#loustat x reader

Being their "endless fountain" has definitely had its perks, including money, sex, and even, in some cases, what feels like love. However, Lestat would never tell a human that he loves them he finds them most inferior. Louis did promise to change you in ten years if you stayed around long enough, that was five years ago so you're just about there.

Being with them both is like living in the clouds and it's normally great until nights like this where Lestat's being pushy and needy and doesn't take no for an answer. He wants sex, sex from you, from Louis, and you, he just wants to be near you but he had drained you too much last night and Louis had to pull him off of you.

To combat Lestat pesterin' you, you lay in Louis's lap as he reads to you. His skin was warm against yours due to your body struggling to process the blood loss it had experienced the day prior. Louis smelled like whiskey, fresh cut wood, and a faint smell of a book that had been cracked open after being left up on the shelf for so long; It was the perfect comforting scent to put you to sleep. He read to you quietly until you fell asleep, his pointed nails languidly dragging over your scalp, your heart had slowed as if on queue to tell Louis you're finally getting rest.

Lestat opens the double doors at the same time, being as loud as he can not even trying to hide his jealousy. It pisses him off how easily Louis can comfort you and how your heart beats beside his.

"Lestat, you don't have to make your anger so obvious to everyone." Louis said as he kept his eyes on his book, trying not to give in to the bitchy blonde man stomping his feet like a child having their first temper tantrum.

"Well, if I'm angry it's both your fault, you both lounge around as if I don't exist!" Lighting a cigarette to try to help calm his irritation and nerves as he rounds the couch catching a glimpse of you, so pale, so soft, so fragile, like a butterfly.

"If you wake her, Les..." Louis threatens but not as in a way to be cruel but moreso out of protection, you're weak and tired and this is the much-needed rest you need.

"She's at such peace with you it almost makes me sick." He blows out the smoke through his nose, rolling his eyes as a bit of show that he's annoyed even if both Louis and he know he's lying, he loves you just as much as Louis.

Louis knows this because the one of the few days you went out on your own Lestat heard a scream and could've sworn it was you and had searched the whole city to make sure you were safe and in Louis's words "a man doesn't worry so much unless he at least feels some typa way for someone else." which of course made Lestat scoff and stomp home.

"The way she clings to you, balling your shirt in her fist like she's afraid you'll disappear." Lestat took another drag with feigned annoyance, it's the same way he looks at Louis. He ashes the cigarette before he approached you both, his fingers trying to be gentle for the first time in ages, watching the way Louis's fingers gently guide along your scalp but he scratched you by accident.

You whimper but stay asleep, a bead of blood forming where the cut was which made Lestat panic a little and back up.

"Mon Cher, it's fine she didn't even wake. Just be careful with your nails." Louis cut his thumb with his pointer finger and smoothed his blood over the small cut to heal it. "Try again."

Lestat rakes his knuckles softly down your back, your body leaning toward his hands, and his breath hitches, you don't mind his touch? You aren't shying away from him like you usually do, his eyes found Louis with the expression of surprise and a faint light of happiness.

"I don't know how you do it, Louis. It seems impossible for me. She doesn't care for me like she does you."

"You should see her when you sing in the other room, you think she's content with my reading? That's nothing like when you sing." He smiles as he thinks about it. "She is so content and happy, she's like liquid against whatever or whomever she's lying on. Lestat, she does love you regardless of how you feel about her. She keeps talking about how she wants to sleep with us in our coffins, she loves us both equally and would not be parted from us."

"Can I- Can I hold her?" Lestat asks with a worry that's uncharacteristic of his unfeeling and uncaring nature for humans, he's hidden himself for so long, afraid he'll lose everyone close to him so much that he hasn't noticed how rough and cruel he's been to you.

Louis nods seeing how much this means to Lestat, he trusts his lover to be gentle with their other. Lestat gently kissed her up with one arm around her back and the other under her knees, his scent of cigarettes, lavender, and, leather, something so intricate, interesting, and complex which caused you to stir a bit but ultimately you stayed asleep as he lowered you into his coffin and got in alongside you, playing with your hair like Louis did. He tucked his face into your neck, feeling your pulse against his lip, normally he'd be drinking from you but for once (since Louis) he's holding himself back content with just feeling you close, letting your pulse lull him to sleep like the most beautiful symphony he's ever heard.

Louis stayed up reading his books, keeping an ear out but trusting Lestat wants to be gentle for once. Lestat can save his roughness for once you're given "The Dark Gift" when you can keep up with them both a lot more than your human stamina allows.

Behind her, they move like smoke. Impossible to hear, creeping through the trees and over water as they stalk. 

“Petite proie,” a voice sings out in the night, drifting from the treetops. “You’re making this too easy.”

She freezes then, braces herself against a treetrunk, the bark rough under the soft skin of her hands, before she changes course and veers left. 

But then another disembodied voice is there, in her head, sweeter than the first. ‘I can hear your heart, baby. I hear it dancing.’

It feels like it might burst with the force it beats with, pumping the blood hot through her veins, and she can hear it rushing in her ears. Knows that every beat sounds like a war drum to them, that it betrays her and leads straight to her no matter which way she turns. 

She ducks under the hanging moss, presses her back to the tree and closes her eyes. Tries to hear any sound that might betray them but her human ears stand no chance. They have her cornered. With one more deep breath, inhaling the musk and cologne that drifts whenever they’re near, she darts out again, racing across the waterlogged ground. 

They let her get ten yards. 

Lestat drops from above, landing before her in a crouch before he languidly stands tall. Not a single smudge of dirt or mud on his fine clothes, every article still neatly in place. No flush to his cheeks, no shortness of breath from the chase. 

“Tag,” he says with a smug grin. 

