perfectdevil | catch all open post

( It's strangely comforting being pinned like this, held down and caged in like one of their helpless mortal victims — only in this case, Louis is fully aware and entirely willing. It isn't that Louis wants to resist; it's only that it's almost too much for him, an overwhelming amount of sensation, so good that he doesn't know what to do with himself. Intimacy is still such a foreign thing, for so many years only ever stolen in brief, petty moments that Louis despised himself for.

How wonderful, then, to love and be loved by a heart that would never stop beating. )

Wicked. Devious. Insatiable.

( Louis exhales sharply, a brief laugh of amazement. It's a strange, giddy rush of power, hearing that rough, pleading note in Lestat's voice — knowing how terribly easy it would be to be cruel to him, and feeling all the more protective for it. A shiver runs through him, all the way down to his curled toes. He tightens his grip on Lestat, tipping his head up to brush their lips together as he whispers: )

You're very easy to compliment.

[ Lestat feels like a greyhound with its eyes on the rabbit, waiting on the klaxon of a horn to be released, poised and strangely vulnerable in the handful of seconds it takes for Louis to speak again.

When he does, something grips at Lestat's core and shakes it, the power shift doing something to him he hadn't expected it to. Of course, he no longer basks in the vastness of their differences in might, but Louis has always deferred to him in some ways, so these moments where he holds the reins willingly are enticing in more ways than mere erotic value; it says a lot about their level of trust, now. That, more than anything, is what has his heart in a vice. Though the brush of Louis' lips doesn't hurt. Another sound leaves him unbidden, a soft noise of desperate encouragement, like he might die were this to stop. ]

Am I? [ He murmurs, voice gone slightly hoarse. He kisses that sweet mouth again, wasting no time getting his tongue inside and tasting the trace of iron scent left behind... and then, in an extreme show of astounding resistance, parting just before it gets good. ] Then you should do it more.

Oh, I think about it almost constantly.

And what conclusion have you come to, my contemplative one?

I see. What a frightening set of circumstances.

Given what you've told me, I see that I am right. Your restraint comes from the same fear of a loss of control as every other monster on the planet - all your inhibitions are fuelled by the concern that you might hurt an innocent with what you truly are.

So tell me how it was that you came to be, mon ami. Were you born, or made?

[ It's too perfect, the way he seems to freeze under his hold and his attention. It's like it is with every human that Lestat enchants in this manner; whether the mortal be searching for romance or for such a simple thing as someone to hold them close and tell them it will be alright, to make them feel safe… it is always this way. He wonders which one Demyx is. Does he crave comfort, is he afraid and clinging to what little control he has of his own life, or is he - like so many of his kind - secretly craving the kiss of death? ]

I have extraordinary vampiric prowess. I could feed from you now and be gone so fast that you would believe it all a dream. There wouldn't be so much as a mark on your throat as proof I were even here.

[ His voice has gone low, almost a whisper, his thumb slowly stroking over the chin of this interesting little mortal, feeling the heat of his skin from such a slight touch. ]

Now. Tell me of this darkness. I won't repeat myself a third time.

Something of both, actually.

I was born this way in an artificial womb, after people decided they wanted to play god with matter that they did not understand. They injected the fertilized egg I was borne from with those cells. And were disappointed with the outcome, fortunately for me.

My state hid itself like a chameleon until I was older, dormant. Had they not, I would have been forged into a living weapon for the government, or worse.

[He isn't actually afraid.

That's what everyone in the Organization keeps telling him, anyway. How can you feel fear with no heart, after all? It's just cowardice, just an excuse, just laziness, just an act he puts on for his own benefit, just willful stubbornness, just self-preservation instincts that he associates with the memory of fear..... Anything they can call it, so long as they can blame him for it, instead of actually addressing the issue at hand. As if any normal, sane person wouldn't be terrified of the sort of things they demand that he does! Even if he apparently can't be scared, that doesn't mean he shouldn't be.

He feels much the same way now, unable to tear his eyes away from Lestat's gaze. This is..... bad, isn't it? He doesn't feel like this vampire is going to suddenly start joyfully singing about Halloween and how much he loves scaring people. He feels like this one is more likely to leave him dead in a ditch somewhere before anyone else even could come back to help him, instead. How does that compare to whatever punishment Saïx (or maybe even Xemnas, Light forbid it) might bring down on him, for violating their rules about secrecy?

He's heard rumors that Xemnas could bust them down into Dusks if they displease him. Dusks! Awful as it sounds, getting drained dry before he can so much as blink and left to die of blood loss might actually be the preferable option, here. Would he really do that just for talking about Nobodies, though? Wouldn't that sort of thing be saved for real traitors?

