ʟᴏᴜɪs ᴅᴇ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛᴇ ᴅᴜ ʟᴀᴄ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deathoftheauthor) wrote2023-06-13 08:36 pm
deathoftheauthor) wrote2023-06-13 08:36 pm
the city | inbox
USERNAME: @louis
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[ Waking up in the evening of Christmas Day, Louis will find a box where his lover should be. Inside, Louis will find a pair of imitation 19th Century jardinières in black iron, alongside a lovingly folded set of impossibly soft green silk pyjamas, complete with a matching robe.
It's wrapped in crisp black paper, with golden ribbons tying the lid. Atop it is a note, which reads: ]
I would not wish
Any companion in the world but you,
Nor can imagination form a shape
Besides yourself to like of.
I love you, Louis.
P.S: I'll be in the living room, come to me with the ribbon tying this box if you'd like to unwrap a more intimate gift, hm?
It's wrapped in crisp black paper, with golden ribbons tying the lid. Atop it is a note, which reads: ]
Any companion in the world but you,
Nor can imagination form a shape
Besides yourself to like of.
I love you, Louis.
P.S: I'll be in the living room, come to me with the ribbon tying this box if you'd like to unwrap a more intimate gift, hm?
It's always a pleasure speaking with you, Ethan. But I advise you to get some rest.
Good night.
Good night.
Edited 2023-12-31 19:32 (UTC)
( Louis startles momentarily when he wakes up to an empty bed, tucked up against a pillow instead of the heartbeat he's familiar with. But the feeling doesn't have time to grow into panic or worry; the gifts in Lestat's place are explanation enough. That's right, he thinks, it's Christmas Eve — and the first time he's felt like celebrating in a century.
He sits up, reading the note first, a sleepy smile on his face; he can almost hear Lestat's melodious voice in his thoughts. The jardinières are a lovely surprise, something he hasn't seen in an age, and the pajamas are so soft that he gets lost running his fingers over the material. Louis suspects that this was a gift for Lestat as well, and he shivers at the thought of his companion's appreciative hands on him, and Louis unwrapping his final present... His cheeks burn, his pulse quickening. Oh, Lestat will be so pleased with himself.
He takes a moment to re-dress himself in his new clothes, for Lestat and for the both of them, the belt of his robe tied loosely around his waist. He almost makes it out the bedroom door before he doubles back and checks his hair in the mirror, frowning as he runs his fingers through it until it looks attractively sleep-mussed instead of vaguely bedraggled. Finally, with the gold ribbon wound through his fingers, he goes to meet Lestat in their living room. )
Joyeux Noel, Lestat.
( He smiles, soft and sweet and awaiting Lestat's approval. )
He sits up, reading the note first, a sleepy smile on his face; he can almost hear Lestat's melodious voice in his thoughts. The jardinières are a lovely surprise, something he hasn't seen in an age, and the pajamas are so soft that he gets lost running his fingers over the material. Louis suspects that this was a gift for Lestat as well, and he shivers at the thought of his companion's appreciative hands on him, and Louis unwrapping his final present... His cheeks burn, his pulse quickening. Oh, Lestat will be so pleased with himself.
He takes a moment to re-dress himself in his new clothes, for Lestat and for the both of them, the belt of his robe tied loosely around his waist. He almost makes it out the bedroom door before he doubles back and checks his hair in the mirror, frowning as he runs his fingers through it until it looks attractively sleep-mussed instead of vaguely bedraggled. Finally, with the gold ribbon wound through his fingers, he goes to meet Lestat in their living room. )
Joyeux Noel, Lestat.
( He smiles, soft and sweet and awaiting Lestat's approval. )
[ Lestat is sitting on the couch, his hand idly toying with something square and plastic, his head bobbing ever so slightly along with the faint sound of music meandering through the room from the small tape player on the coffee table. He's in his housecoat, his hair hanging in free, perfect curls around his shoulders, and his eyes closed as if in blissful sleep right up until Louis speaks.
He knew he'd been approaching, of course, but like a child on Christmas morning he'd been exercising extraordinary restraint and had been quite determined not to peek... and oh, he isn't disappointed at all. He's pleased that Louis had changed, but he never could have imagined how good he'd look in such a rich colour and such soft fabric that drapes so beautifully on his slender body. It's a sight distracting enough that Lestat almost forgets the grand scene he'd planned to set, and nearly carelessly drops the little plastic item in his hand as he rises to meet Louis in his approach. ]
Joyeux Noel, yes - you like them, do you? You look wonderful, Louis. I realised I've given you a wardrobe full of things to wear outside, but left you practically barren when it came to sleepwear. Something soft like this, it suits you perfectly. And the ironwork, you like those too? Imitations, of course, but as near to what I wanted as I can get in this place, you understand.
