[ Really, it was only a matter of time before this was bound to happen, and times as of late certainly have been... interesting.
In the wake of the past handful of weeks and the great shift in the vampiric infestation of the world it has been a journey of discovery of both the self and the new coven forming in Miami. It's surprisingly good, for the most part. While they find themselves prone to spending time alone even when sharing the mansion on the beach, somehow they manage to stumble across one another in the corridors and communal areas as if there simply weren't enough rooms in the house.
Where some of their kind are taking a little longer to adjust to a suddenly no longer isolated living situation, Lestat thrives in it. His mother at the balcony for a glimpse before she hits the ground below at a run, Marius by the window with a paper and a paper to scribble his thoughts down on, Daniel lounging with his headphones on or flicking through books or the channels on the TV with a look of wonderment on his face like a child at Christmas, Armand looming in doorways, not looking at anything in particular, but aware of it all.
And Louis. His beautiful Louis. Quiet, contemplative Louis sitting with a book in his hand and his ankles crossed, eyes focused on the words, his hair slipping from behind his ear, his eyelashes like the beat of a moths wing. Louis who would be the first to look up at him with a small smile as he entered the room, Louis who would listen attentively to every word he said, and Louis who would make sure to bid him a pleasant sleep with a yawn at the first light of dawn.
It had struck him at the first sign of the coven's wariness turning to routine that he might owe Louis an evening to discuss their reparations. They hadn't had a chance to really discuss all that went on since that night he had returned before the concert, and when Lestat saw a well thumbed copy of his own autobiography discarded on the side table by Louis' coffin one day, the idea only blossomed in intensity.
That is why, merely a few nights later, Lestat had left a monogrammed letter atop that very table, with details of a time, a meeting place, and a new suit waiting in a garment bag in the wardrobe.
And at that particular time a night later, Lestat raises his head to observe the slowly intensifying moon, leaning back against the railing and waiting. He's wearing a fine pair of silver silk pants with a clean black shirt tucked in at his waist, the sleeves rolled to his elbows and the collar open to his collarbones. Louis wouldn't be late, but Lestat has been here for a little while out of.. what, nervousness? Fear? Eagerness? All three? Either way, he can feel the vibration of trepidation brimming in his veins as he looks down to scan the street. ]
( Louis is punctual — early, but only just slightly, enough that he can admire Lestat from a distance before he's spotted. Or so he hopes. How keen is Lestat's hearing now? Can he hear Louis's heartbeat quicken at the sight of him bathed in moonlight? He's already burning with questions he knows better than to ask.
He's been trying to give Lestat space since Akasha. Lestat was never one to speak of his feelings, at least with him, and he's been too afraid of saying the wrong things to attempt to say the right ones. Surely, Louis thinks, if Lestat needs him, he'll seek him out? And yet with every passing night, the seed of doubt in him had grown. Perhaps Lestat doesn't need him. Perhaps the book was embellished. Or perhaps Akasha had broken something inside of him, something beyond Louis's ability to fix or understand. He'd come up with all sorts of scenarios to prepare himself for the worst.
The invitation had nearly moved him to tears.
He steps out of the shadows and lets himself be seen, walking toward Lestat at his usual unhurried pace, trying to still the desire to rush to him. It's a rare thing, this quiet excitement stirring in his chest, and his cheeks are very faintly flushed with the stolen blood of the man he'd killed less than an hour ago. )
Bonsoir, Lestat.
( His eyes flit from Lestat's handsome face to the pale column of his neck, his pulse beating right there in plain view in his wrists and throat, and Louis is suddenly very glad that he's already fed. He doesn't mean for Lestat to notice, but it seems inevitable. So with a soft, shy smile, he reaches out to run his fingers gently along the open collar of Lestat's shirt, wanting the pretense of righting it even if it's obviously for the sake of touching him. Proving to himself that he's real. )
Is it just the two of us tonight?
( His voice is calm and curious, no sign of the desperate hope that he might have Lestat's full attention for a while. )
[ The sounds of the city are so loud, particularly for one with elder blood like his, like a roaring wave of music and voices and the thrumming of engines and electricity. He remembers vaguely, being troubled by the sheer volume of it all once upon a time.. but then he doesn't like to dwell on things like that too often, and that version of himself would quake at having the sensitive hearing he has now! He does think it funny, though, that now the sounds of life bring him peace in some kind of grounding equilibrium rather than fear of the unknown.
Ah, yes, fear of the unknown... He tries not to listen for it to make this reunion more genuine, trying instead to focus on the grumbling of a valet parking a very expensive looking Cadillac around the side of the building.. but it's a hopeless effort. The thrum of a quickening heartbeat soars above all else like it's singing to him, and he feels drawn as though he were a magnet to those green eyes emerging from the dim.
Those eyes that quickly scan him over within moments, which only makes the smile dawning on Lestat's face twitch wider. He does so love it, after all, when Louis looks at him. Touches him. And with that pretty smile, too. Perhaps this will be easier than he thought. ]
Of course, [ His eyebrow twitches a little, as if the question were a stupid one, but he can't help a bemused smile. ] I am not in the habit of buying new suits for the entire house for a dinner date.
[ Which, speaking of... Lestat gives Louis a glorious roving of his eyes in return. Where Louis hadn't intended for Lestat to notice, his intention is quite the opposite; he lavishes this creature with attention, lingering on his slender hands, the cut of the shirt at his throat, the colour against his pale skin despite the flush shading his cheeks. ]
You look beautiful. [ It's said with reverence, though he throws the comment away as if it's common knowledge. Because it is, surely? But then his next comment comes with a little less bravado. ] Thank you for coming.
( Louis lets out a silent laugh when Lestat comments upon the suit. Fair enough. It's far more expensive than anything Louis would choose for himself, and yet it suits his tastes perfectly. Lestat had always had an eye for what would flatter Louis most, but he had never given any thought to why until reading Lestat's book. It's still staggering to think that he could occupy so much space in Lestat's mind. The flush in his cheeks deepens when Lestat calls him beautiful; he'd thought that was mockery, long, long ago, but now it makes his smile stretch all on its own, and he ducks his head instinctively to hide it for a brief moment, as if he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. Absurd.
And then Lestat thanks him, and he doesn't know what to say. He shakes his head slightly, a small, puzzled furrow between his brows, and sets his hand against Lestat's heart, looking him in the eyes. The same eyes, no matter how he's changed. )
Of course I came.
( He says it with the same quiet conviction as when he'd first come to Lestat the night before the concert. Lestat wanted him to come, and so he came. But perhaps even more than that, Louis had wanted it too — and wanting was a new and wondrous thing. )
I've missed you. ( A quiet exhale. Too earnest? ) That sounds so strange... we've been living beneath the same roof, haven't we?
[ Of course, of course; it sounds so easy in Louis voice, warm and even, rounded vowels of low American influence.. soothing, in a way. Lestat had known Louis wouldn't deny him this request, and that despite all they had been through Louis was as pleased by the offering as he was to be in Lestat's life again. He had read Louis' memoir just the same as Louis had read his, and through the difficult accounts of their more heated days spent as a family Lestat had almost wept at the grief Louis had felt when their portrait had splintered, the dreams that had plagued him, the horror at what damage had been done. It was past now, put behind them in favour of reaching the summit of mutual understanding. Louis had returned to him, and Louis had stayed; he thanked him for coming with words, but with intention he thanked him for staying, too.
The hand over his heart he covers with one of his own, stark marble skin over Louis' long fingers, pressing it harder over the organ as if to make them one being with it. At Louis' next comment, he laughs; this bright, shining thing that bursts from him like birds from trees, his face scrunching up in honest and pure amusement. It is silly, after all, the way they have been dancing around each other... Lestat unsure of how to broach the subject of apologising or explaining without tumbling into some heated argument - every time they argued it was never his intention, they just found themselves there somehow, and he could never quite bring himself to ceasefire first - and Louis seemingly content to watch how things unfolded. ]
We have, and it is. [ He agrees once his mirth dies down, traces of it still lingering in his voice. ] Though I feel the same way. I did consider writing you a short novella, maybe, to explain. Rather than all these dramatics, but... [ A smirk twists his mouth, self-assured and teasing, a real terror of a smile. ] I thought perhaps something more traditional might set us on better footing.
[ A thought, then, and he gasps like he's just remembered he left the oven on. ]
I haven't even told you my plan! Oh, Louis, you must promise me not to make a face until we're seated. Everything is in order, I have everything down to the detail.
[ Which is to say, his assistant did it, but who's counting brownie points here. She gets her paycheck. He raises his hand to straighten Louis' little gold tie with a flash of satisfaction in his eyes. Yes, he understands the desire to touch, the desire to fuss in awe like a sculptor unable to put down their tools and deem their masterpiece finished. His palm smooths the velvet lapels of the suit jacket, murmuring: ] Masterful work. [ Unclear whether he means the suit or Louis, or both... before he's holding out his arm for Louis to take. ]
( How strange and wonderful it is to be admired and caressed without resenting what it means! Louis takes Lestat's arm, and for a moment, he's back in New Orleans again, the cobblestone streets lit by gaslamp, the two of them heading out to catch a carriage ride to the opera. Only now Louis isn't holding his breath, afraid of the inevitable crash.
His eyebrows raise, curiosity battling it out with his innate wariness when it comes to surprises. But Lestat's enthusiasm is so contagious, and Louis's smile takes a playful turn. )
I can't promise that I won't make a face, but I shall reserve my commentary until you've unveiled your scheme. Will that do?
( A little squeeze of Lestat's arm, affectionate. Louis can't help but notice that his muscles are harder now, more like marble than flesh. Lestat's hand had been the same, and so cold against Louis's already-cool skin. Does it bother Lestat? He thinks it must; Lestat had been so traumatized by his turning, much more than Louis had. And on top of whatever new instincts and powers had come with the ancient blood, there was his vanity, of course. )
I hope you won't take it as an insult to your writing, but I would much prefer to talk with you. The real you, flesh and blood, and that wicked smile of yours.
[ The glee Lestat is feeling in this moment is indescribable, to the point where he's greatly considering cursing his past self for not listening to Louis' helpless pleas for him to not go on stage and to stay with him for a few nights so they could talk; they could have been doing this so much sooner! The practical part of him - and yes, he does have one however small and often drowned out by louder voices it may be - knows that this is the perfect time, however. There is nothing to worry for in the future, they have both had their moments to make sure the world knows their story, and now they have nothing but time.
