perfectdevil | catch all open post

[ The groan is exactly what he was looking for, followed by the mirror of Louis' hand at his waist; like the crucial steps to a waltz, Lestat easily uses them to springboard into his next move. In the time it takes to blink he's moved a hand to touch Louis' chin, thumb tipping his face upwards the smallest amount, all pale and gleaming even in the relative dim of their apartment in evening light. ]

Is it?

[ He says, voice barely there but deep in what could be consideration, or something else. Watching Louis' body respond almost unbidden feels like winning and though Lestat is used to this dance by now, he relishes it all the same. Lestat moves, Louis responds as though following in action, as if given permission, as though without Lestat to set the mark Louis wouldn't know what to do with himself.

It's ridiculously alluring, and the fact Louis has no idea makes it even more so. ]

I am always watching you, Louis. Every chance I get. You are captivating, sensual.. How do you expect me to draw my eyes away from you?

( The gentle fingers on Louis's chin make his heart thud harder still in his chest, and with that feeling comes the resignation that he's played right into Lestat's hands, quite literally. His eyelashes lower almost demurely, his face tipping toward Lestat until the sides of their noses are just atoms from brushing. It's so very nearly a kiss, but Louis doesn't know whether the anticipation is more torturous for Lestat or for himself. )

Your attention can be like a spotlight… You have such singular focus, I can't help but be conscious of myself.

( If there's a word for the wild mingling of emotions that it stirs in him, Louis doesn't know it in any language. Lestat is a natural performer; Louis is anything but. A little tremor runs through him, and his fingers twitch at Lestat's hip. )

And yet I don't want you to look away.

[ That final comment is the nail in the coffin. His consideration earlier of whether he prefers Louis hungry or fed seems an easy one to answer like this, when Louis looks at him as though he might shake apart if Lestat were to break their hold; hungry for his attention, though lost at what to do with it. It's delicious and fuels Lestat's passion to idolise him even more. His mouth-watering modesty, his humanity quarrelling endlessly with his dark instincts. ]

Will my worship of you ever be enough... [ He says, eyes blazing a trail from Louis' own and down, to his lips. ] I hope not.

[ Thoughts of his plan, of the gift and of all his intentions before this moment have dissipated. His heart beats so fast in his chest it might as well be a vibration. His blood quakes at the anticipation of the kiss, and it would be so painfully easy to press forward and bully himself into Louis' space - a small sound escapes the back of his throat thinking of it - but he resists. His eyes flick upwards again. A challenge. He may still win this game yet. ]

Lestat…

( Louis whispers his name like a plea, though what he's asking for, even he doesn't honestly know. He's the one whose resistance cracks first; he trembles for the briefest of moments, like wind passing through the boughs of a tree, and leans in to kiss Lestat. The point of one fang brushes Lestat's lower lip, testing his own restraint, though in truth he wants to swallow that sound Lestat had just made. )

I don't want your worship. ( Doesn't deserve it, either, though he knows better than to spoil the moment by protesting that point. ) Just you... just this.

[ And, just like that, the vibration of his pulse stops. It freezes as though time had stopped with it, as though Lestat has willed the clock of the world to cease its tick for one moment, perhaps two, so he can stay here with Louis' pushing his lips against his own and holding him close.

Forever; an impossibly long time, but it doesn't seem like such a bad thing now.

His heart starts back up with a roar so loud he barely hears Louis speak. That sharp point. Like baiting a wild animal, like dipping your foot into dark bayou water and hoping a crocodile won't be waiting for you under the pier. A noise comes from him unbidden; almost a sob, of frustration or desire, it isn't clear. His mouth hangs open against Louis' and it is all he can do to take that hand from his chin, slide it to his neck, thumb on his jaw and fingers below his ear, pry his mouth open and kiss him in return with all the passion of a man starved. His tongue wastes no time finding Louis' own, catching his blunt teeth with wide strokes, drinking him in despite not a drop of blood between them.

To hell with it, Lestat thinks, you don't want this worship? Tough! ]

( Lestat's blood is like thunder in Louis's ears, and he can feel his own pulse speeding up alongside it — thirst, arousal, anticipation, and his body's own irresistible instinct to latch onto that beating heart, to bite and drink and feed until his own pulse beats to match it, two heartbeats joined as one.

