Chapter Text
It’s crude but Louis’ surprised by how chubby Arun is. Wasn’t his family poor to have to sell him into slavery? He chastises himself, he knows nothing about sixteenth century India and shouldn’t pretend that he does. Louis does not have a reason to practice gauging the ages of children, but Arun opens and closes his soft little baby hands in sleep and he guesses six at the oldest. Armand doesn’t remember this part of his life, and Louis wants to see if doing this will bring something back, fix something in him. The specter of this kid has haunted their bedroom for almost a century, and now he’s asleep on their couch. Is he going to be able to speak English?
He leans over and brushes a curl off his cheek, just to break the seal of touching him. If he’s too scared to stroke his cheek he’ll never be able to handle what Armand has asked him to do. Arun squirms under his touch and opens his eyes.
“Louis,” he says, which answers a lot of questions very quickly.
-
They had been discussing whether it would be worthwhile to attend a certain auction in person, when Armand went suddenly still. Not unheard of. Louis gave him a moment to compose himself and continued mentally constructing his argument for flying out. It was important to maintain their names as collectors. There were private offers that they’d never receive if they weren’t known as high value donors. Should he even say it out loud? It was obvious and surely Armand was listening to him even then.
But when he looked up, the situation had worsened not improved. Armand’s face was writhing through a grimace and he was blocking so hard it felt like he was physically holding Louis’ mind shut.
“Armand?” No response. “Arun? Tell me what’s happening.”
“Nothing, Maitre,” he said with a tense approximation of sweetness.
“Surely something,” Louis said, a little sarcastic, “let me in, that’s an order.” There’s one good thing about Armand and that’s he doesn’t disobey if you press him.
The sound broke roughly out of his mind.
«Maman, you left me! Where is my mother? Someone call her, find her for me!» A voice congested from crying wailed in French.
“Ah.” It was the first of Lestat’s voice Louis had heard since nineteen forty-nine and it moved him.
“His mind sounds human,” Armand said with a strange note in his voice.
-
“Do you remember what we talked about when you were older?” Louis asks, feeling like euphemism both blurs and worsens the question.
Louis had not anticipated the difficulty Arun has speaking. He can’t tell if it’s a symptom of holding five languages in a child’s mind that had only spoken one, or something else.
“Last week I was big and I said and knew a lot of things,” Arun says carefully. He’s a quiet kid and when he speaks it's usually a long sentence that seems too old for his age, or maybe Louis doesn’t know children. Claudia was never this young. He shudders at the thought, instinctively checking to see if Armand read it off him. Of course he didn’t. He is a child, a human child.
-
"The window of possibility is closing," Armand had pressed. "Every moment we spend dithering is a chance that it cannot be done at all."
"I'm thinking about it. Let me think." Louis didn't want to say anything that sounded like a 'yes' yet, in case Armand ran with it without further discussion.
"I was a very appealing youth, I assure you." Why Armand thought that could possibly have been the thing giving Louis pause about planning this scene was beyond him. Armand impatiently airdropped well-worn images of Amadeo, fresh faced and perfect in blue velvet, into Louis mind as he waited for a yes.
-
Arun had been subdued and almost curious through the clumsy blowjob Louis induced him to give, but now as Louis tries to wash the come out of his hair he’s inconsolable. He doesn’t want to get his head wet, which is a non-negotiable element of taking a bath.
“I knew he had,” Lestat can’t suppress his laughter, “predilections. But isn’t this a bit much?”
Louis had heard him walk up behind him, and had been ignoring him, hoping he would leave them alone. He continues trying to wash Arun. Louis has no experience bathing children. When his siblings were young they had help, and it wasn’t men’s work besides. It turns his stomach to think of his family in this context.
Arun begins crying pitifully when Louis grips the back of his head, holds him firmly in place and pours warm water over his curls. Lestat starts laughing at them in earnest and Louis has never felt more disgusting. A cold part of him thinks this must have been what Armand wanted, to make Louis look like the brute to his innocent. The King Kong to his little brown Fay Wray. It’s working: Arun squirms in his grip and kicks his feet in the shallow water, splashing Louis, hiccuping little sobs that ascend into one prolonged whine. Louis runs conditioner through his hair and tries not to think about the staff out in the hall hearing this.
“You’re okay, you’re good,” he says as the bath finally ends, an appeal to the adult memories he knows are inside Arun. “It’s over, you’re good.” He lifts him out of the tub in a towel and carries him on his hip like a much younger child back to their bed. His naked limbs sprawled out on the covers remind him of his little head bent over his cock, and a jolt of arousal spikes a wave of guilt. Louis hadn’t thought Armand would be so young when he agreed to do this.
Armand had shown him Amadeo, which had made him think fifteen at the youngest.
But Louis had had no way to judge how young Lestat was when he called out for help, just that he was human again and clearly not yet a man. His mind’s voice had already bounced once through Armand’s thoughts. Armand had bolted towards the possibility of revisiting his wounds without much planning or forethought, and Louis had followed his direction. Louis lays out a pair of red pajamas. At least Arun can dress himself. He comforts himself with the fact that he’s met the criteria of the scene. It’s over now.