fancy that the staff does not visibly react or question them. Louis pays by card, winking at Lestat when he catches him looking at the amount due.

The valet pulls Louis' car up when they leave and Louis doesn't need Lestat to do any hinting for him to open the passenger door for him.

"I would make small talk about how nice your car is," Lestat says, running a finger over the leather seat, "but I know nothing about automobiles."

"It's a just rental anyway," Louis tells him. "While I'm in town."

"For your brother's funeral."

Louis swallowed hard, the pain still too fresh to feel it properly. "Yes. For my brother's funeral. My main residence is in Dubai but I own properties here. I originally planned to stay at one of the vacant ones for maybe a week, two at most. But then something else came up."

He slants his eyes towards Lestat and sees from his expression that Lestat understands he is the 'something else'.

Lestat stretches his long body sinuously in the ample leg room of the luxury car. "There are still many other things to teach you about feeding, even if you insist on being an abomination. If you haven't fed live then you haven't experienced the swoon."

"What's that?"

"Take me back to yours, and you will find out."

The car lurches forward slightly when Louis puts his foot down on the accelerator just a little too hard. Lestat smiles languidly.

The swoon, it turns out, is weird vampire blood sex magic. Louis finds this out approximately two minutes after the door closes behind him, when Lestat backs him against it and kisses him like both their lives depend on it.

Cupping the back of Louis' nape, he guides Louis' head into his neck and without any conscious thought or intention, Louis' teeth descends into fangs and his mouth searches for Lestat's artery. Louis feels Lestat's sharp nails scraping behind his ears, and the sting somehow makes Lestat's blood smell even better. Louis didn't even know those two senses could be connected before now.

"Go on, follow your instincts, you know what to do," Lestat encourages him. While Louis fumbles and nuzzles at his throat, Lestat makes quick work of taking his own shirt off, his broad chest a vast field of potential spots for Louis to bite.

Louis slides his fangs into Lestat's flesh and for the first time ever he feeds live, as Lestat called it.

Lestat's head lolls back as he moans, sinking down onto the floor on crumpling knees. Louis follows him all the way down, pulling blood into his mouth while straddling Lestat's chest.

Sensation floods him in a way that's unlike anything he's ever felt before, like he's sucking pure distilled pleasure out of Lestat's body and swallowing it down into his own.

Vaguely, distantly, he hears the clinking of belt buckles and realizes Lestat is working both of their pants open. He pulls away to cry out in shocked pleasure when Lestat wraps one hand each around their cocks, and Louis can feel it through Lestat's blood, feels the heat between his own legs and then feels Lestat's in the taste of him.

Lestat pushes up onto his elbows to kiss Louis' bloody lips, licking his own blood from him and groaning. On instinct, Louis bites Lestat's tongue and takes a sip of him there, and Lestat bites him back, so that their veins feed each other in a circle of lust.

Lestat's hands work them both at the same time, and as Louis writhes and grinds against him he feels Lestat's mind push against him with thoughts of how beautiful he finds Louis, how much he stares at his hands and the flecks of green in his eyes when Louis isn't looking, how often he thinks about Louis' voice when they're not together, the longing he feels not only for Louis' body but for his presence.

It's overwhelming. It's a lot to see himself as Lestat does, and as Lestat nears his climax the thoughts break down into flashes of disconnected emotions, joy and fear and loneliness and devotion, a near-constant desire to make Louis smile.

His fingers tighten around their cocks, and Lestat chases his own release as he bucks up into his own hand, spilling with a cry. Louis bites back down into his neck eagerly and drinks deeply so that he can experience it with him, pushing himself over the edge.

His vision swims and he can see why they call it 'the swoon,' a Victorian-ass sounding description for how it feels for his body to fall through endless bliss and until he no longer knows which way is up.

When Louis finally finds his way back to consciousness again, he's still sitting on top of Lestat's chest. Lestat's hair is spilled in tangle waves on the floor, where he lies with limbs askew just inside the entryway of the townhouse. They didn't even make it into the living room. Which is just as well, because the entryway is tiled and easier to clean — there's blood everywhere. Drying down the column of Lestat's throat, where his wounds are already scabbing over with inhuman speed, red streaks of Louis' cum all over Lestat's chin and face and a little bit in his hair. Louis can feel wetness all over the small of his back and knows that Lestat has painted him red with his own cum.

Louis sits back and laughs in disbelief at the sight they make. Lestat looks very happy with himself. He should look ridiculous, a dishevelled mess on the floor, but what he actually looks like is the best damn thing Louis has ever seen.

