By Gairid - 2001

All standard Disclaimers. I dont own the characters, I dont make money from them.

Mood Euphoric

We’re wandering up and down the aisles of Tower Records, and Lestat already has over a dozen CD’s in his basket. He doesn’t ask my opinion for he knows it doesn’t matter to me, although he does share his enthusiasm for this or that song, his face animated as he speaks. I am holding another basket; filled with DVD’s, the first section we’d visited upon entering the store. Lestat likes this place, likes the color, and the music, and the hundreds of things he can look at and talk about. He likes to see if his own CD, now a dinosaur, is still in the racks. It usually is. Its till sells well, here in New Orleans, anyway. People don’t often recognize him…at least from that. How could it be him? The CD is nearly eighteen years old. This man is surely too young to be The Vampire Lestat. He does attract attention though; people cannot help but notice his looks, and his personality. He speaks freely to those mortals that are near him, and passes words with the night staff, most of whom he knows by name.

I like to watch him when we are out. He falls easily in with mortals about him, trading phrases with them as though he were one of them, and flirting outrageously with anyone who shows an interest in him. His pale hair is beautiful even under the harsh florescent lighting, a tousled mass of living gold on his broad shoulders. I love the feel of his hair under my hands, or soft against the skin of my thighs. He’s talking right now to a boy, 16 at most. The boy, thin to emaciation, his hair spiked with gel, is extolling the virtues of some band to Lestat. He’s earnest and beautiful in his way, the boy. Lestat agreeably tosses the CD in with the others in his basket; unmindful of the way the boy’s eyes widen at what is to him an extensive purchase. Lestat turns around, looking for me.

"Louis? Is there anything you want, Mon Cher?" He asks.

"Not here." I answer him, drawing a delighted grin from him.

"Good answer. Come on, we’ll pay for this stuff and go back home. "

The girl at the register smiles at both of us as we place the purchases before her. She is the night manager. Her name is Amy.

"Boss loves it when you guys come in here." She says, efficiently swiping the discs on at a time under the clever infrared scanner.

"I though *you* were the boss around here, Amy." Lestat teases as she double bags the purchases.

She rolls her eyes theatrically and looks at me.

"And you put up with this guy?" She asks conspiratorially.

I shrug as his hand reaches to clasp mine. I take the bag from her.

"We all have our weaknesses, non?" I affirm. She smiles and wishes us a good night.

I like Amy. She looks at Lestat and sees a little of what makes him dear.

We take our time walking, enjoying the night, and the excitement and energy of the city gearing up for Mardi Gras. When I turn my head I can see his fine profile, and the way the breeze from the river lifts his hair. The lights from the shops and the streetlights paint his features different colors but his eyelashes still gleam pure gold and his eyes tonight are deepest indigo. I release his hand and slip my arm about his waist, craving more contact with him. He turns his head and I feel my heart jump when his eyes meet mine.

"Do you want to go home, Louis?" He asks me, his voice caressing…tempting. I resist the urge to give in. He loves to be teased.

"No hurry, Mon Ange. " I say in my most nonchalant voice. "I know how you love to be out and about."

His arm is around my waist and he suddenly swings me around, pivoting me loosely on his hip. In the next instant I am pressed against a brick wall beneath one of the flickering gas flame lamps, ubiquitous now in the Quarter. His mouth is warm and insistent on mine and I drop the bag between our feet so that I can slip my hands under his long leather coat. My arms around him, my hands caressing his beautifully muscled back. Holding him to me so that I can feel his heart beating against mine. He kisses me until I am breathless and squirming and moaning softly. He breaks the kiss finally, and we are forehead to forehead.

"Are you sure?" He says in a low, visceral tone, brushing his knuckles down the side of my face.

Not too much later we are home, lying together, skin to skin in our bed. Lestat’s mouth is moving over me, his lips and teeth leaving trails of fire and blood upon my needful flesh. He speaks to me between bites and kisses, looking up at me through the tangled gold of his mane. Scarlet lips that declare love and promise ecstasy. He binds me, as he always has, with the spell of his touch and his words, and the passion that I see in his brilliant eyes. I have what I have always wanted. I have Lestat. He is so open to me now, and the mistrust and fear that once slept uneasily in the bed between us is gone now, with only the scars that such things must necessarily leave.

