Lestat closes his eyes under the kiss, under the gentle contact of their foreheads pressing together, the brush of their noses. There is no one he has been with, no one Louis has been jealous of, that he would share these little moments with, these sweeter intimacies. It is for Louis alone, and always will be.
So it is upsetting to think he may never have it again, but, they've made promises tonight. Louis has said he will come back for him. Lestat will hold him to it.
Still, Louis lingers. They breathe together. Their pulse beats together.
And outside are legions of fans clamoring for Lestat, and an entire slew of vampires that wish for Louis' blood, and all the wreckage of the past they have not quite sorted through. Little and less incentive to break apart.
Still.
Louis offers, "You want me to leave you to it?"
The tub, the array of little soaps and shampoos. The task of washing away the evening's work.
Unearned (or dangerous) intimacies. Louis has little claim to them.
Hush, still, but now a smile in his tone, and now shifting backwards, sinking lower, so that they can make eye contact. "But I think you should."
He hopes Louis can catch his meaning. How much he would like it, touching one another, sharing in it. Ushering themselves so close to the line they have drawn that they are more or less past it despite everything. He would want it to last forever. Funny, for Louis to tell him not to deny himself, and yet here they are.
Turns his head, brushing a kiss to Louis' wrist. One last little transgression.
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So it is upsetting to think he may never have it again, but, they've made promises tonight. Louis has said he will come back for him. Lestat will hold him to it.
"Okay," he says, whispered even quieter. Warm.
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Still, Louis lingers. They breathe together. Their pulse beats together.
And outside are legions of fans clamoring for Lestat, and an entire slew of vampires that wish for Louis' blood, and all the wreckage of the past they have not quite sorted through. Little and less incentive to break apart.
Still.
Louis offers, "You want me to leave you to it?"
The tub, the array of little soaps and shampoos. The task of washing away the evening's work.
Unearned (or dangerous) intimacies. Louis has little claim to them.
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Hush, still, but now a smile in his tone, and now shifting backwards, sinking lower, so that they can make eye contact. "But I think you should."
He hopes Louis can catch his meaning. How much he would like it, touching one another, sharing in it. Ushering themselves so close to the line they have drawn that they are more or less past it despite everything. He would want it to last forever. Funny, for Louis to tell him not to deny himself, and yet here they are.
Turns his head, brushing a kiss to Louis' wrist. One last little transgression.
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His lips burn hot at Louis' wrist. He turns his hand, catches Lestat's lower lip with his thumb. A last small touch, a harsh exhale.
Then he stands.
"Alright."
Shades of Thank you, in it, this acceptance.
"I'll wait for you outside."
Louis has a book. He can occupy himself with more than just wishing to have stayed here, wishing to have tempted himself past tolerance.