He..... doesn't feel like he could run. Even if he could trust his legs to hold him, that "extraordinary vampiric prowess" probably means he'd barely get to his feet before he'd get recaptured. It's weird how much of a relief it is to start speaking, in spite of how dire the situation is; with that strange, sweet smoke filling every breath, even dragging his heels on explaining feels like an impossible weight settled over him.]

I-I guess it's..... inside me? Maybe? L-like..... filling up all the empty space that got left behind? Even though nothing can really fill it anymore. Or maybe it's a part of me, now? Um. I..... never really understood the explanations, myself. It's all way too complicated for a guy like me, haha. You know what I mean, right?

[No, actually, he probably doesn't. Lestat seems powerful, cunning, confident, commanding, in control--nothing like a guy like him. Demyx laughs, awkward and nervous.]

( The reply is slightly delayed, Louis being more than slightly flustered by all this by now. )

I suspect that you might actually be in love with me.

Is that so? What evidence do you have to support that claim?

Edited 2023-08-28 20:42 (UTC)

[ Lestat can feel such an interesting mix of feeling from this one. Humans are so typically loud in their thoughts that it's quite easy for Lestat to encourage their pages to unfurl and read them as plainly as though they were a book, but this human in particular is strangely... guarded? No, that isn't the word. It's more that he has a vagueness to him, or a blankness; one that Lestat hasn't ever come across in any kind of mortal he's met before. It's fascinating, and it's why Lestat is having a very hard time putting this one down. ]

I understand what you mean. Or rather, I understand the feeling you are explaining. You speak of this darkness as though it were a sentient thing, rather than just a metaphor for something. Is this true? Hmmm..

[ He tilts Demyx's head this way, and then that, trying to look for any difference in him that might make it clear how this aforementioned darkness came to be within him. ]

And when you say.. empty space -- what exactly left you to make it so empty, hm? Your soul?

Ah, humans do so love to play with things beyond their scope. It's one of the things I find so interesting about them. Surely they considered the idea that they might be dissatisfied with you, and yet there was no plan for what to do with you - their little failed passion project. And they call us monsters.

It seems to me, though, that you make no conscious decisions to be a monster. Every mishap you have told me about has been a ripple in the water from your actions, not by your hand itself. I would hardly call you a monster for that. Merely quite unlucky.

Yyyyyyyyyes? Maybe? Is it sentient? I guess maybe X-Face and the boss man must think it is, I don't know.....

[Saïx and Xemnas actually talk to Kingdom Hearts like it can really understand them, can answer their prayers. It's kind of weird, to be honest. Creepy, to think this phenomenal cosmic power and force of nature in general might truly be alive and aware in its own right. He gets how individual hearts are sentient, so how does that translate to all hearts, and by extension, all Light, being sentient as part of a greater whole?

More relevantly right now, what does that also mean for Darkness itself? For the Realm of Darkness, and for the Heartless that spawn from and are consumed by it? Are they sentient? Does it matter if they're actually born of people's hearts or not? Does that sentience get snuffed out by the process of being overwhelmed by Darkness, and becoming a slave to their instincts and hunger? Where is his Heartless right now? What is it doing? How is it feeling? Does it miss him? Miss being a part of him? Does it know him at all, or even understand its own situation?

Damn, his head hurts. This sort of high-flying philosophy stuff is so not his forte. Why's Lestat gotta ask him such hard questions? Why couldn't Vexen or Zexion or Xemnas be here instead? They'd probably love talking the guy's ear off over it for hours, right down to every last excruciating detail. They'd probably be powerful enough to not get bitten, even! Yet again, he's the wrong guy for the job..... At least he knows the answer to that last one. That's something he'd wondered himself, right from the start.]

I still got my soul! It's just my heart that's gone, that's all.

You put quite a considerable amount of effort into making me happy. And you find delight in things about me that I would think you'd quickly tire of.

I could attempt to craft a more erotic answer for you, but that one is the truth.

Lestat…

( Louis sighs his name, a frustrated, hungry whine twisting the second syllable until it's mostly a breath ghosting its way across Lestat's lips. His fingers bunch in the hair at the nape of Lestat's neck, and he angles his chin up instinctively to try to chase those sweet lips. But it doesn't work — or perhaps he doesn't truly want it to work, and the wanting is part of the point.

He tips his head to one side instead, jaw upturned just enough to show a white flash of throat. Torment for torment, at least. His eyelashes flutter, and he kneads restlessly at Lestat, thirst turning his green eyes sharp and bright. )

Why is it that you only practice restraint when you're trying to utterly destroy my own, hm?

