Spoilers: IWTV, TVL, QOTD, TOTBT
Disclaimer: This is a non -profit, amateur spec and is not intended to infringe upon the
copyright of Anne Rice or her publisher.
Warning: This spec contains sexual situations between adults of the same sex.
Part One: (Lestat)
"You're like a cat," I said thoughtfully. Louis turned to look at me, pausing in front of the fire. I smiled at him from where I lay on the sofa, admiring his loose limbs, his easy grace of movement. So beautiful, my Louis. "Very feline," I continued to muse, letting my gaze drift over Louis' body.
A few months ago such blatant appreciation would have had him blushing a deep red, now he just shook his head at me tolerantly and turned back to his search for a book. No blushes then. Hmm, I'd just have to work a little harder. Louis ran a slender fingure over the line of books on a particular shelf, a tiny frown creasing his brow as he made his selection.
"I don't need a pet when I have you," I continued provocatively. "You're so delightful. Soft hair I can stroke, wicked little fangs... why don't you just curl up on my lap and see if I can make you purr?"
Louis' back stiffened a little, but from where I was lying I couldn't see his face. Then he reached out and took down a book, a large book. I felt apprehensive. I could see three more heavy volumes in the same set still on the book shelf and wondered if Louis was going to spend *all* night reading.
He came back to my side of the room, settling himself on the soft fake-fur rug in front of the fire, his expression unreadable. I glanced at the book - Walt Whitman, 'Leaves of Grass'. My heart sank.
"Louis?" I said and he glanced up.
"Yes?"
"Are you annoyed, beautiful one?"
"Not at all, Lestat," a mischievous smile curved those perfect lips. "I was simply reflecting...."
"And?"
"You're just as feline as I am..." he pointed out, letting the comment drift off as he opened his book. A book I was very certain he had chosen to tease me. Whitman was *not* the kind of poet Louis usually chooses. I looked at the back of his head for a while, counting to ten in my head. I got to seven before I got up. Louis didn't look at me and I glared at his profile for a moment. Then I grinned.
Slowly I sank to the ground, a few paces away from Louis, and stretched myself out sinuously. I didn't look at him at all as I settled myself, and then closed my eyes. Time to count again... one....two...three...four....
A hand descended on my head, smoothing my hair and I forced myself not to grin. I'd held out better than Louis this time. I kept my expression perfectly peaceful as he stroked me, revelling in my victory. Then his hands slid down my chest, warm through the thin silk of my shirt and skittered across my abdomen.
My eyes flew open as I spasmed away, unable to help the laugh that erupted from me. Louis was grinning and I glared at him.
"What was that supposed to be?" I demanded.
"Ticklish, aren't you?" he said, still grinning. "My tiger-cat..."
"Oh damn." I smiled ruefully, realising that I had lost again, I was blushing. Louis' grin grew wider and then disappeared in a gasp of surprise as I launched myself at him. His book went flying, no great loss I thought. And then I was on top of him and kissing him ruthlessly.
That lasted for about five seconds. Louis's long legs tangled with mine, his hands clenched at my shoulders and his tongue slid into my mouth, his fangs grazing my lips. Everything became very intense and by the time he released me I was panting for breath. Louis had turned his attention to my throat and was nibbling deliciously there. I disengaged myself, sitting up a little to admire him. Gorgeous, beautiful, *mine*.
"I guess it's true what they say about Creoles," I told him.
"And what *do* they say, Monsieur de Lioncourt?" he asked, his eyes alight with laughter.
"That you're insatiable," I told him, beginning to unbutton his shirt.
"Oh yes?" A perfectly arched eyebrow lifted. "And of course the French are the *most* restrained of nations."
"Naturally," I concurred, lying back down and pressing my lips to his naked chest.
"And you are the utmost example of a quiet, retiring nature," he continued. "Lestat the humble, Lestat the conservative, Lestat the.... Oh!"
"Mmmm?" I licked the blood away from Louis' nipple. "Did you say something, my love?"
"Nothing 'Stat," I could hear the smile in his voice. "Please, do go on."
"You don't think we should take this slowly?" I suggested. "Behave with greater decorum perhaps?"
Part Two: (Lestat)
There was a blur of motion and I was flipped over to lie flat on my back. Louis settled down on top of me, crossing his arms over my chest and propping his chin on them as he looked at me.
"Get to know each other better?" he suggested. "Two hundred years isn't a long enough acquaintance?"
"Not to know you, beautiful one," I smiled.
"Are you speaking in the biblical sense?" Louis asked and I laughed, his grin infectious.
"I think I'm rubbing off on you," I told him, then quickly pressed my forefinger to his mouth. "And don't say *anything*!"
An eyebrow lifted, green eyes sparkled mischievously, then Louis took my finger into his mouth, sucking it erotically. I moaned a little as he released it, then turned to push him back on to his side so that were were lying together by the fire. I felt its heat lap over me and I stroked Louis' spine gently, enjoying simply having him in my arms. I liked to draw out our love-making, savouring every moment.
Recently our life together had been characterised by a blissful period of calm. After an uneasy start our relationship seemed to have found some balance, especially since David had moved out. We still saw him often, but living together without the intrusion of a third party was increasingly delightful. We didn't make love every second of the night, regardless of what others of our kind might think, our intimacy was as much romantic as sexual, and we would sometimes spend hours talking or lying in silence in each other's arms. But I made certain to coax Louis into bed on a regular basis, not that he needed much coaxing. I had noticed that with each coupling the side effects of arousal became easier to cope with, and lately they had been negligable. Neither of us was certain why, but I had argued persuasively that practice makes perfect and Louis hadn't objected to perfecting our favourite occupation.
