It is your dormant exhibitionist streak, Adam. Perhaps I should be showing you off more explicitly, hm? Make you squirm and moan in front of a crowd?
[ a devious little smile on his face as he texts, picturing adam wriggling under his roaming hands, all shy despite his arousal. perhaps with a pretty lace crop top and jockstrap - the sheer intricate designs truly did fit his pale skin beautifully.]
It is a crime to continue to hide that gorgeous waist of yours. I am simply altering your clothing to show off one of your best assets.
Mm, I am simply curious. While I am charmed by your usual adornments, shall we elevate it for tonight?
A peek of a leather harness, for one. To show off your pretty chest and toned arms, mon beau.
obsessed w both the thought of lestat dressing Adam in his own clothes & buying clothes FOR him
[ the suggestion makes adam squirm in both embarrassment as well as excitement. would he like that? he doesn't think so, but then again, he can just imagine the expression on lestat's face as he presents a dolled-up adam to the crowd, and that's something he'd really like to witness. ]
as long as you keep buying me clothes i guess it's fine plus u look cute when u wear them :p so i can't be too mad about it
a harness??
[ he swallows. it's not a bad idea - and his dad would definitely be pissed off to see him wearing anything other than his t-shirt and jeans. hell, he'd probably even hate that. there was no pleasing the guy.
so... what the hell? why not go all out? ]
u wanna show me off right? why not make me wear it and then take it off of me on stage?
How wrong your parents are. You are a degenerate chéri, but you are not worthless.
Especially if you are truly willing to be my blood bag on stage. The visuals will be stunning; I may have to waste a little blood for the theatrics, however.
Of course, you may opt out at any time. But there will be nothing to fear, I will hold you and keep you steady.
[ the reply comes swiftly in turn, in the form of lestat's voice speaking directly into adam's head. affirming in response, leaving no doubt. ]
That's my good boy, so obedient. You are mine, Adam. Mine to claim over and over in front of whomever I please.
[ his tone carries many things; smugness, desire, a rampant possessiveness, swelling affection. it's easy to imagine that if they were face to face, lestat would be holding adam's jaw, flexing his control. ]
[ a quiet whimper escapes adam, unbidden, as lestat’s voice echoes inside his head. instead of sending another message he focuses his thoughts, trying to relay back as best he can without the aid of otherworldly powers: ]
[ sweet. lestat can only guess at the man's expression at focusing his thoughts on such a thing, such a hope. the wish to be engulfed by him, treated as if it was a promise for a dance. ]
I promise. Mine.
Are you insecure, chéri? Are my teeth marks in your neck not a tender enough assurance?
[ despite the fact that they can't speak directly like this, not truly, adam prefers it above all other forms of communication. the feather-light touch of lestat's words against his mind feels almost like one of the vampire's sharpy, glassy nails trailing over the back of his neck, up his scalp, over his jaw. it leaves adam feeling tingly all over, and that in turn makes him smile, pleased at the thought of lestat being so close despite their distance. ]
They're enough, [ he thinks, eyes sliding shut as he tries to block everything else out, tries to make it easier to send his thoughts through the air somehow. ]
I just like hearing you say it. And... I want you to show everyone.
[ the surface thoughts of adam's mind are easy to read, drifting through as if dialled into radio station. wafts of fondness, vague sensations of euphoric sparks. the type that lestat gets when adam combs fingers through his hair as if he had been doing it all his life.]
I think you may need more reminders. There are many more places on your body I wish to drink from, that I will leave to heal slowly, to bruise.
I look forward to your whimpers when I show my adoring fans my teeth marks in your thighs, your chest.
[ an image now, a suggestion pushed:
lestat pressed against adam's back, stretching him out against him with a single hand on his neck, the other hand rucking up adam's shirt to reveal bite marks to a crowd. teeth prints around a flushed and abused nipple, on the slender dip of his waist, above the jut of his hip bone. lestat's voice a dark undercurrent in his ear, whispering praise mixed with filth.]
