Chapter Text
Saturday - 10 am
Louis was never drinking again.
Every part of him ached, including his fingernails. His mouth was dry. His head would not stop throbbing. His stomach rolled like his intestines had turned liquid. And he was sticky with sweat, the expensive hotel sheets clinging to his naked body.
He blinked a few times, adjusting to the offensively bright morning light streaming through the curtains, and taking stock of his hotel room.
The duvet had been tossed off at some point in the night and was pooled at the foot of the bed. Clothing was strewn everywhere along with towels and small, empty mini-bar liquor bottles. They littered the bed, the floor, the couch. One even managed to get under his pillow.
He scrubbed a hand down his face and groaned. What happened? How had he gone from one cocktail at dinner to getting this drunk?
Searching his memories of the previous night, he came up empty, like a sheet of static was pulled over his memories, blurring them beyond all recognition. He vaguely remembered taking shots and playing Blackjack, but it went cloudy after that.
It was a long shot, but maybe he could piece the night together by looking at his pictures. The last time he’d had to do that was when he was in college, which somehow made him feel worse. He wasn’t 19 anymore, for Christ’s sake.
Louis blindly reached behind him and fumbled on the nightstand for his phone, knocking almost everything off of it. He tried to turn his phone on, but it was unresponsive. Dead. Of course. He cast it to the side. It was useless to him now.
A groan sounded from where he’d tossed his phone, followed by blankets shifting.
Louis snapped his head towards the sound - towards the man - in his bed.
Had he seriously trashed his hotel room and slept with somebody last night? Without any recollection of either?
He winced. Hopefully blackout drunk Louis had good taste.
He was just about to pull back the sheet when the mystery man spoke, his voice gravelly, “What the fuck happened last night?”
Louis froze. No, no, no. There was no fucking way Louis slept with— “Lestat?”
There was a long moment where no one said anything. Louis felt like he was going to be sick. He slept with Lestat. Lestat?!
Finally, Lestat turned to face him, shock and disbelief written across his features. His hair was a wreck, tangled above his head and plastered to his forehead. He looked like a complete mess, but Louis couldn’t even enjoy it. He was too concerned with how and why they ended up here.
“Louis? What are you doing here?” Lestat asked slowly, like each syllable hurt.
“What are you doing here? In my bed?”
“This is your bed?”
“Where do you think you are right now?”
Lestat’s face screwed up in immediate anger, then relaxed. He pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes. “My head hurts too much to think. What did we do last night?”
“I have no idea.”
“God help us. How much did we drink?”
“I’d be surprised if they have any alcohol left. Looks like we cleaned them out.” Louis’ stomach churned. “Feels like it too. Oh, God.”
Louis leapt out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet with enough force that it felt like the capillaries in his eyes burst.
After a cursory rinse of mouthwash, he stepped back into the bedroom.
Lestat was sitting up in bed with the blankets pooled around his waist. He gave Louis an appreciative once-over, a smirk forming, and it was then that Louis realized he was standing in front of Lestat, completely naked.
“Don’t look at me!” Louis exclaimed as he ducked down and grabbed the first piece of clothing he saw.
“Oh, don’t be embarrassed, Louis. You have a beautiful body,” Lestat purred. “People would kill for it. People would die to get to experience it. I know I would.”
Louis’ cheeks heated as he shoved his legs into the boxers and stood.
Lestat looked significantly more awake then, his smirk having taken over his whole face. “Those are mine.”
Louis looked down at the boxers that were definitely not his. They were smooth silk, probably Italian, knowing how pretentious Lestat was. They were probably made from the product of the most expensive silkworms, toiled over for hours and hours by somebody with a perfectly maintained mustache and a name Louis couldn’t pronounce.
He ignored Lestat and reached onto the bed for his phone, plugging it into its charger. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lestat rise from the bed, the blanket sliding from his naked body as he grabbed his charger and plugged it into his nightstand.
Louis kept his eyes firmly on his phone as Lestat got under the covers again. Lestat turned his attention to Louis, staring in silence. Louis waited patiently for his phone to light up, trying his hardest to ignore him.
His curiosity won out. “Can I help you?”
“Did we have sex?”
Louis’ eyes fell to Lestat’s neck and chest, at the countless hickies littering it, which were surely mirrored on his own neck. Bits and pieces of the night before came to him.
Lestat across from him on the bed, dealing two cards to both of them.
Louis declaring, “Loser has to strip.”
Palming Lestat over his pants while he rid him of his shirt.
Another shared shot. Another bet. Another round of messy kissing. Another piece of clothing falling off.
But after Lestat’s pants came off, his memory turned to static.
