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What had started on the couch, now continues on the plush rug of the library. Louis usually refuses to get too frisky in here, lest they ruin any of the books that linger on the side table or are splayed open, face down on a cushion, for its reader to return. But Sybelle and Benji had stepped out for a concert at Carnegie Hall and Louis had been too eager to have Armand freshly fed and warm, purring on his chest, to not soften the edge of his appetite on his lover’s blood.
Which was always a slippery slope. It’s never just the feeding, but Armand’s sweet uninhibited whimpers as Louis took his fill. The intimacy of the exchange and the more literal friction of Armand squirming against him worked in tandem to make Louis’ cock fill out in the soft comfortable clothes he wore around the house. Which leads to lazy grinding, the slow wind to get Armand’s heart up to speed, which leads to Louis rolling a pleasure-dreamy Armand off his lap and onto the floor and laughing down at his stunned expression, which then leads to—
“I want you to have my baby.” Louis murmurs, on a deep roll of his hips forward.
It’s unclear if Armand’s mouth drops open because of how Louis drags against his prostate, or Louis’ favorite hobby of keeping him on the back foot, “One could argue I've given you three already.”
“One that's just for me, that’s all.”
Armand doesn’t mention how that never works out well. Historically, for Louis, has not turned out well, “I’ll be sure to tell Daniel he’s been abandoned again.”
Louis huffs and spanks the exposed curve of his ass, not all that hard, just for the little shout it rattles loose. His heart isn’t in the discipline, though. He’s smiling down at Armand like he can bargain a functional womb into existence. Though, If anyone could, it would be Louis de Pointe du Lac.
“Boy or a Girl, I'm not picky. As long as they've got your eyes and my good humor.”
It’s Armand’s turn to laugh, “Dear, I think there are other— ah— hurdles beyond gender preference.”
“See that's what the good doctor is for. You'd both like it if he got to do weird fertility science on you.”
He’s got no comeback, with how much of a terrible tease Louis is choosing to be. He works in and out of Armand, precise enough for pleasure to make the legs wrapped around his waist quiver, off-center enough to lace each moan with a healthy vein of frustration.
Louis pinches the softness at Armand’s stomach, “Wanna watch you get round n’ heavy with it. Ruin this little waist of yours.”
“But I— I can't.” Armand whines, hips jerking up to chase after Louis. The pace almost as maddening as his words. Almost.
“Sure you can. I’m gonna stuff you so full you won’t have any choice but to get pregnant.” A syrupy kind of condescension dripping through his sharp grin. Armand flushes deep under Louis words, his hands, his eyes. He stokes at a unshakable fear with roots deep in Armand’s spine. He doesn't know if the fear of having another life placed in his hands, his body, will ever go away. For the widening smile that splits Louis’ face, he'd be okay if it never does.
Louis grips Armand's hips between his hands, tilting them for just the right angle that makes him feel each stroke in his lungs. Another kiss. Louis drinking down every punched out moan with the same delight he sipped Armand's blood with.
“I’ll be with you the whole time. Hold your hair back through the morning sickness, measure your bump each week so we can track the growth, rub your feet when you get too big to bend over properly.”
Armand’s head swims. He digs his nails into Louis forearms, the only solid force in his existence, “Please” he begs, “I’m not ready.”
Louis shushes him, nuzzles close and kisses his throat, “Fatherhood already looks so good on you, Daddy.”
Terribly sweet, the words pressed right into his skin. Armand can’t help the ruined sound that leaves him. He had known Louis took note of him and his children, him and Daniel when they were back on speaking terms. The conflicting cocktails of emotions Louis cultivated in himself. The bitterness was expected. Even after everything Armand wouldn’t know what to do without the serrated edges of Louis’ heart, but the fondness he found settling in the line of Louis body never lost its novelty.
