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?"
Expected to be coherent, Louis processes the question on a delay looking down into Daniel's face with some awareness of his own lack of composure. Flushed, tremors running through his body as Daniel's thumb circles, as he observes Daniel's mouth and eyes, observes himself caught up in Daniel's hand.
"How to let me in?" Louis asks unsteadily, even as Yes, anything blooms into Daniel's mind, true regardless of the question. Louis had meant it, his offering earlier. It beats between them in time to their heartbeats, Louis' ragged breathing, the tremoring flex of his thighs and the hand in Daniel's hair.
Lets it be obvious too, the effect the question and offer inherent in it has on him. Louis has kept out of his mind for some time now, polite even when they speak telepathically. He's never delved as far as Daniel might have suspected him of. Contemplates the intimacy of it now, feeling want of it as some complicated thing.
Wants Daniel close, wants him inside in every possible way. (Cannot help but remember Armand, who had been so welcome in Louis' head, and what he had made of that, how their intimacy had become something else.)
Just the two of them here, but always bound in a web; to Lestat, to Armand (to absent children). Armand was right that Daniel is a black hole, but his mind isn't like his maker's. Sharp, strong, certain things firmly sectioned away, but there's no ascetic, curated dollhouse. The way he invites Louis in is clumsy with enthusiasm, emotion rushing with raw honesty. The way he reaches for him is not with precision, not looking for anything surgical, he just wants Louis.
"Yeah. I think."
He thinks a lot of things. Things Louis can see, feel, hear, read, whatever it is that happens. Profound affection. Intense desire. He wants Louis to have whatever he wants, and if it's psychic, if he wants to touch his mind then: yes. Here. He can have it, and Daniel will like it, too, because Daniel likes everything when it's too much and overwhelming.
Drugs. Sex. Blood. Arguments. All of it. Hands on Louis' body, resting against him, ready to take him into his mouth again, and mentally all awash and ope for him.
"Oh and— fucking, am," he laughs a little, fucking, haha, he knows how to do that. But. "Am I going to hurt you with my goddamn nails?"
Drawn into Daniel's head, Louis winds so, so close into the river of Daniel's thoughts. Feels everything, all of it, an almost overwhelming flurry of activity that is so, so familiar. Lets Daniel feel all things in return. Withholds nothing. Slides in alongside the patter of Daniel's thoughts to soak up desire, affection, reflect it all back to Daniel.
Love, so hard for Louis to put to words. Love is here, intertwined among mirrored desire, affection, growing desperation as Daniel touches him. Louis lays himself bare, all impressions and thoughts rising from his own head blooming vivid among the order of Daniel's mind as his fingers drag slow through Daniel's hair. His thumb catches at Daniel's lower lip, intent on the reddened quality of it, of how kiss-bitten his mouth and how badly Louis wants to keep kissing him.
"No," Louis tells him, easy reassurance tempered only by, "Go slowly."
They heal quickly. Louis trusts Daniel to be careful, wants him enough to weather the passing flash of discomfort if he is not.
You feel so good murmurs, a thought telegraphed between them, a thought that has little and less to do with the way Daniel touches him and everything to do with how Louis fits into his head, the space Daniel makes for him here.
Daniel pushes up, feeling Louis' desire to kiss him like it's his own, unable to hold back. Feels good, feels crazy, coiling together mentally while still touching this way. He can show Louis, really show him, down to his atoms because he can feel it, how much he means to him. And so he does. Not like pulling an item off a shelf to display, but something they can sink into, drown pleasantly in. Like his office at home, his mind is organized chaos; like his outward personality, his mind is intense, and blunt.
Love and pride and desire and trust. Daniel is so fucking happy for Louis above everything.
"Contradictory," he points out, through a kiss. Does he say it out loud, telepathically? Not entirely sure. They feel like a wonderful clash, right now, bright paint colors spilling into each other. No but go slow sounds like Yes you can, and so, Daniel will just be careful, how about that.
'So do you.' Dizzying. Now's probably when somebody should grab lube if they actually want to fuck, but they don't have to. (Don't have to fuck, not, don't have to grab lube if they do. Important distinctions.)
