deathoftheauthor | the city

( It feels almost as if Lestat is drinking straight from his heart, drawing the blood and the life straight from the core of him and passing it through himself.

Louis' eyes are bright and strange, half-clouded with pleasurable delirium and yet fixed on Lestat as if nothing else exists in all the cosmos. His expression is worshipful, fascinated, awestruck — oh, he may be tired and half-drained, but he's committing every detail of this to his perfect memory, certain that he'll want to remember it again and again.

He's still writhing beneath Lestat's weight, breathing heavily, audibly; when Lestat's tongue presses in, his whole body jerks, sensation spooling outward from that spot in shimmers of red-gold light that he can feel beneath his skin, that he can almost see... )

God... why is it that I want you to go even deeper...

[ Lestat keeps his eyes fixed on Louis’ face, trying to discern his thoughts through the flesh against his mouth like he would the blood. Louis’ body yields to his force as readily as he’s sure he would for the bite, almost dragging him deeper, or perhaps that’s his own intention seeping through this intense moment of eye contact that has him pinned under Louis’ gaze.

He knows by now that he loves every emotion on Louis face, from joy and amusement to sadness and rage, but he doesn’t quite think he’ll ever be accustomed to or get sick of seeing Louis look so powerfully and overwhelmingly interested, especially when it’s directed at him; Louis has such a vivid and sprawling mind, capable of such thoughts and opinions that Lestat finds himself a little jealous sometimes, and to be the focus and the reason for them is more of an ego boost than he really needs, but is desperate to hold onto nonetheless. Louis looks like he can't imagine ever drawing his attention away from Lestat, that he's just as caught up in them becoming one in this way as Lestat is, and Lestat goes to the trouble of making it very clear how into that idea he is when his hand finds Louis' hips and encourages that twitching grind again against his silk-covered stomach.

Louis definitely had no intention of making his words an instruction, but Lestat is hopeless to deny him anything at the best of times, and there's no way he can change that now as such words fall from his demure lover, and as he jerks so sweetly beneath the intrusion of his tongue.

Lestat bats his eyelashes a little — a promise to grant Louis' wish or simply a physical representation of the overwhelming desire pooling in him at Louis making such a request — and slowly opens his mouth a little wider, fangs on show, glistening with saliva as he leans forward and pushes his tongue an experimental few centimetres deeper. ]

( A shudder rips through Louis' body, and his spine arches so sharply that his hips lift completely off the blankets and into Lestat's hard, straining stomach; his legs wrap tight around Lestat's back as he ruts against him, his body reverting to instinct and reflex as it seeks more contact, more connection, more.

He feels something ache as it's split by Lestat's tongue, and then the delicious tingle as the muscle heals itself again, stronger than before. He doesn't have it in him to wonder what effect the ancient blood is having on him. He can barely remember that he's ever cared about that at all. Lestat looks so beautiful like this, beautiful and feral and deadly and protective, curls splayed across the pale expanse of his chest as his red mouth licks into the meat of him.

And then Lestat's tongue twitches, or flexes, or does something Louis doesn't have a name for, and he can feel Lestat's pulse in his tongue inside of his chest, and oh, oh, God—

Louis keens, head thrown back as his body convulses with pleasure, limbs locked around Lestat and fingers buried in his hair to keep his mouth close. He imagines Lestat's fangs sinking into his heart, the organ throbbing as he holds it in his mouth, his blood pulsing and pulsing as it pours into Lestat without end. And he doesn't die, doesn't weaken at all in this vision; he is an endless chalice, a fount of life, the most primal source of nourishment for his beloved. )

[ Lestat isn't really considering the depth of what he's doing, nor is he really thinking about the physicality of it and the fact that in his efforts to help heal Louis he's actually hindering the progress more than anything; all he can think is how hot and sweet Louis tastes, how the blood seems to swell from the meat of him and surrounds Lestat's tongue enough to happily sustain him this way, for hours, probably. For months, for years.

His eyes flash when he feels Louis body try to knit itself together under his ministrations, feels the muscle flex and tense against his tongue, feels the flesh try to mend despite the intrusion of him... he thinks again how he would like nothing better than for it to do as it wishes and to be forever fused to the object of his desire like this, one being, one heart and one soul...

And then Louis physically shakes him out of it with the elegant jerk of his spine, fingers tightening, body dragging him closer as if he wants the exact same thing too, for them to become one thing. The pin point explosion of pleasure has Lestat seeing fireworks of colour in Louis' blood, alongside the beastly visions of the desire to have him drink him down to the last drop only to find more, infinitely locked together in this way and constantly serving Lestat's insatiable hunger for him...

