[ His eyelids flutter ever so slightly at the touch of Louis' hands. So brave, carving a path for themselves across his skin, like a brand of his name on flesh never before seen or touched by another creature, not like this, not this body, not with this intimacy. How could he have betrayed Louis so much to ever believe that he might not want to look upon him so changed, that his lover might not want to make the decision on his own, that he could find things about him to admire still despite how inescapably inhuman he might look? It's so much he forgets to breathe, goes inhumanly still as though it might stop the clock and leave him here to succumb completely to the feeling of Louis' explorative touch meandering across his hipbones.
He flicks his eyes open just in time to meet Louis' emerald ones rising to meet his, and the sheepish look gives him a pretty good idea of where his focus might have been wandering. He might have teased, had Louis not said something so devastatingly romantic.
Lestat brings his hands to Louis' stomach, fingers on his ribs, palms flat across his pale skin, pushing lightly until Louis' back bumps against the tiles and they come together under the spray of the water. He kisses him, softly at first but slowly turning deeper; a hand comes up, fingers pressing insistently at Louis' chin, encouraging his mouth to open wider, to let Lestat in, to allow him to drink this moment down to the last drop as if it were the blood. ]
Oh, Louis... [ He sighs it, like he used to, but without any of the frustration or condescension. Instead, it's something quiet and almost childish, something reserved only for them and only for this moment. ] I'll never need anything more than that.
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He flicks his eyes open just in time to meet Louis' emerald ones rising to meet his, and the sheepish look gives him a pretty good idea of where his focus might have been wandering. He might have teased, had Louis not said something so devastatingly romantic.
Lestat brings his hands to Louis' stomach, fingers on his ribs, palms flat across his pale skin, pushing lightly until Louis' back bumps against the tiles and they come together under the spray of the water. He kisses him, softly at first but slowly turning deeper; a hand comes up, fingers pressing insistently at Louis' chin, encouraging his mouth to open wider, to let Lestat in, to allow him to drink this moment down to the last drop as if it were the blood. ]
Oh, Louis... [ He sighs it, like he used to, but without any of the frustration or condescension. Instead, it's something quiet and almost childish, something reserved only for them and only for this moment. ] I'll never need anything more than that.