Louis would not describe Lestat as soft, warm, and pliant, but he has his moments, often looking like the love he so cloyingly binds catches him by surprise too. The young man Lestat was peers through the curtain from a century ago. As Lestat presses them together, Louis makes a small urgent sigh against his mouth. His hand finds his pulse under his scarf, made so dim by their muffled senses. His drum beats faster.

The moth burns himself on the flame but reaches for it again and again. It's not joy precisely, but a perverse relief at not being slain and discarded like broken marionettes in the next room. Louis is alive enough to taste Lestat between every breath, and he seeks the reminder like the faithful seek their communion. He who opened Lestat's throat with a knife opens his mouth to receive him.

Louis, usually so fastidious, murmurs into Lestat's mouth, "I can't even remember if I locked the door..."

His intent had been to discuss vampire business in private, but kissing a man is also business he'd like to keep private. Bashfulness doesn't enter into it, but fear of being discovered and hunted does.