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vampire-dove · 3 months ago

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IWTV Kink Meme Fill (1)

The Summer Memory That Just Never Dies

Rating: Explicit

Ship: Lestat de Lioncourt/Magnus (background Nicolas de Lenfent/Lestat de Lioncourt)

Prompt: raptophilia - sexual arousal is dependent on, or is responsive to, the act of assaulting an unconsenting person, especially a stranger. Magnus has spent years searching for someone who will fight him every step of the way. There have been so many disappointments. His latest find seems quite promising, though they all start out that way, and give in in the end. But perhaps Lestat will endure?

Summary: Magnus had watched Lestat for weeks before he took him. The man was undoubtedly beautiful, but it was the ferociousness that he displayed that really drew Magnus in.

Additional tags: Kidnapping, nonconsensual touching, nonconsensual voyeurism, masturbation, dry humping, vampire turning, canonical character death.

Words: 3,302

Magnus had watched Lestat for weeks before he took him. The man was undoubtedly beautiful, but it was the ferociousness that he displayed that really drew Magnus in. He had watched every performance the man put on, his confidence on the stage. He had watched every kiss and touch he had shared with his lover, such passion in him. He had watched the blood dripping off of him after he had slain the wolves, an angel capable of such violence. He would be perfect, he had to be. Although, Magnus had thought plenty of others were perfect too.

He finally came to Lestat during one darkened evening, all the street lamps out for the night. For some time, he had just observed Lestat moving around the house he shared with the other one. He had attempted to bed his lover that night, crawling on top of him and leaving kisses along his skin. Magnus had barely bit back a laugh when Lestat was weakly pushed off by the drunken man who had indulged too much to desire such activities.

Lestat had slipped off of him easily and Magnus was curious. The man was strong, he could have taken whatever he pleased, yet he laid down next to the dark haired man instead. He waited until his companion had either fallen asleep or passed out before he pushed the fabric down his own legs and wrapped a hand around his length. His cock was as beautiful as the rest of him, thin and long with a dusty pink head hidden beneath his foreskin. He touched himself quickly and harshly, eyes fixed on his unconscious lover as he pleasured himself.

His body was strong, arms of lean muscle and large hands that held such power even as a mortal. Magnus could still remember blood coating the boy’s hands, wishing to see those beautiful digits with claws and viscera clinging to them. One day soon, Magnus promised himself. He had a good feeling about this human, one he didn’t have with the others. Though, only time would tell if Lestat could endure him or if he would fold as all the others did.

Other men might detest the challenge of a fighter, but Magnus needed it. Those who were willing and encouraging of his advances did nothing for him. He needed someone who was going to make it hard for him, someone who could and would make it interesting for him. Lestat with all his attitude and anger could be that person for him, he felt almost certain of it.

Lestat let out a nearly Earth-shattering cry when he finished into his hand, head back and face overcome with pleasure. Magnus was entranced by the man, wondering if he would make similar noises while Magnus touched him, if he would squirm and fight the entire way. He would be perfect for him, Magnus decided. Lestat wouldn’t ever give into him, he would need his pleasure to be taken the whole time. Even once he reached that peak, tears of anger spilling along with his come.

He waited until the blonde haired man was asleep before he entered the house. He pulled Lestat’s cloak over his own shoulders, smelling the fur and admiring the scent of Lestat’s skin clinging to the fabric. When he yanked the man from his bed, Lestat fought surprisingly hard. He had expected sleep to make him groggy and weaker, but he kicked and squirmed, leaving what would be bruising if Magnus was a mortal man. He screamed loud enough to nearly shake the walls and it was a miracle his lover had not awoken. The alcohol must have truly taken a toll on him if he could not even rise to his companion being taken.

“Release me,” Lestat demanded, voice more of a snarl than words. He was animalistic even as a human. He was wild and untamed, and Magnus hoped he would never be able to break the little lion’s spirit. His hand slid over Lestat’s mouth, but the man still screamed against him and fought. It was adorable, though Magnus worried the others on the street might hear him and come out to investigate.

