Author: Anu (anubeta@lycos.com)
Title: The Sins Of the Fathers
Fandom: The Vampire Chronicles
Rating: R
Pairing: Louis/Lestat
Series?: No. A Part II will follow this one, but it's eurominutes (Lestat POV).
Archive: Wrote it for the Mpreg archive. They needed some more vamp fics.
Warnings: It's a vamp fic. Angst, moodiness and darkness are mandatory. Absolutely no real timeline.
Summary: Lestat always gets what he wants, and Louis will hate him forever.
Disclaimer: Nobody does it like Anne Rice. These are her angsty wild men, I'm just borrowing them on a spree.
Beta: Brad. (Beta Quote: "You are one *scary* fuck sometimes, Ben.")
There are good reasons why vampires do not have children. Fools do not listen to reason. Fools listen to Lestat.
I hadn't wanted to do it, that first time. He was clever, maneuvering it so that not even Claudia could save me. If by sacrificing myself, I was saving someone else, then it was
worth it to do. We didn't know how it would turn out. I didn't know. If I had I would never have gone to his bed as he bade me with a martyred air.
He followed me in after a moment. I had seen him naked before, but I had never been filled with trepidation over it. He had not fed, and was hard. For that matter, neither had I. Even with immortal healing to aid me, I was afraid. I sat down on the bed, and he climbed atop me and tried to hold me. I pushed him away. Curious lust I could handle, but not pretended tenderness. After that, things went more swiftly. It did hurt and wasn't pleasurable in the least.
I got tired after a while; he was taking forever. I offered him my palm and he bit me to completion. When it was over, I got up and left his bed. My hand hurt. I hoped he was satisfied.
I went out hunting, and when I returned things were as they always were. I sat brooding before the fire, Claudia in my lap, Lestat lurking about nearby. We never mentioned it again. He never asked again. I never offered. I forgot all about it.
Until the night Claudia died. Lestat the liar, Lestat the two-faced had let them kill her. I was angry. I hated him. I ran into the rainy night. The echo of mine, a tiny heartbeat,
seemed to mock me. A child lost, a child gained. I could not go back to Lestat. Not after this, not now. I could not go back to them, not even to Armand, who promised sanctuary.
I fled.
I lived alone in the forgotten underground halls of a castle. I hunted in the village and the keep above, if I felt up to it or hungry enough. My body swelled in parody of a woman's.
I forgot myself, and refused to think. It was easier not to worry about Lestat, where he was, how he was.
When my time came I sweated and bled and cried all on my own, and alone, I brought a child to life. A son, a beautiful mortal who would die. I did not even name him, leaving it as a testament of his mortality. Even as my body healed itself to where it had no recognition of the life it had nourished, I loved this child and did him no harm.
I found him a nursemaid in the village, and she looked after him. I lied to her and told her a grand story of a dead mother and how I was too busy to care for him and thus could only came at night. Lestat would have been proud of my deceptive prowess. I visited
often and learned to love the wiggling limbs, damp grins and chortles of amused glee. I found a measure of happiness too good for me, and certainly too good to last.
It was inevitable that Lestat would find me.
I went down into the village, and when I knocked on the door. She did not answer, and I went inside with a feeling of dread. I found her in the hallway, and my heart pounded loudly, but I had no choice but to go in. My son wasn't in his crib. I had known he wouldn't be. I refused to pray that he might still be alive. With Lestat, one did not dare hope.
I found them on the balcony. Lestat was holding and singing softly to him. Ever subservient, I sank to my knees and sat back against my heels. Lestat looked up at me.
"Who is this?" He asked. "Who is this beautiful boy-child that wears my face and sees with your green eyes? Who is he, Louis?"
He was taunting me, I was sure. I lay down on my side, still looking at him, hoping a display of my submissiveness would appease him. "My son." I whispered.
He looked back at the baby, playing with his chubby hands. I crawled toward Lestat on my belly. "Please." I begged."Please."
"What is it you beg for, Louis? Do you even know?" He sang to the baby, not looking at me.
I had reached his legs and rubbed on them, nuzzling them, hoping he could be appeased by my self-degradation. "Please." I whimpered.
"Please what, Louis?" He asked.
"Please...don't hurt him." I nearly choked on the words and the shame of rubbing my head against his thigh.
"Perhaps." He said smugly, teasing.
I was angry. With him, with myself. I turned my head and bit him.
He backhanded me against the wall. I struck with force, and falling, I was enraged to see him singing to the baby. Then all went dark.