My lover had lost most of his inhibitions over the last few months and the free expression of love he permitted himself gave me a higher regard for the times he insisted on privacy. He wouldn't allow us to become joined at the hip, not matter how much we wanted each other's company. We had to be careful with our relationship, because of the importance of it lasting. So I trid to give Louis the space he needed, and he equally gave me what *I* needed, allowing himself to become more demonstrative.
We devoted as much attention to our love-making as an art-form. I had been the first to fulfill one of my fantasies, shortly after David moved out. Louis had still been half asleep when I wrapped him in a loose cotton robe and carried him out into the night. He had contined to doze in my arms as we flew through the clouds, shivering a little at the cold wind. But he woke when I deposited him on a bed of scented flowers in the warmth of a West-Indian night in Dominica. He had been a little disorientated at first, blinking in surprise at where he found himself, but when I started kissing him he melted into my embrace. Two days later he had determined our destination, choosing a waterfall as the perfect romantic surroundings for us to make love. Since then it had become a competition, each of us vying with the other to create the perfect setting, and to give each other the most pleasure. This would not be the first time we had taken advantage of the fur rug and a fire, but it had hardly become stale.
I dipped my fingers under the waistband of his jeans and heard him sigh with pleasure in response. I kissed my way down his chest and over his abdomen, pausing there while I unbuttoned his jeans. Louis pulled away for a moment to wriggle out of the jeans and kick them away before returning to my arms. He was naked now, neither of us wore any underwear when we intended to spend the night indoors. Occasionally we didn't get dressed at all. I like looking at Louis naked and I *know* that he likes to look at me as well, even if he's less open about it. Of course, every now and then I dress him myself with elaborate care, devoting my attention to each and every layer of exquisitely tailored clothing. But more often I made ease of removal my priority.
I started to unbutton my own jeans, but Louis pushed my hands away, shaking his head disapprovingly.
"Let me," he said softly.
Part Three: (Louis)
I removed the rest of Lestat's clothes with the expertise of long practice. He lay still obediently as I stripped him, only his quickened breathing betraying the interest he was taking in the proceedings. His skin was faintly warm to the touch, both of us having fed earlier, albeit separately. The heat of the fire lapping us both made it warmer still and I concentrated on giving him a third source of heat.
I hoped that this time I could manage to achieve the arousal without causing him pain. To that end I had been seducing him constantly over the past week. It had got so that Lestat barely noticed the pain any more, and for me it had departed entirely. I wanted to be sure that he no longer felt it at all, until then I would always feel a measure of guilt about our unions. 'Practice makes perfect' Lestat had insisted, grinning demonically and so I had practiced.
I couldn't deny that to some extent my eagerness was to do with driving the memories of other lovers from Lestat. In particular I couldn't help but think sometimes of Nicki, who Lestat had depicted with such affection in his books. At my persuasion he had told me some of the things he had left out, explaining at the same time, exactly *how* he had come to learn some of the things he put to good use in our love-making. But back then Lestat had not had access to all the invention of the twentieth century. I had made it my practice to try new methods of seduction and our first venture to a mens' only bar had been my idea, as had our first experience of making love in the shower.
Aprt from thinking of increasingly far-flung parts of the globe where we could make love, Lestat had devoted much of his attentions to recreating particular circumstances from our past with the intention of bettering them. In this I could hardly deny him, as this creativity helped to smooth away some of the scars we had inflicted upon each other. And not all of these recreations ended up in us making love. We had taken one long carriage ride only for the purpose of gazing at each other. But there was one thing I had not allowed Lestat to alter, although I knew he wanted too. The first time he had shown me how to kill was an event that weighed heavily on his mind, especially as I still refused to hunt with him. But he respected my wish for privacy and contented himself with such indiscretions as sliding a hand into my pants as we shared a box at the opera, his eyes fixed with rapt fascination on the stage while I squirmed and bit my lip in an attempt not to cry out as he brought me skillfully to an uncomfortable pitch of arousal.
I was getting my revenge for that kind of game now. I could see the blood rising to flush Lestat's golden skin as I began my ministrations, kissing my way from his throat downwards. He was moaning softly by the time I finished my trail-blazing and sat up to observe him better. I love seeing my delicious Brat Prince on fire with unquenched lust, it serves to remind us both of how much he needs me, in more ways than one. Lestat glared up at me as I trailed my fingers over his body, speaking through little gasps of pleasure.
"Stop...oh!..stop playing,...ahhh...don't tease me..."
"But you love it," I reminded him.
"Only..ohhh...only *so* far!" he exclaimed and pulled me down on top of him, holding me there tightly. "Take me.." he growled softly in my ear. I tried to free myself, in vain.
"Lestat!" I protested. "You have to let me get the..." My words were cut off by an eager kiss.
"I don't want to wait..." Lestat told me. "Do it now!" He wrapped his legs around my waist, raising himself to me and I laughed softly. Lestat cares nothing for the time-consuming preparations to making love. Since the first time he has been careful not to hurt me, taking every precaution before submitting me to the often violent force of his possession. But left to himself he wouldn't bother with them at all and more than once has encouraged me to abandon them in making love to him. This time it seemed he would get his way. I surrendered to the kiss and poised myself to enter him.
It was then that it hit me, a psychic blast of such power that I almost passed out. I felt Lestat freeze beneath me and knew he had felt it too.
"Something's wrong!" I gasped, pulling away from Lestat.
"I felt it too," he said, sitting up. All thought of love-making was abandoned as we stared at each other. "It's Armand..." he began.
"Armand and David," I qualified. "We had better go..."