[ Lestat watches as his fingertips encourage a shudder to wash over Louis and... it really is a good thing that Lestat is so steadfastly focused on soothing his pain because something about seeing that cause and effect when it comes from him and results in such a strangely intoxicating sight from Louis is really quite dangerous.
He catches Louis looking at his wrist like this, of course, and he wonders what he might be thinking about - does he want more? Is the idea of Lestat's powerful blood in his body through some means other than the drink settling strangely in him? - but ultimately he feels a fraction better for knowing that it at least feels better, even if it still looks a mess. He's compelled suddenly by the strange desire to kiss the wound, perhaps even to slice his tongue open and lick the edges, clean up the thick clots with his lips instead of letting the water wash it down the drain--
As if breaking from a trance, Lestat suddenly realises that he hasn't even turned the water on yet, and leans ever so slightly out of Louis' hold to get it started. It also gives him a moment of reprieve from being so close to Louis' skin and from the coagulation of their blood smeared across his chest; enough time for him to catch his breath and rein in his wild thoughts. ]
It, ah-- It looks like a stab wound. [ He answers stupidly, but honestly. ] It doesn't look good, by any means, but you aren't spilling all over the floor any more, so there's that.
[ Lestat wishes he could be softer about it but there it is, and - trying not to think about blood spilling, how much they'd left on the floor in that corridor and in the dorm room, how much Lestat himself is covered in it, he kneels to unlace Louis' boots one by one. ]
Honestly, I thought the blood would do more, but... I suppose it makes sense that it didn't, for the way we are weaker here. Another day or so, and it should think it will heal enough for you to move around like usual.
no subject
He catches Louis looking at his wrist like this, of course, and he wonders what he might be thinking about - does he want more? Is the idea of Lestat's powerful blood in his body through some means other than the drink settling strangely in him? - but ultimately he feels a fraction better for knowing that it at least feels better, even if it still looks a mess. He's compelled suddenly by the strange desire to kiss the wound, perhaps even to slice his tongue open and lick the edges, clean up the thick clots with his lips instead of letting the water wash it down the drain--
As if breaking from a trance, Lestat suddenly realises that he hasn't even turned the water on yet, and leans ever so slightly out of Louis' hold to get it started. It also gives him a moment of reprieve from being so close to Louis' skin and from the coagulation of their blood smeared across his chest; enough time for him to catch his breath and rein in his wild thoughts. ]
It, ah-- It looks like a stab wound. [ He answers stupidly, but honestly. ] It doesn't look good, by any means, but you aren't spilling all over the floor any more, so there's that.
[ Lestat wishes he could be softer about it but there it is, and - trying not to think about blood spilling, how much they'd left on the floor in that corridor and in the dorm room, how much Lestat himself is covered in it, he kneels to unlace Louis' boots one by one. ]
Honestly, I thought the blood would do more, but... I suppose it makes sense that it didn't, for the way we are weaker here. Another day or so, and it should think it will heal enough for you to move around like usual.