Rules in vampire society are usually very clear, and Lestat has never cared much for them.

The reception is loose and half-abandoned, the way it always is after a show, bodies drifting in and out with drinks and laughter, no one bothering to claim authority over the space. Lestat does not ask for privacy. He sits as though the room belongs to him by default, legs comfortably planted, spine relaxed, presence expansive in the way of someone who has never needed permission.

You are drawn close against him, tucked in without ceremony. He angles his head, not offering so much as arranging, the motion practiced and unselfconscious. One arm curves around you, firm and steady, holding you there with an ease that feels old, instinctive. His hand rests between your shoulders, anchoring rather than controlling.

This is not about hunger. Everyone here knows that.

You are terrible at hunting. Endearingly so. Lestat has watched you try and fail and somehow with patience, watched the frustration set in long before the thirst ever resolves itself. Tonight, he has spared you the embarrassment. Tonight, he has chosen the simplest solution.

To anyone watching, it looks intimate in a way that makes mortals uneasy. Too close. Too unashamed. The way he holds you has the quiet inevitability of care, of something repeated often enough to be unremarkable to him. There is no tension in his body, no vigilance. Only indulgence.

A glance flickers your way from across the room. Someone clears their throat.

Lestat does not bother to look up. His fingers flex once at your back, a grounding pressure that reads as reassurance rather than restraint. “Don’t,” he says mildly, already bored with the idea of commentary. “They’re dreadful at feeding themselves.”

There is a faint curve of amusement at his mouth. Pride, even. “Why let them starve when I’m right here.”

He leans back further, claiming space, daring the room to make something sordid out of what he considers obvious. If anyone wanted to call it coddling, he would not argue. Lestat has never pretended not to enjoy taking care of what is his.

And he has never cared who sees it.