When I woke, I was in my bed, naked. My son was beside me, wrapped warmly in his blankets. I crawled over and lay my head beside him, to reassure myself that he still lived, breathed, was mortal. Lestat was not above sending a child into enduring agony to rebuke me. He had done it before.
"Is this our child?" He asked from beside the fire on the other side of the bed. His voice was mild. I did not answer, or even look at him, only drew my child closer. He nodded to himself. "Go to sleep Louis. I'll take care of you." Wary as I was of him, I knew he would not harm me in my sleep. I closed my eyes and drifted off uneasily.
When I woke again, it was because of hunger. I was in my coffin, which was moving. I was clothed again, and bound hand and foot. I could have broken free if I wished, but I did not. The purpose of the ropes was not to bind me, but to warn me to keep still.
I didn't want to know where my son was. Lestat was around somewhere. I didn't care where we were going. I wanted to sleep forever, to die like the mortals. I closed my eyes.
I woke. It was night, and I was in bed, wearing only my pants. I got up, and lit a taper. I found that I was in a basement converted to a tenant's bedroom. I went up the stairs and found the door locked. I broke the lock, and prowled the house above. My new home.
My son slept upstairs in the arms of a fat nursemaid, who was gently rocking in a chair, soothing him. I watched the sleeping woman and baby for a moment. Arms slid around me, one about my chest, the other around my waist. I recognized the long hands splayed against me. Lestat. I was not aware I had whispered it until he pulled me back away from the door, whispering against my neck. "Don't wake them."
His posture demanded my submission. He wanted to talk, I could tell. I leaned into him, all my pretended strength fading and wilting before his dominance. He picked me up under the knees and shoulders and carried me. I let him, my head falling back, exposing my neck to him. I noticed he was pleased with that.
He was carrying me down to the basement. I let him do what he wanted. He laid me on the bed, and puttered about, starting a fire. I could smell him, hot from a kill. I hungered, and hated him more. "Don't go to sleep, Louis, I have something for you." He commanded. My heart sank.
He went upstairs, and came back down. He laid a young woman, dazed by a blow, beside me. "A young, beautiful mortal, everything you're jealous of, Louis. Take her. Go on." He coaxed. I turned away from them both. "Louis." He said softly. He climbed into bed and molded himself to me. I tried to move away, but he followed every motion as if he were my shadow. Sighing, I crept closer to the girl on my belly. Lestat kept his hips and chest against my back even as I kept mine to the bed, creeping with me.
As I bent my head to drink, he whispered. "You will tell me all."It was a demand. I hid my sob in the girl's neck. He held me while I fed, and when I was done he brushed my hair back from my face. Sated, I let him pull me into his arms and hold me. As I fell asleep, I felt like crying, and did so.
When I woke, I was alone, and the room was cold. The girl's corpse was nowhere around. Lestat wasn't there either. I got up, and went to see my son. He was asleep in the crib, the nursemaid in her own bed in the room next to his. I held my son while he slept, envying him his mortality. I wondered what Lestat would do. After a while my hunger got the better of me, and I reluctantly put him back in his crib.
When I returned from the hunt, Lestat was sitting on the porch, waiting for me. The moonlight shone on the even planes of his face. I sat beside him. He wanted me to talk, and I refused to tell the monster that was Lestat anything. Yet I was afraid of the alternative. I knew what he would do. And because I feared it, he did it.
He turned and kissed me gently. Such was his power over me I did not fight. If I had, he would have killed the woman, our child, and any other mortal he thought by killing he could make me comply. He stood and took my hand. I let him. He led me inside and down to the basement. He undressed himself, and I shuddered at he sight of him, hard with his hunger. I closed my eyes while he undressed me.
He laid me on the bed and gently kissed my belly and flanks, my neck, and my sex. I only told him no once, when he entered me, but he did not listen and I said nothing else. He wasn't going to listen, so what use was it to protest? He bit me to find his completion, and when he was done, he held me close. I ignored him. I hated him. Why couldn't he have just left me alone? I went to sleep to get away from him.
The next months passed in a haze of dreams. Lestat tired of forcing me awake nightly and dressing me and dragging me out on kills, so he brought my prey instead. I ate it if I was hungry enough to bother. Lestat brought me our son often, and I held him. Lestat slept beside me every day with his arms wrapped around me, hands on my swelling belly.
When my time came he took advantage of my unconcern for the process to take over and care for me. I let him do what he liked. When I beheld our daughter covered in my blood, he had to gag me to keep me from screaming. I was afraid of him, but more afraid of myself. I was an abomination. Yet madness did not deter Lestat from sleeping beside me during the days.