He is becoming hungry, and his mouth demands my blood and my attention. His fangs sink deeply into the tender flesh of my lower belly and he drags a sharp fingernail over my hipbone, peeling back the flesh in a searing line. His hair is spread over my groin, teasing gossamer, the breath of an angel on my twitching, rigid cock.

Often Lestat is single-minded in his passion…to give me pleasure and also to take his, greedy and voracious creature that he is. This night, though, he is restrained somehow…he drinks richly, and his roaming exploration is deliberate and slow and excruciatingly pleasurable. I feel myself writhing under his him, my body a willing slave to his mouth. His fangs and his tongue. My hands are obediently clutching the headboard, the wood crushed beneath my fingers as he moves his head and sinks his fangs into my ass just behind my balls. Unable to help it, I howl out my passion, my hips thrusting helplessly against nothing at all. Restraint. When had Lestat learned restraint? Or was it another whim that had caught hold of his imagination? I want him to engulf my throbbing cock in his mouth.

Lestat often tells me I hold him and I do…I hold him in my hands as though he is a fragile human child. I hold him in my heart, always. I have never tried to keep him near by force of my will. It would not have worked for he was ever suspicious and headstrong.

These thoughts pass through my mind, disjointed and almost surreal. I feel so much for him. I feel *only* for him. And now, when we take from one another, blood and dreams and bittersweet memory …these things take on a life of their own. His tongue, now probing the sensitive and receptive opening to my body. I cannot adequately tell how he makes me *feel*… how his touch quickens me and makes me come alive. He’s driving me insane, his tongue sliding up into me, hot and snaky and I forget myself and let go of the ruined headboard. I want his cock. I want him to ream me, and give me what is mine. I want his surrender to my enclosing flesh.

Lestat. Was there ever a creature like him? I know quite well that he is not the only vampire with the face and form of an angel. He was not, when he found me, the strongest of them. Now….well….now is a different story. I long ago lost my pain at taking life. I am what he has made me. Vampire. I chose this life so that I could remain with Lestat. I have what I had wanted all those years ago, and the rest is superfluous.

His mouth leaves me, and I know what is next. He’ll take me…his beautiful eyes wet with blood tears, as mine will be. Familiar and well known, his touch upon me…I am dazed already with the exquisite sensation. He brings his lion’s body up and over mine, sleek and smooth, his flesh like chamois as I rub him insistently and slowly. He moves up my body and I feel his cock, pressing against me, eager for entrance. I spread my legs for him, my lover, welcoming him. Pulling one leg up close to my body so Lestat can have better access to me…I want nothing more at this moment than to have him within me.

"Lestat….my own. Oh…are you?" I moan.

"Oui mon cher I am yours. Completely and always yours. Always, angel." He whispers.

He pushes his hard cock up into me. Pain. Ahhh, sweet pain of my body opening to him. We are nearly matched in strength, but I am always undone by his body upon mine. I am his as I have told him so many times. I always will be.

I wrap my legs around him…I wrap my arms about him also, and I clamp my wanting mouth over his, tasting blood and his lips and the ghost of his last victim, taken as we had made our way to Tower Records earlier. I melt into his mouth and into his embrace and I feel him doing the same to me. I am drinking in his scent and suckling blood from his tongue bitten by one of us as we writhe together. He pulls away from my mouth and brings his hands up to cup my face. Gazing closely at me, into my eyes as he moves within me hard and jarring, punctuating each deep thrust with a kiss upon my face…my eyes, my forehead, kisses as light as his plunging is brutal. Murmuring in French of his lust and his emotion and saying my name the way no one else can, until I am awash in scent and sensation, the sight of his face and the sound of his voice. Bloodsweat drips from his face and the ends of his hair down on to me, holy rain from the only heaven that means anything to me.

I am speaking too, begging and daring him at the same time. Goading him to give me more…more of himself, more pain, more pleasure, and he gives to me all that I ask of him. His fangs tear my throat open and I feel blood leave me in a furious stream as he fastens his mouth upon me and drinks from me until I am light-headed and euphoric with the way that I feel.

