( Louis makes a soft sound into the kiss as his back meets the tile, a little gasp of surprise at the sensation of being pressed between the hard surface behind him and the hard body in front of him. His hands come to rest on Lestat's hips, nails pressing lightly into the skin; with a light shiver, Louis parts his lips and coaxes Lestat's tongue into his mouth with his own, craving the sensation of being claimed and devoured and loved through it all.
When Lestat speaks again, his sigh is so tender, and his voice so soft and earnest — and oh, though Louis may not ever learn to love himself, he's beginning to believe that Lestat actually feels that way, truly believe it deep down in his bones. That it isn't merely hope and fantasy, but true. That Lestat's interest in him isn't just infatuation, that he might remain once the novelty wears off, that this coming together might actually last. Not without considerable effort, of course, and not without trust and more than a little luck...
How like Louis to find some inner peace on the same night he finally killed a human being again. Perhaps it's the blood still working through him, in spite of the amount he lost, easing some tension in him. Or perhaps it's simply Lestat's presence, or Lestat's blood, quieting his mind. )
I haven't wanted to hurt you by speaking of it, but I wonder if that's made it seem as if I haven't thought of it, or that I don't truly wish to know. But I do. I want to know everything about you, Lestat.
( His voice is breathless from the kiss, but it still has that same dreamy quality to it, slightly weak and faint but very much in love. )
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When Lestat speaks again, his sigh is so tender, and his voice so soft and earnest — and oh, though Louis may not ever learn to love himself, he's beginning to believe that Lestat actually feels that way, truly believe it deep down in his bones. That it isn't merely hope and fantasy, but true. That Lestat's interest in him isn't just infatuation, that he might remain once the novelty wears off, that this coming together might actually last. Not without considerable effort, of course, and not without trust and more than a little luck...
How like Louis to find some inner peace on the same night he finally killed a human being again. Perhaps it's the blood still working through him, in spite of the amount he lost, easing some tension in him. Or perhaps it's simply Lestat's presence, or Lestat's blood, quieting his mind. )
I haven't wanted to hurt you by speaking of it, but I wonder if that's made it seem as if I haven't thought of it, or that I don't truly wish to know. But I do. I want to know everything about you, Lestat.
( His voice is breathless from the kiss, but it still has that same dreamy quality to it, slightly weak and faint but very much in love. )