Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

To address the question everyone was probably wondering— or perhaps it was only TC— of: Do Vampires have babies … like in twilight? The answer is no. 

Children conceived and thus born directly into the dark gift (and by children, really that meant just this singular child as it has been the only one of known existence) seemed to gestate at the same rate that a normal mortal child would. 

—

Approx. 40 weeks (give or take)

“Give or take?” Lestat had repeated aloud as Fareed wrote; to which Fareed looked up at him, nodded, and then continued jotting down more nonsensical doctor scribble on his notepad. “…Give or take what?!” 

“Mmm… possibly a week,” Fareed replied without looking back up from his writing. 

“A week!?” 

“Maybe two.”

Lestat wanted to scream. Or perhaps he wanted to cry. 

Perhaps he wanted to do both!

“You’re saying they might come later than they’re expected to?” 

Fareed finally stopped and looked up at Lestat again. “Yes. Or they might come earlier than expected. Give or take. That is just—”

“Well why can’t they just come when they’re supposed to!? Why must they be difficult!?”

“— just the way it works…” Fareed finished his original sentence, before sighing and glaring at Lestat, incredulously. Whispering, “Now I wonder whom they might get being difficult from…”

—

And to the utmost of unfortunate circumstances… not only did their child choose the former of the ‘give or take’ option… they decided on generosity with their giving. They gave a whole extra half month of waiting, and waiting… and dreaded, tearful, exhausted waiting for their arrival. 

Lestat laid in his open coffin— always open, now, because it would not (could not) close with him on his back. It was the way he had to lie if he wanted Louis to be able to fit— to lie comfortably with him. The large round bump towered above his body, covered by a soft flowy nightgown Christine had gifted him. 

He was officially no longer just uncomfortable in the pregnancy… he was tormented by it. Miserable did not feel strong enough a word… but he was too tired to think of one stronger. But whatever word existed that was stronger… that was what he felt. 

“I want this child out of me Louis…” he said when he heard the door to their room open; in walking his husband— no… Lestat was far too angry for Louis doing this to him for loving titles— In walking the devil charmer from New Orleans who hunted and bewitched poor Lestat into eternal companionship and then, nearly two decades later, cursed him to bear a child that was equally as cruel and vindictive as their father… choosing to give him a whole extra fourteen days, seven hours, twenty three minutes, and ten seconds— eleven seconds— twelve seconds…

“I know you do baby,” Louis said softly, dropping to the floor beside the coffin. 

He gently pried Lestat’s tightly crossed arms apart, taking the hand of the one closest to him and kissing it while Lestat desperately tried to maintain just how upset he was with Louis for doing this to him. His frown tugging down as far as he could make it around his wobbly lower lip… that he had jutted out equally as far. Louis used his free hand to begin rubbing soothing circles over the beachball sized orb, and finally the rambunctious (cruel beyond measures) child inside started to settle. 

Involuntarily— because he was trying very hard to convey just how upset he was— the sudden loss of tiny feet digging into his spine, and a head pressing just as harshly into his bladder caused him to lose all his steam… and he exhaled shakily in blessed relief. Bringing with it a flood of tears he was sure Louis was used to by this point (in their entire relationship honestly… Lestat knew he had the tendency to be an emotional creature.) 

“Shhh…” Louis shushed him softly, leaning over to press his lips to Lestat’s temple, then cheek, and finally his trembling lips. “It won’t be much longer.” 

“Y- You don’t kn- know that,” Lestat wept. He turned his teary eyes toward where Louis’ hand had come to rest atop the bump, and glared. “They seem perfectly content with staying put in there forever.” 

“You can’t be pregnant forever, Les.”

“Oh?” Lestat let out a sarcastic huff, barely a laugh… it sounded more pitiful than anything, really. “You have become a vampiric pregnancy expert now!? Tell me who else you have encountered to give such a confident statement?” 

