Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Daniel Molloy has done an immeasurable number of stupid things in his 69 years of life.

Perhaps the stupidest thing he ever did was in 1973, when he went home with a guy he met at a gay bar who claimed he was a vampire. The plan had been to score some drugs, interview the freak, and—if Daniel was lucky—maybe get some sex out of the whole deal. A pretty fucking stupid plan that had resulted in him losing a chunk out of his neck.

Or maybe the stupidest thing he ever did came 49 years later, after he opened a package of old cassette tapes that had shown up mysteriously in his mailbox, despite having no address on the label. He’d responded by jumping on a plane and flying to Dubai—old, and sick, and in the middle of a global pandemic—because the same guy who most definitely was a vampire wanted a do-over.

Or maybe the stupidest thing he ever did was just this last week, when he decided to antagonize the household help, even after finding out that the mouthy, too-pretty-for-his-own-good, twenty-something was in fact, not a service worker and was in fact, a mouthy, too-pretty-for-his-own-good, 514-year-old vampire, and the guy’s husband. Daniel had then learned that he—the husband—had also been there in 1973, and that he’d held him—Daniel—hostage for six days while he tortured and nearly killed him. And yet Daniel had decided to continue antagonizing him—even more so than before!

So yeah, all of those things were really fucking stupid.

But hey! Would you look at that? A new contender has just entered the race!

Louis is gone. Out the door with a handshake and a promise of ten million dollars, his mind clearly already back in New Orleans, his heart already back with Lestat. Armand is still slumped against what’s left of the half-decimated wall, despite Louis commanding him—as he waved the rolled up script in Armand’s face like he was a dog who just got caught pissing on the rug—to pack his shit and leave.

The front of Armand’s black shirt is coated in a thick layer of dust. There’s flecks in his hair too, and he’s got blood on him. A handful of cuts across his brow and down his cheek, marring his otherwise perfect face. It looks like Louis must have swiped at him like an agitated cat before throwing him into the wall. He’s sitting there amongst the debris like an unexploded shell, but his chest is heaving up and down in a way that denotes more than just blind rage.

He’s powerful sure, and no doubt he’ll heal quickly, but right now, he’s clearly injured.

Good!

Speaking of packing his shit and leaving, Daniel should absolutely be doing that too. Everything inside of him is screaming alongside the instant message on his now incinerated laptop: “GET OUT! GET OUT OF THERE NOW!”

Well, almost everything.

There’s just something so pathetic about the way Armand looks right now—the way he’s writhing in the rubble, pained and lethargic, like he’s genuinely struggling to move. Part of Daniel wants to stay and see how this pans out. Of course, the guy has just proven himself to be a legendary liar, so the whole “wounded animal” shtick could be total bullshit. Daniel could be two seconds away from having his jugular ripped out. So, another part of Daniel, the smarter part—the part that’s causing his heart to race and the tremor in his right hand to intensify—is telling him to listen to Raglan James for once and run!

But still, Armand really doesn’t look like he’s in any shape to pounce on Daniel and rip out his jugular. And the thing is… Daniel had another dream, the night he unearthed the horrors of Divisadero Street. Fragmented flashbacks. Nothing cohesive. Much like the ones he’d had of Armand tormenting him—although this one was perhaps even more unsettling.

Him and Armand, holding hands and running through the rain.

Him and Armand, kissing and grinding on each other against the back of a motel room door.

Him sitting in Armand’s lap on the lumpy motel mattress, whimpering and trembling as the vampire tenderly, reverently pleasured him with his fingers.

Daniel had woken up in a cold sweat and he was… well, not hard, exactly. But as hard as he could get these days at a moment’s notice. He’d stroked himself off in his pajama pants until he'd gotten some relief, and he couldn’t really look either Louis or Armand in the eye the next day.

He also been extra petulant that day.

And while this other dream—(memory?)—was in many ways even more terrifying than the torture, it got him thinking. And now Daniel thinks he has reason to believe that maybe Armand wouldn’t hurt him, even if he could.

So yeah, you could say Daniel has a few more follow-up questions.

Some pretty fucking important ones.

Ones he was never going to be able to ask in front of Louis, but he wasn’t sure how he was ever going to get Armand alone again.

But now Louis is gone and Armand is here, and he seems kind of incapacitated. And Daniel’s never had a great sense of self-preservation, but he’s always had a dangerously persistent thirst for knowledge, and for truth, and for getting to the bottom of a good fucking story...

So, Daniel does the latest stupid thing in his long, long list of stupid things.

He balls his right hand into a fist in a feeble, but somewhat effective, attempt to quell the shakes, and he steps closer. He looks down at the vampire, hoping against hope that he’s correct in his theory that he finally, after almost fifty years, has the upper hand on this guy.

“So, how long do you think it’ll be before you haul your ass up?” he drawls, hoping to sound as smug as he feels.

Armand raises his head slowly, like it’s painful to move, but the scowl on his face is no less terrifying. Ambush predators move slowly too, before they spring at you and rip your fucking head off.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Mister Molloy,” he says, unnaturally composed as he shifts in the rubble and winces, “but I am currently unable to haul my arse up. Which I’d say is rather fortunate for you.”

So he is hurt.

Fucking good!

Daniel folds his arms and tilts his head with feigned curiosity. “Why? Because you’d kill me? I don’t think so.”

Oh, he should not be acting this cocky while poking an apex predator with a stick.

“Why? Because Louis ask me not to?” Armand replies, his eyes wide and blazing. “Do you think I’m his kept boy? His rent boy. That I wouldn’t possibly disobey an order from Maître?”

His tone is so melodramatic and absurdly theatrical that Daniel almost laughs. Thank fuck he’s not that stupid.

“No,” Daniel says. “I already clocked that it’s only Maître with him when it’s hot or convenient.”

Armand cocks his head, a storm cloud darkening his expression.

“So, what makes you so certain, Mister Molloy, that if I regained the ability to move in the next thirty seconds, you wouldn’t have your throat between my teeth before you have the chance to ask and then what?”

Daniel tries to ignore the way his dick betrays him by twitching at the thought of Armand’s mouth on his neck—even if it is to kill him. Hey, there are worse ways to go. It’d sure beat the hell out of a slow death in a nursing home where no one visits him except the nurse who wipes his ass.

But Daniel is on a mission here.

“Because, I have a hunch,” —he’s proud of himself for the little snipe— “that if you wanted to kill me, I’d already be dead, several times over. In fact, if you wanted me dead, I wouldn’t have even made it through your front door.”

Armand huffs and rolls his eyes. The theater kid is back.

“Even in the face of all this carnage you’ve caused,” he says, “you still have absolutely no sense of self-preservation, do you?”

“It’s in my nature, isn’t it?” Daniel says, doing his best impression of himself from about fifteen minutes ago; all smug and bitchy—perfect for a journalistic take-down. “Which reminds me. ‘Couldn’t get out the door without lobbing one more bomb’? What the hell does that mean? I lobbed exactly zero bombs in San Francisco and that’s allegedly the only other time we’re supposed to have met, so tell me, what exactly would you know about my nature?”

Silence rings through the room. Not even the building with its still-highly-suspicious groan makes a sound.

Armand blinks twice. Processing.

Daniel gives him a look. The exact same look he’d given him after his earlier grand reveal. The look that he hopes says, gotcha motherfucker. Daniel fights the urge to punctuate the zinger by bitchily adjusting his glasses.

Armand shifts again in the rubble—this time with a fraction more purpose—and a flicker of panic darts through Daniel. The hand tremors, the heart rate spikes… maybe Daniel does have a shred of self-preservation left, after all. But then Armand goes slack against the wall again and the panic ebbs away.

Okay, so he is still incapacitated, he’s just… biding his time?

“I’ve read your memoir, Mister Molloy,” Armand says, finally settling on an answer, but noticeably not looking Daniel in the eye. “And I’ve observed you for the last two weeks while you’ve been a guest in my home.”

“Okay,” Daniel shrugs. “Doesn’t seem like long enough to get a full grasp on my nature, but sure, let’s go with that. And it still doesn’t really account for the whole ‘lobbing one more bomb’ thing… maybe I’ll lob another one before I go? Just for kicks.”

“I should kill you, right now,” Armand says, trying to sound bored as he tilts his head back to rest against the wall behind him.

“But you won’t,” Daniel says, with a little more confidence than he probably should have in this moment, where everything is hanging by a thread. “You had the chance before, and you didn’t take it.”

Armand laughs without mirth as he continues to gaze up at the ceiling. “Time makes fools of us all, Mister Molloy.”

“What’s time to a vampire?” Daniel volleys back.

Armand’s gaze flicks down to Daniel. He looks more irritated than angry, like Daniel is a fly that won’t quit buzzing around his head.

“Are you planning on packing your bags and leaving any time soon?” He asks. “Or do you get off on bearing witness to my suffering?”

Daniel snorts. “Interesting turn of phrase, all things considered.”

Armand groans, eyes back on the ceiling. “You’re insufferable.”

Daniel smirks. “Yeah, but you kinda like it, don’t you?”

Armand lifts his head and stares at Daniel, wide-eyed. He’s just gone on high-alert. The put-upon, long-suffering affectation is gone, replaced with… something else.

“What are you talking about?” He asks.

Daniel has to force his face back to neutral. The upper hand feels so fucking good.

Daniel casts a cursory glance at his watch. “It’s been about twenty minutes and you’re still on the floor.”

Armand drops his head back against the wall with another mirthless huff of a laugh. “Is that the sort of groundbreaking investigative journalism that wins one Pulitzer Prizes these days?”

Daniel folds his arms again. “Look, you can keep mouthing off, or you can give me some actual answers.”

Only Armand’s eyes move as he drops his gaze back to Daniel. “Perhaps I would if you’d ask me some actual questions.”

“All right,” Daniel says. “You’re an ancient vampire. Five-hundred-and-fourteen years old. Thrown hard enough into a wall that you nearly blasted out the other side. A pretty brutal take-down—almost as brutal as the one I just gave you in the reading room—but I imagine it’s probably the vampire equivalent of a stubbed toe. Still, you’re down for the count twenty minutes later.”

“That isn’t a question,” Armand says. “If you have a point, I suggest you make it quickly, I’m regaining sensation in my legs.”

“So how does Louis—at not-quite-a-century—walk into the sun, burn to a fucking crisp—he’s writhing in pain, unable to move from the bed… four days later he needs you to carry him bridal-style to the coffin because he still can’t walk—and by the time you’ve given me your little ‘loved by death’ speech and got your fangs in my neck, he’s got the energy to push the lid off his coffin, come into the room, and stop you from killing me?”

“I had given him my ancient blood,” he answers quickly, condescendingly. “It expedites the healing process, you know this.”

“You’re full of ancient blood,” Daniel points out like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “By that account you should be up and turning cartwheels by now.”

“Louis asked—”

“Bullshit!” Daniel snaps, his voice now just below a shout. “We just established you don’t do everything Louis asks! And I know Louis isn’t the reason you spared my life! You knew he was partial to me?” —Daniel scoffs— “In what fucking way? He took me home with the express purpose of stuffing me full of drugs, bitching about his ex-boyfriend, maybe fucking me, and ripping my throat out. Doesn’t seem all that partial. And I know it’s a lie because you practically programmed it into his head, so he’d recite it like a fucking doll with a ring-pull!”

Armand is still on the floor, but he’s doing this little tick thing with his jaw that kind of looks like he’s trying to stop his fangs from coming out. It’s terrifying, sure, but Daniel’s got about a million thoughts flying around in his head and he needs to get them all out now. He isn’t even sure if any of them make sense, or if eventually he’s going to blurt out something that really will make Armand jump up and kill him. But he’s in too deep now. He has to know. This is his story he’s trying to get to the bottom of. He hadn’t planned on becoming the fucking subject of this goddamn interview, but here he is!

Just like that, Daniel is knocked sideways by a blinding pain.

But it’s not Armand that’s taken him out. Not literally anyway.

Daniel winces and squeezes his eyes closed against the painful pinching in his head. Just like what he’d felt when the memories of Divisadero were coming back to him.

A flash of amber eyes, and dark smooth skin, and inky black curls, and double denim. A soft, sweet voice whispering to him in the darkness: I love you. If I hadn’t grown to love you, I would have killed you by now, of course.

“Daniel?”

Daniel opens his eyes.

Armand is blinking up at him, but he doesn’t look angry, or bitchy, or betrayed. He looks worried. Like he cares. Daniel swallows hard. There’s tension in the silence, and Armand’s concerned gaze is almost enough to knock Daniel off his game.

Almost.

Daniel shakes it off and barrels on.

“And partial?” he says. “Knew I would prove fruitful in later times? Louis doesn’t talk like that. At least he didn’t in the seventies. It’s not his language. You know what else isn’t his language?”

Daniel turns and stomps up the couple of steps that lead out of the sunken living room. He marches back to the half-destroyed reading room and retrieves the copy of his memoir from under the shattered remains of the fallen bookshelf. He flicks it open to the passage he had attributed to the free-baser—that he’d then attributed to Louis—and slots his thumb between the pages, marking the place.

He stomps back into the living room and down the steps to Armand, waving the book in the air. “This.”

Armand turns his face away from Daniel, like he’s afraid looking at the book will burn him, so Daniel gives it a little shake for emphasis.

“Tell me,” Daniel says. “Why would Louis, the guy who—during our last interaction—tried to kill me, say this to me?” He flips the book open and shoves it in Armand’s face. “Why the familiarity? Why the fondness? He couldn’t muster up a speech with this much purple prose for Lestat; for Claudia; for you, for fucks sake! So why me? He didn’t know me. We spent ten hours together and all he did was bitch about Lestat.”

Armand opens his mouth to reply, but Daniel’s not ready to shut up. Not when he’s this close to winning.

“And tell me, Armand,” he spits, “why would Louis call me a bright young reporter with a point of view? I never said that to him. I said it to you.”

Armand is still not looking at Daniel or the book, instead he’s got this thousand-yard-stare going on, as he gazes in the direction Louis stormed off down the hall. Maybe Armand is just biding his time, waiting to sense that Louis is far enough away before he leaps up and kills him after all.

“How long have you known?” Armand eventually asks.

“Long enough,” Daniel says. “Remembering San Francisco must have broken the seal. Didn’t take me long to figure it out after I dreamed… well, remembered… we—” Daniel cuts himself off.

The tips of his ears are burning with the memory of the dream.

Armand blinks at him. “Remembered we…?”

Daniel scowls. “You really gonna make me say it?”

Armand lifts a shoulder. “You were the one who wanted a discussion, Daniel.”

Oh, he’s insufferable!

“You know, I’d been so sure,” Daniel says, his hackles rising once again, “for fifty years, that I’d fucked a vampire… and when Louis said nothing happened between us, I figured I must’ve imagined it… but then I remembered you were there too… and I thought… surely not. And then the dream happened. And it was…”

Daniel trails off. More is coming back to him.

Writhing on the mattress as Armand takes him into his mouth.

Armand taking his hand and using it, and his own, together to stroke himself.

The mewling, gasping noises he made when Armand pushed inside him for the first time.

A chill goes down Daniel’s spine, and a heat crawls up his neck.

“Yeah… dream,” he scoffs, hoping to disguise the fact that he momentarily lost his thread (it’s so unconvincing to his own ears, he has to cringe). “More like a nightmare. Because Divisadero—the corpse by the television, the week of being rag-dolled around the house of fucking horrors—that made sense. But this…”

Daniel knows he’s blushing again, and he knows Armand must be able to smell it all over him.

The asshole.

Armand pins Daniel with his ember-like gaze, his expression more earnest than any other Daniel has seen him make.

“So, you remember that we were in love?”

Daniel opens his mouth. He closes it again. And open. And close. He must look like a fucking goldfish.

He fixes his jaw and finally settles on saying: “I didn’t say that.”

Armand gives him a look. “Why would I say those things that you wrote in your book if we were not?”

“Well, I thought Louis had said them, and I didn’t think we were in love,” Daniel fires back, quite smoothly he thinks.

“Well, we were,” Armand says, shifting in the rubble again, finally able to sit up a bit straighter, and brush some dust off his shirt. “And no amount of editorializing on your part is going to change that fact.”

Daniel scoffs. He knows he’s floundering. “Maybe you had some kind of fucked up obsession because I was your human plaything, and maybe I was into it because I was a fucking moron…”

Armand tilts his head to one side, like an owl, again.

“Do you think me incapable of love, Daniel?” He asks plainly. “Or do you think yourself incapable of being loved?”

Daniel has gone goldfish again.

“Because the way I remember it,” Armand continues, allowing some of the bitchiness to creep back into his tone now, “is that you and I were both the happiest we’d ever been when we were together, and that time was the only time in my half-millennium, that I loved and that I was loved, without condition or obligation.”

The heat is back in Daniel’s face again. Yeah, he’s flustered, but there’s something else roiling within him, causing his cheeks to flare. If he gets eaten, so be it.

“Yeah?” He says, brow furrowing, fists clenching, blood pressure no doubt rising. “And whose fault is it that I don’t remember it that way?”

Armand does that thing with his jaw again, working it like he’s trying not to bite the nearest human, which is unfortunately, Daniel. He puts his hands on the ground beside him and slowly pushes himself up out of the rubble. Daniel’s heart beats a little quicker, a little uneven, and Armand’s expression does this almost imperceptible little flicker from irritation, to concern, and then back to irritation again.

Daniel isn’t sure which is worse.

Armand stands to his full height, and it’s the tallest Daniel thinks he’s looked this whole visit. He isn’t compressed and folded in on himself, or trying to seem small and meek. No, now he’s imposing, he’s terrifying, he’s…

Fuck, he’s so hot. It’s not fair.

Daniel watches, frozen in place as Armand glares at him with his blazing eyes. But Daniel’s not being mind-fucked and puppeteered this time—no, this time he’s actually got enough of a sense of self-preservation to actually feel afraid.

Armand takes a few slow, deliberate steps towards him, and despite all his earlier bravado and bluster, Daniel’s pulse kicks up again and he jumps back—well, he doesn’t really jump; he’s 69-years-old, has Parkinson’s disease, and has been sitting down a lot these last two weeks—he more… stumbles back.

And wouldn’t you know it.

This stupid, fucking, modernist, minimalist apartment with its stupid, fucking, sunken rooms, and ridiculous amount of fucking steps. Interior design that no almost-septuagenarian fall-risk should ever be within throwing distance of… Daniel’s heel catches on the bottom step and he feels himself tip over backwards. It’s like it happens in slow motion, with enough time for him to think: Great! I’m going to break a fucking hip! Or crack his head open. Then it will be like blood in the water, and Armand will definitely kill him.

But the next thing he knows, before he has another second to process the fact that he’s falling, a pair of strong arms—arms that are so familiar—catch him around his middle.

Armand is no longer standing before him, glaring at him like he’s lunch. He’s behind him, and he’s holding him against his body—his firm, sculpted body—his arms wrapped tightly around Daniel like a boa constrictor. Daniel turns his head slowly, and gazes up over his shoulder, and he meets Armand’s eyes. Daniel’s breath hitches. Armand’s eyes aren’t that fiery orange anymore. They’re more like a warm honey color. And his pupils are huge. And he’s looking at Daniel like… like…

His gaze is fixed on Daniel’s mouth. He’s so close Daniel can feel the ghost of his breath on his face.

Holy shit.   

Armand clears his throat (unnecessary—he’s a fucking vampire) and loosens his grip on Daniel, making sure he’s upright and steady on his feet before releasing him and folding his arms across his chest… that chest…

“At your age you really ought to be more careful,” Armand says, bitchily.

“Oh, fuck you,” Daniel replies, rolling his eyes. Then he mutters under his breath: “I need a fucking drink.”

Chapter Text

Armand’s long, graceful fingers twist open the bottle of dry vermouth. His curious, golden eyes watch the liquid as he pours it into the frozen glass—the perfect fucking amount, without even measuring it. He picks the glass up by its stem and swirls the alcohol around the edges, observing it like it’s a science experiment. He places the glass back down and rests his open hand on the glossy, black bar top. A bottle of gin slides along the bar and he catches it. Then he opens that too, methodically pouring it into the glass.

Fuck, it’s like watching porn.

Daniel shifts a little on the barstool he’s perched on. “So, I guess now I know why you make a martini like you worked at fucking Dukes.”

The corner of Armand’s mouth quirks up a little as he raises a hand, only to have a lemon land in it.

Fuck.

He peels off a large slice of the zest and twists it over the glass, expressing some of the oil and watching intently as it drips onto the surface of the drink. Some of the oil gets on his fingers. Those fingers.

Fuck, why are his fingers so hot?

Daniel’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. He’s definitely not imagining licking those fingers.

“Nonsense,” Armand says, garnishing the drink with the zest. “There is at least an ounce more vermouth in this than a martini served at Dukes. At Dukes they discard the excess.” He looks up at Daniel with a gleam in his eye. “Insanity.”

Daniel feels his cheeks warm. God, he’s losing control of this follow up interview in record time.

“And you,” Armand continues, as he slides the glass across the bar, “despite insisting otherwise, have always had a sweet tooth.”

Daniel gives him a bemused look as he reaches for the glass. Armand lets those fingers linger a little longer than strictly necessary and they brush against Daniel’s, and god, it’s like he just got electrocuted. When did he become the heroine in a fucking romance novel? Armand is looking at him, curious, like he’s waiting for him to take a sip and tell him how good it is.

Daniel’s face just keeps getting hotter somehow, so he takes a sip. He fucking needs it. He can still feel Armand’s arms wrapped around him—those deceptively strong arms holding him. Holding him so close he could feel Armand’s breath on his face as he stared at Daniel’s mouth… almost like he’d been thinking about… what? Kissing him?

Yeah, right.

But he can also still feel Armand’s body—his firm, sculpted body—like it’s imprinted on him. Armand’s front pressed against Daniel’s back… and unless Daniel had been imagining things…

Nope.

There’s no way he actually felt something hard prodding against his ass… he must have just… stroked out for a second. There’s no way. No fucking way. He takes another sip of his drink. Of course it’s fucking perfect. Everything about Armand is fucking perfect.

Fuck, he’s got to stop thinking so goddamn loudly before—

Hang on.

“Wait a minute,” Daniel says, placing the glass back on the bar. “Why can’t you read my thoughts?”

Armand keeps his expression neutral. Interesting.

“What makes you think I cannot read your thoughts?” He asks.

