It's not teasing, but it feels like a kind of tease. Being wound up, each time Daniel leans in closer. Letting out a breath each time Daniel kisses him somewhere other than his mouth.
Fifty years. A hundred. Two hundred. Louis can imagine these things, dreamy possibility. The ways they'd keep each other busy, the war that would burn itself out and whatever new thing would occupy them. Whatever they were to each other. Whatever Louis and Lestat became. All these pieces easy to align now that Louis isn't looking at Daniel and seeing time and life slip away from him.
(Seeing his eyes, and knowing, inescapably, who they have to thank for it.)
Louis winds fingers into the front of Daniel's t-shirt. Knuckles against his chest, a restless kneading sort of contact. Impulse restrained. Wanting, wanting, wanting. Reluctant to overstep.
no subject
Fifty years. A hundred. Two hundred. Louis can imagine these things, dreamy possibility. The ways they'd keep each other busy, the war that would burn itself out and whatever new thing would occupy them. Whatever they were to each other. Whatever Louis and Lestat became. All these pieces easy to align now that Louis isn't looking at Daniel and seeing time and life slip away from him.
(Seeing his eyes, and knowing, inescapably, who they have to thank for it.)
Louis winds fingers into the front of Daniel's t-shirt. Knuckles against his chest, a restless kneading sort of contact. Impulse restrained. Wanting, wanting, wanting. Reluctant to overstep.
"What do you remember now?"
As if they're taking accounting still.