[ the gentle flood of teasing words, then images, cause adam to curse under his breath. it's one thing to see lestat's fantasies written out over text; it's another thing entirely to picture them so clearly, without any conscious effort of his own, the colours and sounds and scents akin to a hallucination.
it's so strong that it forces adam to sit, teeth digging into his lower lip, breath coming quicker now. ]
Tonight?
[ there's a hurriedness to his thoughts now, clearly affected by the idea. it doesn't make sense - lestat would have to drain him multiple times to leave so many marks, and that would leave adam in recovery for days - but the thought alone is overpowering enough to make the human shed all reason. ]
[ laughter ripples through adam's mind, lestat's delight obvious. the ghost of his lips pressed to the corner of the mortal's mouth, the memory of the sensation as a gesture of its own.]
Perhaps not to that extent. But since you are so eager to be my victim in front of your parents, oui.
[ the sensation catches adam off guard, a hand flying to press against his skin as he gasps in surprise. he's only just begun getting used to having lestat's voice in his head; this is something entirely new.
his blood thrums in his veins. can lestat hear that, too? adam's hunger, his desire? ]
I want you to show them the kind of person I really am. Show them I'm the degenerate they always said I was.
[ anger sizzles through his words, but stronger than that is his need to be taken by lestat in any way the vampire sees fit. ]
[ there's the lick of anger, of desire. that bite lestat so cherishes, self preservation in the most primal way. his approval is a soothing wave cascading back to adam, rippling.]
My degenerate, a cherished boy. My desecration of your body will be that of mutual worship, an offering accepted on my sacred ground. A joyful corruption in spite of their horror.
[ what is it about lestat that makes adam feel so confident? at first he was terrified of the blond, even before he knew the truth about his vampiric legacy. but as they've grown closer something adam never expected has happened: he's gained lestat's respect, somehow, and that's come along with his encouragement, his desire for adam to live as true to himself as possible.
he feels free. freer than he ever has. strange, that it's happened as a result of chaining himself to this beautiful, wicked man. a flurry of emotions stirs in his chest as he listens to lestat, more powerful than a hurricane. anger. hunger. lust. pride. desperation. terror. wonder.
he thinks it without thinking it, says it without meaning to say it; in his head, on his lips, quiet and deadly and true -- ]
[ the words make lestat still, no longer maintaining the charade of his focus being in the room he was in. his brow furrows, an immediate wash of disbelief that he is unable to keep from seeping to adam too. he's caught unaware, the river of connection flowing between them not yet closed.
perhaps it is gabrielle's influence that makes him suddenly burst into hysterical laughter there in the make up chair. maybe it was nicolas, or louis. affection hard won, kind words even harder. it's difficult to believe that he had earned adam's love, let alone a declaration of such.
it's not as if he placed the words above all others. plenty of confessions had been made to him by antoinette and armand, clawing desperate things much akin to the fevour of his fans. it was the single mindedness of his entanglement with adam that made those words cut deeper, the vulnerability of seeing and being seen in return without pretense. the mess of guts and purpling flesh of his heart put on the table, far too much for most young mortals to stomach without flinching.
the discomfort of knowing that this is confirmation of adam reaching through the gore of him anyway and choosing to hold him tenderly. staining his hands bloody in the process.
all of this fixes hard in his throat, finally stifling the manic giggles shaking his body. it hurt, sides aching and tears leaving streaks of mascara and blood. the two make up artists around him have begun to coo and dab cautiously at his face with tissue and wipes where they can, trying in vain to stop his hair from sticking and staining.
words fail him as he tries to school his breathing. instead he brushes a memory to adam:
cold wind whipping through his hair from miles above the lights of new orleans, despair deep in his gut and pain clouding his vision. in his shaking fists is louis' shirt, suspending him from this great height as he gasps for air through the two new gaping holes in his throat. lestat's fingers are bloody.
from the perspective of his memory, the blood is roaring in his ears, liquid fire. it's a dizzying out of body experience, the rage ignited to a point where he no longer recognises it. distantly he is aware of himself telling louis to admit he would never love him, to free him from endlessly trying. when louis responds, he frees him from his grasp instead.
the memory is not a returning assurance, but it is an answer to the disbelief. perhaps not the answer adam would have liked.]