I'm sure, without taking a breath, licking into Daniel's mouth. No hesitation, no thought required, only the certainty of: I'm sure.
Something in the way Louis settles into his mind akin to how Louis eased his way into Daniel's lap. Close, and now closer, drawn in, shuddering at what they fall into, what Daniel feels for him. Overwhelming, to be so well-loved. To feel what Daniel feels for him, to know Daniel can feel him, nowhere to hide when linked so closely. Louis, who has been missing Daniel for months, who wanted him for decades. Who feels it, love, but has no words for it.
Who didn't kiss him in 1973. Who can remember kissing him in Dubai only in parts and pieces. Daniel, who asks if Louis is sure when he has always been so certain about Daniel from the first moment they met.
"I'm sure," is a murmur against Daniel's mouth. Sunk so far into Daniel's head that the words echo there even as Louis says them aloud. As the enormity of his desire mingles in with Daniel's pride and love and trust, a heady mix. Tangling and overlapping, distinct only in the tenor of what belongs to Louis', desert dry giving way to New Orleans warmth and circling back again, and all of it a beating heart, all of it tender and desperate, held so long inside him even before Louis fully knew he'd carried it from that little apartment. Half undressed now under him, offering anything still, anything because he trusts Daniel so much, so deeply.
Yes, Daniel can feel it. Confirmation swells into that thought, like grabbing at his hand and holding tight. Not that he thinks Louis is lying, he just—
Just. Old man things. Daniel has been humbled by age, and some of his behaviors after resurrection have been to spite (actively, to spite it, not in spite of it, he is doing it on purpose) that humility. Cranky notes, prickles of discomfort he can't be rid of, that obviously Louis would prefer someone who was beautiful. Daniel is not drowning in self-pity about it, or anything, but. Still there.
Many things are true at once. Daniel wants him and he knows Louis wants him in return. This is real. He is reckless and enthusiastic, he is insecure. He wants to bite Louis and say fuck it, let them make bad decisions, and he wants to be responsible.
Extra difficult to compartmentalize when he's mostly thinking with his dick, now, too, so there's also that. ANYway,,
"Do you have anything?"
He can't just sit here and dither, they have things to do, or Daniel thinks he will probably die for real.
The answer rises like smoke before Louis verbalizes it: the lovely wood nightstand, top drawer, glass jar.
Says, "Yes."
Says, "Let me..."
Trails into implication, already sinking back into Daniel, already catching his mouth for another kiss.
Daniel is not obliged to retrieve anything from the specified drawer. Louis is already coming up off the mattress, crowding into Daniel as he kisses him. Hands bracketing Daniel's face, curling into his hair, heels of his palms at Daniel's temples as he creates some minor space in which he might move.
Terrible, having to let go of Daniel even by halves, even for a moment. But Louis stretches out, hooks open the drawer. Does not think of Armand. Does not think of what he is studiously ignoring: no one has touched him at all since he and Lestat parted ways, resolved to attempt standing on their own.
Transparently expensive, Louis' choice in lube. Just as all the product in Dubai had been expensive, all things betraying the casual flex of wealth Louis has come to appreciate, find security in. He presses the jar into Daniel's chest.
Noses back up along Daniel's jawline, yielding Daniel's mouth for whatever commentary is sure to follow.
Daniel compensates, as Louis fetches his bougie lube. Keeps touching him, kisses his chest, up to the side of his neck, his earlobe. Leans on him because he knows he can, they're both strong enough, and it means Louis can feel how hard he is, bare skin against clothing. Daniel, still a little skittish about undressing, nevertheless completely cranked with arousal.
A sensual murmur,
"Did you render down an endangered vegan seal for this?"
Daniel tries not to laugh against Louis' shoulder. Not laughing AT him, of course, and their minds winding together like excited foxes (who haven't been ground into lube) will show that. It's just fun, and giddy, and he likes Louis, he likes all of it.
"What do you like? Don't say anything. I get it. But pick something."