Blood, now everywhere, as he releases the wound. Crimson rivulets running from his mouth down his neck as he raises up, and moves my legs up over his shoulders, to heighten sensation between us yet again. Deep. He is so deep inside me, and the shudders that wrack my body are tremors to the climax I can feel building. Pressure on the sensitive area within me

He is raised on his knees, his hands on the tops of my thighs as he thrusts into me, licking and kissing the tendon at the side of one of my knees. His chest gleams with bloodsweat. His sweated hair obscures part of his face as he continues to lip the skin of my leg, and I reach one hand up to push his hair back that I may look at his face. He turns his head to look at me, his body not slowing, keeping a steady, hard rhythm. I feel the tension building in him as it builds in me, and he moves one hand from my thigh to grasp my cock. I groan at the sudden pressure of his hand upon me, and he’s muttering and growling. It’s close…so close, and he’s urging me to let go, urging me to come for him, to come *with* him, and we fly together, his blood released high and hot within me as I grip him tight with my inner muscles. My own release is fierce, and his hand is red with my issue, my own body coated with it. I move my legs from his shoulders, one then the other, and pull him down to me. He knows what I want, and he throws his head back as I sink my fangs into him.

Drawing and drawing and drawing from him, both of us still quivering and trembling with the aftershocks of climax. His blood. He’s so delicious; his essence burns me as I swallow. He rolls over, pulling me on top of him and cradling my head and back as I suckle. He’s murmuring my name as he strokes me. I can feel his mind, open, and his trust in our bond is a gift that nearly crushes me. He can feel that, I know, for he is weeping even as I am. I release his throat and lay my head upon his chest. We don’t speak, for neither of us has words enough for what we feel. Exhausted and limp, we lie together, and I feel the gentle hitching of his breath as his weeping subsides.

I don’t know how long we lay here, as I listen to Lestat’s heart, and hear his breathing slow, finally evening out as he slips into a light doze. This time I am the one who is wakeful. I am the one who must gaze at my sleeping, golden angel, and run light fingers over his flesh, still damp from our coupling. Licking delicately at the ragged edges of the wound healing on his neck. Obsessively smoothing the wayward locks of his hair.

In his doze Lestat mumbles my name and pushes his face into my hair. I feel euphoric and dreamy, although I am not in the least sleepy at the moment. His arms are tight around my body, and I revel in that feeling, the need in him to hold me to his body. I revel in how he can let me feel what he feels. That he can do so means more to me than anything else.

He stirs awake, and sees me watching him.

"See anything green?" He says, brushing a finger along my lower lip.

I catch his finger, drawing it into my mouth. He pulls it out and puts it into his own mouth briefly.

"I don’t remember spit having a taste like this when I was mortal. Do you?" He asks.

I break into laughter, and he looks at me, a quizzical smile on his lips.

"I’m serious, Louis. " He says

"I know you are. " I say. "I can’t say that I recall." I’m still laughing, as I move kiss the skin of his taut belly. He stretches his arms up, and sighs a little.

"Moving south, Louis? " He says, hopefully.

"An innocent kiss on your stomach and the Satyr awakens." I tease. My eye icaught,however by the feathery dusting of gold below the shallow cup of his navel. My treasure nestles there, set off to tempting perfection.

"Which Satyr are you referring to, chaton? There are two in this bed, you know." His voice is light, but there’s a familiar note there. I have an image now in my mind of his golden skin coated in a singlet of slick, gleaming oil.

"I was referring to *you*, you demon." I say, tearing my eyes from the line of his hip, and gazing up at him.

He smiles at me, reaching one perfect hand to cup my face.

"If I am a Satyr, then so be it. I have told you I cannot have enough of you, haven’t I? " He says this comfortably, and he draws me back up and kisses me deeply. His mouth is hot, and still tastes faintly of his blood, though the tear in his throat is healing under my hand, I can feel it closing.

"You have told me that, yes." I say, the words somewhat garbled as he pulls at my lip with his front teeth. The fingers of one of his hands are threaded into my hair. " And I do so enjoy the demonstrations that you back your pretty words with." I arch into the slow stroking of his other hand, moving slowly over my back.

He chuckles warmly, and I lift my head to look into his eyes.

