Chapter Text
The rain is about to fall.
A light wind flickers across the hills, the air rancid with dampness and the scent of wet grass. Lestat quickens his pace, dragging his bare feet through the grass, his ankles wet with dew.
He glances at the cabin. A thin stream of smoke trails from the chimney, dissolving into the cloud-heavy sky. Daniel has finally figured out how to light that damned thing, he thinks. Maybe he's not as useless as he thought.
From the mountains behind him rises a mournful song—cicadas, owls, nocturnal animals. Somewhere beyond the horizon, a wolf whines. His heart tightens, and for a moment, he longs for a gentle touch.
But he's no longer in Auvergne, France. He’s no longer in danger. He’s safe. Supposedly. He tries to tell himself this enough times to start believing it. It's been a long time.
Inside the cabin, Daniel is playing chess with the girl. In the back of his mind, a memory from the past ricochets against the ghost of what his life used to be. His stomach twists in a terrible knot. A wave of nausea, unease.
“You heard that too?” Daniel says, not lifting his eyes from his unsteady bishop.
Lestat doesn’t answer. He just stares out the window, his icy gaze lost in the distant downpour.
“Heard what?” the girl asks. There's a particular softness in her voice. For a moment, Lestat closes his eyes.
“He’s coming,” Daniel answers in his place, clearing his throat. “Here. He can’t be that far away now.”
At last, Lestat turns to look at them. Manon looks on the verge of tears from sheer confusion. Her long dark hair spills over her shoulders. Her black eyes are caught in the friction of unspoken words. He doesn’t feel like explaining.
He goes to his room. Tonight, he simply cannot bear that innocent, expectant gaze. When Armand had tasked them with watching over the poor creature—a human with no real prospects, barely thirty years old—he hadn’t expected she might fall in love with him.
Or maybe he had suspected it—after all, everyone fell for him—and went through with it on purpose. Just to spite him. That sounded very much like the type of thing Armand would do.
In any case, Lestat has firmly rejected all her advances.
Sometimes the girl runs her fingers through his long blond hair, which now brushes his shoulders. She combs it with care. Her fingers sink into his scalp like butter. For a moment, he finds comfort in that gentle touch.
Other times, when Daniel goes out on his nightly walks, they sit together on the couch. Manon reads Don Quixote , Lestat practices the second movement of Violin Concerto No. 3. The woman sits cross-legged, her long dress lifting just enough to brush her thigh against his, a mischievous look in her eyes.
Lestat remains mostly impassive, often amused by these endless little games. Sometimes he teases her back, brushing against her in turn, just to see her reaction. She blushes deeply, her pale cheeks turning a shade of violet. Lestat watches her. He thinks about it—after all, somehow, he has to pass the time.
By spring, it will be a year since they were stranded there, without a single word from Armand.
Sometimes he truly considers it.
He needs a distraction. Anything to stop him from thinking about him. He looks at her. Small pink lips, dark eyes, sharp brows. She’s passable—pretty, even—but every time he looks at her, he can't help but think about the tiny mole on his cheek. A microscopic dot. He thinks about his full lips. His warm mouth.
He thinks about the feeling of that mouth on him. He always made everything seem so simple. Love, desire, sharing a body.
So even though Lestat tries to soothe his boredom with these trivial flirtations, beneath the surface he burns.
Where are you? he wants to ask—but he can’t. He promised himself he wouldn’t go looking for him this time. He would come back to him, one way or another.
Sometimes Daniel sneaks off to talk in whispers. It’s him, Lestat feels it in his bones. He breaks into a cold sweat at the thought of overhearing their conversations. His left eyelid twitches from the tension.
He doesn’t listen. He doesn’t ask Daniel how he is doing. He’ll wait. Even if the distance is terrifying, unbearable—
Even if not a single morning passes without Lestat touching himself, thinking of him, and all the dawns they spent together.
After Lestat leaves the room and heads to his chamber, Daniel moves the bishop with a sigh. They hear the door slam loudly.
“You know I’m going to take your bishop with my rook, right?” Manon says softly, her eyes veiled with strange sadness.
“It was doomed from the start, anyway,” Daniel gestures at the messy board.
“I really like him, you know,” she says, after several minutes of silence. “I think I could even love him.”
Daniel says nothing for a long while.
“I think he feels something for me too. I think he likes me,” she adds nervously. Daniel’s amber eyes rest on her.
“Liking Lestat isn’t easy, to be honest,” he replies. He figures it’s better to be blunt—it’ll make what’s coming hurt less. “But of one thing I have to be honest with you: he’ll never love you.”
Manon furrows her brow, her throat tightens. “I don’t care that he’s a creature. I find that fascinating, even.”
Daniel shakes his head, a bitter truth settling in. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?” she presses. “Be clearer.”
Daniel sighs. It’s hard to explain to someone who’s never seen them together.
“He can’t love you. Especially not now that he’s almost here. You’re going to get burned, girl.”
“Who is he?” the girl asks, impatient now. “Who’s coming?”
Daniel takes a few moments to consider his answer. Ex-lover, partner, killer, soulmate—the lines blur into each other.
“Louis.”
He answers simply, as if knowing who Louis is should be the most obvious thing in the world.
