Phone abandoned in the cushioned interior of his coffin, Lestat folds an arm against the edge, rests his chin in hand. Displeased. Not finding it very easy to wave away at all.
He looks to Daniel, the kind of look a cat might fix on a human in silent accusation for there being rain outside. Do something.
'You scared the shit out of me and I'm still processing everything,' is all Daniel can offer Louis. He hopes it sounds sincere, because it is.
He doesn't want to talk about it. Doesn't know what he'll say. History informs him that he will fuck up talking about it badly and cause an argument. Not a fun one that he and Louis can spar over, but the kind that explain why he's never had a real relationship or even long-term friendship work out.
(Bonding topics, twice divorced, yeah yeah, sure, but none of Daniel's exes are here, or down the street, yearning.)
"Did it hurt? How long do you think it lasted?"
Don't look at him like that, Blondie, YOU'RE the one that wanted the sleepover.
"Could be anesthesia, muscle blocker type surgical drug, or a compound made from something like snake venom. Either way I don't know what the fuck a single syringe was supposed to do. Good thing she wasn't smarter."
Talk to me, doesn't care about the possibility of an argument. I'm not a stranger.
Words borrowed from Daniel, murmured between them.
Aloud, looking between Lestat's expression and Daniel, Louis senses this isn't exactly what Lestat had been hoping for.
Louis does give it consideration, these questions. The promises he'd made to Lestat, to say the hard things. To try.
"It hurt because she made it hurt. Her gift."
Which matters not at all now, because she is dead and gone.
"I don't think she was gambling. I think she expected it to hold," Louis says, hands folding in his lap. Hooking a leg up, ankle balancing on his knee. "Maybe our mutual friend will have found some trace of the syringe or it's case in the wreck."
And there is a certain restless quality in Lestat's glances between the two of them, keyed into the possibility of some secret offline conversation, if not so much that he can raise objection without sounding insane. His fingernails drum a little against his cheek.
"And so after you rushed into her embrace, you were chained, paralysed and tortured," Lestat says. You know, to be clear.
"For the record, if somebody ever threatens me again— that's a whatever, because first of all, she wasn't even on the podium for the scariest vampires who've ever tried to kill me,"
this is an affectionate joke, believe it or not
"Nothing happened to me. Watching you two go through any of that is what sucked. And— look, I'm not saying I don't want to talk about it ever," and now he is looking directly at Louis, not bothering to use telepathy. "I just need a minute. Is this what you guys wanted to talk about, in there?"
An affectionate joke that does an excellent job of reminding Louis of his breathtaking failures at protecting Daniel in the past.
Has to take a moment, wait out the nettled, defensive feeling that rises in the wake of their twined focus, Daniel's realignment. To silently double-down on a chosen course of action, a promise to himself that anyone threatening Daniel will need to die. No more trading on uncertainties.
"We don't have to talk," is only slightly clipped. But it's true, no one has to talk. Lestat hadn't assembled them out here for that. Louis is very aware of the drive behind this assembly, the fearful thing in Lestat that is soothed only by having everyone near to hand.
Lestat gives a scoff and a sigh in one, a peevish little assez under his breath, and only a little more pronounced as he continues with, "Nothing happened, we don't have to talk. Bon, then."
Focuses on Daniel, a little lean past his coffin. "Thank you for picking me up off the floor, and so quickly. I don't know what would have happened if you had not. But something still did happen," to Louis, "and I am not assured you did not take the first chance you could to go off alone and fight without us. Next time," raising a finger, a little point, "I would prefer your gratitude than your apologies for my participation."
And he flings himself back down into his coffin, all sulk.
What did Lestat think was going to happen! Besides arguing! This is what happens when you put people into a room! Daniel takes a breath and thinks like, sure, he can let this go, probably, that's what he wanted to do, right, he's just going to go to "sleep" and lay there and go insane until night rolls around again, and—
'You clearly WANT to talk. Or want me to.'
Echo of an echo, I'm not a stranger. Sneaky but fair, he has to concede.
"I am grateful," a point of correction. Clipping the tailend of Daniel's sure, but otherwise smoothly delivered. "It doesn't keep me from being sorry for what happened."
In which "what happened" is Lestat being clawed and bitten in the process of intervening.
Slow-growing awareness of his own temper, warming as Daniel says this thing to him. Of feeling something beyond nettled, veering towards affronted. His gaze slants to Daniel, leaving Lestat's prone form in coffin. Expression imperceptible as he looks back at his friend, and weighs this.
