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“You’re lucky you have good skin. Otherwise this would be a nightmare.”
It’s not the first time Lestat’s makeup artist, Ally, complains about his tardiness and the impacts of it on the job she’s supposed to perform dutifully. He has been, after all, fashionably late to every single one of the band’s endeavors for the past three years or so.
Lestat argues it adds to the allure of his mysterious, daylight avoiding persona. His manager argues it adds to the ongoing list of complaints about him in Deuxmoi, but he knows she’s not any harsher on him because people only seem to point out his tardiness, which is hardly a punishable offense. A faux pas, yes, but nothing he’d be canceled for on twitter.
Some of his random quips during interviews already do that enough.
“Ah, but what would your night be without some little excitement, hm?” Lestat asks with a flick of his wrist and a wink that has Ally rolling her eyes. He tries to stay out of his staff’s head most of the time but he’s poked around enough in hers to know she finds him infuriating, albeit extremely amusing. “I’m the only person presenting you with a challenge. Everybody else is too… Well behaved.”
“An interesting statement about a rock band,” she tips his head back with a finger pushing on his forehead and leans closer to poke at his eyes with that eyeliner of hers. Lestat wishes he could hiss at her, teeth out and everything, whenever she gets a little too close to the eyeballs. “Only you could suggest Tough Cookie is well behaved.”
“Please, don’t evoke her. She has a sixth sense for when her name is mentioned and suddenly there’s a 4’10” gremlin standing next to you.”
Ally tries her best to swallow the amused huff, but she’s hopeless against Lestat’s heightened sense of hearing. In turn, Lestat doesn’t bother hiding his close-lipped smile.
“We’re done, leave and never return to my chair with fifteen minutes left for the stage,” Ally dismisses him once she’s finished, and Lestat knows to keep his eyes closed for the setting spray. “I swear, you’re going to be the death of me.”
Well, surely more likely than she thinks. Too bad she’s actually good at her job, as it makes Lestat less inclined to add her to the long list of people that he’s only biding his time for before turning them into a good meal.
(At one point, Lestat decided to try his best to keep any staff away from that list, especially because of how hard it would be to explain their absence when they are accompanying the band everywhere they go. But that was only until one of the hairstylists attempted to flirt with Louis right in front of Lestat a couple of years ago.)
“Five minutes!” Their manager calls out from the door. “Lestat, go put on your fucking mic pack before I drag you there by the hair. You’re overdue for a haircut and I’m willing to make everybody’s job easier.”
Lestat laughs at the audacity, but does as she tells him to, directing himself towards the stage managers who hook him up with the mic pack with speedy efficiency. He’s chattering away at them when his phone pings in his pocket.
He doesn’t scramble for it, neither does he move at vampire speed just to grab a little electronic device. His hand reaches for it with all the poise and grace of someone who’s not anticipating any contact whatsoever. In fact, if Lestat wanted to, he could ignore the phone altogether and do one less stretch before running off to the stage.
GL tonight and ty for the tickets
Daniel said his daughters loved em
It takes every single inch of the self control that Lestat painstakingly curated for over seventy years of isolation for him not to chuck the phone at the wall.
-/-
Lestat is, as always, the first out of the stage. He’s drenched in sweat and there’s a bloody streak down his face from where he cried a single tear – the fans are obsessed with whatever it is he uses for that effect, and he’s all the more willing to put on a proper show.
He’s greeted with slaps to the back and for once, a happy manager who seems satisfied Lestat didn’t somehow fuck up the band’s very first Glastonbury set. He wants to laugh at her, as if he would do something like that.
Lestat loves the stage. If there has been one constant in his life is his passion for the stage and taking it in whatever form he can. An actor, once, a musician, now. It doesn’t matter which version of him gets up there because as soon as his feet hit the stage, it’s like Lestat can breathe, like all the weight he’s been carrying on his shoulders for the past centuries has suddenly lifted. Why would Lestat want to ruin this?
The sensation is such that he almost managed to forget about the text he got literally seconds before he had to put up his performance facade.