They never finish the game.
*
Days go by.
Life in the cabin flows as smoothly as ever, but there's something beneath the surface. Small details that don't escape Manon's notice.
At sunset, Lestat grows irritable. He’s tense, fidgeting with the edge of the table, his fingers moving ever faster across the sheet music as he studies the rhythm. It's as if every night brings a new disappointment, a fear masked as tension: maybe Louis was not coming after all.
Isn’t that right?
He was the one who walked away—again. He’d left him alone in an empty bed in Lisbon two years ago.
Armand’s request had been clear, but so had his spirit: he said he wouldn’t waste time on some girl. Not anymore. Especially not if it was Armand who asked.
They’d fought, naturally. Their arguments were often violent, cutting, cruel. Afterwards, they made love. One of their most extraordinary mornings.
By sunset, Louis was gone, and Lestat had known he’d made his choice. Once again, he’d chosen to leave. The scent of his skin haunted the bedsheets like a permanent stain.
Lestat burned them. The fire triggered the hotel’s alarm.
That was Louis. Impulsive, bloody, passionate. His sharp and fiery nature drives Lestat completely mad.
*
Sometimes, Lestat thinks he can’t take the waiting anymore—he imagines his hands on him, his scent.
Manon, in the meantime, tries to intensify her attention, well aware that Lestat enjoys being admired. She lines her eyes with makeup, powders her nose, leaves her hair loose around her shoulders. She wears beautiful, fitted clothes, revealing just a little skin—just enough to be noticed by him.
But he doesn’t look.
He stares out the window, spends long hours sitting outside the cabin, immersed in the cold grass of that desolate hillside. He retreats to his room only to escape the morning light. He hunts just before dawn, as if this strange ritual could somehow keep him away.
As if Louis were a threatening ghost he no longer wants to see.
But of course, that's not true. He’s coming. Lestat can feel it.
He can’t be far now. He feels it in his bones, in his feet, in his fangs. His scent. The pull of desire, of love—stronger than anything else.
He tries to steady the rhythm of his heart, moving spectrally, as if he could still feel. He tries to control the hunger.
Manon watches with wide eyes at dinner, as he sinks his teeth into a tender, still-living rabbit. She’s not afraid—not of him, not of Daniel. She knows Armand, knows their nature, knows they’re there to protect her.
But what terrifies her is that hunger—the way Lestat’s teeth seem capable of breaking veins and arteries and heart and bones, so ravenous and yet so precise.
Lestat had never eaten like that in front of her. Until now. Manon understands then: something has changed.
She lowers her head toward her plate, stirring her grain soup absentmindedly.
“What happened between them?” she asks Daniel, once she’s sure Lestat can’t hear them.
Daniel shrugs. “Push and pull,” that’s his answer. “It’s always been that way. It’s how they play, how they want each other.”
*
May arrives, and everything quiets. The atmosphere softens. He’s not coming. By now, they’ve all come to accept it. No one says “Louis” out loud. No one dares bring it up. They’re tired.
The chess games resume. The moonlit walks return. Manon blows out her candles: her thirty-first birthday.
Lestat pretends to forget about him. By now, he’s probably out there, staring at the moon somewhere—Tokyo, Buenos Aires, maybe the desert. He doesn’t care much. Sooner or later, he’ll come back, like he always does.
It’s only a matter of time.
He tries to ignore the nausea that rises every time he imagines his legs tangled in someone else’s sheets.
Hopeless.
*
It happens one June night.
Lestat is outside, as he is every evening now with the arrival of warm weather. The tall grass sticks to his ankles, his lips wet with blood and rain. He’s just finished feeding—maybe a badger, or a hare. He doesn’t even remember. Doesn’t matter.
The hill seems darker than usual.
Daniel is inside, speaking softly with Manon, but Manon isn’t listening. She’s pale. In her heart, a burning sensation. A tension. She watches Lestat through the window glass with reverence—and a nameless fear.
Lestat can feel it too. The shiver in the air, the whisper of the wind billowing his shirt.
But it’s not the storm.
Like a fury, he rushes inside the cabin, disheveled and restless. Manon watches him closely: he seems out of himself but tries to keep calm. Lestat turns toward the table lamp in the living room, his back to the door. Don’t turn around, don’t turn around, don’t turn around, he repeats to himself.
He knows it would take just one look for all his willpower to collapse.
Daniel sighs. He’s used to scenes like this.
Then—a sound. Not loud. Not even really a noise. Lestat turns. Daniel looks up. Manon realizes a moment later. When the cabin door flies open with a sudden jerk.
He is there.
When Manon looks at the figure in the doorway, every flicker of hope in her heart dissolves in the wind. Standing at the door is the most beautiful man she has ever seen: short black hair, large green eyes. Dark, shining skin.
“Louis!” Daniel exclaims, running to him with a smile. Manon has never seen him look so sincere.
Louis is soaked through. The heavy cloak drips water and mud onto the floor.
Daniel moves to hug him, but he doesn’t move: his face hard, lips pressed tight, gaze fixed on Lestat, who stares back from the other side of the room, arms crossed.
“Hello, Lestat.”
“Hello, Louis.”
