deathoftheauthor | the city

[ His eyelids flutter ever so slightly at the touch of Louis' hands. So brave, carving a path for themselves across his skin, like a brand of his name on flesh never before seen or touched by another creature, not like this, not this body, not with this intimacy. How could he have betrayed Louis so much to ever believe that he might not want to look upon him so changed, that his lover might not want to make the decision on his own, that he could find things about him to admire still despite how inescapably inhuman he might look? It's so much he forgets to breathe, goes inhumanly still as though it might stop the clock and leave him here to succumb completely to the feeling of Louis' explorative touch meandering across his hipbones.

He flicks his eyes open just in time to meet Louis' emerald ones rising to meet his, and the sheepish look gives him a pretty good idea of where his focus might have been wandering. He might have teased, had Louis not said something so devastatingly romantic.

Lestat brings his hands to Louis' stomach, fingers on his ribs, palms flat across his pale skin, pushing lightly until Louis' back bumps against the tiles and they come together under the spray of the water. He kisses him, softly at first but slowly turning deeper; a hand comes up, fingers pressing insistently at Louis' chin, encouraging his mouth to open wider, to let Lestat in, to allow him to drink this moment down to the last drop as if it were the blood. ]

Oh, Louis... [ He sighs it, like he used to, but without any of the frustration or condescension. Instead, it's something quiet and almost childish, something reserved only for them and only for this moment. ] I'll never need anything more than that.

( 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. )

[ Lestat can feel the water soaking him through now, making his hair heavy and his skin slick and warm. It's not easier to touch Louis like this, because it's never difficult to slide hands over his smooth skin, but it's certainly different; the water changes the friction from something electric to something deep, as though instead of touching flesh he's touching something more ethereal, like his soul, like his energy. Lestat can feel in every fibre of himself the magnetised connection to the body under his hands, and for a moment it has him rapt as though staring into a bottomless pool of sparkling water. ]

I want you to know me.

[ It falls from him so suddenly that it surprises even him. His eyebrows raise slightly, pale colour touching the tips of his ears now visible as his hair clings to his face, but he presses his lips together as if to steel his resolve before he speaks again. ]

I have only ever wanted you to know me, even when the idea of it scared me more than anything.

[ Their long years together and every blow of words had been made in some way by Lestat's desperation to be recognised in Louis' eyes, and even though the guilt and the sight of himself so changed by his own foolishness undeniably frightens him in some way, this reverence in Louis voice and the tender honesty of his curious touches soothes him like a balm. For this moment he'd leave all inhibitions behind willingly, he'd devote himself entirely in whatever way he had to, just to keep this feeling alive in his heart. In both of their hearts.

He kisses him again, unable to resist the closeness, equally frustrated it isn't as close as they could be given Louis' condition, but determined to take exactly as much as he can get. He trails his tongue along Louis' fangs, along his blunt front teeth, along his lower ones and along his lips; he sucks his lower lip into his mouth, letting out a soft groan at the pull of resistance, the taste of him, the heat of him. The hand still on his torso slides upward, fingers pressing ever so slightly into his ribs, stopping just short of his wound before he finally, reluctantly, pulls back. ]

I think we've become quite distracted from the task at hand.

[ His voice is low and affectionate, and his expression betrays the fact that he doesn't care in the slightest. ]

( Louis shudders at the slide of Lestat's tongue against his sensitive fangs, desire taking shape as thirst and whipping through his veins. Louis can actually taste the throb of Lestat's heartbeat inside of his mouth, filling him, and Louis wants him so badly that he's dizzy with it.

And oh, his heart soars to hear that Lestat wants to be known, to think that they might have that connection for always... it takes the reminder of his loss of self-control to restrain himself from having Lestat like that, tasting him, feeling their blood mingling and their heartbeats becoming one. He knows that the veil comes down between maker and fledgling when they drink from one another, and Louis lets out a soft sound of yearning at the thought of finally seeing into his soul, the one that Louis has always above all wanted to understand.

