(for Debra with Love)

We're wandering up and down the aisles of Tower Records, and Lestat already has over a dozen CD's in his basket; he doesn't ask my opinion, for he knows it does not matter to me, although he does share his enthusiasm for this or that song, his angel's face animated as he speaks. I am holding another basket, filled with DVD's, the first section we'd visited upon entering the store. Lestat likes this place, likes the color and the music and the hundreds of things he can look at and talk about. He likes to see if his own CD, now a dinosaur, is still in the racks. It usually is. It still sells well, here in New Orleans anyway. People don't often recognize him....at least, not from that. How could it be *him*? The CD is nearly eighteen years old. This man is surely too young to be The Vampire Lestat. He does attract attention, though. People cannot help but notice his looks and his personality. He speaks freely to those mortals that are near him and passes words with the night staff, most of whom he knows by name.

I like to watch him when we are out. He falls in easily with mortals about him, trading phrases with them as though he were one of them, and flirting outrageously with anyone who showed an interest in him. His pale hair is beautiful even under the harsh, flourescent lighting, a tousled mane of living gold on his broad shoulders. I love the feel of his hair under my hands or soft against the skin of my thighs. He is talking now to a boy, sixteen at most. The boy, thin to ematiation, his hair spiked with gel, is extolling the virtues of some band to Lestat. He is earnest and beautiful in his way, the boy. Lestat agreeably tosses the CD in with the others into his basket unmindful of the way the boys eyes widen at what is to him an extensive purchase. Lestat turns around, looking for me.

"Louis? Is there anything you want, Mon Cher?" He asks.

"Not *here*." I answer him suggestively, drawing a delighted grin from him.

"Good answer! Come on, we'll pay for this stuff and go back home."

The girl at the register smiles at both of us as we place the purchases before her. She is the night manager. Her name is Amy.

"The boss loves it when you guys come in here." She says, efficiently swiping the discs one at a time beneath the clever infrared scanner.

"I thought *you* were the boss around here, Amy." Lestats teases as she double bags our purchases.

She rolls her eyes theatrically and looks to me.

"And you put up with this?" She asks me, conspritorially.

I shrug as Lestat's hand reaches to clasp mine. I take the bag from her.

"We all have our weaknesses, non?" I affirm. She smiles, and wishes us good night.

I like Amy. She looks at Lesat and sees a little of what makes him dear.

We take our time walking, enjoying the night and the excitement and the energy of the city gearing up for Mardi Gras. When I turn my head I can see his fine profile and the way the breeze from the triver lifts his hair. The lights from the shops and the streetlights paint his features diffferent colors but his eyelashses still gleam pure gold and his yes tonight are the deepest indigo. I release his hand and slip my arm about his waist, craving more contact with him. He turns his head and I feel my heart jump when his eyes meet mine.

"Do you want to go home, Louis?" He asks me, his voice carressing....tempting. I resist the urge to give in. He loves to be teased.

"No hurry, Mon ange.." I say in my most nonchalant voice. "I know how you love to be out and about."


Part 2

His arm is around my waist amnd suddenly he swings me around, pivoting me loosely on his hip. In the next instant I am pressed against a brick wall beneath one of the flickering gasflame lamps ubiquitous in the Quarter. His mouth is warm and instistant on mine and I drop the bag between our feet so that I can slip my hands beneath his long leather coat. My arms are around him, my hands caressing his beautifully muscled back...holding him to me so that I can feel his heart beating against mine. He kisses me until I am breathless and squirming and moaning softly. He breaks the kiss, finally and we are forehead to forehead.

"Are you sure?" He says in a low, visceral tone, brushing his knuckles down the side of my face.

Not too much later we are home, lying together, skin to skin in our bed. Lestat's mouth is moving over me, his lips and teeth leaving trails of fire and blood upon my needful flesh. He speaks to me between bites and kisses, looking up at me through the tangled gold of his mane. Scarlet lips that declare love and promise ecstasy. He binds me, as he always has, with the spell of his touch and his words, and the passion that I see in his brilliant eyes. I have now what I have always wanted. I have Lestat. He is so open to me now, and the mistrust and fear that once slept uneasily in the bed between us is gone now, with only the scars that such things must necessarily leave.