[ Is he babbling? Yes. He seems to notice, or at least seems eager to move things along as he takes Louis by the hand and pulls him toward the couch where he'd just been sitting... though he doesn't encourage him down just yet. That ribbon is still wound in Louis' clutches, and Lestat fiddles with the end between where their fingers are woven together. ]
... I think that's the first time I've written in my own hand that I love you, did you realise? I would have liked to have written it so much more than that, but... Well, I suppose I haven't had much opportunity before now.
[ He brings their entwined hands up, as if he's about to romantically kiss Louis' knuckles, but presses that strange plastic object into Louis palm instead.
It's a tape case, and on the track listing in Lestat's hand, is written those three words in Old French. If Louis takes this moment of silence to listen to the music still trailing through the apartment, he'll pick up on Lestat's vocals, the sound of his jewellery tinkling as he moves his body to strum a guitar, the sound of his foot tapping the ground. The song is about love, and about loss, of finding oneself in the eyes of another and wanting more than anything to stay in the wake of that gaze forever. Imagery of butterflies and of grains of sand in an hourglass, of eternity stretching out like an ocean. The feeling of being lost, and found. The feeling of flying. ]
I wanted to show you those songs I wrote for you before we were reunited, but all of them held in them some thread of sadness. So I wrote you something new.
He knew he'd been approaching, of course, but like a child on Christmas morning he'd been exercising extraordinary restraint and had been quite determined not to peek... and oh, he isn't disappointed at all. He's pleased that Louis had changed, but he never could have imagined how good he'd look in such a rich colour and such soft fabric that drapes so beautifully on his slender body. It's a sight distracting enough that Lestat almost forgets the grand scene he'd planned to set, and nearly carelessly drops the little plastic item in his hand as he rises to meet Louis in his approach. ]
Joyeux Noel, yes - you like them, do you? You look wonderful, Louis. I realised I've given you a wardrobe full of things to wear outside, but left you practically barren when it came to sleepwear. Something soft like this, it suits you perfectly. And the ironwork, you like those too? Imitations, of course, but as near to what I wanted as I can get in this place, you understand.
[ Is he babbling? Yes. He seems to notice, or at least seems eager to move things along as he takes Louis by the hand and pulls him toward the couch where he'd just been sitting... though he doesn't encourage him down just yet. That ribbon is still wound in Louis' clutches, and Lestat fiddles with the end between where their fingers are woven together. ]
... I think that's the first time I've written in my own hand that I love you, did you realise? I would have liked to have written it so much more than that, but... Well, I suppose I haven't had much opportunity before now.
[ He brings their entwined hands up, as if he's about to romantically kiss Louis' knuckles, but presses that strange plastic object into Louis palm instead.
It's a tape case, and on the track listing in Lestat's hand, is written those three words in Old French. If Louis takes this moment of silence to listen to the music still trailing through the apartment, he'll pick up on Lestat's vocals, the sound of his jewellery tinkling as he moves his body to strum a guitar, the sound of his foot tapping the ground. The song is about love, and about loss, of finding oneself in the eyes of another and wanting more than anything to stay in the wake of that gaze forever. Imagery of butterflies and of grains of sand in an hourglass, of eternity stretching out like an ocean. The feeling of being lost, and found. The feeling of flying. ]
I wanted to show you those songs I wrote for you before we were reunited, but all of them held in them some thread of sadness. So I wrote you something new.
( The plastic cassette feels weightless in Louis' hand. Such a small, ordinary object, one of nearly identical millions, but inside is something infinitely precious. Louis understands better than most just how much meaning can be condensed into this form. He thinks of the quiet whirr of Daniel's tape recorder in that dark room nearly a decade ago, the smell of cigarettes and mortal sweat, and the strange, forbidden thrill of baring his soul through such a permanent method.
Had he hoped even then that Lestat would hear those tapes somehow and return to him, whether for vengeance or for reconciliation? He must have, even if he didn't know it at the time. And surely it was no coincidence that Louis found Lestat in the very same way — Lestat's recorded voice calling out to him after a century apart. )
... I didn't realize you'd never written it before. I didn't mean to take something so monumental for granted, it's only that... well. I suppose you must say it often enough that I know.