He held my daughter every night, and I lay beside my son. I dreamed dark dreams. One night I had a vision. When my children were grown and in their prime, we would seduce them, Lestat and I. We would give them the Dark Gift. I began screaming, and Lestat slapped me to shut me up. I fell silent but plotted instead.
For the first time, I was glad he could not read my mind, deception appealing in the face of my thoughts. One night, while he still slept, I went upstairs and stole away my daughter. It took all night to take her somewhere safe, and by the time I stumbled back home Hell's Bells were ringing.
I woke on the floor, and when Lestat guessed what I'd done he kicked me and ran out. I laughed maniacally at him, for I knew he'd never find her. I hid my son away, and when I returned Lestat beat me, and threw me on the bed. Climbing atop me, he reared back to strike me, but dawn intervened and we slept together unwillingly for a last time.
In the evening, he was sorry and apologized and tried to convince me to stay with him, but I laughed and refused. He had no more tools of blackmail. and I was glad. I stormed out, and he did not follow me.
That night I visited a church. A being of darkness praying for the safety of innocents, and for forgiveness; surely some prophecy was fulfilled. I know not if my prayer was answered. I do not know if I was forgiven. I did not forgive Lestat.
But I held to hope. One day I might forget. I have forever, after all.
Title: The Sins Of the Fathers II
Warnings: Still absolutely no real timeline. Lestat POV. Lestat out of character. (Hard to write such an egotistical bastard.)
Summary: Louis just doesn't understand.
Beta: Brad. (Beta Quote: "This one's worse, 'cause it makes more sense.")
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I was sitting in my chair beside the fire one evening, watching Louis brood. Claudia watched me watch her watch Louis.
Honestly, ever since I had met Magnus, I'd not had any thoughts toward sex. The sensuality I'd known as a vampire was so vastly different from what I'd known as a mortal. I'd forgotten that lesser fire.
I only vaguely began thinking in that way when I noticed, not for the first time, how beautiful Louis was and wondered if we would have shared pleasure if we had met as mortals.
I was startled at my own thoughts. Louis was the one to muse on his past life and regret his immortality, pining for death, not I. I shook off my sleepiness and left the drowsy warmth of the fireside, going out into the rain to hunt.
My kill that night was a man preying on a preteen girl, his malicious intent evident in the carnal pleasure he was pursuing outside her bedroom window. I took delight in killing this evil. Hiding his corpse in an alley, I went for a walk.
As I walked, I thought over my idea. I reached down and touched myself. I hadn't thought of my organ often since I'd become a vampire, and I was curious. Was it even possible for me to orgasm?
I knew I got hard when I got the bloodlust, for that was like lust all over, not just centered on my member. I had had sex when I was mortal, with men and with women, and I'd thought of Louis often in a similar respect to attraction.
He was certainly beautiful, but it was unlikely he'd experiment with me willingly. Perhaps then, tomorrow night, I could wake him before Claudia rose and try out my ideas. I went home, and put Claudia to bed. Louis was already taking his usual boredom-inspired nap, as he often tended to do.
With Claudia's downy head nestled on his chest, Louis looked both beautiful and innocent asleep. I wondered if he knew what I was going to do to him, if he'd ever experienced it before. There was no telling. I put myself to bed.
When I rose, my plan seemed to be going perfectly. I opened the lid of Louis's coffin, and his lovely green eyes opened, looking at me with guarded curiosity. I knelt.
"Go to my bed?" I asked.
He sighed heavily and shifted Claudia gently aside. When I went into my bedroom a moment later, he was laid out across the bed. I smiled at the sight of him. Ah Louis, ever the victim.
Poor martyr. I tried to hold him, but he shoved me away. I left him be after that, simply going about male sex as I knew it. I oiled him a little, knowing it would be painful without it, although still not pleasurable. I slid inside him, shuddering at how cold we both were. He seemed to ignore me.
I worked at it, drawing on memory of the act, ever close but never quite peaking. In exasperation, he offered me his palm. I bit it, the extra stimulus finally finishing the useless and tedious labor my body was forced into.
Orgasm seemed small and insignificant now, not quenching my hunger, or anything really. I pulled out and got dressed. He did the same, silent. I went hunting.
When I returned, he was nowhere in sight, and Claudia looked to be just returning from a successful kill, curls tousled. Louis reappeared after a while and did what he usually did, sit around brooding in dull, casual, sickening monotony. If I hadn't known better, I'd have said nothing had happened between us.
Months passed. Things happened. Louis ran away from me.