Key word being almost.
As fast as he had hyped himself up, Lestat deflates. His shoulders sag, his walk is more languid and he entirely tunes out the conversation going on around and behind him. He takes note of an interview the band is supposed to give in a few minutes, and that his presence is more optional than mandatory, but his mind is fully removed from his body while he seeks out the others around him.
For every single one of his concerts so far, Lestat has been able to pinpoint a couple vampires in the audience. Mostly strangers, but there’s always a very familiar presence.
Armand. This time, accompanied by his fledgling. Lestat still feels like laughing at the thought of Armand of all people having a fledgling, yet there he is, standing in the VIP section, one arm around that old man’s shoulders. He has a couple of humans in his company, very likely Daniel’s daughters.
Lestat has half a mind to go and bite them in response to Louis giving out the tickets he specifically picked out for him.
I wouldn’t do that if I were you.
Get out of my head, Armand.
A chuckle.
You are the one poking around where you’re not wanted.
And you are the one following my tour.
Silence. While Lestat would usually welcome it with open arms, it’s Armand’s words he wants.
Have you…
No. And you know how he is, I can’t tell if he’s around.
I wonder why he’s closed off his mind to you.
Fuck you.
Va te faire foutre.
Useless, as always. Lestat doesn’t know why he expects any different from Armand at this point.
Lestat sighs. Chances are that Daniel would be more likely to know of Louis’ whereabouts, or whether he had any opinion on Lestat’s invitation, but Lestat can’t bear the thought of talking to the… child. He wouldn’t say he’s resentful of his and Louis’ friendship, but. Well, he wouldn’t say he isn’t either.
There are talks of an after party they are all invited to, with real chances of meeting some of the greatest in the music industry. Lestat scoffs at the names they throw around, only mildly interested when one Sir Elton John is mentioned, but he knows he can get himself an invitation to another one.
At this point, all Lestat wants is to go back to the hotel, get some food to go on the way, and spend the rest of the night wallowing in his own self pity, and with thoughts of Louis, who he hasn’t seen in almost six months.
“Looking gloomy,” a familiar voice greets him as Lestat walks into the dressing room first, before the rest of the band and staff. “Already losing your passion for the stage, baby?”
Lestat freezes on the doorway. He immediately feels someone running into him, Tough Cookie’s high pitched voice telling him to fuck off and get out of the way, but he can’t. He can’t move a single muscle, take a step forward nor give passage to the others, not when Louis is in the room, sprawled out on the couch and glancing at him behind one of his fancy glasses.
How didn’t Lestat sense him?
It should have been impossible for Louis to be so close and for Lestat to not know he’s there. Four years ago, back in the shack in New Orleans, as soon as Louis walked into the street Lestat could tell he was there. Unless Louis has gotten extremely good at cloaking himself, there’s no excuse for him not to know Louis is here.
“Man, fuck off and let us in,” Alex is the one to press this time and a hand pushes on his shoulder. If Lestat was another man – a lesser man – the impact of that alone would have sent him careening forward.
As it is, he lifts a hand of his own.
“Leave us.”
Two words out of his mouth and the crowd of people behind him spin around on their feet and walk away. Lestat cannot be bothered to look back at them to make sure they are at a great enough distance to not hear what goes down between him and Louis, eyes glued on his husband’s face.
Nowadays, Louis prefers boyfriend. Every single time the word leaves Louis’ mouth, Lestat’s eye twitches and Louis cackles, loudly.
Always so cruel, always so perfect.
Louis whistles.
“Been feeding well, have we?” He doesn’t get up from the couch, not when Lestat locks the door behind him, not when Lestat crosses the room slowly until he’s standing halfway to where Louis sits. “You look good.”
If Louis was anyone else, Lestat would think he’s fishing for a compliment in response. Yet he’s Louis and his eyes rake down Lestat’s body, taking in the fishnets, the shorts, the crop top. A tongue darts out to lick over his lips and Lestat feels a heat simmer in his lower belly.
