"Yeah, 'oh', so if I fumble anything just. Tell me."
He is sexually attracted to men, he's had a lot of sex with a lot of men, and he still considers himself straight, because—
Because. Wrapped up in the behaviors he was supposed to have left behind, and so he left that there there too instead of the harder thing, and took all his feelings of repression and survivor's guilt out on a book, because what else does a writer do. He's had sex with men since, and in non-transactional contexts, but those, too, are painted in shades he might not be entirely proud of. Infidelity, lies, abandonment.
"I guess we all tell ourselves things."
How did Louis phrase it. A lie he told himself about himself, and Daniel looked at him and said it was just about drugs, so. He's out of practice, airport handjob jokes aside.
Louis' fingers curl in Daniel's hair, thumbs across his temple. Touching to touch, watching Daniel say these things. Understanding them better now, with all the pieces of San Francisco, with his own past brought into clearer focus.
How Louis had swaggered into bars and picked up young men and called himself queer, but somewhere deep in his body for a very long time had felt shame. Sometimes still feels shame.
And Louis has lived many more years than Daniel.
"Is that still something you want to tell yourself?"
Even after Louis had stopped telling himself the lie, it took decades for the truth to come easy, settle without discomfort. Thinks less of Daniel's warning against fumbles and more of Daniel's comfort, of what Daniel will want in the future.
As if it's so simple as this, navigating these identities between them.
He likes women, too, so he can get away with it. No matter that getting away with it sometimes felt worse than being celibate, and he's sure it contributed to the failure of his marriages. Dishonesty with oneself about intimacy tends to turn corrosive, even if there's never a need to challenge it. There was a bleak kind of relief hidden in the betrayal of his body. The issue was taken away from him entirely.
And now—
Now, he's still only fucked women, and he's got bigger things to be dishonest about. He just doesn't want to be dishonest with Louis. For some reason that's worse. (If Alice could kill him with her mind she would.)
"Not right now."
Maybe later. He can't silence a lifelong habit overnight, and he'll probably grapple with it. But not now. He touches Louis' face, looks at him in wonder. In awe. Even though he's still a nerd who can't give him a straight (hah) answer, the reticent vampire. Daniel wants to be here. Now. With him.
Easy. Louis knows who he is. He can let Daniel wind his way towards that knowledge in his own time, so long as Daniel doesn't stop touching him, reaching for him, wanting him.
And then Louis' weight shifts, a sinuous arch of movement up to brush a kiss to Daniel's mouth. Suppresses the urge to bite him, to lick into his mouth, to be too hungry too much too overwhelming even if the traces of that desperation live in his body, telltale for someone who knows where to look.
"Will you still take me to a terrible movie?" is a real request, even if it a little like deliberately pressing down onto a wound. This memory Armand took. The way it had felt to kiss him, that first time. The way Daniel had looked at him, the way Daniel had kept kissing him, over and over.
If Louis is telling the truth about all this, about wanting him, fifty years, the way he tastes— there's a dreamlike quality to it, even actual dreams and recovered memories aside. Fairytale shit, except there's blood drinking and monsters and extreme, shared trauma. The way he moves, the feeling of his kiss, it's all... fucking crazy, Louis is unreal, brilliant, weird, shining.
Daniel makes a sound like a laugh, sharp and bright. Wound or not, what a request. (Sometimes bruises feel good. It's the ache.)
"Still want to go on a bad date with me?"
Like, that's what it was, surely. Daniel lifts his head to press a kiss to Louis.
"Yeah. Yeah, let's find ... whatever, who cares what's playing."
Another kiss. Louis makes a soft sound into his mouth, subvocal encouragement. A revelation still, kissing Daniel. That Daniel leans up to kiss him, that they are here and have found their way to this.
It only took fifty years or so.
"I want to go everywhere with you," Louis tells him. A giddy kind of promise, aware of the potential unfurling ahead of them. Years and years to go where they like, anywhere Daniel has ever wished to see or visit. Years to do as they like, together. "Any kind of date, any place."
Louis has been laying low, out of sight. But who would ever look for Louis du Lac in a movie theater, seeing whatever Daniel chose for them?
And there is real appeal in distracting Daniel, even from a terrible movie.
Maddening, to kiss Louis. He thinks some trite thing, 'doesn't know how he kept it together in Dubai, in that stolen moment', but of course he knows, he was dying, it wasn't just that he wanted but couldn't follow through— he couldn't fully feel, so disconnected from himself he was, floating in a fog of chronic pain and medicated malaise.
But it's incredible. He feels better than every fantasy, and fuck, but there have been a lot. Even before, even in those fifty years, sometimes Daniel's attention would stray, and past the fear and panic of twisted memories he'd wonder.
