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Her perfume clings to her like a layer of film. The red walls of the bedroom only increase the pounding in her head. She never did understand Lestat’s gaudy taste, but he insisted or rather demanded she stay with him when they reached Montreal and there was little she could say to refuse. She could use her distance from the band. Lestat cared for them, she could see that. He’d always been this way, giving pieces of himself to people without a second thought. Even when they’d given him no reason to.
He had given so much of himself to Louis and to their daughter. She could understand the allure. Louis with his enchanting green eyes, polite smiles and carefully placed touch of his hands on Lestat’s shoulder or thigh. She’d only heard of him through Lestat in a cracking voice and tears he knew better than to spill in her presence.
She’d briefly wondered if she was a substitute, a distraction when he couldn't have the real thing. He had called on her after every devastating blow delivered by his Saint Louis. She remembers his slit throat, hair matted with blood and shaking hands pawing at her when she stood before him. How he hadn’t been able to hunt and fed from her for days, how he tracked her every movement with his eyes as though she would disappear if he looked away for a minute. The first few days he slept in her coffin; he'd woken up with a jolt and had only calmed when he was in her, nose buried in her hair, inhaling the scent as he tried to regulate his breathing.
Eventually she hadn’t been able to take it, his suffocating need for her. She had kept up the performance for as long as she could, she never did feel guilty for the way she left him on the shores of Spain. She had told him in that dingy tavern, she had no intention of playing any of the parts that were thrust on her. And she’d broken that rule for him again, she had played his caretaker, his mother and lover. She did that often, made him an exception to the rules she’d constructed for herself. But she’d given up enough of her freedom for him by now. She left him the next night with another souvenir this time, a signet ring of gold stamped with her initial.
He had called on her again, after Paris. She hadn’t seen this side of him before. He’d spoken to her about Louis with a finality. His own attempted murder had been nothing compared to the devastation of losing his daughter. His Claudia. She never did understand his need for a child. He had to have seen the devastation each of her children had brought on her. Each son another brick in her prison, strengthening the walls that made her escape impossible.
She’d tried not to recoil as he laid his head on her lap, she never liked when he got like this with her, forcing her back into the shackles of motherhood, of having to pick up the pieces he’d shattered himself into. She remained silent as she ran her fingers through his tangled hair. He’d slid down to the floor with a kiss on her knees. She knew what he wanted, what he’d been too ashamed to put into words, what he knew she would give into every time he got like this. He undoes the button on her trousers with a familiar ease, she lifts her hips for him to slide it down her legs. And then he’s on his knees looking at her with a devotion saints reserve for their saviors. He tongues across her slit and lets his tongue glide across her folds. Her hips begin a languorous pace against his mouth as he moves closer to feel the molten heat of her on his tongue. He swirls his tongue against her once, twice, thrice and then he’s dipping inside her as she bucks into his mouth. He flicks his tongue against her clit as she tightens her hold on him and then he’s slowly easing two fingers into her. There’s something about his touch that grounds her, makes her feel whole in a terrifying way. A vulnerability that only he has ever been able to bring out. It’s why she runs away from him so often she thinks, he's the only one she’s ever truly let in. His hand grips her thigh tighter, holding her open. She’s gasping for breath as she feels the curl of his fingers in her, his tongue circles her swollen clit before he seals his lips around it and sucks it into his mouth, every stroke of his tongue against her feels electric, she feels him suck at her with an added pressure and then she’s groaning her release into his mouth. She comes for what feels like hours, until every part of her body feels boneless and she has to push his head away from her. He kisses his way up her body, her thighs, her navel, her neck, her lips. She sees her blood covering his lips and for a moment she’s brought back to the night he dragged her into his eternity. She brings her thumb to his lips wiping away the blood with a featherlight touch.
She pulls him up to the sofa and lies back against it, cradling his head to her chest, “Lestat, you must go on. Beat your hands against the wall until your flesh feels raw if you must but this cannot mark your end. Keep your grief over her alive, not your destruction”, she rasps.
“Will you stay this time? Or will you run away to scale a mountain again?”. There’s an edge of anger to his voice and she can’t decide if she should take it as a sign of life slowly returning to him or be peeved at his tone. She settles for the former. She says nothing as she grabs his hand and leads him to the bedroom, strips the rest of her clothes and settles back on the bed. He comes to rest against her from behind, his arm wrapping around her waist and nose buried in her neck. She can allow this, just for a while she will let him hold her this close even as she feels smothered by it. A week later she’s gone, with a silver chain on his nightstand for him to find when he awakens.
She’d come to him again in a dingy motel. He’d stuttered her name out as she sat on the bed near him. Nail slashing her finger, her blood healing him as it always had. He’d fallen asleep in her that night, warm from the bath she’d drawn him, sore from the hours they spent tangled in each other. This is how their reunions often began, his cloying need to be in her, the need to surround himself until all he could hear were her soft moans, all he could feel was her tightening around him and all he could breathe was her scent. Her blood flowing through him, her pleasure invading his every cell until he was consumed by her, when he couldn't tell where she ended and he began.
She couldn’t leave this time. Not in a matter of days at least. She would stay until she guided him through this, until he fulfilled what was owed to her. It’s why she forced herself to sit through every recording, every concert. Her mind drifts back to Louis again. The heated look he shared with Lestat at the concert.
