Six years. Lestat has spent six years repenting, in one form or another. Seeking, apparently, this closeness, this return. The ability to put his fingers to Louis' skin again.
Louis breathes. The slant of firelight casts Lestat all in gold, unbearably beautiful. More so for the bruise blossoming at one eyebrow, for the scuff of a bruise a the corner of his mouth.
Silent for years, Louis has been. Holding the deep-rooted, overwhelming force of his love in check. If he had opened his mouth, he might have taken Lestat back sooner.
"Coming back," leads to: "And yeah. The conditions."
How Lestat aligns those stipulations. An agreement between them and Claudia. Not conditions set by Louis and Claudia, to which he agreed. His fingers linger over Lestat's chest, following the bruising the creeps up and up, high enough to peek out from beneath a shirt collar. Gone by morning, most likely.
no subject
Louis breathes. The slant of firelight casts Lestat all in gold, unbearably beautiful. More so for the bruise blossoming at one eyebrow, for the scuff of a bruise a the corner of his mouth.
Silent for years, Louis has been. Holding the deep-rooted, overwhelming force of his love in check. If he had opened his mouth, he might have taken Lestat back sooner.
"Coming back," leads to: "And yeah. The conditions."
How Lestat aligns those stipulations. An agreement between them and Claudia. Not conditions set by Louis and Claudia, to which he agreed. His fingers linger over Lestat's chest, following the bruising the creeps up and up, high enough to peek out from beneath a shirt collar. Gone by morning, most likely.