"Louis du Lac, at Disneyland." More kissing, in between it. Daniel hitches one knee up to encourage Louis to settle on him. "Actually, I don't know how long Disneyland is open after dark. Might have to break in."
An inordinate amount of money would change hands in the process, but Louis would pay it.
Louis certainly has never been. Has no desire to go. Has no sense Daniel is serious in this proposal, but offers anyway: Louis would engage in Disneyland, if Daniel had real desire to go.
Breath gone shallow, fingers tightening and loosening in Daniel's hair as Louis settles into the cradle of his hips. Kissing him and kissing him and kissing him, a restless rolling movement of his body down into Daniel's, eventually finding his way to, "I'd take you home."
Home, a concept in flux. Some sense of wavering, Louis' thoughts split between New Orleans and Dubai. Lestat. And Daniel, home is Daniel too.
What the fuck would they do at Disneyland. Put Louis in mouse ears, maybe.
No, quiet dark places, the back row of a movie theater, or a bar somewhere. Casino at a push. Beautiful outdoor scenery. Because Louis can go wherever the fuck he wants, doesn't need to arrange a car unless he wants one. Daniel has no romantic or even very interesting spots tucked away. Haunts only pedestrian places and temporary, liminal spaces, brief stops on all his investigations. Similar, now, to touring. Belongs nowhere. A Californian in New York, a shitty American in the world of the night.
His breath hitches. Louis' weight is good, grounding and inflaming at once. Intimacy is so different like this. Dead, it just feels better.
"Wherever you are works for me," he murmurs.
Home. Daniel doesn't know where he's going, either.
"With you," has nothing to do with location. "I'm going to be with you."
Wherever that might be. (Daniel has to finish the tour. Louis has to finish chasing ghosts.) Maybe Brooklyn. Maybe New Orleans. Maybe Daniel would never want to return to Dubai, given the givens.
A luxury, to decide together. To live together in dozens, hundreds of places. To find one that will be theirs.
Louis bites his lower lip, a nip of blunt human teeth, before Louis asks in a low murmur, "Will you tell me what you want?"
He could guess. He doesn't want to guess. Slotted together this way, hips to hips, chest to chest, nails scratching lightly along Daniel's scalp each time Louis' hand tightens in his hair, Daniel occupies all of Louis' attention. This is good. Kissing the breath from Daniel's mouth is good. Having him laid out beneath him on the bed is good.
In Dubai, Louis knows he had taken the deep intimacy of Daniel's hands on his body and his mouth under his as enough. It is enough now still, even as Louis' body trembles wanting more. Wanting to bite him all over. Wanting to clutch him closer, so close the boundaries between their skin blur.
And then, lower, voice fraying breathless as he says, "I would kiss you like this for hours. It doesn't need to be anything else tonight."
What would Daniel have done, fifty years ago. Scrambled to grab Louis' hand and run away with him into the dark, probably. It's still difficult to fathom, now, that he could be wanted this much, no matter that he's let go of the ledge and let himself wade into these waters, no matter that he can tell Louis is practically vibrating out of his skin for want of more.
He could laugh at himself. Since when are you so scared, Molloy. Just been a long time is all, he supposes. Not since somebody wanted to screw around. Since he gave a fuck about it. Since he really, truly wanted it. And not it, who. Speaking of who, he could also laugh at Louis, who says it doesn't need to be anything else when he feels like he's going to explode.
"Don't hold yourself back like that," he says, against Louis' mouth. Kissing him, touching him, winding himself up and up. "Not when I want you anyway and we both know I like it when it's too much."
Daniel's just bitching and prevaricating because that's what he does. Angles, even with himself, like a lunatic.
"Yes," falls out of Louis' mouth easy, a breath of an answer. Yes in a vibrant impression between their minds as Louis kisses him again. Let's Daniel feel it, the way want turns over in his belly, sparks scattering between them.
Some flicker of caution behind this immediate desire. Wanting to be good to Daniel. Take their time. Be careful with him, a real feat when Louis wants him this way.
Desire held in check for fifty years, known and unknown to Louis. Overwhelming now, finding it met and reflected back to him.
It had been the truth. Louis could do this for hours, torturing them this way. Kissing and kissing until they're both a shuddering mess. Louis wants to see Daniel flushed with the way they want each other, wants to take him all apart, let Daniel take him all apart.
They have time. Louis has to keep reminding himself of that. They have time for everything. Anything. All that they might desire from each other.
"Now?" asked like a private little joke, Louis' hips rolling down against Daniel slowly, deliberately. Fingers catching in his hair, mouth at his jaw. Offering. Assessing.
Yes makes him shiver, and press more kisses to Louis' mouth, artless but passionate. Louis rocks down and Daniel welcomes it, grabbing him to keep him there and close, shifting up to meet him. Still a marvel to do everything easily, painlessly; even before he got sick, the ordinary tiredness of age had made screwing around so tiring and awkward. More of a marvel, that they're both what they are— Daniel's fucked mortals, since, but not another vampire.
