merciful-death:

Put ◎ in my ask. My muse will answer any question you ask them. Even if it’s secret.

Ah, Dieu.  This question.  I do not know if this example fully suffices.

It was 1984, London, shortly after Lestat and I’s visit to the then-mortal David Talbot in the Talamascan Motherhouse.  Lestat had insisted upon making the most of our impromptu visit to the English city, and he did indeed follow through on his whim of gifting me an overcoat, long and black, lined with fur, although I wore it only twice, both times for him.

We were to visit the Tower of London, as he suggested, but he insisted upon first getting me “proper” clothing so I should deal with the cold.  To my dismay, we broke into a department store that had already closed for the evening.  He thought it was wonderful fun and started shoving me around the various clothing racks, shouting loud enough that I was certain some security officer somewhere surely must have heard.  He laughed and threw a bundle of clothing into my hands, insisting that I put them on for him.

As frustrating as he was being, I could not deny that the autumn air chilled me, and my loose sweater was hardly sufficient for warmth.  Despite my inner acknowledgement of that, however, the two of us began to further bicker.  I had stormed off at that point, wandered near the jewelry counters, when he finally pounced upon me, ripping my threadbare clothing off and insisting he would dress me himself if I would “behave so childishly;” although I still believe that it was himself that was acting such.

As with many of our arguments, there came a point in which we both tired of it, and one must understand that despite our reunion prior to the concert, the two of us truly had not had much time together at all by that point.  We missed each other tremendously, but I suppose I would be less likely to admit to it than he.

I believe it was I that initiated it that time, grasping him by his lapels and forcing him into a kiss.A kiss lead to his attire disappearing, and while I was caught unawares, he had tied my hands together to some contraption on the counter with the very tie he intended me to wear.  We explored one another in a way we had not in such a long stretch of time.  Not even the night of our initial reunion were we allowed it, with his band mates moving about.

He’d bit into my thigh, and I do not quite recall how, but the counter behind me then slid and broke apart.  It did not cease our intimacy, although moments later there was the sound of sirens and I became keenly aware of the security camera above us, as did Lestat.  He put his new abilities to good use and destroyed them—but not after a jest that he should find the tapes and take them home for our personal collection.  Which, I do believe he did collect, for the purpose of there not being evidence, he said.  I’m certain he still has it somewhere.

We were cleaned up and out of the building before the police arrived, running about London half-dressed.  I wore only that coat he had chosen up until we reached a private room where it was once more removed.

It was certainly an evening.