This fic contains: Smut, things about clothes and vanity, L & L talking, trauma/recovery, present day L & L, bloodplay, blood in hair, hair porn, bdsm, hands & touching, good shoes,
He is sitting in the armchair, the fire is playing with his hair and skin, casting a warm glow that colors him almost human, and then he turns towards the door and I know that he is not, will never be human, has never been that, not even in his mortal days.
His lips curve pleasantly, he extends pale graceful hands to me, beckons me closer and I move, despite myself until I am at his side. My knees hit the thick carpet at his feet soundlessly. There is nothing for me but this – to be at his side.
He reaches almost absent-mindedly for me, running his fingers through my hair. He has a huge gaudy ring on his pinky finger, some kind of large violet stone casting off a gleam eerily like his eye. He doesn’t look at me as he pets me. I rest my head against his thigh. The leather of his pants is soft against my cheek. I close my eyes. I can stay like this forever, by his side. I hate him, but I cannot imagine staying in another place.
He cradles the side of my face. He is cold, so much colder than even I am. How long since he last took blood, I wonder. How long since he last thought of it. He is invincible now. Even hunger can’t touch him.
I kiss his fingertips. I kiss his knuckles. I take his hand in mine, and touch that hard cold skin.
“I hate you, you hopeless, graceless brute,” I say to him, hollow. I don’t mean it, of course. I take his fingers between my lips one by one. I remove the ring from his finger with my teeth and spit out distastefully on the rug by the gleaming leather of his shoes. The small scratches my fangs have left heal almost instantly. He runs that same hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face, staining the flawless locks of molten gold. He peers at me sightlessly.
“Oh… it is you,” he says as though he has seen me for the first time.
That’s how he is now. I cannot know his mind. I cannot know where he is.
Does he dream of the dark queen’s embrace, still? Is his mind soaring with her, instead of here with me?
I cannot know his heart anymore. All I can do is love him, hopelessly, blindly and against my better sense of judgment.
He tilts my chin up and leans down to press his lips against mine. I expect him to deepen the kiss but he doesn’t.
“I’m hungry,” he whispers. His lashes almost touch mine.
“Take what you need.” I don’t say it though. I just bare my neck for him.
His smile is feral, as he bares his teeth.
He slumps on his knees beside me, pulls me against his chest as he did once, when I was still mortal and he still loved me, and his lips press against my neck and then he bites down and all I can do is grip his shoulders.
This used to be foreplay for us, or so it might have been called. Him bitting me, playfully, letting out blood, making me taste myself on his lips. He could drive me to the edge with a bite, have me screaming for him to stop just with his teeth against my skin.
Now I know he won’t stop if I scream. I fear that he is mad. I fear that i have lost him.
He drinks his fill and kisses me again, while I rest boneless against his chest.
“Make love to me,” I say. Some nights that’s all the prompting he needs to hoist me to the nearest flat surface and take me over and over again until I can’t form words. I am his.
He picks me up effortlessly, carries me to the bedroom.
“You are beautiful,” he murmurs to me. This and other such endearments. I let myself bask in his words, because it’s all I have of him.
His rage, his passion, his love and hate… I miss them now that he is silent and mad.
He is neither to me. To me he is still Lestat, beautiful and perfect and I love him, i do.
The wound on my neck has matted the ends of my hair with blood, and it stains the pillows as he lays me down.
“You will say if you want me to stop, will you not, my love?”
I nod. He undoes his tie, a garish thing, if I am asked, but I am not. The fashions of the twenty first century elude me. He ties my wrists to the bedpost. I can tear away if I wish, but I don’t. I just need him.
He gives me what I need.
I keep it at the back of my head, the word I need to so much as whisper if I want him to stop. I don’t, but I could…
Claudia.
Claudia, Claudia, Claudiaclaudiaclaudia
c l a u d i a
He’s never made me say it before. I’ve never had to. He is too afraid, I think, of my speaking her name, of my invoking her somehow, her the innocent that he trapped while trying to trap me as well.
His kisses burn like fires across my chest. His hands, beautiful, beautiful hands, grip my hipbones so hard that I feel the bones grinding, hear them almost crushing.
He kisses my thigh and then looks up at me from beneath a curtain of thick golden curls, his eyes drowning in a beautiful violet flame. He is grinning up at me lustfully, pale teeth gleaming between his beautiful too-wide lips. I want to kiss him senseless. I want his mouth on me.
I spread my legs and he needs no invitation. He digs his nails in my hips as he rims me. He knows exactly what to do to make me let out the most humiliating of sounds. This is amusing to him, he says, to see me come undone so easily. To see me need him so much.
I hate him – I hate him –
I cry out his name, arching my back. He straddles me, licking my blood from his fingers with a condescending little smile. He offers me his other hand to clean.
I take his fingers one by one between my lips as I had done earlier. My blood tastes tired. I wonder if he can tell. Of course he can.
I taste of exhaustion and need.
He looms over me, reaching for the bedside table.
How odd this century is… The smallest things make all the difference – the bottle of clear liquid in his hand for example. He pours some on his palm and smears it over his cock.