It doesn't disappoint, Daniel's little sideswipe. Amusement curls between them, coloring the tenor of Louis' mind even before he turns his smile in against Daniel's cheek, the corner of his mouth, presses it into a kiss. Can feel it, their shared affection. The familiarity of their shared levity.
It would have been like this, Louis knows. It would have been like this if they'd come together before. It's just easy, between them. It's easy now, drawing Daniel into him, fingers sunk into the curls at the nape of his neck. Feeling laughter in his body and finding himself so pleased with it, with Daniel's irreverence and good humor.
Pick something, prompts an inscrutable little flex of emotion across his face. Dampens some of the vibrant glow of his thoughts, some more serious timbre bleeding in. Weighing the question as he rocks a thigh up against Daniel's groin, nips at his lower lip.
Has anyone ever asked him this question? (No.)
Lets the little jar fall to the coverlet alongside them, freeing a hand to draw Daniel down with him against the pillows. Close, tangling together as Louis lets a hazy pulse of memory drift between their minds. What does he like? Piecemeal impressions, a mix of experience: hands on his body, weight heavy over him, a bowed spine beneath his fingers, the burn of overextended muscles, skin reddening under his palms, the sharp pain of fangs at his throat. Pain, pleasure, tenderness, all things mingling as Louis sorts through over a hundred years of entanglements (Lestat, Armand, distinct in his mind, maybe distinct in this accounting even as Louis pares these recollections down to overwhelming sensations.) as he winds his way to an answer.
"I want you to fuck me," can't be cheating, it's a choice, even if it's something he's already said yes to. "I want that, and not only because you asked."
A pause, a slow bite of a kiss. He can taste himself in Daniel's mouth, and lets Daniel feel how much he likes that too.
"I want to find out what we like," feels like a distinction to Louis, a difference clear in his thoughts as he says this against Daniel's mouth. "Together. We have time now."
A nudge, close and almost protective, when he feels that brief dimming, even as he pushes down against the way Louis flexes up against him. A notion in their heads. That Louis should always have whatever choices he wants. Sex is just sex. It's what they make of it, whether it's just a transaction or a laugh or something miserable or something that rewires a person's entire inner intimate world as profound. Something even a heterosexual boomer knows. (Or maybe it's because he got old he can have this perspective.)
Daniel's turn to say Anything.
Feels all these things, sees all these things, kisses Louis deeper all the while. Only a brief flinch back, followed by a warning nuzzle, because, fuck, if he thinks too hard about biting then Daniel's not going to be able to keep his fangs from stretching out, aching and desperate.
"Okay." A fond concession. Louis is just not a simple answer guy, Daniel should know that. Let the tale seduce you. Let the fumble in bed after memory trauma seduce you. Well. Daniel is not that seductive, but he'll give it a go.
Another kiss. More clutching at him. Time. They do have time. Finally.
"You can turn around if you want, I'm not gonna..."
Be bothered if Louis decides he does not want to stare at wrinkly old man skin. His dick is still in perfect working order, he's always been lean so the whole affair isn't that bad, but compared to Armand, Lestat, Louis himself, it's pretty tragic.
Trying to tread carefully, aware of some tender stretch of terrain here. Aware of potential to nick something vulnerable in Daniel, and angling away from it. Still, fingers heavy in his curls at the nape of his neck, a hand falling down his chest to lay over his heart.
"I want to see you," softly. Offering, "I want you to see me."
Daniel had seen him. Daniel had come to Dubai and argued and needled and dragged truth out of Louis even when all Louis had to offer was a story he'd been telling himself (A story Armand had been telling him too, a quiet chorus shifting and omitting and realigning Louis' life.) for so many years that it had felt like all there was. Daniel had seen something else.
They're linked so closely. Louis is sunk so far into his head, bleeding desire like sunlight. Wanting. Offering pieces still, hazy answers to join the impressions he'd already given over to Daniel. (Teeth sunk down into the flexing muscle of a thigh, wrists caught up in one hand, bruises blooming livid in the wake of kisses laid to the throat and collarbone and chest and hip—) Savors the sweetness of Anything he finds in Daniel's mind, an offering passed back and forth between them.
"Come on," is lightly impatient, deeply affectionate. "Come on, Danny."
