Work Text:
“I want to, you know,” Lestat says one day, spooning him in bed as they bask in the afterglow of their lovemaking.
“Want to what, honey?”
“Have a baby,” he explains, and Louis’ breath hitches. “I mean it. I think we’re ready this time.” Louis feels fuzzy all over. “I… I don’t think we would fuck it up. Comme avant…”
Louis rolls over so that their torsos are almost pressed together, bodily warmth filling the small space in between. He rubs comforting strokes down his arm, relishes in the way Lestat’s skin prickles under his touch.
“I want that too. Did you think I was doin’ a bit all those times I begged you to get me pregnant?”
Lestat pinkens, a blush dusting his cheeks, spreading to the tips of his ears. A shy smile creeps in.
“Non… Je ne sais pas,” he confesses. “I find it hard to believe, sometimes, that you would want such a permanent tie to me.”
And Louis can only look at him incredulously, because it’s unbelievable that Lestat still has insecurities about them, perhaps always will.
“It’s a lil late to be worryin’ about that, baby, you’re already an irreversible part of me,” — and it’s not empty reassurance, or a white lie, because Lestat is his maker, the father of his daughter, has a home in his heart that’s lifelong. “Even if you weren’t, I’d still wanna have your child. I wanna be bound to you in any way I can be. Want you to invent new ways for me to be close to you.”
Lestat’s eyes are clouded with mistiness, and Louis can’t help but kiss him, has given up not giving in to that desire. Lestat responds generously, before disconnecting their mouths with a firm hand to his chest.
“Alors, chérie… are we doing this?”
Louis is poised to confirm, but then something changes his mind.
“Well… we can’t.” He looks straight at him, a thumb on the sharp bone of his jaw, ready to soothe the blow. Lestat’s face crumbles, and Louis enjoys the corroboration that he would be as crushed by infertility as him.
“You mean — you do not think it is possible for two men? Parce que c'est différent pour les vampires, Louis, you know this—“
Louis silences him with a finger to his lips.
“We’re not having a baby ‘cause we ain’t legally married, love,” Louis retorts. “You didn’t think you were gonna get me knocked up out of wedlock, did you?”
He’s bluffing, really, but he won’t miss an opportunity to induce another proposal out of his husband. Doesn’t he deserve this, to be his in the eyes of the government, the courts, to be claimed as Lestat’s bride this time?
Lestat narrows his eyes, purses his lips a little.
“But we are spouses, non? Did we not exchange vows on the altar before God, chérie?”
“Hmm. So you sayin’ a sheet of paper scares you? You don’t think we’re overdue a renewal by now, Les?”
Lestat hops out of bed without a word, skips off to their walk-in wardrobe, before returning in a robe that resembles the one he wore their first night together, less tatty now, restored just like their relationship. He gets down on one knee and —
“Louis, sit up,” Lestat orders, and Louis does as he’s told, letting his legs hang off the bed, sinking his soles into the fluffy carpet. Lestat pushes away the small corner of duvet still covering him, zero concern for his modesty.
“Louis,” he says, planting dry, warm lips against the inside of his knee. He pulls a little velvet box out of his pocket and peels it open, revealing a silver band adorned with a pale blue stone.
“Louis, mon amour, please marry me properly. Allow the world to know I am devoted to you. S'il-vous-plaît. Will you?”
“Baby,” Louis responds in a wobbly voice, eyes pricking with tears. It’s the easiest yes he’s ever given, tied even, with the night Lestat offered him his hand in marriage and the Dark Gift.
“Of course I will. God, I love you,” — the words come easily nowadays, falling from his lips like honey.
His man slides the ring on his finger, tells him, “It’s a diamond. I thought — blue, like my eyes, and I had a matching one made in green. Pour moi.” He sits back on the bed and fishes out another box, toys with it in his hands.
Louis gently takes it from him and presents the ring inside; there’s a slight tremor in Lestat’s hand when he eases it onto his fourth finger. When he looks back up, blood tears are lining his lower lids and streaming down his cheeks. Louis licks them away, kissing a trail to his mouth, locking their lips gently.