"I did not realize I ever needed to back up such words." He said. I am lying half on top of him, and I can feel the press of his cock, tight and hard against my upper thigh. He moves seductively against me

"You don’t "need" to…I *said* I so enjoyed that you do, Monsieur Insatiable."

In spite out of our words, we are not rushed, still bathed in satiated bliss as we are. Lazy love talk, this, and sweet caresses. I am making a minute examination of Lestat’s left nipple with my fingers, fascinated with the exquisite responsiveness he always exhibits. It is beautifully erect and I close my lips around it, drawing it into my mouth and holding it between my teeth. I can feel his strong, steady heartbeat against my lips. His hand is still moving with slow firmness over my back. I nip sharply, enjoying the hiss elicited, and the slight quickening of hi s pulse. Release. And back to his pretty mouth for another kiss.

His tongue moves with sure sinuousness, plundering the well known territory of my mouth, and raising a little more heat between us. He’s savouring me. I can feel it in the way he’s moving and I hear it in the sound of his sighing breaths. His hand is pulling and kneading the skin of my hip, measured and unhurried. Slow and sensual, as he can be after an initial release. I am succumbing to this spell of languorous touching, even as my flesh begins to crave his rougher caresses, the heady rush I get from his sharp fangs tearing into my skin. My breathing is ragged as I close my eyes, remembering his beautiful face raised from between my thighs, mouth dripping. When he releases my mouth I lift my head so that I can look at him. I want to sit up, but his arms refuse to let go of me. The hand in my hair, enmeshed and cradling me, the other hand still insistent and warm at my hip. He’s looking at me avidly, his face so easily read. He drinks in the sight of me as surely as he drinks my blood, his hands upon me, also drinking me in. Mouth open slightly as he breathes me in. He’s so tactile, so immersed in his senses, and he translates that over to me, letting me see the joy he gets from giving me pleasure.

Lestat devastates my senses, though he does not need to make a move to do so. The sight of him coming down the stairs as I stand waiting at the door for him is every bit as overwhelming to me as his intense lovemaking. Walking beside him, and watching his face as he talks animatedly often makes my eyes well with the same tears that spring from me when he takes my cock into his mouth and brings me to screaming orgasm.

His eyes are gleaming as he searches my face, and I move to lick at his golden lashes, briefly shuttering the azure gaze. My name is a whisper on his lips. His eyes are still closed.

"Louis. Lover. Ah, the scent of you…."

I hear such longing in his voice, a sirens song of promise and desire. His mouth is open still, and he is taking shallow, panting breaths, his tongue moving as though he is lapping at the air between us. I can feel his pulse quicken as he does this, his passion roused from it’s dreaming doze. His eyes open, and the deep blue irises are a crescent edge around his hugely dilated pupils.

I move my face closer to his, and his eyes widen as I breathe into his mouth without yet touching his lips with mine. He swallows once, convulsively, and resumes the light, rapid panting. A dew of bloodsweat mists his upper lip, and his temples. His eyes are slitted now as he concentrates, and I can feel the muscles of his body quivering. His hands still caress my skin, and the languid movement seems at odds with the rising level of Lestat’s passion. I move my leg between Lestat’s, and he shudders when my cock comes in contact with his. He holds his body still, letting me move against him. Subtle movements in him… his chest as he breathes, his beating heart. Trembling muscles… and his cock, twitching and hard. Aching, I know…aching as I am.

Both of us are coated now with bloody perspiration, and I lean to him, my left cheek to his right, so that my mouth is at his ear.

"Roll onto your belly, mon ange" I whisper. I have caught the rhythm of his light, rapid breathing.

I lift my body from his, and he does as I ask. His slow stroking hands regretfully leave my flesh and

He rests his head upon his crossed arms waiting.

Here is yet another feast for my eyes, and I sit up to take him in. His eyes are open again and he is watching me from his prone position. His tangled mane of hair is spread on his back and shoulders, lush and somehow alive with the ambient light of the room. The breadth of his shoulders is not hidden, not even beneath that mass of hair, and the muscles of his back are taut, molded beautifully over his frame, shoulder blades and ribs and the knobs of his spine clothed in the tawny suede of his hide.

