[LxL] Sleeping Beauty

Disclaimer : Characters belong to their respectful owners

Fandoms : The Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice

Rating : T

Pairing : Lestat de Lioncourt x Louis de Pointe du Lac

Genres : Fanfiction, slash, fluff

Characters : Lestat de Lioncourt, Louis de Pointe du Lac

Warnings: no warning applied

Summary :

A missing scene from the first night after Louis’s transformation.

I had taken the advantage of being an early riser for granted up until now. An hour or so earlier than others of my kin didn’t make much of a difference. The early bird catches the worm they said, true to humans and other creatures but certainly not us – the feast the cities offered could host us all and if any vampire having to pass a night with a grumbling stomach was due to either his lack of wit or lack of appetite, or sometimes both.

Anyway, back to the point. If I hadn’t paid much attention to my biology before I was utterly grateful for it now, as I had woken up with a beauty wrapped in my embrace, still dead-asleep and entirely unaware of the wicked thoughts running amuck in my blond head. I had not forgotten the necessity of the coffin, at least not accidentally. And my fledging had been left in the dark about my ulterior motive. Mind reading wasn’t his gift it seemed. I really had to thank God for it, well, if he cared to listen.

I knew I always had a keen taste for finer things in life and this youngest fledging was by far my most satisfied choice. Delicate yet strong bone structure beneath soft, smooth skin, pleasant to my touch like satin. Lustrous raven locks that slipped through my fingers like water. Elegant eyebrows that furrowed in a perpetual frown. How I yearned to smooth it into oblivion, to run the tips of my fingers all over his skin, taking in every small detail polished to perfection by the flow of my blood in his veins. A sad pity my sweet child had been so ignorant of his gorgeous beauty that he had allowed himself to be wasted in cheap swill and drunken brawls. A crime to all the good things in the world. But not to worry, Lestat had come to the rescue. My best decision since birth it seemed, to have bestowed this Gift of Darkness upon him so that this beauty would never be consumed by merciless time… and preserved eternally for my private pleasure.

I felt a terrifying possessiveness towards this beautiful child already!

With great tenderness that surprised even myself I brought my fingers to my fledgling’s lips, tracing their outline like an artist did his magnum opus. Such impeccability chiseled into such small flesh. Only a little pale and cool though, but soon enough it would regain its rich color and warmth. I would see to that in our rendezvous with Death tonight.

I claimed my ownership on my beautiful one’s lips. No shame, no remorse in this act of thievery. He belonged to me after all, tonight and all the nights that followed. What was better to seal this crimson contract than an actual crimson kiss?

My fangs grazed the supple flesh teasingly, drawing out the first droplet of precious ruby. My first taste of my child after his introduction to darkness and oh so sweet, oh so burning, the temptation beyond my own control, the sole delicacy my kind pursued. More. I wanted more. I thirsted for more.

I licked and sucked greedily from his lips, coaxing more blood out. If only this tiny flesh could offer me the generous flow like the arteries.

I was swooning with ecstasy when a tinge of pain shot through my muddled mind. So familiar this was, this gentle brush of pain. That’s it, my beloved one. Let your craving instruct your flesh. Throw away all the prim and proper manner of mortal. Take whatever you want and be delighted with your absolute freedom. The world is yours and you’re mine, and mine only.

My blood oozed from the puncture wounds on my lips, and was sucked with a greed mirrored to my own. Like a hungry baby on its mother’s teats. I laughed mentally with the perversion of my analogy and the trueness of it. He was my baby and I his father, his mother and his lover, the cord binding us stronger and tighter than any mortal ones he had had. We were each other’s, we were one. Pride swelled in my chest and I rewarded myself with a bold slide of fangs against his lips. Our blood mingled, our bodies melted in its searing heat, and our unholy matrimony consummated.

I moaned audibly, lamenting the taste of his blood on my tongue when a firm hand pressed against my chest, breaking our passionate union. My Sleeping Beauty was awake now, and fully aware of what we had done, what he had done.

Licking my fangs and lips, I studied his countenance. It seemed all the blood had rushed to his cheeks, painting the vampiric pallor of his skin the color of rose. Lovely, I thought. So lovely and delicious I could devour him whole. But no, I could never. Such barbaric act was beyond my capability.

“Slept well?” I asked, casually brushing back a raven lock falling on his face. He flinched, yet the tight confinement of our coffin didn’t allow him the chance to escape me. I almost laughed out loud. Took great pleasure from his awkwardness. He would soon get used to our intimacy. A week. A month. A year at most. Soon he would long for my loving gestures. I had confidence in my charms. No one could resist the vampire Lestat. Not one I chose to pursue.

“Like dead,” he mumbled, sheepishly.

“I believe it’s time for breakfast. You must be starving already,” I deliberately stressed.

The blush deepened. I couldn’t help my chuckles.

“But first,” I said, softly pinching his hips, “you have to get off me first. I’m dying with your body on mine.”

To cause his face to look as if it was about to drip blood was purely evil. Not that I would ever regret it.

“What’re you laughing at?”

He looked up from his novel – his current obsession with fantasy medieval age where mortals fought for an iron chair – and asked.

“Nothing really, mon cher,” I said. “Just recall our first night together. A grievous missing from your book.”

Being the perfect evil I was, I laughed at his blushing face.

