deathoftheauthor | the city

In a moment.

[ He can't break this contact now, can't even think about pretending nothing is wrong without just a little more of this silent comfort seeking, from both of them it would seem. Louis isn't trembling in his hold, but Lestat can tell he needs this. Lestat doesn't mind. He feels he needs it too.

He wishes - yet again - that he could slip into Louis' mind to know what he's thinking without having to make him say it. He'll have to settle hoping Louis will forgive him this torture. ]

... Are you alright?

( Louis nods, then pulls back by a bare few inches, looking Lestat in the eyes and nodding once more. It's a bit firmer this time, an attempt to convince himself as much as to convince Lestat.

He can understand Lestat's past reticence a little better in this moment, when revealing something so personal seems nearly impossible, no matter how his soul aches to be soothed and understood. Louis had always yearned for Lestat to be honest with him, to share even the smallest truths about himself... so why is he so afraid that Lestat will think his troubles are a burden now? )

I'm sorry. I don't know what's come over me.

( But that's a lie, and he looks remorseful as soon as the words leave his mouth. He stiffens, then admits, quietly: )

It began just like this. I ran to you, and the two of us embraced, and...

That's how it happened. You told me to drink, and I did, and I didn't stop until it was too late. You were gone, and I'd done it to you. I know how absurd that must sound, like a child frightened of a monster beneath his bed — I don't think such a thing is even possible for us —

( And he feels defensive suddenly, his shoulders lifting in plain discomfort. )

But I experienced it nevertheless.

[ While Louis speaks, he listens attentively; the last time he heard of Louis facing such torment was reading it from the pages of a book, unless his confession about the night of the concert counts, so he owes him at least this quiet respect for such a vulnerability.

One of his hands ends up in Louis' hair without much thought to it, pushing the dark strands back from his face, fingertips raking lightly against his scalp in what he can only hope is a soothing manner. ]

She didn't tell me how it happened...

[ His voice is a little quiet and completely contrasts the volume of his thoughts - had that been why Louis was so reluctant in their apartment before? Had it been the memory of him drained dry, the thought that he might not be able to stop? He hadn't known, and he'd felt so bitter... ]

I thought you'd had a vision of... Oh, Louis. [ He tips his chin to press a closed mouthed kiss to Louis' forehead. ] What a torture that must have been, in more ways than one.

( The kiss is so tender that Louis thinks he might actually weep, and he's ashamed of himself for thinking that Lestat would treat him any other way. How often had he imagined Lestat's voice berating him when he was only ever hearing himself? Could he have had this all those years ago, if he'd just known how to ask for it? )

It was!

( Louis agrees more plaintively than he means to, and he's surprised by the volume of his own voice. He nuzzles his forehead against Lestat's chin, catlike in his affection. )

I missed you more than I can possibly say. It must have made my thoughts fertile ground for whatever that was. And I never did learn to shield my mind, not the way you or Armand can...

[ Lestat feels a blush of warmth somewhere deep in his heart at the admission that Louis missed him; even though he knows it's true, even though he has more than enough evidence for it, he still feels a strange kind of rush to hear it from his mouth. It should make him feel guilt for enjoying this moment when Louis is clearly so troubled, but it doesn't. ]

I don't think it would matter much here, Louis. Even if you were capable of keeping yourself closed off, this place is clearly more powerful than anything we've encountered before if it can suffocate our abilities.

[ His fingers toy idly with a soft wave of dark hair somewhere behind Louis' ear. ]

I know that isn't a comfort, that at any time we can be taken advantage of, but... At least now we are together. If anything were to happen again, such visions would be easier to banish for the truth.

( Louis tips his head toward Lestat's hand, chasing that gentle reassurance, amazed by how easily and swiftly he's soothed by those long, clever fingers in his hair. It doesn't matter that they're so far from home there may not even be a way to measure the distance — Lestat is right. They are together. )

Thank you, Lestat.

( He curls his fingers around Lestat's wrist and presses a kiss just below the cuff of his sleeve. )

It's terribly selfish of me to be glad that you're here, but I am.

[ His brows quirk, just the smallest amount, as though beginning an admonishment but not having the heart to pull through all the way. ]

I would not like to exist in a world without you in it, but much the same I hate the thought of you in a world without me.

[ Is it self-serving? Maybe, if you squint. The smile that washes over his face is easy, his tone sliding into something smooth and flirtatious, the rattled feeling he'd experienced before practically a figment in the wake of how much better it feels to have Louis in his arms. He tosses his hair back, holds Louis to him a little tighter as though he were a storybook hero about to dip his betrothed. ]

This kind of selfishness in you is one of my favourite things about you. Be as selfish with me as you please, my heart. I'd welcome complete possession from you.

