#istartedthefire

[darknessmolten]

Why the cape?

When you gave the interview.

[drcasimir]

So, let us discuss Lestat. I will give you time to get your notepad ready.

Is this a friendly discussion?

[moral-cipher]

[ TXT ] :   i'm still waiting.

[text] All right, I give up. I can't make any further moves. You win.

[text] You realise if you were here, you could checkmate me in person. I'm sure things will keep if you go away for a week.

[devilsfool]

OOC; I forgot to post this yesterday due to work/fringe, but Many Happy Returns of the Day to the lovely @istartedthefire !! Both of your muses are lovely, and especially @angelustheancient and I are so fortunate you joined us all on here!!

[devilsfool]

[text] Can you bring me the Keats from downstairs?

[text] The one I almost tripped over and broke my neck on or the one I almost threw out the window into the rain?

[devilsfool]

Nightmares and Admissions

He'd allowed his body to slip into a comfortable mortal sleep when the night came, his mind only just registering the shift from the death sleep to something more measured. And so it was, an hour after sundown, that he awoke, stretching languidly against the sheets until his foot made contact with the other creature sharing the bed with him. He sighed and closed his eyes, pressing his nose against Louis' pale shoulder, his lips against the upper part of his bicep. His breath came out in a rush, the vocalization to his lover ending up as more of an "Mmph," than any other sound.

Poetry, really.

They'd come to Paris as their first stop in France before heading south. Doing this had become a kind of healing ritual, a method of exorcising demons that still had the power to haunt and torture them both. It was a delicate sort of mission, each time they did it, and each time something a little worse loosened and released. If they were careful, they emerged stronger for it. If they weren't--well, the scars would follow them for nights, the arguments deliberately cruel and brutal. It was always a risk, but a risk they'd agreed to take together.

The body against his shifted and Lestat shook his head, wrapping his left arm loosely around his lover's slim waist. "Don't get out of bed, yet." His voice was drunk on the hour of sleep he'd claimed, his lips still pressed against Louis' skin. "Stay with me."

The Hôtel de Crillon was beautiful, yes, and far too expensive per night, obviously, but was more neutral ground that the flat they owned and typically used when visiting Paris. This trip, Louis had insisted, and Lestat suspected it was his own erratic behavior that had beckoned that insistence. He was uncomfortable, as though his soul was trying to jump out of his body, and he knew why, though he was loathe to discuss it.

He tugged at Louis' waist, his lips wandering up to his lover's neck. "One more hour."

@istartedthefire

[drcasimir]

💭+ Louis

Send "💭+ a name" to hear the first thought about that person that comes to my muse's mind.

Protective.

Respect.

Fire.

[devilsfool]

What insecurities does Louis have that makes him so worried about you? Does the worry make you feel loved? Do you provoke it?

How tawdry your existence that you believe he worries over me from insecurity! Louis is a force, though he rarely chooses to show it; he knows precisely who he is and what he wants. He only worries about me, about us, when I have done some stupid or foolish thing to cause it.

He knows me far better than I know myself. He knows the traps I lay for myself. He knows my worst faults and the most tender parts of me and somehow, throughout two centuries, immeasurable loss, and endless pieces of broken furniture, manages to love me anyway.

Hear me when I tell you how keenly aware I am that I do not deserve him.