End

[VC] My Immortal

queen-of-the-damned-800-75

Disclaimer : Characters belong to their respectful owners

Fandoms : The Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice

Rating : M

Pairing : Lestat de Lioncourt x Louis de Pointe du Lac, Lestat de Lioncourt x Nicolas de Lenfent, implied Louis de Pointe du Lac x Claudia

Genres : Fanfiction, slash, dark, horror

Characters : Lestat de Lioncourt, Louis de Pointe du Lac, Nicolas de Lenfent, Claudia

Warnings: slight gore

Summary :

“Say my name.”

It breathed into his mind like a breeze, the command. He obeyed. “Nicolas.”

A pair of arms twined around Lestat’s neck. The arms was white, ghostly white in a way that the moon’s pale shade appeared livelier, and the skin almost transparent as light, little as it was in this dark room, passed right through to the flesh and bone. However, they were undeniably beautiful as they were grievously lacking: where the hands should be to complete this eerie artwork were only two blood-crusted lumps.

I’m so tired of being here, suppressed by all my childish fears

And if you have to leave, I wish that you would just leave

Your presence still lingers here and it won’t leave me alone

These wounds won’t seem to heal, this pain is just too real

There’s just too much that time cannot erase

When you cried, I’d wipe away all of your tears

When you’d scream, I’d fight away all of your fears

And I held your hand through all of these years

But you still have all of me

You used to captivate me by your resonating light

Now, I’m bound by the life you left behind

Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams

Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me

These wounds won’t seem to heal, this pain is just too real

There’s just too much that time cannot erase

When you cried, I’d wipe away all of your tears

When you’d scream, I’d fight away all of your fears

And I held your hand through all of these years

But you still have all of me

I’ve tried so hard to tell myself that you’re gone

But though you’re still with me, I’ve been alone all along

When you cried, I’d wipe away all of your tears

When you’d scream, I’d fight away all of your fears

And I held your hand through all of these years

But you still have all of me, me, me

Evanescence

“Lestat, do we ever suffer from illness, us vampires?”

Lestat turned away from the laptop screen to the sight of his beloved’s face grimacing in a silent pain, his right hand clutching his chest.

“Louis, you look dreadful,” Lestat said, a deep concern manifesting in a crease between his elegant eyebrows.

It should amuse him that he had once spoken the exact words to Louis once-upon-a-night, when his lover, after hours of brooding, once again questioned him about the nature of their unholy species. In a half-amused, half-mocking tone he had commented on Louis’s expression, just to spite the man he loved more than his arrogant, egotistical self but couldn’t help antagonizing now and then.

Now he said them again, free of mocking and sarcasm.

A soft, bitter laugh. “Do I?”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, really,” Louis replied. “It’s just once in a while I have this sort of pain in my chest, beneath my rib. Most of the times it’s faint, like a baby’s hand touching my heart, squeezing it a little bit. Rarely does it become intense so I try to ignore it and wait for it to fade away eventually. It never lasts too long; nor is it unbearable.”

“Why did you not tell me earlier?” He snapped at his lover, startling the latter.

The green eyes he was so enamored with widened, staring at him with a subtle hint of hurt. The moment was brief, and they lowered, seemingly contemplating the checkered tiles. His thick eyelashes were the blackest ink smeared on white marble, the sheer beauty a butterfly knife slicing into his heart.

“Right. Because I wasn’t with you…” he whispered, the volume of his voice amounting to the sound of snow falling. He wasn’t sure if the other immortal was able to hear him.

Lestat signed – a mortal habit – and pressed his palms against the cool, smooth flesh of Louis’s cheeks. Holding his face, he touched him with his forehead, a gesture endearing to their time together in the past. Then he captured his lover’s lips with his own, a gentle, chaste but lingering kiss, breathing in warm breath. He smiled against the kiss, feeling his beautiful one’s shy yet eager respond to his affection.

He leaned back, smoothing the crease between dark eyebrows with the pad of his thumb. “Serve you right for eating unhealthily for the first few years of your immortal life,” he chastised, not harshly.

“I brought this upon myself, huh?”

“No, I’m shitting you.”

The green orbs stared at him incredulously.

“Means I’m joking, this age’s slang.” He smiled. “Vampires don’t get sick. Long ago they might, the sort of spontaneous combustion you read in my autobiography, but not now, not with us.”

His hands moved down to the other’s neck, idly playing with the hair at the back of his head. “You haven’t fed properly, is all,” he said. “Go now, find some healthy-looking mortals and don’t return until you’re bloated with warm blood.”

“You aren’t going?” Louis asked. Slowly rising to his feet, he was hesitant to depart from Lestat’s affectionate ministrations.

How he missed the nights they went side by side, hunting together. Two Lucifer’s angels on the loose as Lestat had dubbed them. One forever incomplete without his significant other.

“Tomorrow night, mon cher,” he promised. Grabbing a leather coat – his coat – on the coat stand, he draped it over Louis’s shoulders, helped him get into it and fixed his hair and garment to perfection. “I have a few matters to consult Marius. Just go, je t’aime.”

He stole a quick peck on the brunette’s lips and ushered him to the door. “No rats, OK?” he called out, and grinned at his beloved’s dirty look in reply.

The grin died out along with Louis’s sight.

Locking the door, he retreated to their bedroom, where darkness claimed sovereignty and light, coming through cracks on the tight-shut French window, was its submissive servant. To the darkness he whispered, voice soft like a prayer, “Tell me what’s happening.”

No answer.

He repeated the words more earnestly, more urgently.

Still silence.

“Say my name.”

It breathed into his mind like a breeze, the command. He obeyed. “Nicolas.”

