get inside the coffin.

discrete. my muse reacting to yours touching them under a table.

it did not feel real to be sitting next to lestat, listening to a jazz band in this strange new century. louis had fantasised about a return to their best years for so long that, to be experiencing something so distant (and yet so welcomed) again warranted a pinch if only to reassure the man that he wasn't hallucinating. to his disbelief, he was not. lestat sat there, next to him, enthralled by the singer's voice, glowing and handsome and warm --- a living breathing creature who, despite all his charm and taste, stood out like a shiny sore thumb in that jazz club.

lestat didn't seem to mind and, honestly, neither did louis. at least, not when it came to the flashy clothes; it was the fame that worried him. the chance that someone might take a picture and share it with whatever slimy piece of media got off on celebrity gossip nowadays was too big ... after the vampire louis' declaration of war on most of the vampire's population, the last thing he'd want would be to drag lestat into it. his ex-paramour had just risen from the ashes. louis didn't know what he'd do if he were to find himself responsible for lestat's second murder too.

for this and other reasons, he doesn't touch him. as much as louis thinks about it, he keeps his hand laid bare upon the table. the only indulgence he allows himself is the occasional glance towards his maker. a discreet show of reverence louis could never verbalise properly. he is bewitched by lestat's focus. even under the dim lights, louis can tell which musician those pale eyes follow. can tell when he's impressed by the singer's choices or when he's apprehensive. his pink lips always part ever so slightly when he is pleased with a particular note. but, even though he had always been discreet with his adorations, louis' emerald stare must've lingered for too long. before he knew it, the blond was staring back at him. and louis could not help but feel as if he had been caught.

the band carries on their song but, for the first time since they had sat down, neither of them appeared to be the least bit curious about watching the performance. louis thought for a moment that lestat might put him out of his misery and kiss him --- free him of the tight restraints of control by taking the lead in closing the space between them. it was bound to happen eventually, it always did when they ran into each other . louis found himself trying to guess what would be the straw breaking the camel's back; tried to contain his own excitement hoping lestat would feel compelled to coax it out of him. hoping he'd feel it in the air. hoping he'd give up and beg...

they stared at each other for too long. eventually louis offered a half-smile and turned his head back to the stage, feigning obliviousness. perhaps tonight would be the night they would manage to avoid the chaotic spiral of their affair. but, as louis tried to focus back on the music, he felt lestat's large hand snake across his lap and rub over his crotch. turning his head to give him a look was a mistake: meeting lestat's gaze always was. it did nothing to help untie the tightening knot forming in the pit of his stomach. it only caused louis' pants to become tighter.

the trail of clothes left upon the floor of armand's office led to his wooden coffin. there were no lights to illuminate any intruder's path through the small space. the room was instead crowded by pitch blackness and the distinct noises of lovemaking. despite louis' best efforts, there was no inch of armand's body which he could press his mouth to that would help him hide the desperate heights his desire for the other man had reached.

the cushioned coffin creaked with the repetition of their movements. they had not bothered closing it shut; the coven ought to have abandoned the theatre by now and, even if that were not the case, louis doubted he'd be able to deny armand his attention. every pant, every whine, every moan which slipped from the other vampire's lips whenever he lowered himself onto louis' lap made the american scrape his teeth against armand's skin --- the threat of a bite eminent whenever the tightness around louis' shaft appeared to increase.

he denied himself the liberty to be vocal with his pleasure. the shame was too great for louis to allow himself to be heard besides the occasional gasp or grunt against his lover's flesh. but the sounds armand made...louis wished he could keep them locked in a jewelry box or hang them on his wall. no piece of art had yet been able to mimic the pretty sounds armand made whenever louis bucked his hips to meet his paramour's rhythm or whenever he reached to squeeze his ass tightly with both hands. it nearly drove him into a frenzy to know he could be responsible for such beautiful exclamations. made the pressure building in the pit of his stomach near damn unbearable.

louis was close. he tried to press his face to the curve of armand's throat. tried not to focus on the rhythmic creaking nor the sound of their bodies smacking together. tried not to listen to the heavy breathing of his companion nor the incoherent moaning. tried to ignore how hot armand felt against his own bare skin and how perfectly he fit inside of him. if armand kept this up it'd be all over soon: louis would tip over the edge before the man above him and be too spent to guide armand towards the same abyss.

it always caused a chill to run down his spine , finding him lingering by his dubai apartment's door , by the balcony , to have him knock or call or show up uninvited to disarray the staff's work schedule . louis would lecture him at times . but he'd never turn lestat down . he'd watch with sorrowful enthralment how his pale eyes would always linger on claudia's dress or how he'd observe paul's portrait with neatly folded hands ( god , louis wished he could navigate through his thoughts whenever lestat went into quiet contemplation ) . and in those moments , when lestat had his back turned to him , louis looked like a man in love .

that evening , the louisiana man thought he had heard something weak and pleading in the blond's voice : the great vampire lestat , glowing like the star he was , looked horribly frail . louis had foolishly thought it might have been malnutrition ; he was well aware of how lestat enjoyed copying his own eating habits whenever plagued with self-hatred . but rat blood would never satisfy lestat de lioncourt --- what a picky eater you are. so louis had guided him towards the dining room , hoping lestat would let him feed him . but before he could ever make it to the kitchen , louis had been crowded by his guest . the proximity had not been unwelcome ( he feared it would never be when it came to lestat ) but it had caught him by surprise to find that the root of lestat's pitiful state was a very different kind of hunger .

between the frenetic kissing and grabbing , louis had found himself splayed upon the dining room table , clawing at lestat's back , burying his face in the other's neck and pressing his lips to his jugular in a never ending cascade of kisses . he's unsure of when their clothes became an obstacle to their affections , but , soon enough , they are only half-dressed . as much as louis tries to yank lestat's poor excuse for a shirt off of him , all he manages is to roll it up until both hands can feel his exposed chest . but it is not the flesh under his hands which causes his back to arch and his brow to furrow .

pain and ecstasy fill him just as lestat does and louis tries to contain the overwhelming pleasure by hiding . at first he tries the valley of the blond's shoulder , then his yellow hair , then against the palm of his hand , finally he seeks shelter by bending his arm over his eyes . louis fears that looking at lestat hovering over him might be too much . that having him this close once again and revealing to the vampire just how much louis had been desperate for this sort of reencounter , might set the world ablaze ... might make both of them weak and stupid again . but he cannot help but grunt an ungodly sound when lestat bucks his hips at a certain angle . louis would have felt shame if he had realised that the noises spilling from his lips only manage to form one single word ( lestat , lestat , lestat ) but conscious thought is out of reach as long as louis' legs remain wrapped around his paramour's waist .

“ tell  me  you’re  mine. " / @stlispenard