( Louis lets out a breath through his nose — a scoff, or an attempt at one, but without quite enough air in his lungs. His hand drops, fingertips skimming from Lestat's chin back toward his ear, then finally lands with his palm against the slow, familiar thudding of Lestat's heart. )

It isn't just about strength, though, is it? I doubt that even you were truly strong enough to hold back a brace of mastiffs if they were determined to have their way...

( His fingers tap, tap thoughtfully against Lestat's chest. )

It's a matter of obedience. A gentle hand can still command respect.