Though they walk arm in arm, Lestat can't bring himself to look away from Louis face. It's strangely intimate, and it's perfectly romantic. He sees that smile shift into something else and Lestat can practically sense the tone about to settle in Louis words. A scheme, he said! A scheme! ]
That will do, yes.
[ He places a hand over the one Louis has on his arm as they walk, long strides and the click of their shoes echoing even in the busy street. Lestat has opted for something casual rather than those ridiculous boots he's been stomping around in lately that he loves so much, and the shine on Louis shoes harks back to the buckles of the shoes he wore when Lestat last lived with him. So much really had changed, and yet here they are. ]
Wicked, you said? Do you really think it's wicked? [ He asks with a tone of true delight, begging Louis to humour him while he demonstrates such a smile. ] If you do, you should say it again. I do love to hear you talk like that.
[ It is making his heart flutter to hear such things from Louis, and strangely he finds himself struggling to latch onto them and speak despite that being the entire point of their evening. He hopes he will have more of an opportunity once they are alone and seated, with nothing but the night and one another.
He stops soon after this, the short stroll down the street bringing them to a large iron wrought door with an archway leading up to a dimly lit restaurant entrance. It is relatively unassuming from the outside, with dark lacquered panels and one of those endearing little wait stations that the staff kept their booking lists on. The ins and outs of the restaurant business were very interesting to Lestat and he often liked to attend the ones with these grand podiums of organisation... but interesting in a way a child might find a worm farm interesting; cool for a day or two but then gone from their mind after that.
He leads Louis up the stairs, gives a strange name to the woman who greets them, and then is shown through the large, rich red curtains bracketing the entrance way. They are welcomed into a room with high ceilings split by chandeliers and domed like those of a church. The rafters are old but sturdy, iron and wood of fine craftsmanship, supported by large stone pillars that line the room in an organised fashion, boxing off intimate dining tables across the stone floor. A large fireplace warms the place with small oil lamps on the tables to cast a mood, and when they are led to the back a small set of tables beneath a canopy of scarlet comes into view. These tables are more isolated again, away from the rest of the busy dining room floor and already furnished with crystal glasses and polished silverware. There is a personal, smaller chandelier hanging for each and above their heads there are painted frescoes of mythological scenes covering the expanse of the ceiling.
They are encouraged to take their seats and once they do, they are quickly left alone. Lestat looks like he could burst with excitement, but instead he lays his elbows on the table and crosses his fingers over themselves as he leans in to study Louis' face. ]
( As it turns out, Louis doesn't need to try to hold his commentary. He's struck silent at the splendor of it all — the magnificent architecture, the velvet curtains, the grand paintings on the ceiling that seem almost alive in the glow from the lamps. There's an innocence to his amazed expression, as if it's his very first time seeing something so wondrous; his green eyes are rapt, drinking everything in, lips slightly parted in silent wonderment.
His gaze is still turned upwards, wandering through the frescoes, when Lestat speaks to him. With a small shake of his head, Louis returns to himself, slightly flustered at how thoroughly Lestat had managed to impress him. The tiniest of smiles, then, as if to say you win.)
Lestat, it's absolutely marvelous.
( And Lestat is almost confrontingly handsome tonight — his sharp quicksilver eyes; his curls shining like spun gold, so temptingly soft; the joy radiating from him, as if Lestat were light himself. Louis has always preferred candlelight to the sterility of electric bulbs, and Lestat is the perfect canvas for it. He looks very nearly angelic. )
I expected… well, I'm not certain what I expected. You had me worried when you told me not to make a face! ( He does make a face, then, his foot nudging Lestat's beneath the table as he gives him the admonishing look he'd perfected over six decades together. ) That was especially wicked of you.
[ Lestat has the air of someone who'd be kicking their feet under the table in happiness if either his legs weren't so long or, if he were the kind to swing his feet. As it is, he settles for bristling like a bird, proverbial feathers rustling in the pride of winning such a smile from Louis. And that word again, wicked. ]
Well, [ He says modestly with a smile that is anything but modest. He even goes as far as to waft a hand in the air as if it means nothing, when in truth Louis' impression means everything. ] It's quite different, isn't it? I know how much you love modesty, but I've seen the way you gaze at those grand architecture books in the library. And while I could have taken you to the new Ritz-Carlton and span you around amidst all that white marble, I thought this might surprise you. You could have still made a face, it is rather grand. And it used to be a church, you know.
[ Funny how the desire to surprise pleasantly has overcome the need to annoy. Oh, don't get him wrong; he still loves to recall Louis puffing out useless breaths of annoyance with that twitch of a dark eyebrow, and to hear him say his name so passionate in his reprimand. But that look of wonder on Louis' face and the warmth of his voice has Lestat hooked. ]
As you said earlier. I would much prefer to talk to you, too. [ His voice has dropped a little lower, but it has softened considerably. Without wasting much time, because Lestat has never been blessed with patience (or, perhaps, he's simply reluctant to think of consequences that might hinder his bravery) he goes right into it: ] I haven't been avoiding you, this, you must understand that. I was looking for the perfect time, and when I saw you reading that paperback again, I knew I couldn't wait any longer. I owe you this much, for dragging you along and up onto that stage and to that little imp's villa without so much as a word as to why. I have struggled with why for some time, haven't I.
[ It's not a question. Lestat's ring taps the table dully as he lays a palm out, face up. ]
Is there anything you would like to ask, Louis? Anything. I have nothing I want to hide from you.
( Oh, but he'd missed the way Lestat could go on and on when he was passionate. It's all so much to take in — just the thought that Lestat was aware of his most recent reading habits is enough to touch Louis's heart. This was what he'd always longed for, wasn't it? Lestat considering his feelings, taking his wants into account, offering honesty for honesty. Louis had felt entitled to it once; now he feels like he might not even deserve it.
Louis reaches out to lay his palm across Lestat's. The pad of his thumb brushes the pale web of veins in Lestat's wrist, so keenly attuned to the pulse there that it almost seems to echo through him. And he does his best to ignore the way it stirs the thirst in him, and makes his fangs feel long and sharp behind his lips. )
I've dreamed of this moment for nearly two centuries, and now I hardly know where to begin.
( His smile fades into something wistful, and he falls quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. )
You didn't drag me anywhere, you know. I came to you of my own free will. And I went with you to the concert because I knew, come what may, that I wanted to be by your side. As I still do.
( He lowers his eyelashes, his fingers twitching once against Lestat's hand. The memory is still raw, the fear still so fresh in his mind, thinking that he might lose Lestat forever without ever having the chance to try again. Hope and dread and love and helplessness.
It isn't the question he means to ask, but it tumbles out of him on a sudden swell of vulnerability: )
[ When Louis' hand falls into his Lestat's fingers curl around it like petals, the thrum of their shared blood and the power in his creating the illusion of warmth between their palms. It's almost distracting, but touching Louis always is. This feels unlike any touch they've shared before, somehow, more meaningful than any brush or squeeze of limbs. This feels poignant, and Lestat is unable to ignore the slight unknowable tightness in his chest.
Louis is right, of course, he came of his own will.. and perhaps that is why Lestat feels such trepidation for this conversation. Louis had always been so easy to drag along, to whisk away into the tumult of Lestat's influence on the world, so easy to ignore his pleas to find place and his desperation to know where he belonged. And now, acting on his own Louis was more than the helpless fledgling who needed him to survive, who couldn't leave him without his hand being forced. He didn't need the help, he could leave at any time... but he hadn't, had he? Despite Lestat prancing around to an audience, despite putting a target on all of their backs -- he tries not to think about the car, losing him to fire, he shakes the memory aside -- and despite their meeting with The Queen, Louis is still here. Louis had still been dreaming of this moment, and he still wanted to be at his side.
The impuissance in Louis' voice shakes Lestat to his core; shatters the anxiety coiling in him and replaces it with something he hasn't felt since he looked into the eyes of the Queen of the Damned and told her no. Call it altruistic, he wants to defend a person he loves. The person he loves, even. ]
Louis... [ he murmurs in awe. ] Have I been so cold to you that you would doubt it? [ It sounds like something he may have said back before those centuries Louis had talked about, but the tone is tender rather than snippy. He shakes his head, not needing an answer. ] I have always wanted you. I have done many stupid things and made so many mistakes, all because I have always wanted you. I have fought to keep you, even when the person I was fighting was you yourself. I still want that, more than anything else.
[ Akasha weighs heavily on his mind as he is certain everyone knows - the looks his mother gives him sometimes make him feel infantalised under their weight - and he is all too aware he owes an explanation for that, too.. but saying her name is difficult, and so he settles for this. ]
My wants change with the wind. You know this. Today I might want to buy this restaurant and become a corporation owner, and tomorrow I might want to fly to London and waste away in the theatres of Trafalgar Square. [ He could see himself doing these things, in fact, and may well do both before the week is out. ] But nothing has ever shaken how I feel for you. You are mine, Louis. I made you, I won't lose you. So I must do whatever it takes to keep you.
[ Even if that means changing, doing the difficult things; he will try, because Louis came back. Because Louis wants him. He breaks their eye contact finally, looking down at their hands. He places his other on top, and holds them both together with a strange expression on his face. ]
Do you know why I clung to you so much in those years, did you parse it from the words I wrote in that book?
( Astonished, Louis marvels at how dramatically his own desires have changed. You're mine would have sounded like shackles once, but now it feels like coming home after a hundred years away. The world narrows down to the clasp of their hands and the melodic sound of Lestat's voice. Perhaps a waiter notices and lets them be for now; Louis is enraptured, utterly unaware of anything outside of Lestat.
The phrase fatally in love runs through his mind — really, Louis hasn't gone an hour without remembering that. It seems somehow obvious and impossible at the same time, a truth he believes without understanding. The reason Lestat could forgive him so easily when Louis still hasn't forgiven himself. )
You were afraid that I would leave you. I knew that at the time, but I couldn't understand the reason, and so I assumed… ah, well, you know what I assumed. I was certain that it must have been my money you were after, because I saw no value in myself at all. How could you? But you did. And you do.
( Louis forces himself to continue speaking around the sudden tightness in his throat. )
Forgive me, I don't mean to be maudlin. It's only that I hardly recognize that person you described in your book. But reading it, and seeing you again, I— I feel almost as if perhaps one day I could.
