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The computer screen flickered and broke out of the trance Lestat found himself absorbed in. His hands instantly flew to his face, and he rubbed his eyes with a groan. Another page had sprouted on his newest book — another tale of a poor vampire who didn't make it.
His throat tightened. He wasn't sure how long he had spent typing away, but it seemed long enough for him to have briefly forgotten Akasha’s smile, the sound of her voice, and the horror of her pursuits.
Lestat took a deep breath. Maybe what he needed was a break from the book, finding the others, finding his Louis… Where was he? His beloved lover, whom he only so recently reunited with?
He turned and jerked in a scare.
Staring at him with unblinking eyes and a wide grin was Armand’s fledgling. Daniel, wasn’t it? His violet eyes were striking, but the unfaltering smile was just an itty bit… Scary.
“Did you finish another chapter, big guy?” Daniel said, his pupils the only part of him that moved, from Lestat to the computer and back. “Whose chapter was it this time?”
Lestat looked at the screen again and sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Baby Jenks…”
“Never heard of her.”
And you never will again, he thought, but pushed it away.
Armand’s boy was still so fresh, so youthful. At the cusp of immortality, which in turn made him so alike a living man. His skin was glossy, shiny, preternatural, but it still retained some ruddy quality like that of mortals. And he was so handsome! With his ashen blonde locks, his face, which was neither old nor young, and his soothing voice.
“You know, boy from Interview with the Vampire, I can see why Louis approached you in… San Francisco, was it?”
“I approached him,” The boy corrected. “And hey, you can call me Daniel. Is it all right if I call you Lestat? Mr. Lioncourt is a bit of a mouthful.”
“Mr. De Lioncourt. And I don’t know. I quite liked being called big guy.” He winked at the boy and, unsurprisingly, Daniel chuckled a laugh under his breath.
“Hey, you should write my story, big guy! About what happened between my encounter with Louis and me becoming a vampire!”
Getting Daniel’s story meant getting the tale of how Armand went back on his own promise to never make another. This could mean trouble if the imp took offense. For all the peace and quiet of late, Armand wasn’t a vampire Lestat would deliberately cross, especially while living under his roof on his man-made Night Island.
But he also did not care that much. Armand had plenty of reasons to resent Lestat. What harm was it in adding another item to that list?
“Should we do it now, Daniel?” Lestat whispered, calm and intimately. “Are you that eager to be locked inside a room with me?”
“Yes. But also no. Not now,” Daniel smiled, and the tip of his feet twitched repetitively while his legs were crossed. “I actually came here to seek your help. I need you to collect your man so that I might collect my man!”
His man? Was that meant to be…?
“Louis?”
“Yeah. He’s your man, right?”
The way Daniel said it thrilled Lestat. His man! What a modern way to put it. He loved it. Oh, yes, he adored it.
“You're right, Louis is my man. And where is he that you need me to collect him so you may collect… Armand is your man, I assume.”
“They’re together, and they’re getting awfully chummy. I had no idea Armand would be this handsy and comfortable being naked near Louis because Louis isn’t even his maker! I would totally get it if it were his maker because hey, I am really liking this fledgling thing. It’s great. A fledgling should get to be naked with their maker, but I don’t know. I thought Armand and Louis were sort of exes, and not even that amicable, yet there they were tonight… Shirtless when I got into the room… Did I ramble? Marius says I need to take note if I start to ramble… I don't think I used to ramble before the blood. Whatever…”
To be honest, Lestat stopped paying attention to anything Daniel said past “Armand being naked near Louis”.
Lestat stood up promptly, regretting any instance in the past few weeks where he had been civil to Armand. How dare he make a pass on Louis when he’s got his own fledgling?! And his maker?! How far did his greed, cruelty, and malice go?!
“Where are they?”
Daniel stood and took his hand, humming as he guided him through corridor upon corridor of the maze-like complex where the Coven of the Articulate had been housed. Were this another time, Lestat would have enjoyed taking stock of every piece of decor. Right now, all he was seeing was red.
