maskormenacelogs | how about you pick the subject

[The sprightly jazz didn't jostle his attention; Chilton kept both his eyes on Lestat and that bloody Mary. He could halfway appreciate the joke, even as Sam Merlotte's little bet weighed heavy in his mind.]

Not really the most enlightened period for psychiatry. [A significantly long sip of his own sangria. With the expensive bourbon, as he had requested.] I personally do not mind the lack of surgical procedure in my specific field of study.

[He had not made the cut in his surgical classes -- pun entirely intended and unfortunately silenced by Chilton's inability to laugh at himself.]

But surely that isn't the thing about me you find interesting. My work, I mean. You've probably met Jung, for all I know.

And you think if I had met him, I wouldn't be interested in what you have to say?

[ A curious look, appraising, lingering. The thing about me you find interesting, Chilton said, and Lestat can't help but see some need for validation in that. That's how he'd have meant it, anyway, wondering what someone could have seen in him, asking for that affirmation in a preening kind of way.

Or maybe he's projecting. ]

But I won't lie to you. At the risk of sounding completely uncultured, I was... [ A beat, as he considers how to tactfully put it, that time he'd spent dead to the world. ] ... Otherwise occupied, during a lot of the modern psychotherapy movement. One of those funny little things that happens when you're immortal — you look away for a moment and an entire cultural transformation has passed you by.

[He felt the heat of that lingering look. Chilton took a deeper swallow of his drink, feeling much more like prey than predator. Lestat, it seemed, could summon a singular focus that was... Different to anything Chilton had previously experienced.

He had courted the company of immortals, demons, gods. But he had never engaged someone who could be so flippant and serious simultaneously.]

You have an artful way about it.

[The best defense: a compliment. There was no way he'd linger on Jung now.]

Did that take centuries of cultivation, or were you naturally gifted like so?

[ Centuries old or not, a compliment is a compliment, and Lestat has always been particularly weak to a certain kind of flattery. It hits its mark, and he smiles, a bright flash of white teeth in the dim light. And he doesn't miss the way Chilton's pulse speeds up as he takes a drink. That bet... ]

It's my anachronistic manners, that's all.

[ Facetiously humble, actually preening. He'd loved to be seen that way in the old days, people assuming refinement above his station. ]

People these days lack the elegance that they had in the past. We're living in a more honest time!

Quite the double-edged compliment. I imagine your sword is often sharpened.

[Chilton allowed himself a quick smirk; he wasn't above innuendo, and Lestat -- for all his remarkable charisma -- had a whiff of the masturbatory narrator about him. Chilton had experience with that type.]

You are far less distressed than most newcomer imPorts. And, if I may, a little more whimsical than... Literally all of our immortals.

[That last part, especially, impressed him.]

Is that a coping mechanism designed to waltz away from your trauma?

It's more of a gavotte.

[ Lestat prefers to handle his distress privately when he can manage, and suck the blood out of handsome young men down in Orlando when he can't. He's not sure whether that counts as a coping mechanism or a hobby or just a way to handle the devastating loneliness and the overwhelming new-ness of it all. Well, he probably shouldn't ask the doctor what he'd call that. Not until they get to know each other a little better. ]

But I've always been like this, really, even when I was mortal! And if I'm going to live forever I don't want to spend forever being miserable, you know, or pondering eternity in a dewdrop or lying around in dusty old churches fantasizing about Hell. The sorts of things we immortals get up to when we spend too much time by ourselves. I enjoy life, and I am an optimist, and humanity excites me. You're never dull!

[ And here he leans forward, crossing his arms on the table, loose gold curls falling over his shoulders. ]

For example — what is it that made you agree to meet a strange vampire in a dark bar, I wonder? You came so eagerly to my defense when the ambassador called me a predator, but you don't seem naive. Are you proving some point, or just flirting with danger?

Can't it be both?

[In rare moments, Chilton was honest with himself. Whether the warming courage of his drink, or his ego eased from flattery, he was speaking with clarity sparked to his own image. He liked the danger.

And he liked that Merlotte disliked Lestat.]

So -- hrm. [He only now just registered the closeness of their two faces. He had to blink to compensate. Lestat, noted Chilton, had an unspoken illumination about him, as if his very posture had its own solar source.]

You haven't touched your drink.

[A glance towards the Bloody Mary.]

Is that not a... Thing... You can do? Because of the -- your condition?

My condition!