[ Lestat lets out a sound like a sigh at Louis' confirmation. Well, he had been pretty plain about it, hadn't he? He'd said he loved him, that Louis' manner conquered him, that he had been seduced by him.. but Louis had refused to accept the evidence before, all the sweet things Lestat would say to him he'd take with a twitch of his lip and a glassiness to his eyes as if to say stop playing with me, and Lestat was too much of a coward and too protective of their little life to make it clear just how thoroughly Louis could destroy him if he wished. And in doing so, brought around exactly that. But Louis had believed the words poured onto the page, Lestat's grand novel of honesty.
He nods as relief floods him unbidden; Louis recognises what he sees in him even if he cannot accurately call it by name. The idea of Louis seeing himself in the light Lestat holds for him is an abstract one, but if it is the only way for Louis to know his worth then Lestat would get on his knees and kiss his shoes to make him believe that he would do it. ]
It took me weeks to write of you in those beginning pages. You know how I love to talk about myself, but talking about you was difficult. For a time I thought you were destroyed. It would have been like writing your obituary.
[ The hand on top of theirs on the table leaves momentarily, rising instead to brush Louis' cheek. Yet again he feels sweet relief. Touching Louis' beautiful face, how could one not feel perfectly at peace. ]
I was afraid, yes. But more than that, I needed you. I was lost without someone to spend my years with. I couldn't bare the thought of being alone, so I chose you for your compassion. I fell in love with that compassion. And then I punished you for it. [ A thumb brushes under the thin flesh beneath one of Louis' brilliant green eyes. ] I was terrified of giving you what you wanted, because I thought that if you had it, you might see no reason to stay with me. Me, responsible for the very reason you were so unhappy.
[ He presses his lips together, then blinks hard, surprised to find his vision tinted slightly red. He wriggles a little, like he's uncomfortable with all this soul bearing but is at the same time desperate to continue. For Louis sake, possibly even for his own. ]
Louis. My heart. I had you on my terms, then. I want you on yours, now. [ He laughs suddenly, the sound popping like a bubble rising from him, a thorough surprise. ] I won't force your hand or keep you in a cage like a songbird, but I.. have to confess to the magnetism you have over me. If you said you did not want me I would lie and say I accept but I would do everything in my power to change your mind. I am helpless..... Wretched, really.
[ He smiles a smile that could, potentially, be called wicked. But a little of the sharpness is taken from it, particularly with the wetness of his golden lashes. And then...?]
( Louis's eyes fall shut with an expression of such acute emotion that it nearly looks like pain, as if he were a painting of a saint in the ecstasy of martyrdom. If he sees Lestat weep, he's certain to start himself, and vampire tears are such a spectacle. He doesn't let Lestat retract his hand, but leans his cheek toward Lestat's touch, first accepting it, then covering it with his own. Both their hands linked, he turns his face to kiss Lestat's palm.
For a moment he can hardly find the words to speak at all, much less return the sentiment. Three syllables, momentous and yet so inadequate. Oh, it sounded heavenly from Lestat's lips, and yet Louis can't bring himself to simply echo him. )
My heart belongs to you. It always has.
( Green eyes open slowly, tracing a path from their joined hands on the table, up Lestat's chest and finally meeting his gaze. His heartbeat quickens with that thrilling nervousness that comes with being the subject of such overwhelming adoration, but Louis looks at Lestat as if he's seeing the sunrise for the first time in two hundred years. )
I never stopped thinking of you. There were nights when I would have given anything to see you again… decades where your memory haunted me like a phantom. Your voice was an echo in my heart.
( Louis had told his story on a whim, an impulse. Even now he can't truly say the reason why he'd done it. But afterward, when he was being hunted by the others of their kind, Louis had always held on to a small, painful shred of hope that Lestat, too, might come and seek his revenge. He'd never dared to dream of reconciliation. )
You say it took you weeks to write of me. I understand all too well. You know those things I said in my interview weren't the whole truth, you must know that, but I couldn't bear to speak of what I'd truly lost — how badly I'd failed you. I hated myself. It was devastating to think that you could forgive me, much less that you might have actually still loved me.
( It's the first time he's said it aloud, and Louis realizes this with a little startle. His eyes widen, and he nuzzles against Lestat's wrist in a silent apology. His turn to say it, then. )
I've loved you since the night you made me. Even when I didn't know it. Even when I thought I hated you. I've never had any choice in the matter, I think. ( It's wry but affectionate, his expression soft and open as he squeezes Lestat's hand for emphasis. ) But I am choosing this, now... this second chance to be the companion you wanted me to be. I can't remember the last time I wanted anything as badly as I want to be with you.
[ The kiss to his palm, the expression on Louis' face as he struggles with powerful emotion and then such sweet words have Lestat feeling rapt. Vampire kind suffer from such severe extremes of emotion, loving and hating with such intensity that such words feel like physical blows, and Lestat feels overcome purely from hearing these things he'd always longed to hear from Louis. A single pink tear plops onto the white cotton tablecloth. Lestat pays it not even the slightest mind. He would have had to draw a hand away from Louis to wipe it away, and that is something he cannot do.
Oh, but if only he could stop time or slow it, make this moment last a decade or at least another night; spin it outwards till he could truly believe it was really happening. Even now he marvels that this is real and that Louis wants him, wants to try again, in earnest and with none of the resentment he's sure he deserves. ]
Louis.. [ His tone shrinks down from lofty heights to something as close to serious as he can get at this present moment; there is pain in his chest, an addictive tightness as his heart isn't sure if it's breaking or mending, or both. They must draw this line now, for the sake of their future as one. ] No more talk of past failures between us. Forgiveness has gone and passed. Eternal life is far too long to have such regrets, to feel shame for those mistakes we made together.
[ To forgive Louis is to forgive himself, he knows that now.. and Lestat never blamed Louis for anything that transpired between them. He would have done the same. The blame is his own, so he must allow himself to let go. He cannot be the companion Louis deserves without doing so and he has lost far too much to lose this. Lestat pauses, mouth tightening for a moment, as if he's chewing his words over before speaking them. Before saying her name. ]
But you must understand.. I don't wish to forget those things. Or Claudia. [ Self forgiveness is not denouncing blame. ] Without them I would be the same lost fool I was before I met you.. In making you, you changed me. I want to spend my time now giving you the nights you deserve, to be what I was too frightened to be then.
[ The experience of feeling so connected to someone in this moment is staggering. Lestat has the wild notion to overwhelm Louis with attention, that the mortals mulling around the tables on the restaurant floor are thinking too loud for him to fully focus on this, and that if he were to stop touching Louis he might expire. The blood is droning in his ears, swelling his veins fit to burst as he looks at the object of his very desire. Louis staking a claim - he loves him, loves him - in him is more exciting than he cares to admit, so his sombre manner couldn't possibly withstand much longer.
His laughter is loud and echoes through the hall. It almost sounds like a sob bursting from him at first, but there is a childlike joy on his face as his eyes open again, snapping back to Louis. ]
( It hurts to hear Claudia's name, but it's a welcome pain, a necessary one, like setting a broken limb. Lestat is right — there's no forgetting the past, no undoing the mistakes they've made or the lessons learned from them. Louis lets out a breath like an overwhelmed sigh of relief. It feels as if he's been holding that breath in for his entire life, and it's only now that he finally has permission to let go.
Louis ducks his chin for a moment when Lestat laughs; the volume is startling, and Louis is innately self-conscious, but a smile curves at the corners of his lips in spite of it. He gives Lestat a look that's meant to be warning, but the affection in his eyes spoils the effect entirely. Besides, what Lestat is saying is too true, too important to let his nerves get in the way. )
Didn't I say the same to you, before your concert?
( He tips his cheek toward Lestat's hand, his thumb idly playing with one of his lover's rings, noting the difference in firmness of metal and flesh. The tear track on Lestat's cheek is impossibly beautiful, glistening like the tail of a comet, and Louis is rapt as he watches him from across the table. )
It's such a rare gift, that desire to go on. For years, I thought it was lost to me forever. It's a miracle that we're both here tonight, that we've both survived to find each other after everything. I believed that when I first found you in San Francisco, and I believe it now more than ever.
( His voice is quiet but impassioned, green eyes bright with carefully-restrained feeling. )
There's so much I want to show you, so much you've missed. I want to rediscover the world through your eyes, by your side.
[ All of a sudden the reverence of their intimate little meeting here seems to be gone, replaced entirely with a wild kind of intensity emminating from Lestat like smoke in the air. Even the table between them feels irritating, like it's getting in his way. Every sweet word that falls from Louis puts his heart in a tighter tourniquet, has him pulled deeper beneath the waves of this feeling, willingly drowning in thoughts of all those tomorrows he'd promised with Louis. It's impossible, he's delerious with it, and he'll cling to it with the claws and teeth of a wolf to never lose it again.
He has all the light in him of a young man under stage lights. His expression is strangely youthful in one of the rare moments he lets his heart control him with no holds barred. Louis' restraint almost makes Lestat seem like a madman in contrast, but he barely cares as the world falls away from everything except Louis' final words. Then, he's getting to his feet. ]
Then show me, mon cher. Promise you will. [ He's coming around the table then, both hands clasping Louis' once more, clutching even. He gets down on his knees in those horrendously expensive silk pants, and presses kisses to Louis' fingers. ] Tonight, even. Why, we're wasting the precious night in here when we could be out there, together!
[ He looks up at Louis then, eyes wide with a spark of excitement like the beginnings of an inferno. ]
Let's go, amour... You must know this isn't all I had planned for our evening together.
( Louis shakes his head in amazement, his cheeks flushed the faintest shade of pink as Lestat kneels in front of him. )
Lestat… We've only just gotten here.
( It's not a protest, only laughing at how ridiculous it is that they should both be so overwhelmed with emotion. But it isn't as if they're actually planning to eat, is it? And Louis is just happy to be in Lestat's presence, to bask in the warmth of his attention like a cat stretching out in a sunbeam.
The moment feels so much like other grand vows, like a proposal or a knight swearing fealty, and even Lestat's wild grin can't spoil it. Louis's heartbeat quickens as he leans down to press a kiss to Lestat's forehead, and then he stands, pulling Lestat to his feet with him. )
I won't ask how much trouble you went through to get us a table here. And I am curious to see how you plan to outdo yourself next…
( Especially if it means no more tables between them. )
[ He'd be wafting his hands if his weren't wrapped around Louis' like they are the only thing keeping him tethered to this plane. His forehead seems to burn where Louis kissed it, but it can't really be burning, can it? It must be all in his mind, just a product of feeling a sensation he's been craving for longer than he cares to admit... and now he's had it, he is certain he simply won't survive without more. Louis is lucky he keeps talking, pulls Lestat to his feet, because Lestat was a handful of seconds from boldly kissing him in the middle of a suddenly much quieter restaurant. ]
I know we've only just arrived, but I can't stand to be restricted by walls any longer, Louis.
