#vampyrernas teater

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Hollowed Out

Summary: Louis can't bring himself to leave Lestat out in the storm, instead he takes him with him back to the hotel. Lestat may be an exhausted shell of his former self, but there's a familiarity there that makes Louis's heart ache. Talking with him, holding him, just getting to see him. It's all too much and not enough.

Some Louis/Lestat post NOLA reunion fic from yours truly. 6000 words of both fluff and angst that are the product of my severe brain rot and things I've been wanting to write for a while now. Enjoy!

The sun would rise soon, Louis could feel it. His mind getting slower, his body growing heavier with each passing moment. In truth he would have liked to fall asleep, though he fought the urge to give into the sun. He could remain awake in daylight hours, it was perfectly possible, and he didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to think.

Lestat had been asleep for almost an hour. It was not the sun that had brought him down, he was too old for that, it was good old fashioned exhaustion. He could not have been sleeping well in his shack. 

There he was, Lestat, asleep in the only bed of the room. It had taken a while to get him there. To even get him to agree to take shelter from the storm had been an unwelcome challenge, and then convincing him to rest once they had arrived at the hotel had been another one. But once his head had hit the pillows he had been gone in a matter of seconds. Louis had been almost amused to see it, had watched in disbelief as Lestat faded away in the middle of a sentence. One moment he had mumbled about taking up the violin again, the next he had been fast asleep. 

It didn’t seem like an easy sleep. He kept mumbling to himself, something Louis couldn’t remember him having ever done before. He had shared a coffin with Lestat for a good while, he knew his sleep habits better than he would have liked, and none of them had been talking. But talking was a strong word for it. Even with the vampiric hearing it was hard to make out words, Louis only caught a few ones in French. None of them words he understood. His French was rusty and he had done little about it. He was certain he could have pretty easily refreshed it, the dark gift made learning a quick thing and he had once spoken it as good as fluently, though the thought had always been off-putting. 

Still Louis sat there, in the weird armchair that was always in the corner of hotel bedrooms, and wished he could have understood what it was that brought Lestat such distress in his dreams. Why could he not be at peace when he was finally in a room with a ceiling that didn’t threaten to give in at any moment? Always, even then, there was a part of Lestat he couldn’t reach. 

What a bad idea it was to even have him there. To have him in his hotel room. Louis hadn’t meant for it to happen that way, but he couldn’t have just left Lestat out in the hurricane. Lestat had clearly not been in any mind to take proper cover unless persuaded, Louis had been needed for that. And where else would he have taken him? That had been the only place in his mind as he himself had meant to return there.

There had been several weird looks when he had returned from his walk in the outright dangerous weather with an unwashed man dressed in an even more unwashed robe. Mostly from other hotel guests, the staff was paid not to look. If only those glancing over their shoulders as he lead Lestat by the arm through the lobby had known the robe was over a hundred years old. Or that the two of them were more than 400 years old together. It had been good once they got to the room and Lestat no longer had to cower from the gazes of others. It had been weird to see him do so. He had always been a bit of an attention whore, sponging up every little look thrown his way. 

It meant so much and so little. He had no intention of being anything but his own companion, but seeing Lestat again had made something break in him. On good or bad he didn’t know yet. Probably bad. It concerned himself and Lestat, after all. Could there ever be anything but destruction? Maybe. He was free to try. He was free to do anything. The world was at his feet and it was huge. Endless. So why was it Lestat? Why, after so many years, was it Lestat he visited? Why had the thought of pursuing him again even occurred? It sure as hell wasn’t what Louis wanted. Not once had he truly found himself wanting what had been. He had only wanted to see Lestat, to talk with him. He was not seeking out a relationship. Not with Lestat or with anyone else, for that matter.

So many questions, so few answers. Though he knew a few things. He knew Lestat was asleep in his room. He knew they had wept in each others arms. That had he been dressed in lighter colours there would have been visible blood stains on his shoulder. He knew that Lestat had spoken of Claudia. That Lestat was the only person in the world who also mourned her. He knew it was so terribly cruel that it was so. Yet he could not change that.

