lestat who eats you out on your period. he has gained restraint over the years but on the first heavy day or two, where the menstrual wall is rich with crimson red, he gets needy. hands on your abdomen, rubbing your tummy, knowing that the cramps you get really suck. he suggests a way to relieve you of your pain, "ma cherié, you want me to lap it up for you? make it pleasurable, yes?". next thing you know a towel is on the bed and he's got his nose buried in your crotch, sniffing your scent. it makes him moan. he makes sure that your clit is stimulated by his tongue when he starts to flit between your labia, collecting all of the blood that weeps out consistently at the stimulation. his tongue goes down to your entrance, tongue flicking and laving over the outside before the hot, wet, pink muscle penetrates. spasming around him, you can feel him wriggling inside of you, in and out, and in and out. he lets out unsteady breaths as he mouths over you. "tries bién, lovely" he speaks into your mind, mouth full obviously. you nod and sigh out, a hand coming to rest on top of his head. his fingers join him before you can notice a single finger is lightly pushing in, the slick of your period helping with the slide of lestat's index finger, your walls loosening around him, especially this time of the month. when you orgasm a fresh stream of blood is lapped up quickly, and he's moaning just as much as you. it's like drugs to him. "Taste so good, mon amour" he groans, moving up to slot your lips together in a hungry kiss. you taste yourself on him, gasping; crimson, metallic, grounding. hot.
Kinktober 2025 Prompts: lap dances, edging, lingerie.
CW: MINORS DNI, afab reader, 1910-1920 series era, vampire reader, dancer reader, mentions of vampirism (hunting/feeding), use of vampire telepathy, Lestat being persistent, mentions of sex work, lap dancing, burlesque dancing, dry humping, teasing, edging.
Words: 3094
Lestat was usually not one to follow the crowd. To listen to local gossip and fall for the temptation. But this was something he simply couldn't resist. He was a man of art and culture after all.
You were the talk of the town. Your talents as a dancer seemed to be on the lips of everyone around him. At first, he brushed the rumours off as just that. Rumours. But the more he heard them, the more curious he became.
He had heard talk of talented performers in his long life. Most never lived up to the expectations. But there was something about the way people spoke about you, peaked his curiosity tenfold. It was like your audience was entranced. Unable to say anything about other than your immense talent.
So naturally, he had to learn more. He asked around, listened in to the conversations of patrons in every bar he frequented. Somehow, they all seemed to know you. Lauding your talents, your beauty. The more he heard, the more Lestat found himself desperate to see you in the flesh.
Though trying to learn where you would dance next, that seemed to be a challenge of its own. There was no rhyme or reason to where you would choose. Be it a small bar, tucked away from the busy streets or a loud and lively club in prime New Orleans.
Yet somehow, everybody knew you. You were a mystery Lestat was determined to unravel.
The attentive eyes of your audience were just what you enjoyed. Knowing that everyone in the room was hypnotised by the sensual movements of your body.
You had a, as of now, well kept secret. Your talent had been honed over almost two centuries.
Before you had begun to live your immortal life, you had been a ballet dancer. Living a glamourous life travelling with your company. It had been a poor decision to walk home, alone, down a darkened street that had brought the dark gift to your veins.
But you had used it to your advantage. Bringing enraptured audiences in time after time.
New Orleans had been a treat. The audiences lapped up everything you gave them, sometimes throwing more money than was necessary just to spend those private moments with you.
For a long time, you kept a firm line between your work and your personal life. But the thirst would often battle you on that. So when a particularly enthusiastic patron would ask for more than private dance, sometimes you would allow yourself to indulge.
You had yet to meet another vampire, in the year you had been in New Orleans, however. You had made a firm name for yourself and you knew it wouldn't be long until you were noticed by those immortal eyes.
Little did you know, those are were piercing blue and closer than you thought.
Lestat spent almost a week trying to discern something about you. Even something as simple as what you looked like. Yet when he asked his fellow bar patrons, they only seemed able to say one thing.
You were the most beautiful woman they had ever seen.
That seemed to be the one constant. It didn't matter who he asked, they all agreed. It peaked a spark of curiosity in him. Yet he seemed to miss you at every turn. He would hear word that you were to dance at a club, then when he would arrive, his information would turn out to be wrong.
The mystery of you only made him more determined. Finding people he could trust in each establishment, prepared to call for him the moment you appeared. And night after night, he waited. Stubbornness was one of his many traits.
Yet, after two nights of not a single whisper of your presence, it seemed like luck was on his side. Apparently, you were preparing to take the stage at the Fair Play Saloon. Thankfully somewhere Lestat frequented maybe more often than his own home.
So, without a moment's hesitation, he was at the club's doors. The adrenaline almost burned through his skin as he entered.
You could hear the music outside the dressing room door, the low chatter of the patrons and the clinking of glasses. All the sounds you had come to adore.
Yet…there was something else. Someone else. And most certainly not a human. Apparently, those immortal eyes had found you. Yet their presence didn't feel as you expected. You could almost taste the curiosity.
You finished touching up your makeup, grabbing your large feathered fan before heading out of the door. The stage wasn't too far away, your dressing room having been crafted out of a nearby storage room to make the performance run far smoother.
The closer you came to the stage, the stronger that curious mind felt. It had been so long since you had been near one of your own kind.
"Showtime," you whispered to yourself, as the host helped you up on to the stage.
The lights dropped and it felt like every single eye in the room turned to you, exactly as you liked it. But one set of eyes stood out among the crowd. Piercing blue and boring into your very soul.
But as the music began, you forgot all about them.
Lestat could hardly tear his eyes away. The pearls on your costume glinting under the lights. As he glanced around the room, he saw it. The crowd was entirely entranced. Watching every sway and dip of your body, like you were the charmer and they were the snake.
But he couldn't deny it, the rumours were undoubtedly true. You were beyond beautiful. The kind of beauty that came with the dark gift. A beauty that had even his undead heart racing.
He could feel your mind. Lestat let the telepathic tendrils wander, his words slipping into your mind like trickling water.
"Aren't you a treat, ma cherie…"
He saw the quick tense of your shoulders, before you righted yourself, a small smirk appearing on your glossy lips. Yet you gave him no response. You barely even looked in his direction. Continuing your dance as if he didn't exist. Something Lestat was not used to.
The music changed, slower and more sensual now. The whole audience seemed to lean in, ready and waiting for your next move.
Your fan covered your body, teasing the crowd with the faintest hint of more and more bare skin. The sways of your body matching the tempo of the song. The lights lower and warmer. Lestat found himself leaning in just as everyone else did, hoping for even just an ounce of your attention.
How had you entangled him so quickly?
And when you still didn't answer him, he tried again.
"You truly have all of these cretins wrapped around your finger, don't you?"
You let out a small giggle at that, the disgust in his voice was more amusing than anything else. You couldn't help but answer this time.
"You included, it seems?"
A muscle twitched in Lestat's jaw at that. But he wasn't going to give in so easily.
"Is that what you want? To have everyone in the room hypnotised?" His voice was like silk as it entered your mind, somehow just as you expected it to be.
The song changed again, and you began to descend from the stage. Winding your way through the crowd. Your costume had changed too. The pearls hanging only from your neck now, the white gone and replaced with a deep, blood red lingerie.
You took your time. Lestat was sat towards the back and you seemed to be taking the path designed purposely to make him wait. Occasionally stopping to dance closer to a smiling patron.
And then you finally reached him. Wandering around the back of his chair to the beat of the music. Despite himself, Lestat found his body turning to try and look at you. Whatever power you had over the room had most surely taken over him.
But when you leaned in, arms slung over his shoulders and hands planted on his chest, he knew he was done for.
"Is that not what we do?" you whispered, your lips lingering close to his ear, "Bring our prey to a haze of obliviousness before we sink our teeth in?"
Lestat allowed himself to chuckle, his hand moving to grip your wrist. The room seemed to slow, nothing existing except you and him.
"Do you think of me as prey too, because I assure you I am not," Lestat snapped back, though there was no venom in his tone.
You huffed out a laugh at his answer. Leaning in impossibly close until your lips brushed against the skin behind his ear.
"Maybe we should test that, away from such prying eyes."
And then you were gone. The room almost whirring back to life as you continued dancing through the crowd. Lestat found himself staring after you, before flagging down the host. He pressed a small stack of bills into his palm.
The host seemed to know exactly what Lestat was asking for without a single word passing between them. It wouldn't be the first time a gentleman had paid for your personal attention.
"After the show is finished, sir, there is a lounge upstair the lady enjoys using," the host said simply, before disappearing with the money.
Now all Lestat had to do, was wait.
Though it had only been an hour, it felt like eternity. The moment the show had finished, the host sent someone over to Lestat to escort him upstairs. Even as he left, he could sense you. You were behind the stage, though he could feel the clamour of other voices around you. Other admirers, it seemed.
But he wasn't concerned. You had all but assured him your time would be his, before he had parted with any amount of money.
The host showed him to the lounge. It was likely one of the most luxurious rooms in the whole club, perfect for a woman like you. The deep red of the furnishings almost matching the colour of your lingerie.
Lestat took a seat on the plush couch, the host handing him a glass of wine before taking his leave. Assuring him you would be there in just a moment. He lit a cigarette and waited.
And sure enough, only a few moments later, you came through the door. A matching red robe now wrapped around your body. The way you stalked towards him was almost as though you were still dancing.
"Dare I ask how much you gave the host for this?" you teased, wandering over to grab yourself a glass of wine.
There weren't many moments you considered giving more than just a private dance. The way Lestat looked at you, like he was torn between tearing off your clothes or devouring you. You realised you would be more than willing for both.
You moved to stand in front of him. While you were completely in command of the stage, something told you that your admirer wouldn't be as easy to control.
"Enough for an entire evening," Lestat smirked, sipping from his wine.
It was then that you realised you didn't know his name. If you were spend your evening with him, knowing his name was likely the best place to start.
You leaned forward, plucking the cigarette from his mouth before he could take another drag. Lestat smiled, immediately offering his own name as you gave yours in return. Now the pleasantries had been exchanged, you turned, wandering towards the record player in the corner.
The slower number you had danced to on stage began to play. You let your body move, not as practiced as your dance downstairs, it was almost instinctual now. Lestat held a hand out to you. He didn't want you to stand and perform for him, he wanted to feel every movement of your body.
You took his hand gladly, settling into his lap. You slipped the cigarette back between his lips as you began to grind in his lap. One of his hands settled on your hip, not controlling your movements, but simply wanting to touch more of you.