“You too, mon cher,” and it’s true. Something about Louis in a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, with a snapback finishing up the look is always enticing to Lestat.
Or maybe it’s just… Louis.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“I wanted to surprise you,” a smile tugs at the corners of Louis’ lips and Lestat files it away under the folder Times Louis smiled at me like That. He can count in two hands the amount, and the vast majority are from the past few years.
“Well, color me surprised,” with a shrug of his shoulders, Lestat continues walking until he’s standing in between Louis’ sprawled legs. “You’ve surprised me, mon cher, I’m super surprised.”
“Lestat.”
“Louis.”
A hand reaches out to grab his, tugging on it. Lestat goes, easily straddling Louis’ hips. Louis’ hands come to rest on his thighs, fingers brushing against the hem of his shorts and Lestat rests his own arms over Louis’ shoulders.
“Hello Lestat.”
“Hello Louis.”
Lestat doesn’t know why, but since that night in New Orleans, this has been their usual greeting. Over the phone, through texts if they’ve gone too long without reaching out, when meeting in person – whether it be at Lestat’s LA house or Louis’ New York flat. It’s always Hello, the I’m home implicit.
“If you gave your tickets to Daniel, how come you’re here?” Lestat takes Louis’ glasses away from his face and flicks them away, next to their bodies on the couch. He’s missed the green of his eyes more than anything.
“I am rich, Lestat,” Louis grazes his nails up and down Lestat’s thighs, letting them catch on the fishnet and widening the holes. “I can afford tickets to Glastonbury.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a super mega capitalist, you won the game of capitalism, look at how rich and mighty you are.”
Louis quirks an eyebrow.
“You talkin’ like you are not sitting on a pile of money, Les.”
Lestat hums, tracing a finger down the side of Louis’ neck.
“Right now, I definitely am.”
Louis bites down on his bottom lip to keep from laughing, but Lestat notices it and allows his own smile to widen with satisfaction.
“What about a backstage pass?” Lestat asks, spreading his hand and watching as the extent of it covers the front of Louis’ throat. “Not just anyone can get in.”
Louis’ head tilts to the side slightly.
“Why is it that every word out of your mouth sounds so dirty?”
Lestat chuckles. With his free hand, he grabs Louis’ snapback and tosses it next to the glasses. Then he leans in, lips brushing against Louis’ ear.
“Mon amour,” a kiss to the breadth of skin behind his ear and Louis’ breath hitches. “Between the two of us, we know who’s getting in who.”
Lestat is not surprised when a hand grabs his hair tightly and pulls him back so Louis can press their lips together. He’s still smiling when Louis licks into his mouth, tasting him for the first time in months. Louis himself tastes faintly of blood, human at that, and Lestat pushes down the disappointment over not taking Louis out on a hunt tonight.
He is never going to get tired of the force with which Louis bites his lower lip, in an attempt to devour him whole. Lestat would let him, if Louis asks. Would let Louis eat him bit by bit, feast on his blood, his skin, his meat. A word from Louis and Lestat would willingly serve as the most fulfilling meal of his life.
Louis tugs on his lower lip, stretching out the skin to its limit before letting it go. He doesn’t take Lestat’s lips back, instead mouthing at his jaw and down the side of his neck. Lestat feels Louis’ fangs caressing his skin and he digs his nails down on Louis’ shoulders as an unspoken permission for him to sink his teeth in.
Lestat throws his head back as Louis drinks. It’s a sip, at best, but his mouth is stained with Lestat’s blood when he draws back and Lestat grows significantly harder at the sight of it.
“Magnifique,” Lestat pushes his thumb into Louis’ mouth, not breaking eye contact as he does so.
The pad of his finger brushes against the tip of Louis’ fang and Louis sucks on it, pretty lips wrapped around the thumb. It’s easy for Lestat to push it further in. To watch, entranced, as Louis’ eyes flutter closed as he replaces his thumb with his index and middle fingers.