[ Lestat laughs at the awkward delicacy of the phrasing, and though the temptation to let him squirm about manners in the face of vampirism is tempting, he manages, somehow, to resist. ]

No, my friend, I'm afraid it's blood and blood alone for me. Though I could get a buzz, as they say, if I were to feed on someone who's been having a particularly good night.

[ So to speak. ]

Hmm. [And with a philosophical glance at his own halfway drained drink, Chilton quite consciously set it aside. Far away from his lips, and from his bloodstream.]

I have known a few vampires here, actually. [He said, quite suddenly.] Their circumstance took different shades, all depending on the nature of their universe -- I suppose.

[Not really Van Helsing here, Chilton had only a limited set of data to expound upon. He shrugged his elegant shoulders lightly, as if edging away from the very whisper of offense.]

So, how do you stop? When you have a donor, at what point do you stop feeding? After one pint, two?

[ He dismisses the talk of other vampires easily for now; he's had enough of poking his nose into the vast and terrible mysteries of his existence for quite a while. Door shut and locked and he's moving on, except to note that Chilton really does seem to make a habit of flirting with the supernatural.

Speaking of which. ]

Depends how much I like them.

[ Delivered with a grin as sharp as his fangs. Chilton's company is enjoyable, he'll grant him that. There's an odd sort of charm in the contradiction between his straightforward probing questions and the manners he seems to want to cling to.

He leans in a bit, lowering his voice. ]

The truth is, I find it impossible to quantify something so intimate. I'm sure you understand...

So you... Do not stop? I'm not sure that I do. Understand.

[Although Lestat's manner persuaded an intuitive implication of darker meanings, Chilton was unwilling to fully embrace the idea that he was once more seated before a killer. The part of his brain that could so efficiently repress and detain truth proved to be his inevitable undoing. Unconsciously, he mirrored Lestat by leaning in a touch more.]

Do you prefer that you need not stop? Even to the point of death?

[There was no way more delicate to phrase it.]

You are not the kind of vampire who suckles from medical blood bags, are you?

[ Are there vampires that embarrassing? Lestat imagines some poor twentieth century fledgling suffering through an awkward attempt to drink a blood bag with a straw, and he can't help but laugh. ]

What a miserable way to live! No, I assure you, I've had many satisfied long-term donors.

[ All right, in the end, he had killed most of them, but up until he did he'd been very kind. And the ones to whom he'd been terrible had all deserved it. Probably.

He pauses, feigning consideration, though in truth it was the comparison he'd been vaguely inviting all along: ]

Let me make my point another way. When you're making love, when do you stop?

When both parties are entirely satisfied, naturally. [The generous darkness in this private room might have afforded him enough shadow to hide his rising blush. Maybe.] Every time.

[His own self-assured, forceful speech likely hiding the once or twice when his claim didn't measure up to reality.]

You draw such parallel with intention, Lestat. [A pivot.] Is that because your use of a donor is... Orgasmic? Or are you seeking to embarrass me into silence?

[It was funny almost, how he couldn't keep his eyes off the vampire. It was odd how such darkness could illuminate his radiance in such a way.]

[ Dark or no, he's a vampire — blood is his thing. Even if it weren't for his his preternatural eyesight, he would still be able to sense it, subtle but unmistakable: warm blood rising to the man's cheeks, sharpening Lestat's focus. All right, so he's a little peckish. ]

Never silence, Frederick. [ He laughs again, with another one of those teasing, hint-of-a-fang smiles. He'd almost laughed at every time, but he'd managed to control himself — occasionally, he can behave. Sort of. ] Though I was aiming for flustered.

[ We have fun here. ]

But no, not exactly. I've written two books and I still find it nearly impossible to adequately describe. I could liken it to some mortal pleasure — food, wine, sex — but they all seem so paltry by comparison. It's every need and every desire, condensed and magnified and fulfilled. The most intimate of acts, for vampires and mortals alike.

I can't just go into it saying "I'll take one pint, please."

[An uncomfortable chuckle followed -- Chilton had the distinct aftertaste of a seduction, and it wasn't as if he could simply forget about that bet. Such spoke to Lestat's power of allure, that Chilton had every reason to keep a polite distance, and yet he felt compelled to press up against the parameter.]

Fair point. [Better to move on, he thought, than revisited the ambitions to fluster that Lestat had alluded to. Much of the heat had since evaporated from his cheeks.] So your... Victims. They like it. That is a novel spin on -- [murder.] Uh, sacrificial lambs. I hear that usually more screaming is involved.

