loumand microfic event

“Oh,” said Louis.  “It’s, uh, not something I’ve ever considered.  Are you interested in it?”

Armand tilted his head.  “I did experiment with clothes and gender in the twenties and thirties until the war resulted in the more appealing fabrics becoming unavailable.  And yes, it is something I have been thinking about revisiting lately.”

“OK, well, we can try it,” Louis replied, trying to inject his words with an enthusiasm he didn’t really feel.

They shared a quick kiss before Louis raised his book again, and within minutes the conversation had flown clean out of his mind.

***

The box was black and glossy with an enormous red velvet bow holding it neatly together.

“That arrived for you,” Louis stated with an absentminded gesture when Armand returned home from his hunt.

Armand padded over to it and stroked the bow reverently as his tongue darted out to swipe across his lower lip.  “It’s the lingerie I ordered.”

“The what?”

“The lingerie.  We discussed this, dear.”

“Yes, of course,” Louis responded, attempting to recall their earlier conversation.

Picking up his iPad, Armand started tapping at the screen,  “It appears we have no plans for Thursday night, shall we schedule some time in for it then?”

“Sure,” said Louis, with absolutely no clue what he was agreeing to.

***

“Do you need help with anything?” Louis asked the decorative screen behind which Armand was concealed.

“No, I am almost ready.  Just make yourself comfortable.”

Louis sat down awkwardly in the centre of the bed, crossing and uncrossing his ankles.  When Armand eventually appeared, slinking round the side of the screen, Louis’ jaw dropped so far it was a wonder it didn’t hit the sheets.

The lingerie was constructed from red lace and black mesh, held together by an intricate combination of O-rings and buckled straps.  The bra section emphasised Armand’s ample chest in a most tantalising manner, while a garter belt cinched his narrow waist.  His generous cock was barely constrained by the skimpy panties, and as he crawled slowly onto the bed his thighs flexed against the bands of the sheer stockings.

“Good evening, Maître,” he purred, placing a chaste kiss on Louis’ mouth.  “Would you like me to undress you?”

Nodding dumbly, Louis let Armand remove his clothes.  There was something so intoxicating about the contrast between the femininity of the lacy garments and the masculinity of Armand’s body - the broadness of his shoulders, the bob of his Adam’s apple - that meant by the time Louis was naked he was very hard.

Armand plucked a tube of lube from his nightstand and slicked Louis up before straddling him.  “I’m ready for you, Maître,” he murmured, lips tickling Louis’ ear as he leaned in close.  “I’ve been ready for you all day.”

Louis felt the tip of his cock graze Armand’s hole and he realised that the panties must be assless, but his mind swiftly emptied of all other thoughts when Armand bottomed out at a speed that was impressive even for him.

“Fuck,” Louis breathed.

“As you wish, Maître,” said Armand, setting a punishing rhythm.

As Louis’ back arched, a litany of words and names dripping from his lips, he reached up to press the heel of one hand into Armand’s groin and used it to rub the length of his cock through the delicate fabric until he wrenched a moan from his lover.

They came almost in tandem, Louis only a few seconds before Armand.  After they’d shuddered through their respective orgasms, Armand dismounted with considerably less grace than he’d displayed previously and collapsed next to Louis.

Louis, incapable of coherent speech, reached out to caress the twin swells of Armand’s perfect lace-covered cleavage.

A deep, animalistic noise of contentment sounded at the back of Armand’s throat as his mouth split into a smile, eyes glowing like the embers of a dying fire. 

Even though he knew as he went to bed that morning that he wouldn't wake to his usual routine that evening, Louis was still startled when he felt a solid form pressed against his back as he woke up.

Instinctively, his heart rate accelerated. Soon, his heart was pounding wildly against his ribs, and he was bracing himself, his limbs stiffening. He tried to be rational. He knew that, were the presence beside him to wish him ill, his vampiric hindbrain would have taken over and fought, even during his slumber. He often wondered if he was a failure of a vampire, refusing to feed in the usual way and constantly reckoning with his monstrous nature. But he knew those very instincts would never have left him defenceless, prey to whatever more powerful predator had managed to slither in beside him.

