Home / Fan Fiction / V(cough) C(cough) fic / The Chosen of God Part 7

DISCLAIMER: The following stories are all non-profit, amateur efforts not intended to infringe on the rights of Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, David Geffen, Warner Brothers, Geffen Pictures, Knopf, Randomhouse, the city of New Orleans, the U.S. Constitution, any copyright holders that I might not have thought of or even a certain author who shall remain nameless but who has a set of initials which are, coincidentally enough, just one letter off from spelling "B.S."

Part Seven
by: The Brat Queen

Winner: Best Lestat '98-'99!

Characters: Lestat, Armand
Spoilers: Up to TotBT
Description: In response to Jester of God, Lestat tells his life story.

Rated R for upsetting adult content

Warning: CoG contains triggering elements. If you know what "triggering" means you may wish to not read this. If you don't then just be warned that it and Jester of God are very similar.

Pleasure is betrayal.

You wouldn't think that to look at me now. I know this.

However this was a lesson I could easily comprehend.

Imagine, if you will.

Here is Lestat, young and mortal. Very young, for he is a teenager. But of course teenagers were men in those days so surely his age should not upset us. Let us not put a number to his age, then, let us just say he is in his teens and let your own mind's eye form a picture that is pleasing to you.

Our young Lestat is lying in bed, sleeping or very close to it. As he rests he faces one of the small windows of his room, looking out over the mountains. If his eyes are open he is watching this.

But let's leave his eyes closed for now.

Eyes closed, breathing softly, resting after a long, hard day.

And then he feels the hand on his back.

Perhaps he starts awake, surprised. Perhaps he lies still, having expected this. Either way he is awake now.

The hand caresses him and a familiar voice whispers sweet words into his ear. They are the words any lover would say. The meaning is that Lestat was missed, and desired, and needed.

Need is ruling things now, for the most part.

Lestat is both bored and frustrated. He'd been trying to sleep. Although he knows he should know better by now - rare is the night when this does not happen. But, even still, part of him holds out hope that perhaps tonight it would not. Perhaps tonight he would close his door and it would remain closed.

But his lover is here now, and wants attention.

What would you do? How would you react? Would you push him away, knowing the fists that might meet this response? Would you pretend sleep, hoping he would go away?

You can't send him away yourself. This is not an option.

And as you sit there - as young Lestat lies there - pondering all of this our mysterious lover has continued his attentions. And now the mind fogs. Because it feels good.

You don't want it to. I never wanted it to. But it did.

Bodies do whatever they will. The mind can only follow.

So what do you do now? Fight? Push away from the sensations and remember your desire to be alone?

Why do that, when it's so unpleasant?

Cock hard now, the option is to give in. Only not to give in but to try to remain sane. Try to understand what is happening and react accordingly.

And, true, take the pleasure for what it is.

He was never a wholly incompetent lover. Hurtful, yes. The idea that our age difference could make sex painful was something that never occurred to him. But he fancied himself my paramour, the man I was destined to be with. After all, hadn't Fate put me literally into his lap?

I was his lover. I was his lover because I had to be. I would not have sought this out if given the choice. But I had no choice and thus did what I could.

And so I enjoyed it. Sexual pleasure from him was not unknown to me. How could it have been? I was a healthy young man. For it not to feel good would have been strange and highly unlikely.

And perhaps, especially when the whole thing started, I thought things could be as he said.

Of course circumstances kept us from taking this affection public. And of course it was widely understood that Lestat was always the child his father regretted having had born. But that was officially, the words spoken for the public ear.

Perhaps, perhaps, it was possible that in private the world could be different.

I became more jaded about that as time grew on. It was only later, far too much later, that I finally challenged and threatened and mocked him for what he was.

But I never stopped being with him.

The frequency changed, but the habit did not. I did not always share a bed with him at night - which you must know given how much time I spent with Nicki and all my other lovers in the village - but I gave him pleasure still. Even at the end when he was older, enfeebled, his eyesight gone and his body ravaged by time, I would still touch him. His cock in my mouth, or perhaps just a few strokes of my hand was all it ever was, but it persisted.

He'd gone far beyond the ability to hurt me. God knows by then I was bigger and stronger than he. But the relationship had gone beyond that as well. It had existed for years. He and I were paired for all time. His claim on me lasts to this very day.

I was his favorite child, after all.

L.