“Because if you could, I think you’d have something to say about it.”

Armand looks amused as he folds his forearms on the bar and leans against it, bringing himself just that little bit closer to Daniel. He looks at him like he’s studying a bug under a microscope. A bug that he might also want to eat.

“Hmm… would I?” He looks so smug, that for a split second Daniel wonders if maybe he can read his thoughts.

Daniel’s definitely blushing again, but at least now he can blame it on the alcohol… the… two sips of alcohol.

Fuck, so much for having the upper hand.

“I mean, you seemed pretty surprised to hear that I was thinking about how much you weigh when you and Louis were doing your little master/servant exhibitionism bit,” Daniel says. “Which, by the way, most inappropriate interview behavior I’ve seen in my entire fifty year career.”

“Hmm,” Armand ponders with a sly little smirk, resting his chin on his hand, his eyes flickering between Daniel’s eyes and his mouth. “And you couldn’t even hear what I was thinking during that interaction.”

A low-lit room. A hotel. Some place real fancy. Daniel on his hands and knees on a plush mattress. Someone’s fucking into him from behind. It’s messy, and imprecise. The movement is ragged and careless. And there’s the reason. It’s not Armand. No, Armand is watching him from a chair across the room. All dressed in black. One long leg draped over the other. Eyes darkened by blown out pupils, and fixed on Daniel’s face as a breath is punched out of him on each thrust. The air in the room is hot and steamy. Daniel is turned on beyond belief, eyes locked on Armand’s as he whispers into his mind: “You’re doing so wonderfully, Daniel. Taking him so beautifully for me.”

The guy isn’t fucking him for Daniel’s pleasure though, he’s focused on one thing. Getting off. Daniel could be anyone, anything, he could be a woman, he could be a toy, even a corpse… Armand must pull that thought from the guy’s mind, because in a flash of movement, Armand is out of the chair, pulling the guy off Daniel, and draining him dry. Then he’s grabbing a fistful of Daniel’s hair and pulling him up to look at him. He’s got some of the guy’s blood on his lips, and his fangs are still out.

“He was not worthy of you, my love” Armand hisses, then pulls Daniel into a kiss before fucking him himself.

Oh, so they really were freaks.

Daniel opens his mouth to say something clever, but most of the blood that should be powering his brain is currently heading south for the winter, so all that comes out is an extremely eloquent: “Ah—wha—I—huh.”

He shifts in his chair and fixes his brow. He glares at Armand who is still looking at him… like that.

“Flirting? Really?”

Armand bats his eyelashes. “Is that what I’m doing?”

Daniel grinds his teeth. “And what about when I got back from lunch with Real Rashid, huh? You kept asking him if we’d met anyone. Why didn’t you just dive on in here?” —he taps his temple with his index finger— “See for yourself?”

“Fine.” Armand sighs and stands upright again, hands still resting on the bar. “No, I cannot hear your thoughts. Not anymore. At first I wasn’t sure why. Certain people—those with psychic gifts—have the ability to close their minds to us. Rashid was one of them, which is why I am somewhat… unsurprised to hear of his connection to the Talamasca. But I had no reason to believe that you possessed that gift, so I can only assume that it is because we… shared the blood so often in the past.”

Daniel hasn’t seen any proof yet from the visions that they’d shared blood in the past. But, knowing what he knows about vampire sex… it doesn’t really surprise him.

Stop thinking about vampire sex.

Daniel takes another sip. “Is that a thing?”

Armand worries the pad of his thumb with the tip of his index finger, like he’s playing the world’s smallest violin. “I reached out to some others to find answers. And I did hear stories of it happening. Rare human-vampire couplings that had their minds closed to one another, as a result of sharing the blood too frequently.”

“I guess that’s how you know what vermouth tastes like,” Daniel quips, raising his glass in a little toast, “given that you were vamped a couple of centuries before it was even invented.”

“Hmm, perhaps,” Armand says, pursing his lips in thought and resting his forearms on the bar again. “Although I always rather thought you tasted like desire.”

Daniel nearly spits his martini all over Armand’s face. Instead he chokes on it a little.

Armand looks rather pleased with himself.

“Can you stop fucking with me for five minutes?” Daniel grouses, as he puts his glass back down.

“Why are you so certain that I’m fucking with you?” Armand asks, his brow pinched like he’s genuinely confused.

Daniel scoffs. “Uh, because you look like… that and I’m…”

Armand tips his head. “You’re what?”

Daniel grinds his teeth so he doesn’t fucking bite. But Armand is staring at him with this look on his face. Like Daniel is the most interesting guy… fascinating boy… he’s ever seen. He’s unblinking, like he so often is (Daniel swears it’s like he’s got to remind himself to blink sometimes) and his eyes are searching Daniel’s face, like he’d give anything to be able to see inside his brain again. And he looks so unbearably fond that it makes Daniel feel a little queasy.

“Uh, you got anything else back there besides gin and vermouth?” Daniel asks, mostly just to have something to say.

Armand lets slip a wistful smile. “I have créme de menthe, white créme de cacao, and…” —he pulls a face—“heavy cream.”

Daniel furrows his brow. Then the penny drops.

“Fucking grasshoppers.”

Armand smiles a little broader. “There’s a twelve pack of cola back here as well.”

“Ha ha.”

Armand leans across the bar just a little bit more and he smirks. “Are you finally ready to admit, Daniel, that you are absolutely not a savory man?”

Fuck, Daniel is fighting for his life here. And his jeans are getting tighter. What kind of interview is this?

He picks his drink back up, and downs the last of it.

“How was it?” Armand asks, resting his chin on one of his hands, and toying with a loose curl as his eyes flick between the glass and Daniel’s mouth.

“It was perfect and you know it.”

Armand barely suppresses another fond smile. He drops his head like he’s embarrassed to be seen doing it.

“And that right there,” Daniel says, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Those looks. You’ve been giving me those looks all week. For a while I just thought you were picturing me as a giant, cartoon T-bone steak, but now they make sense.”

Armand laughs. A full-bodied, hearty laugh that makes his shoulders shake and his nose crinkle.

The sound zings up Daniel’s spine and makes his heart do this annoying thing that some people might call skipping a beat. It also pinches his brain a little and he winces.

A dining room. A really fucking fancy dining room, with blue skies painted on the ceilings. He’s sitting at a table. The table is covered in dishes. Fish, beef, veal, sweetbreads, cheese. Way too many dishes for one person. But there’s another person. Right… but he doesn’t eat human food. Although he looks absolutely ecstatic to be there. He’s beaming at Daniel. More radiant than the sun.

“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I bought you everything on the menu!”

Everyone’s looking at them, but Daniel hasn’t had a decent meal in weeks, and now he’s shoveling food into his mouth. Armand is sitting opposite him, watching him—absolutely delighted. And he’s laughing. The sweetest, purest laugh Daniel has ever heard, bubbling out of the vampire like he can’t help it. It’s the laugh of someone who hasn’t really had a good laugh in a long time, if ever. Daniel has a feeling Armand doesn’t laugh all that often. He swears he’s going to spend the rest of his life doing whatever he can to keep hearing that sound.

“Are you all right, Daniel?” Armand’s voice snaps him back.

The laugh is gone. Armand looks worried again, with his big, baby lemur eyes, and his creased brow, and his little head tilt.

God, Daniel is so fucked.

“There you go, caring about me again,” Daniel says, injecting a bit of saltiness back into his tone, so it’s not super obvious that he just felt way too sweet about him. “I should have realized something was up when Fake Rashid swooped in to stop Louis from fucking with my hand. Or when you stopped Louis from picking at my brain.” Daniel huffs and takes another sip. “I guess you’re the only one allowed to do that.”

“Oh, how terrible of me,” Armand replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “stopping Louis from using your worst memories against you. How awful of me to not find joy in your suffering, the way he did.”

Hold on. Light bulb moment.

“Wait a minute,” Daniel says, “you knew I was thinking about Alice when I got testy about Paris.”

Armand gives him a look. “That wasn’t because I could read your mind, Daniel. It was because I could read you. Your body language, all closed off; your facial expression, pinched and cold; your voice, all clipped and short. And anyway it—”

Armand snaps his mouth shut and his gaze flickers away.

Daniel leans forward in an attempt to drag him back with his glare. “It what?”

Armand sighs, returning to Daniel. “It wasn’t Alice you were thinking of. Well, it was… at least you thought it was, but…”

Daniel’s blood is starting to simmer. He swears he can feel a vein pulsing in his forehead.

“What are you saying?” Daniel growls. “You’re not about to start gaslighting me into thinking my ex-wife never existed. I know my ex-wife exists. I’m not crazy—”

“Of course, Alice exists!” Armand snaps. “You have children, do you not? Despite your best efforts you were never going to impregnate me, now, were you?”

Now Daniel knows his face must be bright red. Also, his dick just betrayed him by twitching in his jeans. And what makes it worse… so much worse… is the way Armand seems to be totally unaffected.

Hang on a goddamn minute.

“But that was nineteen-eighty-five,” Daniel says, a fresh wave of rage roiling inside him. “The dream I had—memory—would’ve had to have been mid seventies at the latest…”

“What was the dream… memory?”

Daniel clears his throat and shifts in his chair. Thinking about it again isn’t going to make his jeans any more comfortable. Time to be clinical about it.

“Rainy night, shitty motel in the middle of Bumfuck, USA.”

He immediately mentally kicks himself.

Fucking terrible word choice, Molloy, Jesus Christ.

Armand purses his lips like he’s trying to hide how warm the memory makes him feel, but it doesn’t fucking work. “Nineteen-seventy-seven, yes.”

“So, we meet in seventy-three, we’re… together in seventy-seven… and… what?” Daniel asks. “You’re telling me I was still with you in eighty-five? But I was with Alice in eighty-five.”

“You were with both of us,” Armand confirms. “As I was with both you and Louis.”

Daniel pinches the skin between his eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ.” 

“He had awoken, healed from his rest,” Armand explains. “You weren’t pleased that I began returning to him, and that I wouldn’t… make you like me. So you began seeing Alice.”

“Does Louis know about any of this?”

Armand shakes his head. “Not as far as I’m aware. Although I cannot be certain that I was always… completely successful at keeping my thoughts about you shielded from him.”

Armand looks sort of coy, bashful at the admission and Daniel shivers at the implication. There’s fear there, sure—the idea that, for the entire two weeks Louis sat across from Daniel, maybe he did know that Daniel had had an affair with his husband. That would certainly add a new, fucked up level of meaning to a lot of things. The honey and pineapple call-out, the delight he seemed to take in fucking with Daniel’s head, the vomit-inducing PDA, and all the ‘love of my life’ bullshit that was laid on so thick it made Daniel want to boo and throw tomatoes at them. But alongside the fear zings a sick little thrill—which is just so Daniel. The thought that there may have been times when Louis was fucking Armand, and Armand was thinking of Daniel. Impossible. And yet…

“So, yes, Alice exists,” Armand says. “And you were with her in nineteen-eighty-five. But you were also with me. And when I… redacted myself from your memories, I couldn’t very well leave massive, gaping holes all over your life. The five nights—”

“Six.”

“—in San Francisco were one thing—chalk that up to a drug-fueled bender. I couldn’t very well remove twelve years and replace it with nothing.”

“Twelve years,” Daniel mutters, wishing his glass wasn’t empty. “Twelve. Years.”

Armand sighs, and he sounds way more petulant than he really has any right to. “You can say it as many times as you please, Daniel, it’s not going to change anything.”

Daniel kind of wants to strangle him. “So, you’re saying my memories of Alice, and my memories of you are all…”

Armand gives his hair a little toss to shake a loose curl off his forehead. “A tangled web… yes.”

And of course, that means…

Daniel swallows hard. “So, my worst memory… the memory that hurt the most… it wasn’t Alice rejecting my proposal, it was…”

“Me, refusing your wish for me to… make you like me,” Armand says, lowering his eyes. “Well, the last time.”

The vision plays again like a one-reeler in Daniel’s brain. Just like it did when Louis was slowly, painfully prying it out.

Walking the Rue Servandoni hand in hand, the purple dress—although it wasn’t a dress, come to think of it, it was a shirt. The restaurant. The table in the corner Daniel had tried so hard to get—anywhere else would have felt too vulnerable, too much of a risk that they’d be seen. The ring. The fucking ring. Armand always loved rings… Armand… fuck. But it wasn’t a marriage proposal. Was it?

“Tell me, Daniel,” Armand says, leaning in a little closer like he’s sharing a secret, “why would you feel more comfortable holding her hand in Paris?”

Daniel actually feels a chill run down his spine.

“Jesus Christ.” Daniel pushes his glass across the bar. “I’m expecting the Pulitzer board to come knocking any day now to come take back my prizes.”

Armand drops his head and laughs into the curtain of his curls. Then he takes the glass and starts fixing him another drink. Daniel tries to ignore the laugh. He really does. But every time Armand laughs it’s like another neural pathway ignites in Daniel’s brain, unlocking a new lost memory of some other time Daniel made him laugh, and reminding him that Armand was always so beautiful when he laughed.

God-fucking-dammit, he still is.

“So, is that why I’m here?” Daniel asks, eyes fixed on the bar tending porn once again. “Is that how the tapes got sent to me? Why the tapes got sent to me? I never got a straight answer from the Talamasca.”

“I had the tapes placed in your mailbox, yes,” Armand replies, as he peels a fresh slice of lemon zest.

“There was no address. How did you get access?” Daniel asks, eyes riveted to where Armand’s fingers are twisting the peel. “Mind fuck the mailman? Kill the mailman?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Daniel. I have a key.” He garnishes the drink with a flourish. “The apartment you call home, we once called home together.” He cocks his head as he slides the glass back over. “Tell me, how many Brooklyn residences have you been to that had blue skies painted on the ceilings?”

Daniel’s stomach swoops. Fuck. He might just actually be sick.

The memories of the torture… expected. The memories of the sex… sure. But this.

Living together? What was essentially a proposal? A twelve year affair that seemed a little less of an affair and a little more of a… marriage? Seriously? The guy he just spent two weeks antagonizing, whose marriage he just blew up, who tortured him for a week in 1973… he was—for all intents and purposes—Daniel’s first wife?

Daniel picks up the freshened martini and immediately downs half of it.

He winces as the alcohol burns his throat a little. “I can’t believe you’re my fucking landlord.”

Another laugh.

Shit, Daniel could get used to this. Every laugh is like a fresh hit of something Daniel has been abstaining from for too long. He’s starting to wonder if he’s ever going to be able to go without it again.

Armand rests his elbows back on the bar and folds his hands. “That was, of course, only one of the residences we shared.”

Daniel watches as Armand rubs his thumbs together like the legs of a cricket. When he’s nervous he plays with his fingers. Even if the rest of him is stone still, his fingers are alive. Daniel noticed it throughout the entire interview. At first he’d clocked it as a tell—something he only did when he was lying. But he’s doing it now, and Daniel doesn’t have any reason to believe he’s lying about this.

Daniel makes a mental note, crossing out “tell” and replacing it with “nervous tick”.

“Yeah?” Daniel asks, sipping his drink.

“Yeah.”

“How many were there?”

“A flat in London, a house on the outskirts of Paris, a… villa…” Armand trails off.

There it is again. The pinching.

He’s somewhere in Southern Italy. It’s dark, but the moon hangs high and bright in the night sky, casting eerie shadows across the ancient ruined city through which he wanders. The stars are so vivid here. Above him looms the shadow of Vesuvius. Pompeii. Daniel hasn’t seen Armand in months, and he aches for him. He’s never missed anything the way he misses his presence. The Villa of the Mysteries. And there he is, stepping out of the shadows, wearing double denim that doesn’t quite fit right. What a look on him. He snakes his arms around Daniel’s neck and kisses him, deep, hungry. The stolen clothes smell like cigarettes, and his tongue tastes like some other guy’s blood.

He pulls Daniel into the ancient villa. He holds Daniel’s face, his cool hands soothing against the hot flush of his cheeks.

“I love you. If I hadn’t grown to love you, I would have killed you by now, of course.”

Then he’s pressing his lips to Daniel’s throat. Hot, wet, open-mouth kisses. And then the fangs…

“You are mine, beautiful boy.”

Daniel shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “Uh… a villa?

“A villa on an island. Off the coast of Miami. We still own it… well, technically… we own the entire island.”

Daniel nearly chokes on his drink again. Maybe that’s how he dies. “We own an island? In fucking Florida?”

“Well, technically… it is in your name.” 

“An island, Jesus fucking Christ,” Daniel says. “You realize this makes me a massive hypocrite, right? I spent an entire career advocating for folks living in the margins, and you’re telling me all this time I was a billionaire vampire’s sugar baby?”

Armand chuckles and his nose crinkles again. “Don’t be absurd. I was only a millionaire, and you weren’t my sugar baby. More like a… trophy husband.”

“Oh, I was your trophy husband,” Daniel says, with a disbelieving laugh. “I’m so sure.”

“Is that so difficult to believe?”

“I don’t know, have you seen you?”

Armand tries to hide his smile behind his hair again.

“And also, you already had a husband,” Daniel says. “At best I was the other woman.”

Armand’s head snaps back up, his expression as serious as a heart attack all of a sudden. He reaches across the bar and grabs onto Daniel’s forearm. His fingertips dig into Daniel’s flesh, but he seems to be actively making sure he doesn’t stab him with his claws.

“No.” He says. “You were never just that. Not to me.”

Daniel tenses under Armand’s hand. God, he hopes he didn’t hear the little gasp he just let out. Fuck, he probably did. His touch is cold, like he hasn’t fed in days. He probably hasn’t—not since his entertaining lunch. Daniel looks down at the seemingly delicate, but deceptively strong hand on his arm, then back up at Armand again. His irises are back to blazing—at least the small rings that aren’t eclipsed by his pupils are. Daniel doesn’t know what to make of it. He has no idea what the colors mean—although they were really warm the day he had Daniel alone, when he was rambling on about Amazon and blenders…

“What the hell have you done to my kitchen?!” Daniel has to shout over the noise.

The figure that’s hunched over the counter looks up, all wide-eyed and guilty, like a kid who just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Science experiment.”

Armand’s curls are pointing every which way, and he has one hand on top of the source of the noise. Well… one of the sources of the noise. A blender full of… something purple. But it’s not the only blender. There’s six of them lined up on the counter, all filled with different colored concoctions. There’s at least four more still in boxes on the floor. Armand… the little gremlin… has all six blenders plugged into the same overloaded power-strip.

“What, did you clean out a Best Buy?” Daniel stomps over and unplugs the power-strip from the outlet; ear-splitting silence rings through the apartment. “It’s a wonder you didn’t blow the power to the whole city!”

Armand huffs and pouts. “You’re no fun.”

“Oh, I’m no fun?” A smile slides across Daniel’s face, because fuck, he can’t help it. He has the worst pet in the world, and he loves him. “I’ll show you fun,” he says, grabbing Armand around the waist and hoisting him up onto the only clear stretch of counter space left in his kitchen. Armand squeals, then he giggles, and he wraps his legs around Daniel’s hips, grabbing onto his shoulders for balance.

“God, you’re such a freak,” Daniel says, diving in to kiss him.

A loud pop and the lights go out. Daniel jumps, breaking the kiss, but not letting his ridiculous boyfriend get away.

“Was that you?”

Armand frowns and looks over Daniel’s shoulder, towards something behind him. “I suppose… technically it was…”

Daniel gives him a look. “What did you do to my microwave?”

Armand pulls his lower lip between his teeth and lifts one shoulder.

Daniel has no choice but to kiss him again.

Daniel blinks back to the present and… oh, god, he’s leaning in closer, even now. It’s like he’s magnetized or something. That’s definitely the opposite of what he should be doing, but the weight of Armand’s hand on his arm… the casual, yet unhinged domesticity of that particular memory… it’s… a lot.

A moment of loaded silence sizzles between them, ringing even louder than the one in his memory. Looking into Armand’s eyes is like looking directly into a solar eclipse, and Daniel doesn’t know how much longer he can do it before his retinas burn out.

He clears his throat. Then he forces a chuckle, hoping to cut the tension with some levity.

“You know, I really oughta call my lawyer. We probably should’ve split that island in the divorce.”

Armand smiles, but it’s a little shy. “Perhaps he offers discounts for repeat customers?”

Heat crawls up the back of Daniel’s neck. Something bubbles away in his chest, and he can’t help it—he laughs.

“Was that a joke?” he asks. “A joke from the vampire Armand?”

Armand shrugs, still smirking like he thinks he’s a comedy genius. “Perhaps it was.”

“Hey, you want his number?” Boy, is that a risky move.

But Armand chuckles. “Why? Do you earn a commission?”

“Of course not,” Daniel says, taking a perfectly-timed sip of his drink. “Finder’s fee.”

Then Daniel, honest-to-god, winks at him. He actually fucking winks.

Oh, there is no way Daniel is currently cracking jokes with an ancient vampire, about how he blew up his marriage an hour ago.

Still, Armand seems to like his jokes, and Daniel likes to see him laugh. So yeah, maybe he’s saying shit like this on purpose, just to hear the sound. It’s like a siren song to him, pulling him in, and he knows he’s leaning even further across the bar. But pulling this shit is like playing Russian Roulette. Gremlin… good nurse… the fact that no one ever seems to be sure what they’re going to get when it comes to Armand… Sure, he thinks Daniel is funny now, but Daniel could very easily be one bad joke away from getting his throat ripped out. But if Daniel’s latest memory retrieval is anything to go by, he was allowed to tell Armand off without consequence, he was allowed to manhandle him up onto kitchen counters and live to tell the tale, he loved the Gremlin just as much as he loved the good nurse.

Maybe even more.

Armand’s hand is still on his arm, and his thumb is softly stroking Daniel’s skin. They’ve somehow moved in even closer, heads huddled over the narrow bar. So close, Daniel can feel the springiness of their curly hair touching, so close he can feel Armand’s breath on his face when he laughs, so close that if one, or both of them, just leaned in a little bit further… his face is suddenly all hot again.

“This is weird,” he finally says, but he doesn’t pull away.

“It is strange,” Armand agrees, his thumb still rubbing back and forth on Daniel’s forearm. “But it’s not unpleasant.”

Daniel makes a sound that is half-laugh and half-scoff. “Well, that’s one way to put it.”