Daniel brought him to Louis’ bedroom — walls upon walls lined with books. The boy let his hand go and promptly perched himself in the arms of the chair Armand was comfortably sitting on.
Clothes were scattered on the floor. Louis’ amidst them, but his man was nowhere to be seen.
“What are you doing, old friend?” Lestat grinned through his teeth with feigned politeness. Armand would know this wasn't a friendly smile.
“Oh, you know…” The imp grinned smugly, waving his hand dismissively and making an array of rings twinkle. “Just two lovers and companions… Reminiscing about the past and enjoying each other’s presence."
Oh, he was doing it on purpose!
“Yeah, care to reminisce with the rest of us, boss?” Daniel replied, and Lestat nodded, crossing his arms.
It was propriety that stopped him from going at Armand. They could be monsters, but Lestat still liked thinking of himself gentlemanly. One must not lunge at their host.
“I went out and bought Louis some new clothes. Louis has never been one for enjoying fashion. Not to the point of caring. Isn’t it right, mon cher?” Armand teased.
“Pointless to waste time with it when you and Lestat have always been so precious about it,” Louis’ voice came from the closet, surprisingly.
“I see. So you've grown partial to fashion, have you, Armand? What a step up from when I met you, and you looked so ragged and dressed like a homeless demon.”
Armand’s face almost melted, but he held it high. “Oh, don't be salty. Even then, you knew quite well I was fashionably stunning once I cleaned up.”
Lestat cracked his neck because he could not deny that, or the allure Armand had at that time on the Palais. He cleaned up really nicely. “So you went shopping for clothes for Louis. I wonder — don’t your fledgling need new outfits? Or your maker? Or the other guests?”
“Maybe. But I am helping Louis pick an outfit at his and Marius’ bequest. I aim to serve,” Armand whispered with the same intimacy Lestat had offered his fledgling early on. Insufferable, really.
“Tell me more, old friend,” Lestat hissed.
The prompt answer was an exasperated sigh from the closet, and Louis finally came into the room.
“I asked Marius to paint my portrait. It has been centuries since I last sat to have a painted portrait done, and I’m awfully nostalgic to relive the tradition…”
Oh, was all Lestat thought. He caught sight of Louis, and it was like the world had stood still. He looked so handsome… Dressed to the nines in velvet and silk, brocades and a frock. Layers of decadent lace at his neck and the shade of resplendent green seemingly a perfect match to his emerald eyes.
“Is this the outfit Armand picked for you?” He breathed almost quietly, abashed by emotion.
Louis merely nodded. Lestat’s gaze fell on the imp, and his victorious, smug smile was disgusting, but he did clad Louis in perfect cuts from the time when the two of them had enjoyed unbroken peace in New Orleans, so Lestat was (maybe) willing to forgive.
He cleared his throat. “It's a fine choice. Certainly, the right one for a painting. A true classic, a timeless classic...”
Armand preened from where he was sitting. “I know. And I know Louis quite well.”
Boo! He ruined it. Nevermind.
Lestat quickly clapped to draw attention to himself. “Well, take it off, yes, Louis? You don’t want to ruin it before its time. Is Marius painting you tonight?”
“No, we agreed it would be in a fortnight—”
“Then let me pick you finer clothes for tonight, mon amour! Let me choose the finest outfit. One fitting for modern times. Let a vampire who isn’t bound by chains of ages past and moves on gracefully with the years choose your pieces fit for a king!”
“Oh, monarchies are so old world… Démodée, mon ami.” Armand teased.
“Royalty and finery are always in fashion.” Lestat promptly volleyed back.
“I want nothing to do with your cock-fight,” Louis said with an eyeroll, disappearing into the closet to change out of his portrait clothes.
“Wait, mon cher, I shall choose your clothes!”
“Non, merci, I can dress myself.”
“Indulge me, Louis!” Lestat swiftly replied, following his fledgling inside the closet.
