Summary In which Lestat enquires about a lost posession.
There are places that are called ‘paradise’ because they bear a passing resemblance to what the human mind has conjured as a place of perfection, of delight and wonder. This island that Lestat has carried me off to is very definitely a paradise-a place of voluptuous scent and enfolding warmth and entrancing, startling beauty.
The villa where we are ensconced provides us every luxury, including some we have no use for. The kitchen contains equipment the uses of which I could not begin to describe other than they do such things as slice and mix and fold. Coffee makers, food processors and a microwave oven, acres of shining, smooth marble and beautiful cabinetry housing delicacies of every, texture, color, scent and description. None of that is any use to us, but we spent a good deal of time examining these things, smelling the food—even making a pot of coffee since both of us quite like that particular fragrance. The night was capped by the two of us employing the wide marble island in a way that it was not likely designed for.
There is, of course, the pleasure of a stretch of time where Lestat has decided to focus his attentions upon our relationship in a way that I can say with all honesty I have not known him to do in quite this manner. This in itself is also paradise for me—long hours of conversation, delirious love-making, languid kisses that spanned whole nights. We dressed ourselves in beautiful things in order to have the pleasure of admiring one another draped in shimmering silk and smooth, soft cotton; feeling the slip and glide of these fabrics against our skin and then to divest one another of the clothing later so that we could lie skin to skin, awed simply by the plane of a shoulder blade, the taut musculature of thigh and belly. Left to ourselves, the nights pass into sleep and out of it in rhythm with the ceaseless motion of the blood-warm sea.
We had taken a swim while the sky was still lavender and pink and emerged from the sea, sleek and dripping to walk through sand still warm from the sun. We went together to the wide verandah and Lestat lighted the candles placed in sheltering lanterns all about the area. I waited for him on the comfortable, cushioned banquette thinking with some smug satisfaction that it was a wonderful thing to have such privacy for to see him so gloriously naked with the salt water still drying on his skin is yet another version of paradise.
“Enjoying the view?” He asked, sensing my gaze. He turned from where he stood by the rail and smiled widely, displaying his elegant fangs in a way that never fails to provoke a flutter in my belly.
“Exquisite.” I agreed lazily. He shook out his hair and I watched him advance toward me in a fascinatingly slinky manner. When he reached the banquette he moved quickly to straddle me, pressing his admirable length tight to mine. “I have a question for you.” He said breathily into my ear.
“Oh? And what might that be?” I tried to sound blasé but the hitch in my voice gave my game away and he laughed even as he kissed the side of my nose and rubbed his cheek against mine.
“What ever happened to my couch. The leopard one.”
I growled low in my throat at the sensual roll and push where our hips were joined. “What?” In truth I had no idea at that moment what he was talking about. “Leopard?”
He looked at my face and chuckled. “ The look on your face!” His laughter bubbled up and I found myself laughing with him. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember the leopard couch!”
It came to me then. “The leopard couch—the monstrosity from that wretched film?” He’d seen it for auction on E-Bay along with other props from the movie.
“You wound me, Louis, you really do.” He said, wrinkling his nose. “I love that couch. And you cannot pretend that it didn’t make for some interesting positionary opportunities.”
“Like we need help for that.” I sniffed. Grasping his hips, I pushed hard against him and he closed his eyes in bliss. We spent some time grappling and rolling, laughing like a pair of boys and then he sat up. His face was serious—even stern, but his eyes were merry.
“What did you do with it? You burned it up, didn’t you, you little pyro.”
“I did no such thing. It’s in storage. You know--with the hundreds of other things that have caught your fancy for five or ten minutes.” I reached to brush his hair from his brow and he caught at my fingers, licking them one at a time.
“If you are going to insist on dragging me back to New Orleans I insist that we re-instate the couch forthwith.” Lestat said in his most kingly manner.
“It’s dreadful, but if that’s what you want, well, why not? Though why you would wish to be reminded of that film is beyond me." I liked to stick pins about the film. “And never mind that Mr. Townsend was most appealing to look upon. I have never in my life tried so hard with so little success to place an accent. Transylirish, was it?”
“You’re just mad because Louis did not make an appearance and Lestat took up with Jesse.” He said pompously. He was doing a creditable job at holding his laughter in.
“Oh please. I count myself lucky that I was not represented in that travesty. Poor Nicolas was turned into a gypsy girl and hey…who’s your daddy, Lestat?”
That did it. His body visibly rippled with mirth and he threw his head back in full-throated laughter. When he finally caught his breath, he pulled me close and pressed his face beneath my hair. “See that you get it back immediately.” He said into my ear, still chuckling.
I rolled in his arms and kissed him warmly. “I’ll call Brian tomorrow and arrange it. How could I refuse you anything?”