“I mean it, Daniel…” Armand’s eyes drop down to Daniel’s mouth again. “It feels… like old times…”

Daniel is either losing his goddamn mind, or he’s actually leaning in to kiss him. He wants to… he really, really wants to. Armand is… you know… wow. And there’s history there. Daniel knows there’s history there. He’s seen some of it, and what he’s seen so far has been… yeah. But it’s still only coming back in fragments. And it’s not all back yet. And it must have ended badly seeing as how it ended with Daniel getting his memory erased. Although, the way the memories keep getting triggered… maybe if they kissed it would be like something from a fairytale, and all his remaining memories would come back to him…

No. He can’t do this! This is fucked. So fucked!

Daniel loved his guy. And the guy allegedly loved him too. But then he left him, and he carved twelve years out of his brain. Twelve fucking years!

Feels like old times? Well, Daniel wouldn’t fucking know, would he?!

Daniel pulls away. “This is… I can’t do this… it’s too… it’s—”

He sits upright and tugs his arm out from underneath Armand’s hand. His head is spinning a little, his vision blurring around the edges. The tips of his ears are hot. He’s pissed, but he also kind of wants to cry.

Armand reaches for him again. “Daniel—”

“No!” Daniel shouts, hopping down from the barstool and standing to his feet. “What are we even doing? Is this just another round in the bullshit? Why? So I don’t release the book? Flash me the big sad eyes and the… sweet little laughs… and make me feel like… like…”

Armand moves around the bar towards him, slowly, like he’s trying not to startle a deer. “Like what, Daniel?”

Daniel ignores the question and starts pacing back and forth. “And even if we did have a fucking history—

“You know that we do.”

“—do you expect me to believe that you still want me?”

There’s that loaded silence again. Filling the room hot and thick. Armand takes hold of his arm, forcing him to stop his pacing and look at him. His eyes slide over Daniel’s face as they take in his features, his eyes, his cheeks, his nose, his lips… then they slip down his body…

“I never stopped wanting you, Daniel,” Armand says in a low voice.

Daniel’s throat clicks when he swallows. His mouth is as dry as fuck. He tries to ignore how hot he feels under Armand’s gaze. How hot he always feels under his gaze. Even before he’d remembered who he was.

“That must be why you left me then,” he says.

He wanted it to come out sounding snarky, but he isn’t quite sure he nailed it. He thinks perhaps a little sliver of heartbreak might have snuck in there. He wrenches his arm away, and quickly realizes he only can because Armand lets him.

“I never wanted to leave you!” Armand cries, his thumbs rubbing against his fingers again, as he holds his arms stiff and awkward by his sides; he looks like he’s fighting an internal battle with the urge to move closer and touch him again. “I wanted to keep you!” he says. “More than anything I have ever wanted to keep! But look at all the things in my life that I have kept far longer than I should have, Daniel. The coven, the theater, this seventy-seven-year-long production of a ‘marriage’. All things that I have kept, and held, and suffocated until I destroyed them!”

“But you didn’t destroy them, did you?” Daniel volleys back. “You invited someone else to come in and do your dirty work for you, when you didn’t want to play anymore. You told me yourself! Lestat destroyed your coven. Louis destroyed the theater… is that what I am? Your Lestat, your Louis, but better?”

“I knew my relationship with Louis was nearing its end,” Armand says, the intensity in his voice ratcheting up another level. “It had been hanging by a thread since we first left Paris, perhaps even earlier. Regardless of the trajectory the interview would end up taking, reopening those old wounds was never going to be good for our marriage.”

Daniel crosses his arms. “So that’s why you brought me here. So, I’d destroy your marriage.”

“I brought you here because I wanted to see you!” Armand cries, slamming a hand down on the bar top; the lemon he’d been peeling earlier catches on fire. “One more time before you were lost to me forever.”

Daniel glances between the burning fruit and Armand’s burning gaze; he can see the blood welling in his eyes. God, it’s doing things to his insides. He shouldn’t be moved by it. He’s a proven liar!—and by Daniel himself, no less! But about this? There’s a level of sincerity to it that Daniel only saw a couple of times during the interview—a couple of times when Daniel was fairly certain Armand was telling the truth. One particular time stands out to him.

Why did I owe you my shame? Why did I owe you my one act of cowardice?

If it hadn’t been for the first dream Daniel had had—the one after he uncovered Divisadero—he would have been totally baffled by that outburst. Louis had certainly looked baffled by it. Why did Armand care so much about what Daniel thought of him? Why had he derailed in that moment—explaining himself to Daniel—when it was Louis he owed the explanation to. But it had made sense to Daniel. At least partly. Of course he’d had no idea of the full extent yet—he still doesn’t. But he knew something more was simmering, even then. And now, with every returning memory, another puzzle piece slots into place, but it’s not making any of this easier by any means.

You know what, fuck the memories!

Fuck whether or not they meant something to one another in the past. Fuck whether it was love!

It doesn’t matter how much the thought of him and Armand and their shared history sets off a fluttering in Daniel’s chest. It doesn’t matter how easily Armand’s big, wet, sad eyes seem to disarm him—seem to melt his resolve. It doesn’t matter how easy Daniel fears it could be, to feel something for him again, now that he remembers what he remembers.

None of it changes the fact that Armand erased twelve years of Daniel’s life.

Although perhaps that’s small potatoes. Lestat dropped Louis from two miles high in the sky. Louis slit Lestat’s throat from ear to ear and bled him like a pig. What’s a little murder and mind-fuckery between paramours?

This must be what it means to be loved by death.

“So, if you’re the one who planted the seed for the interview—if you’re the one who sent me the tapes—then what the hell was with the doe-eyed look of betrayal when I finally pulled the trigger?” Daniel asks. “Isn’t that what you wanted? For the marriage to go up like…”—Daniel nods towards the still-smoldering, black lump that used to be a lemon—“Well, like that?”

“I wanted the marriage to end,” Armand replies. “Just not the way that it did. I thought it could end without the truth of the play coming out. I thought perhaps it could even be amicable—or rather as amicable as it could possibly be. I thought, perhaps I could keep controlling the narrative if I simply… let Louis go, because I knew Lestat did love him—still loves him. If it had ended like that, then… well, then you wouldn’t have…” Armand lowers his gaze.

Daniel gives him a look. “Then I wouldn’t have what?”

Armand sighs a full-bodied sigh that makes his shoulders heave up and down. He looks back up at Daniel, wrapping his arms around his body like he’s trying to shrink into himself. He looks small like this, despite being at least an inch and a half taller than Daniel.

“I refused to turn you when you were young, and you were… persistently asking me to, because I knew that you would inevitably grow to resent me for it,” he says. “I… removed your memories of me because the idea of you forgetting I ever existed was less painful than the thought of you despising me…” Armand trails off, his gaze wandering somewhere else, anywhere else but Daniel’s eyes. “But now… like this… the way it happened…” He heaves another one of those shuddering sighs and forces himself to look Daniel in the eye once again.

“I gave you up, Daniel. For once in my life, I tried to do the right thing. The thing that was best for someone that I…” —Armand falters, his eyes flickering away again, but only for a moment—“…someone that I loved. I tried to set you free. And now… you remember me, and you despise me as well.”

“Look, I don’t despise you, okay?”

Daniel hears himself say the words before he’s really given them time to percolate. They come so fucking naturally it hurts. And that confession. Ooh boy. Did that do something warm and sickly to his heart without his permission.

Armand goes wide-eyed, and Daniel tries to ignore how young and hopeful it makes him look. “You don’t?”

“I should,” Daniel clarifies. “I absolutely fucking should. And I’m pissed, don’t get me wrong. But… I dunno.” Now it’s Daniel’s turn to sigh. “Despise is a strong word and… there’s just… so much going on in my head right now. All this… history. And… I guess what I’m saying is… I want to remember. I want to get the whole story.”

Armand smiles, so fondly it makes Daniel’s head spin a little. “You always did.”

“But that doesn’t mean that I’m gonna become your immortal companion or whatever,” Daniel replies, his face flushing, although even as he says it, a familiar old thrill thrums through his body.

Armand’s smile dissolves. “I told you, Daniel. I will never make you like me.”

And like that, the thrill sizzles out. Replaced by a familiar, boiling frustration. A conversation they’ve had countless times. Just the latest in a long history of having the same argument. And somehow it’s like no time has passed between them. And Daniel’s mind may have forgotten, but his body doesn’t. His heart doesn’t. And it feels like it’s breaking all over again. Breaking for this monster he only half remembers, but still half… loves?

This is so fucked!

“Still holding onto that, huh?” Daniel growls. “Even knowing I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door?”

Armand looks confused. “You told Louis that you no longer wanted it.”

Daniel stammers. “W—well, yeah but—”

Armand tilts his head. “But, what, Daniel?”

Daniel shifts nervously. Why is he nervous.

“I dunno… I didn’t know then, what I know now.”

“Which is?”

That I had you? That I lost you? That I want you again? Forever?

“My resolve nearly shattered when he offered it to you,” Armand says. “For a moment I imagined you saying yes. Imagined him making you, so that I wouldn’t have to lose you, and you wouldn’t resent me for it. But the idea of you belonging to him and not to me…”

“I don’t belong to either of you,” Daniel says with a scowl, though the sentiment still thrills his inner monster-fucker. “If all you brought me here for was a farewell tour—”

Armand recoils.

“—then what was your end game with regard to the whole destroy the marriage thing? You’ve talked enough about vampire loneliness. You wanted Louis to leave. So if you didn’t want me back then what were you planning to do once he left?”

Armand drops his head again, his thumbs working over his forefingers so furiously it’s a wonder he hasn’t ignited. But then he stops. He goes deathly still. He looks up at Daniel. Sincerity etched all over his face.

“I was planning to go into the fire.”

Chapter Text

“What?” Daniel says, slack-jawed and with all the refined eloquence of a two-time Pulitzer Prize winning writer.

Talk about dropping a bomb.

Armand blinks at him, but his eyes are still the only things that move. It’s freaky.

“I was planning to go into the fire,” Armand repeats, a little slower and louder this time, like he’s taking Daniel’s geriatric ears into account.

Like Daniel’s perplexity has anything to do with his fucking hearing.

“You’re kidding?” Daniel says, which is a pretty stupid thing to say to someone who just told you they were planning on killing themselves. Although, when it comes to Daniel reacting poorly to suicidal vampires, he’s now two for two.

Armand finally moves, but only to tilt his head slightly to the side and blink again. “Why on earth would I kid about such a thing?”

Daniel’s hit with a pang of guilt. Because yeah, it does seem like a pretty fucked up thing to lie about. Although Armand has certainly lied about plenty of fucked up things before. And also, Daniel is kind of having trouble believing that this 514-year-old haunted doll of a vampire was planning to Romeo-and-Juliet himself over Daniel a 20-year-old moron turned 69-year-old asshole.

This powerful, evil, ever-enduring thing, ending it all because of him? This beautiful, tortured creature has known countless unfathomable horrors over the course of his long, long life—kidnapping, enslavement, abuse, indoctrination—and the thought that hurts him most of all is the thought of a world without Daniel Molloy?

There’s a whole plethora of fucked up emotions roiling around inside of Daniel. Guilt, sure. For reacting like that. But can you blame him? He’s also got this unnerving warm feeling bubbling away in his gut at the idea that someone like Armand could ever have loved someone like him. That he could possibly still love someone like him…

Nope, nope, nope.

It’s bullshit! It’s got to be bullshit. Another manipulation tactic. That’s all. Bartering with desire, was it? Although this doesn’t seem to be about desire as much as it seems to be about love, and Daniel thinks that’s worse. Way, way worse.

“You can close your mouth, Daniel,” Armand says with a sigh, as he finally seems to reanimate again; he saunters back behind the bar and starts busying himself with putting away the bottles of alcohol. “You’d be hard-pressed to find a vampire who hasn’t been tempted by the dark embrace of the flames at least once in their existence. It requires a great deal of stamina to survive eternity.”

Daniel picks his jaw up off the floor. He pinches the bridge of his nose; he massages the skin between his eyes. He’s getting a migraine—or at least a tension headache. The emotional roller coaster this fucker has him on is making him nauseated, and Daniel is scrambling for the chicken exit.

“No, that’s fucked up, Armand,” he says, marching back over to the bar. “You can’t just say shit like that!”

“And why not!” Armand replies, casually returning the gin and the vermouth to their rightful places. “It’s true!”

“Bullshit!” Daniel is just straight-up shouting now. “You expect me to believe that in five-hundred-and-fourteen years—with all the fucked up shit you’ve seen, and done, and been through—it was the idea of me kicking the bucket that had you wanting to take a bath with your toaster?”

Armand scowls at him and grabs onto the edge of the bar. The granite, or marble, or whatever the fuck the thing is made of, cracks under his fingers. And there’s that groan again. The building swaying? At this height? Bull-fucking-shit.

“You can be so vulgar sometimes!” Armand cries. “Why do you find it so difficult to believe? You’ve had certain memories return to you, you’ve seen what we were to one another, you know that I loved you, you know that you loved me!”

Daniel chooses to ignore that one. It’s easier to ignore it than to deny it.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t have such a rich history of talking out of your ass, I’d be more inclined to believe you!” Daniel says, smacking his hands down on his side of the bar. “The boy who cried wolf looks to you as a cautionary tale!”

Armand laughs again, but this time it isn’t so nice. It’s mirthless, it’s disbelieving, it almost seems like he’s doing it because if he doesn’t, he’ll cry.

“Because that’s all I do, isn’t it?” He says. “Everything I say must be a lie, mustn’t it? Because I’m such a master manipulator? A mustachioed villain from a silent picture, tying women to train tracks.”

Daniel almost laughs at the melodramatic imagery but decides against it. Armand’s eyes are turning an even brighter orange, and they look freakishly like they had in that apartment on Divisadero. That alone is enough to finally kick Daniel’s admittedly limited sense of self-preservation into action.

But then Armand’s expression starts melting. From barely controlled rage to something more vulnerable. Something more pained. His grip on the bar loosens and he starts rubbing his thumbs over his index fingers again.

“I suppose you think that I lied when I said I’d told Louis I’d never made a vampire?” He says. “I suppose you think that I lied in the Louvre. That I lied about my maker. About my… history. That I was lying to… manipulate Louis. Because I’m such a master manipulator, aren’t I, Daniel?”

Daniel snaps his mouth shut. He casts his mind back to that part of the story in Paris. Arun, the stolen child; the slavers; the brothel; fucking Marius. The story had made him feel sick when he heard it. He’d immediately recalled calling him the rent boy and he’d mentally kicked himself up the ass for it. He’d also remembered how Louis had offered him up to Daniel as Rashid. That revelation had made Daniel feel even sicker. What kind of fucked up, dubiously consensual, role play was that? It had also caused—for some reason he only now understands—his blood to boil with indignation on Armand’s behalf.

“No,” Daniel says, through gritted teeth, slowly climbing back onto his barstool. “Of course I don’t think you lied about that.”

Armand is looking at him and blinking way more than usual, like he’s fighting tears.

“Why not Daniel?” he replies. “I lie about everything, do I not?”

“That’s not what I said!”

“Then why is it so hard to believe that I would be incapable of conceiving of a world without you in it?” Armand’s voice is higher and more desperate than Daniel has ever heard it. “That I would rather die than see you die?”

“Because why would you?!” Daniel cries out, his voice cracking a little on the last word.

The silence that follows reverberates off the walls of this fucking mausoleum of a penthouse.

Armand is staring at him like he just spoke in a language he doesn’t understand.

“Why me?” Daniel continues, his voice shaking more than he’d like. “Some shitty little kid from Modesto? Some tired old fucker, who’s as good as dead already?”

Armand winces, recoiling like he just got slapped. “Is that truly how you see yourself?”

“Yah,” Daniel says testily, “Kinda. It’s what I am, isn’t it? Good enough to suck and to fuck, but not good enough to keep forever? You invite me here so I’ll bust up your marriage to Louis, and so you can see me one last time. But you still never had any intention of turning me.”

“I never had any intention of you even knowing who I was!” Armand counters. “Why do you think I hid in plain sight for the entire first week?”

“Uh, as a sex thing?” Daniel says, accusingly.

His dick twitches as he recalls how it felt to watch Louis drink from Armand. The bob of his throat, the possessive hand on his neck, the look of tormented ecstasy on Armand’s face, and the little moan that had melted into a laugh. His big, brown doe-eyes blissed out and gazing at Daniel from across the table. Daniel had felt this… inexplicable rage. He’d put it down to being forced to bear witness to such a truly disgustingly egregious display, but he’d later realized that somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach, he had felt envy. Like if he’d had the strength, he would have liked to have pulled him out of Louis’s arms and taken him for himself, right there on the dining table. He knew it was totally irrational—certifiable even—but something inside of him told him that he should be the one sucking on the neck of that pretty young thing, who kind of gave him vibes in a sort of mouthy, bratty way. And there he was, being so brazenly owned by someone who wasn’t Daniel. He put all of that down to being a dirty old man who’d suppressed certain desires for far too long, and now it was all coming out in the creepiest way imaginable.

That entire train of thought had pretty much hit Daniel and smeared his guts all over the tracks. And then he’d let his stupid, horny, old man brain wander to thinking about what he might taste like… and then Louis had clocked him for it. It was a wonder he hadn’t been killed right then and there.

Daniel’s back in Pompeii, enveloped in the shroud of darkness inside the Villa of the Mysteries. He’s pressed flush against Armand. Daniel’s arms are wrapped tightly around him; Armand’s hand is tangled in Daniel’s hair as he tilts his head to one side. Armand’s body is warmed with the blood of whoever he killed in order to steal that denim jacket Daniel is grasping at the back of.

Armand’s lips are on his neck, soft, tender, hot. So, Daniel literally has his throat in the maw of a monster. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Armand has literally been tracking him, hunting him down like the predator he is, for the last couple of years. But at some point, it had stopped feeling like a hunt. At some point they’d just sort of started… hanging out. Armand might be the monster from his nightmares, but recently Daniel’s found himself wanting to sleep more, just so he can see him again. And he has a feeling, based on the way Armand is kissing his neck, and stroking his hip with his free hand, that their little dance isn’t going to end right here, right now, with Daniel’s gruesome death.

Although who knows?

Daniel lets out a broken moan as Armand’s kiss grows teeth, and he feels the little pinpricks of his fangs sink into his skin.

“Are you finally gonna kill me?” Daniel asks, half-joking. “Do it… Yes.”

Armand is drinking from him, and it’s… better than sex. Daniel’s eyes roll back, and he gets a little harder in his jeans. Then he feels Armand’s tongue, laving over the broken skin, and he shudders.

Armand pulls off of him with a gasp and he pushes Daniel onto his knees.

Pushes! Ha! Daniel goes fucking willingly. He reaches for Armand’s belt, licking his lips, but Armand brushes his hands away. Armand takes his thumbnail to his wrist and pierces the skin, then he presses it to Daniel’s mouth.

When the blood hits Daniel’s tongue it’s like being electrocuted. Pleasure shoots through his entire body and he latches on, grabbing Armand’s thin wrist and clutching on for dear life.

And then he sees it. Visions. Pompeii as it was millennia ago—the crying, the wailing, the thousands of people dying together in ash and smoke.

Daniel clings to Armand, lapping feverishly at his wrist. But the wound has closed. All he’s been granted is a taste. No more.

Armand joins him on his knees in the dust. He takes Daniel’s face between his hands.

“You are mine, beautiful boy.” 

The completely unjustified, irrational feeling of possessiveness makes a whole lot more sense now. The envy emanating from wherever the love was laying stagnant, somewhere deep inside of him. The fact that they had shared the blood over, and over, and over again. There was probably this distant part of Daniel, buried somewhere in the graveyard of his shredded memory, that remembered what it was like to taste that blood. A part of him that remembered how it felt to belong to Armand and have Armand belong to him. A part that was still, subconsciously, calling out to him.

The thought alone makes his head spin.

“In part it was, as you say, a sex thing,” Armand explains, his eyes actively avoiding Daniel’s. “At least that’s how I got Louis to agree to it. It was in keeping with our particular preferred sexual proclivities.”

Another pang of jealousy reverberates through Daniel, and he hates it.

“But the truth of the matter is,” Armand continues as he looks back up to meet his eye. “I simply wanted to be around you, without you knowing who I was.”

“So, why drop the act then?” Daniel asks, exasperated. “Why not keep up the cosplay the whole time?”

“You’d already ascertained that it was me,” Armand says. “Well, not me—but you knew that I was not Rashid.”

“So why reveal that it was you. You could have been any vampire.”

“I suppose… I couldn’t help myself,” Armand says. “I had been so… quietly confident that I could pull it off. That I could be around you and not… feel anything. And yet, you were so insistent on provoking me, so… clever and brilliant in your work…”

“And you liked it,” Daniel finishes. “It reminded you of how we used to be.”

Armand doesn’t answer, and by not answering, he says everything.

“So did you want me to remember you or not?” Daniel asks.

Armand lifts one shoulder. “I don’t know.”

Daniel bursts out with a cold, humorless laugh. “Oh, isn’t that just great! You know, you’re right! You’re not a mustachioed villain, are you?! You’re not an evil mastermind at all! You’re just a fucking opportunist. And maybe half decent at improv… until you’re not.”

Daniel actually can’t believe he’s still alive. The shit he’s been slinging. The vitriol spewing from his mouth. The fact that Armand hasn’t killed him should be more than enough proof that he loved him… maybe even still does. And Daniel may be in denial, but he’s not stupid. He knows that the feelings he’s having for this guy are too big, too strong to be fueled by nothing but pure unadulterated hatred. No, this is the kind of hate that you can only feel for someone you once loved. The kind of hate that isn’t really hate at all.

“So, to summarize,” Daniel says, smacking his hands back on the bar. “You invited me here, but not to turn me. You just wanted to see me again, but you also kinda hoped that I might bust up your marriage in the meantime.”

Armand purses his lips. “Yes.”

“And then what?” Daniel asks—and yeah, he kicks himself as soon as he says it. “You start looking for the nearest incinerator after you send me back home to die?”

“Send you back home to allow you to finish living your life,” Armand corrects.

Daniel laughs out loud. “What fucking life? I was sitting around doing fucking one-thousand-piece puzzles alone and waiting to die when those tapes showed up.”

“And did that not give you a new lease on life?” Armand says, his voice urgent like he’s trying to convince him to stay. “Another story to chase even if only for a while? Something to give you a new meaning, just for a moment?”