“Feel free to dress your fledgling with your pretense at modern fashion," Armand’s voice came from outside the closet. “What was it again? Black leather, spikes, studs, combat boots? Shall we invite MTV to photograph your pick for Louis’ outfit?”
Oh, but the damned imp was testing him tonight.
Lestat walked back into the room, furiously stomping. “So smug, aren't you, Armand? Why don’t you occupy yourself with dressing your child, and let me dress mine?”
“But of course. Daniel,” He stood, coming to some paper bags. “Child of mine, I saw your early jealousy. Danny, I would never buy clothes for another man without spoiling mine. I got you clothes, beloved. Come here, wear what your maker has picked for you.”
“Hell yeah! Now we’re talking.”
“Are you just going to let Armand dictate your clothes?” Lestat raised an eyebrow. “No arguing, no resistance?”
Daniel was already rummaging through the brand paper bags, calling each out as if to confirm they were all of the usuals.
“It will make more sense once I tell you the whole story, but let’s just say… I am quite of the minion to Armand’s… whims and orders.”
“To Armand’s affection, boy.” The imp corrected. “Why would the fledgling resist when the maker deserves his love? I haven't wronged my fledgling, so I get to enjoy love and devotion freely — unlike some.”
Oh, what an insufferable 5’6 bundle of self-congratulating bastardry. His smile was so taunting — wide and cat-like.
“I am sure I can pick finer clothes for my child.”
“Shall we go ask others once they’re wearing them?"
Oh, so it would be maker vs. maker, hm? Why not? Why the fuck not? Lestat hoped his contemptuous grin translated to his cunning. The game was on.
He swiftly turned to the closet, finding Louis down to his breeches and undershirt — and oh, how lovely that his beloved fledgling turned his face away, shy like a budding flower, cheeks rosy and so romantic. Their reunion before the concert was still fresh in Lestat’s mind. What were the odds he'd get away with forcing Louis to face him bow, seal their lips together, and steal a kiss? He wanted to know from Louis’ breath if he had killed tonight, like they often did in New Orleans, when the brunette would deny and weep about their nature, and only secret moans in secluded corridors revealed the tangy copper of a victim’s death.
But Lestat knew that forcing or demanding intimacy from Louis right now would fall flat. He was already seeing him naked, and he was forcing his lover to engage in his and Armand’s private war. There’s only so much one can push around Louis de Pointe du Lac.
However, wearing an outfit Lestat picked? That was not up for discussion.
He picked up a few items from the closet walls and held them in front of Louis. He needed to assemble a fit…
“Must you really engage in a fight against Armand?” Louis whispered.
“A fight! Why, Louis, this is anything but. We are merely proud makers, overjoyed to have our fledglings in the modern era, and wanting to parade them like proud parents.”
“Lestat…” Louis sighed, his tone full of frustration. “Lestat, we are his guests.”
“And I would never offend the lord of the manor under whose roof I sleep. I assure you, I am as concerned with propriety and politeness as you are. As I am sure you have learned, I was just as well-raised as you, even if you did go around saying I was uncultured and uneducated.”
Guilt washed through Louis in such a way that one could almost say he shivered from it. He moaned lowly and defeated, sighing oh-so dramatically. One must never deny him the title of the most human of them all. Only the living could be so filled with dramatic woe.
This is how one kills a wolf a night, Lestat thought.
He handed Louis a shirt, holding the hanger with his fingertips and his pride with his smile.
The creole groaned, but took it. He wore everything Lestat handed him, although this much is true: he groaned in protest once for each item. Oh, Louis, Louis…
The outfit was completed. He deliberately chose items that would not pair with The Vampire Lestat album, instead making Louis into a charming, elegant businessman — with tailored pants in a subtle pinstripe pattern, a damask green tie, a white pressed shirt, and silver cufflinks. He placed a pair of polished, buffered shoes for Louis and took a step back to study his selection.
It was stunning.
Louis elevated it to a masterpiece, however.
“Well, aren’t you a beautiful fledgling?”
“And you’re one…” He sighed. “Complicated maker. And man.”