( The expression Louis returns toward Lestat is soft and warm — not a smile, but the tilled earth in which one might begin to grow. He's as glad for Lestat's romanticism as he is for being taken seriously, and he lets himself sink into it like a warm bath after a long day's journey. )

If I am indeed your heart, then you are mine.

( His heartbeat speeds up just so as he leans in to kiss Lestat, slow and sweet and chaste, and the hand still at his waist rises to touch his cheek reverently. )

And may we never be parted again.

[ Lestat's fingers needle slightly into where they rest on Louis' body. He does belong to Louis, body and soul he wants to say, even if Louis can't bring himself to accept his blood, even if they never share that intimacy again, they still have this; they are still magnetised toward one another, doomed forever to exist in terrible bliss with one another, fatally in love. And that is enough.. Or it should be.

The kiss is sweet and full of feeling, and Lestat tries to quell the curling darkness attempting to permeate this moment with thoughts of doubt, of what he does or doesn't deserve, of fear. It's easier once Louis pulls away and murmurs such a sweet sentiment against his lips. ]

I dare anyone to try and tear us apart. [ He squeezes Louis, just once, and presses a much faster and more casual kiss to his lips. Easy motions, comfortable familiarity, to banish any lingering gloom. ] Now, come. Our couch awaits. I hope you have enough energy to lift it, I won't hear any excuses.

( There's the smile, finally, one side of his mouth turning up in the wake of Lestat drawing back from the kiss. He brushes his fingers over Lestat's lapels, smoothing them out, though they hardly need it. )

You'll hear no excuses from me. I'm sure a couch must weigh less than a coffin, and I could move one of those on my own when I was still dining on rats. I think we can manage between us, even in our present state.

We can make-believe we're mortals.

[ Lestat's eyes flash at that, as if what Louis said was too salacious to be believed. Such a suggestion piques his actors interest entirely, though there's an instinctive flinch about him that wills him to refuse. Perhaps around anyone else he might have, brushed it off like The Vampire Lestat of novel fame would have. But here, just himself and Louis, furnishing their apartment together... It feels so painfully familiar and yet entirely foreign to him. The idea of it is too exciting. ]

Oh.. [ He murmurs, his mind going blank for a few heavenly seconds. He can remember this feeling of nervous hope, jittering enthusiasm for the future, a golden moment. He swallows a sudden knot in his throat and takes Louis by the hand, lacing their fingers. ]

Do you think we could do a convincing job of that now? After so long?

[ He hopes so, for his own sake. ]

( Louis tilts his head curiously, trying to glean some sense of what might be going on behind those bright, ever-shifting eyes. Nostalgia? Something more? Louis doesn't know, but he doesn't want to stop looking at Lestat, so he begins drifting backwards toward the showroom entrance, pulling Lestat along with him by their joined hands. )

I don't know. It's been a long time...

( But his tone is coaxing, teasing Lestat's optimism out of him for both their sake. )

But you are a magnificent actor, and I am too mortal for my own good.

[ Lestat follows almost dumbly, face a perfect picture of childlike hope as he watches Louis pull him along. There's a strange kind of nervous anticipation in his chest, though he isn't rightly sure what it means or why he feels it so strongly now.. but there's a memory spiralling out of control in his mind, only it's Louis with the burn of winter in his cheeks and a clammy warmth to his hands where he's just breathed onto them to ease the ache of the chill wind.

It's perfect torture, what could have been, and Lestat feels himself fall a little more in love from the mere impossibility of it.

He squeezes Louis' hand, picking up his own pace so that they are walking together with their hands clasped, then increasing it a little more so that he is half jogging past the barrier of the showroom entrance and into the large open space of the display floor, pulling Louis along with him, excitement shimmering in the way he holds himself, powerfully mortal. The couch comes into sight in moments, stealing the limelight; a mock Chesterfield three seater in imitation black leather, with a matching armchair and footstool, posed with a delicate golden reading lamp on a dark oak sidetable. ]

Do you think we can afford it, Louis? It's more than you budgeted, but it's too perfect to leave behind.

( Louis stands so close they're nearly shoulder to shoulder, and he gives Lestat's hand a brief squeeze. He's clearly impressed with the sofa when he sees it, admiring Lestat's fine taste as always, and he's so caught up in that admiration that it takes him a second or two to catch up with Lestat's little game. And then suddenly he brightens, his expression shifting from perplexed to delighted (and perhaps just a little bit sly). )

You are a bloodhound when it comes to tracking down luxuries. ( Was that wordplay intentional? No, but he's pleased with it nonetheless. ) It's magnificent, of course, I never doubted that. But I don't know, Lestat...

