[ Lestat watches the gold in Armand's eyes as they reflect the flashing neon of the ferris wheel and the various signs lit with their artificial bulbs and spotlights, the lights dancing and dancing... and then he realises he is the one dancing, and the neon has gone to be replaced by the flicker of candles and the cry of violins and piano keys, and the floor beneath them is no longer dirt and grass but polished marble and there is a hand on his waist, pulling him closer and bidding his confusion to turn to peace, to sleep, to welcome this change however against his will it might be...!
He's taken back to a similar barrage of images ravishing his brain, the sounds cacophonous in his ears, the world painted around him as he stood there, a participant in as much that he didn't do anything to stop it. Her hand so cold against him, impossibly cold, her eyes mesmerizing, skin frighteningly smooth, her intention clear--
It isn't Armand's fault. How could he have known, how could anyone really know; but Lestat's heart hammers in his chest as he desperately searches for what feels familiar, for anything to prove to him that he hasn't been whisked away again, that he hasn't been taken against his will, that he can't be moved without his say so, that he has a body and he is in control of it and not floating above it untethered... He looks for the fair ground, his coat nearby with that ridiculous little phone in his pocket, for the clothes rail, for Louis. He spins his head, his expression falling for the most minute of seconds into something helpless and desperate and childlike, until their eyes meet.
It feels like forever passes between them, when really it can't have been more than a few seconds. He wrenches his attention back to Armand. ]
What fun we might have had, mon petit. [ He says, voice only ever so subtly without all of it's usual bravado. He genuinely doesn't want to hurt Armand with this, but Lestat knows damn well that he struggles to make one person in his life happy, and he'd be entirely out of his depth trying to please two. ] But it wasn't meant to be. This path we're on holds what we have both always wanted. There is love in this, there would only be a hunger for more in that one.
[ That is to say, Lestat will always love Armand but never in the way Armand wants, just as Armand can never satisfy Lestat's need in the same way. He touches his handsome little face, an emotive and strangely honest look in his eyes. He forces his attention away from the mirage around them and back to the night in Miami where he'd been introduced to Daniel, and the look on Armand's face. So human, was that face. ]
I love you, my brother. I am glad you have found some kind of peace as I have found mine.
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He's taken back to a similar barrage of images ravishing his brain, the sounds cacophonous in his ears, the world painted around him as he stood there, a participant in as much that he didn't do anything to stop it. Her hand so cold against him, impossibly cold, her eyes mesmerizing, skin frighteningly smooth, her intention clear--
It isn't Armand's fault. How could he have known, how could anyone really know; but Lestat's heart hammers in his chest as he desperately searches for what feels familiar, for anything to prove to him that he hasn't been whisked away again, that he hasn't been taken against his will, that he can't be moved without his say so, that he has a body and he is in control of it and not floating above it untethered... He looks for the fair ground, his coat nearby with that ridiculous little phone in his pocket, for the clothes rail, for Louis. He spins his head, his expression falling for the most minute of seconds into something helpless and desperate and childlike, until their eyes meet.
It feels like forever passes between them, when really it can't have been more than a few seconds. He wrenches his attention back to Armand. ]
What fun we might have had, mon petit. [ He says, voice only ever so subtly without all of it's usual bravado. He genuinely doesn't want to hurt Armand with this, but Lestat knows damn well that he struggles to make one person in his life happy, and he'd be entirely out of his depth trying to please two. ] But it wasn't meant to be. This path we're on holds what we have both always wanted. There is love in this, there would only be a hunger for more in that one.
[ That is to say, Lestat will always love Armand but never in the way Armand wants, just as Armand can never satisfy Lestat's need in the same way. He touches his handsome little face, an emotive and strangely honest look in his eyes. He forces his attention away from the mirage around them and back to the night in Miami where he'd been introduced to Daniel, and the look on Armand's face. So human, was that face. ]
I love you, my brother. I am glad you have found some kind of peace as I have found mine.