No more beer, drugs, or medication. Just his blood, and Daniel can feel Louis' delight in it, and it makes him ache to return the piercing affection— he just can't, because he doesn't have that control, not anywhere near it. But the scorching reflection of it is still good, still mind-bending with pleasure and relief.
Why do vampires ever do anything else? How are immortals bored? C'mon. Give Daniel a break. They could be doing this every night.
Blood and sweat and come (which is more blood, he's pretty sure), harsh breathing though they don't fucking need to, and the sound of their heartbeats. Different, out of time, and beautiful for it. Daniel speaks Louis' name back to him in their heads, and slides a hand down between them to touch him, get his hand wet, and bring it back to his mouth. Still a disgusting black hole junkie, sorry, but if he doesn't taste Louis somehow he's going insane.
It blooms in Louis' head, just how much he likes that too. The way arousal flares up in his chest as Daniel does this thing, as Louis feels how badly Daniel wants to taste him.
Louis leans in to kiss him. Licks into his mouth, aware of the open punctures at Daniel's throat.
Heady, to be wanted this way. (Louis is still, always, in some ways the man standing in a courtyard, asking if he is enough.) Heady to know that Daniel wants him this way. To feel it so clearly. They are a mess and exhausted and Louis wants him again. Louis can taste himself in Daniel's mouth. Has Daniel's blood on his own tongue. He is still catching his breath, and yet—
But he's older now. Has learned something like patience in all his long years on this planet. He can hold one desire in check, focus on where they are now. Daniel under him, the rhythm of their hearts, the warmth of his skin. Daniel tastes him, and Louis kisses him again, deep and slow, before he lowers his head down to the bite he'd left, the slow drips of blood at Daniel's throat.
Louis catches them, arms around Daniel as he applies lips and tongue to the trailing droplets. Kisses over the wounds slowly, no urgency.
Better than I remembered, is true, but also a kind of joke. How much does Louis truly remember? Enough, enough to know, but there are blurred aspects, things damaged by Armand, by the injuries Louis survived.
He touches Louis, sliding hands over his chest, to his back, down to squeeze his ass. Something that's greed-adjacent in it, or more like, still half-convinced Louis is going to change his mind. A marvel, while he has it. Something he wants to sear in his memory, not because he's afraid a wraith will appear and take it away, but because Louis is a thousand miles out of his league and he makes Daniel's heart do stupid shit and things like this don't last, not for him.
Between their minds, an impression of a laugh, both for taste and because— what, why put the brakes on? Does Louis have somewhere else he needs to be, right now?
Still. Sure, it's worth savoring the moment. Daniel cradles Louis' face and looks up at him. He's forgotten all about how he's supposed to be ashamed of how he looks, and everything is just warm, and good.
"I missed the taste of you," Louis tells him, a close murmur on yo way to putting his mouth over open punctures. Kissing away the trickles of blood there as Daniel touches him. Aware of the ways they have made a mess of each other, of how much Louis likes that too.
How many years with the taste of Daniel somewhere in the back of his head? Half a memory, something that survived despite how immediately wrecked Louis was, how hard the drugs hit after those first swallows. He had carried that away with him, the way Daniel tasted beneath the bitterness of just so much alcohol and so many hits.
No, there is nowhere else. A certainty. Decades and decades where time and obligations all moved at whatever pace Louis chose, it is no different now. They can stay here, carry in all the papers from the next room, draw the curtains, lounge in bed. (Two weeks. Daniel has two weeks to spare.) He slots his weight into the cradle of Daniel's hips, scrapes a smile across the skin of his throat.
You feel so good, drifts as a murmur between them. Louis wants to bite him everywhere still. He wants him again, wants to stay in this bed as long as Daniel would allow. Louis lets all of this warm the connection between them, as his teeth nip along Daniel's collarbone.
Are bites supposed to feel this way? he wonders. Louis can probably detect that curiosity, the very slight pain of it just giving depth to the pleasurable experience, as though sinking fangs into those same scars has ticked a dial over from scar tissue that is occasionally sensitive and/or tangibly emotionally significant to all that, but also now an erogenous zone.
It doesn't spark anything immediate, just adds to the dreamy, sparkly (and sweaty, and messy) soup of afterglow. Daniel continues to touch him just because he can, stroking feelings of affection and happiness into him. A little bit in awe, like he had been as a kid; like he had been as an old man, too, though he always brandished sarcasm or a biting comment instead of allowing it to be expressed. Safe to express it now.
He's just always thought Louis is so cool. Still does.
Hands slide up to cradle the back of Louis' head. (Is he allowed to touch his hair? The instinct to act permission is there, but his brain's a little fried from climax. Help.) An encouraging thing. Anything that Louis wants. Two weeks, sure, but it's not like somebody's falling off a ledge into non-existence after two weeks. There's life after two weeks. It's exciting. What else will there be?
"Maybe I didn't think I could anymore," he says softly. Feel good. For someone else. "I'm glad it's you."