“Louis, I… I don’t want to wait,” Lestat puffs out, and Louis is a little taken aback, has often guessed Lestat would want their wedding to be an extravagant affair that requires many months of planning.
“You don’t want a big ceremony?”
“It would only be a distraction. You are all that matters to me, my love.”
Louis feels his heart soar, crawls into his man’s lap and kisses him with all the force he can muster.
“You wanna do it now?” he suggests.
“Et demain,” Lestat counters, “just before sunrise. We will go to the church, exchange our vows,” he lowers his voice to a whisper, “and then I shall finally bed you as my lawfully wedded wife.”
Louis shivers, lets his man nudge him back down onto the mattress.
“Let me take care of the arrangements,” Lestat insists between kisses. “You just have to show up as your beautiful self.”
And Louis wants to look more beautiful than ever.
They don’t tell each other what they’re wearing, of course — bad luck and all. There’s also the small caveat that Louis’ outfit is living solely in his head.
So the next evening, when Lestat slips out of their coffin to hunt and make the necessary preparations, Louis stops by a lovely little boutique that’s been calling out to him for the longest time.
The shop assistant is kind and patient as he rummages through the rails, and as soon as he lays eyes on it, he knows that this will be the dress he marries his husband in. He feels a thumping in his chest as he swaps out his clothes for the gown, and the sight of his reflection only makes his heart race faster. He has never looked prettier.
The dress is floor-length — white, of course, or more like a crème, with its warmish undertones that complement his golden skin. It’s stunning in its simplicity, a slim-fitting slip that clings to his ass but drapes elegantly over his legs.
He forgoes a bra, the dipped sweetheart neckline already giving the illusion of a lady’s cleavage, loving the way that his nipples are visible through the silk. He decides against a veil; he would not be so cruel as to deprive Lestat of his visage, even for mere minutes.
The tailor makes some minor adjustments; they shorten the straps and take in a little fabric at the waist, but other than that, it’s flawless. Louis practices zipping himself up, ensuring that he can handle it on his own, and he’s hot from head to toe as he daydreams about Lestat working the zip in the opposite direction.
He’s fizzing with excitement as he leaves the store — he’s never worn a dress before that isn’t a nightgown, and though his wedding slip shares some similarity to those — the silkiness, the softness of the skirt — it’s different, undeniable in its formality. None of his sleep dresses ever hugged his curves or swept across the floor.
It’s a new experience, but one he can’t say he hasn’t thought about trying before.
Because he has, and did, more than he would ever admit to back when they lived on Rue Royale. He remembers feeling a pang inside when he'd seen Lestat in his Marie Antoinette drag, amidst the other chaos of the evening — one that he couldn’t explain, beyond identifying that it wasn’t hatred or disgust; something that he’s come to recognise now as envy, towards Lestat for feeling comfortable enough to dress like that, for having the freedom to do so publicly. Louis doubts that 1940s New Orleans would’ve embraced him in a corset and panniers.
Still, the wig and makeup he'd donned that night made him feel beautiful, and desired under Lestat’s gaze. Back then, that was enough.
It’s like an itch in his brain now, though, the idea of wearing a skirt or dress around the house, and also perhaps outside of it. He’s conflicted about it — about people that aren’t Lestat seeing him like this. It’s alluring, the thought that dressing like this is for his man’s eyes only, that he’s Lestat’s woman and nobody else’s.
To clear his mind, Louis hunts; knows he will need his energy for tonight, feels heat radiate through his chest as he imagines what Lestat has in store for him. He opts for a blood bag more often than not these days, but tonight he needs it straight from the source, drains some wrongdoer the world would be better off without.
He'd agreed with Lestat to meet at the venue later, both believing that the day of separation would make their union all the more sweet. And so Louis bides his time, checks in with Daniel, takes moments to reflect under the starry sky — on what this would’ve meant to his nineteenth-century self, and what it means to him now.
