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He huffed out an exasperated sigh in the mostly quiet dark of his enclosed coffin. His breath traveled around the white plush interior in a quick loop, settling across his face and over his open eyes which stared straight up, boring holes into the lid above him. His eyes flickered briefly to the left of him where Louis slept in his own coffin a few feet away. Louis had fallen prey to sleep swiftly, as was natural for him. His vegetarian diet made sure of that most days. Rats, he mused, as a snide grimace overtook his face, did little to sustain the body. Of that fact, Lestat was keenly aware. Since his creation, Louis’ choice in meat and its effect on him had been the catalyst for many of their arguments, and the subject had reared itself yet again in their most recent one the night prior.
For some time now it seemed, Claudia had been trailing after Lestat when he went out alone in the wee hours of the night to hunt. In truth, he'd been visiting Antoinette. He had assured Louis years ago that he would no longer seek her company, but he always had trouble keeping his word with the ones he loved. That evening as they stood around the table where Claudia’s kills had been laid⎼⎼one whole, the rest in severed pieces⎼⎼she brought his little trysts out into the light of day for Louis to see. An optimal time to do so too. His jaw clenched at the memory. She was nothing if not a resolute little opportunist.
As she recounted his late night activities, the very air surrounding them shifted. In a second, Louis' ire had repositioned itself, centering Lestat as the target when mere moments ago, Claudia had held the spotlight for her brash imprudence. Lestat could not say that he’d been surprised. It was the natural order of things in this house. Over the years, he had become accustomed to it, expected it even, though was no less embittered; every little spat, a festering sore that spread across his skin, needling deeper as it grew. For long he remained silent, agreeable, dealt with it the only way he could, plastering futile bandages atop the wound that would only worsen with no balm, and there was none, none that Louis would provide, that is. Non, not for him, of course, all his tender love and affection was reserved for her. It was she who held Louis’ heart and Lestat who could pick over whatever scraps were left, were there ever any to begin with.
How he cursed himself for it, his weak will, his own heart too soft to deny Louis his wish. He’d done it to himself, he realized, gave him that damned girl and cemented himself to this role, whatever it was, afterthought, villain; whatever the scene called for, he became. Just once though, it would be nice to reprise the part he’d known before her, Louis’ one and only. It seemed almost foreign to think of now, to remember that at one point, he’d been the only person Louis had left in this godforsaken world, the only one who could understand exactly how he felt. Back in those days before the veil had dropped between them, he could feel it too, could peer into his mind and find everything he couldn’t say aloud, but things were different now; he'd gotten too cocky and found himself replaced by the understudy he never knew was a threat.
He thought back to the night Louis brought her home, what he said just hours before the two of them became three.
“That’s why you’re always gonna be alone.”
Could one be replaced if they never had a place to start?
He wondered that now. The signs had always been there, even from the beginning; he saw it in the ease with which she fell into Louis’ heart, a luxury that Lestat had never come by. If he had ever held some small part of him, it was won rather than gifted, the spoils of a hard-fought, never-ending war. For him, Louis’ love was a fickle thing, desire one second and scorn the next, the experience a lot like being stranded out in the middle of murky waters, desperate for something to buoy himself. If his prayers were answered, he’d be thrashed by the waves, thrown against jagged rocks until he was bloody, or left to float out to a tiny sandbank where his feet could find purchase for only a short while before the tide came in and swept him away again. Claudia, however, had no difficulties in this arena. No matter what, there was always a place for her. He would never deny her, would never dream of it, even if he was upset with her, and that was rare; after all, Louis could hardly bear to be upset with Claudia longer than he could bear daylight.
And wasn't that a funny thought?
Wasn’t that the risk?
