[ The stage isn't as big as the stadium had been, obviously, but the perfectly positioned assortment of freestanding spotlights creates a perfectly vague facsimile of the dazzling blindness and the heat of it. Lestat can't see any faces in the crowd much as it had been then, so as his song starts he keeps his eyes closed through the first verse... He lets it wash over him; it's him, the music, the reverberation of sound underfoot and the cord of the microphone around his knuckles.
He turns when he feels it, though he couldn't say what it is more than a feeling, than instinct making him spin on his heel, forcing his eyes to open and to meet the green ones of his lover as he makes small steps toward the stage, staring up at him with that reverent look on his face-- Lestat wonders if it's different for him to see this kind of performance from the audience rather than from off the side of the stage, or on TV. He wonders if Louis heart rate picked up like his did when their eyes met.
"...With love, we sleep, with doubt, the vicious circle, turns and burns-- Without you, I cannot live-- Forgive, the yearning burning, I believe it's time, too real to feel..."
He forgets the room around them; it falls away panel by panel to leave only this, their eye contact and the connection between their hearts. Every movement of his body, sway of his hips, toss of his hair, beckoning motion of his hand is all for Louis, and when the song ends he unceremoniously drops the microphone and leans down to Louis' level to press a kiss to his mouth, and then to murmur against it: ]
Am I forgiven for causing all this fuss, then?
[ He doesn't really mind if anyone is looking, but for Louis' benefit he hops off the stage and seems to have every intention of hustling Louis back to the secluded little table where he'd been gravitating every so often throughout the night. ]
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He turns when he feels it, though he couldn't say what it is more than a feeling, than instinct making him spin on his heel, forcing his eyes to open and to meet the green ones of his lover as he makes small steps toward the stage, staring up at him with that reverent look on his face-- Lestat wonders if it's different for him to see this kind of performance from the audience rather than from off the side of the stage, or on TV. He wonders if Louis heart rate picked up like his did when their eyes met.
"...With love, we sleep, with doubt, the vicious circle, turns and burns--
He forgets the room around them; it falls away panel by panel to leave only this, their eye contact and the connection between their hearts. Every movement of his body, sway of his hips, toss of his hair, beckoning motion of his hand is all for Louis, and when the song ends he unceremoniously drops the microphone and leans down to Louis' level to press a kiss to his mouth, and then to murmur against it: ]Without you, I cannot live-- Forgive, the yearning burning, I believe it's time, too real to feel..."
Am I forgiven for causing all this fuss, then?
[ He doesn't really mind if anyone is looking, but for Louis' benefit he hops off the stage and seems to have every intention of hustling Louis back to the secluded little table where he'd been gravitating every so often throughout the night. ]