He waits for me to nod before plunging in.
This time when I call his name it’s a chocked off whisper, because it’s all I can manage when he is so close to me, so close and I drown in him all the time, he could crush me, with his strong hands and his devil mouth and all those things growing in him now that she is gone and he is left, all that desperation all that –
he sinks his teeth in my neck again with a feral growl, as his thrusts gain speed. He won’t drain me. He would never drain me. I trust him completely.
My vision blurs as I feel him spilling inside me. i arch up against him.
His mouth is dripping with my blood as he swallows my cries of pleasure.
I am powerless against his side.
He unties my wrists, brings a wet cloth to clean the blood from my neck and thighs.
“I’ll change the sheets,” he offers helpfully, shamelessly.
I give him a look that I hope he understands. He ignores it completely in favor of brushing my hair slowly, until it’s shiny and perfect against the pillow.
“I want to paint you like this,” he murmurs, and his eyes are full of… something. Something. I wish he would look at me like this always so that I may hate him less often. I wish he would never look at me like that so that I may hate him always.
He breaks it of course, like he breaks all things as he sweeps his hand over the bedside table for the sleek shiny something-phone and orders me not to move before snapping several pictures.
“I wish I could paint,” he adds, almost cheerfully, “But this will have to do.”
I scoff at him.
I hate him. His unrefinement. His posturing. I hate the curve of those wide lips as he smiles down at me, so pleased with himself that he has annoyed me. He is a child, sometimes.
He lays beside me, his face propped on his hand. There is still blood on his mouth and hair. He didn’t clean himself up, just me.
“I love you Louis. I wouldn’t bear to lose you.”
I don’t say anything. I hate him. There is nothing for me but this – to be at his side, forever.
2. Fill in the questions/statements as if you were your muse 3. Tag five people to do this meme~
1. What is your name? “Lestat de Lioncourt.”
1.1 What is your real name? “…I know, it sounds like a made up name, but it is what it is.”
2. Do you know why you were called that? ”Well, I’ve been told that it could be derived from the Old French word l’estat, meaning ‘state, or status.’ I suppose that is fitting, given that my father was a Marquis. Not that we had had much money by the time I was born. Although I think my mother simply used the first letters of each of my brothers’ names in order to spell mine. After having six children, naming must have been difficult.”
3. Are you single or taken? “Oh, quite taken, I’d say.”
4. Have any abilities or powers? "Plenty. I can fly, for example. There are not many of my kind that can do that. Mind reading and rapid healing are other notable abilities I have.”
5. Stop being a Mary Sue "I’m not sure what you mean. Last time I checked, I was very male…”
6. What’s your eye color? "Grey. Of course, they can look blue or even violet depending on the lighting.”
7. How about your hair color? “Blonde. Beautifully blonde.”
8. Have you any family members? “There is my mother, Gabrielle. I, of course, consider both Louis and David family, as well. ”
9. Oh? What about pets? “I had a dog once: Mojo. He passed away many years ago. I have not had the heart to adopt another dog since.”
10. That’s cool I guess, now tell me about something you don’t like. “I dislike being controlled in any way, shape, or form.”
11. Do you have any hobbies/activities you like doing? “I enjoy music quite a lot. I do play the violin. Oh, I’ve always enjoyed acting, too. Though it has been quite a long time since I have been on the stage.”
12. Ever hurt anyone before? “More than I care to admit.”
13. Ever….killed anyone before? “Yes.”
14. What kind of animal are you? “A dog. I’m definitely a dog.”
15. Name your worst habits “I often do not think before speaking or acting. It gets me into trouble all the time.”
16. Do you look up to anyone at all? “My mother, Gabrielle, for one. How she manages to travel so much and with so little is beyond me. I also look of to Louis, for reasons of my own, but do not let him know I said that. He’d hold it over me for centuries.”
17. Gay, straight, or bisexual? "Bisexual is probably the closest term, though I’m admittedly more partial to men.”
18. Do you go to school? “I studied at a convent for a short time when I was young. Outside of that, I am all self-taught.”
19. Do you ever want to marry and have kids one day? *snorts with laughter* “As if that were possible for me. You must be joking, right?”
20. Do you have any fanboys/fangirls? “Oh, yes. I believe I have an army. If I wanted, I could probably conquer a country, given time.”
21. What are you most afraid of? “I’m very much afraid of…ending up completely and utterly alone…”
22. What do you usually wear? "Oh, whatever looks the most pleasing at the time.I’ve become rather partial of a good pair of jeans, however.”
23. Do you love someone? “Yes, I do. Very much.”
24. When was the last time you wet yourself? “Have you read Tale of the Body Thief?”
25. Well, it’s not over yet! “Oh?”
26. What class are you?(High class, middle class, low class) “High class, but I imagine some would beg to differ.”
27. How many friends do you have? “Far too many for me to name. That is, if they still consider me as one.”
28. What are your thoughts on pie? “I cannot eat it.”
29. Favourite drink? “…are you honestly asking me this question?”
30. What’s your favourite place? “Please. New Orleans.”
31. Are you interested in someone~ “Hmm, eternally.”
32. What’s your bra cup size and/or how big is your willy? “I’m well endowed.”
33. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean? "The ocean. The smell of the salty air is lovely.”