He is becoming hungry and his mouth demands my blood and my attention. His fangs sink deeply into the tender flesh of my lower belly snd he drags a sharp fingernail over my hipbone, peeling back the flesh in a searing line. His hair is spread over my groin, teasing gossamar, the breath of an angel on my twitching, rigid cock.

Often Lestat is single-minded in his passion...to give me pleasure and to take his, greedy, voracious creature that he is. This night, though he is restrained, somehow...he drinks richly and his roaming exploration is deliberate and slow and excruciatingly pleasurable. I feel myself writhing under him, my body a willing slave to his mouth. My hands are obediently clutching the bedposts, the wood suddenly compressed beneath my fingers as he moves his head and sinks his fangs into my ass just behind my balls. Unable to help it I howl out my passion, my hips thrusting helplessly against nothing at all. Restraint. When had Lestat learnt restraint? Or was it another whim that had caught hold of his imagination? I wanted him to engulf my throbbing cock with his mouth.

Lestat often tells me that I hold him, and I do...I hold him in my hands as though he is a fragile human child. I hold him in my heart always. I have never tried to keep him near me by force of my will. It would never have worked for he was ever suspicious and headstrong.

These thoughts pass through my mind, disjointed and almost surreal. I feel so much for him. I feel *only* for him. And now, as we take from one another, blood and dreams and bittersweet memory...these things take on a life of their own. His tongue, now probing the sensitive and receptive opening to my body. I cannot adequately describe how he makes me *feel*, how his touch quickens me, makes me feel alive. He's driving me insane, his tongue sliding up into me, hot and snaky and I forget myself and let go of the ruined headboard. I want his cock. I want him to ream me and give me what is mine. I want his surrender to my enclosing flesh.

Lestat. Was there ever a creature like him? I know quite well that he is not the only vampire with the face and form of an angel. He was not, when he found me, the strongest of them. Now...well, now is a different story. I long ago lost my pain at taking life. I am what I am. Vampire. I chose this life so that I could remain with Lestat. I have what I wanted all those years ago. The rest is superfluous.

His mouth leaves me and I know what is next. He'll take me...his beautiful eyes wet with bloodtears as mine will be. Familiar and well-known, his touch upon me; I am dazed already with exquisite sensation. He brings his tawny lion's body up and over mine, sleek and smooth, his flesh like chamois as I rub him insistantly and slowly. I feel his cock, pressing against me, eager for entrance. I spread my legs for him, my lover, welcoming him. Pulling one leg up close to my body so that Lestat may have better access to me...I want nothing more at this moment than to have him within me.

"Lestat...my own...oh, are you?" I moan.

"Oui, Mon Cher, I am yours. Completely and always yours. Toujours, Mon ange." He whispers.

He pushes his hard cock up into me. Pain. Ahh, the sweet pain of my body opening to him. We are nearly matched now in strength, but I am always undone by his body upon mine. I am his as I have told him so many times. I always will be.

I wrap my legs around him. I wrap my arms around him also, and I clamp my wanting mouth over his, tasting blood and his lips and the ghost of his last victim, taken as we made our way to Tower Records earlier. I melt into his kiss, his embrace and I feel him doing the same to me. I am drinking in his scent and suckling blood from his tongue, bitten by one of us as we writhe together. He pulls back from my mouth and brings his hands up to cup my face. Gazing closely at me, into my eyes as he moves within me, hard and jarring, punctuating each deep thrust with a kiss upon my face. My eyes. My forehead. Kisses as light as his plunging is brutal. Murmuring in French of his lust and his emotion and saying my name the way no one else can until I am awash in scent and sensation, the sight of his face and the sound of his voice. Bloodsweat drips from his face and from the ends of his hair down on to me, holy rain from the only heaven that means anything to me.

I am speaking too, begging and daring him at the same time. Goading him to give me more....more of himself, more pain, more pleasure and he gives me all that I ask of him. His fangs tear my throat open an I feel the blood leave me in a furious stream as he fastens his mouth upon me and drinks from me until I am light-headed and euphoric.