For the first time since Lestat had fallen asleep Louis moved. He uncrossed his legs, left the armchair. What was it Daniel had called that phenomenon? The hotel cuck chair? Yes, that was it. Typically Daniel.

With a small smile on his face he walked over to the large window of the bedroom. Outside the storm raged on and on, he heard the wind howling and the rain was beating violently against the glass. There would be no sunlight that day, there was no denying that, still Louis felt a slight unease at knowing that the blinds weren’t enough to entirely keep out daylight. He didn’t know what he felt about leaving Lestat in the bed. Most likely everything would be fine, but how could he be sure? And the alternative was sharing the coffin. That he knew what he felt about. He didn’t want to share his coffin with anyone, the thought made him uneasy.

Even in the warm light from the lamp on the nightstand Lestat’s skin looked grey. His diet of periodic starvation and rats had not been kind to his complexion. He looked as a very sick human would. One not far from death. Still it was better when he was sleeping than when he had been awake. It had to be the eyes that did it. Huge and watery and so very blue.

Against himself Louis found that he walked closer to the bed. The floor was carpeted, he didn’t make a sound as he approached the sleeping figure. He felt like a ghost. Except he wasn’t a ghost. At least not more so than the man in the bed.

Lestat had stopped his incoherent mumbling, but his forehead laid in deep wrinkles. Never had Louis seen a sleeping person look so worried. What did he worry for? What troubled him so much?

He had already moved closer than he had intended and still he took another step. And another step. And another step. Until he was standing directly above Lestat, looking down on him.

The lamp didn’t do much for the luster of his skin, though it whispered promises of a gleaming mane of golden hair. It was just barely possible to tell how it looked when it was washed and brushed. How many times had Louis not ran his hands through that hair? Softly raked his nails across Lestat’s scalp, tugged sharply to get Lestat’s face to where he wanted it to be, played with the locks as they waited for sleep to take them in the coffin.

His hand trembled ever so slightly when he reached out. He shouldn’t have done so and he knew it. Still his palm landed on the tangled mess, smoothed it out over the pillow. It was not as soft as he remembered it. But then maybe Lestat had not been as particular with his hair lately as he had been in the past. 

The fingers continued. Louis couldn’t say it was by his own bidding, he was just watching it happen. But he felt Lestat’s waxy skin when the fingertips touched the gaunt cheek. He felt how dry his lips were. Not enough blood, not enough nourishment. 

He would have jumped backwards when an arm shot out from under the blanket and grabbed the leg of his pants if it hadn’t been for the iron grip the hand held him in. The movement had been so quick he hadn’t even seen it happen, he had just felt the hand taking hold of him.

He released a deep breath, tried to force his heart to beat slower. Looking down he saw Lestat’s fingers buried so deeply in the fabric that his knuckles were whitening. That, unlike the talking, was a sleep habit he recognised well enough. Holding onto whatever he could reach with all his might. In the coffin there had been only Louis. Many days Lestat’s hands had clutched his nightshirt with incredible strength. It had been irritating and endearing.

When Louis gently tried to free himself Lestat’s other hand came out and wrapped its long fingers around his wrist. 

God, the size of those hands, was Louis’s first thought. Shut the fuck up, Louis, was the second. The third was the realisation of that he was down one hand and would likely not be able to free himself without his pants ripping, and that he could do without. 

So he sighed, prepared himself for what he would have to do. And then did it.

”Hey” he said, maybe sharper than he should have, shaking Lestat by the shoulder with his free hand. ”Wake up.”

He felt the moment Lestat returned to consciousness because both his hand and his leg was returned to him. He heard Lestat’s heartbeat pick up speed, even as it remained worryingly slow. There was no strength in that heart. A moment later he also saw a pair of big blue eyes gazing up at him.

”Louis?” Lestat asked hoarsely, his hands retreating to under the blanket.

There was a pang go guilt in Louis over having woken him up. There was such misery around Lestat. It seemed to spread with the very air he breathed. Though he quickly pushed it aside.

”Who else would it be?”

Lestat looked confused, disoriented almost. His eyes dashed between Louis and other parts of the room as if he could not recognise it. 

