Comfortably settling into something like how they intend to continue. Finding time for each other, making small and achievable promises.
What had he imagined of the day that Louis finds him again, hiding away? He had, at a certain point, stopped imagining it completely, and had found himself entirely unprepared when that day finally (finally) came about. But Lestat knows himself. Knows the kind of wild fantasies and hopes he might have harboured, even at a distance from himself.
Knows that even at his lowest moments, Louis has found someone else and it isn't even Armand would not have crossed his mind. Ego. Ego, and the idea of seeking alternative companionship being about as appealing as the prospect of crossing the Atacama desert.
"Then I promise you in return," Lestat says. So there. "You say, like you don't have your own horde of salivating fans intruding on our time."
To say something of the many vampires. A hair toss follows, "We endure."
Side-stepping Louis' fans. (Fans, critics, Louis is certain their chosen method of expression when it comes to their opinions of him will be identical.) Side-stepping what Louis may or may not choose to endure.
This, the promise they're making, feels like it'd fit in the palm of Louis' hand. Already, Louis worries over it. Over how they'd keep it once Lestat makes good on his intentions. Once Louis returns to Dubai. (When. This too, a growing certainty, even if Louis has said nothing aloud.) Will Lestat find someone else to hold his attention, easy in all the ways Louis is not and never has been?
"Been enduring long enough," he says instead, as the path slopes downward and his grip on Lestat's arm tightens. "You should have something good now."
Unexpected, this flash of—resentment? Perhaps that. Something bitter, rising, fangs out. That Louis can abandon him for long decades, and then one day step into his life, declare his punishment over, and say, you're free, Lestat, find happiness, as he waltzes back out of it.
Ducks his head as they walk, bracing against it. Abjures it somewhere. Those fans of the book (the human kind, not the vampiric) might say, shouldn't Lestat be snarling and snapping by now? Throwing a tantrum, perhaps. He thinks it was not emphasised enough how much bullshit he became practiced at swallowing, actually, all the time, skipping years to each instance where something finally gave.
Louis' grip on his arm is tight. He is wishing good things for him. Affection persists, after all this time. For that, he can be grateful, can't he?
"I should," he agrees. "But I am choosing to start small, mm? You should encourage this behaviour."
I should, Lestat says, and Louis aches. Aches and aches for the thought of Lestat, happy, somewhere in the world without him. Ugly and selfish, this feeling. Louis pushes it away, sequestered away with Armand's steadily delivered—
Accusation is not the right word. Armand had simply said all these things to Louis, and now Louis must carry them alongside all the rest.
"I am encouraging," Louis relents. "Just like you encouraging me to spend a lot of film while we're together."
Will Louis find happiness in that? Unclear. But he likes the bargain they've struck, likes the promise of Lestat singing for him.
Does something to skitter aside more complicated feelings, replaced with the satisfaction that he has managed to gift Louis something once again, that it has been received. Under duress, one might say, but Lestat would tell that one that getting Louis to do anything he exclusively doesn't wish to do is impossible. And the blood, first, not just the camera.
Louis who must feel better now because of him. So, he lets himself be pleased, laugh, believe this night to be a good one when the last was so horrible.
"Then when I am America's most famous rockstar and you are filling galleries with your photographs, we will know it was each other's doing."
And he thinks of Claudia. Claudia, sitting across the table from him snapping his picture. Claudia, jabbing him with her toes as he strung up clotheslines for his photos. Claudia, eyes bright alongside him at the table while he told her about art, about his art.
Painful, still. But Louis can feel it. Remember it.
Here and now, Louis catches Lestat's wrist, undoing the link of their arms to draw Lestat to a sudden halt. Just long enough to press a brief kiss to his cheek, grip tight. A silent expression of something too big for Louis to say, something he hasn't fully named.
"Then come on back with me, and give me that song," Louis tells him, drawing back. Returning to what they have determined to be polite stasis. "Let me start my encouragement early, before we gotta start driving."
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no subject
What had he imagined of the day that Louis finds him again, hiding away? He had, at a certain point, stopped imagining it completely, and had found himself entirely unprepared when that day finally (finally) came about. But Lestat knows himself. Knows the kind of wild fantasies and hopes he might have harboured, even at a distance from himself.
Knows that even at his lowest moments, Louis has found someone else and it isn't even Armand would not have crossed his mind. Ego. Ego, and the idea of seeking alternative companionship being about as appealing as the prospect of crossing the Atacama desert.
"Then I promise you in return," Lestat says. So there. "You say, like you don't have your own horde of salivating fans intruding on our time."
To say something of the many vampires. A hair toss follows, "We endure."
no subject
Side-stepping Louis' fans. (Fans, critics, Louis is certain their chosen method of expression when it comes to their opinions of him will be identical.) Side-stepping what Louis may or may not choose to endure.
This, the promise they're making, feels like it'd fit in the palm of Louis' hand. Already, Louis worries over it. Over how they'd keep it once Lestat makes good on his intentions. Once Louis returns to Dubai. (When. This too, a growing certainty, even if Louis has said nothing aloud.) Will Lestat find someone else to hold his attention, easy in all the ways Louis is not and never has been?
"Been enduring long enough," he says instead, as the path slopes downward and his grip on Lestat's arm tightens. "You should have something good now."
no subject
Ducks his head as they walk, bracing against it. Abjures it somewhere. Those fans of the book (the human kind, not the vampiric) might say, shouldn't Lestat be snarling and snapping by now? Throwing a tantrum, perhaps. He thinks it was not emphasised enough how much bullshit he became practiced at swallowing, actually, all the time, skipping years to each instance where something finally gave.
Louis' grip on his arm is tight. He is wishing good things for him. Affection persists, after all this time. For that, he can be grateful, can't he?
"I should," he agrees. "But I am choosing to start small, mm? You should encourage this behaviour."
no subject
Accusation is not the right word. Armand had simply said all these things to Louis, and now Louis must carry them alongside all the rest.
"I am encouraging," Louis relents. "Just like you encouraging me to spend a lot of film while we're together."
Will Louis find happiness in that? Unclear. But he likes the bargain they've struck, likes the promise of Lestat singing for him.
no subject
Does something to skitter aside more complicated feelings, replaced with the satisfaction that he has managed to gift Louis something once again, that it has been received. Under duress, one might say, but Lestat would tell that one that getting Louis to do anything he exclusively doesn't wish to do is impossible. And the blood, first, not just the camera.
Louis who must feel better now because of him. So, he lets himself be pleased, laugh, believe this night to be a good one when the last was so horrible.
"Then when I am America's most famous rockstar and you are filling galleries with your photographs, we will know it was each other's doing."
lil bow
And he thinks of Claudia. Claudia, sitting across the table from him snapping his picture. Claudia, jabbing him with her toes as he strung up clotheslines for his photos. Claudia, eyes bright alongside him at the table while he told her about art, about his art.
Painful, still. But Louis can feel it. Remember it.
Here and now, Louis catches Lestat's wrist, undoing the link of their arms to draw Lestat to a sudden halt. Just long enough to press a brief kiss to his cheek, grip tight. A silent expression of something too big for Louis to say, something he hasn't fully named.
"Then come on back with me, and give me that song," Louis tells him, drawing back. Returning to what they have determined to be polite stasis. "Let me start my encouragement early, before we gotta start driving."