A chill falls over the cabin.
“Cut the crap,” Daniel says, clearly irritated by the situation. Louis finally looks away from him. Lestat feels as if his breath has been sucked out of his chest.
Louis embraces Daniel, shakes Manon’s hand.
“Louis de Pointe du Lac,” he says with a slight smile.
To Lestat, it feels like being in one of his dreams.
His hand is warm and steady, Manon thinks. Every movement carries a hint of sensuality. She feels a pang inside.
Jealousy, the impossibility of competing. Inadequacy.
Before Louis can approach him, Lestat gives a brief nod and disappears seconds later into the hallway. The sound of his bedroom door slamming roughly echoes through the cabin.
Louis doesn’t seem annoyed, as if he expected the reaction. Used to the earthquakes and tides of their relationship.
*
The next four days pass quickly.
Lestat doesn’t leave his room except to stride through the living room and step outside. Not a word, not a lingering glance.
Manon spends some time with Louis. She hates to admit it, but in her heart she easily understands how one could fall for him, effortlessly. He’s incredibly charming, sometimes a bit sharp.
When he smiles, and his green eyes light up. Manon tries to think of one quality Lestat could have that Louis doesn’t, but she can’t find one.
Her days become a minefield, resisting the growing tension in the house.
Daniel finds the new company of his old friend refreshing. He thinks this moment of peace is just a taste of what’s to come: complete disaster.
*
On the fifth day, Lestat decides to rejoin the group.
No one asks him anything, no one reproaches him. Everyone understands the situation, yet no one dares to say things as they are. Daniel is tired—and he knows it's not worth it.
Louis barely looks at him. As if he were afraid.
Better that way, Lestat thinks: if they ignore each other, maybe he won’t have to pretend he didn’t want to take him the very second he stepped into the cabin.
Now there are four at the table. Louis talks with Daniel about literature, art, and film. Manon tries in every possible way to catch Lestat’s attention, but he seems too busy ignoring Louis. He examines his nails, wipes a speck of blood from the corner of his mouth. The mountain profile outside the window has suddenly become very interesting.
Those first dinners slip by as smoothly as oil. To be honest, the two only exchange a few scornful glances, but no arguments. The atmosphere is tense, but no open conflict.
Manon hardly recognizes Lestat: she’s never seen him this nervous, this shaken. She didn’t think it was possible.
“They must have a very complicated history,” she whispers one day to Daniel.
“Lestat seems completely in love with him. I didn’t think he was the type.”
She hopes Daniel will dismiss the idea, correct her. Tell her she’s wrong.
Instead, Daniel simply says: “Yeah.” Blunt. Final.
Manon feels a sharp pain twist in her gut, somewhere between her heart and ribs, like a weight lodged in her insides.
One evening, during yet another boring argument, Manon cuts herself on a piece of glass. Blood flows freely. Louis immediately presses a damp cloth to the wound.
“Get Daniel out of here.”
Those are the first words he’s spoken directly to Lestat since his arrival. There’s a moment of hesitation. Then it comes—the bang of Lestat’s fist slamming violently against the table.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he shouts. He’s furious.
The whole table goes still. Manon fears the worst. Daniel looks at her with an intensity she didn’t know he possessed.
“I said,” Louis says, carefully enunciating each word, tightening the cloth around Manon’s bleeding finger: “Take Daniel outside. Now.”
Daniel is shockingly pale. Casting one last searing look at Louis, Lestat grabs him by the arm and drags him out of the cabin. They step onto the lawn in front of the house, a cold wind ripping through the trees.
Lestat shoves Daniel into the damp grass. He collapses with a muffled groan, overwhelmed by hunger. He sinks into the overgrown blades.
“Get a grip,” Lestat says, harshly. But it’s not Daniel he’s angry with, of course.
With trembling hands, he pulls a cigarette from the back of his jeans and lights it nervously.
It takes only a few minutes before Louis bursts out of the cabin in a fury, heading straight for them.
“Do you have any idea what you risked there?” Louis shouts. His hair is slightly tousled, and Lestat struggles not to stare at that damn mole on his cheek.
“You could have gotten her killed. What would your precious Armand have said?”
“My precious Armand?” Lestat repeats. He sees Louis swallow hard, afraid—and he stops. He doesn’t want to hurt him.
“She’s fine,” he says finally. “Daniel and I handled it well. Until you showed up—what made you change your mind, anyway?”
“Daniel isn’t like us,” Louis replies, dodging the question. “You know that. He’s still young.”
“Great. Don’t tell me anything,” Lestat snaps, irritated by Louis’s evasiveness.
“How am I supposed to tell you anything when you ignore me and act like I don’t even ex—”
“Cool it, you two,” Daniel mutters, his voice strained. “My head’s going to explode.”
“Shut the fuck up, Daniel,” Louis snaps.
Lestat wishes he didn’t find him so damn attractive when he gets like this—rough, unfair, incoherent.
“I’m going to check on the girl,” he says instead. Anything to avoid staring at those lips, that face, that hair.
*
When Lestat opens the door in the morning, he already knows it’s him. Louis stands there in his nightshirt, face pale and bruised.