Louis only rolled his eyes (actually fucking rolled his eyes— Lestat wanted to murder him!) and chuckled as he leaned forward, so his face was right next to Lestat’s belly. He pressed a kiss to it, just under his hand, and felt a prompt combination punch and kick to the two spots, causing Lestat to suck in a sharp breath. 

“Come on now, cher…” Louis said softly to the bump. “Be good for your papa.” 

Another kick toward Louis' voice, and Lestat whimpered miserably. “Why must they torture me so! They must hate me.” He cried at the thought of his dramatics possibly being true, almost as hard as he cried at the pain their restless child was causing him. 

“They don’t hate you. They’re probably just confused why you suddenly want them to be still after all those times you’d bother them to kick and move.”

Lestat sucked his teeth. He knew exactly what Louis was talking about— not that he was about to admit to it— back in the earlier months. When he wasn’t so heavy and winded just from merely existing. When the baby was small and their kicks weren’t impossible to miss.

They were actually quite the opposite…

—

The first time he’d felt movement had been just after he and Louis had gone to coffin. He was nestled comfortably in his husband’s arms, his head resting against Louis’ chest, letting the thumping of his heart lull him to sleep. When he felt a little taptaptap against the lower part of his barely-there belly. 

It was so featherlight, and he was so tired— always tired it seemed. He ignored it. Then it happened again, and a few seconds after, again. 

“Hmm, stop that…” he mumbled, having twisted and moved his body up to press his face into the curve of Louis’ neck, pressing kisses to the cool skin. 

“M’not doing anything…” Louis mumbled back, sounding far more pulled toward sleep than Lestat at the moment. 

Only then did Lestat take note of where Louis' hands were. One wrapped around his shoulder, holding Lestat firmly to his side. The other rested on Louis' own stomach. He stared down at it, waiting, almost impatiently, for him to move it back over to tap against Lestat’s small bump. 

It’s not like he hadn’t very quickly taken a liking to the spot where their child was growing— where they were cooking, as TC would say— since learning of the pregnancy. Most nights he would have fallen asleep cradling the slight curve, whispering down sweet nothings until they both fell asleep. Lestat fully expected to see Louis’ hand move over and confirm his fingers created the sensation he’d felt. 

Except it happened again and Louis’ hand had not moved.

Which could only mean one simple thing, Lestat rationalized as he threw the coffin lid open in a panic. He sat up and began searching the coffin for whatever rodent, or other creature must have gotten locked in with them… which, of course, woke Louis up. 

“What the— Lestat!? What are you doing?”

“Something is— or, well, something was touching me, Louis!” Lestat sighed upon not easily finding the culprit, and climbed out to check the spot under him. He still found nothing so he shoved at Louis to move so he could check under him. When he still found nothing he sat back on his legs, crossed his arms and pouted. 

Louis stared at him for a moment, before smiling, holding out his hand to Lestat and attempting to pull him back into the coffin. “You must have just been dreaming.”

“How could I be dreaming when I hadn’t fallen asleep yet!” Lestat felt his frown tug farther downward. “I know what I felt! And I felt—”

It chose that moment to happen again, stopping Lestat mid rant. He looked down and quickly tugged his sleep shirt up to see what was causing it, but there was nothing there. He gasped when it happened immediately again, this time truly revealing the sensation must be coming from beneath the skin. “Louis… something is— is m- moving!”

He heard Louis chuckle, and looked up prepared to lash out about how this is nota funny matter. “That’s not a something moving, Les…” Louis said first. “I think that’s our baby.”

“W- What?” 

Louis sat up better and moved his hand down to where Lestat’s was pressed against the location of the movements. “I think what you’re feeling… is them kicking.”

“Our baby is— is kicking me?!” Lestat stared at their hands, and as if on cue the featherlight taps repeated. “Oh my god!” He cried when the little kicks lasted longer this time, quickly moving their hands so Louis’ was pressed to his belly instead. “Can you feel it?!” 

