#.....yet another perfectly normal reaction from mr. du lac

[masteredinstinct]

it leaves him dumbfounded the lack of faith lestat has in louis' resilience . he speaks of snakes and reconciliations and it causes something horrible and familiar to awaken in the depths of louis' stomach . a desire to be understood by him ; a frustration grown by his intense admiration for the man that could never be demonstrated through words --- how could he ever go back to the life he had shared with armand after what he had learned ? " i don't go around offering forgiveness to just anyone , lestat . that's something i gave to you and you alone . a rare gift ... but you're too damn insecure to realise it . " emerald eyes search for any form of recognition in the blond's face but , the more louis looks , the more he wonders if this was lestat's goal all along : to get him rilled up . to provoke nostalgia through anger . and this heat , this sick pleasure in pushing back and butting heads , it made him feel like they were back in louisiana , in their home , storming up and down the stairs , walking by the grand piano and kicking down towers of books ... it felt like they had picked up right where they have left off .

louis , in a strange sickening way , had missed this .

" ask you ? you think i want to know about the shit you're up to ? " he hisses those words out through gritted teeth , choosing to ignore the kind confession which had been dropped at his feet . would louis ever tell lestat how present he had been during all of those years spent by armand's side ? no , he couldn't . to reveal to lestat that he had imagined him there , sitting in the corner , even when he and his ex-paramour were at their most intimate , would be gifting too much power to an already overly-confident man . this is a useless fight . one which will crown no winners . louis is ready to be an adult about it and throw in the towel . he should return to his hotel room anyway . he was sure he'd see lestat again in a few months , when the hurt of the argument had dissipated and both of them were made tender and careful again by the distance .

but lestat would not let him .

a hand grabs his and presses it against the chest that traps louis' heart --- no , lestat's ... was there even a difference ? words uttered decades ago are echoed back in a deep soft voice which nearly causes louis' to give in . but he shouldn't want this . even though his fingers gripped the fabric of the other vampire's shirt ( like he was afraid lestat might vanish right there and then ) , that spoiled buffoon had admitted to parading his sexual escapades in order for louis to bare witness . was that not a form of torture ? was that not cruel ? was that not the most pathetic attempt at getting his attention imaginable ? louis wrinkled his nose while glaring unblinkingly at lestat as if trying to burn a hole into the man's head . he thinks about all the things he should tell him : you're sick in the head or what the fuck is wrong with you or some variation of the two that would suck all of the bravado right out of lestat's veins .

instead , something propels louis forward . and , just like that , he is crashing his lips into lestat's , open mouthed and hungry in this show of affection . his hand tightened its grip on the fabric of the other man's shirt , tugging him closer in an unkind and demanding gesture . all of the hurtful things louis had wished to say moments ago are melted and moulded into the same earnest thought which had been echoing in the depths of his mind since first laying eyes on lestat : i missed you .

     lestat sucks in his cheeks and bites down hard enough that he tastes blood. it keeps his bitter little smile from growing wider at louis’ response. stubbornly he tries to mask the satisfaction he feels at the rise he is getting out of louis — exactly as predicted. the jealousy is real enough, but something in the way it forces them to play into their old games makes it somewhat worth it. louis here weighs more in his mind than the thought of armand sitting alone in dubai. perhaps because, in spite of himself, he already knows that he’s fantasizing.

     “not my business?” he retorts, waving his hand and making a sound in disbelief. even after all this time he feels he’s owed it. if louis is fucking someone, he needs to know; if the companion he’s spent seventy-seven years with is back, he needs to know that also, “he’s a snake, louis, he might have crawled back to you, begging naked on his knees for all i know. you came for me and left - leaving plenty of time for a reconciliation.” louis has a track record of being swayed to forgive, how can lestat be sure?

     the finger tapping against his chest gives him enough reason to laugh. lestat throws back his head promptly and chuckles into the air. they take the road they’ve travelled far too many times. “ah, but that is not for me, is it? old catholic doctrines have a hold of you still,” lestat loves the heat of the fire and he’s always going to play with it when the opportunity presents itself, “you can ask me anything about … well…. all of that and i’d answer you happily. i would say ‘louis, mon cher, none of those people matter. come now, don’t be jealous’ and i would make it plain to you that for more than a century there’s only one body that i truly crave.”

     the confession is not hard for him. he likes to say it. louis tries to end the conversation but lestat catches the hand and its pointed finger and holds it against his chest, “doesn’t it ever occur to you even now that those people are pale proxies of you and if i let you see it, it is because i want you to?”