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One doesn't have to believe in God or goodness to still believe in the Devil.
The Devil was convincing. His silver tongue could work its way into your heart and your mind, corrupt you. His word could make you bend to his will, have you wrapped around his finger and under his wing before you were ever truly aware. Even the Devil had been an angel, once.
Lucifer; he was described as beautiful before he fell. At least, thats what the teachings said. Beautiful, as all angels were, but exceptionally so. "Beautiful" didn't even begin to describe it. He had charisma; he convinced his handful to live free from the laws of God. Even after he had fallen, he remained charismatic, deceptive, alluring. Even his name was a contradiction.
Louis had seen acts of good, and acts of bad. He had rarely witnessed acts of true evil, and he was sure he had never truly seen the Devil. Those who committed those evil acts, as he was taught, were under the influence of the Devil.
When the wife of a plantation owner down the river drowned their baby, it was the work of the Devil. When her husband killed her in anger, it was the work of the Devil. When the entire family had perished at the hands of one another, it was because the Devil had weaseled his way in, taken a grapple hold, and brought them all down.
Louis never felt foolish for not seeing the signs sooner. This man, stepping through the doors of Louis' life like he had been invited. Claiming he was here to answer Louis' prayers. His beauty was beyond radiant.
"Beautiful". A description too light, too much an understatement to authentically describe Lestat. This man who was indeed no ordinary man.
He was more than beautiful. Blonde, thick, curly hair. Piercing blue eyes. A feline smile that appeared to be filled with the promise of many a thing; a misleadingly loving, unreadable gaze. He had that silver tongue and graceful, undetectable, deceptive charisma.
Lestat had an ego big enough that it helped him believe he could do whatever it took--by any means necessary--to achieve whatever he desired. While the magnetism alone was not that dangerous, Lestat possessed another attribute that made it so; the confidence to use it.
Paul had died, and took with him Louis' will. Like the rose vines that grew over the oratory door, Louis heart grew unreachable and cold. Then came the loss of his wife, and brothels had become a second home; the company of a whore was better than no company at all. Things remained that way, until he found company more worthwhile than a working woman. In fact, that company had killed the prostitute at his side, and had come for him next.
After drinking him half-dry and leaving him to waste away on the riverbanks of the Mississippi, Louis was carried to his bed where he was sure he would die. He wasn't sure who brought him there, all he knew is he awoke in bed feeling closer to death's door than to the mattress. In fact, he wished--no--he prayed for it.
His sister and mother had brought him a priest after his refusal for a doctor, to which he offered a half-hearted confession. About Paul, about the brothels, his guilt. To hell with absolution, none of it mattered to Louis anymore. Any chance he had of being absolved left with the priest when Louis fought him down the stairs and out the door, and bashed his head about the brick wall. He may have been weak; he even could have been on his deathbed, for that matter. But fueled by rage, Louis was gifted enough strength to throttle that man for having the audacity to say that his dear brother had been possessed by the Devil when he had thrown himself down the stairs.
And Lestat had seen that, too. And he saw Louis in weakness, and in fear. And in demonstration, he took it upon himself to lead Louis under his wing.
Being the meal for a creature of the night had been enough blood loss. After his attack on the priest, though, they only saw one solution befitting of the situation. So, Louis had laid in bed, after having the blood let from his veins--a supposed release of evil, of the Devils grip.
It didn't matter how much he had lost. Louis had found a new blood to fill his veins.
The blood of a vampire.
A vampire who had entered his home with the same stealth and quiet that shrouded him every time he made an appearance in Louis' life, unbeknownst to Louis himself.
A vampire; who had undressed him, exposed him, and seen him for all he was.
A vampire; who had pressed his cold body to Louis', made a contact so sweet and so refreshing that Louis had forgotten all shame.
A vampire, who had taken him, touch by touch. Who now, raised on his knees behind Louis on this bed, kissed his warm, fast, human pulse. The pulse that quickened with his every touch to Louis' body.
Death was close, closing its clammy hands around this young man's very life. Louis' skin burned with fever. It had been hot to the touch when Lestat had appeared, raised Louis' up from his pillow with a gentle hand on his neck. It gave him chills, brought a quiet gasp from Louis' lungs. His skin; it now grew to temperatures Lestat equated to a roaring fire on the hearth. With every thrust, Lestat pushed deeper. With every thrust, he reignited that fever and kept it burning.