Blood now everywhere as he releases the wound, crimson rivulets running from his mouth and down his neck as he raises upa and moves my legs up over his shoulders to heighten sensation between us yet again. Deep. He is so deep inside me, and the shudders that wrack my body aare the tremors to the climax I can feel building. Pressure on the sensitve area within me.

He is raised on his knees, his hands on the tops of my thighs as he thrusts into me. licking and kissing the tendon at the side of one of my knees. His chest gleams with bloodsweat. HIs matted hair obscures part of his face as he continues to lip the skin of my leg and I reach one hand up to push his hair back that I might look at his face/ He turns his head to look at me, his body not slowing, keeping a steady, hard rhythym. I can feel the tension building in him as it builds in me and he moves one hand from my thigh to capture my cock. I goran with the sudden pressure of his hand upon me and he's muttering and growling. It's close, so close, and he's urging me to let go, urging me to come for him, to come *with* him and we fly together his blood released high and hot within me as I grip him tight with my inner muscles. My own release is fierce and his hand is red with my issue, my own body coated with it. I move my legs from his shoulders, one and then the other, and I pull him down to me. He knows what I want and he throws his head back as I sink my fangs into him.

drawing and drawing and draswing from him. both of us still quivering and trembling with the aftershocks of climax. HIs blood. He's so delicious; his essence burns me as I swallow. He rolls over, pulling me on top of him and cradling my head and back as I suckle. He's murmuring my name as he strokes me. I can feel his mind, open, and his trust in our bond is a gift that nearly crushes me. He can feel that, I know, for he is weeping even as I am. I release his throat and lay my head upon his chest. We don't speak for neither of us has words enough for what we feel. Exhausted and limp, we lie together and I feel the gentle hitching of his breath as his weeping subsides.

Part 3

I don't know how long we were lying still together. I listen to Lestat's heart, and hear his breathing slow, finally evening out as he slips into a light doze. This time I am the one who is wakeful I am the one who must gaze at my sleeping, golden angel, and run light fingers over his flesh, still damp from our coupling. Licking delicately at the ragged edges of the wound healing on his neck. Obsessively smoothing the wayward locks of his hair.

In his doze, Lestat mumbles my name and pushes his face into my hair. I feel euphoric and dreamy although I am not in the least sleepy. His arms are tight around my body and I revel in that feeling, the need in him to hold me so close. I revel in how he can let me feel what he feels. That he can do so means so much to me.

He stirs awake and sees me watching him.

"See anything green?" He says, brushing a finger across my lower lip.

I catch his finger, drawing it into my mouth. He pulls it out and puts it into his own mouth briefly.

"I don't remember spit having a taste like this when I was mortal. Do you?" He asks.

I break into laughter and he looks at me, a quizzical smile on his lips.

"I'm serious, Louis." He says.

"I know you are, I say, still chuckling. "I can't say that I recall." I move to kiss the skin of his taut belly. He stretches his arms up and sighs a little.

"Moving south, Louis?" He says, hopefully.

"An innocent kiss on your stomach and the Satyr awakens. " I tease. My eye is caught, however, by the feathery dusting of gold below the shallow cup of his navel. My treasure nestles there, set off to tempting perfection.

"Which Satyr are you referring to, Chaton? There are two in this bed, you know," His voice is light but there is a familiar note there. I have an image now in my mind of his golden skin coated in a singlet of slick, gleaming oil.

"I was referring to you, you demon." I say, tearing my eyes from the line of his hip, and gazing up at him.

He smiles at me, reaching one perfect hand to cup my face.

"If I am a Satyr, then so be it. I have told you I cannot have enough of you, haven't I?" He says this comfortably, and he draws me back up and kisses me deeply. His mouth is hot and tastes faintly of his blood, though the tear in his throat is healing under my hand. I can feel it closing.

"You have told me that, yes." I say, the words somewhat garbled as he pulls at my lip with his front teeth. The fingers of one of his hands are threaded into my hair. "And I do so enjoy the demonstrations you back your pretty words with." I arch into the slow stroking of his other hand at my back.