“I think it’s safe to assume we did.”
“Pity. I would have liked to remember that,” Lestat frowned, though the glimmer in his eyes didn’t die. “Would you want to…”
Louis narrowed his eyes. “Would I want to what, Lestat?”
“We had a wonderful time, if the state of this room is anything to go by.” Lestat glanced around the suite. “It’s a shame we don’t have any memories of it. I’d happily fuck you again so you have something to remember me by.”
“I’m sure you would,” Louis huffed, considering it for only a second.
Lestat was attractive. That was just a fact. He was aggravating. He was Louis’ least favorite person on the planet. Those were also facts.
Did Louis think about climbing him like a tree from time to time? Possibly. Was Lestat the most frequent guest in Louis’ sex dreams? Maybe.
Did Louis want to have sex with Lestat at that moment?
The specifics weren’t important.
He glanced down at his phone to avoid Lestat’s gaze. It had enough battery to turn on and once it did, his lock screen started filling with notifications.
Texts, calls, DMs, likes, comments, everything from everyone in his life. He winced as he saw numerous missed calls from his mother and his sister, with corresponding texts that increased in urgency the longer Louis had left them unanswered.
Two notifications in particular caught his attention.
Jonah [8:01 am]: If you were trying to get my attention, you succeeded
“Louis?” Lestat said, sounding uneasy.
“Just a sec.”
“You need to look at my phone. Now.”
“Lestat, please. One second.” Louis glanced at the other message.
Jonah [8:03 am]: Are you two registered anywhere?
He knit his eyebrows in confusion. What was he talking about? Registered? For what? And what did he do to get Jonah’s attention? Hopefully nothing too embarrassing like leaving him a million voicemails. He flew to his call log.
“Louis,” Lestat said again.
“Give me a moment, Christ alive.”
“Louis!”
“What?!” Louis whipped his head up.
Lestat turned his phone towards him. He had his Instagram page pulled up to one of his posts.
The post in question was a picture of Louis and Lestat.
But Louis didn’t remember taking the picture and it didn’t look real, instead looking like they’d hire two semi-convincing lookalikes to stand in their place. Their faces were too… happy. They were never happy around each other.
In the picture, Louis and Lestat were standing in front of a pink and white chapel. And they were kissing. Louis touched his lips, urging his mind to recall when they’d posed for this photo, but no, nothing.
Even more curious, Louis was holding out his left hand, where a golden band gleamed on his ring finger.
In the second picture of the post, Lestat was the one holding out his hand, where a matching gold band sat.
The caption read: Now presenting Mr. and Mr. du Lac!
Louis looked at his left hand in horror. The gold ring from the picture was on his finger like it had always belonged there. And when he looked at Lestat’s, he saw the same thing.
Lestat sliding a ring on his finger. “I do.”
Kissing across the altar, lovesick smiles in place.
His stomach flipped. He was going to be sick again.
“We got married,” Louis stated. It didn’t sound any less absurd saying it out loud. It actually sounded more absurd, somehow. “We got blackout drunk and then we got fucking married.”
“At least we consummated the marriage,” Lestat said with a dry laugh.
Louis glared at him, but faltered when he realized that he was no longer Lestat - Armand’s annoying, but hot best friend - but Lestat - Louis’ legally bound husband.
“Too soon?”
“Too soon,” Louis agreed. He checked the time. 10:18 am. “Listen… we were supposed to meet everyone for breakfast at ten. I say we go down there and act like nothing happened.”
“And if they ask about it? What are we going to say?”
“Ignore them and if that doesn’t work, lean into it.”
Lestat’s expression was unreadable. “Lean into it?”
“Say it was on purpose,” Louis elaborated. “It wasn’t a drunken mistake… we… planned it all along.”
“We planned to get married in Vegas during our best friend’s bachelor trip?” Lestat wondered. “You had a boyfriend last fucking month.”
“‘Yes, and’ with me, Lestat. I—”
“That’s Mr. du Lac to you,” Lestat interjected, a slow smile appearing. “Do you think we had a debate about who would take the other’s name? I imagine I put up quite a fight.”
Louis rolled his eyes, which also hurt. “You may have, but I obviously won. No way in hell was I gonna take your name. Not now, not ever.”
Lestat’s smile grew. “Love has made people do crazier things.”
“I’m not in love with you, Lestat.”
“According to your plan, you are.”
Louis frowned. “Shut up and get dressed.” He grabbed clothes and shuffled into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.
“Anything for you, mon amour,” he heard Lestat say.
Louis wasn’t sure what he’d just gotten himself into. All he knew was that he was in over his head.