Chapter Text
1. Royally Flushed
Lestat traipsed down the steps, taking special leisure to re-light his cigarette once on the sidewalk. They were the last two to leave Anderson's poker night - Lestat had made sure of it, with a simple nudge to their fellow patrons who suddenly all found themselves balking at the lateness of the hour and scurrying back to their wives. As the cast-iron gates groaned behind him, Lestat felt the seething simmer of a man's gaze on his back.
"How you do that?"
"Do what?" Lestat turned, eyes innocent, extending his cigarette case forth to Louis. Louis scanned the dark streets around them, and only after confirming they were truly alone did he loosen one. Lestat flicked his ready light before Louis' hand could tip towards his pocket; a pregnant pause passed before Louis received his light, inhaling deeply and blowing out a soft "O".
"Your tricks. Tonight at the card table." His tone betrayed little of accusation nor, surprisingly, fear.
"You did not like them?"
"N'ver said that. Got me a clean sweep, I ain't complainin'." Louis leaked a bashful grin at the reminder of their shared secret. His face looked youthful, unburdened in the soft ambers of the street light, and it took restraint for Lestat not to take him right then and there.
"Well, a magician cannot unveil his tricks so easily can he?" Louis didn't press, simply tipped his ashes in acknowledgement. "Ask me next week, Louis."
"And what - you'll reveal your tricks to me?"
Lestat flashed a devious grin. I'll reveal many things to you.
Louis straightened his suit and ran fingers through his hair. "I--"
"By chance, do you know the best place for a late bite around these quarters? I find myself famished," Lestat jumped in, unable to help himself. He knew it might be prudent to not push further tonight, but he had already been left wanting since their first meeting at the Fairplay.
"There's Antoinette’s a couple blocks away, you probably already been there. Also The Garden Room at the St. Georges Hotel--"
Lestat shook his head dismissively. While these were known dining establishments in the French Quarters, they were white establishments. He could not endure another night of chalky food amongst a sea of horribly chalkier complexions. He needed what he most desired, even if he could only have but a drop.
"No, I'm afraid I've had enough French haute cuisine to last me several lifetimes. Since arriving on these waters, I find myself insatiable for the local Creole tastes." Lestat twirled his fingers as if conjuring memory. "In fact, my first night here I had the most splendid spiced calas from a street vendor, though unfortunately I have yet to find him again."
Louis raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"What?"
"Lotta outsiders don't take to our spices so easily." Louis paused, rolling his tongue between his teeth. "Especially Frenchmen."
"Well, my roots are in France, but I consider myself more a man of the world these days."
"Mmhmm..." Louis scratched his chin and took one more draw before stamping out his smoke. "There's a saloon kitchen down Rampart street, a few blocks from here. Got a veal medallion that'll melt off yo' tongue. I'll walk you there, it's on my way to my rounds."
"If you would be so obliged, thank you, good sir," Lestat said with a small tip of his head.
The two walked towards Canal street, the conversation dancing across their tongues more deftly than the seasoned street peddlers they passed. While both were careful to observe some respectful distance between them, neither man took the fullness of his stride. Their pace fell behind young and old passerbys alike as they took their time towards South Rampart.
When they finally reached the establishment, they found themselves swaying their weight in place like young lovers on a front porch.
"I better go and make my--"
"--would you care to join me, Louis?"
"Uh..." Louis scanned around them reflexively, and Lestat heard the ingrained calculations in his head. He knew he would have to be insistent if he wanted this man's company tonight.
"Perhaps as a celebration of your winnings tonight?"
Louis narrowed his eyes coyly. "So that's why you helped me? For a free meal?"
"Or a chance at your company." Lestat's soft admission caught Louis off guard, and he swallowed several times, speechless. Lestat broke the tension, suspecting that too much too soon might scare his companion away. "A quick meal," he offered casually, "to satiate your grumbling stomach."
Louis' hand cupped his abs. "Didn' know it was that loud."
As they stepped into the restaurant, an older Maitre D' dressed in a sharp tailored gray suit walked towards them, his careful expression giving to a warm smile upon seeing Louis. "Frank!" Louis shook the man's hand, grasping it tightly. The Maitre D's eyes stilled as they fell to Lestat.