Has a cruel thing caught in his mouth. The beat of quiet is for the sole purpose of biing down on it, crushing the urge to say it into check.
I'm not a stranger, Louis repeats. I thought that meant something.
Is it only Louis' task to crack open his chest, let all the mess of his emotions spill out to be inspected and reformed?
Taking the highest and brattiest road, this expression of gratitude and reiterated apology goes ignored, Lestat taking his phone back up and navigating through various Spotify playlists. Fortunately, Daniel purchased him the second most expensive headphones in the store and will filter the volume just fine if the over-plush interior of the coffin didn't do the rest.
For a long (?) stretch of silence, it seems like maybe they can. Daniel even just sits there, and gets his phone out, and looks at the message, returns one. Stares at it, puts his phone away again—
'Yeah, the 'something' it means is that I am completely fucked up over you doing that because someone threatened me. My fucking fault that you got drugged and tortured. You walked away with some deranged psychopath after you just got your life back.'
And Daniel did vampire murder, and didn't hesitate because it was Louis, and isn't going to complain about the psychological reeling because it was for Louis. Louis, who didn't want to publish the book, who wants to get into a fight, who went and got tortured because some idiot made a threat that they had no reason to believe was even viable.
Two feet on the floor, stalled from further motion by Daniel's unexpected rejoinder.
A pause, Louis turning to look Daniel full in the face. He can hear just the barest hint of Lestat's chosen playlist. Insurmountable, for the immediate moment. Whatever complicated thing Louis' face does as he considers Lestat walling himself off with his Spotify account—
Well, something for the future.
In the present moment, Louis reaches to touch Daniel's face, cup his cheek. Feels the breadth of this thing he cannot say, because it is too much. Overwhelming. Words locked in his body because they mean everything. But some of it is there, as Louis' expression softens. As he touches Daniel's mind and this thing ebbs in alongside his reply.
You gave me my life back.
By completely demolishing his old one, but—
It's not your fault, what happened.
"We can talk tomorrow," Louis offers. Disinclined to let any part of this go, but more willing to give Daniel a day to process now that Daniel's cracked the door open. Comfortable with something near to a decided upon point for a future conversation. Louis had gotten a full night after Armand had sent a bomb into their room to make a point. It's fair.
As if all of Lestat's senses aren't keyed in to the two other vampires in the room, as if he were wholly focused on his phone, the music leaking from headphones. This time, he knows an unexpected flash of upset rather than the usual bruise he on purpose presses to make twinge, but sealed up tightly behind a taut expression and his eyes on his phone.
Sinks lower amongst his cushions, as he would for properly settling in. Reaches up, snagging a hand on the internal handle, coaxing the lid closed.
Takes a second to change gears again after deciding, alright fine, if Louis wants to be mean and get into an argument about it, let's fucking get into an argument about it— probably obvious on Daniel's face, telepathy or not, as Louis leans in to touch him. They've said plenty of awful shit to each other, why not more, when it means the most?
—distracted, by the coffin lid shutting.
Imagines the neon sign over the flat surface, You Two Are Being Annoying.
"Are you sure screaming about it wouldn't make us both feel better?"
This, too, is affectionate. Daniel sighs and stands up, so he can just give Louis a hug. Fuck all of this, alright, he just cares about him.
Maybe screaming about it would be easier. A lancing of all the stress Louis knows they are all three feeling. But instead, there is this.
Daniel puts arms around him. Louis breathes out. Leans into him, holds on. Tucks his face in against the bend of Daniel's neck and stays there a moment, eyes closed.
He doesn't regret any part of what he did. What he risked. Doesn't risk the toll it's taken on him, what has been staved off by a little blood and will be managed by rest after.
The argument they aren't having is still swirling in the air. Not gone, but staved off. (Maybe.) Lestat's coffin, closing. (The tightening in Louis' chest to observe it.) Daylight rising outside the window. They'll leave soon. Louis is alright.
He makes himself be the one to straighten first from the embrace.
Unless Louis wants to try very hard to reignite it tomorrow, it's probably defused— Daniel didn't want to talk anyway, he'll shelve it, compartmentalize, move on. Who knows what move on will entail. Maybe find a new game plan, maybe nothing. Tomorrow is a new night.
"Yeah, yeah." Fine!! "Goodnight, Louis. You too, Blondie."
Sulking but not forgotten.
