deathoftheauthor | the city

[ Lestat lets out a soft sound, like an exhalation or a sigh but so much heavier than that. His lungs seem to quiver with the effort, his body basking in the way it feels to hear Louis say such a thing so up front, because even if he knew the offer was on the table, it's a very different thing all together to hear Louis' voice form the words and ask it of him with such a quiet, desperate voice. ]

You must think my resolve much stronger than it actually is, if you think I could resist you asking me like that...

[ He knows it's reckless, knows he should have at least brought Louis a couple of bottles, maybe, considering he knew where this was inevitably headed, but he can't think about any of that now… Not when Louis moves so easily under Lestat's guidance as he carefully rolls and encourages him onto his back. Hair fanned out against the pillows and blankets like this, Lestat is caught by the sheer decadence of him, and has to brush his fingertips across his brow and down his temple, his cheek, his mouth, before he can bring himself to break their eye contact and lift Louis' chin with his thumb and forefinger.

He's so gentle, so impossibly gentle, more so than he's ever been with anyone, as he leans down to kiss the thick artery beating in Louis' throat. ]

I love you. [ He murmurs it almost without sound against his flesh, but he's certain he'll feel it anyway when he opens his mouth, bares his fangs and sinks them slowly but firmly into that waiting vessel. ]

( Louis' mouth drops open, and he exhales a soft cry of satisfaction as Lestat's sharp fangs slide into his flesh. His whole body tenses with it, but Lestat's gentleness and the safety of the columns of strong limbs around him keeps Louis so calm and so soothed that he almost feels drowsy. His arms wrap around Lestat, bare legs tangling together; he arches up against Lestat in the quiet ecstasy of the swoon, rocking against him in a slow, tidal clasp, one hand cradling the back of Lestat's head to hold him there with gentle, encouraging pressure as he drinks.

He doesn't have the presence of mind to attempt to send any images into Lestat through the blood, but exhausted as he is, his heart and its defenses are entirely open: I love you, he thinks in a reverent, half-aware litany, I'm yours, I will always be yours, body, blood, and soul. Take this blood, I give myself to you, let me nourish you, let me keep you safe and whole and show you everything you are to me... )

[ Every time Lestat tastes Louis’ blood on his tongue he’s sure that nothing has ever been better, nor could anything ever compare to it again; each spurt against the roof of his mouth, every swathe of it across his teeth and tongue, every dribble that threatens to leak between his lips but is locked in by Lestat’s near obsessive attention has him feeling entranced in the rhythm of Louis’ pulse. His own heart soon falls into time with him, and Lestat’s body curves to meet the arch of Louis’ spine in an elegant kind of movement that has him breathless as he drinks, and drinks, and drinks.

The feelings translated through the blood push his mind toward softer times. He thinks about finding Louis dozing before the fire, a book upturned in his lap and a head of blonde curls strewn across his knee. He thinks of Louis’ quiet laughter hidden behind his hand as they sit together and talk. He thinks of Louis’ eyes half lidded with affection, trying to hold back a smile and ultimately failing. He thinks of Louis’ hand in his, the ring on his finger, the shine of his eyes, the twitch of his eyebrows, the sound of his voice saying his name again, again, again.

Every ounce of love Louis sends his way, he covets and doubles in himself, sending it back and hoping Louis can feel it.

He draws back before he’s entirely sated, not willing to push Louis’ healing body too far despite his ever constant desire to drink him down entirely, and as he heals the wound with his tongue an idea strikes him that he’s much too impulsive to truly resist.

He kisses the wound, then trails those kisses downwards, past Louis’ collarbones and the bone of his clavicle, and to the puncture still marring his pale flesh. He slits his tongue hard on a fang, then laps the flat of it slowly - so, so very slowly - across the length of the wound. ]

( Louis lets out a sigh of ecstasy as Lestat's fangs slide out of his artery and he comes back to himself. There's the briefest sting, and then the warm tingle of the wound closing under Lestat's attentions, and the pleasant, weighty blankness of his mind in the aftermath. Louis shifts restlessly as Lestat's kisses leave his throat and move downward; he's caught between disappointment and anticipation, missing Lestat's fangs immediately and yet dying to see what he intends to do next.