————————————————

And then Lestat just never really leaves.

Louis had driven Lestat home before the sun rose the day after their date, but 'home' for Lestat turned out to be a hotel room and some vaguely nonsensical explanations about how he had been just passing through and wasn't even originally planning to stop in New Orleans.

The next evening, Louis makes the same drive right back to pick up Lestat, who has a shiny silver rolling suitcase with him.

Louis leans across the centre console to open the passenger door for him. Lestat gestures for him to pop the trunk. Louis is smart enough to get his ass out of the car himself to lift Lestat's luggage into the trunk for him. He can't bring himself to point out that he doesn't recall ever inviting Lestat to stay with him, and…well, it would be cheaper than offering to pay for Lestat's hotel indefinitely, so in a way he's saving money, which makes it a sound financial decision, right?

They get home, they do nothing except fuck the whole entire night away, and Lestat's suitcase doesn't even get touched until the night after that.

When he finally goes to unpack, it's full to overflowing with smartly tailored clothes and nothing else. Apparently Lestat seems to have no other earthly possessions with him.

He doesn't need anything else, anyway, because all he does is spend his time being taken out by Louis. Theatre openings, the opera, symphony concerts — he has a perfectly tasteful outfit for each one, just ever so slightly sexier than is strictly appropriate but in an acceptable way that shows his personality without crossing the line.

Louis pays for all the tickets, of course, and learns that Lestat for some reason has an educated taste in classical performance of all kinds. More often than not, he'll lean over to whisper in Louis' ear that one of the second violins came in late, or that this version of the play omitted three lines from the 1950s original, or that he once performed this work himself but only as a minor player.

And more often than not, Louis will respond, "How the hell do you know that?" or "Why the hell would you drop that and then not tell me the rest of the story?"

Louis asks a lot of questions about where Lestat learned half the stuff he knows, and Lestat selectively drip-feeds him heavily redacted information. Over time, he learns that Lestat once acted and still plays piano. He puts together that he had a difficult human childhood, and experienced some kind of tragedy with his human relationships around the time of his turning— but hey, who among them hasn't?

Louis tries not to push or be too nosey when he clearly doesn't want to talk about it, asks instead about some more current mysteries he'd also like to figure out. Like, "What do you even do now? Do you have a job? What have you been doing until you met me?"

"I dabble in music," Lestat says, which is just such a perfectly nothing tidbit.

"What the fuck does dabble mean?"

"My work is available on Spotify and Soundcloud. I don't make a lot of money from it."

Louis gapes at him. He tries to mentally picture Lestat having the patience to learn how to not only record a song but also edit and master it and then upload it to a streaming service, and finds he cannot.

"Luckily, I don't have to worry about how much money it makes, do I?" Lestat bats his eyelashes at Louis, exaggerated and ridiculous, voice syrupy sweet.

It's a gag meant to make Louis laugh, but it still manages to make Louis feels a bit warm inside. A bit powerful, to know that Lestat is relying on him to provide for him. It's somehow totally different from how he feels when his ma forwards him a bill and expects him to take care of it.

Maybe it's because of how insane Lestat is at sucking dick, that it makes the relationship feel completely equal. Louis has gotten more than his fair share of blowjobs in his life, but he's never met anyone so eager to put his tongue inside anything and anywhere that feels like it might be fun. He's never met anyone who likes their throat fucked like there's a prostate in the back of their uvula. He's never met anyone who wants Louis to come in their mouth more than they want to come themselves.

As a result, he never feels like Lestat doesn't pull his own weight in this relationship. All in all, after yet another night of taking Lestat out to the opera and taking care of every bill, and then getting his entire brain sucked out through his cock, he certainly doesn't feel exploited for his wallet.

In fact, with Lestat nuzzling the soft skin of his inner thigh and whispering about how he has much to teach him about vampire refractory periods, Louis would say he might be getting the sweeter end of the deal.

Chapter 2: 🤑🤑

It's been a few weeks since Lestat moved in without being asked, and they're having a cozy night in at home.

Now that they've settled into each other a bit more, Louis has discovered somewhat to his surprise that Lestat's desire to be publicly wined and dined and shown off can eventually be satiated. He's capable of enjoying the occasional night in, not doing anything together but taking pleasure in the companionship.

On this particular night, Louis is reading while Lestat plays a few Chopin sonatas on the upright piano that Louis has impulsively bought for him, delivered to this townhouse that isn't even his main residence. Louis is so, so fucked. At least he's lucky enough to have an amount of wealth that makes it not matter.

