detroit
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The cool porcelain of the toilet under his cheek did little to soothe the ache that seized his entire body in its throbbing grasp. He groaned, mouth tasting of sour blood and bile. Gingerly, he turned his head and spit into the toilet bowl.
Lestat wanted—he wanted—
Him.
—company. Someone to sit with him while the wounds closed. While the room stopped spinning.
Gabrielle wouldn't answer his messages. He begged and pleaded and promised that he wanted nothing more than the comfort of her presence and still she ignored him.
Hell with her. He would manage on his own.
A night spent here, in this shithole of a motel, while his band came to terms with what they saw. It was fine. He could do that. Christine would clean it up.
Who would clean him up?
Lestat banished the thought with a growl and forced himself to sit up. Get to bed, was his next thought. Sleep it off. All of this would look better tomorrow.
He got as far as his knees before dizziness overwhelmed him. Lestat clung to the toilet with both hands and squeezed his eyes shut as his stomach rolled. Hunger and nausea warred within him; there was nothing left to come up.
His head pounded, a thudding behind his eyes like a drum. If only the pounding would stop long enough for him to get his legs under himself and get to the bed.
The thuds did stop. Then, the door squeaked, and Lestat realized the noises he heard hadn’t been in his head—someone was here.
Where was his phone? Had Gabrielle found him? He opened his eyes and looked up, squinting through the blood and dizziness clouding his vision.
Louis stood before him. Beautiful, breathtaking Louis. He was dressed simply, in a short-sleeved cream shirt and brown trousers. His face was pinched, the handsome curve of his mouth downturned.
"—to you?"
He said something Lestat didn't understand. He blinked, swayed on his knees. "What?"
"I said, 'what the fuck happened to you'? You look like…" he trailed off, scanning Lestat from head to toe.
Lestat barked a laugh. It ached in his chest as something that wasn't meant to shifted sideways. "Like what, Louis? Go on, say it." Louis pressed his lips together. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"
Louis sighed and dropped into a crouch. Lestat leaned away from him, sinking back on his heels. "Daniel called me. He said you flew out a window—that you were hurt."
Lestat's lip curled. It was the truth, but he hated that Daniel had told Louis about it and that Louis had come to find him. He didn't want to see him.
Liar.
Lestat shook his head. His hair stuck to his neck in bloody tangles and pulled when he turned his face away from Louis. "I'm fine," he sniffed, scowling at the shower tiles. "I'll sleep it off and be back to myself tomorrow."
"Lestat—"
"No," he said, proud of the fact that his voice didn't shake. "You don't get to worry about me anymore. You lost that privilege." He shoved himself to his feet and blinked the spots from his vision.
Lestat strode determinedly away from Louis. He made it two steps away to the bathroom door before he stumbled and caught himself on the doorframe, nails gouging the wood with the force of his grip.
Louis was beside him in an instant, one hand steady on his shoulder and the other on his waist. "Whoa, hey, let me help."
"I don't need your help!" Lestat shouted, flailing out of Louis's grasp. He staggered to the bed and collapsed, catching himself on his hands. He crawled to the center of it and laid face down, one hand groping for his phone. Gabrielle's messages were on it, opened and unanswered. Lestat locked the screen and threw it off the bed.
Twisting onto his side, he drew his knees toward his chest as far as his aching ribs would allow. For a few moments, there was silence. Lestat closed his eyes, squeezing them shut against the rhythmic, pulsing throb in his temples. There was noise coming from the bathroom. Water running, a faucet squeaking.
Then the bed dipped.
Lestat tensed but Louis didn't touch him. His voice came, low and smooth. "You don't need my help, I hear that. But can I give it? Will you take it?" Lestat's chin quivered. His shoulders trembled. Gingerly, he rolled onto his back and looked up at Louis through a haze of tears.
Louis sat with his legs crossed, elbows resting on his knees. His shoes were gone and his socked feet wiggled absently as he made himself comfortable.
"Hey," Louis said, offering a smile.
Lestat burst into tears. They streamed down his cheeks as he sobbed horrible, gasping cries that stole his breath and ached in his chest.