Louis moans around his fingers and Lestat pushes them down on his tongue, fitting them further into Louis’ mouth. He takes so easily to it, almost like he was born to always have a part of Lestat inside him. Louis gets lost in it, one of his hands loosely wrapping around Lestat’s wrist, not to pull it away but to make sure it stays there.
“Ah, mon cher, you’ve missed this, haven’t you?” Lestat starts thrusting his fingers in and out of Louis’ mouth, pushing them down to the base and pulling them out until only the tips rest inside. Louis whines. “How can you stand so long without my fingers?”
There’s nothing more precious for him than the sight of Louis like this – fully trusting of Lestat’s ministrations, eyes closed, shoulders relaxed. Lestat still has vivid memories of when Louis struggled with letting go, struggled with succumbing to pleasure, whatever way it came when coming from a man, from Lestat.
And now he’s here, eighty years removed from the man he was when they first met, willing to take Lestat’s fingers in his mouth, with Lestat on his lap, only a door separating them from the crowd of people outside.
Lestat times the next deep thrust of his fingers with a roll of his hips, and laughs as Louis cries out. He’s rock hard underneath him, cock straining within the confines of his jeans. It crosses Lestat’s mind to fall to his knees and finish Louis off with his mouth, swallow his spend and sink his fangs into Louis’ inner thigh to mix the taste of his cum with his blood.
But with how unfocused Lestat feels, overwhelmed with Louis’ presence after so long away from him, the chances of that making too much of a mess are greater than he’s willing to risk it.
“Do you want to come like this, Louis?” Lestat asks with another roll of his hips, tsking when Louis responds by biting down on his fingers. “Or do you want my hand?”
Louis’ eyes flutter open and his grip around Lestat's wrist tightens.
“I’ve got you.”
Without stopping his fingers, Lestat drags his free hand down Louis’ front. He flicks open the button then unzips his jeans, scooting back a little on Louis’ thighs so he has enough space to slither his hand in.
He gathers the wetness on the tip and wraps his hand around Louis’ cock, tugging lazily. The moan Louis lets out in response is sinful. Lestat has never been more turned on.
But he cares little for it. Instead, he halts his ministrations in Louis’ mouth and hooks his fingers in one corner, pulling and exposing Louis’ fangs.
Lestat leans in to swipe his tongue over it, getting dangerously close to a cut as he does so. His grip around Louis tightens, pace quickening – he sucks on Louis’ tongue, fingers pushing the skin and mimicking a bulge on his cheek.
He kisses Louis with his fingers still inside, hand flicking just so. He swallows Louis’ moan and lets out one of his own at the feeling of nails digging into the skin of his arm and thigh, deep enough to draw some blood.
So much for not making a mess.
Not like Lestat cares about that. Not with Louis’ panting and the cries muffled by Lestat’s mouth. Not with Louis here, present and beautiful and willingly giving himself to Lestat.
When Louis gets close to tipping over, Lestat draws away from the kiss. He thrusts his fingers back inside Louis’ mouth, furious pace matching his other hand.
“Come for me, chéri, let me see how beautiful you are.”
It’s not the prompt that does it, but the word beautiful that sends a shudder down Louis’ body as he comes. His eyes roll to the back of his skull, his blunt teeth bite down on Lestat’s fingers and his hips lift off from the couch as his cum paints the back of Lestat’s hand.
Lestat watches transfixed as the wave of pleasure crashes through Louis’ body, leaving him pliant and boneless. He takes his fingers out of Louis’ mouth, and Louis’ head falls until it’s resting on the back of the couch.
“Jesus,” Louis exhales.
Lestat hums.
“Haven’t met Him yet, but I’ll let you know if I come across Him,” Louis slaps his thigh weakly as Lestat brings his hand to his mouth to lick Louis’ cum off of it. “Might be disappointed, though.”
The groan Louis lets out is in frustration, but his hands come to rest on Lestat’s waist, holding onto it tightly as he tips his chin down to glare at Lestat.
There are bloody tear tracks running down his face, his eyeliner smudged with it. Lestat sighs internally thinking about how cute Louis can be – all rich and stuff and still refusing to invest in waterproof eyeliner.