“Go away,” he says. His gaze drops to Lestat’s neck, his chest visible through the thin fabric.
“As you wish.” Louis brushes his arm off the doorframe and steps inside, slamming the door behind him.
“What do you want?” Lestat asks, backing away.
“I have to ask you to take it slow,” Louis says. “Armand told us to protect her, not befriend her.”
“Who?”
Louis sighs, annoyed. “Who do you think—the girl,” he snaps.
Lestat feels desire flare up inside him, suddenly aware of how close they are, the intimacy of the space.
“Manon,” he says, just to fill the tense silence.
Louis nods. There’s a strange emotion in his eyes. A kind of sadness.
“What about her?” asks Lestat, mindlessly.
“Keep your distance,” Louis exhales. “She’s clearly in love with you. We can’t afford any mistakes. She keeps asking me questions about your life.”
Lestat raises his eyebrows, stunned for a moment. Is that what this is? Jealousy? Seriously? He can’t believe it. He didn’t wait every night for him to come back just to get scolded over something this ridiculous.
“I don’t see,” he says, dryly, annoyed. “What this has to do with me.”
“You’re encouraging her. I’ve seen you,” Louis snaps back.“If you stop flirting with her, maybe the crush will go away.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Lestat manages to say.
For a split second, the urge to grab him by the hair and throw him onto the bed is nearly overwhelming.
“Did you sleep with her?” Louis asks, arrogance thick in his voice.
Lestat feels his cock twitch in his pants. One more word and he’s going to lose it. But he doesn’t. For once, he holds back.
He doesn't answer. Louis looks surprised. Almost... hurt.
“Can I sleep with you?” he asks then, softening his tone.
Lestat has to summon all his willpower not to give in.
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“You know why,” he says honestly. Then, lying outright, adds: “Besides, I’m very tired.”
He grabs Louis by the wrist, trying to drag him toward the door. Louis resists, jerks his arm free, and slams Lestat against the nearest wall. The sound of his back hitting it is brutal. Lestat swallows a groan. Christ.
“I know the way,” Louis growls in his face, just inches from him.
For a moment, Lestat is ready to open his mouth and let himself be devoured. But Louis steps back, a dazed look on his face, and walks out of the room.
*
The following days, the cabin is thick with tension.
It’s raw, palpable, and humiliating, and no one can do a damn thing about it. On the brink of the summer solstice, Louis decides to stroll around the house in tighter, shorter clothing—surely due to the heat.
Except it feels suspiciously tailored to drive Lestat completely insane.
The provocations are constant and awkward. Lestat can barely keep himself from staring at the hard outline of Louis’ nipples through his T-shirt, or the way his thigh muscles tense when he sits on the living room armchair, the shape of his cock faintly visible through the line of his shorts.
Daniel keeps his distance. Sometimes he just rolls his eyes. Other times, he tries to telepathically beg Louis to tone it down. To remember that they are not alone, for fuck’s sake. That the two of them—him and that poor girl—are stuck here too. But it doesn’t work.
Manon starts spending much more time outdoors, especially during the day when the others rest. Some nights, though, she still manages to be alone with Lestat. Just the two of them, like in the old days.
He’s... strange. He’s never been so affectionate with her. Manon feels like she’s going crazy.
He smiles at her, lets the back of his hand graze her arm, touches her hair sometimes. Barely-there touches. They watch the constellations together, the stars and planets. Lestat pretends not to see Louis watching them from afar, burning with jealousy from the inside out.
Manon talks about planets and stars, while Lestat tries not to think about all the ways he could be taking Louis right then and there.
Daniel finally has to intervene. He corners Lestat after Manon’s gone up to her room. His voice is hard.
“What is this, you trying to get her killed?” he snaps, eyes darting over Lestat’s infuriatingly innocent expression. “Maybe you forgot, but we’re here to protect her, for fuck’s sake.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t be a dick,” Daniel spits. “You know what he’s like. Ease up, or we’ll have a whole new problem to deal with—and I have zero interest in cleaning up after your foreplay.”
That conversation almost breaks Lestat, just for a second. How is he supposed to ignore the fact that Louis is acting like a lunatic, when he spent decades trying to get any reaction from him at all?
Louis can be possessive—especially when it comes to him. Daniel flinches every time Louis stares at the girl for more than thirty seconds. He sees the way he watches her hair, her gestures, her artistic curiosity.
Normally, he trusts Louis. Most of the time, at least. But when Lestat’s involved, everything gets warped. He becomes unpredictable, irritable, erratic—sometimes cruel. This is not the Louis Daniel got to know in Dubai, that’s for sure.
Manon doesn’t seem to sense the danger.
But Daniel knows exactly what hunting looks like: and Louis is very much in season. That’s why he watches every interaction Louis has with the girl.
Officially, Louis says he wants to spend time with her to “keep her company”: they read together sometimes, talk about soft music. One night, they even dance.
Lestat watches them like he’s hallucinating, pretending to disapprove of their closeness.
Daniel, of course, knows better: he can sense Lestat’s arousal from miles away. Honestly, it’s embarrassing watching them act like this. They’re not teenagers.
Manon, for her part, tries to distract herself any way she can. At one point, she considers sleeping outside. The tension in the house has become unbearable.