I searched nightly, trying to find him again. It was a long time. I felt every minute of the loss. Night after night I would stumble in, lay in my coffin and stare at the candle. When the flame finally guttered and went out, drowning in it's own wax, I closed my eyes and could sleep.
I found him months later. He was living in the basement of a small castle not far from a little village. I stalked him for nearly a week before making my move.
He had been visiting a nursemaid and infant almost every night and seemed reluctant to avoid their company. I wondered at his strange attachment to a child.
I slunk into the house before he arrived, dispatching the woman as she came to answer the door for him. I took the sleeping babe from his crib and cradling him, carried the tiny bundle out onto the balcony Louis, mopey as ever, appeared a few moments later.
The baby had woken, and I was singing to amuse him when I noticed. The child had Louis's green eyes, and my features. Louis looked despicably thin. I asked Louis who he was.
Louis answered "My son." I hid my astonishment. He crept over on his belly and rubbed against me. My brooding, clever, self-doubting Louis. Did he really think I would harm his child? What, exactly, did he think of me?
Louis begged, loathing himself. I realized now how tiring he could be at times. I taunted him, and my 'meek' little lover bit me. I flung him across the porch with a ferocious backhand, and he glared at me before falling prone, succumbing to his injuries.
I waited a moment in thought, then got up and put the baby in the carriage I had called for earlier, leaving it waiting in the street. I then went back and scooped up Louis. Ah, he was so light and frail. A keen suspicion had begun to build in my mind, but I would have to wait to examine him to be sure.
I took him back to his haunt, slipping inside without being caught by the residents of the keep. Laying them on the bed, I checked on the baby to be sure he slept. The infant did, and so did Louis. I stripped Louis and looked him over very carefully.
He had always been lean, nearly gaunt, but now he was so thin I could see his bones easily. There were stretch marks fading on his back, belly, buttocks and thighs, confirming my suspicion, but there were no signs of stress or damage at his opening.
I covered him up and went to sit by the fire. When he woke, his mistrust of me was thick in the air. His trust I could live without, but not his love. I asked him if this was our child. His very silence was an answer. My poor Louis, why did you run from me? I wondered.
I told him to go back to sleep, that I'd take care of him. He was so tired he obeyed, and I began making arrangements. Near dawn, I dressed himand put him in his coffin, binding his hands and feet so that he would know to keep still should he wake during the journey. I nailed the lid to his box shut.
Our son was hungry, I'd need to find him a nurse soon. In the meantime, I made him some warm milk with a sleeping draught. He would sleep as well as his fathers today. I took him into my box with me, locking the lid safely shut.
When I woke that night, the babe on my chest was sleeping soundly. I kissed his downy soft head, regretting that I'd had to drug him and haul him away from the only home he'd known. Again, I blamed Louis. If he had stayed I would have taken care of him. I wasn't used to drowsing absently like Louis was and woke often. When day came, my restless sleep was relieved.
When I woke, I tucked my son against my chest and went in search of proper lodging and a wet nurse for the baby. I found a simple-minded woman who had recently lost a child. I hired her by paying rent to live in her basement bedroom. I moved Louis down there, marveling at how well he slept. He was truly exhausted. My poor Louis.
I made him comfortable, taking off his boots and shirt. It was little things like that which he had been neglecting for months. The baby woke, was groggy, cranky and hungry, but seemed to like me well enough. I took him upstairs to the woman and went out to hunt.
Louis was far too thin. I worried about him. Perhaps if I fed him, I could regain his trust, and he would talk to me. There were things I wanted to know. Why he had left, why he never told me about our mortal son, why our son had no name, and what it had been like for him. Yet, I knew he wouldn't tell me. And if he wouldn't tell me, he would show me.
I found him a special treat, a young woman who embodied all of Louis's lusts and jealousies. Knocking her in the head, I brought her back to the house and set her in the pantry, shutting the door.
I went down to wake Louis, but the door was standing open, the lock broken. I went looking for him. I found him at the door of the nursery, leaning on the frame, watching the baby and the new nurse sleep. I slid my arms around him from behind and leaned against his back. He leaned into me, long and sleek in my arms. He whispered my name. I drew him back and bade him to be silent.
He went limp and slack in my arms, so I picked him up. His head lolled back, exposing his long white throat. Beautiful, innocent, morbid little martyr, my Louis. I took him downstairs and laid him artfully across the bed. He remained motionless there, while I built a fire. Louis was always so cold.
With the room warming, I saw him begin to blink sleepily and I told him to stay awake. He did so, but it was in fear. I restrained a frustrated sigh and went upstairs and got the girl. Frail flower, she was dying already from the blunt impact of my blow.
