[ Lestat watches the progress of Louis' fingers against the fine fabric of his new clothes with a quiet but roiling intensity, pulled taut like a band about to snap, and then fixes his attention back to his face when he continues.

It's such a simple thing, the permission, but Lestat feels a sensation similar to warmth course through him at the nod of Louis' head. He's fussed at his clothes before, yes, and told him to switch shirts because the colours clashed or didn't compliment each other well enough, he's wrestled him out of his waistcoats to shove shortened jackets at him instead, forced him to pull the lace all the way out of his sleeves before considering himself ready... but he's never had the opportunity to dress him in this manner. ]

Would you like that, for me to be your attendant? I'm not sure that you would, you know... At least, not as much as I would like it.

[ He smiles, unable to contain his excitement, and settles the pile in his arms down on the nearby console table to free up both his hands. These, he places on Louis' shoulders as he leans in to give him a soft kiss as though in thanks, before he trails them down his front with no amount of urgency, until he reaches the hem of his t-shirt again; only this time when he pulls on it he doesn't let go, and instead starts to inch upward with it, his intention clear. ]