It's too much, surely, for anyone to bear. Certainly too much for Louis, who has spent too many years denying himself what he wants. He presses himself against Lestat with an echoing sound of pure need, hand sliding up his back to finally tangle in his lovely mass of golden curls. With a shiver, he parts his lips, giving Lestat permission to devour him as he pleases, and allowing himself the surrender that he's yearned for this entire time. He sucks at Lestat's tongue with a quiet, obscene little sound, clutching at him reactively as he tries to resist simply pulling him onto the couch. )

[ Being a predator himself, Lestat is more than capable of sensing when someone intends to make him prey; he feels it so rarely but it is such a distinct feeling, and he feels it now with every pass of Louis' tongue against his. Louis wants him in a way no amount of careful avoidance or stubborn resistance can disguise. And good God, does Lestat want him, too. He has half a mind to give in right away; tear his collar open, let Louis pierce his flesh, let him drink and listen to him slowly fill with his blood.. but oh, he can't let this end so quickly, can he? No, he wants to revel in this feeling just a little longer. Just a little more.

With Louis' hands clutching at his clothes and in his hair - yes, he wants to say, grab on - he takes another brutish step forward into where there is no space for him. Louis' long legs tangle with his but when they fall backwards it's oddly graceful; even though the angle wouldn't have deposited them on the couch, somehow Louis' back hits the comfortable seat of the nearby chaise longue with Lestat's body over him. He laughs against Louis' mouth, he can't help it, and fervently resumes his desperate bid for more contact with this beautiful creature. Their bodies pressed together tight like this, it's intoxicating, and he can feel every fibre of Louis' being pulled toward him as he catches his tongue between his jaws and threatens the nick of a sharp fang. ]

( That laugh, that laugh, like cathedral bells echoing inside his soul. Louis wraps around Lestat, clutching at his silk-soft mane of hair, their legs a tangle; his thigh comes up alongside Lestat's hip, somehow yielding and possessive at once, and he feels a pang of thirst and the hum of what would be a flush in his cheeks.

All the air leaves Louis in a rush at the sharp, sweet sting of Lestat's fangs on his tongue, and he shivers, pinned beneath Lestat. He wants to say something — wasn't there a gift, wasn't that what all this was about? — but too much of him is occupied by the delicious weight of Lestat atop him, the strength in those deft hands caressing his body. Lestat won't let him hear the end of this, will he? But that stopped mattering when his back hit the chaise. Louis lets out a sound, a near-silent whimper of pleasure so sweet that it's nearly pain, and slits his tongue on Lestat's fang, letting his thoughts go hazy and soft in the swoon. )

[ This all dimly feels like instinct, but an instinct entirely apart from the one that leads him to the kill. This instinct has him painfully aware of every point where his body touches Louis', the way his thigh creates a friction like a match on a strike strip as it moves, and the delectable pressure pulling at his scalp.

Lestat wants to crack the ribs and crawl inside.

And then, oh, and then.. The taste of Louis blood on his tongue; sharp, powerful with sin and strong in tenderness, overwhelming, addictive. He remembers this, he savours this. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows Louis hasn't fed. Were he capable he might admonish him and bask in the moment of Louis caught by his own helpless need for him.. but he can't form a single thought beyond his own howling greed.

He growls, a hand finding the angle of Louis' hip and pressing down; a butterfly pinned under glass. And he drinks. He pulls roughly on Louis' tongue, delving his own into the cut to keep it open just a little longer as the blood tries to heal it over. It's drips, it's hardly enough, like a tease and it's so good. ]

( Louis bucks against Lestat, pushing toward the sudden pressure at his hip, pain and pleasure throbbing through him as Lestat sucks greedily at his tongue. But the wound is already healing, even with Louis weakened from hunger, and it's over far too quickly, leaving him shuddering and insensible. Louis gasps against Lestat's mouth, heart racing as he takes in shallow breaths he doesn't need.

His eyelashes flutter, and he lets out a whine, torn between his fierce desire and the remnants of his self-control. Nothing seems to matter but the two of them, and the entire world might as well be the press of Lestat's body against his. Instinct has him wanting to bite, to sink his fangs into the swell of Lestat's pulse and drink until the thirst is no longer pulling at his veins, until Lestat's heartbeat is locked with his and they become one being. But somehow, with the last of his restraint, he makes himself be still.

Well, not entirely still. He can't seem to stop squirming, fingers kneading little circles against Lestat's scalp. )

Oh, you are a wicked creature...