Is deliberately goading, teasing. Words murmured into the corner of his mouth as Louis leans up to kiss him.
All of these wrapped up feelings, made more and more intense for sharing them. Daniel is clumsy with it still, but it's so earnest. In there is his white-knuckled insecurity, feeling it but trying not to dwell on it. Address and move on. That he senses no aversion from Louis doesn't mean Louis isn't just being polite, so he is also being polite, in offering an out.
And yet.
Tremors of uncertainty. Not just Louis' sensibilities to contend with. Daniel still thinks Jane Fonda is hot, but maybe he doesn't like himself very much. Maybe he hasn't in a long time. One thing to say you don't care about aging, it happens to everyone, and then watch yourself change out of your own control in the mirror. One thing to make peace with it because it'll all be over soon anyway, and then have nothing be over, indefinitely.
And then this, and— Danny, and Daniel is giving Louis' shoulder a hard, (still flat) bite. How very dare you.
"Start down the 'boy' path and I'm really turning the screws on you over shit you're into," is deliberate teasing in return.
Okok. He can do this. His boner, for sure, believes he can do this, and has no qualms about physical appearance. Get with the program.
"Danny boy," Louis needles, as the bite at his shoulder throbs. As Louis' nails scrape lightly along Daniel's nape. "Danny."
Amusement warming the link between them, coloring everything, everything.
Louis' voice dips lower, shifts to dig his heel in at the back of Daniel's thigh as he says, "Come on, Daniel."
Shades of anything in the way Louis' thoughts shift, the way he draws Daniel in closer. Anyway that Daniel wants this, wants him, Louis will have him. Aware of some discomfort in Daniel, trying to quietly assuage it.
"This is saying something about deep, weird kinks," he says against Louis' mouth, in between those teasing calls of Danny, which Daniel does not love. It's not enough to actually annoy him, but it's like pulling his pigtails. He always thought it sounded childish, and that people who used it were trying to infantalize him. Which, you know. Plenty were. He was basically hooking, what's there to be said. "I'm keeping an eye on you."
What a thing. A sticky-note for the back of Louis' jacket, but instead of Kick Me, it will say I Like To Call Grandpas 'Boy'. Creep!!
Anyway.
"It's always been anything." Okay. Okay. "With you, anything."
Drugs, sex, interviews, going to Dubai. Daniel has wanted him for so long. Only another bracing moment, before he relents, and starts to peel off articles of clothing. The rest of Louis', too. Bandaid off.
Lets Daniel do this, strip him bare. Lets Daniel manage his own clothes, touching only lightly, seeking welcome as his fingers skim newly bared collarbone, fall down Daniel's chest to his hips. Smiling still, pleased with his teasing, with Daniel's exasperation. Pulling pigtails indeed; satisfaction fades only as Daniel gives him something else to occupy his attention, hold him rapt as clothes as discarded over the side of the bed.
Anything whispering between their heads. Louis holds it in the palm of his hand, a precious offering from Daniel who Louis had met only by chance. Daniel, who saved him.
"Come here," again, reaching up as Louis yields back down, shoulders hitting mattress. "Come down here and let me kiss you."
A ghost of Dubai: Tell me I can kiss you. Wanting him so badly, any way he could have him. Even a kiss, even a touch. Anything, anything.
Daniel feels warm all over. He knows, sometimes, especially in the 'mornings' or when he's too engrossed in work to remember to eat an entire living human being every few hours, that his core temperature drops lower than it ever did before transformation. But this flush isn't from having gorged himself on blood— arousal, adrenaline of overcoming embarrassment, but mostly, overwhelming affection. Crazy how it feels.
And this, too, finally. Bare skin on bare skin, and it's so novel and such a relief that he forgets to feel self-conscious about the difference in textures. Louis feels so good, and Daniel is helpless to do anything but grant him his request, and kiss him.
Just a little bit of hiding against him, but Daniel rallies. Lets Louis touch him, even look at him if he wants, only a moment or two of looking away himself. Different, when it's somebody he gives a shit about and not just some nutjob at a book signing he'll never see again. Who he thinks is so gorgeous, precious, and holds in such high esteem. Touches him, kisses him, sets flat teeth against the side of his jaw, rocks down against him and feels hard on hard, making him shiver.