"Yeah, why, are you double booked or something?"
It's all in a rush, Daniel stumbling over the hurdles of disbelief and identity. But what if they wait and Louis changes his mind. Wakes up tomorrow after they've made out for hours, and realizes he's made a mistake. Shitty and opportunistic for Daniel to push forward now, greedy despite his nerves and insecurities, but, well, he is who he is.
"Yes," breathed back into Daniel's mouth. Louis bites yes along his jawline after, yes and yes and yes scraped along the high point of his throat. Likes how tightly they hold each other, the encouraging clutch of Daniel's hands as Louis moves into him.
Has to breathe a little laugh at himself, for the thought of delay. Wanting to go slowly while simultaneously wanting all of Daniel now, immediately, and then over and over again after.
"I want you," is corrected with a punctuating nip of teeth as Louis raises his head to look at Daniel. Grin, offer him something more, "I want you every way you can think of. More besides that. I been dreaming of it. You."
All this underscored with the insistent roll of his hips. Instructive. See, it's all true.
Intakes of breath as Louis bites him, doing something to him, there's a new part in his brain since transformation that says Yes more of that harder draw blood now, which is. Fucking weird, and fucking wild, and he thinks he likes it. A lot. Too much? More than bears inspecting, for now. Chill.
"Alright." Breathless as Louis moves against him. Daniel's hard by now, he's sure Louis can tell. Inhale, exhale. Repeats, just a little giddy, "Alright."
Daniel kisses him again and then shifts them once more, now that he's satisfied about feeling Louis' weight on him. Over him, so that he has leverage to push his hands beneath the other man's shirt, feel him as he kisses him, peels back fabric so he can taste his skin as it's exposed. If it's all true, he wants to feel it, taste it—
"Why do I want to bite you everywhere?" is asked with a laugh. Like, he can guess, but.
A hitched groan of sound as Daniel rolls them, already reaching to draw Daniel back to him. A sound that fractures into a laugh as Louis' thighs tighten around Daniel's hips, hand settling at the nape of his neck.
"We're vampires," Louis deadpans, even as he tries to parse out the question. Had he wanted to bite Lestat everywhere when he first saw him? Had it been he or Armand who sank fangs into the other first? Is it intrinsic in him, even if he had never been a vampire? Something innate, wanting someone so badly there is nothing else to do but sink teeth into them?
The way he wants Daniel now, wanting to keep biting him, even with blunt human teeth. Wanting to leave marks and bruises, to hear the sounds Daniel makes, taste him. Press his fingers down onto the marks tomorrow, make new ones when they fade.
Louis' nails scrape lightly along Daniel's nape. Arches up off the bed as Daniel strips off his shirt, drawing his face up to kiss again, and again.
"Gonna make you wait," he murmurs, a low promise. "Gonna make you wait until you're inside me before I let you get teeth in me."
All their bite marks and bruises will fade— except the ones already on Daniel's neck, grotesque impressions of Louis at his most violent, marked permanently. His, in that way, forever.
Again, again, again. Daniel paws all over him, down his chest, tasting the hollow of his throat and lower when he can pull back from kissing. Though it's difficult. He wants more of Louis, who is so fucking beautiful. Who feels like. Like he doesn't know. Can't describe it. Not like the humans he's hooked up with. There's some other quality to it, thrumming between them, an undercurrent to the fishhook of sensation that already links them, electric and magnetic.
"Jesus."
That thought—
Too good. Louis will be able to feel an echo of the flinch that goes through him, desire spilling over into telepathy, unable to be contained.
But.
"Some other time. I can't reliably stop."
This person I'm eating is dying will snap him out of it, but he's yet to get anywhere close to moderation. Hanging out with spiraling rock star Lestat hasn't helped. Excess, indulgence, insanity. No little drinks.
Words that echo in Louis, shared experience. Of being so unable to stop, hunger beyond anything a human experienced. Louis
A flicker of thought to Lestat, to Lestat and Daniel. Things Louis hasn't quite asked about being it feels invasive, prying where he shouldn't.
Daniel had offered, offered to let Louis drink from him, kiss him, keep him in whatever way they wind their way to. His skin burns everywhere Daniel puts his mouth, flushed fever warm under Daniel's hands, and it's overwhelming while simultaneously not being anything near enough.
Louis wanted him. Louis wanted him even when he could hardly remember Daniel.
"I'd let you," is familiar recklessness, is deep trust. Is Louis shivering in response to the flinch of thought that passes between them, feeling Daniel want him and wanting him all the more in return. Louis' fingers hooked beneath Daniel's jaw, tugging him insistently up to bite himself a kiss before Louis tells him, "I want you to. You won't hurt me."