( He affects the serious tone he used to take when trying to lecture Lestat (and later, Claudia) about the value of money, how they couldn't just take whatever they pleased from their victims, but it had to be made legitimate through mortal means... Even then, Louis knew that it was mostly for his own sake, an attempt to make the three of them into some semblance of a mortal family. )

It may have to cut into our spending money for the month.

( Please tell him he's good at improv. )

[ Lestat's eyes go round and sparkle with something indescribably pure as Louis speaks. Getting his typically so serious Louis to play along with this scene has made him happier than he thought it would, and it's so very easy to be whisked away into the warm improvised fantasy. Louis is surprisingly good, not a single trace of uncertainty or reluctance in him, and even if it's because Lestat is almost certain he's said these exact words before, it's still maddeningly refreshing to have him let loose like this, just a little. ]

That isn't a no, my love.

[ Urged onwards by the praise paid to his excellent taste, Lestat wheels Louis around by the tether he has on his hand until his back is to the couch, and then promptly pushes him down by the shoulders to sit. ]

But I won't settle for your reluctant acceptance. I want you feel as much love for this set as you do for me. [ He strides around the back of the couch, hand trailing an appreciative path from its arm to the back of the seat, to Louis' shoulders where he squeezes the fine line of them as if appraising the craftsmanship of him, too. ] Well, perhaps not an equal amount. But at least enough that you let your qualms about the cost drop, just this once. I've been very well-behaved as of late. [ A tiny pause, but enough of one that it's poignant. ] Haven't I?

( Louis cannot conceive of loving anything as much as he loves Lestat, much less a sofa. But before he can embarrass himself by being too earnest and saying so, Lestat's hands are on his shoulders, and Louis' thoughts are fully occupied by the thrill of that firm grip. His heart skips and he sits up straighter, sucking in a small breath of surprise — and it's another, very different sort of surprise when Lestat's question sounds so oddly sincere.

Louis leans back, back, finally craning his neck so that he can get a glimpse of Lestat above him. )

You have. Very well-behaved.

( He touches Lestat's hand on his shoulder. )

If I didn't know better, I would think you've been domesticated.

[ God. He'd been fishing for that kind of response and yet, somehow, it's better than he could have dreamed. The praise makes sends a thrill of pleasure through him, fingers flexing on Louis's shoulders. Hearing the words from Louis' mouth, watching his lips form the words, hearing his slow heartbeat tick up ever so briefly, his eyes trained on him... How is he supposed to behave, be a good and respectful companion, when Louis is so tempting like this? ]

I think it will take more than the crossing of your fingers and some stern admonishments every so often to domesticate me, Louis.

[ No pet names, not now. Not when he feels like a ball of energy ready to be flung at the wall. Oh, give him a reprieve from those glittering eyes before it becomes too much...! ]

You're getting a little sidetracked from the matter at hand.

I am, aren't I? I won't ask your forgiveness. You are marvelously and intentionally distracting. But, very well... back to falling in love.

( His touch drifts down the length of Lestat's fingers and finally drops, palm resting on the imitation leather. With a thoughtful hum, Louis runs his hand across the material, feeling the texture with a movement that's almost a caress. It's more provocative than he'd intended it to be, and the nape of his neck prickles with something like nervousness; he falters just slightly, almost imperceptibly, before making himself press on. )

It isn't real leather, but it's very close, isn't it? I didn't think it would be so soft to the touch.

[ Lestat counts his blessings that they are moving away from the subject that makes him feel like a rabid dog, right up until the point where Louis' hand drops to the couch, and he realises that he is a fool and that a reprieve was never on the cards at all.

Oh god, is he jealous of a couch? How ridiculous can he be. He is all too aware of how badly he'd craved Louis' hands in his hair earlier in his brief moment of torment, and how he'd never got to feel them in favour of comforting his lover in earnest. He doesn't regret it, of course, but his skin prickles with desire just watching the progress Louis makes across the seat of the couch. This, on the back of such pent-up longing after their previous tryst in their apartment... how is he supposed to withstand this, it's too cruel. And yet he wants more.

He swallows, and it sounds so loud in the quiet of the store. ]

It's soft, yes, but still surprisingly resilient. And large enough to stretch out on.

( Louis is glad that Lestat can't see his face, because he's almost certain there's a faint blush on his cheeks. He can't help but think of their first night together here, and how close they'd come to— to something, though Louis hardly knows what name to put to it. He feels that same tension now, like an itch beneath his skin, filling him with a nameless want.

But of course Louis keeps his composure. It's what he knows how to do. He ventures a small glance over his shoulder... )

Oh? Perhaps I should test that for myself.

( Louis turns sideways so that he can recline, laying his head back against the armrest and carefully putting his feet up, one crossed over the other at the ankle. An approving sound. He laces his fingers together, resting his joined hands over his ribs, looking slightly too posed to be casual, but comfortable nevertheless.

