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.
(Trying to parse out the answer is like ripping open a barely-scabbed wound. Remembering. Recalling what was once good, what remained good, what was eaten up by misery.)
Daniel pinches him and Louis bites him, a scrape of teeth along the jaw.
"I'm going to make you come until you can't," is decisive, indulgent. Attuned, maybe, to the silent flicker of thought in Daniel's head that wants more, and more, and more. A thought that Louis leans into, lets himself sink into it as he gives Daniel his thigh to rock against while they kiss. Murmurs, "And then wash you clean," into Daniel's mouth. "And see you sated, before I take you with me to coffin."
That declaration curls around something deep and just a little fucked up in Daniel, and Louis can no doubt sense his interest— and on the heels of that, the sheepish thought that he doesn't actually know what his limit is. The sexual partners he's had since transformation have all been mortals, before this encounter right here right now, and he's always stopped just a little beyond what should be normal for a human man (granted, one younger than him), and nothing past it.
Another half hour? ... A week??? Mysteries of the universe. Does Louis know? How much exhaustion kink does he get up to? Inquiring mind. Singular. This specific, inquiring mind.
"Sounds pretty cool."
Saying dopey shit on purpose, just to see if Louis will laugh.
And Louis does. Nothing to do with what he feels in Daniel's head, everything to do with how he sounds saying this, the curiosity that is so intrinsic to who Daniel is and always has been. Louis laughs, low and fond, presses his smile in against Daniel's cheek. Kisses the corner of his mouth.
"Pretty cool," Louis echoes, just to roll the words off his tongue. Tasting them, experiment with how Daniel's vernacular feels in his mouth.
Reaches down to take him in hand again, a loose curl of fingers. Touching just to touch, intent not quite materializing as Louis thumbs over the head of his cock.
"We'll find it together," Louis tells him, answering at least one unspoken question. Maybe he'll answer the others. Maybe Daniel will have to ask, pin him, corner him into an answer. The mingled experience between Lestat and Armand, so much ground covered in a century's worth of time, not all of it easy to recall. "What it is now, what it will be someday."
No desire to dig up bittersweet (or worse) memories and chill the mood; Daniel just can't help being ravenously curious about everything. He laughs into a nuzzle, shivers a bit at the way Louis touches him.
"Making plans," he observes. Louis likes plans. Daniel imagines him with a very detailed, very orderly bullet journal, one clean and organized without any washi tape or cute stickers, in his old lady cursive handwriting. He lets Louis see this fond thought as he sits up, shuffling them to be face to face, and Louis can sit beside him or with legs splayed over him to be half in his lap, whatever he feels like.
Because this goes both ways. Daniel's not just going to lay back and count nuts. He wants to see Louis reach his peak again, hear the way his breath changes, watch his face contort in pleasure. As many times as they each can. Louis had been torn on what position, wanting too many things at once, now he gets it if he wants it now. Daniel kisses him, touches him, loses count. Loses track.
Eventually his phone will ping. He's got a funny (and very loud) alarm an hour or so before sunrise. It's just that he usually loses track of time because he's working, not because he's fooling around.
The alarm makes Louis laugh breathlessly, fingers curling at the nape of Daniel's neck. Present, focused wholly on what he's been drawing out of Daniel, what Daniel has been drawing out of him. Counting in an idle way, interested in the number as a marker, something he might someday push Daniel past.
Here, now, the phone chimes and Louis laughs. Has migrated fully into Daniel's lap from their starting point, crowding him into the headboard. Skin gleaming with sweat, mouth bruised, hips rolling down in an easy sinuous movement, unbroken by the sound of the alarm.
"Once more," Louis coaxes. "Once more, right now, before we stop for the night."
Thumbs stroking the delicate skin behind Daniel's ears, fingers nudging at his hairline. Louis brushes his lips across Daniel's, their breath mingling.
The alarm is crazy, Daniel thinks. Has so much time passed? Has so little time passed? He grins and bumps his nose against Louis', feeling loopy and happy for it. He tastes Louis still, in the back of his teeth, has told him he could probably suck his cock for an entire night (or more), has found bruises that vanish, has been impressed by the pinkish sheen of sweat that comes off them both.
"Can you?"
Daniel shifts up, pressing his cock deeper into him, finding it effortless still despite the exertion and the impending call of the sun, soaking in the endless easy delight of no longer being human. It's possible he'll never take this for granted— being able to move just as he wants to, no pain, no struggle. Everything in service of making them both feel good, claw and tumble to the next height.