"He's a friend from overseas," Louis jumped in. "Craving some real Creole cooking. Back room open?"
The Maitre D' nodded. "Of course. Right this way, Mr. Du Lac and uh..."
"Mr. Lioncourt," Lestat purred, extending his hand. The Maitre D' grasped it with a polite firmness before leading them through the dining room towards the back hallways. Lestat followed Louis, aware of the few wide eyes that trailed them though all shook off when he leered back.
As the Maitre D' led them towards a private dining alcove, Lestat felt himself alight. It had been decades - no, perhaps centuries - since he had felt this, like a live wire were unspooling in his veins. For once, he hungered for something stronger than blood.
2. Date in the Dark
"What do you think?"
"It's quiet," Lestat remarked flatly.
Louis tapped him with his Oxford, something he would have never braved were they not alone on a park bench surrounded by thickets of oak. Privacy was the one boon Lestat foresaw when he agreed to accompany Louis to the greens on this frigid night over their usual saloon kitchens, and he was pleased it proved true.
"Outsiders know New Orleans as a place of flesh and drink, but here are some of the most peaceful gardens on this side of the Mississippi," Louis mused.
"I did not take you to be the trees and quiet type."
Louis chuckled. "That's cause you don't me."
"I do not. But I most wish to." When Louis didn't respond, Lestat wondered if he had been too forward, too earnest. He would have to course correct - he readied himself to veer into his mind...when he noticed Louis' shoulders soften away from his ears and his chest fall with a long exhale.
"It's been a long time since someone asked to know me," Louis spoke plainly.
Because you walk among ignorant brutes. Men who are lesser in every way, who know it deep down so they cling to--
"Even my family," Louis continued. "I don't think they really want to."
Lestat lowered his head. "Families are the origins of our tragedies."
"You can say that." Several beats passed, the silence an easy third between them.
"My brother knows me most. Least more than anyone else," Louis said, with sudden fondness.
"Is this the brother you pulled a knife on outside your sporting house?" Of course, Lestat already knew. The scene looped itself like a brainworm since the first night he caught sight. An uncanny beauty. A man who held blade to his own kin. An enduring spirit.
"That was Paul. He's...not well all the time. Or," Louis admits more openly, "even half the time these days. Thinks God speaks through him and every dinner table and street corner is his pulpit."
"Sounds quite difficult."
"He can be. But when his mind right?" Louis shakes his head, softly. "He the only one who tries to see me. Even when he don' understand."
"You seem to care deeply for him."
"More than anyone in the world," Louis whispered. Lestat suddenly felt a pang in his chest, and he found he did not wish to continue hearing of someone Louis was so close to.
"And what of the rest of your family?"
"They differen'. Ma grew up a devout Catholic and married into a sugarcane planation. Grace, my sister, she the family peacekeeper. But she about to get married."
"And your father?"
"Died five years ago. Left us with a mountain of debt that Ma didn't even know about."
"So it was you who kept your family going?"
"We was four months from going bankrupt. I had to do what I had to do."
"Your family must be grateful for the comforts you maintain them."
Louis said nothing, simply pulled out his flask and took a long swig. He handed it to Lestat, who took a moment to savor the lip of the flask before taking a small drink.
"You forgive your father?"
"What's to forgive? The man dead, he can't change at this point." Lestat gave a small nod, and they fell into quiet. Louis cleared his throat and angled towards him. "Sorry this night been all about me. What abou' you?"
"What about me?"
"For starters, where's home? Your family?"
Lestat stared unblinking, handing the flask back and folding his hands in his lap. "Dead. Both parents, long ago. Same with my brothers and sisters."
"Sorry to hear that." Louis' expression softened, a show of concern but not pity, for which Lestat was thankful. "So it's just been you for a while?"
Lestat flashed a dry smile. "Just me."
"What did your parents--"
"You know, the longer I tread the earth the more I find that home might not be the place or family you are born into," Lestat pronounced, eager to veer off the vapid topic of his family. It had been near two centuries since he had seen them - well, most of them - and dwelling on the past would not move him towards his present goal.