When he arrives home, Lestat is gone already, as planned, leaving him to get ready in peace. The process soothes him and accelerates his anticipation concurrently, and once he’s bathed and dressed, he wishes he could teleport, into the church and his man’s arms at once.
A car takes him to the chapel — the same one where he first married Lestat, where he was turned, transformed. He lingers outside, waiting for the clock to strike the hour, signalling the time has come.
He lifts his gown up the steps, careful to not let it drag on the ground. He can’t resist cracking the door open and taking a peek inside, and Lestat will surely know he’s here by now, will be able to hear his throbbing heart and the way it stutters at the sight of him.
His man looks divine — dressed in a black three-piece suit, his hair hanging in smooth waves, primed for fingers to comb through it. He’s wringing his hands and chewing on his lip a little as he stares at the floor, and Louis has to get to him immediately, tell him there’s nothing to be nervous about.
The heavy door squeaks as Louis hauls it open, and the whole wedding party turns to him — the officiator, the organ player, the witnesses no doubt plucked off the street, and — Lestat.
Lestat is dazed, mouth agape, and Louis can hear him panting from here, knows the dim light is obscuring his irrefutably hardening cock. Louis’ legs feel like jelly as he floats down the aisle, approaches the altar, before finally intertwining Lestat’s hand with his.
“Louis, you are… the most beautiful being on this earth,” he sighs happily. “This,” — his hand rests on his lower back, nails scratching pleasantly at the fabric of the dress — “is who you were always meant to be, ma chérie.
“Oh, you like it, then?” Louis quips, a small smile tugging on his lips.
“Putain de merde, Louis… you don’t know what you do to me.” Lestat grips his waist with a big paw, eyes darkening, and Louis can feel his hot breath warming his face. If only they were already married, Louis would lean over and kiss him senseless.
“I love it. I love you.”
“I’m so in love with you, Lestat,” Louis chokes out, clutching at his man’s chest. “And you look so fuckin’ good, I kinda want you to take me right here,” — because he can’t be expected to remember there are other people in the room when his man is gaping at him like that, can he?
Lestat’s breath catches, and the officiator clears her throat.
She delivers her lines, they exchange their vows — and they settled on the most traditional, the most good and right vows — and he hopes there is an afterlife, after all, so that his mother might see him now, saying these sacred, special words to his husband. The personalised promises of their love, the blood sharing — that will all come later, away from prying eyes, in the quiet dark of their coffin.
They trade their bejewelled rings for plain silver bands, and the officiator pronounces them married — and yes, as husband and wife, because that’s what Louis feels, they decide what they are and it’s that. And he doesn’t care what it means that he loves it so, doesn’t care if there’s a hint of confusion, of judgement, in the faces and minds that surround them. Lestat will kill them all if they dare utter a word.
Paperwork is signed, and then Lestat is scooping him up, carrying him home as he wraps his arms around his husband’s neck; he doesn’t set him down until they reach their marital bed.
Louis is laid on his back, Lestat raking his eyes over him, panting heavily — and Louis’ fairly sure it’s not from supporting his weight all the way here. Louis pulls at his tie so he’s flush against him, fixes his lips with a kiss.
Lestat reclines back to remove his suit jacket, and Louis’ cock swells under his starving gaze. It tents the fabric of his slinky dress; Lestat notices and groans, lowers himself to press a kiss to his erection.
Hurriedly, Lestat shoves the dress up around his waist, unveiling the completely translucent lace of his white panties, his dick bobbing underneath and so plain to see, and then — Lestat’s face is contorting in ecstasy as he shakes and moans, low and loud and unrestrained.
Louis props himself up on his elbows.
“Did you just—”
“Yes — fuck, Louis, you just look so — I couldn’t contain it, darling, you’re too much. Désolé.”