[ even before adam can fully realize the confession he's made, he feels lestat's disbelief empty him out inside. it fills him like poisoned air, turning his organs hollow, making his ears ring. and then: the laughter.
sharp. cruel. frightened. or is it just adam who is afraid? he doesn't know what's going on; he feels so much, suddenly, flooded with emotions that are so powerful he cannot physically bear them. he slides to the floor with a thump, body sprawling out, limbs gone weak. the out-of-the-way spot he's found in the venue is quiet save for the distant sounds of the tech crew; it's still early in the evening, too early for anyone else to be around.
adam sits, wedged between a crate of sound equipment and a concrete wall, and his eardrums fill with the sound of lestat's laughter. his own mouth curves into a smile but his heart jackrabbits inside his chest, terrified. the connection between them is too strong, despite adam's mortality - perhaps due to the strength of lestat's blood.
and then, just as the laughter fades, just as adam begins to catch his breath, he is pushed into a memory that is not his own.
it's cold. the wind makes his hair cut across his face, against newly-opened wounds, but he does not notice. the only thing he can feel is despair, and rage. rage unlike anything adam has ever experienced. stronger than the day he left home, his father's voice like needles in his brain; stronger than he felt when he smashed a man's face in with the lid of a toilet tank; stronger even than the hate he feels towards himself whenever he remembers what happened in that bathroom.
it's too much. it hurts. everything hurts. a broken man's face stares up at him, defiant despite his injuries, his weakness. and he loves this man: loves him more than anything, more than himself. adam sees this man and he knows it is louis. he knows this is the person who murdered lestat, who sliced his heart open long before his body.
lestat knows what he is doing when he lets go. lestat watches. and, for a moment, it is adam who is falling: down, down, through the cold wind, the clouds, tumbling so dizzyingly fast that he can't breathe. just before his body crashes through the roof of a beautiful townhome in new orleans the memory ends and adam comes back to himself, gasping, hands clawing at his neck and chest.
blood. blood. there's blood everywhere; all he can see is red. he is crying. are his tears made of blood, too? he lifts his hands in front of his face: they are shaking, but they are clean. he is sitting on the cold ground in a music venue waiting for lestat to return. his camera has slipped from his shoulder and lays next to him, abandoned. ]
Lestat, [ he thinks; it is all he can think. ] Lestat. Lestat. [ that name, over and over. and then: ]
[ endless, pathetic apologies as tears drip from his chin onto his hands, as they trickle down his cheeks and jaw, down to the twin marks on his neck, where they pool and sting. marks left by a man who loved so deeply and painfully that he has never recovered, not after decades of longing, of loneliness.
adam is nothing in comparison. he is nothing next to louis. he is just a man, small and desperate, clinging to a god and praying for salvation.
[ when the hysteria begins to settle, lestat is left with that cold memory and a sickening feeling of guilt coiling in his gut. it's not unfamiliar in the slightest, not diminished at all from decades ago, only momentarily forgotten in the haze of drugs and recent distraction in adam. it is almost too familiar recently, thanks to daniel's prodding. lestat desperately does not want to think about it, how all of the evidence continues to point to his own monstrousness. the very same that drove nicki mad, broke louis' body, committed his daughter to a lynching - no matter the years, no matter the blood spilt, he was still his father's son.
his breathing finally hits an even pace when he can finally hear adam over the roaring of blood in his ears. his pulse too, frantic. lungs bellowing panicked breath, the repeated mantra of apologies automatic, like another body function. the guilt twists again; lestat did this, in the throes of selfish hysterics. pushing terrible visions upon the gentle hearted young man, a swift punishment for daring to confess his affections.
over the endless apologies, lestat's voice is a sorrowful bell, cutting through the chaos. ]
I'm sorry. You did not deserve to see that.