“New meaning…” Daniel scoffs. “Yeah, well you can say that again.”

“You were being generously compensated for your trouble,” Armand points out, changing tack.

“Ooh, ten million dollars for an almost-septuagenarian with a terminal illness in the middle of a global pandemic,” Daniel says, dripping with sarcasm. “Better not spend it all at once.”

Armand recoils again. He keeps doing that. Like he’s been slapped in his pretty face. Then he’s back to doing that thing again with his hands. Where the pads of his thumbs rub anxiously against his fingers.

Now it’s Daniel’s turn to tilt his head to one side. “You don’t like it when I talk about how I’m gonna die soon, do you?”

Armand glares at him, his fingers stilling. “Of course not. Why would I like that?”

“And yet, you could do something about it, if you really wanted to,” Daniel continues.

Armand does the jaw tick thing again.

“And yeah, yeah, I know, you were never gonna turn me,” Daniel says with a wave of his hand. “But you wanted to do the next best thing, didn’t you?”

Armand’s eyes drop. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“That dream I had, the one where you first showed up,” Daniel says, leaning forward a little. “I’d been dreaming about Polynesian Mary’s ever since I got the tapes. But the dreams always cut out before Louis invited me back to the apartment. That night was the first time the dream continued, and wouldn’t you know it, there you were.”

Armand shrugs. “Perhaps you simply dreamt of me because you had seen me, been… thinking of me. That is quite a common occurrence with dreams.”

“Bullshit,” Daniel counters, oh-so-articulately. “Now I know that dream wasn’t a dream. It’s never just a dream when you show up. So why did you just happen to show up that night, huh? Couldn’t have had anything to do with me having my Levodopa infusion that day?”

Armand rolls his eyes, looking a little too put-upon as he saunters back around the bar and away from Daniel, like he’s trying to retreat, putting distance between them.

“Now why on earth would that have anything to do with—”

“You called it a Levodopa transfusion!” Daniel snaps, swiveling around on the barstool to track his movement. “Pretty important distinction.”

Oh, this is too fun. Existentially horrific. But fun.

Gotcha again, asshole!

“You showed up in my dreams again, that night!” Daniel barrels on. “That’s what used to happen, right? You’d give me the blood, and I’d have fucked up visions? I literally saw Pompeii get decimated that first time you gave me the blood.”

“Daniel—”

“Armand,” Daniel says. “Did you, or did you not, conspire with the good doctor, and micro-dose me with your blood?!”

Armand folds his arms. He presses his lips together so tightly they almost disappear. Then he looks away, somewhere to the left, into the middle distance.

“Answer the fucking question!” Daniel shouts, his right hand tremoring with it.

“I was trying to protect you, all right!” Armand snaps, his eyes back to blazing orange as he glares once again at Daniel. “All I’ve ever done, for as long as I have loved you, is try to protect you! I knew that you had grown old! I knew that you were unwell! No, I never had any intention of turning you, and I still don’t! But I thought perhaps I might be able to heal you! At least a little, at least for a while! You wouldn’t live forever but perhaps you might feel a little better!”

Armand’s eyes soften. The color of the irises warming. Daniel watches his throat bob as he swallows.

“Can you blame me?” he asks in a small voice. “For wanting to delay the inevitable? For wanting to put off my having to conceive of a world without you, just a little while longer?”

“I have a gift for you, beloved,” Armand says, reaching over the edge of the bed to collect his trousers from where they’d been tossed to the floor.

He produces a small velvet box from his trouser pocket.

“What, you asking me to marry you?” Daniel says with a tired, post-coital laugh.

Even as he says it, he feels his cheeks flush and his heartbeat flutter, like if they lived in another universe, maybe such a suggestion wouldn’t have to be a joke.

“No, Daniel,” Armand says, opening the box and pulling out the gold chain.

He holds the thing up in front of Daniel’s face like he’s trying to hypnotize him with it. A small locket swings back and forth.

Daniel sits up. “What is it?”

“It’s an amulet,” he says, like that’s a totally normal thing to say. “Look.”

Daniel holds his hand out and Armand carefully places the locket… no, amulet, in his palm. Like the chain, the amulet is gold, and it has the letter A carved in it. Red liquid fills a vial that is set inside it.

“That’s my blood,” Armand says, tapping a claw against the amulet. “If ever we are apart, as long as you wear this, you will be protected. There are other vampires out there, and they will mean to bring you harm. But if you are ever in danger by one of them, break this clasp, and they will not harm you, because they will know that you are mine.”

Daniel stares for a moment at the wild-eyed, tousled-haired creature who is currently naked in his bed.  It’s not a ring. Not anything as humanly mundane as a marriage proposal. But by vampire standards this has got to be pretty damn close.

Armand takes the amulet back and rubs it between his hands as if to warm it up. Which is so mundane, so human, and so adorable that for a second Daniel forgets that he’s like, four and a half centuries old. He then presses the amulet to his lips with a kiss before gesturing for Daniel to turn around.

Daniel does, turning his back to the apex predator, a privilege which only he has, because that apex predator loves him. Armand drapes the chain around Daniel’s neck and does up the clasp, then he presses a kiss to the nape of his neck, then the back of his shoulder. Daniel shivers.

Then he turns around and crashes their mouths together, tackling Armand back down against the pillows.

Oh, how he loves him. So deeply and unconditionally. He doesn’t even want to think about that ‘if ever we are apart’ clause. He never wants to be apart again.

Fuck, that tension headache is back. Along with the sickening feeling twisting in Daniel’s gut. The affection—the love—he now knows he once held for this guy, all blended up and boiling away with the rage that keeps bubbling inside him. Daniel folds his arms so he doesn’t accidentally reach out to either strangle Armand or embrace him… he can’t decide which. The latter might be winning, and the thought terrifies him.

“Your intentions might be pure, but your execution needs work,” he drawls.

“But you did feel better the next day, did you not?” Armand asks, eyes wide.

Daniel grinds his teeth. Yeah. Apart from the whole ‘waking up in a cold sweat after dreaming of Fake Rashid’ thing, Daniel had felt better the next day. A million times better. Better than he’d felt in years actually.

Daniel folds his arms. “So, what if I did.”

“You looked better,” Armand says, tipping his head towards him, still fixing him with those iridescent eyes.

Daniel scoffs. “Gee, thanks.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Armand says, taking a few steps towards him. “You looked well. Vibrant, brilliant, alive. You did some of your best investigative work that following day.”

“Yeah, by exposing your ass.” Daniel instinctively takes a step towards him. Fuck, he was supposed to go the other way.

“Exactly,” Armand says, a gleam in his eye and a fond smile warming his face. “You were unstoppable. Yes, you certainly threw a spanner into the inner workings of the operation, but even I had to admit it thrilled me. To see—with my own eyes once again—just how brilliant my bright young reporter had become.”

Daniel bites the inside of his cheek. His heart just fluttered at that. And his dick is also very interested.

“Not yours,” he grits out, barely even able to convince himself.

“But you were,” Armand says, his eyes wide and wet. “And nothing will ever change that. I know I have a… questionable way of showing it but… I still love you, Daniel. I never once stopped.”

A shuddering breath pushes out of Daniel’s lungs at the confession. The kind of shuddering breath that happens when you’re trying really hard not to get so totally overwhelmed with emotion that you start sobbing like an overtired toddler. His heart is pounding in his ears, which are burning. His right hand is shaking ever so slightly. He balls it into a fist.

Daniel doesn’t know what it is. Maybe it’s Armand’s sad, kicked puppy eyes as he blinks at him from under his mop of disheveled, cherubic curls. Maybe it’s Daniel’s inner dirty old man thinking, fuck it, why not make it with a hot young guy one more time before you kick the bucket. Maybe it’s because this is the sincerest Armand has sounded these entire two weeks. Or maybe it’s the fact that all the memories that keep resurfacing in the murky water of Daniel’s mind are making it really difficult to ignore the other fact that, somewhere buried deep in the recesses of Daniel’s heart, he still—against all his better judgment—loves him too.

Daniel is moving towards him before he can give it another thought. Armand is staring at him with his lips slightly parted and his entire body practically vibrating with anticipation, and Daniel closes the distance between them. He pushes his fingers into Armand’s jet-black curls, taking his perfect face between his hands, and surges in to kiss him.

Hard.

Armand emits a high-pitched little squeak of surprise and instinctively grabs onto Daniel’s shoulders, like he’s steadying himself—like this ancient, powerful being could actually be knocked off balance by a feeble old man. But then Armand is kissing him back, desperately, urgently, passionately.

And holy fuck if it isn’t everything.

Armand runs his hands down Daniel’s upper arms, and then down his sides. His long fingers grip Daniel’s waist, but he’s still carefully avoiding any injury by claws. Armand licks into Daniel’s mouth, tasting his tongue, like he’s trying to eat him alive from the inside. Daniel whines into the kiss and he’s almost embarrassed by the sound. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t made a sound that pathetic since the last time Armand kissed him. Armand grabs onto Daniel’s shirt and untucks it from his jeans, rucking the fabric up so he can slide his cool, smooth hands over Daniel’s skin underneath. He snakes his arms around Daniel’s waist and across his back. Daniel’s skin ignites under his touch, like every nerve, every cell is finally remembering—one by one—how perfect Armand’s hands felt on his body.

Armand’s touch is cold, but it’s soothing against the almost unbearable heat radiating off Daniel’s skin. Armand presses one palm between Daniel’s shoulder blades and the other on the small of his back, and he pulls him even closer, trapping him in his viselike grip; it’s like he’s trying to fuse their bodies together. Daniel’s hands are still cradling Armand’s face, his fingers still tangled in his curls, as he tilts his head so he can kiss him deeper. Daniel thinks he might die if he stops. Everything is just… sensation. The scent of whatever over-priced cologne Armand’s wearing, combined with the earthy smell of drywall dust that’s still lingering on his shirt. The feeling of Armand's soft curls between his fingers, his smooth skin pulled over sharp cheekbones under Daniel’s thumbs as he strokes back and forth. He wants to touch more of him, but Daniel is terrified that if he stops holding onto him, even if only for a second, even if only to move his hands elsewhere, Armand will run away and leave him again.

Armand trails his hands slowly down Daniel’s back, those lovely fingers dancing down his ribs like the bones are keys on a piano. Daniel shivers, moaning into the kiss, as Armand’s hands slide even lower and he grabs two handfuls of Daniel’s denim-clad ass. Daniel lets one of his hands untangle from Armand’s hair and slide down his long, graceful neck. Then he runs his palm over the tantalizing swell of his chest. He’s been traipsing around this penthouse with his tits out for two weeks and Daniel can’t believe he’s lucky enough to finally get his hands on them. He gives one a bold squeeze before rubbing his thumb over the nipple. Armand gasps into Daniel’s mouth and arches into his touch, his nipple pebbling under Daniel’s thumb, even through the fabric of his shirt. Armand lets out a moan and Daniel’s cock twitches at the sound.

Armand squeezes his ass even tighter, his claws almost-but-not-quite biting through the denim. He pulls Daniel impossibly tighter, and he rolls his hips against Daniel’s.

Daniel releases an obscene groan. He didn’t even realize he was capable of making a sound like that. Daniel may have reluctantly made peace with the fact that he’s unlikely to get fully hard himself, but Armand is already there, his erection prodding against Daniel’s dick like it’s trying to wake it up. 

“Fucking Christ,” Daniel mumbles against Armand’s lips. “So, you really are into this whole geriatric thing.”

“I’m over five hundred years old, Daniel,” Armand says, between kisses. “And the only thing I’m into is you.”

As if Daniel needs reminding. As if the reminder doesn’t turn him on even more.

Fuck.

Daniel runs his other hand down Armand’s neck and chest, his fingers lingering over his hard, pert nipples, enjoying the little sighs and gasps that his touch is wringing out of the vampire, even with fabric still separating them. Daniel feels like he’s twenty again. He slides his hands down Armand’s stomach and lets his fingers slip underneath the hem of his shirt, his thumbs rubbing circles over his hipbones, his fingers digging in as best as they can. His right hand trembles just a little as their kisses become more urgent, hungrier. Daniel’s not sure if it’s the Parkinson’s or the nerves.

God, he needs to feel more of him. He needs more skin… skin against skin… he needs… fuck, he needs his blood. But he needs more than that, doesn’t he? He needs eternity as close as Armand’s arms.

He needs…

Armand slides his hands back up over Daniel’s hips and pushes his fingers into the belt loops of his jeans. He takes a few steps forward, gently walking Daniel back over towards the bar.

Oh, this is happening.

Daniel breaks the kiss, but only long enough to say in a gravelly voice: “You know I’m still pissed at you,” even as his fingers frantically start fumbling for the buttons of his own shirt.

“As you should be,” Armand says breathlessly, before crushing their lips together again. 

His impatient hands grope at the newly exposed skin of Daniel’s chest, and he tries to push the shirt off Daniel’s shoulders before it’s even fully undone.

“And we still got a lot to talk about…” Daniel says, shrugging his shirt off and tossing it to the ground, before grabbing at the hem of Armand’s.

“Yes.” Armand gasps when Daniel’s fingers brush up his sides as he pulls his garment off of him. “So much talking."

Daniel growls. The asshole’s not even listening, is he?

Daniel surges in for another ravenous kiss, hands back tangling in Armand’s hair, and Armand wraps his arms around Daniel’s body again. He presses their bodies together, Armand’s forever youthful, deceptively sculpted one pressed tight against Daniel’s soft, aged one, and Daniel feels like he might just start crying.

Daniel Molloy doesn’t cry during sex.

Not anymore, anyway.

But even so, the way Armand’s body feels pressed against him, it’s so familiar, so right, that Daniel knows, he knows, that he’s missed this. It shouldn’t even be possible to miss something you didn’t even remember that you had, but somehow Daniel does. His life has always had this gaping, Armand-shaped hole in it. Daniel had tried to stuff it with sex, drugs, work, and his long-suffering wives. But nothing else was ever going to satisfy. He realizes that now, as he melts into Armand’s touch and feels complete, for the first time in decades. He can’t even find it in himself to feel insecure about the fact that he’s old, and wrinkled, and flabby, and gray, because judging by the way Armand is kissing him, and touching him, and prodding him in the hip with his erection, he doesn’t seem to mind one bit. Daniel’s brain may have forgotten Armand, but his body sure didn’t. His body knows that for the last 37 years, all it has craved is the touch of Armand’s skin against it. His lips all over it. His cock inside of it. Daniel groans and rocks his hips against Armand’s again. Oh, he needs… he needs…

Armand walks Daniel backwards a few more steps, his fingers still in Daniel’s belt loops. Daniel breaks the kiss when he feels the cool press of the bar against his back. He gazes up into the firelight eyes of his long-lost lover. He feels drunk but it’s not from the one-and-a-half martinis. Armand is a vision. A monster-fucker’s wet dream. His jet hair is all disheveled from where Daniel’s fingers have been tousling it—in the dark you even might think two of his unwieldy curls were devil horns. His irises are almost totally eclipsed by his huge, blown out pupils, only a ring of molten gold remains visible. His plush lips are swollen and well-kissed, and they’re slightly parted as he pants around semi-descended fangs. The cuts on his face are long healed but he’s still got some blood on him. Hot.

He lets go of the belt loops and slides his hands back around Daniel’s hips, grabbing two handfuls of Daniel’s ass again. He lifts him with preternatural ease and sits him on top of the bar.

“And just to be clear,” Daniel says, even as he spreads his legs so Armand can press in close to him, “this doesn’t mean I’m taking you back.”

“Of course not,” Armand says, grabbing Daniel’s face and surging in for another kiss.

Armand doesn’t sound like he’s buying it. And fuck, Daniel’s not sure he does either, especially when he fails to fight his instinct to wrap his legs around Armand’s waist and pull him in tighter.

Daniel’s dick is trying its absolute best, but he’s pretty sure he’s not going to be able to get all the way there… not without a little blue pill anyway. But Armand doesn’t seem to mind. Armand is hard enough for both of them. There are still several layers of fabric separating them, but anticipation is firing through Daniel and causing every single nerve in his body to light up.

It’s like Armand can’t get enough. His smooth hands trail down Daniel’s neck, his shoulders, his arms, his chest, exploring every inch of Daniel’s papery soft, aged skin. Tracing patterns with his fingers, up and down his stomach, grazing through the light dusting of white hair on his chest, skating up and down his arms, all while he kisses him like he’s forgotten that Daniel needs air to breathe. Daniel emits a little breathy whine, which must remind Armand that Daniel is in fact, a human who needs oxygen. Man cannot live on vampire kisses alone.

Armand’s lips wander along Daniel’s jaw and down his neck. His mouth suckles carefully over Daniel’s old scar. Pleasure shoots though Daniel and his eyes roll back. One of his hands flies up to tangle in Armand’s hair and hold him there. Then there’s the sensation of teeth—blunt teeth, unfortunately—grazing Daniel’s skin and he whimpers. He actually whimpers. What he wouldn’t give—who he wouldn’t kill—for the fangs. For the pinprick pleasure-pain of Armand’s sharp little fangs sinking into his flesh. For the heady swoon of Armand sipping from him like he’s a vintage Château Lafite. He rocks his hips into Armand’s again, chasing a replacement for that pleasure he knows Armand won’t grant him—given the whole wanting to delay his death as long as possible thing. Armand is licking over his scar now, his tongue dancing patterns over the uneven flesh, while his arms wrap around Daniel’s body like tentacles, holding him close.

Fuck, it feels good. So fucking good. He needs that tongue everywhere. The thought is almost enough to make him hard. But tragically, his dream of popping a boner at 69 while stuffed full of medication remains just out of reach, even as he rocks against Armand, over and over—desperate, wanton—fuck!

Fuck the ravages of age!

Armand kisses him again as he runs his hands up Daniel’s still-denim-clad thighs. Daniel needed these jeans off, like yesterday. Armand’s fingers land on the button at the top of Daniel’s jeans and his hips buck up into the touch of their own accord.

He might not be able to get it up like he wishes he could, but the devil on his shoulder reminds him…

You don’t need to be hard for me to fuck you, Daniel.

Wait… was that a shoulder devil? Or the other devil? The one he currently has between his legs.

A flash of lightning. Heavy sheets of rain. An orange car and a shitty motel. A lumpy mattress. A floral comforter. An askew lamp by the bed. A hand on his cock. Fingers inside of him. Breathless panting, both his and Armand’s. Clinging to Armand’s shoulders as he sinks down onto his length. Armand swallowing up his little cries and whimpers with kisses.

“We could have this… forever.”

“And you shall.”

“Me? I said we. Us. Forever. We could have that. You know we could.”

“What are you asking for, Daniel?”

“I think you know.”

A blinding pain hits Daniel right in his temple and he grabs onto his head like he’s trying to keep his brain from spilling out his ear.

"Jesus, fuck!” He grits out, the pain is searing and pinching like nothing he’s ever felt before.

Hands clutch at his hips as Daniel’s balance is knocked sideways and his world tips off axis.

The room is spinning and it’s not from the high of being kissed and felt up by the hottest guy in existence. This is different. This is… fuck. What is this?

Wait, someone’s talking to him.

“Daniel?”

Whoever it is sounds a mile off. Wait, no. He’s right here.

Daniel blinks at the guy in front of him. Gorgeous guy. And way too young for Daniel. Rashid, was it? No, that’s not right.

Whoa.

He’s got bright orange eyes… that’s… weird. Contacts?

He looks… kind of panicked. Really panicked. Why is he pulling that face?

Holy fucking shit is he crying blood?!

Daniel’s eyelids are heavy as hell. His body feels like lead but he’s being held up by this… guy who’s panicking, and freaking out, and grabbing at his face and his neck…

Oh, yeah, Daniel’s fading.

And the last thing he’s hearing as he goes slack in the guy’s ridiculously strong arms is a loud ringing in his ears, and the far away sound of the guy’s indiscernible accent as he cries out…

“Daniel? Daniel?! Beloved?!”

Chapter Text

For a second, Daniel isn’t sure where he is.

He’s pretty sure it isn’t hell though. If he was in hell, he probably wouldn’t have his head resting comfortably in a nest of soft fabric, and there probably wouldn’t be a cool, smooth hand soothingly stroking the side of his face.

What the fuck just happened?

Daniel’s eyelids are heavy as he blinks open his eyes, and the world starts slowly coming back into focus.

Then he squints against a bright, blinding light. Oh, shit, is that the fucking light at the end of the tunnel?

Wait, no. It’s just a regular light. A pendant lamp, hanging from the ceiling over a black, sleek bar.

God, he’s still in that fucking penthouse.

A trickle of something wet and warm runs down his forehead. Shit, is that blood? Did he crack his head open? Are there still vampires around? Are they going to stick a straw in him and make him their own human-sized Capri-sun? Hang on, he’s… not wearing a shirt?

Oh, that’s right. He wasn’t about to get eaten. Well, not in that way, anyway.

Everything is still a little fuzzy. Daniel stirs with a groan.

“Daniel!” A voice above him cries out his name.

The voice is so strangled, so pained and gut-wrenching, but there’s an underlying tone of overwhelming relief to it.

Daniel pulls his gaze away from the pendant lamp and looks directly above him.

Not an angel. A devil. But the prettiest devil he’s ever seen. Daniel’s heart does a little skip.

Oh, yeah. That’s right.

“Hey,” Daniel says, his voice croaky. God, how long has he been out?

The soft nest that Daniel’s head is currently cradled in? It’s Armand’s lap. And Daniel’s body is stretched out in front of them on the cold penthouse floor. The smooth, cool hand stroking his face is Armand’s, but Daniel is only now realizing that it’s not moving in a soothing manner at all. In fact, it’s trembling more than Daniel’s does. And the warm, wet liquid dripping on Daniel’s head? Well, there’s an explanation for that too.

Armand is sobbing.

Daniel tries to sit up, but Armand half-folds himself over the top of him, his curls curtaining both their faces, his arms doing their best to embrace him despite the awkward cuddle-sixty-nine they’re currently in.

“Oh, Daniel! Oh, Beloved! You’re alive!” Armand babbles as more tears start dripping onto Daniel’s chest. “Oh, I thought I’d lost you!”

Daniel raises a heavy hand and touches Armand’s upper arm, giving it a gentle rub of reassurance. “Kinda zoned out there.”