Lestat shudders himself, the claws of one hand digging in to Louis hips to keep him here, keep him grounded, while his other hand slips up to Louis' face, cups his cheek, runs over his lips, teeters on the very precipice of pushing into his mouth. His mind is wild with the feral thought of being claimed in the same way, of having his flesh become Louis' flesh, of feeling that powerful link like an extension of his body to another being... He doesn't have words for how badly he wants to feel it again, but on his own terms, with someone he's always wanted to call his own.

Lestat gives in to temptation closes his lips around the wound and sucks very lightly, feeling the blood flood seep through his teeth before he pushes it back in with his tongue. That alone is enough to send a shiver rocketing down his spine, enough to have his hands grip so hard they might bruise... and enough to have him finally pulling away, for fear that perhaps he might get too caught up in how delicious that had felt and end up doing more damage. ]

( Louis makes a soft sound almost like pain when Lestat's mouth finally leaves the gash in his chest, and he turns his face to mouth blindly at Lestat's fingers, nipping at the pad of his thumb and sucking it into his mouth with a groan. He can't form a single coherent thought, but slowly his grip on Lestat's hair loosens by a fraction, and his muscles slacken, dropping him back down into the blankets.

His hips flex, and he feels the sharp sting of Lestat's nails in his bare skin; he moans quietly, the brief pain bursting in bright colors and then blooming into pleasure. Everything feels good, even the ache in his chest and the throb from the healing wound there.

He tugs at Lestat's hair, urging him upward, one heel digging encouragingly into Lestat's lower back. There's a strange sort of shimmering sensation everywhere they're making contact, like light given physical form and spreading out in slow ripples beneath his skin. )

[ Lestat isn't sure he's ever seen anything more erotic than Louis suckling his thumb into his mouth like that. He could stay here for hours, he's sure, staring at Louis' cheeks hollowing and hearing his breaths turn into husky, desperate moans around his flesh, in a much similar way to how it's so easy for them to be lost in staring at a twinkling sky or the flickering flame of a candle.

When Louis tugs at him and urges him upwards in a manner so insistent it's almost petulant, Lestat can't hide a small, fond smile and submits easily to the instruction. He crawls, as slow as he's capable of being with his heart hammering in his chest like this, up Louis' body and toward his mouth to press a long awaited kiss there. He angles himself so that he can lie on his side next to him, aware that any kind of pressure directly on top of his chest after the trauma he'd just put the wound through would almost definitely be a royally stupid idea.

He feels like he should say something, but there's only one word echoing around his head like a mantra, so he murmurs it against his lips as they kiss. ]

Louis...

Lestat...

( Louis sighs his name sweetly into the kiss, relaxing into the nest of blankets and pillows and slowly going boneless. He can't bring himself to move... not that he would want to, with his legs still tangled loosely around Lestat's, and his fingers languidly dragging through his shower-damp curls. His wound tingles, almost tickles as the muscles slowly twine themselves together again, and what pain still remains doesn't seem to matter now.

One hand drops to caress Lestat's face, thumb stroking back and forth across the rise of his cheekbone, slow and possessive and adoring. )

Thank you. I feel much better now.

Such a gentleman, even now.

[ Lestat can't hold in the quiet, breathy laugh that escapes him at the sound of Louis thanking him of all things, even though he'd just arguably halted the healing process for his own hunger and curiosity... but then, this look of absolute bliss on Louis' face, and the way he seems to sink into the pillows as if he's become heavier somehow... Well, perhaps it was worth it. ]

Now you really do need rest. Sleep, my heart.

[ Lestat presses another kiss to his mouth, and hopes that the way it lingers and the intensity of it will adequately describe without the blood how much he cares for Louis, how utterly world changing this evening has been, and how protective and thankful he is for these vulnerable moments. ]

( Lestat's quiet voice murmuring the word sleep has all the effect of a command, but it's only Louis finally letting himself realize just how completely exhausted he is. It's as if he was still waiting for permission, somehow, and now that it's finally been granted, he can go to his slumber and let the events of the night pass into memory.

The kiss comes to an end, and Louis blinks so slowly, hardly able to keep his eyes open. He looks at Lestat for just a moment, his gaze focusing and then unfocusing again before he gives up. Eyes shut, then. )

Mmm... I want to tell you all about how it felt, but...

( As if he could find the words to speak of it right now. Even at his most clear-minded, it would be a difficult thing to describe, but it was so transcendent that he doesn't think he can bear to keep his thoughts to himself. )

Tomorrow.

the city | inbox

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject