One of your requests was the Armand/Louis ship, so I thought I'd indulge you with a cheeky little fan art moment between them. Armand is making his best effort to get Louis to put down the blasted book and pay attention to him instead. Louis can't help himself, he simply must finish this chapter's last page.
From: @opheliaimortal / Opheliaimmortal (ao3)
To: @mx-indrik
(crossposted to ao3)
The Vampire Lestat here- I know it’s been a while, but surely you, my most lovely readers, have not forgotten me. Such a foolish notion that is, how could you all have forgotten a face so beautiful? In the outlandish event that some of you may not completely recall me, or that some of you may not have met my written word before, allow me to refresh your minds.
I was turned into a vampire in October of 1780 by the late Vampire Magnus, plucked from the world of mortals on account of my devilishly beautiful looks. I have shoulder-length, wavy blond hair that was once golden, but that has turned near white from my habitual burnings in the sun. My once pale skin had also darkened into a beautifully tan color from meetings with the sun, though that tan is now beginning to fade, as I have not tasted the sun’s rays in many years. While I have always preferred the human quality that the darkening of my skin gifts me, my darling blood-spouse has asked (demanded) that I stay out of the sun, claiming he prefers me in my natural state. Absolutely pale and hard as marble.
I stand at about six feet tall, which was quite impressive in my eighteenth century manhood, but is perhaps just above average in this twenty-first century. My height oftentimes seems to turn into a point of taunt among my fellow immortals, namely a certain radio-hosting child vampire and his former journalist companion. But as always, I stick to my convictions. The height of my signature heeled boots should be accounted for in my metric, considering I am never seen without them. Save for by Louis, that is.
I get off-track, bogged down in such mundane details. After all, you all have been reading my novels for years, you all understand the stature at which I stand. Now that you all have revived your recollections of me, The Vampire Lestat, I have a tale for you all!
But brace yourselves. I must admit in advance, this is not a grand tale of ancient folklore or supernatural revelations, as I have so often told before. No, this is a much more precious look into the private sphere of my life with my companion heart and consort. A few nights have passed since the event I am about to tell you all of transpired, but I have found it worthy enough of writing. All of my passed reservations around revealing private details of mine and Louis’ romance be damned.
I was glaring down at my blank word document, tensing my muscles in hopes of conjuring up linguistic grandeur to describe my recently overflowing duties as Prince; while my life had become far more domestic and scheduled since peace had been established under my rule, it had by no means faded into uneventful mundanity. Despite the relative peace and habitual lifestyle that had been established in the near decade since the incidents of my last great novel, Blood Communion, we still had peculiar run-ins with ill-intending, rebellious immortals every so often. Especially, as the trend of the last few years has proven, during the colder months.
Though I suppose that phrasing is not quite accurate, as Auvergne tends to be quite frigid for the vast majority of the year. What I truly mean is the later months of November through the early months of February. For whatever reason- Marius nor I have been able to come up with any decent theories as to why- we face the most opposition from lone vampires, or at times small covens, during that time of year.
As it was mid-December, the court had already had a few strange interruptions from rogue vampires and Marius had requested I make formal accounts of such instances as though I was a common underling rather than his Prince. What a curious notion, that I his monarch, would reduce myself to such a tedious task. Nevertheless, despite my slight irritation then and my complaints now, I complied to his request and sought to write down the details of such futile attacks.
But alas, I was plagued by such a mortal ailment of writers block. It was likely because I was reclined in bed trying to write. I always tend to struggle much more with writing when I am lying in bed as opposed to at a proper table. I don’t know why, I just do. And you would think that my knowledge and recognition of such an Achilles Heal would convince me out of bed and to a table, but no. I am an unwilling devil, as we all know.
And besides, my dear Louis had only left our bed to bathe minutes prior, leaving our satin sheets still warm from his plump flesh and still holding his scent in a most tantalizing manner. No. I could not leave the warm comfort of our bed when it remained so cozy even after his departure. Besides, I knew he would be back from showering soon, and I hoped that him seeing me still in bed would encourage him to lie back down for some cuddling.
I watched the flashing curser on my blank document, listening as the pipes creaked as Louis allowed the water to run in order to warm up. As though I was hypnotized by the flashing, I began to disassociate, having the most salacious daydreams about my beautiful one. His naked form resting against the tubs edge as he waited for the water, him scrubbing his soft, glistening skin with a cloth. All of a sudden though, I heard a scream that can only be described as blood curdling, followed by a crashing sound. Like how a woman would shriek as she was tortured or an animal would squeal as it was bitten into by a predator.
I sprang up from the bed immediately, nearly knocking my precious laptop to the ground, and sprinted with my vampiric speed to our ensuite. I knocked open the door immediately, terrified for a perhaps irrational reason, that Louis had been attacked.