Another kiss, because he can't get enough, and he circles a hand between them to stroke Louis. Can't get enough of this, either.
An absurd thing to be thinking now, as Daniel fucks up into him and drives the breath out of Louis' lungs, but he can feel all these things in Daniel's head. The pleasure of what his transformation has given him. The gratitude. (Some part of Louis, jealous and hurt, flicks open an eye to remember that Louis had wanted to give his to him, Louis could have—) Daniel is so pleased and Louis feels it, lets himself mirror that joy.
Daniel, alive always. Healthy always. And they can have each other this way, whenever they want.
Daniel kisses him and Louis licks into his mouth. Possessive, pleased, tasting himself there. A humming whisper of thought: For you, anything. And Tell me you want me again.
As if it's not a foregone conclusion, once Daniel starts touching him with such clear intention as Louis meets the upward thrust of his hips. Daniel's pleasure is an electric thing, sparking bright like a livewire strung between their heads.
No regrets at all that it was Armand. Sure there was horror, but it's horror that won him something: the same line that connects him to his maker separates them. And there gets to be nothing that separates him from Louis. They can laugh in each other's heads, chat at all hours anywhere in the world, no phones needed. They can feel like this, pinwheels of emotion and sensation and happy reflections.
'I want you,' he tells him, lets him feel how much. How much, despite how many times already. Edges are starting to fray, concentration is starting to go glassy, but Louis said until you can't. Sunlight or unconsciousness. Daniel will indulge until he overdoses.
Out loud this time: "Watching you, feeling you come like this, is so good. I thought I'd never see you that unwound. I'll never get sick of it. I'll never get sick of being the one to do it. Come on, one more time. Just like this."
All this wanting, all this desire, Louis lets it reflect back. They have been fucking for an eternity, and it is not enough.
Maybe fifty years would come within shouting distance of enough. Louis doesn't know. Daniel says these things to him and Louis shudders down into the cradle of his hips, hands tightening around the sides of Daniel's face.
"Just like this," Louis echoes. Repeats again, "Anything for you."
Drawn in where Daniel's consciousness is blurring, savoring the quality of it. Fingers slipping, grazing over scar tissue, over new-made bite marks already healing into nothingness. (Grateful, unforgivably, that Louis left a mark on him. Bit it into him, a claim that endured even through Daniel's death and rebirth.)
Murmurs, "Come with me," even as he lets himself come all apart, panting against Daniel's mouth, spilling over under the pull of Daniel's fingers.
Verging on that place where everything is a little too rubbed raw and sore, but it doesn't quite tip over into it like it would for a mortal— Daniel can feel it, but it's not reaching him, and it just ends up heightening the experience. He'd go all the way to real pain if they had time and if Louis let him. And even then it wouldn't really be pain, because there are wires in Daniel that were installed incorrectly at birth.
But Louis wants one more time, and right now, and just like this, and anything, and he's there and Daniel feels his body clench around him, just as good maybe better than that his mind shimmer with it at the same time. One can really believe the whole 'little death' translation joke from this perspective; following dead blood into the darkness, following a partner's orgasm over a ledge into your own.
Too morbid? Too morbid.
In any event, Daniel fucks up into him and stills as he comes, holding Louis close and gasping against him, open mouth against him, too messy to be a kiss, just wanting to be near him and a part of him. Fractal fireworks, ecstasy, a hysterical peak of his heartbeat and the joy of it slowing like falling, like flying.
And even now, feeling Daniel tip and fracture and fall, Louis thinks, Again.
But no. The sun is coming up. Daniel is young. He needs to sleep.
Louis kisses his slack mouth. Scrapes nails up and down his scalp. Murmurs Daniel's name, low and intimate and so, so affectionate. Letting him find his way back to composure while Louis stays close, wound close still. Skin to skin, mind to mind.
I like you this way, Louis tells him. Smiles, admits, I like you every way I can have you.
Frustrating and irreverent and kind and now this, how Louis has him now.
"We'll need a whole day," Louis supposes, thoughtful. "A whole day to do something like this."
Having caught some stray edge of Daniel's thoughts, the thing he didn't quite ask for that Louis wants to give him anyway.
Daniel laughs softly, bumps forehead to forehead before he presses a blurry kiss to Louis' cheekbone. All a mess, reconciling with okay, that was the last one, enjoying it, because there is incredible sweetness to wrapping it up and moving to the next stage of intimacy, too. He hasn't showered with someone in decades, and sleeping in bed with someone else is a rare luxury, to say nothing of the as-yet-un-experienced coffin.