[ already he is on his feet, leaving the two young artists bewildered after he exits without so much as a word. it is not far to the backstage area where he can hear the thud of adam's pulse, not long before he finds the crate adam is shivering behind, not quite enough to ease his guilt even as he crouches down to envelop the small man in his arms. there's no words he can convey now, letting his body do the talking instead. he tugs adam close, uncaring of any protest. just seats himself on the concrete there, long legs unfolding on either side of the mortal, senses honed into the patter of the other's heartbeat and the comforting scent of his hair as he buries his nose into dark strands. his expression wobbles dangerously, horribly miserable and horribly sorrowful. ]
[ the toll of lestat's voice is deep and heavy inside the panicked frenzy of adam's mind, carving through his half-formed thoughts and too-fast heartbeat. I'm sorry lestat says but adam does not understand, does not know why lestat is apologizing.
he is missing crucial context surrounding the memory he has borne witness to, but in this moment he cannot think of anything aside from the absolute devastation he just felt. lestat's emotions linger within him like a ghost, like the phantom pain of a limb lost long ago. the anger. the sadness. the grief.
love. the truest, deepest, most painful love.
suddenly there are arms wrapping around him, a face pressing into his hair, the unmistakeable scent of lestat filling his nostrils. he did not hear the other man's footsteps as he approached. adam gives no resistance, his body limp and lifeless as he's pulled into the embrace. his eyes are wide, unblinking, tears still cascading down his cheeks; he looks shellshocked, as though he's witnessed some terrible crime.
maybe he has. ]
Lestat...?
[ he comes back to himself just enough to reach shaking hands up along the blond's shoulderblades, his grasp weak where his fingers tangle in the fabric of lestat's shirt. ]
Why --
[ he does not know what he is trying to say. why did you show me that? why did you make me feel these horrible feelings? why did i tell you?
none of those. he doesn't want to say any of those things. instead, in a whisper breathed against blood-damp strands of hair, he says: ]
Why didn't he tell you?
[ that he didn't love him. that he wanted lestat to leave him alone. why? why would that man do such a thing to a creature so painfully, desperately in love with him?
adam knows, of course; he saw it, through lestat's eyes, in the bruised and bloodied face of a man he has never met. louis loved lestat. loved and hated him and could not confess even when it meant his life was forfeit.
adam is not sorry for what he has said. he is sorry that lestat was made to feel such awful things, deeper and more terrible than any human could possibly feel; the pain of years upon years upon years of longing, waiting, wanting, hoping. ]
[ shuddering breath after shuddering breath, the emotion rising quickly with adam in his arms now. lestat clings to him, rocking them both in tiny movements in a feeble attempt to soothe. this was not adam's burden to bear, unfair to press this upon him without the weight of context, just pure misery and a deep loneliness. unfair to louis and adam like.
into adam's hair, he shakes his head minutely. presses a kiss there, hopefully more firm and grounding than he feels. ]
Non, non, chéri, this is not for you to bear. I'm sorry for pushing this on you. It was too much, far too much.
[ he draws adam back, cups his face in each large palm. smoothing thumbs over tear tracks, his attempts to school his expression into something less pained is futile. his mouth wobbles as he forces a weak smile, eyes shining in the low light.]
He was in pain, my love. [ referring to both louis and adam in the same breath. sacrilege.]
I.. I could not take it from him. I was not kind nor understanding when I should have been.
[ his brow furrows. time has given him the opportunity to mull over his mistakes over and over, though he still cannot see the full picture. his eyes refocus in on adam, sorrowful at the man's expression, the mess of him. ]
Like I should have been with you, too. Sweet boy.
[ holding his face in his hands still, he leans in to press a kiss to adam's forehead, brow wobbling.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
heuheu
[ a devious little smile on his face as he texts, picturing adam wriggling under his roaming hands, all shy despite his arousal. perhaps with a pretty lace crop top and jockstrap - the sheer intricate designs truly did fit his pale skin beautifully.]
It is a crime to continue to hide that gorgeous waist of yours. I am simply altering your clothing to show off one of your best assets.
Mm, I am simply curious. While I am charmed by your usual adornments, shall we elevate it for tonight?
A peek of a leather harness, for one. To show off your pretty chest and toned arms, mon beau.
obsessed w both the thought of lestat dressing Adam in his own clothes & buying clothes FOR him
as long as you keep buying me clothes i guess it's fine
plus u look cute when u wear them :p so i can't be too mad about it
a harness??
