I couldn't decide whether or not to post this, but I decided, what the hell :)

This was written in 90min for a challenge at Contrelamontre over on lj.

The challenge was to write at least three scenes with the last word of each being used as the first word for the next, and the very first word of the BS also being the very last word.

www.angelfire.com/darkside/pips

www.livejournal.com/users/pigeongirl99

Silk

Disclaimer- Mater owns. I don't.

Silk fell to the floor and he was naked. Entirely bare, standing in the centre of the room, and looking at me. Green eyes fixed on me. Only on me.

He tilted his head, his mouth parting slightly. "You play with me," he whispered so softly I could barely make out the words.

"Never." I took a single step closer, pushing myself away from the wall I'd been leaning on.

"Yes you do. You always do." He swept a hand through his hair, his movement serving to impossibly exaggerate his nudity. "This was all a plan, a plot, a scheme..."

I shook my head, walking right up to him, so close he had to tip his head back to meet my eyes. "Louis, whatever made you think I would have to plot anything to get you. To have you." I pushed my own hand through his hair, mirroring his gesture of a moment ago. "I could just take. I can take anything I want." And I want you.

He laughed lowly, the sound a distant rumble of thunder, not threatening in itself but warning of danger and lightning, fire and electricity. "Because you fear consequences." He closed the tiny remaining gap between us, splaying the palm of his hand flat against my chest. "Coward," he smiled and tipped his head to the side, his eyes darting to my mouth and back again. "And where would the fun be in that?"

He kisses me and the lightning strikes.

There is softness, and warmth, and fire, and burning.

His kisses are like blood. Lifegiving. Lifestealing. Passion, and violence, and pain, and love.

He steps back. His eyes hard. "You planned all this," he reiterates.

"How so?"

He smiles. "You know how." He shakes his head and for the first time looks away from me, looking instead at the window, at where the stars are faintly visible. Polaris. A star to guide yourself by. Celestial navigation. "At the theatre. At Macbeth."

"Not the best production I've ever seen," I interject.

"Perhaps not," he frowns for a moment, as if considerate the actors, the staging, as if he weren't standing entirely bare before me. "I couldn't really say. I kept getting distracted." He pauses again, biting at his bottom lip. "You kept distracting me."

I smile. I cannot help it. "Oh?"

"Yes, you fiend. With your touches, and whispers, with the looks you gave me." He raises an eyebrow at me, challenging me, daring me to contradict.

I shrug, "I was bored."

He laughs now, and steps closer again, pressing himself against me wholly. I can feel nothing but him. Each dip and curve of him. Each bone, each sharpness. "Monster," he whispers. "You made me want you." His hand traces my backbone as I do the same to him, skimming my fingers over each vertebra, over silken skin, and down to the curve of his arse. "You made me need you." He sighs, his voice deepening, becoming raw. "You make me weak."

He starts to strip me of my own clothes.

I want to contradict his statement. His falsehood. Show it for the lie it is.

He is not the weak one.

I gasp as his touch finds my bare skin.

He shuts his eyes. "I wish you would just ask"

***

"Ask me."

"Ask you what?"

"Do not play games, Lestat. Just ask. Take a chance." He looked at the floor, fiddling with the loose threads of his jumper.

"Louis." I shake my head. There are too many questions. And I can say none of them.

"Do you not care to hear the answer?" There is the start of a hitch in his voice. My Louis will never cry though. Not in front of me. Not in public. I doubt if he even allows himself to in private. "Does it mean so little to you?" He takes a deep breath and moves out the glass doors onto the balcony.

I pause then follow him.

"Night Island is beautiful," his voice sounds steady again.

"Armand cares only for beautiful things." He looks up sharply at this, eyes narrowed.

"Do not..." He doesn't finish his sentence.

"Beautiful One." I take his hand. "My dark angel."

He shakes his head. "Please," he looks back out at the view, at the small bright lights, at the mortals walking blithely along that promenade. "Only ever say words you mean. Only words you mean to me."

I don't reply, and he slips his hand from my grasp.

"You cannot ask the question and you do not care to hear the answer."

"That's not true." I make a grab at him, wrapping my arms tight around his waist, pushing my face into the crook of his neck.

He's shaking.

I can feel him shaking.

He tries to pull away but I hold him closer, crushing him against me.

"You found your queen."

I burrow my hands beneath his jumper, tracing the firm muscles of his back, almost clawing at them.

"You found your queen. You found your love."

"No," I sob the word.

"You want no answers from me."

"That's not true."

"You lie."

***

"Lie to me then." He screams.

"What lie do you want to hear?"

He's trying to laugh but he has no breath for it. He gasps. He chokes. "The one where I matter. The one where you keep me with you because you must. Because you need." He shuts his eyes and his face screws up. "Because you want me, not because of revenge." He falls to the ground.

I can hear the carnival in the distance. Hear the drums and the noise.

"Do you remember," he starts, his voice quieter, more reasonable. "When we used to go to the theatre? I'd sit next to you, up in the box." He shakes his head, swiping at his eyes. "Your hands would be all over me. I'd try to bat them away, but you'd have none of it."

I nod.

"I always tried not to make a scene. Not to disturb anyone. And I'd squirm, trying to be still, and I'd wriggle, and your hands would bury themselves in my lap. And you'd stroke and caress and I'd try not to whimper. Try not to make a sound."

"You never quite managed it. All those little noises half caught in your throat. You sounded as if you'd die."

"I sometimes thought I would." He traced a rough circle in the dirt. "And in my head I called you demon and monster. My own very personal fiend." I could smell blood and I knew he'd bitten through the inside of his cheek. "But I thought; he wants me, he desires me, though it hurt that I knew you should never say that to me. That you believed the only way was for you to have me was to force my own need, to make me desperate."

"And you did always become so very desperate."

He cheeks burnt red, flushed with blood and shame. "Yes." He stood, slowly climbing to his feet. "I did." He pauses. "I do."

I shut my eyes.

"You made David." I can hear the bitterness he tries to hide. "You made him and you keep me around to watch. With your every action you tell me how little I matter. How I am rejected in favour of the new and improved model. And you care little enough that you won't even lie to me."

"There is no lie I can tell you."

"No, I don't suppose there is."

"There's no lie I want to tell you."

"Then let me leave. Let me not see this. Let me not see you anymore." He takes a step backwards and I imagine him swallowed up by the carnival crowd. "Before, with Akasha, you wanted no reassurance from me. No love, or comfort."

I shake my head but don't answer.

"I knew then, I think. I knew then that it was over." There are tears in his eyes. "But I couldn't leave, you were hurting, though it was not me you missed. You had no one else. Now you do."

"You betrayed me."

"No I didn't."

I leap at him, and we fall to the ground.

"I love you." He's looking up at me, so steadily my eyes ache. "That's the answer to the question you couldn't ask."

"I can't lie to you." I repeated.

"No."

"Because there is no lie to tell."

"No."

"You betrayed me."

"No I didn't."

"Shut up Louis." I lean down and kiss him. "You did, and I still love you." I kiss him again and he tastes of silk.

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

Pige -x-