She doesn’t give up yet. She darts to the side, though he doesn’t move an inch. He doesn’t have to. Louis is already there, and she crashes into his chest, his arms around her in a flash. It’s a gentle hold but firm, inescapable as they cage her in. 

“End of the line, cher,” Louis murmurs. 

For a moment she thrashes, but she’s no match for his strength, and feels thrillingly, deliciously weak as he turns her to face Lestat. 

“Such fire,” the older vampire says, a note of admiration in his voice as he steps towards the pair. “But the game is ours, ma cherie.”

Then, Louis’ lips at her ear, breath warm as he whispers, “You ran beautifully.”

She sighs, relaxing into his hold, the want spooling hot and thick like honey in her belly. 

“Took you long enough, monsieurs,” she says with a grin, though her breath is still ragged in her throat, her hair sticking to her face. “I was beginning to think the gators had gotten to you.” 

Lestat laughs at that. “I do love your imagination. Next time, we will set you loose in the cane fields. See how long your bravado lasts when the moon can’t find you.” 

Then he’s there before her, his hand cupping her chin, thumb swiping away the dirt that clings to her skin. Louis’ hands fall to her hips, bunching up her thin shift, his lips pressing to the back of her head. She thanks the heavens for the support of the two men, whose bodies hold her up easily as they press on either side of her. The ache in her legs threaten to topple her over otherwise. 

“We’ve worn her out, Lestat,” Louis says. “See how she trembles.”

“No rest for the wicked, I’m afraid.” And then he’s slipping her shift from of her shoulders, and she lets it pool down around her waist before dropping to the ground, leaving her bare under the moonlight, bare to their hungry gaze. 

“This is hardly fair,” she pouts, and means to reach for Lestat’s waistcoat when his hand catches her wrist. 

“You set the rules, baby,” Louis tells her, his hand snaking around her body to tweak at a nipple. She lets out a huff of breath, head falling back against his shoulder, eyes squeezing closed. She’s been wet since their little game started, can feel it smearing across her thighs, knows from their hissing that they can smell it on her as she drips. Still, they toy with her, hands soft on her skin but never where she wants them most. 

“Please.”

“Beg louder,” Lestat tells her. “Let the swamp hear you.”

Propriety holds her back and she can only whimper, her knee bending as she lifts a leg up, attempts to wrap it around her lover’s hip, to drag him to closer to her body, to trap him just as she’s trapped between them. 

She presumes too much. She’s always been needy, greedy, inpatient. She’s spoiled, Lestat always tells her. They never deny her anything, could never. Even when she tells them she wants to be chased, hunted through the swamp, the adrenaline and the curated fear in her blood making it all the more sweeter. 

They like it too. She can feel them, on either side of her, excited, hard, straining through their trousers. And as she wiggles and strains in their hold, she finds the world spinning around her as she’s moved at inhuman speed, pressed against the nearest tree, the bark scraping against the bare skin of her chest, her breasts, her belly, a gentle hand resting on her forehead to protect it from colliding with the trunk. 

She gasps as she’s pinned, but then a figure is sinking before her in a blur of movement, Louis? and hands on her thighs are spreading her legs. She arches, ass in the air, a wordless plea, and she feels the hot, wet drag of a tongue up her slit. A moan gargles in her throat, the lick turning into a suck before he pulls back again and there’s a sudden sting on her ass, a bite on the curve of her cheek. A yelp rips out of her, but pain bleeds to pleasure and she melts against the tree trunk. 

He returns to her cunt, polishing his tongue on her clit, making her choke on her own spit, and she hardly notices the rustling behind her, Lestat as he strips leisurely out of his fine clothes. Smooth, sinewy arms around her, wrapping around her legs, her waist, her shoulders, fingers and hands trailing across her body and she can’t follow, can’t trace them back, is reduced to the pleasure they pull from her. 

Fingers on her chin, tilting her head back, and she sees a flash of Lestat’s eyes before he pulls her into a kiss, swallows her keens as Louis’ tongue pulls her apart at the seams. 

“Don’t be greedy, Louis,” Lestat murmurs against her lips, his fingers sliding along the thrumming vein in her neck. “Save some for me.”

“If you stop now, I’ll bite you myself,” she says with another gasp. 

One more slow lick and then Louis pulls back. “Girl, you couldn’t bite through butter now,” he says with a laugh. 

Infuriating man, she wants to howl at the moon. But then he stands and she breathes a sigh of relief as she hears his belt slide from around his waist, the buckle hitting the ground with a wet plop. 

“Isn’t he beautiful,” Lestat murmurs in her ear. “Saint Louis.” And she looks back, sees the gleam of the moonlight on his bare skin, the tufts of dark hair smattering his chest, his gaze dark and heavy on her. She wants him so bad, she aches with with, feels the staccato of her heart, the jumpy weak feeling as the wave desire and adoration threaten to take her under.

“Do you know what I envy?” Lestat whispers, his hands cupping her ribs, right below where her breasts lay, thumb brushing past every bone, feeling the rush of blood underneath, life in the palm of his hands. “That heartbeat. He listens for it always. 

“It reminds us we’re thieves,” Louis says, and she can hear the barely concealed conflict slipping out through his words, even as he tries to tease. 

“Then steal a little more.”

She sees something soften in him, perhaps at Lestat’s words, perhaps at the look she gives him, and he lets her reach out to him, pulling away from the tree to wrap her arm around his neck. Their lips find each other, and she tastes herself on his tongue as it swipes across her lip. And then, she turns towards his maker, extends a hand and pulls him in with them, accepting another kiss, her slick wet smearing from lips to lips. Slowly, he pulls back, and the two men’s lips meet over her shoulder in a heated kiss, wet and smacking, filthy sounds that make her weak in the knees. 

They don’t let her drop. 

