Whatever It Takes

~800 words :: Vampire Chronicles :: Louis/Lestat :: 3/4/03
I hadn’t even been in the New World a week yet and here I was blithely contemplating something I’d thought I wouldn’t attempt for decades at the very least.


Even watching him felt like being a voyeur.

The way his lips parted when he spoke and the way his tongue flicked out to lick them, his mouth hanging ever so slightly open while he breathed. His long fingers on the cards and wrapped around the slender neck of a wine bottle. The way his hair hung loose about his face, now and again falling into his eyes, only to be brushed back impatiently. And his eyes, locked on me as if the other men at the table had ceased to exist.

Every movement was intensely sexual and yet somehow entirely uncalculated, almost as if he didn’t even realize the power he had over others.

I hadn’t even been in the New World a week yet and here I was blithely contemplating something I’d thought I wouldn’t attempt for decades at the very least. But he was beautiful and I knew from the moment I laid eyes on him that I had to have him. More than that, it was a compulsion. I couldn’t have turned aside from this path if I’d tried.

He was hypnotizing me.

I was watching him across the table in this crowded, smoke-filled tavern and I was imagining the taste of his blood, the heat of his cock inside me, the look of him when he was changed. I wondered what the blood would do to him. How could perfection be improved upon? But surely it would be, and he would be a god. He would be…mine.

In truth, I was thinking of him as if he were mine already, but it wasn’t only arrogance. I knew it. It was a great truth. An epiphany. And for an instant, when I looked at him, the universe made sense.

This was meant to happen.

And so I forced myself not to think about the other changes that might occur, about the distance that would come between us. I ignored the voice that slithered in between the cracks of my brain, the endless repetition of those hated words: “The Dark Trick never brings love, it brings only the silence.” But I was determined that this time would be different, and I was determined to keep him with me at all costs.

In the weeks that followed, I would realize that this was a rare night of lucidity for him, but at the time I was unaware of the depths of his depression, his headlong rush towards self-destruction.

But tonight his head was clear; he was drinking, but no more than the other men surrounding him, and a great deal less than some. He was quite impressive at cards, managing to win several hands in a row, though I knew full well only a small fraction of his attention was directed towards the game.

As for myself, I was quite shamelessly skimming the thoughts of the other players – all but his – so my own considerable winnings could not be similarly attributed to luck or skill. But what did that matter in the long run?

Hours later we were two shadows in the inky darkness of the alleyway that ran alongside the tavern. The moon was but a sliver of white in the sky, its faint light hardly noticeable. Not that we needed light.

His mouth was locked to mine as I pressed him up against the wall, my thigh between his legs, his hands fumbling urgently with the buttons on my breeches. He ran his tongue over my fangs, and if I’d expected some sort of reaction, I was disappointed. He didn’t care.

He had managed to free us both from the confines of our breeches by then and I moaned when he grabbed my aching cock. I returned the favor, loving the gasps and moans, his frantic urgings as I worked him hard. He stiffened, his hips jerking forward as he came. His grip slackened, his whole body going limp for a moment as he tried to catch his breath.

His heart was racing and it seemed I could hear the blood rushing through his veins. Unable to resist any longer, I drew my tongue down the smooth column of his neck, sinking my fangs into the pulsing artery. His grip tightened again as I thrust into his hand, and it wasn’t long before the heady combination of his blood and his skilled fingers brought me to climax.

I sank against him, resting my head on his shoulder. Now it was my turn to catch my breath.

He brought his hand up, examining his sticky fingers in the almost non-existent moonlight before slowly licking them clean.

“Blood,” he said, seemingly unshakable.

“Yes.”

There was a pause, and I waited for him to say something else, but he just proceeded to straighten himself up.

I followed suit. “You don’t have any other questions?”

“Should I?”

When I didn’t answer, he said, “It doesn’t matter, any of it.”

And I thought again that I would do whatever it takes to keep him with me.