"Anything means anything," he says.
A whole day, or not, Louis doesn't have to steamroll himself for Daniel's sake. Though he'd absolutely go in for it.
More soft kisses, and touches that don't want to let go. Daniel finds the prospect of parting to be particularly brutal, but consoles himself with the fact that Louis is not yet tired of him. Spell not yet broken.
Physical detangling is a slow process. Louis, reluctant, taking long minutes to work up to leaving the bed. A long, indulgent exchange of kisses, Louis' hands sweeping across skin before coming to brace on Daniel's chest and lever himself up.
A tug between their heads as Louis reaches a hand back. Aware of the mess they've made of each other. His own skin damp with sweat, thighs slick, a pleasant ache smoldering in his body.
"Come on."
Beckoning Daniel to him, wanting already to be touching him again.
A shock to the system, getting up and remembering himself again, needles of insecurity and embarrassment at what he looks like. (Surely this cannot be a handicap forever, but he had a lot of time for these self-image issues to settle in, alright.) Bullied into submission by the past hours, the still-stick evidence of it, by Louis reaching out to bring him along for more contact, more closeness.
Alright, alright.
He follows him, presumably to the bathroom, where he clings to the notion of this being fine and does not look at himself in the mirror. The absurdity of being shy despite all they've done.
Daniel wants to touch him, feel him under warm water, help him get clean. Carefully wash away the mess they've made, but not forget it.
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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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How long since there was teasing, in Louis' bed?
(Trying to parse out the answer is like ripping open a barely-scabbed wound. Remembering. Recalling what was once good, what remained good, what was eaten up by misery.)
Daniel pinches him and Louis bites him, a scrape of teeth along the jaw.
"I'm going to make you come until you can't," is decisive, indulgent. Attuned, maybe, to the silent flicker of thought in Daniel's head that wants more, and more, and more. A thought that Louis leans into, lets himself sink into it as he gives Daniel his thigh to rock against while they kiss. Murmurs, "And then wash you clean," into Daniel's mouth. "And see you sated, before I take you with me to coffin."
Kick him out. Unlikely. Impossible.
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Another half hour? ... A week??? Mysteries of the universe. Does Louis know? How much exhaustion kink does he get up to? Inquiring mind. Singular. This specific, inquiring mind.
"Sounds pretty cool."
Saying dopey shit on purpose, just to see if Louis will laugh.
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"Pretty cool," Louis echoes, just to roll the words off his tongue. Tasting them, experiment with how Daniel's vernacular feels in his mouth.
Reaches down to take him in hand again, a loose curl of fingers. Touching just to touch, intent not quite materializing as Louis thumbs over the head of his cock.
"We'll find it together," Louis tells him, answering at least one unspoken question. Maybe he'll answer the others. Maybe Daniel will have to ask, pin him, corner him into an answer. The mingled experience between Lestat and Armand, so much ground covered in a century's worth of time, not all of it easy to recall. "What it is now, what it will be someday."
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"Making plans," he observes. Louis likes plans. Daniel imagines him with a very detailed, very orderly bullet journal, one clean and organized without any washi tape or cute stickers, in his old lady cursive handwriting. He lets Louis see this fond thought as he sits up, shuffling them to be face to face, and Louis can sit beside him or with legs splayed over him to be half in his lap, whatever he feels like.
Because this goes both ways. Daniel's not just going to lay back and count nuts. He wants to see Louis reach his peak again, hear the way his breath changes, watch his face contort in pleasure. As many times as they each can. Louis had been torn on what position, wanting too many things at once, now he gets it if he wants it now. Daniel kisses him, touches him, loses count. Loses track.
Eventually his phone will ping. He's got a funny (and very loud) alarm an hour or so before sunrise. It's just that he usually loses track of time because he's working, not because he's fooling around.
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Here, now, the phone chimes and Louis laughs. Has migrated fully into Daniel's lap from their starting point, crowding him into the headboard. Skin gleaming with sweat, mouth bruised, hips rolling down in an easy sinuous movement, unbroken by the sound of the alarm.
"Once more," Louis coaxes. "Once more, right now, before we stop for the night."
Thumbs stroking the delicate skin behind Daniel's ears, fingers nudging at his hairline. Louis brushes his lips across Daniel's, their breath mingling.
"Can you come for me one more time?"
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"Can you?"