“Hush,” Magnus told him, leaning close to Lestat’s ear as he tried to maneuver him out of the house. “Be quiet or I will take your friend instead,” The words were a completely empty threat. The boy in the bed had seemed weak and on top of this, he had a head of dark hair instead of blonde. Lestat didn’t know this, though. He expected Lestat to quiet down at this threat. Instead, Lestat bit into his hand so harshly that Magnus had to check to ensure a chunk of his palm wasn’t missing. He laughed harshly and continued dragging Lestat back to his lair.

Lestat lasted the longest out of any of the young men Magnus had brought back to his tower. The walls kept a lot of sound in, but Magnus’ hearing allowed him to pick up on every noise. Lestat screamed and cursed until his throat was raw. He shouted expletives, personal insults, general cries for help, and some rather colorful threats that amused Magnus most of all. Lestat seemed to have endless energy.

Every time Magnus would bring Lestat out of the tower, Lestat would fight and try to get away. Even without the energy provided from steady meals, Lestat would always fight against him. He would bite and claw, throwing punches and kicks, twisting his body into odd positions to try and escape. Time after time, Magnus would laugh at him and hold the man still as he sank his throat into him. Lestat had managed to break many of Magnus’ bones and pull out chunks of hair, but they healed quickly.

After returning the man back to the tower, Magnus would retreat to be on his own. His hand would be around himself the second he was alone, stroking tight and fast. If he was lucky, sometimes his scalp or bones would still be aching while he did so. The physical reminder of his boy’s strength spurring him to finish quicker and more intensely. As the days went on, he was more and more certain that Lestat was different from all the others. Lestat was a fighter and that didn’t change even when he was captured, restrained, and fed from day after day.

Magnus finally decided to take the next step with Lestat. If Lestat survived and continued to fight through the process of being given the dark gift, he would know Lestat was truly the one. The man he had searched far and wide for. Admittedly, the thought excited him. He had gone through so much work, finding man after man and repeating the process with each one. Every single one had been a failure, but Lestat might not be. He might be strong enough to withstand the tribulations Magnus put him through. One truly deserving of the gift.

The night before Lestat’s turning, Magnus took great care to make sure the man was perfect. He trimmed and brushed his beautiful hair, admiring the spun gold in his fingers. He had shaved Lestat completely bare, ensuring not a single hair left on his pretty face. This turned out to be a process he needed to repeat the next day as well once he realized stubble had begun growing in already.

Lestat must have known the end was close because he was especially on edge as Magnus prepared him for his slaughter. Magnus decided to unshackle Lestat for the process, though he did consider draining him as he was. He decided it would be better to see if Lestat would truly fight for his life against Magnus or if he would act like all the other men before him did. One final test to see if he deserved the gift Magnus intended to give him.

As soon as the second shackle was released, Lestat took off fleeing. He moved as quickly as his malnourished and now underworked muscles could take him, running on fawn-clumsy legs towards the door. Magnus let him get to it before tricking his legs into failing, making the boy fall face-first into the door with a sickening crunch and a wail. His fingers still fought to find the doorknob, not going to his bleeding nose, but it didn’t matter either way. Magnus hadn’t been stupid enough to leave the door unlocked.

“Gods above, Lestat. What will I do with you?” Magnus asked with a deep sigh, walking to where the man now nearly sobbed from the pain and from the futility of it all. When he looked up at Magnus, there was no defeat. Usually, this was the point where the boys would sob and beg at his feet. They would beg to go home to their mothers, beg to be let go, beg for their deaths to be quick if they must occur. Lestat wasn’t begging and the tears in his eyes weren’t the same as everyone else’s.

This boy, his boy, looked up at him with utter defiance and contempt. The tears in his eyes were pained and angry, but there wasn’t a trace of fear beneath them. Lestat didn’t fear Magnus, no, he hated him. Magnus was quick to crowd into Lestat’s personal space, wrestling the boy down onto his back on the cold floor and climbing on top of him. It was a bit difficult to settle in between the thrashing legs, but he managed it and grabbed Lestat by the chin, forcing him to look at the pile of corpses next to his own still living body.