Would Daniel have wondered over touching Louis' hair in 1973? Louis wished he could know the answer.
It had been right, leaving Daniel human. Louis is certain of it. But he cannot help but mourn the lost pieces, the long years apart. Daniel couldn't have become the man he is now with Louis hovering over him, but Louis was so far. He was so distant, he missed so much of what guided Daniel's becoming.
"I missed you," is a specific thing. Louis missed Daniel so deeply. These long months between the interview, between the terrible things Daniel survived, between the tour and Louis ranging away from the complicated things he feels for Lestat, Louis chasing memories, Louis trying to excise himself from a process he understands broadly but doesn't know anything about in particular. Or at least, doesn't know how Lestat and Daniel are conducting their interview, and doesn't wish to compromise.
But he missed Daniel. Deeply. Endlessly.
Louis' tongue draws over the punctures, licks a hot strip up Daniel's throat. There is some mirrored movement in Louis' body, the way he balances his weight, the friction and shift of their bodies. They are a mess. Louis likes that too, likes the tangible signs of how they've come together. Likes the taste of blood on Daniel's skin, the hint of himself in Daniel's mouth.
"Can I touch you?"
Can Louis lean into how oversensitive and spent they are? Wring something more from Daniel, because he doesn't think he can contain the impulse otherwise.
Daniel was a disaster in 1973. He'd have asked, but been as insensitive as possible about it, entirely by accident. Smugly well-meaning. Embarrassing. He knew everything in 1973, you see.
And now he understands he doesn't know shit.
Except: that Louis missed him. That Louis wants him. And how much he wants Louis in return.
Daniel kisses the side of his cheekbone, his ear, nuzzling at wherever he can as Louis toys with the punctures and the scars they're layered over. What a perverse relief that they didn't vanish when he was transformed. They didn't need to heal. They're not a mark of pain, not really.
"Anywhere, as long as you want," Daniel tells him, with elated laughter in his voice.
A relief, that the mark Louis left on him remains. Endured all these years, tangible reminder of what had passed between them in that apartment, what they survived together.
Not romantic, except in the ways these things can be, for vampires. Or for Louis, possessive even when he didn't have a right to be.
Louis does touch him, hips shifting just enough so he might take Daniel in hand again. Marvel at the slick slide of his palm over him, while Louis' head lights up wanting him all over again, as if they had done nothing at all together yet.
An innate sense of restraint running alongside this, wanting to put his teeth back into Daniel, knowing he is already flirting with how much he should drink. Louis opens his mouth over the punctures once more, over damp skin and the rapid thud of Daniel's pulse, lets his thoughts paint a picture of how Daniel should put hands into his hair, the way Louis likes to be touched, fingers at his nape, teasing the ends of soft twists, the rare sink of fingers in along his scalp at the back of his head—
A break in this thought as Louis drags his tongue along his own fangs, a shortcut to close up his own handiwork in slow, regretful strokes of his tongue.
Whenever I want picking up, as Louis noses along his jaw. Strokes him, slow, careless drags of his palm as the fingers of his opposite hand slid down Daniel's arm, following veins, the delicate bones of his wrist and hand.
A rush of exhale, a shiver— he's sensitive, yes, but it's not like being mortal, his body does whatever he wants it to, now, will rebound happily if desire is there. And it's there. Here. In truth, sex as a mortal is a little fuzzy in his sensory recollection, not because of the long, sad, cold existence of a vampire, but because of his slide into age and disease.
A new life, in so many ways.
He touches Louis how he's shown, taking his time and indulging at once, wanting to make sure everything feels this good for the both of them. No fumbling discomfort, if they can avoid it. He lets Louis feel wherever he's curious about, his cock, his wrist. Rough hands, inelegant, always a little too big and square for his wry frame. He would just make shoe size jokes. (Hey, who's joking?)
That taste of him was not enough. Not by a long shot. But Daniel tucks the desire away on a shelf; they have time. They have an eternity. They don't gave to go on every ride at the theme park in one go.
'I've never known anyone as long as you, did you know that?'
Discounting the gaps. Louis missed him. Daniel missed Louis. Core parts of each other, now; fifty years. Daniel's parents died before he hit fifty. He didn't meet his first wife until after that week in San Fransisco. Friends from college, high school, scattered, forgotten through mundane means. But Louis has been with him all along.
No. It illustrates something for him about Daniel, brings into clearer focus the shapes yielded by memoirs and interviews, by what Daniel has said aloud in Dubai and otherwise. It is arresting. It draws Louis up from his ministrations at Daniel's throat to look at him, to feel all the ways this hooks into the parts of Louis that want to sink teeth into every inch of Daniel's body, to splay over him and pin him down and keep him. Possessive, always possessive.
I didn't know that.
As Louis kisses him, warm and open. Licks into his mouth, tasting of Daniel's blood mingled with his own.