"Okay," Louis said, accepting the steer. "What you find home to be then?"
"A person. Someone of our choosing."
Louis' eyes widened. "Didn't take you for a romantic, Monsieur Lioncourt."
"Please, call me Lestat."
Louis' long lashes fluttered for a moment over his dark eyes. "Lestat." He rolled the name slowly through his teeth, and Lestat's lips parted unwittingly as something unfurled in his chest.
"Are you not yourself?"
Louis snorted. "I do not consider myself a romantic, no."
"Why not?"
Louis furrowed his brows. "I don't know? Life? You talk home, I take a brick and mortar investment any day over a lover of the week."
"Even Ms. Lily?"
Louis stiffened, before stretching his face into a careful smile. "I ain't Ms. Lily's only client. And we both know that." Their eyes locked on each other, and Lestat saw flashes of that first night they met. The way Louis shook under his gaze, the way his eyes raked over Lestat's body...
"You must've had a dozen Ms. Lilys, a man of your caliber," Louis spoke pointedly. "What - none strike your fancy?"
"I could ask the same for you."
Louis shook his head, sly. "We different."
"I think we might share some similarities, especially in the ways that matter." The naked admission rested heavy as their gazes met again. The dark cocooned them, and their shared silence was swollen with more intimacy than that in all the nights Lestat had in brothel beds since arriving. His ears thrummed with their synced heartbeats as he saw into flashes of fantasy in Louis' swirling mind, of shared mouth and tongue and skin.
Suddenly, Louis cleared his throat gruffly and looked away, shaking off the tendrils of invading thoughts. Lestat looked askance to hide his amusement. Such a human thing to deny that which the heart most desired. Though in this instance, it was not entirely Louis' doing, for the willful ignorance of mass society imposed grave constraints on those of his standing.
No matter. Soon he would free Louis of it all.
3. Man of the Century
"What do you think?"
Louis, leaning against the wall, gave an appraising look. "Think you look like a real man of the century."
Scurrying feet interrupted them as the shopman hurried back, his ruddered face toiling over his heavyset frame. He offered an armful of ties, to which Lestat pondered over pensively before picking up a charcoal set that bore an intricate botanical pattern.
"Excellent choice, sir. Now this here is a jacquard silk tie, newly imported from Como. I think the shade matches most nicely with this set, Mr. Lioncourt." The shopman started to make for the tie, but Lestat twirled out of reach.
"Louis, would you?" Lestat beckoned, fondling the silk delicately.
The shopman threw a furtive glance between the two men, and Lestat readied his hand towards his temple. However, the shopman regained his equanimity in time as his eyes retraced the row of suits Lestat already tried on and agreed to buy, his businessman instincts seemingly overriding any delicate sensibilities.
"Perhaps I'll leave you a moment to decide on the accessories," the shopman said, as he hurriedly ordered the ties on a nearby armoire and bowed out.
Once they were alone, Louis sauntered over and slipped the tie from Lestat's fingers. He draped the silk around Lestat's collar, flipping up the stiff collar wings, and lined up the ends. Lestat could feel Louis' hot breath between them, the delicate tremblings of his hand as he began to weave the ends. His focus stayed squarely on the task before him, so much that it gave away where his head was really at.
Oh the dirty pictures that ran through his pretty head.
Gasping into each other's mouths.
Ripped suits.
Against the wall.
Over the armoire.
The shopman's indignant shrieks when he walks in on them--
"There," Louis said, tugging the wide end through the final loop and taking a step back. He turned towards Lestat's reflection in the freestanding mirror. "What do you think?" His tone and expression were impressively matter-of-fact, belying the scandalous pas de deux that had enraptured his thoughts only moments before.
"Perfect," Lestat remarked at the reflection of their two visages locked in golden frame. Which gave him an idea.
"Louis, there is an opera this weekend in town. I have not seen this one for many years, though Tchaikovsky is a favorite. I would love if you would consider joining me."
The corners of Louis' lips dropped. "At the Théâtre de l'Opéra?"
"Yes."
"I'm -- it might be better for you to find other company."
"You do not care for theater?"
"I like theater. Just less a fan of opera."