Louis is capable of stopping him, if Daniel can't stop himself. There is blood enough in this building for Louis, for them both, if they go too far.
A thread between them. Not of maker and fledgling, but of their own weaving. Red, like blood, like the line on his laptop audio recorder. It stayed there, stitched and intact, even when they'd both forgotten most of it. Daniel thinks of how he always turned down scar revision. He thinks of Louis reading his books.
He tells his brain: Do not. But there's still a thought, one he's had before. That he's probably in love with Louis. What an idiot. Daniel knows better. And yet, and yet, and yet.
"We don't have to go completely off the edge of the cliff first thing," he says, fond and amused against Louis' mouth. Returning that bite, flat teeth. (Fangs ache to extend, with this talk. He resists.) "Just... let's just. See. If I still even know what I'm doing."
More kissing, he can't get enough of it. Tries not to think about what Louis' blood must taste like. Tastes his skin instead, and leaves a quick-fading hickey on his chest. Slides hands down, lifting off only briefly when he becomes away of how cold the metal of his watch is; takes it off, before palming over the front of Louis' trousers.
One of them should have some restraint. Louis should not be thinking so seriously about testing the limits of Daniel's.
But restraint is difficult. Surprisingly so for Louis, who has felt so little in the past eighty years. The way he wants Daniel is a breathless, consuming rush of a thing, wanting to give him everything, anything. All of it at once, an unshakeable awareness of two weeks measured against the promise of fifty years, a hundred years, two hundred years. Not enough time. There will never be enough.
"Tomorrow then," like a little joke. Ha, ha, waiting twenty-four hours to veer off the edge of a cliff together.
Polite, restless touches roaming across Daniel's shoulders, the nape of his neck, down his back. Curbing the impulse to strip off Daniel's clothing in turn, aware of some discomfort, some self-consciousness, and as loathe to tread over tender territory as Louis is impatient to touch him in turn.
Murmurs, offers, "We can go slow. Figure it out together."
It's not a hardship to linger here, trading kisses back and forth. Letting Daniel's weight bear him down into the mattress while Daniel touches him, while they breathe together, wind each other up to some unbearable height. As long as Daniel is here, as long as Louis is still kissing him, it's enough.
Daniel is at least partly a paradox, being good at restraint, and good at excess. He can wait to do cocaine. And then when he gets it, he does a fuckload of cocaine. Feels like that, now— he'll try to be the voice of reason, but if Louis convinces him, well. He really hasn't learned how to stop, and he knows Louis will taste so, so, so good.
So—
Not quite slow. But Daniel does balk, slightly, at the idea of pulling his own shirt off. Says he can leave it on, does not say why, but it's obvious why. He does not look the way sexually desirable people look, does not feel the way sexually desirable people feel. Louis is sweet enough to want him despite all that, and so Daniel is in no hurry to shove his face in it. Definitely in a hurry to bite the soft skin of Louis' belly, though, even with flat teeth that he makes sure are not elongating in any way.
With hands at the other man's waist, fingers digging beneath clothing— "Can I?"
Unbearable, the way Daniel bites him. It is just the same as Daniel's kisses laid to Louis' forehead, so near to something Louis wants. Something they both want. Daniel bites him and Louis' hips shift, restless, a shudder of unconscious reaction. Louis wants to kiss him again. Louis wants to pin Daniel down into the mattress and bite him everywhere. Louis wants to let Daniel do whatever he wants, give him anything he asks for.
It's overwhelming. Louis remains settled, propped up on one elbow to keep Daniel in his eyeline, only by some miracle of restraint. His heel nudges at Daniel's hip, a small, insistent point of contact as Daniel bites a bruises into his skin.
"Anything," Louis breathes. Says, "Yes," before Daniel can start in about the absence of direct answers.
Presses the word into Daniel's head as Louis sinks fingers into silver-white curls.
Louis has been under someone else's control for decades. Louis is here looking for stolen memories. They've stitching one together right now. Anything is hot and desperate, but what if anything doesn't mean anything. Daniel is going to keep asking.
But Louis also says Yes. And so Daniel undoes his trousers, pulls them down just enough, and mouths over the curve of his cock held in by underwear. If he had any grand ideas about taking his time and savoring this, though, they go out the window quick. He doesn't remember the last time he did this (yes he does, but it was cruel of him, and so he leaves it elsewhere - years, in any event). But he wants to, and not for altruistic reasons of giving Louis something worth it from fucking an old man. Just because he likes it. And wouldn't it be nice, if he's still good at it. Maybe he can get good at it again, if he's not.
