A fresh washcloth fetched, soaked in soap and water. Lestat's own movements are slow, careful, letting each second trickle by. Steps a little aside as he goes to touch Louis' back, holding the cloth high at his back and letting gathered water stream. Still in his peripheral view, as if conscious to the way Louis had urged him near.
Eyes down, attention on this task. Perceiving Louis in fragments, the curve of his spine, the expanse of smooth skin that feels warm from their shared shower. Finding forgotten but familiar spots here and there, memories of kissing them on his way down or up. Memories of biting planes of muscle. Of blood running like soapy water does now.
Of other things that Lestat firmly shoves aside, rinsing the cloth, rinsing Louis' back. All tender, careful, more so where bruising leeches down the shoulder. Louis had asked to help with his back, and Lestat instinctively doesn't stray beyond those lines.
Not very characteristic of him. But it's a strange night.
no subject
A fresh washcloth fetched, soaked in soap and water. Lestat's own movements are slow, careful, letting each second trickle by. Steps a little aside as he goes to touch Louis' back, holding the cloth high at his back and letting gathered water stream. Still in his peripheral view, as if conscious to the way Louis had urged him near.
Eyes down, attention on this task. Perceiving Louis in fragments, the curve of his spine, the expanse of smooth skin that feels warm from their shared shower. Finding forgotten but familiar spots here and there, memories of kissing them on his way down or up. Memories of biting planes of muscle. Of blood running like soapy water does now.
Of other things that Lestat firmly shoves aside, rinsing the cloth, rinsing Louis' back. All tender, careful, more so where bruising leeches down the shoulder. Louis had asked to help with his back, and Lestat instinctively doesn't stray beyond those lines.
Not very characteristic of him. But it's a strange night.