perfectdevil | the city: inbox

[ Lestat actually giggles at that, so absolutely tickled by the idea and bristling so much with the compliment that he's almost giddy.

At her next question, he shrugs a bit. ]

I saw all the things you wanted me to see. When I bit you, I saw what you were thinking about - you using that machine-- [ He says machine like he's not sure what else to call it, the vocabulary failing him, and he does this absolutely irrelevant kind of circling wafting hand gesture at the area between his legs as if that will help her along. ] --and thinking about me. Then I felt you slip into what I showed you in return...

[ The memory of Nicki, of what Lestat's last company in bed as a mortal had been like, a deliriously happy time for him; he remembers feeling her heart-rate pick up as she saw herself in Lestat's position, felt herself being pushed down by his large, broad, beautiful hands. ]

I think perhaps it was a little too much. I could tell the exact moment when your control slipped, but it's interesting that I saw something positive this time.

[ Well, positive for her. He's not sure how he feels about seeing Armand like that just yet. ]

Vibrator, that's a vibrator. It vibrates.

[ okay uncalled-for condescension jo ]

It must have been when -- I guess I came. God, that's weird, it's like ... I don't know, it's like having a wet dream.

[ She looks down at her wrist, the smooth, unbroken skin, and runs her fingers over the veins absently. ]

Trying to juggle too many things at once, though. Shouldn't be surprised I dropped a ball, I suppose. I was feeling so much ... That was your old lover?

Vibrator. [ He repeats, just to say the word. It does sound pretty good in a French accent. ] I can understand why a mind might not be able to hold two fantasies firm in the throes of an orgasm, it's no wonder you fell to pieces in that way.

[ He looks prideful again at that, visibly puffing up a little. Look, it's very gratifying to bask in the knowledge you got a pretty lady off without even touching her. Sure, his magic vampire bite had a lot to do with it, but it was his bite, so he figures he still deserves some credit.

When he answers her final question, his tone is casual and easy, and very much by design. ]

... But yes, he was. That was a few nights before I died.

[ It's tempting to argue the phrase "fell to pieces," solely because Lestat looks so smug, but given the amount of bourbon on the floor back over there, she can't really say he's wrong. Brat.

Instead, she looks up at him, trying to gauge whether that ease is genuine or not. She knows plenty about downplaying old loves. None of hers are a couple centuries in the past, though. She can't get a read on it -- could go either way. ]

He's very beautiful.

[ She pauses, and then reaches up to brush his curls off his face, cups his cheek in her warm hand. ]

Thank you for it.

[ At the feeling of her warm palm, Lestat does a little double-take visible only in the way he blinks rather rapidly for a few seconds, his body otherwise staying completely still. It's an understandable surprise, this tender moment of softness from her, and it makes his heart feel warm too, as if the heat from her palm travelled straight through his chest. That seasick feeling he'd felt after their last conversation is all but forgotten, replaced instead by a genuine fondness. ]

Of course; I like to surround myself with beautiful things.

[ He turns his head ever so slightly, to kiss the dip of her palm, just above the pulse point of her wrist; just a closed-mouthed and quick little thing, and then he smiles. ]

Thank you for this, and for only teasing me a little.

[ A very understandable surprise. But Jo's tired, and as lonely tonight as she ever is. The closeness that wound through the memory was tempting. The details are fading as minutes pass, but the urge she felt in the moment to hold Lestat and share her body heat the way he remembers his violinist -- that lingers.

And it was just a memory. A fantasy to enjoy, like her visions of teasing Lestat. She's grateful for it and she won't forget it, but--

The little flutter his kiss causes her is something she desperately needs to ignore. So she does. ]

Don't get used to it.

[ She pats him on the cheek. The way she puts her armor back on is almost visible, the cocky smirk returning, the insouciant tip of her chin. ]

Do you want to walk me home? You can quiz me about human sex if you like.

[ It is indeed impressive how she steels herself to the world once again, how easily she slips into that haughty bravado, but oh... if it's designed to make Lestat feel closed off, it does the exact opposite. On the contrary, he feels a strange kind of understanding when he watches her mood shift, away from tenderness and towards flippancy because it's easier and it's safer; the same way that Lestat leans so heavily on being an unfeeling monster should the issue touch a little close to a nerve. Their meeting really was a fateful thing, he thinks, as he feels the challenge of pulling more tender moments from her settle somewhere in his chest. ]

Of course, mademoiselle. Anything you wish.

[ So much for the mess, he figures; he's never cleaned anything up in his life and doesn't see why he should start now. Especially not when the City kind of cleans up itself.

He slips an arm around her shoulders as he pulls her toward the door, and can't resist joking: ]

So, it vibrates?

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