Chapter Text
Lestat stared at the bed—at the satin pillows, the colorful spread, and the irrefutable proof that Louis no longer slept in coffins much—and swallowed. Windows let the early pink of sunrise into the townhouse bedroom, and he wanted nothing more than to give into its lullaby. They had driven all night to get to New York.
But he hadn’t expected the bed.
Behind him, Louis stopped in the middle of undressing. Lestat wished he had enough strength left to turn around and let himself be distracted by the sight, but he had left everything he had on the stage.
A hand touched his lower back, and he jumped.
It was Louis’, of course, but he was tense enough that it didn’t make much of a difference. He could feel every line of his body as Louis slipped his arms around his middle, offering comfort. But Lestat couldn’t accept it.
“Something wrong?” Louis murmured.
He sounded half asleep already, and that made Lestat’s heart clench.
Closing his eyes, he tried to lose himself in the warmth of another body—in the heat of a mouth moving along his throat, teeth grazing his skin as it pressed a kiss to his neck. He tried to lean back, to melt into Louis, but the memory would not disappear now that it had been dredged up.
He looked back at the bed, then at the sunrise. Using Louis’ even breathing and the familiar heartbeat, so in sync with his own that it might as well be the same heart, as handholds, he managed to drag out the words. “L-l-last time I slept in a bed I was human.”
Louis’ arms tightened around him as if that could somehow protect him from the monster that had been living in his head for two centuries.
“Got d-dragged out of it, through the window, into a dungeon with a-a dozen corpses looking just like me.”
Louis didn’t immediately respond, then whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Lestat wanted to shrug, wanted to cry, but he felt too hollow for either. Louis stepped away, bending down to help him out of his boots. Then his hands found Lestat’s belt.
Lestat could barely make himself move enough to stop him from pulling it free. “None of that. Not tonight.”
They hadn’t talked about that on the way here, but the words felt true—felt needed.
Louis let out a low laugh, then kissed his neck again. “None of that,” he promised.
Lestat let him continue, following Louis’ silent instructions to bed. The pillows were soft and the comforter thick. Heavy shutters enveloped them in a darkness as complete as any coffin did at the press of a button. Before it could choke him, Louis’ arms found him again, holding on tight.
He was gone first, but his embrace felt as secure as any coffin. Nothing would be able to drag Lestat away from it except the sun, pulling him down into the oblivion of sleep. And so he let it.