My mouth is watering.

The slight dimples above his gorgeously perfect ass... I know the sweet smoothness of the skin there, how it feels beneath my fingers and the side of my cheek. He shifts his legs, spreading his thighs slightly, and he presses his hips down hard, once, against the yielding mattress. The muscles of his body ripple minutely with his movement. Hi s eyes have not left me the whole time, and I see mute pleading there. He wants me to touch him.

I have not yet finished my visual caress, however. There is a shadow at the sacred division, that darkness highlighting the golden skin, skin that seems to trap and radiate the warm light of the candles in our room. Fine threads of downy hair catching that same light and reflecting it in a dazzle across the tops of his thighs. I can hear him panting, and he whispers my name. The sound of his voice settles into my lower belly, a heated coal, a blossoming warmth. The tender skin at the back of his knees beckons me. I am so hungry now. Hungry for the feel of him. Sculpted calves and the sweet tapered ankles. The bottoms of his feet are paler than the rest of his flesh, and his toes are curled inward slightly. He says my name again, and I turn my head to look back into his eyes.

Naked want. I cannot deny him. I never could. I move to his feet, and kneel there between them, placing my palms upon the pale soles. Slight roughness on his heels, calluses begun to build when he was fragile and mortal, so very long ago. I run my hands across his feet and up over his calves, slowly kneading and rubbing his skin.... I want to press my mouth to his damp flesh, but I hold back, stroking him with my palms, and the pads of my fingers. Careful not scratch him with my nails. He moans softly when I progress to the backs of his knees, fingers finding the pulsing vessels there and lingering. Up the backs of his thighs, dusty with pale gold. I skim the cheeks of his ass lightly with my palms and move up a little so that I am kneeling now between his thighs, spreading them further apart. He trembles so beneath me. Wanting.

I smell his arousal, a rich note that oozes from him, the bloodsweat that coats him redolent with it. The room is filled with it, fragrant with it. My cock is tight and hard with need, I feel enflamed from within. His ass is raised slightly from the bed in an enticing invitation, but I press him back to the bed with on hand.

*Not yet, mon lion." I murmur, massaging his back, counting his bones. Lestat makes a sound, something between pleading frustration and grateful submission.

"I have you, Lestat. " I murmur, and I lower my mouth lap at the gleaming bloodsweat at the base of his spine.

My turn to shudder. He tastes so exquisite, and my tongue is greedy…my body shivering as his blood, minute amount that it is, is received. A pleasured moan escapes me, enhanced by the metered purring I hear issuing from him. When I have finished this little feast, I find I cannot take my mouth from his skin. I am stroking the sides of his gleaming torso with avid hands, brushing his ribs and the corded tendons beneath his upstretched arms. My tongue travels his spine, and my body is slowly moved forward, until I am covering him, my eager mouth at the back of his neck. I lower myself onto him sucking at the strands of his hair.

My cock rests, rigid between the cheeks of his ass and he presses back against me with a low growl. The pressure causes me to gasp, and I’m thinking that there is nothing more that I want at this moment than to be once again enclosed within his slick flesh, the torrid heat of his body consuming me, annihilation without destruction.

He is alternately grinding his hips into the mattress, and then pushing back against my cock, little groans of frustrated need escaping him. Sweet frustration...I can tell. He’s excited, aroused by the building tension, waiting for me to take him. I have made a shallow, bleeding wound at the back of his neck, a place to suckle as I tease him further. I have re-opened this place over and over, my own moans mingling with his as I taste him. When I lift my head from him I can see his hands clenching and unclenching, twisted in the sheets, the muscles in his arms flexing and bunching under his smooth skin.

I get up from him, kneeling, and I pull his hips up to my groin. I reach one hand between his thighs and slicing him open at the crease of leg and crotch with my fingernail. The tide of

blood splashes over my hand and I push my cock between his legs to be anointed, rubbing against his tight balls.

"Louis."

Strangled gasp from my darling. His neck is twisted at what looks to be a painfully uncomfortable angle as he looks up and back at me, his eyes wild and feral. My hands are on his ass, fingers traveling the divide. I push my thumb up into him, feeling his muscles grasping as I move it inside that aching space.