Who knows Louis still? Lestat. Armand. Daniel. And of the three, Daniel has the clearest picture of Louis. Lestat missing great swaths of time that neither of them have been able to touch. (Armand, something else. How deeply does Armand know Louis? Deeper than Louis ever knew him.) But Daniel—
Daniel saw Louis, more clearly than Louis saw himself. Still does, even now.
I want to know you forever.
No mincing the sentiment by casing it in years, decades, centuries. Louis wants forever. Always. Reflects the enormity of it back to Daniel as they kiss, the drag of his palm slowing down to a torturous drag. See how precious he is to Louis? How vital? See how wanted he is?
Daniel looks up at him. Louis is so beautiful. There's such overwhelming, aching affection, and he feels this wonderful surge of relief — not for the first time — that he'll never have to look at Louis and see him fogged over and alien ever again. No more morning afters with him acting like a pod person. No more record-skip confusion. Just Louis, just the guy at the bar Daniel was smitten by, and all the truth within him.
A deep kiss. Daniel keeps one hand on the back of Louis' head, fingers against his hairline, the other dragging down over the line of his back, perfect and smooth. He hitches up into the slow friction, blood warming again already. (Being a vampire fucking rules, actually.)
Forever is a lot, but Daniel is hungry for it. Taking in everything someone has to give, until they're sick of him. He's too blissed out to worry anymore, his mind whirring and working about only good things, way past the practical concern that Louis doesn't know what he's getting into with such an annoying asshole. Daniel just wants him. Grabs into those feelings, lets Louis feel his own in return. That's the most romantic fucking thing anyone's ever said to him. Thought about him. Whatever.
He will never give Daniel up again. They will never forget each other again. Louis can be with him, watch Daniel grow and change, live all the lives vampirism promises to him. He can watch Daniel become a better vampire than Louis was, is, will be.
No half measures. Louis is done with half measures.
"Forever," Louis whispers against his mouth. Doesn't ask Daniel to promise beyond what he's already said. It doesn't feel necessary. Won't they always find their way to each other? If Louis is certain of nothing else, he is certain of this. Daniel will find him. Louis will return to him. They are linked to each other so deeply.
Heady, to promise forever and mean forever.
"Come for me again," is a whisper too, murmured between one kiss and the next, the purposeful drag of Louis' hand. "I want to see you come again."
An impossible luxury, to think of knowing someone forever. That kind of constant. A north star. Daniel had long given up keeping anyone even for a mortal lifetime. Something for other people, who live other lives, in which they are easy to get along with and better at compromise. But not anyone like him.
And then, this. Louis.
They're the same kind of stupid. Maybe that's the trick.
Louis wants to see him come again. He can do that, and he murmurs something like a fond laugh into their kisses.
"Hedonist," he accuses, like Daniel isn't. Like everything in this new life hasn't been about returning to everything that he's ever gotten off doing.
San Francisco had been many things, but it had so rarely been about pleasure. Not a lasting kind of pleasure. Drugs and sex as a punishment, as a numbing agent. Whatever was good was fleeting.
But then, Daniel. Out of all of that misery, there was Daniel.
Now, Louis wants everything at once. All of him. Louis promises forever easy, a forgone conclusion, as he touches Daniel with a casual kind of possessiveness. Louis wants to know everything. They will have forever and Louis will see how the way they touch each other changes, because Louis is old enough to know the inevitability of it. Time works on vampires too. They'll grow together, change together. Louis wants that too.
Shit's been too difficult for Louis. Too much abuse. (Too much Catholicism, too.) He can have whatever he wants, now. He can do all the things he did to torture himself, and do it just for fun. Or do something totally different. Anything.
Daniel gives himself over to the feeling. Doesn't worry just yet about Louis, lets him have what he says he wants, what Daniel can tell he wants because they're in each other's heads. (He doesn't have to wonder if it was like this for Louis and Armand. He knows Armand would never open himself like this. For as much as he disdains the 'silence' between makers and fledglings, he's never honest about anyone in his head, either. A bitter pill, but irrelevant in this moment.)
"You make me feel fucking good, Louis." Breathless, needy. Getting back to the edge, letting Louis feel the rush in his mind as he shifts restlessly towards him, curling up a little, cradles his face, kisses him.
Everything had hurt for so long. Addition, aging, disease. Loneliness, heartbreak, bitterness. And now this. He gets to be immortal, he gets to have Louis, and they get to have each other forever.
It was easy with Daniel from the start. It was easy in that bar, effortless. It's easy now. It will be easy a hundred, two hundred years from now.
And Daniel should feel good. The extent of his illness, the pain of it, had been partially obscured from Louis behind Daniel's bluster and sarcasm, but it's absence looms large in his mind now. It is illustrative of what is no longer present.
"Daniel," Louis murmurs, soft against his mouth. "I got you. Let me see you."
Coaxing. Covetous.
