*sigh* Don't you all know by now? Louis is beautiful. Short and too the point. But since you've asked for a description, here it goes. A chore, I know. *grin*
Louis. Louis de Pointe du Lac. Who was it that said his name was plain and dull? Obviously you haven't said it properly. Say it slowly. Savour it. Allow it to roll off the tip of your tongue. Say it once more. Let it settle slowly. Like fine wine. Tall, slender Louis. Now, where shall we begin?
His hair. Brown? No. More of a dark brown. So dark that it appears black. Like a clear night sky. Someone asked me once whether or not I thought Louis had long or short hair. It depends really. Long hair on days he just doesn't feel like snipping it. Long, wavy and soft. Run your fingers through it. Brush it. Twist it around your fingers. Flowing in the wind while he's looking out the open window of his bedroom at Rue Royal. But on the odd day, he'll cut his hair. On days with Lestat, sitting at Cafe du Monde with a cup of hot cafe latte cupped in his hands. With bangs just shyly covering his eyes, enticing you to brush them away. To take a look at his eyes.
His eyes...emerald jewels against white silk. Shiny and mesmerizing. So green. Empty of feeling or passion? Take a deeper look. A flash of pain. A brief glimpse of sadness before it's quickly covered up. Tears of blood that well up, mixing the green with a sea of red. Help him wipe the tears away, kissing them each one by one. His eyes can also show anger, after Claudia died. The rage he felt while destroying the murderers of his beloved child. Flaming green. And his eyes can sparkle with joy...laughing with Lestat at Jackson Square.
But did I mention his skin? White as silk. So smooth. Not one wrinkle can be seen except when he smiles. Trace your hands along his face. Exquisite cheekbones, chiseled, defined. Run your fingers around his eyes, touch his eyebrows. Trace your fingers along his mouth. Let him pout while you touch his full lips. Red as wine. Delicious to taste. Teeth so white, almost blinding. Sharper then knives. But be careful. Don't prick your fingers on them for they will bleed and Louis will have to suck from the wound.
Now, reach down and feel his slender neck. Slender, yet strong. Whisper in his perfectly shaped ear..."Louis, je t'aime." Feel his Adam's apple. Keep going downwards. Unbutton his shirt. Run your hands along his chest. Feeling the smoothness of his skin, the broadness of his shoulders. Trace your fingers along his well defined abs. Abs you ask? From a bookworm? He ran a plantation, rode horses. Physical stuff. Abs. Each peak and valley. Count each one, slowly with your fingers starting from the top until you get to the bottom. But don't go further downwards. Louis is a gentleman and would be highly embarrassed if you went down there. So, for now, you'll just have to imagine and I will have to go splash myself with some ice water.
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