“Your man.”
Louis rolled his eyes — but did not correct Lestat. Two wolves a night.
The two of them rolled out of the closet in tandem, to find Armand tying Daniel’s… Shoes. His shoes had a special name, or at least he distinctly recalls Tough Cookie giving them a name — Chucks. Armand was tying Daniel’s ankle-high purple Chucks.
Armand had dressed his fledgling in a way that made it really clear this was an American boy, born and bred. There was something distinctly new-worldly about him, with his washed-up denim, his warm brown leather bomber jacket with fur lining and a fur-trimmed neck, and the white canvas shirt, loosely tucked into the jeans with a black belt. On his neck… Were those dog tags?!
A gasp escaped Lestat’s lips.
Armand had foregone elegance and gone for that flared Americana aesthetic, which was so appealing to foreigners like them.
Louis looked magnificent, but Daniel looked cool.
“You look amazing, boy,” Louis said with a smile.
“Hm… And you look dashing… Err… Sir.”
“Please, boy, we have spoken about this. Call me by my name. Unfortunately, there is no longer a divide between us on mortality and death, so you shouldn't be uncomfortable with using my first name. Especially under your maker’s roof. I am your humble guest.”
Daniel ruffled his own hair, tousled his fringe. “You look really gorgeous, man. You own that suit. You were made for it. Louis.”
The brunette’s only answer was a polite smile. It feigned kindness, but Lestat knew Louis was hiding some conflict. Did he perhaps feel guilty that his little interviewer boy had met death through his intervention in his young life? Well, that would be so Louis.
It did not matter — Daniel was dead, and what’s worse is that Daniel looked cool in death.
Lestat scratched his chin. This was going to be tough! Daniel looks nice, he conceded to Armand via the mind.
I must grant your laurels; you did pick Louis’ clothes wondrously. He looks amazing.
With a cough, Lestar gathered their attention. He knew they would not get answers here because both men were dressed to the nines, but also, love would bias Lestat to find Louis’ outfit the best, and the same would be true for Armand and Daniel.
“Shall we?”
They walked through the estate searching for other vampires, and while Lestat and Armand led the party, the two fledglings walked behind more slowly, almost strolling, chatting idly about clothes, then about San Francisco and whether Louis had been there since (he didn’t) and whether the other remembered this or that shop. Louis did not apologise for attacking Daniel, but neither did Daniel bring that up. They spoke in a polite, friendly manner that almost sounded like banter at times.
Are our fledglings… Friends? Lestat asked because, in truth, he had been cloistered with his computer for the past few weeks. It was entirely possible he missed their budding friendship.
Armand shrugged. Louis is a bit awkward with him; he feels some modicum of guilt that is entirely self-serving.
He sounded so frustrated. Lestat imagined Armand felt enough guilt over killing the boy to let another try and steal his woes. Well, that is very much like him.
I’d say they're almost friends. One supposes it's hard to make enemies with the man you told the story of your life to.
What an odd thing to say. You told me the story of your life.
Parts of it. And? My point stands. You are not my enemy.
Well, that was new. You need to work on how you show proof of your friendships and alliances, then.
I am working on that. Armand sighed, and they heard a familiar voice. “Good evening, Jesse.”
“Oh, hey… Armand,” the ever-pretty Jesse Reeves smiled. She stared at Armand intently, as if she was comparing him to something else, before blinking. “Hey! Lestat! You're out of your cave!”
Her joy was contagious and made Lestat feel the slightest bit timid, a most unusual feeling for him. “Indeed, Jesse. I’ve been away for far too long. We must sit one of these nights and talk for long hours, my darling. Relive that kiss? Maybe?”
“Yeah…” She giggled like his groupies often did. “Sure,” she said, then her eyes fell on the other two vampires, and she let out a cheerful gasp. “Wow! Daniel! You’re giving off the real James Dean, hm? You look so cool!”
“I do, don’t I?” The American boy crossed his ankles, and then he spun. He spun! Quickly and casually, and in a way that reminded Lestat of his bandmates.