A gentle kiss to the nape of his neck broke through the mounting panicking thoughts. "Good evening," murmured a soft voice in the hollow of his ear. Armand. Yes. He remembered it clearly now, what the both of them had planned over the past few nights.

Being the coven master, it was impossible for Armand to circumvent the very curfew he himself had imposed. "You have to lead by example," he had muttered when Louis asked him why he couldn't simply make an exception. Or something along those lines. And thus, no matter how much he wanted it, he never stayed and spent the day at Louis'. However, when Louis, before they parted after one of their evening strolls, had wrapped him in an embrace, nuzzled into his neck, brushed his lips against the sensitive skin there, and oh so innocently mentioned that it had been a long time since he had taken it from behind, that he missed it, that he wouldn't offer this to anyone, of course, but he knew Armand would make it good for him—would he mind if they switched up their dynamic a little bit?

Of course Armand hadn't minded at all. His breath had caught, and he had swallowed hard, as though his throat had gone dry at the mere thought of Louis splayed out before him, before finally replying in a small voice, "Yes, Maître. However you want it."

And so, Louis had told him exactly how he wanted it done. One thing he was particularly fond of was a good evening wake-up fuck: being roused slowly by soft kisses trailing along his spine, wandering fingers gently brushing against that special spot inside him, coaxing him open and easing him into consciousness, wrapped in warmth and pleasure, then replaced by the real thing, bigger and stretching him good, making him cry out and writhe in ecstasy.

"You managed to slip out without problems?" Louis asked, already slightly breathless. "Nobody too nosy or giving you troubles?"

"Uh uh," he felt Armand shaking his head. "I was out the door even before anyone woke up, I cut it a bit close with the sun, it was barely coming down, but I wanted to make sure I'd be in your coffin before you awoke."

One of his hands came around Louis's front, wrapping around his soft cock, the other, trailing over his backside, lightly dipping his fingers between his cheeks, making Louis shudder.

"Look at you, so eager for a little treat that you'd risk turning into a pile of ashes for me."

"Anything for you, Maître," Armand acquiesced.

Armand had prepared him that morning, fascinated by a set of rectal dilators from the good Dr. Young that Louis had packed in his luggage before leaving New Orleans.

"We don't have those over here, at least not so readily available. The marvel of modern science," he had said, carefully picking up the four dilators one after another and examining them. Then, he had looked up at Louis. "You said it's been a while. Should we use this one?" he had asked, handing him the smallest one.

"Let's start with it, I reckon I could work my way up to the second, maybe even the third one."

And so they did. With infinite patience, Armand's clever fingers and mouth, and a generous amount of Vaseline, Louis had been brought to orgasm twice, moaning, and shedding bloody tears before deciding that it was enough, that he was getting too sleepy to keep going.

"Arun, don't be greedy now," he had said, yawning, when Armand had rubbed himself none too gently against him, the question hanging in the air. "I'm sure you can wait until tonight."

Armand had bitten back a sob in desperation. "Of course, Maître."

"There's a good boy." Louis had stretched his loose limbs. "Go along now, I'll see you in a few hours, don't be late."

And he hadn't been.

Long fingers were nudging the dilator Louis had decided to sleep with, making sure his hole would still be ready for Armand, taking it halfway out, before pushing it in again, turning it clockwise and counterclockwise, taking great care to nail his prostate each time. With his other hand, Armand traced circles around his nipples.

Louis rocked back against him, shivering, matching the rhythm imposed by Armand. Even naked, he was sweating, confined as he was with another body in such a small space.

"Is it funny to you, boy? Teasing me?" he asked sharply, even though a slight quiver could be heard in his voice.

"I'm just making sure you're properly open and comfortable, Maître," Armand answered cheekily. Louis felt him smile.

"Careful, Arun, if you get me too open and comfortable, I might only just want to use the dilators from now on. What use would your little cock be if they can make me come just as well?"