I laid her down beside Louis, inviting him to take her. Louis turned his beautiful green eyes away. I climbed atop him, and shadowed his movements as he prepared to please me. As long as he ate, I didn't care if he did it out of duty to me. He dropped his head to drink, and I demanded that he tell me.
Despite his despair, after finishing, he would not tell me. I brushed his hair back coaxingly, but he remained silent. He was so tired. Well, perhaps he would tell me tomorrow night. I pulled him close, and he cried himself to sleep. My poor beautiful Louis. I got up and disposed of the corpse, then relocked the door, returned to his side, and slept the day away.
When I woke, I went out for a walk to think about whether I should force him to bear another child for me. I decided that I would, taking care of him the whole time. It wasn't as if it would kill him.
I returned and sat on the porch to wait for him to return from feeding. He came along presently, and sat on the step beside me. Two vampires in the moonlight. I bided my time, aware of the racing thoughts behind those flickering green eyes, and kissed him with all the tenderness I could invoke. Louis yielded under me, eyes flickering shut.
I took his hand and led him away, locking the door behind us. I undressed, and turned to him. His eyes were closed and he stood there silently while I removed his clothes. Poor Louis. I had thought him the martyr before, but now he was a wounded angel.
I laid him down and kissed him repeatedly, getting no reaction from him. When I slid into him, he whimpered in what could have been protest, but that was all.
I was rather glad he was facing the pillows. I bit into his shoulder when I felt close enough and was disgusted at the pitiable release. I had enjoyed it so much more when I was mortal, I thought with a sigh, holding Louis close to me.
Months passed. I grew concerned for Louis. He lay about listlessly night after night, and after a point I could no longer drag him out and force him on kills, even with all my strength and powers of persuasion. I brought him the best nourishment I could find.
He filled out well, both with baby and proper care. I tried to bring him back to some semblance of life by letting him hold our son, but he did even that mechanically, glazed green eyes staring off into the distance. I loved the changes in his body. I laid my head on the swell of his belly and listened often.
Louis amazed and concerned me alternating. When his time came I nearly missed it, for he gave no sign of pain. It was only the smell of the blood that made me realize what was happening. I was shocked and horrified that Louis didn't seem to care, and I took charge of him. I suspected part of him was laughing madly behind the lifeless green eyes.
When I showed him our daughter, he began screaming and I couldn't stop him. I gagged him, then knocked him unconscious as a last resort. When he fell silent, I felt some measure of relief, but not much, for both babies were wailing, and I had to care for them.
There was such fear in his eyes. I mused over the following months and weeks. What was happening inside my beloved's head?
We spent time with our children, but Louis seemed entirely disinterested in them and detached from us. He never bonded with our daughter, but I did instead. She was much like me, having inherited most of my features. I feared Louis was going mad, night after night he seemed to be caught up in dreams both sleeping and waking.
One night, he simply began screaming. He seemed to be in some sort of trance where he couldn't hear me shouting nor feel me shaking him. He finally snapped around and fell silent when I resorted to slapping him.
I didn't know him anymore after that. He sat about, silent as ever, but there was a subtle darkness in his eyes, and he was colder to me.
When I woke one night to find him gone, I was glad he'd gotten out of the room. He needed it. Upon going upstairs, I found our daughter gone also. I grew angry as the hours passed, searching the city for him. I did not find him until I headed home at the first light of dawn, hoping he was not insane enough to kill himself, foolish mad Louis.
When I woke he was on the floor, I must have missed seeing him. I got up from the bed and towered over him. He laughed at me, the insanity in his eyes and voice breaking my heart. Angrily, I kicked him, then went out to search for her.
Long after midnight, the thought struck me that he might be doing the same with our son. I went back, but he wasn't there, and nor was the baby. I tore the house apart with my bare hands and throttled the woman for interrupting my wrath.
Louis returned, and I beat him, throwing him on the bed in preparation to rip, cut and burn him into submission. I cursed the dawn that pardoned him, even as I fell forward to sleep on his chest.
When I woke, I was no longer angry, only terribly, terribly afraid for him. Louis's mad laughter stayed with me even as he left.
Stunned, I sat silent and motionless for some hours. When my senses recuperated from the devastation, I burned down the house and took my things away. I did not search for our children. Louis did not want them found, and for the sake of his peace I would not look for them.
I do not know where I went. I went away. The only thing I remember after that is waking up after dropping a victim's corpse to the cobbles in an alley, three months later.
In those lost months, I hoped I had found forgiveness. After them, I waited for Louis to return to me.
Perhaps I wait for him still.
Finis