I tooks this in a more comical, modern, fun direction🐏
I think they have a love-hate relationship and I’m really enjoying that idea, these relationships are always fun🌻
“Even his unusual beauty and unfailing charm were something of a secret
to him. When you read his statement that I made him a vampire because I
coveted his plantation house, you can write that off to modesty more
easily than stupidity, I suppose.
Read between the lines.”
Marius, with a cup of tea, as @monstersinthecosmos ask. I hope you like it! 😀
If he was aware he was being watched, he gave no indication as he searched the well stocked shelves filled with classics and pulp junk alike. While he often humored Lestat by wearing the finery bought for him, he still preferred worn sweaters and tattered trousers. The cuffs of his sleeves were frayed and his pants were baggy and soft, something he must have stashed away and wore when alone.
Lestat couldn’t help the smile as he watched Louis pluck a thin paperback from the shelf and toss himself into a plush armchair. A picture perfect moment of thought and calm.
“I’ve been praying for you.” Louis said, not looking up from his book, startling Lestat from his place in the door way.
“Oh? Since when do you pray?”
“Occasionally, when there is something of significance to be concerned about.”
Lestat walked to the other armchair and plopped across from his lover.
“And what,” he rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and chin in palm, “are you concerned about?” He almost laughed at Louis’ raised eyebrow.
“What don’t I have to be concerned about with you?” he allowed a small smirk over the top of his book.
Curbing his giggles, Lestat rested his head in his palm and asked, “who do you pray to?”
Louis idly flipped a page, “no one. I just,” he struggled to put it into words and flipped another page, “talk to the universe. A basic plea to whatever there may be for peace.”
Lestat pondered, “does it ever talk back?”
Louis shrugged, “no. I just like to do it. Like when a person repeats please when playing a game of chance. They aren’t really talking to someone and no one is listening, but they do it anyway.”
“And you do this for me?” Lestat pulled himself out of his chair and slid over to Louis, kneeling at his feet, crossed his arms and rested them on the other’s lap. Louis pretended not to notice Lestat though he did smile.
“Occasionally,” he let one hand fall off the book and into Lestat’s hair, “especially when you refuse to behave.”
Lestat snorted, and tilted his head to get more of Louis’ fingers against his scalp.
“I know, I can be just awful sometimes.”
He could feel Louis sigh and made a point to exaggerate a pout when Louis finally looked down, earning a laugh and a tug to his hair.
“Yes, you can be an outright bastard sometimes.” Louis regarded him before cupping his cheek, “but you try.” He bent at the waist and place a tender kiss to Lestat’s forehead.
“Ah, beautiful one, thank you for loving me anyway.”
I, uh. Haven’t posted any drabble offers or memes for probably about a year, so I’ve no idea what challenge you’re referring to. I’m sorry, but I hope that you like this little bit anyway!
Louis always took longer than Armand did to wake. Armand could have used that time, spent it, but for what?
What purpose, when the being by whom he marked his place in the world still lay dead?
Instead he would lie nearby, almost immobile himself, and observe.
Little things intrigued him, at first. The fan of jet lashes across a sheened cheek, the shadow cast wavering with the gas-lamp’s flame. The warm light and that movement all combining to make Louis look something other than a corpse.
In Paris, he’d believed so dreadfully that Louis was not dead.
By weeks and months, he began to learn the signs, and the lack thereof. To differentiate a twitch of eyelid from a wayward air current, a move to wakefulness from wishful imagining.
And then he began to learn more.
A fly’s weight was not enough to disturb the torpor their kind remained in during their personal day-lengths. An insect could buzz about Louis’s ear or crawl over his skin, tolerated and unnoticed. Insignificant.
The curling hair was deader than dead, soft and smooth between Armand’s fingers, utterly unbothered when he stroked it or twisted it into fine plaits to puzzle his love upon waking.
The cold flesh…
Cold, cold, soft cheeks and chest and lips he could touch for only a moment.
Their kind could defend themselves, if need be. A deep, reptilian thread of self-preservation ran through their back brains, keeping them alive even when they seemed empty and lost to all, and it was…
When Louis’ claws slashed Armand’s wrists, when his white hands crushed his throat, when his lovely ivory fangs rent Armand’s trespassing mouth, it all felt like hope.
for you, Anon, because he’s worth it
we don’t talk about his bad wig ok we just don’t