Louis’ precious little angel who could do no wrong had all but cast them into the lion's den, and for souvenirs no less. He sneered at the thought. What kind of a vampire kept souvenirs? He had taught her early on, just as he had taught Louis, proper disposal was the penance of a sated vampire. To keep the flesh of one's kills was not only senseless, but most unrefined. They were not like those human savages who delighted in murder, seeking some deluded sense of superiority from their killing, saving trophies to remember what power felt like. Their kind had no need for such vices. Their design had already distinguished them well enough from the meat, gave them real power, innate and boundless. Elevated above the rest of God’s creations, they could enact their will as if they were gods themselves, and the Earth was their own personal playground.
And this girl, this creature, had made a mockery of it all. He had given her a gift that mortals could only dream of having, and she used it to rail against her saviors, edging them all into harm’s way. Now they were under suspicion, facing the very real threat of death if they were to be imprisoned, and for what? Did she mean to punish him for burning Charlie? To punish Louis for not stopping him? He scoffed. Putain d’enfer. If she thought them cruel, she had no idea what the wider world beyond New Orleans had in store.
And to think, Louis had found her rifling through her wardrobe, packing up a suitcase to run off and leave them with the aftermath of her indiscretion. Had Louis not convinced her to stay, she might have found out there on her own just how kind he had been and just how cruel the others could be.
What would she do without himself or Louis there to save her? The thought passed almost as quickly as it came, a scowl pulling itself across his lips. It would have tormented Louis endlessly to think of his darling daughter braving the world alone without him by her side. He would never let her go; he just couldn’t bear it.
He let out another huff. In moments like these, he fancied taking a trip to see Antoinette. Her embrace was a sweet reprieve for him whenever things at home grew monotonous or maddening. She never denied him her company nor her bed, forever a readily available slice of heaven served to him on a silver platter. Though the offer still stood and would continue standing, even long after he tired of her, it would be a while before he could venture out to see her again. With Louis incensed by his infidelity, it would not bode well to make any stops by her place until some time had passed. As he worked out how long he would wait before his next outing, the words he and Louis exchanged earlier returned to him.
“I would not have taken her to bed if you would just have me yourself!”
“So now you gon’ flip this on me? It’s my fault you’re out there sleepin’ around’?”
Though he could not chalk the entirety of his dalliance with Antoinette up to Louis’ waning libido, it certainly accounted for much of his fondness for her. Ever the hedonist, he was not one to deny his base instincts, and Antoinette, as he had found, was not either. She was Louis’ opposite in this way, completely unburdened by the needless formalities that ruled him. While Louis often shirked away from his wandering hands, Antoinette welcomed them, basking in the attention he lavished upon her. Though she could not hold a candle to Louis at his best, she was still a most desirable substitute, and one that he would not be able to see for quite some time, he considered, gritting his teeth in irritation. The dull ache in his jaw brought him out of his reverie for a moment, shifting his attention back to the issue at hand.
The sounds.
A hallway, a false wall, closed doors and shut coffins stood between them and still he could hear them. He could focus on nothing else in the darkness of his coffin but the sounds. His thoughts could only keep him occupied for so long until he was drawn out once more by the small, soft groans and whimpers coming from Claudia’s room. It was no wonder he was unable to sleep. How could he with that faint chorus of curbed ecstasy sounding from just down the hall? Though time seemed to move at a more languid pace when enclosed within the walls of his coffin, he was sure that she had been at it for over half an hour now, and those minutes stretched out treacherously slow.
His lips thinned. The fact that she would even think to indulge herself at a time like this was ludicrous. He couldn’t help but imagine what Louis might have thought if he’d been awake alongside him. He would be positively aghast to know that they’d raised such a shameless little tot. To discover that for all his lectures of mercy and restraint, he had still turned out a ruthless killer so profoundly devoid of guilt would have been a dagger through his ever-bleeding heart. No doubt, it would have caused an almost palpable tension in the air once they had all risen for the night. Louis would be milling about, unsure of how to broach the topic or if he should at all, discomfort simmering just below the surface, and Lestat would play witness to it all.
