Crucifixion
Gairid
6 juilliet, 2001


(Dedicated, as always to my Angell.)

"Lestat"

Gasping.

A soft moan from his satin lips, his silky black hair tossed back from his face.

Imprisoned.

Naked.

Impaled.

Captured.

"Oh, my love..."

As usual, such things between them were never planned. Louis was not even quite sure how it had begun, how he came to be imprisoned.

Pinioned to the unused mahoganey dining table by such ordinary things as ice picks.

Lestat's hands tormented him.

Tortured him.

Lightly stroking his white flesh...Louis quivered with sensation.

This.

This was Lestat, his immortal lover and his eternal heart.

Lestat's gleaming fingernail. Sharp as shattered glass.

Louis longed for it to separate his flesh.

Louis' arms were above his head, the ice pick driven through his two hands, palm to palm, into the wood of the table.

Left side.

He lay on his left side.

The heart side.

Another ice pick pinned his left foot to the table, sole up.

Long body, stretched to perfection.

Right foot free.

Lestat gazed at Louis, standing behind him, his eyes darkest indigo as they traveled over his lover.

Louis' shoulder blades in sharp relief, supple skin stretched over the bones of his ribs.

Right leg free.

Beautiful, tight buttocks.

Lestat licked his lips and moved slowly around the table, admiring.

Sculpted calf muscle on the pinned left leg.

He stood for a moment at Louis' feet.

"Mon precieux."

Louis' eyes flicked open and he rolled his head to better see Lestat.

The blonde leaned down and licked delicately at the impaled sole, lapping at the blood that had settled into the creased lines of his lovers' curled foot.

Dim thunder of their twinned heartbeats.

Louis drew his right leg up slightly, bending his knee.

The pain had been huge when Lestat had stabbed the pick through his hands.

Louis' cock twitched.

There was no pain now, save the pain he felt at the absence of Lestat's touch.

"Comment est-ce que je tirenai un haletement de tu?"

Lestat's silky, dangerous voice.

Louis made no answer.

His cock twitched again.

There, at last, Lestat's fingernail again, abrading the skin of his flank.

Lestat was fully dressed.

Snug, black trousers.

Full, loose shirt, open at the throat, blindingly white.

Ruffled sleeves, falling carelessly over Lestat's knuckles, a perfect foil for his beautiful hands.
Louis felt a whisper of the fabric, and then Lestat's face appeared close to his own.

The sensual caress of Lestat's breath on his cheek.

"Comment est-ce que je dois decorer votre peau primitive, Mon Ange?"

Louis moaned softly, the green of his eyes nearly obliterated by his dilated pupils.

Lestat brushed a lock of the raven hair away from Louis' mouth and then rested his finger with infinite tenderness upon Louis' lips.

"Ah, ce que tu faites a moi..."

Louis' whispered longing as he kissed Lestat's finger.

Lestat struck at the taut, stretched tendon under Louis' arm.

Dazzling speed.

Fierce pain.

Divine lust swept through Louis as Lestat sucked powerfully.

Lestat released the wound and pushed his tongue into the ragged tear.

Louis gasped.

Bloodsweat.

Jeweled beads of bloodsweat adorning the alabaster flesh.

Lestat ran a lazy hand from Louis' hip, down the outside of his long thigh. Louis instinctively straightened his leg, lengthening himself and exposing the sweet line of his hip to Lestat.

Lestat drew his fingernail along the line, lightly.

Flicked his wrist,

Razor nail.

The flesh separated, scarlet welling essence.

Lestat smeared the blood upward over the flat belly.

He struck again with adder's speed.

Louis' sharp hiss as his as fang struck bone.

Scraping.

Flesh slipped back like silky fabric and Lestat feasted for a little time, his white sleeve streaked with crimson.

Bruises, like flowers, bloomed on the back of Louis' thigh in the place that Lestat gripped him to keep him still.

Purple-black.

Blue-stained flesh.

"What sin."

Louis thought,

"What sin that his flesh should be covered, hidden from my eyes."

Louis moaned and Lestat raised his dripping demons' mouth from the ragged wound.

Iridescent eyes, unearthly crystals, and Louis is torn by that gaze.

The pads of Lestat's fingers, sueded chamois on the quivering flesh of Louis' inner thigh.

Right leg free,

yes,

and Lestat presses

the free

right leg

back.

Louis' body is twisted,

yet not awkward,

only made that much more heart-wrenching.

His cock juts, moonstruck opalescent beauty.

Lestat's nails raked the flesh of the free right leg, his fangs buried in Louis' inner thigh.

The black silk of Louis hair whipped in a frenzy, his groan shuddering the crystal in the room.

His lips, rent from his gnashing fangs, and only one word on his torn and bleeding mouth.

"Lestat."


FIN