Louis leans his cheek toward Lestat's hand, back arching more subtly into his touch as well. He snakes an arm around Lestat's shoulders, steadying himself with a small smile. He's looking at Lestat with that awestruck fondness again, and he lifts his other hand to trace the places on Lestat's handsome face where the pale blush still lingers. His fingertips love with the delicacy of a paintbrush along the shell curve of Lestat's ear. Pink, he thinks, a bit delirious. )

Have we?

( There's a sweetness to his voice that's almost innocent, and the plaintive way his voice turns upward at the end makes it clear he doesn't want this to be over yet. But Lestat is supporting his weight, keeping him balanced; he would feel worse almost immediately if he were to let go, and yet he doesn't have the energy to do much more than hold him and respond to his touches. )

I thought this was about washing up and getting warm again. Aren't we accomplishing both? You've been quite thorough.

[ 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.

( Again, Louis wishes that he had the presence of mind and the blood in his veins it would take to properly appreciate this moment. Not even to do anything different, not necessarily — though there is a definite appeal to the idea of touching Lestat like this in another context, to finding out just what they can still feel. But if he had time, he would memorize every centimeter of Lestat's body with his hands, worshiping him with caresses.

Another night, he tells himself. They have time, don't they? He feels a tremor of doubt in him, and he tries not to think of how Halloween is approaching, and how he can't shake the superstitious fear that Lestat might vanish again. Akasha is gone, yes, but this place has such a hold on them, and people do go missing here without a trace...

Louis tips his jaw to give Lestat better access to his neck and his sensitive ear, making a soft sound in his throat. )

Have I distracted you? I should apologize.

( He doesn't, though. His voice trembles, and he shivers at the touch of Lestat's lips, fingers sliding into his hair again. )

[ 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. ]

( Pleased, Louis hums into the kiss, squeezing both Lestat's hands in his own. Being cared for like this is so precious, something that he's never allowed from anyone in his long, long life, and he feels so undeserving of such tenderness that he nearly wants to pull away. But he doesn't, too hypnotized by the sight of Lestat's long fingers caressing his own, the gentle scrubbing beneath his nails, until he's shining so clean and new that he might have been freshly-made from porcelain.

He bites at Lestat's lip a little as they kiss, teasing the swell of it with his teeth, and tormenting them both by licking just once at Lestat's sharp fangs. He withdraws only after a very long moment, eyes half-lidded as he gazes at Lestat, his heart thudding in his chest. The wound still aches with every throb, but he doesn't think he'll lose much more blood. And if he doesn't do anything foolish, and the City doesn't send him back to that party tonight to aggravate the injury, he just might be healed tomorrow evening when he wakes. In a few more nights, surely. )

Let me see your wrist?

( Louis asks softly, undemanding, turning Lestat's bitten wrist to see whether it's healed as much as it ought to have. )

[ Lestat almost feels his resolve slip in that kiss. Oh, having Louis be the one to tempt him and distract him is a novelty he doesn't think he'll ever get tired of, and he only hopes that the future brings them both many more opportunities to lure the other out of what should be done and further into the realm of want and need. Preferably with less bodily harm, though.

When Louis takes his wrist Lestat shows it to him with no resistance. The bite is healed, certainly, but there is a pinkness to the skin and a slight glossy texture that betrays the wound, the healing still not entirely complete. It's strange to see himself like this, marked in this way... and yet strangely exciting. An image flashes in his mind of his fangs twanging at his veins, the flesh pulping beneath his teeth, bruising. Could a mark be left on him now, here in this strange place? ]

It's slow. We are weaker here, it makes sense that the effects of the blood are weak, too.

[ He doesn't sound too concerned, distracted with his own thoughts as he is, but his eyes drop to Louis' wound and his eyebrows pull together a little. What he knows about their recovery time is warped now, and he wonders if he's made a mistake making Louis stand for so long. ]

Let me help you out. We shouldn't make any assumptions until we see you start to heal properly.

