making out w lestat plaguing the mind.
starting off just sitting in front of him, sitting on your calves, your knees in the center of his spread legs. you’re completely dressed down, wearing nothing but your night gown, one of the straps hanging off of your shoulder. but then he pulls you closer with a demanding and firm hand curled around your waist. he’s older than you and so much stronger, but even when he uses not even a quarter of his strength you’re letting yourself be maneuvered like a doll. which, isn’t that what you are? a doll of sorts for mr. lioncourt? hell, he did dress you up in this, a frivolous nightgown that was mature enough but still feminine and adorable. you both know he told you to wear this just so he could have the pleasure, and the privilege, of being the one to take it off of you. which will surely happen in due time.
for now, you’re straddling his waist with your gown bunched around your spread thighs. lestat keeps one hand on your waist at all times, sometimes flattening his palm along the center of your back. this hand is a leash, not like you’d ever dream of leaving lestat. not when he’s treating you like this, at least. his other hand cups your cheek, holding you much more delicately. up here, he treats you truly like a doll, like a prized possession that he’ll never find elsewhere. sometimes, he tells you that’s what you are to him. he calls you his beautiful creation. he tilts your face this way and that in the light, he draws your fangs from your mouth, he marvels at the color of your eyes. you’re his creation. which means you’re his to play with and control.
the palm at your back curls into a fist and he twists the expensive fabric of your nightgown with it, pulling the hem up until your backside is bare to the air around you both and your center is pressing into the fabric of his pants. he brings that same hand down and swipes two fingers through your slit. he hums into your mouth at his findings, and then he presses the pads of his fingers into that spot that he introduced you to. a spot no man before him ever bothered to find.
when he pulls away from your lips, he continues to hold your cheek in his hand. he looks into your eyes for a second, not saying anything. his lips are shining just as his eyes are. he takes a sharp nail and drags it along your face, tracing your features.
“you are perfect,” he tells you. then he tilts his head, and pulls you back to him.
as you kiss him back you wonder how long you’ll appear perfect in his eyes.