Armand swallowed nervously. "You're right, Maître, forgive me."

Louis winced when Armand finally eased the dilator out and he kissed his shoulder in apology, before lining himself up, and slowly sliding home, only stopping once his balls were flushed against Louis' ass, breathing hard against his neck. Armand was average sized, but still, it had been a couple of years since he had been on the receiving end of things, and the fullness in him felt overwhelming. They both moaned, and Louis wiggled against Armand, signalling him to start moving.

In all fairness, relaxed as he was, all loose limbs and still groggy with sleep, it took Louis very little time to ejaculate. His hand came down to his cock, and a few strokes were enough for him to come all over his fingers, staining the satin of his coffin red.

Armand was still rocking into him, his movements getting more and more desperate, groaning with each thrust. He was now holding Louis against him like a vice, as if he never wanted to let him go. Even with the overstimulation building, Louis felt wholly loved, and some strange sort of fondness bubbled up for the ancient monster who, despite his far greater power, still chose to bare his throat to Louis, allowing him to do with him as he pleased.

Louis reached an arm back over his shoulder, found a handful of Armand's hair, and gently tugged him forward until their cheeks were touching.

"Arun," he said, "I'll let you lick your spent out of me, if you're good for me and come now."

And Louis reflected later that he hadn't laughed so gleefully in years when it took only one thrust after he had uttered those words, before Armand stilled, and he felt a distinct throbbing as Armand's release filled him.

"A promise is a promise," Armand panted into his ear. "Please, Maître, let me," he added, whining as though he were a child threatened with having his candies taken away.

He takes Armand home, the two of them tucked up under the umbrella. Armand's sopping wet, water glistening on his eyelashes as he blinks.

Back in the apartment, Louis tells him to strip. Armand does as he's told, so soft, so easy. It feels like the most natural thing in the world for Louis to turn his back on him, shoulders gently exposed as he goes to run warm bathwater.

"Come on, honey," he says, stepping back from the tub. "Or you’ll catch your death of cold." And that feels easy, too, easy to say and easy to believe. It's entirely possible that an ancient could be vulnerable to a wicked chill, because Louis says it's possible, and what Louis says becomes true.

Armand approaches the bath on soft feet, warm light reflecting over his skin. He hasn't commented on the scorched photographs hanging from the walls, like that's another thing that doesn't exist until Louis says so.

Louis helps him into the tub, hands easy on Armand's hips. Armand sinks in slowly, settling against the porcelain with a sigh. Water drips from the ends of his hair, staining the floor, and Louis pushes him forward with a huff.

"Come on, baby, start scrubbing." He fishes out the washcloth, pressing it into Armand's hands. "I don't want my things walking the streets all dirty, makes me look bad."

"Oui, Maître." Armand cleans himself in silence, head bowed, carefully watching Louis out of the corner of his eye. "Will...will you join me?"

"Nah." Louis doesn’t miss the way Armand relaxes when he says it. "Couldn't even fit in there with those long legs a’yours. Ain't very romantic to take care of my boy with his toe up my ass, is it?"

Armand giggles, looking surprised at his own mirth. Louis grins and reaches out, brushing his hands over his boy's curls ( that is the easiest thing of all, his boy fitting into his mind like a key to a lock).

"Get to work, finish up 'fore it gets cold." He stands back up, undoing the buttons of his shirt as he heads back to the bedroom. "I expect to see you shining when I get back, understand?" He hears another oui, maitre, the sound liquid-bright on Armand's tongue. French has made Louis flinch inside since Lestat, but it doesn't now.

Louis dresses slowly, putting his clothes away and gathering Armand's wet things up from the floor so he can hang them from the railing. He clucks his tongue at the mess; he'll have to speak to his boy about that later, let Armand know that he's not living in the sewers anymore.

Tonight isn't for scolding, though; he has all of eternity to work out his frustrations on Armand's sweet little ass. Speaking of, his boy is drying off by the time Louis returns to the bathroom, briskly rubbing the towel over his backside. He shoots Louis a look over his shoulder, sly and teasing.

