The Things We Do for Lust

~1900 words :: Vampire Chronicles :: Louis/Lestat :: 10/31/02
It’s Halloween and Lestat knows just what he wants Louis to wear. (Note: This is a sequel to Backstreet’s Back Alright.)


October thirtieth. The night before Halloween. Time to put my little plan into action.

“Louis! Louis, where are you?”

“Same place I was five minutes ago when you last asked, Lestat.” His voice drifts down from the bedroom. Still reading, then. Well, I’ll put a stop to that soon enough.

Bounding up the stairs, I throw myself across the room, landing on top of him on the bed. There’s a sound of splintering wood and it collapses under the force of my landing. “Aagh,” Louis says, seeming a bit the worse for wear himself.

He pushes me off and stands up, picking up his book and muttering under his breath. Looking down at me, he gives this big dramatic sigh and says, “What on earth prompted that, Lestat?”

“Tomorrow is Halloween.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Follow me, eh? Eh?” I spring up and start nudging him in the ribs, a la Eric Idle and he does crack a smile at that. This is the man, after all, who balks at spending a single penny on new clothes, but blithely dropped a couple hundred dollars on the Monty Python DVD box set. Anyway.

“So what does Halloween have to do with trashing the bed?”

“It’s not as if I meant to do that. Anyway, I’ve decided we’re going to dress up.”

“You’ve decided?”

“Yes, and I have the perfect costume for you.”


Yesterday. 10:00 PM. Marius’ house.

“What do you mean you don’t have that costume anymore? You’d better get me another one by Halloween, or you’ll regret it, the both of you. I still have those photos and I’m not afraid to use them.”

“Lestat. Lestat, just calm down,” David pled. “I’m sure we can find another one just like it. We’ll have it delivered to the flat tomorrow night.”


The doorbell rings.

“That would be your costume,” I tell Louis, who is looking at me with just the right amount of trepidation.

“No, it wouldn’t, because I’m not dressing up.” And with that, he heads downstairs, only instead of answering the door, he goes and gets himself comfortable in the living room and starts reading again.

“Louis, you’re not being any fun.” And here I will admit there was a bit of a whine to my voice when I said that. Very annoying. I want to sound authoritative, not whiney.

So I answer the door, taking the box from the delivery guy and deliberately not tipping him, because if Marius and David had just had the costume in the first place then there wouldn’t have been all this trouble and there would have been no delivery boy. Thus, not my problem.

Taking the box into the living room and setting it on the couch, I try for a firmer tone. “You’re wearing this costume, Louis, whether you like it or not.” There, I said it.

He just looks at me with one eyebrow raised in a look that says ‘do you really want to play these power games, Lestat, because I can if that’s what you really want and we’ll just see at the end of the night/week/month/year who’s giving orders to whom.’

And yeah, he can say a lot with a look.

“Come on, Louis.” Ew, there’s that whine again. Damn it. “I’ll be dressing up, too.”

“As what?”

“I was thinking of dying my hair black and going as Stuart Townsend’s Lestat.”

He gives me this look that somehow manages to convey disgust, bewilderment, and doubt for my sanity. And he still looks hot doing so.

“Lestat, you don’t look anything like him.”

“So?”

I see the ‘it’s pointless, so rather than argue with you, I’m just going to ignore that last comment’ look flit across his face before he continues.

“Besides, I don’t know what you want me to dress up as, but whatever it is, you don’t have a chance in hell of getting me to wear it unless you come up with something better for yourself.”

So it had gone from ‘I’m not wearing it’ to ‘I’ll see what you’re wearing and then maybe.’ This just might work after all. Not that I’d had any doubts that it would, of course.

“What do you think I should dress as?” Hell, this could actually be fun.

His eyes rake me up and down, giving me a sort of shivery, weak-in-the-knees feeling. I can almost see the wheels turning in his mind.

“Show me my costume. I’ll make my decision from there.”

I open the box and lay everything out on the table. Blue skirt, white blouse, black bodice, and of course the flowing red-hooded cape.

He gets up and walks around the table, fingering the material with a thoughtful look on his face. I try to contain my excitement. He’s actually considering it. Seriously considering it!

And then he stops and looks up at me and says, I swear, totally straight-faced, “Britney Spears.”


Later that same night. Breaking and entering.

“Excuse me?” And realize this is probably the fiftieth time I’ve said that since Louis dropped his little bomb on me.

“Lestat, either help me or go sit down. Don’t just stand there like an idiot,” he says as he browses the racks, pulling out items here and there and holding them up against me. He pulls out another red plaid skirt and eyes me thoughtfully before putting it back on the rack.

“I’m just not getting where this came from all of a sudden.”

