25 decembre, 2002

I'd gotten the phone call around eleven.

"Brian! Joyeux Noel, Mon Cher."

"Thank you...Merry Christmas, Lestat."

"Come over. It's time to watch 'A Christmas Carol'."

Which is how I came to be sitting on the far end of the long, comfortable couch watching Lestat and Louis instead of the movie. I've seen all the variations of 'A Christmas Carol' already anyway...and at the moment Scrooge was mumbling to himself about the vision of Jacob Marley-as-doorknocker being a digestion problem.

I had better things to look at. It's arguable, I suppose, how much perfection a mortal can take. I have no gauge but myself, and I *am* still here. They were already snuggled together beneath a blue chenille throw when I joined them.

"Merry Christmas, Brian." Lestat acknowledged me when I came in.

Louis said nothing, and this engaged my attention immediately. Louis was, as he usually is, intent upon Lestat. Experience has taught me that when they are covered with a blanket, they are likely naked or in robes at the most and invariably one of them is caressing, cupping, massaging, or otherwise handling the other.

This was the case as I watched. Lestat lay back against Louis, eyes closed, purring loudly. There was subtle movement beneath the blanket, and Louis' face was possibly more suffused with pleasure than Lestat's.

Come in and watch a *movie*? Oh, right.

The spell was broken when I heard Louis' murmured endearment.

"Les boules de buerre, Mon Lion,"

It was said in all tenderness, and with all the worshipful love I associated with their relationship, but I am a child of mass consumerism. I erupted into giggles.

"Butter Balls?" I said.

Two pairs of eyes on me suddenly, quizzical. My laughter gained momentum.

"Sorry." I wheezed. "It's..."

I fell into a fresh paroxysm, and this caused Lestat to sit up, an echoing smile tugging at his lips.

"Why are you laughing?" He asked me.

"I remember butter." Louis said, somewhat defensively. "Silky and slippery."

"Turkey!" I honked, mired now in laughter.

They both stared, mystified. All vampiric superiority had fled, for I don't suppose mind reading is an option when the subject appears to have no reason left.

"Such as you grill outside occasionally?" Louis said icily. "Mauvais odeurs..."

The idea of plonking a sixteen-pound frozen turkey on the middle of the gas grill pushed me further into breathless mirth.

"Louis often calls me thus." Lestat said, uncertainly.

"Brand name." I managed to squeak. The light of sudden understanding passed over Lestat, and he lay back again, muttering about the modern age. It was clear he did not find it half so amusing as I did.

Louis looked at me defiantly.

"Les boules de buerre." He said, his voice firm. "Silky. I hold them in my mouth and I remember the texture of butter. He melts to me."

Beneath the covering, the movement of Louis' hand...and Lestat's thighs spreading apart for access.

"Melting." Lestat affirmed with a sigh.

"In my mouth." Louis murmured throatily.

Louis had already forgotten the little interruption. His focus was all on Lestat.

"Les boules de buerre..."

They kissed and the madness that gripped me fled, replaced by the familiar feeling of mouth-watering lust.

Melts in your mouth.

Jesus.

FIN