“Kinda zoned out there??” Armand cries like he’s outraged, as he takes Daniel’s face between his hands and blinks down at him. “You were grasping your head in pain, and you were looking at me the way you looked at me two weeks ago, like you had no idea who I was! And then you… you collapsed!”

It’s unsettling, the way Armand is looking at him upside down with his giant bug eyes brighter than the sun—the tears of blood streaking down his cheeks.

“Huh,” Daniel says, slowly pushing himself up out of Armand’s lap.

Armand won’t take his hands off Daniel as he moves to sit upright and turn around. Hands on his shoulders, arms, back—supporting him like he’s worried if he stops touching Daniel, he’ll pass out again.

So, what was that anyway? A fucking mini stroke? In any other circumstances that would be the most likely explanation. But whatever it was, it seemed to have been triggered by another fucking returning memory so… maybe it was that? Maybe the outrageously horny vision he’d had, combined with the outrageously horny activities they’d been partaking in, had triggered something worse. Maybe each returning memory is fucking up Daniel’s brain even more. Or maybe he’s just too old to be getting hoisted up onto bars by guys who are—for some certifiable reason—desperate to fuck him.

“That was… weird,” Daniel says pinching the skin between his eyes.

“Weird?!” Armand cries, his voice ratcheting up in both pitch and volume “Weird is not the word for it, Daniel!” He sniffles and brushes away some tears with the back of his hand. “You frightened me!” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Daniel says, wryly, hoping to inject some levity into the situation and get Armand to stop crying. “Next time I’m planning on having a mindfuck-induced seizure I’ll make sure to warn you first.”

Yeah, it doesn’t exactly have the desire effect.

Armand sniffs back another sob, furrows his brow, and smacks Daniel on the arm.

“Hey! Don’t hit me!” Daniel says, obnoxiously playful for someone who was passed out on the floor a minute ago. “You’re very strong, you might kill me for real!” 

Armand sniffles, still clearly unamused by Daniel’s attempt at humor. So, Daniel doesn’t like seeing Armand cry. It’s weird seeing him so vulnerable, so cut up over Daniel’s stupid ass.

So, Daniel wants to go back to the laughter. Sue him.

“I thought you were going to die, Daniel!” Armand cries.

Daniel shakes his head in mock disapproval. “Mid-hookup too. And you still didn’t turn me.”

What is wrong with him?

“I didn’t have time!” Armand wails. “It all happened so quickly! You were in pain, then you were vacant, then you were blacking out, then you were collapsing… everything was happening so fast… and then you were awake again in seconds!”

Hang on a goddamn minute. Rewind that one.

Daniel smirks. Fascinating.

“Say that first part again,” Daniel says.

Armand frowns at him, deep in thought like he too is rewinding the tape in his head. Recognition flashes in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything.

So, Daniel says it for him. “You didn’t have time.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“So, you considered it.”

“What? No! I didn’t say that!”

“I don’t know why you’re still bothering to lie to me, Armand,” Daniel says, smug as hell, and feeling like a cat who finally caught a mouse. “Admit it, you thought I was dying, and you considered—even if only for a second—turning me.”

Armand scowls but there isn’t a lot of genuine anger behind it; he looks more like a grouchy, overtired, emotionally overwhelmed toddler. He’s still sniffling and wiping his bloodied cheeks with the back of his hand.

“I don’t know how you have the energy to continue with these journalistic takedowns you seem to get off to,” Armand grumbles, “considering mere seconds ago you were lifeless in my arms.”

“And you considered it,” Daniel says, lightly shoving him in the shoulder, like someone who actually has a death wish.

Armand doesn’t say anything more. He just presses his lips together and stands to his feet, offering Daniel his hands.

“Come,” he says, helping him up. “I’m calling Doctor Bhansali right this instant.”

“Oh, you mean your accomplice?” Daniel says, his legs wobbling a little as he stands. “No fucking way.”

Armand holds him tighter to his side, stabilizing him and making sure he remains upright. “You just had a medical episode, Daniel. You need to see a doctor.”

“It wasn’t a medical episode,” Daniel insists as he leans his weight into the steady, grounding presence of Armand’s body. “It was just another memory returning. You know how they fucked with me when I was remembering San Francisco. Or when I was remembering… well not Alice, but… you know.”

“None of those episodes resulted in you blacking out and collapsing to the floor now, did they?” Armand says, leading him out of the room and up the steps into the hall.

Well, no. That’s… a good point.

“I don’t want another session with Bhansali,” Daniel pouts like a petulant child. “That guy needs his medical license revoked. I just want to get the fuck out of here and go home.”

“Fine,” Armand says, his body going rigid. “I can arrange the plane. My plane. But it hasn’t flown in a long while so it will need to be serviced and refueled. I’ll gather my things in the meantime, and then we can get you on your way to New York.”

Daniel’s heart jumps. “And uh… where are you gonna go?”

Armand takes a deep breath in… and out. “Somewhere I cannot hurt you again.”

Daniel stops mid-stride and stares at him. “Hold on, when did you hurt me?” Probably a stupid question. “I mean… like recently?”

Armand refuses to meet his eye. “I was too rough with you… I should have been more careful, but I wanted you and I was selfish and… I’m sorry… it won’t happen again…”

Daniel’s face burns, hot with the memory of what they’d been doing right before they’d gotten cock-blocked by vampiric mindfuckery. Suddenly he’s very aware that neither of them are wearing shirts.

“Hey. I’m the one who kissed you remember?”

The corner of Armand’s mouth twitches slightly, but he still looks so fucking tortured it’s unreal. “I don’t think I will ever forget.”

Daniel lets Armand usher him through the halls of the penthouse. He’s switched masks. He’s apparently in full good nurse mode now.

He leads them both into the guest room that Daniel has called home for the past two weeks and starts rooting through Daniel’s suitcase, until he pulls out a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt. Then he pulls a tissue from the tissue box on the nightstand, licks it, and uses it to clean his own blood tears that Daniel had collected on his bare chest. It’s weirdly maternal.

When he’s satisfied, he holds out the clothes to Daniel. “Here. Put these on.”

Daniel takes the garments with an amused huff. “You know, this isn’t generally what people mean by, let me slip into something more comfortable.”

Armand gives him a look. “The moment’s passed, Daniel. It ended when you almost died right in front of me.”

“I didn’t almost die,” Daniel grouses. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“You were unresponsive.”

“For like two seconds.”

“Daniel...”

“Fine!”

Armand stays exactly where he is, staring at him, until Daniel clears his throat with a theatrical “ahem”.

“Can I get a little privacy please?” he asks. “If the moment’s passed then you’re not allowed to see me naked.”

Armand rolls his eyes like it’s a personal affront and turns his back to him.

Daniel quickly changes and, yeah, he is admittedly a lot more comfortable. He moves toward the bed, but Armand takes him by the arm and pulls him back out the door. He ushers him further down the halls, detouring briefly to the kitchen to fetch two bottles of water and to reheat a plate of food from the aborted dinner they were supposed to have had. Then he leads him deeper into the bowels of the penthouse, down to what Daniel can only assume is his own bedroom.

His and Louis’ bedroom.

Daniel wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from their bedroom—it’s not like he ever expected he’d actually see it—but somehow, he is simultaneously floored and not at all surprised. For a start it’s cavernous. It’s sleek and sexy, but it’s not exactly brimming with cozy warmth. Daniel has to wonder if that’s some kind of reflection of their marriage. Then there’s the fucking prison bars and the painting of the Judas kiss… it’s a little on the nose. Daniel pretends not to notice the selection of floggers hanging on the wall.

The bed is massive and positioned right in the middle of the room in another sunken area. It’s flanked on three sides by cold concrete steps that make the whole thing look like a miniature re-creation of the fucking Colosseum.

Armand puts the food and water down on some kind of decorative sideboard, then he hooks his hand into the crook of Daniel’s elbow and leads him down the steps to the bed. Daniel almost instinctively rips his arm away—he’s not that fucking old yet—but admittedly, he does like the way Armand’s hand feels on him.

Armand extricates himself from Daniel’s side, but only so he can turn down the comforter.

Daniel takes in the contents of the two nightstands. The one closest to him: a lopsided pile of books, the one on the other side: a single iPad. Okay, so this is definitely Louis’ side of the bed. It definitely shouldn’t, but the thought of laying in Louis’ imprint in their marriage bed… it sends a sick thrill through him. Daniel’s mouth goes a little dry.

“You know, I could’ve just stayed in the guest room,” Daniel says.

Armand turns his nose up at the suggestion. “Nonsense. This bed is far more comfortable.”

Daniel hesitates.

“Get in, Daniel,” Armand insists. “We’re not leaving here until you’ve replenished your fluids, had a hot meal, and have properly rested.”

So, Daniel isn’t totally averse to getting a bit of the good nurse treatment; he’s also not totally averse to being ordered around by Armand.

“You gonna give me a sponge bath too?” He quips as he climbs into the bed, trying not to think about how long it’s been since the last time Armand and Louis fucked in it.

Armand smirks, the tension breaking for a moment. “You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you.”

Water so deliciously scalding. Smooth, cool hands running soap over his naked skin—his arms, his chest, his stomach. Then Armand pulls him under the hot stream and rinses the suds off him before traversing the same journey across his body, only this time with his lips, his tongue, the scrape of his blunt teeth. Daniel is breathless. Whining, panting, achingly hard. Steam clouds the bathroom, making Armand’s hair frizz. His eyes are warm as he takes Daniel by his hips and pushes him against the wall. The contrasting temperature of the cool tile at Daniel’s back feels so, so good. But nowhere near as good as it feels when Armand presses his body against him, slips his hand between them, and wraps his fingers around Daniel’s length. He’s burying his nose in the crook of Daniel’s neck—licking, kissing, sucking. A stream of moans and whimpers falling from Daniel’s mouth as Armand strokes him, his lips tormenting over his pulse point. And then finally, the fangs. Daniel comes all over Armand’s hand. They’re going to need to clean up again.

Daniel clears his throat like he’s trying to dislodge the memory as Armand pulls the comforter up over his lap. Probably a good thing. If he keeps remembering things like that then maybe he will manage to pop a boner. It would be a miracle, but stranger things have happened to him these last two weeks. Besides, Armand is still shirtless while looking like that. He’s also still got blood on his face, which Daniel shouldn’t find hot, but he does.

Armand retrieves the food and water from the sideboard. He places the tray with the reheated meal on Daniel’s lap.

“You’re going to eat every last bit of this,” he says, then he cracks open one of the water bottles and places it along with the unopened one on the nightstand, “and you’re going to drink every last drop of that.”

Then he just sort of stands there staring at Daniel, unblinking, with his arms crossed. It’s unsettling.

Daniel nods towards him and gestures at his own face with his fork. “Don’t you wanna…”

“Oh, yes,” Armand says, snapping out of his reverie to touch his fingers to his cheek, where the blood has long dried. “And I should probably… put some clothes on.”

“Probably,” Daniel says, trying not to sound too disappointed by the idea.

Armand glances over towards the door that Daniel assumes must lead to the bathroom, then back to Daniel, then back to the door, then back to Daniel.

“You okay?” Daniel asks. He’s very clearly not.

He grabs the water off the nightstand again and shoves it into Daniel’s hand. “Drink your water. I want to see at least one of those bottles empty by the time I return.”

Daniel chuckles. “Yes, boss.”

Armand tuts to himself, looking grim. “I should never have plied you with alcohol…”

“Okay, enough with the guilt,” Daniel says. “I think it’s safe to say I needed something a little stronger than water to deal with today’s fallout.”

Armand glances toward the bathroom door again.

“For god’s sake, go!” Daniel says. “I’ll be fine.

Armand doesn’t look convinced.

“If it helps, you can keep the door open,” Daniel says, with a smirk. “I won’t complain.”

Armand lets out a long-suffering sigh, but he fails to entirely mask his amusement.  “Oh, so I’m not allowed to see you naked, but you’re allowed to see me?”

Daniel winks. He actually winks. “Hey, give a dying man something to live for.”

The amusement drops off Armand’s face. “You’re a devil, you know that.”

“Hey, takes one to know one.” Daniel shrugs, taking a long sip of his water. “You happy?” he says, giving the bottle a shake for emphasis. “Now go wash up. I’ll try to still be alive by the time you get back.”

A storm cloud falls over Armand’s face.

Yeah, Daniel should probably stop joking about that.

Armand finally moves to his dresser. He collects some clean clothes, then he slips into the bathroom. He leaves the door ajar, just in case, as if he wouldn’t be able to sense the slightest up-tick in Daniel’s heartbeat from fifty miles away.

Daniel busies himself with his meal, so he doesn’t think too much about the fact that Armand is in there, one wall away, completely naked. Even reheated, the meal is pretty good. And only when he starts eating does he realize how hungry he actually was. By the time Armand reemerges from the bathroom, Daniel has eaten his entire meal and downed one of the bottles of water like the good boy he is.

Armand looks so different now that he’s not in his plunging-necklined, sharp-lined, haute couture—although Daniel was never going to complain about the plunging necklines. His face is washed clean of the blood, his hair is all damp and a little frizzy, and he’s wearing low-slung sweatpants and a band tee. He looks soft, relaxed (although relaxed probably isn’t the right word for it). He looks comfortable. He looks domestic. He looks… like he’s wearing a really familiar shirt.

“Is that my shirt?” Daniel asks from the bed, as Armand sashays into the room.

He’s completely drowning in the over-sized AC/DC shirt that just barely covers his ass and is really… not doing much by way of covering his dick.

Yeah. He’s not wearing anything else. At all.

“Perhaps,” Armand says, sauntering over to the bed, all swaying hips.

He puts one knee on the end of the mattress. Then two. And then his hands.

Daniel bites his lip as Armand crawls up the bed towards him, stalking him like prey.

Daniel reaches for him, arms moving on instinct, because he can’t fucking resist him. When he’s within grabbing distance, Daniel wraps his arms around his body and pulls him down on top of him. Armand dives in for a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth. Relentlessly passionate. Daniel slips his hands beneath the hem of the shirt, running his palms over the hard muscles of his back. Armand nibbles at his lower lip. Daniel cants his hips. Daniel’s erection grinds against Armand’s, and the vampire moans into his mouth.

Fuck. It’s so hot. So primal.

Daniel flips them both, because he can. He’s allowed to. He shuffles down Armand’s body and settles between his thighs. He rucks up the shirt, with one hand, sliding his palm up Armand’s body to grope at his chest, to graze his thumb over his nipple. The other hand he wraps around the base of Armand’s hard, weeping cock. Then he slides him between his lips as Armand arches against the mattress and moans, “Daniel… ah… Daniel.”

“Daniel?”

The voice snaps him back to the present. Armand is staring at him again, that look of abject terror back on his face.

“Huh? Yeah? What?” Daniel says by way of eloquent reply.

“Are you all right?”

Daniel cracks open the second bottle of water; his throat is bone dry. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Armand’s thumbs are doing that nervous rubbing thing again. “You had a strange look on your face. It was… eerily similar to…”

“Hey, no,” Daniel says, taking a sip. “Quit worrying about me. I’m fine. It’s just… is that my shirt?”

Armand takes it by the hem and stretches it out in front of him, looking down at it with a fond, wistful smile. “Yes.”

“I wondered where that went,” Daniel says. “I looked for it for years.”

Armand glances up at him. “Did you want it back?

His fingers twist in the hem as he clutches it possessively; seems like Daniel would have to physically fight him to the death if he actually wanted to get that shirt back.

“Nah,” Daniel says. “It looks better on you anyway.”

It’s also really difficult not to think about all the implications of Armand having kept that shirt for the last forty or so years. How many times had he worn it? Had he worn it in front of Louis? Had Louis wondered where he’d gotten it from? Had he worn it because it smelled like Daniel—slept in it because he could pretend he was wrapped in Daniel’s arms? And did it break his heart the day he realized it didn’t smell like him anymore?

Perhaps to a vampire it still did.

Armand takes the steps back down to the bed and collects the empty tray from Daniel’s lap, depositing it on the nightstand.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, placing his hand on Daniel’s forehead, as if Daniel having a fever is even relevant.

And as if he could even tell if Daniel had a fever, what with his hand being so inhumanly cold. Daniel thinks it might just be an excuse to touch him.

“I’m fine,” Daniel insists, although he does have a bit of a headache. The water is helping though.

Armand doesn’t look all that convinced. He’s just sort of hovering by the bed.

Well not literally, because Daniel knows he can do that too.

“Uhh, are you just gonna stand there?” Daniel asks, giving him a look.

“Well, I’m not leaving you by yourself, what if you should need something?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Daniel throws back the comforter on the other side of the bed. “Don’t be shy. Take a load off.”

Armand fiddles with his hands again, looking like he’s considering it for a minute; warring with himself about whether it’s an appropriate thing to do while he’s on good nurse duty.

“Very well,” he says, moving around to his own side of the bed.

He climbs in beside Daniel and pulls the comforter over his lap. He leaves a safe space between the two of them, like he’s afraid if he gets too close, Daniel’s going to pass out again. Which, honestly… that could be a real risk, especially if they were to start making out again… whatever… the moment’s passed.

Armand picks up his iPad from the nightstand.

“What do you even do on that thing anyway?” Daniel asks. “Trading stocks? Scouring for your next crypto-bro luncheon? Perusing the dark web to get the best price for your stolen Rembrandt?”

“Games, mostly,” Armand says, simply, one of his long fingers swiping across the screen.

Daniel leans over, glancing at the little icons. Sure, there’s emails, and contacts, and a smart-home center. But mostly, it’s all games.

“Huh,” Daniel says.

“Huh?”

“And all this time I thought you were doing serious business.”

“I don’t know why you’re surprised, Daniel,” Armand replies, eyes still fixed on the screen as he opens one of the apps and starts feeding virtual farm animals, while worrying his thumbnail between his teeth. Five-hundred-and-fourteen years old. Suddenly he doesn’t seem it. “You’re the one who introduced me to the concept. Although the machine we played on was far more cumbersome. And the graphics not nearly as complex.”

“Oh, this game is marvelous,” Armand says, his voice bright with fascination as his huge, blazing eyes stay riveted to the little 8-bit frogs hopping back and forth on 8-bit lily pads.

“You’re only saying that because you’re good at it,” Daniel grouses, but there isn’t any venom in it.

He’s twenty points down, but he doesn’t really mind getting his ass kicked at Frogs and Flies. Not when he’s outrageously in love with his opponent.

The two of them are sitting on the floor of Daniel’s living room, Daniel resting his back against the sofa, Armand sitting cross-legged between his thighs, resting his back against Daniel. Daniel’s got his chin hooked over Armand’s shoulder and his arms wrapped around his body, their hands and controllers occasionally bumping together as they play the silly little game.

“Does vampirism make you like, weirdly good at video games or something?” Daniel asks. “I would have thought I’d have an advantage, having been born in this century.”

“I just don’t think you’re paying enough attention, Daniel,” Armand says, and Daniel can hear the cheek in his tone.

He wiggles his ass back against Daniel’s crotch.

“Fuck…” Daniel groans. “That’s playing dirty.”

Daniel’s created a monster.

Daniel had saved up for months for the machine. An Atari 2600. Squirreling away every penny from the odd freelance article here and there. Sure, he could have used one of the many credit cards Armand had given him, but fuck that. He wanted to be the one to buy him something cool for a change. And what do you even buy your 450-year-old vampire boyfriend for your anniversary? Daniel was well aware of Armand’s ever-growing fascination with technology thanks to the dozen blenders, four microwaves, three Betamaxes, two VHS players, and countless other electronics lying around his house. Something he hadn’t discovered yet was video games. Not home video games anyway. Daniel had taken him to an arcade about six months earlier, and he’d been like a kid in a candy store. His eyes had lit up like twin suns, reflecting all the blinking lights, his energy buzzing along with the countless whirring, pinging, beeping sounds. He’d gotten fixated on playing Space Invaders for like three hours. Daniel figured if he was going to play video games for hours on end, he’d rather do it curled around Armand like a blanket, in the comfort of his own home, instead of half-falling asleep, hunched over a neighboring Pac-Man machine.

Aaaaand Daniel’s now thirty points behind.

Hmm. Playing dirty is a two-player game.

He turns his head and nips at Armand’s neck. Once. Twice. A little higher, just behind his ear.

“Daniel, that’s very distracting,” Armand says, but his voice is a little breathy.

“I just don’t think you’re paying enough attention, Armand,” Daniel says, lips brushing against his ear.

He can hear how his breath hitches when Daniel sucks a bruise into his neck. Well, tries to, anyway. Any bruises always fade pretty quick.

“Daniel…” Armand says, by way of warning.

Daniel bares his teeth and bites him a little. Just for fun.

“Daniel…” It doesn’t sound like a warning anymore.

Armand abandons his controller, one hand instead coming up to make a little cut in his throat so Daniel can latch on. He twists his fingers in Daniel’s hair, holding him close as Daniel drinks until the wound has closed. Even with the skin healed, Daniel keeps up his work, kissing, licking, sucking—ditching his own controller so he can slip his hand down the front of Armand’s sweatpants…

The frogs on the screen have stopped hopping.

Game Over. Armand wins.

Although as far as Daniel is concerned it’s a tie.

“Huh,” Daniel says again, trying to ignore the way the memory makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “So, it’s my fault you’re the world’s oldest iPad baby.”

“Drink the rest of your water, Daniel,” Armand says, a barely concealed smile on his face as he switches over to the Netflix app.

“Yes, boss,” Daniel replies, taking another long sip.

Armand glances up, seemingly at nothing. A quiet electronic, whirring noise fills the room and suddenly, a massive projector screen begins lowering from the ceiling.

“Holy shit,” Daniel says. “Do you have a remote, or are you doing that with your…?” Daniel taps his own temple.

Armand gives him a look that tells him all he needs to know. Daniel still finds the telekinesis way hotter than he probably should.

“I’ll be honest with you,” Daniel says. “I wasn’t expecting this… soulless sex dungeon to double as a home theater.”

“I had it installed shortly after we moved in,” Armand says. “But it rarely saw any use. Louis isn’t exactly a cinephile.” 

Daniel takes another sip of his water. “The entertainment industry really did a number on that guy.”

“Hmm.” Armand acknowledges, clearly not wanting to dwell on that too long as he taps away at the iPad.

This whole scenario is kind of bizarre.