The longer he lingered on the thought, the more the hilarity of it began to wash over him, a hard puff of laughter passed through his nose in response. As memories of his own untimely advances surfaced, the vitriol he had been nursing from the night before eased some, and a small twinge of what felt vaguely like pride blossomed in his stomach. Of course, he thought, only one of his own making would have the gall to pull a stunt like this. Quite the audacious spirit, he considered, a girl after his own heart.
As his sour mood turned impish and the sounds yielded no horizon, he decided that he would have to pay his beloved daughter a visit. He would be listless and ill-tempered the following night if her search for gratification went on any longer, and he was most certain that his assistance would hurry the affair along. He had often been told that he was especially gifted in the bedroom. This was the least bit surprising. Vehemently committed to his performances, those artistic and erotic, Lestat poured a great deal of energy into executing perfection, and he supposed that if he would not be employing such talents with Louis or Antoinette, then perhaps Claudia would make use of them.
Silently, he crept out of his coffin, past the false wall, out of his bedroom and down the hall to Claudia’s. Standing at her doorway, he ruminated on how best to cross the threshold. He oscillated between a grand and covert entrance. For the former, he envisioned himself simmering with indignance, throwing open the door and waltzing in with a huff, flicking on the lights, casting the lid off of her coffin and pinning her with an accusatory glare.
He settled on the latter.
He opened the door slowly and shut it behind himself just as gently. He elected to keep the lights off as he eased down the short staircase and into her room. Given his sharpened senses, he could already see well in the dark and any additional lightning beyond the few candles she kept lit on her mantle seemed unnecessary. Besides, he didn’t want to risk altering her to his presence before it was time.
As he padded towards the pink coffin, the burgeoning curiosity that had swelled within him the moment he reached the door took hold. It was a grim fascination, he knew, to find intrigue in such things, to have the queries he did about her.
What would she feel like? Taste like?
In the throes of passion, would she, like Louis, close her eyes in bliss or gaze longingly into his own like Antoinette?
He couldn’t help but wonder about these things now. Her question from the previous night had echoed relentlessly in his mind, carried in on the wings of soft lilting sighs that penetrated the thick lacquered wood of his coffin.
“Which one of you gonna fuck me?!”
Of course, neither of them could be compelled to readily take her, least of all Louis, a man who held no carnal attraction to the female form in general and even less if the female form in question was that of his little girl. Of course, Claudia knew this. Louis had recounted the night they spent catching fireflies out on the bayou together to Lestat himself. In a mild fashion, he had forewarned him that their daughter was now wholly aware of their respective preferences and the nature of their relationship, her quiet suspicions finally voiced aloud and validated by Louis. Therefore, Claudia had to know that between the two of them, the only feasible candidate was Lestat.
At the realization, his mind sparked to life, churning out an unsettling theory. Perhaps this had all been some clever ruse to lure Lestat to her bedchamber. After all, he had denied her advance just the night before, and now here he was, creeping into her room himself, intending to give her the satisfaction she so desperately craved.
Having lived with them for some time now, she already knew that Louis turned in much earlier than he did. In fact, she had witnessed it firsthand. In the time that she shared a coffin with Louis, she must have become familiar with his sleeping habits. She of all people would know just how long to wait to target Lestat solely, and if she needed clarification, she could simply take a peek into his mind to be sure.
Feeling duped, all intentions of proceeding stealthily were cast aside. He shoved the lid off of her coffin abruptly, paying no mind to the sound it made as it clattered onto the floor. Claudia’s eyes, previously closed, flew open in an instant, larger than usual at the sudden commotion. Her hair fanned out around her head in a halo of silky brown curls, some clinging to her forehead with tiny beads of blood red sweat. Her white nightgown had been pushed up, resting against her hips. One hand lay at her side balled into a fist while the other was at work between her thighs, her index and middle finger resting on either side of her clit. Her bloomers had been kicked off and sat abandoned at the bottom of the coffin.
