How exquisite a moment like this one can be in reminding him of what it used to be like between them. As elusive as Armand often is, having the advantage of time on his side to be able to disguise the swell of stronger emotions, even his defenses can lower from time to time, with those glimmers in his gaze that speak volumes more than Lestat would ever need him to put into words.

The possibility of being interrupted at any moment looms large, but either of them is more than capable of discerning footsteps long before their owner even crosses the threshold into this room. More than that, however, Lestat's attention is all but wrapped up in the vampire before him, the leonine elegance of Armand's features, beauty preserved in the amber of immortality.

Lestat's gaze darkens, distinctly, when Armand deigns to taste his blood — an intimacy shared between vampires for a reason, often an even deeper connection than sex. The kiss initiated, responded to in kind, is hungry, devouring, and yet possesses the familiarity that accompanies the recollection of all previous kisses shared. He sighs, once, tasting Armand, tasting himself, and when the kiss breaks after what could either be an instant or an eternity, he strokes his thumb along the curve of the vampire's jaw, keeping his chin tilted up.

"If they aim to keep us here, what reason do we not have for... enjoying ourselves while we remain?"