He docked out his cigarette, the other hand joining in its hold on your body. Your body lifted and turned, the sway of your hips never ceasing as you now faced him. Lestat let his hands wander. Massaging over the flesh of your backside, squeezing the flesh and feeling the silk of your lingerie against his palms.
Your fingers tugged at the buttons of his waistcoat, letting it fall open as you moved to pull at the buttons of his shirt too. As his chest was bared, you leaned down. Kissing a winding path from the centre of his chest and up to his throat. Letting your teeth graze the column of his neck, before moving up to his jaw.
You kept control of your rhythm. The slow roll of your hips almost torturous. Yet Lestat had a feeling this is what you enjoyed. Having a lover at your mercy.
"Tu es une déesse…" Lestat groaned, holding tight to your hips and beginning to roll your hips against his hardening length.
One of your hands tangled in his hair, pulling his lip to yours for a hungry kiss. It was a battle of tongues and teeth. Your nails scraping against his scalp as he pulled your body harder down into his lap. You could feel him beneath you, hard and pulsing, desperate for release.
Your free hand gripped the back of the couch, steadying yourself as you continued to roll your body painfully slow. Grinding down until his head fell back against the couch. Soft grunts leaving him as desire flowed through his veins.
"Alors adore-moi…" you whispered against his lips, trailing them back down towards his throat.
He tried to grip your hips, tried to make you move faster. But you held firm. A hand on his chest keep him leaned back against the couch. Your hips not speeding up for a second. He could feel the dampness between your thighs, already soaking through your underwear to his trousers.
It made him feel like his body was on fire. His cock twitching in anticipation. But just as he felt the beginnings of his release biting at his spine, you stopped.
"Did you think it would be so easy? That I would let you find your pleasure so soon?"
You were more than a tease. It was like you had been sent purely to tempt and torture him. And he was loving every moment. Lestat growled, trying to roll his hips to meet yours. Your hand smacked against his chest, earning you another impatient growl.
"This is no game…" he hissed, but he wanted you to continue.
It had been so long since he had given up control to another. To have his pleasure rest in the palm of your hands. It was intoxicating.
"But you are enjoying playing, aren't you?"
Lestat pulled your mouth to his. Biting at your lower lip as he kissed you. That was answer enough. Your hips began to move again, a little faster this time. Enough to have him gripping your hips with almost bruising force.
This was going to be a long and enjoyable game. Vampire stamina was something else.
Had it been hours, minutes…neither of you knew. But it didn't matter. The pleasure in the room was electric. Like lightning breaking the sky in a storm. Four times you had stopped, four times Lestat had been on the brink of release only to be denied. It was a beautiful torture.
His hands roamed your body, caressing every inch like you were the most precious treasure. Your pace was slower now, though you could feel him pulsing beneath you. One more, that was all you thought you could hold out for. And you imagined Lestat wasn't much different.
"Again? I think we can manage one more, hmm?" you asked, as Lestat's lips peppered kisses over your neck and collarbone.
His hands moved down to grip the flesh of your backside, a silent urge to move again. But this time, there was a desperation to it. Lestat held you tight, moving his hips in time with yours, chasing his release as you chased yours.
Your desire was like fire in your veins. Your core hot and pulsing at just the idea of your release. Lestat let his head tilt back, exposing his throat to your hungry mouth.
His hands palmed at your silk covered breasts, just as your teeth scraped against his skin with enough to make small droplets of blood trickle down. The only sound that filled the room was the sound of your gasps and moans. Lestat's nails digging into the flesh of your rear as his other moved to tangle into your hair.
It was almost primal. Chasing your pleasure like your very lives depended on it. You were he first to fall. Sighing out his name as your hips rolled against him. Four times seemed to have lit a fire in both of you that could not go unsated.
Lestat's hands moved back to your waist, slamming his hips up into yours until he growled out your name. You felt the hot, sticky mess that spilled from him even through his trousers, mingling with the slick gush of your own release.
The room felt hot, heavy. The smell of smoke and sex thick in the air. Your movements began to slow. Breaths neither of you needed to take panting in the silence of the room.
It had been so long since you had given pleasure away to someone you hardly knew. Yet at the same time, you felt like you knew him.
Maybe it was the kinship that came with immortality?
Lestat was the first to move, holding you with an arm around your waist as he reached for two cigarettes. Slipping one between your lips and then his own. Lighting both with swift clicks of his lighter. You both smoked silently, the curls of smoke intertwining between you, much like your bodies had been only moments ago.
You shifted to sit beside him, throwing your legs over his lap, smirking at the damp stain on his suit trousers. Lestat's hand rested on your thigh. Something told you that this wouldn't be the last time you would see him…tonight or otherwise.
warnings! smut fingering public sex unprotected sex (don’t be silly wrap that Willy) they almost get caught uh basic sex warnings idk im still new to this stuff lolsies ignore any typos and stuff lol sorry if it’s cringe yall
The heavy velvet curtains of the private opera box muffled the soaring soprano on stage.Inside the shadows the atmosphere was thick with much more wicked tension. Lestat sat beside you,with his ice cold fingers tracing slow agonizing circles on your bare knee.Beneath the folds of your silk gown. His icy blue eyes gleamed with a predatory hunger that had nothing to do with blood and everything to do with the breathless gasp you had been holding since the first act.
“You are radiant tonight my love far more captivating than anything on that stage” he whispered,his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear.His hand slid higher up your thigh,bunched up silk yielding easily to his relentless,intoxicating touch.You trembled actually aware of the hundreds of Parisian aristocrats sitting just beyond the thin partition of your box.
With a low amused chuckle,Lestat shifted, pulling you onto his lap so that you straddled his clad thighs. The stark contrast of his cold hands against your flushed skin made you shiver.With your fingers knotting into the lapels of his velvet evening jacket.He looked up to you with a devastating fanged smile.Completely unbothered by the sheer audacity of what he was about to do.
Before you could voice a single protest,his found your center already slick,and aching for him. A sharp needy moan escaped your lips,Instantly swallowed by the booming crescendo of the orchestra below. Lestat groaned against your neck,his thumb applying a firm rhythmic pressure that had your hips titling instinctively into his palm.
Suddenly the heavy brass latch of the box door rattled violently, the sound cutting through your pleasure like a knife. You froze, your heart hammering against your ribs as footsteps paused just outside in the dimly lit corridor. Lestat merely smiled, his eyes darkening with thrill as he held you tightly against his chest, refusing to let you pull away.
"Regardez, I told you the latch was sticky on this side," a disgruntled usher muttered to a patron right outside the door. You buried your face in Lestat’s shoulder to muffle a whimper, your body shaking as the handle turned halfway before the voices finally drifted down the hall. Lestat let out a soft, melodic laugh, entirely aroused by the brush with exposure.
"See? We are perfectly safe, ma chérie," he murmured, his voice a velvety purr that vibrated against your collarbone. Without further delay, he unfastened his trousers, his thick, rigid length pressing demandingly against your aching warmth. You lifted your hips, guiding him to your entrance, crying out softly as he buried himself inside you with one smooth, deep thrust.
The sheer fullness of him stole your breath away.Stretching you completely as he held you pinned to his hips.He remained still for a heartbeat,letting you adjust to his massive size while his fangs gently grazed against your pulse point. Then, with a wicked gleam in his eyes, he began to move, lifting you up and dropping you back down onto him.
The friction was agonizingly perfect, a primal rhythm that threatened to shatter your resolve to stay quiet. Every time you tried to hold back your voice, Lestat would drive deeper, intentionally forcing sweet, breathless whimpers from your lips. The music downstairs swelled, providing a dramatic soundtrack to the shameless, desperate rhythm of your bodies joining in the dark.
Just as you were losing yourself to the mounting waves of pleasure, a shadow fell across the frosted glass pane of the box door. Shadows of two aristocratic women stopped directly outside, their fan-fluttering gossip loud enough to pierce through the operatic aria. You gasped, clamping your muscles tightly around Lestat’s length in sheer panic, which only made him groan in exquisite agony.
"I hear the Countess is wearing imported diamonds tonight," one woman chirped, her shadow leaning precariously close to the doorframe. Lestat froze mid-thrust, his hands gripping your hips so hard they would leave bruises, his jaw clenched as he fought to keep from driving into you again. You held your breath, a single tear of pure, frustrated stimulation slipping down your cheek until the women finally ambled away.
The moment the shadows cleared, Lestat let out a ragged breath and resumed his assault with an unleashed, feral intensity. He rocked his hips upward fiercely, meeting every downward sink of your body with punishing, deep strokes that had your head rolling back. The risk of being caught seemed to have stripped away his usual aristocratic restraint, leaving only a desperate vampire intent on consuming you.
You were entirely at his mercy, tossed on the waves of an orgasm that was rapidly building at the base of your spine. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your toes curling inside your silk shoes as the friction reached a fever pitch. Lestat’s breathing was just as ruined as yours, his chest heaving as he pulled you flush against him, drinking in your erratic heartbeats. With the slight fear of getting caught
The opera was nearing its grand finale ,so were you as well.The brass section blaring and the chorus rising in a unified, thunderous roar. Sensing the end was near, Lestat picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming faster, shallower, and incredibly intense. You could feel the explosive climax hovering just out of reach, your body wound as tight as a coiled spring.
Right at that pinnacle moment, the door to the box actually clicked open, swinging inward a few inches to reveal the bright light of the corridor. A young nobleman stood there, blinking into the darkness of the box as he looked for his misplaced opera glasses. Your eyes went wide in absolute horror, your entire body locking up as you stared directly at the intruder through the crack.
With supernatural speed, Lestat threw his heavy, velvet cloak over both of your bodies, completely shielding your tangled, naked forms from view. "This box is occupied, monsieur," Lestat snapped, his voice dripping with such icy, lethal authority that the young man visibly paled. The nobleman stammered a hasty apology, slamming the door shut and retreating down the hall in a mad rush.
The sheer adrenaline of the near-miss snapped the last cords of your control, sending you cascading over the edge into a violent, shattering orgasm. You clamped down around him in tight, rhythmic waves, your face buried in his cloak as you shook with the force of your release. Lestat let out a low, guttural roar, his own control breaking as he delivered three final, devastating thrusts.
He filled you completely, his hot release pooling inside you as he pulsed deep within your body, his fangs sinking just deep enough into your neck to mark you without drawing heavy blood. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure, pain, and the residual thrill of danger. You both clung to each other in the dark, chests heaving, as the audience downstairs erupted into a deafening round of applause.