He took in the sight of her, letting his eyes scan her exposed flesh appreciatively, feeling a warmth stir within him. Though he had always known Claudia to be rather fetching with her big doe eyes, cherub cheeks, and doll-like hair, he never imagined that she could be so categorically alluring, but there she was. In the split second he’d caught before she startled, he concluded that she made for quite the tantalizing image. Her eyes were scrunched tight, supple pink lips heaving out breathy little moans through her teeth, hips rolling determinedly against her hand.
Affecting a look of mock distress, he peered at her, holding the expression until her eyes met his. As they did, a cruel smile curled the edges of his lips.
“Don’t look so flustered, ma chérie, was this not your plan all along?”
She lay there speechless, mouth slightly agape in panic, perfectly still apart from her brows, which furrowed at his words.
He let out a breath of disbelief, looking nettled as he took to the floor, kneeling beside the coffin. Supporting himself with one hand and stroking her cheek with the other, he remarked matter-of-factly, “Truly, Claudia, there’s no need to feign ignorance.”
Again she said nothing, wide eyes surveying his face in abject confusion and dread. Regaining mobility, however, she hid her cunt behind a cupped hand and pressed her thighs together, her embarrassment clear even in the dimly lit room. Intriguing, so she can feel shame. Perhaps his assumption had been wrong; maybe she had not been attempting to provoke him at all. He gave this thought little care. He was here now and set on following through with his initial aim.
He would not return to his coffin empty-handed.
Cloaking himself in a mask of pity, he exclaimed, “Oh dear, you must be terribly frightened. It seems that I’ve made a mistake. You see, with all the racket you’ve been making for the past half hour, I thought you could use a more experienced hand.”
As he spoke, realization settled over her face, and her cheeks reddened, alight with the blood of the drunk she had drained earlier.
“You heard me?” she finally said, her voice small, eyes looking pointedly away from him.
“Oh yes,” he said, twirling a ringlet of soft brown hair between his fingers, “every little whimper and sigh.”
At that she reddened further, eyes snapping shut in humiliation, throwing an arm over her face to hide from his piercing stare.
“Fret not, ma petite,” he said, uncharacteristically kind, prying her arm from her face. “ I did not come to scold you. I’ve had it with our ceaseless quarreling.”
The sentiment was partly true. Lestat could easily stand to argue more if he felt particularly impassioned, but he would try his best to leave it for another day. Presently, he had other passions in mind.
She opened her eyes and looked up at him, bravely enduring his gaze. Just below, the hand that had been covering her cunt gripped the bottom of her nightgown, pulling it down ever so slowly as if to not alert him. His eyes zeroed in on the movement immediately. He grabbed that arm with his other hand and adjusted his grip so that each one encircled her wrists. He held her arms away from her body, folding them back to rest above her head, nestling them firmly into her pillow. The look the motion evoked from her was one of trepidation.
With her arms pinned, she settled on shifting her thighs against each other, desperately attempting to shimmy her gown lower that way. How determined, he assessed thoughtfully before rolling his eyes openly at the gesture, adjusting his grip yet again to close a single hand around both wrists while the other went questing for the lace hem of her gown. He tugged at it, rubbing the soft fabric between his thumb and forefinger, the back of his hand resting flush against her thigh. Sliding his fingers along the length of the hem, he let his hand drag across her skin slowly, brushing gently against both thighs and the sliver of uncharted paradise that peaked out from between them.
He felt her tense beneath his touch, and heard her unsteady breathing.
Putting on his mask from before, he cooed, “Oh no, done already? That cannot be, I’ve only just arrived. Surely you won’t refuse me now, hmm?”
His tone was cloying, clearly mocking with an edge of something sharper. It was a voice he reserved for victims and lovers alike. As he peered down into her eyes, taking in the angst and guarded interest he found there, he contemplated which title was more befitting.
She remained silent, her eyes sweeping across his face with purpose, seemingly searching for falsehoods or jests in his proposition, casting her eyes away nervously when she found none. Groaning internally at being made to repeat himself, he issued his inquiry again, a tinge of irritation creeping into his voice. “So what will it be, Claudia? Would you like me to help you?”