A pair of arms twined around Lestat’s neck. The arms was white, ghostly white in a way that the moon’s pale shade appeared livelier, and the skin almost transparent as light, little as it was in this dark room, passed right through to the flesh and bone. However, they were undeniably beautiful as they were grievously lacking: where the hands should be to complete this eerie artwork were only two blood-crusted lumps.

Lestat stared into the hideous lumps as if he could witness blood, warm and liquid, drip from them again. “Tell me what’s happening to him, Nicki,” he demanded.

“How should I know? Don’t ask me.”

The chuckling voice sounded clear and melodious yet it was edged with a clammy chill so familiar to the depth of Gaia’s bosoms.

The blunt ends of the arms touched the skin of Lestat’s neck, lingering, caressing, yearning for the prominent blue vein underneath. He felt damp and sticky and an unearthly warmth, despite the blood had long gone dry.

“Don’t play with me, please, Nicki.” He was close to pleading. “Drink me as much as you like, drain me if you so wish to, but please tell me. Only you know what’s happenening.”

A low chuckle. “Me? Really? Why don’t you ‘consult’ your precious, admirable Marius-Know-All?”

“Nicki…”

A snigger. Then it was on his skin again, the damp, sticky warmth, lowering his collar, baring his slender neck to a pair of gleaming fangs.

He felt his skin torn and blood, the essence of his kind, being drawn to a frozen cavern framed by lips as cold as ice.

Pain and pleasure danced madly together. The rapture of the bite was eternal, the following swoon inevitable; still, soon as he plunged himself into the center of it like each and every vampire would, it turned to nightmare.

The blazing red of the flame burnt into his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut. But even when so, he could still see its furious rhythm behind his eyelids. It was scalding. It hurt, hurt so much. Pained and horrified he was beyond the limits of words.

And the most horrifying of it all, Nicolas’s insane laughter which sounded akin to cry.

Nicki made him experience the final moment of his short life over and over every time he sank his ghostly teeth into Lestat’s artery. Lestat, feel it! Feel the most horrendous torture of being kissed by fire. Feel its blaze consume your body and ravage your soul. Feel it, for I felt it, in your abandonment, your absence. If only you had been more patient, more forgiving. If only you had stayed. If only you had returned.

Nicolas never said these words. He needed not. Lestat’s agony had conveyed it all.

Lestat sobbed and wept like a broken child. When Nicolas’s fangs withdrew from his vein, he roared and broke into a litany of miserable apologies.

Cradling him, Nicolas soothed him, tenderly as a mother to her spoiled son. The blood didn’t warm his embrace; nor did it give some life to his lips and tongue while he kissed and licked away Lestat’s blood tears. Blood could bring life to this form no more, not even an imitation of it, wasted as it flowed one-way into oblivion.

For this being Lestat called ‘Nicki’ wasn’t living, mortal or vampire, and this form, this ghostly form, was merely a persistent shadow of its former self, anchored to the world by the curse of its blood.

“It’s alright, my love, I forgave you long, long ago.”

Then what was the meaning of this endless cycle of torment? Yet Lestat never asked. He deserved all of them, all of Nicki’s rage and cruelty for leaving him behind when he had needed him the most. If it was a penance for his sins, if it could bring peace to Nicki, then…

“Please tell me,” Lestat beseeched him, his eyes crimson from the tears he had shed. He clung onto Nicolas’s form as though he himself was the ghost and Nicki the strong, powerful and living immortal. “Marius doesn’t know anything about this. He has never experienced it. Only I have. Nicki, please…”

Fingers, elegantly long and delicate, gathered the blood tears on their skin. Nicolas brought his hands to his lips and began licking at the leftover blood, savoring each scarce drop like a true worshipper.

This illusion, though couldn’t be brought back to life with blood as could a vampire, could be ‘fed’ and ‘fixed’ to a sight more preferable to the eyes that were allowed to lay upon it. For instance, the restoration of severed limbs.

“What can you do about it once you know?”

The violinist’s hands were on his gaunt throat, closing about it as if meant to crush, frail as it was now.

What can you do about me?

The fingers hovered just above his throat like a butterfly, absently touched his skin with carelessly deliberate flaps.

Lestat remained silent, his body trembling under Nicolas’s ministrations.

This body was a violin and Nicki the violinist. The Divine Violinist with the hands of Lucifer’s.

What can I do about you, Nicki? Beside yielding to your vengeance and wanton desires?

My personal Hell.

“Nothing,” he answered tiredly, at last, “absolutely nothing.”

“Then you’d better not know,” Nicolas cooed. “You’re exhausted and starving. Why don’t you go out, into the night and hunt to your full glory, mon lion?”

“I’ll go and hunt, that I will,” he said with resolution, “but I want the answer first, Nicki.”

A ghostly sigh.

“Just like you, huh? Never giving up before getting what you want. Alright, I’ll tell you. She’s no stranger to you. She who was the china doll you carved out of death, your Oedipal daughter.”

Lestat stared at his lover, his sunken eyes wide and speaking of immense horror, as though only now did he realize his ghostly state, and was so appalled by it that time and space stood still, encasing him in an eternal echo of his silent, muted scream.

“That shocked expression doesn’t become you, my love. She was a vampire, wasn’t she? You know so well when we die, there’s only one choice for us.”

“Why Louis…? Why Louis…? Why… not me?”

His frame was shaking like a dry leaf ravaged by strong gale. Nicolas embraced him, keeping him still.

“Then answer me, why am I here, with you and not someone else? Not Eleni, Laurent or Felix. Not even my merciless tormenter Armand.”

Because you hate me. The same as Claudia hated me when she slashed my throat.