He pushed his hands up Louis' bare body, up his chest and under his chin, bringing his head into a recline back against his shoulder. His hands ran their course back down, held Louis at the hips as he thrust again. The man was almost lax in his arms, weakened by illness and the near complete exhaustion. The blood loss had overwhelmed him, yet the thrust forced a noise from his throat.
"So close to death," Lestat panted. "Yet, you still find the energy to make such delightful sounds for me?"
A little sound of joy erupted from Louis' lips, following his smile. He pushed his head into the bend of Lestat's neck, and Lestat laughed with him before bringing his voice low.
"Life has no meaning anymore, does it?"
His breath was startlingly cold against Louis' ear. Not one trace of the warm dampness Louis' left--that any other human's left. His skin too cold, too pale, his heart's beat too faint--there was no humanity left in this man. Lestat simply wasn't human.
He was something more.
No human could ask such perilous questions to a stranger. But, perhaps, to Lestat, Louis' wasn't a stranger. The thought flickered like a faint spark in Louis' mind: "How long has Lestat known you whilst you remained blissfully unaware of his existence?"
Lestat had followed him to the dock that night. He had known where to find Louis. He had killed the whore, her keeper, and had been the one to leave those bitemarks on the pale white column of Louis' neck. They aligned hideously well with his pulse, and had not yet had time to fully heal.
But, such a question, that.
The answer was a simple "no". Life no longer possessed meaning.
Loss defined him. Loss tormented him, overwhelmed him. It mocked him.
Yet, despite it all, Louis; after finding himself in bed with a man--no--a vampire, felt better now than any time he had ever tasted liquor, or lain with a whore. May this very well be the last thing he would ever do, Louis felt sure he would die happy.
"It hasn't. Not in quite some time."
A little huff of breath came from the man behind him. Lestat's thrusts were halted, his fingers trailing over Louis' thigh, and to his cock. He gave a few tender strokes, stopping only when Louis' knees threatened to buckle on them both. Louis covered his face with his hands, sighing into them at the touch of Lestat's gentle kiss at the nape of his neck.
"The wine has no taste, food sickens you, and there seems no reason for any of it...does there?"
It was as if this monster could read his mind. Still, Louis didn't respond.
"What if I could give it back to you? Pluck out the pain and give you another life..."
He placed a hand tenderly to Louis' cheek, reeling in the man's faltering attention just the slightest. Louis' half-lidded eyes peered back at him.
"One you could never imagine."
His thumb traced Louis' bottom lip. The young man's mouth had gone dry from sickness, from labored panting.
"And it would be for all time."
Louis gazed on, enamored. He was appreciative of Lestat speaking slowly as to where he understood, and quietly, as not to startle him.
"And sickness and death...could never touch you again."
Temptation. Lestat had seen it plenty, in all different forms. He saw it in Louis, too; despite how desperately Louis fought illness, conviction, guilt, and despair. Temptation, Lestat had found, was a triumph over all who were weak enough to let it in. As his hands shifted their strength to Louis' hips, and as he thrust inside Louis yet again, each of them were reminded of something. Louis was lewdly brought back to the reality of what was taking place, and Lestat was reminded what the gaze of someone who had caved to temptation looked like.
"Lestat..."
"Oh..." Lestat sighed. Hearing his name through this man's lips was such a beautiful utterance that even the most experienced choir held no candle. He regained his slow, benevolent pace, dare he push Louis too hard. He wanted to hear it again, and judging by the man's deliciously quickening blood flow and heart beat, he would be hearing it quite soon.
Louis' eyes rolled closed. He craved to run his fingers through Lestat's hair. And those blonde, soft, swooping curls came close to enticing him into lifting his tired arms. He submitted; he allowed his body to give in to the passion Lestat had overwhelmed him with.
"Lestat-" His voice grew even more strangled.
"Yes, Louis," He praised. "That's right..." His hips drove forward once again, forcing a lecherous sigh from his lungs. The tightness and heat that enveloped his cock sent chills up his spine and through his limbs; it was intoxicating, it was human--and it set Lestat's senses on fire.
Louis' body grew tense. It was all too much. Being taken in such a manner, the enchanting, rhythmic canting of Lestat's hips, his kisses, his voice and his breath and his words--it had caused a knot to swell in his core, and with one hard, knowing, deliberate thrust, Lestat had snapped the fragile rope it was tied from. "God, Lestat!!"