Louis’ hands grip her thighs, Lestat’s on her waist, and together they lift her up, her legs wrapping around Louis, her arms going back behind her head to grip Lestat’s neck, his shoulders, whatever she can reach. She’s suspended in midair, trying not to flail, to let them maneuver her as they like, and she teeters as if on a seesaw. 

“Hold her still, Louis. Before this lovely creature hurts herself.”

Grip like steel holding her in place, and she feels his hard flesh pressing against her cunt, sliding through her folds. And then at her back, Lestat slipping under the curve of her ass, their cocks pressing where she’s spread open for the both of them. 

Her head falls back, neck exposed, and lips press hungrily to the skin there and she begs, pleas to the sky, the stars, to all the creatures in the swamp. Take me, eat me, swallow me whole. Give me your teeth, your hands, fill me this empty, aching space inside of me. 

“Just like that, ma cherie,” Lestat whispers as Louis slips into her, and it feels tight, heavy inside of her, dragging against her with every flex of his hips. Her body already set alight, trembling, stuffed full and burning, when she feels Lestat rutting against her, his cock seeking purchase. Finds the tight little ring of muscle, the blunt head pushing inside of her, steady and unforgiving. 

She sucks in a breath, then two, then three, feels tears stinging at her eyes, her grip on Lestat growing tighter. But she doesn’t tell him to stop. Flexes her own hips, tries to sink further down on the two of them as they press deeper, separated only by the soft, thin wall of her cunt. Lestat is kissing the tears from her face, Louis sweetly telling her to breath as the pressure builds, and finally her body gives way to Lestat, relaxes around him, accepts him inside her, and she’s fully impaled by the both of them. 

The three of them groan in unison. The burn and stretch is beautiful, blinding as they fuck her. One thrusting in just as the other pulls out, over and over, never leaving her empty, a constant attack of pleasure that leaves her scrambling. But their hold on her is tight, and they are relentless. So she can do nothing but yip, and cry, and plead, held between the two of them, made for their pleasure.

Tossing her head back, she arches, exposes her neck to her men, her beautiful monsters. Breath hitching in her throat as she feels Lestat’s lips at her throat, his ragged breath, then teeth scraping against her sensitive skin. A playful nip before the fangs extend, and his bite grows true. Fangs sinking deep into her, the flow of blood that pools into his mouth, the drop that escapes and drips down to her collarbone. Euphoria. 

She hears Louis groan, growl rattling in his chest and his hand wraps around her arm, pulling it to him. “Not too much,” she hears him whisper, though she’s not sure if he’s talking to Lestat or himself. But then lips brush her wrist in a sweet kiss before he follows suit, fangs finding purchase, and he begins to feed. 

She falls into that blissful haze where she’s not sure where one ends and the other begins. Loves when it’s like this, when they become one flesh, blood and come exchanged, muscles moving together, grinding, deep, as if it’s her soul they’re sending back and forth rather than her body. She’s nothing but a heartbeat, steady and strong as it pumps life into them, and wet heat that envelops them both. Reduced down to a deep, throbbing pleasure that remains endless. The concept of time is loss, it could be minutes, hours, years. Before and after forgotten, and all she knows is this. 

She comes first. A burst of light behind her eyes, a fully body shudder as her jaw drops and she cries out, her voice joining the song of the cicadas. She clenches tight around them, pleasure zipping from where they pierce her to where they fill her, and she feels the drag of their cocks stutter, knows they aren’t far behind. 

It doesn’t take long before she drags them over the edge with her. Through heavily lidded eyes, she watches Louis throw his head back, face twisting as if in pain as he snarls. Her blood shines in the moonlight, staining his pearly teeth, smeared across his lips and chin. The air, filled with the smell of copper and sweat and sex, and she splays her fingers across his neck, watching the blood drip from her wrist, smearing across his skin there too.

She thinks it’s that sight that causes Lestat to follow. He slams deep one last time, hips flush to her ass as he comes with a shout. He spills hot inside of her and she wishes she can see it, how she’s dripping with the both of them, filled to the brim with their spend. Wants to see it dribble out of her, beads of pearls dripping down her thighs, just to collect it on her fingers to push it back in. Loves to be topped up, to be full of them, carrying them inside of her.

She focuses on the fantasy because she knows they’ll see it. And again they groan into her skin, rut against her a moment longer before gently slipping free. 

“Filthy girl,” Louis whispers. “You’ll still be leaking us by sunrise, I promise you.” He pricks his finger on his fang, lets the blood bloom on the tip before pressing it softly against the puncture marks on her wrist, rubbing the wound in soothing circles. She feels Lestat do the same with the marks on her neck, and feels the skin piece back together, the mark fading so nothing but the smear of blood is left. She’s lightheaded from their feeding, weak, but in no mortal danger. They always know just how much to take to keep it fun, and thrilling. But never dangerous. 

Lestat laughs, and together they gently guide her back down, allowing her feet to find the soft grass, their hands remaining to support as she stands on wobbly legs. “Come, mes coeurs,” he says, pulling them both close, hands sliding down their necks, their arms. “Before dawn finds us misbehaving." 

She can hardly see in the dark, but they find her discarded shift easily, help her slip back into it. It’s filthy and torn, speaks of the night they’ve just had but she hates the feeling of it on her, misses the freedom of being bare under the sky. Imagines how she will slide into the coffin with them once they return to their apartment, clean after a warm bath, skin to skin once again, flesh growing cool as they drift to sleep. 

Louis returned the grin after a second to overcome his surprise. “I’m sure they do. Why here, though?”

“Your establishment has the highest rates of colored women. Not many are willing to listen to what they have to say.” You fiddled with the buttons on your jacket, and tipped your head down into a nod. “I’d best be leaving. The night is late, and the sun will greet us soon.”