Slowly, Lestat withdrew from you, his fingers gently wiping away the sweat clung to your forehead as he helped you adjust your ruined clothing. He smoothed down the silk of your gown and fastened his own attire, his composure returning with a terrifyingly beautiful ease. By the time the house lights began to flicker back on, he looked every bit the perfect, untouched gentleman.
"A magnificent performance, wouldn't you agree?" Lestat purred, offering you a pristine linen handkerchief to clean yourself. You could only nod weakly, your legs still trembling as he pressed a tender, lingering kiss to your knuckles. Stepping out into the crowded corridor, no one could have guessed the scandalous sins you had just committed in the dark.
okay that’s it yall I’m still new to this so my ass writes on the notes app then copies and pastes but who else should I write for I like Yellowjackets iwtv the pitt twin peaks lost dc and uhh yeah but hope u enjoy!!!
Pairing: rockstar!lestat de lioncourt x female!oc x louis de pointe du lac
Warnings: vaginismus, blood drinking, dry humping
Word count: 4575
a/n: Hello everyone, late as usual! Something more starts to happen in this chapter, but I want tease anything here -- see you at the end!
As always, if you feel like leaving a comment or discuss the story my ask box is open!
Disclaimer: english is not my first language
"I like your touch."
"I'm glad you do," you replied matching his soft tone. You were treating Lestat the way you'd have wanted someone to treat you in a similar situation. "I'm sorry that you're not used to a soft touch anymore."
Chapter VII - Masterlist - AO3
Falling into a deep sleep was a rare occurrence for you, but the times when it happened it always took you a while to fully wake up afterwards. Your body felt heavy and your mind a mush, you were completely disconnected from reality and all you could do was stay there in your bed and wait until you could feel human again.
You were lying on your side, eyes still closed as the complete silence of the room engulfed you like a warm embrace. You rearranged yourself a bit, moving your body into a fetal position, pulling the arm resting across your waist higher and hugging it to your chest.
Wait.
Wait.
That didn't make sense.
You tried to breach through your mind fog and activate your brain enough to understand the situation.
Someone was in your bed, and they were holding you from behind. You were sure as hell no one had been there when you went to bed, and you remember distinctly enough that you had locked the door when Louis and Lestat left. Still, a body was lying behind you.
When the realization fully registered in your mind, your body reaction followed immediately in response. You stiffened at first, before throwing yourself towards the bedside lamp, putting some distance between you and the intruder in your bed.
As soon as the warm light pulled the room from its darkness, your eyes darted to the sleeping figure next to you.
Louis.
You were not expecting him, a part of you thought that only Lestat could invade your space without asking your permission first. Though, between the two, it was Louis the one who could manage to sleep outside a coffin as far as you knew.
"You're awake," Louis mumbled, still keeping his eyes closed.
You didn't reply. You just sat there staring at him, shooting curses from your mind hoping he would hear them. Louis slowly opened his eyes, his head turning slightly in your direction.
"What the actual fuck, Louis?"
"I didn't mean to startle you."
"And yet, here you are doing just that."
Besides the initial fright, you weren't actually scared. Or even bothered, for that matter, which was the most surprising part. You weren’t used to share your bed with someone, nor were you particularly fond of it, but seeing how much your body accepted the presence of another person lying next to you while you slept, you wondered if that was the reason behind your deep sleep.
You were a light sleeper because you were always set on alert mode, so you might have felt unconsciously safe by Louis's presence this time. A stretch, but still a possibility.
"You good?"
You nodded slightly. "What are you doing here?"
"After last night, it wasn't good for you to sleep alone."
"What about Lestat?"
Louis's lips raised in a small smile. "It was his idea, actually. He didn't want you here on your own."
You rolled your eyes on instinct to cover the light sense of embarrassment you were feeling. It was a weird sensation, knowing a person was doing something for you, because they cared.
"I'm fine. Nothing could have hurt me in my hotel room, you know?"
"You forget about your own mind."
You sighed. You were still too tired to have another discussion so soon after the previous night. "It's my problem to deal with, not yours."
Louis hummed low in his chest, a pleasant sound to your ears. "Lie back down, Olivia, there are still a couple of hours before sunset."
"Why? Do you want to cuddle?" You asked sarcastically to hide how the idea truly made you feel, yet you didn't stop your body from following the instruction.
Louis didn't reply, he just kept staring at you as you found your position again next to him. You were both on your sides, facing each other, but you made sure to keep enough space between your bodies to avoid accidental touching.
"I don't bite."
"Very funny, Louis."
He smirked at you, mirth clear in his eyes. He really enjoyed playing this game with you, though his final objective was unknown to you.
"About what you said last night, can you tell me more?"
You blinked at Louis a couple of times. You knew exactly what he was referring to, but you didn't think the subject would come up so soon in your conversations. "What do you want to know?"
"How does it feel like?"
That was a tough one. You took your time to gather your thoughts, trying to find the right words to thoroughly explain the sensation. It was nice to have someone so willing to listen, so it was the right occasion for you to open up more.
"It feels very similar to getting stabbed. It hurts and burns, like you're been torn open. Pain during penetration is called dyspareunia in medical terms, and it's always connected to disorders like mine." You frowned a bit, looking away from Louis as the memories came rushing back to your mind. You always detached yourself from the experience as much as you could, so it was hard for you to willingly direct your mind there for a moment. "The muscles get so tight and tense that it becomes like a wall impossible to breach without forcing the entrance. It is so strong that if you touch the area with your fingers, you can feel how hard they are all the time."
Louis had inched closer while you were speaking, his body now less than twenty centimetres from you. His right hand was on the uncovered skin of your thigh, the shorts of your pajamas reaching just below your butt.
He was caressing your skin, the access easier as your left leg was bent in the remaining space between your bodies. You didn't pull away from the touch, you could not deny how good it felt so you simply kept quiet about it to make it last longer.
"Can I?"
You widened your eyes at his question, raising your upper body on your elbow to look at him better.
"Louis de Pointe du Lac, that's a very inappropriate thing to request."
He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"What do you mean why? The muscles I'm referring to are very close to my vagina, are you aware of that?"
"Yes."
You huffed slumping your body back down on the bed, head turned towards the ceiling. You were pissed with yourself because there was a strong part of yourself that wanted to indulge him, you wanted to stay in this moment of connection even if it was a one time thing. You could always pretend it never happened afterwards.
"Give me your hand. I must be the one in control for this, we do it on my own terms. Okay?"
Louis stayed silent, he simply raised his hand in your direction with the same smirk as before on his face. You considered that as an affirmative answer. You took a deep breath as you shifted you body closer to his and lifted your left leg from the bed, letting it rest on his waist to make the next movement easier for you.
You held Louis's right hand in yours as you moved it to the inside of your thigh and then right behind it. The position was still a bit awkward considering you were directing him with your right hand, and your shoulder and upper arm were resting on the bed limiting your mobility. You took his index and middle finger and let them slide closer to you pelvic area, right where the band of your underwear started, both of you mindful of his sharp nails.
"If you apply a bit of pressure in this spot, you'll feel the tension."
Louis did exactly as you said, making you jump in surprise at the feeling. "Did I hurt you?"
"No. It's just different than my own touch, it always is." You released his hand, shifting your body back as you moved back to your initial position. "I hope I have satisfied your curiosity of the day."
His hand was back on your thigh, the light touch having a calming effect on you.
"You did."
"I still don't understand why you care, though. It's not like your life is affected by this condition, especially since you don't sleep with women." You finally decided to sit up, wanting to face Louis more clearly while you spoke.
Louis followed your action, shifting back to rest his back against the headboard. He didn't reply immediately, letting the seconds tick by. "Maybe I want to know more about you."
"We met three days ago, Louis."
"When you've lived as long as I have, it doesn't take long to see if a person is worthy of your time, or not."
You tilted your head to the side in curiosity. "So, I'm worthy in your eyes. Is that what you mean?"
Louis nodded. "It makes my departure after tonight's concert a little easier, because I know that I'm leaving Lestat in good hands."
"You're leaving?"
"There are a few business deals that require my presence, I'll be traveling for a few weeks."
The news made you sad unexpectedly. You liked having Louis around since you were getting lonely on tour with very few people you had the chance to interact with during work — even though he seemed to enjoy teasing you a little too much.
"I already have your number, so I can keep you updated on Lestat while you're away. You can text me too, if you want to."
Louis smiled at you. "How cute of you, Olivia."
"I changed my mind, I'll block your number as soon as you leave."
You both laughed at your reply, a soft and warm sensation blooming in your chest. The next time your mind was going to fall in the dark and deep well inside you, you had this little moment with Louis to use to pull yourself out.
---
The following weeks went by faster than you thought, you were all in the full flow of the tour and yet it seemed that the rhythm at the heart of it had gotten even more erratic than the beginning.
New shows, appearances on television, invitations to attend parties and socialite events, it all added up to the pre-existing schedule and it was a nightmare to fit everything in without messing up the initial plans. With the intense workload you were occupied most of the time, locked away in your room or in a makeshift office typing away like crazy to keep up with the deadlines — strict deadlines you had set yourself, of course.
The main consequence of your current situation was how little time you had to keep a watchful eye on Lestat, or to interact with him in general. You knew he wasn't enjoying the distance, based on what TC had told you after one of their shows, but he accepted that you had duties as much as he did, simply dealt in different contexts and fields.
You were now in Chicago. Finally a long stop, after moving around every night for the past ten days. You were going to stay for a couple of weeks, and you hoped you were going to have the chance to rest a couple of days at least.
That was the idea, and for one day it actually went according to plan.
Everything plummeted the second night.
You had been back to the hotel no more than an hour, it was close to midnight. You had spent the late afternoon outside visiting and just enjoying the city for a few hours — being fully nocturnal now didn't allow you many pastimes in standard hours as before this job.
You were sitting on the sofa in your room, a movie on just to have some background noise while you checked your emails. You had already taken your shower, you were wearing your pajamas, everything was going smoothly. Even the typical tension you had in your neck muscles was non-existent at present.
Then, your phone rang. Christine was calling you, which was weird because they all should be at the club having fun before the shows started the next day.
"Hi, Christine," you answered placing your phone in the crook of your neck, keeping it in place with the help of your shoulder. Your focus was still on the email you were currently working on.
"We can't find Lestat."
You stopped typing immediately. "What do you mean you can't find Lestat? Maybe he's with some groupies?"
You didn't like the idea, but in the absence of alternatives Lestat still needed to feed in some way, and not always the blood from the Farm was available considering how much you'd been traveling.