”You came back to me.”

”I came to visit you, Lestat.”

Lestat’s gaze settled on him and Louis watched him grow less erratic. He was relieved when it seemed like Lestat remembered where he was, what had happened.

”You should shower” Louis told him, taking a step back so that he would be out of reach.

A few seconds where Lestat merely looked at him as if he hadn’t understood passed. Then slowly he pushed himself up into a sitting position using both hands. 

Weak. Pathetic, almost. It made Louis softer than it should have, and he despised himself for it. All needed to bring down his defences was a look. He knew well what a beast Lestat could be. 

”Please, Louis, I’m so—”

”The sun’ll rise soon and I’m not getting in a coffin with you while you smell like a rotting house.”

Somehow he took both of them by surprise.

”In a coffin?” Lestat asked, his eyebrows raised.

He would have to follow through. Couldn’t walk it back. Damn it.

”Yeah. Were you planning on hiding out in the closet?”

When he thought of it the walk-in closet wouldn’t have been that bad of a place to hide. There were no windows in there, all required for total darkness was closing the door. Not as comfortable as a bed or a coffin, though in a crisis it would have done. Perhaps he would have made a nest for himself in there if he hadn’t decided to take a coffin with him.

It was apparent Lestat had not planned much at all. His gaze wandered through the room before settling on a spot on the floor.

”Oh that I have not done since I was a boy” he then said.

It took a moment for the meaning of those words to dawn on Louis, and then he couldn’t keep from smiling.

”Was that a joke?” he asked. ”Are you joking?”

A small smile appeared on Lestat’s lips then. Suddenly he seemed almost, just almost, alive again. 

”Perhaps.”

Lestat swung his legs over the edge of the bed and moved to stand. That robe was in desperate need of washing. He would have to see to that it was done with outmost care, it was an old piece.

”How do you even know what that means? That’s from after your time.”

Louis could remember when people had started using that phrase.

”One of the young ones” Lestat said.

Louis sensed the dismissal in that and so pushed no further. No pushing. No making things harder than they already were. Only easy things. Or, well, not easy perhaps. Nothing was easy. Though as easy as possible. For the time being. The rest they could deal with later.

Still Lestat had told him something. There had been several fledglings. The one with the rats was not the first. How many? Who were they? What had become of them? Had Lestat made them himself? 

”The bathroom?”

Louis nodded towards the bathroom door.

”Be quick about it, will you?”

Lestat said nothing to that. He went into the bathroom and carefully closed the door behind him.

Louis waited for the lock to click, though it didn’t. Lestat hadn’t locked the door. There had rarely been any locked doors in the Rue Royale. Not even Claudia’s. She had often kept it closed, but not locked.

Louis returned to the armchair. Sat again with his legs crossed and looked towards the window. Out at the dark night.

The thoughts were so many he ended up thinking nothing at all. Lestat, New Orleans, life, Daniel, Dubai, eternity. It was all just spinning around, making him dizzy. So much, all at once. Maybe visiting New Orleans had been biting off more than he could chew. Still he didn’t regret it one bit. What a night it had been. He felt alive. 

It struck him suddenly he couldn’t hear the shower running. It had been minutes. Hadn’t he told Lestat to hurry?

”Lestat?” he called.

He knew Lestat could hear him. There was just a wall between them, practically nothing at all. Still no response.

”You alright?” he tried.

He was about to speak for a third time when there was finally a response.

”Quite alright” Lestat said. ”Do you have clean clothes I could borrow? Preferably something comfortable.”

He hand’t even thought of that. He had wanted Lestat out of the robe, though it had not gone further than so. Not far enough to realise he would have to step into something new. 

Louis had not unpacked any of his clothes, couldn’t be bothered with putting them in the closet. It was all in his suitcases. He had brought more than one set of pyjamas, Lestat could take one of those. 

”You haven’t got too much time” he reminded Lestat as he still couldn’t hear running water.

A moment later the water was on. What had taken him so long? What had he been doing in there? What was there to do? It was a hotel bathroom, it wasn’t the most interesting room in the world. None of the rooms in the little suite were. That was part of it being a hotel. The soullessness was a feature.