Daniel shifts up, pressing his cock deeper into him, finding it effortless still despite the exertion and the impending call of the sun, soaking in the endless easy delight of no longer being human. It's possible he'll never take this for granted— being able to move just as he wants to, no pain, no struggle. Everything in service of making them both feel good, claw and tumble to the next height.
Another kiss, because he can't get enough, and he circles a hand between them to stroke Louis. Can't get enough of this, either.
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An absurd thing to be thinking now, as Daniel fucks up into him and drives the breath out of Louis' lungs, but he can feel all these things in Daniel's head. The pleasure of what his transformation has given him. The gratitude. (Some part of Louis, jealous and hurt, flicks open an eye to remember that Louis had wanted to give his to him, Louis could have—) Daniel is so pleased and Louis feels it, lets himself mirror that joy.
Daniel, alive always. Healthy always. And they can have each other this way, whenever they want.
Daniel kisses him and Louis licks into his mouth. Possessive, pleased, tasting himself there. A humming whisper of thought: For you, anything. And Tell me you want me again.
As if it's not a foregone conclusion, once Daniel starts touching him with such clear intention as Louis meets the upward thrust of his hips. Daniel's pleasure is an electric thing, sparking bright like a livewire strung between their heads.
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'I want you,' he tells him, lets him feel how much. How much, despite how many times already. Edges are starting to fray, concentration is starting to go glassy, but Louis said until you can't. Sunlight or unconsciousness. Daniel will indulge until he overdoses.
Out loud this time: "Watching you, feeling you come like this, is so good. I thought I'd never see you that unwound. I'll never get sick of it. I'll never get sick of being the one to do it. Come on, one more time. Just like this."
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Maybe fifty years would come within shouting distance of enough. Louis doesn't know. Daniel says these things to him and Louis shudders down into the cradle of his hips, hands tightening around the sides of Daniel's face.
"Just like this," Louis echoes. Repeats again, "Anything for you."
Drawn in where Daniel's consciousness is blurring, savoring the quality of it. Fingers slipping, grazing over scar tissue, over new-made bite marks already healing into nothingness. (Grateful, unforgivably, that Louis left a mark on him. Bit it into him, a claim that endured even through Daniel's death and rebirth.)
Murmurs, "Come with me," even as he lets himself come all apart, panting against Daniel's mouth, spilling over under the pull of Daniel's fingers.
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But Louis wants one more time, and right now, and just like this, and anything, and he's there and Daniel feels his body clench around him, just as good maybe better than that his mind shimmer with it at the same time. One can really believe the whole 'little death' translation joke from this perspective; following dead blood into the darkness, following a partner's orgasm over a ledge into your own.
Too morbid? Too morbid.
In any event, Daniel fucks up into him and stills as he comes, holding Louis close and gasping against him, open mouth against him, too messy to be a kiss, just wanting to be near him and a part of him. Fractal fireworks, ecstasy, a hysterical peak of his heartbeat and the joy of it slowing like falling, like flying.
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But no. The sun is coming up. Daniel is young. He needs to sleep.
Louis kisses his slack mouth. Scrapes nails up and down his scalp. Murmurs Daniel's name, low and intimate and so, so affectionate. Letting him find his way back to composure while Louis stays close, wound close still. Skin to skin, mind to mind.
I like you this way, Louis tells him. Smiles, admits, I like you every way I can have you.
Frustrating and irreverent and kind and now this, how Louis has him now.
"We'll need a whole day," Louis supposes, thoughtful. "A whole day to do something like this."
Having caught some stray edge of Daniel's thoughts, the thing he didn't quite ask for that Louis wants to give him anyway.
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"Anything means anything," he says.
A whole day, or not, Louis doesn't have to steamroll himself for Daniel's sake. Though he'd absolutely go in for it.
More soft kisses, and touches that don't want to let go. Daniel finds the prospect of parting to be particularly brutal, but consoles himself with the fact that Louis is not yet tired of him. Spell not yet broken.
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A tug between their heads as Louis reaches a hand back. Aware of the mess they've made of each other. His own skin damp with sweat, thighs slick, a pleasant ache smoldering in his body.
"Come on."
Beckoning Daniel to him, wanting already to be touching him again.
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Alright, alright.
He follows him, presumably to the bathroom, where he clings to the notion of this being fine and does not look at himself in the mirror. The absurdity of being shy despite all they've done.
Daniel wants to touch him, feel him under warm water, help him get clean. Carefully wash away the mess they've made, but not forget it.
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