( Louis turns Lestat's wrist carefully in his hand, frowning with worry at the sight of the freshly-healed wound. It stands out so plainly to him against the skin around it; the light glints off the water as it rolls down Lestat's arm, and that only makes the texture more apparent. He makes a concerned sound, a soft cluck of his tongue, then lifts that wrist to his lips to kiss it gently. )

Very well. I'll take your lead, Lestat.

( He sighs, leaning his weight against Lestat again, putting complete trust in him. )

I've never been wounded this badly before... I have very little to compare it to. I suppose I don't know what to expect.

That is probably for the best, given how we can't trust our expectations.

[ Lestat knows all too well what healing from a fatal wound feels like, but reminding Louis of that now feels cruel.

After turning off the water, Lestat takes Louis by the hands and guides him out of the tub. Like this, not pressed up against one another and without the tender touches of before, Lestat feels a strange charged quality to the air; it isn't expectation or even unbearable desire — though his mind is plenty distracted by the sight of Louis soft lips against his wrist, and the idea he'd had previously of pressing Louis into the blankets of their safe little sleeping space and kissing him until dawn — it's more a bone-deep need to protect and to covet something precious to him that he got closer than he realised to losing.

If Lestat hadn't bled for him, would he have stayed awake? If Lestat hadn't been there, would he have survived?

Lestat tightens his grip a little, just for a moment, before he snatches up a previously unused towel and begins to drape it slowly across Louis' skin; the benefit of being vampires is that water sort of runs off their bodies, meaning that really he only needs to dry their hair, which he starts to do next. Then, after wrapping the towel around Louis' waist and grabbing one for his own, he guides them back out into the living room.

Thankfully, there are no actual doors on the way to their closet aside from the closet door itself, and once there Lestat takes the initiative to open it and step through first, with Louis in tow behind him, and finds their makeshift bed untouched and just how they left it through the doorway. ]

Do you need anything, my heart?

( It isn't far to walk at all, their apartment is a rather modest one, but Louis is astonished by how weary he feels by the time they make it to bed. He feels a pang of fear when Lestat steps through the door, half expecting him to vanish into darkness — followed by a flood of knee-weakening relief when nothing happens.

The pet name soothes him, as it always does, a reminder of Lestat's singular affection for him — it feels like a hand clasping his and squeezing tightly. Louis sighs, leaning on Lestat, relaxing slightly as his worry leaves him. Does he need anything? He tries to think. Blood, but. Well. )

I can't think of what. ( He shakes his head. ) Just you. And perhaps that electric blanket.

( He bumps his forehead against Lestat's cheek. )

I'm thirsting a little, though I wish it weren't so. I'll need to drink again eventually. But there are bottles in the refrigerator; I can manage that on my own.

( His voice is quiet as he tries to keep his shame from seeping into his tone. He doesn't need Lestat to worry any more than he already is. )

[ Lestat listens, and as Louis speaks he's guiding him to sit amongst the strewn aside blankets and pillows, bolstering the assortment in a way that Louis can angle some up behind him and the wall, so that when he lies back he'll be more propped up than flat out against the comforter on the floor.

The electric blanket is folded up at the foot of the 'bed' and so Lestat drags it toward them and flicks the little controller on the wire to first turn it on, and then turn it to a comfortable temperature enough to warm their ever chilled skin.

He tries not to let his expression slip to something disapproving at the shame in Louis' voice, given everything the two of them have been through tonight, but he can't deny the little twitch of his eyebrow at the idea that Lestat might let him do anything on his own right now. ]

If you need it, Louis, don't hold back. You need to heal. I can get it for you.

[ Lestat considers his own state — the significant loss of blood he'd taken on in his decision to heal Louis, the unlikelihood that he'll have a chance to feed before the following night — and actually, for a second, considers tasting the bottles himself… before he comes to his senses with a grimace. ]

( Louis bundles up in the blankets, relaxing into the nest of bedding that Lestat has arranged so considerately for him. It's a mild relief to have some of his modesty back, if only because he's so used to it, but the thought of cuddling up to Lestat like this beneath the comforters sends a warmth through him that has nothing at all to do with the electric blanket.