“Not a morning person?” Louis asked, falling into step with you as you made your way to your convertible.

A huff of a laugh fell past your lips. “You could say that, yes.”

From then on, Louis went out of his way to greet you like clockwork. Every Wednesday and Saturday you came, bright-eyed and pencil ready. Those days, Louis watched you come by nightfall and leave before morning dawned, always making sure to exchange pleasantries. One of the nights, you asked if he had any stories to tell you—though there was little talking or writing that night. It was hard to jot down what he was telling you with his head between your thighs.

You were, by no means, a possessive vampire. You liked to keep your options open and drift from place to place. But around a year and a half later, you heard of Lestat landing in New Orleans, sucking the furniture stores and libraries dry—and setting his eyes on Louis. Your Louis.

You and Louis were not lovers, and the same would apply to your and Lestat’s relationship. You would say you were far closer to being friends with the two than lovers. Though… the prospect of love was not a far away concept to you. Not when it came to Lestat and Louis.

“You turned him,” you said to Lestat with a disapproving frown. Louis was sleeping fitfully in a coffin between the two of you, skin charred and covered in dust and burns. Lestat didn’t have to tell you—you put the clues together and figured out that Louis had run into the morning sun without knowing what it would do to him. “You were always the selfish one, weren’t you? I could never have anything for myself.”

“I’m sorry, did I spoil your little toy?” Lestat said, leering over you with a grin.

“He wasn’t a toy. He’s a friend.”

The blonde vampire’s hands reached out to caress over your face, soft and cold. “A friend that you fucked.”

“On occasion.” Your nose wrinkled. “You fucked him, too.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. It would have surprised you if Lestat hadn’t fucked Louis.

“Don’t be jealous, my darling,” he said, eyes glinting dangerously. “I’ll fuck you, as well. You need only ask. It has been a long while, no?” 

He kissed you then, tasting of sweet blood and sharp wine. As angry as you were with him, you didn’t push him away. With Lestat, it was hard to say no. That morning, you fell asleep in his coffin, limbs woven together. Come sunset, you were already gone.

It took you a few days to get around to forgiving Lestat. Louis made you softer—his inexperience to vampire life was ever so endearing to you. When you explained to Louis that you were also a vampire—one with a deep history with his maker, he stared at you with widened eyes.

“It’s no wonder I never saw you during the day,” he said, Lestat’s arm slung around his shoulder. “But why didn’t you kill any of my girls? How could you resist it?”

“Older vampires find it easier to resist temptation,” you told him with a dangerous, fanged smile. “Besides—I wanted their stories more than I wanted their blood. I can find food… elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” Louis glanced between you and Lestat, the first thought vanishing from his mind just as quickly as it came. “Wait, were you two—did you… did he turn you, too?”

A bark of a laugh fell from your lips. “Oh, Louis, my dear, no. Lestat may have left hundreds and thousands of fledglings in his bloody wake but I am not one of them. My turning will be a story for another time,” you assured him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Louis smiled and nodded as if he was in a daze. To his side, Lestat looked visibly annoyed. Whether he was jealous of you or Louis, you couldn’t tell.

Sharing is caring, you greedy whore, you said to him without moving your lips. Lestat only stared at you with those icy blue eyes and huffed out a dramatic sigh.

“Well, since the fledgling has already taken a liking to you, would you like to stay?” Lestat gestured around his decorated halls. “There is more than enough room here for three coffins.”

As always, saying no to Lestat was usually not an option. 

“You could just say you’d like me here. Don’t have to be dragging Louis into it,” you told him, patting his chest with a mocking simper.

“Yes, yes, fine—I’d like you to stay, as well. I’ve missed you terribly.” Lestat moved closer to you as if he was going to kiss you, but you leaned away at the last moment and grinned at Louis.

“Louis, hon, how about we get a nice fire started and you tell me all about what mean ol’ Lestat did to you the first few hours of your turning? I love hearing about new vampire experiences. It’s been so long I can hardly remember mine.” You offered Louis your arm and gestured to the living room. The man looked to Lestat, almost as if asking for permission, but turned away just as quickly to take your arm. 

Louis, in his hunger and youth, had impulsively killed an important man in town. Lestat had already angrily berated him enough whilst tossing the body into the cremator. You were more gentle with your approach, taking Louis’ hands and goading him to wash the blood off and change into a new set of clothes that weren’t soaked with his kill.

The amusing thought that you and Lestat were raising a child and parenting together briefly crossed your mind. But then again, the two of you had both fucked Louis before and were most definitely going to again in the future, so perhaps it wasn’t the best analogy. 

“Here, put this on.” you handed Louis, stripped naked and scrubbed of the blood, a fresh button-down whilst Lestat was off cleaning up the mess Louis had made. “That was real dangerous what you did back there, you know. You’ll get detectives sniffing around and swarming you like ants to a honey pot. They don’t take kindly to black folk, neither.”

“I know,” he said, shrugging on the shirt. “I was hungry.”

“I know,” you parroted, though your tone was considerably softer. You placed your cold palm against Louis’ face and he leaned into it for a few silent moments. “Just be more careful next time, alright? Lestat and I have centuries of experience between us—you can trust us.”

Louis’ face contorted at the realization. “Sometimes I forget that this is gon’ be forever. That I won’t just wake up and you two will be gone. That I’ll be human again and my brother will still be around and my ma would still be asking me to come over to her house for dinner every Sunday.”

“Forever isn’t always a bad thing,” you said, voice soft and soothing. “It is daunting, yes, but you still live from day to day just as the mortals do. You’ll grow more comfortable in your skin with time, I promise.” You hesitated to say the next few sentences. “Lestat, as much as you admire his strength, is just as afraid as you sometimes. He’s afraid of being lonely. I confess, I have been afraid to be lonely more than once myself, but I have made peace with the fact that I will be alone sometimes. Immortal life makes it inevitable. My point is, though… you aren’t alone. Lestat is not as godly as you think he is.”