34. What’s your type? “It seems to to be passionate, yet depressed brunettes.”
35. Any fetishes? "Oh, I have quite a few. Comes with the territory, you know.”
36. Seme or uke? “Oh, is this one of those things from those Japanese picture books? It honestly depends on the mood. I’m not picky.”
My definition of romance may be slightly skewed compared to most mortals. I have no need for material possessions. Romantic dinners are lost on me. Flowers wither and die before my eyes. Candles and fires are better for sex and death than romance. For something to be romantic in my eyes, it has to be spectacular. It has to be amazing. It has to be paradigm shifting.
For me, that moment occurred one night not long after I had told Daniel of my love for him. I had not lied; I did love him as a vampire can love a mortal. I thought it might be a fleeting infatuation, one that would fade as he faded in front of me. I knew what he wanted from me, that the blood and immortality was what he sought more than companionship. Yet I loved him, I followed him around the world, completely fascinated by the way he saw things and how he navigated this modern world which confounded me still, yet ever expectant of his impending death.
I was sitting on the sofa, staring at nothing and utterly still as vampires could be. We had yet another fight about him wishing for me to turn him and my absolute refusal to do so. He was still in the house – his heartbeat sounded strong and true nearby – but I had blocked my mind from his, not wanting to hear his angry thoughts about me. I do not know how much time had passed but it must have been significant because the sky was starting to lighten when I felt him climb into my lap. You must understand that my Daniel is a tall man, to situate himself in such a way was awkward and uncomfortable for him. But he did so, bent at strange angles in order to fit our bodies together.
Automatically my hands came to his waist, holding him in place while I waited for the apology that almost always came following one of those fights. However, I did not hear those words. Instead, he brought his neck in front of my throat. “Daniel,” I growled lightly, wondering what he was thinking to put himself in such a position. That I would lose my resolve and give him what he wanted?
“Drink,” he offered, his voice sounding hollow and broken. “If my life and mortality means so much to you, take it all. I have belonged to you since the night in New Orleans. If you will not make me one of you, take everything you can and carry my memories with you forever.”
The most romantic gesture anyone has ever done for me? My Daniel, my lovely Daniel, offering me his entire life, everything that he was and would ever be. A man who wished for nothing more than to live forever, offered his life at my lips. I do not know if he meant it as a romantic gesture but I took it as such. That was the night my love for him shifted to something more, the night I realized that losing him was not an option I was willing to entertain, even if I was not yet strong enough to bring him over. The night he truly became my lover, my beloved, as I was already his.
Once, in Paris, after finding Lestat in bed with one of the actresses in the theatre, we had a fantastic knock-down drag-out fight, ending with him sporting a black eye and me kicking him out of the flat.
For three weeks, he slept in his dressing room and busked daily in the boulevard, foregoing wine and any other extravagance in order to buy me more music lessons with Mozart as an apology.
This may not sound like much, but if you know Lestat, you’ll know that the will power required for such a gift was…well, impressive, to say the least.
As for myself… I do not know. I am not one who specializes in romantic gestures. I’m not terribly fond of them.
Entertaining Claudia, back before she was too old to desire it. We would build a “set” out of chairs, blankets, and pillows, and would act out all of the famous plays. She and Lestat both endlessly got a kick out of me playing the “damsel in distress” parts, to my dismay. However, her laughter would always make any embarrassment worth it.
Ah, there are so many. Sometimes though, when he reads, he unconsciously twists a lock of raven hair around his finger and his face becomes perfectly animated with the emotion of whatever he is reading. Sometimes his lips move too, just a little as if he were whispering the words.
Oh and that look he gets on his face when I can just tell he wants comfort but is being too strong willed to take it. His nose wrinkles and gets all screwed up and his lips press together and his brows furrow and he just looks every bit the wounded animal. So precious.
Send “slurred words” to hear my muse describe yours whilst ridiculously drunk.
So many associate you with flames, with fire and the quick-spark flash of your temper when you are wounded deeply. I remember you like the sound and sensation of Paris rain; the way that it maps itself over stained glass and air-spun spires and seeps into every possible crevice, marking even stone in its passing. It turns the bare bones of a city lost in time into a thing of wonder, hidden amongst the tendrils of fog so that only a few may pass through it without becoming lost. That is you, a secretive kingdom unto yourself that others cannot resist trying to explore, trying to understand. By your very nature, you change everything around you. You are as inevitable as that rainfall and you will not be denied. The maddening part about it is that you are rarely conscious of it. So few divine the strings of your mysterious code that some doubt that you are ever to be moved.
I know differently. I know something of the grace and rage and determination that you possess, enough to know that I should never have tried to hold it and keep it for my own. You ran through my fingers like water whenever I tried too hard to grasp you. These hands are not hands that could contain you or touch you as you were really meant to be touched, and they never should have tried.
I-want-my-IWTV 