[ Though he can't feel Louis' mind with any kind of clarity, Lestat is still certain there are aspects to their relationship that he can still divine without words to explain it, as if their connection is beyond anything they can learn from history, as if they're carving a new facet of their bond that can't be simply described as fledgling and maker, or lovers, or companions. In moments like this, where Lestat is so certain he knows exactly what Louis is thinking and feeling, it's almost as if their hearts are speaking to one another through sheer intention alone; or perhaps it's something deeper, their souls, maybe, connected through so much more than just the blood.

That being said, when Louis shudders with desire for him and wraps so languidly around him, that same desire drips like honey down Lestat's spine too, but there comes with it an innate sense of love, of adoration, soothing the heat of it to glowing embers rather than something animalistic and feral as it had been when he'd come home to Louis a week or so ago and they'd reconciled against one another on the couch.

He feels the slight arch of Louis' spine, one hand falling into the elegant curve of his lower back while the other lingers still around the wound. The feather-light touch to his ear makes him shiver, and his tongue flicks out to wet his lip as if he weren't already drenched by the warm spray of the shower. ]

I wanted to have you in and out quickly, so you could rest... [ He says, but there's a telltale tone in his voice that says he's not as remorseful as his words infer he should be, that he much prefers to be pressing Louis up against the tiles, hands holding their bodies together, close and tight, his lips trailing down the angle of Louis' jaw and to the lobe of his ear. ] I'm not sure that I've been as thorough as you say. I've had my mind elsewhere.