“Oh, wow!”
“That was really cool, boy,” Louis clapped.
“Beloved, that spin was amazing. Do it again.” Armand stared at him so bug-eyed that Daniel did the trick once more. “Again.” Only on the third try did he nod. “You must do that whenever I buy you new clothes going forward, beautiful boy…”
Daniel and Jesse laughed, and the blonde winked at her as if they shared in some internal joke.
“So, what can I help you guys with?” She asked, finally. Her breath was salty and her cheeks rosy. She had hunted and was probably in for the night.
“It's quite right, my lovely, we already have your answer.” Lestat took her in an embrace and placed a long kiss on her cheek, delighting himself in the warmth of a vampire who had just fed. Like Daniel, she also had the appeal of a young vampire.
The four of them bid their farewells, letting Jesse be on her way. To their luck, they found another vampire just down the hall.
The majestic Pandora, also looking a little less eerily ancient, came into view. She wore modern clothes that seemed a little out of place on her. The timing was funny. Had she gone out to hunt with Jesse?
“Pandora,” Armand greeted her with a nod, and she stopped in her tracks, looking at him full of mirth in a way Lestat had not seen her show, not even when she told him of her story and kinship with Azim.
“Hello. I thought you’d be with Marius tonight? For that… Old movie he wanted to watch and would not shut up about?”
"Metropolis," Armand quirked his head. “We watched it over a week ago.”
“Is it? A week ago?” She smiled, but her expression was suddenly distant, vacant. Very much like what it had been when Lestat had her in his office.
The blonde understood Pandora's aloofness and drifting in his core. It was obvious she had loved Akasha very much, and that Akasha respected her very much — yet now Akasha was gone. Lestat did not have to wonder if Pandora was affected. Her grief was as palpable as his own.
“We do not wish to burden you or take you from your television — this shouldn’t take long. We are at an impasse, and we’d like your help.”
“If I can.”
“Which outfit do you prefer, Pandora? Which, you think, pleases a goddess such as yourself the most?”
Oh, Lestat could live off the sheer embarrassment Louis displayed now that he was under scrutiny by a woman like Pandora. The ancient Roman was a mature, respectable creature, far different from the young, bubbly Jesse. And to a millennial creature like her, they were all babes. There was a certain gravitas to her that had the creole blushing, his posture stiff and — Lestat knew — very uncomfortable despite the seeming elegance. No man likes to be under a strong, cunning woman’s judging gaze.
“I do not think Louis and I would be compatible in bed, although neither do I think Daniel would satisfy me. Armand would be my number one pick because Marius and I have similar tastes in boys, and then you, obviously, if only for bragging rights. But I am sure I could make Daniel work for me in bed. So I shall go with Daniel.”
The four of them blinked uncomfortably. Her wording was… A little shocking. Vampires did not experience libido like that, and yet she spoke in very clear terms about her own sexual desires.
“It was more of an aesthetic opinion, my lady.” Armand somehow found it in him to grin.
“But I would not bed a man who did not engage me visually. Which is to say, I’d pick a man whose looks entice me to him. All in all, Daniel. I like his clothes. Very American. Like in the ads on television! You are American, correct?”
“Correct indeed! Vampire kind’s one and only American boy!” Daniel said, full of smug foolishness only a young fledgling could show.
"I need to get me one of those," she said to Armand with a wink, but chuckling at Daniel's antics, nodding and giving the American boy what Tough Cookie would say were “bedroom eyes”.
Alright. Well. Any chance to help Pandora break from her fugue stupor was… A net positive. Sort of. Lestat cleared his throat.
“Thank you for the input, what a shame! I dressed Louis to my best, but I am losing two-to-zero.”
“Few men could beat Louis’ looks. He’s a handsome man, and his weakness makes him an enticing fledgling. But for many of us, the appeal of young American men is the absolute novelty! Jesse and I just killed one who was dressed exactly like that,” she said, pointing to Daniel, whose answer was a mildly exasperated “Nice!”