She said nothing. He watched her brows knit together, ruby eyes darting briefly to his hand, which lay motionless against her thigh, before settling on the wall ahead of her. Focused intently on the floral wallpaper, refusing to look elsewhere, she nodded steadily as if doing so took great effort. Her stare was almost morose.
It was as if she was agreeing to some wretched but needful deal.
As if she was selling her soul to the Devil himself.
Wasn’t she?
His lips pursed, prompted by the thought and the memories that followed, taking note of the pattern at work, the clear parallels.
Perhaps she would be the next unfortunate he stuck his ‘spindly roots’ into.
He put it out of his mind for now, eager to engage his companion.
“Ah ah ah, you’ll have to use your words,” he chided. “It’s quite difficult to see you in the dark, you know.”
Needless to say, they both knew he had no trouble seeing her; he just wanted to hear her say it, to confirm what he already knew. He played the very same game with the meat he seduced. He believed it sweetened the dining experience considerably. How delicious it was to hear them beg for their own undoing.
Poor little fools.
Poor little Claudia.
He felt a strong wave of heat pooling in his stomach at the answer he knew would come. She, like all the others, would soon seal her fate. He waited patiently, already smug. She sighed audibly and sent a glare his way⎼⎼a meager show of her usual disposition⎼⎼but eventually conceded, muttering, “Yes.”
A smirk tore across his face and he sprung into action.
He released her wrists, wrapping his arms around her waist, lifting her easily out of the coffin. Gingerly, he laid her down on the rug spread across the floor. He sat on his knees again, by her feet, hands curling around her small calves firmly. Abruptly he pulled her down, closer to him, her legs forced to part around his knees.
Her shriek at the movement was lovely, a small taste of what was to come, reminding him vaguely of his latest victim, an utter damsel in distress if he’d ever seen one. She had flailed about in his arms, begging for mercy, her big brown eyes crying fiercely. He hoped to recreate the scene with the damsel beneath him, wondering how she would look in such a state, pleading and tearful, this time for something other than Charlie.
“Quiet now, ma fille,” he urged. “You wouldn’t want Louis to hear, would you?” His tone was wry yet breathy, already feeling excitement quicken his heartbeat and flush his skin. Her eyes widened, fearful for a moment, before narrowing scornfully, her lips pulling into a pout as they did, the expression easily decipherable⎼⎼she blamed him for her outburst. She did seem to heed his warning, however, not bothering to retort verbally. Observing her lips in matching silence, Lestat set an objective to draw as much noise from them as he could. It would be amusing, he thought, to watch her struggle to keep quiet under his skillful hands.
Enlivened by the idea, he let his hands glide upwards, feeling the smooth planes of her legs from her calves all the way up to her thighs. At the very top, he found the hem of her gown again, coming to rest where it had before, just barely covering her cunt. He fiddled with the lace, pushing it up and over her hips until it was at her navel. Tensing against the exposure, her thighs clamped tight around his knees instinctively, but her arms remained still, hands twitching at her side, aching to hide herself from him. His lips quirked into a small smile at her show of restraint. She was learning, it seemed.
Spreading his own thighs, and hers along with them, he tested her resolve, ducking his head to get a closer glimpse of her cunt now that it was fully displayed. Even in the dim room, he could make out the unmistakable glisten of arousal. He could smell it too. He breathed in deeply. It was divine, a light, heady musk that stiffened his cock and blew his pupils wide. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and he felt his heart pounding in earnest now. He was practically salivating, but it couldn’t be helped, there was something so invigorating about the bouquet of a new conquest.
Lestat was no misty-eyed sentimentalist, but he’d always thought there was something truly worth savoring in his trivial flings, in those fleeting first and often final moments he shared with his playthings. A symphony for the senses, he called it. The little sounds they made in anguish and delight, the feel of them writhing beneath him or still with fear; the taste of their excitement, their blood, their demise, all of it a soothing, enveloping wave that never failed to pull him under.