[ He says it in that brash and empassioned kind of tone he used to use centuries ago when dismissing Louis' chiding over his conduct with his victims, but now he's using it to brush aside such meager things as a once-in-a-lifetime reservation at a restaurant booked to bursting for months in favour of something much better with his beautiful one. He's still the same Lestat, after all.
He tosses his hair over his shoulder as he looks out over the floor, a waitress is approaching to ask if everything is alright, but she seems to pause as Lestat starts to stride across the floor with Louis' hand firmly in his grip.
Once outside - Lestat taking the flight of stairs two at a time, practically bouncing when he hits the ground - he spins to look at Louis with a dazzling and equally dazzled expression. He squeezes Louis' hand, and in a movement like the lead of a dancing pair spinning his partner closer, he tugs Louis in to his personal space, ignorant of every single mortal who has to step around them to get passed. ]
I must ask you again to tell me you trust me, lover.
( Louis says it with such certainty, as if that ought to answer the question of trust and put it completely to bed. But he knows full well that given their history, his mere acquiescence probably isn't enough.
He can't help but be aware of the mortals around them, the murmurs of wondering voices, but they don't seem to matter, not really. Let them think what they want. What does it matter? Perhaps he could practice some of Lestat's nonchalance. He shifts his weight so that Lestat is indeed holding him, a physical answer to his question, and sets his free hand at Lestat's shoulder as if they're a pair of dancers. His eyes gleam bright and curious, and he gazes at Lestat as if he hung the moon. )
[ Lestat's eyes lid a little as though finding Louis' manner droll, the smile on his lips curling with amusement. His face is unreadable but certainly in the middle of one those - what had Louis called it - a scheme? He had grand ideas of sitting with Louis in that restaurant, maybe purchasing a glass of wine to sniff at, or something to warm their hands, idly brush off any suggestion of a mortal meal with the assurance they had already eaten - hilarious stuff, never gets old - and walk the streets afterwards so leisurely once the throng of nightlife had subsided to only those who preferred the night to the day, to finally make their way to the conclusion of their evening together. Plenty of time for that later. They have years, every night from now until the scroll of time wares thin.
Perhaps he should feel foolish for being so eager. If he should, he doesn't.
Within moments, he's swooping forwards with Louis in tow, there and then gone, ushering him backwards until his back meets a shaded little wall beside the block where the restaurant sits. It's dark, secluded, one of those places a vampire's eye alights on before any other, but Lestat won't let them linger in the dark for long. He flashes a grin that he fast presses to Louis' mouth in what can only be described as an expulsion of energy or a taste of what's to come, and then he draws back and lifts.
They are in the air for mere moments, really. Lestat has to move quickly - they have dressed dark which blends in all too perfectly with the night sky, but his hair is dazzling enough to be a beacon and the last thing he needs is the newspapers reporting about assumed dead rock stars who can fly. He holds Louis tight to him, enough that he'd have to about turn to see the ground beneath them. He wishes he could see it, but even Lestat has enough foresight to think Louis might fare a little better with this surprise if he wasn't truly at its whim. Besides, there are much better ways to show this power to Louis... This is merely in effort of saving time and not having to break open locked gates.
His feet touch down first, then Louis', and he squeezes that fine waist before releasing him. They have landed on a grassy knoll in the close-by park, near to the trickling fountain. There's a lingering hand on the small of Louis' back as he studies his face. ]
( Louis holds fast to Lestat even after he's been released, one hand on his arm to ground and steady himself. The grass beneath his feet feels solid enough, but he's so astonished, everything feels faintly dreamlike. His eyes are wide as he looks around the park, and finally back to Lestat, amazed. Softly: )
I didn't know you could do that.
( He'd known it was a possibility, that elder vampires eventually developed the power to take to the air, and Lestat had fed from the eldest of them all… but somehow it was difficult to think of Lestat that way. He looked different, yes, but not fundamentally so; beneath any aesthetic changes, he was still the same person Louis had always known, had always loved.
He runs a hand through his wind-ruffled hair, then touches his lips, still tingling from that kiss. He lets out a sharp huff of breath, a quiet and delighted little laugh, and reaches to press Lestat's hand between his. )
I'm impressed by the efficiency, of course, but my goodness, it was quick. I didn't have time to appreciate it, my stomach is still full of butterflies. Or… I suppose it would be moths for us, wouldn't it?
( Being nocturnal and all. And yes, he's impressed by the picturesque location, but Lestat really ought to have known that Louis's curiosity would get the better of him: )
Is it difficult? You made it seem almost natural, but you always have a way of doing that.
[ There are three or four seconds where Lestat truly isn't certain how Louis will react. Chide him, perhaps, for the lack of warning, or wonder at the fascinating power he has now -- and then there's that other feeling sitting somewhere above his stomach, warring with his vanity and the sense of self he has always known. The elder blood has changed him, yes, made him into something else, staggering even further away from the humanity both of them covet. And as he looks at Louis, trying to predict his take on it all, one question chokes his mind. Would it frighten him?
But then he seems to fold, or melt like wax; this fear Lestat had of those green eyes staying wide with trepidation disintegrating before his very eyes when Louis laughs, touches his lips, touches him. Not an ounce of fear in him, just that ever-sharp needle of his mind fascinated by this impossibility. ]
It wouldn't have been a very good surprise if you knew I could do it. [ He laughs, clutching Louis' hands in return. His hold is maybe just a little tight, his laugh a little loud, relief flooding like a wave. ] No, it isn't difficult. The hardest part is the confidence to do it. Why do you think I kissed you?
( Louis gets that look on his face once again, complete surprise melting into almost-shy sweetness. What a thing to say! It's so very Lestat, except his bluster and bravado is changed, softened into something more open and honest and vulnerable. To think he needs Louis! To think he'd admit it so honestly. First his speech in the restaurant, and now this… It's more than Louis ever dared to dream of, even in his wildest fantasies.
He can sense the relief in Lestat, and he wonders at the precise source of it — whether it was only that he'd expected Louis to chastise him for whisking him away like that, or something more. So Louis fights back his instinctive urge to downplay the compliment, and instead bows his head as he presses a kiss to the back of Lestat's hand. )
And if I do something like this?
( He looks up at Lestat through his unruly bangs, cheeks flaring the palest shade of pink, and kisses his hand again. Playfully: )
[ Lestat practically sings his name, the baritone of his voice getting helplessly warm with joy and playfulness. Ever the actor, Lestat allows Louis to keep the hand, but his other flies wide in a dramatic swoop as his feet lift off the ground. Like Louis is his tether - and isn't that just thematic - Lestat flies a little higher till Louis' arm is forced to stretch, and then back down he goes.
With a flourish, he scoops up Louis' hands in his own, kissing his knuckles once and then again, and again, and again-- ]
Like a soap bubble!
[ He repeats it with wonder, like it's a fascinating concept. Much more comfortable, this, than the raw tenderness from before. He presses more kisses to those fine hands, because why not. ]
You say the damnedest things. Moths, butterflies, soap bubbles. Enchanting.
( The soft laugh adds an extra syllable to his name. Louis breaks out of Lestat's grasp only just enough so that he can move his palms to cup Lestat's face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. He looks so handsome like this, unburdened by secrets and bitterness, open-hearted and earnest and alive, and for a moment Louis almost loses himself to admiring him as he would a painting or a particularly striking full moon. )
I don't mean to, really. You must bring these things out in me. You know, I used to go weeks, sometimes, without talking to anyone? Now I don't want to stop.
[ To be beheld with those same eyes that have always basked in the beauty of the world puts a strange kind of hush over Lestat's soul for a moment. He's a handsome man, he knows this, but there is something else that can be said about catching the attention of someone who finds beauty in the smallest things; the refraction of light, the way wind moves through trees, the delicate brush strokes of a portrait and the composition of paper... The satisfaction of being noticed is good, but nothing like this. It has always felt different with Louis.
The hush goes as quickly as it came but Lestat barely has time to mourn its passing; laughter is one of his favourite sounds to encourage from Louis, and it's infectious, so he returns it. It seems like second nature, then, to wrap his arms around Louis' waist and spread his hands wide across his back. ]
So many words in that head of yours, and you save them all for me? [ His grin is all teeth, and there's a feline preen to the way he tips his chin between those pale hands. ] You spoil me, Louis. At this rate my nature will become overindulgent, what a horror that might be!
( Louis smiles at the way Lestat leans so shamelessly into his touch, amazed by how easy it is to elicit such reactions from him. To think that this was always within his reach! Ah, but he'd promised not to dwell on such things tonight, hadn't he?
He makes a soft, considering sound as he slides that hand back and around to the nape of Lestat's neck, where he winds his fingers loosely into that mass of curls, not unlike stroking a purring cat. So soft. What would it take for Louis to dare to ask Lestat to rest his head in his lap while he reads? Such a simple thought, but it makes his heart trip hopefully in his chest. )
But if that's all it takes to spoil you, I'm afraid the situation is entirely hopeless. We want the same thing, after all.
[ Delight ricochets through his chest from just that short laugh alone. What a sound. He feels energized suddenly, as though well-fed with an entire night of indulgence ahead of him. He supposes that's not entirely incorrect. ]
An ego, what next!
[ Lestat cannot hear those thoughts of Louis comparing him to a cat, but all physical evidence might sew seeds of doubt what with the way his eyes fall slightly closed for a moment, head tilting to follow the curve of Louis' hand against his hair. He hums some quiet, agreeable sound. His heart still thrums in him, the unspent energy of happiness willing him to do something with it, but the tender hands on his skin reigning him back like a hound on a leash, ever loyal to it's master.
Lestat feels reeled in, but it doesn't feel like being restricted, it feels like being held. What a wonder it is, just to be held. And what power Louis has over him. ]
Mm.. [ He murmurs in agreement, eyes opening lazily, his sharp grin seemingly immoveable despite his tender words. ] At last, yes, we do.
