Author's Note: Something good came out of my jury duty fiasco! On the way down to the court house one day, I was listening to this song, "Tsuki no Hana" by a Japanese group called Fanatic Crisis. When I heard this one line, an idea for a story came to my head and when I got down to the court, I snatched out my notepad and wrote down the outline. It was originally supposed to be short...ha!

Louis/Lestat, Claudia. Rated NC-17. AU. IwtV.

Long ago, you and I were lovers, until someone tore us apart

-Fanatic Crisis "Tsuki no Hana" (Moon Flower)

New Orleans, 1860

"I will kill him." She stood there in the moonlight, watching for my reaction. The face of an angel with the mind of a monster. I couldn't believe my ears as she went on, telling me how she would enjoy killing him, how she wanted to take from him his power along with his life. But she couldn't be serious, she couldn't. When had my daughter become this thing? Eyes always on Lestat, when had I ever spared her more than a passing glance? When had either of us, for that matter? She was our daughter, a pawn in our never ending games, but now I looked at her with new eyes and saw the truth. In a blinding flash I realized that she was no longer the little girl we had taken in sixty five years ago. Yes, sixty five years to the day.

A film of bloody sweat broke out on my brow as I raised my hand to my mouth in shock. And what did she do then? She laughed. A shrill, high little girl's laugh filled with the malice of an ancient evil. "Claudia..." I gasped. "You can't mean it. You can't mean to kill Lestat!" And I began to ramble about how he was too strong, he would destroy her, all of which was true, yes, but the look in her eyes spoke volumes. She knew. She knew that beyond all thoughts of her what was foremost in my mind was the thought that I loved Lestat and I couldn't bear to see him destroyed.

It was not something I cared to admit to myself. Lestat was a monster, he was hateful, rude, jealous, greedy, brutal, derisive, mocking...scared, wounded, unsure...tender, loving, protective, passionate, and above all beautiful. My angel, full of contradictions, just as I, myself, was. I had fallen in love the moment I set eyes on him and had stayed by his side for nearly seventy years - too proud to ever say the words. And the product of our pride was this, what should have been the product of our love. A vengeful doll, bent on destroying us both.

The next night I moped about the flat, a feeling of dread pressing in on me. She would do it, I knew, and I felt there was nothing I could do to stop her. I no longer knew her, maybe I never had, but I felt a pathetic sense of responsibility. I could not raise my hand against her, I had brought her to this place. We had, Lestat and I.

And he didn't sense it. Of course not, why should he. Whether he really still thought of her as a child or whether he knew what she had become and chose to ignore it, I shall never know. But I do know that he never thought she would try to kill him. He certainly had no idea that it would be tonight, of all nights.

"Louis, you must come with me!" he barged into my room, grabbing me by the arm, and tried to convince me to come with him to see his musician friend. Trying to make me jealous, and normally it worked. I hated the boy, hated him and his stupid music.

Why just last week Claudia had been out at a birthday party or some such function and I was reading in the sitting room when Lestat came back from visiting with his friend, a sheaf of papers in his hand. Without even so much as a look in my direction, he sat down at the piano and began to play this new piece. I knew he was doing it only to taunt me, yet I couldn't help myself. "Lestat, I'm trying to read," we'll see how far being polite gets me, "Please play something less disturbing."

"Maybe I should make Michel into a vampire, eh? He writes such beautiful music, and I'm sure he'd make a better companion than you, always sitting home with your boring old books." Now that was an bald-faced lie and he knew it. I went out with him most nights of the week, whether to the theatre, the opera, balls, whatever struck his fancy. And I knew he was lying about making his musician into a vampire, but the very thought drove all sense from my head.

I stood up and marched over to the piano and snatched up the papers, tearing them to pieces. "I told you to stop playing this shit!" Ah, now he was mad. He practically jumped up from the piano bench and grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me. "Who do you think you are, talking to me like that!?" I grabbed him back, trying to push him away. "I'm not your slave! I can say whatever I want!" That earned me a punch to the gut, and soon we were both black and blue, cuts and broken bones healing even as more damage was done.

