[ Lestat sucks on Armand's tongue in earnest, pushing and pulling with pressure from his mouth and lapping the blood from between his teeth. Every brush of contact from Armand's fingers or nails makes Lestat feel impossible elation, as though he's never been touched before. That isn't true, of course, but it's the first time in a long time that he's felt like himself again, like layers of himself have been peeled back to allow Armand's curious fingers to press against his new skin to find it's just the same as it always was, just the same as he remembers.
And Armand... infuriating, maddening, frustrating, beautiful Armand.. He's seen Lestat at his worst and at his best — hell, he's been to blame for some of it — and here he is, meeting Lestat's desperation with an intensity all of his own, and holding him through his quivering to sate his anxieties in return, and kissing him as though to stop might mean the end of life for both of them.
Lestat knows they should stop, that Lestat should focus on getting him out of the haunted house rather than making out with him, but it feels so much easier to simply bask in this until time unspools around them. ]
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And Armand... infuriating, maddening, frustrating, beautiful Armand.. He's seen Lestat at his worst and at his best — hell, he's been to blame for some of it — and here he is, meeting Lestat's desperation with an intensity all of his own, and holding him through his quivering to sate his anxieties in return, and kissing him as though to stop might mean the end of life for both of them.
Lestat knows they should stop, that Lestat should focus on getting him out of the haunted house rather than making out with him, but it feels so much easier to simply bask in this until time unspools around them. ]