Origin of Love
© Kimi
cvs87@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: All vampires belong to Anne Rice. The lyrics below belong to Stephen Trask.
Spoilers: Let’s just say everything, just to be safe. Who knows what could slip out.
Notes: I'm kinda responding to my own challenge here. Be patient with me, it’s been freaking ages since I wrote any kind of slash (even the wimpy kind you’ll find herein). I wanted to write something, and figured that this was safe. Thanks. Anyway, this is a piece of speculative fiction.
The Origin of Love
When the earth was still flat,
And the clouds made of fire,
And mountains stretched up to the sky,
Sometimes higher,
Folks roamed the earth
Like big rolling kegs.
They had two sets of arms.
They had two sets of legs.
They had two faces peering
Out of one giant head
So they could watch all around them
As they talked; while they read.
And they never knew nothing of love.
It was before the origin of love.The origin of love
And there were three sexes then,
One that looked like two men
Glued up back to back,
Called the children of the sun.
And similar in shape and girth
Were the children of the earth.
They looked like two girls
Rolled up in one.
And the children of the moon
Were like a fork shoved on a spoon.
They were part sun, part earth
Part daughter, part son.The origin of love
Now the gods grew quite scared
Of our strength and defiance
And Thor said,
"I'm gonna kill them all
With my hammer,
Like I killed the giants."
And Zeus said, "No,
You better let me
Use my lightening, like scissors,
Like I cut the legs off the whales
And dinosaurs into lizards."
Then he grabbed up some bolts
And he let out a laugh,
Said, "I'll split them right down the middle.
Gonna cut them right up in half."
And then storm clouds gathered above
Into great balls of fireAnd then fire shot down
From the sky in bolts
Like shining blades
Of a knife.
And it ripped
Right through the flesh
Of the children of the sun
And the moon
And the earth.
And some Indian god
Sewed the wound up into a hole,
Pulled it round to our belly
To remind us of the price we pay.
And Osiris and the gods of the Nile
Gathered up a big storm
To blow a hurricane,
To scatter us away,
In a flood of wind and rain,
And a sea of tidal waves,
To wash us all away,
And if we don't behave
They'll cut us down again
And we'll be hopping round on one foot
And looking through one eye.(Louis)
I remember. I hadn't thought about it for so long, and then Lestat brought it up last night.
"How did you feel, Louis, that night in Carmel Valley?’
It had been so long since I'd even considered it, since I'd even let it cross my mind. The feeling, that lovely passion had become such a staple in our lives since then—I didn't need to yearn for it anymore.
We hadn't seen each other for so long. Understand that the concept of "so long’ for a vampire is entirely different than that for a mortal. It had been years. Decades, even, since I'd seen him that night in the Théâtre des Vampires. So much had happened. Yet every moment I'd spent, whether alone or with Armand, was spent longing for Lestat. We'd woven a spell over each other, a passion fuelled by fear and avarice, by nights spent alone and by those spent in a seemingly unending heat and ardour for each other. Nights that we pretended that Claudia never knew about, but secretly admitted that she did.
And when I walked past that helicopter, onto that hill, and saw his face, my mind was overflowed with the memories. There aren't words for moments like that.
What did you feel, Louis?
"As though I'd finally found the missing piece to my heart, Lestat.
He'd been mightily pleased with that answer, and spent the rest of the evening showing me just that. I fell into the deathsleep twined in his arms, his lips on my neck and my memories ravaging my mind.
He looked as though he might weep, yet whether it was from fear or happiness, I could not have told you. I like to think it was from happiness.
"Where's the black cape and ‘finely tailored' black coat and silk tie and all that foolishness? His voice had come tightly from his body, as though he were on the verge of some incendiary emotion. The sound of him curled around me, throwing me back hundreds of years to that moment when I'd first heard him speak as a vampire.
"Stop staring at my buttons!
I considered him, smiling softly, which I knew pleased him. My mouth opened to laugh at his words yet no sound came out. I loved him too much. Moments like this are wrought with so much tension—where do words figure in?
