I am Jack's blushing pride. Thanks for your feedback on "Fright Club", people. So, as well as Razla, Stacie, Addie, The Nut, Luna and Bryan, Insane Rabbit, Eliza, KC, Louise, Blythe Flush and Wildechilde can come over to my house for tea and bikkies. We don't have Hershey bars over here, I'm afraid, but Cadbury's chocolate is die for, anyway...


Anyhow, back to serious specs for a while. I was listening to Savage Garden's IWTV-inspired song, 'Carry on Dancing' came on, and this spec arose from it. Apologies for allowing pop music to influence my writing, but that song really caught the mood for me...

Oh, yeah. Disclaimers: All characters owned by Anne Rice, Random House, and...stuff. The song title belongs to Savage Garden. England were knocked out of the cup and my dad laughed. Go figure.

WARNING! Erm...some m/m bits, very mild if you ask me. If you are scared by this sort of stuff, go to www.disney.com now!And yes, they are lovers. "My tender and embraceble lover.", TotBT. Good enough for me!

Finally, the quote:

"There's a magic only two can tell
In the dark night
Ultraviolet is a wicked spell
To move under the moonlight."
- Carry on Dancing, by guess who?


********
Carry on Dancing
********

Lestat:

It's one of those rainy New Orleans nights, when the rain hammers at the windows, patters along the sill, so that you are glad to be in the comfort of your home, safe and warm in the glow of the soft lamp-light. Of course, television can be a little boring-- can you imagine me and Louis settling down to watch 'Dawson's Creek'? And I don't like to read all the time, unlike *some* people, so I managed to get Louis to acquiesce to my favourite past-time involving him.

And, yes, this is nice. To lay on the couch with him, to cover him, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, watching the rapture on his face as he succumbs o my caresses.

I reach down and graze his neck with my fangs. He tenses and waits forte bitter sweet assault, his breathing shallow. I nibble at his neck; he writhes in ecstacy, tense, waiting. My lips press against cool flesh; he moans. Then, grinning, I pull away.

"Lestat," he murmurs, "stop teasing me and *do it!*"

"Ah, just for that," I reply, "I'm afraid you'll have to wait a little longer." I bend and kiss his shoulder, his neck, his face, his lips. He's furious, now, but he can't find the words to scorn me, because he's arching his back in rapture, close to the point of tears because I've weakened his resolve with a few simple kisses.

And yet, it hasn't always been like this. We haven't always been so...physical. It's true, I've always loved him, always wanted him. He cries because I tease him for a few minutes. He kept me waiting for centuries!

My hands dance across his chest, kneading him, encircling him in my arms. He twists and writhes under my gentle touch. I've always loved the way he moves, the way he holds himself. When we went to those masquerade balls so many years ago, everybody's head turned to see him. Everybody wanted to dance with him. And if I couldn't have him this way at those times, then at least he entertained me in a voyeuristic sort of way. Ah,hose beautiful dances!

**********

August, 1823


We had arrived at the society ball a little early. He was hungry, I was peckish, and so we thought we should get that little issue resolved before enjoying the night properly.

We stepped out of the carriage and walked across the courtyard, Louis regarding the splendid house in front of us with incredulous wonder. Great white columns rose up to greet us; the whole building was white, decked out in grandiose lights that illuminated the night, running through the lawns and around the fountains. It was breath-taking in its splendour. And the music! Violins danced and wove their songs, accompanied by piano inerludes whose sultry melody was carried upon the night air.

He was resplendent in his finery; a coat of jade-green, which set off his eyes so beautifully, fine-cut trousers and his glossy black hair tied back with a single ribbon of red lace. I was wearing an azure blue frock-coat, my yellow mane of hair spilling over it luxuriously. The contrast in colour and physical beauty between us was enough to make many of thesesciety lovelies stop and stare. This was perfect. We had the pick of the ball.

Our hunting techniques differed somewhat, you could say. I searched for he evildoer, as was the dogma of the European vampires. As for Louis, it was a case of first come, first to die.