[ he swallows. it's not a bad idea - and his dad would definitely be pissed off to see him wearing anything other than his t-shirt and jeans. hell, he'd probably even hate that. there was no pleasing the guy.
so... what the hell? why not go all out? ]
u wanna show me off right?
why not make me wear it and then take it off of me
on stage?
he loves a little outfit OK!!!
It will take all of my self restraint to not taste you right there in that moment.
and I love him for it!! make adam your barbie girl lestat!!!
but your fans will like it
and so will i
[ he pauses. how far is he willing to take this? ]
you can
if you want
in front of everyone
too LATE adam gets no choice in this
Especially if you are truly willing to be my blood bag on stage. The visuals will be stunning; I may have to waste a little blood for the theatrics, however.
Of course, you may opt out at any time. But there will be nothing to fear, I will hold you and keep you steady.
😈✨
i am
i want to
i want you to show them i belong to you
[ the fans. his parents.
armand. ]
no subject
You belong to me?
no subject
do you want me to?
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I want to hear you say it.
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his next message isn’t a text; it’s a voice recording. he sounds soft, breathless, much like he does when lestat is pressed close up against him. ]
I belong to you, Lestat. All of me belongs to you.
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That's my good boy, so obedient. You are mine, Adam. Mine to claim over and over in front of whomever I please.
[ his tone carries many things; smugness, desire, a rampant possessiveness, swelling affection. it's easy to imagine that if they were face to face, lestat would be holding adam's jaw, flexing his control. ]
no subject
Promise?
no subject
I promise. Mine.
Are you insecure, chéri? Are my teeth marks in your neck not a tender enough assurance?
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They're enough, [ he thinks, eyes sliding shut as he tries to block everything else out, tries to make it easier to send his thoughts through the air somehow. ]
I just like hearing you say it. And... I want you to show everyone.
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I think you may need more reminders. There are many more places on your body I wish to drink from, that I will leave to heal slowly, to bruise.
I look forward to your whimpers when I show my adoring fans my teeth marks in your thighs, your chest.
[ an image now, a suggestion pushed:
lestat pressed against adam's back, stretching him out against him with a single hand on his neck, the other hand rucking up adam's shirt to reveal bite marks to a crowd. teeth prints around a flushed and abused nipple, on the slender dip of his waist, above the jut of his hip bone. lestat's voice a dark undercurrent in his ear, whispering praise mixed with filth.]
no subject
it's so strong that it forces adam to sit, teeth digging into his lower lip, breath coming quicker now. ]
Tonight?
[ there's a hurriedness to his thoughts now, clearly affected by the idea. it doesn't make sense - lestat would have to drain him multiple times to leave so many marks, and that would leave adam in recovery for days - but the thought alone is overpowering enough to make the human shed all reason. ]
Will you really drink from me tonight? On stage?
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Perhaps not to that extent. But since you are so eager to be my victim in front of your parents, oui.
Try not to get too obviously hard on stage, hm?
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his blood thrums in his veins. can lestat hear that, too? adam's hunger, his desire? ]
I want you to show them the kind of person I really am. Show them I'm the degenerate they always said I was.
[ anger sizzles through his words, but stronger than that is his need to be taken by lestat in any way the vampire sees fit. ]
no subject
My degenerate, a cherished boy. My desecration of your body will be that of mutual worship, an offering accepted on my sacred ground. A joyful corruption in spite of their horror.
nooo not that icon omg T_T <3
he feels free. freer than he ever has. strange, that it's happened as a result of chaining himself to this beautiful, wicked man. a flurry of emotions stirs in his chest as he listens to lestat, more powerful than a hurricane. anger. hunger. lust. pride. desperation. terror. wonder.
he thinks it without thinking it, says it without meaning to say it; in his head, on his lips, quiet and deadly and true -- ]
I love you, Lestat.
oughhh adam... 🥺🥺
perhaps it is gabrielle's influence that makes him suddenly burst into hysterical laughter there in the make up chair. maybe it was nicolas, or louis. affection hard won, kind words even harder. it's difficult to believe that he had earned adam's love, let alone a declaration of such.