[And not the orgasmic kind.]

Was it ever hard for you, adapting to the predatory nature of your present disposition?

And who have you heard that from, hm?

[ It's not really a question that demands an answer; Lestat's aware of the popular conceptions. He plays into them. And, well. Some of them do scream, but that's not really a fun thing to talk about.

He raises his eyebrows a bit at Chilton's question, mildly surprised; he's never been asked exactly that before. ]

If I give you an honest answer, will you be honest with me in return? About what you think of it, I mean.

I can do that. [Said Chilton, already too wrapped in this web to see the individual bonds wrapped around his nerve endings -- all conveniently leading to Lestat's little finger. He played with his glass, running his finger up and down the curve.]

My sincere reaction, unadulterated. Uncensored.

[Chilton wondered, briefly, if Lestat usually preferred things to be uncensored. There was a sordid sound to the word, almost perversely in contrast to the vampire's innate elegance. But then again, maybe that was the point.

He thought he detected some rebellion in Lestat's otherworldly demeanor.]

The truth, then.

[ He makes a little gesture with one hand, opening his fingers as if in offering, but with a showman's flourish. There's two hundred years of distance between Lestat and the story he's telling (as well as some emotional release in the form of a mass market paperback); when he tells it, it's matter-of-fact, sincere but with no hint of the anguish he's describing. ]

You see, I didn't choose this for myself, and I had no mentor to ease me gently into it. I was utterly alone — but I knew what I was, and so I knew what I would have to do. Surely, I thought, I deserved hell — no, I was already in hell! And I wept bitterly that first night. I couldn't bear the thought of being a monster.

[ A beat, and Lestat's expression shifts. An ironic smile. ]

But we're capable of far more than we think. And at the time, I had no concept of the true nature of what you so charmingly call my condition.

[A deep breath, a shallow nod. Chilton wasn't unfamiliar with men who felt confined to the role of monster -- that had been his specific profession, his slice of the psychiatric discipline. Perhaps because of that routine exposure, the implication of Lestat's pearlesque confession did not inspire any rise of distaste.

He inched closer, spine curved. Intrigued.]

You were abandoned? Were you... Made like this, and then abandoned? That seems so savage.

[Chilton was entirely unaware of the familial nuances between sire and fledgling, but he could easily sympathize with the brutality of being alone. Forcibly isolated.]

And so, you adapted. You explored your true nature, to its fullest advantage.

[Filling the blanks, willingly following the breadcrumb trail that Lestat had left for him.]

You had to.

[ He nods at each elaboration Chilton gives, genuinely impressed (and, earnestly, pleasantly warmed!) by the man's listening skills. He must be very good at his profession, Lestat thinks absently; how does that even work? He'll have to find out.

Lestat wonders if this is how Louis had felt, telling the long story that had ended up in that awful book. It is intoxicating, he has to admit — he's far from religious, but he thinks he sees the appeal of the whole confessional thing.

Of course, priests aren't usually half as spellbound as Chilton is now, and that's absolutely part of the appeal. ]

Precisely. You understand. But I didn't, not at all. When I went to sleep that morning, I believed that at heart, I was the same old mortal Lestat, but with a newfound taste for blood. I wouldn't meet the thing I had become until the following night.

[ He lowers his gaze, down and to the left, folding his hands loosely on the table in front of him. ]

I could make excuses, or say it was kill or be killed those first few times, but the truth is that it wouldn't have mattered. Once I had tasted blood for the first time, I could no longer flatter my own conscience and tell myself it was only survival. I loved it. I have no choice but to love it. And so adapting was never truly a question.

Flatter your own conscience -- was that ever a priority?

[He asked the question without decoration. There was no need to ease into Lestat with the baubles of courtship, they had already made contact. And now Chilton craved the meat of this conversation.]

Some men are prone to conquest, some more than others.

[His gently spoken insinuation was clear: Chilton had doubted that there was some cosmic, moral struggle that Lestat had suffered. Modern terminology cut at the tip of his tongue, the low empathy, the impulsive tendencies, the narcissism. The dazzling need for stimulation.]

And it seems to me, [continued Chilton, adopting a more dulcet hiss to his soft consonants.] That killing for sustenance is a lesser sin than simply enduring the boring waste that abstinence offers. So dull, to agonize in that way.

Edited 2017-11-07 07:46 (UTC)

I hope you're not just saying what I want to hear, doctor.