I remove my thumb and I move so the tip of my cock is against the small, spasming opening to his body. He remains still, waiting, tensed, and gloriously golden for my first thrust.

"Don’t move, darling." I whisper, as I push the head into him, watching as I am taken inside. I stop, and listen to him pant. I can see between our now joined bodies, the blood that streaks his inner thighs. My hands are on his hips, fingers curled around the sharp pelvic bones, and I pull him onto me.

I can hear a sound, loud and guttural, and at first I think it is Lestat, crying out as sink into him. I raise my eyes from the place of our joining and look to his face and I see then that his eyes are wide and round as he looks back at me. It’s then that I realize that my mouth is stretched wide, and the ragged snarl is coming from me. With a sudden, vicious movement, Lestat slams himself back to me, and I feel him tear inside.

At his movement I lose any semblance of control that I may have had, my body responding to his crying need for me, brutally thrusting into him, spurred by his pleading, muttered obscenities and the intoxicating, scarlet scent of his blood. He’s tight, so tight around me, his gift to me, to take him thus and be consumed by the fit of his body around me, something of him that is mine alone. It is the trust that lies behind the gift, *that* is the real gift he has given me.

This passes through my mind in a fragmented way.

I have my hand on his cock, stroking him roughly. I know he’s close, I can feel his inner muscles tightening painfully around me as he tries to hold me deep within. I slow my hips, pushing up against that place that gives him such pleasure, revolving my hips slowly as I continue stroking his cock.

Lestat stiffens suddenly and the room is scented...filled.... with the crimson richness of his blood, released in his inarticulate climax. The sound he makes hurts my ears, and he collapses down beneath me, the sheets dark with his blood, pinned to the mattress as I come inside him.

When I next open my eyes, I am no longer within him, but held close to him. Lestat is fastened to my throat nursing from me in a sensual, wholly satiated fashion, indulging himself as he so loves to do. I am unsure how we have come to be in this position, although it doesn’t matter. He’s letting his lazy, post-coital languor envelop me, letting me feel his delight at the taste of my blood in his mouth, and the tingle of it coursing through his veins. Giving me, with no small amount of amusement, his reluctance at releasing me. I can hear him in my mind, his thought-voice rich and caressing as he murmurs to me that he does, indeed want more, always more.

"Mine. " His thought, and I can feel the insouciant, amused grin that accompanies the emotion.

"No. Mine." I answer, and I am rewarded by his chuckle at my throat.

He releases me then and kisses me, his mouth still red with my blood.

To gaze into his eyes, always, shifting blue or grey or darkened violet with passion, the iridescence that holds me enchanted. His body, responsive, and sleek, all sinuous, golden motion, mine to hold, and mine to revel in. His blood, that courses also through me, a red tide of nectar, the life that holds us bound together, his essence, euphoric. Hands that stroke me, and touch me in more ways than just the physical, hands so beautiful as to blur my eyes with sudden tears at their graceful movement, or the sculpted fineness of them at rest. His angel’s mouth, as I say so often...his angel’s mouth, burning me with kisses and teeth that tear from me all the passion that belongs to only Lestat, the desire that I have for him unquenchable, and timeless. Words that have given me pain that I thought might one day kill me, and words that have soothed me. His words, that have sometimes hidden that which lies in his great heart, Lestat’s heart that I know is filled with love for me. Has he not shown me this when we are joined in passion, fangs driven into willing flesh, and the blood passing through us both in a shining flood of ecstasy? And the soul that he possesses, and which possesses me, innocent in spite of all that he has done, and all that has been done to him, the child that is Lestat, and the being that he has become. His soul, given over to me in trust, and that hard won from him, for he had held that trust in fearful abeyance for so very long. I love him so.

He looks into my eyes, and smiling, speaks to me.

"Louis, my love...tell me what you’re thinking, for your eyes shine so."

I smile in return, for I know that he is contentedly aware of what is passing in my thoughts.

"Enough talk, Lestat. " I murmur to him. I lay my head on his chest and listen to the beating of his heart, and I think to myself, that I have in him something rare and precious, and he lets me ease into sleep, humming an old French melody, the tune long familiar.

Euphoric.

Fin