“All of my failures,” Magnus told him, tone a bit rueful as he looked at all of the once beautiful boys. Their bodies had begun to decay, some melting into each other. “Every single one of those young men could have easily been you,” The words initially sounded like a threat, but they were actually spoken with reverence. He could see the exact moment that this dawned on Lestat, the man fighting against him with renewed vigor. “I learned from my mistakes and it finally paid off. I have you now. I can take all of this pain away if you just accept me,” Magnus assured the crying, distressed boy.

“I would rather die a million deaths than join you,” Lestat screamed so loudly that it must have hurt his throat to do so. Such a loud, angry creature. It made Magnus laugh which only served to make Lestat angrier. He let out a sound close to a growl and squirmed harder beneath Magnus’ body. “You are a monster,” He told him, growing frustrated by the lack of reaction and the lack of progress his fighting was making.

“You are such a fighter, Lestat. I knew I was making the right choice with you,” Magnus told him, unphased by Lestat’s anger and desperation to leave the situation. The words weren’t entirely true, he had doubted Lestat every step of the way, but only due to his previous disappointments. Now, Lestat was still fighting against him and he could feel his own body responding to it. “Keep fighting me,” He encouraged.

The movements of Lestat’s body and the feeling of Lestat’s strong will itself was enough to excite Magnus, both his body and mind alight with pleasure and something primal. He wondered if wolves felt this same excitement when a deer led them on a longer hunt. If they too yearned for a challenge. And Lestat was his challenge, his doe-eyed prize at the end of a difficult hunt.

“You will burn in hell for what you are doing to me,” Lestat’s words were full of fire, full of venom, seeming to poison his own beautiful lips as he spit them out. Lestat was so full of vitriol, so unlike all the young men that had lived and died in this room before him. This is the part where they usually begged for their lives and tried to appeal to any sympathy he might have. Briefly, his head turned to look at his latest nonsuccess.

The boy’s eyes were wide open, but entirely blank and a bit sunken into his own skull by now. He had seemed perfect enough, roughhousing with the other young men when Magnus had first seen him. His body was tall and lithe, but he housed lean muscle and broad shoulders. His hair a lovely beige blonde that had begun thinning as his body decayed, his rosy lips were now withered and parted slightly. He had once possessed such beauty, but it had disappeared a bit once he had realized he would die and even more now that he had truly been a failure.

“S'il te plaît,” He had begged at Magnus’ feet, nothing like Lestat. Their hair curled in the same way and their eyes were nearly the same shade, but he was so distant from Lestat. Lestat never would have sobbed the way he did, tears and snot accumulating on his frightened face. “I know you are a good man. Please. S'il te plaît,” The boy had continued sobbing, trying to appeal to Magnus’ empathy. Magnus wondered if the boy realized he had none as the blood was drained from his body and he realized he would truly die in that decrepit tower. He wondered if-

Magnus was brought out of his thoughts by Lestat shoving him back hard, dislodging their bodies and attempting to wriggle free. He was fast and clever, but Magnus was quicker and more powerful. Two hands dragged Lestat back by the waist, rocking his hips down into Lestat once he was close enough to. He wanted Lestat to feel exactly what his fighting was doing to him before he was drained. The look that came over Lestat’s face wasn’t the horrifying realization that he was getting this man off, it was pure disgust.

“You don’t deserve to even look at me! Filthy creature,” Lestat fought and fought beneath Magnus. Each movement rubbed Lestat’s body against the bulge in Magnus’ lower garments even though he attempted to move away from the vampire. All his fighting was in vain, yet he never gave up. Magnus didn’t even know how the boy had the energy to keep going at one point. Surely, he was running off of pure adrenaline. He continued taking pleasure from Lestat’s body, rocking against him unevenly until he was close enough to spill if he kept going.