"Yes, Louis!" He encouraged. His hand wrapped around the man's pulsing length, giving a firm press below the head. He watched as ropes of white painted the sheets under their knees. Louis' body was sent into trembles and tics as he was struck by that gorgeous wave of orgasm. His eyes were screwed shut, his mouth ajar. He could barely breathe, paralyzed with the fervent heat of passion that Lestat had so graciously opened his eyes too.
"Don't be afraid." Lestat let his hand fall lightly on Louis' neck. He felt that pulse--as quick as it had ever likely been--beating hot under his bare palm from the fever, arousal. Louis' hips still jerked. His mind was polluted with pleasure that he instinctively rode out, that he chased in time with Lestat's strokes. They had only begun to still as the vampire brought Louis' head into a recline.
"I'm going to give you the choice..." Lestat trailed. He paused to observe the softness of Louis' damp brown hair as it fell over his shoulder, fragrant with sex and sweat.
And that pulse. Lestat had lusted for another taste of that saporous blood, longed to have it delightfully grace his pallette. Heat radiated from Louis' skin as he brought himself closer. He could taste it on his tongue.
"I..." As he beheld Louis' warmth, he savored it. Something so precious, so fragile.
"...Never had..." Lestat's lips brushed against that burning skin as they drew back, teeth piercing and embedding inside Louis' tender mortal flesh.
The groan that he choked up was disgruntled, strangled. His arms swung back round to Lestat's head, clutching fistfuls of blonde curls in their grip as his very life was sucked viciously from his veins in large, covetous gulps.
The heat sweltered in the vampires mouth; and with every swallow he drank faster, harsher. This blood, it was pure Creole. And, oh! Louis' beautiful, rhythmic heartbeat. Even more pleasant than when Louis' voice had sung out his name. It topped anything Lestat had heard. It was a sound so precious he hushed his own urge to moan, painfully aware it would be the only time he would hear it in such audible ferocity. Then, as quickly as it had rushed with adrenaline, its strength began to wane. Their hearts beat as one as he knelt, taking all Louis had, but no more.
Cold. Terribly cold. Lestat seemed to radiate some faint warmth--but, if anything about him felt remotely warm, Louis knew his own body must be frigid. Or maybe, Lestat was warm. Maybe Lestat was aflame with the with the warmth he had taken directly from Louis' young body--with a warning Louis only now heard. His body had fallen limp in Lestat's arms, becoming solid dead weight that the vampire had cradled and lowered to the mattress. His back was flush to Lestat's chest.
Moving was impossible. Even the thought exhausted him.
He watched the wall in front of him as he lay paralyzed on his side. Such an unusual feeling: being completely unable to move, unable to cry out in the pleasure that seemed to still pulse where his blood once had, in a battle between terror and panic. Oh, and he tried. His tongue touched the roof of his mouth in a pathetic effort to form a name and call to the vampire behind him, attempting to force out his name, yet no sound escaped.
Lestat's hips were spasming to a halt, locking and buckling in place as he finished. Glasslike nails embedded in Louis' hip, an arm snaking around his chest all the same, and both held him like he may go somewhere as Lestat spilled inside him. Inside, Louis was moaning like a paid whore, reveling in Lestat's orgasm as much as Lestat himself; yet, even then, he hadn't the strength react.
For a moment, Louis envied him. If he had the strength, he would be letting out the same prurient sounds as the man behind him. But, there was no room for envy. Lestat had kept to his earlier promise. Louis recalled the words quite clearly; even in his powerless state, through the afterglow.
I've come to answer your prayers.
Oh, how he had. Louis' vision was already fading; perhaps this was death? He made every effort not to resist--which didn't take much. He felt no need to thrash, not voluntarily. He desired nothing more than to go peacefully--until a quiet voice pulled him away from the darkness.
It echoed in his ear as he lie still. "I have drained you to the point of death." He felt those nails release from his hip, felt the hand disappear behind him.
"If I leave you here, you'll die." He whispered. "Or, you can be young always, my friend...as we are now."
Louis knew the sound of a smile. He heard it in Lestat's breathy voice, aromatic with blood. His blood.
"But you must tell me: will you come, or no?"
Louis' lips parted terribly slow. Trying to force his voice to anything above a whisper would have been in vain--he didn't even try. Instead, he drew in a faint, puny breath, and choked out his one word answer: "yes".
As Lestat pulled away from his body, Louis' mustered the strength to repeat himself, this time a little more stern in his whispering. "Yes." It felt as if whispering one word took as much effort as running the full stretch of the Mississippi River in length.