Again, there's that rough spark when Lestat's lips brush the wound, neither pleasure nor pain, but simply feeling. Louis' fingers wind lazily in Lestat's hair, then tighten sharply as Lestat's tongue meets the wound. He's jolted by it, the nameless intensity crackling through his entire body like static; he arches up, holding Lestat's head in place, squirming up against his body in a writhe that matches the rhythm of his tongue. )

Lestat— Lestat— oh, please, yes...

( He's too far gone to care how desperate his begging sounds, or even to know exactly what he's begging for. But he trusts Lestat to know, and to give it to him, and to see him through it. )

[ Lestat feels Louis body reverberate beneath him, quivering like the hum of a struck tuning fork, a veritable slave to Lestat's succour in this moment. Louis' wound seems to fizz as blood pours from the deep gash in his tongue - so deep, in fact, that Lestat feels the muscle struggle as though in his haste and desperation he severed something integral to its movement - and Lestat groans at the pull to his hair, pressing his head down as instructed, meeting the elegant curving of Louis' spine up towards him.

He uses his blunt teeth to squeeze his tongue as he draws it back into his mouth, feels the flesh tear as the tear is forced open even further, fills his mouth half full with blood and then parts his lips over Louis' injury again. He can see that it looks much less angry than it did back in that dorm room, that it looks less deep and less wet before the blood pours inside, but still not healed. Unable to resist, he follows the dribbling of blood from his lips with another kiss to the very maw of the wound itself. He goes as far as slipping his tongue inside, as if he's pushing himself - his blood - further in, when really he just wants to taste Louis like this. Not the pull of his fangs filling his mouth with the flavour of him, but tasting him from the very source, the meat of him.

The smell of metallic blood in the air is enough to make him dizzy with hunger and desire, and he moans into Louis' body, hands gripping his waist hard enough to bruise. ]

Edited 2023-11-14 19:03 (UTC)

( Louis trembles, blood sweat prickling at his temples again from the absolute shock to his system. He clutches at Lestat like it's the only thing in this world that can hold him together, letting out high, breathless gasps as Lestat's tongue delves inside of him. Logically, Louis knows that he can't be that deep, but somehow it feels infinite, like being impaled by the most agonizing pleasure, each tiny movement reverberating through him.

The curl of Lestat's tongue sends echoes of itself all through Louis' body, every part of him tense and shivering and desperate. The ache of being split apart again is tempered by the wet heat of Lestat's blood pouring into him and the tingle of muscles knitting themselves back together deep inside his body, and when Lestat moans against him, he swears that he can feel it right down to his bones.

Louis' muscles flex beneath Lestat's stony grip, and oh, he's suddenly so keenly aware of his own bare skin, of his comparative weakness, of his absolute vulnerability. He can hardly distinguish any one part of himself from all the rest; he wants to sink into Lestat's body, to become one with him completely... He lets out another wordless groan, his hips writhing to make contact with the silk robe covering Lestat's stomach. )

[ Lestat knows there's something to this, some analogy to human coupling; the intrusion of it, the breaching of another's body with your own, like the bite only so different, something only the two of them could share, something he doesn't want and can't imagine with anyone else... but he can't bring himself to linger in thoughts of what this means in favour of basking in the simple and addictive feeling of being so closely wrapped up in Louis' heartbeat.

He's powerfully warm like this, or perhaps he's perfectly preternaturally cold and Lestat is imagining where warmth should be, or perhaps Lestat himself is warm from the feed. Either way, Lestat can feel himself becoming addicted to this sensation, even as he draws his tongue back in a lascivious lick, bringing the taste back into his mouth, he only wants to do it again. He wants to suck the wound, too, to draw on the blood he'd poured out and then feed it back in, a loop, an endless loop of sensation and possession and carnal desire to devour Louis from his flesh to his marrow. With anyone else he might feel dangerous, with anyone else he might feel shame. With Louis all he can feel is love, and want, and hunger for more.

He draws away, but only enough to look up at Louis' face, to catch his eye as the tip of his tongue trails along the edge of the scarring wound and dips in, to watch his reaction as blood still dribbles weakly from the almost healed cut on his tongue. ]

( It feels almost as if Lestat is drinking straight from his heart, drawing the blood and the life straight from the core of him and passing it through himself.

Louis' eyes are bright and strange, half-clouded with pleasurable delirium and yet fixed on Lestat as if nothing else exists in all the cosmos. His expression is worshipful, fascinated, awestruck — oh, he may be tired and half-drained, but he's committing every detail of this to his perfect memory, certain that he'll want to remember it again and again.

