( A soft sound and a shiver escape him, his stomach twitching beneath Lestat's nails. He feels Lestat's quickening pulse with a sense deeper than mere hearing, as if some ancient machinery deep inside of him is forever attuned to that sound. He wonders what inspired that quickening — if it's merely an effect of Lestat's cool tongue dragging against his throat and making Louis' own pulse hasten too, or if he's thinking of something more. )

Yes, yours, always yours, eternally. I've been yours since you made me. I fought it, I tried to resist, and it only made me more miserable.

( It might sound accusatory if his voice weren't softened by sighs, speaking of his need as if it were something as inevitable as the rising of the sun and just as fatally beautiful. His nails rake Lestat's scalp lightly, teasingly, a promise for later and encouragement for now. He swallows, another breath shivering out of him beneath Lestat's lips. His head is swimming pleasantly, but he reaches for something remembered and grasps it, his voice sweet and light. )

Did you ever read Plato? He wrote that each of us is a matching half of a being that was split in two, forever seeking his missing piece. That's what love is: the desire to be complete.