When Lestat grimaces, Louis takes his hand and squeezes it. Louis assumes it's just the talk of bottled blood that's troubling him; he would be astonished to learn that Lestat considered it at all. He wants to protest, but he knows that Lestat must feel at a loss for how to help, and so he agrees as much for Lestat's sake as for his own. )

All right. Thank you, Lestat.

( A soft, grateful smile. He brings Lestat's hand to his lips, kissing the back. )

You need to feed, too. You gave me so much. I know you can't stand the bottles, but I can. Will you let me do that for you?

[ Lestat turns to watch Louis take his hand up in a kiss, his head tilted ever so slightly in an almost canine way as he admires the resistance of Louis' soft lips against his hand. Such a tender little moment, so simple a gesture… and yet Lestat feels so overwhelmingly protective of him that he struggles to even process his words properly at first. He could easily stay here for hours, watching Louis hold his hand like he's a treasure, and bestow kiss upon kiss to the marble-like surface over his veins. It's only the earnest look on Louis' face that snaps him out of it, and he wrenches his sight away. ]

You are determined to make it difficult for me to be gentle with you, aren't you?

[ It comes out a little lower than he'd intended — he'd only meant that Louis should be thinking of sleep, of rest, not of feeding Lestat who, despite having lost blood, still has plenty of vitality to him by comparison... but his voice is softened by affection and warmed by the need to protect, and then there's the undeniable prickling of thirst at the idea alone. ]

Wait for me a moment.

[ He rises to his feet quickly, leaving the door open for safety (and perhaps so that Louis can watch him) as he tosses the towel keeping him decent away somewhere and unhooks from a nearby peg the ridiculously extravagant silk housecoat he'd only picked up from the mall for the colour — deep, rich burgundy with sleeves of warm brown and gold piping — and slips it on.

He returns from the lower floor with a bottle in hand, robe tied so loosely about his hips that he might as well have not bothered clothing himself at all, and eases himself into an elegant lounge at Louis' side with a slight smirk on his face. ]

I feel like a young man bringing champagne to the honeymoon bed, though I thought you might be offended if I brought a glass.

( Louis dozes off a little waiting for Lestat, and when he wakes, he can't tell whether it's been seconds or minutes. The rain is still drumming on the roof and windows, and a growl of thunder sounds somewhere in the distance, but it only feels all the more warm and safe in their bed.

Louis blinks and stretches his legs and smiles up at him, and when Lestat comes to lay at his side, Louis reaches out to run his fingers along the inner V of the robe. The silk makes a quiet rushing sound beneath his touch that he quite likes, and he follows it by touching those same fingertips to Lestat's bare chest beneath the open fall of the robe, finding his heartbeat and settling there. )

Romantic as always.

( His smile turns slightly rueful, and he lifts one shoulder in a shrug. )

I can't take offense to a glass when it already comes in bottles. I know you wouldn't do it mockingly.

Hm, perhaps.

[ He wouldn't. Probably. He glances down and watches the progress of Louis' fingers against his body, loving the way he feels through the silk and against his skin in equal amounts. Lestat notices that the thirst has taken a backseat despite the fact that he has a bottle of blood in his hand, and that all he really wants to do is settle himself beside Louis under the blanket and hold him.

He's caught by that thought, in fact, that all instinct and want and hunger has simmered down in him to leave only a soft tenderness behind. He's sure Louis won't mind, of course, but there are more pressing matters at hand. ]

You can touch me as much as you like in a moment.

[ He says, unable to resist flicking his gaze to Louis' face with a knowing little grin before he lifts Louis' hand away by the wrist and pushes the bottle into his hands instead. ]

You know all too well my bedside manner isn't the greatest, so you should take advantage of me doting on you like this while you still can.