Bedtime. Sure. He can pretend. Daniel does a last sweep to make sure he has the right phone charging brick (and to double-check curtains and screens), and then closes himself away in his coffin, sufficiently cowed into giving up the appearance of anything else, today. Into the casket, and the daytime world of anxiety texting, since he's never actually going to be able to get any fucking sleep.
Lucky for Louis, he had just had a whole tutorial by the very famous Daniel Molloy about how to discuss topics people would rather ignore.
But that's for sundown.
In the present moment, Louis drums fingers so softly along the top of Lestat's coffin as Daniel makes his rounds. Watches him, expression soft. All things are complicated, yes, but not so complicated that Louis is not endlessly pleased with Daniel's presence, his survival.
When Daniel is securely within his coffin, Louis' fingers lift away from Lestat's.
And he goes, quietly, as promised into his own.
"Good night," softly into the dark of the room, before drawing the lid down over himself.
Through layers of wood and plush silk, Lestat burns a hole staring where he knows Louis to be standing, as if he could will him to do something more than the light tap of fingers. Then, soft foot falls away, and in the dark interior, he scoffs, fitfully twists around with the object of going to sleep.
Sunlight is warming the sky by the time he gives in, and the lid of his coffin opens an inch, two inches. Evaluating the shaded living room, the closed coffins nearby, before opening the lid properly and climbing out. On quiet, slippered feet, he moves around to Louis', kneels down, places a hand at the edge of the lid.
He could already be deep in vampiric slumber, but Lestat is not above climbing in anyway. For now, he remains polite, and taps his fingers against the lid, a gesture from what feels like a million years ago and yesterday.
Drowsing, but not asleep. Taking quiet stock of his body, the aches and pains that have been dulled but not erased by cups and cups of borrowed blood. Thinking ahead to Vermont. To what he should say tomorrow to Daniel. What he should say to Lestat, if Lestat were still sulking when evening fell.
Then, a tapping.
A disorienting moment, trying to place the sound. Trying to decide whether or not he's dreaming.
The lid cracks open. Louis peers out, catching sight of Lestat's chest, then pushes the lid farther, opening wider to look up into his face.
"Hello," and then, worried, "Has something happened?"
Lestat lays his hand on the edge of the coffin, fingers curled over the edge, touching the soft interior. Not quite as obvious as putting a foot in a door before it can close, but a little motivated by the same instinct.
He is unhappy, afraid, frustrated, anxious with the sense of having had his feelings hurt and nO oNe hAs nOtIcEd, but another sentiment overrides all of these things, clear in the way he studies Louis' face. Most of it shoved aside, left behind in his coffin along with his headphones and ~portable~.
The lid is pushed all the way up and back, securely affixed with no immediate possibility of closing. Louis leans himself along the edge beside Lestat's fingers, arms crossed so he might rest his chin. Welcoming further conversation, for the moment.
A softening of Louis' expression at this given reason.
"Is it not helping as you thought to have us all here?"
For a moment, Lestat is still, nearly stiff. Some internal flinch back from Louis stating motivations so plainly when they had all agreed that to arrange their coffins like so was for the mutual benefit of protection, as opposed to whether or not Lestat could sleep. Protest rising, failing, a glance away as he considers the gloom of the space, the soft indication of sunlight peeking at the edges of thick curtains.
Very well. He can bear this latest bruise to his pride, and looks back at Louis.
"You were not so far away either, when you were taken," he says. "And there was nothing I could do."
Did he come here to talk? Not really, despite his little display moments ago. Louis will assure him he is fine, that nothing too terrible occurred. What else can be said? Lestat skips this possibility and adds, "I will sleep better with my arms around you. But that has always been so."
Yes, that has always been so. For him, for Louis. Sleep has come easier always when they shared a coffin. Louis' nightmares fewer and farther between when Lestat was tangled around him, a tangible ward against the worst of what lived in Louis' head back then.
Louis shifts, freeing a hand to touch Lestat. A well-worn bit of intimacy, his hand cupping Lestat's cheek, thumb at the corner of his mouth.
"You retrieved me. I was never in any danger."
No need to betray any deeper thoughts on the matter. Whether Louis wished they'd both stayed behind, left him to manage the after effects of his challenge on his own. Lestat had come. Louis was reclaimed. They were safe, all three of them.
"Come here," is invitation against whatever rebuttal Lestat surely has. Draws him down towards the utilitarian confines of Louis' storage crate. Well-cushioned but hardly luxurious, open to Lestat if he pleases.