( He tries to sound chiding, but his lips curl into a fond, thirst-hazy smile that shows more of his fangs than usual. Like this, pinned down and deeply aware of his body's need for blood, Louis can hardly sort out whether he wants to bite or be bitten. )

[ There's a long wait for the next message to arrive. ]

I'm glad to know you finally believe me.

( The wait is terrible for his nerves; did he ruin the moment? Sexting is so complicated. )

Your sincerity isn't in question, Lestat. It isn't your fault that it's difficult for me to accept. You know how I am... forever wondering the reason why things are the way they are.

It feels like a miracle.

[ Holding onto his chin like this, close enough to be able to feel the warmth from his breath as he speaks, Lestat finds it all too easy to slip into his mind once more while he deliberates his answers.. What he sees there, strangely enough, is almost familiar. There's a mixed up feeling, a feeling that it would be so much easier if he could just willingly believe like everyone around him could, that things would be simple were he just a little more patient, a little less resistant, a little more ignorant.

More than that, there's the poignant sense of inadequacy. Self-doubt is something, perhaps surprisingly, that Lestat is all too familiar with. It's a delicious haze that tints everything else in this sprawling mind -- a mind that has potential, yes, that could be great, perhaps not in learned might but in resourcefulness, in instinct.. He seems twisted up, somehow, torn apart by expectation of what he should be and who he is. Like this, Demyx almost reminds him of Louis when he was a human; desperate for someone to pick him up and take control, tell him what to do, take the difficult choices from his hands entirely. ]

Your heart? [ He laughs, slipping away from rummaging around in his mortal consciousness for a second so he can resume their conversation. He's not rude, after all. ] How do you walk and talk and live without a heart?

Louis, stop.

[ He didn't mean to send that, he was trying to type it out in a different way that didn't seem quite so short, but these goddamn phones with their send buttons being right next to the backspace button and his nails being slightly too long when he first wakes up-- ]

You do not need to explain yourself. I mean it, I am glad to hear it. It wasn't a slight, I wasn't teasing you. Half the game is chasing you, capturing you like a butterfly in my net... but the other half of that joy is letting you go again, papillon. I like to watch you struggle and think, I like to watch your mind work, even if I don't always like where it ends up. I love the wonder in you, and the doubt, in equal measure.

Besides, we both know how easily I could charm someone into loving me blindly.

[It feels like Lestat is staring straight through him, somehow, searching for something he doesn't know how to offer. Creepy. He's not used to getting this much focused attention, honestly--not used to anyone really paying him much attention at all these days, unless it's to either demand things from him, or get mad at him over not doing those things well enough. Why do they even bother giving him such rotten missions, if they already know they'll get mad that he's no good at them?

He's not sure what's so funny about it, but Demyx laughs along anyway, tense and uncertain. In spite of the precarious position he's in though, there's no racing pulse under Lestat's fingers, should he try to find it--nor even a pounding heartbeat, more to the point. And yet, he's just as warm and animated as any prey the man could hope to find, isn't he? Give him a minute to try and remember the lecture he'd gotten all those years ago, back when he'd freshly woken up incomplete--back when the gaping, empty spiritual wound inside him was still raw and bleeding, when he'd been so numb with shock and bewilderment that he'd only barely started feeling the depths of his loss.]

Uh, well..... Vexen said you gotta have a lot of strength of heart and willpower to survive? As long as you hang onto your soul tight enough, I guess you can use the power of Darkness to hold yourself together and keep going, or..... something. Or maybe it was your sense of self, or your memo--wait, no. That doesn't make sense. Then there wouldn't be any Dusks, right?

[ Lestat listens to that explanation, and gives him a few befuddled blinks in return. He finally lets go of his chin, retracting his hands and instead folding them almost politely on his crossed legs. He looks the picture of a gentleman, which is kind of what he is if you ignore the whole.. feeds on human blood part of his whole operation. ]

I don't know what you mean by this dusks, but the other thing you speak of is something I can relate to in some way.

[ He supposes it's story time. And why not -- they're in a strange place, away from most things that are familiar, sitting around a slowly dying campfire, with nothing better to do. And Lestat does love to talk about himself. ]

When given the dark gift in order to become a vampire a soul must be strong enough not to give in to the swoon and die themselves. They must want immortality enough, have a strong enough sense of self, to be able to hover at the precipice before death in order to become what I am.

[ He talks about it with a strangely enchanted look on his face, like an actual weirdo, then turns his intense and bright-eyed attention on Demyx once more. ]

This must mean you are strong of soul in the same way you would need to be to become a vampire. You are one of these things without a heart, yet you are strong. This Darkness must be a very powerful ability, indeed.