[ Or had his pitch just been that good? Ah, but he can't deny that hearing his own beliefs (or at least the beliefs he tells himself he has) echoed back to him by an educated man flatters his ego. To pour out his heart, to explain this very darkest of urges, and not be judged... who could resist that? Not him. The finger-wrapping, such as it is, appears to be mutual.

But that question. ]

I had a conscience once, you know. I still do, although it isn't a mortal one. But then, maybe it was never in good shape to begin with — I did take to it very easily.

[ Certain vampires had made more of an effort. ]

Really, I was terrified of dying. I knew I deserved it, but I never seriously entertained the possibility. And so if I had been made into this killer, this monstrous thing, against my will — well, then I was damn well going to be good at it. Or, to put it another way: my choice, as I saw it then, wasn't whether or not to live like this, but whether or not to punish myself.

Now, as a mortal and a professional, do you think there's a point to guilt under those circumstances?

There is -- ah. [The room felt warm to him, as if the temperature had suddenly become deeply present.] A philosophical dilemma to that. A little more nuanced that what the DSM is wont to explain -- we dictate the thin line between survivalistic and narcissistic tendencies. But not the meaning and weight of guilt.

[He couldn't, wouldn't, offer absolution. The mirthful absence of Lestat's guilt both horrified and fascinated Frederick Chilton -- he preferred that state of deniability. Of academic observation.]

Do you collect humans, then? For however brief their decades may seem to you.

[Collect. Chilton likened it to a serial killer keeping trophies, mortal baubles, the sort of things that demonstrate the collector's dominion over death.]

Would it be too much to assume that your vitality outshines that of your immortal peers? My own experience with immortals, however limited, has shown them to be somewhat... Indifferent. Over time. Indifferent to everything.

[Which could be so boring. And Lestat, well, he was the opposite of boring.]

[ Some people might be bothered by Chilton's rather probing questions, but Lestat is merely flattered by the attention, nodding along with his assessment. Vitality — he likes the sound of that. ]

Indifference is the trouble we run into. There aren't very many old vampires, and the reason for that is generally agreed upon: the world we knew changes and we stay the same. We find new passions, or we lose the desire to go on.

[ He nearly had, and it chills him to think how easy it could be to return to that state. Necessary, to find new things to hold his attention, if he wants to continue living. And he does! ]

The mortals I've loved enough to collect [ he emphasizes the word, the syllables sharp as he considers it — how distant! ] I can count on one hand, and all of them are vampires now.

Isn't that rather dangerous? Immortalizing your passions, I mean... I... [He realized how silly that must have sounded, given the irrefutable state of Lestat's condition.] I mean, rather, modern marriages are difficult enough to keep aligned. One can only imagine the friction that eternal friendship, or more, must offer.

[He smiled, but it was a forced kind of happy grimace. It was hard to tell where he might have stood with Lestat; that vivacity wasn't to be trusted. But even if the moth didn't trust the flame, that didn't mean it would flee its warmth.]

You have fed already, yes?

[As if the thought had only just occurred to him.]

Before meeting me here.

[ He can't help it — comparing vampire companionship to modern marriage would have been funny enough, but one can only imagine is just too much. Lestat tries to stifle a chuckle, but he's never been any good at that, and it quickly turns into a full-on laugh that lasts for several seconds before he can compose himself. ]

One doesn't need to imagine! [ Another laugh, but thankfully a shorter one this time. ] My Louis published a book about our years together. We were... estranged, at the time. I'm sure he would have a thing or two to say to you about friction, if he were here.

[ On that note, he props his chin in his hand, a not-very-innocent smile on his lips. ]

Are you married, Frederick? [ He had mentioned a she. ] Is that why you're wondering about my plans for your throat?

I am engaged. [Uneasily spoken, the edge in his throat a smooth butter knife -- nonthreatening, but nevertheless composed of steel. Chilton watched that smile, his only discernible movement a soft tilt of his head.] To another imPort. Raina.

[Perhaps unwise to so easily forfeit her name, but Lestat would have made the discovery in time. That was the drawback of a tightly knitted community: everyone would know most of everyone's business. Despite the spreading between four cities, there was the sense of a small town about them.]

Your Louis. [Careful to mimic Lestat's pronunciation as he returned focus to his subject.] Is that a possessive term of endearment, or just plain, old possession?