"I think that's the problem. Dr. Fareed is looking into it, but it appears one of the boys had a toxin in his blood, potentially dangerous even to a vampire."
You didn't like the sound of it, not in the slightest. "And Lestat just disappeared afterwards?"
"They said he simply ran out of the club, but he's not answering any calls or messages. Can you please try to reach him?"
"I'll look for him."
You ended the call before Christine could say anything else. You stood up from the sofa, the laptop long forgotten on the cushions, as you started pacing around the room trying to come up with a plan.
Where would he go?
Your mind was racing through different ideas, and you were seconds away from calling Daniel to ask him to reach Lestat through the Mind Gift, when you heard a heavy thud coming from the ceiling. It sounded as if someone had fallen to the ground.
The room above yours was Lestat's.
Without thinking twice about it you ran out of your room, taking the spare key with you. It had been a while since you actually had to use it. You took the stairs not bothering taking the elevator for just one floor, with how agitated you were feeling you didn't think you would have been able to stand and wait for it anyway.
You literally barged in Lestat's room the second you heard the lock click open. There was blood on the floor, trails of it taking you straight to the bathroom.
And there you found him. Body slumped on the toilet, head barely holding up as Lestat was throwing up blood.
"He's in his room. I'll take care of it." That's what you texted Christine before throwing the phone on the bathroom counter and approaching Lestat.
You stepped closer crouching down next to him. You weren't sure he was aware of your presence in his current state, so you raised your hand slowly placing it on his shoulder.
"Lestat, can you hear me? It's Olivia," you whispered, as if talking any louder would make him disappear from your sight suddenly.
Another violent retch came from his body in response, the iron smell of the blood getting stronger in the room. Lestat lifted his head turning it slowly in your direction, the effort he put to complete the action made him look even more miserable. Your heart squeezed in distress at the sight.
"Olivia…" Even his words were slurred, he sounded completely wasted.
"Do you feel like you're going to throw up again?"
"I don't think I have any more blood left in my right now."
You nodded, more to yourself than to answer him. "Alright, can you lie back against the wall there? I'll help you."
You leaned forward placing again one of your hands on his shoulder, while you let the other rest gently on the back of his head as Lestat tried to shift back against the wall as you asked.
You let him go once you were sure he was stable enough not to fall down on his own, so you could stand up to fetch some towels from the cabinets. You opened the tap and waited for the water to warm up before wetting the towels in the sink.
Once you were satisfied enough with your work, you went back on the floor next to Lestat who had been following your movements since you left him against the wall.
"What are you doing?" He asked, voice a little less slurred but it still sounded exhausted.
You blinked a couple of times as you looked him in the eyes, the answer so obvious to you. "I'm taking care of you. Now help me remove your shirt so I can clean you up, you have blood everywhere."
Lestat didn't say anything further, but you managed to see the surprise in his gaze before he let a softer look take over his face. He assisted you as you pulled his shirt down his arms trying not to jostle him too much with the movement — the last thing the both of you needed was another retching fit.
As soon as the shirt was fully off, you picked up one of the wet towels and started cleaning him up. The moment you made contact with his skin, Lestat let out a soft sigh. "They're warm."
"Well, yes. Cold water would only help in making you feel worse."
Your touch was delicate as if you were cleaning his wounds instead of just his skin, and by the way he was reacting to the treatment and the look in his eyes you could tell it was the same for him. Maybe you were doing just that, healing something invisible but still hurting beneath his skin.
When you were done with his torso, you took another clean towel for his face. You looked at him in his eyes as you started from his cheeks, the corners of his lips pulling up in a warm smile.
"I like your touch."
"I'm glad you do," you replied matching his soft tone, but never stopping in your task. You were treating Lestat the way you'd have wanted someone to treat you in a similar situation. "I'm sorry that you're not used to a soft touch anymore."
"How do you know?"
"You looked so surprised when I said I was going to take care of you. I wish you knew you deserve to have someone that simply holds you, without asking for something in return. I know that your relationship with Louis is going in that direction, and I'm so happy it's happening."
Lestat sat there in silence for a few minutes more, while you finished washing away the blood from his skin. He looked much better now, though his face looked so pale it was clear he needed fresh and clean blood immediately.
"Can you stand up?" You asked after throwing the towels back in the sink. "You would be more comfortable if you sat on the sofa."
"I think I can manage it, ma chère."
It was the first time Lestat had called you with a term of endearment. It took you by surprise but you pushed down the blush that was threatening to creep up on your cheeks, and focused on helping Lestat back on his feet.
You stayed close to him as you both walked out of the bathroom, keeping en eye on him until he was sat on the sofa as you suggested.
"You need to drink blood, Lestat. Do you think Dr. Fareed has some ready for you?"
"Not until tomorrow, that's why I indulged myself with the groupies tonight."
That was a problem actually. A big one. You were walking back and forth in front of him, once again trying to think of a solution to the new problem at hand.
"Considering what happened tonight, it would be unwise to look for other people. We have no time to do background checks, but I could always call Christine and see if she has someone available."
"You could."
You stopped right in front of Lestat, pondering on another thought that kept knocking on the edge of your mind. With each passing second that solution solidified as the most feasible and sensible one.
"Drink from me."
"No, Olivia." Lestat's eyes widened completely at your proposal. "I cannot ask you something like that."
"You're not asking, I am offering my blood."
It made perfect sense to you. You were a little nervous about the prospect ahead of you, but you weren't scared. You had no reason not to trust Lestat with you.
You could see that Lestat was trying to find ways to argue against this solution, but his need to feed was getting stronger now and he would not be able to resist the pull for much longer. You stepped closer to him once you saw the fight leave his body.
"In normal circumstances I would never use you for your blood." Lestat's voice was getting smaller, almost like he was ashamed by his needs and by his inability to fight them.
"I know. It's all good," you said trying to reassure him as much as you could in this situation. "Will it be painful?"
Lestat shook his head. "I would never hurt you, Olivia. I can make you feel good if I do it right."
"That's not necessary."
You took off your pajamas shirt, mentally thanking your past self for forgetting to remove your sport bra, and moved to sit on Lestat's lap — In a straddle again like that night after the hospital.
"Is this okay?"
Lestat nodded, his eyes shifting back and forth from yours and your neck.
"I trust you, Lestat. Do what you must, do not hold back for my sake."
That was the last push Lestat needed before getting into action. His hands raised to your hips, pulling you forward and making you sit closer to his crotch. You let him direct your body as he pleased, knowing full well that you needed to be very close to each other if he was going to feed from you.
Once Lestat was satisfied with your positioning, he moved his left hand to your head collecting your hair and holding them in a soft grip. You felt him give you a light pull and you followed his command in silence baring your neck. Your breathing was slow, no anxiety trying to suffocate you like a tight corset holding your ribcage hostage. You felt safe probably for the first time in your life at the mercy of someone else, even though you weren't supposed to feel this way with a vampire moments away from drinking your blood.
You felt Lestat's lips first, caressing softly the skin of your neck as if resisting the temptation to close in a small kiss. Then, the pointy edges of his fangs followed pricking without breaking your veins, goosebumps raising on the surface in response. And finally, after Lestat took a deep breath, with you doing the same as if your lungs were completely joint in the moment, he bit you.
You opened your mouth at the feeling, a part of you expecting even just a little amount of pain that never came. The fangs entered your skin so delicately that a shiver ran down the full length of your spine, making you arch more in Lestat's arms.
The moan Lestat let out at the first taste of your blood was filthy, it made you wonder if he sounded the same while having sex or if the two actions gave him pleasure in very different ways. The fangs left your skin a few moments later, Lestat's mouth and tongue taking their place as he began to suck.
The new sensation took you utterly by surprise, a quiet whimper leaving your lips before you could force it back down your throat, your fingers squeezing Lestat's shoulders seeking support or an anchor to stabilize you. At your body response, Lestat pulled you closer and the hold he had on your hair and waist got tighter.
And then, you felt it. Lestat's length was hard pocking your inner thigh from beneath his clothes. You tried to stay still as much as possible, not wanting to make his situation worse — or yours, because you could not deny that this moment was affecting you as well, you centre tingling and getting wetter with each suck of blood from your neck.
"It's okay, Lestat, use me," you whispered, knowing perfectly well that he would hear you.
Lestat pulled away slowly, lowering your head towards him so he could look you in the eyes. His pupils were fully dilated, but his gaze was still soft.
He didn't say anything, the hesitation clear in the sudden stillness of his body, so with a careful movement you rolled your hips to slide your core right on his length. His reaction was immediate. His eyelids fluttered, a frown forming on his forehead as his lips, still stained with your blood, parted in a low moan.
"This moment is for you, Lestat, if you need release you can use my body," you continued in the firmest voice you could manage given your own current state. "But I won't force you, if you don't want you. Never."
A second later his mouth was back on your neck sucking from your wounds again, both of his arms now fully circling your back to press you harder against his chest. Your own followed as they rested weakly behind his head and neck, while your body sagged as it welcomed its new temporary master.
Lestat's hips started rolling up into yours, his hard cock sliding between your bodies even with the restriction created by your clothes, though the texture of the fabrics were providing the right amount of friction even without the skin on skin contact. Little shocks of pleasure were warming up your core through the repeated stimulation on your clit, nut your body was too drained now to turn them into waves to your climax. You didn't mind because, as you said, this moment was for Lestat only.
Lestat stopped sucking after a few more minutes, yet his face never left the crook of your neck. He licked your little wounds closed before attacking your skin with shallow breath as his hips kept chasing his final release.
"You feel so good in my arms, ma chère, and you taste so sweet." Lestat's voice was deeper than you'd ever heard it before, pleasure wrapping around each syllable. "I want you to come with me."
You shook your head, but you weren't sure it actually move at all, your body way too heavy now. "I can't. Too tired."
Lestat held you even harder, a displeased whine reaching your ears, but he was too close to his orgasm to do anything about it. His movement were getting quicker and frenetic, and after a hard thrust against your core he was coming. Lestat moaned loudly against your neck, the vibration adding to the pleasant feeling still fluttering in your core.
You scratched his head softly with your fingers to give him comfort as he regained his breath. Your body at peace as much as his, you head resting on his shoulder and your eyes completely closed.
"You need to rest now, Olivia," Lestat said, his body at full health again after feeding. "I'll put you to bed, we'll talk when you wake."
You wanted to speak and tell him there was nothing more to discuss, but exhaustion finally got a grip of you and pulled you under before your body touched the mattress.