( His voice is quiet, a little bashful about his oversight, but very reverent now that he knows what it means. )
I already intended to keep it, but now I have even more reason.
( Louis sinks onto the couch beside Lestat, turning so that he can tuck himself against Lestat's chest. He leans back into Lestat, tugging one of his lover's arms around his midsection and threading their fingers together to rest just above the tie of his robe. He's quiet, listening, his gaze vaguely upward toward the ceiling but not truly looking at anything, just letting the music and imagery and feelings wash over him as he lays in Lestat's arms. There's no sorrow in this song, no bitterness or regret, and he feels the stirring of hope in his chest like a bird beating its wings.
He's so deeply moved he looks as if he might weep, but his eyes are clear and bright. Soon, he begins to softly hum along. When the song comes to its end, he's quiet for a long moment, hardly stirring at all save for the beat of his heart and the breath in his lungs, until at last he shifts to look back at Lestat. )
Will you play it again, Lestat? I want to hear it from the beginning.
Had he hoped even then that Lestat would hear those tapes somehow and return to him, whether for vengeance or for reconciliation? He must have, even if he didn't know it at the time. And surely it was no coincidence that Louis found Lestat in the very same way — Lestat's recorded voice calling out to him after a century apart. )
... I didn't realize you'd never written it before. I didn't mean to take something so monumental for granted, it's only that... well. I suppose you must say it often enough that I know.
( His voice is quiet, a little bashful about his oversight, but very reverent now that he knows what it means. )
I already intended to keep it, but now I have even more reason.
( Louis sinks onto the couch beside Lestat, turning so that he can tuck himself against Lestat's chest. He leans back into Lestat, tugging one of his lover's arms around his midsection and threading their fingers together to rest just above the tie of his robe. He's quiet, listening, his gaze vaguely upward toward the ceiling but not truly looking at anything, just letting the music and imagery and feelings wash over him as he lays in Lestat's arms. There's no sorrow in this song, no bitterness or regret, and he feels the stirring of hope in his chest like a bird beating its wings.
He's so deeply moved he looks as if he might weep, but his eyes are clear and bright. Soon, he begins to softly hum along. When the song comes to its end, he's quiet for a long moment, hardly stirring at all save for the beat of his heart and the breath in his lungs, until at last he shifts to look back at Lestat. )
Will you play it again, Lestat? I want to hear it from the beginning.
[ Lestat has every intention of telling Louis that he needn’t care so much about a little slip of paper, that Lestat will write it over and over and over again until his hands forget how to write anything else, until he’s worn the pen down to nothing, until there isn’t a scrap of paper left in the world that doesn’t bare some kind of testament to the depth of Lestat’s feelings for him… but he’s quietened by Louis’ body coming to rest against his own.
It’s surprising how grounding such a simple movement can be. While he’d been sat here alone he’d been wondering what Louis might say, if he’d weep, if he’d push the ribbon insistently into his hands and not notice the music until they were too deep into each other to give it much attention… but this simple act of having Louis pull his arms into place, of Louis cushioning his head against his chest and going still to listen… Lestat hadn’t realised how much he’d wanted exactly this.
While he’d been writing those songs before he and Louis had reunited, the idea of him hearing them was something of a fantasy, almost unattainable in how fanciful it felt. Yet here he is, with the subject of his idle thoughts and his active ones, the man who illuminates his dreams, the creature he would truly struggle to exist without, curling into his chest to listen to Lestat’s heart poured out on tape. It’s enough to make him want to weep, but luckily Louis moves back to look at him then, and distracts him enough from the desire to do it that he refrains. ]
Of course, my heart. [ He leans forward the small distance necessary to rewind the tape, and set it playing again. ] But you know this tape is yours alone, you can listen to it from start to finish, whenever you’d like and as often as you’d like.
[ As it starts up again, Lestat crowds Louis back into his arms and begins to hum along with the guitar, the lyrics eventually falling from him slow and languid, like how he sings along to the music in his own head while mulling around the apartment with Louis. ]
It’s surprising how grounding such a simple movement can be. While he’d been sat here alone he’d been wondering what Louis might say, if he’d weep, if he’d push the ribbon insistently into his hands and not notice the music until they were too deep into each other to give it much attention… but this simple act of having Louis pull his arms into place, of Louis cushioning his head against his chest and going still to listen… Lestat hadn’t realised how much he’d wanted exactly this.