Louis surrenders to temptation and grabs the towel, snapping lightly across Armand's behind. His boy jumps with a sweet yelp, damp curls bouncing wildly. Before he can settle, Louis pulls him out of the tub and gathers him in a bridal carry.

"Switch out the light for me, baby," he murmurs as they walk out of the bathroom. Armand does as he's told, one arm reaching for the light while the other stays hooked around Louis's neck. Louis leaves the lights in the main room on; he doesn't want to hide this in the quiet dark.

"Lube's in the dresser," he says, setting Armand down on the sheets.

Armand squirms. "I can take it without--"

"Who's Maître here?" Louis snaps, and Armand shrinks back, lids fluttering.

"You are," he murmurs.

"That's right. And I want to see you work yourself open, sweetheart. Get nice and slick and desperate before I even think of giving you anything." He kisses Armand's neck, feels him shiver. "We've got more time together than we have words for, Arun, we can take it slow. You want to take it slow for me?"

“What’s the problem?” Louis drawls, just to be an asshole. He rocks back on his heels, regarding Armand through lowered lashes. “You do know how to throw a punch, don’t you, Arun?”

“Oui, maitre.” But Armand’s hands hang loosely at his sides, fingers limp. “I just think…”

“You’re not here to think, sweetheart.” Louis crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re here to do as you’re told.”

“You could hit me,” Armand begs. “I am older than you, I—“

“—can take a beating just fine, yes, baby, we’ve established that.” Louis shifts his feet, broadens her stance. “But tonight I’m in the mood to switch it up a bit—“

“—Maitre—“

“And if you keep interrupting me, I’ll leave you here and go see if there are any strong young prowlers coming willing to take a swing at me.” Louis grins so wide it makes his face hurt. “I could do a broadcast, even try to grab a coupla real ancients in my net. Do you like the sound of that, Arun?”

“No, Maitre.” The very idea seems to be making Armand faintly nauseous.

“Then stop fucking around and hit me.”

For a heartbeat, he thinks that Armand might say no, might turn his back and stomp off, leaving Louis to his nonsense. Then Armand’s face darkens, eyes sharpening to chips of amber, which is the only warning Louis gets before a fist thunks into his feet.

Pain explodes in his eye as he rocks backward, nearly stumbling off his feet. “Good,” he pants. “But you can hit harder, Arun.”

Thwack. This time, he stumbles back against the wall, breathless. For a moment he seizes Lestat wheezing against the molding, face flushed with delight; he makes sure to project the image so that Armand can see. Armand’s face twists, knotted up on s

“Again,” Louis orders. Thwack. He makes sure to lean forward as the blow lands, catching it neatly across the nose. Blood bursts as fragile cartilage snaps, spilling gently down his face. He makes a show of licking his lips, savoring every drop. “Again.”

Thwack. This time Armand hits him in the lip, perhaps a futile attempt to shut him up or knock him out. All he accomplishes is sending Louis’s head through the drywall, skin rippling open, more blood dripping down Louis’s neck. Armand lets out a single, anguished sob.

Louis wrenches himself off the wall with a grunt, staggering forward and seizing Armand by the shoulder. Again, he snarls, not bothering to speak through a bloody mouth. Armand’s fist flies out with a cry, snapping something in Louis’ cheek. He reels back, the world flickering into a swirl of golden hair, red blood, blue eyes, someone screaming please, Uncle Les, Uncle–

“Maitre, Louis, please, no more.” Armand’s eyes are wide, tears streaming down his cheeks. He looks beautiful; Louis wouldn’t mind being punched again and again, until his head knocked off his shoulders, if it meant seeing Armand like that the whole way through.

But he’s not ready to go yet, so instead he just nods, slowly. “Okay.” He lets himself sag against the wall, lets Armand lunge to catch him. “Okay, baby.”

Armand bites his own lip with a whimper, pressing soft kisses all over Louis’s face. Numbness spreads wherever his lips touch, bones snapping back into place and flesh knitting together as the blood dries on Louis’s skin.