He bit his lips.

Nicolas’s fingers, nails trimmed and glossy as his own, traced the contours of his face. “Lestat oh Lestat, how your negative thoughts prick at my phantom heart.”

He turned Lestat’s face so that his dark eyes, two portals to unfathomable darkness vanquishing all radiance, bored into Lestat’s.

He was forever terrified by Nicki’s darkness, the vast nothingness that consumed everything of life.

“It’s love, mon amour. Love ties us to you, granting us a place in this world we no longer belonge while we could be aimless, scattered apparitions waiting restlessly for the End of day. Who would I have but you? Who would she have but him?”

“Love…” he mumbled. “Is it so?”

“It is so.”

“If it is love that she holds, why has she been torturing him?”

“Torturing?” Nicolas chuckled, wryly. “Your penchant for dramatization never ceases to amaze me, my love. Has your beloved Louis been suffering? Has he been harmed?”

“He’s been in pain for God-know-how-long!”

“A small, bearable discomfort,” Nicolas corrected. “No more than what you’ve gotten from me. Probably less.”

Lestat shuddered at the thought Nicolas’s inferno. What vision had Claudia been showing Louis? Could it be the deadly sun that had reduced her lovely petit form to ash and dust? Could it be whatever that had caused her blood to drench her dress?

“She couldn’t help it, just as I couldn’t help it. We long for life even in death. We find relief from the vitality and memory of the living, without which we’re forever in pain. Whatever causes pain to the living will be multiplied tenfold in us…”

As he spoke, his frame began quivering, losing focus like a bad-signal image.

“Nicki…”

He took Nicolas in his arms, relishing in the joy that he was still able to touch Nicki, that Nicki had yet to become an incorporeal thought, a trick of light.

“Louis doesn’t know about Claudia,” he said. “If he was aware of her presence, he would never have complained; he would have been…”

“…silently enduring her, right?” Nicolas finished for him. “The same way you’ve been enduring me?”

More acid on his tongue, just like back at the Théâtre des Vampires. His eyes were simmering, the blood tears threatening to burst out any moment. Vulnerable, Lestat thought. Frail. Yet every bit alluring. The Nicolas of his young heart. His first and earnest love. His first and greatest regret.

“To tell the truth, Nicki,” he said, cradling Nicolas’s head, “I prefer your torment, inevitable as it is, than never knowing what has become of you, of your soul? Heaven? Hell? Or someplace reserved only for us damned creatures? And what would await us there, which of us could tell? The possibility that you could be suffering is greater a torture than the knowledge of your suffering, I swear.”

He felt Nicolas’s smile against the fabric on his shoulder.

“What will you do about her?”

“Should I not tell Louis? Should he not be allowed at least to know?”

“Then what? Tell him about me. Let him know you’ve been hosting a wraith for decades before your reunion?”

Nicolas laughed. Dry, hollow.

“Now he’s the same, only his wraith is the little girl whose demise he could never forgive himself? Pardon me if I say that will not sit well with his gentle heart and guilt-ridden, fragile soul. He may drive himself to the sun…”

“Stop it! Please, Nicki!”

Nicolas’s eyes were dark and his gaze cold. Nevertheless, he said not another word.

A moment stretched between them, long as eternity yet quick as sand through fingers, before Lestat asked, “How does she look?”

“You want to know whether she looks like me when I first appeared to your eyes? A pile of ash grudgingly put in human shape?”

Silence. Eyes wide. Hurt.

The look in Nicolas’s gaze softened.

“Like a doll, Lestat, the way you created her to be.” His voice came gentler, less acid. “But does it matter really, her appearance, as she is now?”

“No, Nicki,” he answered. “yet it puts me at peace, lessens my guilt in some way.”

“Egoism of a man.” A pause. “I love you for that.”

“And loathe me for that.”

Nicolas smiled, cupping his face with both hands. “Yes, loathed you for that. Now, go out and hunt, my beloved. You’re weak. Don’t bother yourself with Claudia’s presence. Just our little family increases by one. Our princess daughter.”

Lestat sighed, feeling drained to the core, which wasn’t very far from truth. Nicki had always been a voracious eater. So, no Gentleman Death in silk and lace tonight, only a starving beast with its bestial lust, he thought with sarcasm. Though his knees could give out under him any moment, he asked, “You’re not going with me?”

Nicolas looked him up and down, a mischievous light gleaming in his dark pupils. “Much as I love to watch you hunt, it’s a crime to make you carry me in this state.”

“You’re underestimating me, mon ami.”

He felt grateful nevertheless.

“The moon looks gorgeous tonight and she insists that I play for her compliment. Better not to waste these hands while I have them, right?”

He contemplated his hands, the delicate outlines of which coated in silvery moonlight, intently as if watching a painting in the Louvre.

“Beware of Louis,” Lestat reminded. “He usually comes home early.”

“Not to worry, love.”

Nicolas kissed him soundlessly on the lips.

“What a spectacle you present, little girl.”

Nicolas’s fingers fondled the lacquered body of a violin, willed to this world by the vitality in Lestat’s blood. This violin – the Stradivarius – had been his and like its master, it had been broken beyond repair. But perhaps it was for the better. He couldn’t imagine any other instruments could sing better his songs of doom.

Tiny sounds of tiny footsteps. The darkness in front of him seemed to move. From it a little figure gingerly revealed herself in tattered taffeta and lace. Her head hung strangely on her twisted neck, a doll’s head suffered the hands of a cruel child. Her eyes were also like a doll’s, wide and glassy, as she stared at him.

