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It had been an impulse on Louis’s part. A parcel of cosmetics had arrived at the Azalea for the girls, a bulk order from Bricks containing the new kind of lipsticks. The ones in metal canisters invented by Maruice Levy, no more little pots or paper tubes. Louis had found himself reaching out to touch the silvery casings of the lipsticks with a scraping feeling inside his chest. He’d slipped one into the breastpocket of his suit before passing the parcel off to Bricks to distribute as she saw fit.
Now he stood in front of the mirror at home, stripped down to his trousers and undershirt, his jacket and waistcoat abandoned on the bed.
Home. Strange, perhaps, to think of this as his home but it was. It had easily carved its way into his affections and into himself as Lestat had, he knew the smooth feel of the timber banisters under his hand, knew which stairs creaked, knew the way the music floated from Lestat’s piano under Lestat’s hands.
The lipstick in his hand felt heavy with the weight of all damning.
Louis slowly pushed up the tiny lever on the side of the tube, bringing the lipstick to the top of its casing. Louis had to steady his hand as he carefully applied it, opening his mouth and holding it just so as he smoothed the deep red over the red-brown of his lips. He wiped the edge of the right side with the tip of his pinky finger, tidying the line a little, before putting the tube down on the dresser. Louis pressed his lips together, a little uncertainly, then parted them open as he’d seen the girls do a thousand times.
Louis looked at himself in the mirror, tilting his head one way and then the other, heart beating traitorously fast in his chest. He liked it, liked how it looked. The deep red against his skin. It built in his chest, a feeling like an aching, his eyes pricking.
“Tu es très belle.”
Louis started, caught. Lestat was standing there in the doorway, having slipped in without a sound, his coming home was usually a commotion. Louis took an uncertain step back, scrambling for some half-explanation.
“Non, non, mon cher,” Lestat said urgently, stepping forward and seizing Louis’s face in his hands, “You look beautiful.”
Louis was trapped in place, feeling like he was on fire. Lestat gazed at him, eyes roving over his face and drinking him in hungrily, examining the effect closely. Lestat’s hands held him firmly, not letting Louis flinch away from the appraisal.
“Beautiful,” Lestat repeated.
Louis looked away to the ground, suddenly feeling unable to bear it, and Lestat tilted Louis’s head, forcing eye contact.
“We need to break this shame, no?”
“It’s not…” Louis tried to shrug away, Lestat’s hands coming down to his shoulders.
“All the beautiful things you are, was that not the promise?” Lestat said softly. “And this? It suits you very much.”
Louis felt himself soften in Lestat’s grip, looking at him. “Yeah?”
Lestat’s hand reached up, stroking the dimple of Louis’s chin. “Very pretty. My Louis is a vision.”
And Lestat took a step closer, closing any distance between them, his hardness pressing against Louis’s thigh as he breathed in Louis’s ear. “Do I need to show you how much I approve, mon cher? I can only imagine how pretty your lips would be wrapped around my cock like this.”
Louis made a choked sound of protest.
“Or you could cover me in kiss marks,” Lestat offered alternatively, nosing at Louis’s pulse point, “A kiss mark here, a bite mark there…”
Lestat’s fangs scraped over his neck, Louis shuddered, knees going a little weak.
“Didn’t put it on for you,” Louis pointed out half-heartedly.
Lestat laughed against his throat, drawing back to look at him. “No?”
Lestat tangled their hands together, and suddenly spun Louis easily, fluidly, having Louis facing the mirror again but with Lestat behind him. Louis melted into him, the strong lean line of his body inviting it so naturally. Lestat’s arms wound their way around his waist.
“This way you can see how pretty those lips are,” Lestat said in a low voice, “Parted in pleasure.”
Lestat’s hand slipped down inside the waistband of Louis’s trousers.
Louis closed his eyes.
“Open, Louis,” Lestat crooned.
Louis reluctantly opened them and Lestat wrapped his hand around Louis’s cock. Louis shuddered and Lestat’s other arm, still wrapped tight around him, held him steady in place as Lestat stroked.
“See? Beautiful,” Lestat praised.
Louis tried to shift into the movement, hindered by how much Lestat was keeping him pinned in place. Lestat was grinning, a wild kind of delight on his face with every tremble and movement that Louis made against him.
“Not too soon, mon cher,” Lestat warned.
Tears were leaking out of the corners of Louis’s eyes as Lestat brought him close, Lestat keeping him cruelly on the edge of it.
“Look at you,” Lestat murmured, “Your mouth… it drives me insane.”
Louis’s mouth was arched open, red with lipstick, his fangs descended and face flushed. Sweat was trickling down his face, was in the roots of his hair, his chest heaving for air.
“And you haven’t even kissed me with it yet, have you?” Lestat teased, slipping his hand free and bringing it up, wet with Louis’s bloody pre-cum, and trailed a finger over Louis’s lower lip. Pink on red.