While he’d been writing those songs before he and Louis had reunited, the idea of him hearing them was something of a fantasy, almost unattainable in how fanciful it felt. Yet here he is, with the subject of his idle thoughts and his active ones, the man who illuminates his dreams, the creature he would truly struggle to exist without, curling into his chest to listen to Lestat’s heart poured out on tape. It’s enough to make him want to weep, but luckily Louis moves back to look at him then, and distracts him enough from the desire to do it that he refrains. ]
Of course, my heart. [ He leans forward the small distance necessary to rewind the tape, and set it playing again. ] But you know this tape is yours alone, you can listen to it from start to finish, whenever you’d like and as often as you’d like.
[ As it starts up again, Lestat crowds Louis back into his arms and begins to hum along with the guitar, the lyrics eventually falling from him slow and languid, like how he sings along to the music in his own head while mulling around the apartment with Louis. ]
( Louis exhales quietly, feeling a little bit seen, as they say, as if Lestat has read his mind and discovered intentions that Louis hadn't even recognized in himself yet. But of course the instant Lestat says it, Louis knows it's true. He had done just the same thing with Lestat's album, not just home in San Francisco when he'd first discovered it, but here, when it was all he had of Lestat and he didn't know whether he would ever see him again. He had listened to it every morning as he fell asleep, headphones over his ears or the sound drifting out of the speakers themselves, like a man reciting a prayer.
He smiles softly at Lestat singing, the sound stirring memories of their old townhouse in New Orleans and mingling them with the easy warmth of their little apartment. He loves to hear Lestat's voice ring throughout the house and know just where he is without having to listen for his heartbeat, like a bird singing for its mate in their nest. )
I had to listen, before. I wanted to, of course, but I had no other way to hear your voice.
( He threads the ribbon through their linked fingers in a loose weave that ties them together, looking down at his work with an a dreamy-eyed expression. )
I've never had the pleasure of hearing your music this way... with you here to share it with me. The song is a gift, and a beautiful one, and I will treasure it until the world has turned to dust, or I have. But having you here and bright and charming and alive is the greatest gift I could ask for.
Thank you, Lestat.
( He squeezes their joined hands, the gold ribbon glittering and wound around them like a bow. )
How long have you been working on this? Since we talked about it at the party you threw for me?
He smiles softly at Lestat singing, the sound stirring memories of their old townhouse in New Orleans and mingling them with the easy warmth of their little apartment. He loves to hear Lestat's voice ring throughout the house and know just where he is without having to listen for his heartbeat, like a bird singing for its mate in their nest. )
I had to listen, before. I wanted to, of course, but I had no other way to hear your voice.
( He threads the ribbon through their linked fingers in a loose weave that ties them together, looking down at his work with an a dreamy-eyed expression. )
I've never had the pleasure of hearing your music this way... with you here to share it with me. The song is a gift, and a beautiful one, and I will treasure it until the world has turned to dust, or I have. But having you here and bright and charming and alive is the greatest gift I could ask for.
Thank you, Lestat.
( He squeezes their joined hands, the gold ribbon glittering and wound around them like a bow. )
How long have you been working on this? Since we talked about it at the party you threw for me?
[ Lestat watches Louis’ careful intricacy as he wraps the bow around his fingers and then his own, tying them as if bound by a string of fate, like stray threads of a tapestry woven back together after the elements threatened to make it fray. Undeniably, Lestat’s mind provides to him the image of a hand-fasting, and just the thought alone is enough to have his heart feeling slightly too big for his chest. Their pale fingers make the gold of the ribbon shine like sparks from a fire, enchanting him so completely that the song dies on his lips, leaving only the immortal voice on the tape and Louis’ soft, sweet murmuring.
His expression has softened to a look of wonder at Louis’ honesty and his unwavering tenderness as he holds Lestat close. Lestat wonders if he knows, if he’s any comprehension of the effect he has on him, if Lestat could ever make the instinct in him strong enough to overcome his self-doubt; Lestat knows now that it is no longer a matter of Louis believing Lestat’s words as the truth, but more the task of Louis allowing himself such sweetness. Until that day, Lestat is more than happy to remind him. ]
Oh, you make my heart sing to imagine you that way. I never thought it possible, when I wrote those songs in the first instance. It felt more like a swan song.