“No wonder you choose not to reveal yourself.” Nicolas smirked. “You could scare him to Hell.”

She kept staring, unfazed by his taunts.

“Still no talking?” A sigh. “And I thought you were finally fed up with silence and wanted to converse.”

“You’re not the best conversationalist, you know.”

Her voice was rasp with an enmity too large for her petit form to contain. She wasn’t trying to, either.

Oui. The only one you have, by the way.”

He studied her, briefly. “I’m curious as to why you never take enough to restore that doll-esque beauty of yours, only a nibble now and then.”

“Sorry if my appetite disturbs you, but it isn’t your business.”

“Of course it isn’t,” he said. The violin had been fixed on his shoulders. In his hand a bow manifested. “Then certainly you don’t mind my telling Lestat?”

“What can he do?” Claudia’s chuckles were ringing like bells. Hell’s Bells if Lestat were to hear them.

“Exorcism, perhaps?”

“And Louis would let him?” She laughed. “The truth is, Louis can’t escape me, no more than my dark father can escape you.”

“I’m glad at least we have something in common,” he laughed with her. “We’ve been so distant while we should be the closet to one another on this earth.”

“Actually we have more in common than you may have realized. That we loathe sharing what we deem ours, for instance.”

“Do I?” His tone was edged with mischief.

“Uh huh.”

Nicolas’s laughter echoed. “Claudia, oh lovely Claudia. You should have been my daughter instead of Lestat’s. The altruistic side in him can’t do anything but share.”

“And what’s been taking you so long to take action?”

“After you, my never-to-be daughter.”

He faked a bow.

Her pale doll eyes locked gaze with his dark ones. A sense of unspoken mutual understanding was conveyed.

“Well,” she breathed softly, out of habit, “I only want to make sure that I have an ally instead of an obstacle. I don’t like things that upset my plan.”

“What could be the goal of such plan, Claudia dearest? Another wraith to cling to Lestat, invading my territory?”

“That’d be too convenient for Lestat, wouldn’t it? No, my ultimate goal isn’t such. Only in that state could I truly have him, free and unfettered by the bewitching spell of my dark father.”

“You’re certain you can wrench him from Lestat?”

Claudia’s marble-white lips curved up. “Did I ever tell you that I’ve always had a way with Louis? No matter dead or alive.”

“That I never doubt, Claudia,” he said. The bow in his hand slid swiftly against the strings. The first note shrieked. Frowning just a little, he turned to face her. “You wasted a precious night with your beloved Louis just so you could talk to me? I’m surprised.”

“Like I said, I want things clear between us and my plan undisturbed.”

“What would you have done if I had proven to be an obstacle, little china doll?”

“Why do you care when you aren’t?” She replied with a smile on her small mouth, a true smile this time, which softened her eerie countenance. “We know each other well, Devil Violinist.”

He returned the courtesy with his own.

“Would you care for a song from this Devil Violinist, my fair lady?”

“Save them for my dark father,” she said, “for I have no need for your music.”

Her voice trailing behind, she walked with her head oddly angled, retreating to the darkness from which she’d emerged. Her steps and posture were graceful beyond expectation.

Nicolas watched her until her figure vanished entirely. Leaning against the wall, he began sawing. The voice of the Stradivarius was divinely dark as it resonated through the large house, empty but for the pair of ghosts.

End

Note: Some elements, like Lestat’s remark “You look dreadful” and Louis’s mention of “two Lucifer’s angels on the loose”, were drawn from the musical.

My inspiration came from Evanescence’s My Immortal and the horror movie Shutter.

[Cherik/LxL] Invitation from the Damned

Disclaimer : Characters belong to their respectful owners

Fandoms :  X-Men: First Class (2011), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014), The Vampire Chronicles (Anne Rice)

Rating : K

Pairing(s) :  Erik Lehnsherr x Charles Xavier, Lestat de Lioncourt x Louis de Pointe du Lac

Genres : Fanfiction, slash, crossover, AU

Characters : Lestat de Lioncourt, Louis de Pointe du Lac, Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr, mention of other characters

Warning: silliness, crack, breaking the fourth wall, maybe a little OOC

Summary :

There’s one rule in the Lioncourt household: Never bring a mortal home – difficult to clean up and not very good for hygiene. But one day the infamous Rule Breaker broke his own rule: he brought a mortal man to their lair, alive and well.  

A noise was coming with rabid speed.

Louis’s fine dark eyebrows arched up and his blazing eyes tore themselves from the illustrious page they had glued on, peering at the blank space in front of the door as if piercing it. After a few minutes, he closed the magazine on his lap, setting it on the coffee table to begin counting.

One. Two. Three. Fou…

The door burst open, causing a small dust cloud to attack Louis’s respiratory system. Well, that’s what you get for neglecting the hygiene maintenance of the house. The landlord would have been furious provided he had been around. Lestat had seen to that when the two of them picked this little country house for their new lair.

Honeymoon runaway, he called it. Right.

Yet the evening had begun so nice and peaceful, thought the dark-haired vampire with a mental sigh. The dust cloud dissipated to reveal a sight of shiny blond hair and sleek leather.

“Louis!!!”

“Home so soon Lestat?”

A slight cough and an unfamiliar second presence were what Louis hadn’t expected. He immediately tensed. A mortal’s. Alive and well.

To bring a mortal home , what on earth was going on in his lover’s yellow head this time? He who set the rule of not taking mortals to their hideout and was now shattering it? Nonsense. No wonder David had broken their perfect little ménage à trois to take residence in Marius’s manor half a city away. Sound company is vital to a vampire’s well-being. Universal truth.

