[ Louis yielding to him in this way is staggering. Lestat already knows how much he likes to feel a body surrender under his, but when it's Louis he feels an entirely different energy to it; with humans it's expected, with Louis it's something to be treasured, to be grateful for, to cherish. As if to express his thanks, Lestat sighs softly against his ear, breath hot against the curls plastered against his skin by the water. His tongue runs along the shell and down to the lobe, beckoning it between his lips so he can graze it with his lower teeth before releasing it. ]
You don't sound even the slightest bit remorseful.
[ He murmurs admonishingly, though his mouth is curling into a smile even as he reluctantly pulls back; the longer he stays so close to Louis' veins, the stronger he feels the thirst prickling the back of his throat. Instead, he retracts his touch enough to slide curious fingers down Louis' arms and encourage his hands up and into the spray. There's blood in his cuticles, drying between his fingers, and Lestat's aren't much better. So he starts the patient process of sliding his fingertips against Louis', over his knuckles, palm-to-palm and then over the veins in the back of his hand, his wrist and back again to his nails. His progress is attentive, thorough like he wasn't before, surrendering his desire for his lover easily in favour of his desire to do as he intended in the first place; to clean him up. Enough, at least, that when he takes him to their bed and presses their skin together again in this way, he'll feel less like he's taken advantage. ]
There.
[ Finally, when their hands are clean and the only blood between them remains in the slowly healing wound on Louis' chest, Lestat seems happy enough with his work to press a kiss to Louis' waiting mouth. ]
no subject
You don't sound even the slightest bit remorseful.
[ He murmurs admonishingly, though his mouth is curling into a smile even as he reluctantly pulls back; the longer he stays so close to Louis' veins, the stronger he feels the thirst prickling the back of his throat. Instead, he retracts his touch enough to slide curious fingers down Louis' arms and encourage his hands up and into the spray. There's blood in his cuticles, drying between his fingers, and Lestat's aren't much better. So he starts the patient process of sliding his fingertips against Louis', over his knuckles, palm-to-palm and then over the veins in the back of his hand, his wrist and back again to his nails. His progress is attentive, thorough like he wasn't before, surrendering his desire for his lover easily in favour of his desire to do as he intended in the first place; to clean him up. Enough, at least, that when he takes him to their bed and presses their skin together again in this way, he'll feel less like he's taken advantage. ]
There.
[ Finally, when their hands are clean and the only blood between them remains in the slowly healing wound on Louis' chest, Lestat seems happy enough with his work to press a kiss to Louis' waiting mouth. ]