At this moment, Armand is reminded of listening to Louis recount to Daniel his history with Lestat. Hours spent hearing Lestat's name echo around their Dubai penthouse, in turns enduring and marvelling at how Louis framed their relationship, the small details. The things he knew about. The things he had never been told. He recalls how Louis had phrased it: he had a way about him.

That, if nothing else, was correct. Lestat had a way about him. And Armand isn't surprised to find that he's still capable of falling for it, even after all these years.

He pulls in a tiny breath at the flicker of Lestat's tongue on his fingertips, his heartbeat skipping, an all too mortal tell. His hand drifts down, fingernails dancing lightly over Lestat's jaw, then down to his throat. But not to grasp him there, only touching, curving lightly around him as Armand leans in to do as he's told.

The kiss is harder, more urgent than he intends it to be, the first press of Lestat's mouth against his undoing some vital knot inside him. He leans into it, humming in the back of his throat.

The same as the first time, he says into their mental connection. The destruction of kings. A hurricane arriving at my door.