“Never again,” Armand rasps. He sinks a tooth into his finger (undamaged knuckles, of course) and rubs it over Louis’s face. “Promise me?”

"Are you quite done gawking?" The prince inquired, sounding upset.

Startled, the eunuch's head bowed in shame. "My apologies, your destined highness."

"Just—help me get him on my horse. He obviously needs medical care."

"Very well, your destined highness."

"The physician said you were well." Louis let out softly, gently pushing a curl away from the beautiful stranger's face. "And yet you will not awaken..." He remarked, eyes narrowing faintly. "Why? Were you cursed, sleeping beauty? Or is your gaze so mesmerizing you refuse to indulge us, lest we would grow insane from missing it on us?" The future ruler chuckled, easily amused by his own musings. "I bet it's the second option. Everything about you is just so..." He blinked, head tilting to the side a little as his gaze grew soft. "so..." The male swallowed, unable to put into words whatever he felt.

Just able to gawk. Gawk to his heart content, to stare, to gaze, to observe and memorise such features. To almost touch, as his fingers traced, along a nose, almost the seam of inviting lips. Wrath grew in the prince's heart as he recalled the eunuch's earlier gaze on the sleeping man. Then Louis deflated, realising his current behaviour was hardly any different.

But what else was he to do in the company of something, someone, some else, so mesmerising?

"Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she..."

The stranger's eyes opened, as the first rays of the moon filtered in the room, eyes glowing with a vibrant, intense orange.

"The moon, is my companion." The stranger spoke, sitting up. "I do not, compete with her. For she is, my guiding light, my rooster and my torch."

"You..." Louis swallowed, taking a step back. "You heard?"

"Everything."

The prince's eyes widened. "All of it? How's that possible?"

The stranger stood, tall, taller than the Prince, a fond smile of adoration on his lips. "Would you want me to show you?" Louis nodded wordlessly, staring into the other's eyes as a hand wrapped around his wrist, bringing the arm up to deposit the softest, feather-like kiss to the inner of his wrist. "Could you endure it, I wonder. To know me truly, to know me fully."

"I want it."

The man chuckled. "They all do. For a time." He nipped at the skin, gently, licking a wet trail that made the other shiver. "But forever?"

"Please." Louis begged, a pleasant feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, a warmth that spread and set his cheeks alight as his heart stampedes in his ribcage, whilst warm blood pooled to his loins.

"Please what?" The man, the creature, the lovely stranger inquired. "Do you know what you are asking for? What you are surrendering?" He inquired, closing some of the distance between them. "What it is, you seek from me? Use your words." He whispered against Louis' lips.

"Anything." Louis replied, panting and suddenly high-strung, desperate for whatever was to come, for the expected apotheosis of pleasure.

"Anything?" The stranger chuckled. "Is that what you want from me, or what you are willing to surrender?"

Rather than answered, Louis closed the little remaining distance between them, kissing the stranger open-mouthed. A hand came to craddle his jaw, as the other took control of the kiss, instrusive tongue so very welcomed in its explorations as sharp nails indulged in delightful ministrations that had the prince moaning. "My my, what beautiful sounds you can make." The stranger let out. "Are they mine as well?"

"Yours."

"Just mine?"

"Just yours. I... I did not know I was capable of feeling such things before, of letting out such..."

"Such what?"

"Such lewd noises." Louis admitted, cheeks ablaze.

"No?" The stranger inquired, his hand gently running along the prince's cheek and enough to draw out to softest pur, the most eager moan. "Beautiful. So beautiful. Such pure, unfettered pleasure. It's beautiful you know? To be celebrated. To be embraced."

"Then do." Louis spoke. "Please, do." He wrapped his arms around the other's neck and the stranger lifted him as though he was weightless. "Embrace me. Celebrate me."