Does Louis think that touching his face so gently while he says ridiculous things is a viable strategy against Lestat arguing them?
Because he would be correct.
But Lestat's jaw sets in a stubbornly displeased angle, a look that transparently conveys he is not convinced. Louis was in danger because Louis was hurt. Danger occurred, manifested. But an invitation is made, and Lestat moves to accept it, two centuries and a half of practice of crawling into small dark spaces, with or without another. Taking care with limbs, seeking out the most comfortable configuration.
Tonight, it is to settle his weight against Louis, pin him to the floor of this—storage crate, merde, what is the point of being a billionaire vampire—
A sigh, in the dark. Once they are settled, "Why are you doing this?" Not argumentative so much as an honest question. "Explain it to me like I'm an imbecile."
Louis isn't objecting. Like Daniel's embrace, Louis yields into this entanglement, transparent in the comfort taken from the contact. Breathes out as Lestat settles himself just so, reaching up past him to hook the handle and draw the lid closed over them. Lestat can certainly leave if he pleases, but no expectation from Louis that he expects Lestat to relocate, that he sees this as temporary.
His thumb runs along Lestat's cheek once more.
"Inviting you in?"
Not what he's being asked. Louis knows. Is reasonably sure Lestat won't find the joke charming.
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He looks to Daniel, the kind of look a cat might fix on a human in silent accusation for there being rain outside. Do something.
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He doesn't want to talk about it. Doesn't know what he'll say. History informs him that he will fuck up talking about it badly and cause an argument. Not a fun one that he and Louis can spar over, but the kind that explain why he's never had a real relationship or even long-term friendship work out.
(Bonding topics, twice divorced, yeah yeah, sure, but none of Daniel's exes are here, or down the street, yearning.)
"Did it hurt? How long do you think it lasted?"
Don't look at him like that, Blondie, YOU'RE the one that wanted the sleepover.
"Could be anesthesia, muscle blocker type surgical drug, or a compound made from something like snake venom. Either way I don't know what the fuck a single syringe was supposed to do. Good thing she wasn't smarter."
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Words borrowed from Daniel, murmured between them.
Aloud, looking between Lestat's expression and Daniel, Louis senses this isn't exactly what Lestat had been hoping for.
Louis does give it consideration, these questions. The promises he'd made to Lestat, to say the hard things. To try.
"It hurt because she made it hurt. Her gift."
Which matters not at all now, because she is dead and gone.
"I don't think she was gambling. I think she expected it to hold," Louis says, hands folding in his lap. Hooking a leg up, ankle balancing on his knee. "Maybe our mutual friend will have found some trace of the syringe or it's case in the wreck."
Since apparently Rashid is just around now.
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And there is a certain restless quality in Lestat's glances between the two of them, keyed into the possibility of some secret offline conversation, if not so much that he can raise objection without sounding insane. His fingernails drum a little against his cheek.
"And so after you rushed into her embrace, you were chained, paralysed and tortured," Lestat says. You know, to be clear.
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>:(
"For the record, if somebody ever threatens me again— that's a whatever, because first of all, she wasn't even on the podium for the scariest vampires who've ever tried to kill me,"
this is an affectionate joke, believe it or not
"Nothing happened to me. Watching you two go through any of that is what sucked. And— look, I'm not saying I don't want to talk about it ever," and now he is looking directly at Louis, not bothering to use telepathy. "I just need a minute. Is this what you guys wanted to talk about, in there?"
Like what is going on, fellas.
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Has to take a moment, wait out the nettled, defensive feeling that rises in the wake of their twined focus, Daniel's realignment. To silently double-down on a chosen course of action, a promise to himself that anyone threatening Daniel will need to die. No more trading on uncertainties.
"We don't have to talk," is only slightly clipped. But it's true, no one has to talk. Lestat hadn't assembled them out here for that. Louis is very aware of the drive behind this assembly, the fearful thing in Lestat that is soothed only by having everyone near to hand.
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Focuses on Daniel, a little lean past his coffin. "Thank you for picking me up off the floor, and so quickly. I don't know what would have happened if you had not. But something still did happen," to Louis, "and I am not assured you did not take the first chance you could to go off alone and fight without us. Next time," raising a finger, a little point, "I would prefer your gratitude than your apologies for my participation."
And he flings himself back down into his coffin, all sulk.
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Brittle, yet trying.