"Oh...of course." Lestat began smoothing over his tie, unable to tamp his disappointment.
Louis saw his dampened reaction and chewed his lips. Finally, he revealed, "It's not the opera, Lestat. It's the opera house."
"What?"
"They don't cater to...clientele like me."
Lestat felt his blood begin to boil. "They do not let you in?"
"They do but only in specific areas. Higher seats."
"Even if you are a guest of a white companion?"
Louis shrugged. "Maybe. I've never gone with one."
"I should not have asked."
"You didn't know."
Lestat huffed, straightening his lapels with force. "I should have. This is the American South." Then he imagined Louis in a tailored suit and felt a longing resurge in his heart. "I supposed I was distracted with the idea of my two favorite things in one place - opera and a friend."
"You've other friends."
"None quite so dear, I'm afraid," Lestat said quietly.
Perhaps it was the simplicity of his desire or the innocence of his expression, but by the time they walked out of the shop twenty minutes later, Louis turned. "Fine."
Lestat looked up, expectant. "Fine?"
"I'll go with you."
Lestat could not hide his unbridled joy. "You will?"
"Try it out, just this time. You stay beside me though, no runnin' off chasing skirt. Don' want to have to make small talk with them stuffy folks all night."
Lestat grinned, full of teeth. "I promise to stay by your side, Louis."
******** ******** ********
"So you enjoyed it then?" They had just exited the theater, choosing to walk over to their favorite saloon kitchens to indulge in seafood stew and libations freely rather than continue to suffer the old money leers at the opera bar.
"Yeah. I honestly didn't think I would. But it was...moving. I don't know why but I always thought the language barrier would be an issue, like watching a play without knowing what they sayin'. But it's actually more like music. Even if you don't understand everything, it's really more about feelin'."
Lestat beamed. "I thought the same, once. You know, this was my first piece too, years ago in Paris. I did not grow up knowing the arts as much as I wished to...my father...but I had a dear friend in Paris who introduced me to opera. Took me to a matinee showing of this one, said it was short compared to others and good to test my appetite. I wept when the curtain fell."
"I came damn close. You can tell your friend you got 'nother converted."
"Yes, he would be pleased..."
Louis noticed the solemnness that befell Lestat. "Do you still keep in touch?"
"We..." Lestat chewed on the familiar lie and found it now tasted sour. "He has also passed," he admitted.
Louis slowed in his tracks. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"It's in the past--"
"--you've endured much loss."
Lestat suddenly regretted drawing down the mood of an otherwise promising night. "People have endured worse. I have had a most privileged life, blessed by the angels compared to many." Louis nodded but his eyes still spoke of concern. "For example, my business endeavors have afforded me any luxury that life might afford. Though I would say my greatest aptitude might be finding the right company, hmm?"
At that Louis fought a grin as a soft rouge swept his cheeks. Lestat stared longingly at his sharp cheekbones down to the nape of his neck.
"Your eyes be intense when you stare," Louis noted.
Lestat retreated respectfully. "I have been told that my focus can be intense, yes. I am sorry if my eyes offend. It is a disposition since I was young, too enamored with the world around me my mother would say."
Louis' face relaxed into something fond. "It does not. Offend, I mean." The rouge swept further down his neck.
Curious, of all the things that tugged at Lestat's restraint tonight - and there were many - it was this small admittance that tried him most.
4. Un Petite Cour
It had taken every drop of his willpower to extract himself from Louis' tender skin; even as Lestat retracted his fangs, his body screamed for more. But he need not go all the way in one night. After all, they would soon drink each other for eternity.
They sank down on the wide settee, panting heavily from adrenaline and arousal. Louis turned to Lestat, his jaw slack and dark brown eyes swallowing the light; he stared predatorily down Lestat's naked body in a way he had never allowed himself till now. The intrepidness of his gaze - previously locked behind gates of shame and decorum - pumped straight into Lestat's cock, sending it into an ever painful swell.