His own arousal is so cranked it doesn't bear thinking about. If he pays attention to it he'll go insane. Instead: his mouth, on Louis' cock, thick fingers circling him, and seeing if giving head is like riding a bicycle after all.
A wreck of an exhale, Daniel's name fraying apart in Louis' mouth as Daniel makes good. As Daniel takes him in hand, as Louis' whole body twitches up under the heat of his mouth.
Remembers seeing this in Daniel's head fifty years ago, remembers saying no because more than anything he had wanted Daniel's attention, wanted his voice, wanted to talk to him while the recorder spun on the table between them.
Wants his voice now, absurdly.
His fingers tighten in Daniel's hair. Holds there too tightly, forcibly loosening his grip over and over and over, always sliding back. Some hindbrain need to keep hold of Daniel running away with him, the same urge that wants his teeth in every inch of Daniel's skin.
Maybe it should be embarrassing, how easy it is. How easy Louis is, for this. For Daniel. A thought that swims through his mind and finds no purchase at all, slides away as Louis' thighs flex tight around Daniel's shoulders. His heel has set into the small of Daniel's back, resting there as Louis' breath goes haywire.
"Just—"
Comes all apart in Louis' mouth. A pause, a breath. Some skimming link of his mind across the surface of Daniel's, unsteady impulse narrowly averted. Louis tries again: "That's good. You feel so good."
Selling his mouth as a kid was where he started— a complex internal cauldron, for a quick and easy act. He wanted drugs. He wanted attention. He wanted other men, carnally, with an intensity that frightened him. Daniel didn't have to be anything if he was just selling it. Everything was about the payoff, and so his enjoyment was a private thing, something he thought was stealthy and unseen, though in retrospect he knows just how tragically obvious he was.
Now, he doesn't have to try and hide anything. He can just like it. And he does. Likes even more that it's Louis, finally. He gets to taste him and feel him, the softest, most delicate skin, where sweat and scent pools the most profoundly, finding shapes to press into the eager heat of his own mouth.
Daniel's hands don't shake anymore. He can touch him without fear of losing control of his motor skills, he can hold and stroke him, and run his thumb over the head of Louis' cock when he pulls back. Breathless, even though he doesn't strictly need to breathe. It all just feels good.
"I felt you against my mind," he says. "We can. Will you show me how?"
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He is sexually attracted to men, he's had a lot of sex with a lot of men, and he still considers himself straight, because—
Because. Wrapped up in the behaviors he was supposed to have left behind, and so he left that there there too instead of the harder thing, and took all his feelings of repression and survivor's guilt out on a book, because what else does a writer do. He's had sex with men since, and in non-transactional contexts, but those, too, are painted in shades he might not be entirely proud of. Infidelity, lies, abandonment.
"I guess we all tell ourselves things."
How did Louis phrase it. A lie he told himself about himself, and Daniel looked at him and said it was just about drugs, so. He's out of practice, airport handjob jokes aside.
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How Louis had swaggered into bars and picked up young men and called himself queer, but somewhere deep in his body for a very long time had felt shame. Sometimes still feels shame.
And Louis has lived many more years than Daniel.
"Is that still something you want to tell yourself?"
Even after Louis had stopped telling himself the lie, it took decades for the truth to come easy, settle without discomfort. Thinks less of Daniel's warning against fumbles and more of Daniel's comfort, of what Daniel will want in the future.
As if it's so simple as this, navigating these identities between them.
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And now—
Now, he's still only fucked women, and he's got bigger things to be dishonest about. He just doesn't want to be dishonest with Louis. For some reason that's worse. (If Alice could kill him with her mind she would.)
"Not right now."
Maybe later. He can't silence a lifelong habit overnight, and he'll probably grapple with it. But not now. He touches Louis' face, looks at him in wonder. In awe. Even though he's still a nerd who can't give him a straight (hah) answer, the reticent vampire. Daniel wants to be here. Now. With him.
"Is that okay?"
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Easy. Louis knows who he is. He can let Daniel wind his way towards that knowledge in his own time, so long as Daniel doesn't stop touching him, reaching for him, wanting him.
And then Louis' weight shifts, a sinuous arch of movement up to brush a kiss to Daniel's mouth. Suppresses the urge to bite him, to lick into his mouth, to be too hungry too much too overwhelming even if the traces of that desperation live in his body, telltale for someone who knows where to look.
"Will you still take me to a terrible movie?" is a real request, even if it a little like deliberately pressing down onto a wound. This memory Armand took. The way it had felt to kiss him, that first time. The way Daniel had looked at him, the way Daniel had kept kissing him, over and over.
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Daniel makes a sound like a laugh, sharp and bright. Wound or not, what a request. (Sometimes bruises feel good. It's the ache.)
"Still want to go on a bad date with me?"
Like, that's what it was, surely. Daniel lifts his head to press a kiss to Louis.