I don't remember who made the first move, I never do. I suspect this time it was I. Instead of throwing another punch, I grabbed the back of his neck, bringing his face close, pressing my lips to his. There was no hesitation on his part, his mouth opened to mine immediately. Bringing his arms around me, he began roughly caressing my back, slowly moving his hands lower and lower until he was cupping my ass, and I was doing the same to him. Pressed against each other as we were, there was no denying our arousal. It was early in the evening yet and we had both fed recently, the extra blood in our systems making us warmer than usual, the warmth of his crotch against mine felt like a furnace, his lips, now moving from my face to my neck to my chest, left a trail of fire in their wake.

"Lestat," I moaned. And then, unable to hold back any longer, I practically ripped his clothes off him, not a difficult feat, as they had already been torn beyond repair from our fight. He must have done the same to me, for next thing I remember we were both naked on the sitting room floor. Slick with sweat, we writhed against each other, kissing, caressing, biting. His fangs sliced across my stomach and he licked the trail of blood that seeped out. "God, Louis, you taste so good." Then he moved lower, his tongue darting out to lick the length of my cock. "You taste heavenly." And this time he didn't mean the blood.

His hands were all over me, he knew exactly what to do to get the reaction he wanted. He'd been a skilled lover from the start, and seventy years had only perfected his touch. But tonight I felt the need to be in charge, so I grabbed his wrists and flipped him over on his back, pulling his arms over his head. He just smiled lazily, he knew what was coming and he wanted it. As soon as I grabbed his arms, his member twitched and seemed to swell, becoming even harder than before, if that was possible. With my free hand, I traced the muscles in his chest and stomach. He closed his eyes, his breath coming harder in anticipation of my next move.

I brought my head down on his cock, sucking and playing with it, nicking the sides with my fangs, letting the blood run down the length. When he was about to come, I removed my mouth and finished him off with my hand. Cupping my fingers to catch his seed as he writhed and bucked and screamed my name. My hand now coated in his essence, I pressed one finger, then two into his tight opening, slicking him up and getting him ready for me.

Leaning up to kiss him, I turned him over, letting go of his hands. He spread himself wide before me, calling out for me to hurry up and take him. He was already hard again and I could barely keep from coming myself. But I couldn't resist bringing my face to his ass, kissing his firm cheeks and giving them a few little bites. Ah, my beautiful angel, his golden hair tinted red with sweat, his hands clutching at the carpet, his entire body tensed for the ecstasy he knew was coming. And with that, I entered him. Plunging in deep, we both cried out at the same time. He clenched his muscles around me, in time with my thrusts.

And then, when I could feel myself about to come and knew he was near climax, too, I bit into his neck and offered him my wrist. Locked together in mortal pleasure and through the blood, wave after wave of almost painful pleasure swept through us. Exhausted, I withdrew from him and flopped beside him on the floor, both of the carpet, and us too, covered with bloody come and bloody sweat and just plain blood. We looked a fright, I'm sure, but neither of us cared. Lestat reached over and drew me closer, his hand stroking my hair. I just gazed at him languidly, my fingers tracing the muscles on his hip.

But of course it didn't last. It never lasted, if it did things would be different. He turned away or I turned away or we both turned away. We suddenly remembered ourselves and an invisible wall went up between us, a wall of pride and fear that neither of us had the courage to breach.

The sitting room had to be cleaned before Claudia returned. As he stood up and collected the remains of his clothes, the only words he had for me were these, "You shouldn't have ruined the music. That was the only copy."

And now he was trying to provoke me again, bringing up the musician. But it wouldn't work this time, I felt as if I were encased in an icy ball of fear, frozen and unable to do anything to stop what I knew was going to happen.

Part 2