Author's Note: This takes place sometime between Don't Stand so Close to Me and Not as Easy as It Looks. The Getty Louis mentions is the J. Paul Getty Museum, an art museum down the street from UCLA.

Louis/Lestat. NC-17. AU.

I come home and the first thing I do is turn on the computer. While waiting for it to boot up, I kick off my shoes and grab a Coke from the fridge. I'm supposed to work on a paper due Monday. This is why I told Lestat I couldn't go out with him tonight. He whined and pouted and said that it was Friday night and what the hell was I doing staying home? But if I go out with him tonight, I'll go home with him tonight and Friday will turn into Saturday and I won't end up getting a damn thing written.

I've got Word open and the books I'll be using are on the desk next to me, but in the great spirit of procrastination, I decide to check my email before getting started.

My spam advises me that I can lose weight in thirty days, get a home loan, win a Lexus, and satisfy any woman guaranteed (no thanks), among other things. There's also a message from a student asking when the next quiz is and that's pretty much the extent of it. Exciting.

I delete the spam and dash off an answer regarding the quiz. Out of habit, I check once more before closing Eudora and there's actually something new.

I groan when I see who the sender is. Lestat. Probably still going on about how selfish/nerdy/boring I am for not going out with him tonight.

But when I open the email, it's just a link to a website. No message. Nothing. I debate clicking on it, but in the end I'm too curious to do anything else.

The site itself is also blank except for a link, this time to a QuickTime file. I click and it buffers and loads and does its thing and the whole time I'm trying to figure out what the fuck is going on here.

And then suddenly there's music playing and Lestat is on the screen. I recognize the song from the first few bars. It's "I Touch Myself" by the Divinyls.

I almost laugh until I see what he's doing: a strip tease. And oh.my.God.

The clothes he's wearing are not what he had on earlier, and it's not an outfit I've seen before either. The man has entirely too many clothes.

Jeans shorts. Short jeans shorts. And tight. With laces up the front instead of a zipper or buttons. Blue dress-shirt with the hem cut off raggedly just below his ribcage and the cuffs undone. A loose black tie around his neck completes the ensemble. I note that he hasn't bothered with shoes.

I don't want anybody else, when I think about you I touch myself.

The song plays and Lestat moves with the music, as if he's a part of the music. He could be a dancer. The tie is the first to go, of course, and he flings it at the camera. Button by button more skin is revealed. He caresses himself as he goes, running his fingers over his stomach and chest, and I desperately want to be the one touching him.

I get down on my knees, I'd do anything for you.

He mouths the words and sinks down to his knees, tossing his shirt away. The chorus plays and he does indeed touch himself, his erection blatantly obvious in those skimpy shorts. His fingers tangle in the laces and pull them open.

Meanwhile my hands have acted of their own accord, unzipping my jeans and freeing my own throbbing erection.

When I think about you, I touch myself...

Lestat's body stiffens and he rises up on his haunches as he comes in great spurts all over his chest and belly. He smiles languidly at the camera and licks his fingers. Oh God, that image is definitely one to file away for future use. My strokes get faster and I feel my balls tighten up; I'm so close.

The tiny portion of my brain that's still able to think coherently wonders how he was able to time this so well and whether he practiced first before recording it. Then he winks and I come hard in my hand, heart racing, and I can't think about anything with any degree of coherency anymore.

I slump back against the chair. The music stops and then Lestat's voice says, "What the fuck are you doing jacking off when you should be working on your paper?" Fade to black.

It takes a few seconds before my mind can process what has just happened. "Bastard," I say to the screen and kick around under the desk for the box of Kleenex that's usually there. Only it's not. Cause I'd had a cold last week and used it all up and forgotten to buy more. Damn.

Left with no other choice I reluctantly wipe my hand on my jeans then get up to go change, still cursing Lestat under my breath. Not that I'm really mad at him; in fact, I rather think that was just the sort of motivation I needed to get this paper done tonight. And I'm sure that's exactly why he did it, the little weasel.

The dirty jeans get tossed in the hamper and I'm thankful that it's fall and the ants are less aggressive so I don't have to do laundry right away. I clean myself up, put on a pair of shorts, and sit back down at the computer.

I close Eudora. I close Netscape. I don't want any distractions. I open WinAmp and start up a playlist. It's eight o'clock and I have twenty pages to write. No problem, I am now very highly motivated.

OK, so motivation doesn't count for everything and I didn't quite sail through the way I would have liked to, but I did finish. And it's only...one. So it's one. So what? I'm still going over to Lestat's and he'd better be home after all this.

