The Allowances for Eternity

Disclaimers: Do not own vamps, Anne Rice does. I make no money off of this.

Warnings: Implied slash. A naughty Louis.

Spoilers: TotBT

David's body was hard, nearly as hard as his maker's. The skin was smooth, yes, but it didn't give as well as normal skin. Touching David was much like touching an elder vampire. You didn't lay your hand on his body as much as you feeling up a marble statue. Lestat's David was a harsher one than Michelangelo's. At least the statue didn't try to hug its admirers.

Lestat sighed and rolled to the side of the bed. He'd thought it'd be exotic and exciting, or at the very least interesting, but he was left feeling vaguely disappointed. A wild, meaningless one-night fling with his British fledgling had seemed like such a wonderful idea. The promise of bondage, whips and rough sex had been a powerful lure and a refreshing break from the steady vanilla relationship he had with Louis, except...something was wrong.

There's something missing, Lestat thought, glancing over his shoulder at David. His fledgling was fast asleep, still wearing the titanium handcuffs. He seemed to enjoy all of it. So what's wrong with me?

The room was unbearably quiet. The only noise was David's steady breathing and the constant ticking of the clock that was slowly but undeniably driving Lestat insane. Hot. It was so painfully hot inside. David's body was nice enough, but he was also almost horrendously warm. The heat of his body kept the bed sheets from getting cool, making the bed feel like a cloud a bat might have ridden out of hell.

Lestat tossed to his left side, turning his back to David. He rose up on one arm, trying to escape his hot pillow. Why had he made his fledgling so strong? His skin gave off nearly as much heat as some of the oldest vampires. A handy trick, when trying to pass as mortal, and usually other vampires loved the illusion of living flesh beside their own. Lestat sat up, trying to breathe in cool air, but the warmth was everywhere.

That's it, I'm going home, Lestat decided. He slid out of the bed, careful not to wake his fledgling, and grabbed his clothes from the floor. His shirt was torn to shreds so he tossed that in the wastebasket, but his pants were still in one piece. He pulled those on and jerked his sneakers on, not bothering to undo the laces, then quietly escaped through the window, forgetting that he had the keys to the handcuffs in his pocket.

Moisture hung in the air, making it difficult to breathe. Lestat did not have to breathe, of course, but he still enjoyed the feel of air rushing through his mouth into his lungs. Right now, however, he felt as if he was drinking instead of breathing. And even the nighttime breeze did not diminish the intolerable heat. It radiated in waves up from the sidewalk and pavement, invisibly warping the background in the distance.

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped it away absent-mindedly. It had been a long time since he had felt depressed, but he still recognized the feeling after so many years. An icy well formed in his chest and stomach, as if there were gigantic moths fluttering around in his body and ramming into his sides. What's wrong with me? Why am I feeling this way? He sighed again and looked down at the sidewalk as he went along, not knowing why he was still crying or why he hadn't enjoyed the time with David.

Hours of walking usually gave him the answer, but this time the lonesome stroll did nothing to clear his thoughts. It was too humid. He had been raised in a cooler climate, and despite years of living down here in Louisiana, he still missed real snow and cold rain. But Louis would freeze in that kind of environment.

Lestat smiled to himself. Louis. Just thinking about him lifted his spirits. Cool, green eyes that sparkled in the starlight, creamy white skin purer than milk, not the mottled mess of mortal flesh. There was not one blemish on Louis' skin, and despite the lack of attention paid to his hair, a strand was never found out of place. Sometimes Lestat wondered if Louis was more of an ethereal spirit than an immortal wanderer of the night.

By the time he came up the steps to his front door, he was feeling much better than when he had left David's temporary apartment. Lestat closed his eyes for a moment before entering, imagining Louis upstairs reading in bed, some dreary boring novel. He would be stretched out entirely nude again, draped over the blankets instead of under them, like an enticing banquet. Of course the book would have to be dragged out of his hands, but once his attention was where it should be, on his lover...Lestat grinned as he pictured it. Still wearing his usual cocky grin, he turned the knot and went into the darkened living room.

He crept through the pitch black room, doing his best not to hit anything and make any noise. He wanted to surprise Louis in bed and steal a few kisses first.

It was much later that Lestat lay next to Louis, cuddled up close between the bedsheets. The old manuscript of some author Lestat didn't care about, and honestly hadn't heard about, had fallen beneath the bed, joining many other forgotten books, taken from Louis' mind in a fit of surprised rapture. Lestat smiled, looking kindly down on his fledgling. Louis' head rest on his shoulder, his dark hair spilling out over his arm and partially hiding his face. Lestat brushed the stray strands aside and gave him a tiny kiss. He knew Louis loved being "surprised" in bed, why else would he stay there without any clothing on, with only a candle to light the room, sometimes with the sheets provocatively dropped down one thigh, barely covering what the rest of the coven believed was a perfect model of the Victorian gentleman.

Nothing like David, Lestat said to himself. But what had been different this time? They had not played with any sexual toys, not bound each other up like prized slaves, not played master and servant...Louis wore no handcuffs. Lestat had no wicked designs of inflicting pain. Their love-making was honest, sensual, full of trust despite their complicated history--

Love-making...Lestat thought, catching himself before he lost that idea. We make love. I screw David, but Louis makes love with me. Content with that simple explanation, he snuggled closer to Louis, enjoying the way his soft body gave slightly to his touch. The way his skin was cooler, so Lestat did not feel as if hot air was suffocating him. The way his steady breathing was a comfort in the darkness. The way that, if Lestat happened to move a certain way, Louis was groan and nestle closer, trying to keep him still even in his sleep. Louis woke up if Lestat tried to leave. Louis wanted him there. Lestat's smile turned into a grin and he closed his eyes, falling fast asleep.

Louis' eyes opened just a tiny bit, so he could stare at Lestat's flawless face. Of course love made him see Lestat differently than other people. Where someone might see tangled hair or eyes that sparkled naughtily, Louis could only see golden hair and eyes like jewels. He'd never seen him in a truly clear light. Lestat had been a winged angel, a beautiful tyrant, a grieving Narcissus, a stone saint on a dusty floor, and it was only recently that Louis could see some of his faults as character traits, not something to be repaired or white-washed over, but little crosses in his personality, evidences of past hardships. It only made him love Lestat more.

So what if Lestat had a small tryst with David? He'd come home right after, obviously depressed, and only Louis could improve his feelings. Not David, who had called earlier for the keys to the handcuffs, using the excuse to call and make Louis jealous. Not David, who was a pretty plaything Lestat toyed with once in awhile. After all, eternity is a long time, and immortal lovers should be allowed a change of pace now and then.

Still...Louis glanced at Lestat's pants, draped over the back of a chair. The keys hung precariously on the pocket's hem.

I'll mail the keys to him, he nodded to himself. In a few nights. After all, I do not need to be bound to love Lestat. And when Louis fell back asleep, his smile was as broad as Lestat's, and if they'd been open, his eyes would have sparkled naughtily.

But of course, Lestat never saw that naughtiness in his fledgling. He would have seen it as Louis' rare playful side.

The End