it's not as if he placed the words above all others. plenty of confessions had been made to him by antoinette and armand, clawing desperate things much akin to the fevour of his fans. it was the single mindedness of his entanglement with adam that made those words cut deeper, the vulnerability of seeing and being seen in return without pretense. the mess of guts and purpling flesh of his heart put on the table, far too much for most young mortals to stomach without flinching.
the discomfort of knowing that this is confirmation of adam reaching through the gore of him anyway and choosing to hold him tenderly. staining his hands bloody in the process.
all of this fixes hard in his throat, finally stifling the manic giggles shaking his body. it hurt, sides aching and tears leaving streaks of mascara and blood. the two make up artists around him have begun to coo and dab cautiously at his face with tissue and wipes where they can, trying in vain to stop his hair from sticking and staining.
words fail him as he tries to school his breathing. instead he brushes a memory to adam:
cold wind whipping through his hair from miles above the lights of new orleans, despair deep in his gut and pain clouding his vision. in his shaking fists is louis' shirt, suspending him from this great height as he gasps for air through the two new gaping holes in his throat. lestat's fingers are bloody.
from the perspective of his memory, the blood is roaring in his ears, liquid fire. it's a dizzying out of body experience, the rage ignited to a point where he no longer recognises it. distantly he is aware of himself telling louis to admit he would never love him, to free him from endlessly trying. when louis responds, he frees him from his grasp instead.
the memory is not a returning assurance, but it is an answer to the disbelief. perhaps not the answer adam would have liked.]
have a novel in return AUGH <333
sharp. cruel. frightened. or is it just adam who is afraid? he doesn't know what's going on; he feels so much, suddenly, flooded with emotions that are so powerful he cannot physically bear them. he slides to the floor with a thump, body sprawling out, limbs gone weak. the out-of-the-way spot he's found in the venue is quiet save for the distant sounds of the tech crew; it's still early in the evening, too early for anyone else to be around.
adam sits, wedged between a crate of sound equipment and a concrete wall, and his eardrums fill with the sound of lestat's laughter. his own mouth curves into a smile but his heart jackrabbits inside his chest, terrified. the connection between them is too strong, despite adam's mortality - perhaps due to the strength of lestat's blood.
and then, just as the laughter fades, just as adam begins to catch his breath, he is pushed into a memory that is not his own.
it's cold. the wind makes his hair cut across his face, against newly-opened wounds, but he does not notice. the only thing he can feel is despair, and rage. rage unlike anything adam has ever experienced. stronger than the day he left home, his father's voice like needles in his brain; stronger than he felt when he smashed a man's face in with the lid of a toilet tank; stronger even than the hate he feels towards himself whenever he remembers what happened in that bathroom.
it's too much. it hurts. everything hurts. a broken man's face stares up at him, defiant despite his injuries, his weakness. and he loves this man: loves him more than anything, more than himself. adam sees this man and he knows it is louis. he knows this is the person who murdered lestat, who sliced his heart open long before his body.
lestat knows what he is doing when he lets go. lestat watches. and, for a moment, it is adam who is falling: down, down, through the cold wind, the clouds, tumbling so dizzyingly fast that he can't breathe. just before his body crashes through the roof of a beautiful townhome in new orleans the memory ends and adam comes back to himself, gasping, hands clawing at his neck and chest.
blood. blood. there's blood everywhere; all he can see is red. he is crying. are his tears made of blood, too? he lifts his hands in front of his face: they are shaking, but they are clean. he is sitting on the cold ground in a music venue waiting for lestat to return. his camera has slipped from his shoulder and lays next to him, abandoned. ]
Lestat, [ he thinks; it is all he can think. ] Lestat. Lestat. [ that name, over and over. and then: ]
I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorryI'msorryI'msorry --
[ endless, pathetic apologies as tears drip from his chin onto his hands, as they trickle down his cheeks and jaw, down to the twin marks on his neck, where they pool and sting. marks left by a man who loved so deeply and painfully that he has never recovered, not after decades of longing, of loneliness.
adam is nothing in comparison. he is nothing next to louis. he is just a man, small and desperate, clinging to a god and praying for salvation.
