"The hunter who looks upon sights not meant for mortal eyes- on ethereal beauty. On a huntress far more powerful than himself, as much above him as he is above a stag. And for his transgression is transformed and torn to shreds by his own hounds."

"Quite tricky," He admitted. "Though only ever in hindsight. Perhaps it is a flaw that can't be erased from us and will only deepen with age. At all times I believed I knew what was right. Even now, I think I know. I have the inclination. Nothing but experience keeps me from trusting that instinct. I know what it has done to me, and to others. And yet, in me beats the same conviction that beats in all old men perhaps: They are fools and I am right." At last the sardonic twitch of his lips betrayed a glint of emotion. He looks up at Armand through latticework of ink black lashes. "As others have put it."

I mean... 👀 👀 Oh you know my feelings on this one I am, absolutely 100% on board with this, anytime, anywhere, watch Louis crumble to him. He can't help it, he nurses that flame for him even against his better judgement, at times. (Or what he thinks is better judgement.) They carry each other in their hearts, they only need the right moment to ignite it all over again.

He is also very needy with caressing, giving and receiving it. Also, the better he knows you (and you him) the more handsy he is. 

“--I’ll take that description.”

I dare you to get into that room with us. See what happens.

“Yes, I suppose I was.”

Santino leaned in, a pensive if slightly unsteady look on his face. “Honestly, the only thing that concerns me is that that isn’t even the part where he dies. No one’s ever waxed poetic about how nobly Sebastian lets that club smash his brains in. Why are people so obsessed with penetration? --That’s also definitely why he’s looking like that.”