[ He glances at Demyx's throat and the jugular vein there. Just, y'know, browsing. ]

They, uh..... they're all empty? Like, sure, they lived--but none of what made them themselves lived. Does that make sense? We can boss 'em around and stuff.

[This is a weird conversation, to be honest. He's gone from a potential dinner entree, to being interrogated about aspects of his soul that this guy should have no way of knowing just by looking at him, to being an audience for..... what? Singing the praises of the metaphysics of turning someone into a vampire? He looks..... really happy about it, for some reason. Why? Had he been happy to become a vampire, back when he'd first gotten turned into one? Does he like turning other people into one, like..... like some kind of undead version of becoming a dad?

He's not sure he likes the implications of that possibility. Just because Lestat let go of him doesn't mean the guy is going to let him go. Demyx hunches his shoulders under the focused gaze as he listens, an awkward counterpoint to Lestat's elegant poise. So what exactly is this "swoon" thing, anyway? Fainting? Falling into some kind of abyss? Falling in love? Whatever it is, it obviously kills you, if you can't handle it. Does he really want to know? Would keeping Lestat talking be useful somehow? It would probably keep the guy in a good mood, at least.....]

W-well, maybe..... I dunno if I want to find out, though. Swooning sounds..... bad.

I guess it is pretty powerful, but the guys say it's nothing compared to the power of the heart.

[Who knows? Maybe you need a heart to be able to resist swooning, and then he'd just be a body without a heart or a soul--that'd just be a corpse, right? He wonders if someone who's already a vampire could actually learn to manipulate the Darkness without losing theirs, though. Spooky thought, huh? Lestat must be powerful enough already, but if he could add that on top of his vampiric powers..... he'd be like Maleficent tier dangerous, wouldn't he? You don't want to fuck with a fairy that commands fae magic, the powers of Hell, and the Darkness.]

[ The sound of his name being said like that transports Lestat back to the many times he's heard it said similarly; scolding, resentful, heated, indifferent, wanting. Like this is definitely his favourite, and he can't deny the grin that curls his lips as he watches Louis' body practically vibrate with need beneath him. As the author of that need, Lestat feels almost entitled to the sliver of flesh Louis graces him with, and the heavy exhale that rattles from him at the sight is his gift to Louis in return.

He dips his head down, swooping as if to take the bite they both so desperately desire, and instead runs the flat of his tongue from the line of Louis' jugular and up to the angle of his jaw, just below his ear. He murmurs into it, his voice heavy with the very resistance Louis is willing him to relinquish. ]

But your restraint is so much more powerful than mine, amour. [ He catches the lobe with not even the slightest threat of his fangs, just a blunt scrape of flat teeth. The hand on Louis' hip slides down, the heavy pressure moving along Louis' thigh, mapping out where firm muscle gives way to softness and then Lestat hikes it up, boxing himself in with Louis' legs, his hands practically needling into the fabric as if to wordlessly convey just how much effort this kind of restraint is asking of him. He lets out another helpless sigh of frustration or affection, or both. ] It tastes so much better when you make me wait.

The swoon is the best part, mon ami. It's euphoria, utter and complete pleasure, contentedness in a way your mortal brain cannot comprehend. It forces anything you've ever felt before to pale completely; it's an extreme you cannot imagine until you have experienced it.

[ He watches Demyx closely, watching for the tick of his pulse to increase as he feels the fear of a vampire with intention... but as he sits and listens, he hears nothing. No flex of blood, of muscle being flooded from the heart -- ah yes, that makes sense, doesn't it? No pulse because there's no heart to beat in his chest. Lestat suddenly wants to press his hands to his chest and his throat to be sure for himself. He holds off though. For now. ]

You are right to be afraid, but not of me making you as I am. There are conditions to such a thing; I have to want to do it, and I must have your permission.

[ A pause, then he laughs a little, very low, almost like he's telling an inside joke. ]

But you know, there are ways to feel the swoon without becoming like I am. Just a taste, that's all.

.....Oooookaaaaaay. Got it!

[Says the man who's not sure he gets it at all. When Lestat puts it that way, it sounds..... nice? He guesses? And maybe even weirder than he'd thought before. If you fail to become a vampire, it's because you got happied to death? How does that make any sense? Is he even capable of feeling the swoon at all, given his..... condition? You aren't supposed to have emotions at all without a heart, but nobody had ever told him about emotions imposed by an outside force. (That he remembers, anyway. His eyes might have glazed over while Vexen was explaining, if they had made note of it before.)

That gaze on him intensifies, and Demyx is suddenly acutely aware that his coat doesn't have a high collar. Even if he's not considering turning him, it seems as though he may be back on the menu after all. Shit. Isn't there anything he can do?]

I dunno..... I'm still not sure either of us would be happy with the results.

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