( It's barely a whisper, low and soft and overwhelmed and only the very slightest bit resentful. )

[ The feeling of Louis' hips straining against his hold drops a white-hot shiver down Lestat's spine. His hands flex with the sudden need to dig in and rake through, to claim, but then the blood dries up all too fast and for a brief moment he petulantly considers chasing his tongue and biting it himself - deep, something that will at least bleed a little more before healing. He can smell Louis' blood between their mouths as he gasps, and Lestat is all too aware of how it strains against the flesh at his throat, begging for him. It doesn't matter that he's already fed. Lestat would still crave him just the same if he were completely sated, because every taste of Louis' skin takes him back to the first time; when the first drop of his blood hit his tongue and he knew in no uncertain terms that he would never be able to leave this beautiful thing alone.

Louis has always been better at resistance than he has, and he feels it now in the way his senses hone in on every sound and twitch of muscle from the body beneath him and leave him poised as if he's about to strike... but he can see in the way those glossy emerald eyes seem to quiver as they look at him, that Louis is struggling with control in just the same way. Well, not struggling. It can't be called struggling if you want it, can it?

He uses the pause as an opportunity to cover Louis better with his body, assuring him without words that Lestat has no intention to retract any time soon. One leg between the longer ones of his lover, the other planted firmly on the floor, he shifts up till he can prop himself over Louis with his free arm beside his head. Like a cage. When Louis speaks, a sound rattles from Lestat's throat that he barely registers, and his pupils blow wide. It's like he's said something depraved and sinful. ]

Tease. [ He says on an exhale, the corners of his mouth twitching. It's biting, but it's oddly desperate, too. As is the faint trace of a plea in his voice when he continues. ] Say it again.

( 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.

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. )

[ 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.

( A short sound escapes his throat as Lestat's teeth catch his earlobe, a wordless syllable of pleasure. His thigh muscles tense beneath Lestat's strong grip, and Louis groans; he knows how much stronger that grip could be if only Lestat weren't so careful with him. Distantly, Louis wonders if it's something Lestat even knows he's doing, or if it's instinctive. Proof of his love, no matter which.

His fingers slip down to the nape of Lestat's neck, nails teasing beneath the collar of his shirt. Louis wants to coax more of those sounds from him, those uncontrolled exhales that prove Lestat is just as overwhelmed by this as he is.

And then, since Lestat is apparently so keen on being tortured: )

Mm, if that's true, perhaps I ought to make you wait until after I've opened my gift…

[ It's all going so perfectly his way. Louis is like clay beneath him, responding so sweet and obedient to every one of Lestat's ministrations against him. The gasp, the groan, the cold fingers against his warmed flesh; it's all enough to have Lestat feeling drunk in the midst of it, and as he presses his forehead to the inky pool of Louis' hair against the pillow of the couch, he's a few moments from opening his mouth to taste his skin again--

And then Louis says that.

Lestat shoots upward so fast it's like he's been electrocuted, and the look he gives Louis is practically tortured. His love of gift giving is so strong in might that it meets his gluttony head on, and he looks helpless to resist the pull of either as he stares at Louis.

Then, he groans, and his head falls down to doof softly against Louis' chest. ]

Who is the wicked creature now!

[ He practically wails it, full of petulance enough that it wouldn't be hard to imagine him hammering his fists on the chaise in frustration. The wrapped gift is, somehow, in his hands in a matter of seconds after that, and after he deposits it on Louis' chest he retreats from between his legs with an incredibly put upon expression to take his place at the end of the couch. ]

Fine, fine. [ His entire body is on fire and he's doing an absolutely miserable job of looking like he doesn't want to pounce on Louis again. He crosses his legs in a strangely mortal way, his elbow on his knee and his chin in his palm as he eyes the gift. ] Open it.

[ Inside Louis will find that ancient tome of poetry he's always thumbing through, the one that has somehow seemed to avoid every fire and every move, every boat trip and every bout of aimless wandering. It had been falling apart the last Lestat had seen it. The spine had all but disintegrated, the gold leaf on the pages dull and tarnished, the pages themselves starting to curl. It hadn't been easy to slip it away from their reasonable library, its presence surely missed, but it had only been away for a few nights of repair before the final choices were necessary: a silvery blue velvet for the cover, bronze impressions for the title and the decoration and bronze hardware installed in the form of a small lock to keep the pages pressed together tight. The pages restored, the book entirely rebound with a loving and skilful hand; the book looks completely new. ]

( Louis chuckles at Lestat's theatrical reaction as he sits up, holding his gift in one hand and running the other through his rumpled hair. He's aching for that delayed satisfaction nearly as much as Lestat clearly is, but the vexed scowl on his beloved's face is enough to soothe that particular need for the moment. But then, as Lestat said, his restraint is more powerful.

The look on Louis' face is sly and appraising, his gaze traveling from Lestat's feet up his crossed legs and chest, and finally to his silver eyes. )

I must have learned some wickedness from so much time spent in your company. Now let me see what you've been up to.