Louis's voice came again. "Hey, hey," he soothed. His palm was a grounding pressure against Lestat's shoulder. "It's okay, hey." Lestat curled toward him, one hand grasping for him and landing on his shin. He gripped the fabric of his pants in his fist. "I got you," Louis murmured, rubbing over his shoulder and down his arm. "I got you, it's okay."
The tears slowed and, finally, stopped. Lestat wiped his face against the bed, smearing blood across the hideous blanket that covered it. He sniffed and peered up at Louis.
With deliberate care, Louis brushed his hair off his forehead and tucked it behind his ear. His hand lingered there, thumb skimming the torn skin of Lestat's cheek.
"You wanna shower?" Louis offered. "I got some clothes in the car—some blood, too." Lestat's confusion must have shown on his face because Louis explained, reminding him, "Daniel called me. I came prepared."
"How generous." Lestat pushed himself upright and swung his legs off the bed. He pressed his palms flat to steady himself and didn't pull away when Louis placed a hand on his shoulder.
Louis slipped off the bed and circled around in front of him, offering his hands. After a moment's pause, Lestat took them. Louis caught him when he swayed and settled a hand on his back to guide him into the bathroom.
Bloody handprints smeared most flat surfaces. The toilet was a horror show. Louis whistled. "Damn. You got someone for clean up?"
Lestat nodded, hands dropping to the zipper on his pants. "I'll text her. Later. She's dealing with the… You know." Louis hummed and turned around. Lestat thought for a moment it was to preserve his modesty, but Louis simply gathered two thin white towels and placed them on an unmarred stretch of countertop.
Lestat stripped and climbed into the shower.
When he looked, Louis's eyes were on his face and he was stepping closer, reaching in to turn on the water. "I can do it," Lestat protested with a faint pout. Louis gave him a withering look as he checked the temperature with his fingertips. Lestat pursed his lips. Let him help.
Louis pulled the diverter and huffed a faint laugh when Lestat flinched at the sudden spray of water that pelted him in the head. Removing his hand, Louis shook water off his fingers and tugged the curtain.
Lestat grabbed it before it shut him in completely, fingers clutching the crinkling fabric as he stuck his face out of the water. Louis blinked at him, brows raised. Lestat wiped wet hair out of his eyes and drew his lower lip between his teeth before he asked, "You'll be back?"
Louis's face softened. "I'll be back," he answered simply. He waited for Lestat to nod and disappear behind the shower curtain before he left.
Lestat listened to his footsteps fade, heard the quiet click of the door closing and the faint ding of the elevator at the end of the hall. He turned his face into the shower spray and closed his eyes.
—
Lestat stepped out of the shower rinsed clean of blood and marginally sobered. The frame of the bathroom door did not warp at the edges when he approached it and stepped through, one towel around his waist and the other drying the ends of his hair.
He froze at the sight that greeted him. The bed was partially stripped, the ugly blanket balled up and discarded in the corner along with Lestat's clothing and one of the pillows. Louis sat on the edge of the bed with a folded pile of clothes at his side and two bags of blood in his hands.
"I didn't have a cup," he said, shifting the bags in his hands to the side. "But I heated them in the microwave for you."
Lestat could have cried. His vision blurred and he lifted the towel he held to cover his face. He heard the bed creak as Louis stood and stepped toward him. "Lestat," he said, his voice suffused with so much tenderness that Lestat couldn't keep the tears from falling.
A hand touched his side and, gently, guided him close. Louis's arms enveloped him and Lestat sagged into his embrace, shoving his face into his shoulder with a sob. "Okay," Louis murmured, his cheek pressed into Lestat's damp hair. "It's okay. I got you, baby." Lestat sobbed harder. "Okay, hey."
Louis picked his head up, framing Lestat's face between his hands. His thumbs stroked his cheeks, wiping away streaks of blood tears. Lestat's chin trembled as he blinked a fresh set of them over Louis's fingers. Louis brushed them away too, first with his fingers, then with the towel he caught when Lestat dropped it.
"Tough night, huh?" Lestat nodded. "S'okay. Get dressed. Eat. Hey. You listening?" Lestat nodded again. "Good. Come on, then."