“You asked me what I thought you should dress as and, based on the degree of humiliation involved in my dressing as Red Riding Hood – did you get that from Marius, by the way?” I shake my head and he continues. “Based on that and other contributing factors, I’ve decided that your look will be classic naughty Catholic school girl chic.”

Bizarre. The man is bizarre. Seriously, I didn’t even think he knew who Britney Spears was, much less how she’d dressed in one of her videos.

“Here, try this one on,” he says, thrusting a skirt at me.

We are in some sort of clothing store that sells school uniforms. I don’t even know how he found this place and I’m not going to ask. But here we are and it’s the middle of the night and he wants me to strip and try on a skirt. This is so not how I saw tonight going.

“Lestat, if you don’t want to do this, we can go home and forget the whole thing ever happened.”

Oh no you don’t. I’m not falling for your little tricks, Pointe du Lac! I glare at his back and shuck off my jeans. Taking off my shirt, I toss that aside, too.

The skirt fits – Louis has an eye for these things – but there’s a problem. A rather large problem, if I do say so myself.

He turns around and eyes me critically. “We’ll have to do something about that bulge later. Tape you down or something.” I wince. “The length is good, though.” I snort and he says, “The length of the skirt, Lestat. Can you find it in yourself to keep your mind out of the gutter for just a few minutes here? Anyway, as I was saying, you’re quite a bit taller than the average schoolgirl.”

I have a sneaking suspicion that he’s enjoying this way more than he’s letting on.

“This should do it.” He hands me a short-sleeved white blouse, which I put on. I start to button it, but he stops me and instead takes the ends and ties them together high on my stomach. Were I female, it would be quite revealing, but not obscenely so.

“Naughty enough for you?” I try to sound slick and sexy, but the way he’s looking at me makes my chest all tight and puts a hitch in my voice.

“Very naughty,” he says pressing me up against the wall and running his hand up my thigh. “I just might have to punish you.”

His fangs scrape across my neck before plunging into the throbbing vein.


Halloween. 5:30 PM. In bed with Louis.

Well, needless to say, we didn’t get anything else done last night after that. And actually, things got a bit…messy and we ended up having to pick out another set of clothes before we left the store. Oh well.

He shifts against me, not quite awake and not quite asleep, and makes a disappointed sounding noise when I extricate myself from his grasp and get up.

“Sorry, cher, but tempting as it may be, we can’t stay in bed any longer,” I say, bending down to kiss him. God he’s sexy when he first wakes up.

He sits up and stretches. “So you still want to go through with this?”

“Of course I do. Now come on, let’s get dressed.”

As I head downstairs to get the costumes, he calls out rather cheerfully, “Don’t forget to shave your legs!”


Three hours later.

Having been shaved up, taped down, and generally run through the ringer, I have come to the conclusion that my dear Louis has a distinct sadistic streak in him.

His costume, of course, requires none of this. But oh God, was I right about him looking sexy in that getup.

“Now what?”

“Huh?”

“We’re dressed up. Now what do we do?”

“Oh, I figured we could take a little walk around town. Pop in some of the clubs, maybe crash a party or two. Whatever.” The truth is, I didn’t really have any plans. I just figured Halloween was an excuse to get him into that outfit.

Ah, the looks he gives me.

“All right, then, let’s get it over with.”

As we wander through the city the looks we get range from admiring to horrified, and several disgusted mothers have clamped hands over their children’s eyes as they passed.

We’re just leaving a club when I spot a couple of disturbingly familiar figures.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?” I drawl.

There is a rather awkward silence and then Armand says, “Say it, Daniel. And act like you mean it this time.”

“In the name of the moon, I punish you!”

I believe I’ve mentioned before my views on grown men dressing as Sailor Moon?

Poor Daniel looks like he’s been through as much as I have and for much the same reasons. He’s got on that modified Japanese sailor-style school uniform, the skirt of which hits just a couple inches below his ass, and a wig with those long, flowing ponytails. Not to mention the crescent moon shaped wand he has pointed at us.

The look on his face is the same one I saw on my own when I looked in the mirror earlier. Suddenly everything falls into place.


Day before yesterday. 9:50 PM. Marius’ driveway.

“Danny, hey. Been to see Marius?”

“No time to talk now, sorry,” he said, shifting a shopping bag from one hand to the other. “Places to go, tailors to see. You know how it is.”


Tailors indeed. Because there was Armand, looking like some sort of fun house mirror reflection of my Louis.

“I take it you made the mistake of asking what it would take to get him to wear that?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

Daniel nods and, throwing an arm around my shoulder, whispers conspiratorially, “It was worth it, though.”

I laugh and clap him on the back. “You’re a man after my own heart, Danny. A man after my own heart.”