“Look who I met tonight, Louis!” Lestat’s cheerful voice boomed, a habit he couldn’t get rid of, a memento of his ill-fated, short-lived — but no less glorious, he insisted — stage career.

And never waiting for Louis’s response (most likely scowl), Lestat gingerly set the mortal down the couch, opposite from Louis.

That was a man in neat dress suit that Louis was studying with growing curiosity. Youth had departed from him years ago, yet unlike many mortals Louis had encountered so far, the years were kind to him; instead of looking weak and feeble like others of his age, he was so vibrant and full of life that the vampire unconsciously licked his cold lips. He should taste heavenly, the thought crossed Louis, but was vanquished the moment he was met with the splendid dazzle in the human’s eyes.

Louis stared into his eyes, dumbfounded and blissfully drowned in the vision of his long-lost summer ocean.

“Thank you. I didn’t know my eyes could be compared with such… beauty,” a voice rose, clear and British-accented, much like David’s.

Wait a minute! How could he tell Louis was thinking about his eyes? Was his staring that obvious?

“Terribly sorry,” the mortal apologized with a soft smile – Louis had already fallen in love with its warmth and tenderness. “Your expression is very intriguing and I’ve allowed my curiosity to get the better of me again.”

“How could you…”

Was he implying he was reading Louis’s thought? How was it possible? This man was undeniably mortal and yet a mortal could read a vampire’s thought while the vampire himself couldn’t the mortal.

Thankfully Lestat picked the right time to chime in, “Awesome, isn’t he?”. His forefinger wiggled at his temple. “His telepathy works even better than mine, considering that I can never seem to read you clearly.”

“Lestat, who is this… man?”

If a man was what he could call him – a mortal with the power to extend over an immortal.

Louis was stabbed with a sudden fright. Had any of his thoughts or Lestat’s revealed their true nature? Had he been picking it from their minds?

God help us, what catastrophe was he bringing about this time?

At his two-century-old lover’s horror-stricken face Lestat laughed heartlessly. “Louis, oh, Louis, I wish you were always this easy to read,” he said, patting the mortal’s shoulders with alarming intimacy. Louis was flabbergasted by the man’s easy acceptance.

“Relax, Charles knows who and what we are, mon cher.”

“Thanks to your books,” the mortal, ‘Charles’, explained. Holding out his right hand, he spoke in immaculate British accent.

“My apologies for not having properly introduced myself. I am Charles Xavier, headmaster of the Xavier School for the Gifted.”

“Xavier School for the Gifted?” Louis repeated. The words rang a familiar bell. Somewhat.

“In Westchester, New York,” Charles added, his smile bashful.

It took him a few good seconds to register the geographical distance. “You bought him here from New York? What in the name of heaven were you thinking, Lestat?”

“I was flying when I caught a voice, crystal-clear, entering my head,” Lestat answered with a grimace. Clearly Louis had no idea the volume of his voice when yelling could be very tortuous to a fellow vampire’s ears. Especially to a fellow vampire’s ears, as Charles seemed little affected.

“I saw Mr. Lioncourt in the sky and thought him a mutant,” Charles said, smiling, “so I tried speaking to him.”

“Wait, a mutant?” Louis asked, an incredulous look painted on his unearthly handsome features.

“Mortals with preternatural abilities,” Lestat answered. “A school-full of them and he’s the headmaster. Just like the movies you’ve been obsessed with lately.”

A lean, pale finger pointed to the neat pile of Bluray boxes and stacks of magazines on the nearby shelf. Louis’s head turned briefly before holding up the magazine he had laid on the coffee table, showing a splendid shot of two dashing young actors standing back-to-back: one with his two fingers at his temple and the other with a coin hovering above his open palm. “You mean these extraordinary people really exist?”

Lestat heaved a sigh. His lover usually had a hard time separating actors and the characters they portray, totally merging them and marveling at the cinematic illusions presented on the silver screen as if they were real. This could be very embarrassing sometimes, when the two of them happened to come across one such actor.

“For the thousandth time, Louis, Michael Fassbender and James McAvoy do exist, their characters don’t,” Lestat huffed. “If you so fancy them I could bring them to you and make them…”

A rolled-up magazine hit him on the head before he finished.

Holding his head, Lestat shot his immortal beloved a very dirty look. The Lord, or whoever up above, must really hate him, for each and every of his lover, past or present, possessed a distinct streak of violence. Gabrielle and Akasha were already off the wall; Nicki could be a real vicious monster when angered; Louis had tried to burn him once and often hit him out of the blue every now and then. Even the bookish, seemingly harmless David wasn’t excluded. Once he had made a grievous mistake of jesting about David’s past love affairs. The man had made it clear that Lestat had deserved it, but still…

Charles examined the magazine page before remarked, “Extraordinary is a very generous word, Mr…”

Louis arched his eyebrows playfully, a small challenge if Charles could extract it from his head.

“… Mr. Pointe du Lac,” Charles said, the French rolling smoothly on his tongue. “1791, colonial America. That’s what I call ‘extraordinary’.”

“Just Louis is fine.”

“Likewise,” Lestat added.

“You know what we are and yet you aren’t afraid?”

“From what I’ve read in your books and your minds, I can be rather confident in my well-being. I’m not an evildoer, am I?”

“But he kidnapped you!” Louis pointed at the blond-haired vampire sitting with his legs dangling from the arm, who positively pouted. “A thousand miles from your home!”