All this for Louis, who is not so certain of Daniel's esteem. (Louis, who failed him. Left him.) But soaks in the glow of it all the same, lets himself bleed it back. All this affection. All this admiration. Louis has oceans of it, for Daniel.
"I've got you," is a breathless murmur, as they move together. As Daniel bites him and Louis shudders all through his body. Touching all the while, fingers in his hair, at the nape of his neck, down his spine and up again to follow the flex of Daniel's shoulders. Hooks up an ankle on the coverlet, reaches down to take them both in hand as Daniel moves and shiver and breathes. Louis can hear his pulse, wants to put teeth into it.
Just barely refrains.
Instead, asks soft as Daniel bites a bruise beneath his jaw, "You want me to make it easy for you?"
Daniel's pulse will be louder in Louis' ears, touching him like this. Tangible against his fingers, blood-hot and hard; he chokes on an inhale at the feeling of it, erections held together, driving him crazy. He thinks he can feel the remnants of his own spit on Louis' cock and that makes it just that much crazier.
Really happening.
"What's that mean?"
Knees push into the bed, and he rocks down, into Louis, into that grip he has on them. Fucking, but not quite. He braces one hand by Louis' shoulder and lets the other roam, stroking over his body everywhere he can get to, playing with one nipple before moving to the curve of his hipbone, touch teasing to join hands between them. Waiting, just to keep feeling Louis' hand, and his dick, uninterrupted.
Some lingering surreal quality to this entanglement. They are here and it is not a dream. They are here and can do as they like. (The latter maybe sticking in Louis' head more than Daniel's, all in all.) Daniel touches him and Louis arches into every single place he puts his hands, diminishes nothing about his reactions. All of him, laid out for Daniel as they move together, as Louis tightens his grip to hear Daniel's breath hitch.
"Could roll us over," Louis says, watching Daniel's face. Aware of how enmeshed their minds are, how maybe Daniel can see Louis' proposal even before Louis speaks it aloud. "Lay back for me, and let me have you."
A possibility. Some aspects of the picture in Louis' mind hooked back to Dubai, a different place, different time. Daniel's mortality, the pain in his body, things Louis had accounted for when he'd imagined—
A flicker of complicated, bitter feeling. He'd imagined. He half-remembers that he had.
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no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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?"
no subject
"How to let me in?" Louis asks unsteadily, even as Yes, anything blooms into Daniel's mind, true regardless of the question. Louis had meant it, his offering earlier. It beats between them in time to their heartbeats, Louis' ragged breathing, the tremoring flex of his thighs and the hand in Daniel's hair.
Lets it be obvious too, the effect the question and offer inherent in it has on him. Louis has kept out of his mind for some time now, polite even when they speak telepathically. He's never delved as far as Daniel might have suspected him of. Contemplates the intimacy of it now, feeling want of it as some complicated thing.
Wants Daniel close, wants him inside in every possible way. (Cannot help but remember Armand, who had been so welcome in Louis' head, and what he had made of that, how their intimacy had become something else.)
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"Yeah. I think."
He thinks a lot of things. Things Louis can see, feel, hear, read, whatever it is that happens. Profound affection. Intense desire. He wants Louis to have whatever he wants, and if it's psychic, if he wants to touch his mind then: yes. Here. He can have it, and Daniel will like it, too, because Daniel likes everything when it's too much and overwhelming.
Drugs. Sex. Blood. Arguments. All of it. Hands on Louis' body, resting against him, ready to take him into his mouth again, and mentally all awash and ope for him.
"Oh and— fucking, am," he laughs a little, fucking, haha, he knows how to do that. But. "Am I going to hurt you with my goddamn nails?"
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Love, so hard for Louis to put to words. Love is here, intertwined among mirrored desire, affection, growing desperation as Daniel touches him. Louis lays himself bare, all impressions and thoughts rising from his own head blooming vivid among the order of Daniel's mind as his fingers drag slow through Daniel's hair. His thumb catches at Daniel's lower lip, intent on the reddened quality of it, of how kiss-bitten his mouth and how badly Louis wants to keep kissing him.