He dug up the navy pyjama set and put it aside for Lestat. It was a little worn out, though that meant it would be a better fit for him. He was broader than Louis even as he was starved. 

If it had not been storming so badly Louis would have suggested a hunt. Lestat was in dire need of it. But as it was Louis could only imagine seeing the colour come back to him, seeing vitality pour into him as he drained a victim. No bones poking out anywhere, only the solid figure that was Lestat’s. Light in his eyes, flushed skin, energy in every little gesture. 

It could have been a trick of his imagination that it was growing lighter outside, still he didn’t want to risk anything. After he had changed into his own sleeping attire he pulled down the blinds, leaving the room illuminated only by the lamp on the nightstand.

The coffin he had placed along one of the walls. It was a simple one, he had acquired it just for the trip. Brown wood, no carvings or inscriptions. It wasn’t insanely comfortable, though good enough to sleep in. He had planned on keeping it hidden away, but then he had realised he could leave orders for his room not to be cleaned during his stay there. No one was to enter but him. And the weird blond in dirty clothes. 

He took a lap around the room. Then he went into the adjacent room, the one made as some sort of lounging area. There he made sure the door to the suite was indeed closed and that the lock functioned properly. Then back into the bedroom, carefully closing that door behind him. 

The water was still running, he had been quick in examining the room. Without thinking too much of it he took the pyjamas and entered into the bathroom, intending to just set down the clothes on the counter and exit again. 

Though the shower walls were made of glass. And though quite properly fogged up from the hot water there was colour and outline. He saw Lestat’s body through the glass. Saw him move as he washed his hair. 

Louis had washed his hair for him a few times. In those quiet, gentle nights. Lestat in the bathtub, slow music in the background, Louis’s hands gently massaging shampoo into the hair. Lestat trying to tempt him into sharing the bath with him. Giving in, getting undressed, letting himself be embraced both by the warm water and by Lestat. No sex, just skin against skin, just being held.

He wondered what Lestat’s response would have been if he had asked to join him in the shower.

“I needed this, didn’t I?” Lestat asked, his tone more casual than Louis’s would have been if he had spoken in that moment.

If he was bothered by that Louis had come in without knocking it was impossible to hear it. But then he also had his back to Louis, wasn’t able to see how he had stopped and looked a little more than he should have.

“‘Needed’ is too tame a word, I’d say” Louis got out, averting his eyes. 

He had looked like something that had been dug up in the bayou. Or just a rat from the street. 

Lestat gave a low hum at that. 

“The warm water feels nice.” 

Judging by how much steam was in the room the water was more than warm. It felt like Louis was just breathing water. 

“I can imagine.”

He couldn’t help but wonder when Lestat had last had a shower. If it had happened in the last decade. 

”Almost done?”

”A minute.”

He left the clothes on the counter by the sink and then left the room again. Had to lean against the door for a moment after he had closed it. 

There had been more than a minute when Louis heard Lestat turn off the shower, though he hadn’t said anything more. Allowed Lestat the comfort of properly cleaning himself off. 

He was sitting in the coffin when Lestat finally came out of the bathroom. Dressed in his pyjamas, hair damp and ruffled. Still gaunt, skin still a ghastly shade, though at least he was clean. It was a step closer to something that resembled a person. To something that resembled Lestat.

”Your hair’s a mess” Louis pointed out.

”It has been worse.”

Had it? 

Louis moved as far to one side of the coffin as he could so that Lestat would fit with him, thought that enough of a signal for Lestat to join him. 

Still he didn’t. He remained by the bathroom door. His hands were clasped in front of him, his head bent down ever so slightly.

”What’re you waiting for?” Louis had to ask.

Lestat took a slow, in every way uncertain, step towards him.

”You do not want me in that coffin, do you?”

That had been true initially, but most of all he wanted Lestat safe. Wanted him to be in no danger, wanted him to not by hurt by a stray ray of sunshine managing to search its way into the room.

”Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want it” Louis assured him.