I'm sorry. ]
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his breathing finally hits an even pace when he can finally hear adam over the roaring of blood in his ears. his pulse too, frantic. lungs bellowing panicked breath, the repeated mantra of apologies automatic, like another body function. the guilt twists again; lestat did this, in the throes of selfish hysterics. pushing terrible visions upon the gentle hearted young man, a swift punishment for daring to confess his affections.
over the endless apologies, lestat's voice is a sorrowful bell, cutting through the chaos. ]
I'm sorry. You did not deserve to see that.
[ already he is on his feet, leaving the two young artists bewildered after he exits without so much as a word. it is not far to the backstage area where he can hear the thud of adam's pulse, not long before he finds the crate adam is shivering behind, not quite enough to ease his guilt even as he crouches down to envelop the small man in his arms. there's no words he can convey now, letting his body do the talking instead. he tugs adam close, uncaring of any protest. just seats himself on the concrete there, long legs unfolding on either side of the mortal, senses honed into the patter of the other's heartbeat and the comforting scent of his hair as he buries his nose into dark strands. his expression wobbles dangerously, horribly miserable and horribly sorrowful. ]
no subject
he is missing crucial context surrounding the memory he has borne witness to, but in this moment he cannot think of anything aside from the absolute devastation he just felt. lestat's emotions linger within him like a ghost, like the phantom pain of a limb lost long ago. the anger. the sadness. the grief.
love. the truest, deepest, most painful love.
suddenly there are arms wrapping around him, a face pressing into his hair, the unmistakeable scent of lestat filling his nostrils. he did not hear the other man's footsteps as he approached. adam gives no resistance, his body limp and lifeless as he's pulled into the embrace. his eyes are wide, unblinking, tears still cascading down his cheeks; he looks shellshocked, as though he's witnessed some terrible crime.
maybe he has. ]
Lestat...?
[ he comes back to himself just enough to reach shaking hands up along the blond's shoulderblades, his grasp weak where his fingers tangle in the fabric of lestat's shirt. ]
Why --
[ he does not know what he is trying to say. why did you show me that? why did you make me feel these horrible feelings? why did i tell you?
none of those. he doesn't want to say any of those things. instead, in a whisper breathed against blood-damp strands of hair, he says: ]
Why didn't he tell you?
[ that he didn't love him. that he wanted lestat to leave him alone. why? why would that man do such a thing to a creature so painfully, desperately in love with him?
adam knows, of course; he saw it, through lestat's eyes, in the bruised and bloodied face of a man he has never met. louis loved lestat. loved and hated him and could not confess even when it meant his life was forfeit.
adam is not sorry for what he has said. he is sorry that lestat was made to feel such awful things, deeper and more terrible than any human could possibly feel; the pain of years upon years upon years of longing, waiting, wanting, hoping. ]
I'm sorry, [ he whispers, with all his heart. ]
no subject
into adam's hair, he shakes his head minutely. presses a kiss there, hopefully more firm and grounding than he feels. ]
Non, non, chéri, this is not for you to bear. I'm sorry for pushing this on you. It was too much, far too much.
[ he draws adam back, cups his face in each large palm. smoothing thumbs over tear tracks, his attempts to school his expression into something less pained is futile. his mouth wobbles as he forces a weak smile, eyes shining in the low light.]
He was in pain, my love. [ referring to both louis and adam in the same breath. sacrilege.]
I.. I could not take it from him. I was not kind nor understanding when I should have been.
[ his brow furrows. time has given him the opportunity to mull over his mistakes over and over, though he still cannot see the full picture. his eyes refocus in on adam, sorrowful at the man's expression, the mess of him. ]
Like I should have been with you, too. Sweet boy.
[ holding his face in his hands still, he leans in to press a kiss to adam's forehead, brow wobbling.]
these sadstat icons are gonna be the end of me T______T <3
ough they're both wet soggy boys ;wwww;
UWAAAA T____T I love themmmmmmm these poor lil guysss wehhhhh!!!
bundling them both up in a shared blanket...
ruffles their hair with a big fluffy towel!!
tw gabrielle....
asjkashklhf iM SCREAMING I LOVE THESE TWO T_T <3
birds of a feather billie ellish.mp3
how DARE you?!?!!?! 😭😭😭💖💖💖
how dare YOU
how dare WE 😭💖
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