“Tha’ won’t get a baby in me, Les,” Louis teases, and Lestat’s face crumples, anguished. He presses a hand against the front of his man’s wet pants — can’t see the wetness, but he can certainly feel it, can also feel the way his cock sits soft under his palm, and he’s proud, because he did that, his beauty brought his man to the brink of uncontrollable pleasure.
“Let’s get you out of these sticky clothes, baby,” Louis purrs, and Lestat looks on with wet eyes as he lets him take the lead, looking utterly wrecked and spent. Louis kisses him languidly as he unbuttons the vest; the shirt is next to go, and Louis marvels at his smooth, sculpted chest.
“My strong man,” he says, no irony to it, squeezing his bicep. He helps him slither out of his slacks, uncovering his cock, flaccid and glittering with cum. Louis leans down to lick it clean, sucking the salty semen off his pubes, swirling his tongue along his streaky, runny cock.
He feels it jolt against his lips, a resurgence of interest, and he closes a hand around it, too thick for his fingertips to meet. Lestat hums; Louis starts pumping him, and he’s soon refilling with blood under his touch. Louis’ eyes widen, knows he needs to feel those bulging veins scraping his insides, dragging at the soft flesh.
“God, it’s so…” he trails off as Lestat’s cock spasms in his hand. “It’s gorgeous. It’s so big, I… Lestat…”
Lestat smirks, clearly recovered from his outburst, and Louis adores him like this, affectionate and a little mean.
“And it’ll be inside you, soon,” he declares, like that’s just the way things have to be, because it is. “Our marriage is nothing if not consummated, n’est-ce pas?”
Louis whimpers as Lestat lays him down, spine against the sheets, head supported by the plush pillows, squirms as Lestat kisses up his body, dress still bunched around his middle. A strap sags down his shoulder, exposing a nipple, and Lestat latches onto it, sucking as he massages his other tit through the dress.
“Your breasts look so pretty in this, chérie,” — his lips are so deliciously shiny and red, the little divot in the centre of his bottom lip so deep and pronounced. Lestat dribbles into Louis’ mouth, gliding their tongues together, and Louis moans thickly, feeling the saliva pool in his throat.
“Les plus belles lèvres,” Lestat murmurs, placing his thumb to his mouth, hooking it inside. He presses into his tongue before pushing it into his inner cheek, making it bulge like it does when he swallows around Lestat’s cock. When he ejects it, he wipes the spit over Louis’ lips and kisses him again, slurping almost.
“Need to get you nice and wet for my cock,” Lestat snarls, before crawling in between his legs, opening them up like a gift, and it’s apt, really, because this part of him is Lestat’s, belongs to him as much as any present he’s ever given him.
Lestat yanks his panties to one side and starts drooling onto his hole. Tears run down Louis’ face as Lestat’s tongue laps at his rim, alternates between licking and sucking and spitting on the sensitive area, tugging on the hairs with his teeth.
“Your pussy’s soaking, sweetheart, you won’t need lube tonight,” he says, then resumes slobbering over his cunt.
“Only need you, d-daddy,” Louis sobs, and his husband rewards him with two fingers. He squeezes around them tightly, feeling the stretch but needing more, craving Lestat’s cock spearing him open, splitting him in half and stitching him back together again with how whole it makes him feel.
When Lestat pulls out, Louis shifts, moving to lie on his stomach, wanting to present his needy, hungry pussy, have the chandelier shining down on it, making him glisten in the light, proving how ready he is for his man's cock. Lestat stops him, though, holding him in place, glued to the mattress.
“Please, I want you in missionary for our first time. My darling wife. Oui?” he asks, and Louis can’t argue with that. Lestat severs him with a third thick finger, and Louis keens, eyes drifting shut as he bucks his hips, arches his back, wanting him trapped between his legs for good.
“You’re the sloppiest virgin I’ve ever seen, ma douce fille,” Lestat praises. “You’re aching for it, desperate to be defiled. C'est magnifique.”
“I need it. Please, fuck me already, Les.”