“Nah, they’re still too small right now, baby. These ones are just for you.” Louis leaned in and kissed away the tear that was trailing down Lestat’s cheek as the movements continued again and again.

After that, every single day Lestat would bring Louis’ hand to his belly. He would poke the slowly growing curve. Talk to it… sing to it… do anything to provoke the child inside to start moving. Each time would eventually work, but each time Louis would smile, and tell Lestat he still couldn’t feel the movements. He’d tell him not to be upset— which, Lestat was always upset by this… he wanted to share every part of this pregnancy with Louis— that soon the baby would be big enough to feel even the slightest movement both inside and out… and that he would miss the days it was so subtle. 

“Non! Never!” Lestat pouted and argued how he was just so ready for the baby to be bigger and more active. 

And then the day finally came. 

It was after a show. Lestat was winded, sweaty and exhausted— although he was doing his best to not let it be too obvious, so as to not give Louis more ammunition to use in his insistence he end the tour, or at least pospone it. He’d plopped down on the buses couch to rest and wait for Louis to arrive and pamper him until he felt re-energized enough to get up and deal with fans, or brand deals, or whatever invasive questions Dan might have for their documentary (which Louis was also trying tirelessly to get him to back out of as well…). 

He let his eyes fall closed, popping his AirPods in to listen to a podcast that was following the band. Talking about the prior week's shows. Mostly praise, praise, praise… and then a mention of him seeming unusually tired during the past couple weeks. Curious what that could be about…

Like they were answering the podcaster’s question, the baby kicked. Only this time when they did, it caused Lestat’s phone— which he’d placed on top of the now very noticeable bump— to topple off. 

Lestat’s eyes instantly popped open. “Mon dieu…” he whispered, staring at the bump. He picked up the fallen phone and returned it to the same spot, then waited. 

The bus door opened and TC came charging up the steps. “Whatcha doing vamp—”

“Shhh!” Lestat hissed, waving his hand frantically at her as she snapped her mouth shut. He continued to stare at the phone, now with TC curiously staring at it as well. 

The door opened again, this time Christine. “Lestat? Are you—”

“Shhh!!” Both Lestat and TC hissed at her. 

Eventually Dee came looking for TC, then Salamander came looking for Christine. Larry came looking for Salamander and Alex came looking for anyone because he’d been left to fend for himself with a swarm of hyped up, probably also drugged up, fans. 

The bus was eerily silent as everyone sat crowded around the couch. All eyes glued to the phone balancing on the curve of Lestat’s belly. Time seemed to stop and everyone waited for… something— anything to happen. 

“What exactly is supposed to happen?” Salamander whispered to Christine and was promptly shushed by the entire bus… although Lestat could hear through all of their minds that none of them were entirely sure of the answer. 

Come on, petit bout… Lestat thought, and would later wonder if his thoughts were heard because immediately after the phone was jostled. Once, twice, then moved hard enough to cause it to slide off the bump. 

The bus erupted into cheers as if they’d just witnessed the greatest thing ever. 

“Now… what’s all this about?” Louis' voice called out above the commotion. Everyone turned to look, and Lestat reached out a hand to him from the couch. Louis gave a curious smirk, but walked through everyone to him. “What’s going on, baby?”

And Lestat didn’t pray. Not anymore. But he begged whatever cosmic power might be listening to not let this child be stubborn and stop moving now. He grabbed Louis’ hand as soon as he was near enough, and placed it on the exact spot where the phone had been. Louis furrowed his brow, and Lestat laughed. “Patience, mon coeur…”

“Oh? You really gonna talk to me about patience?” 

He only shushed Louis again, but the biggest smile split his face. So wide it ached his cheeks, as they waited for their child to finally reveal themself. 

Once again the bus was on edge. Quietly watching their joined hands. Lestat was fairly sure no one was even breathing. He worried someone might pass out, then—

A kick. 

A pretty strong one, at that. Right against Louis’ palm. 

“Oh my— wow! Les, was that…?”