"No," Louis tells him, easy reassurance tempered only by, "Go slowly."
They heal quickly. Louis trusts Daniel to be careful, wants him enough to weather the passing flash of discomfort if he is not.
You feel so good murmurs, a thought telegraphed between them, a thought that has little and less to do with the way Daniel touches him and everything to do with how Louis fits into his head, the space Daniel makes for him here.
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Love and pride and desire and trust. Daniel is so fucking happy for Louis above everything.
"Contradictory," he points out, through a kiss. Does he say it out loud, telepathically? Not entirely sure. They feel like a wonderful clash, right now, bright paint colors spilling into each other. No but go slow sounds like Yes you can, and so, Daniel will just be careful, how about that.
'So do you.' Dizzying. Now's probably when somebody should grab lube if they actually want to fuck, but they don't have to. (Don't have to fuck, not, don't have to grab lube if they do. Important distinctions.)
Is Louis sure, about this—?
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Something in the way Louis settles into his mind akin to how Louis eased his way into Daniel's lap. Close, and now closer, drawn in, shuddering at what they fall into, what Daniel feels for him. Overwhelming, to be so well-loved. To feel what Daniel feels for him, to know Daniel can feel him, nowhere to hide when linked so closely. Louis, who has been missing Daniel for months, who wanted him for decades. Who feels it, love, but has no words for it.
Who didn't kiss him in 1973. Who can remember kissing him in Dubai only in parts and pieces. Daniel, who asks if Louis is sure when he has always been so certain about Daniel from the first moment they met.
"I'm sure," is a murmur against Daniel's mouth. Sunk so far into Daniel's head that the words echo there even as Louis says them aloud. As the enormity of his desire mingles in with Daniel's pride and love and trust, a heady mix. Tangling and overlapping, distinct only in the tenor of what belongs to Louis', desert dry giving way to New Orleans warmth and circling back again, and all of it a beating heart, all of it tender and desperate, held so long inside him even before Louis fully knew he'd carried it from that little apartment. Half undressed now under him, offering anything still, anything because he trusts Daniel so much, so deeply.
Can't you feel how much I want you?
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Just. Old man things. Daniel has been humbled by age, and some of his behaviors after resurrection have been to spite (actively, to spite it, not in spite of it, he is doing it on purpose) that humility. Cranky notes, prickles of discomfort he can't be rid of, that obviously Louis would prefer someone who was beautiful. Daniel is not drowning in self-pity about it, or anything, but. Still there.
Many things are true at once. Daniel wants him and he knows Louis wants him in return. This is real. He is reckless and enthusiastic, he is insecure. He wants to bite Louis and say fuck it, let them make bad decisions, and he wants to be responsible.
Extra difficult to compartmentalize when he's mostly thinking with his dick, now, too, so there's also that. ANYway,,
"Do you have anything?"
He can't just sit here and dither, they have things to do, or Daniel thinks he will probably die for real.
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Says, "Yes."
Says, "Let me..."
Trails into implication, already sinking back into Daniel, already catching his mouth for another kiss.
Daniel is not obliged to retrieve anything from the specified drawer. Louis is already coming up off the mattress, crowding into Daniel as he kisses him. Hands bracketing Daniel's face, curling into his hair, heels of his palms at Daniel's temples as he creates some minor space in which he might move.
Terrible, having to let go of Daniel even by halves, even for a moment. But Louis stretches out, hooks open the drawer. Does not think of Armand. Does not think of what he is studiously ignoring: no one has touched him at all since he and Lestat parted ways, resolved to attempt standing on their own.
Transparently expensive, Louis' choice in lube. Just as all the product in Dubai had been expensive, all things betraying the casual flex of wealth Louis has come to appreciate, find security in. He presses the jar into Daniel's chest.
Noses back up along Daniel's jawline, yielding Daniel's mouth for whatever commentary is sure to follow.
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A sensual murmur,
"Did you render down an endangered vegan seal for this?"
