Locked together in sin—constant, inconstant—and they promised no secrets, no lies. An impossible promise to keep.
The warmth of Lestat’s hand cradles his own. Louis looks down at it with soft eyes, always so melancholy. Louis imagines it turning to char and ash—and then Lestat suggests getting up to ridiculous mischieffit for naughty schoolboys. It's stupid, it's—
Louis huffs a little laugh in surprise and shakes his head, trying and failing to twist his mouth into something disapproving.
"Ain’t the worst thing we ever done in a church, but it’s probably been looted anyway."
It’s not entirely pessimism. Louis doesn’t need any ash-tasting wine to drink something toxic. The worst thing they did in a church was blood and murder, including his own. Louis draws Lestat close by his jacket, breath to breath.
"I..." How does he explain their difficult love, how he can't live with him and can't live without him? He doesn't. He puts it into his kiss instead, plaintive, hesitant, and hungry all at once.
no subject
The warmth of Lestat’s hand cradles his own. Louis looks down at it with soft eyes, always so melancholy. Louis imagines it turning to char and ash—and then Lestat suggests getting up to ridiculous mischieffit for naughty schoolboys. It's stupid, it's—
Louis huffs a little laugh in surprise and shakes his head, trying and failing to twist his mouth into something disapproving.
"Ain’t the worst thing we ever done in a church, but it’s probably been looted anyway."
It’s not entirely pessimism. Louis doesn’t need any ash-tasting wine to drink something toxic. The worst thing they did in a church was blood and murder, including his own. Louis draws Lestat close by his jacket, breath to breath.
"I..." How does he explain their difficult love, how he can't live with him and can't live without him? He doesn't. He puts it into his kiss instead, plaintive, hesitant, and hungry all at once.