Lestat finishes his sonata in C minor with a flourish, and before Louis can dutifully react with a round of applause, Lestat closes the lid on the keys and announces out of the blue: "I have a confession."

Louis dearly wishes he could even begin to guess what this is about, but with Lestat, it could be anything. "Yes?" he responds with his best listening face on.

"I fell in love with you the moment I saw you pull a penknife on that ruffian trying to act up after your brother's funeral procession—"

(Louis finds it deeply embarrassing of Lestat that he says things like love so casually after they've only been seeing each other for a month, but he can't lie and say it doesn't also give him a heady rush of power to feel so wanted. He also knows that this isn't the confession, because Lord knows Lestat says stuff like this all the time.)

"—which is why I asked you out. But I can no longer keep this secret from you, I must admit this now: I had already heard of you before that moment when I first saw you. Your reputation preceded you. I had seen your picture in Forbes when they profiled your company's acquisition of that art auction firm."

His words conjure an image in Louis' mind of Lestat browsing Forbes like a Louis Vuitton catalogue and daydreaming about having someone rich like that to take care of him. It's an annoyingly endearing image, and even more annoying that Louis is admitting this to himself. And then fate had somehow seen fit to put Louis in town right in front of Lestat, practically gift-wrapped with a bow, like the universe had wanted to make that daydream come true.

"Right, well, first of all," Louis drawls, trying his best at nonchalance, "strange turn of phrase to call it asking me out. You didn't ask shit. You lounged around heavily hinting you wanted to be asked out until I did it."

"Because I wanted you to pay," Lestat says sweetly.

"Of course you did. And that takes me to second of all: I like paying."

There. He's said it plainly. They never seem to get around to clearly defining the terms of this relationship, but now Louis has made one thing clear at least. He likes paying because it makes him feel good to have a pretty Frenchman to take care of.

His sister has been warning him that grief makes people do stupid things, that he needs to be careful not to throw himself into a passionate affair immediately after what's happened with their brother and lose all his money just for a distraction from the pain.

(Grace talks about grief and pain like they're things that began when Paul died. Grace talks about grief like it's something the two of them share. Grace knows nothing about the grief that divides Louis from the rest of all humankind, grief from the night he was turned, and she certainly knows nothing about the kind of grief that has followed him since he was a little boy, the kind that their mother sleeps through soundly at night like she played no part in instilling into Louis. The kind of grief that drives a young man to move to the other side of the world to get away from it, the kind that motivates a man to build an empire of money in an unending attempt to insulate himself from it.)

Lestat can't be a distraction from the grief he's going through, because it's not something Louis is 'going through' — it's something that Louis is. That Louis has always been.

Lestat pushes up from the piano bench and sits half next to Louis on his plush reading chair, half on his lap. Louis grunts as he takes the weight of him, one arm automatically going up around his waist to keep him from toppling off.

"I would have fallen in love with you even if you weren't rich," Lestat says, eyes burning with that unnerving intensity he sometimes gets, a light that makes Louis think he's being intense about an entirely different thing they're not currently talking about and that Louis has no idea about. He reaches for Louis' hand and grips it until Louis assures him that he knows this to be true.

Satisfied that Louis believes him, the strange fog of ferocity now lifts from him and his voice is light again when he leans in to say into Louis' ear, "I would still love you even if you weren't rich, but I feel intoxicated by how you spend money on me."

Louis shifts beneath him, squirming to adjust under his warm weight. He's had exes before who had been somewhat intimidated by their income difference, felt emasculated by it in some way, and he's also had exes who were in his tax bracket and felt the need to compete with him, strive to put themselves above him. He's never had anyone he would call a gold-digger — he's far too careful.

He finds Lestat's take refreshing, and his very finely honed sense of danger doesn't throw up any red flags that Lestat's trying to take advantage of his wealth. Anyone who sucks dick that good deserves the occasional opera tickets, anyway.

"I enjoy it too. And it's a fun power dynamic reversal, to have an older white man as a sugar baby."

Lestat tilts his head like a dog. "Comment ça?"

"You know, as a Black man…?"

"Oh, I don't…"

"If you say you don't see colour I will have to hit you."

An undecipherable expression passes over Lestat's face. "No, that's not what I mean, I just never thought of myself as — pas grave." He visibly chases the previous expression off with a brighter one and perks up. "Do you think it would be enjoyable to hit me nonetheless? Or I you, if you prefer?"