( Oh, those eyes. No summer sky in all Louis's mortal memory ever looked so clear and blue, and the loss of that seems such a small price to pay for the sight of Lestat beneath the starlight. Indulging an impulse, Louis closes the small distance between them and presses a kiss to Lestat's cheek. )
I love you.
( It's his turn to say it this time, and he can't help but marvel at the strange warmth that follows, the lightness in his chest at simply being able to speak it aloud. He waits a moment, letting those three words hang in the air for long enough that it doesn't seem like a bashful deflection when he asks: )
Shall we walk together? Not that I mind this particular view… ( He bites his lip with the point of one fang, but his smile spreads nevertheless. ) But if I'm fortunate, I'll be seeing it much more often.
[ It comes so suddenly that Lestat almost does a comical double take. He knows it's true, he does, but somehow hearing it still has him feeling an inexplicable kind of surprise. At this point it should be second nature, carved into his bones, but something about the way Louis says it, each time with a different inflection, a different shape to it... It's addictive to hear it, he wants to hear it again and again, but would that make it mean less? Does the fact that Louis savours those three words make it mean more? No, Lestat could hear it every day, and it still wouldn't be enough.
His smirk softens till his expression is a picture of contentedness, holding the moment in the reverence it deserves. Though he can't resist an amused chuckle at the suggestion. As if Louis had any chance of getting away from him now. He retracts however unwillingly from Louis' hands, instead holding out his arm to be taken. ]
I'd like that. You know, I had planned to come here much later, but perhaps the timing of all this suits a little better. [ When Louis takes his arm, he puts a hand over his, and when they walk his pace is as leisurely as it can be for someone who constantly walks like they have somewhere to be. ] Tell me, what do you know about constellations, lover?
( Louis tips his head slightly, studying Lestat's expression. It's a curious question, leading somewhere Louis can't immediately guess at. He casts a glance toward the velvet darkness of the sky, glittering with stars only visible to their vampire eyes, considering his answer. )
I'm no astronomer, certainly; but with vision as spectacular as ours, how could we fail to fall in love with the stars? I know the names the Greeks gave to them, and I've read the myths, though I don't know how many I could find on my own.
( But he enjoys impressing Lestat, so he traces a path in the sky with his finger, pressing closer to Lestat as he does. )
That's Orion, of course, and his faithful hunting dog. Next to him is Taurus, whose horns point toward Gemini...
( He stops there, satisfied at having proven his own basic knowledge and waiting to see where Lestat might be going with this. )
[ It's fun to play these little games with Louis, he thinks. He's always enjoyed it, feeling perhaps a little smarter than he actually is, feeding Louis clues and hints until finally the low set of his brow in the pursuit for knowledge raises in recognition. Lestat remembers wishing he would hunt with the same kind of intensity, the same kind of thirst. But that was some time ago, wasn't it?
Lestat listens with ease, letting Louis' voice soothe him as it always has. He leans in when Louis does, the two of them as though they were children sharing a secret tete-a-tete like this, and follows the movement of Louis' hands more than the intended pattern in the sky. He nods, an inspired sound leaving him, squeezing where his hand has fallen over Louis' own. ]
And here I thought you said you were no astronomer. Very impressive. [ His voice is warm as he reaches his own hand out to take Louis' hand by the wrist and move his pointing a little to the right. ] Over to the west of Gemini is Leo, do you see it? The large line of the lion's back, his legs..? There's a small collection of stars by his tail I was reading about earlier this week that should be visible tonight; Coma Berenices. I wonder if you've heard of it?
( His voice is low and sweet, still amazed by the splendor of the night even after all of these years, and all the more so now that he can finally share it with Lestat. It isn't as though Louis needs the excuse, but he leans his shoulder against Lestat's as he guides his hand, and finally tips his head toward him until that, too, makes soft contact. )
I've never heard the name before. Tell me about it?
Once it was part of Leo, the tuft of his great tail specifically. Leo was apparently a much larger constellation until Coma Berenices became one of its own. There's a story to it, as there is with most things of this nature, of an Egyptian queen who sacrificed her beautiful hair in exchange for her husband's safe return from some war or another. The lock of hair vanished and a crafty little lover of the sky - probably out of fear for his life at the rage of the King - told him to look upwards to see that, of course, her selfless sacrifice had been immortalised in the stars...
[ He speaks with an adequate air of derision because he is an adult, so obviously these stories have little truth to him... but there is nevertheless a certain amount of wonder in the way he looks at the stars, and the way his eyes scan the clusters with such great attention, taking in every detail on offer to his vampire eyes. Lestat has always enjoyed a good story, after all. ]
I just thought it interesting. Coma Berenices. Berenice's hair. The lion loses his tail, but the sky gains a constellation fuelled by love. Hm.
[ If there is something further to be said about it, Lestat doesn't say it. Instead, his expression turns a little tender, and he falls silent as he stares into the sky. ]
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In the wake of the past handful of weeks and the great shift in the vampiric infestation of the world it has been a journey of discovery of both the self and the new coven forming in Miami. It's surprisingly good, for the most part. While they find themselves prone to spending time alone even when sharing the mansion on the beach, somehow they manage to stumble across one another in the corridors and communal areas as if there simply weren't enough rooms in the house.
Where some of their kind are taking a little longer to adjust to a suddenly no longer isolated living situation, Lestat thrives in it. His mother at the balcony for a glimpse before she hits the ground below at a run, Marius by the window with a paper and a paper to scribble his thoughts down on, Daniel lounging with his headphones on or flicking through books or the channels on the TV with a look of wonderment on his face like a child at Christmas, Armand looming in doorways, not looking at anything in particular, but aware of it all.
And Louis. His beautiful Louis. Quiet, contemplative Louis sitting with a book in his hand and his ankles crossed, eyes focused on the words, his hair slipping from behind his ear, his eyelashes like the beat of a moths wing. Louis who would be the first to look up at him with a small smile as he entered the room, Louis who would listen attentively to every word he said, and Louis who would make sure to bid him a pleasant sleep with a yawn at the first light of dawn.
It had struck him at the first sign of the coven's wariness turning to routine that he might owe Louis an evening to discuss their reparations. They hadn't had a chance to really discuss all that went on since that night he had returned before the concert, and when Lestat saw a well thumbed copy of his own autobiography discarded on the side table by Louis' coffin one day, the idea only blossomed in intensity.
That is why, merely a few nights later, Lestat had left a monogrammed letter atop that very table, with details of a time, a meeting place, and a new suit waiting in a garment bag in the wardrobe.
And at that particular time a night later, Lestat raises his head to observe the slowly intensifying moon, leaning back against the railing and waiting. He's wearing a fine pair of silver silk pants with a clean black shirt tucked in at his waist, the sleeves rolled to his elbows and the collar open to his collarbones. Louis wouldn't be late, but Lestat has been here for a little while out of.. what, nervousness? Fear? Eagerness? All three? Either way, he can feel the vibration of trepidation brimming in his veins as he looks down to scan the street. ]
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He's been trying to give Lestat space since Akasha. Lestat was never one to speak of his feelings, at least with him, and he's been too afraid of saying the wrong things to attempt to say the right ones. Surely, Louis thinks, if Lestat needs him, he'll seek him out? And yet with every passing night, the seed of doubt in him had grown. Perhaps Lestat doesn't need him. Perhaps the book was embellished. Or perhaps Akasha had broken something inside of him, something beyond Louis's ability to fix or understand. He'd come up with all sorts of scenarios to prepare himself for the worst.
The invitation had nearly moved him to tears.
He steps out of the shadows and lets himself be seen, walking toward Lestat at his usual unhurried pace, trying to still the desire to rush to him. It's a rare thing, this quiet excitement stirring in his chest, and his cheeks are very faintly flushed with the stolen blood of the man he'd killed less than an hour ago. )
Bonsoir, Lestat.
( His eyes flit from Lestat's handsome face to the pale column of his neck, his pulse beating right there in plain view in his wrists and throat, and Louis is suddenly very glad that he's already fed. He doesn't mean for Lestat to notice, but it seems inevitable. So with a soft, shy smile, he reaches out to run his fingers gently along the open collar of Lestat's shirt, wanting the pretense of righting it even if it's obviously for the sake of touching him. Proving to himself that he's real. )
Is it just the two of us tonight?
( His voice is calm and curious, no sign of the desperate hope that he might have Lestat's full attention for a while. )
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Ah, yes, fear of the unknown... He tries not to listen for it to make this reunion more genuine, trying instead to focus on the grumbling of a valet parking a very expensive looking Cadillac around the side of the building.. but it's a hopeless effort. The thrum of a quickening heartbeat soars above all else like it's singing to him, and he feels drawn as though he were a magnet to those green eyes emerging from the dim.
Those eyes that quickly scan him over within moments, which only makes the smile dawning on Lestat's face twitch wider. He does so love it, after all, when Louis looks at him. Touches him. And with that pretty smile, too. Perhaps this will be easier than he thought. ]
Of course, [ His eyebrow twitches a little, as if the question were a stupid one, but he can't help a bemused smile. ] I am not in the habit of buying new suits for the entire house for a dinner date.
[ Which, speaking of... Lestat gives Louis a glorious roving of his eyes in return. Where Louis hadn't intended for Lestat to notice, his intention is quite the opposite; he lavishes this creature with attention, lingering on his slender hands, the cut of the shirt at his throat, the colour against his pale skin despite the flush shading his cheeks. ]
You look beautiful. [ It's said with reverence, though he throws the comment away as if it's common knowledge. Because it is, surely? But then his next comment comes with a little less bravado. ] Thank you for coming.
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And then Lestat thanks him, and he doesn't know what to say. He shakes his head slightly, a small, puzzled furrow between his brows, and sets his hand against Lestat's heart, looking him in the eyes. The same eyes, no matter how he's changed. )
Of course I came.
( He says it with the same quiet conviction as when he'd first come to Lestat the night before the concert. Lestat wanted him to come, and so he came. But perhaps even more than that, Louis had wanted it too — and wanting was a new and wondrous thing. )
I've missed you. ( A quiet exhale. Too earnest? ) That sounds so strange... we've been living beneath the same roof, haven't we?