There were a good few guests milling about, and we searched for that vctim who would do as sustenance for the night. Louis was overwhelmed, s always, by such close contanct to mortals. He abhorred mingling so readily with them, but I had pushed and cajoled him into appearing tonight. I watched with a grin as a woman, hiding her face behind a delicate blac fan, made her way over to us.

"Come, Louis," I said, leading him to the chairs at the edge of the room.
"Lestat, I thought we--"

"Hush, someone's interested in you." I laughed, and he frowned.

"Who?" he said, glancing about.

The next instant, she was sitting at his side. She still hid her face behind her fan, as if shy. "Monsieur," she said in a husky voice, "I could not help but notice how you were staring at me."

He looked a little puzzled. Of course, he had not even glanced at her, but she was inviting him to talk. And Louis, ever the gentleman, could hardly refuse her. Besides, the predatory look in his green eyes showed that his hunger was hardly going to allow him to be picky.

He took her hand and kissed it gently. She did not remove the fan. "It isa pleasure to meet you, Madame--?"

"Molyneux," she returned, "and you are...?"

That charming smile was turned on. "Your willing slave." he murmured. It was a smooth move; I admit. We always contrived to keep our names from mortals, and he had learned this little trick from me. I was secretely pleased and flattered.

"Would you...?" he began, then stopped, dropped his head as if shy.

"What?" she pressed eagerly. She had taken the bait.

"Madame," he whispered in that soft voice of his, "would you like to come and look at the stars, from the balcony?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" she gushed.

Well, talk about desperate.

Her voice was full of such elation, such mortal happiness, that I knew itcould not fail to affect him. I was right. He adopted that tortured look, gazing at me pleadingly.

I shook my head. Oh, no, you don't, Louis. As they stood up, I rose with them, following them at a small distance. I wasn't going to let him mess this up. He sighed and cast a glance at me, before taking her arm and leading her out onto the balcony.

I imagined Madame Molyneux's surprise when he took her in his arms. *Oh, yes, you are handsome. And aren't I the lucky one? And, pardon me if I'm wrong, but aren't you biting a little too hard?*

He was gazing at me intently, as if warning me I'd better not enterain
ideas of watching him feed. I grinned, and made to wink at her, but I stoped as she stepped into the light, lowering her fan for the first time. Ugh! Her voice belied her real age, which must have been about fifty, and that was *old* in these times, not helped by her frizzy, greying hair or litle pig-like eyes.

But the worst thing was undoubtedly the spattering of hairy warts that ran the length of her neck. How, pray tell, was Louis supposed to bite he without getting a mouthful of pus? I bit my tongue to hold back the lsughter that was threatening to explode from me at any given moment.

He noticed the look of mirth on my face, and his eyes narrowed. He thougt I was mocking him! I turned away and took a deep breath, trying to control myself, but the laughter kept rising in my throat until I clamped down savagely on my tongue, trying to use the pain to keep me from laughing out loud.

"Now, my handsome prince..." she began, and I winced. God, she was repulsive! Louis turned to face her, to regard her properly for the first time, and his jaw dropped.

"Madame, you are ugly!" he gasped, before his manners allowed him to check his speech

"And you, Sir, are an imbecile!" she fired back, slapping him across the face and storming away.

He placed a hand to where she had hit him, muttering under his breath. And then he realised that I had been watching. Slowly, uncertainly, he turned to look at me and frowned. There was no derisive laughter; if only because I was laughing silently, so hard that it actually hurt my sides.

"Lestat..." he said in that dangerously low tone. It meant that he felt I was mocking him, and if I didn't stop behaving so childishly soon, he would leave.

If he thought I was bad, just wait until I told Claudia.

I had finally managed to gain control of my laughing fit, and he was staring at me timidly, affectionately, a reluctant grin spreading across his face. He was trying desperately to hide his feelings for me, and yet there they were; I saw it in his eyes.

I couldn't help it; really, I couldn't. I pulled him forward suddenly, and before he could protest, I had kissed him roughly, recklessly, on the mouth.

There was a lingering moment, as I gazed at him in as much surprise as he threw at me. I let go of his arms; he wiped his lips, forcing a smile though those eyes registered green confusion.