She knows it isn't just jealousy at being the only able to hurt Lestat over and over again and still be loved by him,it’s the jealousy of knowing he places his validation in equation to hers if not above that bothers her. She’d seen Lestat’s own jealousy rear its ugly head when it came to her, how he refused to leave the table at the taverns they frequented when men would approach her, how he would try his hardest in bed to please her those nights, how he wouldn’t stop until her thighs shook around his head and her arousal would flood in his mouth. She’d felt his gaze on her as Daniel slid down next to her on the bus, felt it as they stepped out of it with Fareed. It was a sickness that infected them to their very bones, the need to know they had a piece of each other even while apart.
She doesn’t hear Lestat enter the room, doesn’t see him take off the last of his clothing, just feels the dip of the bed as he sits next to her. He says nothing for a while and then he’s slowly bringing her hand to his mouth, kissing each of her fingers in turn, “Thank you for staying with me. I needed this. Needed you”, he confesses softly.
She can give him this for a moment at least. Give a piece of her vulnerability she reserves only for him. She turns to him fully now, “As I need you” she says, and she knows she means it. She doesn’t just need him as her maker, she needs every part of him. Son and lover, and every other depraved thing they’ve always been to each other.
He inches closer, twists a piece of her hair around his finger and tucks it behind her ear. She places a light kiss on his forehead, his cheek and finally on his lips. He melts into her effortlessly, slides a hand behind her hair and tugs her closer. She rubs her thumb over his cheekbone and pulls him in, slides her tongue into his mouth and hears him moan against her, feels him trace her fangs with his tongue. They separate for air and she opens her mouth to speak, but he cuts her off, “Let me do this for you Ma- Gabriella please”.
There isn't a world in which she isn’t in control but the desperation in his eyes is a sign, one of those nights where he needs his sole focus to be on her pleasure. She nods slowly and he pulls her in by her arm to kiss her again, each kiss breathing new life into his lungs. He deepens the kiss, his hands trace the edge of her breast before dragging his hand down to loosen the tie of her robe. He pushes it off her shoulders and lays her down gently on the bed, climbs over her, his kisses travelling from her jaw to her shoulder, hands sliding down her thigh to hook her leg up his hip.
She slides her hand to the base of his cock and back up, stroking him, she aligns him at her entrance, “Now”, her voice is barely a whisper. He tightens his hold of her leg around his hip and thrusts into her gently. Slow at first and then he’s picking up a pace that he knows makes her eyes roll in pleasure. He presses into her further, she moans arching up from the bed as he bucks his hip into hers and she feels it, feels it as they fuse to become one being, as they always have been. His thrusts get rougher, his groans get louder and she feels her walls contracting around him. He stills for a moment and she doesn’t need the ability to read his mind to know what he’s thinking, she never has. He bends down to kiss her, soft at first until he hears her moan into it and then he’s licking into her mouth, groaning against her lips as he begins thrusting in her again. Her heels dig into his back, she feels him move a little faster then, letting the pressure of her heel against him guide his pace. He’s rutting into her furiously, the bed slamming against the wall from the force of it. Her nails dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent-moon indentations in its wake and she hears him hiss at the pressure and pleasure of it. He rolls his hips and she feels a fire lick up her spine. His rhythm picks up again and she’s close, feels her muscles tightening, feels only an inch away from losing herself to the pleasure of it all and if his shaking is any indication, she knows he is too. That’s always been them, following each other in despair, eternity, bliss, in death. She rakes her nails across his back and he slams into her harder, drags his fingers down her body and circles her clit with a delicious pleasure and just like that she falls apart underneath him. He thrusts in thrice and he’s following her, groaning softly as his release paints her insides with a gruff shout of her name.
She looks up at him, gently moving a piece of his hair stuck to his forehead and she sees it then, the glint in his eyes and his matching smirk that tells her he’s not done. He slips out of her slowly, watches as the sticky mess he’s left between her legs drips down her thighs. He crawls down her body, kissing down her sternum, her navel, the crease of her thigh. His mouth finds her, wet with both of them and he flattens his tongue and slides it over her folds until her hips snap up from the mattress. He lets out a guttural moan against her, of all the blood he’s tasted in the last two centuries, the combined blood of them that flows out in between her legs has always been his favorite. His tongue circles her clit, sucking it into his mouth slowly, feels him tasting every drop from her. He will never own her, not wholly, will never possess as her as she does him but he will settle for this. He splays his hand across her lower belly as she tries to twitch away, her thighs clench around his head with a suffocating pressure. She feels it, when the pleasure starts morphing into pain, then he flicks his tongue against her clit and she chokes on her own moan, releasing into his mouth. He licks at her more softly this time, through the aftershocks until she stops shaking beneath him.
He presses a soft kiss to the inside of her right thigh, then another higher up and sinks his fangs into it. He pulls and drinks from her, as she runs her fingers across his head, nails scratching at his scalp, pulling his head closer to her thigh. He’s the only one she’s ever allowed to drink from her, the dull sting of his fangs brings a familiar heat that courses through her body, makes her feel a warmth towards him that she often tries to suppress. She pulls him up by his hair, digs her nails into his angular jaw and kisses him roughly, pushes her tongue into his mouth, feels his moan vibrate against her lips as she tastes her blood with the evidence of their combined release on his tongue. She pulls back and meets his eyes, his love and devoutness for her so clear in the blue eyes that match her own, “I love you”, he tells her breathlessly.
She doesn’t say anything in response, just reaches up to kiss him on his cheek and pulls his head down to rest on her chest, draws soothing circles on his back and allows him to fall into sleep against her. She may not be the only love in his life, not the only one his soul always calls out to, but it doesn't matter, not when they're like this. Not since he displanted the prayers he'd learnt at the monastery to a holier trinity, father, son and the holy spirit had been replaced with his own chant of fledgling, mother and lover.