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The hand over his heart he covers with one of his own, stark marble skin over Louis' long fingers, pressing it harder over the organ as if to make them one being with it. At Louis' next comment, he laughs; this bright, shining thing that bursts from him like birds from trees, his face scrunching up in honest and pure amusement. It is silly, after all, the way they have been dancing around each other... Lestat unsure of how to broach the subject of apologising or explaining without tumbling into some heated argument - every time they argued it was never his intention, they just found themselves there somehow, and he could never quite bring himself to ceasefire first - and Louis seemingly content to watch how things unfolded. ]
We have, and it is. [ He agrees once his mirth dies down, traces of it still lingering in his voice. ] Though I feel the same way. I did consider writing you a short novella, maybe, to explain. Rather than all these dramatics, but... [ A smirk twists his mouth, self-assured and teasing, a real terror of a smile. ] I thought perhaps something more traditional might set us on better footing.
[ A thought, then, and he gasps like he's just remembered he left the oven on. ]
I haven't even told you my plan! Oh, Louis, you must promise me not to make a face until we're seated. Everything is in order, I have everything down to the detail.
[ Which is to say, his assistant did it, but who's counting brownie points here. She gets her paycheck. He raises his hand to straighten Louis' little gold tie with a flash of satisfaction in his eyes. Yes, he understands the desire to touch, the desire to fuss in awe like a sculptor unable to put down their tools and deem their masterpiece finished. His palm smooths the velvet lapels of the suit jacket, murmuring: ] Masterful work. [ Unclear whether he means the suit or Louis, or both... before he's holding out his arm for Louis to take. ]
Shall we go?
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His eyebrows raise, curiosity battling it out with his innate wariness when it comes to surprises. But Lestat's enthusiasm is so contagious, and Louis's smile takes a playful turn. )
I can't promise that I won't make a face, but I shall reserve my commentary until you've unveiled your scheme. Will that do?
( A little squeeze of Lestat's arm, affectionate. Louis can't help but notice that his muscles are harder now, more like marble than flesh. Lestat's hand had been the same, and so cold against Louis's already-cool skin. Does it bother Lestat? He thinks it must; Lestat had been so traumatized by his turning, much more than Louis had. And on top of whatever new instincts and powers had come with the ancient blood, there was his vanity, of course. )
I hope you won't take it as an insult to your writing, but I would much prefer to talk with you. The real you, flesh and blood, and that wicked smile of yours.
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Though they walk arm in arm, Lestat can't bring himself to look away from Louis face. It's strangely intimate, and it's perfectly romantic. He sees that smile shift into something else and Lestat can practically sense the tone about to settle in Louis words. A scheme, he said! A scheme! ]
That will do, yes.
[ He places a hand over the one Louis has on his arm as they walk, long strides and the click of their shoes echoing even in the busy street. Lestat has opted for something casual rather than those ridiculous boots he's been stomping around in lately that he loves so much, and the shine on Louis shoes harks back to the buckles of the shoes he wore when Lestat last lived with him. So much really had changed, and yet here they are. ]
Wicked, you said? Do you really think it's wicked? [ He asks with a tone of true delight, begging Louis to humour him while he demonstrates such a smile. ] If you do, you should say it again. I do love to hear you talk like that.
[ It is making his heart flutter to hear such things from Louis, and strangely he finds himself struggling to latch onto them and speak despite that being the entire point of their evening. He hopes he will have more of an opportunity once they are alone and seated, with nothing but the night and one another.
He stops soon after this, the short stroll down the street bringing them to a large iron wrought door with an archway leading up to a dimly lit restaurant entrance. It is relatively unassuming from the outside, with dark lacquered panels and one of those endearing little wait stations that the staff kept their booking lists on. The ins and outs of the restaurant business were very interesting to Lestat and he often liked to attend the ones with these grand podiums of organisation... but interesting in a way a child might find a worm farm interesting; cool for a day or two but then gone from their mind after that.
He leads Louis up the stairs, gives a strange name to the woman who greets them, and then is shown through the large, rich red curtains bracketing the entrance way. They are welcomed into a room with high ceilings split by chandeliers and domed like those of a church. The rafters are old but sturdy, iron and wood of fine craftsmanship, supported by large stone pillars that line the room in an organised fashion, boxing off intimate dining tables across the stone floor. A large fireplace warms the place with small oil lamps on the tables to cast a mood, and when they are led to the back a small set of tables beneath a canopy of scarlet comes into view. These tables are more isolated again, away from the rest of the busy dining room floor and already furnished with crystal glasses and polished silverware. There is a personal, smaller chandelier hanging for each and above their heads there are painted frescoes of mythological scenes covering the expanse of the ceiling.
They are encouraged to take their seats and once they do, they are quickly left alone. Lestat looks like he could burst with excitement, but instead he lays his elbows on the table and crosses his fingers over themselves as he leans in to study Louis' face. ]
Your commentary, monsieur?
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His gaze is still turned upwards, wandering through the frescoes, when Lestat speaks to him. With a small shake of his head, Louis returns to himself, slightly flustered at how thoroughly Lestat had managed to impress him. The tiniest of smiles, then, as if to say you win. )
Lestat, it's absolutely marvelous.
( And Lestat is almost confrontingly handsome tonight — his sharp quicksilver eyes; his curls shining like spun gold, so temptingly soft; the joy radiating from him, as if Lestat were light himself. Louis has always preferred candlelight to the sterility of electric bulbs, and Lestat is the perfect canvas for it. He looks very nearly angelic. )
I expected… well, I'm not certain what I expected. You had me worried when you told me not to make a face! ( He does make a face, then, his foot nudging Lestat's beneath the table as he gives him the admonishing look he'd perfected over six decades together. ) That was especially wicked of you.
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Well, [ He says modestly with a smile that is anything but modest. He even goes as far as to waft a hand in the air as if it means nothing, when in truth Louis' impression means everything. ] It's quite different, isn't it? I know how much you love modesty, but I've seen the way you gaze at those grand architecture books in the library. And while I could have taken you to the new Ritz-Carlton and span you around amidst all that white marble, I thought this might surprise you. You could have still made a face, it is rather grand. And it used to be a church, you know.
[ Funny how the desire to surprise pleasantly has overcome the need to annoy. Oh, don't get him wrong; he still loves to recall Louis puffing out useless breaths of annoyance with that twitch of a dark eyebrow, and to hear him say his name so passionate in his reprimand. But that look of wonder on Louis' face and the warmth of his voice has Lestat hooked. ]
As you said earlier. I would much prefer to talk to you, too. [ His voice has dropped a little lower, but it has softened considerably. Without wasting much time, because Lestat has never been blessed with patience (or, perhaps, he's simply reluctant to think of consequences that might hinder his bravery) he goes right into it: ] I haven't been avoiding you, this, you must understand that. I was looking for the perfect time, and when I saw you reading that paperback again, I knew I couldn't wait any longer. I owe you this much, for dragging you along and up onto that stage and to that little imp's villa without so much as a word as to why. I have struggled with why for some time, haven't I.
[ It's not a question. Lestat's ring taps the table dully as he lays a palm out, face up. ]
Is there anything you would like to ask, Louis? Anything. I have nothing I want to hide from you.
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Louis reaches out to lay his palm across Lestat's. The pad of his thumb brushes the pale web of veins in Lestat's wrist, so keenly attuned to the pulse there that it almost seems to echo through him. And he does his best to ignore the way it stirs the thirst in him, and makes his fangs feel long and sharp behind his lips. )
I've dreamed of this moment for nearly two centuries, and now I hardly know where to begin.
( His smile fades into something wistful, and he falls quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. )
You didn't drag me anywhere, you know. I came to you of my own free will. And I went with you to the concert because I knew, come what may, that I wanted to be by your side. As I still do.
( He lowers his eyelashes, his fingers twitching once against Lestat's hand. The memory is still raw, the fear still so fresh in his mind, thinking that he might lose Lestat forever without ever having the chance to try again. Hope and dread and love and helplessness.
It isn't the question he means to ask, but it tumbles out of him on a sudden swell of vulnerability: )
Is that still what you want?
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Louis is right, of course, he came of his own will.. and perhaps that is why Lestat feels such trepidation for this conversation. Louis had always been so easy to drag along, to whisk away into the tumult of Lestat's influence on the world, so easy to ignore his pleas to find place and his desperation to know where he belonged. And now, acting on his own Louis was more than the helpless fledgling who needed him to survive, who couldn't leave him without his hand being forced. He didn't need the help, he could leave at any time... but he hadn't, had he? Despite Lestat prancing around to an audience, despite putting a target on all of their backs -- he tries not to think about the car, losing him to fire, he shakes the memory aside -- and despite their meeting with The Queen, Louis is still here. Louis had still been dreaming of this moment, and he still wanted to be at his side.
The impuissance in Louis' voice shakes Lestat to his core; shatters the anxiety coiling in him and replaces it with something he hasn't felt since he looked into the eyes of the Queen of the Damned and told her no. Call it altruistic, he wants to defend a person he loves. The person he loves, even. ]
Louis... [ he murmurs in awe. ] Have I been so cold to you that you would doubt it? [ It sounds like something he may have said back before those centuries Louis had talked about, but the tone is tender rather than snippy. He shakes his head, not needing an answer. ] I have always wanted you. I have done many stupid things and made so many mistakes, all because I have always wanted you. I have fought to keep you, even when the person I was fighting was you yourself. I still want that, more than anything else.
[ Akasha weighs heavily on his mind as he is certain everyone knows - the looks his mother gives him sometimes make him feel infantalised under their weight - and he is all too aware he owes an explanation for that, too.. but saying her name is difficult, and so he settles for this. ]
My wants change with the wind. You know this. Today I might want to buy this restaurant and become a corporation owner, and tomorrow I might want to fly to London and waste away in the theatres of Trafalgar Square. [ He could see himself doing these things, in fact, and may well do both before the week is out. ] But nothing has ever shaken how I feel for you. You are mine, Louis. I made you, I won't lose you. So I must do whatever it takes to keep you.
[ Even if that means changing, doing the difficult things; he will try, because Louis came back. Because Louis wants him. He breaks their eye contact finally, looking down at their hands. He places his other on top, and holds them both together with a strange expression on his face. ]
Do you know why I clung to you so much in those years, did you parse it from the words I wrote in that book?
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The phrase fatally in love runs through his mind — really, Louis hasn't gone an hour without remembering that. It seems somehow obvious and impossible at the same time, a truth he believes without understanding. The reason Lestat could forgive him so easily when Louis still hasn't forgiven himself. )
You were afraid that I would leave you. I knew that at the time, but I couldn't understand the reason, and so I assumed… ah, well, you know what I assumed. I was certain that it must have been my money you were after, because I saw no value in myself at all. How could you? But you did. And you do.
