a-misunderstanding-my-love:

-sighs-

First of all, fuck you. 

Second of all. Well. 

It was summer. One of the more sweltering that I remember. We were at least a month into being truly lovers, not just friends, and he’d dragged me out into the hills in search of a stream. We each had a bottle of wine (or two?) and he was carrying bread, cheese, and cherries; I had my violin. 

It took almost an hour to find it. Mon dieu, but it was so hot. The sort of hot that is like a curtain before you, like a wet blanket that covers your body. By the time we found the stream, we’d both stripped off our shirts, and I remember worrying my feet would have swollen in my boots. 

We stripped off our clothing and immediately took to the water. Now, remember, these are cool mountain streams, even in summer. It was glorious. Bathing, drinking, splashing each other, wrestling. Then making love on the grass, our breath coming hard, our cries building until the little death, and then collapsing beside each other in happy, satisfied exhaustion. 

We drank wine for hours and ate, the cherry juice staining our fingers and mouths, our lazy kisses a mixture of sweat and fruit. I remember almost weeping at the perfection of it, turning into his neck and burying my face there because I knew it wouldn’t last, that the sunlight and sweetness and poetry of it would end, as it always did. 

Before we left, I remember he grabbed me ‘round the waist and kissed me, then pulled back and looked me in the eye. If you don’t know him, you can’t know how penetrating, how soul-piercing that gaze can be–he loves with perfect trust, and it’s absolutely terrifying. 

“I love you. I will always love you.” 

The real horror is that I believed him. Utterly. 

OH MY DEAR LORD WHY WOULD U DO THIS!!! #RIGHT IN THE FEELS

All I can do is sit here with my mouth open, going “Oh!”

Beautiful, indissectable (not a real word, but in this context, I mean that I am unable to dissect this down to its parts).

BONUS POINTS for never mentioning a name, and not needing to!

This is the kind of memory that would best explain where their pain as a ship truly comes from. Even more sad is that Lestat was so naive to say such a thing, but it sounds perfectly in character. Maybe by saying it, he thought it could be made truth ;A;

That soul-piercing gaze – yes… that’s the Lestat I fell in love with in canon, the one Nicolas fell for, the searing real Lestat stripped of his masks that anyone who falls for the real Lestat falls for, too ❤