He's still writhing beneath Lestat's weight, breathing heavily, audibly; when Lestat's tongue presses in, his whole body jerks, sensation spooling outward from that spot in shimmers of red-gold light that he can feel beneath his skin, that he can almost see... )

God... why is it that I want you to go even deeper...

[ Lestat keeps his eyes fixed on Louis’ face, trying to discern his thoughts through the flesh against his mouth like he would the blood. Louis’ body yields to his force as readily as he’s sure he would for the bite, almost dragging him deeper, or perhaps that’s his own intention seeping through this intense moment of eye contact that has him pinned under Louis’ gaze.

He knows by now that he loves every emotion on Louis face, from joy and amusement to sadness and rage, but he doesn’t quite think he’ll ever be accustomed to or get sick of seeing Louis look so powerfully and overwhelmingly interested, especially when it’s directed at him; Louis has such a vivid and sprawling mind, capable of such thoughts and opinions that Lestat finds himself a little jealous sometimes, and to be the focus and the reason for them is more of an ego boost than he really needs, but is desperate to hold onto nonetheless. Louis looks like he can't imagine ever drawing his attention away from Lestat, that he's just as caught up in them becoming one in this way as Lestat is, and Lestat goes to the trouble of making it very clear how into that idea he is when his hand finds Louis' hips and encourages that twitching grind again against his silk-covered stomach.

Louis definitely had no intention of making his words an instruction, but Lestat is hopeless to deny him anything at the best of times, and there's no way he can change that now as such words fall from his demure lover, and as he jerks so sweetly beneath the intrusion of his tongue.

Lestat bats his eyelashes a little — a promise to grant Louis' wish or simply a physical representation of the overwhelming desire pooling in him at Louis making such a request — and slowly opens his mouth a little wider, fangs on show, glistening with saliva as he leans forward and pushes his tongue an experimental few centimetres deeper. ]

( A shudder rips through Louis' body, and his spine arches so sharply that his hips lift completely off the blankets and into Lestat's hard, straining stomach; his legs wrap tight around Lestat's back as he ruts against him, his body reverting to instinct and reflex as it seeks more contact, more connection, more.

He feels something ache as it's split by Lestat's tongue, and then the delicious tingle as the muscle heals itself again, stronger than before. He doesn't have it in him to wonder what effect the ancient blood is having on him. He can barely remember that he's ever cared about that at all. Lestat looks so beautiful like this, beautiful and feral and deadly and protective, curls splayed across the pale expanse of his chest as his red mouth licks into the meat of him.

And then Lestat's tongue twitches, or flexes, or does something Louis doesn't have a name for, and he can feel Lestat's pulse in his tongue inside of his chest, and oh, oh, God—

Louis keens, head thrown back as his body convulses with pleasure, limbs locked around Lestat and fingers buried in his hair to keep his mouth close. He imagines Lestat's fangs sinking into his heart, the organ throbbing as he holds it in his mouth, his blood pulsing and pulsing as it pours into Lestat without end. And he doesn't die, doesn't weaken at all in this vision; he is an endless chalice, a fount of life, the most primal source of nourishment for his beloved. )

[ Lestat isn't really considering the depth of what he's doing, nor is he really thinking about the physicality of it and the fact that in his efforts to help heal Louis he's actually hindering the progress more than anything; all he can think is how hot and sweet Louis tastes, how the blood seems to swell from the meat of him and surrounds Lestat's tongue enough to happily sustain him this way, for hours, probably. For months, for years.

His eyes flash when he feels Louis body try to knit itself together under his ministrations, feels the muscle flex and tense against his tongue, feels the flesh try to mend despite the intrusion of him... he thinks again how he would like nothing better than for it to do as it wishes and to be forever fused to the object of his desire like this, one being, one heart and one soul...

And then Louis physically shakes him out of it with the elegant jerk of his spine, fingers tightening, body dragging him closer as if he wants the exact same thing too, for them to become one thing. The pin point explosion of pleasure has Lestat seeing fireworks of colour in Louis' blood, alongside the beastly visions of the desire to have him drink him down to the last drop only to find more, infinitely locked together in this way and constantly serving Lestat's insatiable hunger for him...

