Capturing the Beauty
Disclaimers: The characters from the Chronicles belong to Anne Rice. These stories are purely for pleasure and 'What if's'. Nothing is meant to infringe upon the author's rights. I am doing this for fun and I love sharing my stories with others.
One of the intentions of writing my book, and something which I failed to capture entirely during my chronicles was the rare and vulnerable beauty of my most beloved.
Ah, even now, when I am writing this small story, Louis is reading opposite me by the fireplace. The way the fire flickers in his green eyes is rather distracting. He looks at me, aware of being stared at, and smiles.
"Are you alright, Lestat?" Louis asks in a warm and friendly tone, pushing the book aside.
I shake my head "I am fine, Louis. Just fine. I just like looking at you".
Louis shrugs in a rather elegant fashion and returns to his book. His expression shifts with the mood of the book and it is too appealing. The way he looks worried when something terrible is happening, the way his eyes melt when he reads some romantic passage, the way his eyes dart as he reads in complete oblivion of me watching him so intently.
Suddenly a small moan escapes his lips. I grasp the sides of my chair to prevent me from dashing to his side, a habit which Louis particularly detests. A small red trickle works its way down from the corner of his eye.
"Louis ...." I moan, watching the display of raw emotion with a rapidly beating heart.
"I can't stand this" Louis mutters, and places the book by his side and glares at me. The green of his eyes dancing with sudden rage. "Please let me finish the book without staring at me".
"I can't help it" I moan. "You are too beautiful to stop looking at for a single second".
Louis sighs, and again attempts to read his book. I watch carefully as his bottom lip tremors a little, and his eyes well up with red blood tears. A small sob comes from him as his slender frame shakes with sorrow.
Now, I do not agree that such a suffering soul should read books which cause so much apparent distress. But, seeing Louis so engrossed with the words and his emotions so clearly visible are just heartrending. It is almost impossible for me to sit still and watch him clearly suffering over a tragic novel.
"Louis ...." I am unable to stay silent.
Louis glares at me. "What?" he snaps.
"I can't stand this" I say, moving to his side and wiping the red streaks away with my thumb.
"Then stop looking!" Louis counters, smiling at my tender approach.
"I can't stop looking! My God, Louis! I'm sure you do this to torture me! How can I sit there and watch you read some trashy novel and suffer so from the words!!???!"
Louis sighs "Would you prefer me to read in my room?"
"No, no, no" I say immediately. "Please, keep reading. Just let me stay here with you and hold your hand".
"I am not a baby, Lestat" Louis says with a touch of anger "I can read without becoming an emotional wreck".
"You are a great actor then, Louis!" I scowl.
Louis throws the book in a sudden rage at me. I redirect the book to the raging fire in the hearth.
"No, Lestat" Louis screams, reaching into the fire for the burning book.
I yank him away from the roaring flames and use my telekentic ability to free the book from the fire and beat the flames until the book is no longer ablaze.
"Never put your hand in that fire again! Do you hear me!?" I growl, holding him by the wrists. "If you don't convince me you'll never do that, I'll have the damned fire taken out!"
"Don't burn my book!" Louis says, the emotions clouding his expression are desperation and fear. "Please, Lestat!".
"I won't burn it any more" I am inwardly cursing myself at my complete lack of control.
Louis seems to relax, and literally melts against me. Emotions raging, and his strength waning he closes his eyes. His mind drifting into a pre-state sleepiness, I lift him and carry him upstairs and lay him gently on our bed.
Tucking him up, I sit beside him and reflect on the events of this evening. His passion over the simple loss of one single book charmed me. I kiss his cool forehead and leave him in peace to retrieve the book from the floor where it had been left. Still smouldering a little, yet the text inside is still readable.
With a start I read the title.
"Oh, Louis ..." I gasp as I let 'The Vampire Lestat' slip from my fingers.
Locking up our house with a little mental manipulation, I walk upstairs to our room and lie beside him as he sleeps and dreams.
Then I close my eyes and dream with him.
In short, Louis is an exceptional being who feels others' pain and emotions as if he himself were suffering them. He is a sufferer, yet even his smallest movements are stunning. The way his face displays different emotions are heartbreakingly beautiful.
Could I not love something this desirable? Even beside him, I feel like touching him and holding him. Feeling his fingers against my own. Feeling his lips against my own. I fantasise about him lying naked beneath me as I slide my male organ between his hips and into his tight and inviting ass. Hmmm, yet such fantasies are not for us. Louis is far too tender and shy to initiate in such an intimate physical relationship.
However, the smallest gestures of physical affection between us hold me in thrall. Touching his face with my fingers, touching his hand with my own. These small gestures mean the world to me, and have certainly kept me from total despair.
Ah, Louis. So perfect.
Mine forever, he shall surely be.