( Louis rolls his eyes as he takes the bottle. It isn't true; Lestat can be incredibly doting, he's always been this way, even when he was at his worst. Louis thinks of him hovering at his father's bedside, seeing to it that he was cared for and comfortable and fed — and Louis had thought him so callous for the times Lestat would lash out and shout at the old man. Now, knowing what he does, Louis is astonished that Lestat ever went back, amazed by the depths of his compassion...

He shakes his head dismissively. )

I haven't given you many opportunities to practice with me.

( He twists the lid, and it goes pop, and the scent of blood fills the little room — cold, still and unmoving, but miraculously fresh enough to sustain him. He stifles a sigh as he stares down at it, willing himself to drink. It isn't easy, not at the best of times, but Louis can't feel sorry for himself about it tonight. It's what he deserves. More than he deserves, after what he's done.

With a delicate shudder, Louis puts the bottle to his lips and drinks. He takes long gulps, taking no time at all to savor it the way he would a mortal victim. There's none of the pleasure he'd found in Dorian's blood, none of the heat or the throb or the connection, and he still feels like a monster. )

[ Lestat catches that eye roll and immediately it turns his grin towards self-satisfaction, but with an edge of something else; Louis knows him better than anyone, after all, and can see straight through his posturing without any need for Lestat to do it at all... and yet somehow he still feels like he must, that somehow Louis knowing his more tender side and admitting it with words are two entirely different things. He isn't wrong, either. He really hasn't given Lestat many opportunities, but Lestat also knows that the last thing he deserved when he and Louis were together was the opportunity to care for him. What could he have possibly done?

Lestat watches him lift the bottle to his lips, trying not to squint at the uncanny scent in the air that he recognises but somehow feels wrong. He reaches a hand out to rest softly on Louis side, palm over his ribs, feeling the veins beneath his skin fatten and flex with the shift of his muscles as he drinks, but with none of the comforting warmth or the thrill of the bite.

Nevertheless, Lestat finds it oddly... enticing, to watch him drink. Even if it's not living blood, even if the ritual is gone, Louis is still feeding in some abstract sense, and Lestat gets caught up outright staring at him, thumb brushing over and over the same spot on his side as he does.

When he's finished, Lestat licks his lips as if he were the one drinking, and blinks through the slight reverie it put him in. ]

Well, here's to many more opportunities in future.

( Louis' eyes are riveted to Lestat's mouth, and he finds himself mirroring the gesture without meaning to, tongue catching the last droplets clinging to his pinkening lips. There's a faint flush in his cheeks that wasn't there before, proof of the blood making its way through his system; there's none of the lingering ecstasy of the swoon leaving him, no, but some of the weakness in his limbs is fading, and he's no longer troubled by faint pins-and-needles under his skin.

He caps the bottle again, and lifts his eyebrows, only belatedly registering Lestat's words. )

Shall I throw myself into danger more often so that you can learn to dote on me?

( Louis says it so gently, and he touches Lestat's chest again as he leans in to kiss his lips. )

[ Lestat folds into the touch to his chest, coming closer instinctively even before Louis kisses him. He doesn't have time to respond to his words before their mouths meet, and he kisses back with a slow but urgent kind of insistence, pressing his closed mouth over each of Louis' lips in turn, lapping his tongue gently across them, tasting the slight perfume of the blood even though Louis has been as neat as ever and hasn't left a drop spare.

The words feel as though they haunt him, though, and the hand he has on Louis' ribs slides to his waist to pull him a little closer and keep him there; his fingers pressing in, his touch a resounding answer of no. No, he doesn't want to see Louis in danger ever again, and no he won't allow it to happen. Not for his sake, not for anything. Just the thought of being trapped in that room while Louis suffered a blade to his chest makes his heart ache with the need to tear into something, or to curl around Louis and hiss, to protect him, or to build him up so strong that nothing would even dare to come near to him in the first place. ]

I won't let you.