Lestat nodded, almost frantically; his eyes welling up with tears. “Oui! C’était n- notre enfant…” Louis’ own eyes were shimmering as he surged forward and smashed their lips together. Finally everyone on the bus let out their collective breaths, and returned to their— more contained and quiet— cheers for this new exciting milestone, while beneath Louis’ hand the baby kicked, and kicked, and kicked. 

And Lestat loved every kick. Every punch. Every roll… 

Until he didn’t… 

Until the first one that was aimed right at his seldomly used bladder. Causing him to yelp and swing one leg around the other then waddle (like a penguin… TC made sure to let him know) to the nearest toilet.

Or the first one that went right into his spine and hit a nerve that made his entire right side go numb. 

Or the first one that felt akin to that scene in the movie Alien he’d watched with the band— why they thought this was a good movie to show him given his situation, he does not know— where the little fucking thing bursts out of the man’s chest. The child was not trying to come out of his chest… but they were definitely trying to come out. Lestat hissed in pain and poked at the elbow, or knee— whatever extremity it was that was trying to break through. 

—

From that point forward the movements became less beautiful and welcomed and more traumatic and dreaded. Much like the present moment he was in. Almost in tears as the child did what felt like a somersault that should have been impossible in the very limited space they had within him. 

“I know you’re hurting, baby… and I’m sorry you're having to deal with it.” Louis rubbed over the large bump and kissed Lestat’s forehead. “I hate there’s not much I can do.”

“There is something you could do…” Lestat pointed out, deepening his pout. “You just refuse to even try it anymore!” 

“Les…” Louis sighed. To which Lestat sighed louder, and more dramatically, finally turning himself over onto his side. Away from Louis. “Come on now, baby. Don’t be like that!” 

“I am absolutely going to be like that! Fareed said it would be fine—”

“Fareed said he believed it would be fine,” Louis promptly corrected. “Fareed also has no prior experience in our unique situation. I don’t wanna take any chances.” 

Lestat understood… kind of. 

Okay, fine, he understood completely. He knew he would be just as hesitant if their roles were reversed. But fucking dammit he was hor— 

His thought process was interrupted by his stomach giving a loud (embarrassing) growl, that was followed by utter silence as Louis stared at him and Lestat stared at anything that was not Louis. 

The moment was broken by Lestat first; a small laugh he could no longer contain slipping out. From the corner of his eye he could see Louis’ lips slowly widen into a Cheshire Cat grin, and he fully caved. Erupting into giggles Louis soon joined in. 

“You hungry, baby?” 

“A little,” Lestat said— lied, and was immediately caught in it by another loud growl. Louis actually snorted and Lestat’s vision blurred with tears from laughing so hard. “Bon, d’accord…” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his bump. “Yes! Clearly I am!” 

Louis just smiled at him, with so much love… and it made it hard to remember what he had just been upset about. “Well,” Louis pressed, taking Lestat’s hand and threading their fingers together. “What sounds good to ya?” 

“Mmm…” Lestat hummed, scrunching up his face, rubbing circles on his bump like it was a crystal ball and the baby would tell him what they wanted. “How about… something spicy.” 

“Well it’s no surprise there,” Louis teased him, bringing their hands up to his lips. “Be a little more specific?” 

Lestat sighed, and thought harder. For the first time in over two centuries (longer actually— as he’d been quite poor in the years prior to his turning) he had a fully stocked fridge. Plenty of options, since this child decided to continuously surprise them. Making him crave mortal food. 

And not just mortal food.

Cajun food.

— 

Lestat figured he probably looked like a maniac preparing to attack his prey, the way he stormed through the beaded doorway to where Louis was lounging back on the couch. His ankle resting on the opposite knee, and his foot tapping the air along to a beat TC was playing with her sticks. His arm was draped around Dee— He’d actually become quite intertwined with the band. Most days it made Lestat, impeccably happy. 