A few hours ago, Daniel was shooting down Armand’s 77-year long lie, wrecking his shit, blowing up his marriage. And now here they are, the two of them lying in bed together. And Daniel is finding it a little hard to ignore the fact that he’s lying on Louis’s side of his and Armand’s marriage bed; he can literally still smell the guy’s cologne on the sheets. Daniel sinks down, scooting deeper under the covers until his shoulders hit the pillow, and his head propped up against the headboard. He may or may not scoot in a little closer to Armand.

And there’s nothing sexual about it. It’s just so… domestic. So normal.

It feels… right.

“So, what are we watching?” Daniel asks.

“What do you feel like watching?” Armand replies, holding the iPad between them and turning the screen toward Daniel.

Daniel reaches out and has a scroll through the listed movies until one in particular catches his eye.

“Huh, Blade Runner,” he says. “I haven’t seen that in years.”

Armand smiles. “Would you like to watch it now?”

“Yeah, sure,” Daniel says.

Armand taps at the iPad a few times, starting the movie and casting it to the screen. Then he dims the lights with a thought. Still hot.

Daniel relaxes, settling in against the pillows. The room may be a cave of nightmares, designed by two people with more money than taste, but at least the bed is comfortable. Armand doesn’t relax though. He’s still sitting upright against the headboard, only now he’s pulled his knees up and is hugging them to his chest. All folded in on himself as the movie plays.

God, it really has been years since Daniel’s seen this movie. Though he’s not sure why. He knew he liked it enough, but there was just something about it that gave him a weird feeling. Like there was some kind of nostalgia attached to it, that he wasn’t entirely aware of. Nostalgia that was more bitter than sweet. Whenever he saw the VHS on his shelf or opened a streaming service to see it was there, he’d get this strange, melancholy feeling. Like it was a bad omen or something. He just couldn’t bring himself to watch it. He had planned to watch it back in 2019 when Rutger Hauer died but… he just couldn’t do it. It made him feel old. Made him too aware of his own mortality. Then he’d started thinking about that goddamn ‘tears in rain’ monologue, and it got him good.

But for some reason, the idea of watching it now… it feels right.

Jesus, Daniel really must be losing his mind.

The silence between them as they watch the movie is a companionable one, although a small, distant part of Daniel makes him feel like they should be talking. Daniel keeps noticing Armand peek over at him every now and then, like he’s checking to see if Daniel is still alive.

Then it gets to the scene where Roy Batty kills Eldon Tyrell. An amused little huffing sound—almost like a suppressed laugh—comes from Armand’s side of the bed. Daniel glances over at him. He’s got his chin resting on his knees and he’s smiling.

“Aren’t you sick of this movie yet?” Daniel whines. “You’ve seen it like, fifty times.”

“I’ve seen it forty-eight times,” Armand corrects, his orange eyes glued to the screen like he can’t bear to miss a second.

Daniel doesn’t really mind. He’s not paying much attention to the movie anyway. He’s got way better things to focus on. Like the way he’s got Armand tucked in under his arm, his head resting on the front of Daniel’s shoulder. His fingers mindlessly twisting the fabric of Daniel’s shirt as he watches Rutger Hauer kiss and then crush the skull of his human maker for the forty-ninth time.

Armand lets out a little chuckle.

He gently pokes Daniel in the ribs, eyes still fixed on the glow of the television.

“That’s your friend, Lestat, there…” he whispers. “Lestat would have the guts to do that!”

Daniel frowns. “Baby, I’ve never met Lestat.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” Armand says wistfully as the movie keeps playing.

Daniel plants a little kiss on his head.

He’s like that sometimes. Forgetful about stuff. It always reminds Daniel of how old he actually is. How much he’s seen, and done, and been through. And yet here he is, snuggled into Daniel’s side, watching Blade Runner for the forty-ninth time.

Well, now the weird nostalgia thing makes sense. And after hearing Armand tell the story about Marius, his long-time fascination and amusement with the whole ‘crushing your maker’s skull’ thing also makes sense.

Jesus, what does it say about the fucked up state of Daniel’s brain, that this is the first time since the eighties that he’s actually felt like he could handle watching this stupid movie? And it’s all because he’s got Armand by his side.

Well, not quite by his side. The gap between them is like a fucking canyon.

Daniel swears he can feel his hands literally itching to reach out and recreate the memory. Pull Armand in under his arm, hold him close; it’s not that crazy a thought, right? They were just making out not that long ago. If Daniel hadn’t passed out, they probably would have had sex.

But now, Armand seems to be, figuratively, sitting on his hands. Like if he allows himself to touch Daniel again, all hell is going to break lose. Still, what Daniel wouldn’t give to bridge that gap.

But he doesn’t. So the movie keeps playing, and the void between them remains.

“I've seen things you people wouldn't believe,” Rutger Hauer monologues on screen. “Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion.” Daniel glances over at Armand; his eyes are still unblinking and riveted to the screen, his knees still hugged to his chest. “I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate.” Armand’s lips are moving—he’s mouthing the words along with the dying replicant. “All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain… time… to die.”

Armand closes his eyes.

Daniel doesn’t say a word; he just watches him in silence. And Armand stays like that, unmoving, eyes closed like he’s sleeping, as the final moments of the film play.

He’s still like that after the credits have rolled. It’s weird. It’s unnerving. For a second Daniel worries that maybe he’s entered some kind of vampire stasis, or maybe he’s disassociating or something.

It’s freaking Daniel out.

But then the silence is broken by the smallest, almost imperceptible, broken little sigh.

“Hey.” Daniel sits up and reaches over; he gingerly puts a hand on Armand’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Armand turns to look at him; a single blood tear rolls down his cheek.

His lower lip trembles; he pulls it in between his teeth to stop it.

He blinks, several times in rapid succession, like he’s trying to stave off more tears, as he slowly shakes his head.

“No.”

And then he shatters.

A sob rips out of his throat, and he covers his mouth with his hand, as if to catch it and stuff it back down.

And it’s a fucking instinct.

Daniel moves as fast as his body will allow him, shuffling over to bridge the gap between them, and he wraps Armand up in his arms. At first, he feels rigid, his body wound so tightly, compressed into as small a ball as a six-foot-tall, deceptively muscular vampire can possibly make.

Daniel rubs up and down his back with one hand.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he coos, the other hand stroking Armand’s upper arm as he tries to soothe him.

Eventually, Armand begins to melt into the embrace, relaxing until he’s leaning all his weight on Daniel, his head pressed against Daniel’s chest, his hand twisting in the fabric of Daniel’s shirt.

“I’m afraid, Daniel,” he murmurs against his chest.

Daniel resists his natural instinct to be a smart ass and say something like: “you’re afraid? I’m the one who’s got one foot in the grave!”

But this is absolutely not the moment for that.

This is… something else.

This is significant.

So Daniel simply holds him a little tighter and does his job. Listening.

“What am I supposed to do when you’re gone?” Armand says, his voice so small and broken. “I already let you go once, and it was the most difficult thing I ever had to do. And that was with me knowing that you were alive and well.”

Daniel ignores the voice deep inside of him that wants to say: “well, make a different choice then. Don’t let me go this time.”

“Maybe it was a mistake,” he says instead. “You bringing me here. Maybe it would have been easier if you’d had a clean break. Cut the cord thirty-seven years ago.”

Armand sits up in Daniel’s embrace and stares straight into his soul with those iridescent eyes.

“I’ll never regret these last two weeks.” He cups Daniel’s cheek in his hand. “I know they were… fraught with innumerable other complications but… if they hadn’t had happened then I wouldn’t be back in your arms right now.”

Fuck, Daniel wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so badly.

Instead, he clears his throat. He’s got another idea.

“What if you, uh… what if I…” He’s a little embarrassed to even suggest it.

Armand strokes his cheek with his thumb. “What is it?”

“Well, you already secretly micro-dosed me without my permission,” Daniel says.

Armand drops his head and tries to shrink away in shame. “I know, I shouldn’t have—”

“Hang on,” Daniel says, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “What if I… gave you permission?”

Armand looks at him again, head tilted slightly to one side.

“You were right,” Daniel says. “I did feel better the day after the… dubiously consensual blood transfusion. And it’s gonna be a long flight back to the States…”

“Well, I…” Armand trails off.

“Only if you wanted to, of course,” Daniel says. “But it might make you feel better too, at least until I can get to a doctor who isn’t… you know… ethically questionable.”

Armand blinks at him. “Are you certain?”

“Yeah,” Daniel replies. “But only if you are.”

“I am,” Armand says, a little too quickly, and it’s kind of obvious that he’s been thinking about it too.

If Daniel hadn’t been actively watching him make those martinis he may have had questions.

Armand shifts a little, scooting down the mattress so he can lay his head against the pillow. Then he carefully pulls Daniel half on top of him. Daniel settles in so easily under Armand’s arm, it’s like two puzzle pieces locking into place. It feels so perfect—their bodies pressed close, one of Daniel’s legs hooked over one of Armand’s, slotting in the gap between. Armand takes one of his fingers and makes a small cut in his throat, then he cards his fingers in Daniel’s hair and guides him into the crook of his neck.

All of Daniel’s senses are on high alert as Armand draws him in. Even just the scent of his pooling blood is nearly enough to awaken Daniel’s body like a sleeper agent.

Daniel hasn’t done this in decades, but fuck… it comes back to him so easily.

When his mouth closes over the wound it’s like the sun explodes and swallows him whole. Holy shit, the micro-dose in the Levodopa was nothing. This right here is the real fucking deal—direct from the source. He latches harder onto Armand’s throat, and the taste ignites his entire body—lighting up every cell, every neuron firing overtime. The pleasure center of his brain catches alight and sends a thrill of sensation zinging across his skin, his blood singing with it.

Fuck, how has he gone so long without this?

He fists the fabric of Armand’s shirt and clings on for dear life, his fingers feeling unusually strong as the ancient blood runs down his throat. Armand pets his curls, coaxing him to drink his fill, his other hand rubbing gentle circles on Daniel’s back as he holds him close.

Fuck, Daniel wants to devour him. His inner twenty-something pokes his head up and Daniel wants to start begging for the gift again. A taste of Armand has never been enough. It won’t ever be enough. Daniel doesn’t want just a taste; he wants this blood—Armand’s blood—sliding through his veins forever and ever and ever…

He suckles at the wound, pulling as much of the stuff as he can. Armand makes a delightful little sigh of pleasure and Daniel’s dick stirs with renewed interest—a side effect of the blood maybe? Daniel keeps lapping at the cut, relishing the flavor as it blooms on his tongue, the sensation as it runs down his throat…

The ultimate form of intimacy. Consuming each other. But he needs more. The blood, yes. But more. More and more and more…

Neither of them notices when the wound heals, because Daniel’s mouth is still pressed there. He’s breathing heavily, panting into smooth, dark skin; planting hot, open-mouthed kisses against Armand’s throat.

“Daniel,” Armand sighs, rolling his hips, grinding against Daniel’s thigh.

Daniel groans into the crook of his neck and Armand lolls his head to the side, granting him better access. Daniel nuzzles in impossibly closer. His hand wanders up to Armand’s chest, palming at his flesh and thumbing at his nipple as he kisses his throat with even more fervor, sucking bruises into his skin like he’s still trying to drink from him.

Armand rolls his hips again. This time it’s accompanied by a desperate little moan.

“Daniel…”

Daniel runs his hand down Armand’s body until it lands on the bulge in his sweatpants. He’s rock hard and soaking through the fabric.

“Ah…” Armand gasps, rutting into Daniel’s touch. “Daniel… please…”

Daniel’s cock tries with all its might to match his brain’s enthusiasm—and Daniel would kill to be able to get it up right now—but this…

Armand needs this. Needs this closeness, this tenderness… hell, Daniel needs it.

Besides, it might be the last chance they’re going to get.

A hand on his arm. “Daniel, we can’t.”

The words are dumped over Daniel’s head like a bucket of ice water.

He immediately pulls his hand away from Armand’s cock, and his mouth away from his neck, trying not to feel too disappointed. He pushes up a little onto his elbow so he can look down at him.

For a moment, it almost looks like Armand is surprised that he actually stopped when he was asked.

He probably is. Fuck.

“What’s wrong?” Daniel asks.

Armand is still rubbing circles on Daniel’s back with one hand; his other hand is cupping his face again, his thumb stroking back and forth on his cheek.

“I want to,” he says; his voice is still so tiny. “I want to, so very much… but I’m afraid.”

“What is it you’re afraid of?” Daniel asks quietly, pushing a lose curl behind his ear.

“That it will be wonderful,” Armand whispers, his voice trembling. “And that it will never happen again.”

God, Daniel’s going to fucking cry, isn’t he.

He goes to move, to haul his body back where it belongs. To Louis’ side of the bed. But Armand’s grip around his waist tightens when he does.

Daniel frowns. “You don’t want me to…” He nods towards the other side of the bed.

Armand shakes his head, his eyes red-rimmed and misty.

Okay.

He doesn’t really know what Armand wants. All he knows is, whatever it is, he’s going to give it to him.

Armand snakes his hand from where it’s cupping Daniel’s cheek, around the back of his head, his fingers threading through his curls, and he pulls him down into another kiss. So he wants some more kissing.

Daniel can do that. Fuck yeah, Daniel can do that.

Armand kisses him slowly at first. Each kiss almost chaste as he presses one to each corner of his mouth, and then another to his lower lip, gently suckling it between his own. Daniel gladly lets him take the lead. He hasn’t had his mouth this thoroughly worshiped in… well, maybe ever.

Armand alternates between bouts of kissing and long moments of silence with their foreheads pressed together. Simply existing in the same bubble, breathing in the same air. His hand stays cradling Daniel’s head, the other still gently massaging the muscles in his back. Daniel’s got his left arm going numb underneath him from where he’s lying on it, but he isn’t about to move for anything. His other hand is currently occupied, just stroking Armand’s face and neck, catching the occasional fallen blood tear on his thumb and brushing it away.

After what feels like a blissful eternity, Armand kisses him with a little more urgency, his tongue seeking entrance which Daniel easily grants. Armand’s fingers tighten just a little in Daniel’s hair as he tilts his head so he can kiss him deeper. Daniel moans into it, kissing him back, only parting to take a few ragged breaths when he requires them. It’s slow, and sensual, and so pleasantly tender that Daniel thinks they might just stay there forever, or at least until Daniel dies. And he’s actually starting to think he’d be perfectly okay with that. He hasn’t got it in him to do much more anyway. And Armand is clearly still freaked out about the earlier episode and is treating him like he’s made of glass or something. But that’s okay.

This is more than okay. It’s fucking everything.

Armand lets out a little whine and squirms slightly under Daniel.

Daniel withdraws immediately again. Well, as far as he can with Armand’s hand still in his hair. Which it turns out is really only far enough away for him to move his lips to speak.

“Do you want me to stop?” Daniel asks, their foreheads still touching.

Armand sucks his lower lip between his teeth and shakes his head.

Then Daniel realizes what the whining and squirming was all about. He’s still hard and he’s canting his hips, thrusting up into nothing because Daniel moved his leg. He’s trying and failing to get some kind of friction, some kind of relief. Daniel’s mouth goes bone dry.

“Do you want me to… make you feel good?” He asks, his face burning.

Armand nods, still worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

“You wanna…” Daniel swallows hard. “Tell me how?”

Armand takes the hand that Daniel currently has cradling the side of his face and guides it down his body.

“Just like this,” he whispers like a secret, as he pushes their joined hands beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

Daniel licks his lips and says a little prayer that he doesn’t pass out again. Then he takes Armand’s length in his hand with a ragged breath.

Armand gasps at his touch and—leaving Daniel to take the lead—wraps his arms back around Daniel’s body, holding him close as he rolls his hips, thrusting up into the tight clutch of Daniel’s hand.

Armand whimpers when Daniel runs his thumb across the tip of his cock, collecting the wetness that has pooled there. He coats him with it until it’s enough to create a smooth, delectable glide. Then Daniel is moving his hand as Armand rocks into it, setting an unhurried, leisurely pace as they return to trading languid kisses back and forth.

“Ah—Daniel,” Armand pants into his mouth, his movements becoming a little more uneven and frantic as one of his hands fumbles for the front of Daniel’s sweatpants.

“What about you?” Armand asks, breath ragged as his hips keep thrusting into Daniel’s tender touch.

“Don’t worry about me,” Daniel replies, pressing a kiss on his jaw. “This is about you, yeah? Wanna make you feel good.”

“Ah…” Armand gasps. “Oh, you do, beloved. So good.”

“Yeah?” Daniel pants, their noses bumping together.

“Yeah… ah!” Armand’s hips stutter and he comes with a cry, gripping handfuls of Daniel’s shirt, and spilling all over Daniel’s fist.

He pulls Daniel’s face back down to his, muffling his little pleasure sounds with Daniel’s mouth, as he shakes through his orgasm. Daniel kisses him slow and deep as he gently strokes him through it, until the noises he’s making start to sound a little high pitched and overwhelmed. Then Daniel lets him go, moving his hand to stroke his hip until Armand’s body has stopped trembling. Armand breaks the kiss and sucks in a deep, unnecessary breath. Daniel presses his forehead back to Armand’s. The vampire’s brow is tinged with a light sheen of pink sweat, and a couple of his curls are sticking to his forehead. Daniel can feel his own curls sticking too.

Holy shit.

Looking at Armand like this, holding him like this… it’s just so achingly tender that Daniel almost wants to cry. And he’s not even the one overwhelmed by his own pleasure. That’s not to say that Daniel didn’t take any pleasure in what they’d just done. Fuck, it might have been the hottest sex he’d had in decades—and he hadn’t even gotten off from it. That seemed neither here nor there. The fact that he could still, after all this time, make this ancient vampire turn to putty under his hands and lips. The way that they could still share these moments of unbearable vulnerability and intimacy. That Armand would allow that? That he would still desire it from Daniel? He kind of hates how cliche it sounds, and he certainly won’t be winning any Pulitzers for it, but he feels like the luckiest guy in the world.

Daniel wipes his soiled hand on the fabric of Armand’s sweatpants, which for a second, he worries might be really inconsiderate and pretty disgusting, but Armand did just come all over them, so he’s probably going to want to take them off now anyway. But Daniel just wants to hold the moment a little longer, before he has to go foraging around for wet wipes. He isn’t ready to pop this little bubble they’ve created just yet. He brings his hand back up to cup Armand’s face and strokes his cheek with his thumb.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” Armand says on a shaky breath, a warm, fond smile breaking through. “I’m wonderful.”

He slides his fingers out of Daniel’s hair, down his neck, down his chest, until his hand rests over his heart.

“Are you?” he asks.

“I’m golden, babe,” Daniel says, placing his hand over Armand’s.

Damn, that term of endearment came back so easily.

Armand licks his lips, his eyes flickering downwards. “Are you sure that I can’t…”

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” Daniel says, taking Armand’s hand and planting a kiss against his knuckles before returning it to his chest. “It’s probably not gonna happen for me tonight anyway.”

“Are you certain?”

“I’m so certain,” Daniel says. “Trust me, seeing you… like that… believe me, it’s an honor just to be taking part.”

Armand laughs at that—the full-bodied, heavenly sound Daniel loves (and he suspects he might just be a little Pavloved by). The sound ripples through Daniel’s body and floods it with just about as much pleasure as any other kind he could ask for.

Daniel wants to stay exactly where he is for the foreseeable future, but Armand is probably feeling pretty sticky in those sweatpants, and Daniel’s not a monster. They untangle briefly so Armand can shed them. Armand then retrieves some wet wipes from the nightstand drawer and cleans himself up. He takes Daniel’s hand and cleans that too, then he settles back down in the bed. He pulls Daniel into his side, drawing patterns on his back with his fingertips. Daniel rests his head against his chest with a long, cathartic sigh. He can’t remember the last time he’d felt this content. This whole. How can he possibly come back from this? How can he lose this again?

He holds Armand a little tighter, twists his fingers in the fabric of his shirt. He feels small. He feels naive. He feels young—well compared to Armand, he supposes he is. He feels like he’s 25 again, begging Armand to keep him. Part of him—the stupid part—wants to. Beg for the gift once more, for old time’s sake. But he knows all too well what that leads to every time. And this moment is so perfectly unbroken. And Armand has made it pretty clear, that even in spite of how terrified he is of losing Daniel—even if he did consider it—he still hasn’t changed his mind. Daniel tries not to let that realization sink too deep and break his heart. He knows Armand has his reasons. And far be it from Daniel to be yet another guy who forces Armand to do something he clearly doesn’t want to do.

Still, Daniel might be able to get a consolation prize. If he’s only got a short time left, then he knows where he would like to spend it.

“Don’t go,” Daniel hears himself say.

“What?”

Daniel sits up so he can look at him properly. “Don’t just… drop me off in Brooklyn and then scurry away into the night.”

Armand’s gaze flickers away. “But Daniel, I—”

“No. None of that self-flagellation shit,” Daniel says, grabbing a handful of Armand’s shirt. “Fuck running off ‘somewhere you can’t hurt me’. This late in the game, the only way you’re gonna hurt me is if you leave me again.”

Armand’s eyes return to his. He looks like he’s at war with himself. Guilt and longing battling it out behind his eyes.

Daniel flattens his hand over Armand’s chest, feeling his heart beat under his palm.

“So if worrying about hurting me is your only reason for running, then don’t,” Daniel says—he sounds embarrassingly desperate, but he is so far beyond the point of caring. “I might not be able to live forever, but whatever time I’ve got left… I want to spend it with you.”

Daniel half expects him to fly out of the bed, take the sheet with him, disappear into the night. But he doesn’t. He does move rapidly though, but only so he can sit up, throw his arms around Daniel’s neck, and kiss him again. Daniel grabs onto the dip of his waist, clinging on so he doesn’t get knocked flat on his back. Although maybe he wouldn’t mind that so much. He slides his arms around Armand’s body and holds him, allowing himself to be kissed.

“You still have that island, right?” Daniel asks when he finally resurfaces for air. “The one in Florida that’s in my name?”

Armand blinks at him. “Yes, I told you. Technically, we still own—”

“Yeah, yeah, I got a whole fucking real estate portfolio with the ex-husband I didn’t know I had,” Daniel says with a wave of his hand. “I’m just saying that it’d be remiss of me—you know, as an elderly New Yorker—to not go and retire to Florida. I mean the place is a fucking cesspit, but if we’ve got an island and a villa… wouldn’t be the first time I outed myself as a massive hypocrite.”