"Show me," with a scrape of teeth. Unnecessary, when they are this deep in each others heads. (Who else has welcomed Louis this way? Wound him so deep into Daniel's mind that the lines between their thoughts blur?) Louis can feel everything Daniel is talking about. More. Every drag of his fingers, every last kiss, every nip of teeth, Louis can feel how what it sparks up in Daniel. He says this anyway as he touches him, coaxing, encouraging, teasing at whatever last vestiges of restraint Daniel might have left.
Louis, Louis, Louis. Louis who deserves everything good. Who makes Daniel feel so incredible. Maybe there's some other universe where they ran away from San Fransisco, and everything is different, even though Daniel is better now, even though Louis needed to be jailbroken with the truth and not just an escape.
He's going to come. He can feel Louis, physically, mentally, his own body is more than happy to spiral right along. Sparkling in the hypersensitive aftermath, it still feels incredible. He likes being a vampire, he likes being dead, none of it feels like being damned, it feels like he finally understands how life's supposed to work. And he gets to know this person.
He shows Louis, because the pleasure hitches up in him and he comes.
All he wants is for Daniel to say his name like this, over and over, forever.
Or not even just like that. Just this way. All the ways Daniel says his name, exasperated and fond and teasing and needling, the vast array of things Daniel draws out of him, Louis wants all of that.
He is greedy, he knows. Selfish. It is shades of how he wanted (wanted once, wants again) Lestat. All-consumingly. Endless. Daniel comes and Louis doesn't kiss him. He doesn't stop touching Daniel, fingers at his temple and his cheek, catching at his mouth, as he draws this pleasure from him, but Louis looks at him instead. Observing, attention focused so sharply on Daniel's face. Feel all the different layers of thought in Daniel's mind.
Tries, tries to take some solace in the ways Daniel likes his vampirism. Louis knew that he would.
By and by, hand slowing in its movement, Louis leans in to kiss him softly, a sweet brush of contact. Something to hold place for all the other things catching in his throat, words Louis never can say.
A 70-year-old face scrunched up in pleasure isn't anything to write home about. Charming, maybe, if one is especially smitten. (Sometimes Daniel wonders what the rest of them would look like, aged. Louis with grey hair, pronounced lines on still mostly robust skin, litheness serving him well. Would he end up in glasses? Return to the use of a cane, and poke around with it while doling out sharp wisdom?)
He drags in air just for the pleasure of feeling everything expand. His pulse is frantic still, though slowing from a peak, an indulgent drift down. His eyes blink back open, glassy, dilated, dreamy, and the overdense color they should be, still no trace of his maker. Banished by Louis' affection, maybe.
Daniel feels a little brain-fried by it all, but in a good way. He hopes Louis got something out of it, too, and he kisses him, raising his head to chase it and get more. Soft and sweet, fine, they can do that, but Daniel just wants to keep feeling him. Thinks about the taste of his blood a little, but he's loopy, surely he can be forgiven.
Daniel thinks about his blood and Louis cuts his tongue on a fang to let some trace droplets mingle into their kiss.
Moving again, straddling Daniel's hips. Touching him, hands cupping his face as their noses brush, nonsense murmurs between kisses.
"Daniel," then, a lower tease of, "Danny."
Needling as they kiss, heavy with the taste of blood between them. A little nudge to provoke, soothed almost immediately by another kiss.
Winds his way to, "My Daniel," with fingers cradling his face, hips slotted together. Chest to chest, Louis can feel the rise and fall of his chest, the slowing thud of his pulse. "Are you satisfied?"
A jolt, raw and electric, with Louis' blood. It yanks Daniel from the maybe-relaxing stage to an oh-fuck[positive]? stage. Barely any, just hints of being able to form a full picture of the taste of him. It teases claws in the part of Daniel's brain that wants to always demand more, makes his eyes shine brighter.
Danny. Ugh. He bites at Louis' mouth, flat teeth not meant to break the skin, still wary of his inability to reel himself in despite the strong, aching pull A grumbled complaint into the next kiss. It took him years to stop responding to Danny, who was a stupid kid that Daniel wants nothing to with.
"The hell kind of question is that?"
Hands at Louis' sides, they slip up over his chest, down again, feeling him everywhere. His skin is a luxury. He's so fucking beautiful.
Delighted, always, by Daniel's irritation, the sting of his teeth like a call and response. The sweep of his hands is brief distraction, holding Louis' attention even as Daniel poses this question in return.
"I'd like to know."
Though it is tempting to keep him here forever. Do this forever. A fantasy where nothing waits for either of them outside this bed, nothing is complicated, all is as they wish it to be.
"We can shower," comes as a murmur, soft against Daniel's mouth. "And we can hunt."
Louis knows Daniel has been hunting. Knows that what he gets up to with Lestat is messy and maybe brutal, more brutal than Louis would like to hear about. Even now, he reads everything, all the articles, everything that carries word of Daniel and now Lestat, back to him.
"Have you ever shared a coffin?"
A question asked before Louis can think whether or not he truly wants an answer. Does he want to know if Armand folded Daniel in alongside him in some closed space? Did Armand deign to lower himself into a coffin for Daniel's sake?