“And are you?” Louis asked.

“Do you think of me as godly?” 

One of his shoulders lifted in a half-shrug. “Most of the time.”

“I’m still a person,” you reassured him. “Lost to time, perhaps, but a person nonetheless. And you are, too.”

Your words seemed to placate Louis, though only momentarily. He parted his mouth open to say more, but Lestat dramatically stormed in the room, expression still creased with anger. After decades upon decades of knowing him, you knew by now that he would get over it eventually—it wasn’t really that big of a deal. But Louis, quite shaken up by the kill and his maker furious with him, couldn’t shrug it off as easily as you. The two of them went to their respective coffins angrily. 

Hours later, whilst you were writing up drafts of your most recent discussions with a few townspeople, you heard the two of them quietly exchange words of apology and plans for the future from their coffins. You smiled down to yourself. The romance between them was strong, you knew. You wondered if you ever had the same connection with Lestat. Or even Louis. You were growing quite fond of him. And you’d always been fond of Lestat, even though he irritated you to no end. 

When Louis bought the most expensive, the biggest, and the brightest club in the district, he made sure to pay all the working girls and musicians twice what they earned before. The doors were now open to anyone, not just folks with light skin. And he even had a room especially booked for you—always decked with the finest pencils and pens and papers and books and the most heavenly chairs imaginable—Louis was a man who thought out your every need. It startled you to think that your fondness for him may be far greater than just fondness. How would Lestat feel about you falling in love with his fledgling? Louis was yours first. And before that, you and Lestat were also each other’s for a time.

With Louis still at the club entertaining guests, Lestat heard your thoughts as soon as you returned from your work—you didn’t bother hiding your mind from him, because he had ways of getting information out of you regardless. 

“I don’t mind,” he said, greeting you as you changed out of your attire into more comfortable clothes for home. He hung by the doorway for a moment before slinking closer to you, running his hands up and down your bare skin. “We can share, my love. I don’t mind—not with you. And I’m sure Louis wouldn’t mind sharing you with me.”

“Rather presumptuous of you,” you replied.

“Not presumptuous if you’re thinking it,” Lestat said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, then several more up your neck. “Don’t resist us. It can be the three of us together. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“There’s a reason I left you in the first place,” you whispered. “You are possessive and mean when you want to be.”

Lestat tilted your face so his lips hovered just an inch over yours. “That may be true… but you’ll stay for Louis.” 

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He knew you better than anyone undead or alive.

“I will.” 

“Good,” he said, and then kissed you as if he was going to devour you whole.

Many moons later, you walked into one of the house’s many bedrooms, about to enquire if either of the vampires had seen your notebook lying around anywhere, when you saw Louis lying on the bed, tears of red slipping down his face. Lestat dabbed the blood away with a napkin.

“What’s going on?” you asked with a concerned tone, sitting down next to him on the mattress opposite Lestat. 

“My nephew,” Louis practically spat out the words as if they had scorched his tongue. “I was so afraid I would… I could hear his heart—his tiny little heart—and I wanted to rip it out and eat it. I’m a monster.”

There was a moment of silence as you studied the young fledgling.

“If you’re a monster, what does that make me?” you whispered, leaning down to press your nose to the back of his ear. “You didn’t kill him, Louis.”

“No, but I could have.” Another bloody tear slipped down his eye and slotted against his nose bridge.

Whilst Lestat wiped his face again, he said, “You have to stop seeing them, Louis. They’ll grow fearful of you if they haven’t already.”

“No,” said Louis, voice hoarse and quiet. “I can’t do it.”

“It’s a rite of passage for all of us,” Lestat went on. “If you love your family, as I know you do, spare them all the pain that you are causing them.” Knowing Lestat’s relationship with his mother, you found his words quite ironic. Louis didn’t need to know about that right now, though. 

“My siblings spent many decades looking for me once I ‘disappeared’,” you told Louis. “It hurt to distance myself from them, but I was protecting them.”

Louis glanced up at you. Sitting with your back to the lit fireplace, there seemed to be an angelic glow framing you. “I didn’t know you have siblings.”

“Had,” you corrected. “They are long gone now, though many of their children’s children and further generations remain. They lived long and happy lives even after I left.”

“I ain’t never gonna have a family of my own, am I?” Louis lamented. “No sons, no daughters.”

It was silent for a moment when you and Lestat locked eyes. The blonde looked back down at his fledgling. “We’re your family, Louis.”

“You should just throw me in the incinerator,” said Louis. “Make another one.”

“What a waste that would be,” Lestat remarked.

You nodded. “And if he did, I would rip him apart limb from limb. You are not replaceable, Louis.”

“The both of us have been on this Earth for around two centuries and we can confidently report that you have no twin,” said Lestat. “No one as angry, as stubborn, as unaccommodating, as maddening—”

Louis frowned. “Sound like trash to me—”

“—as loving, as dedicated, as thoughtful, as imperfectly perfect as you’ve become. You’re a challenge every sunset, Saint Louis. We’d have it no other way.” Lestat waited a second before nudging you to agree with him.

“Yes,” you jumped to say, perhaps a second late. “Louis, hon, I don’t want to force you not to see your family. You’re free to tell them the truth if you’d like. Let them see you as a monster, as a murderer—because they certainly won’t see you in the same way we do. I’m just saying… letting them go may be the less painful option.”

Louis squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled sharply. Though he said nothing, you knew that he knew you were right. 

“Here’s an idea… let’s take a holiday,” ventured Lestat. “What about Rome?”

“Rome sounds lovely,” you said with an excited grin. It had been a handful of decades since you last stepped in Europe. Most of your recent years had you traveling much of North and South America.