Lestat shudders himself, the claws of one hand digging in to Louis hips to keep him here, keep him grounded, while his other hand slips up to Louis' face, cups his cheek, runs over his lips, teeters on the very precipice of pushing into his mouth. His mind is wild with the feral thought of being claimed in the same way, of having his flesh become Louis' flesh, of feeling that powerful link like an extension of his body to another being... He doesn't have words for how badly he wants to feel it again, but on his own terms, with someone he's always wanted to call his own.

Lestat gives in to temptation closes his lips around the wound and sucks very lightly, feeling the blood flood seep through his teeth before he pushes it back in with his tongue. That alone is enough to send a shiver rocketing down his spine, enough to have his hands grip so hard they might bruise... and enough to have him finally pulling away, for fear that perhaps he might get too caught up in how delicious that had felt and end up doing more damage. ]

( Louis makes a soft sound almost like pain when Lestat's mouth finally leaves the gash in his chest, and he turns his face to mouth blindly at Lestat's fingers, nipping at the pad of his thumb and sucking it into his mouth with a groan. He can't form a single coherent thought, but slowly his grip on Lestat's hair loosens by a fraction, and his muscles slacken, dropping him back down into the blankets.

His hips flex, and he feels the sharp sting of Lestat's nails in his bare skin; he moans quietly, the brief pain bursting in bright colors and then blooming into pleasure. Everything feels good, even the ache in his chest and the throb from the healing wound there.

He tugs at Lestat's hair, urging him upward, one heel digging encouragingly into Lestat's lower back. There's a strange sort of shimmering sensation everywhere they're making contact, like light given physical form and spreading out in slow ripples beneath his skin. )

[ Lestat isn't sure he's ever seen anything more erotic than Louis suckling his thumb into his mouth like that. He could stay here for hours, he's sure, staring at Louis' cheeks hollowing and hearing his breaths turn into husky, desperate moans around his flesh, in a much similar way to how it's so easy for them to be lost in staring at a twinkling sky or the flickering flame of a candle.

When Louis tugs at him and urges him upwards in a manner so insistent it's almost petulant, Lestat can't hide a small, fond smile and submits easily to the instruction. He crawls, as slow as he's capable of being with his heart hammering in his chest like this, up Louis' body and toward his mouth to press a long awaited kiss there. He angles himself so that he can lie on his side next to him, aware that any kind of pressure directly on top of his chest after the trauma he'd just put the wound through would almost definitely be a royally stupid idea.

He feels like he should say something, but there's only one word echoing around his head like a mantra, so he murmurs it against his lips as they kiss. ]

Louis...

Lestat...

( Louis sighs his name sweetly into the kiss, relaxing into the nest of blankets and pillows and slowly going boneless. He can't bring himself to move... not that he would want to, with his legs still tangled loosely around Lestat's, and his fingers languidly dragging through his shower-damp curls. His wound tingles, almost tickles as the muscles slowly twine themselves together again, and what pain still remains doesn't seem to matter now.

One hand drops to caress Lestat's face, thumb stroking back and forth across the rise of his cheekbone, slow and possessive and adoring. )

Thank you. I feel much better now.

Such a gentleman, even now.

[ Lestat can't hold in the quiet, breathy laugh that escapes him at the sound of Louis thanking him of all things, even though he'd just arguably halted the healing process for his own hunger and curiosity... but then, this look of absolute bliss on Louis' face, and the way he seems to sink into the pillows as if he's become heavier somehow... Well, perhaps it was worth it. ]

Now you really do need rest. Sleep, my heart.

[ Lestat presses another kiss to his mouth, and hopes that the way it lingers and the intensity of it will adequately describe without the blood how much he cares for Louis, how utterly world changing this evening has been, and how protective and thankful he is for these vulnerable moments. ]

( Lestat's quiet voice murmuring the word sleep has all the effect of a command, but it's only Louis finally letting himself realize just how completely exhausted he is. It's as if he was still waiting for permission, somehow, and now that it's finally been granted, he can go to his slumber and let the events of the night pass into memory.

The kiss comes to an end, and Louis blinks so slowly, hardly able to keep his eyes open. He looks at Lestat for just a moment, his gaze focusing and then unfocusing again before he gives up. Eyes shut, then. )

Mmm... I want to tell you all about how it felt, but...

( As if he could find the words to speak of it right now. Even at his most clear-minded, it would be a difficult thing to describe, but it was so transcendent that he doesn't think he can bear to keep his thoughts to himself. )

Tomorrow.

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cw: gore? kinda?

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