---
I thought for a long time if I wanted them to finish together, but I think it's something I'll keep for later. I still haven't decided how many chapters this story will be, but there is still a lot to tell so, who knows.
Dawn was your name, 'cept it wasn't— but it was to everyone who watched you work the pole. Why? Because maybe one day when the sun shines upon your skin, you'll actually deserve to be called it. For now, having a creature of the night call you by it is enough.
Lestat de Lioncourt x Stripper!Reader | 3k+ | cw: gender neutral!reader, you are called by your stripper name a few times, smoking (DONT SMOKE 🔪), mentions of trauma/abuse (from ex), angst, hurt/comfort, smut (spitting, slight degradation, biting [duh], choking, hair pulling),
A/N: ... im shooq at the fanfic ecosystem is in this fandom. yall dont do x readers here 🥲 damn. Gotta carry as always 🤧😩🤣💔 not proofread. gotta go to work first 😔. | Cross posted on ao3
The room smells like Karlie's perfume, candy-sweet and rich, as it always does. She hates smelling the alcohol or cigarettes from the patrons, and makes sure to pack it on heavily before her set each night. It's crazy how I can smell her like she's right next to me on the pole when 2 other dancers have already worked it.
I sigh as I do a twirl and drop down the spinning bar, the click of my soles snapping me out of my momentary trance. I've done this routine so many times, I'm barely thinking anymore. I look out to the crowd that hollers out: Dawn— I don't bother smiling as I reach out for the bills being thrown and waved at me.
Just as I finish stuffing my tips anywhere they'll stay in my tight, glittery outfit, a pair of slender fingers with a large banknote between them reaches for me.
I momentarily still.
The generous tipper grins, lopsided and hungry. He tilts his head to the side, his blonde hair brushing against the shoulders of his expensive suit.
Normally, my heart would pound at the look of him, but tonight, it was only the loud bass thumping in my ribcage. I take his money, immediately smelling the fresh ink on its sleek surface. I walk to the pole and decide to humor him, as I won't be entertaining him with anything else tonight.
My eyes lock with his soul biting blues as I grip the metal beam in front of me, doing my signature move on it. It's easy, though advanced. I've probably done it a thousand times. Somehow, it feels different, though not because I missed a mark or moved the wrong way, but because I was off— I'd been off the entire day.
The audience doesn't notice, none of the did. They didn't care. Why would they when she could see my ass real good from this angle?
My nostrils flare as I descend to my knees, finally finishing my routine. I immediately pick up the remaining bills on the stage and thank my patrons with a half-hearted smile.
"You look stressed, mon cheri."
I look up through my lashes, finding the same fingers holding another large banknote for me.
"I can fix that," he leans his elbows on the edge of the stage.
I take the bill from him, "I won't be doing a private show tonight."
His brow quirks along with his lips, "oh?"
I stand and look down at him.
Though his expression is subtle, he looks intrigued, challenged. He clearly thought it was pet play like most other nights we've shared. Part of me wants to tell him otherwise, to tell him I meant it, that he should take me seriously, that he ought to LISTEN to me— but I don't... because I know what will happen if I do. The thread sewing my sanity together will snap and I'll be torn from the seams.
I exit the stage and head to the back. The dressing room is filled with chatter and sweaty, half-drunk performers with body shimmer and dollar-bills sticky on their skin. I head for my locker and change without a care for decency. My cool skin is immediately warmed by my worn tracksuit which was once hot pink and now baby pink.
I stuff my performance outfit into my bag and grab a small plastic of kibble, stuffing it into my pocket along with my lighter and cigs. I head to the rear door with a red neon exit sign that emerged to the dingy alleyway that was never not damp or dark.
The flimsy metal roofing of the building beside us warbles and creaks with the strong gust of wind. I shudder, wrapping my arms around myself as I walk towards the flickering bulbs on the side of the strip club the owner constantly promises to fix.
I place the stick between my lips, pull my lighter out, and sigh. My breath condenses slightly. I cup the spark as I try to light a flame. One. Two. Three. "Fuck," I hiss as my hands uncontrollably tremor. It's not because of the cold.
My eyes begin to water as I aimlessly observe my surroundings whilst hopping place in an attempt to psych myself up and expel my extra energy. I pull the cigarette out of my lips and few deep breaths before trying again.
I cup the lighter and flick: one, two—
I start and gasp when I feel something brush against my leg. My cigarette nearly drops from my mouth, but I thankfully catch it.
An orange cat rubs against my calf, looking up at me as she meows. I put the lighter back in my pocket, exchanging it for kibble. I crouch down and pet Mimi. She purrs and leans into my touch. I feed her. She gratefully begins crunching up her brown pellets and I straighten back up, reattempting to light my damned cig.
One. Two. Three. Four.
I gulp and shake my hands before trying again.
Five. Six. Six and a half. Seven. Eight.
I shake my lighter and curse at it.
Nine. Ten. Elev-
One.
I turn to my right, finding an orange flame in front of a white man. His golden lighter slowly inches towards my needing cigarette.
I pinch my stick between my pointer and ring finger. I watch its tip begin to burn. I inhale deeply and throw my head back, sighing out the smoke.
"You left me waiting."
I turn to him, taking a swig before responding with a smoky exhale, "has it been five minutes already?"
"I am not one to be kept waiting."
I watch him bring his hands into his coat pockets. I watch his face harden in that subdued manner that always made goosebumps crawl up my arm. I take another hit before looking away, "I told you I wouldn't come."
"I can see that," he quips.
I sigh, willing my shoulders to relax. They don't seem to want to remain relaxed. I flinch at the particularly loud bang of metal as wind slams the wobbly roofing into its spot. I clutch my chest and catch my breath.
The cat meows. I look down at her. I puff out smoke before tapping my stick. I was about to give her more kibble but the poor cat pulls her head back as ashes fly to her face. She doesn't wait, she runs off. I call out for her, feeling terrible for the unintentional harm I gave.
As she disappears, a tear runs down my face. I sniffle, feeling my throat tighten uncomfortably. This was all I'm good for, aren't I?
I turn, gasping in surprise when I see the same face beside me. The sight of him does nothing for my nerves. I clutch my chest once more and screw my eyes shut.
He watches a tear roll down my cheek.
I shake my head, pulling my cigarette away from my lips, "I'm sorry, I-"
"Thought I would be gone?"
I feel a chill run up my spine as I bring my light back up my lips. My tremors do me a disservice. I miss my mouth, thus knocking my stick out my grip. I skid back, watching it fall, then reach for it like the junkie I am. That is, until a gleaming leather shoe stomps it.
I peer up with a whimper.
"Enough," he says.
"I was still—"
"And now, no more," he decisively quirks a brow.
I shudder and rise to my full height, eyes beady and wronged, jaw hard and clenched. Had he been a lesser man, maybe he'd feel intimidated, maybe perhaps pitiful. Alas, he was not a man.
"You're far too jittery to be-"
"IT WAS HELPING ME!"
He looks at my frantic face. He watches me scramble for another light.
Before I can even get another stick, the pack is no longer in my grip. I hiss and glare, eyes no longer able to hold the mist fogging them. "LESTAT!"
He raises his brows and crosses his arms. For someone who revels in the sound of his name, he does not like the way it is presently called. He resists an eye roll, "Dawn."
"Give it ba-"
"No," he shifts in his spot.
My nostrils flare and I step forward to punch him.
He lets me. He does not recoil at the assault and merely chuckles before gasping, "resorting to violence so quickly? How primitive."
I am allowed but three blows before he grabs my wrists.
"Use your words, pet," he leans towards me, "and I may yet still reward you."
I groan and try to wrangle out of his grip, futile as the attempt may be. My flesh could not be quelled by my reason. I persist anyway.
Lestat feels the feebleness of my form in his grip. He sees the misplaced passion in the frustrated movements. With a huff through the nostrils, he releases his hold and stares idly.
I recoil, exhale sharply, and scratch my eyes, "fucker."
He rumbles, ancient and bone chilling.
My stomach drops as his mere step forward.
"Careful," he mutters, "you've not only cut me off but as well cursed me now."
I gulp and flinch at his definitive warning. I know better than to push his patience any further, and yet the irrational side of me that has currently dismantled my sense of self-preservation urges me to see how badly the penance shall be for my impertinence.
He sees it. The flicker of foolishness behind my eyes. He might have been amused by it, had the defiance been a form of foreplay and not a direct road to a tenser argument.
I shiver, this time because of the breeze that cuts between us. I clutch my arms.
Lestat shifts on one leg and tilts his head, "tell me then what has gotten you so weepy."
I look away, only to have my jaw grabbed and gaze drawn back to him.
"You know I will get my answer one way or otherwise."
I huff and grip his wrist. I squeeze him but make no attempt to pry him off.
He watches my eyes fog with more tears.
"I'm sure you already know," I mumble.
He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, "that's not how the game works, cheri."
I feel my shoulders slump as I recall the memory that has made me this way.
He can hear it, but pays it no mind.
"Please. I don't..."
My tear runs down his hand.
"... you'll throw me away."
His brows furrow.
He releases my jaw and takes a step back. The act makes my heart rattle behind my rib cage.
"You take me as one so weak-minded?"
My face twitches almost painfully.
His own does as well. He points a finger to the ground as his teeth clamp tightly into each other, "I will not be further insulted by a wailing babe who clearly does not deserve the comforts I so graciously offer, or would have offered had I been met with the same graciousness."
The cold dismissal is like an iron clamp around the neck. He was ever a stickler for dramatics and had a penchant for peeling the narrative back enough that he remain the subject. I knew deep down that was what was playing out, and yet my mania drives me to grab his suit and ultimately crumble further into myself. I half expect him to push me away, to berate me, or even hurt me, but instead he just stands there. I can feel him staring at me.
"Are you just going use my tie to blow your nose?"
I sniffle and wipe my nose on the sleeve of my tracksuit.
He sighs, placing a hand on my shoulder.
The weight of his hold grounds me.
"Grab your things. We're leaving."
I nod silently and sniffle once more.
My duffel is severely out of place in his home, though you could barely see it in the darkness that shrouded the room. He plies me with drink and watches me wipe my wine stained lips on my sleeve with raised brows.
He mutters something in French as he shifts on the settee beside me.
I stare at the painting before us, its grandness and opulence make me feel small, well, smaller.
He, himself, finishes his own drink, "the night does not grow younger."
I turn to him.
He puts his glass down.
I decide to just say it, to jump the gun and forfeit the sugarcoating, "Guido is dead."