“Shh. Do not worry, Louis, your husband will take care of you. He always knows what you need, doesn’t he?” his man coos. Louis nods furiously, fingers still thrusting into his pussy but deliberately avoiding his prostate. Louis grinds down, dying to have him where he needs him, but Lestat won’t acquiesce to his demands.
“He does,” Louis whines, “always lookin’ after me. I’m so, so lucky, I — please, need your cock in me, Les.”
Lestat grunts in approval, grinning, a satisfaction that grows with every sinful admission.
“Very well. Only the best for ma femme on her wedding night,” he says, and he folds Louis in half, trapping his legs as he lines up with his hole and plunges his dick inside. “Gonna fuck all the thoughts out that pretty head of yours, princess.”
Louis releases a high moan as Lestat adjusts himself, bottoms out. Lestat groans at the tight fit, prompting Louis to only grip him firmer, walls clenching, heels digging into Lestat’s broad shoulders.
Louis shudders at the wet squelch of his husband thrusting in and out of him, working up a steady pace, repeating Lestat’s name over and over, curses and terms of endearment cascading from his man’s lips.
“Fuck — you feel so good, Louis, so tight and warm and wet and — ah,” he gasps, and Louis’ rolls his eyes back into his skull when Lestat finally angles his hips and starts battering his prostate.
“Voilà,” he preens. “Does that make your g-spot feel nice, darling?”
“Yeah, you finally found it,” Louis jests, and Lestat snaps, pounding into his cunt, relentless, only their moans and the sound of his balls smacking obscenely against his ass filling the room.
Louis tries to look away, terrified by the intensity of his own euphoria reflected in Lestat’s dilated pupils, horrified by the hold his man has over him. But Lestat clasps the slants of his cheekbones, refusing to let him break eye contact.
“Face me, chérie,” he commands. “I want you to see what you do to me. Tu jouis… c’est la plus belle chose au monde. Be a good girl and come for daddy, Lou.”
Louis surrenders, and he sees stars, screaming for Lestat, convulsing as he climaxes. Lestat trembles and spurts inside him, hot cum flooding his hole. Lestat slides out and sits up, hoisting Louis onto his thigh, cum seeping onto his leg.
“Look at how gorgeous you are, Louis. Mon joli ange,” he says, their mirrored images staring back at them. Louis barely recognises himself; his dress creased, skin dewy and bloodstained, lips kiss-bitten and swollen. He sighs as Lestat drops tiny kisses along his neck, nibbles at his earlobe. His cock stirs, poking at the silk of the dress.
“Mon dieu,” Lestat breathes. “Your lovely clit needs some attention.” He reaches under his gown and rips his panties off, dumping them on the floor — it’s a given that the dress stays on. He sneaks his hand back under the pooled material to start caressing his cock, snatches it out from under the folds of cloth so that Louis can observe in the mirror, the way that Lestat thumbs at the head of his dick, smears the drop of precum over his reddened tip.
“So sensitive,” he notes, as Louis flinches at the increasing pressure. Lestat’s cock is hard once again behind him, and Louis shivers, grinding back to trap it between their flush bodies, giving Lestat the friction he craves.
“Mhmm, you need it again, don’t you? Ma femme impatiente. Couldn’t even wait five minutes for my cock.” Louis gets on his knees before sinking himself onto Lestat’s dick, allowing himself to be guided by his husband’s hands on his waist.
He slips in comfortably, only a slight, brief sting, his pussy still loose and leaking.
“Need you to fuck all that cum back into my cunt,” Louis requests. “S’no use letting it out, baby.”
Lestat complies, begins bouncing him on his lap, and Louis mewls. Both straps fall from his shoulders, baring the perky, brown buds on his chest. Lestat moves one hand to squeeze his nipple as the other holds on to his waist, and Louis loves how his breasts jiggle slightly with the up and down motions.
“Je t’aime, darling,” Lestat presses a kiss to his shoulder. “Take what you want from me.”