Daniel tries not to laugh against Louis' shoulder. Not laughing AT him, of course, and their minds winding together like excited foxes (who haven't been ground into lube) will show that. It's just fun, and giddy, and he likes Louis, he likes all of it.
"What do you like? Don't say anything. I get it. But pick something."
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It would have been like this, Louis knows. It would have been like this if they'd come together before. It's just easy, between them. It's easy now, drawing Daniel into him, fingers sunk into the curls at the nape of his neck. Feeling laughter in his body and finding himself so pleased with it, with Daniel's irreverence and good humor.
Pick something, prompts an inscrutable little flex of emotion across his face. Dampens some of the vibrant glow of his thoughts, some more serious timbre bleeding in. Weighing the question as he rocks a thigh up against Daniel's groin, nips at his lower lip.
Has anyone ever asked him this question? (No.)
Lets the little jar fall to the coverlet alongside them, freeing a hand to draw Daniel down with him against the pillows. Close, tangling together as Louis lets a hazy pulse of memory drift between their minds. What does he like? Piecemeal impressions, a mix of experience: hands on his body, weight heavy over him, a bowed spine beneath his fingers, the burn of overextended muscles, skin reddening under his palms, the sharp pain of fangs at his throat. Pain, pleasure, tenderness, all things mingling as Louis sorts through over a hundred years of entanglements (Lestat, Armand, distinct in his mind, maybe distinct in this accounting even as Louis pares these recollections down to overwhelming sensations.) as he winds his way to an answer.
"I want you to fuck me," can't be cheating, it's a choice, even if it's something he's already said yes to. "I want that, and not only because you asked."
A pause, a slow bite of a kiss. He can taste himself in Daniel's mouth, and lets Daniel feel how much he likes that too.
"I want to find out what we like," feels like a distinction to Louis, a difference clear in his thoughts as he says this against Daniel's mouth. "Together. We have time now."
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Daniel's turn to say Anything.
Feels all these things, sees all these things, kisses Louis deeper all the while. Only a brief flinch back, followed by a warning nuzzle, because, fuck, if he thinks too hard about biting then Daniel's not going to be able to keep his fangs from stretching out, aching and desperate.
"Okay." A fond concession. Louis is just not a simple answer guy, Daniel should know that. Let the tale seduce you. Let the fumble in bed after memory trauma seduce you. Well. Daniel is not that seductive, but he'll give it a go.
Another kiss. More clutching at him. Time. They do have time. Finally.
"You can turn around if you want, I'm not gonna..."
Be bothered if Louis decides he does not want to stare at wrinkly old man skin. His dick is still in perfect working order, he's always been lean so the whole affair isn't that bad, but compared to Armand, Lestat, Louis himself, it's pretty tragic.
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Trying to tread carefully, aware of some tender stretch of terrain here. Aware of potential to nick something vulnerable in Daniel, and angling away from it. Still, fingers heavy in his curls at the nape of his neck, a hand falling down his chest to lay over his heart.
"I want to see you," softly. Offering, "I want you to see me."
Daniel had seen him. Daniel had come to Dubai and argued and needled and dragged truth out of Louis even when all Louis had to offer was a story he'd been telling himself (A story Armand had been telling him too, a quiet chorus shifting and omitting and realigning Louis' life.) for so many years that it had felt like all there was. Daniel had seen something else.
They're linked so closely. Louis is sunk so far into his head, bleeding desire like sunlight. Wanting. Offering pieces still, hazy answers to join the impressions he'd already given over to Daniel. (Teeth sunk down into the flexing muscle of a thigh, wrists caught up in one hand, bruises blooming livid in the wake of kisses laid to the throat and collarbone and chest and hip—) Savors the sweetness of Anything he finds in Daniel's mind, an offering passed back and forth between them.
"Come on," is lightly impatient, deeply affectionate. "Come on, Danny."
Is deliberately goading, teasing. Words murmured into the corner of his mouth as Louis leans up to kiss him.
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And yet.
