[ Lestat's eyelids flicker slightly; he doesn't remember closing his eyes, but he figures that he must have. He can almost see the dorm room around them, but it's super-imposed over the sight of billowing lace curtains, the smell of fire, the smell of burning flesh, the smell of blood, the sand sun warmed but dark beneath his feet, the whisper in his head of a voice with no home.
"Drink, my prince."
The swoon lingers in him still. Akasha's hand reaches to him and takes his wrist in her palm. She is the same size as him, no small woman, no tiny creature he can control; she is power and she is intention, she means to have what she wants and she will force any that refuse her to bend. Lestat adores the fire in her, is entranced by her gentle beauty and her smile, but his heart feels timid and bird-like in his chest. He's afraid of her, and for a man who doesn't allow himself to be afraid of anything, the realisation is like a lead weight in him.
He struggles against the memory, against her hold as she cradles his head and guides him to her throat.
"Drink, Lestat."
The voice is different now. Male, accent more rounded, softer spoken. Armand. Armand is here, so why can he only see her? Awareness comes back to him in slivers of recognition. He hears the plea in Armand's voice, he feels the pressure in his veins, blood being pulled from him by an insistent body and a wanting soul. This isn't Akasha forcing him to become enslaved to her, this is Armand wanting to share with Lestat something they'd never experienced together before, to bring them both closer in the blood; brothers in eternity, love in a fellow child of darkness.
He doesn't let her entrance him. He won't let her force his heart to speed, force his body to reject this offering, or cause another rift between himself and those who he loves. She'd preyed on his lonliness once before, but never again will Lestat allow himself to be the victim.
What's more, this is Armand, and despite his ire and their insistence to make the others life difficult, he loves him and he always will.
Lestat looks the vision of Akasha in the eye, and bids it a bitter farewell before he opens his mouth against Armand's throat and bites down. ]
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"Drink, my prince."
The swoon lingers in him still. Akasha's hand reaches to him and takes his wrist in her palm. She is the same size as him, no small woman, no tiny creature he can control; she is power and she is intention, she means to have what she wants and she will force any that refuse her to bend. Lestat adores the fire in her, is entranced by her gentle beauty and her smile, but his heart feels timid and bird-like in his chest. He's afraid of her, and for a man who doesn't allow himself to be afraid of anything, the realisation is like a lead weight in him.
He struggles against the memory, against her hold as she cradles his head and guides him to her throat.
"Drink, Lestat."
The voice is different now. Male, accent more rounded, softer spoken. Armand. Armand is here, so why can he only see her? Awareness comes back to him in slivers of recognition. He hears the plea in Armand's voice, he feels the pressure in his veins, blood being pulled from him by an insistent body and a wanting soul. This isn't Akasha forcing him to become enslaved to her, this is Armand wanting to share with Lestat something they'd never experienced together before, to bring them both closer in the blood; brothers in eternity, love in a fellow child of darkness.
He doesn't let her entrance him. He won't let her force his heart to speed, force his body to reject this offering, or cause another rift between himself and those who he loves. She'd preyed on his lonliness once before, but never again will Lestat allow himself to be the victim.
What's more, this is Armand, and despite his ire and their insistence to make the others life difficult, he loves him and he always will.
Lestat looks the vision of Akasha in the eye, and bids it a bitter farewell before he opens his mouth against Armand's throat and bites down. ]