“Rome? Rome, like, Italy?” Louis said, cracking an eye open to scrutinize his lovers. 

“Would you prefer Rome, Wisconsin?” Lestat fired back, which made Louis sit up on the bed and shake his head.

“I can’t just pick up and go to Rome. I got a business to run!”

You snaked your arms around Louis from behind and pressed your nose into his neck. You could hear his thoughts of how nice you smelled and smiled against his skin. “I’m sure you have many trusted work buddies that can manage the Azalea for a few days.”

Louis and Lestat bickered some more about transporting the coffins after that, as if they were an old married couple. You only listened in amusement and kissed down Louis' jaw.

Finally, Lestat relented his plans of Rome and instead brandished tickets to another opera. 

“I can spend a few days apart from the two of you to go to Rome myself,” you said, arching your back as if you were a cat and sprawling down on the mattress to watch Louis and Lestat upside down. “I can bring back souvenirs. The Italians have the most divine oil paints—”

“Don’t go,” Louis blurted, interrupting you. “Don’t—not yet.”

For a moment, you studied him with curious eyes. His thoughts were telling you he wasn’t sure if he could handle being left on his own with Lestat without you. Codependency was a common trait amongst vampire couples, you knew this, but that didn’t mean it was at all healthy. Nonetheless, you reluctantly nodded. “Alright. I won’t leave. But we do have to get out of the country at some point—it’s important to see more than America, Louis.”

“With that, I concur,” Lestat chimed his agreement. Then, he seized both of your arms and began to drag you off the mattress until you laughed and twisted up to get onto your feet yourself. “Come, my darlings, I’ve had suits made for us.”

There was a methodology to going to the opera to keep eyes off of you. You would go in first, alone. Then Lestat, with Louis walking a pace behind him, masquerading as his valet. It was degrading, all three of you knew. But it was the early 1900s, and there was little more you could do without drawing attention from passersby. 

Though the opera was a cheap affair, you were considerably entertained until the tenor entered the stage and began to sing all the wrong notes. To your ears, which were sharp, but not suited to the intricacies of musical notes, his singing was strangely off but still fine. To Lestat, however, he was not at all amused. His jaw muscles clenched and his fingers curled and uncurled over the sheet music he had brought. One glance his way and you already knew he had made his mind on who would be that evening’s supper.

Hours later, when Lestat had taken the young singer to your hotel room, you wondered if he was planning on simply fucking some sense into him before biting into his throat. Instead, Lestat sat down by the piano and played the notes, forcing the singer to sing. He pointed out each and every flaw, tone growing harsher with each mistake. 

Louis watched the two with a nauseous stomach and an uneasy mind. You tried to pull him away to another room, tried to kiss him until he forgot about Lestat and his fixation on the poor man, but Louis’ mind was adrift.

“Louis, this is meant to be a vacation,” you reminded him, massaging your fingers over his tense shoulders.

“How can it be a vacation when he’s in the other room about to murder some guy for a note he sang offkey?” Louis asked, a tad too loudly for your preference.

“Lestat gets this way sometimes. You know this by now. He gets angry, he gets sucked in, he gets tunnel vision until something is done exactly how he wants it to be done. It doesn’t affect us, though, not really. Dinner is dinner, Louis.”

Louis crossed his arms. “You have animals for dinner most of the time. And you kill people who deserve it. Lestat, he just—that man could have a family, a whole life ahead of him!”

“The same could be said for the people I’ve killed,” you replied easily.

“No, no, it’s different!” he vehemently said. “You killed the rapists, the child-fiddlers, and even the slave-owners back when they were still around! Lestat, he—”

“I know,” you said, tone firm. “Louis, I know.”

“Do you, though?” Louis shook his head in incredulity at your nonchalance and walked back into the main room where Lestat had just struck the young tenor across his vocal cords, destroying them beyond repair. “Why do you do this, Lestat?”

The blonde licked the blood off his fingers. “Well, I like to do it. I enjoy it.”

“Well, I don’t,” said Louis. “You don’t have to humiliate him like that.”

In a burst of outrage, Lestat yelled, “Well, I don’t say that you have to enjoy it! Kill them swiftly if you have to, but do it! Embrace what you are! You are a killer, Louis!”

You walked into the room at that, brows furrowed. “Will you two stop it? All this yelling and drama—this was meant to be a vacation!”

“How can it be a vacation when we haven’t even left this damned country?” Lestat bitterly replied. “I should have gone to Italy with you and left Louis here to scavenge through corpses until he rotted away.”

“You don’t mean that,” you angrily said, volume rising. “You’ve had decades to temper your anger issues, and yet you haven’t changed a single bit!”

The air in the grand, living-room of the Pointe du Lac plantation was thick with the scent of magnolias, old dust, and the coppery tang that was the signature of your kind. It was a perfume you’d grown accustomed to over the decades, a sensory backdrop to your immortal life with Lestat. But tonight, the symphony of scents was different, underscored by a new, intoxicating note: Louis.

Lestat, in his glorious, impulsive way, had flown out into the humid Louisiana night, a golden blur of hunger and restless energy. He’d left you in charge of your shared, fledgling companion. The word felt inadequate for what Louis was becoming. Fledgling suggested a bird, something fragile and flight-ready. Louis was more like a storm-tossed ship, beautiful and lost, and you were his newly discovered lighthouse.

And Louis, your beautiful, melancholic Louis, was curled into your side on the vast velvet divan like a seeking vine. A decade as Lestat’s wife had taught you many things, but this—this tender, fragile need in a fledgling—was a novel and intoxicating delight. Lestat doted on you with a theatrical, possessive passion, but he was a pillar, an ancient oak; he did not need your care. Louis, however, was a sapling in a storm, and he clung to you with a desperation that made your cold, dead heart feel startlingly, wonderfully alive.