“I should have kept you shackled,” Magnus told him, hips ceasing their movements. He wanted to finish with his fangs buried in his perfect boy’s veins. “I could have brought you to pleasure like that. Your body would have betrayed you, wolf killer. You could have fought it all you wanted, but you would still be hard and leaking in my hand. Your fighting wouldn’t have stopped you from releasing over my fingers,” Lestat’s leg swung out hard, kicking Magnus in the ribs. The limited movement made it difficult to actually hurt Magnus, but the intent was there.

“Your monstrous hands could never bring any pleasure to my body,” Lestat insisted, kicking as Magnus grabbed the offending leg and forced it down. “I will cut off your hands and feed them to you for what you are doing to me now,” He continued shouting and it was a miracle he had not lost his voice. The tears from earlier had stopped, leaving his eyes red-rimmed and seemingly brighter than they had been before.

“You are monstrous too, my beauty. Not even in the blood yet and you are still so vicious,” Magnus mused at him, examining each one of his features. His perfect features. He smiled down at the angry creature beneath him, so angry and yet he looked handcrafted by the Gods themselves. “Sunlight in your hair and the blue sky fixed forever in your eyes,” His voice trailed off, raising one finger to brush it gently through the man’s hair, narrowly avoiding Lestat’s teeth when he bit out at him again. “Such rebellion in you,” He laughed.

He mourned the fact that he wouldn’t get to see the human light drain from Lestat’s eyes as he died, replaced by the glow of vampirism once it had taken over his body. A small price to pay, he supposed. It was a fight all in itself to get his fangs into Lestat’s neck, the man dislodging him more than once. In the end, Lestat’s death wasn’t as clean as some of the others’ had been. Blood coated the floor and saturated Lestat’s clothing. It was almost a shame that Magnus didn’t get to taste more of his rich blood, a strong and masculine taste, but it was worth it.

Lestat fought even as Magnus drained his body. Many simply seized up and accepted their fates, eyes as wide as a caught deer’s and unsure of what else to do. His boy did not stay still and take it, though. As Magnus drank from him, he saw every memory that had forced Lestat to fight. A starving family making his hunts vicious because they would not eat without him. A resentful lover that made his soul endure because his words were so cutting. A gruesome battle with wolves, an increasingly cold mother, a breaking heart.

Magnus realized that he had been wrong about their positions. While Magnus himself was a wolf, Lestat was not a deer. He was not even another wolf, he was something much more powerful. Magnus’ wolf killer. He mourned for a moment once Lestat’s body became too weak to fight, but he had still lasted longer than any of the others and Magnus did not consider him a failure simply due to his mortal limitations. Magnus had a feeling that Lestat would be fighting with him again the second he transformed.

There was no doubt in his mind that Lestat would be a formidable fledgling, one of immense power and strength even in his youth. Perhaps too strong for Magnus to handle. He was unsure if he was ready to face the retaliation that would come from his decision to steal Lestat away. There would surely be punishment for his actions once Lestat could properly attack him.

“Drink,” Magnus encouraged once Lestat’s body was limp, breathing shallow and heart barely pumping. He cut his own wrist for the dying boy who defiantly turned his head away from Magnus. He had to manually drop the first of his blood into Lestat’s mouth, but once it had landed on his tongue, his instincts took over. It was as though Lestat’s body had been jolted to life and he moved to attach his mouth to Magnus’ arm. Hands grabbed onto Magnus to hold him desperately close, drinking deeply from the wound. “Easy, my child. Slowly,” He scolded.

Lestat paid him no mind, his teeth digging into the wound to split it open more. Magnus gasped above him and weaved a hand into blonde locks. He let it go on for a minute longer, ensuring Lestat received all the nourishment he needed before wrenching Lestat away from his arm. The wound closed over and blood dripped from the fledgling’s mouth. A beautiful, violent creature. Magnus had finally succeeded and in those blue eyes, he saw utter annihilation. Of the world, of himself, of every person Lestat would encounter.

Magnus gave Lestat the dark gift that night, his first and final success. He gave himself over to the flames shortly after and Lestat’s eyes were blank as he watched his maker burn. Magnus’ screams filled his ears and the new vampire did not even flinch. Lestat had been strong from the very beginning to the very end. Magnus had been right about him, Lestat was a fighter.

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