“Oh, Louis!” Lestat groaned. “I thought you were done making me the villain.”

“A fascinating and alluring villain… Lestat,” Charles sounded a little hesitant using first-name basis. “Many of my students, myself included, have become your devoted fans after Interview with the Vampire, book and movie alike.”

“I guess I have to thank that actor,” Lestat replied with mild sarcasm, “though his pitiable height has made me a laughing stock of Armand for years. You see, The Frowning Imp has got a tall, dark and handsome Spaniard for his portrayal. Not even close to his appearance, but still…”

Charles chuckled. “The movie’s casting of ‘Armand’ remains one of the biggest mysteries of the movie history.”

“The second being a dark-haired, dark-eyed me in the supposed ‘sequel’,” Lestat scoffed. “I swear that débile of director had attempted to crossbreed me and Nicki!”

“Instead of whining about your actors, why don’t you make yourself useful by getting our guest something to eat and drink?”

“Said someone played by an actor who’s even taller than Marius.”

Another pout. Lestat stood up and dashed out of the door, leaving a puff of dust after.

“Excuse us…” Louis muttered apologetically.

He was back after seven and a half minutes, with French cuisines, white wine to complement the dishes and a steaming pot of Earl Grey.

A little extravagant for a snack. Charles rolled his eyes.

“From a kitchen of a restaurant in town. No killing, rest assured,” Lestat turned to Charles as he set the food on their small coffee table.

Only then was Charles able to enjoy the vampires’ hospitability.

Their conversation spanned for hours into the late night, surprisingly better than Louis had expected. With his intelligence and knowledge that could impress an immortal, Charles handled the flow of the talk gracefully, from the touchy topics like immortals, mutants and the everlasting questions of morality to milder ones like the places they had been, the wonders they had been fortunate to witness. For a mortal, Charles did travel a lot. Well, that was a privilege of having a private jet coupled with a private pilot at his disposal.

Lestat’s iridescence eyes widened at the mention of a private jet. Louis shot him a murderous look, already knowing what was running in his pampered yellow head. Next he would say he wanted one so he could show off with Gabrielle, David and Marius while making fun of Armand’s absurd superstition of air travel. Or was it Mael, with the fear of flight? Oh whatever! The point is, Lestat was being absurd. Again.

Charles was wearing a mischievous smile as Lestat bombarded him with queries about acquiring a jet. But otherwise he made no comment on the Brat Prince’s obnoxious immaturity.

He was indulging Lestat, Louis realized, the way an old, intimate friend did another instead of mere strangers who had just met for a few short hours. Not to mention a vampire!

“My partner is no less difficult than Lestat,” Charles spoke to Louis with his mind, tapping his finger against his temple. The timbre of his mental voice was warm and deep, resonating in Louis’s own mind like the sound of a gong. Once again he felt tremendous affection for the man.

That rang an ominous note. If even Louis himself was heavily seduced by Charles’s charisma then Lestat must have already been madly in love with him, which often led to one thing…

Oh God, please let it not be like David’s case.

Lestat spoke as soon as the fear went rampant in Louis’s chest. “Well, Charles, I really find you captivating and thus have every heart to share with you the Dark Gift. Consider it a formal and personal invitation from myself.”

For the first time in the hours here, a look of surprise found its way to Charles’s countenance. Louis was intrigued. Had he not been able to pick it from Lestat before the words were formed on the vampire’s lips?

“I know how to shield myself,” Lestat sent him a vampire whisper, the volume of which only vampires could hear, “against a telepath. Had The Frowning Imp not taught you the trick in all your years staying together?”

Louis willingly ignored the deliberate taunt – still bitter and jealous of Louis’s time with Armand in his absence after decades – and sent him a friendly reminder, “Don’t be rash. Imagine Marius’s face if he learns of this.”

“Marius will be delighted to have another intellectual individual in our family.”

“And David’s face.”

“David will be pleased to have a fellow Englishman to express his love for the Queen.”

“Lestat!”

Louis growled, his eyes blazing like two will-o’-the-wisp flames and his fangs visible from his parted pale lips.

Lestat appeared unaffected by the rage of his lover, yet he unconsciously shifted on his couch. Closer to Charles, it seemed.

The air pressure in the living room was suddenly several times higher.

“Thank you for your kind offer, Lestat,” Charles broke the tension, thankfully. “But I have to refuse this enormous gift.”

Louis’s rage deflated. Charles still had a lot of sense, as Louis expected of such an outstanding individual.

“Why? You told me earlier that it is ‘extraordinary’, the Dark Gift.”

Louis’s rage flared up like gasoline catching fire.

Don’t push your luck, Lestat!

Sipping his tear, Charles calmly replied, “It is true. However, I am too grateful for being mutant to give it up for another kind of existence. Besides, I still have a school to run and, well, a difficult partner to handle.”

A light chuckle ended his sentence.

“I can turn your partner too, if you wish,” Lestat said flatly. A gift for everyone. The generosity of the Prince…

… which deserved another passionate kiss from the rolled-up magazine.

“Speaking of this partner, won’t they be worried that you’re gone… sort of kidnapped?” Louis asked. The thought had just crossed his mind, forgotten by Charles’s engrossing insights and perspective.

Silence stretched on after Charles’s dismal utterance “Oh dear.”

“Seriously Lestat, you just swooped down, caught him and carried him here?”

His shrug was enough an answer.

“And you let him, a vampire, take you?” Louis stared at him incredulously.

Judging from Charles’s bashful look, he had probably had it entirely slipped off his mind.