( Louis forces himself to continue speaking around the sudden tightness in his throat. )
Forgive me, I don't mean to be maudlin. It's only that I hardly recognize that person you described in your book. But reading it, and seeing you again, I— I feel almost as if perhaps one day I could.
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He nods as relief floods him unbidden; Louis recognises what he sees in him even if he cannot accurately call it by name. The idea of Louis seeing himself in the light Lestat holds for him is an abstract one, but if it is the only way for Louis to know his worth then Lestat would get on his knees and kiss his shoes to make him believe that he would do it. ]
It took me weeks to write of you in those beginning pages. You know how I love to talk about myself, but talking about you was difficult. For a time I thought you were destroyed. It would have been like writing your obituary.
[ The hand on top of theirs on the table leaves momentarily, rising instead to brush Louis' cheek. Yet again he feels sweet relief. Touching Louis' beautiful face, how could one not feel perfectly at peace. ]
I was afraid, yes. But more than that, I needed you. I was lost without someone to spend my years with. I couldn't bare the thought of being alone, so I chose you for your compassion. I fell in love with that compassion. And then I punished you for it. [ A thumb brushes under the thin flesh beneath one of Louis' brilliant green eyes. ] I was terrified of giving you what you wanted, because I thought that if you had it, you might see no reason to stay with me. Me, responsible for the very reason you were so unhappy.
[ He presses his lips together, then blinks hard, surprised to find his vision tinted slightly red. He wriggles a little, like he's uncomfortable with all this soul bearing but is at the same time desperate to continue. For Louis sake, possibly even for his own. ]
Louis. My heart. I had you on my terms, then. I want you on yours, now. [ He laughs suddenly, the sound popping like a bubble rising from him, a thorough surprise. ] I won't force your hand or keep you in a cage like a songbird, but I.. have to confess to the magnetism you have over me. If you said you did not want me I would lie and say I accept but I would do everything in my power to change your mind. I am helpless..... Wretched, really.
[ He smiles a smile that could, potentially, be called wicked. But a little of the sharpness is taken from it, particularly with the wetness of his golden lashes. And then...?]
I love you.
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( Louis's eyes fall shut with an expression of such acute emotion that it nearly looks like pain, as if he were a painting of a saint in the ecstasy of martyrdom. If he sees Lestat weep, he's certain to start himself, and vampire tears are such a spectacle. He doesn't let Lestat retract his hand, but leans his cheek toward Lestat's touch, first accepting it, then covering it with his own. Both their hands linked, he turns his face to kiss Lestat's palm.
For a moment he can hardly find the words to speak at all, much less return the sentiment. Three syllables, momentous and yet so inadequate. Oh, it sounded heavenly from Lestat's lips, and yet Louis can't bring himself to simply echo him. )
My heart belongs to you. It always has.
( Green eyes open slowly, tracing a path from their joined hands on the table, up Lestat's chest and finally meeting his gaze. His heartbeat quickens with that thrilling nervousness that comes with being the subject of such overwhelming adoration, but Louis looks at Lestat as if he's seeing the sunrise for the first time in two hundred years. )
I never stopped thinking of you. There were nights when I would have given anything to see you again… decades where your memory haunted me like a phantom. Your voice was an echo in my heart.
( Louis had told his story on a whim, an impulse. Even now he can't truly say the reason why he'd done it. But afterward, when he was being hunted by the others of their kind, Louis had always held on to a small, painful shred of hope that Lestat, too, might come and seek his revenge. He'd never dared to dream of reconciliation. )
You say it took you weeks to write of me. I understand all too well. You know those things I said in my interview weren't the whole truth, you must know that, but I couldn't bear to speak of what I'd truly lost — how badly I'd failed you. I hated myself. It was devastating to think that you could forgive me, much less that you might have actually still loved me.
( It's the first time he's said it aloud, and Louis realizes this with a little startle. His eyes widen, and he nuzzles against Lestat's wrist in a silent apology. His turn to say it, then. )
I've loved you since the night you made me. Even when I didn't know it. Even when I thought I hated you. I've never had any choice in the matter, I think. ( It's wry but affectionate, his expression soft and open as he squeezes Lestat's hand for emphasis. ) But I am choosing this, now... this second chance to be the companion you wanted me to be. I can't remember the last time I wanted anything as badly as I want to be with you.
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Oh, but if only he could stop time or slow it, make this moment last a decade or at least another night; spin it outwards till he could truly believe it was really happening. Even now he marvels that this is real and that Louis wants him, wants to try again, in earnest and with none of the resentment he's sure he deserves. ]
Louis.. [ His tone shrinks down from lofty heights to something as close to serious as he can get at this present moment; there is pain in his chest, an addictive tightness as his heart isn't sure if it's breaking or mending, or both. They must draw this line now, for the sake of their future as one. ] No more talk of past failures between us. Forgiveness has gone and passed. Eternal life is far too long to have such regrets, to feel shame for those mistakes we made together.
[ To forgive Louis is to forgive himself, he knows that now.. and Lestat never blamed Louis for anything that transpired between them. He would have done the same. The blame is his own, so he must allow himself to let go. He cannot be the companion Louis deserves without doing so and he has lost far too much to lose this. Lestat pauses, mouth tightening for a moment, as if he's chewing his words over before speaking them. Before saying her name. ]
But you must understand.. I don't wish to forget those things. Or Claudia. [ Self forgiveness is not denouncing blame. ] Without them I would be the same lost fool I was before I met you.. In making you, you changed me. I want to spend my time now giving you the nights you deserve, to be what I was too frightened to be then.
[ The experience of feeling so connected to someone in this moment is staggering. Lestat has the wild notion to overwhelm Louis with attention, that the mortals mulling around the tables on the restaurant floor are thinking too loud for him to fully focus on this, and that if he were to stop touching Louis he might expire. The blood is droning in his ears, swelling his veins fit to burst as he looks at the object of his very desire. Louis staking a claim - he loves him, loves him - in him is more exciting than he cares to admit, so his sombre manner couldn't possibly withstand much longer.
His laughter is loud and echoes through the hall. It almost sounds like a sob bursting from him at first, but there is a childlike joy on his face as his eyes open again, snapping back to Louis. ]
You make me feel so alive.
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Louis ducks his chin for a moment when Lestat laughs; the volume is startling, and Louis is innately self-conscious, but a smile curves at the corners of his lips in spite of it. He gives Lestat a look that's meant to be warning, but the affection in his eyes spoils the effect entirely. Besides, what Lestat is saying is too true, too important to let his nerves get in the way. )
Didn't I say the same to you, before your concert?
( He tips his cheek toward Lestat's hand, his thumb idly playing with one of his lover's rings, noting the difference in firmness of metal and flesh. The tear track on Lestat's cheek is impossibly beautiful, glistening like the tail of a comet, and Louis is rapt as he watches him from across the table. )
It's such a rare gift, that desire to go on. For years, I thought it was lost to me forever. It's a miracle that we're both here tonight, that we've both survived to find each other after everything. I believed that when I first found you in San Francisco, and I believe it now more than ever.
( His voice is quiet but impassioned, green eyes bright with carefully-restrained feeling. )
There's so much I want to show you, so much you've missed. I want to rediscover the world through your eyes, by your side.
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[ All of a sudden the reverence of their intimate little meeting here seems to be gone, replaced entirely with a wild kind of intensity emminating from Lestat like smoke in the air. Even the table between them feels irritating, like it's getting in his way. Every sweet word that falls from Louis puts his heart in a tighter tourniquet, has him pulled deeper beneath the waves of this feeling, willingly drowning in thoughts of all those tomorrows he'd promised with Louis. It's impossible, he's delerious with it, and he'll cling to it with the claws and teeth of a wolf to never lose it again.
He has all the light in him of a young man under stage lights. His expression is strangely youthful in one of the rare moments he lets his heart control him with no holds barred. Louis' restraint almost makes Lestat seem like a madman in contrast, but he barely cares as the world falls away from everything except Louis' final words. Then, he's getting to his feet. ]
Then show me, mon cher. Promise you will. [ He's coming around the table then, both hands clasping Louis' once more, clutching even. He gets down on his knees in those horrendously expensive silk pants, and presses kisses to Louis' fingers. ] Tonight, even. Why, we're wasting the precious night in here when we could be out there, together!
[ He looks up at Louis then, eyes wide with a spark of excitement like the beginnings of an inferno. ]
Let's go, amour... You must know this isn't all I had planned for our evening together.
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Lestat… We've only just gotten here.
( It's not a protest, only laughing at how ridiculous it is that they should both be so overwhelmed with emotion. But it isn't as if they're actually planning to eat, is it? And Louis is just happy to be in Lestat's presence, to bask in the warmth of his attention like a cat stretching out in a sunbeam.
The moment feels so much like other grand vows, like a proposal or a knight swearing fealty, and even Lestat's wild grin can't spoil it. Louis's heartbeat quickens as he leans down to press a kiss to Lestat's forehead, and then he stands, pulling Lestat to his feet with him. )
I won't ask how much trouble you went through to get us a table here. And I am curious to see how you plan to outdo yourself next…
( Especially if it means no more tables between them. )
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[ He'd be wafting his hands if his weren't wrapped around Louis' like they are the only thing keeping him tethered to this plane. His forehead seems to burn where Louis kissed it, but it can't really be burning, can it? It must be all in his mind, just a product of feeling a sensation he's been craving for longer than he cares to admit... and now he's had it, he is certain he simply won't survive without more. Louis is lucky he keeps talking, pulls Lestat to his feet, because Lestat was a handful of seconds from boldly kissing him in the middle of a suddenly much quieter restaurant. ]
I know we've only just arrived, but I can't stand to be restricted by walls any longer, Louis.
[ He says it in that brash and empassioned kind of tone he used to use centuries ago when dismissing Louis' chiding over his conduct with his victims, but now he's using it to brush aside such meager things as a once-in-a-lifetime reservation at a restaurant booked to bursting for months in favour of something much better with his beautiful one. He's still the same Lestat, after all.
He tosses his hair over his shoulder as he looks out over the floor, a waitress is approaching to ask if everything is alright, but she seems to pause as Lestat starts to stride across the floor with Louis' hand firmly in his grip.