He chuckles warmly and I lift my head to look into his eyes,

"I did not realize that I need to back up my words. " He said. I am lying half on top of him and I can feel the press of his cock, tight and hard against my upper thigh. He moves seductively against me.

"You don't *need* to...I *said* I so enjoyed that you do, Monsieur Insatiable."

In spite of our words, we are not rushed, still bathed in satiated bliss as we are. Lazy lovetalk, this, and sweet caresses. I am making a minute examination of Lestat's left nipple with my fingers, fascinated with the exquisite responsiveness he always exhibits. It is beautifully erect and I close my lips around it, drawing it into my mouth and holding it between my teeth. I can feel his strong, steady heartbeat against my lips. His hand is still moving with slow firmness over my back. I nip sharply, enjoying the hiss elicited and the quickening of his pulse. Release, and then back to his pretty mouth for another kiss.

Part 4

His tongue moves with sure sinuousness, plundering the well-known territory of my mouth, and raising a little more heat between us. He's savouring me. I can feel it in the way he's moving and I can hear it in the sounds of his sighing breaths. His hand is pulling and kneading the skin at my hip, measured and unhurried. Slow, and sensual as he can be after an initial release. I am succumbing to this spell of langorous touching, even as my flesh begins to crave his rougher caresses, the heady rush I get from his fangs tearing into my flesh. My breathing becomes ragged as I close my eyes, remembering his angel's face raised from between my thighs, mouth dripping. When he releases my mouth, I lift my head so I can look at him. I want to sit up but he refuses to let go of me, the one hand in my hair, enmeshed and cradling my skull, the other hand still insistent and warm at my hip. He drinks in the sight of me as surely as he drinks my blood... his hands upon me, also drinking me in. Mouth open slightly as he breathes me in. He's so tactile, so immersed in his senses, and he translates this over to me, letting me see the joy he gets from giving me pleasure.

Lestat devastates my senses, though he does not need to make a move to do so. The sight of him coming down the stairs as I stand waiting for him at the door is every bit as overwhelming to me as his intense lovemaking. Walking beside him, and watching his face as he talks animatedly often makes my eyes well with the same tears that are apt to spring from me when he takes my cock into his mouth and brings me to shuddering orgasm.

His eyes gleam as he searches my face and I move to lick at his golden lashes, briefly shuttering his azure gaze. My name is a whisper on his lips, his eyes still closed.

"Louis. Lover. Ah...the scent of you..."

I hear such longiing in his voice, a siren song of promise and desire. His mouth is open still, and he is taking shallow, panting breaths, his tongue moving as though he would lap the very air between us. I can feel his pulse quicken as he does this, his passion roused again from its' dreaming doze. His eyes open and the deep blue irises are a crescent edge around his hugely dilated pupils.

I move my face closer to his and his eyes widen as I breath into his mouth without yet touching his lips. He swallows once, convulsively, and resumes his light, rapid panting. A dew of bloodsweat mists his upper lip and his temples. His eyes are slitted now as he concentrates and I can feel the muscles of his body quivering. His hands still caress my skin, and the languid movement seems at odds with the rising level of Lestat's passion. I move my legs between Lestat's and he shudders when my cock comes into contact with his. He holds his body still, letting me move against him. Subtle movement from him...his chest as he breathes, his beating heart. Trembling muscles...and his cock, twitching and hard. Aching, I know. Aching, as I am.

Both of us are coated now with bloody perspiration, and I lean to him, my left cheek to his right, so that my mouth is at his ear.

"Roll onto your belly, Mon ange. " I whisper.

I have caught the rhythm of his rapid breathing. Ilift my body from his and he does as I ask, his slowly stroking hands regretfully leaving my flesh. He rests his head upon his crossed arms and waits.

Here is yet another feast for my eyes, and I sit up to take himin. His eyes are open again and he is watching me from his prone position. His tangled mane of hair is spread on his shoulders and his back, lush and somehow alive with the ambient light in the room. The breadth of his shoulders is not hidden, not even beneath the mass of shining hair. The muscles of his back are taut, molded beautifully over his frame, shoulder blades (angel wings) and ribs and the knobs of his spine clothed int the tawny suede of his hide.