“Let me,” Louis offers, hand drifting to the front of Lestat’s shorts where his arousal is leaving very little to imagination, but Lestat stops him.
“Later,” Lestat says it like a promise, smiling widely. “I want to fuck you into my hotel bed so hard not even vampiric metabolism will keep you from walking funny tomorrow, chéri.”
The complaint that threatens to slip from Louis’ lips is muffled by Lestat’s lips. Lestat holds his face tenderly and leans in for a close-mouthed kiss. It’s fleeting, a barely there thing, before Lestat is soon on his feet, offering his hand to help Louis stand up.
He does so with shaky legs, still a little dazed. Lestat just barely manages to hold himself back from cooing as he zips up Louis’ pants and cleans his face with some wipes from one of the tables still stacked with makeup products.
Louis keeps his hands on Lestat’s hips as Lestat cleans him up, refusing to let him go even as Lestat leans away from him to toss the wipes in the bin.
Something about the physical distance that had settled between them the past few months has Louis in a state of clinginess akin to Lestat’s own. It makes Lestat’s heart flutter, and emboldens him to ask something that’s been in the back of his mind since he saw Louis.
“Have you given some thought to my invitation?”
Louis sighs and Lestat’s stomach sinks briefly.
“I don’t want to travel in a tour bus,” Louis says, voice hard. “It’s a stupid idea and a dangerous one at that.”
“Right,” Lestat shrugs out of Louis’ grip, walking away from him and gathering Louis’ snapback and glasses from the couch. Keeping his hands busy is always best when he feels his temper starting to simmer, even if nowadays his objects of choice are usually stress balls. “What a ridiculous idea and suggestion for me to want you to join me during the tour only for a couple of weeks, especially now that the vampire world is fully invested in trying to get you killed. Sue me for being concerned et pour que je ne veux pas que tu m-”
Arms wrapping around his waist interrupt Lestat’s rant and his train of thought. They are accompanied by Louis’ nose brushing against his nape and a kiss to the side of his neck. Lestat immediately deflates, body sinking into the embrace.
Lestat would take Louis’ rejection over and over again if it came with Louis holding him like this.
“I’m not done, baby,” another kiss to Lestat’s pulse point and Lestat melts further. “That being a stupid idea is why I brought my private jet and we’re going to be traveling in that, while your band uses the second plane, the one with no coffins in it.”
Oh. Oh.
Lestat loves Louis so fucking much.
He turns around in Louis’ arms and grabs his face, pulling Louis into a searing kiss. When he pulls back, Louis is smiling at him smugly – Lestat knows he needs to wreck him later.
“Are you that willing to contribute to global warming for the sake of my company, mon cher?”
Louis rolls his eyes at him.
“Les.”
Lestat would take the sternness in his tone more seriously if it wasn’t for the mirth twinkling in his eyes.
“I love you, Louis,” Lestat says, suddenly serious, and Louis’ expression softens.
“I love you too, Les.”
Lestat inhales sharply but knows better than to comment about the admission. It’s only been a year since Louis said it for the first time, and he’s nothing if not frugal with it. Lestat catalogs every single time the words leave Louis’ mouth in the back of his mind, cherishing those instances in the days and weeks when they’re apart.
The words are still replaying in his mind when Lestat drags Louis to the door and unlocks it, allowing for the rest of the band and staff to snap out of the momentary hold he had on them. His hand is tightly gripping Louis when his manager appears. At the sight of Louis, she sighs loudly.
“I take it you’re skipping the interview,” she asks and he smiles, continuing to walk.
“And every single one for the next two weeks,” he throws over his shoulder, Louis snorting. “I have the rights for conjugal visits!”
“You’re not in fucking jail, Lestat de Lioncourt!”
Lestat cackles when he catches her whispering not yet under her breath.
“Conjugal, huh?” Louis interjects, eyebrows raised and an amused smile on his lips.
“We never did finalize our divorce, mon cher.”
Louis hums, looking thoughtful for a second.
“Huh. Guess we didn’t, did we?”