[Without any concrete visual reference, Chilton was free to imagine whatever he would to be this Louis' face. His mind conjured a brunette, dark and broody -- although he had no basis for the assumption.

There was just something familiar about Lestat that led to such imagining.]

[ Chilton is right: giving her name is a better decision than evading the subject. Arousing Lestat's curiosity with secrets would only have made him more insistent on digging up the answers himself, and that's a gamble. As it is, he tucks that information away for another night, with a simple comment: ]

Pretty name.

[ But the pivot serves its intended purpose, and pokes a little hole in Lestat's effervescent good cheer besides. He rolls his eyes, affecting a petulant sulk and drawing back a bit. ]

What a thing to say! Tread carefully, my friend, or you might hurt my feelings.

So he doesn't consider himself your possession. [Frederick Chilton did not tread carefully, no; he bombarded. He invaded, he set upon conquest.

He leaned forward again, decreasing the space between himself and the vampire Lestat.]

He does not understand you in the way you would prefer. [Conjuncture.] He hasn't become what you wanted for him, and you strive to vindicate yourself against his rejection. [Accusation.]

And now you have the opportunity to do better than him -- should you want. [Temptation. Chilton rested his chin over a clenched fist, in an effort to mirror a posture. In his attempt to see alike.]

[ It isn't the full picture, or the current picture, but it's close enough to the raw edges of a wound that hasn't fully healed — might not ever heal — that it does its job just as well. A startled stung widening of the eyes, a stiffening of his shoulders. Damn! Has he been so transparent? No, get a hold of yourself, you idiot, it's his job to see these things! Clutching his battered composure, he tilts his head defiantly, gold curls spilling over his shoulders: what are you going to do about it, then? ]

Should I want, [ he repeats with deliberate care, looking over Chilton as though he's seeing him in a new light. Well, the man would make one hell of an entertaining vampire, Lestat can admit that. Sharp as a knife and just as penetrating. Imagine what he could do with the Dark Gift! ]

You have a keen insight. Yes, I admit it, all that and more, for centuries. [ An ache like serpent coils tightening around his heart. But Louis loves him. He'd said so. Then why, even as he curls protectively around that memory of his fledgling, does he still want to spring this baited trap? ] And yet despite his shortcomings when it comes to, shall we say, appreciating my perspective, he is and always has been my North Star.

[ Maybe making this mortal jealous will cheer him up. ]

[A tilt of his head, his pupils contracted until they were black specks against a landscape of rounded hazel. His breathing didn't hitch; Chilton could control his breathing. But he couldn't control the sudden pounding of blood around his temple, flushed upwards through his jugular -- he knew he was being baited. One glance at that dazzling, leonine stare and Chilton knew he would continue to be baited.

Might as well rise to the occasion.]

And who now will be your North Star, since the night sky has changed?

[There was no Louis here, and there might never be. Chilton rolled his fist from beneath his chin to press against his lips -- his teeth teased a bite against the largest knuckle. He didn't break eye contact.]

Maybe, [He began, after withdrawing his hand to rest upon the table.] Perhaps you ought to investigate other celestial bodies -- at least in the meanwhile.

[ The pounding of Chilton's blood hammers in Lestat's ears more keenly than if it were his own; those teeth, the hint of a bite. If he were younger, or hungrier, or had a little less self control than he does, that would be the end of it right here. The man's a stimulating conversation partner, to be sure, but he's begging for it.

He wants to flirt with danger? Well, danger flirts back.

The moment stretches out, and the riot of thirst slowly recedes to a manageable level, the muffled music slowly replacing the echoing pulse. And finally Lestat leans back, one fang pressing into his lip as he grins. ]

Finish your drink.

[It was unusual for him to obey an order without protest, but he didn't question the command as he reached for his glass and threw back the remainder of his drink. The last couple shots worth burned down his throat, hitting his stomach and then -- minutes later -- compounding in his head. Chilton succumbed to Lestat's demeanor, so willing and ready as he was, so sly with his tongue and focused too intently -- a lizard could have walked across the table, and Chilton would not have noticed.

And it was very possible that one had.]

And now?

[Expectant, eager. He loved to play with fire, no matter how often his skin sizzled against the heat. Chilton didn't know how to unlatch himself from addiction.]

[ There's no mistaking the anticipatory gleam in Lestat's eyes, even in the low light — rapt, predatory, but sincerely fond. It's difficult not to find himself endeared to such a reckless appeal to his own vanity, and impossible not to push it as far as it will go. How long before Chilton balks? Or outright refuses?

