[ Of course Lestat is aware of the intimacy linked to all of this, and of course he understands how this will inevitably shift their relationship into a different place once all this is over, but he can't waste a single moment being concerned with any of that in light of the possibility of Armand not seeing this through -- or worse still, not helping Armand to see it through. Perhaps it's what he's been through recently or perhaps it's the influence of the City and being so insular where once it was easy for him to get lost in the throng of a busy community, but he feels more protective over the ones he holds dear than he ever has before, enough even to forego his usual selfishness.
The first contact of Armand's fangs in his skin makes his heart speed up, and for a second it's almost as though he's instinctively reacting with fear, his body remembering how it feels to be penetrated like this and afraid of the locking embrace that follows; no escape, no relief, just sensation and the transference of power, changing him, moulding him into what she needsโฆ He sees her in his mind's eye, though it's blurred and slightly vague, tinted around the edges by the blush of his own blood. But he doesn't pull away. He calms his heart and he stays resolute; he can't run from thoughts of her forever, can't allow this place to use her memory against him in that way, can't let thoughts of what he's been through make him into a victim, like he was when Armand shared with him that stunning vision of what could have been... He wanted to enjoy that fantasy, not shudder where he stood like a boy in far over his head.
The vision becomes even more hazy and ultimately fades as Lestat's wrist heals. He surveys Armand's face, smells the air; he's barely taken on any colour, he still looks like he's about to faint. It isn't enough, it's not nearly enough, and Lestat has been wasting time offering him such a tiny series of veins as the ones in his wrist when he should be giving him more, something bound to fix him, something that will have him alright again, now, right now, not let him die slow and return changed, to keep Armand the way he is, exactly how he is-- but God, will his blood change him? Will it make him something else? Will it make him colder and harder, as it had with Lestat? Will it make him even harder to get close to?
With a bead of blood-sweat running down his temple, Lestat realises he only has the option to take that risk.
Lestat takes the back of Armand's head in his palm, tilting his chin. He can tell Armand wants it, and in some way perhaps he knows he wants it too, so he closes his eyes and says it again. ]
no subject
The first contact of Armand's fangs in his skin makes his heart speed up, and for a second it's almost as though he's instinctively reacting with fear, his body remembering how it feels to be penetrated like this and afraid of the locking embrace that follows; no escape, no relief, just sensation and the transference of power, changing him, moulding him into what she needsโฆ He sees her in his mind's eye, though it's blurred and slightly vague, tinted around the edges by the blush of his own blood. But he doesn't pull away. He calms his heart and he stays resolute; he can't run from thoughts of her forever, can't allow this place to use her memory against him in that way, can't let thoughts of what he's been through make him into a victim, like he was when Armand shared with him that stunning vision of what could have been... He wanted to enjoy that fantasy, not shudder where he stood like a boy in far over his head.
The vision becomes even more hazy and ultimately fades as Lestat's wrist heals. He surveys Armand's face, smells the air; he's barely taken on any colour, he still looks like he's about to faint. It isn't enough, it's not nearly enough, and Lestat has been wasting time offering him such a tiny series of veins as the ones in his wrist when he should be giving him more, something bound to fix him, something that will have him alright again, now, right now, not let him die slow and return changed, to keep Armand the way he is, exactly how he is-- but God, will his blood change him? Will it make him something else? Will it make him colder and harder, as it had with Lestat? Will it make him even harder to get close to?
With a bead of blood-sweat running down his temple, Lestat realises he only has the option to take that risk.
Lestat takes the back of Armand's head in his palm, tilting his chin. He can tell Armand wants it, and in some way perhaps he knows he wants it too, so he closes his eyes and says it again. ]
Drink.