Women are such mysterious creatures. Lestat voiced to Armand's mind.
They are simple creatures, and my master’s consort even more so. Simple to the point of making her simplicity divine.
“Do the four of you want to come inside?”
“No, no!”
“No…”
“We wouldn’t want to impose—”
“We don’t want to take any more of your time, Signora.”
Pandora smiled, cunning and beautiful, and with a chuckle, disappeared behind her door.
Lestat was dejected. He looked at Louis, sad and miserable, having subjected him to wearing the outfit of his choice when he wasn’t even winning the competition. He came near Louis, holding him by his lapels, and buried his face on his neck. His delightful perfume and the scent of his blood so close were a soothing balm, even if Louis gasped softly and froze on his tracks.
“Forgive me, mon cher! I committed the worst sin…”
“Sin. What sins? You now speak of sins as if we were bound by the creed of God and the wickedness of the devil?”
Louis and his faith. “My grave sin was not keeping in touch with fashion trends within our… Coven. Within our clique, our tribe… What a disgrace. We shall do this again, with you dressed like an American — a distinctive man from the deep South.”
Louis shook himself off, fixing his clothes. “Your choice of words is poor as always. You play with concepts that should not be played with. And I am French. I would never dress myself like an American. I would not, as Daniel put it, own it.”
“I don’t know, sir. Louis. I don’t know, Louis, you know what I think you’d look cool wearing? A jersey and a baseball cap.” Daniel said with humor.
“I would never,” Louis said, walking ahead of the others.
“What if we played this game differently? I dress you as an American, and you dress me as a French boy? Striped shirt, beret, and baguette. And a bike.”
Louis laughed. “That sounds like a Hollywoodian stereotype of a Frenchman, boy.”
Lestat watched the two walking ahead, still dejected. Armand had stayed behind, and the two were silent until the blonde crossed his arms and admitted. Fine, you won.
We have barely asked half our coven.
They will all pick Daniel’s original American. I see the appeal. I have lived here most of my life, and I adore this country and its people, too. This is a nation of charming, daredevil men, such as your own.
But Louis’ outfit has that timeless charm which makes the French elite famous worldwide for their looks and clothes — don’t sell your outfit short. There are still others we have to ask.
Indeed, Khayman chose Louis. “Barely could tell Daniel wasn’t just dressed like he normally was.”
Curiously, so did Mael — “I need to get a suit tailored like that. But they're a lot of money, no?"
Santino and Eric picked opposites. Eric loved Louis’ “Gentleman Death” look while Santino thought Daniel embodied the "Quintessential American of these times”.
They didn’t get a hold of the twins, and Gabrielle's honest answer was, “Are they dressed up? Aren’t you two always like that?”
They had finally come to Marius’ room, where they were now waiting for him to finish his evaluation. The Roman rubbed his chin as if in deep analysis.
Lestat sighed. “An unbiased opinion, if you can, Marius.”
“A maker is biased towards its fledgling, but my fledgling is not competing.”
“Not directly.” The blonde complained, crossing his arms. He had so hoped Gabrielle would do him the favour of picking Louis so they could at least end in a tie. Now Marius would be Minerva's vote, and it was not fair.
“I take offense at your belief that my judgement would be impaired so basely.”
“Mine would. I would always pick my fledgling’s pick.”
“I would not respect myself if I did, and neither would Armand.”
Indeed, Armand crossed his arms and shook his head. Lestat merely rolled his eyes.
“I think… I might have to go with Daniel.”
Oh, curse them. Curse their whole bloodline. “Unbiased. Unbiased. How is that unbiased, De Romanus?!”
“Please, my beautiful one, let me explain. Armand picked colours for the bomber jacket that perfectly complemented Daniel’s violet eyes. The brown isn't a mute tone chosen without consideration; it has a rich ochre-yellow tint that makes his irises pop and draw the beholder's eye to his handsome face. On the other hand, the most striking feature of Louis’ outfit is his emerald tie, which is the exact shade of his irises. It is alluring, but ultimately does not help me arrive at his handsome, gorgeous face, and I only see the perfectly wedded colours a second too late. For all that, I must go with Daniel’s outfit.”