What did Lestat think was going to happen! Besides arguing! This is what happens when you put people into a room! Daniel takes a breath and thinks like, sure, he can let this go, probably, that's what he wanted to do, right, he's just going to go to "sleep" and lay there and go insane until night rolls around again, and—
'You clearly WANT to talk. Or want me to.'
Echo of an echo, I'm not a stranger. Sneaky but fair, he has to concede.
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In which "what happened" is Lestat being clawed and bitten in the process of intervening.
Slow-growing awareness of his own temper, warming as Daniel says this thing to him. Of feeling something beyond nettled, veering towards affronted. His gaze slants to Daniel, leaving Lestat's prone form in coffin. Expression imperceptible as he looks back at his friend, and weighs this.
Has a cruel thing caught in his mouth. The beat of quiet is for the sole purpose of biing down on it, crushing the urge to say it into check.
I'm not a stranger, Louis repeats. I thought that meant something.
Is it only Louis' task to crack open his chest, let all the mess of his emotions spill out to be inspected and reformed?
Aloud: "We can leave it for tonight."
Unhooks ankle from knee, makes to stand.
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For a long (?) stretch of silence, it seems like maybe they can. Daniel even just sits there, and gets his phone out, and looks at the message, returns one. Stares at it, puts his phone away again—
'Yeah, the 'something' it means is that I am completely fucked up over you doing that because someone threatened me. My fucking fault that you got drugged and tortured. You walked away with some deranged psychopath after you just got your life back.'
And Daniel did vampire murder, and didn't hesitate because it was Louis, and isn't going to complain about the psychological reeling because it was for Louis. Louis, who didn't want to publish the book, who wants to get into a fight, who went and got tortured because some idiot made a threat that they had no reason to believe was even viable.
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A pause, Louis turning to look Daniel full in the face. He can hear just the barest hint of Lestat's chosen playlist. Insurmountable, for the immediate moment. Whatever complicated thing Louis' face does as he considers Lestat walling himself off with his Spotify account—
Well, something for the future.
In the present moment, Louis reaches to touch Daniel's face, cup his cheek. Feels the breadth of this thing he cannot say, because it is too much. Overwhelming. Words locked in his body because they mean everything. But some of it is there, as Louis' expression softens. As he touches Daniel's mind and this thing ebbs in alongside his reply.
You gave me my life back.
By completely demolishing his old one, but—
It's not your fault, what happened.
"We can talk tomorrow," Louis offers. Disinclined to let any part of this go, but more willing to give Daniel a day to process now that Daniel's cracked the door open. Comfortable with something near to a decided upon point for a future conversation. Louis had gotten a full night after Armand had sent a bomb into their room to make a point. It's fair.
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As if all of Lestat's senses aren't keyed in to the two other vampires in the room, as if he were wholly focused on his phone, the music leaking from headphones. This time, he knows an unexpected flash of upset rather than the usual bruise he on purpose presses to make twinge, but sealed up tightly behind a taut expression and his eyes on his phone.
Sinks lower amongst his cushions, as he would for properly settling in. Reaches up, snagging a hand on the internal handle, coaxing the lid closed.
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—distracted, by the coffin lid shutting.
Imagines the neon sign over the flat surface, You Two Are Being Annoying.
"Are you sure screaming about it wouldn't make us both feel better?"
This, too, is affectionate. Daniel sighs and stands up, so he can just give Louis a hug. Fuck all of this, alright, he just cares about him.
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Maybe screaming about it would be easier. A lancing of all the stress Louis knows they are all three feeling. But instead, there is this.
Daniel puts arms around him. Louis breathes out. Leans into him, holds on. Tucks his face in against the bend of Daniel's neck and stays there a moment, eyes closed.
He doesn't regret any part of what he did. What he risked. Doesn't risk the toll it's taken on him, what has been staved off by a little blood and will be managed by rest after.
The argument they aren't having is still swirling in the air. Not gone, but staved off. (Maybe.) Lestat's coffin, closing. (The tightening in Louis' chest to observe it.) Daylight rising outside the window. They'll leave soon. Louis is alright.
He makes himself be the one to straighten first from the embrace.
"You can scream at me tomorrow."
Putting a pin in this.
"It's late now. You need sleep."
Growing fledglings, etc.
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"Yeah, yeah." Fine!! "Goodnight, Louis. You too, Blondie."
Sulking but not forgotten.
