Precious guilt

Yes.

[text] Soon. Probably. Depends on how much I feel like travel.

[text] There’s a gallery show I’d like to see; the mortal is stupidly talented and needs financial support

[text] Makes the paintings with found objects and paint mixed with blood

[text] You know me, I always prefer our time together to be alone. Preferably somewhere beautiful.

It was never Hello, it was never Oh how I've missed you, but always a blunt kind of demand of his resources, as though Louis must have an excuse to visit, to spend time with him. Here they were, they'd survived the almost annihilation of their kind, and the two of them still not only existed but were living in the same city! And yet there was Louis, in his decrepit, crumbling shack, and here he was, in his penthouse, surrounded by so many beautiful objects except the one he wanted.

He stood in the doorway, looking his errant fledgling in the eyes, trying in vain to decipher whatever might be behind the statement. But Louis was always an enigma, and even when he'd known every twitch of his mouth, every arch of his eyebrow, there was always a piece missing, a tiny sliver of Louis he still couldn't reach. It was there, right there, and he wanted to touch it so badly that it made his chest ache.

He blinked, then, feeling the darkness edging in on his vision as it had been for months now. Like he was careening towards a cliff's edge and needed an anchor to grab hold of before he ran off of his own volition. The silence stretched out between them for a moment too long before he stepped aside, allowing room for Louis to walk through.

Yet, somehow, he wasn’t sure what to feel. Pushing past it, he walked inside and continued through the hall without hesitation.

Said skin was warm, almost pink, from the kill. It wouldn't last long; it never did, these days. The kill was quick, it was brief, it was gone. And then he wanted more. It was unbearable. In contrast, Louis appeared almost deliciously human. God, he wanted him. God, he feared to touch him with more than the brush of a hand.

They reached the main bathroom door. Lestat leaned against the doorframe, giving Louis a lazy look. "There's towels in there, but you know that. Soap, too." He looked into the bath, at the sumptuous shower with its multiple heads. "You remember how it works, yes?"

Lestat was… messy. Louis didn’t know how to handle it and given the amount of time that had passed, he was a little rusty with his Lestat handling skills.

“Yeah, I do remember how the shower works. I won’t be too long. You can set up the film, if you like.” Louis looked at Lestat again, his eyes a little narrow. He was trying to take in Lestat and see the unseeable but it just ended up looking like he was somehow judging his very existance.

He closed the door after that and went to shower, making swift work of it. It would just be nice to be a tad less dusty for once.

[text] No statements. Nothing much has changed. Same as always.

[text] Scared the shit out of him when it happened, he's not sure how to control it.

[text] What kind of bat? Vampire bat? Brown bat? One of those ones with the weird noses?

Feeling entirely unlovable but still wanting to be love.

[text] Soon. Probably. Depends on how much I feel like travel.

Let’s say I hang it in the library.

Why would you do that?

The Warhol is more than enough and is already an affront to your style.

At least you're discussing decor choices with me these days.

[text] No statements. Nothing much has changed. Same as always.

Let’s say I hang it in the library.

Why would you do that?