But it is as Claudia had once warned. Lestat is his heart. There is such relief in his nearness. How little time it takes to fall into him.
How intimately they know each other. Lestat, the only person on this earth who had seen Louis' brown eyes.
Lestat, who says will any of them be able to look at me the way you do? and Louis feels the old covetous flare of desire. All this time, wanting Lestat all to himself.
A held breath. Looking at him, conflicting emotions tangling in his chest.
"My account," softly, absolution for Daniel. "My memories."
His thumb, running along Lestat's knuckles as he tells him, "Is this what you want me to give you? Your portrait?"
This absolution is met with a steady look, a slight dimming of something behind his eyes. Yes, alright, Louis' account, memories, Louis' words. Is now the night to talk about the book? No, thinks Lestat. It's been a nice evening. He has a gift in his hands, and Louis' arm around him, and their hands tangled.
Will there ever be a time? Too good, too bad, just right?
Mercifully, there's no silence to fill. The smile he has for Louis' question is a milder thing than it might have been before, but not disingenuous.
"I would enjoy that indulgence," he says, easy. "But only if it would please you, Louis."
All the more reason for them to be better. More than what his limited ability could provide.
Louis' eyes drop to their linked fingers.
"I'd like to please you," Louis tells him. A thing unearthed in him, this desire. Still inside him even now. What a pleasure it is to offer Lestat the things Louis is certain he will enjoy.
But photos. There is something fraught in that.
"Ask me again when you've finished your compositions. We'll see."
See if Louis can bear to give him something less than art.
After? he's finished? his compositions?, and then we'll see? For a portrait???
Lestat lifts their linked hands, brushes a kiss to Louis' knuckles, and says, "I don't agree to those terms, but we can reopen negotiations in due course. Come," and he gets to his feet, keeping Louis' hand, pulling him up off the bench with easy strength, and still not letting go once this is done. "Let's visit Giuseppe Verdi's monument and give our thanks for the nice evening out."
And it is a nice evening. A comfortable chill in the air that reminds Lestat of former homes before New Orleans, not unpleasantly. An opera, a gift, an absolution.
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no subject
But it is as Claudia had once warned. Lestat is his heart. There is such relief in his nearness. How little time it takes to fall into him.
How intimately they know each other. Lestat, the only person on this earth who had seen Louis' brown eyes.
Lestat, who says will any of them be able to look at me the way you do? and Louis feels the old covetous flare of desire. All this time, wanting Lestat all to himself.
A held breath. Looking at him, conflicting emotions tangling in his chest.
"My account," softly, absolution for Daniel. "My memories."
His thumb, running along Lestat's knuckles as he tells him, "Is this what you want me to give you? Your portrait?"
no subject
Will there ever be a time? Too good, too bad, just right?
Mercifully, there's no silence to fill. The smile he has for Louis' question is a milder thing than it might have been before, but not disingenuous.
"I would enjoy that indulgence," he says, easy. "But only if it would please you, Louis."
A surrender, giving up the game.
no subject
All the more reason for them to be better. More than what his limited ability could provide.
Louis' eyes drop to their linked fingers.
"I'd like to please you," Louis tells him. A thing unearthed in him, this desire. Still inside him even now. What a pleasure it is to offer Lestat the things Louis is certain he will enjoy.
But photos. There is something fraught in that.
"Ask me again when you've finished your compositions. We'll see."
See if Louis can bear to give him something less than art.
no subject
After? he's finished? his compositions?, and then we'll see? For a portrait???
Lestat lifts their linked hands, brushes a kiss to Louis' knuckles, and says, "I don't agree to those terms, but we can reopen negotiations in due course. Come," and he gets to his feet, keeping Louis' hand, pulling him up off the bench with easy strength, and still not letting go once this is done. "Let's visit Giuseppe Verdi's monument and give our thanks for the nice evening out."
And it is a nice evening. A comfortable chill in the air that reminds Lestat of former homes before New Orleans, not unpleasantly. An opera, a gift, an absolution.