Defeated, beaten, battered, bruised, cast aside, humiliated, wrung out.
“Louis! Louis… Oh! Louis… Louis… Forgive me, Louis…” Lestat threw himself in his fledgling’s arms, collapsing like a Victorian Maiden swooning, needing to be hoisted up. “I failed you. I failed you and your closet. There must have been another outfit there that would have made you a unanimous victor. Forgive me… If it’s worth anything, I think you look fantastic. I love the elegance, the prim and properness of it. These are clothes that reflect the beauty of your soul.”
“My soul…” Louis whispered, forlorn and misery transparent in his voice.
“You’re beautiful heart and soul.”
“A soul cannot be measured through material means. Do not make such a blasphemous comparison. Lestat, you are the devil…”
“But it’s true that I see it like so! Body, heart, and soul.”
“Look at him, master, he’s the world's last romantic.”
Louis sighed. “One’s soul should not be measured in tangible, futile things like clothes… But you’re the devil, Lestat, so I forgive you. Especially for dragging me into this.”
He did not break their hug, so Lestat stayed there.
He heard a sigh and a thud as Daniel collapsed on a settee by Marius’ window, arms stretched out, one leg on the armrest. “Man, that was a night, walking everywhere. I am glad it's done."
Rubbing his temple and forehead, it's undeniable that he looks cool.
Lestat might push Armand off a balcony for beating him, but Daniel wasn't to blame, the poor young thing. “Armand made you look très cool, Daniel. If you know what’s good for you, you’d make that your style.”
“My style is whatever boss picks for me.”
“Congratulations, beloved. You were the most stylish. Although I knew you would be. You are such a beautiful boy.” Armand came around the backrest of the settee and hugged Daniel from behind, leaning against the chair.
“Hm… Nice. But where’s the rest of it, boss?”
“You are mine now, beautiful boy.”
A part of Lestat was happy — because the joy of other vampires brought him joy, but also because there had been so much misery, and Armand had made this boy into one of them at a time none of them knew if it would be everlasting. Lestat looked at his own fledgling and let out a huge sigh of relief. Yes, he lost, and was pissed about it, but they were all here, alive… Together for this brief period of time.
But of course, he lost. He freaking lost! Lost! And he had no inkling of looking at the pair who beat him at his own game. He turned his gaze to Marius instead. He seemed happy, sitting at his desk and sketching. Lestat imagined he would be sketching Armand and Daniel, but no, it was Louis who seemed to be coming alive on quick strokes of graphite.
With a gasp, Lestat realised the most wonderful thing.
“Louis, Marius will paint you and me! I want a painting of myself with my man.”
“Oh lord,” was all his fledgling said.
“And you shall pick my outfit!”
He beamed, happy with his decision, hands on his waist and having eyes to Louis and Louis alone, ignoring what Marius, Armand, and Daniel said, even if it was all along the lines of how predictable he could be and how they all figured he'd have barged into Louis’ painting session anyway. But who cared for what anyone thought? He would have a brand new painting of himself and his man. One to make up for all the years they did not have a painting of them done.
Of course, by now, he expected his fledgling to complain and fight a little about it, as it had been with the clothes.
But to his surprise, Louis drew near, hugging himself to Lestat and placing a gentle and timid, but no less loving, kiss on his lips. The very kiss Lestat had hoped to steal was now robbed from him!
He wondered if he could blush with all of Akasha's blood now flowing in his veins, but did not care to check. He felt his cheeks warm from his lover's kiss, and that was all that mattered.
“Let's wear something new, Lestat," Louis whispered. "Something modern. Let me wear my old clothes in my portrait, and let us both wear modern clothes in our painting together. I meant it when I said it, before you went up on stage.”
Lestat remembered each word. Let us have each other, in this century, the way we never did in the past.
All of us.