My mouth is watering.

Part 5

The slight dimples above his gorgeously perfect ass...I know the sweet smoothness of the skin there, how it feels beneath my fingers and the side of my cheek. He shifts his legs, spreading his thighs slightly, and he presses his hips down hard against the yielding mattress. The muscles of his body ripple minutely with his movement. His eyes have not left me the whole time and I see mute pleading there. He wants me to touch him.

I have not finished my visual caress, however. There is a shadow at the sacred division, that small darkness highlighting the golden skin, skin that seems to trap and radiate the warm light of the candles in our room. Fine threads of downy hair catching that same light and reflecting it in a dazzle across the tops of his thighs. I can hear him panting, and he whispers my name, whispers gutter French, sweet obscenities. The sound of his voice settles into my lower belly, a heated coil...a blossoming warmth. The tender skin at the backs of his knees beckons me. I am so hungry now. Hungry for the feel of him. Sculpted calves and sweetly tapered ankles. The bottoms of his feet are paler than the rest of his flesh, and his toes are curled inward slightly. He says my name again and I look into his eyes.

Naked want. I cannot deny him. I never could. I move to his feet and kneel there between them, placing my palms against the pale soles. Slight roughness at his heels, calluses begun to build when he was fragile and mortal so very long ago. I run my hands over his feet and over his calves, slowly kneading and rubbing his skin. I want to press my mouth to his damp flesh, but I hold back, stroking him with my palms and the pads of my fingers. I am careful not to scratch him with my nails. He moans softly as I progress to the back of his knees, fingers finding the pulsing vessels and lingering. Up the backs of his thighs, dusty with pale gold. I skim the cheeks of his ass lightly with my palms and move so that I am kneeling now between his thighs, spreading them further apart. He trembles so beneath me. Wanting.

I smell his arousal, a rich note that oozes from him, the bloodsweat that coats him redolent with it. My cock is tight and hard with need. I feel inflamed from within. His ass is raised slightly from the bed in enticing invitation, but I press him down to the bed with one hand.

"Not yet Mon lion." I murmur, massaging his back, counting his bones. Lestat makes a sound, something between pleading frustration and grateful submission.

"I have you, Lestat." I lower my mouth to lap at the gleaming bloodsweat at the base of his spine.

My turn to shudder. He tastes so exquisite, and my tongue is greedy...my body shivering as his blood, minute amount that it is, is received. A pleasured moan escapes me, enhanced by the metered purring I hear issuing from him. When I have finished this little feast, I find I cannot take my mouth from his skin. I am stroking the sides of his gleaming torso with avid hands, brushing his ribs and the corded tendons beneath his upstretched arms. My tongue travels his spine and my body is slowly moved forward until I am covering him, my eager mouth at the back of his neck. I lower myself onto his sucking at the strands of his hair.

Part 6

My cock rests rigid between the cheeks of his ass and he presses back against me with a low growl. The pressure causes me to gasp and I'm thinking that there is nothing more that want at this moment then to once again be enclosed within his slick flesh, the torrid heat of his body consuming me, annihilation without destruction.

He is alternately grinding his hips into the mattress and then pushing back against my cock, little groans of frustrated need escaping him. Sweet frustration. He's excited, aroused by the building tension, waiting for me to take him. I have made a shallow bleeding wound at the back of his neck, a place to suckle as I tease him further. I have re-opened this place over and over, my own moans mingling with his as I taste him. When I lift my head from him I can see his hands clenching and unclenching, twisted in the sheets the muscles in his arms flexing and bunching under his smooth skin.

I get up from him, kneeling, and I pull his hips up to my groin. I reach one hand between his thighs and slice him open with my fingernail. The tide of blood splashes over my hand and I push my cock between his legs to be anointed, rubbing against his tight balls.

"Louis."

Strangled gasp frim Lestat. His neck is twisted at what looks to be a painfully uncomfortable angle as he looks up and back at me, his eyes wild and feral. My hands are on his ass, fingers traveling the divide. I push my thumb up into him, feeling his muscles grasping as I move inside that aching space.