Well, he has to find out, doesn't he? ]

Now loosen your collar.

[His fingers were at his tie's knot before Chilton fully registered what he was doing. The air in the room was warm -- not stifling, but distinctly radiating. As he pulled his paisley tie from his neck and let it slip down his shoulder and into his lap, Chilton kept his gaze entrenched on Lestat's features, those mesmerizing eyes. He enjoyed the fact that he was the sole recipient of that gaze.

Thumb and finger to the buttons beneath his starched collar. Chilton popped one, then another, then a third. The dark blue fabric of his dress shirt cut a shallow V.]

Was it something I said?

[A murmur, halfway towards a joke, halfway submerged in the sultry slur of intoxication.

But it wasn't alcohol that caused Chilton's head to spin.]

[ Oh, but he laughs at the joke, warm and rather endeared to this very brazen mortal. Lestat slides closer, his intentions unmistakeable even without the meaningful glance to Chilton's bared throat. Their eyes meet again. His face is very close. ]

You've made yourself perfectly clear.

[ Fingers playing with that open collar, a very deliberate tease. ]

You're curious. I'm willing to satisfy that curiosity.

And how far will you go?

[He took a quick, sharp breath -- a transient monument to his vulnerability, his preyed pose. He couldn't lean away, he wouldn't, but his jaw tensed and his neck tightened. It was as of the very blood vessels in his throat clenched with anticipation.]

As I am curious, how curious would that make you?

[To frame it as if Lestat were but indulging charity on Chilton's behalf, that was artful. But here Chilton sat, ever the art critic.]

[ A thoughtful head tilt. He doesn't shift back at all; one very well-manicured nail brushes the spot where neck meets shoulder. Teasing, a touch possessive. ]

You know what I am, and you still seek this out.

[ To him, that's answer enough. Why wouldn't he be interested? ]

I can't help it. [It was almost as much of an accusation as it was a defense. He couldn't help it, why was Lestat taking advantage of this? A wince graced those hazel eyes of his, the pair that stared at Lestat with such wanting.]

That is simply what I do.

[Dangerous men and their unique minds -- that was what Chilton simply did.]

[ And that's it, isn't it? The thing that had captured Lestat's interest to begin with. ]

I'm going to tell you a secret.

[ His voice is silk and honey as he leans in close. Nearly impossible for Lestat to resist now, that hot blood just beneath the surface, pulse fluttering beneath skin as delicate as paper. ]

The flame finds the moth just as enticing. [ Cool lips graze Chilton's throat, nearly a kiss; fingers cradle the opposite side of his jaw, as tenderly and gently as any lover. ] We can't help being what we are.

[It was obvious that Chilton did not wish to stop him, that he wouldn't turn his head or attempt to evade. He remained motionless, accessible to Lestat's whims, pliable. He was still, but not disengaged; his heart galloped blood, pulsing hotly only millimeters away from the vampire's lips.

It was the fingers that cradled his jaw. Loving, supportive as they held him in place.]

No, we cannot.

[Agreement. Consent. Lestat's words captivated him like the first mouthful of water after a drought. It tasted like acceptance.]

And what does that make us?

Edited 2017-12-01 06:17 (UTC)

I'm very much looking forward to finding out.

[ The plunge of fangs is quick and neat and nearly, but not quite, painless; the delicate piercing of flesh is a careful but deliberate reminder of what he is. The danger of it. (It seems, to Lestat, that Chilton rather likes that sort of thing.) And then blood gushes hot and red across his tongue, mortal blood, and it's all he can do to not to get lost in it — to take only a little, and resist the ever-present urge to tear into that throat and drink every last drop of life in his body.

He doesn't, of course, because he's a good date. ]

[Pain was to be expected -- anticipated, even, as Chilton had long forged the association between endeavor and agony. What he hadn't foreseen was the intimate pleasure that flowed along with his blood; soaring levels of dopamine flooded his frontal lobes, his pupils dilated, his breath hitched. The warm whisper of a moan was at his lips.

Chilton's plan had been to sedate the vampire, if things had gotten out of hand. But he found his limbs enraptured, his fingertips curled into his palms, and he was left entirely at the unplanned mercy of Lestat.

Moreover, the doctor would continue to be at his mercy, even as that tongue released his neck wound. Days, weeks, months after -- it would be easy for his memory to recall this darkened warmth.]

how about you pick the subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject