Breaking and Entering

~1000 words :: Vampire Chronicles :: Louis/Lestat :: 4/8/03
Lestat drags Louis out shopping, which involves a little breaking and entering, since the shops are all closed at this hour. (Note: This is the sequel to Riding in Cars with Boys and is the sixth and final fic in the Coming Back to Life series, a collection of stories set in a universe where Akasha doesn’t rise.)


I flip idly through the clothes rack, not really paying attention except to note vaguely that the shirts seem to get more and more outrageous as I go along. It’s the sort of stuff that has to be modeled to really be appreciated; here on the rack it just looks ridiculous.

“Tell me again why we couldn’t come while the store was actually open?”

“I was busy.”

“You were hanging halfway off the bed, watching TV upside-down and complaining of being bored. Surely you could do that any time?”

“Haha.”

He could have come earlier. Or for that matter, he could have called and asked the store to stay open later; he’ll spend enough to have made it worth their trouble, I’m sure. Besides, he’s the Vampire Lestat; what store wouldn’t want the publicity even if he only bought one or two items? But no, he’d rather break into a store after closing, take what he wants, and leave a pile of cash on the counter.

I humor him.

“So? How do I look?”

Gorgeous. Stunning. Impossibly sexy. I know the answer before I even turn around; when has he ever looked anything less? But on the tail of that thought comes the memory of him in Paris, broken in both body and spirit, and I wince.

I do turn around then – anything to get my mind off the road it’s heading down – and he is, indeed, gorgeous, stunning, and impossibly sexy. My brain can no longer follow the other, more painful train of thought as it has suddenly turned to mush.

He’s clad entirely in black. Black leather shorts that cling like a second skin and ride low on his hips, black fishnet stockings that end mid-thigh and are held up by garters, black boots covered in buckles and zippers, a tight black long-sleeved shirt that bares a good eight inches or so of skin, and, of all things, a black feather boa. It should look feminine; it should look ridiculous; it should look any number of things that it does not. Instead it looks…perfect.

He stands with one hip cocked, his thumb hooked into the waist of his shorts, pulling them down even further. His pose is relaxed, totally unselfconscious.

“Speechless, are we?”

I walk toward him slowly, stalking him. Reaching out, I grab the feather boa and pull him close. “You look amazing,” I breathe against his neck, running my tongue along the vein. His pulse betrays him; he’s not nearly as calm as he’d like me to think.

Sinking to my knees, I lay my head on his belly, feeling the flutter of his muscles. His fingers tangle in my hair as I caress his erection. The shorts were tight enough when he first put them on, now the leather is stretched tight and pulling at the seams.

“That can’t be comfortable,” I observe. “Maybe I can help.”

I undo the zippers on each side and push him back against the display table behind him. He shoves his shorts down and pulls me closer, moaning when I take him deep in my throat.

My fangs nick a vein and my mouth fills with his blood, a thick stream of it running down my chin and soaking into the collar of my shirt. I swallow, my throat contracting around his cock. His thighs tighten under my hands and I can feel how close he is to coming.

Suddenly there’s a sharp crack of breaking glass as the display table shatters under his grip and it’s only thanks to my unnaturally quick reflexes that I am able to pull back in time to avoid causing any major damage. Not that he wouldn’t heal anyway, but still, I feel more than slightly queasy at the thought.

The whole thing collapses into a disaster area of clothes and broken glass, with Lestat in the middle, tangled up in the feather boa, his shorts around his knees, bleeding profusely. I notice that the table’s metal frame is bent out of shape; he must have hit it when he fell.

“Fucking hell!” He struggles to stand up, but the shorts hamper his movements, making him even angrier. “God damn it, Louis, are you going to help me up or not?”

I do, and spend the next ten minutes extracting pieces of glass from his ass and the backs of his legs while he picks slivers out of his palms.

Once we’re done, he kicks angrily at the mess, muttering under his breath about never shopping here again, and stomps off toward the back exit. Opening it sets off the alarm, and I hurriedly grab a couple bags from behind the counter and stuff the bloodied shirts in, mopping up the floor with them while I’m at it.

“Why couldn’t you have used the window like we did to get in?”

“I don’t care. What’re you doing, anyway?” He stands in the doorway scowling, but at least he’s waiting for me.

“We can’t leave all this here. What if they take a sample of the blood to try to find the thieves and analyze it and find out it’s not human or something?” I’m babbling; the alarm is making me nervous.

“You watch too many science fiction movies.”

“It’s possible,” I insist.

I gather the clothes he came in and stuff them in another bag before finally following him out the door.

“Whatever,” he says as we get in the car. I’m nervously looking around for signs of the cops, but he seems totally unconcerned.

His outfit is almost completely ruined. I sigh. “Well, that was a waste.”

He grins. “Not at all. It was an adventure.” He looks over at me with a leer and adds, “Although I do believe we have some unfinished business.”