But at that moment… Lestat was anything but impeccably happy… or even just regular happy… or somewhat happy… or happy-ish. He was actually feeling very much the opposite. He glared down at his husband, who still hadn’t stopped the conversation he was so casually smiling about— as if the most important being in his entire universe were not standing in front of him carrying within him the other most important being of their entire universe whom was the one currently making the former feel so feral at the moment… 

… oh, Lestat could murder him.

Finally Louis decided to care enough about him to give him some attention. “You good?” 

“Do I look good, Louis?”

Louis’ lips twitched, curling up into his shit eating little smirk. “I mean… I think you always look good, cher.” He stretched out the foot that was resting on his other knee to bump against Lestat’s leg, throwing in a wink for added weight. Lestat narrowed his eyes, running his tongue over and sucking his teeth. (Well played, Mr. du Lac… well played.) Louis hooked the same foot around Lestat’s leg and used it to tug him forward. “What’s wrong?” 

Lestat let himself be drawn closer, until he was within arms reach and then Louis pulled him onto his lap. One arm snaked around his waist holding him in place and the other came from around Dee’s shoulder and went straight to the bump. “Tell me what you need, baby, so I can get it for you,” he pressed, then pressed a kiss to the corner of Lestat’s (very forced by this point) pout. 

“I am hungry…” Lestat simply stated… because, well, he was. It was just that—

“Hungry?” Louis chuckled, nudging Lestat’s face with his nose to turn and look at him. Those dreamy green eyes sparkling and shining at him, confused. “Are we out of your medicated bags?” 

“Non.” 

“No?” Now Louis looked even more confused. An adorable look, honestly. Which is why Lestat let him stew in it a while longer. “What? Do you— do you want to go out and hunt, instead?” That got a reaction (less adorable and much more hilarious, despite their growing unease) from the rest of the bus. 

Lestat stalled a moment for them too, but he ultimately shook his head, and let out a pitiful sigh. “Non. This is where some of my frustration comes to play, mon coeur. I do not want blood at all.” 

The combined reaction from that was maybe the best of all. 

“What do you mean you don’t want blood?” Louis looked at him incredulously. “What else is there—”

“That is the other part of my frustration! I’m not sure what it is called. Only that I want it so desperately I think I might commit a very dramatic crime, very soon, if I don’t get it.” 

“Oh my god you’re having, like, a weird vampire craving… or something,” Salamander chimes in.

“Like in Twilight…” TC exclaimed, excitedly, which caused Lestat’s faux angered composure to crack, and he smiled. “But you don’t want blood so… reverse Twilight!”

Louis furrowed his brow tighter, staring at Lestat. “So… what? You saying you’re hungry for human food?”

“Oui, mon coeur! I want it so bad! It’s so infuriating and humiliating… but—” he sighed and laid his hand over Louis’, feeling their child kick wildly back at them. “I’ll endure it for them. Anything for them.”

Louis’ smile spread into something soft and enamored. Love written all over it as he leaned up and kissed Lestat’s returned pout. “Alright then, baby. I’ll get it for you. But you gotta figure out what exactly it is. Is it from your childhood?”

With a dramatic sigh, Lestat slouched down against Louis, until he was practically cradling him. “Non. It is not.”

“From your… adulthood?”

Lestat shook his head. “It is not any dish I had as a mortal. I have not eaten it at all. I can only recall its aroma…” 

“Ok. That’s a start.” Now the entirety of the bus seems intrigued. Listening as Louis and Lestat tried to decode the craving. “What doesn’t smell like?” 

“Heaven!” Lestat cried, burrowing his face into Louis’ chest… mostly from the embarrassment blooming through him at the entire bus now laughing. “I believe it was your sister who was making it the first time we visited your family after your turning…”

“Wait…” Louis sat up suddenly. (Rudely) Jostling Lestat so he was sitting upright as well. “Lestat. Are you—” he laughed; actually laughed! Lestat wanted to actually murder him. “Are you telling me… you’re craving gumbo?!”  