“Cherie! What happened? Have you hurt yourself?” I exclaimed, only to be met with the sight of my precious darling shivering on the floor before me, his hair wet and his mouth gaping. My hand flew to my mouth, stifling a series of hysterical giggles. While my concern was still extremely present, it was outweighed by my fondness for the sight of Louis in such a predicament.
“Did you fall out of the tub, darling?” I asked once my giggles had subsided, offering Louis a hand.
Louis glared at me with irritation but took my hand nonetheless. “I did,” he gritted with embarrassment. “Nearly five minutes I ran the water and it did not warm up in the slightest.”
I hummed sympathetically and engulfed him in a pristinely white towel, pulling him into a tight hug. My darling tends to be so sensitive to the cold still, despite the ancient blood that flows through him.
“I’m sorry, cherie. Did it scare you?”
Louis nodded against my neck, planting a gentle kiss to my collarbone.
I reached to run my hand under the flowing shower-head only to also recoil. The water was absolutely frigid. I sighed, wiping my hand against the fluffy towel.
“It gets so cold here in the winter. It makes sense that the pipes would take a while to heat the water,” I said to which Louis hummed in agreement.
“Perhaps if we let it run for ten or so more minutes it’ll be better,” he suggests, still shivering against me. “Also, cherie, the pipes don’t heat the water. The water heater does.” His tone and gaze were utter endearment; all his irritation from moments prior had completely evaporated.
“Minor details,” I waved him off with a chuckle, pulling his shivering form closer. “We could wait,” I agreed, “or perhaps we could have Barbara manually heat the water, just like they did in the old days. I could give you a nice bath.”
An agonizingly fond smile blossomed on my darling’s beautiful face. “You’re just looking for an excuse to cop a feel,” he teased, pressing a quick and clumsy kiss to my lips.
I laughed loudly. It always feels so strange to hear my Louis speak modern lingo of mortals. It always invokes such intense feelings of endearment in my heart.
I pressed an equally clumsy kiss to his lips before responding. “You always assume the worst of me, Louis. Perhaps I just wish to care for my precious darling,” I replied with faux indignation as he blushed harshly at the nickname.
I turned the shower off and led him back to bed, where we snuggled back up in the disarrayed sheets. I telepathically called out to Barbara with my request before rolling over and allowing my love to consume my attention completely. His bare body was still shivering as I ran my hand over the sensual, generous layer of fat that coated his hip and thigh.
We kissed messily, making out as mortal youths do. Our hands griping and pulling at each other’s hair as we ground against each other desperately.
Never before in our relationship had we experienced each other in such a manner. Sure, sometimes when we still lived on Louis’ planation we would kiss in the heat of the moment. But such instances were typically the afterthought of the pent up frustration of a fight. Never, not until after Louis had chosen to stay by my side as Prince’s consort, had we interacted in such a manner with love and genuine affection as the motivator.
At some point while Louis and I were coupling, Barbara went into insuite and filled it with water she’d heated for my beautiful one.
“As much as I am enjoying your touch,” Louis had said breathlessly, as our kiss broke, “I would like to actually bathe while the water is still hot.”
I breathed a laugh, giving my beautiful one an impish grin before sweeping him off the bed bridal-style. Louis let out an uncharacteristic squeal of surprise as I carried him to the washroom and gently lowered him into the deep tub.
Louis huffed out a laugh, his expression surprisingly tender and affectionate, a far cry from the annoyance that he would typically have over my ministrations. His shoulders melted back in relaxation as he was enveloped by the warm bath water. Barbara seemed to have added a bit of those ever popular floral scented essential oils to the water. A quite pleasant and relaxing scent, really.
I watched with quiet adoration as Louis’ eyes drifted shut and his well-molded chest slowly rose and fell. One of his arms came to rest against the edge of the tub and his other went under the water, absentmindedly rested against the gentle slope of his underbelly. It wasn’t the proximity to his flaccid yet girthy cock that made his lithe hand catch my attention. Rather it was the singular ring that Louis bore. A magnificent stone, really, though I might be a bit biased, seeing as I was the one who procured it for him. Emerald jewelry had always brought out the beauty of my darlings eyes.
“You’re staring, Stat,” Louis remarked without ever having to open his eyes. He knew that my gaze would be glued to him. Nowadays, it always was.
“Ah, how could I not, beautiful one?” I asked with earnest, my tone completely devoid of the tease that Louis so loathed.
He cracked open an eye to glare at me fondly. Such a beautiful, vibrant eye.
“I thought you came in here to wash me, not gawk as though I’m an exotic parrot,” said Louis with a half-hearted annoyance.