Daniel, predictably, forbids it completely.
She can’t remember the last time she fell this hard for someone. In her defense, it’s hard not to fall in love with Lestat. But the man she’s fallen head-over-heels for clearly belongs to someone else.
She sees it all now—their games, her flirtations, the innuendos: a total waste of time. Watching the way Louis and Lestat interact, she realizes just how foolish she’s been.
“I never had a chance, did I?” she asks Daniel one day, bitterness in her mouth.
He shoots her a knowing look as he straightens a pile of papers.
“It’s not your fault,” he says simply.
“No one stands a chance. Since the day they met, the rest of the world’s been locked out.”
*
Louis likes this place. The Canadian mountains are incredibly striking, and he still feels a sense of inferiority in their presence. He walks through the tall grass, the moonlight lightly brushing the green blades, making them shine silver.
Lestat is not far from there, standing. He’s looking at the rocky profile of the stone walls. He hears him coming, of course. But he doesn’t turn. Not yet.
Louis feels anticipation in his stomach like a rumble of thunder. Every time he tells himself he doesn’t miss it—the thrill, the danger, the fatalism that surrounds them. But those are just excuses.
He stops a few steps away. A cold wind brushes against the windbreaker Louis uses as a shield.
“It’s cold tonight,” he says, dryly. He’s not sure what to say. Ever since he arrived, all he’s done is try to get his attention the only way he knows how to play well: provocation.
It hasn’t worked. Lestat has remained practically impassive. Lestat, who now turns around, blond hair slightly tousled by the wind.
“Why are you here?” he asks.
Louis thinks for a moment before answering. He swallows.
“Because of you.”
Lestat seems surprised. “Because of me?” he repeats, incredulous. “Then why did you leave in the first place?”
“You know why,” Louis clenches his fists. “The girl. You. Everything reminds me of…"
He doesn't finish. They both know who he's thinking of.
Lestat speaks coldly. “Running won’t solve anything.”
He’s right, Louis knows that well. But it’s like his will is driven by something deeper. Something that can’t be controlled. The urge to break free from unpleasant situations, from discomfort.
“You’re right. I know that,” he says. “I was afraid. I suppose.”
For a moment, neither of them speaks. Lestat gives a small nod, then asks, “Where have you been?”
In his eyes there’s all his melancholy, his nostalgia, his repression. Louis hates how much he likes being looked at that way by him. Hates how those glances remind him of the effect he has on him.
“Europe. Then the northern seas. Then I came here.” He pauses a moment, then looks at Lestat’s lips. He can’t resist: “Did you miss me?” he adds, almost a whisper.
Lestat doesn’t reply immediately. He keeps his gaze fixed beyond the rocks, toward the jagged profile of the mountains, as if the answer might be hidden among the peaks.
“I’ll ask you again,” he says, dodging the question. “Why are you here?”
“I want to help. I want to…” Louis replies, his voice low. Almost as if ashamed. “Be close… to you.”
He struggles to express his feelings. Every time he voices something out loud, it seems destined to break and die. To disappear forever.
The silence that follows is broken only by the wind in the trees. Then Louis steps closer. He doesn’t touch him—not quite. He lets his shoulder brush against Lestat’s arm.
“I’d like to stay,” he murmurs. “If that’s okay.”
Lestat closes his eyes for a moment, as if holding something back. Louis knows perfectly well he’ll never kick him out, but he loves to hear it anyway.
“Will you stop provoking me?” he asks.
Louis glances at him, a hint of mischief he can’t fully hide.
“Will you stop flirting with her?” He doesn’t even say her name. Bad sign. Lestat holds back a smile. God, he missed him.
“I can try,” he says. Suddenly he’s having fun. “But I can’t promise.” A pause. “She’s really pretty.”
Louis’s expression drops completely. His pupils dilate, green eyes darkening with anger.
“Got it,” he replies, terse, lips pressed into a hard line. “Well, if you don’t think you can resist, I won’t be the one to stop you. Good night, Lestat.”
For a moment, they stay there, side by side, in silence. The mountains watch over them. The wind keeps blowing. They both feel it: Louis’s irritation shakes the air like a tremor, the energy of nature seems to shrink from the fury boiling inside him.
Lestat feels lightheaded. Then Louis turns sharply, heading for the cabin. He has no intention of staying there a minute longer. Besides, he promised Daniel they’d watch that old Kurosawa film together.
Halfway there, Lestat calls him.
“Louis?”
He turns toward him. Every time he sees him, he looks more beautiful than the time before.
“Yes?”
“I did miss you.”
Fuck you, Louis wants to say. But it would be like giving in: it wouldn’t help anything, except light the fuse that’s already consuming them both.
Instead, Louis says nothing, nods, and smiles. A smile that never reaches his eyes. Inside him, a strange resolve begins to take shape.
The girl really seems taken with Lestat. He knows what he has to do.
*
At first, it starts with small gestures.
Insignificant, almost passable as unconscious distractions. Louis bending over more than necessary to pick up a book from the floor, exposing a stretch of bare back beneath his sweatshirt. Louis brushing his ass against the crotch of Lestat’s pants as he slips through a narrow passage.