[ Lestat murmurs, pulling back just enough that their mouths come apart but their noses still touch. ]

Let me dote on you in that way. Let me protect you.

( Louis sets the empty bottle behind him in the nest of pillows as Lestat draws him close, making a mental note to take care of it later. He sighs against Lestat's mouth, slipping his foot between Lestat's calves and cuddling close; his palm presses against Lestat's heartbeat and stays there, and when Lestat pulls back from the kiss, Louis traces the tip of his nose slowly up and down the side of Lestat's. )

Always.

( Another brush of lips. He feels a pang of guilt, and the urge to apologize for everything that happened, for losing himself, for harming Lestat's friend — but he swallows it down. It won't help to hear Lestat reassure him. )

Thank you for letting me come with you... for letting me stay by your side all this time. You're so much stronger than I am, I know, but I've been so, so proud to be your partner.

[ Lestat murmurs a sound, because even without hearing him say it and despite being distracted by the sweet things falling from Louis' mouth, it's like he can sense some kind of tenseness in the way Louis kisses him, like there's something troubling him he doesn't want to shed light on. Lestat doesn't have to be able to read his mind to have an educated guess as to what that might be, so he simply kisses him again. ]

I wanted you to come with me, just as I want you by my side.

[ Lestat shifts so that one arm can cradle Louis' jaw while his other resolutely keeps him close by his waist. Their heads pushed into the pillows, the blanket strewn half across them like this, Lestat is sure that falling asleep in this way every morning is something he's dreamt of, in some abstract way. It's surreal to feel this kind of contentedness after the efforts of the City to pull them apart, but if anything it only makes Lestat more determined to keep Louis close and safe, and to be all the more happy for having him here in spite of it all. ]

You are stronger than you think. I know I fell short in making you, [ His expression twitches a little, because saying that makes his heart feel cold for a brief moment, and he wasn't expecting it. ] but you have a strength in you that has nothing to do with the gift, and everything to do with who you are. You pulled yourself away from being lost to hunger because I asked you to. I can't name many who I would confidently say could do something like that.

( Louis nuzzles into Lestat's touch, eyes soft and tender and fixed on his handsome face. His fingertips trace up and down over Lestat's heart, and his other hand comes up to stroke his face in a mirror of Lestat's touch on his cheek. )

It was because it was you. I know it.

( He says it with a quiet certainty. His eyes fall to the center of Lestat's chest for a moment, and he sighs. )

I don't know how to explain it. It wasn't like when Armand used his Mind Gift on me all those years ago. I wanted to obey you. It was as if... as if you were speaking to to my soul, to who you knew I wanted to be. Not coercing me, but bringing me back to myself.

( His brows pull together, and he looks back up to Lestat, a plaintive expression on his face. )

Does that make any sense, Lestat?

[ Lestat's eyebrows pinch ever so slightly as a wave of emotion washes over him; his heart aches with love for Louis, with concern for him, and with a complicated kind of thrill at Louis using the word 'obey', and a flood of shame to follow it. ]

It does.

[ The idea that their souls can speak to one another in this way, without any influence from the mind gift or their vampiric powers has been something Lestat has entertained before, though never with any serious weight to it. He'd thought as much when he'd left the safehouse the night before the concert and had wandered into the dusk to meet that presence, and hadn't felt an ounce of fear despite not truly knowing who might be waiting for him. Some part of him had known, though, deep down. Impossible, yes, but equally impossible to deny. ]

But that doesn't detract from your strength, Louis. To know your own mind this intricately is a strength in and of itself. I have always marvelled at the way you see things and the way you understand them. It's driven me mad, yes, but I can't deny how captivating it is either. A weaker soul might have wanted desperately to follow a voice trying to bring them back, but been too weak to pull through.

[ He pushes into that hand on his chest, shifting ever so slightly closer; he brings a leg up to lock around the one Louis has between his calves. He kisses him — once, then twice, then again on the angle of his jaw. ]

I'm not sure I would have been able to do what you did.

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