I exchange my shorts for another pair of jeans and put on a jacket. I try to decide whether to drive or walk. On the one hand it's the middle of the night and it's cold and I really don't want to walk. On the other hand, there's a chance that I'll get over there and the closest parking space I'll be able to find will be blocks away and I'll end up having to walk anyway. But it's really cold, so I decide to risk the drive. It is one, after all, hopefully most parties will be over and it won't be so hard to find a space. Maybe.

So I drive and lo and behold there actually is a space only half a block down from his building. As I walk up to the door I try not to think about what I'll do if he's not home. Think positive.

The lights are off, but I can hear the TV going. I ring the bell. "Yeah, yeah," he shouts.

I hear him fiddling with the lock and then the door swings open and, Christ, he's standing there wearing nothing but those shorts with the laces undone.

It takes me a few seconds to find my voice. "Do you always answer the door half naked in the middle of the night without asking who's there?"

"I wasn't expecting anyone else." He gives that impossibly sexy smile that kills me every time and motions for me to come in.

I step inside and shut the door behind me, turning the lock. Tossing my jacket on the couch, I take him in my arms and crush him to me, kissing his neck and collarbone. "So you were expecting me, were you? Now why was that, I wonder, when I specifically said I would be working on that damn paper?"

"I have no idea," he laughs. Pulling away, he heads for the bedroom and I can hear him humming something. It takes me a second, but then I realize it's that song.

I tackle him and pin him down on the bed. "Bastard," I growl playfully. "You fucking tease."

"So were you?"

"Was I what?" I mumble against his stomach.

"Jacking off- Oh!" he gasps as I take his nipple between my teeth and give it a tug.

"What do you think?" I answer.

He puts his hands over his mouth in an expression of wide-eyed shock and says, "What would your students think!?"

"I don't care."

"You don't care?" he asks and this time his surprise isn't faked.

"Not right now." I push my knee up between his thighs. "Right now the only thing I care about is fucking you senseless."

"Less thinking, more fucking," he says, running his hands up under my shirt and pulling it over my head.

I stand up and get rid of my jeans and walk around to the other side of the bed while he wriggles out of his shorts. I open the nightstand drawer and rummage until my hand closes over the lube. Finally.

Turning around I practically pounce on him, pinning his hands above his head as I straddle his hips. I gasp at the delicious friction of his cock rubbing against mine. Leaning down, I catch his mouth in a fierce, bruising kiss and he gives as good as he gets. Our tongues writhe together, mimicking the movements of our bodies.

I've let go of his hands and they're all over me. Panting, I pull away from the kiss and fumble one-handedly with the lube. My other hand is between us, jerking us off together.

I let go and change my position so I'm now between his thighs rather than on top of him. Licking the pre-come leaking from his cock, I run my tongue down his shaft before taking him in my mouth. His hands tangle in my hair and he arches up as I insert two lube-slicked fingers.

"Oh God...Louis," he moans and my cock twitches at the way he says my name.

Removing my fingers, I position myself to enter him, pulling one leg over my shoulder. I move up to kiss him and whisper, "Don't wake the neighbors."

Then almost before the words are out of my mouth I'm inside him, hilted in one stroke. He screams into my mouth and bites my lip, hard. I start moving, slow then fast then slow again, stroking him with the same rhythm. I pull almost all the way out and then plunge back in again, his muscles clenching and holding me when I'm inside. He's so hot, so good.

The sounds of our breathing, ragged and shallow, fill the room, accompanied by noises of pleasure. It's not long before my rhythm becomes erratic and I feel my climax coming. Lestat shudders, calling my name again and again, and we come within seconds of each other.

Sweaty and sticky, we lie tangled together, trying to catch our breath.

I kiss him and run my fingers through his hair. "God, Lestat, I've been wanting to do that all night. You have no idea how hard it was to concentrate on that stupid paper."

He laughs. "It worked, though. Now we have the whole weekend together." And then, because in spite of everything, he still doesn't like admitting to anything that might be perceived as a weakness - such as missing me - he quickly adds, "I just about died of boredom tonight. Couldn't stand another two days of that."

"Boredom, huh. Were you bored just now?"

"Terribly. Couldn't you tell?"

I stick out my tongue at him. "So what do you want to do tomorrow?" I look over at the clock. "Today, rather."

"Sleep." And then he adds, "My ass hurts."

"What does one have to do with the other?"

"Nothing, I'm just saying."

"Like that's something new," I laugh. "Anyway, I meant after sleeping."

"Mmm, whatever. Doesn't matter," he says sleepily.

"We could go to the Getty?"

"On second thought, I'm sure I can think of something," he mumbles before drifting off.

I sigh and watch him sleep, unable to tear my eyes away. "Then again, maybe we can just stay in bed."

"Mmm..."

"I'll take that as a yes."

The End.

The Sequel - Not as Easy as It Looks