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[perfectionner]

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LESTAT

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[perfectionner]

Or the reverse, at your bidding.

[ What would be the point in clothes, his gaze says, when Louis would ultimately rip all of them off of him anyway? But as pleasant a diversion as that would undoubtedly be — an escape, as well, from constantly thinking about being trapped here — Lestat is content precisely where he is, on his knees, looking up at Louis with keen, open adoration in his gaze, particularly once those joggers are loosened and slip down. ]

You're perfect.

[ The dark gift preserves them all in the height of their youth, like an insect preserved in amber — forever to remain perfect and untarnished. But there's something about Louis right now, here, in this moment, emboldened, empowered, quiet confidence infused in every part of his being that makes him that much more alluring — and Lestat has never been so ready to succumb to what compels him.

He doesn't immediately move to take Louis' cock in his mouth, though; instead, he kisses and licks all around it, over the tops of Louis' thighs, the slight musculature of his hips, the subtle divots of his pelvic lines that offer a clear invitation to what he wants to make bob heavy and thick in anticipation. He's mapping Louis again with his lips, reminding himself of the contours of his lover's body; there's no possibility of discomfort, even with his knees digging into the polished wood floor, but he's also not intending torment. He just wants Louis' gaze on him when he ultimately parts lips over the tip of his cock, slowly enveloping before offering a pronounced, obscenely loud suck. ]

[missed]

[ louis' body prickles with want as lestat's mouth makes a map of his body, committing it to memory. he can't help but sway softly into each press of tongue and lips, head falling back for a moment to enjoy the sensation. he wants lestat and there's no doubt that his aching cock shows it, twitching when lestat comes so close but dances away. teasing little minx. ]

You talkin' about yourself down there again?

[ he huffs a laugh, smoothing lestat's hair back from his face, tangling his fingers in the thick waves just as he feels wet, hot heat envelop him. he groans, green eyes blowing out as he looks down at his lover, mouth full and heavy with him. his fingers tighten in his hair, nails pricking at his scalp, his whole body taught with tension at the sudden, lewd pleasure of it. ]

You look so good. Feel so good.

[perfectionner]

Mm.

[ Louis would come up with a retort like that when his mouth is otherwise occupied, forcing Lestat into the brief internal debate about whether he should interrupt himself, pulling away from Louis in the process, to offer a comeback of his own. It seems less sensible, though, when he already has Louis thick and throbbing on his tongue, and mustering words would risk diverting him further.

He chooses to bask in this instead — Louis' fingers, threading through his hair, until pointed nails subtly dig into his scalp. There's no breaking of skin, no spilling of blood, but the pleasurable addition of pain elicits a groan that ends up muffled around Louis' shaft, makes Lestat's cock twitch against the confines of his own trousers.

The way he's applying himself to sucking Louis off should make it perfectly clear that he's not rushing this; it doesn't matter that they're in the bar, on the stage itself. He'd do the same even if they had a spotlight on them and an enraptured audience filling every seat. There's no room for shame, no room for hesitation — not when he'd spent so many long nights in isolation craving something exactly like this. He groans again, slipping a hand down to grind the heel of his palm against his own cock, and doubles his efforts with a lewd, wet, slow rhythm. ]