Partly a white lie and there was absolutely no need for Lestat to know about it.

Lestat tilted his head to one side, looked at Louis with an expression he couldn’t quite read.

”Oh, Louis” he said softly. ”Saint Louis.”

No one else had ever called him a saint. He certainly was no saint, in neither of his lives had it been even close. Still that was something Lestat had called him. Still Lestat had claimed he was his saint due to some weird idea about destiny or whatever.

”And why am I a saint this time?”

Louis de Pointe du Lac; patron saint of Lestat de Lioncourt. What a world they were living in. 

Nothing was Lestat’s response, he just slowly made his way over to the coffin. He walked as if he waited for Louis to tell him to stop. And Louis didn’t.

It was an unpractised Lestat that came into the coffin with him. The whole ordeal wasn’t very graceful, not on his part either. It had been a while since he had shared a coffin since he hadn’t been sleeping in a coffin himself either.

By the time Lestat had settled against him there had been knees in places he would have rather not had them and he had accidentally put a hand in Lestat’s face. But they had managed to work it out.

Louis closed the lid of the coffin and blessed darkness embraced them. Everything was easier in the small space of a coffin, the world shrunk down. It was as if it was just the two of them. No one existed but them. And it was warm and comforting. 

Lestat moved to make himself more comfortable, laid an arm across Louis’s chest and tucked his head in under Louis’s chin. Suddenly all Louis could smell was the cheap hotel shampoo. It was a scent so generic he couldn’t tell what it was supposed to smell like. Nothing. Probably no perfume in it. Apparently some people were allergic to perfume and so everyone was denied things that smelled good. It was far from the rich colognes he remembered Lestat keeping to. At least he was clean. 

He wrapped his arm around Lestat’s waist so that he could hold him against himself in a more comfortable way. He was cold to the touch. As if he’d only just been outside. It was strange to feel him that way. Finally he understood what Lestat had meant when he brought up those complaints in 1132. And still Louis had been drinking more animal blood then than Lestat seemed to have done in recent years.

“I used to dream of this” Lestat said in a low voice. “I almost felt it sometimes. Your arms around me.” 

“I thought a lot about you, too.”

More than he wanted to admit. 

“Did you?”

“Yeah. It was hard not to.”

The thought of Lestat had come both wanted and unwanted in equal measure. At times he had conjured up the image of him and at times it had assaulted him when he least expected it. 

“Was it hateful thoughts?” 

“Not always.”

Not even most of the time. At times it had been comforting. Familiarity in the middle of all that was new, strange and frightening.

“Did you hate me?” he asked, not allowing himself to consider the question before saying it out loud. 

Lestat hummed at that, sending vibrations through Louis’s entire body. No matter what sounds he made, what words he spoke, it was always done with his entire chest. 

“Occasionally” he finally said. “Not often. It faded quickly. I had wronged you so severely I… I understood why it happened.”

There had been no choice for Claudia. She had been desperate for freedom, their freedom, and Louis had not been able to take that step with her. So she had cut them loose, and that had made Lestat panic.

Even silence was loud in a coffin, and it was no comfortable silence. He waited for Lestat to say something, suspected Lestat waited for him to say something. Neither of them did.

Lestat’s hands on his chest had began moving in light circles and Louis didn’t know which of them Lestat meant to soothe. If he even had an intention with the rubbing or if it was simply another habit he had formed. 

”Why didn’t you burn me?” 

The question came when Louis had already come to accept there would be no more words spoken that night.

”You knew what was needed to destroy me entirely” Lestat continued. ”Yet you did not do it.”

Of all things he could have brought up, why that? Why not anything but that? He had not even known himself until recently. It had been buried in the back of his mind, worked into something different. Something he had recognised as the truth.

”I couldn’t do it” Louis said.

At least he heard himself say it, it didn’t feel like his own words. He could not recognise it as his own voice. His entire being had protested, screamed violently about the pain. He had not been able to move to do it. And Claudia had insisted, had almost begged him to go through with it, and he had—

”It just wasn’t possible. I’d thought I would be able to, but… no.”