Two crystal wine glasses sat on the low mahogany table before you, filled not with claret but with a far richer vintage: the blood of a young artist Lestat had found near the cathedral, chosen specifically for its vibrant, creative sweetness. You reached for your glass, the deep crimson a stunning contrast against your alabaster skin. As you brought the rim to your lips, you felt the weight of Louis’ gaze.

Louis was watching you, his green eyes, always so full of a stormy, human anguish, now held a different kind of intensity. They were wide, luminous in the candlelight, fixed on your mouth with a fascination that was entirely, deliciously vampiric. He wasn't just looking; he was studying the way your lips closed around the rim of the glass, the subtle movement of your throat as you held the blood there. A raw, unspoken hunger radiated from him, one that had nothing to do with the sustenance in the glass meant for him.

An idea, wicked and sweet, bloomed in your mind.

Instead of swallowing, you let the blood pool in your mouth, a secret held behind your lips. You set the glass down with a soft click that seemed to echo in the quiet room. You leaned down, your hair a dark curtain falling to frame both your faces. His eyes fluttered shut in anticipation, a soft, questioning sound escaping him.

You closed the final inch and pressed your mouth to his.

The effect was instantaneous. A sharp, startled gasp was caught between your lips, and then he was melting. A low, desperate whine vibrated from his throat into yours as he tasted the blood, not from a glass, but from you. It was a transference of life, of intimacy, far more profound than any simple feeding. His hands, which had been resting limply in his lap, flew up to clutch at the silk of your robes, his fingers twisting into the fabric as if he were drowning.

He lapped at your mouth, not with human passion, but with a fledgling’s frantic need, his tongue seeking every last drop of the metallic nectar. He was desperate, tilting his head back to deepen the angle, to get more, to taste you beneath the blood. You allowed it, your own cool tongue meeting his in a slow, languid counterpoint to his frenzy, sharing the gift until it was gone.

You pulled back only a fraction, just enough to see his face. His lips were stained a darker crimson, his eyes dazed and black with desire. "Again," he breathed, the word barely a whisper. "Please."

And who were you to deny him?

You took another sip, held it, and offered it to him again in the same manner. This time, he was less surprised, more demanding. His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs stroking your jawline as he drank from your mouth, the act becoming less about sustenance and more about connection. By the third shared sip, the empty glass was forgotten on the table. He was grabbing at you, restless, trying to shift his body, to find a position where he could be level with you, where he could be the one to initiate the kiss.

You let him. You leaned back against the plush arm of the divan, and he followed, half-covering you, his body a long, lean line of tension against yours. This kiss was different. There was no blood, only the cool, clean taste of him, the lingering hint of his own unique scent—old books, regret, and night-blooming jasmine. It was slow, deep, and exploratory. A human kiss remembered and perfected by a vampire’s senses.

It was then you guided his hands, placing his palms flat against the swell of your breasts, right over the intricate lacing of your corset. He jerked as if burned, his eyes flying open.

"Lestat," he whispered, his voice thick with conflict, his forehead dropping to yours. "You... you are his wife. This... this is not right. We cannot..."

A low, throaty laugh escaped you. “Oh, my sweet Louis,” you murmured, your own hands moving to the hem of his linen shirt. You slid them beneath the fabric, your cool palms skating up the deliciously cold skin of his waist. He shuddered violently, a full-body tremor that spoke of centuries of sensation compressed into a few months. Your thumbs stroked over the hard planes of his abdomen, and you felt the fight drain out of him. His protests died in his throat, replaced by a soft, ragged sigh.

"You think in such human terms, my dear Louis," you murmured, your voice a low, soothing melody. "A vampire's companion is not a business partner. It is not a mere friendship." You leaned in, letting your lips brush the shell of his ear, your fangs—sharper and more defined than his fledgling canines—grazing the sensitive skin. He jumped, a helpless sound escaping him. "It is a bond of blood and eternity. It means you belong to Lestat. And it means," you whispered, pulling back to look into his wide, glazed eyes, "you belong to me."

That was all it took. The last vestige of his human morality shattered. His hands, which had been clinging to your robes, became frantic. He fumbled with the intricate laces of your corset, his elegant fingers made clumsy by need. He tugged at the laces of your corset with a fledgling’ impatience, the silk groaning in protest. You helped him, your own movements swift and sure, until the constricting garment loosened, and he could push the silk of your dress and chemise from your shoulders.

In turn, you made quick work of his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor. Your mouth found his neck again, not to feed, but to worship. You trailed open-mouthed kisses from his jaw down to his collarbone, your fangs tracing a delicate, threatening path over his pulseless throat. Each graze of a sharp tip made him jerk and twitch beneath you, his hands tangling in your hair, not to pull you away, but to hold you closer.

"Please," he begged, the word a broken litany. "I can't... I need..."

"I know."

Your mouth found his again, more demanding now, as your hands went to the fastenings of his trousers. He gasped into your mouth, his own hands roaming over your bare shoulders, down your back, learning the map of you with a reverent urgency. The fastenings gave way under your insistent hands.

Soon, he was bare beneath you, his skin like polished marble in the candlelight. You rose onto your knees, hiking up the light layers of your skirts—the simple, comfortable ones you wore within the privacy of the house—until they pooled around your waist. His eyes were dark pools of want, his cock hard and flushed against his stomach. He looked utterly debauched already, and you hadn't even begun.

You positioned yourself over him, one hand braced on the back of the divan, the other guiding him to your entrance. “Look at me, Louis,” you commanded softly.