Louis let him go and tossed the damp, bloodied towel he held to join the rest of the soiled fabric in the corner of the room. Lestat dropped the towel that covered his lower half and accepted the pair of black sweatpants Louis offered him. As he settled them on his hips, Louis handed him a matching sweatshirt and he pulled that on too, head popping free of the fabric with a faint sniffle.
"Eat," Louis reminded as Lestat stood uncertainly, hands loose at his sides. He blinked dazedly at the bloodbags on the edge of the bed and bent to pick them up. Wordlessly, he offered one to Louis who shook his head, smiling. "Nah. Those are for you."
His head bobbed in a nod. Lestat tore into one of them and held it between his teeth as he climbed onto the bed. He crawled to the middle and sank into the remaining pillow, reclining there as he sucked the bag of blood dry.
He could feel his body knitting itself back together. Superficial cuts from the glass first, then the deeper bites and gouges from fangs and claws. He swallowed the last dregs of the second bag and grunted as a rib settled back into place.
After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Lestat leaned over to drop the empty bags into the trashcan beside the bed. Louis came to join him then, drawing one leg onto the bed as he sat himself on the edge.
Louis's nose wrinkled a little on one side when he smiled. "Feel better?"
Lestat nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked down at a loose thread on the sweatshirt and tugged at it.
"You wanna talk about what happened?" Lestat said nothing. The thread tore and he rubbed it between the pads of his fingers. "You wanna tell me about the songs?"
"The songs are not about you."
Louis's silence was deafening. He hadn't asked that. Lestat shut his mouth, caught. Louis ducked his head into his line of sight, brows lifted. "You wanna look at me while we're talking?" Stubbornly, Lestat looked at the ceiling. "Lestat."
"I didn't ask you to come here," Lestat snapped, crossing his arms more tightly.
"You didn't," Louis acknowledged, spreading his hands. "Daniel did, because he was worried about you. I'm worried about you. I care about you—"
"Ohh, just like you cared in your book."
"Lestat, we've been over this—"
"I don't want to talk about it!"
Silence hung between them. Stifling. Lestat bit the inside of his cheek.
"I didn't come here to fight," Louis sighed.
"Why did you come?" Lestat's voice was small. Hurt.
"Because I care," Louis said again. Lestat wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe him so badly it ached. "Lestat." His voice was softer now. He moved toward Lestat on the bed. "Look at me?"
Lestat lowered his gaze from the ceiling. Louis met his eyes. Kindness swam in their depths. Concern. Apology. Lestat's chin quivered.
"I'm tired," Lestat whispered. Beyond the events of the last several hours, bone-deep exhaustion weighed down every limb. "I'm tired, Louis."
Louis climbed fully onto the bed then. He leaned against the headboard and lifted his arm. "C'mere." He patted the left side of his chest, an invite Lestat couldn't resist.
Lestat dissolved into Louis's side and settled his ear against the familiar thrum of his heart. He closed his eyes, hand curling into a loose fist against Louis's belly. Gentle fingers stroked delicately through his hair, easing apart tangles and smoothing it behind his ear.
Several minutes of quiet passed. Lestat ran his fingertip around the edges of one of the buttons on Louis's shirt. "Désolé," he murmured, barely audible.
"Mm?" Louis's finger traced the shell of his ear.
"I'm sorry. I'm not my—" Louis cut him off, tutting softly. Lestat exhaled through his nose, head lifting. He barely made it off Louis's chest before Louis's hand caught him and pressed him back down. "Louis."
"Mm-mm. Let's just—table it. Okay? We'll talk, but. Not tonight." His thumb stroked Lestat's cheek. The wound was gone, no sign it was ever there. "Tonight you just rest. Let me hold you, yeah?"
Lestat sank against Louis's shoulder, cheek pressed to the soft fabric of his shirt. His eyes slid closed. He spread his palm against Louis's ribs and counted his breaths. In, out.
In.
Out.
Louis stroked his hair and rubbed circles in his back until all of the tension bled from Lestat's limbs. He dozed to the steady lullaby of Louis's heart as it beat in time with his own.
When the sun rose later, the room's lack of windows protected them. Lestat fell asleep with his head in Louis's lap, hair fanned out over his thighs. Louis pet his hands through it until the sun's pull claimed him, too.
In the quiet dark, their hearts beat as one.