Bedtime. Sure. He can pretend. Daniel does a last sweep to make sure he has the right phone charging brick (and to double-check curtains and screens), and then closes himself away in his coffin, sufficiently cowed into giving up the appearance of anything else, today. Into the casket, and the daytime world of anxiety texting, since he's never actually going to be able to get any fucking sleep.
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But that's for sundown.
In the present moment, Louis drums fingers so softly along the top of Lestat's coffin as Daniel makes his rounds. Watches him, expression soft. All things are complicated, yes, but not so complicated that Louis is not endlessly pleased with Daniel's presence, his survival.
When Daniel is securely within his coffin, Louis' fingers lift away from Lestat's.
And he goes, quietly, as promised into his own.
"Good night," softly into the dark of the room, before drawing the lid down over himself.
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Sunlight is warming the sky by the time he gives in, and the lid of his coffin opens an inch, two inches. Evaluating the shaded living room, the closed coffins nearby, before opening the lid properly and climbing out. On quiet, slippered feet, he moves around to Louis', kneels down, places a hand at the edge of the lid.
He could already be deep in vampiric slumber, but Lestat is not above climbing in anyway. For now, he remains polite, and taps his fingers against the lid, a gesture from what feels like a million years ago and yesterday.
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Drowsing, but not asleep. Taking quiet stock of his body, the aches and pains that have been dulled but not erased by cups and cups of borrowed blood. Thinking ahead to Vermont. To what he should say tomorrow to Daniel. What he should say to Lestat, if Lestat were still sulking when evening fell.
Then, a tapping.
A disorienting moment, trying to place the sound. Trying to decide whether or not he's dreaming.
The lid cracks open. Louis peers out, catching sight of Lestat's chest, then pushes the lid farther, opening wider to look up into his face.
"Hello," and then, worried, "Has something happened?"
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Lestat lays his hand on the edge of the coffin, fingers curled over the edge, touching the soft interior. Not quite as obvious as putting a foot in a door before it can close, but a little motivated by the same instinct.
He is unhappy, afraid, frustrated, anxious with the sense of having had his feelings hurt and nO oNe hAs nOtIcEd, but another sentiment overrides all of these things, clear in the way he studies Louis' face. Most of it shoved aside, left behind in his coffin along with his headphones and ~portable~.
"I can't sleep."
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A softening of Louis' expression at this given reason.
"Is it not helping as you thought to have us all here?"
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Very well. He can bear this latest bruise to his pride, and looks back at Louis.
"You were not so far away either, when you were taken," he says. "And there was nothing I could do."
Did he come here to talk? Not really, despite his little display moments ago. Louis will assure him he is fine, that nothing too terrible occurred. What else can be said? Lestat skips this possibility and adds, "I will sleep better with my arms around you. But that has always been so."
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Louis shifts, freeing a hand to touch Lestat. A well-worn bit of intimacy, his hand cupping Lestat's cheek, thumb at the corner of his mouth.
"You retrieved me. I was never in any danger."
No need to betray any deeper thoughts on the matter. Whether Louis wished they'd both stayed behind, left him to manage the after effects of his challenge on his own. Lestat had come. Louis was reclaimed. They were safe, all three of them.
"Come here," is invitation against whatever rebuttal Lestat surely has. Draws him down towards the utilitarian confines of Louis' storage crate. Well-cushioned but hardly luxurious, open to Lestat if he pleases.
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Because he would be correct.
But Lestat's jaw sets in a stubbornly displeased angle, a look that transparently conveys he is not convinced. Louis was in danger because Louis was hurt. Danger occurred, manifested. But an invitation is made, and Lestat moves to accept it, two centuries and a half of practice of crawling into small dark spaces, with or without another. Taking care with limbs, seeking out the most comfortable configuration.
Tonight, it is to settle his weight against Louis, pin him to the floor of this—storage crate, merde, what is the point of being a billionaire vampire—
A sigh, in the dark. Once they are settled, "Why are you doing this?" Not argumentative so much as an honest question. "Explain it to me like I'm an imbecile."
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Louis isn't objecting. Like Daniel's embrace, Louis yields into this entanglement, transparent in the comfort taken from the contact. Breathes out as Lestat settles himself just so, reaching up past him to hook the handle and draw the lid closed over them. Lestat can certainly leave if he pleases, but no expectation from Louis that he expects Lestat to relocate, that he sees this as temporary.
His thumb runs along Lestat's cheek once more.
"Inviting you in?"
Not what he's being asked. Louis knows. Is reasonably sure Lestat won't find the joke charming.
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bow??
🎀