The first answer was all he needed. Lestat had already brought his wrist to his lips, sinking his teeth into his own skin. Blood pooled at the wound and quickly began to fall in glistening red droplets. As he moved his wrist, the first few hit Louis' cheeks, quickly running where the rest fell to his lips.
A sensation even more breathtaking than the paralysis, his mind now swam with the flavor of Lestat's blood on his tongue. There was nothing to swallow at first, as it all seemed to absorb scarily quick. Even quicker, more drops fell to Louis' lips, and they reminded him to part them, to drink more. Everything was moving so fast, so fast he didn't have time to think about how the taste of blood was no longer nauseating, repulsive--the only word that infected his carnal mind was "more".
His body flourished with a newfound strength, something much different than the mortal strength he had lost moments ago. His fists wrapped around Lestat's wrist, bringing it to his mouth. He closed his lips around the bitemark with a grunt as he took in a heaping swallow of the fluid, then another. No matter how much he took, it felt as if it would never be enough. He growled, fingers unconsciously locking through Lestat's as he continued to drink. Gripping those long, pale digits wasn't enough--Louis hugged the vampire's arm to his chest as he fed, omitting sounds not unlike an animal.
His heartbeat rang in Lestat's ears loud and clear, quickening at an alarming rate. Only moments ago it had been eerily slow, and now, the faster it grew, the more blood Louis demanded. The feeling of feeding someone with his lifeblood was exhilarating, intoxicating; it made it terribly hard for Lestat to tear his wrist from the man's mouth. He didn't want it to end, yet there was no other choice--unless Louis was to drink him dry.
The moment he withdrew his arm, he was resisting the urge to fall back in a collapse on this bed. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Louis from behind, with not a moment to spare. No time to revel in the sensation of being drank from, for the cry that erupted from Louis' body rang in his ears like cathedral bells. He had begun to thrash. Raw, mangled, gurgling screams came from his very core as he fought to clutch his abdomen. His knees drew to his chest involuntarily as he groaned, combating what felt like an invisible force that had begun to tear him apart at the insides.
"Your body's dying," Lestat stated. His hand carded through Louis' hair, leaving his fingers damp. No amount of sweet doting or loving comfort could offer Louis any consolation, any reassurance that this pain wouldn't last forever. Lestat had been there himself, once, with much less understanding than Louis' had now. "Pay no attention, it happens to us all..."
"Pay no attention--" Louis repeated, straining out the words in pure mockery. And slowly, he began to still. His face had grown a ghostly, silky pale, and the only thing interrupting such softness was thin, barely visible blue veins that had begun their manifestation. And for a moment, his eyes appeared fixed; fixed on the ceiling above him, which he faced after his body had ceased its angered tantrum, landing him on his back.
He didn't blink. His labored breathing slowed to a stop, and he lay there, like a corpse.
Lestat audibly swallowed. He pulled his arm from under his creation, and moved his body overtop of Louis'. Bracing himself on the headboard of the bed, he gazed down directly into Louis' paralyzed emerald eyes. He brushed strands of brown from the mans forehead, tracing his cheekbone and jaw.
Oh, mon amour. Come now. He thought. Come around.
The blood on his mouth disappeared, his teeth had already changed just the slightest. These little differences--Lestat observed them all. Warmth no longer radiated from Louis' skin. His cheeks were no longer rosy and sweat no longer blanketed his body.
And suddenly, his heart pulsed inside his chest with one quick, shallow beat, and he gasped in a deep breath through his open mouth.
His eyes slowly closed, opened even slower, and Lestat let out a sigh of relief. They deadlocked on Lestat in a way that displayed he was in awe, studying his features all over again. And as Lestat cupped his neck from behind, he easily drew Louis upright on the bed. While he silently arose, his eyes were terribly busy, darting around wildly, drawn to these new sights like a moth to flame. He couldn't digest all he wished to see in a manner quick enough that delivered him satisfaction.
But, they were drawn to a certain sight repeatedly. He raised a palm to his maker's cheek, and once again stared in Lestat's blue eyes.
And his eyes were smiling. His lips curved into one, too, and he pressed his cold hand to Louis'. He delighted in Louis' fascination, found it quite cute.
"Come, we must get dressed." He nearly whispered. He did not want to startle Louis, knowing his sense of hearing had likely begun its change.
"Soon, mon cher..." He leaned in, mindful to not move too quick, and pressed a kiss to Louis' soft lips. "...You'll experience a hunger like you've never known."