Like he had been asked to throw his own heart into the incinerator after having just cut it out of his chest himself. 

”Joined by a chord that you cannot see” Lestat mused.

Did he remember that was what he had said? He had to. The poison had weakened his body, it had not done damage to his mind. He had to remember all that had taken place. What had been said and what had been done.

”But it is real” Louis finished the sentence. 

”And the knife… the knife you pulled on your brother when I first saw you, was it? Almost romantic.”

There was something seriously wrong with Lestat. Louis had been aware of that for more than a hundred years. He was fucked in the head, there was a brand of insanity that he must have trademarked because it was specific to him. And still…

”It just happened to be there.���

”Is that so?”

”Wasn’t planned.”

”Your mind has always been beautiful.”

Louis felt how Lestat tilted his head up so that his face was against his neck. At first he didn’t realise what was happening, Lestat couldn’t possibly be more comfortable that way. 

It struck him when Lestat breathed deeply against his skin and then gave a tortured sigh. 

”Don’t bite” Louis told him. 

No drinking, no sharing what came with drinking. No memories passing between them in a way he wouldn’t be able to control. 

Lestat took another deep breath and then released it, hot air washing over Louis’s throat. 

”No?” he asked.

”No.”

With how Lestat continued to breathe against his skin he was not certain he would accept that. It would have been so easy to break the skin, to have what he so clearly desired. 

Lestat murmured a string of French against him. He recognised ’blood’, he recognised ’sweet’, he recognised ’desire’.

”Go hunt as soon as we wake, drink all you can. But not my blood.”

A shiver ran down his spine when he felt the teeth. Not biting down, not breaking skin, just scraping down the artery.

”Your scent. Intoxicating.”

”Bite and I’ll throw your ass out the window. I’m not kidding, Lestat.”

As it was Lestat was weak. Not as strong as he would have been if he had been healthy. The years he had on Louis would not help him when he was so starved.

The fangs retracted. Instead Lestat kissed where they had been. His lips followed the same path his teeth had, his breathing just as heavy as before. Still the change was obvious. 

Louis heard his own heavy breaths, so very loud in the confined space of the coffin. Everything was loud in the coffin. Whispers, movements, breaths.

He should have pushed him away. He should have stopped it. Instead he wound his fingers into Lestat’s hair, let him continue to kiss his throat. 

It felt so good. The warmth spreading through his body, out to the very tips of his fingers. Once could not hurt, could it? He knew it could. And still he wanted it. There was no stopping once it had began. There had never been. It was worrying how quick they had ended up there again. 

Lestat’s skilful fingers unbuttoned the first two buttons of Louis’ nightshirt and his lips were quick to follow. He pressed kisses all over his chest. Hot kisses, wet kisses. The fangs had returned, Louis felt them in the kisses, though he didn’t bite. No breaking the skin, no drawing blood.

”Lestat” Louis breathed.

He didn’t know if he wanted it to go quicker or slower. If he wanted Lestat’s lips on his own or if he wanted them wrapped around his dick. All he knew was that Lestat’s body pressed up against his own was delicious. His kisses were delicious. His hands on Louis were delicious.

”Yes, mon cher” Lestat mumbled.

The thought of correcting him, of telling him not to use petnames, crossed through Louis’s mind. It was gone quickly, though. There was no room for thinking when sharing a coffin.

When Lestat stopped kissing and instead laid his head down Louis made a noise of protest. He pulled at the mass of hair in his fist, tried to get his lips against his skin again. He couldn’t do without the shivers of pleasure at feeling Lestat’s kisses on his bare skin.

”Hush and stop that” Lestat said, not irritated but firm. ”I’m listening.”

The shock made Louis immediately follow orders. His fingers remained woven into his hair, though he said nothing and was entirely still. He didn’t understand.

”Your heartbeat. It’s faster than mine.”

It was. He had thought of it earlier. Not his own pulse, but Lestat’s. It was slow still. Remained slow. Of course his own was faster.

”Well, what had you expected?” he asked. ”There’s no blood in you, what’s there to pump around?”

