( The warm spray of the shower enveloping them is so overwhelmingly good, and Louis wonders why he doesn't do this more often. It isn't necessary, no, but the heat is intoxicating, drenching him, surrounding him, and he feels a faint echo of the same relief that mortal blood can bring. The guilt stirs in him again as he remembers how he'd lost control — guilt and shame and regret — but it's foggy and amorphous, and his mind doesn't seem to want to let him focus on it yet. Later, he's sure, he'll be haunted by it; later, he'll remember what he saw in Dorian's mind as he died, and wonder what any of it meant. But not yet.
Everything feels dreamy and hazy except for the handful of things that remain in sharp focus — most of all, Lestat's hands on his wrists, where his pulse feels as if it wants to leap through the thin barrier of flesh between them and join with Lestat's.
He lets out a soft sigh of satisfaction, eyes falling shut. )
God... how do I always forget what a luxury this is?
( He allows Lestat to support him, partly just for the excuse to be touched, as he tips his head to let the spray wash the cold rain from his hair.
Perhaps it's because they've been touching this entire time, and so the shift in intimacy is mostly a cosmetic one, or perhaps it's the present lack of expectation that he perform for or please Lestat in any way, but Louis feels less shy than he'd expected he would when finally bare-skinned with his lover. It is intimate, and devastatingly romantic, but his anticipated urgency is more a quiet curiosity. Almost innocent, if anything about their kind could be called that. )
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Everything feels dreamy and hazy except for the handful of things that remain in sharp focus — most of all, Lestat's hands on his wrists, where his pulse feels as if it wants to leap through the thin barrier of flesh between them and join with Lestat's.
He lets out a soft sigh of satisfaction, eyes falling shut. )
God... how do I always forget what a luxury this is?
( He allows Lestat to support him, partly just for the excuse to be touched, as he tips his head to let the spray wash the cold rain from his hair.
Perhaps it's because they've been touching this entire time, and so the shift in intimacy is mostly a cosmetic one, or perhaps it's the present lack of expectation that he perform for or please Lestat in any way, but Louis feels less shy than he'd expected he would when finally bare-skinned with his lover. It is intimate, and devastatingly romantic, but his anticipated urgency is more a quiet curiosity. Almost innocent, if anything about their kind could be called that. )
Your makeup is running.
( As if that's what matters now. )