Daniel lets him feel: sure, he's satisfied, technically. But he could want more, right now. He could want to see Louis come again, evening the score. He could stay here all night with him, drag a blanket over their heads after, touch him languidly during the stay, and start again—
Which is a bit too much, probably? Daniel is always going to have this personality, though, more, and dying hasn't changed it. Just let him have it again. More, more, more. Drugs, sex, truth, blood.
But he'd also like to shower with Louis (he'll avert his eyes from the bathroom mirror, uncomfortable with his own deterioration vs the other man's physique, but he'll cope), and he'd like to vent the half-riled bloodlust onto someone he doesn't have to worry about stopping on. A headtilt for it, though. Louis doesn't like hunting. They don't have to.
I know forms in Louis' head. Yes, he knows. Yes, he wants more. Yes, it is a wrench to contemplate leaving the bed.
It's not only Daniel. There is something in Louis that wants and wants and wants, denied and curtailed by all the other pieces of his nature. But he feels it in Daniel, how the force of his desire hooks into his chest and drags all of Louis' wanting to the forefront. Close at hand as Louis shifts his weight over Daniel, a minor restless movement meant only to contain the urge to plunge them both back into the heady rush of their shared desire.
"Stay with me," Louis murmurs.
He'd offered, before, to retrieve Daniel's coffin. Off the cuff, something so effortless to arrange. But he wants—
More, yes. But Louis wants closeness. Wants to fall into sleep with their echoing heart beating back and forth between them. He wants Daniel under the warm spray of water in his shower and he wants Daniel sated, well-fed. He wants all the intimacy of these things, wants to know him in these ways too.
Speed-running getting sick of him? If so, Daniel might as well enjoy it while it lasts. He presses a kiss to Louis' mouth. The weight of him pressed down on him feels as good as everything else. He should really be spent, and maybe he is, but over-stimulation to the point of pain was something he was into even before. Not the type to roll away and call anything a night.
"Until you kick me out."
Yes. More than yes.
But even if he's not the type to pull the plug on this— he should probably not annoy the shit out of Louis with it? Right? Right. So.
"What's the game plan?" A light pinch to his side, teasing.
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Why do vampires ever do anything else? How are immortals bored? C'mon. Give Daniel a break. They could be doing this every night.
Blood and sweat and come (which is more blood, he's pretty sure), harsh breathing though they don't fucking need to, and the sound of their heartbeats. Different, out of time, and beautiful for it. Daniel speaks Louis' name back to him in their heads, and slides a hand down between them to touch him, get his hand wet, and bring it back to his mouth. Still a disgusting black hole junkie, sorry, but if he doesn't taste Louis somehow he's going insane.
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Louis leans in to kiss him. Licks into his mouth, aware of the open punctures at Daniel's throat.
Heady, to be wanted this way. (Louis is still, always, in some ways the man standing in a courtyard, asking if he is enough.) Heady to know that Daniel wants him this way. To feel it so clearly. They are a mess and exhausted and Louis wants him again. Louis can taste himself in Daniel's mouth. Has Daniel's blood on his own tongue. He is still catching his breath, and yet—
But he's older now. Has learned something like patience in all his long years on this planet. He can hold one desire in check, focus on where they are now. Daniel under him, the rhythm of their hearts, the warmth of his skin. Daniel tastes him, and Louis kisses him again, deep and slow, before he lowers his head down to the bite he'd left, the slow drips of blood at Daniel's throat.
Louis catches them, arms around Daniel as he applies lips and tongue to the trailing droplets. Kisses over the wounds slowly, no urgency.
Better than I remembered, is true, but also a kind of joke. How much does Louis truly remember? Enough, enough to know, but there are blurred aspects, things damaged by Armand, by the injuries Louis survived.
"How do you feel?"
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Between their minds, an impression of a laugh, both for taste and because— what, why put the brakes on? Does Louis have somewhere else he needs to be, right now?
Still. Sure, it's worth savoring the moment. Daniel cradles Louis' face and looks up at him. He's forgotten all about how he's supposed to be ashamed of how he looks, and everything is just warm, and good.
"I feel fucking great."
But Louis knows that.
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How many years with the taste of Daniel somewhere in the back of his head? Half a memory, something that survived despite how immediately wrecked Louis was, how hard the drugs hit after those first swallows. He had carried that away with him, the way Daniel tasted beneath the bitterness of just so much alcohol and so many hits.
No, there is nowhere else. A certainty. Decades and decades where time and obligations all moved at whatever pace Louis chose, it is no different now. They can stay here, carry in all the papers from the next room, draw the curtains, lounge in bed. (Two weeks. Daniel has two weeks to spare.) He slots his weight into the cradle of Daniel's hips, scrapes a smile across the skin of his throat.
You feel so good, drifts as a murmur between them. Louis wants to bite him everywhere still. He wants him again, wants to stay in this bed as long as Daniel would allow. Louis lets all of this warm the connection between them, as his teeth nip along Daniel's collarbone.
