Lestat watched Louis out of the corner of his eye, making sure his little fledgling didn't know what he was listening to on his headphones. Louis had said he enjoyed Tori Amos songs, and Lestat had instead made fun of them, calling them nonsensical and unintelligible. If Louis knew Lestat was listening to one, Lestat would die of embarrassment.

"It's not my fault if she wrote one decent batch of lyrics," he muttered to himself. He couldn't allow Louis to know how much he connected with these songs. Sometimes he really did want to walk around without wearing the mask he always had on, his mask of brattish recklessness. He'd worn it so long that everyone else had confused it with his real identity.

"But then, that was the point," he sighed. He was supposed to be careless and indifferent to the rules. Lestat, Brat Prince, ultimate challenge to authority who cried at nothing and at the drop of a hat. What would the world think if they knew his real feelings? That he actually cared about Louis' sensibilities, that he tried to keep to the rules, but his impulsiveness just took control sometimes? That he would kill if only Louis could just see that he loved him, that he couldn't say it because he cared so much?

But then, he was Lestat, not Lestat de Lioncourt. He'd buried all the emotions of that life deep, deep down so far that he only recalled them in nightmares. Awful nightmares of burning books and suffocating in bed with a heavy weight over him...that's why he wanted Louis in the same coffin, and now in the same bed. To keep the nightmares at bay. Of course, it helped that he loved him, but he could never reveal his weaknesses like that.

He wished David could do that for him, but that fledgling was much different than Louis. David couldn't fill the emptiness left whenever Lestat was away from Louis. So why was he complaining? Here he was with Louis in his own living room, within eyesight. He sighed and looked away. Never close enough. And now it felt like Louis was far away, even if he was in the same room.

Louis glanced sideways at Lestat, who quickly lowered his gaze. Louis just sighed and turned the volume up a bit on his own small headphones. If Lestat knew he was listening to Tori Amos again, he'd be mocked and ridiculed again.

"How could he say she's nonsensical?" he wondered quietly to himself. I mean, yes, some of her songs are difficult to comprehend at times, but she usually has a meaning somewhere in her lyrics. He sighed again. Lestat probably hadn't meant to sound so derisive when he criticized his choice in singers, Lestat was simply that way. He couldn't admit to liking anything. Even when Louis asked if he wanted all of this richness and finery, all the of the luxury of being wealthy, Lestat had admitted nothing.

"Louis, really," he'd said, in that wonderfully condescending voice of his, "none of this is truly necessary. It's nice and pretty, and sometimes amusing, but never anything I'm attached to." Louis thought back through the years. Lestat had never really confessed to wanting much of anything. He'd only asked Louis if he loved him once, and that seemed to be enough for him. As long as someone else loved him, he was fine.

Louis shook his head sadly. His poor little Lestat. He could see through the mask he always wore, see right into the heart of a lonely, shy boy. He wondered if Lestat could see into his heart, one so wrapped up in a need of salvation and forgiveness that it ate at him. Louis wore his own mask, one of cosmic indifference and a total disregard of the material world, and it was such a well-crafted mask that he couldn't let anyone know he actually cared about life and the way fate played out. Most of all, no matter how much he wanted to let Lestat know that he loved him, and in a physical sense as much as a spiritual one, he was forced to remain polite and restrained.

So had Lestat felt a lack of love there, a rejection that he needed to satisfy with a new fledgling? Was Lestat drifting away? Was this their destiny, slow and inescapable? Would Lestat forget about him and find David a more receptive companion, especially in that deceptively young body? A healthy body that wasn't thin and pale and morose and rag-tag...

The song was over.

Lestat put his headphones down at the same time Louis did. They both looked at each other, both of them wishing they could hear the other's thoughts, and then looked away again. Louis stood up and headed for the staircase, but he had to pass Lestat on the way.

"Do you love me?"

Louis looked down in surprise when he heard the soft whisper. Lestat didn't meet his eyes, instead holding perfectly still on the couch, as if he was resigned to the inevitable answer.

"Yes. I love you."

Lestat glanced up at him, seemingly surprised, and gave him a tiny smile. But Louis wasn't finished. He slid his hand into Lestat's, holding him tight.

"And do you love me?"

Lestat tilted his head curiously. "Of course."

"No," Louis shook his head as if he were gently rebuking a small child. "I want you to say it. Don't echo it. Say it."

