Lestat's attention flickers over. Amusement, perhaps approval crinkling his eyes, after his emoting had become a little void in the last several minutes. Enraptured by music, by thrumming heart beats, by his own rising appetite.
The partner agrees, and who knows why. Well, either vampire can read for themselves: he is a little drunk and a little stoned, and possesses some anxiety in him that to stop now would be to tumble to the wayside and not enjoy the landing. Historical precedence. Maybe he'll feel better if he does it, anyway. Maybe the night will feel better.
And the gamer they'd intruded on is stoned enough for everyone, passes on a half-hearted offer his way while he grabs the remote for the stereo, drags the volume back down.
On the sofa across the room, while the three on the other side vibe on this new influx of chemical stimulus, the man with Lestat says, "Do you want to—"
And stops speaking when Lestat leans over, brushes his mouth tenderly against his cheek, and then his jaw, and his throat, where he stays. A little gasp beneath the noise of everything but that's all, no screaming or struggle. Look over, and you can make out the way Lestat's exposed throat shifts around long, luxurious swallows, and he gently eases the man back against the arm of the couch as consciousness slowly pools out of him.
Dying, largely unnoticed, a hand gripping a sequined sleeve, a hand that loosens. And Tool cranks itself back up to max volume as it happens.
The stoner swears, and gets up. Moving for the wall, the power outlet. Lestat, without yet lifting his head, flexes his fingers where he has them braced against the couch arm, and the man immediately falls to a knee, gasping around some deep compression around his throat, blocking airways and arteries.
Lestat, finally, looking up. Eyes hooded, mouth wetly crimson, fangs only getting a little bit in the way when he tells him, somehow audible amongst the loud music, "I like this song."
Half-beneath him, a young man takes in his last breaths, eyes glassy.
no subject
The partner agrees, and who knows why. Well, either vampire can read for themselves: he is a little drunk and a little stoned, and possesses some anxiety in him that to stop now would be to tumble to the wayside and not enjoy the landing. Historical precedence. Maybe he'll feel better if he does it, anyway. Maybe the night will feel better.
And the gamer they'd intruded on is stoned enough for everyone, passes on a half-hearted offer his way while he grabs the remote for the stereo, drags the volume back down.
On the sofa across the room, while the three on the other side vibe on this new influx of chemical stimulus, the man with Lestat says, "Do you want to—"
And stops speaking when Lestat leans over, brushes his mouth tenderly against his cheek, and then his jaw, and his throat, where he stays. A little gasp beneath the noise of everything but that's all, no screaming or struggle. Look over, and you can make out the way Lestat's exposed throat shifts around long, luxurious swallows, and he gently eases the man back against the arm of the couch as consciousness slowly pools out of him.
Dying, largely unnoticed, a hand gripping a sequined sleeve, a hand that loosens. And Tool cranks itself back up to max volume as it happens.
The stoner swears, and gets up. Moving for the wall, the power outlet. Lestat, without yet lifting his head, flexes his fingers where he has them braced against the couch arm, and the man immediately falls to a knee, gasping around some deep compression around his throat, blocking airways and arteries.
Lestat, finally, looking up. Eyes hooded, mouth wetly crimson, fangs only getting a little bit in the way when he tells him, somehow audible amongst the loud music, "I like this song."
Half-beneath him, a young man takes in his last breaths, eyes glassy.