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It doesn't spark anything immediate, just adds to the dreamy, sparkly (and sweaty, and messy) soup of afterglow. Daniel continues to touch him just because he can, stroking feelings of affection and happiness into him. A little bit in awe, like he had been as a kid; like he had been as an old man, too, though he always brandished sarcasm or a biting comment instead of allowing it to be expressed. Safe to express it now.
He's just always thought Louis is so cool. Still does.
Hands slide up to cradle the back of Louis' head. (Is he allowed to touch his hair? The instinct to act permission is there, but his brain's a little fried from climax. Help.) An encouraging thing. Anything that Louis wants. Two weeks, sure, but it's not like somebody's falling off a ledge into non-existence after two weeks. There's life after two weeks. It's exciting. What else will there be?
"Maybe I didn't think I could anymore," he says softly. Feel good. For someone else. "I'm glad it's you."
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Would Daniel have wondered over touching Louis' hair in 1973? Louis wished he could know the answer.
It had been right, leaving Daniel human. Louis is certain of it. But he cannot help but mourn the lost pieces, the long years apart. Daniel couldn't have become the man he is now with Louis hovering over him, but Louis was so far. He was so distant, he missed so much of what guided Daniel's becoming.
"I missed you," is a specific thing. Louis missed Daniel so deeply. These long months between the interview, between the terrible things Daniel survived, between the tour and Louis ranging away from the complicated things he feels for Lestat, Louis chasing memories, Louis trying to excise himself from a process he understands broadly but doesn't know anything about in particular. Or at least, doesn't know how Lestat and Daniel are conducting their interview, and doesn't wish to compromise.
But he missed Daniel. Deeply. Endlessly.
Louis' tongue draws over the punctures, licks a hot strip up Daniel's throat. There is some mirrored movement in Louis' body, the way he balances his weight, the friction and shift of their bodies. They are a mess. Louis likes that too, likes the tangible signs of how they've come together. Likes the taste of blood on Daniel's skin, the hint of himself in Daniel's mouth.
"Can I touch you?"
Can Louis lean into how oversensitive and spent they are? Wring something more from Daniel, because he doesn't think he can contain the impulse otherwise.
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And now he understands he doesn't know shit.
Except: that Louis missed him. That Louis wants him. And how much he wants Louis in return.
Daniel kisses the side of his cheekbone, his ear, nuzzling at wherever he can as Louis toys with the punctures and the scars they're layered over. What a perverse relief that they didn't vanish when he was transformed. They didn't need to heal. They're not a mark of pain, not really.
"Anywhere, as long as you want," Daniel tells him, with elated laughter in his voice.
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Not romantic, except in the ways these things can be, for vampires. Or for Louis, possessive even when he didn't have a right to be.
Louis does touch him, hips shifting just enough so he might take Daniel in hand again. Marvel at the slick slide of his palm over him, while Louis' head lights up wanting him all over again, as if they had done nothing at all together yet.
An innate sense of restraint running alongside this, wanting to put his teeth back into Daniel, knowing he is already flirting with how much he should drink. Louis opens his mouth over the punctures once more, over damp skin and the rapid thud of Daniel's pulse, lets his thoughts paint a picture of how Daniel should put hands into his hair, the way Louis likes to be touched, fingers at his nape, teasing the ends of soft twists, the rare sink of fingers in along his scalp at the back of his head—
A break in this thought as Louis drags his tongue along his own fangs, a shortcut to close up his own handiwork in slow, regretful strokes of his tongue.
Whenever I want picking up, as Louis noses along his jaw. Strokes him, slow, careless drags of his palm as the fingers of his opposite hand slid down Daniel's arm, following veins, the delicate bones of his wrist and hand.
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A new life, in so many ways.
He touches Louis how he's shown, taking his time and indulging at once, wanting to make sure everything feels this good for the both of them. No fumbling discomfort, if they can avoid it. He lets Louis feel wherever he's curious about, his cock, his wrist. Rough hands, inelegant, always a little too big and square for his wry frame. He would just make shoe size jokes. (Hey, who's joking?)
That taste of him was not enough. Not by a long shot. But Daniel tucks the desire away on a shelf; they have time. They have an eternity. They don't gave to go on every ride at the theme park in one go.
'I've never known anyone as long as you, did you know that?'
Discounting the gaps. Louis missed him. Daniel missed Louis. Core parts of each other, now; fifty years. Daniel's parents died before he hit fifty. He didn't meet his first wife until after that week in San Fransisco. Friends from college, high school, scattered, forgotten through mundane means. But Louis has been with him all along.
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No. It illustrates something for him about Daniel, brings into clearer focus the shapes yielded by memoirs and interviews, by what Daniel has said aloud in Dubai and otherwise. It is arresting. It draws Louis up from his ministrations at Daniel's throat to look at him, to feel all the ways this hooks into the parts of Louis that want to sink teeth into every inch of Daniel's body, to splay over him and pin him down and keep him. Possessive, always possessive.
