merciful-death:

TRUTH SERUM!

For the next 5 hours, my muse cannot lie about a n y t h i n g.

His mouth.

As he himself has described, it is impossibly expressive.  It is certainly true that his emotions can be seen in his ever-changing eyes as well, but it is his mouth that he molds so perfectly to his mood.

His smile can charm any man or woman he encounters—myself included—giving him this image of some suave youth that’s holding a mystery you cannot quite grasp, yet so entirely desire.  He needs not employ the Mind Gift on any of his victims of the little drink; all that is required is his smile.

Lestat pouts when he is upset or simply wishing to achieve something.  He is well aware of how I cannot bare that ridiculously childish look upon his face.  When he cannot win me over with that “shit eating grin,” as it would be called, he will pout.  I am ultimately a “sucker” for it.  I will disregard whatever previously held my attention with a sigh of exasperation before giving him that attention.

When irritated, he will set his lips in the finest line.  An argument can be predicted by that stillness.

He can look quite intimidating when angered, which is another matter that he has written of himself.  But it is not simply his “generous mouth” which gives that impression, of course.  His entire face morphs into a look of rage.  It is rare that even I encounter it; we’ve only had such intense fights a handful of times throughout our history.

Ah, but a description would be incomplete without noting all that his mouth is capable of as well.  While his grins and pouts might throw me into submission, the way his lips work upon my skin win me over to him completely, of which he is also utterly aware.  He will kiss behind my ears, trail down to my neck, whispering this and that all the way.  We will share a kiss between one another, sometimes rough, other times slow and passionate, and it is in those moments that I can do nothing but give myself over to him.  I ponder then if eternity could be comprised only of his lips upon my every inch of skin.

I can hardly blame those many that fall in love with him.  He is, unfortunately, irresistible at times.  A true Casanova, Lestat is.