Armand furrows his brow, still clinging to his neck. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, how do you feel about taking me back home?”

Armand nods ecstatically, and dives back in to kiss him again.

Daniel decides it’s better if he leaves that sentence unfinished.

But three unspoken words are hanging heavily in the air.

One last time.

Chapter Text

When Daniel had imagined himself in hospice—something that he’d been doing depressingly often (although perhaps a little prematurely) before he’d hopped aboard the plane to Dubai, he hadn’t exactly pictured it like this. He’d pictured drab, soulless rooms; tasteless, pre-masticated food; and nurses who weren’t paid enough to actually give a shit. While in his current scenario he definitely still has the first part of that equation, the last part is pretty fucking different. He hadn’t pictured a nurse who would dote on his every need and refuse to leave his side, while looking like an off-duty Armani model. And he certainly hadn’t pictured a nurse who he’d ask to climb in bed with him, and then tenderly jerk off before snuggling into his side to watch another movie. And yet, that had been exactly what had happened.

What a fucking world.

Sure, at first things had been tense. There had been a lot of fighting after the initial aftermath of the interview. Daniel had just about wanted to throw up from the emotional roller coaster he’d been riding. He’d cycled through everything from fear, to anger, to regret, to sadness, to horniness, and back again. And then of course, there had been the two other feelings he’d experienced. Ones that he wasn’t a hundred percent sure he was ready to admit to himself yet, let alone admit out loud.

The first was joy.

The other starts with the letter ‘L’.

Then of course there had been the aborted make-out session that had resulted in Daniel’s little… episode. That’s what Armand was insisting on calling it anyway. Daniel would rather use the term ‘mindfuckery’ because ‘episode’ sounds a little too… medical… and he’s still convinced that the whole thing was more to do with whatever the fuck is going on with these returned memories than his physical health.

Then there was the movie, and Daniel had found himself in bed with a crying vampire. The last time he’d had to deal with a crying vampire had been during the interview when Louis had done it. That was… uncomfortable to say the least. But with Armand it was different, because when he started crying, it triggered something deep in Daniel’s psyche—deep in his heart—that had caused him to instinctively pull him into his arms and hold him until he stopped.

Then there had been the blood sharing which…wow… and then that had devolved into making out again and… wow.

So, yeah. Once they’d broken all the earlier tension with a cry, a cuddle, and an emotionally charged hand-job, they settled into a kind of pleasant domesticity, a bizarre sort of easy intimacy. Daniel suggested they watch Blade Runner 2049, and it turned out neither of them had seen it yet, so they curled up in the middle of the bed, the gap long forgotten, and snuggled right into each other’s space. Just like the old days.

Daniel doesn’t remember the last time he was this content. The bed of course, is like a cloud, but that’s barely the half of it. The solid, grounding weight of Armand’s arm around his shoulders; the cool press of Armand’s body under his cheek as Daniel rests his head upon his chest; the way Armand’s fingers which were at one point, preoccupied with rubbing against each other, all anxious and unsettled, are now mindlessly stroking Daniel’s arm like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The whole thing feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Every so often, Armand will pipe up with some random factoid about an actor or a particular film technique, and it’ll be the most interesting thing Daniel’s heard in ages. Every so often, Daniel will make some smart-ass comment, and Armand will giggle, and the sound will make Daniel want to jerk him off again. Every so often, Armand will give him a little squeeze and ask if he needs anything, and Daniel will say that he’s all good, and Armand will plant a little kiss on his head before they return to the movie.

So yeah, the good nurse treatment… ten out of ten, no notes. It’s fucking bliss.

It only gets a little gremliny when Daniel has to go piss and Armand tries to follow him to the bathroom.

“Sorry, babe,” he says, putting his hand on Armand’s chest to stop him from climbing out of the bed. “That’s just a little too nurse. You stay here and keep the bed warm for me, yeah?”

Armand grumbles but reluctantly lets him go, although when Daniel returns to the bed, the comforter is definitely arranged differently, and Armand is sitting there looking a little too innocent (honestly, he may as well be whistling and twiddling his thumbs). So, Daniel’s pretty sure he’d gotten up and waited outside the bathroom door like a cat wanting to be let in.

Armand pulls him back into his side with another signature kiss on the head, and they watch the rest of the movie in companionable silence. Daniel doesn’t sleep though, even though he’s exhausted. And even though part of the whole good nurse deal was that he was supposed to rest. But he doesn’t want to miss a second of this reclaimed coziness. Close his eyes and miss another moment of this? After all the years he’s already missed? Fuck that. Besides, they’ll have a 16-hour flight from Dubai to Miami during which he can get plenty of sleep. If Armand’s current plane is anything like the one Daniel remembered the two of them joining the mile-high club on in 1982, then it’ll probably have a real comfy bed. And maybe before he goes to sleep, they can renew their membership.

They’re almost at the end of the film when Armand’s iPad makes a sound, the screen lighting up with a notification.

“The plane is ready,” he says wistfully, without even looking at the screen.

But they stay there to watch the rest of the film.

Daniel’s dreams of renewing their mile-high club membership are shot down pretty fast. Not because there isn’t a comfortable bed on the plane, there totally is. It’s just that clearly Armand is going to treat him like he’s made of glass the entire way back to the States. The good nurse routine was cute when it involved cuddles, and kisses, and movies in bed. It’s less fun when Armand insists on holding his elbow as they walk up the stairway to the plane. And he’s clearly not just doing it because he wants to hang off his arm like a date, it definitely feels like he’s doing it because he’s worried Daniel’s going to take a tumble if he doesn’t.

Fuck, he’s going to sign him up for Life Alert when they get to the States, isn’t he? Daniel suddenly feels at least two decades older than he actually is.

Instead of a pre-flight safety video featuring a bunch of women with their ponytails pulled too tight, and men with teeth two shades brighter than what’s natural, Daniel gets a full rundown of all the risks associated with flying at his advanced age and with his poor health. Daniel literally heard all this when he’d consulted his doctor about traveling to Dubai in the first place. It had pissed him off then, and it’s only pissing him off slightly less now, when his lecturer is hot and in love with him.

He gets the whole shebang—from the increased risk of cardiac stress, to deep vein thrombosis, to dehydration, to getting sore ears during take-off. No stone left unturned with this one. And he’s back to fidgeting and playing with his fingers.

The gremlin might be popping his head out again.

The gremlin seems stressed.

When they’re finally safely in the air, the roar of the engine settling into a hum as they reach altitude, Armand seems to relax a little. Although the second he gets the opportunity, he starts plying Daniel with water.

The plane is… something else. Daniel has only been on one other private plane in his life, and it was Armand’s old plane back in the eighties. This plane seems like an almost exact copy, just updated for the 21^st century. Plush décor; upholstery, cushions, and carpet of rich, jewel tones. None of that drab gray, minimalist shit from the penthouse. The kind of plane a literal Renaissance guy would be expected to have, if that wasn’t an absolutely insane sentence to even think.

Daniel can’t stop taking in his surroundings, even as Armand hands him a bottle of water.

“You really do have fuck-you money, don’t you?” He says.

A smile creeps onto Armand’s face. “Well, I have a little less now, don’t I? Thanks to you.” Although there isn’t an ounce of malice in it.

“That’s gonna be one hell of a property settlement,” Daniel says with a low whistle.

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Armand replies, sitting across the table in the seat opposite him.

Daniel laughs. “Oh, is this how it’s gonna be, huh? Back to the arguing as foreplay?”

“Well, I’d prefer it if we returned to the more traditional style of foreplay,” Armand says with a smirk, “but you are, for all intents and purposes, on bed rest.”

“Foreplay often takes place in a bed.”

“Drink your water, Daniel,” he says, failing to disguise his continued amusement. “I don’t need to remind you that you are at an increased risk as long as we are up here.”

Daniel gives him a look. “No, you really don’t.”

“We will be taking frequent walks to keep up your circulation.”

“Yes, boss.”

“And we’ll be making sure you get some sleep,” Armand says. “As of now, you’re on Miami time. It is the most effective way to help combat excessive jetlag once we arrive.”

God, he’s meticulous. And it’s still hot.

“So, this island…” Daniel says, taking a sip of his water. “Might I ask… what the fuck?”

Armand laughs. “Another round of interview, Mister Molloy?” he says, his foot brushing against Daniel’s leg in a way that is definitely not an accident. “I have to admit, your questions have become somewhat less articulate.”

“Oh, I think we’re well beyond ‘Mister Molloy’,” Daniel says. “Sounds a little too much like Maître for my liking.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Daniel,” Armand says, still smirking.

“The island,” Daniel repeats, a little more pointedly. “I haven’t remembered anything about it yet. I only know what you’ve told me. How did you end up with an island?”

“It’s simple really,” Armand says, lifting one shoulder. “I purchased it as a gift for you.”

Armand’s fingers are laced between Daniel’s as he pulls him by his hand across the tarmac.

“Beloved, I have a gift for you!” He calls behind him, his voice sweet and melodic in the night air.

A gift at the airport? What the hell has he done now?

Armand has already given Daniel so many gifts. Clothes, electronics, tickets to countless concerts and plays, a car… there’s really only one gift he still hasn’t given him yet. The one gift Daniel wants most of all.

They stop in front of a private hangar. Inside is a plane. Not a commercial plane. A private jet. A real fancy one. Like there’s any other kind.

Daniel blinks at it. “You… bought me a plane?”

Armand laughs and squeezes Daniel’s hand. “No, this is my plane.”

Daniel shoots him a look. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. He knew Armand had money. You don’t live for nearly 500 years without accumulating a little wealth. But he didn’t know he had ‘fuck you’ money.

“You have a plane?” Daniel asks.

“Yes, yes, I have a plane,” Armand says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “That’s not important. What is important is that I have a gift for you.”

Daniel furrows his brow. “And the gift isn’t the plane?”

“Please try to keep up, Daniel,” Armand says, then he grabs Daniel by the jaw and pulls him into a kiss to shut him up. “No, the plane is going to take us to the gift.”

The plane brings them closer to the gift, but it doesn’t actually take them all the way there. The Miami docks. A ferry. Salty sea air blowing cool against Daniel’s face as they journey across the water. Armand laughs into the night as the wind whips through his hair and messes up his curls. Daniel takes his face between his hands and kisses him senseless, because Armand is just so beautiful when he laughs that it makes Daniel delirious.

A glowing beacon of light sits on the horizon, illuminating the inky black sea and the night sky.

Daniel runs to the side of the ferry, looking out, squinting into the distance. “Wait, is that where we’re going? Is my gift… on an island?”

Armand slips his arms around Daniel’s waist from behind and hooks his chin over his shoulder.

He kisses the side of his neck and then puts his lips close to his ear.

“Beloved, your gift is the island.”

Daniel purses his lips and blows out a long, sustained puff of air.

“Yeah, that sure is one hell of a gift,” he muses. “So, where did you get the money? Were you already dealing art back then?”

“Yes,” Armand replies. “Well, Louis was, mostly. I had my own ways of… accumulating wealth.”

Daniel narrows his eyes. “That sounds ominous.”

Armand laughs again. “I’m surprised you haven’t remembered yet. You used to think it was quite amusing.”

“Well, maybe you can jog my memory.”

Armand sighs and forces his face to look all put-upon. “Well, as someone who had been around as long as I had, there was a certain genre of knowledge that I had accrued—mostly with regard to where particular sea vessels had met their untimely, watery demise. I was pondering one evening, how I could accumulate some wealth in order to gain some more independence for myself—though mostly for us—so that not everything I owned was a join asset with Louis. And it struck me, given that I am not required to breathe, that I could simply… go to these wrecks and…”

Armand gives an innocent little shrug, like he’s waiting for Daniel to put the pieces together and complete the sentence.

Daniel stares blankly at him for a moment, his brain struggling to process possibly one of the most unhinged things he’s heard this entire two weeks.

Then he cracks up.

“Wait, what?” he says, laughing. “You were a fucking pirate!”

“I wasn’t a pirate, Daniel, don’t be absurd,” Armand replies, trying and failing to not laugh as well. “It’s not as though I was the one sinking the ships. It’s just that… well, I don’t need to breathe, and I’m preternaturally strong, and I happened to know where the loot was.”

“Babe, wait! Where are you going?” Daniel calls out as he laughs into the sticky night air.

His leg muscles burn as he runs down the beach after Armand, the sand swallowing his feet and making it difficult for him to keep up.

“I’m fetching you an anniversary present!” Armand calls back as he wades into the shallows.

“In the ocean?” Daniel asks, a little puffed as he finally hits the wet sand and wades in after him.

“Yes!” Armand exclaims, spinning around to look at him.

His eyes are bright orange and wild. The humidity is making his hair all frizzy and the wind is tousling it about. The swell of his broad chest is so biteable, his smooth skin so kissable. He’s so gorgeous in the moonlight it makes Daniel’s head spin.

Daniel tackles him around the middle and Armand shrieks with delight. They both crash into the water with a splash, giggles bubbling up out of both of them as they resurface and find their feet again. Armand jumps up and wraps his legs around Daniel’s waist using the buoyancy to make it easier on Daniel. Daniel nearly topples over anyway and holds Armand tighter under his thighs. Armand takes Daniel’s face between his hands and kisses him until Daniel needs to breathe again.

“So, where’s my present?” Daniel asks.

Armand grins and nods downwards. What, is he gonna blow him in the ocean? Hot.

Daniel raises an eyebrow. “Uh… is it a sex thing?”

“No, it’s not a sex thing,” Armand rolls his eyes and laughs. “There’s a shipwreck, just thirty miles off the coast. I’m going to go dive to it. See what I can pillage. I’ve read that there should be quite a fortune down there in treasure.”

Daniel laughs. “You’re crazy.”

Armand kisses him again. “Only for you, my darling.”

“So… when you get back…”—kiss— “…can we make it a sex thing?”

“Of course,” —kiss— “You take yourself back to the villa…”—kiss— “…and I promise when I get back home, I’ll make love to you just the way you like.”

“Fuck,” Daniel groans.

Jesus, it’s so hot when he says stuff like that.

“Hurry back or I’ll start without you,”—kiss.

“Not if you want to come tonight, you won’t,”—kiss.

“Okay, that might actually be the most gremlin thing I’ve heard you do so far,” Daniel says, taking another sip of his water.

Yet another memory that immediately makes him parched and horny.

“I wanted a little financial independence,” Armand says. “Can you blame me?”

“I suppose not.”

“Besides, I needed the wealth because I had every intention at the time of providing you with everything you could ever possibly need,” Armand says with a little wistful smile.

Daniel snorts. “I told you I was your sugar baby.”

Armand frowns.

“Don’t be so flippant, Daniel,” he says, sounding a little peevish now. “I cared for you. I wanted to be able to grant you anything you could ever wish for.”

Daniel bites the inside of his cheek. There was of course, that one wish he didn’t ever grant.

That he wouldn’t ever grant.

Daniel doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t need yet another reminder of how he’s going to die soon. Or another reminder that Armand could prevent it. If he really wanted to.

“And so, the villa on this island…” Daniel says, “wouldn’t have had anything to do with the Villa of the Mysteries in Pompeii, would it? Where we first shared blood? I’ve remembered that much.”

“Of course,” Armand says with another little smile, like he’s pleased that Daniel has had that particular memory restored. “I had it designed with the Villa dei Misteri in mind, our own private re-creation of it. The island had all the accoutrements anyone could ever desire—bars, concert venues, cinemas, shopping precincts—things which would generate revenue so that we could continue to enjoy the lifestyle to which we had become accustomed. But the villa, that was just for us.”

Daniel flops backwards onto the massive bed in the middle of the massive, opulently decorated bedroom, limbs akimbo, spread out like a starfish. He feels like the fucking king of his own castle. He tries not to think of all his struggling writer friends he’s left in his wake and instead, focuses on the raveningly beautiful creature who is watching him fondly from the doorway.

“Holy shit, this is crazy, even for you,” he says, craning his neck to look up at Armand.

“Do you like it?” Armand asks.

“I mean… yeah,” Daniel says, reaching his arms out towards him. “What’s not to like?”

Armand saunters over to the bed and climbs onto it, crawling over Daniel. Daniel pulls him down against his body. He threads his fingers in his hair and kisses him.

“But like… it’s a villa…”

Armand blinks down at him. “Yes?”

“Like the one in Pompeii,” Daniel says, a smile creeping onto his face. “Don’t think I didn’t see the frescoes on the wall when we came in.”

Armand grins ear to ear. “You noticed.”

“Of course I noticed,” Daniel says. “This might just be the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for another person.”

Armand makes a delighted little humming sound.

“I mean, it’s certifiably insane,” Daniel clarifies. “But it’s… beautiful. And I love it.”

Daniel pulls him down into another kiss.

Just like you, he whispers into Armand’s mind.

Armand kisses him back deeper, before letting his mouth wander along his jaw and up to his neck. Daniel sighs into it, his eyelids fluttering closed.

“I can’t believe you bought me a fucking island,” he muses.

“Anything for you, lover,” Armand purrs, his lips brushing against Daniel’s throat.

Daniel feels a knot tighten in his stomach. Because it’s not ‘anything for him’, is it?

There’s still one thing he won’t give. Daniel pushes away the thought, his eyes hazy and unfocused as he takes in the blue skies painted on the ceiling, his body relishing the sensations of Armand’s lips on his throat and his skin against Daniel’s.

Daniel groans when Armand nips at him with blunt teeth. “A place just for us…”

“Yes,” Armand breathes.

“On a fucking island…”

Armand lifts his head, looking down at Daniel. “There are also shops, clubs, hotels, bars, endless stretches of beach, a bowling alley—”

Daniel chuckles. “Armand?”

“Yes, my darling?”

“We can… uh… explore all of that tomorrow, yeah?” Daniel says, his thumbs slipping up under Armand’s shirt and rubbing circles against his hipbones. “Right now… I’d like to… explore something else.”

Armand’s eyes darken as his pupils expand.

Daniel grabs him around the waist and tumbles him over, onto the other side of the bed. Then they explore every inch of each other’s bodies. First with their hands, then with their mouths. Any thought of any other gift fades into the background as Daniel focuses on the gift he has.

The love of a monster who only has eyes for him.

Daniel grinds his teeth.

Okay, yeah. On the one hand, it’s the most extravagantly romantic thing anyone has ever done for him. On the other hand, it had clearly been all one big distraction. Daniel really doesn’t want to get mad about this again. He really doesn’t want to have this fight again.

“So have you been back there?” he asks, folding his arms. “Since the eighties?”

“I have. Rather frequently. But only to ensure its upkeep,” Armand replies; then his eyes flicker out the window into the darkness of the night sky. “I couldn’t ever stay in the villa though. Not without you.”

Daniel heaves a sigh and sinks back in his seat as he gets hit with another one of those infuriating pangs of longing.

See, this is the problem. The back and forth. The push and pull. It’s making him crazy.

One minute Armand will say something like that—something that tugs at Daniel’s heartstrings and makes him want to jump right back in wherever they left off. But then he’ll say something like ‘I wanted to be able to grant you anything you could ever wish for’ and Daniel knows that it was bullshit.

And an island? A whole fucking island?

Daniel isn’t all that up to speed with the therapy-speak of the current generation, but he’s pretty sure all of… this… is the very definition of love bombing.

“So, this island,” Daniel says, the heat of frustration licking at his cheeks. “Was the island to me what the penthouse was to Louis? The gilded cage?”

Armand cocks his head, his eyes wide. “I beg your pardon?”

“A penthouse in the middle of the desert? A villa on a private island?” Daniel laughs mirthlessly. “I’m sorry, but I’m finding it difficult to ignore the parallels.”

“What are you suggesting, Daniel?” Armand asks, clearly irritated.

“You guys literally had prison bars in your bedroom!”

“If you’re suggesting that I ensnared Louis in some kind of trap, and held him prisoner in that penthouse, then I’m afraid you are sorely mistaken,” Armand snipes. “We were both trapped in that penthouse. The two of us locked in a prison of our own making.”

“Sure,” Daniel says, bitchily.

“Surely you can understand now,” Armand says, “after everything you uncovered, that things between Louis and I were far more complicated than you ever understood them to be when you were young. I know it’s easier to believe that I had Louis trapped in some kind of heartless mausoleum of a marriage, but did you miss the part in the story where he chose to stay with me? I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but there was a time when I did love him. And he knew that it would be a fate worse than death for me to spend an eternity tied to a companion who no longer loved me back. Not to mention the added benefit of spiting Lestat.”

Daniel grinds his teeth again. At this rate they’re going to be dust by the time they land in Miami.

“What you and I had was nothing like what Louis and I had,” Armand says, his voice desperate. “I owed him, Daniel. I told him that I would spend the rest of my life trying to make up for the events of Paris, and the two of us knew that I could not. The least I could do was stay. For as long as he would have me. Be for him whatever he needed me to be.”

“The Arun to his Maître,” Daniel says. “Til death do you part. That’s pretty grim when you’re both immortal.”

“Do you not think that if I had been able to, I would have stayed with you?” Armand says, his eyes pink and wet as he leans forward, forearms resting on the table top. “Left him to his wanderings and been with you instead? The years we were together had been the first time I had felt free in… I cannot even recall how long, because it may have been the only time.”

A nightclub. The dance floor is lit up with colorful flashing lights. A British synth-pop song is pumping over the sound system. Daniel is dressed in some designer outfit Armand bought for him. He doesn’t even want to guess how much it cost. There’s an obnoxiously large Rolex around his wrist that feels too heavy for his arm. He’s moving mindlessly along with the music, his head nodding, his hips swaying. Armand is there too; his arms draped around his neck. Daniel has been drinking all night, and the edge of his vision is hazy. Armand keeps pressing his mouth to Daniel’s throat and taking little drinks, so he gets some of the buzz too as they grind together on the dance floor. When Armand’s not sucking at his neck, he’s gazing up at him through dazed, blissed out eyes, then shoving his tongue down his throat.

It’s good. It’s hot. Daniel is…

Well, happy might not be the right word for it.

Daniel loves the gifts. Obviously. He’d be crazy not to. He’s living like the king of his own castle. He’s dressed to the nines. He’s going out every night with the hottest guy on the island on his arm, and he doesn’t even have to worry about anyone looking at them funny, because he owns the island and his boyfriend will literally nuke anyone that even thinks badly of them.