It startles a laugh out of Louis. "Oh, is that what you're into? We gotta have a whole conversation about that if that's the kind of stuff you want to try."

In a way, he knows that he's allowing Lestat to steer them away from further relationship-defining serious discussion with sex instead. But he feels like they've made so much progress today that they've earned a little early retirement to coffin to experiment with who exactly likes to spank whom in exactly what way.

————————————————

Before he knows it, Louis has stayed in New Orleans for much longer than he had originally planned.

Despite this fact, he has largely managed to avoid seeing Florence. They've had one family dinner since the funeral, and now, months later, an unplanned run-in. If he's going to move back here, she says to him, then he should come over for a proper Sunday dinner every week.

Absolutely not, he says, he has a business empire to run and no time for Sunday dinners.

Well it seems like you can run it here just fine, she drawls, and that's why Louis runs home to tell Lestat with extreme urgency that Louis must go back to Dubai soon. Immediately.

"How do you plan to secure plane tickets in such short notice?" Lestat asks lazily, from his supine position watching Louis running around packing like a chicken with its head cut off, if a headless chicken had clothes to pack.

Why does he own so many clothes? Why does he own so many books? He's rich, he should just throw them all away and buy replacements in Dubai. Louis throws a handful of ties into a suitcase. He doesn't even wear ties, why does he have multiple?

"I have access to a private jet," Louis tells Lestat distractedly, as he sweeps his arm across his bathroom counter and knocks every little bottle and jar into a bag.

Lestat's intrigued little "ooh" floats in from the living room.

"I've never been on a private jet before," Lestat says when Louis returns into the room holding two more suitcases.

"I didn't ask you to come."

Lestat stretches, making no move to get up off the couch to help with packing. "So ask me now."

 

Now:

And that's how, on the night before Louis is scheduled to take Lestat back to Dubai with him for the first time, he wakes up to his boyfriend slash sugar baby offering to experiment with feeding him blood from his cock.

Louis groans, wiping a hand over his face. It's early for him still, Lestat is able to wake up the moment the sun touches the horizon but Louis normally sleeps for longer. And there's so much to do to still to finish prepping for the move, he has so much he needs to do but he doesn't want to get up to face it all, the last thing he needs is to also have to face Lestat's bullshit.

"Can you be serious," he complains, voice raspy from sleep.

"I'm being very serious." Lestat has now climbed on top of his coffin, somehow worming his ridiculous long legs into the spaces between so that he can straddle him. "I'm trying to think like an entrepreneur. I'm coming up with new ideas, new solutions, innovative strategies to respect your feeding habits now that we're about to start our new life together in another country."

Louis slides his hands up Lestat's legs and groans again. "I wish you could say something nice like that without making it really dramatic and a joke at the same time."

Lestat pouts and says, "But I mean it."

"I know you do, baby," Louis sighs. He pushes Lestat up a bit so that he can unknot the drawstring of his fine silk pyjama pants. "Let's try it and find out if it works."

(For the record, it doesn't. Louis swallows and it's all very pleasant but there's realistically just not enough blood in one load, and vampires do still have a refractory period despite Lestat's best attempts. Lestat vows to go back to the drawing board to come up with a better technique, and Louis is really annoyed about how fondly it makes him laugh.)

That little aside takes precious time away from their last-minute packing, so they're almost late to Louis' own takeoff time that he set himself.

They board onto the plane, and watching Lestat take in the decadent details — the velvet curtains dividing the spacious cabin for privacy, the rich leather seats, the hand-stitched monograms on each cushion — is like seeing his own plane with fresh new eyes again.

Louis indicates that Lestat can walk ahead and choose his seat first. He follows behind him and watches as he trails his lovely piano player's fingertips over the smooth leather headrests, humming over his options before deciding to sink down into an armchair style seat next to the bar.

Lestat, of course, had not been carrying any bags, and Louis slides both of their carry-ons under a couple of empty seats before sitting across from Lestat, facing him.

"Take whatever you want from the bar," he says.

Lestat leans over, intrigued, and opens the bar to find it stocked with blood bags and cut crystal glasses. He makes a delighted sound and starts looking through the bags, which are chilled and arranged by blood type.

Louis smiles to himself, satisfied that his staff has accommodated his outlandish request without question just so he can show off to Lestat.

Lestat fills two small glasses from a single bag of AB negative, brings them both over to Louis and pulls out the wooden tray attached to the empty seat next to Louis so he can set down the glasses. He then sits sideways onto Louis' lap, throwing his long legs over the arm of the chair so they're dangling into the aisle.