I considered what he said as I reached for the glass bottle of lavender scented shampoo that sat on a shelf above the tub. I shrugged, kneeling down beside him.
“You’re kind of like an exotic parrot. You have similar eyes to one, at least.”
Louis sighed, but made no further indication of his annoyance, as he allowed me to tilt his head back and wet his long black hair. He typically hated it long and preferred to cut it short every night, but often still kept it at its natural length for my benefit. I quite like the way his course hair parts and falls down his shoulders lie a veil. I think it gives my Louis a very distinguished look.
I poured a fair glob of the shampoo into my palm before beginning to massage it into his hair, thickly lathering it from the roots down to the ends. We sat in silence as I began washing his hair, listening only the the slightly rippling of the water and each other’s heartbeats.
I set the glass bottle back on the shelf and retrieved the one with conditioner, before muttering a curse, realizing belatedly that I had made a mess of the sleeve of my satin pajama shirt. Louis’ eyes creaked open at my vocal disturbance.
“Stat, your sleeve is all wet,” Louis said, taking my hand into his.
“Louis,” I chided gently, “close your eyes before you get shampoo in them!”
Louis shook his head, a look of affectionate exasperation painted across his face as he indulged me and shut his eyes.
I dipped his head back to wash the lavender scented soap from his crown. His breathing stilled as the water framed his nearly fully submerged face; his unblemished skin glistening with moisture.
Absolutely resplendent, my love. I pressed a tender kiss to his forehead as he reemerged, opening his eyes once more.
“Do you ever regret all those years wasted with cruelness and fearful avoidance, when all this tenderness was within our reach this whole time?” I asked earnestly, suddenly overcame by a sickening vulnerability.
Louis took my hand in his and kissed it, his lips pressed against my emerald ring. “Peu importe, ma chérie,” he spoke in French, as was often our habit when we were alone. “You have all eternity to make it up to me.”
“Only if you’ll have me, beautiful one.”
What a tale I have told all of you, if it even deserves to be called that. Here you all, my most devoted readers, had flocked, your groins aching for another swashbuckling story of grandeur and might, only to be let down miserably. I wish I could say, with any semblance of genuity, that I am sorry to have let you all down. But alas, that would not be true. No grand tale of adventure is worth trading for the domestic bliss that I have established, when I find time away from my overwhelming Princely duties, with my precious Louis.
In the event that I do end up publishing this- which I doubt I will, seeing as it would likely upset Louis to have such matters of our personal chambers let out into public domain. As the mortal youths of today say, what happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom. Anyways, if I do publish it and you all find it as mundane and lackluster as I believe you will, there is no need to take to social media comment sections about it. There is no need for the incessant “tweeting” of your disdains for my tale. I refuse to have a repeat of the unwarranted, not-so-creative criticisms that I was subjected to after my great novel Memnoch the Devil. There is absolutely no need to inform me if you did not enjoy this installment of The Vampire Chronicles, if it can even be called that.
Nevertheless, in the case that I do allow any eyes, save for mine and Louis’, to grace this tale and complaints arise about its content, I really doubt I would be able to bring myself to care. I suppose one could say that I am writing this as a brag of sorts. My continued companionship with Louis truly is my greatest pride. It is where the evil my maker bequeathed me with, which flows through my very veins, finds its place in the world. I have always believed that evil has no real place in the world, but when creatures such as ourselves subsume such great amounts of love… The point being, dear readers, is that The Vampire Lestat has truly made peace with himself and found his place of belonging in the world. I no longer require the approval or adoration of foolish mortals such as yourselves- though that’s not to say I do not love your kind- for I have all of the love I could ever need right here in my husband’s arms.
That is right, you did not misread that last line. Go on, reread it again if you must, I understand the indulgence. By this point the whole immortal world knows of how Louis and I solidified our bond- many of them even bore witness to it at our wedding- and I thought it far past time that the mortal world knew as well.
My Louis is officially ‘off the market,’ as the youths of today say! I’m sorry ladies and gentlemen but hope is lost for you all! Castrate yourselves and gouge out your eyes, for you’ll never find a spouse as beautiful as my own!
Ah, Lestat what a dreadful devil you are, getting your faithful readers’ hopes up and taking advantage of their cravings for another great adventure of yours, only to brag. I ought to be careful or God might just have enough and finally strike me down for my ego. Nevertheless, you all will get over it eventually. Or perhaps you will die first. However the savage garden choses to grant its mercy.
Be that as it may be, as I’ve been finishing writing this, my miraculous husband has been calling out to me. And I cannot stand the thought of making him wait any longer for my undivided attention. He deserves it and so much more, after all.
Until my next adventure, my darling audience- remember, I love you so.