Then come the verbal provocations.
Comments tossed into the air, double meanings delivered in a neutral, almost cold voice. As if they weren’t directed at him. As if Louis didn’t delight in watching him squirm, desperate to hide his constant erection.
The situation is completely out of control. Louis has clearly decided to make him pay—to turn Lestat’s life into hell.
And he’s damn good at it.
Before he arrived, life in the cabin had been relatively peaceful: maybe just a few too many dull moments. Now, Lestat would’ve given anything for one of those dull moments back.
The days drag on, slow and merciless. Time loses all meaning, stretching and contracting depending on where Louis is, what he’s wearing, and how he looks at him.
It’s a carnal, maddening hell. Lestat touches himself every morning, trying to muffle his moans into the pillow. He thinks about the night before, about the relentless teasing.
He thinks about Louis in the next room. He’s sure the other man hears him—and that just turns him on more.
One night, they’re all in the dining room.
Daniel’s working on his laptop, Manon is sipping milk from a cereal bowl. Lestat is doing everything he can to avoid looking at Louis, who’s standing against the kitchen counter looking every bit like trouble.
His arms are bare, he’s wearing light linen sweats.
They’re talking about traveling. Manon is fascinated by the kind of life Louis seems to lead.
“You’ve been pretty much everywhere, haven’t you?” she says, genuinely impressed. There’s no trace of jealousy in her voice. “That’s amazing.”
“He never sits still, this one,” Daniel chuckles, lighthearted. “Always off somewhere.”
The atmosphere is relaxed, convivial. But it takes just a second for everything to change.
Louis laughs with them at first, then drops his gaze, like he’s mulling something over. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Lestat, nose buried in a cookbook he’ll never use.
“It’s true,” Louis says then, amused. “Sometimes I think someone really ought to teach me how to stay in my place.”
Before he can embarrass himself, Lestat snaps the book shut and marches out of the room with it under his arm.
Sometimes, Louis appears at Lestat’s doorway with some flimsy excuse, his silhouette perfect and backlit.
Another night, at dawn, while the others are still asleep, he straddles the armrest of the chair beside Lestat as he reads his music.
“Uncomfortable?” Lestat asks, raising an eyebrow without turning.
“I’m perfectly fine,” Louis replies, his gaze locked on the score, his thighs pressing ever so slightly against Lestat’s shoulder. “Unless you want to move me.”
Lestat resists the urge to turn his face and sink his fangs into that bare leg. Before he can fire back, Louis slips away, leaving him staring into the void, hands tingling.
*
One warm June evening, Manon tries to tell Lestat a story as they sit side by side on the couch in the living room.
It’s an old myth—something she read in a book once, though she can’t quite remember all of it. The tale drifts into disjointed fragments, half-formed and lacking thread.
Lestat listens politely, but his mind wanders. He’s not really interested. From an armchair nearby, Louis speaks up. He corrects a detail, adds a missing name. His voice slices through the room, subtle but intrusive.
From the dining room, Daniel lets out a theatrical sigh.
“Don’t interrupt,” Lestat says, glancing sharply at him.
He’s unfairly beautiful that night—black shorts just above the knee, a white tank top revealing the sculpted muscles of his arms. “She’s trying to tell it in her own words.”
“I’m just helping,” Louis snaps back, slamming shut the book he’d only been pretending to read. “And if she’s bothered, I’m sure she can speak for herself.”
“It’s fine,” Manon murmurs, her voice smaller than usual, caught in the rising tension.
“You always have to play the teacher,” Lestat replies, ignoring her attempt at diplomacy. He’s so irritated by how turned on he is that the words come out before he can stop them: “Behave.”
Louis turns his eyes toward him. There’s a flicker of delight. He’s been waiting for this, a challenge. Finally.
“Or what?” he murmurs, voice low, electric. “You will spank me?”
Lestat’s mouth goes dry. He can’t believe he just heard that. Manon flushes crimson, visibly uncomfortable but frozen in place. The air thickens instantly, heavy and stifling, like a storm about to break.
Louis seems utterly unfazed by the awkwardness—or perhaps, he revels in it. Without another word, without even looking at Lestat again, he rises with a faint, dismissive huff and drifts toward the dining room, where Daniel is still seated.
Lestat glances up just in time to catch the curve of his perfect ass, perfectly hugged by those shorts. Just in time to imagine his own hand there: touching, brushing softly. Then striking, lightly. Not hard, not cruel. Just enough to make him moan. Just enough to make him want more.
Lestat squeezes his eyes shut, as if he can trap the image and banish it to some distant, unreachable corner of his mind.
His pulse pounds in his temples. This has to end: he won’t last much longer. He’s going to explode.
*
It’s late morning when Louis jolts awake, the sheets tangled around his legs. Another nightmare, it seems.
But he isn’t the only one up. Voices drift in from the dining room—low, steady. Familiar.
He slips out of bed, padding barefoot down the hallway in nothing but boxers and a thin tank top, eyes still hazy with sleep. The curtains are drawn; there’s no risk of sunlight creeping in.
When he steps into the room, Lestat is standing at the counter, arranging glasses with an absent expression. Manon turns immediately, glancing away from the sculpted line of his shoulders.
