( Louis exhales in a rush, and a soft groan of surprise escapes him as the familiar cool touch of Lestat's fingers meets the sensitive skin of his stomach. It's powerfully erotic, and he feels a stir of hunger for more than just blood beginning in his core. Oh, he shouldn't get caught up in this, shouldn't want to escape his responsibilities to let Lestat have the whole of him in their bed, and show Lestat just how much he needs him in return.

But he can't help the wanting, not when the memory of those early years feels so close and the veil of time so gossamer-thin that he can almost hear the sound of carriage wheels on cobblestone. It aches — sweetly, but an ache nevertheless — to think of those long decades together but so seldom close enough to touch, and Lestat wanting him, longing for him, the entire time. What if Louis had fallen into his arms then? )

Oh, your words are poetry...

( Louis swallows, his throat moving beneath Lestat's lips. Fingers tighten in his hair, encouraging, and Louis' chin tips downward to kiss the crown of Lestat's head, murmuring against him. )

And I can hardly find the breath to speak when you touch me like this. You know I feel the same way, don't you? I was alone for all those years by choice. Even at my most bitter and resentful, you were the only one I dreamed of. You were the one whose voice I longed to hear. A memory of the sun amidst a world of darkness and candlelight.

( He sighs softly. )

Only I've never missed the sun the way that I missed you.