”I— I don’t know” Lestat all but whispered and there was a quiver in his voice. ”My heart always beat with yours. It was like one pulse, as if we were one being.”

That was true. Sometimes the rhythm of one or both of them would change when others were around, but as soon as they had been alone they had fallen back into the familiar connection. 

Even as he knew what Lestat was speaking of he didn’t know what to say. It had come unexpectedly, Lestat had thrown him off.

"Even when you held that knife to my throat I felt our hearts together” Lestat continued. ”I heard it as I bled.”

That time Louis was certain of that there were tears in his voice. It was unmistakable. 

”I don’t remember that” he found himself confessing.

Was it true? Had he watched the blood pour out of Lestat in bursts of his own pulse? Had every new wave of blood been brought forward when his own heart beat? Had Claudia felt that? Had she listened? Louis had to keep from imagining the feeling of watching the blood pump with the heavy pounding in his own chest. That he remembered. He remembered his heart beating so hard it had been painful.

”I can’t hear your thoughts, but I’ve always heard your heart. It did not stop that night.”

Lestat would not move. His ear was pressed against Louis’s heart, on and on he listened. Louis did the same. Once it had been said he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was an itch he couldn’t scratch. Lestat’s heart would not keep up with his, insisted on not falling into the rhythm.

When Lestat’s tears fell on his chest they were warmer than Lestat himself was. It was a silent crying and Louis didn’t know how to move forward.

”You need to feed, is all” he tried. ”Your heart’ll pick up.”

Briefly he wondered if he really wanted it to. If it would not be better if they kept separate heartbeats. Finding the rhythm again would be such a tangible reminder of that he would always have Lestat in him. Spreading through him, growing in him. Like poison. Or a flower. Maybe it wasn’t something he could do anything about, maybe it was part of him that he shared a heart with Lestat. 

”What if it does not?”

Gently Louis scraped his nails along Lestat’s scalp, the way he knew he enjoyed. The way that had every now and then made him almost purr like a cat.

”Then it’s different than it was and you can’t do shit about it.”

Lestat gave a chuckle at that. Even as he wept.

”I messed it up. We wouldn’t have lost so much time if I had not, it wouldn’t have been different.”

It had been inevitable. Louis was quite certain of it. It had been staked out from the very beginning. They had spelled disaster for one another. Still there had been love. The disaster had been born out of love.

”What’s done is done” Louis simply said. “And maybe different’s good.” 

He had spent so much time recently thinking on why things had happened the way they had. He had told the story of them the way he remembered it and Daniel Molloy had listened and recorded. He had poked at it, forced Louis to turn it around until he didn’t know up from down. He had said enough. But Lestat had not heard it. Maybe one night he would. Just not that night.

”I just—”

”Shhh” Louis hushed. ”You go to sleep, you need it. There’s time to talk later.”

Better it not happen while they were tangled up together in a coffin.

”But you’re not staying in New Orleans” Lestat protested, though there was no real force in the protest. 

He was tired. As was Louis. Tired to the bone. Even as he didn’t want to sleep.

”I’m not leaving at sunset, Lestat. And if my trip’s not enough we’ve got many more nights ahead of us, plenty of time to talk.”

Eternity was the goal. Somewhere in that time they would fine room to squeeze in a little conversation.

”Promise we’ll talk.”

”I promise. We’ll find a bench in a nice park somewhere in the world and we’ll talk until we’ve run out of things to say.”

And then they would sit in a comfortable silence. Maybe he would have a book. Maybe Lestat would have a paper. Maybe Lestat would tire of it and take Louis by the hand and drag him along somewhere. 

That seemed to calm Lestat somewhat.

“‘A bench in a nice park’” he repeated slowly. “I’d like that.” 

Another minute of silence and that time he sensed Lestat was drifting off to sleep again. It was a wonder he had stayed awake for as long as he had.

”Bonne nuit, Lestat” Louis whispered into his hair.

”Oh, mon cher, you need to brush up on your pronunciation” Lestat mumbled back. 

To believe he had ever fallen for a French man. What a horrible mistake.