Suddenly, as if springing from his reflection, the sharp tang of blood pierced the air, the richness of it, a shock at first, then a slow flowing haze that inflamed him further and reminded him that he was not alone. Withdrawing from his thoughts, he sat up and turned his gaze back to Claudia, catching the apprehension in her stare as her teeth dug into her bottom lip, a thin stream of blood dripping down. He smiled wolfishly, letting his eyes linger on her lips before returning to her eyes.
“No need to worry, I promise I don’t bite,” he purred, sharp teeth gleaming in contradiction as he slid his knees out from under himself, lowering his body to the ground, propping up on his elbows. Level once more with her cunt, he drew one hand up her thigh, agonizingly slow, relishing in the faint trembling it produced. He laid his other arm across her middle, resting it there as he let his fingers edge towards her cunt, lightly grazing the slick skin he found there. Above him, he heard a sharp intake of breath. Smirking, he pressed on, drawing small circles into her clit with his thumb. Her hips bucked abruptly, nearly knocking his hand away. He shifted his arm from her stomach to her hips, pushing them firmly into the ground. As he did, he gave a chastising grin. She rolled her eyes defiantly but only let out a small huff, pressing her lips together to hold her tongue. He took her silent surrender as a signal to continue.
His eyes flicked up to her as he circled his thumb again, reveling in the way her face contorted the moment he touched her, indignance bleeding quickly into high-strung enjoyment, caught somewhere between euphoria and unease at the sensation he provoked within her. He supposed it was to be expected. After all, he was most proficient, and the touch of another was likely far beyond anything Claudia had experienced before. Judging from her squirrely demeanor, he was willing to bet that Charlie and her slew of failed turnings had hardly gotten anywhere. He supposed that it was a blessing of some kind, young boys hardly ever made giving lovers. She was quite fortunate that he was a man, and one well acquainted with the female form.
Keeping his eyes fixed ahead in her direction, he replaced his thumb with his tongue, licking slow, deliberate stripes up her clit to start. Her response was almost immediate, a loud whine escaping before she could halt it. She clasped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide, staring up at the ceiling, seemingly awestruck. Something in the image called to a scene long since past, he noticed. She looked almost a mirror of herself the night he’d made her, charred fingers clutching his arm to her mouth, innocent eyes big with wonder, staring up at him. He pulled back, swallowing hard.
What an opportune time to remember her making.
Feeling himself begin to sober at the thought, he forced it back into the recesses of his mind and tried to take the present display for what it was, a pleasing return on his expertise. He’d never been one to throw in the towel, even in endeavors as delicate as these, so he let his attention wander to the throbbing between his legs and focused on the hunger he hadn’t been able to satiate with his last visit to Antoinette.
The exercise helped considerably. All wavering banished and sinful nature revived, he allowed himself to savor her marveling, flashing a crude grin he was sure she could feel, hard enamel sliding against smooth, slippery skin. Drawing his fingers down the seam of her cunt and letting them rest at the small, pink entrance they found, he flicked his tongue across her clit swiftly, lapping at it hungrily like a starving dog. Claudia could hardly contain herself, eyes clenched shut and hips rolling on their own against his face, muffled groans slipping from underneath her hands.
“I take it you like that,” he said, almost sincerely, pressing down on her hips even harder to cease her movement. “But patience, ma petite, I know what I’m doing.”
Giving her scant time to respond, he resumed, ratcheting up the pace to what was nearly an unbearable speed, he gathered, his arm rocking softly from the relentless swiveling Claudia was doing beneath it. Always disobedient, this one. He took it as a compliment. Thankful for his unending stamina, he carried on, making sure not to vary too much in his movements lest he throw off the rhythm he’d adopted. He was somewhat of a prodigy in this regard, having mastered how to move his tongue in such a way to bring her to the brink of orgasm and then suspend her there, letting the tension abate before building it again, trapping her in a tortuous cycle where she would just begin to reach the cusp, but never cross over.