"Will someone be coming shortly to lecture me about being in my own seat and putting on my seatbelt?"

"No, I requested no flight attendants."

"No one to do the safety demonstration? My, how you flirt with danger, mon coeur."

Louis rolls his eyes at the light teasing and doesn't remind Lestat that they can't die. Lestat drinks from his tumbler of blood, keeping eye contact with Louis over the rim of the glass. When he puts it back down his lips are stained, and Louis can't help but lean over to lick them.

"Tell me, mon cher," Lestat whispers against his mouth, "is all of this showing off just because you want to get fucked at 30,000 feet?"

Louis pulls back, embarrassed by the hot flush that instantly sends through him, but the whole point of getting rich was to be free. The whole point of getting away from his mother was to be free. Free to do anything he wants, and yeah, he wants to get fucked at 30,000 feet.

He says so to Lestat, who is so pleased by his admittance that he uses his vampire speed to get under Louis, going from sitting in his lap to sitting with Louis straddling his hips before Louis can fully register it.

He looks down at Lestat, hyper aware of all the places they're pressed together, a gentle warmth emanating from Lestat's body from his recent feeding on the blood. His eyes trace Lestat's face, his throat, the rise and fall of his chest, everything.

He makes them wait until the plane is at cruising altitude before he allows Lestat to unbutton their pants, keeps himself from moaning obscenely by sinking his teeth into Lestat's bottom lip.

He makes Lestat put on a condom and tells him no biting (a hypocrite — he's immediately a hypocrite because Lestat's pecs just look so goddamn good that he has to bite them — but no more biting, no full exchange of blood, no freaky swoon sex) because he doesn't want his jet to get all fucked up with stains.

He rocks with Lestat's cock riding up his crack for a while, spreading his knees and watching Lestat throw his head back and whimper pathetically. When that stops being entertaining after a very long while, Louis reaches behind himself to line himself up and sink down.

Thank god the pilots use headphones, because the yowl Lestat lets out makes it sound like Louis might be a weirdo millionaire freak slaughtering cats back here.

It's clumsy and they can't take too long. Lestat reaches down to wrap his fingers around Louis' cock as Louis rises up and down on his knees, taking in more and more of Lestat's fat cock on every down thrust. Lestat's hips rock up every so often, like he gets distracted staring worshipfully up at Louis, and only occasionally remembers to press his cock a little deeper to help meet Louis' thrusts.

"Oh, you beautiful— impossible— motherfucking— brat," Louis gasps with stuttered breathes, punched out in time with his own motions.

He isn't going to last long. He looks out the window at the white clouds beneath the endless blue sky in an attempt to stave off the inevitable by not looking at Lestat's red red mouth, but all that does is remind him that he's miles in the air being fucked by the man of his dreams in his own private jet, the freest he has ever been, and realizes that he's going to come from just that thought.

"Oh fuck," he cries, cock jerking in his own hand, Lestat's fumbling up to cup around him so he doesn't get cum everywhere.

Louis sobs as he rides through it, feeling strangely overwhelmed that Lestat has chosen now to, for once in his life, listen to what Louis said about not wanting to make a mess.

Lestat follows him soon after with a much louder cry, squeezing his fist around Louis' over-sensitized cock unintentionally as he spasms, making Louis groan. He can feel Lestat's cock jerk and pulse inside him, and clenches tight around him to help work him through it.

They clean each other up with wet wipes from the bar, and afterwards, once he's put his clothes back in order, Lestat picks a new cushy leather seat to lounge in like a lazy, satisfied cat. He looks…good. Like he belongs there, in the lap of Louis' luxury, spoiled and content.

Lestat spends a few quiet moments looking out the window at the world spread out beneath him like an offering on a platter. When he gets bored of that he turns his disturbingly ice-blue eyes onto Louis and asks, "So what's Dubai like?"

Notes:

Next chapter: emotional development!

Notes:

Thank you for reading!!! I have been so excited to start posting this, I've been writing it for so long and I can't wait to finally show people and hear what you think. The idea for this fic came from thinking about how much book!Louis in book 1 complains about how Lestat only wanted him for his money, and I thought how funny would it be if AMC!Lestat actually did want him for his money and was very clear about it and it's not a problem? in fact what if it's so not a problem that it's sexy?

Big huge thanks to @ feralcrocs for the help with brainstorming and cheerleading and answering unreasonable questions at all hours. You can reblog this fic on tumblr if you want but you don't' have to, I still appreciate you regardless.