It will not. We'll need far more books than this for that.
[Lestat guides him over to the couch and grabs one of the books of poetry. He waits until Louis is sat down before flopping down to claim his lap with his head. Flipping to one of the pages, he ponders it for a moment before starting to read it aloud. It's not written in French but he reads it that way anyway.
( louis's fingers move through lestat's soft golden curls as he reads, nails dragging lightly against his scalp. the moment feels impossibly tender, a sharp contrast to the raw emotions they'd both dealt with over the last twenty-four hours, and louis is so moved that he can hardly bear it. his throat tightens as the start of blood tears sting, and he shuts his eyes to keep them from falling, for as long as he can.
he lets lestat finish his lovely translation of a poem by keats, then cups his jaw and leans over his reclining lover to place an upside-down kiss on his lips. )
[Lestat has turned to the next page when Louis cups his jaw. Curious, he looks up and feels those lips press to his own. He smiles into the contact, savoring how it feels to have Louis kissing him so sweetly.
When they part, he reaches up to run his fingers through his hair.]
( louis wipes at the unshed tears in his eyes, and leans into the touch of lestat's hand in his dark hair just as eagerly as a cat. he stays in french, too, savoring the chance to share their mother tongue, and so nostalgic hearing it from lestat in particular. )
And another and another and another. But isn't it my turn?
( louis takes his time flipping through the pages, just so he can savor lestat's touch a moment longer. he turns slightly to kiss lestat's palm, fingers still moving through his curls. )
We could make a habit of this. You have quite enough books for it.
Someone had to make sure you had an endless supply of books to read for your arrival.
[Lestat closes his eyes and leaves it at that. But it's certainly a very clear case of him saying how much he loves and has missed Louis when he hasn't been here.]
( louis appreciates subtlety, even if he has a talent for under-reading lestat's. here, though, he does manage to read between the lines, and responds with his quiet and sincere intention not to leave lestat again. not if louis has any choice in the matter.
but, back to poetry. and french. he settles back again, stroking lestat's hair as he reads and translates. he eases into the rhythm of it with natural fluidity, though he hasn't done anything quite like this before. at least he takes beautifully to some things. )
[It almost looks like Lestat dozes off as he listens based on how still he goes. But he's listening, taking it all in. He loves hearing the way that Louis speaks French. It's so... Like home. Like walking the streets of their beloved New Orleans.
It makes him smile as he lets the words hang over him like a pleasant and welcoming blanket.]
( louis glances down at lestat when he's finished his poem, and the sight of him so content in louis's lap makes his heart ache. he doesn't want this moment to end, no matter how lovely lestat's french sounds to his ears — and so he reads another, and another, until finally he comes to a pause.
very gently, in case lestat is asleep: ) I haven't bored you to death, have I?
[Lestat smiles and he makes himself comfortable all over again.]
Don't stop. I'll take my turns tomorrow.
[He just wants to sit here listening to that beautiful sound of Louis' voice and feel so honored that he gets to have this time with him. And it warms him that they'll get to spend the rest of the night just like this.]
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[Lestat guides him over to the couch and grabs one of the books of poetry. He waits until Louis is sat down before flopping down to claim his lap with his head. Flipping to one of the pages, he ponders it for a moment before starting to read it aloud. It's not written in French but he reads it that way anyway.
For no other reason than it's prettier that way.]
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he lets lestat finish his lovely translation of a poem by keats, then cups his jaw and leans over his reclining lover to place an upside-down kiss on his lips. )
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When they part, he reaches up to run his fingers through his hair.]
Would you like to hear another?
[This time he stays in French.]
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And another and another and another. But isn't it my turn?
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Yes, yes. Here.
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We could make a habit of this. You have quite enough books for it.
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[Lestat closes his eyes and leaves it at that. But it's certainly a very clear case of him saying how much he loves and has missed Louis when he hasn't been here.]
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( louis appreciates subtlety, even if he has a talent for under-reading lestat's. here, though, he does manage to read between the lines, and responds with his quiet and sincere intention not to leave lestat again. not if louis has any choice in the matter.
but, back to poetry. and french. he settles back again, stroking lestat's hair as he reads and translates. he eases into the rhythm of it with natural fluidity, though he hasn't done anything quite like this before. at least he takes beautifully to some things. )
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It makes him smile as he lets the words hang over him like a pleasant and welcoming blanket.]
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very gently, in case lestat is asleep: ) I haven't bored you to death, have I?
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[Lestat smiles and he makes himself comfortable all over again.]
Don't stop. I'll take my turns tomorrow.
[He just wants to sit here listening to that beautiful sound of Louis' voice and feel so honored that he gets to have this time with him. And it warms him that they'll get to spend the rest of the night just like this.]