More, more, Louis called to him, as if Lestat needed reason. Lestat crawled on top of him, sinking his undead weight across every inch of their pressed flesh. His tongue sought easy entry into Louis' mouth, and their cocks raked against each other on their stomachs in friction. Louis was loose and pliant, the small drink having taken a toll on his body so Lestat was more than happy to steer. He trailed wet kisses down Louis' chest, leaving drops of spit like morning dew across Louis' curled hairs.
"Ahh--" Louis grunted before attempting to quiet his own sounds of pleasure. What he suppressed vocally he more than made up for in unvarnished thoughts. There. More. Fuck. Lord --
The litany of desire from Louis' thoughts and the quiver of his goose flesh from where Lestat pressed his lips drove Lestat close to madness. It was all too much and not enough, and his whole body itched with so much need that it pained.
He needed to savor and devour every inch of Louis, but the sun would rise in only a couple of hours. For the first time in centuries, Lestat felt as if he did not have enough time.
He trailed his lips down Louis' throat, his chest, his abs, tracing a lazy, winding path until he came upon Louis' thick cock. Lestat grazed around it, taking care to lick off the pre-cum which made Louis' hips buck up violently.
Please, Louis pleaded.
Lestat preened at the desperation, though he continued at an agonizingly slow pace. Louis tangled his hand in Lestat's hair and tried to lead him, but Lestat locked his fingers and wrestled them down. Finally, he hovered over Louis' cock, taking a moment to admire the delicious sight, and wrapped his lush lips down the shaft, his tongue pressed against the slick head. Louis reacted instantly, moaning loudly enough to wake Ms. Lily - Lestat paused to wish her another "dormez bien" - and Louis threaded his fingers into Lestat's hair, tugging painfully.
Lestat took his time, alternating between deep throats of Louis' shaft and kitten licks to his head as Louis choked on his groans. Lestat found his way to Louis' perfectly round balls, which fit snugly in his mouth as he tongued at the smooth skin around the sack. As he sucked in Louis' balls, Louis bit marks into his own arm, writhing fitfully in uncontained pleasure. As he toyed with the idea of making Louis come just by this, Lestat suddenly felt Louis push against him, his strength seemingly having returned, fumbling to move out from under him.
"Louis--" Before Lestat could finish, Louis had flipped on top of him, forcefully catching his mouth in an open, sloppy kiss. Louis bit and tugged at his lower lip, drawing a deep moan from Lestat's throat. He had craved this Louis. Uninhibited. Unleashed.
Louis sucked around his neck, all teeth and tongue, and Lestat wished desperately to be bitten by him. After light bruises promised themselves around Lestat's throat, Louis finally relinquished and made his way down Lestat's body. He grazed Lestat's nipple and pulled at it between his teeth. He licked his way across Lestat's taut abs, taking care to kiss gently across each and every one of his scars.
"Oooh..." Lestat moaned. He had been with so many over the years that few things surprised him during sex. While it was not as if the things Louis did were novel, somehow everything felt different with him, as if dormant nerves were awakened by Louis' touch.
Louis ran a firm grip over Lestat's cock and gave it a few smooth strokes. Then without warning, he swallowed Lestat's cock in full. Louis' gag reflex kicked in - he was understandably not used to this - but he held himself down as his throat muscles convulsed around Lestat's sensitive tip. Lestat nearly yelped, squirming against the settee.
"Fuuuuck," Lestat gritted out as Louis sucked him at a relentless pace. If he had lured Louis to the edge, Louis was about to ram him right off it. Louis' technique was wanting compared to the experienced madams of the sporting houses, sure, but what he lacked in skill he more than made up for in verve. Even as his eyes teared, he took Lestat fully again and again, his lush lips shining with saliva and pre-cum.
It hardly took long before Lestat came in ropes and ropes down Louis' open throat. Lestat rolled his head back, his body spasming as pleasure rippled from his core out to his fingers and toes. He panted heavily, struggling to catch his breath.
He looked towards Louis and cupped his face, bringing their lips together so he could taste himself on Louis' tongue. When they pulled apart, Louis still looked ravenous, insatiable.
"Now where was I--" Lestat reached down toward his paramour's throbbing groin, but Louis batted his hand away.
"No," Louis commanded. "Turn over."
Lestat's lips curved up instantly at the order. Oh this man would be the end of him.