As you sank down onto him, a choked, sobbing gasp was ripped from his lungs. His eyes flew open, staring up at you in stunned, overwhelming ecstasy. It was nothing like his human experiences. This was not the warm, quick coupling of a mortal body. This was a joining of two cold, supernaturally sensitized beings. Every nerve ending was alight, every sensation amplified a thousandfold.

You set a slow, deep pace, wanting to draw this out, to savor every hitch of his breath, every helpless twitch of his hips. His hands clutched at your thighs, your hips, anywhere he could hold on. His eyes were screwed shut, his beautiful face a mask of overwhelmed ecstasy. His head fell back against the velvet, exposing the long, elegant line of his throat.

"Oh, God... oh, mon Dieu..." he babbled, his words slurring into incoherence. "It's... it's too much... don't stop..."

You cooed at him, the sound a soft, dark comfort. "Shhh, my love. My needy, beautiful boy. Let it be too much. There is no shame in it."

You maintained the slow, deep pace, watching him come apart beneath you. The knowledge that any of his servants, the very humans who had once tended to his mortal needs, could walk in and see their master like this—brought to a state of whimpering, desperate pleasure by his maker's wife—only seemed to fuel his arousal further. His hips began to stutter upwards, trying to match your rhythm, but he was too far gone for coordination.

“Please…” he begged, though for what, he likely didn’t know.

“Please what, mon cœur?” you asked, your voice a low purr as you leaned over him, your hair curtaining his face.

“I… don't.…” he babbled, his words slurring into incoherence. Whenever you deliberately increased your pace, even slightly, he would fall apart, his whines and moans becoming a nonsensical litany of your name, Lestat’s name, and pleas to a God that had long since stopped listening.

“That’s it,” you whispered, leaning down to capture his mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing his broken sounds. “You are ours, Louis. Forever. There is no right or wrong in the dark, only this. Only us.”

With a whine, his back arched clear off the divan, a broken, keening cry tearing from his throat as his release crashed over him, violent and all-consuming. The sight of him, so utterly lost in the sensation, was your own undoing. Your own climax followed, a silent, powerful wave that left you shuddering atop him, your own sharp cry muffled against his neck.

For a long moment, the only sound was the frantic, unnecessary panting from Louis. He was boneless beneath you, his arms wrapped around you, holding you to him as if you were the only solid thing in his spinning world. You nuzzled into his neck, placing a soft, closed-mouth kiss over the spot where his mortal life had ended.

He finally found his voice, hoarse and wrecked. "Lestat..."

"Lestat knows the nature of a companion, Louis," you whispered, stroking his damp hair. "He brought you to me because he knew what I craved. And he knew what you needed."

Louis turned his face into your touch, his eyes closed, a look of profound peace finally smoothing the usual anguish from his features. He was sated. He was claimed. And as you held him in the quiet dark, you knew Lestat would return soon, his golden presence filling the room, and he would see the two of you, tangled together, and he would smile that wicked, knowing smile. For he had given you a perfect, needy thing to dote on, and in doing so, had bound the three of you together in a web of blood and desire that would last for all the endless nights to come.

it started as a simple game of chess, you versus lestat. louis was out on club business and you were simply filling the time until he got back. you weren’t sure who started the yelling or how it turned to kissing but soon the board was scattered on the floor as lestat backed you up towards the sofa.

his hair was soft between your fingers as you grasped at it, pulling him closer. the kiss was eager, your teeth almost clashing as you let him lay you back. you were on fire, every nerve firing as his fingernails traced your body. he was fluid in his motions, never stopping to waste time undressing you. he simply pushed up your skirt, pulled down your top and began his attack. 

the tips of his canines traced along your breast before he wrapped his lips around your nipple. your eyes rolled back, a muffled whimper leaving your lips. his fingers traced up your thigh, dipping into the lace of your underwear meeting the warmth of your cunt. he tugged the lace down. he bathed in the desperation pouring from you, into him. your blood rushing, your heart pumping, the ache of his cock it was all too much. 

you were finally able to recover from his attack, pushing him back you ghosted your lips over him. “you’re being greedy.”

lestats face shifted, the blue of his eyes pooling with desire and devotion for you; to you. you let your body grind slowly over his, before moving to pop the buttons on his pants. you went to push them down when you caught a glimpse of lace, your breath caught in your throat. “are those mine?” you stopped your movements, mouth agape.

he was silent for a moment, “do you like them?” his fingers finding their way back to you, significantly wetter than before. “oh you do.” his cocky attitude returned.

it was your turn to be speechless. lucky for you actions speak louder than words. you pushed yourself back down, going farther and further until you were met with the lace of your-his underwear. with intent, you slipped the lace of the thong aside and pressed a kiss to the tip. you made a show out of spitting on it, before licking and repeating. lestat had fallen limp against the couch, eyes half lidded as he tangled his hands in the length of your hair. you took him to the back of your throat before moaning and beginning to move.

you released him from your mouth before trailing kisses around his balls, kissing the skin of his perineum and back up to his tip. he was trembling, completely lost in the way you played his body, the way louis had taught you. the thought of louis almost made you stop-almost. as you took lestat back to your throat, the squelch of him fucking your mouth combined with the whimpering leaving his lips filled the room.

you swallowed against him, trying to control your salvia that had leaked past your lips and covered his thighs and the sofa. he pulled you back, eyes staring before you went to continue. “my love, i need you.”

you nodded, rising to your feet. he pulled your skirt off, and ripped the last few buttons of your blouse before pulling you down. “it’s yours-take it.” he said, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. “i love you. i love you.”

you were trembling as you lowered yourself against him, sliding down onto him perfectly. almost as perfect as louis. your mouth fell open, eyes glazed over as you lowered and raised yourself over and over. you’d lost any sense of time, any semblance of control. you weren’t sure when your climax hit, just that it knocked the wind out of you. you rested your forehead against lestat’s trying to catch your breath.