Chapter Text
Louis walks into the kitchen of his mother's home. He clutches the foil-wrapped pan, hoping the sweet potato pie he claims he baked (he totally bought it) is a good apology for being late to Thanksgiving again— his third year in a row.
Grace tsks playfully, helping him set the pie down. "Who even are you? Are you actually my brother or? Because we haven't seen him in months— was about to file a missing persons report."
Louis rolls his eyes, giving his sister a hug. "Sorry, got held up with some lesson planning again. The kids are doing a project the moment we get back from break."
"Mhm…" Grace hums, dragging Louis to the living room to greet his mother.
Florence wasn't a hugger growing up, but since spending most days of her retirement with her longtime friend and neighbor Gabriella de Lioncourt, she seems to have taken a page or two from Gabriella's overly affectionate parenting.
So, Louis leans awkwardly into Florence's hug.
"Now, when are you gonna bring that friend of yours to Thanksgiving?" Florence asks, her tone is light, but Louis knows that even his mother's softness has hidden thorns.
His friend— his boyfriend of two years, she means. At least this time she acknowledges him at all.
"He just moved to San Francisco last month, but maybe next year."
And that thorn pricks harder than usual because Armand really should be here.
"You know if your father and brother were still alive, they would wanna see you settle down alr—"
"A plate for you, mon ami."
Louis turns to his side, his eyes landing on that familiar shade of blue that always brought him comfort when they were kids.
"Lestat!" Louis grins, pulling him in for a hug that almost topples over the plate in Lestat's hand.
Louis's grin is still wide when they part. He grabs the plate from Lestat's hand to find a scoop of cranberry sauce, mac and cheese, two slices of ham, and a big heap of mashed potatoes with more gravy than the starch can absorb.
And no turkey— just the way Louis likes it.
"How do you still remember?" Louis heads off with Lestat to the couch. He digs into his plate the moment they are seated.
"Well, we did spend about ten Thanksgivings together."
"How old were we again?" Louis continues to pick at his plate, bringing another forkful of mashed potatoes to his mouth.
"I think eight? Third grade?"
Gabriella and Lestat have lived next door since they were in elementary school. Louis still remembers explaining Thanksgiving to Lestat as drawing hand turkeys and eating pecan pie, and Lestat telling him he had no family to celebrate with since his extended family was in France.
And so Florence invited them over, year after year, until they graduated from high school and until Lestat moved back to France permanently. Gabriella still lives next door and would come over every year.
But Louis hasn't seen Lestat in-person since his high school graduation.
When Louis was a freshman in college, they would occasionally call and catch up. But the calls became more infrequent until they went unanswered. And now? Louis may get a happy birthday message from him on Instagram every other year.
"Does your mom still bring up your dad and Paul a lot?" Lestat asks with apprehension.
"Only when she wants me to get married," Louis says caustically. Memories of his father and Paul have become weapons for Florence.
It's twisted to think that Paul and his father's passing shaped Louis's life more than them being alive. The fatal car accident on December 24th, fifteen years ago, has stolen every Christmas from the du Lac family since.
"Is she still trying to set you up with Lily?" Lestat laughs, referring to their neighbor from across the street.
"Nah, she finally started acknowledging my friends throughout the years."
"Where's your friend then?" Lestat nudges playfully.
Louis stays silent, swallowing his food as he feels a pang in his chest.
He sets down his half-finished plate on the coffee table before taking a deep breath. "He was actually supposed to come."
"Oh…" Lestat responds. "Louis, I'm sorry to bring up—"
"No, it's okay," Louis smiles softly at Lestat. "I could actually use someone to talk to about it."
Lestat smiles back, shifting closer to Louis. "Well then, go on."
"He canceled his flight to come home last week, saying he's too busy with his new demanding tech job." Louis rolls his eyes. "And I had planned for him to come meet my family for Thanksgiving for months."
"Does that job also suck his dick or—"
"Lestat!" Louis hits him playfully. "Shut up."
"Okay, continue."
"Well, because of that, I ignored him all day… on his birthday three days ago."
Lestat snickers, receiving a glare from Louis.
But he doesn't stop. And Louis's glare softens.
They somehow both start laughing together.
"It's not funny," Louis says, still laughing.
"Louis, you are so petty."
"Maybe just a little." Louis rolls his eyes. He readjusts his expression and clears his throat. "Seriously, though, do you think I should apologize?"
The logical and healthy things to say is probably not: "No." Lestat shrugs. "Leave him be. Let him feel your absence… since he wants to choose work over you."
Louis raises an eyebrow at him. He shouldn't have expected anything less from Lestat, who loves the drama— both professionally and personally.
Louis reaches for his phone in his pocket. "It's hard though, I think I should text hi—"
Lestat puts his palm over Louis's hand, sliding the phone away from him. "No, you must resist, Louis."
Lestat puts Louis's phone in his own pocket. "Why don't I keep your phone for the night so you won't be tempted. And then we go out and have some fun. A bar maybe? We haven't been on Frenchmen Street without fake IDs before, anyway."