Once outside - Lestat taking the flight of stairs two at a time, practically bouncing when he hits the ground - he spins to look at Louis with a dazzling and equally dazzled expression. He squeezes Louis' hand, and in a movement like the lead of a dancing pair spinning his partner closer, he tugs Louis in to his personal space, ignorant of every single mortal who has to step around them to get passed. ]
I must ask you again to tell me you trust me, lover.
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( Louis says it with such certainty, as if that ought to answer the question of trust and put it completely to bed. But he knows full well that given their history, his mere acquiescence probably isn't enough.
He can't help but be aware of the mortals around them, the murmurs of wondering voices, but they don't seem to matter, not really. Let them think what they want. What does it matter? Perhaps he could practice some of Lestat's nonchalance. He shifts his weight so that Lestat is indeed holding him, a physical answer to his question, and sets his free hand at Lestat's shoulder as if they're a pair of dancers. His eyes gleam bright and curious, and he gazes at Lestat as if he hung the moon. )
I trust you.
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Perhaps he should feel foolish for being so eager. If he should, he doesn't.
Within moments, he's swooping forwards with Louis in tow, there and then gone, ushering him backwards until his back meets a shaded little wall beside the block where the restaurant sits. It's dark, secluded, one of those places a vampire's eye alights on before any other, but Lestat won't let them linger in the dark for long. He flashes a grin that he fast presses to Louis' mouth in what can only be described as an expulsion of energy or a taste of what's to come, and then he draws back and lifts.
They are in the air for mere moments, really. Lestat has to move quickly - they have dressed dark which blends in all too perfectly with the night sky, but his hair is dazzling enough to be a beacon and the last thing he needs is the newspapers reporting about assumed dead rock stars who can fly. He holds Louis tight to him, enough that he'd have to about turn to see the ground beneath them. He wishes he could see it, but even Lestat has enough foresight to think Louis might fare a little better with this surprise if he wasn't truly at its whim. Besides, there are much better ways to show this power to Louis... This is merely in effort of saving time and not having to break open locked gates.
His feet touch down first, then Louis', and he squeezes that fine waist before releasing him. They have landed on a grassy knoll in the close-by park, near to the trickling fountain. There's a lingering hand on the small of Louis' back as he studies his face. ]
Much quicker than walking, don't you think?
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I didn't know you could do that.
( He'd known it was a possibility, that elder vampires eventually developed the power to take to the air, and Lestat had fed from the eldest of them all… but somehow it was difficult to think of Lestat that way. He looked different, yes, but not fundamentally so; beneath any aesthetic changes, he was still the same person Louis had always known, had always loved.
He runs a hand through his wind-ruffled hair, then touches his lips, still tingling from that kiss. He lets out a sharp huff of breath, a quiet and delighted little laugh, and reaches to press Lestat's hand between his. )
I'm impressed by the efficiency, of course, but my goodness, it was quick. I didn't have time to appreciate it, my stomach is still full of butterflies. Or… I suppose it would be moths for us, wouldn't it?
( Being nocturnal and all. And yes, he's impressed by the picturesque location, but Lestat really ought to have known that Louis's curiosity would get the better of him: )
Is it difficult? You made it seem almost natural, but you always have a way of doing that.
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But then he seems to fold, or melt like wax; this fear Lestat had of those green eyes staying wide with trepidation disintegrating before his very eyes when Louis laughs, touches his lips, touches him. Not an ounce of fear in him, just that ever-sharp needle of his mind fascinated by this impossibility. ]
It wouldn't have been a very good surprise if you knew I could do it. [ He laughs, clutching Louis' hands in return. His hold is maybe just a little tight, his laugh a little loud, relief flooding like a wave. ] No, it isn't difficult. The hardest part is the confidence to do it. Why do you think I kissed you?
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He can sense the relief in Lestat, and he wonders at the precise source of it — whether it was only that he'd expected Louis to chastise him for whisking him away like that, or something more. So Louis fights back his instinctive urge to downplay the compliment, and instead bows his head as he presses a kiss to the back of Lestat's hand. )
And if I do something like this?
( He looks up at Lestat through his unruly bangs, cheeks flaring the palest shade of pink, and kisses his hand again. Playfully: )
Will you float off like a soap bubble?
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[ Lestat practically sings his name, the baritone of his voice getting helplessly warm with joy and playfulness. Ever the actor, Lestat allows Louis to keep the hand, but his other flies wide in a dramatic swoop as his feet lift off the ground. Like Louis is his tether - and isn't that just thematic - Lestat flies a little higher till Louis' arm is forced to stretch, and then back down he goes.
With a flourish, he scoops up Louis' hands in his own, kissing his knuckles once and then again, and again, and again-- ]
Like a soap bubble!
[ He repeats it with wonder, like it's a fascinating concept. Much more comfortable, this, than the raw tenderness from before. He presses more kisses to those fine hands, because why not. ]
You say the damnedest things. Moths, butterflies, soap bubbles. Enchanting.
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( The soft laugh adds an extra syllable to his name. Louis breaks out of Lestat's grasp only just enough so that he can move his palms to cup Lestat's face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. He looks so handsome like this, unburdened by secrets and bitterness, open-hearted and earnest and alive, and for a moment Louis almost loses himself to admiring him as he would a painting or a particularly striking full moon. )
I don't mean to, really. You must bring these things out in me. You know, I used to go weeks, sometimes, without talking to anyone? Now I don't want to stop.
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The hush goes as quickly as it came but Lestat barely has time to mourn its passing; laughter is one of his favourite sounds to encourage from Louis, and it's infectious, so he returns it. It seems like second nature, then, to wrap his arms around Louis' waist and spread his hands wide across his back. ]
So many words in that head of yours, and you save them all for me? [ His grin is all teeth, and there's a feline preen to the way he tips his chin between those pale hands. ] You spoil me, Louis. At this rate my nature will become overindulgent, what a horror that might be!
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Heaven forbid you develop an ego.
( Louis smiles at the way Lestat leans so shamelessly into his touch, amazed by how easy it is to elicit such reactions from him. To think that this was always within his reach! Ah, but he'd promised not to dwell on such things tonight, hadn't he?
He makes a soft, considering sound as he slides that hand back and around to the nape of Lestat's neck, where he winds his fingers loosely into that mass of curls, not unlike stroking a purring cat. So soft. What would it take for Louis to dare to ask Lestat to rest his head in his lap while he reads? Such a simple thought, but it makes his heart trip hopefully in his chest. )
But if that's all it takes to spoil you, I'm afraid the situation is entirely hopeless. We want the same thing, after all.
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An ego, what next!
[ Lestat cannot hear those thoughts of Louis comparing him to a cat, but all physical evidence might sew seeds of doubt what with the way his eyes fall slightly closed for a moment, head tilting to follow the curve of Louis' hand against his hair. He hums some quiet, agreeable sound. His heart still thrums in him, the unspent energy of happiness willing him to do something with it, but the tender hands on his skin reigning him back like a hound on a leash, ever loyal to it's master.
Lestat feels reeled in, but it doesn't feel like being restricted, it feels like being held. What a wonder it is, just to be held. And what power Louis has over him. ]
Mm.. [ He murmurs in agreement, eyes opening lazily, his sharp grin seemingly immoveable despite his tender words. ] At last, yes, we do.
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I love you.
( It's his turn to say it this time, and he can't help but marvel at the strange warmth that follows, the lightness in his chest at simply being able to speak it aloud. He waits a moment, letting those three words hang in the air for long enough that it doesn't seem like a bashful deflection when he asks: )
Shall we walk together? Not that I mind this particular view… ( He bites his lip with the point of one fang, but his smile spreads nevertheless. ) But if I'm fortunate, I'll be seeing it much more often.
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His smirk softens till his expression is a picture of contentedness, holding the moment in the reverence it deserves. Though he can't resist an amused chuckle at the suggestion. As if Louis had any chance of getting away from him now. He retracts however unwillingly from Louis' hands, instead holding out his arm to be taken. ]
I'd like that. You know, I had planned to come here much later, but perhaps the timing of all this suits a little better. [ When Louis takes his arm, he puts a hand over his, and when they walk his pace is as leisurely as it can be for someone who constantly walks like they have somewhere to be. ] Tell me, what do you know about constellations, lover?
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( Louis tips his head slightly, studying Lestat's expression. It's a curious question, leading somewhere Louis can't immediately guess at. He casts a glance toward the velvet darkness of the sky, glittering with stars only visible to their vampire eyes, considering his answer. )
I'm no astronomer, certainly; but with vision as spectacular as ours, how could we fail to fall in love with the stars? I know the names the Greeks gave to them, and I've read the myths, though I don't know how many I could find on my own.
( But he enjoys impressing Lestat, so he traces a path in the sky with his finger, pressing closer to Lestat as he does. )
That's Orion, of course, and his faithful hunting dog. Next to him is Taurus, whose horns point toward Gemini...
( He stops there, satisfied at having proven his own basic knowledge and waiting to see where Lestat might be going with this. )
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Lestat listens with ease, letting Louis' voice soothe him as it always has. He leans in when Louis does, the two of them as though they were children sharing a secret tete-a-tete like this, and follows the movement of Louis' hands more than the intended pattern in the sky. He nods, an inspired sound leaving him, squeezing where his hand has fallen over Louis' own. ]
And here I thought you said you were no astronomer. Very impressive. [ His voice is warm as he reaches his own hand out to take Louis' hand by the wrist and move his pointing a little to the right. ] Over to the west of Gemini is Leo, do you see it? The large line of the lion's back, his legs..? There's a small collection of stars by his tail I was reading about earlier this week that should be visible tonight; Coma Berenices. I wonder if you've heard of it?
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( His voice is low and sweet, still amazed by the splendor of the night even after all of these years, and all the more so now that he can finally share it with Lestat. It isn't as though Louis needs the excuse, but he leans his shoulder against Lestat's as he guides his hand, and finally tips his head toward him until that, too, makes soft contact. )
I've never heard the name before. Tell me about it?
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[ He speaks with an adequate air of derision because he is an adult, so obviously these stories have little truth to him... but there is nevertheless a certain amount of wonder in the way he looks at the stars, and the way his eyes scan the clusters with such great attention, taking in every detail on offer to his vampire eyes. Lestat has always enjoyed a good story, after all. ]
I just thought it interesting. Coma Berenices. Berenice's hair. The lion loses his tail, but the sky gains a constellation fuelled by love. Hm.
[ If there is something further to be said about it, Lestat doesn't say it. Instead, his expression turns a little tender, and he falls silent as he stares into the sky. ]