I remove my thumb and move so that the tip of my cock is against the small, spasming opening to his body. He remains still, waiting tensed and gloriously golden for my first thrust.

Part 7

"Don't move, darling." I whisper as I push the head of my cock into him, watching as I am taken inside. I stop and listen to him pant. I can see between our now joined bodies the blood that streaks his inner thighs. My hands are at his hips, fingers curled around the sharp pelvic bones, and I pull him back onto me.

I can hear a sound, loud and guttural, and at first I think it is Lestat, crying out as I sink into him. I raise my eyes from the place of our joining and look to his face. I see that his eyes are wide and round as he looks back at me, and it is then that I realize that my mouth is stretched wide and the ragged snarl is coming from me. With a sudden, vicious movement, Lestat slams back to me, and I feel him tear inside.

At his movement I lose any semblence of control that I may have had, my body responding to his crying need for me, brutally thrusting into him, spurred by his pleading, muttered obscenities and the intoxicating, scarlet scent of his blood. He's tight, so tight around me, his gift to me...to take him thus and be consumed by the fit of his body, something of his that is mine alone. It is the trust behind the gift, *that* is the real gift that he gives me.

This passes through my mind in a fragmented way.

I have my hand curled around his cock, stroking him roughly. I know he's close. His inner muscles tighten almost painfully around me as he tries to hold me deep within him, and I slow my thrusts, pushing up against that place that gives him such pleasure, revolving my hips slowly as I continue stroking his cock.

Lestat stiffens suddenly and the room is scented...filled....with the crimson richness of his blood, released in his inarticulate climax. The sound he makes hurts my ears, and he collapses down beneat hme, the sheets dark with his issue, pinned to the mattress as I come inside him.

When next I open my eyes I am no longer within him, but held close to him. Lestat is fastened to my throat, nursing from me in a sensual, wholly satiated fashion, indulging himself as he loves to do. I am unsure how we have come to be in theis position, although it doesn't matter, not really. He's letting his lazy, post-coital langour envelop me, letting me feel his delight at the taste of my blood in his mouth, and the tingle of it coursing through his veins. Giving me, with no small amount of amusement, his reluctance at releasing me. I can hear him in my mind, this thought-voice rich and caressing as he murmurs to me that he does indeed want more, always more.

"Mine." His thought, and I can feel the insoucient, amused grin that accompanies the emotion.

"No. Mine." I answer out loud, and I am rewarded by his chuckle at my throat.

He releases me and kisses me, his mouth still red with my blood.

To gaze into his eyes always, shifting blue or grey or darkend violet with passion, the iridescence that holds me enchanted. His body, responsive and sleek, all sinuous, golden motion, mine to hold, mine to revel in. His blood, that courses also through me, a red tide of nectar, the life that holds us bound together, his essensce, euphoric. Hands that stroke me and touch me in more ways than just the physical. Hands so beautiful as to blur my eyes with sudden tears at their graceful movement, or the sculpted fineness of them at rest. His angels' mouth, as I say so often...his angels' mouth burning me with kisses and teeth that tear from me all the passion that belongs only to Lestat, the desire that I have for him unquenchable, and timeless. Words that have given me pain that I thought might one day kill me, and words that have soothed me. His words, that have sometimes hidden that which lies in his great heart, Lestat's heart that I know to be filled with love for me. Has he not shown me this when we are joined in passion, fangs driven into willing flesh, and the blood passing through us in a shining flood of ecstasy? And the soul that he possesses, and which possesses me, innocent in spite of all that he has done, and all that has been done to him, the child that is Lestat and the being that he has become. His soul, given over to me in trust, and that hard won from him, for he had held that trust in fearful abeyance for so very long. I love him so.

He looks into my eyes, and smiling, speaks to me.

"Louis, my love...tell me what you are thinking, for your eyes shine so."

I smile in return for I know that he is contentedly aware of what is passing through my mind.

"Enough talk, Lestat." I murmur to him. I lay my head on his chest and listen to the thrumming of his heart and I think to myslef that I have in him something rare and precious, and he lets me eease into sleep, humming an old French melody, the tune long familiar.

Euphoric.


FIN