"Yeah. Yeah, let's find ... whatever, who cares what's playing."
It's 2023, there is nothing.
no subject
It only took fifty years or so.
"I want to go everywhere with you," Louis tells him. A giddy kind of promise, aware of the potential unfurling ahead of them. Years and years to go where they like, anywhere Daniel has ever wished to see or visit. Years to do as they like, together. "Any kind of date, any place."
Louis has been laying low, out of sight. But who would ever look for Louis du Lac in a movie theater, seeing whatever Daniel chose for them?
And there is real appeal in distracting Daniel, even from a terrible movie.
no subject
But it's incredible. He feels better than every fantasy, and fuck, but there have been a lot. Even before, even in those fifty years, sometimes Daniel's attention would stray, and past the fear and panic of twisted memories he'd wonder.
"Louis du Lac, at Disneyland." More kissing, in between it. Daniel hitches one knee up to encourage Louis to settle on him. "Actually, I don't know how long Disneyland is open after dark. Might have to break in."
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An inordinate amount of money would change hands in the process, but Louis would pay it.
Louis certainly has never been. Has no desire to go. Has no sense Daniel is serious in this proposal, but offers anyway: Louis would engage in Disneyland, if Daniel had real desire to go.
Breath gone shallow, fingers tightening and loosening in Daniel's hair as Louis settles into the cradle of his hips. Kissing him and kissing him and kissing him, a restless rolling movement of his body down into Daniel's, eventually finding his way to, "I'd take you home."
Home, a concept in flux. Some sense of wavering, Louis' thoughts split between New Orleans and Dubai. Lestat. And Daniel, home is Daniel too.
no subject
No, quiet dark places, the back row of a movie theater, or a bar somewhere. Casino at a push. Beautiful outdoor scenery. Because Louis can go wherever the fuck he wants, doesn't need to arrange a car unless he wants one. Daniel has no romantic or even very interesting spots tucked away. Haunts only pedestrian places and temporary, liminal spaces, brief stops on all his investigations. Similar, now, to touring. Belongs nowhere. A Californian in New York, a shitty American in the world of the night.
His breath hitches. Louis' weight is good, grounding and inflaming at once. Intimacy is so different like this. Dead, it just feels better.
"Wherever you are works for me," he murmurs.
Home. Daniel doesn't know where he's going, either.
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Wherever that might be. (Daniel has to finish the tour. Louis has to finish chasing ghosts.) Maybe Brooklyn. Maybe New Orleans. Maybe Daniel would never want to return to Dubai, given the givens.
A luxury, to decide together. To live together in dozens, hundreds of places. To find one that will be theirs.
Louis bites his lower lip, a nip of blunt human teeth, before Louis asks in a low murmur, "Will you tell me what you want?"
He could guess. He doesn't want to guess. Slotted together this way, hips to hips, chest to chest, nails scratching lightly along Daniel's scalp each time Louis' hand tightens in his hair, Daniel occupies all of Louis' attention. This is good. Kissing the breath from Daniel's mouth is good. Having him laid out beneath him on the bed is good.
In Dubai, Louis knows he had taken the deep intimacy of Daniel's hands on his body and his mouth under his as enough. It is enough now still, even as Louis' body trembles wanting more. Wanting to bite him all over. Wanting to clutch him closer, so close the boundaries between their skin blur.
And then, lower, voice fraying breathless as he says, "I would kiss you like this for hours. It doesn't need to be anything else tonight."
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What would Daniel have done, fifty years ago. Scrambled to grab Louis' hand and run away with him into the dark, probably. It's still difficult to fathom, now, that he could be wanted this much, no matter that he's let go of the ledge and let himself wade into these waters, no matter that he can tell Louis is practically vibrating out of his skin for want of more.
He could laugh at himself. Since when are you so scared, Molloy. Just been a long time is all, he supposes. Not since somebody wanted to screw around. Since he gave a fuck about it. Since he really, truly wanted it. And not it, who. Speaking of who, he could also laugh at Louis, who says it doesn't need to be anything else when he feels like he's going to explode.
"Don't hold yourself back like that," he says, against Louis' mouth. Kissing him, touching him, winding himself up and up. "Not when I want you anyway and we both know I like it when it's too much."
Daniel's just bitching and prevaricating because that's what he does. Angles, even with himself, like a lunatic.
"Can I fuck you?"
Inelegant. But an honest desire.
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Some flicker of caution behind this immediate desire. Wanting to be good to Daniel. Take their time. Be careful with him, a real feat when Louis wants him this way.
Desire held in check for fifty years, known and unknown to Louis. Overwhelming now, finding it met and reflected back to him.
It had been the truth. Louis could do this for hours, torturing them this way. Kissing and kissing until they're both a shuddering mess. Louis wants to see Daniel flushed with the way they want each other, wants to take him all apart, let Daniel take him all apart.