[ Perhaps that’s why Lestat had been reluctant to share them – he hadn’t wanted to truly believe that it could be over. ]
I thought about writing this new song down, perhaps even performing it for you. I didn’t know enough about how to make a recording to do so… but when the media store opened and we went to visit for the first time, while we were browsing I found a book detailing the process.
It was quite the ordeal. I’m still not quite sure how I managed it, and I’m sure it isn’t of the best quality.
[ He presses a kiss to Louis’ temple, as if in apology, though he’s certain he won’t mind. ]
But you can hear the words. That’s all I wanted.
His expression has softened to a look of wonder at Louis’ honesty and his unwavering tenderness as he holds Lestat close. Lestat wonders if he knows, if he’s any comprehension of the effect he has on him, if Lestat could ever make the instinct in him strong enough to overcome his self-doubt; Lestat knows now that it is no longer a matter of Louis believing Lestat’s words as the truth, but more the task of Louis allowing himself such sweetness. Until that day, Lestat is more than happy to remind him. ]
Oh, you make my heart sing to imagine you that way. I never thought it possible, when I wrote those songs in the first instance. It felt more like a swan song.
[ Perhaps that’s why Lestat had been reluctant to share them – he hadn’t wanted to truly believe that it could be over. ]
I thought about writing this new song down, perhaps even performing it for you. I didn’t know enough about how to make a recording to do so… but when the media store opened and we went to visit for the first time, while we were browsing I found a book detailing the process.
It was quite the ordeal. I’m still not quite sure how I managed it, and I’m sure it isn’t of the best quality.
[ He presses a kiss to Louis’ temple, as if in apology, though he’s certain he won’t mind. ]
But you can hear the words. That’s all I wanted.
Liuis
Louis*
are you awake? I heard vanpires don't sñeep at nught, is that true?
Louis*
are you awake? I heard vanpires don't sñeep at nught, is that true?
hahaha whoa how'd I make the n do tgat, that's Weird
( well. this is unexpected. )
It's a very festive N.
Yes, I'm awake. I usually am at this hour. I don't typically go to bed until sunrise... though I have been known to nap from time to time.
Are you having a good night?
It's a very festive N.
Yes, I'm awake. I usually am at this hour. I don't typically go to bed until sunrise... though I have been known to nap from time to time.
Are you having a good night?
( Louis knows Lestat is clever and quick to learn new skills when he has a mind to, and that he can be single-minded and almost frighteningly driven when he has a goal to aim himself toward. But somehow, Louis is still astonished that Lestat would put all of that effort toward something entirely for him. The time it must have taken him, the skill to do it all right under Louis' nose when they spend so much time together — and the willpower to keep it all a secret when he must have been bursting at the seams to share it with his closest companion and his confidante...
To Louis, for whom a single thoughtful gesture means more than any material gift ever could, the imperfections only make it more beautiful. No studio, no band, no expensive equipment — just Lestat, and the truth of his feelings for him. )
It's perfect, Lestat. I can almost see you singing it. I can hear the way you're sitting in the sound of your voice, and in the distance from the microphone. And you're wearing your jewelry, of course — you always are, but I love the way it sounds, because I know the exact way you move without having to open my eyes...
( And, eyes shut, he leans in for a slow, sweet, and lingering kiss. )
I'm thankful that you didn't polish it so well that it lost its texture.
To Louis, for whom a single thoughtful gesture means more than any material gift ever could, the imperfections only make it more beautiful. No studio, no band, no expensive equipment — just Lestat, and the truth of his feelings for him. )
It's perfect, Lestat. I can almost see you singing it. I can hear the way you're sitting in the sound of your voice, and in the distance from the microphone. And you're wearing your jewelry, of course — you always are, but I love the way it sounds, because I know the exact way you move without having to open my eyes...
( And, eyes shut, he leans in for a slow, sweet, and lingering kiss. )
I'm thankful that you didn't polish it so well that it lost its texture.
wouldn't ya know it, I'm haivng a fuckib terribe night
but drinkin about it always makes things better
[ no it certainly does not make things better. first he was sad, now he's drunk and sad, tomorrow he'll be blisteringly hungover and sad. ]
soun.ds kinda cool. I was nocturnal for a while because of work doin night shifrs but I always kinda hated aleepin during the day
but drinkin about it always makes things better
[ no it certainly does not make things better. first he was sad, now he's drunk and sad, tomorrow he'll be blisteringly hungover and sad. ]
soun.ds kinda cool. I was nocturnal for a while because of work doin night shifrs but I always kinda hated aleepin during the day
We don't have much choice in the matter. The sun comes up, and we sleep. It's innate to our biology, though I admit I find it inconvenient.