Louis feels something twist sharply inside his chest. An ugly, bitter knot.
“Lou!” Manon exclaims, her voice edged with discomfort. Perhaps she regrets not warning him. Perhaps she regrets watching.
“How come you’re still awake?” His voice is rough with sleep.
Lestat doesn't turn. “I couldn’t sleep,” he says simply. “Manon’s keeping me company.”
Louis’s mouth curls into something sour—an odd, fleeting sneer. Anger, maybe. Or something worse. Manon shifts in place, casting glances between them like she’s standing in the eye of a storm that hasn't broken yet.
After a pause, Louis clears his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
This time, Lestat does turn—sharply. His eyes land on Louis, half-undressed and bleary-eyed, and his cheeks flush with unmistakable heat.
He opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. His gaze drifts, refuses to settle.
“There’s still a few hours till sunset,” he says instead, turning back toward the sink. He resumes cleaning, running a hand along the rim of a dirty glass. It trembles.
Louis steps closer. Manon stops breathing.The glass shatters in Lestat’s hand with a sharp, wet crack.
“Putain,” he mutters, crimson blooming across his fingers.
Louis is there instantly, gentle, focused. He takes the injured hand, inspecting it with a surgeon’s calm, his dark eyes unreadable.
“You should be more careful,” he says, and looks up at him with mock chastisement. For a long second, there’s only the two of them and the sound of water pouring endlessly into the sink.
Then Louis brings the hand to his mouth. Slowly. Deliberately. He parts his lips and takes Lestat’s fingers in, wrapping them in heat.
Lestat doesn’t stop him. He can’t.
“I’ll… go get Daniel,” Manon stammers, backing away. Her voice is paper-thin, trembling.
She pauses at the doorway, glancing over her shoulder one last time. She doesn’t understand exactly what’s happening—only that she shouldn’t be here to witness it.
Neither of them acknowledges her leaving.
Louis sucks the blood from Lestat’s skin, his eyes locked on his. The taste is rich, overwhelming, incandescent. His tongue traces the length of the wound, slow and reverent, until he takes the fingers deeper, pressing them into the wet heat of his mouth—almost to the back of his throat.
Then he bites down again, sharper this time. More possessive. Blood slips from the corner of his lips, trailing down his chin.
Lestat moans—low and broken. He’s hit his limit.
“You’re very good at this,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and hoarse. He’s done resisting. Let him have what he wants, this dark creature with perfect lips and cruel timing. Let him burn everything down.
“Get on your knees,” he says—almost a plea, dressed as command.
Louis hesitates for half a second before smirking. He gives the finger a playful nip, less vicious now.
Lestat feels like his entire body might burst. But then Louis pulls away. Withdraws. The absence is immediate, cold.
“In the middle of the kitchen?” he says, raising one perfectly arched brow. His lips are smeared red. “You’ve lost your mind. Daniel would murder us.”
They lock eyes in the half-light. They both know it’s a lie: Louis only wants to tease. To punish.
He turns without another word, walking away with unhurried ease. Lestat can’t help but watch the curve of his ass, the way the fabric clings, the way it dares him to follow.
“What the hell?” he shouts. He doesn’t care if anyone hears him. He’s past the point of shame. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To bed,” Louis replies, already halfway down the hall. “There’s still a few hours till sunset—remember? You said so yourself.”
*
The following days drag on very slowly, the hours scraping along the ground. The most awkward moments stretch out at dinner. Louis and Lestat stare at each other from opposite ends of the table without saying a word, ignoring everyone else present. Their looks are neither hostile nor adoring: something in between, like a feeling of disgust toward something one is ashamed to desire more than they should.
Manon has never felt so uncomfortable, a hole in her chest. One evening, finally, it is Daniel who breaks the tense silence.
“We should restock on medicine,” he says, practical. “Just in case. We’re almost out.”
The girl feels incredibly relieved. Medicine restock day means only one thing: she and Lestat visit the town center a few kilometers from the cabin. Among other people. Other humans. No weirdness, no monsters.
Louis insists on going with them, but Daniel holds him back. He says they can manage on their own and it is better not to attract too much attention among the humans.
Lestat wears a simple dark suit, with jacket, tie, and shirt. He likes it; it is elegant. Simple. When he walks, the fabric clings to him like a glove—“Do you like it?”
As soon as Manon sees him, her gaze slides over him. Her big brown eyes are like those of a wounded animal that, despite itself, can’t control the attraction.
Anyway, he isn’t asking her . Louis watches silently from the dining room doorway, keeping his distance, biting the edge of a finger. Lestat pays special attention not to notice how his tongue runs around the skin.
He likes it, he thinks, satisfied. And that is enough.
Down in town, Manon seems enthusiastic and greets everyone she meets with liveliness. It is sunset, and not many humans are still out, but there are just enough to give her back that sense of normality she has lost in recent months.
Manon is kind and sweet, and Lestat doesn’t like her at all—not in that way, at least. He feels a bit guilty for how the girl looks at him. Maybe he really should pull away and extinguish any friction. But if this makes Louis jealous, why not push a little deeper?