They made quite a pair, didn’t they? Louis felt the need to facepalm himself.

That was when the ground shook violently. The three watched in astonishment as hideous cracks manifested on the walls surrounding them. “Erik!” It was Charles’s voice muttering, immediately drown by the terrible cacophony of brick and cement being crushed.

The moon was shining brilliantly in the dark velvet sky. The two vampires found themselves mesmerized by her sheer and immense beauty.

As to why they could see the moon, the walls of their house had been cleanly torn off, together with the roof over their heads and now both were hovering above them like a giant open box.

Lestat and Louis, for their unlife of over two centuries, hadn’t seen it coming at all.

At the center of the gigantic box was a man in costume and a funny helmet, his cape fluttering majestically behind him as he shouted, “Charles! Are you alright? I swear if you even touch him…”

“Just put the bloody walls and roof down, Erik!” Charles shouted at the top of his lungs, startling both vampires.

The mess of brick and cement remained dangerously floating but at last the man descended.

In perfect ignorance of two powerful vampires’ presence, the man called Erik rushed past them to Charles, embracing him. “Are you hurt? Any injuries?”

Ah, the ‘difficult partner’, Lestat and Louis exchanged a knowing look.

Quite shaken (literally) by Erik’s overwhelming emotions conveyed in his crushing bear-hug, Charles managed to speak, “I’m alright Erik. Perfectly fine. I’ve met two new friends and we were sort of… blinded from everything else but our conversation.”

The ‘abduction’ conveniently omitted.

“Even Jean and Emma’s calling out for you?”

Charles’s grey eyebrows arched up as he looked as Lestat, questioningly. Lestat’s reply was a shrug. However, to Louis he gave a triumphant note. Lestat – one, mutants – zero.

“Forgotten, I told you,” Charles answered. Looking behind Erik’s back, he asked, “Where are the others?”

“Out with Hank and Raven. I came in first to scout.”

Lestat and Louis looked at each other and then at the floating remains of their walls and roof. “You call that ‘scout’?” Lestat scoffed. “Have you no stealth?”

“Who are you?” Erik’s eyes squinted at the pair, finally acknowledging their presence.

Lestat rose from the couch, taking Louis with him as he strode to the mutants. Putting his arm around Charles’s shoulders, he smiled as impertinently as his nickname suggested, flashing his perfect pointed canine at Erik.

Heh, the man must be thinking them as two brats.

To his disappointment, Erik appeared unfazed.

Well, to speak for a man with shark teeth himself…

“Charles’s friends,” Lestat said, looking at Erik straight in the eyes, “and the owners of the house you just demolished.”

Tension sparked between the two as they locked gaze. Charles and Louis glanced at each other. Difficult partner. Both mentally sighed in unison.

“For the last time, please put them down, Erik. They are really my friends and they mean me no harm.”

“They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“God, no!”

“They didn’t kidnap you, did they?”

“A thousand times, no.” In one swift movement Charles got rid of Erik’s funny helmet. “Can you put that down now? Or must I make you?”

Erik maintained the best poker face his aging countenance could manage. He put the walls and roof down nonetheless. They collapsed like crushed biscuits the moment they touched the ground.

Lestat and Louis stared at the hopeless pile of rubble with despair. Charles sent them wave after wave of apology as well as promise for compensation.

Mon dieu…” Louis mumbled, gazing at Erik and Charles’ disappearing figures as they left the immortal pair to their ‘house’. “…he’s indeed difficult. Much more difficult than you. More reasons for me to admire Charles.”

Lestat huffed, kicking away a piece of brick at his feet and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“He strikes me as similar to Akasha. The kind that would rain missiles on someone if they unfortunately offended him.”

“Imagine Marius and the others’ faces if you gave such a man the blood.”

“Actually,” Lestat said, stroking his chin in attempt of a wise look, “I’m tempted to see what kind of vampire would a mutant make? Would he be the same as us or would he possess powers like a Titan? Maybe I’ll try coaxing Charles into the idea the next time we meet.”

A considerably big piece of rubble hit him square in the face, causing him to tumble down.

“I was merely posing an interesting and plausible hypothesis, Louis,” Lestat moaned, clutching his bloodied nose.

“I was merely following Marius’s instructions when you pose ‘an interesting and plausible hypothesis’, Lestat,” Louis replied flatly.

“I’ve just realized I don’t really like this house.” Lestat stood up, brushing dirt off his T-shirt and jeans. His nose had already healed, leaving only a few drops of blood on the front of his T-shirt. “Now it’s a chance to get a new one. What do you say, Manhattan? I sure miss Broadway.”

“Right,” Louis said. “You’ll take care of that since you brought it all yourself.”

“True, but… Hey, Louis, where are you going?”

“To Marius and David’s place.”

“It’s late,” Lestat said, matter-of-factly.

“Marius doesn’t mind. Neither does David.”

“If they’re not home?”

“Then I’ll go to Daniel and Armand’s. Surely Armand doesn’t mind.” A taunting note in his tone.

“They don’t have any spare coffins.” Lestat’s defeated rebuke.

“Too bad. I may have to share with Armand.”

Without turning his head, Louis said. His steps quickened with preternatural speed. Soon his white shirt was the only thing visible of him in the darkness.

“Come pick me when you’ve cleaned up after your mess. Until then, mon prince.

“Hey, Louis, Hey!!!”

His calls went pitifully unanswered as Louis’s slender figure had already melted in the night.

End

*Note: This is my attempt to crossbreed my two favorite fandoms. It’s totally understandable if it doesn’t make a lot of sense.