[ There, he's seen it, seen the glimpse of who he is now, the why and how of that existence and Armand has looked into the eyes of their former god and turned away. Or Lestat did, chose a new path for himself, as has always been his way, and Armand's mind fits these pieces into the mosaic of the other Vampire in his mind. Does it lessen the sting from the faire? He's not sure. But feeling Lestat's weight on top of him, his arms around him, feels, at once, entirely perfect and too much.
Armand finally pulls from the wound with a gasp, head falling back against the sheets as breaths heave through him. He's still cradled by the swoon, still hazy and shivering, staring at the ceiling above, unseeing, and clinging to Lestat's shoulders like he might be swept away.
His injuries are glossy with new skin, barely sealed and sensitive, but a miracle of the blood regardless. He lays there, let's Lestat drink, shudders through each draught and savours it - commits this embrace to memory for the days ahead and let's himself drift. ]
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Armand finally pulls from the wound with a gasp, head falling back against the sheets as breaths heave through him. He's still cradled by the swoon, still hazy and shivering, staring at the ceiling above, unseeing, and clinging to Lestat's shoulders like he might be swept away.
His injuries are glossy with new skin, barely sealed and sensitive, but a miracle of the blood regardless. He lays there, let's Lestat drink, shudders through each draught and savours it - commits this embrace to memory for the days ahead and let's himself drift. ]