( But. Reno is having a terrible night. Louis is compassionate, but unaccustomed to actually offering that compassion to anyone. After all, who would want it, knowing what he is? Small acts of kindness can feel hypocritical when he's done so many unforgivable things. But Louis also isn't accustomed to having anything he might call "friends." Are he and Reno friends? They must be something by now, and friends seems as good a word for it as any, if he's made it onto the man's list of drunk dials. And he finds that he doesn't like the idea of that easy smile turning serious.
He fidgets. Types. Deletes. Types again. )
Are you all right? Did something happen?
( But. Reno is having a terrible night. Louis is compassionate, but unaccustomed to actually offering that compassion to anyone. After all, who would want it, knowing what he is? Small acts of kindness can feel hypocritical when he's done so many unforgivable things. But Louis also isn't accustomed to having anything he might call "friends." Are he and Reno friends? They must be something by now, and friends seems as good a word for it as any, if he's made it onto the man's list of drunk dials. And he finds that he doesn't like the idea of that easy smile turning serious.
He fidgets. Types. Deletes. Types again. )
Are you all right? Did something happen?
[ they are friends, aren't they. Reno thinks so, anyway, although he's also very used to his friendships being one-sided. still, he can only assume that because Louis didn't immediately KO him after their kiss at the gala that he must at least like Reno well enough to call him a friend. ]
yeah kinda. it's a long story
here's th. e short vwrsion
the other person frim my world who was here with me went home. she's dead, so it ai n't likr she's going back tto much. shr died because I failed her once and now she'd dead again and I feel like I failed her again
I'll be okay but tonight it's jusr. yeah
yeah kinda. it's a long story
here's th. e short vwrsion
the other person frim my world who was here with me went home. she's dead, so it ai n't likr she's going back tto much. shr died because I failed her once and now she'd dead again and I feel like I failed her again
I'll be okay but tonight it's jusr. yeah
[ Lestat is surprised to feel something like relief unwind in his chest, like a rope loosened from around his heart, the faint buzzing of static in the air lessened, soothed by Louis’ joy to have this tape exactly how it is. Lestat is such a proud man, always so focused on perfection now that he knows it’s attainable and now that his senses can pick up on how short any given thing can fall from being so, and perhaps he’d found it a little harder than he’s letting on to allow the tape to exist and be so unlike what he’d pictured in might be. He hadn’t expected Louis to pick faults in the recording, but he hadn’t expected to be so put to ease by his acceptance, either.
He smiles, the hand not wormed between the ribbon and Louis’ fingers coming up to bring his chin closer again, for another sweet kiss so earnest it’s as though through it, he’s trying to communicate some greater feeling without words. Whatever that might be. ]
I’m thankful you enjoy it despite its texture.
[ He kisses him again, more brief but just as warm, and lets his other hand brush over one of Louis’ knuckles beneath the golden satin wrapped around it. ]
And, I’m thankful you didn’t take my note for a tease. Though, come to think of it, are you really going to keep such a suggestive note as a keepsake? You better keep it away from prying eyes.
[ Okay, now he’s definitely teasing. ]
He smiles, the hand not wormed between the ribbon and Louis’ fingers coming up to bring his chin closer again, for another sweet kiss so earnest it’s as though through it, he’s trying to communicate some greater feeling without words. Whatever that might be. ]
I’m thankful you enjoy it despite its texture.
[ He kisses him again, more brief but just as warm, and lets his other hand brush over one of Louis’ knuckles beneath the golden satin wrapped around it. ]
And, I’m thankful you didn’t take my note for a tease. Though, come to think of it, are you really going to keep such a suggestive note as a keepsake? You better keep it away from prying eyes.
[ Okay, now he’s definitely teasing. ]
I could tell you that we don't know for certain what any of us are going back to, but I doubt that would help.
I'm very sorry to hear it. For her, and for you. That is a heavy burden to bear. Did you know her well?
I'm very sorry to hear it. For her, and for you. That is a heavy burden to bear. Did you know her well?