***

And then the book "Interview With The Vampire" by award winning journalist Daniel Molloy was published, Lestat went "Louis, what the fucqué is this?" and now he's having an ongoing breakdown while on tour because they're in a weird situationship where Louis only comes around every now and then to get fucked into the next week (and occasionally to talk a little)

[ladycatofwinterfell]

The thing about iwtv is that it’s a great show. The thing is also that I, a lesbian, desire those pretty boys carnally

[ladycatofwinterfell]

I really am going to be unwell on levels previously unknown to mankind about a show with a vampire rockstar. Wow. Thanks.

[ladycatofwinterfell]

might have just bought the prince lestat trilogy... allegedly they're really fucking weird so I couldn't just not read them but I also didn't want to read blood and gold, blackwood farm and blood canticle so here I am

will update you in like a week and a half when I get them

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Started Prince Lestat and my initial thought is that it’s hilarious that there’s an ancient spirit (? alien maybe? member of another ancient species?) named Derek. Another thought is that it feels like maybe Anne is more and more returning to Louis being the love for Lestat, but it’s hard to say just yet

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Dare I say it was absolutely fucking delicious when Louis was doing the you and me thing with Claudia but at the end glanced over at the bloody hallucination of Lestat??? All of Louis and Claudia this episode was so great, her resentment at what he did and him trying to regain her trust!! I also liked this version of their encounter with the revenant vampire better than how it happened in the book, to me it just hit harder. and the first hallucination of Lestat was also amazing, him being a part of Louis and voicing what Louis himself thinks of it all

And the change in the Dubai dynamic that happened when Armand entered the stage is a lot of fun, his dynamic with Daniel is a treat to watch

[ladycatofwinterfell]

i sat with my hand clasped over my mouth and watched in silence except for the occasional unintelligible noise I couldn’t keep from making. I’ll never be the same again. Never. I’m going to live the rest of my life carrying what I just saw

[ladycatofwinterfell]

This year I’ve been so cringe about gay vampires that Daniel Hart who made the soundtrack for interview with the vampire was my fourth most listened to artist on Spotify

[ladycatofwinterfell]

I finished the vampire armand and plan on going to the library to get merrick tomorrow btw. can't go too long without knowing what my new vampire besties are up to

[ladycatofwinterfell]

I said enough talk about the blond french loser and then immediately reblogged a clip of the blond french loser. sorry. it will probably happen again :(

[ladycatofwinterfell]

If anyone wants a reason to not watch iwtv it’s that i walked right into a lady at the grocery store because i was so focused on thinking about that soon i will get to watch the finale

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Because i hate myself apparently I started reading book 5 (someone kill me) of the vampire chronicles and i truly believe everything horrible about lestat can be explained by that he’s french and so proud of it

[ladycatofwinterfell]

My wishes for season 3 are that they dress up Sam Reid in the sluttiest little outfits ever for Lestat’s performances (i want that man in booty shorts, fishnet stockings, high heeled boots and ripped shirts), that Lestat drags Daniel around to tell his story even though Daniel is old and actively dying (i know he writes the book himself in tvl but it would be fun for him to be like no i have to tell the same person louis told that’s the only reasonable way to do this), and that we get to see Louis go what the fuck is going on here first time he sees one of Lestat’s music videos. Maybe him being slightly horny about it. That would be nice I think. I also want to see Armand be fucking insane about Daniel, old man devil’s minion truthers rise up

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Reading these books have made me realise I will commit acts of violence if they don’t keep Louis as a big part in the show. I don’t care how far from book canon they have to go for it to happen, Louis NEEDS to be one of the main characters always. I’m in pain while reading because I miss the princess of my heart Louis DPDL. Everything’s about when Louis will appear next even though this version of him is inferior to his show counterpart. They keep mentioning him but he never shows up. Pain and suffering.

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Started reading the vampire armand and I’ve decided that every atrocity he committed was entirely justified actually. He deserved to do it and I forgive him for all of it. Marius, please go die❤️

[ladycatofwinterfell]

for like the maybe two (if even that) people interested i posted the second and final chapter to my latest iwtv loustat fic just now

you can read it if you want to :)