Tremors of uncertainty. Not just Louis' sensibilities to contend with. Daniel still thinks Jane Fonda is hot, but maybe he doesn't like himself very much. Maybe he hasn't in a long time. One thing to say you don't care about aging, it happens to everyone, and then watch yourself change out of your own control in the mirror. One thing to make peace with it because it'll all be over soon anyway, and then have nothing be over, indefinitely.
And then this, and— Danny, and Daniel is giving Louis' shoulder a hard, (still flat) bite. How very dare you.
"Start down the 'boy' path and I'm really turning the screws on you over shit you're into," is deliberate teasing in return.
Okok. He can do this. His boner, for sure, believes he can do this, and has no qualms about physical appearance. Get with the program.
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Amusement warming the link between them, coloring everything, everything.
Louis' voice dips lower, shifts to dig his heel in at the back of Daniel's thigh as he says, "Come on, Daniel."
Shades of anything in the way Louis' thoughts shift, the way he draws Daniel in closer. Anyway that Daniel wants this, wants him, Louis will have him. Aware of some discomfort in Daniel, trying to quietly assuage it.
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What a thing. A sticky-note for the back of Louis' jacket, but instead of Kick Me, it will say I Like To Call Grandpas 'Boy'. Creep!!
Anyway.
"It's always been anything." Okay. Okay. "With you, anything."
Drugs, sex, interviews, going to Dubai. Daniel has wanted him for so long. Only another bracing moment, before he relents, and starts to peel off articles of clothing. The rest of Louis', too. Bandaid off.
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Anything whispering between their heads. Louis holds it in the palm of his hand, a precious offering from Daniel who Louis had met only by chance. Daniel, who saved him.
"Come here," again, reaching up as Louis yields back down, shoulders hitting mattress. "Come down here and let me kiss you."
A ghost of Dubai: Tell me I can kiss you. Wanting him so badly, any way he could have him. Even a kiss, even a touch. Anything, anything.
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And this, too, finally. Bare skin on bare skin, and it's so novel and such a relief that he forgets to feel self-conscious about the difference in textures. Louis feels so good, and Daniel is helpless to do anything but grant him his request, and kiss him.
Just a little bit of hiding against him, but Daniel rallies. Lets Louis touch him, even look at him if he wants, only a moment or two of looking away himself. Different, when it's somebody he gives a shit about and not just some nutjob at a book signing he'll never see again. Who he thinks is so gorgeous, precious, and holds in such high esteem. Touches him, kisses him, sets flat teeth against the side of his jaw, rocks down against him and feels hard on hard, making him shiver.
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All this for Louis, who is not so certain of Daniel's esteem. (Louis, who failed him. Left him.) But soaks in the glow of it all the same, lets himself bleed it back. All this affection. All this admiration. Louis has oceans of it, for Daniel.
"I've got you," is a breathless murmur, as they move together. As Daniel bites him and Louis shudders all through his body. Touching all the while, fingers in his hair, at the nape of his neck, down his spine and up again to follow the flex of Daniel's shoulders. Hooks up an ankle on the coverlet, reaches down to take them both in hand as Daniel moves and shiver and breathes. Louis can hear his pulse, wants to put teeth into it.
Just barely refrains.
Instead, asks soft as Daniel bites a bruise beneath his jaw, "You want me to make it easy for you?"
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Really happening.
"What's that mean?"
Knees push into the bed, and he rocks down, into Louis, into that grip he has on them. Fucking, but not quite. He braces one hand by Louis' shoulder and lets the other roam, stroking over his body everywhere he can get to, playing with one nipple before moving to the curve of his hipbone, touch teasing to join hands between them. Waiting, just to keep feeling Louis' hand, and his dick, uninterrupted.
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"Could roll us over," Louis says, watching Daniel's face. Aware of how enmeshed their minds are, how maybe Daniel can see Louis' proposal even before Louis speaks it aloud. "Lay back for me, and let me have you."
A possibility. Some aspects of the picture in Louis' mind hooked back to Dubai, a different place, different time. Daniel's mortality, the pain in his body, things Louis had accounted for when he'd imagined—
A flicker of complicated, bitter feeling. He'd imagined. He half-remembers that he had.
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