"No." The stranger spoke. "No, you must embrace it, celebrate for yourself. Be selfish in how you take such pleasures and be generous in how you offer them to others." He explained, pulling the prince's white blouse out of his trousers with finesse and strength, with care. His hands ran along bare skin as he claimed not Louis' mouth but his neck, licking and sucking, even indulging in the soft rake of still polite teeth, not breaking skin, just playing it, igniting the others and enjoying the feeling at his pulse point, of such an erratic heartbeat as the prince was generous with his moans, with the arch of his back, whinniying as he scrambled for friction and further proximity until he stilled, visibly releasing like an overtense string finally snapping as the stranger bit into his nipples. He did not even care for the guards that flooded the room, bringing instead, the stranger's bloodied mouth to his own.

"It seems, his destined highness chose another destiny." Louis heard the stranger's voice in his head as they shared another, sealing kiss. "Armand. My name is Armand. And you shall be mine."

"Yes." Louis replied telepathically.

"Oh you're a natural." Armand replied. "You will take to this beautifully, won't you?"

"Yes."

divider credit to @/thecutestgrotto

listen, I know I am late as hell for the 500 words entry to the @loumandmicrofic challenge and a long way from the recommended length (it's still short! barely 1126 words 🫣) but I kept thinking about two things: loumand medieval-ish au, and!!! creature!armand! I wanted him to make use of the allure granted to him to obtain control in a way tv!Armand doesn't really allow himself to claim? Here he is Carmilla-esque and still very much a daywalker and absolutely the snake and the apple but also represents freedom to a Louis who feels stiffled. And yep, Louis was destined to be wed to Lestat but that's likely down the drain now. Also yes, I ripped from Shakespeare because it felt appropriate, let's call it intertextuality wheeeee ✨

Inside, Louis takes Armand’s jacket and hangs it carefully on the coat pegs alongside his own while contemplating his next move.  The part of his brain that still thinks in human conventions suggests offering him a drink and a tour of their rooms while the more feral side of his nature wants to take him right where they stand without any further preamble.

The decision is taken out of his hands when Armand pulls him in for a second kiss that rapidly becomes more heated than the first.  They stumble back and Louis nearly trips over a painting propped against the wall but Armand keeps him upright, hands possessively gripping Louis’ hips.

As much as Louis enjoys the embrace, the haze of lust that envelops him is still tinged with an unease that only increases when Armand breaks the kiss to gaze at him.  His eyes are wide, tangerine iris’ flickering in a disarmingly mechanical way that reminds Louis of the view through his camera lens when taking photographs in quick succession.

Louis sets his jaw and pulls himself up to his full height, staring right back at Armand.  “I thought you were gonna kill me not ten minutes ago.  How do I know you won’t still?”

Armand’s perfect lips turn up into a small smile.  “I can give you my word, if that’s what you want?”

“What I want is to be in control”, Louis states.

As the words evaporate between them Louis realises that’s all he’s ever really wanted; control over his life and death, control over the choices he makes, control over the way he presents himself.

“Of course”, Armand replies.  “And how do-”

Lunging forward, Louis’ hands collide with Armand’s chest and he shoves him with such force that Armand hits the wall on the other side of the hallway.  Before his unsettling eyes can even blink Louis slams a fist into the plaster just inches from his head.  

“I said I want to be in control”, he growls.

They kiss again, Louis biting Armand’s lip before licking into his mouth.  They stagger forwards, still entwined, out of the hall and into the living cum sleeping area, and as Louis pushes him down onto his bed he hears Armand whispering in his brain.

Of course you are in control, Maître.  Of course you are.

“Actions speak louder than words”, Louis says as he offers up his fist, bloody from its collision with the wall.

Armand kisses it tenderly before proceeding to methodically lick away the blood.  As he does so he locks eyes with Louis once again, and this time Louis is reminded not of his camera but of the lightning bugs he used to see back home down by the bayou.  They appeared so beautiful from a distance, but if you ever caught one and studied it up close it was revealed as an almost alien entity with a long body, spindly limbs and bulging eyes.

He flips Armand over before his hand is clean, roughly pulling his pants and underwear down before starting to prep him.  And as Armand moans and writhes and asks for more, Louis repeats the same four words over and over again to himself until he almost starts to believe them.