I didn't know that.
As Louis kisses him, warm and open. Licks into his mouth, tasting of Daniel's blood mingled with his own.
Who knows Louis still? Lestat. Armand. Daniel. And of the three, Daniel has the clearest picture of Louis. Lestat missing great swaths of time that neither of them have been able to touch. (Armand, something else. How deeply does Armand know Louis? Deeper than Louis ever knew him.) But Daniel—
Daniel saw Louis, more clearly than Louis saw himself. Still does, even now.
I want to know you forever.
No mincing the sentiment by casing it in years, decades, centuries. Louis wants forever. Always. Reflects the enormity of it back to Daniel as they kiss, the drag of his palm slowing down to a torturous drag. See how precious he is to Louis? How vital? See how wanted he is?
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A deep kiss. Daniel keeps one hand on the back of Louis' head, fingers against his hairline, the other dragging down over the line of his back, perfect and smooth. He hitches up into the slow friction, blood warming again already. (Being a vampire fucking rules, actually.)
Forever is a lot, but Daniel is hungry for it. Taking in everything someone has to give, until they're sick of him. He's too blissed out to worry anymore, his mind whirring and working about only good things, way past the practical concern that Louis doesn't know what he's getting into with such an annoying asshole. Daniel just wants him. Grabs into those feelings, lets Louis feel his own in return. That's the most romantic fucking thing anyone's ever said to him. Thought about him. Whatever.
'We can do that.'
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He will never give Daniel up again. They will never forget each other again. Louis can be with him, watch Daniel grow and change, live all the lives vampirism promises to him. He can watch Daniel become a better vampire than Louis was, is, will be.
No half measures. Louis is done with half measures.
"Forever," Louis whispers against his mouth. Doesn't ask Daniel to promise beyond what he's already said. It doesn't feel necessary. Won't they always find their way to each other? If Louis is certain of nothing else, he is certain of this. Daniel will find him. Louis will return to him. They are linked to each other so deeply.
Heady, to promise forever and mean forever.
"Come for me again," is a whisper too, murmured between one kiss and the next, the purposeful drag of Louis' hand. "I want to see you come again."
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And then, this. Louis.
They're the same kind of stupid. Maybe that's the trick.
Louis wants to see him come again. He can do that, and he murmurs something like a fond laugh into their kisses.
"Hedonist," he accuses, like Daniel isn't. Like everything in this new life hasn't been about returning to everything that he's ever gotten off doing.
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Because it had never quite been—
San Francisco had been many things, but it had so rarely been about pleasure. Not a lasting kind of pleasure. Drugs and sex as a punishment, as a numbing agent. Whatever was good was fleeting.
But then, Daniel. Out of all of that misery, there was Daniel.
Now, Louis wants everything at once. All of him. Louis promises forever easy, a forgone conclusion, as he touches Daniel with a casual kind of possessiveness. Louis wants to know everything. They will have forever and Louis will see how the way they touch each other changes, because Louis is old enough to know the inevitability of it. Time works on vampires too. They'll grow together, change together. Louis wants that too.
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Daniel gives himself over to the feeling. Doesn't worry just yet about Louis, lets him have what he says he wants, what Daniel can tell he wants because they're in each other's heads. (He doesn't have to wonder if it was like this for Louis and Armand. He knows Armand would never open himself like this. For as much as he disdains the 'silence' between makers and fledglings, he's never honest about anyone in his head, either. A bitter pill, but irrelevant in this moment.)
"You make me feel fucking good, Louis." Breathless, needy. Getting back to the edge, letting Louis feel the rush in his mind as he shifts restlessly towards him, curling up a little, cradles his face, kisses him.
Everything had hurt for so long. Addition, aging, disease. Loneliness, heartbreak, bitterness. And now this. He gets to be immortal, he gets to have Louis, and they get to have each other forever.
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And Daniel should feel good. The extent of his illness, the pain of it, had been partially obscured from Louis behind Daniel's bluster and sarcasm, but it's absence looms large in his mind now. It is illustrative of what is no longer present.
"Daniel," Louis murmurs, soft against his mouth. "I got you. Let me see you."
Coaxing. Covetous.
"Show me," with a scrape of teeth. Unnecessary, when they are this deep in each others heads. (Who else has welcomed Louis this way? Wound him so deep into Daniel's mind that the lines between their thoughts blur?) Louis can feel everything Daniel is talking about. More. Every drag of his fingers, every last kiss, every nip of teeth, Louis can feel how what it sparks up in Daniel. He says this anyway as he touches him, coaxing, encouraging, teasing at whatever last vestiges of restraint Daniel might have left.
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Louis, Louis, Louis. Louis who deserves everything good. Who makes Daniel feel so incredible. Maybe there's some other universe where they ran away from San Fransisco, and everything is different, even though Daniel is better now, even though Louis needed to be jailbroken with the truth and not just an escape.