Approximately one hour, one pit stop to the local grocery store(because they needed pretty much every single supply), and one Air-BNB rental—solely for the luxury of a nice big kitchen and dining area— later… Lestat was reclined back on a couch far more plush and comfy than the one on the tour bus, impatiently waiting. TC was using her fingers to drum the same beat she’d been performing for Louis, but now on to Lestat's rounded belly. 

They could have, in theory, just gone to any of the dozens of seafood restaurants in the area. It would have been far less of a hassle, and had far quicker results. However the apparently special craving had seemed to resonate with a part of Louis he hadn’t resonated with in quite some time, and he had taken it upon himself to satisfy said special craving for Lestat and their unborn child by making the meal… himself. And just when Lestat was ready to drag himself up, back onto his sore feet and barge into the kitchen— or perhaps he just would whine loud enough that he was heard from the kitchen— an aroma began to waft into the room. 

Oh… that was exactly the scent that had sparked the memory that had crafted the craving. 

Of all the ways his cloud gift had been used in his long lifetime… this had to have been the worst one. He heard his band snickering and whispering teasing words at his dispense to each other… he did not see them, though, because his eyes were closed in a most embarrassingly blissed out manner, due to the euphoria the smell of Louis’ cooking was putting him in… 

Many things about that moment were embarrassing. Actually. 

Regardless, the point was… he was quite literally floating on the deliciously savory smelling air, into the kitchen. 

Completely out of his control. 

Completely humiliating. 

Completely irrelevant and unimportant the moment he dropped himself onto one of the island's tall chairs and opened his eyes. Now with a front row show of Louis— the beautiful, talented, wondrous love of his life that he was— stirring the massive pot from which the aroma was bubbling and boiling. Lestat knew his mouth was watering from looking at both. Lestat knew Louis would do no more than give him that incredulous smirk about it. 

“Is it done yet?” Lestat asked, hopeful that it was. 

“Just about,” Louis replied, laughing at how Lestat sagged onto the chair, now disappointed. “Got one more thing to add. The best part!”

Lestat let out the most undignified whine. “I swear when your child takes out their frustration for your sluggish cooking on me, and you must spend countless hours massaging my back and hips to relieve the pressure they force upon them… you will have no one to blame but yourself.”

Louis looked up from the pot at him and grinned; so unfairly handsome, how could Lestat ever stay upset with that face. 

The next part to add made him question this mindset however when he hoisted up a bucket housing the ingredient. He’d laughed at Lestat’s unimpressed expression as he added the crawfish (silly name, Lestat had thought, when they looked more like miniature lobsters) into the pot. And in their entirety, no less. Louis had snorted when Lestat bemoaned that this was only going to make eating the meal take longer. Angrily questioning why— if they sold peeled crawfish… which google said they did— he’d chosen to add them whole.

“It’s part of the experience, cher. You’ll see.” 

Lestat doubted very much so that he would be seeing anything other than an empty space in his coffin come morning after he’d banished Louis to their room’s closet to sleep. 

“Smelling good, businessman,” Larry said, pulling Lestat from his premeditation of his husband’s punishment; the rest of the band filed in behind him and they all congregated around the large island, too. Louis preened at the praise, as he stirred the crawfish around the pot. 

Once he had them thoroughly distributed in, and had let them boil a few minutes, he turned the stove off. “Finally,” Lestat pouted (only a little), earning him unimpressed eyes from everyone, Louis included. 

Everyone was given a bowl, but Louis filled Lestat’s first. His mouth was watering more than it had ever done for even the sweetest smelling blood, after a too-long fast. He was tempted to dive in even without any utensils; just drink it straight from the bowl. He waited, solely because he did not feel like having everyone tease him about it later. 

Lestat was (graciously) also the first to be given a spoon. Actually he was the only one, as the rest were just left in a pile for the others to grab from. Louis, instead, now watched intently as Lestat tried the first bite. 

And he’d expected nothing, honestly. 