Armand wants him. Crosses his ankles and tries to urge Louis closer, hoping he’ll take the hint and crawl into the space between his ribs. Louis groans low and rocks faster into him, driving them forward towards their release with each meeting of their flesh, his hand around Armand’s weeping and neglected cock.
“Be mine.” Louis rasps into the air full of the ragged noise of their coupling. Hot and heavy breathing mingling until it’s impossible to tell what sound comes from where.
It’s difficult to focus on much of anything like this, much less schooling his inept tongue around the shapes of a word. Armand does try, though. Tip of the tongue against the hard pallette, halfway to a Lou, before the drag of Louis’ length against his prostate turns the back half of his name into an elongated mewl.
Louis’ hand on his face, tapping at his cheek until Armand’s eyes focus, “C’mon baby, it's all you have say. Say you'll be mine.”
Armand tries again, something requiring less coordination, “Yours.”
“Yeah?”
“Yours.” Simply. Teetering over the edge of oblivion.
There’s that devious look on Louis face again. The one he gets when he knows he’s got Armand wrapped around his little finger,“Gonna let me knock you up so everybody know?”
“Louis!” Armand shouts. He curls around Louis tight as he comes, wetness on his stomach. Louis tumbles after him, cursing and twitching. Warmth all inside of him, around him. The heat of Louis body. The air warmed and coppery with the scent of their sweat. The tension seeps out of his body like spilled water.
At some point Louis rolls them over, Armand’s face tucked under his chin, Louis’ finger tucked into Armand’s hole, “Just to be sure.” He had said with a wink. Now just basking in the afterglow and idle hum of the house.
“Has building a family really never crossed your mind? What about Sybelle and Benji?” Louis says eventually. There is a still a subtle grit to his voice but genuine curiosity in the softness that creeps in.
Armand thinks back to when he first saw his children, when he killed Sybelle’s cruel brother, their hands carrying him back to their apartment. Remembers his own dread at the uncanny clarity of Sybelle’s music floating out of Marius’ home. The anguish that had wracked his body and brought him to his knees at his old master’s feet. Misery had been his constant companion for seemingly endless days and nights, and the apartment Sybelle and Benji had for so long resided in only served to remind him of all they had been robbed of.
Louis had come to him, called to him from the sidewalk just beyond the high-rise's revolving doors and held his hand as he struggled to express a fraction of his pain. He made no move to impress himself on Armand’s situation, did not sneer as was his right, or request to come up to the apartment or see his children. Louis kept his touches chaste and devoid of expectation, yet offered a well of compassionate understanding Armand knew he had no right to.
It had been Sybelle who spurred Armand to invite Louis up. Turning over her shoulder as her fingers stilled on the piano and saying in that low lilting voice of hers, “Do not fear your Louis. If anyone can understand you, it is him.” Which, perhaps, is the very thing he had been afraid of. But the worst had already happened between them, hadn’t it? So with quivering hands, Armand had lead Louis inside for the elevator, instead of through the dark New York streets that had become so familiar to old routines. Everything afterwards had fallen neatly into place. Louis came to love his children with the same quickness they came to love him.
“I wish they had gotten the gift of a life fully lived. I look at Daniel and know that at the very least he had a long human lifetime, most of our kind cannot say the say the same.” Armand says finally, he doesn’t know he’s rubbing at his own sternum until Louis stills the anxious tick with his own warm hand, “I never wanted this for them, or desired for them to be any different.”
He looks up at Louis and is struck, once more, by the affection he finds there. Armand isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to being on the receiving end of that look that softened all the edges of Louis face or the way it makes his own heart seize up in his chest. He thinks that if Louis were to call his time in Trinity Gate through tomorrow, he could be happy knowing he had gotten to share this man’s bed once again. But he can hear Benji’s voice chattering away as he’s comes through the front gate and feel the rolling contentment of Sybelle’s mind and knows somewhere in his soul, that the four of them have more nights together than he would able to tally.
“Besides, I could not have dreamed a better family than those who have gathered here.”