He's going to come. He can feel Louis, physically, mentally, his own body is more than happy to spiral right along. Sparkling in the hypersensitive aftermath, it still feels incredible. He likes being a vampire, he likes being dead, none of it feels like being damned, it feels like he finally understands how life's supposed to work. And he gets to know this person.
He shows Louis, because the pleasure hitches up in him and he comes.
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Or not even just like that. Just this way. All the ways Daniel says his name, exasperated and fond and teasing and needling, the vast array of things Daniel draws out of him, Louis wants all of that.
He is greedy, he knows. Selfish. It is shades of how he wanted (wanted once, wants again) Lestat. All-consumingly. Endless. Daniel comes and Louis doesn't kiss him. He doesn't stop touching Daniel, fingers at his temple and his cheek, catching at his mouth, as he draws this pleasure from him, but Louis looks at him instead. Observing, attention focused so sharply on Daniel's face. Feel all the different layers of thought in Daniel's mind.
Tries, tries to take some solace in the ways Daniel likes his vampirism. Louis knew that he would.
By and by, hand slowing in its movement, Louis leans in to kiss him softly, a sweet brush of contact. Something to hold place for all the other things catching in his throat, words Louis never can say.
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He drags in air just for the pleasure of feeling everything expand. His pulse is frantic still, though slowing from a peak, an indulgent drift down. His eyes blink back open, glassy, dilated, dreamy, and the overdense color they should be, still no trace of his maker. Banished by Louis' affection, maybe.
Daniel feels a little brain-fried by it all, but in a good way. He hopes Louis got something out of it, too, and he kisses him, raising his head to chase it and get more. Soft and sweet, fine, they can do that, but Daniel just wants to keep feeling him. Thinks about the taste of his blood a little, but he's loopy, surely he can be forgiven.
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Moving again, straddling Daniel's hips. Touching him, hands cupping his face as their noses brush, nonsense murmurs between kisses.
"Daniel," then, a lower tease of, "Danny."
Needling as they kiss, heavy with the taste of blood between them. A little nudge to provoke, soothed almost immediately by another kiss.
Winds his way to, "My Daniel," with fingers cradling his face, hips slotted together. Chest to chest, Louis can feel the rise and fall of his chest, the slowing thud of his pulse. "Are you satisfied?"
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Danny. Ugh. He bites at Louis' mouth, flat teeth not meant to break the skin, still wary of his inability to reel himself in despite the strong, aching pull A grumbled complaint into the next kiss. It took him years to stop responding to Danny, who was a stupid kid that Daniel wants nothing to with.
"The hell kind of question is that?"
Hands at Louis' sides, they slip up over his chest, down again, feeling him everywhere. His skin is a luxury. He's so fucking beautiful.
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"I'd like to know."
Though it is tempting to keep him here forever. Do this forever. A fantasy where nothing waits for either of them outside this bed, nothing is complicated, all is as they wish it to be.
"We can shower," comes as a murmur, soft against Daniel's mouth. "And we can hunt."
Louis knows Daniel has been hunting. Knows that what he gets up to with Lestat is messy and maybe brutal, more brutal than Louis would like to hear about. Even now, he reads everything, all the articles, everything that carries word of Daniel and now Lestat, back to him.
"Have you ever shared a coffin?"
A question asked before Louis can think whether or not he truly wants an answer. Does he want to know if Armand folded Daniel in alongside him in some closed space? Did Armand deign to lower himself into a coffin for Daniel's sake?
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Which is a bit too much, probably? Daniel is always going to have this personality, though, more, and dying hasn't changed it. Just let him have it again. More, more, more. Drugs, sex, truth, blood.
But he'd also like to shower with Louis (he'll avert his eyes from the bathroom mirror, uncomfortable with his own deterioration vs the other man's physique, but he'll cope), and he'd like to vent the half-riled bloodlust onto someone he doesn't have to worry about stopping on. A headtilt for it, though. Louis doesn't like hunting. They don't have to.
The coffin, though.
"I haven't."
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It's not only Daniel. There is something in Louis that wants and wants and wants, denied and curtailed by all the other pieces of his nature. But he feels it in Daniel, how the force of his desire hooks into his chest and drags all of Louis' wanting to the forefront. Close at hand as Louis shifts his weight over Daniel, a minor restless movement meant only to contain the urge to plunge them both back into the heady rush of their shared desire.
"Stay with me," Louis murmurs.
He'd offered, before, to retrieve Daniel's coffin. Off the cuff, something so effortless to arrange. But he wants—
More, yes. But Louis wants closeness. Wants to fall into sleep with their echoing heart beating back and forth between them. He wants Daniel under the warm spray of water in his shower and he wants Daniel sated, well-fed. He wants all the intimacy of these things, wants to know him in these ways too.
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"Until you kick me out."
Yes. More than yes.
But even if he's not the type to pull the plug on this— he should probably not annoy the shit out of Louis with it? Right? Right. So.
"What's the game plan?" A light pinch to his side, teasing.
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