They have time. Louis has to keep reminding himself of that. They have time for everything. Anything. All that they might desire from each other.
"Now?" asked like a private little joke, Louis' hips rolling down against Daniel slowly, deliberately. Fingers catching in his hair, mouth at his jaw. Offering. Assessing.
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"Yeah, why, are you double booked or something?"
It's all in a rush, Daniel stumbling over the hurdles of disbelief and identity. But what if they wait and Louis changes his mind. Wakes up tomorrow after they've made out for hours, and realizes he's made a mistake. Shitty and opportunistic for Daniel to push forward now, greedy despite his nerves and insecurities, but, well, he is who he is.
"Is that what you want?"
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Has to breathe a little laugh at himself, for the thought of delay. Wanting to go slowly while simultaneously wanting all of Daniel now, immediately, and then over and over again after.
"I want you," is corrected with a punctuating nip of teeth as Louis raises his head to look at Daniel. Grin, offer him something more, "I want you every way you can think of. More besides that. I been dreaming of it. You."
All this underscored with the insistent roll of his hips. Instructive. See, it's all true.
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Intakes of breath as Louis bites him, doing something to him, there's a new part in his brain since transformation that says Yes more of that harder draw blood now, which is. Fucking weird, and fucking wild, and he thinks he likes it. A lot. Too much? More than bears inspecting, for now. Chill.
"Alright." Breathless as Louis moves against him. Daniel's hard by now, he's sure Louis can tell. Inhale, exhale. Repeats, just a little giddy, "Alright."
Daniel kisses him again and then shifts them once more, now that he's satisfied about feeling Louis' weight on him. Over him, so that he has leverage to push his hands beneath the other man's shirt, feel him as he kisses him, peels back fabric so he can taste his skin as it's exposed. If it's all true, he wants to feel it, taste it—
"Why do I want to bite you everywhere?" is asked with a laugh. Like, he can guess, but.
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"We're vampires," Louis deadpans, even as he tries to parse out the question. Had he wanted to bite Lestat everywhere when he first saw him? Had it been he or Armand who sank fangs into the other first? Is it intrinsic in him, even if he had never been a vampire? Something innate, wanting someone so badly there is nothing else to do but sink teeth into them?
The way he wants Daniel now, wanting to keep biting him, even with blunt human teeth. Wanting to leave marks and bruises, to hear the sounds Daniel makes, taste him. Press his fingers down onto the marks tomorrow, make new ones when they fade.
Louis' nails scrape lightly along Daniel's nape. Arches up off the bed as Daniel strips off his shirt, drawing his face up to kiss again, and again.
"Gonna make you wait," he murmurs, a low promise. "Gonna make you wait until you're inside me before I let you get teeth in me."
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Again, again, again. Daniel paws all over him, down his chest, tasting the hollow of his throat and lower when he can pull back from kissing. Though it's difficult. He wants more of Louis, who is so fucking beautiful. Who feels like. Like he doesn't know. Can't describe it. Not like the humans he's hooked up with. There's some other quality to it, thrumming between them, an undercurrent to the fishhook of sensation that already links them, electric and magnetic.
"Jesus."
That thought—
Too good. Louis will be able to feel an echo of the flinch that goes through him, desire spilling over into telepathy, unable to be contained.
But.
"Some other time. I can't reliably stop."
This person I'm eating is dying will snap him out of it, but he's yet to get anywhere close to moderation. Hanging out with spiraling rock star Lestat hasn't helped. Excess, indulgence, insanity. No little drinks.
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A flicker of thought to Lestat, to Lestat and Daniel. Things Louis hasn't quite asked about being it feels invasive, prying where he shouldn't.
Daniel had offered, offered to let Louis drink from him, kiss him, keep him in whatever way they wind their way to. His skin burns everywhere Daniel puts his mouth, flushed fever warm under Daniel's hands, and it's overwhelming while simultaneously not being anything near enough.
Louis wanted him. Louis wanted him even when he could hardly remember Daniel.
"I'd let you," is familiar recklessness, is deep trust. Is Louis shivering in response to the flinch of thought that passes between them, feeling Daniel want him and wanting him all the more in return. Louis' fingers hooked beneath Daniel's jaw, tugging him insistently up to bite himself a kiss before Louis tells him, "I want you to. You won't hurt me."
Louis is capable of stopping him, if Daniel can't stop himself. There is blood enough in this building for Louis, for them both, if they go too far.
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He tells his brain: Do not. But there's still a thought, one he's had before. That he's probably in love with Louis. What an idiot. Daniel knows better. And yet, and yet, and yet.