Lestat is unmoved. Physically, he remains the way he was seated, body facing mine, one leg folded in front of him, one arm on the backrest, one finger pressed against his temple. Emotionally, he finds no remorse, not even as more tears wet my face.
My lips and voice wobbles, "I- I should be... I should only be relieved, because he was a- a piece of shit, but I–" I wipe my face and lean my head back. I groan into my palms.
His gaze softens, but make no mistake, not the past lover who he many times thought of delivering to death's door himself. "Dawn."
"— I did love him."
The thought is sickening, no, enraging.
"I loved him once, before he used to hurt me."
Lestat does not respond.
I slowly lower my hands and turn to him. My heart skips at his unnaturally blue gaze that seemed to glow with a fury in the darkness.
He watches me shift uncomfortably until I mirrored his position.
"Lestat."
He takes a moment. He brings his hands to his lap, "Dawn."
"I don't..." I fidget with my fingers, "I don't mean to..."
He waits for me to explain, but I do nothing of the sort. I can't. He watches me pick at my nails before reaching out. His hands are cold but not clammy like mine. "Love is a treacherous thing. It is all neither here or there yet everywhere and nowhere."
He rubs the back of my hand with his knuckles. I gulp, feeling my skin tingle with goosebumps.
"I can make you forget."
I lower my gaze and shake my head, "I-" I shake faster, "I would just find out again. My boss is in the pocket of his mob."
"I could kill your boss."
I look up at him.
His brows raise in question.
"Please don't kill my boss."
He grumbles under his breath.
I lower my gaze again.
This time, he clutches my jaw and leans in, "then shall I make you forget another way?"
Before I can respond, his lips are on mine. I sigh, hands gripping his vest as I feel his cool lips melt against my hot mouth.
He does not wait. His fingers find the zipper of my jacket and slowly he pulls it down.
"Lestat," I moan against his mouth.
He hums, slowly leaning further into me, knees crawling towards my own until he straddles my lap. He breaks the kiss, taking in my form as he pushes my jacket off my shoulders. "Are you going to ask me to stop, pretty thing?"
I whimper and slowly disagree. I gulp when his hands clutch my chest. My breath hitches as thumbs brush over my nipples.
"Good," he purrs, "I would have gotten very cross with mon cher if you did."
His lips find mine again, and soon, my head is spinning. He pulls my jacket off me then breaks the kiss to push me into the cushions. He takes my legs, ridding me of all other articles of clothing, and slowly pushes them into my chest. He slots between my thighs, grunting as he hovers over me. I whimper as he ruts into my crotch.
"Tell me what you want."
I reach for his cheeks and arch my back, "I want you to fuck me."
I yelp at the cold blob that splatters onto my chin. He bares his fangs after spitting on me, "and you mean to kiss me with that filthy mouth of yours?"
I whimper when he forces my legs further into my chest.
"Don't let your misplaced grief make you forget yourself."
I shake my head and find myself trying to lick his spit, "n-no."
"Mmm, must I teach my toy proper manners," he begins to undress himself, "or perhaps I should treat you like the dirty whore you are?"
I feel my pulse in my core as I watch him expose his toned abdomen to me.
He reveals his displeasure in his native tongue before grabbing my cheek, forcing me to look him in the eye, "I believe I asked you a question."
My breath hitches as I nod rapidly, "I- punish me."
Lestat gasps as though he'd been thoroughly scandalized. He even releases one of my legs and hover his fingers over his lips just to break into deep chuckles. He gazes down on me in rich amusement and slowly begins to sink down.
I whimper and lift my head to capture his lips in mine.
He snorts, kissing me back nonetheless, hand coming to my neck, "delicious," he presses down with a bit of force, "it would be my pleasure to punish my shining Dawn until there's nothing left but me."
I keep my head lifted, watching his nails press dimples into the back of my thighs. Soon, I cannot help but throw my head back when he captures my sex into his mouth. My back arches and my fingers tangle into his blonde locks, tugging slightly as he licks me up and slowly begins to slobber.
Lestat's head inflates at the sound of my moans and mewls. He feasts hungrier, until the mix of his spit and my arousal begins to coat my inner thighs.
"Lestat," I whine, legs coiling around his head, heels digging into his back.
He hums, spreading his tongue, tasting me deeper. His one hand finds my hip and pushes me in place; his pointed nails bite into my pliant flesh.
Keep going. His voice is clear and commanding in my mind.
"Lestat, please," I groan, throat constricting at the spreading pleasure, "r'making me feel so good."
He hums, the vibration adding to the sensation of his mouth. I gasp at the slight nip I feel from his teeth. I open my eyes, which I hadn't even realized I closed until he pulled away from me. He gives an open-mouthed sigh, slick and saliva glimmering on his lips and chin. He slowly grins, "can't have you coming so soon," he licks his lips, "this is a punishment after all."
I whine and shift in my spot, immediately regretting my words, "no, wait, please—"
"Shhh," his hand clutches my jaw and neck, "I did not tell you to move, did I?"
The weight he pushes on me makes my stomach flip. My lips wobble, "no, sir."
He grins, nearly all his teeth on display. He chuckles and hums, "I see truly that all you needed was a heavy hand."
I breathe a bit deeper to compensate for the pressure on my neck.
"Well, mon amour," he pushes my knees together with his free hand, "would you like to get on your knees for me?"
"Yes," I answer the instant.
I nearly choke on my breath with how eagerly I twist onto my hands and knees. I gulp and turn to him from over my shoulder, panting as if my movements were far more strenuous than they really were. I mewl when he brings his hands to his belt buckle. I bite my lip and find myself rocking back into him as he pulls his pants down.
"Filthy thing," he coos, freeing his cock from his constraints, "I'd have taken you for an easy little slut had I not known any better."
I hum and chew my lip, "but I am an easy little slut for you."
His expression darkens. He grabs his length.
I hiss and turn to the cushions, gripping it as he smacks my sensitive entrance with his evidently hard cock.
He pushes me down and shoves his groin against mine, pulling a shaky and squeaky groan from my throat.
I hum and heave, "m-mon coeur." My heart.
He hisses, head sinking down to my shoulder to mumble strings of French before he nicks and sinks his fangs into me.
I moan loudly into the cushion, hips grinding back into him as he presses his body into me. His hand finds my sex and lazily strokes it, making my thighs shiver. The pain from my shoulder only intensifies my aching need for him deep in my core.
He gulps, retracting his teeth before licking the puncture he's inflicted. Spit and blood dribble down on my skin as he slowly straightens up. He rubs the curve of my ass, "shall I fuck you now?"
I squeal and nod profusely, "yes, yes! PLEASE!"
Lestat hums and looks down at me. He spits and the glob that hits my mound makes me flinch. He takes two fingers and pumps my entrance a few times, making me moan in anticipation. "Eager for me, yes?"
I whine, "so eager, so eager, so eager, so—" my babble is cut off by the feel of his cock invading my insides. I groan and arch my back, feeling winded and full of him.
He snorts and slowly begins to thrust, "so tight and warm for me."
I turn my head but helplessly rest on my cheek when he pushes me down by my shoulder blades.
Soon, my whining is overshadowed by the sound of slapping skin. Soon, the sound of slapping skin is overshadowed by my lewd cries. Soon, Lestat shifts and pushes my legs further apart with his, gripping my thigh tighter and lifting it slightly to fuck me deeper. My body is a sweating, throbbing symphonic of pleasure at how he takes me from behind, his balls slapping deliciously into me with every thrust.
I feel my eyes water, "mmm, Les— I'm close."
He huffs, kneading the flesh on my hips, "come for me. Squeeze my cock and milk me dry."
I focus on the feel of him and gradually rock my body in tandem with his thrusts.
Lestat reaches for my hair and pulls tightly, making me suck a sharp breath as he slaps my ass, "I told you to do something, mon cher."
I whine and nod, mumbling dumbly over and over, "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming." And then I come, feeling my body clench him tighter as an intense wave of pleasure crashes down on me.
Lestat rides out my pleasure as he chases his own, and soon I feel him throbbing as he spills into me.
Once we were both sated and panting, he sluggishly pulls out and licks his lips. I whine as I turn to face him, feeling my core throb at the sight of his glistening cock. He sighs as he leans down and kisses my lips.
↳ out of fear, lestat does the unimaginable and has to try his hardest to win his family's trust back, but it may be too late... (one shot)
- ,, forever young - by @ghouldump
↳ you meet someone who reminds you of your maker, and naturally gravitate to them, but your family isn’t as welcoming to the idea of the man. (one shot)
- ,, l'amour de ma vie - by @ghouldump
↳ while you love your companions, it is no secret that they oftentimes exclude you, and it isn't until you leave that they go into panic mode. (one short)
- ,, god complex - by @ghouldump
↳ you want out, realizing your little family isn’t as perfect as you thought, but they would never let you slip away so easily. (one shot)
➥ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴠɪᴇᴡ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ
MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI WITH NSFW CONTENT ON THIS MASTERLIST
Lestat x reader smut
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Lestat takes a liking to a mortal girl, going as far as to break into her home and read her diary, only to be caught. Or, perhaps he wanted to be caught.
Tags: Blood drinking, stalking, mentions of rape, fingering, dubious consent, alcohol, breaking and entering, bratty Lestat, somewhat inacurate book Lestat
---
Lestat never enjoyed lurking. Yes, the shadows loved him as he once loved the sun; his whole livelihood depended on them, but he never enjoyed being in them. He wanted to be out, to explore and live his non-life out in the bustling streets of New Orleans. He wanted to watch the opera and see the ballet over and over again, to marvel at the dancers and singers, let the loud drums of the music penetrate his ears so it felt as if he was completely one with the world that was sketched to him in wordless, abstract ways.
This way of living was easier in the winter, when the sun would dip below the horizon early in the evening, and Lestat could abandon his coffin in favor of attending parties and skipping down the cobblestone streets.
But now, in the middle of July, when even he, a cold-blooded creature, seemed to warm up under the near-tropical sun, it was hard for him to attend his usual ballets, operas, and plays. Usually, he would prowl the streets until the early hours of the morning, finding a couple or a gaggle of friends that had finally finished partying to tap blood from. Spirits genuinely spoiled the sweet, metallic taste of blood, but a single, even petite woman would be able to get him drunk. And oh, how he enjoyed lounging around even more after that, his sky-high confidence peaked impossibly higher, and the skip in his step just a little more enthusiastic, albeit wonky and less coordinated.