As he toyed with her, the ragged panting he heard from beneath her hands told him that she was growing more and more restless for release. He supposed that now was a good time to introduce the esteemed co-stars of his humble production. She seemed ready, he deduced, already wet from her own ministrations and his, and thoroughly distracted by the furling of his tongue. Without much ceremony, he slid his fingers into her hastily, curling them the second they were sheathed, eager to rush her past any initial shock or discomfort at the intrusion.
He was only partly successful.
He heard her gasp and felt her warm, slick cavern, already impossibly tight, clench around his fingers, attempting to force them back out, startled by the new sensation. A moan sounded shortly after as he flexed his fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion, blindly searching for the small bundle of nerves he knew was nearby. Belatedly, he realized he could hear her clearly now. Looking up he found her hands had abandoned post, worrying themselves instead with her hair, clutching it in tight fistfuls. Her head was thrown back, throat bared, chest rising and falling frantically as she tried to catch her breath. His mouth watered, eyes trained on her delicate neck. He wanted nothing more than to bite her, to taste the sweet blood he only had the opportunity of sampling once.
He fought with the idea.
What if the wound doesn’t heal before nightfall? Would Louis know immediately? Just how would she explain it away if he saw?
The questions swirled around in his mind for a few seconds before he abandoned them entirely. It would be too risky, he concluded regretfully, but his mirth still lingered. He knew that before his time with Claudia was over, he would nick at least a mouthful if nothing else. With this in mind, he busied himself with devouring her, sucking her clit into his mouth as he worked his fingers in and out of her, curling rhythmically until at last, his fingertips found their target.
Bleating loudly like a wounded animal, Claudia’s entire body jerked, looking as though a wave of electricity had blazed through her. Feeling her clamp around his fingers once more, he continued prodding, pressing gently against the rough patch of tissue. Her legs were trembling now, literally vibrating from his touch as she moaned incoherently, her bid to stay quiet forgotten in pleasure. Still he pressed on, untiring and merciless, fingers and tongue moving in tandem.
As her cries grew louder, he sensed that their time together would be drawing to a close soon. Resolving to alleviate his arousal as well, he pulled his knees beneath him, sitting up hunched over. Releasing her hips from the weight of his arm, he tucked his hand into the waistband of his silken pajama bottoms, tugging at himself hard and fast, matching each stroke with the thrust of his fingers. The room sang with the sounds of their rapture, low grunts and labored keens filling the air, peaking at last when Lestat sent his fingers careening harshly into that torturous spot, the motion not unlike a piranha striking out at its prey in quick fell swoops.
Claudia came undone with a shriek trailed by soft pained whines, clearly overstimulated by his punishing strokes. Lestat followed right after, pushed over the edge by the squirming body beneath him, the tenuous sobs she uttered, and the jets of blood that sprayed out of her and into his open mouth as she came. He swallowed greedily at each torrent, savoring the sweet, tangy flavor that washed over his tongue, fortunate that his estimation from earlier proved true.
After the bliss of climax had passed, Lestat withdrew from her, turning over to lay on the floor beside her. There, they both rested for several moments in near silence, the sound of their breathing lulling them. His eyes shifted to the left of him where she lay, taking in the slow rising and falling of her chest, the calm stillness in her limbs. Her eyes were shut, a serene look playing against her soft features. He admired it, the expression a welcome change from the loathsome vision she had been the previous night. She was far more tolerable in this state, he decided, too subdued by orgasm to spew her hatreds or even turn her resentful eyes upon him.
He looked away, letting his own eyes drift to the ceiling, hands crossing over his stomach in quiet contentment, his moldering wound mended for now.
Next time, he mused to himself, if there was to be a next time, if those roots of his took hold, he would show her just how skillful he could be with other appendages.