Lestat smiled sadly and shook his head, trying to say silently that he was unable. Louis would not back down. Instead he knelt down and grabbed Lestat's other hand.

"Say it. Please. I have to hear it. Just say it once, that's all. But I have to hear it, I have to know for certain. Say it."

Lestat bit his lower lip in agitation. What, reveal this weakness? Expose his soft underside so it could be slashed to pieces? No, impossible, impossi--

"You know I love you," Louis whispered fiercely. "I won't mock you. Don't be afraid."

"Louis..."Lestat started helplessly.

"I'm so afraid this will backfire," Louis kept going. "I'm terrified you will laugh and walk away, and never say it. But you must, Lestat, you must."

"Louis...I..." Lestat looked into Louis' eyes. Like jade and emerald in moonlight.

The room was silent. Finally Lestat looked away again. Louis stifled a small sob and released Lestat's hands, getting up and heading up the staircase to his room. So close...he'd expected too much...maybe. Or maybe Lestat just didn't... Another soulful sigh and he undressed, tossing his clothes into the wastebasket where they belonged. It was almost dawn. He slipped into bed, bringing the cool sheets up over himself. The window was locked, the shutters closed and the windows drawn. The door was...open? But hadn't he closed it? He sat up, the sheets falling to his waist .

Lestat was in the doorway, arms folded, eyes focused hard on a bit of splintered wood by the wastebasket. He looked absolutely frozen, either in fear or panic, Louis couldn't tell. Lestat glanced up nervously, then looked back down.

"I...I do love you," he whispered almost inaudibly. Only because the night was so still did Louis hear him. A cricket could have drowned out his voice. "I loved you when I first saw you. I loved you when you threw fire on me. I loved you when I saw you again, just before the Queen died. And I love you now."

"And even though I refused to help you?" Louis murmured.

"Even then." Lestat released a shaky breath, then turned to go.

"Lestat, where are you going?"

"To bed, before the sun rises," Lestat said softly.

"Don't go tonight," Louis offered. "Stay here."

Lestat gave a humorless laugh. "Afraid of the dark, Louis?" he smiled grimly, returning to his old habit of mocking his love. "Shall I sleep on your carpet and keep the monsters away?"

"No," Louis smiled, ignoring the barb. "You should sleep in my bed, and we'll keep the nightmares away."

Lestat said nothing, only standing there in confused surprise. "But...you never...you struggle just to force yourself to kiss me and now I am to sleep next to you?"

"You sacrificed a little to confess your love," Louis nodded. "Now I must sacrifice a little to confess my feelings." He slowly stood up, allowing the sheets to fall away from him and leave him nude. He calmly stepped close to Lestat, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

"And is that what I am?" Lestat gasped as Louis' fingers nimbly stripped him. "Something you must make a sacrifice to love?"

"Yes," Louis whispered in his ear. "I must sacrifice my old priorities and suffocating propriety. I don't want them anymore. I want you."

"Do you, really?" Lestat asked, barely moving as Louis took his pants off of him.

Louis brought him further into the room and closed the door. "Yes." Louis put his hands on Lestat's bare waist, guiding him over to the soft bed. He pushed him onto the mattress, then joined him beneath the blankets. "Really."

Lestat, when he realized that his fledgling would allow it, put his arms around his naked body and hugged him close, relishing the feeling of the cool skin against his own. Louis lay his head against Lestat's shoulder, relaxing in the strong grip. With a small amount of effort, he leaned forward and kissed Lestat.

"I love you, Lestat."

Lestat smiled and tightened his hold. "I...love you, Louis."

"It will become easier to say," Louis promised.

"It's hard because I mean it."

"I know." He snuggled down into the warm embrace and closed his eyes. "Do you love David?"

"Not like I love you," Lestat said immediately, not knowing how much it mattered to Louis. "He is nothing compared to you...and...Louis, are you...jealous?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Louis smiled.

"Not now, you mean," Lestat giggled. "Not lovers for five minutes and already we're having a lover's spat."

"Mmm, hush," Louis grumbled. "She is a good singer, isn't she?"

"Hmm...? What?" Lestat asked, confused by the sudden shift.

"Tori Amos," Louis clarified.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lestat insisted.

Louis laughed. "Lestat, you had the CD case in plain sight."

"Coincidence," Lestat scoffed.

"Right..." Louis let it go, though, and settled back down, feeling Lestat pull him closer. Their legs twisted together and they fell asleep in a mutual embrace.