But now, the sun rose even before six, right when people were coming out of densely decorated townhouses in their gowns and jewels, stumbling across the alleyways where Lestat would usually pounce. The sun also went down too late for him to catch his shows at the nearest theater.
One day, he found himself leaving the city center for a change, tired of walking empty, boring streets and having to kill only the ones that were already dead, to society at least.
Beggars in torn and dirty clothes, money-hungry conmen with snake oil and opiates, and street preachers that would fall to their knees if they found out what daggers he hid beneath his lips.
Until one day, one faithful summer evening, mere minutes after the sun had fully set and the sky no longer had any color aside from the grey clouds floating overhead, he found his new target. She was mysterious, prowled around at night so much that he, for a beat, questioned if she was one of the few other vampires wandering New Orleans.
Only, she wasn’t. Her blood was fresh, sweet, young, and untouched by the curse of age and time. She never spoke to anyone on the street, and her glance was always aimed at the sidewalk or the street, if not the many different types of birds that sat on the railings of balconies overhead. Lestat knew most about her: where she went to eat, where she bought her clothes, where she sat to read her fantasy novels, even where she lived. He also knew that, unlike the front she had put up, she was far from Christian or Catholic. Only did she go to the church to fit in—and occasionally stare and daydream at the sight of black-clad nuns who hid their beautiful figures under shapeless gowns and veils. It was like she wondered what was beneath it, and if she would ever see such a thing from women so modest. She was curious, odd, yet only Lestat seemed to ever notice that about her.
After months of tailing this woman, Delia, her name was, Lestat decided it was finally time to invade more than just her privacy and personal life—he was going to break into the apartment she had bought with her father’s inheritance after he died from pneumonia. He’d heard her conversing about it with a priest at the man’s funeral, which Lestat had naturally watched from afar. Strangely enough, she seemed not to care in the slightest when the coffin was finally buried. It only made him wonder more.
The Vampire had to scale one of the buildings to break into a window he knew Delia kept open. Finding her leather-bound journal and reading it revealed to him that she kept this very window open to let in the smell of petrichor whenever it rained—which, in the summer, was nearly constant. He read about her fantasies of medieval knights and kings, of monsters, amongst which were vampires, and that her mother had become handicapped due to a traumatic brain injury, now to be indefinitely taken care of by Delia’s younger brother at her familial home outside of the city.
Her stories of her family and the tragedy surrounding it weren’t long, ten pages of perfect, flowing, curling words at the very most. After that came her thoughts on those beautiful, graceful nuns, even some words on the priests that roamed and heard her out in the confessional, though they weren’t nearly as passionate as the next few drafts and scribbles in that journal, some of the words smudged with drops of ink as if she’d, in her passion, had pressed the pen down too hard.
Delia’s thoughts were direct on paper, as if they wrote themselves when that pen of hers contacted the little book. She spoke of working women, whores, ones she’d only dared to come to in the dead of night when even a city as alive as New Orleans seemed to die. Lestat had to sit down on a nearby couch when he read these vile sentences in utter entertainment, detailing every single night of wickedness that Delia seemingly savored with every inch of her being.
It was as if these prostitutes had corrupted her poor, innocent mind. The pages after another female-friendly quarrel seemed to peak in their godlessness. Lestat read thoughts of pain, finding pleasure in it, the way she seemed to enjoy it whenever grabbed by the throat, and how she could not stop thinking about the time a whore bit her neck in the throes of passion, how it sent her thoughts reeling into a realm of the romanticization of filth.
Lestat enjoyed these deeply personal stories as he read, and even lit the candles scattered around the room in bronze candelabra to create a cozier ambience to read in; it almost felt as if they were friends. He knew every small, minute, disgusting detail, and she wasn’t even aware of his existence at all. He would’ve probably read it in her journal if ever she had seen him and was suspicious about his presence.
. . .
Delia’s return home was nothing short of a shock, the smell of melted wax filling her mortal nostrils as she ascended the stairs to her apartment. It was peaceful inside, and well lit with flickering flames. As if somebody had suddenly decided that she needed a roommate.
She moved further inside on careful feet, her steps quiet to her own ears, but loud to Lestat’s preternatural ones.
When rounding the corner of a particularly large, ornate, hardwood cabinet, the vampire finally came into view. He was sitting on her couch as if he owned the place, her book of secrets open in one of his hands, the other balled up into a loose fist to hold up his head as he leaned his elbow on the couch’s armrest.
“Ah, you’re home.” His deep, rich, and smooth, French-accented voice rang through the house, mingling with the ambient crackling of wood in the fireplace. “These stories, ooh la-la!” Taking out his fist from under his jaw, he fanned his face with it, a flair of dramaticism in his action.
“Who the hell are you?” Delia trembled, demanding answers with two balled fists and a fast-beating heart. She wasn’t going to allow this man to take her house, or her dignity, whatever it was he planned to do with her. When her eyes flicked to a brand-new letter opener on the salon table in front of Lestat’s legs, his eyes followed hers.
“Kill me?” He scoffed dramatically, throwing the open journal on the table with a thud before rising to his feet, making her cower and step back a few feet. “You mean to kill me? My love, I mean no harm. You are simply so… intriguing. One would be mad not to, ehm, snoop.”
“Get the hell out.” She snarled, her heart jumping as she kept her eyes firmly on his form—only for him to disappear in the blink of an eye. A gentle gust of wind hit her when he flew past, and soon he was behind her, taking her jacket like a pseudo-gentleman. The smell floating off his garments could only be described as musty and earthy, like the wet bark of a tree after a rainstorm, or brown leaves that had long since fallen off their host and dwindled into a cold puddle on the pavement. She was petrified with fear, yet her heart pumped a fierce hit of adrenaline through her veins, even as this man seemed to pose no threat.
“Ma Cherie…” He tutted behind her, and with another gust of wind that swept her loose curls over her left shoulder, he stood in front of her, about two feet away. Close, but not too close, merely close enough to inspect and smell her. “You wound me so, can’t you see I mean you no harm? I’m simply here in search of a companion, and I couldn’t help but let my eyes and mind linger.”
“A companion?” Delia scoffed at the man, having to crane her head slightly to look up at him. She was five feet and four inches; he may have been six feet at the least. “This is how you seek companions, is it? By breaking in and reading what is to be kept private!—"
Lestat twirled a lock of his thick, blonde hair around his right pointer finger, inspecting her as a painter would inspect his model. There was no grace in his look, bright blue, icy eyes staring at her bashfully. Sinfully, almost. Like he was seeing through her clothes. “Well, I suppose I understand the anger. Though, maybe I would be a little more grateful if I were you.”
“Grateful?” Her eyes flicked to the book on the salon table. “What will you do now, huh? After you’ve read my darkest secrets? Will you rob me, kill me, or rape me? Will you tell the church so they come after me in your stead?”
A genuine, humorous laugh ripped from the man’s throat. His mouth was wide open, chin pointed up at the ceiling, and now she could clearly see.
Fangs.
Four of them, pointy and white, untouched by time and corrosion.
She exhaled sharply, stepping backward on instinct as if she had just been punched in the gut. This couldn’t be, no. It couldn’t. Vampires were only real in her imagination, in her dreams and nightmares alike.
“They say it is never polite to play with your food.” Lestat’s eyes met hers when he tilted his head down again, his pupils wide with both hunger for the blood and excitement of the kill. She stood still, petrified beyond her limit, yet concealing her fear. “I agree, it isn’t. But that doesn’t take away the fun, does it, Cherie?”
“What are you going to do?” Delia’s pounding heart rang loud in Lestat’s ears, like a distant drum, taking over the sounds of the outside world and creating a lovely rhythm in his head. The smell of her changed, more adrenaline surging, yet there was fear now, far more than there had been, now that she knew she was in his mercy. “Don’t kill me, I beg you.”
“Interesting.” He kept his focus on the sound, quickening as he stepped closer, his scent intensifying in her nostrils. “Now you cower. Now you beg for mercy. And, I promise you, my love… As much as I enjoy hearing the cries of the damned, I’m merely here to play.”
A new scent tickled his senses, arousal. She was aroused, whether by the sight of him, or his smell, his deepening voice—he couldn’t tell. He had tried to mostly tune out her thoughts, enjoying the hunt and the mystery of her, but now that he tried to probe, there wasn’t a single thought. With furrowed eyes, he watched her, trying to enter an empty mind, one running purely on instinct and need.
“You have no thoughts,” Lestat exclaimed. Her heart kept thrumming in his mind. “Are you flustered?”
Delia didn’t respond; she couldn’t. The mere thought of his vampiric nature had turned her on beyond belief, more than she ever had been. There had been many debaucherous nights in brothels and bars, ones that her conservative peers would deeply disapprove of, but never had she felt so primal. Like a wolf and a lamb.
“Allow me to tell you what I plan to do.” She gasped as he took her arm, guiding her to the couch and setting her down with a hand only slightly too rough to be friendly. She sat and looked at the journal again, then at the letter opener, then at the gorgeous vampire looming over her. “I plan to drink your blood, but not to kill you. You are simply too interesting. I feel a kinship.”
Delia sat motionless like a scared cat, trying to get her emotions in check before she would make any hasty decisions. She felt a pull to him, one so strange, alien, as if she were a prisoner falling in love with her captor.
“Do you want this, Delia?” Her name on his lips pulled a soft gasp and a twitch from her, her cheeks heating up from the way he drew it out in a sultry rasp. In the back of her mind, she knew his question was a fad. She had no choice in this. The thought of such subjugation only drew her in closer. This was carnality in a godless, even inhuman way.
It was as if there were swinging pendulums in Lestat’s bright, undead eyes, his fangs sticking out his upper lip slightly in a haughty grin when Delia finally nodded. Normally, he enjoyed a little bit more of a fight, but this strange girl was so intriguing that he put his preferences to the side completely.
Maybe, after this was done, after Lestat had had his fill, he would change this pretty woman. Her dark eyes would turn bright, perhaps grey or red, and she would hunt for prey by his side, forever. She already seemed lovestruck even without the grace of the Dark Gift. Lestat wanted to see all of her.
“But first,” The vampire spun gracefully on his heels, away from the girl to a small side table on which she’d propped up a flask of brandy. He poured her a modest serving, then dropped the crystal in her hands, taking a seat beside her on the couch with crossed legs.
“Don’t you—” Delia held the glass out, all of the fervor and anger from before suddenly gone. Maybe he had a true claim on her emotions, or maybe she was simply an impressionable mortal.
“Non, chérie.” He waved the offer off with a limp hand, his nails perfectly sharp and elegant. “We cannot eat human food, or drink human drinks.”
