[ Lestat knows there's something to this, some analogy to human coupling; the intrusion of it, the breaching of another's body with your own, like the bite only so different, something only the two of them could share, something he doesn't want and can't imagine with anyone else... but he can't bring himself to linger in thoughts of what this means in favour of basking in the simple and addictive feeling of being so closely wrapped up in Louis' heartbeat.
He's powerfully warm like this, or perhaps he's perfectly preternaturally cold and Lestat is imagining where warmth should be, or perhaps Lestat himself is warm from the feed. Either way, Lestat can feel himself becoming addicted to this sensation, even as he draws his tongue back in a lascivious lick, bringing the taste back into his mouth, he only wants to do it again. He wants to suck the wound, too, to draw on the blood he'd poured out and then feed it back in, a loop, an endless loop of sensation and possession and carnal desire to devour Louis from his flesh to his marrow. With anyone else he might feel dangerous, with anyone else he might feel shame. With Louis all he can feel is love, and want, and hunger for more.
He draws away, but only enough to look up at Louis' face, to catch his eye as the tip of his tongue trails along the edge of the scarring wound and dips in, to watch his reaction as blood still dribbles weakly from the almost healed cut on his tongue. ]
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He's powerfully warm like this, or perhaps he's perfectly preternaturally cold and Lestat is imagining where warmth should be, or perhaps Lestat himself is warm from the feed. Either way, Lestat can feel himself becoming addicted to this sensation, even as he draws his tongue back in a lascivious lick, bringing the taste back into his mouth, he only wants to do it again. He wants to suck the wound, too, to draw on the blood he'd poured out and then feed it back in, a loop, an endless loop of sensation and possession and carnal desire to devour Louis from his flesh to his marrow. With anyone else he might feel dangerous, with anyone else he might feel shame. With Louis all he can feel is love, and want, and hunger for more.
He draws away, but only enough to look up at Louis' face, to catch his eye as the tip of his tongue trails along the edge of the scarring wound and dips in, to watch his reaction as blood still dribbles weakly from the almost healed cut on his tongue. ]