Louis nods curiously. "Okay, tempting." He perks up with an idea, calling Grace and Levi over. "Y'all wanna join us? We're going out."
"Thanksgiving night on Frenchmen? Count us in." Levi and Grace both grin at Louis excitedly.
It only took four rounds of shots for Grace and Levi to be all over each other on the dance floor.
Louis sits at the bar with Lestat, waiting for their vodka sodas as they chat more about their childhood memories. They must be on high school now, Louis thinks. He is starting to forget words the moment they leave his mouth.
"Remember that theater production I was in? And that guy— I think Nicki was his name? He was basically stalking me after school," Lestat recounts.
"Oh yeah! He was in the orchestra," Louis says as the bartender slides them both their vodka sodas.
He takes a sip, or so he thought— before he knew it, his lips were hitting the ice and Lestat is ordering them another.
How many drinks has it been now? Louis thinks it's four, but maybe it's more like eight. Or six. Or it could just be two really strong ones.
What were they talking about again? Oh, Nicki, right? Yes, Lestat was talking about Nicki, who was in the orchestra in high school. Oh! Speaking of high school—
"I thought about you the other day," Louis leans closer to Lestat, interrupting Lestat's retelling of his hookup with Nicki. His head feels heavy.
Lestat laughs, leaning in closer to Louis.
Louis feels hot, and he nearly forgets what he is about to say again. "These two students in my class… tenth graders. I walked past them in the student parking lot and they— they were um, they were making out."
Lestat raises an eyebrow at Louis, but he quickly blinks again like he can't hold on to an expression any longer than Louis can.
"But they hate each other, you know? I think they both dated the same girl or something. But anyway, yeah, I thought of you."
Lestat sits back, taking a huge sip of the new vodka soda on the counter. He hands Louis one as well. "That makes no sense, Louis. What are you even talking about—"
"We kissed, remember?" Louis slurs, and he swears in the next blink, his cup is full again, but he thought he was just chewing on the ice? Anyway.
"Okay, but we didn't hate each other."
"Whatever, just you know." He ends up close to Lestat's neck again. He exhales, so close that he's blowing Lestat's hair back with his breath. "Lestat, I'm sorry." Louis doesn't remember why he said that.
"Huh?"
"I'm sorry you had to sacrifice yourself to be my first kiss." Louis's breath is now on Lestat's ear. "I couldn't go to college and not have had my first kiss, that's just— just so… embarrassing."
And then Louis's lips hit the ice of another drink again.
They both start laughing, more like cackling.
But then Lestat's hand is cupping Louis's face, bringing him so close to his lips Louis can feel Lestat's breath like it's in his mouth. "It wasn't a sacrifice." Lestat's lip brushes slightly against Louis's as he speaks. "I liked it."
Louis's hands are in Lestat's hair, down his neck and clenching the front of his shirt. He doesn't know how, but their lips are moving against each other.
Louis feels so hot. Lestat feels so hot. His head is spinning, and the music is— he can't even hear anything anymore.
This is nothing like his first kiss. It's nothing like anything Louis can describe, or maybe it's because Louis can't describe anything right now. And Lestat's tongue— it's fucking into Louis's mouth and he doesn't want him to stop.
He's kissing Lestat.
Oh, he's kissing Lestat— his best friend. Well, they haven't had a conversation in years, but yes… his elementary, middle, and high school best friend.
The one who brought over his favorite food when he was too depressed to eat after losing his father and brother, the one who came out first and made Louis feel less alone, the one who kissed him in their high school parking lot, inside his car, the day before graduation.
Fuck, it feels so good.
Back pressed against the counter, Louis opens his eyes for the first time in what seems like hours, and Lestat's tongue is on his neck, sucking his throat and up his chin again. But he wants Lestat back on his mouth. Maybe he wants his mouth somewhere else—
Oh, he's hard for his best friend. He's hard for Lestat de Lioncourt.
Louis pushes Lestat away, and he immediately regrets doing it.
The bartender slides two drinks between them.
How many more did he drink again?
Lestat's lips are on him again under the flashing lights on the dance floor. Louis can't tell what color the lights are, but he can tell Lestat's eyes are still blue, so beautifully blue. And so he leans in again— or maybe they've already been kissing.
Where's Grace? Where's Levi? Where did they go?
Where did Lestat go? No, he's right here— his tongue gliding over Louis's lips. It's so hot.
But where did he go? Why did he leave? After graduation? Why?
Louis pushes Lestat off again. He looks at Lestat— the person he trusted the most in high school, who left him all alone in college, left him all alone for over a decade.
God, he hates him so much.
Louis walks back to the bar, his lips tingling with another gulp of vodka soda again.
"Louis…" Lestat nearly stumbles onto Louis, grabbing him by the waist and pulling Louis's back against his chest.
He feels so good, so warm, and he feels Lestat's arousal pressed against his ass.
"Why'd you leave me?" Lestat asks, trying to turn Louis around to face him.
He didn't leave Lestat.
Lestat left him.
He left him with Florence's thorns. He just left for Paris like Louis was nothing.
