The clothes are tossed in, and Lestat removes a cigarette from his pocket as he sets his mind on rumpled, bloodied cloth and wills it to combust, which it does. Focuses that fire, lets it burn with no fuel at all but his own command. If he wanted to cry for her it would be now, but the tears don't start. He is home, welcomed home. Nothing else matters.
He gets through half his cigarette and then everything is ash, so he pitches it in after the pile in the incinerator and returns to the stairs. There is not so much night left, which is reassuring. While Louis considers his own fire, Lestat leaves the dust of his own behind and considers sleep.
Not yet, however. "Oui," he says, as he enters their room. A look up and down of Louis, who has simply waited for him. "We should get you cleaned up, mon cher. And then come to bed with me."
The moment passes. The impulse to step into the fire, slipping through his fingers. Dissipates as Lestat's presence fills the room, draws Louis back into the present. To their room, to his own body.
A long moment passes where Louis searches Lestat's face. Maybe for tears, maybe for regret. For any sign that Lestat has taken the time to assess the wreckage, and reconsidered. That all their circling argument and tenuous dreams for the future have been weighed against what Louis took from him and were found wanting.
Whatever he finds, Louis' shoulder loosens. Turns further towards Lestat, back to the fire.
"Okay."
As Louis reaches out a hand. Invitation without forward momentum, beckoning Lestat from the doorwar.
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no subject
The clothes are tossed in, and Lestat removes a cigarette from his pocket as he sets his mind on rumpled, bloodied cloth and wills it to combust, which it does. Focuses that fire, lets it burn with no fuel at all but his own command. If he wanted to cry for her it would be now, but the tears don't start. He is home, welcomed home. Nothing else matters.
He gets through half his cigarette and then everything is ash, so he pitches it in after the pile in the incinerator and returns to the stairs. There is not so much night left, which is reassuring. While Louis considers his own fire, Lestat leaves the dust of his own behind and considers sleep.
Not yet, however. "Oui," he says, as he enters their room. A look up and down of Louis, who has simply waited for him. "We should get you cleaned up, mon cher. And then come to bed with me."
no subject
A long moment passes where Louis searches Lestat's face. Maybe for tears, maybe for regret. For any sign that Lestat has taken the time to assess the wreckage, and reconsidered. That all their circling argument and tenuous dreams for the future have been weighed against what Louis took from him and were found wanting.
Whatever he finds, Louis' shoulder loosens. Turns further towards Lestat, back to the fire.
"Okay."
As Louis reaches out a hand. Invitation without forward momentum, beckoning Lestat from the doorwar.