It was a long moment before I was finally able to speak, my voice coming out softly with only a touch of the ironic humour that I knew he would love to hear.
"Can't always be the living legend.
The last time I saw you, we were just split in two
You were looking at me,
I was looking at you.
You had a way so familiar, I could not recognise
‘Cause you had blood on your face
I had blood in my eyes.
But I could swear by your expression the pain down in your soul
Was the same
As the one down in mine.And then we took each other in our arms, the brief warmth from our vampiric bodies becoming so much more than that, the old heat flaring again between the two of us. I almost wept from the closeness of him, from that old familiar scent and feel. So much time lost, so much more to be used. The feel of him against me was almost too much; his body welded to mine, our cheeks touching, creating the fire between us anew.
That's the pain that cuts a straight line down right through the heart
We called it love.We ran our hands over each other, our eyes filmed in blood, our hands trembling just a little. None of the past mattered then - Claudia had never existed, Madeleine had never happened, and Armand was some long forgotten dream - there was just us, Lestat and Louis.
I don't need to describe the remainder of that conversation - Lestat caught it perfectly in his book. There was a perfection and a fragility about it that was refreshing and frightening all at once. And it was the next night, before the concert, that I'd found him again, in more ways than one.
We came together like a storm, our hands caressing and our mouths hungry. It was a night from some long-forgotten moment in nineteenth century New Orleans, where the humidity outside had been unbearable and the humidity inside the bedroom far worse. We'd made love as though in a fever, unable to keep our hands from one another, to keep our bodies from being one.
So we wrapped our arms around each other,
Trying to shove ourselves back together.
We were making love,
Making love.Moments like this are worth dying for. They are the only things worth living for in this living death that Lestat had had the audacity to call "existence.
"Yes, Louis. That was what it was for me, as well. A part of me that had been gone forever, something I'd thought that I'd never feel again rising to the surface
He trailed off, looking at me, the sheet barely covering him, his eyes soft and hazy.I touched his face, tracing the line of his jaw, my fingers stopping at his full and utterly kissable lips. "I love you.
He flushed, as he always does when I say this. He doesn't understand how I can say it so easily, how the words simply flow past my lips like so much blood. It's come more easily to him since we've come back together after the incident with Merrick, after his blood flows in my veins. I understand his trepidation in voicing it, his fear that if he says it then it won't be true. That he feels it too strongly to say it so often, which he understands is precisely the reason I can say it so often. We both feel so very much.
He takes my fingers in his hand and leans into me, his lips pressing at mine. I can feel the need behind this, the great strength it is taking for him to not press further.
I run my free hand through his hair and race my fingers down his back, my nails teasing him as my lips smile against his. He pulls back for a moment, our eyes locked. His fill with blood as he looks into mine, his lips pressing back to mine, his tongue slipping into my mouth and meeting mine insistently. I moan just a little, my arms now around him and holding him to me, my legs spreading enough to make room for him.
He rakes his tongue over my fangs, loosing just enough of that elixir into my mouth to fuel our passion. He moans into me as I tug at a nipple, his hand reaching for me and wrapping around me, working me slowly.
It's when he moves slowly into me that I cry out, my mouth sealing to his as I move my hips downward, pushing him deeper within me with a moan. I wrap my legs around him, blood tears slipping out of my eyes at my love for him. Every moment is like that first moment and more.
Breaking from him, I latch onto the artery in his neck, groaning as my mouth fills with his essence. I swallow endlessly it seems, my throat burning with him.
It is when his tongue licks at my neck that I know what will come, and when he breaks the tender skin there we begin to fly together. Joined as we are, our passion becomes one, and it is long burning moments later that we spend ourselves together with ragged cries.
As Lestat so eloquently put it, "I think to be this happy is to be miserable, to feel this much satisfaction is to burn.
It was a cold dark evening,
Such a long time ago,
When by the mighty hand of Jove,
It was the sad story
How we became
Lonely two-legged creatures,
It's the story of
The origin of love.
That's the origin of love.