Louis turns around, his eyes suddenly wet with tears. "You left me first."
Lestat pulls Louis's face close to his again. "Louis, what?" His voice is way too loud all of a sudden. He tries to plant a kiss on Louis's lips.
But Louis resists. "You kissed me, then left me. I didn't have anyone else… why?"
His eyes— they're so blue and gleaming with a wet layer as well.
Louis's voice cracks as he speaks. "You were my best friend."
Lestat doesn't answer.
And Louis thankfully forgets why he was almost crying in the first place when he turns to the bartender and asks for a vodka redbull (or is it another vodka soda?).
"I won't leave you again," Lestat says, his voice too sincere against the loud music and strobing lights as he tries to keep his eyes open.
"You're lying," Louis yells, inappropriately loud. "Prove it to me." What the fuck is he even saying?
"Let's get married." Lestat looks dead serious.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Louis throws back a shot and hands Lestat one too.
Wait— where's his vodka redbull?
He reaches over the counter again and feels a cold glass. Oh, found it!
"You've always wanted to get married, right? And Grace— not Grace, your mom wants you to?" Lestat takes the shot, slurring. "And I want to. I want to. I'll marry you. So I can't leave you again, yeah?"
"Lestat, what?"
"Whoever finishes the vodka redbull first. No, wait— if you finish it first, we don't get married. If I do, then we should."
"Okay." Louis doesn't know what he agreed to.
He chugs down the drink.
"Wait, where's yours?" Louis asks.
"Oh, I didn't order one."
"Does that mean I lost?" Louis leans into Lestat again, his breath sweet from the energy drink.
"I think so." Lestat smiles, his heavy eyes falling shut when he catches Louis's lips in his.
He's hard again, and oh— Lestat's hands, they're on his ass. Fuck, he wants him. Wants Lestat to fuck him right here. Right here on the counter, in the bar. He'll bend over for Lestat like he used to think about—
No, he's crazy because it's Thanksgiving. He can't fuck in front of family, no, not in front of Grace. Not in front of…
It doesn't matter, though, does it? Because Lestat is here. And Lestat is kissing him— he won't leave now.
This kiss isn't as hot. It's actually a little cold— like all the ice in their drinks. It's cold like a can of soda, electric and sweet.
"So are you gonna marry me or do I have to do it myself?" Louis asks, their lip still brushing against each other.
They must have had two more shots before they left because Louis now tastes tequila in his mouth as he stands in an extremely bright chapel with ugly teal carpets.
The lady in front of them— an officiant— she calls herself? She's saying a bunch of shit Louis doesn't care about.
I won't leave you again.
That's all he can hear.
And he tastes that tequila on Lestat's lips all the same. This one, this kiss, under the bright light and on the old carpet, feels like their first kiss.
"Congratulations!"
Yes, Louis definitely needs to be congratulated for his first kiss. Wait, no, he had that years ago.
The Uber back to his place lasted around ten seconds. But it couldn't have, because he ends up straddling Lestat when the driver opens the car door, screaming at them to get out.
This driver needs to chill, needs to realize he's busy. He's kissing Lestat de Lioncourt.
How did he get into the house?
Does it matter?
Lestat's mouth is like a drug.
He's glad he washed his sheets last night. They smell good, but not as good as Lestat.
God, Lestat feels so good against him. And his fingers too, inside Louis's mouth, gliding down his neck, nipple, thigh, and hole—
"I wanna fuck you so bad." Lestat's breath is against Louis's ear.
Lestat is inside him and it feels mind-blowing. He can't remember how he existed before this. How did anyone exist before this? He wants Lestat to fuck him like this forever.
Their kiss is hot again. And the moaning— he's like an animal.
Lestat swallows every noise as he breaks Louis open.
"Lestat—" Louis's nails drag down Lestat's back.
Lestat is so deep inside Louis, he thinks he can feel him in his stomach.
"Yeah, just like that—" Louis gasps when Lestat adjusts his hips, fucking him at that exquisite angle. He's going to come, no he can't come, he hasn't even touched himself. Lestat needs to touch him— why did Lestat stop?
It starts again, hitting a different, even better spot.
It's deeper and faster. Lestat's fingers are gripping his jaw and into his mouth. No one exists in this world right now except Lestat.
It feels so good he's spinning, or is that something else?
Lestat fucks him so hard that the room is falling apart; his whole body is falling apart.
Lestat's fingers, yes, on his tongue. He tastes the parts of himself he touched.
Lestat touching him— everything he has is for Lestat. Maybe he can put him back together. Put the room back together.
Because Lestat won't hurt him; Lestat won't leave him.
Louis suddenly swats Lestat's hand off his jaw.
Grabbing Lestat's face forcefully, Louis pulls him in until their noses touch. "Don't ever fucking leave me again." He breathes into Lestat's mouth.
Lestat's tongue is against his again.
They're both trembling and panting and moaning against each other. Thick trails of come all over Lestat's stomach— when and how did Louis even come?
And he's filled with it too. Filled with Lestat's come.
His best friend— Lestat de Lioncourt.