"We don't have to go completely off the edge of the cliff first thing," he says, fond and amused against Louis' mouth. Returning that bite, flat teeth. (Fangs ache to extend, with this talk. He resists.) "Just... let's just. See. If I still even know what I'm doing."
More kissing, he can't get enough of it. Tries not to think about what Louis' blood must taste like. Tastes his skin instead, and leaves a quick-fading hickey on his chest. Slides hands down, lifting off only briefly when he becomes away of how cold the metal of his watch is; takes it off, before palming over the front of Louis' trousers.
(Can't be serious? Can he?)
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But restraint is difficult. Surprisingly so for Louis, who has felt so little in the past eighty years. The way he wants Daniel is a breathless, consuming rush of a thing, wanting to give him everything, anything. All of it at once, an unshakeable awareness of two weeks measured against the promise of fifty years, a hundred years, two hundred years. Not enough time. There will never be enough.
"Tomorrow then," like a little joke. Ha, ha, waiting twenty-four hours to veer off the edge of a cliff together.
Polite, restless touches roaming across Daniel's shoulders, the nape of his neck, down his back. Curbing the impulse to strip off Daniel's clothing in turn, aware of some discomfort, some self-consciousness, and as loathe to tread over tender territory as Louis is impatient to touch him in turn.
Murmurs, offers, "We can go slow. Figure it out together."
It's not a hardship to linger here, trading kisses back and forth. Letting Daniel's weight bear him down into the mattress while Daniel touches him, while they breathe together, wind each other up to some unbearable height. As long as Daniel is here, as long as Louis is still kissing him, it's enough.
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So—
Not quite slow. But Daniel does balk, slightly, at the idea of pulling his own shirt off. Says he can leave it on, does not say why, but it's obvious why. He does not look the way sexually desirable people look, does not feel the way sexually desirable people feel. Louis is sweet enough to want him despite all that, and so Daniel is in no hurry to shove his face in it. Definitely in a hurry to bite the soft skin of Louis' belly, though, even with flat teeth that he makes sure are not elongating in any way.
With hands at the other man's waist, fingers digging beneath clothing— "Can I?"
Pull this back, expose him, touch him, feel him.
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It's overwhelming. Louis remains settled, propped up on one elbow to keep Daniel in his eyeline, only by some miracle of restraint. His heel nudges at Daniel's hip, a small, insistent point of contact as Daniel bites a bruises into his skin.
"Anything," Louis breathes. Says, "Yes," before Daniel can start in about the absence of direct answers.
Presses the word into Daniel's head as Louis sinks fingers into silver-white curls.
Anything.
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But Louis also says Yes. And so Daniel undoes his trousers, pulls them down just enough, and mouths over the curve of his cock held in by underwear. If he had any grand ideas about taking his time and savoring this, though, they go out the window quick. He doesn't remember the last time he did this (yes he does, but it was cruel of him, and so he leaves it elsewhere - years, in any event). But he wants to, and not for altruistic reasons of giving Louis something worth it from fucking an old man. Just because he likes it. And wouldn't it be nice, if he's still good at it. Maybe he can get good at it again, if he's not.
His own arousal is so cranked it doesn't bear thinking about. If he pays attention to it he'll go insane. Instead: his mouth, on Louis' cock, thick fingers circling him, and seeing if giving head is like riding a bicycle after all.
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Remembers seeing this in Daniel's head fifty years ago, remembers saying no because more than anything he had wanted Daniel's attention, wanted his voice, wanted to talk to him while the recorder spun on the table between them.
Wants his voice now, absurdly.
His fingers tighten in Daniel's hair. Holds there too tightly, forcibly loosening his grip over and over and over, always sliding back. Some hindbrain need to keep hold of Daniel running away with him, the same urge that wants his teeth in every inch of Daniel's skin.
Maybe it should be embarrassing, how easy it is. How easy Louis is, for this. For Daniel. A thought that swims through his mind and finds no purchase at all, slides away as Louis' thighs flex tight around Daniel's shoulders. His heel has set into the small of Daniel's back, resting there as Louis' breath goes haywire.
"Just—"
Comes all apart in Louis' mouth. A pause, a breath. Some skimming link of his mind across the surface of Daniel's, unsteady impulse narrowly averted. Louis tries again: "That's good. You feel so good."
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Now, he doesn't have to try and hide anything. He can just like it. And he does. Likes even more that it's Louis, finally. He gets to taste him and feel him, the softest, most delicate skin, where sweat and scent pools the most profoundly, finding shapes to press into the eager heat of his own mouth.
Daniel's hands don't shake anymore. He can touch him without fear of losing control of his motor skills, he can hold and stroke him, and run his thumb over the head of Louis' cock when he pulls back. Breathless, even though he doesn't strictly need to breathe. It all just feels good.
"I felt you against my mind," he says. "We can. Will you show me how?"
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