Louis produces small cries as he continues to ride Lestat’s cock. It feels wonderful, gyrating on his dick, guaranteeing he grazes his prostate just the way he likes. His energy is dwindling, though, and he longs for his husband to take control, to surprise and delight him with every thrust of his cock, shocking him with how well he knows his body.
“Gettin’ tired,” Louis complains, slowing his hips and flopping against Lestat’s abs, eyes fluttering shut. “Please, take over for me. Make me feel good, daddy.”
“Bien sûr, ma princesse,” comes the reply, and nothing feels as right as this — Lestat, coaxing him onto all-fours, cupping his ass cheeks and spreading them apart, getting his hole as wide as he can. “I’ll never forget your plump ass in this tight dress, chérie,” Lestat admires, “just exquisite.”
He dives back in with his cock, and Louis is in heaven, submitting to his caring and greedy and possessive man, having no influence over the pleasure, the sheer bliss that overwhelms him, body and soul. He bends to his husband’s authority, willingly — happily.
“Fuck, Les — deeper, please,” he begs as Lestat slams into him. “Can feel my belly bulge, baby, you’re so big inside me.”
Louis’ senses are on fire, and he’s never felt more alive than right now, Lestat fucking him hard, filling him to the brim, so full he could burst.
“Make sure it takes, daddy,” he cries. “Get me nice and pregnant like you promised, want your baby in my tummy, daddy, need it, please—”
“Shhh,” Lestat hushes, “we’ll get you with child tonight, sweetheart. Putain, the most beautiful woman in the world to carry my children, c’est incroyable.”
“Yes — fuck, come in me, Les, all over my cervix, need it in my womb, please daddy.”
Lestat ejaculates, Louis’ name on his bruised lips; Louis lets go, succumbs — and he’s squirting onto his gown. He’s glad it’s not a rental.
The sensation of Lestat’s cock is replaced by the feeling of his precious cum, and then a plug, securing it in place.
“I did not let any escape, je jure.” Lestat climbs back up the bed, propping Louis up against the headboard and sitting opposite him. “You are going to conceive, Louis, I know it.”
“Hope so,” Louis feels his eyes well with tears. “Wanna raise a family with you so bad, Les.”
“Oui. You are my wife. You can have as many babies as you like, and they will all be perfect,” — his palm rubs his belly, before settling on his hammering ribcage — “just like you, Mrs de Lioncourt.”
A high-pitched, cracked whine breaks out of Louis, and Lestat stills him with the tender slotting of their lips together.
“It sounds so right, baby,” he confesses. “My husband. I’m yours. Have been since that first night at the Fair Play. I’ve gone decades without you, without this, and I ain’t going another second.”
“Je sais,” Lestat retorts, “and you never will. I love you, ma chérie. I would die a thousand times over if you decreed it.”
“Lucky for you, you’re little good to me dead.” Louis nips at his lips.
“C'est vrai. Who else can fuck you as I do?” Louis flushes at Lestat’s smug smile, and he’s so, so infuriating and Louis is obsessed with him, knows he will choose him forever.
Louis feels lightheaded as Lestat starts singing, a ballad he'd written for him but couldn’t bring to include on his album, unheard by the entire world but them. He leads him in a waltz, vulnerable in his nudity and Louis, equally laid bare in his gown, looking so delicate and... feminine, it frightens and thrills him all the same.
Lestat spins him in front of the mirror and cradles his chest, kissing whatever parts of him he can access, and then he’s sliding down his zip, slowly, exhaling hotly on the back of Louis’ neck, intimacy that makes him swoon.
Dress discarded, Lestat sweeps him off his feet and into the coffin. They lie chest to chest, Louis skimming his fingertips over Lestat’s shoulders, his waist, his jaw — just feeling every hard surface and sharp edge that make him, him. And Lestat, well — he grazes his ass, twiddles with and pushes at his plug, and Louis is so grateful to him, that he’s ensuring his cum stays safe inside.
Later, they will feed on one another until they feel faint, and fuck so hard they forget their own names. But for now, they’re content to just be, mari et femme, cloaked in each other’s loving arms.