His eyes flick up to Lestat, bright and searching. )

The size is generous.

[ Lestat has been holding Louis so tightly to his side as of late that when he stretches out like that, it's almost as if he forgot that such a sight could exist; it's always been Louis' face, his hands, his shoulders, his hair... but now he's taken right back to how he'd been entranced by the sight of Louis taking off his sweater, and Lestat feels his fingers flex in the air, relieved he's no longer clinging to his shoulders for fear of his own mindless strength. ]

Big enough for two, I should think, and then some.

[ Lestat is captivated by Louis at the best of times, but so on show like this he becomes unfalteringly aware of how elegant and masterfully made he is, how delicate the cross of his ankles is, how powerful his legs are, the angle of him stretched out like Ophelia in the lake. He is overwhelmed by the need to touch, and heartbroken by the idea that he shouldn't, that he can't, because it would be the stone to finally shatter his already crumbling glass house. ]

So.. [ He blinks hard, clears his throat a little. It's a Herculean effort to wrench his eyes from Louis' form when all he wants to do is press against him like he does when they sleep. ] Can you stand to be without it in your life still?

( Two is enough, Louis thinks, feeling terribly sentimental about all of this, their little home, the sincere happiness in Lestat's eyes when he had decided to play along with this. His voice is soft and full of feeling when he answers: )

I can't live without it.

( Read between the lines.

There's a sharp tug in his chest; his eyes sting, and he blinks against the artificial lights overhead, though he knows they aren't the reason. He starts to sit up, instinctively reaching toward Lestat for a hand that he doesn't need in the slightest but wants desperately. )

[ Lestat's eyes snap back to Louis like a magnet recentring, and then it's like he never had to force himself to look away. Louis is so handsome as he rises to meet him... and it's like Lestat's body moves of its own accord; his feet bring him around the couch to sit beside Louis, to take that hand and bring it to his mouth for a soft kiss over his knuckles.

I can't live without it. Lestat can hear it reverberating around the inside of his skull, and he feels with a drop of something black and bile-like in his stomach that he isn't sure if he believes him. How much easier it would be if he could dip into Louis' mind, if he'd known him better when he'd taken his life.. but would it have turned out like it had when he'd taken the life of the other he'd loved and seen only darkness in return?

Feeling his thoughts starting to crumble, and that horrible twinge of desperate loneliness and the need to be held crawling claw-first back up his throat, he throws his own caution to the wind and presses in close to Louis; chin on his shoulder, lips against the hair curling under his ear, hands still clasped tight around one of his and pressing it securely over his own heart. ]

( Louis lets out a quick half a breath, a short surprised sound that ruffles Lestat's hair. He shivers at the touch of Lestat's lips; his neck is so sensitive that it's almost ticklish.

He doesn't know what he expects to happen, but when Lestat lingers there, Louis lifts his hand to comb his fingers through golden curls, nails dragging gently from the crown of his head down to the nape of his neck and back again. It's an almost instinctive gesture of comfort, but Louis finds himself soothed by it as well, and he wonders if some night Lestat would just allow him to stroke his hair like this for no reason at all. )

It's all right...

( Louis' voice is tentative, a wondering lilt at the end inviting Lestat to tell him whatever might be on his mind. He leans his cheek against him and presses his hand more firmly to Lestat's chest, and it almost feels as if his own pulse slows to try to match Lestat's heartbeat. )

[ Lestat wants more than anything in this moment, for things to just be still; he doesn't want easy, he's never wanted easy, and he doesn't want things to change because he doesn't want to be beaten, but for things to be still for just a while... If things were still he could find his footing, he could take his time with Louis instead of trying to undo and mend centuries of mistakes in a matter of days, he could try to articulate what is happening to him without shutting himself away in some room somewhere with a typewriter.

Louis starts to pet at his hair, and Lestat makes a strange hiccuping noise in response, pressed into Louis' skin. The relief is instantaneous even as his body prickles with tension, trying to become accustomed to the sensation. He screws his eyes tightly shut. ]

I hope so.

[ It falls out of his mouth before he can stop it. And immediately he has to fight the urge to retract and recoil from it like it burns to be out in the open. Instead, he forces himself to focus on the feeling of Louis' hand in his, the chill of his skin, the beat of his pulse. Just like the first night they were reunited in this place, Louis is the anchor that brings him back from tumbling thoughts that make his heart feel too small and weak to survive the crush of his chest. ]

Ah, Louis.. [ He gives a resigned sigh before turning his face a little and softly doofing his head on Louis' shoulder. Slowly, his shoulders shake in laughter. ] Ignore me. You know what a fool I can be.

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