Thinking about having to push Lestat away when you’re making out because he forgets you need to breathe.
He just loves kissing you so much that the fact you’re still human slips from his mind. The kiss is leisure and sloppy. He lets out soft little moans and pets his hands over your hair, suckling gently on your tongue with the sharp edge of his fangs ghosting over the slick muscle. It’s thrilling, having such a dangerous creature become pliant and needy on your lap. Your lungs start to burn around the three minute mark, making your thoughts fuzzy from the lack of air, as Lestat starts to rock against the bulge in your pants.
You tap your fingers against his thigh, and Lestat lets out a petulant whine before he releases your mouth with a final, slick sounding suck. You twist your head away with a gasp, blinking the blurriness from your eyes as you attempt to catch your breath. He takes a moment to lap up the spit smeared over your chin and the corners of your mouth in between quiet apologies. Lestat himself sounds breathy, filling his lungs with enough air to speak into your ear. He nuzzles into the curve of your jaw, tucking his nose into the spot behind your ear to take greedy inhales of your scent.
“Mon coeur,” he moans softly, “je suis amoureux. Je t’adore.” His hands travel down your throat, reverently petting down your shoulders and chest before they slip under your shirt. His claws lightly run over the hair there, following the trail that disappears into your underwear. Loving whispers are quick to turn filthy and needy as he unbuttons your pants to wrap his hand around your cock.
“Les,” you sigh, feeling his tongue lap at the strong pulse on your throat. You cup his face to kiss him again. He’s quick to part his lips, eagerly inviting your tongue back into his mouth for another three minutes.