They get back late at night. Daniel is typing, glued to the screen of his laptop. Louis doesn’t show up. He doesn’t come down to greet them, doesn’t make a sound.
“Has he gone out?” Lestat throws the question at Daniel, trying to seem indifferent.
He fails. Daniel looks up and stares at him from behind his glasses. He understands exactly what he means when he answers:
“As far as I know, no. He should be in his room.”
Lestat and Manon eat together, in silence, listening to the sound of tree branches swayed by the wind beyond the hill.
When, at dawn, Lestat opens his bedroom door, he immediately notices something is wrong. After a few seconds, Louis emerges from the bathroom, his hair slightly damp, a towel wrapped around his waist.
“There is no hot water in my bathroom, so I use yours,” he says immediately, as justification. “No need to look at me like that.”
“You could have used Daniel’s.” Lestat replies simply, raising an eyebrow, his voice hoarse. He desperately tries not to look at the drops of water sliding down the line of his bare pectorals. His taut nipples.
Louis rolls his eyes toward the ceiling, turning back toward the bathroom. Lestat shoots him a quick glance. He sees him rummaging through the shelves to grab his clothes and almost feels faint at the sight of his wet bare back.
Suddenly, he feels very tired. His head light. He lies down on the bed, still wearing the suit. He stares at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the wall trying to distract himself. Trying to resist the temptation to slip a hand into his pants.
“How did it go?” Louis shouts from the bathroom. “Down in town.”
Just what he needs: a normal conversation. Safe.
“Fine,” he says. “The girl loves seeing the other humans.”
Louis comes out of the bathroom, and to Lestat’s terror, he is still undressed, the damp towel still around his body.
“Did you restock?” Louis asks, but that isn’t what he wants to talk about. Lestat understands. He swallows.
“Could you please get dressed? It’s been a long night,” he replies, terror mixed with desire as he sees Louis move toward his bed.
Louis promptly ignores his request. “Why exactly do we have to protect her?” he says instead. “He didn’t tell me.”
He reaches the edge of the bed with his knees. Lestat remains completely still. He can’t move.
“Armand says that,” he stammers. “She has a… special power.”
Louis climbs onto the bed, one knee sinking into the mattress. The towel shifts slightly, revealing part of his groin. Lestat feels the back of his neck catch fire.
Louis climbs fully onto the bed.
“Interesting,” he says, his voice an octave lower. He creeps closer to his body. Straddles him. “And what is this power?”
Lestat swallows, trying not to think about how Louis’s cock rubs the fabric of his pants beneath the towel.
“I… I don’t know,” he manages with difficulty. “She’s very good at…”
“At doing what?” Louis interrupts him in a moment of hesitation. Lestat’s vision begins to blur gradually. That body, his mouth.
“I don’t remember now.” He breathes out.
Louis smiles, shifting his weight over him. Lestat feels his erection growing embarrassingly.
“Did you sleep with her?” Louis asks, pressing the palms of his hands on his shirt. Lestat instinctively grabs both his hips with his hands. He digs his nails into the towel still tightly wrapped around his waist.
“No,” he answers. He wants to sound ambiguous, but the attempt doesn’t go very well.
Louis smiles, lowering himself onto him. He rubs every inch of his skin against the clothes. His hands slide around his neck, to his jaw. Lestat holds his breath.
“I’ve waited all night for you to come back here,” he whispers in his ear. Lestat feels his warm breath on his neck.
“What for?”
Louis presses his lips against the jugular. Just a light pressure. No teeth, no tongue. He answers after a moment: “I am thinking…”
“You are thinking…” Lestat breathes out, short of breath. “About what?”
Louis doesn’t answer, closing the distance between their lips. It’s more than a kiss—it seems Louis wants to devour him from the inside. He bites and licks his lips as if he’s been starving for years. Lestat moans inside his mouth when he slides his tongue down his throat. The obscene sounds of hot kisses fill the room. Their hard cocks rub violently now, seeking friction through the layers of fabric separating them.
Louis brushes the tip of his nose along his neck. “All night I’ve been thinking… how would it be, feeling your tongue pushing inside me.”
Lestat doesn’t answer. Instinctively, he slides a hand down his side, under the towel and then—a snap—a sharp, targeted smack on the left buttock, completely bare.
“Behave.”
The noise echoes like a gunshot in the room. Lestat has just spanked him.
Louis flinches slightly, letting out a low, barely muffled moan, his pelvis moving forward against him. His hands press harder on Lestat’s shoulders, pushing him down into the mattress as if wanting to glue him there. Lestat growls softly, digging his nails into the buttocks. He is about to reverse the situation, his legs already bent to roll over on top of him.
But Louis, with perfect timing, stops. He tilts his head, a faint smirk at the corner of his mouth.
“You know what?” he says. “I’m pretty tired too.”
Lestat looks at him, incredulous. Louis detaches himself from his body with surgical slowness, almost affectionately. He adjusts the towel with a perfect gesture, as if nothing has happened.
“Goodnight, cher,” he murmurs.
He doesn’t even turn around. He leaves the room, leaving behind the trail of his scent and the wet sound of skin slowly parting contact.
Lestat lies there, alone, rock-hard, his brain lost in a warm fog.