Louis turned around and surged to meet Lestat’s mouth. Lestat kissed him, kissing his breath away, bringing him stumbling back towards the bed. Lestat’s hands were a flurry, divesting Louis of his trousers and helping Louis pull the undershirt up over his head. Smears of Louis’s lipstick were on Lestat’s mouth, red and shocking. Louis reached out and touched one. Lestat paused under his touch, eyes alight and knowing. Louis smiled and moved by giddy impulse, pressed a kiss to Lestat’s cheek, and then the other, and then Lestat’s jaw, leaving little claiming lipstains. Louis laughed, it bursting bright and unexpected from his chest.
“Anything else you want to claim?” Lestat asked, irritatingly smug and tracing Louis’s lips with the tip of his finger.
“I might need to reapply,” Louis said innocently, snaking off the bed.
Louis walked back to the mirror and could see Lestat undressing in the reflection. Louis pretended to not be paying undue attention as Lestat sat down naked on the bed, his back to the headboard, long legs sprawled out before him and hand loose around his thick cock.
Lestat watched him in the mirror as Louis reapplied the lipstick, hot liquid warmth pooling in Louis’s belly as Lestat’s gaze consumed him. It felt like a glow, walking back to the bed and crawling onto it, watching Lestat’s face as Louis settled between Lestat’s legs and wrapped his lips around the head of Lestat’s cock.
Louis sucked, gratified as Lestat swore violently, the sweet saltiness of the bloody precum thick on his tongue. Lestat’s hand twitched and grasped for him. Louis took him deeper, relishing the mess of lipstick he was leaving behind. Lestat swore again in French.
“Louis,” Lestat said his name with a low groan of frustration, claws digging into Louis’s shoulder.
Louis drew his tongue along the underside of Lestat’s cock as he slid off and sat up, resting back on his calves, on his knees. He felt a headrush from how Lestat was looking at him, utterly dazed.
Louis leaned forward and kissed him.
Lestat groaned into his mouth, grasping him closer and maneuvering him forward so he was straddling Lestat, the wet head of Lestat’s cock bumping against him. Louis heard a click and Lestat’s fingers teased lube at his hole. Louis raised on his knees, eyes fluttering shut, letting out a little gasp as Lestat’s fingers breached him.
“Ma belle,” Lestat breathed, “So tight.”
Lestat’s other hand came up to cradle his face, thumb drifting over Louis’s lips, and Louis opened his mouth, allowing him entry. Louis sucked on the digit, watching Lestat’s expression darken as he did so, as he rode Lestat’s fingers.
Louis kept his eyes on Lestat, sinking his fangs down into the skin of Lestat’s thumb in his mouth, sucking on the trickle of blood it produced. Lestat’s pupils blew out. Louis bit deeper. Lestat growled.
Louis was turned over and pinned to the bed in the instant. His hips up and his face pressed down in a pillow, which Louis was going to have to protest because that was going to stain the pillow… oh that was the point, of course, wasn’t it?
Louis would make Lestat buy him another pillowcase set later.
Lestat’s cock nudged at his hole. “Shall we make a mess of you, my love?”
Lestat gripped his hips with one hand, guiding himself in with the other, it knocking Louis’s breath out as always. The impossible eyewatering stretch of it. Louis breathed into the silk, trying to hold back the needy sound that wanted to escape. Lestat hummed in satisfaction, driving home with a final thrust. Louis moaned into the pillow, Lestat drawing back, and that heavy inexorable slide back to the hilt.
Lestat’s strong hands held his hips up, Louis feeling like he would be sinking deeper and deeper into the bed without that anchoring force.
“So sweet for me,” Lestat murmured, a hand smoothing down the arch of Louis’s back, “You always take it so well, mon cœur, made for me.”
Lestat kept whispering praise as he set an increasing pace. Each thrust felt so deep, Louis’s breath becoming gasps and his back arching. He was so close. Lestat pounded into him, faster, more urgent.
A full-body sob was wrenched from him as he came, shuddering and collapsing down into the bed. Louis felt the sudden terrible loss of Lestat sliding out.
Lestat’s hands turned him over gently. Louis looked up at him dazedly. Lestat smiled. “There you are.”
Louis wrapped his still shaking arms around Lestat’s shoulders and Lestat slid back inside.
“You look absolutely debauched,” Lestat whispered against the side of his face, his thrusts slow.
The pillow around Louis’s head was stained red with tears and lipstick, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know what his face looked like.
Lestat quickened his pace, the angle and depth became something perfect once again, bringing Louis unexpectedly back to the brink. Lestat groaned as he came, thrusting deep inside Louis, and Louis scratched down his back, holding on as one more orgasm shuddered through him. Lestat collapsed happily onto him, skin sticky with sweat, and let out a content sigh.
Louis’s breath slowly settled, his fingers playing at the nape of Lestat’s neck.
“All the beautiful things,” Louis said softly. Not quite a question. But something questioning and longing curling in his chest.
“All of them,” Lestat promised, rising up and stroking the side of his face, “Louis.”