“Oh,” Delia took a tentative sip, allowing the hard liquor to slide down her quivering throat. “Don’t you miss it?”
“Mortal food?” Lestat scoffed, flipping some blond hair out of his eyes with a dramatic flair. “No, dear. I much prefer the taste of blood, and besides, you know where that brandy goes when you drink it, no?”
Delia blinked at him with a mouth full, swallowing it. “My… blood?”
“mhm-hm.” He tipped the glass up with a finger when she took another sip, making her swallow all of it as he watched. “Brandy adds a lovely sweetness to the blood, and I get to feel that buzz your kind chases on warm Saturday evenings.”
“Buzz.” She chuckled, allowing the vampire to take her glass and place it on the salon table. The buzz, as mentioned, came soon after. Lestat sat on his knees in front of the couch, watching her, inspecting the throb of the widening veins in her neck.
“What is it you enjoy?” Lestat rose, strands of his blonde hair falling in front of his eyes as he reached a hand out, which Delia took with little hesitation. The drink was making her more fearless, deeply enthralled and intrigued by a very real, and very dangerous vampire at her fingertips. “Sexually, I mean.”
A flush came over her as he led her to the open space in front of the fireplace, where he spun her with grace and practiced agility. The situation was absurd, yet she couldn’t pull herself out of it, like she was in a trance set by this French, very sexy vampire. “Why don’t you tell me instead? You’ve read all my deepest thoughts, and yet you’ve ceased to even tell me your name.”
“Observant.” He nodded, a proud smile on his lips as he once again pulled her along, now to the small bedroom hidden behind an ornate paneled door. “First,” He sat her on the plush bed but refused to lower himself, almost as if he were subconsciously reminding her that she was below him. “I don’t have sex, chérie. Not in the way you do.”
Delia watched as the vampire walked around her room, lighting the candles with a simple glance. Not a match was in sight, yet somehow the flames flickered over his chiseled face.
“Second, my name is Lestat.” He drew the word out, the final ‘t’ drifting off his tongue due to his western European enunciation. It was as if he said his name so slow to make her remember, to allow her to savor every vowel. “You will remember my name, won’t you?”
“Yes.” She nodded as Lestat gracefully drifted back over to her, removing the blue, swallow-tailed coat he had been wearing and tossing it over one of the bedposts. Underneath he wore a crème-colored shirt with billowing sleeves, ruffles lining the cuffs and falling over about a quarter of his perfect, hairless, large hands.
He watched her then, appreciating the pink hue on her cheeks and the way the very top of her stays bounced slightly with the beat of her heart. Oh, how he longed to stop it, to drain her completely and grant her a new life, to have her by his side forever. Together they would certainly be an interesting pair, far too outspoken and dangerous to haughty society.
“Lestat?” Delia’s southern accented voice was soft and higher pitched than before, now filled with intrigue and arousal rather than fear and anger like it had been before. The sound of his name on her lips would have made Lestat shiver if he were still a mortal.
He laughed ever so slightly at the hint of a plea in her tone, his lips curling up into an innocent smile. “Yes, my love?”
“How does one such as you live without sexual gratification?” Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him, pupils dilated.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, my dearest little nymph.” Though Delia would’ve shown her teeth at any man using that word, which would normally have been spat in an imputative tone, she enjoyed the way Lestat had said it. His voice carried praise. “There is an inherent sense of… eroticism in the drinking of blood.”
Delia chuckled softly, wiping her clammy hands on her dress in a coquettish fashion. The way she had been imagining Lestat’s kind had been true.
Now her thoughts were returning, her mind filled with obscene images of her and Lestat in bed, a dangerously depraved pair. She craved it more than anything, more than the whores, more than the teasingly covered nuns.
Lestat bit his lip when probing her thoughts, swimming through images of them naked, of what she imagined his body looked like, what it would feel like to have him deep inside and to cradle him after. But it wasn’t like that, he wouldn’t be able to grant her such things, not with what had been rendered lifeless after his transformation, what hung between his legs.
“Is that what you think of me?” He finally allowed himself to fall on the bed next to her, undoing the lace near the collar of his shirt. “I cannot give you such things, chérie. My nature doesn’t allow it.”
She turned to him with hungry eyes, tracing down his neck as if she were the blood hungry monster instead of him. His blatant infringement of her thoughts seemed to be of no importance to her. “So then drink my blood, Lestat. I want to know what it’s like, and I want you to enjoy it.”
Lestat’s hand reached for the tie in her hair, pulling it loose with ease and wiping her locks away from her untouched neck. She could smell his signature scent as he leant close, kissing her neck tenderly for only a few seconds, then pulling away. The smack of his moist lips alerted her, and her heart thrummed while waiting for the bite, only for the vampire to laugh and whisper in her ear. “Déshabille-toi pour moi.”
Take your clothes off for me.
She nodded as if in a trance, and they both stood to work on her garments. Luckily she wore only a few layers due to the heat, a soft sheen of sweat visible when Lestat had successfully undressed her all the way down to her white stays and bloomers. He only had to untie a few strings to make the last items fall down onto the pile of fabric at her feet.
“My, my,” The vampire drawled sensuously, inspecting every inch before finally reaching out to grab her waist. She gasped at the icy-cold digits on her sensitive skin, looking up when he had her nearly pressed against himself. “Believe me, love, I do miss it—I do so miss being inside pretty things such as you. Though it can never as much as come near the thrill of the bite.”
“You won’t kill me, will you?” Delia’s voice was softer now, somewhat insecure without the protection of her garbs.
“Not yet.” Lestat answered while tossing his hair back and rolling his sleeves. “I want to taste you first, over, and over, and over. Until it bores you so that even death seems more interesting. Then, if you wish, I shall change you.”
Any normal human would have cowered and ran, but the girl smiled. She wanted this, and she wanted him. He took her over to bed again, laying her down on freshly fluffed chicken-feather pillows before crawling over to her, like a panther ready to strike. With blown-out, hungry pupils he stopped right above her pubic mound, lowering his lips to the skin of her stomach and kissing his way up. Only did he nip once or twice, though saving the bite for her beautiful neck.
“Do you want this, truly?” He whispered once at neck-height, once again kissing, feeling the stream of blood under his lips.
“Yes. Please.”
He moaned softly at the sound of her desperate voice, breathing deeply while exclaiming a soft “putain…” before allowing himself to feed. Delia’s hands shot to the vampire’s soft hair when his teeth sank in, an icy spike of intense pain shooting throughout her neck and dispersing into her shoulder.
It was like a dam breaking, tainted blood flowing into Lestat’s hungry mouth, the cries of his darling victim ringing in his ears like the most beautiful sonata he’d ever heard. Her blood was sweet and had a faint punch to it from the alcohol consumed earlier. Lestat could almost remember the taste of brandy undiluted with blood.
He moaned deeply as he drank, pushing closer as if to mold his body into hers, his eyes rolling back with preternatural pleasure. Slowly his skin cleared up, and it seemed almost as if it were glowing with Delia’s shared lifeforce.
She weakened, her heart slowing, eyes drooping, her grip failing. The two of them shared a moan when the vampire finally ceased his drinking, hovering over the girl with a blood-stained mouth. A mixture of the blood and Lestat’s saliva dripped onto her pale lips, where she licked it off, fierceness still present despite her drained state.
“How does it feel?” Lestat crooned, wiping a tear that had slipped from her eye and threatened to roll into the shell of her ear. She was happy, laughing, and extremely drowsy. “Do not fret, dear, you are nowhere near the end. I merely drank enough to make your body a little… confused.”
“I—I don’t know.” Delia squirmed beneath him, desperately trying to focus her eyes on anything, but failing. “I feel… like I’m floating, but also like I’m falling.”
“You,” Lestat flicked her chin, then affectionately and gently bopped her perfect nose, “are an immensely brave girl.” He watched her sweet smile for a second, drowning in the glimmer of her eyes while panting. “Now, I think it is most appropriate for me to return the favor of pleasure.”
Before Delia could answer, his hand was cupping her wet sex, running a finger down the slit—a finger that was now warm with her own blood. She moaned weakly at the contact, her vision spinning as the loss of blood slowly manifested into the feeling of nausea, something she was able to ignore for the time being.
“Yes, darling.” Lestat moaned softly at her pleasure, probing her mind in an attempt to share some of the sensation. It was there, faintly tingling in his loins, though not nearly as agreeable as mortal sex, or blood drinking for that matter. His long finger soon dipped into Delia’s wet, taut pussy, welcoming his hands with unwavering need.
“Lestat,” She moaned, letting go of him when he sat back on his heels, hair hanging in front of his eyes when he introduced a second digit, and then a second hand. One pumped his fingers in and out with practiced precision, the other rubbed her clit in tight, perfect circles, making her quiver. Nobody had ever made her feel this way, made her ache so deeply for release. “Yes, please, please,”
“Petit lapin, you whine so, and you don’t even know what for.” The vampire laughed, his fingers curling, drawing more desperate moans and pleas from Delia’s used and tired throat. Arousal began to drip from her, and the scent of her sweat filled the clammy room. “Let it come over you, my love, just as you did before. If you stay still and listen to me it will feel better.”
Her skin burned with arousal, her tired legs twitching back to life as Lestat continued his ministrations on her. His hands were so perfectly trained that the movements felt vaguely clinical, like some perverted doctor ‘treating’ his female patient. She shivered at the thought, welcoming the fantasy for a brief moment. The vampire raised an eyebrow and chuckled at her when he saw the vision too, shaking his head.
“Naughty. So very naughty. Nymph.” He spat the last word out slightly, though there was still not a single trace of malice in his voice. He loved her depravity almost as much as he loved himself. The sensation strengthened in his lower stomach, alerting him to his muse’s imminent orgasm. “Let go chérie, let go. Do it for me.”
After a few more pumps and some encouraging words from her newfound vampire lover, Delia finally cracked. Her tired, half-alive body writhed and shook with the orgasm that crashed through her in waves. Lestat’s hands continued to work until the very end, until she sobbed from the overstimulation. Only then did he stop and lick his fingers clean.
“There.” The vampire stood, leaving the girl to recover in bed while he found a mirror to fix his hair in. She watched with confusion, grabbing his coat off the bed post to wipe her sweaty forehead wit it, surely staining the expensive fabric. Though he didn’t seem to care.
“You have a reflection?”
“Oui.” Lestat took the velvet bow out of his ponytail, letting the wavy hair fall over his shoulders. “You have a lot to learn about our kind. Especially if you wish to become one of us.”