( Delicately, Louis slits the wrapping with the tip of his thumbnail, careful not to touch whatever lies beneath. He removes the brown paper in a wide spiral, giving the moment the sort of drama that he knows Lestat appreciates. But any attempt at artifice vanishes the moment Louis realizes what he's holding.

Or, nearly realizes. He traces the shapes of the letters with his fingertips, deeply moved and slightly bewildered. )

Oh, Lestat, where on earth did you get this? I thought it was long out of print. It's marvelous, look at it…

( Louis turns it over in his hands, taking in every detail of the spine and practically caressing the soft velvet cover. He's almost there, but already too enthralled and in love to put the complete picture together. He pauses, the pages still closed, and looks back to Lestat. )

But how did you know I'd lost my copy?

( ... wait ... )

[ It is clearly obvious that Lestat, as a more than reasonably attractive man, is used to being considered in this kind of way... but something about the way Louis' precise eye moves across his body has Lestat suddenly feeling as though he is the one pinned in place, and without the slightest physical restraint to speak of. What he wouldn't give to hear of exactly how he's led Louis astray, ruined him, had this kind of lasting effect on him. It almost fizzles out the power in his sulk. Almost.

The whole display of the unwrapping has him tense in bubbling excitement. Where he still rests his chin on his hand, his pointer finger taps impatiently against his own cheek as he watches. Usually he would have basked in the performance of it all, but he's oddly captivated with watching Louis' face for the slightest twitch of a reaction in him.

When he finally speaks, voice full of the expected reverence but unexpectedly missing the mark completely, Lestat lets out a helpless and slightly breathless laugh. ]

It is out of print, mon cher. I think the gentleman in the shop thought I'd stolen it from a museum. I had to spin some great tale about an estate and an old collection passed down through generations of my family.

[ His body has relaxed now, at least. It's clearly regained once more some of its vampiric elegance as he leans a little closer, a hand coming forward to gently squeeze the lock and pop the cover. The edition page is still intact; Lestat made it an imperative request that not a single sliver of the pages were removed, no matter how damaged. This one in particular had been close to falling out, but has been repaired with extreme skill. ]

Though, before you wonder how you will ever thank me for taking your dreary items and dragging them into the current century, I have to admit that I wasn't entirely selfless in choosing this gift for you. It comes with a request. [ Pause. ] Well, a demand, really.

[ His smile turns sharper, he's very clearly enjoying this, and he straightens to regard Louis with an expression that betrays none of the vibrating anxiety clamped around his heart at the thought of admitting this out loud in such an intimate manner. ]

I would like you to read to me.

( Louis flips through the pages as Lestat explains, his touch so delicate and loving that Lestat would be well in his rights to be jealous of a book. It's only when Lestat makes his request that Louis finally looks up at him, his eyes wide with wonder, his lips slightly parted in near-confusion, as if he can't quite believe he's heard that right.

It feels as if someone's reached into his chest to squeeze his heart, and it's somehow both painful and comforting at once. To anyone else, it might be such a small thing to ask, but Louis feels as if he's being given something precious, something that he's longed for all his immortal life. Lestat's smile is so brave and confident, but if anyone knows what this moment is costing him in pride, it's Louis.

Words, Louis thinks, would spoil the moment. Action for action, then. Lestat would appreciate that, and besides, Louis would like to pick up where they left off, more or less. And so, heart fluttering in his chest, Louis rests a hand on Lestat's knee as he leans in and kisses him on the lips. )

[ Such a perfect reaction, Lestat thinks, to see him so frozen by feeling and speechless. It would be all too easy to accuse Louis to be a man of few words, definitely not someone who enjoys the sound of his own voice in the same way Lestat himself does, but instead choosing each word with meaning and care. Lestat loves, more than anything else, to be the reason for Louis to search for what to say, and loves it even more when he fails to accurately describe the breadth of his feelings because they're so strong. Emotion in Louis is addictive, and Lestat drinks it up with the same fervour as the blood.

So when Louis kisses him, Lestat raises a hand to rest his fingers between his collar bones, palm strong against his chest. He smiles into the kiss, playfully pushing back with a little more intensity before he uses that hand to hold him away, just for a moment, like a dog away from its dinner. But there's no real power to it, no real intention, and he only holds him centimetres away; Lestat can't possibly resist giving Louis anything he wants for too long. ]

Ah, is that a yes?

[ He laughs, just a soft exhalation of breath against Louis' mouth. ]

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