"well" I dunno. known her whst, ten twelve years now.. we weren't friends bur I also probably knew more about jer thaan almost anybody
Ten years is a very long time. If that doesn't make you friends, it certainly makes you something.
we should have been enemies probably
but shewas s good. she was the best of us I think. she forgave way too easily
but shewas s good. she was the best of us I think. she forgave way too easily
( The brush to his knuckles makes Louis shiver and his toes curl in his woolen socks, and when Lestat says that, low and warm and fond, his heart skips in his chest. He lets out a breath of a laugh— )
What prying eyes?
( —and tips his forehead against Lestat's, the bridges of their noses nestled together in an almost-kiss. He's halfway in Lestat's lap now, one leg slung across his in his attempt to turn around enough to kiss him, comfortable, but humming with quiet anticipation now that he's been reminded of the last gift he has to unwrap. He's amused and not trying to hide it, the fingers of his free hand coming to play with the V of Lestat's housecoat, curling inward to lay between the fabric and his chest beneath it.
Playfully: )
It's the first time you've written a suggestive note to me in your own hand, too, you know. All the more reason for me to treasure it.
What prying eyes?
( —and tips his forehead against Lestat's, the bridges of their noses nestled together in an almost-kiss. He's halfway in Lestat's lap now, one leg slung across his in his attempt to turn around enough to kiss him, comfortable, but humming with quiet anticipation now that he's been reminded of the last gift he has to unwrap. He's amused and not trying to hide it, the fingers of his free hand coming to play with the V of Lestat's housecoat, curling inward to lay between the fabric and his chest beneath it.
Playfully: )
It's the first time you've written a suggestive note to me in your own hand, too, you know. All the more reason for me to treasure it.
Hm, good point. I suppose we've stopped letting the world know our innermost feelings. For the time being, at least.
[ Even if Lestat has notes - mental and physical - for the next installment of the tale of his life, he's quite pleased there will at least be some aspects of their life together that can be his alone. He's not sure Louis would let him publish everything.
As Louis' fingers curls against his chest, Lestat moves the hand that isn't wrapped up in the ribbon to run along the lapel of the soft, silk pajamas. His touch is a little firmer than is necessary for someone appreciating fabric, clearly more interested in feeling Louis' chest rise and fall beneath.
He tilts his head, his nose sliding against Louis' until their mouths are a mere breath apart. ]
Oh, let's not call a rabbit a hare, Louis. You know damn well that I could write you something much better than that, given the opportunity.
[ Even if Lestat has notes - mental and physical - for the next installment of the tale of his life, he's quite pleased there will at least be some aspects of their life together that can be his alone. He's not sure Louis would let him publish everything.
As Louis' fingers curls against his chest, Lestat moves the hand that isn't wrapped up in the ribbon to run along the lapel of the soft, silk pajamas. His touch is a little firmer than is necessary for someone appreciating fabric, clearly more interested in feeling Louis' chest rise and fall beneath.
He tilts his head, his nose sliding against Louis' until their mouths are a mere breath apart. ]
Oh, let's not call a rabbit a hare, Louis. You know damn well that I could write you something much better than that, given the opportunity.
Why would you have been enemies?
I'm sorry, that's probably a terribly complicated question to ask.
I'm sorry, that's probably a terribly complicated question to ask.
Monsieur de Pointe du Lac,
I recently learned you see visions with the blood you drink, and I have questions about what you saw in mine. I understand you may not wish to meet me in person if we are alone, so I would be glad to have this conversation over text, provided you do not show our messages to Monsieur de Lioncourt unless I say something to make you feel unsafe. Thank you for your time.
Mr. Dorian Gray
I recently learned you see visions with the blood you drink, and I have questions about what you saw in mine. I understand you may not wish to meet me in person if we are alone, so I would be glad to have this conversation over text, provided you do not show our messages to Monsieur de Lioncourt unless I say something to make you feel unsafe. Thank you for your time.
Mr. Dorian Gray
Edited 2024-01-18 16:07 (UTC)
M. Gray,
Most certainly. I understand the sensitive nature of what you're requesting of me, and I can assure you that our conversation will remain between us. Would you prefer to have this conversation face-to-face? It can be difficult to accurately discern tone through such an impersonal medium, though it does provide a certain amount of privacy.
Most certainly. I understand the sensitive nature of what you're requesting of me, and I can assure you that our conversation will remain between us. Would you prefer to have this conversation face-to-face? It can be difficult to accurately discern tone through such an impersonal medium, though it does provide a certain amount of privacy.
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