I knew what he was thinking. He was telling himself it had been a typicaly over-the-top display of French affection, nothing more; I had been excited, hyperactive. His maker, bold, brash Lestat, carrying such love for him? Perish the thought.

But Louis, why did I linger? Why did I gaze at you as if I had made a ghastly mistake? Shown you that intense feeling I try to hide because you're so very weak and I have to be the strong one, the leader and protector, because you're self-destructive and if I don't help you, you'll drag mdown with you, as if my love is a heavy chain which ties me to you and yor whims?

Damn it, you bourgeois fool, I should have left you long ago, when on a fanciful flight, you burnt down your *own* plantation! I *would* have... i I didn't love you. If you didn't mesmerise me, if your fine black hair andtroubled green eyes didn't set off against that touching conscience of yurs.

The love I felt for him! It was humiliating. I tried to tell myself that I hd him from the others because they would seek to destroy him, which was true enough, but also true was the fact that some *user* like Armand or whoever would claim him as soon as look at him. Or hurt him. Don't thn I forgot Nicki for an instant. And don't think that losing Louis wouldn'tkll me. He meant far more to me than Nicki ever did, perhaps more than Claudia. I had made my beautiful daughter for him, and I'd be damned if this exisquite creature I had worked so hard upon would ever leave me. I might just kill him first.

And did he love me at all?

I felt completely crushed with that thought.

"Lestat," he was saying in that gentle voice of his, "As much as my antics amuse you, there is still the issue of our hunger..."

I snapped out of my reverie. He was looking at me, and away from me, charming, polite. He did not make reference to the kiss, and so neither did I. "But of course, my friend," I said with a grin, "we can't disappoint the ladies, can we?"

I held out my arm, and he took it, letting me lead him back into the dance hall. I wanted to talk with him, to tell him sudennly all that he meant to me and how very glad I was to have him here with me. But the words wouldn't come. He was staring at me, in that shy, thoughtful way, and I mde to shake him, until a young woman came up to him. "Monsieur, would yu like to join me for this dance?" she asked.

"In a moment, ma chere." he whispered politely. She nodded and retreated to the side of the hall, waiting for him. He turned to me, smiling. "It sems I must take my leave, Lestat. The wartless lady awaits."

I squeezed his shoulder and grinned. "Such a cad."

He laughed a little at this reply, and gestured to his little admirer that he would join her, and she blushed, pleased that her friends had seen the interest she garnered from this beautiful man. And yes, he was beautiful. I was beautiful. Claudia was beautiful, the entire city was beautiful. The nineteenth century. Was there ever a more romantic time?

*************

He shifts beneath me, running his hands across my back, exposing his throat once more in invitation to me. I chuckle and reach down, kissing his neck, grabbing a handful of soft black hair and holding him still. As I bite him, I feel him tense, his sharp intake of breath. I cannot help but wonder at the irony of it all. In those days, he never allowed me rapture as breath-taking as this. It seems I traded in the sensuality of the dances to gain this heated exchange.

Those days, when the world had been pretty enough, but irrelevant, because I had my own world-- my Louis, my Claudia-- are long gone. Claudia, ed and dumb and gone. Louis, though, is still here, a constant reminder of the past, the very embodiment of those splendid years at Rue Royale, when I had two beautiful fledgings all to myself.

And it is in moments like these that I remember; who I am. what I am. Why Louis means so very much to me. Why I love to hold him. I am Lestat de Lioncourt, hunting the bourgeois rich of the New World, and he is at my side, smiling, handsome. The violins strike up a new melody, the dresses, so silky, so colourful, whirl across the floor. See it, Louis. This is all ours.

Somebody waltzes up to him and steals a kiss, quick, sensual. He smiles at her, then at me. I lower my head and feel the rush of contentment. Do what you like, lady. This century will be lost amidst the countless millennia to come. Have your five-minute romance with him. He is mine for al l eternity. We begin to move among the crowds, searching for that one victim. Lestat and Louis, gentlemen, lovers, *vampires*. History shall know us as the killers who hunted the masquerade balls. And they carry on dancing.


The End.