Despite the craving, and the deliciousness of the scent. Lestat still thought it would be like food had been his whole existence after death. Tasteless. Nothing. Pointless. 

But oh. 

Oh!

“Oh…” Lestat breathed out, tongue rushing to catch the remnants on his lips, quickly pulling them in before they might fall and be lost. Unacceptable because, oh… this was the most delectable thing to have ever graced them. (And that included any blood; even Louis’… even Akasha’s!) “Louis…” he practically moaned after another bite, closing his eyes for emphasis. “This— this is—” he can not even 

“Yeah?” Louis’ cheeks flushed. “It’s good?” 

“It is like… really good!” TC confirmed around a mouthful. Everyone else nodded, but Louis was only looking at Lestat. 

“Mon amour, it is exquisite!” 

And it was! Everything about it was delicious. Lestat absolutely devoured the entire bowl . 

Almost the entire bowl. 

He hesitated as he watched Salamander pluck one of his crawfish. “How exactly do you eat these? Just—” then he made it seem like he was going to just stick the whole thing in his mouth, and Louis laughed. He took one of the crawfish from the pot, demonstrating how to grab the tail with one hand, the head with the other… Then how to separate the two. Dip the meat into the soup, or one of the many sauces he’d also made. Bite it and pull it out. 

“Mmm!” Lestat hummed, very much enjoying the taste of the miniature lobster's tail, as much as he’d remembered enjoying its larger counterpart's tail back in his younger mortal years. “I like these crawl fish!” 

Louis chuckled, then stuck the now gaping opened end of the head of one he was holding into his mouth. Perhaps, Lestat thought, it was out of vampiric habit because surely— non. He motioned for them to all do the same. 

Lestat was not a fan on this end at all as he bit down, finding none of the tasty meat like in the tail. “No,” Louis said, laughing as he wiped his mouth. “You don’t bite the head! You suck it…” 

“What?!” Practically everyone said in unison. 

“Just trust me!” 

So they did, and it worked! And the pot of gumbo did not make it to a second night. 

—

Grace’s gumbo was far from his only craving throughout his pregnancy, but it was by far his most requested and enjoyed one. It was no surprise it was what their child decided on now, in what was (hopefully) their final days in their temporary home inside Lestat’s body.  

Lestat allowed himself to be helped to his feet, then followed Louis down stairs to their kitchen, hand lazily held in that of his loves as he trailed closely behind him. He let himself be led to one of the barstools Louis had found with cushioned seats and high backs; more comfortable for Lestat to sit in as his body grew heavier with their child. He leaned forward, rested his chin in his palm and watched as Louis scurried around from cabinet to cabinet finding everything he needed. 

Only to find they were out of the main ingredient.

Not a crawfish in sight. Not in the fridge, nor the freezer. 

“Well we must have them!” Lestat insisted, voice wavering. “It’s pointless to make it without them, Louis!” 

“I know, I know…” Louis sighed. “I’ll run to the market, see if they got any in stock.”

“I’ll go with you,” Lestat insisted, already getting up to scout out his slippers. (Even something as important as crawfish for Grace’s gumbo was not enough to make him put on normal shoes at this point, with his horrifically swollen ankles.) He was stopped by Louis before he could manage to get the first on… since he was doing so blind thanks to the large obstruction to his view protruding from his middle. 

“Nah, you stay here, baby… rest ‘til I get back!” 

Lestat pouted. Because he was just bratty like that… but also he hated for Louis to leave without him. (Call him clingy. Call it trauma… both were true.) “Stop! That place is massive, and you got no business doing that much walking right now.” 

For a split moment Lestat actually contemplated telling Louis to skip the crawfish, but his stomach let out another embarrassing growl and he knew he would be dealing with their child’s rage if he did not give them exactly what they wanted. “Fine…” he mumbled and his pout was kissed away— at least temporarily— by Louis. 

“I will be right back, cher…” he promised, bring a hand up and over the bump; giving Lestat one more kiss before heading towards the front door.