But Daniel’s also not stupid. He knows what this is. All of it. It’s a distraction. Like if Armand waves enough shiny things in his face, it will take his mind off asking for the only gift he actually wants. There’s unease settling in Daniel’s gut. Daniel tries to push it away. He knew what he was getting into. This is just what it’s like being the devil’s boyfriend. He’s special, he’s loved, and the devil wants to grant him his every wish.

Well, not quite.

Daniel thinks he’s going to be sick.

He disentangles himself from Armand’s arms. “I gotta go get some air.”

The sea breeze is cool on his face when he bursts out of the club. His hair is sweat-damp and clinging to his forehead and to the back of his neck. His face is burning and he’s sure it’s bright red and blotchy. But it isn’t just from the heat of the dance floor, or the fact he’s drunk and still—against his better judgment—a little turned on. He’s bright red because he’s about to burst. One million thoughts all simmering in his head and slowly coming to a boil. Thoughts he’s been tossing around, and then promptly ignoring, ever since Armand bought him this stupid fucking island.

Because he loves Armand! He loves him, dammit!

But Armand is never going to love him the same way.

Daniel rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffling as he stomps down the path, toward the beach.

“Daniel!”

Daniel growls under his breath.

That fucking voice! Always calling him back but never giving him what he wants. What he needs.

“You son of a bitch!” Daniel cries, turning on his heel.

Armand’s eyes are even wider than usual. Confused. Hurt.

“What is it, Daniel?” He asks, rushing towards him. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

“Bullshit!” Daniel shouts, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes; he’s too drunk for this. “You tell me that you want me, and that you love me, but you’re gonna just… torment me forever, aren’t you?”

“Daniel, I—”

“Shut up, Armand!” Daniel snaps. “You’ve done this to me, you know. You’ve made me like this! You’ve made me fucking crazy!”

Daniel hasn’t touched any of his usual narcotics of choice in years. Armand is the only thing he’s addicted to these days.

“Daniel, what are you saying?” Armand says, finally bridging the gap between them and reaching for Daniel’s trembling hands. Daniel wrenches them away.

“Give me what I want,” he says, standing his ground and trying to sound far bolder than he feels.

“I’m giving you everything you could ever ask for,” Armand says.

“Yes, but not what I have asked for!” Daniel spits. “Not what I want!”

An expression of pained recognition comes over Armand. He lifts his hands, taking Daniel’s face between them.

“Be alive, Daniel,” he whispers. “Let me tell you from my heart that life is better than death.”

“I don’t want to be alive, Armand!” Daniel cries, recoiling from his touch; and now the tears are flowing for real. “I want to have all this, forever, with you! Because I love you, okay? I love you so much it makes me fucking crazy! And I wish that I didn’t! I wish that I hated you! I wish that you’d just killed me in San Francisco! That you’d drained me in some backwater motel in the middle of nowhere years ago! But you didn’t! You let me fall in love with you, knowing full well that all I was ever going to be to you was some stupid human plaything. Something fascinating to pass the time with until your real boyfriend wakes up from his coma!”

Armand tilts his head to one side. “Daniel, how can you think that? We have been companions for almost ten years.”

Daniel sniffs. “Yeah. Exactly. Which means I’m almost ten years older now than I was when this companionship started.”

“As am I.”

Daniel shoves a finger in his face. “That’s not the same and you know it!”

“Daniel, how could you possibly think that I don’t love you?” Armand replies, trying to get back into his personal space again. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

A humorless, bitter laugh rips out of Daniel’s throat.

“Bullshit!” he says. “Are you seriously telling me that if Louis woke up tomorrow you wouldn’t go running right back to him?”

Armand goes still at the mention of the name. “Well, yes. I would. I’d have to.”

Daniel is pretty sure he just felt his heart crack open.

“My point made,” he says, turning away.

Armand grabs him by his upper arm.

“But it wouldn’t need to change anything between us!” he says, his voice desperate. “Louis has his dalliances. I see no reason why I would be unable to continue to indulge…”

Daniel pulls his arm away again. “So that’s what I am? A dalliance.”

“Daniel, you are putting words in my mouth!”

“You won’t ever leave him,” Daniel says plainly, because he knows he’s right. “Not really. Not for me.”

“Daniel, I—”

“You don’t need to explain it, Armand,” Daniel says. “I get it. He’s like you. And you didn’t turn him, so you don’t ever have to worry about resenting each other or any of that bullshit.”

“If only you knew…”

“Save it,” Daniel says. “He’s gonna stay young and beautiful forever, just like you, while I get old, and frail, and gray, and die. He’s your immortal companion. I’m just a dalliance.”

“Stop it, Daniel!” Armand roars.

Armand has never used that voice with Daniel. It’s enough to make his blood run cold. The last time he heard Armand sound like that he was half-unconscious, slumped against a wall in a shitty apartment in San Francisco, accidentally overhearing the domestic dispute of the century. But what follows is worlds apart from that.

“In all my centuries, I have never known another like you,” Armand says, taking Daniel’s face between his hands; he isn’t violent, but he isn’t gentle either. “One so bright, and clever, and passionate, and ridiculous, and so incredibly infuriating!”—he kisses him like he can’t go another second without doing it— “And so beautiful. My beautiful boy.” His voice is softer now, calmer; he strokes Daniel’s cheek with his thumbs. “A dalliance… no. You, my Daniel, are my north star. And when the time comes when your light burns out, darkness will swallow my entire existence and I will be like a lost child, fumbling through my nights without you, because I have never, in all my life, loved anyone the way that I love you.”

“If any of that is true, why won’t you make me like you?” Daniel says, grabbing onto Armand’s wrists, a sob ripping from his chest. “You don’t have to let me burn out.”

“Daniel, it is because all of that is true that I won’t make you like me,” Armand says, blood welling in his eyes. “You don’t understand. Any one of us would give up our eternities for a chance at a full life.”

“I don’t want a full life! I just want you!”

“Daniel, are you all right?” Armand’s voice is desperate again. Just like it had been in that horror show of a memory.

Daniel blinks back to the present. “Huh? Yeah, I’m… I’m fine.”

Armand is no longer in his own seat. Instead, he’s kneeling beside Daniel, one hand on his arm, the other cupping his face as his eyes anxiously study him.

“You don’t seem fine,” he says. “You were very much out of it again. Vacant and distant, and for far longer this time.”

Daniel pinches the skin between his eyes. He wants to pull his arm out from under Armand’s hand, but the weight feels immeasurable.  

“No, it’s just that…” he sighs. “Most of the memories I’ve had return so far have been…”

Armand cocks his head, eyes curious.

“Well, nice ones,” Daniel says. “Some a little too nice, if you know what I mean.”

His natural instinct to be a smart-ass—despite the fact that he feels like he’s going to throw up—is still alive and well.

“And that particular one…?”

“Not so nice.”

Armand removes his hand and lowers his head. “Oh.”

“I mean, I’m not surprised,” Daniel says. “We broke up. So, I kinda figured there was going to be at least one shitty memory for every nice one but…”

Daniel feels a little dizzy. He isn’t sure if it’s motion sickness or the memory.

“I’m sorry, can you just give me… a minute?” he says, turning in his seat to stand up.

“Of course.” But Armand looks like he’s fighting the urge to follow him as he walks to the back of the cabin toward the bathroom.

Daniel shuts himself in the bathroom and, fuck, is he thankful to be alone for five minutes. This whole situation is just… well it’s a total mindfuck. He doesn’t regret his decision to get on this plane, to stick around with Armand and see if they can possibly rekindle what they once had. He still… against his better judgment… has feelings for him. It’s just that it was a lot easier when the memories involved kissing, and snuggling, and sex. The ones where it’s too real… where he remembers why things imploded in the first place… yeah, they’re not so cute.

Daniel stands in front of the sink and stares at himself in the mirror. He looks old. He feels old. The little drink he’d taken from Armand had been… something else. He’d felt alive again for a moment. But now it’s wearing off and he’s tired, and he has a headache, and he’s just feeling… old. He studies the old man looking back at him. Deep lines everywhere. Dark circles under his eyes—even more sunken than usual because of how fucking exhausted he is. His hair is almost all white these days, and it’s thinning. He was cute when he was young. He could have been that way forever if Armand had just…

There’s no point dwelling on that.

Armand says he still finds him beautiful. Daniel still struggles to believe him. Even if by some miracle Armand changes his mind and decides to give Daniel the gift, is this what he wants to be stuck with for eternity? A grouchy old asshole? Why the fuck would he want that when he’s been with guys who looked like Louis or Lestat? He didn’t want the young, hot Daniel who still had a shred of optimism left in his strong, capable body. Why the fuck would he want this?

The blue-sky ceilings. The opulent decor. Rolling around in thousand thread count, Egyptian cotton sheets, on a bed so comfortable Daniel never wants to leave it. The fabric so soft against his naked skin. Armand’s mouth on his neck as he practically folds him in half, fucking him deep, and slow, and so, so good. Daniel, as he always does, leaves his mind way too open. No doubt projecting a million thoughts to Armand about how much he wants him, needs him, wants to be like him…

But something’s off about it. It didn’t feel like it normally did when Armand had undressed him, when he’d pushed him down onto the bed. It still doesn’t feel right when he presses him under the weight of his body. Like he’s too rigid, like his touch is cold but not in the way it usually is. His kiss doesn’t feel right either. There’s a weird sort of intensity to it, but not in a fun way—in an anxious, uneasy way. That’s not to say the sex isn’t amazing, because of course, it always is. No one has ever known Daniel’s body as intimately as Armand does. Knows exactly where to touch and kiss, knows the exact angle at which to fuck him so he’ll see stars. Daniel is seeing stars right now. Making noises he barely even registers that he’s making.

Physically, the sex is good… obviously. But tonight, there’s something off about it emotionally. Like Armand is here with him, but his mind is… a million miles away.

Daniel has the revelation as he trembles through his second orgasm of the night, feeling strung out and satisfied, but… also a little hollow. Daniel might be telepathically yapping like he always does, but Armand isn’t projecting any of his thoughts. That’s what’s different. Usually, he talks to him a lot during sex. Whispering praises into his mind, telling him how good he’s being, how well he takes him. Tells him how he’s beautiful, and that he loves him. But tonight, his mind is a locked chest. Daniel is totally shut out.

He doesn’t love it. He loves it even less when Armand rolls off of him, his cock sliding out of him with a groan. He collapses beside him, breathing heavily, sweat on his brow… but not looking at Daniel. He reaches over to the nightstand and takes a cigarette out of the pack. He lights it with a thought.

They just lie there in the rapidly dimming afterglow, and Daniel is hit with a wave of foreboding. He isn’t sure whether it’s just him, or whether cracks have started to form in Armand’s shield and he’s unintentionally projecting something. But the foreboding feeling grows in the aftermath, and Daniel worries that the latter is exactly what’s happening.

Daniel’s hands shake a little. His heart is beating a little too hard, blood pumping in his ears. Mouth dry.

“Something’s wrong,” Daniel says.

Armand takes a long drag of the cigarette and blows a cloud of smoke up to the ceiling before handing it over to Daniel. He’s still not looking at him.

“Is that so?”

“Well, yeah, I can feel it,” Daniel says, taking a puff.

“No, you can’t,” Armand replies, condescendingly.

Daniel furrows his brow and passes the cigarette back. “Yeah, I can. I’ve been able to feel it all night. Your head is somewhere else, man.”

Armand takes another long drag. “Is it?”

Daniel shoots him a look. “Are you planning on offering anything more than monosyllabic replies? Or are you gonna just be a pain in the ass all night?”

“None of those replies were monosyllabic, Daniel.”

Daniel groans. “So, pain in the ass it is then.”

Armand says nothing. Just blows up another puff of smoke.

“Fuck this,” Daniel mutters, throwing off the sheet, feeling sticky and used where Armand’s come is drying between his thighs, his own on his stomach. He climbs out of the bed and grabs a bath towel off a chair to wrap around his waist.

“What’s wrong?” Armand says from the bed.

Daniel laughs. Cold, hard, without a single trace of humor. “Are you serious?”

He turns around to look at Armand. Armand’s looking at him now. Blinking at him with his huge fiery eyes, like he’s confused.

“Typical,” Daniel scoffs. “So, I’m supposed to tell you what’s wrong with me, but you get to remain a closed book. Anyway, why don’t you just take a fucking peek like you usually do?” Daniel taps his temple with his index finger.

“I’m only giving you a taste of what it would be like if I gave you that which you want,” Armand says simply.

Daniel furrows his brow. “What?”

“If I were to make you as I am, this would be our lot,” Armand says. “Our minds, closed to one another, you never knowing whether the things I tell you are true. Me, never knowing whether you mean it when you say that you love me.”

“Oh, so like, a regular couple?” Daniel says, bitchily as he grabs his jeans off the floor. “Yeah, man, that’s kinda how it works. I know you’ve probably forgotten, because you’ve been dead for nearly half a millennium, but normal people can’t read each other’s minds. They just have to trust each other when they say things like ‘I love you’.”

“Trust…” Armand mutters into the air like it’s total nonsense.

“They also have to actually speak to each other when they have things on their minds that are bothering them!” Daniel shouts.

“But isn’t it easier when you don’t?” Armand asks.

Daniel feels like the top of his head is about the blow. He’s sure his face is bright red.

“What the fuck is this, Armand?” he asks, picking up his shirt too. “What? Are you trying to pick a fight or something?”

Armand’s expression shifts ever so slightly. It’s almost imperceptible, but Daniel knows him well enough. He’s studied that face, up close and personal, for a little over a decade. And Daniel knows that he’s hit the nail on the head.

“Louis is awake.”

The confession hangs heavy in the air like a dense, black, storm cloud. Daniel’s stomach roils.

“What?”

“Louis is awake,” Armand repeats. “He awoke two nights ago. He’s healed finally.”

Daniel grits his teeth. He can feel a lump forming in his chest and pushing up his throat. He swallows it down.

“That’s… good.”

Armand fixes him with a look. “Is it?”

Oh, Daniel wants to strangle him!

“Listen, man, if you’re gonna just keep talking in riddles, then I’m gonna go sleep in the guest room.”

“I have to return to him, Daniel,” Armand says.

Daniel freezes, turning on his heel.

“What?” He sounds like a broken record.

“I have to return to him,” Armand says, his eyes all wet and pathetic. “I… I have no choice.”

“So, what is this?” Daniel asks, chewing the inside of his cheek and blinking away the tears that are threatening him. “This you… leaving me?”

“No, Daniel, of course not!” Armand leaps from the bed, pulling on his trousers. “I love you! Surely you know that!”

Daniel scoffs and shoots Armand a filthy look. “Do I?”

Then he turns and storms out of the room.

“Daniel! Daniel!”

“Daniel! Daniel, are you all right?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, now he’s pounding on the bathroom door.

Daniel throws the door open with a grunt. “What?!”

Armand is standing there on the other side, and he looks fraught. He lets go a sigh so deep that his entire body actually slumps with it.

“God, Daniel, you frightened me,” he says.

Okay, this is actually getting a bit ridiculous. Daniel is grateful for the concern, obviously. Flattered even. But come on!

“You really can’t leave me alone for five minutes, can you?” he grouses.

Then Armand goes very still. Eerily still, like he does from time to time. His eyes are bright orange and wide.

“Daniel, you were in there for half an hour,” he says, his voice low and shaky.

Another wave of nausea comes over Daniel. His heart beats a little quicker.

“Bullshit,” he says, not sure who he’s trying to convince.

“Oh, bullshit, is it?” Armand says, voice haughty as hell, the word sounding out of place in his mouth. “Would you like to check the time? The elapsed flight duration? Why on earth would I choose to lie about this?”

He’s right. Daniel knows it. But still, he pushes past him and heads back to the table.

“What happened in there, Daniel?” Armand demands, trotting behind him like a lost puppy.

“Another memory, okay?” Daniel snaps. “Another shitty one.”

It’s irrational to feel like this, Daniel realizes. He might not have all the details yet of his and Armand’s history, but he obviously knew that it had ended. He knew that Armand had gone back to Louis and eventually left him. But seeing it play out again in his memory. Hearing him say it… all it’s doing is re-opening the wound.

He’s jealous, okay? Fifty years later and he’s fucking jealous.

Armand presses his lips together. He doesn’t reach for him, he just stares. Flashes of Fake Rashid.

“I’m fetching you more water. And a snack,” he says, before heading off towards wherever the food is stashed.

Daniel wants to call out after him, tell him he doesn’t need more fucking water, and there’s little chance he’s going to be able to stomach any food.

But there’s no point. Armand is already gone.

A journalism conference in New York City. Long days spent in the hotel ballroom melt into nights at the hotel bar. It’s a real classy joint. Not like Daniel’s haunts of old. Not like Daniel. Although he doesn’t look out of place. Armand has dressed him well, like he does when he swans back into town. Back into Daniel’s life.

There’s a woman at the end of the bar. Tall, thick black hair, dark skin. She’s making eyes in their direction.

“You should go and speak to her,” Armand says, his voice low.

“What? Why?” Daniel replies, nearly spitting out his drink.

“She’s pretty, and she’s interested in you.”

“She’s not interested in me.”

“Tell me, Daniel, of the two of us, who can read her thoughts?”

Daniel gives him a look. “She’s probably interested in you.”

“She isn’t,” Armand confirms. “She thinks you have a… quality about you. Something real and… fascinating.”

Daniel pulls a face. “Cute.”

“I’m serious, Daniel,”

“So, what? You want her to be our third for the evening?” Daniel asks.

“No,” Armand says, his eyes flickering away. “I think she would be good for you.”

Daniel puts his drink down on the bar a little too hard. “Okay. What is this?”

Armand worries his lower lip with his teeth. Daniel knows he can’t read Armand’s mind but… he can sure as hell read his face.

“You’re going back to Louis again, aren’t you?”

That’s how it’s been with them since Louis woke up. Armand splitting his time between his immortal companion and his human plaything.

“Yes,” Armand says, quietly.

Daniel bites the inside of his cheek. “So, is this it? This you breaking up with me?”

“No, Daniel!” Armand says, his hand landing on Daniel’s forearm for a split second, before he remembers they’re in public and he’s trying to pick out a girl for Daniel, and he takes it away again. “It’s just… I think it might be good for you to… expand your horizons. Have… somebody else with whom to pass the time while I’m gone.”

“And how much time is that exactly?” Daniel asks, peevishly.

“I’m afraid I will be gone longer this time than I have been previously.” Armand sighs. “Louis wishes to move on from San Francisco. From the United States entirely.”

Daniel’s stomach plummets. “Where are you going?”

“He hasn’t decided,” Armand says. “Likely Europe.”

“He hasn’t decided? And do you get any say in it?”

“I must go where he goes,” Armand says plainly.

Daniel’s face is burning again. His eyes stinging with the threat of tears.

Daniel throws back the rest of his drink. “You know what? You’re right. Maybe it would be good for me.”

He slams the glass down so hard it’s a wonder it doesn’t shatter. Then he hops down from the barstool, brushing past Armand, moving towards the girl. And yeah, she is pretty.

She looks like Armand.

“Hey, what’s up, I’m Daniel.”

“Alice.”

Daniel glances back up the bar, ready to mentally shoot some smart-ass comment back at Armand. Something like, ‘you happy now, asshole?’. But there’s no point.

Armand is already gone.

The sound of the water bottle clunking down in front of him snaps Daniel back.

“There you go again, looking all…” Armand goes silent, presses his lips together again like he’s trying to hide an emotion. The way he starts blinking gives Daniel an idea as to what emotion.

“I’m fine,” Daniel says, massaging the skin between his eyes. The headache is definitely worse. Maybe he does need more water.

Armand sits down opposite him and… fuck, Daniel’s only a man. That face works every time. Those sad fucking Princess Diana eyes.

Daniel sighs. It’s scarily easy for Armand to disarm him.

“It’s just… remember you told me that there was a time when we were together, when you were with Louis and I was with Alice?” Daniel says.

“Yes,” Armand says, lowering his eyes.

“Well, I may have just remembered how that started.”

“Oh.”

“It didn’t seem like it was something I was all that thrilled about,” Daniel said.

“No,” Armand says, glancing up again. “You weren’t. But it didn’t seem to matter how many times I told you that I had no choice—that I owed him—you were far more convinced that it was because I didn’t love you. I’m sure you better understand now, why it was that I had to return to him.”

“Yeah, the whole betrayal thing,” Daniel says, waving his hand. “Also… I guess you couldn’t count on my love lasting as long, you know, seeing as how I was gonna die eventually.”

The ghost of a sad, wistful smile appears on Armand’s lips. “You know, it shouldn’t delight me when you use my words against me, but it does. It reminds me that you are still brilliant.”

“You flatter me,” Daniel says, snarkily, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t also kind of warm the cockles of his heart. “I figure I’d been begging for the gift for… quite a while by this point.”

“Yes,” Armand says. “It was our most frequent argument.”

“But I asked for it in Paris,” Daniel says. “In 1985. You turned me down. That’s what you told me.”

“Yes.”

“So what made me ask for it again?” Daniel says. “I know I was a moron, but a restaurant? A ring? In the fucking city of love? Seems like the kind of grand, romantic gesture of a guy who thought a yes was guaranteed.”

Armand sighs another one of those shaky sighs that make his entire body shudder. “My refusal to make you like me, and your insistence that I did, was not an argument that I particularly enjoyed having. I knew eventually I would relent, and I would steal from you that which I most desired you keep. But every time you asked me, my resolve would falter… so I…

Armand trails off, glancing out the window.

Daniel fixes him with a glare. “What did you do?”

“But why? Do you… do you not… want me?”

“Of course I want you, Daniel,” he says. “I want you more than anything.”

“Just not forever.” Daniel’s lower lips trembles and he sucks it between his teeth to stop it.

Armand runs his thumb across Daniel’s cheek, brushing away a stray tear that has escaped. “I want you to live.”

“Then make me like you and I will!”

“Not like that. I want you to experience everything life has to offer, to know the soaring highs and the crushing lows. I want you to live your life entire.”

“And where does that leave us?”

“I’m here, Daniel. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah? And what happens when I’m old, and wrinkled, and flabby, and grey, and can’t get it up anymore? You still gonna want me then?”

“Of course I will. Even more than I do now.”

“Bullshit. You’re still gonna be young, and strong, and beautiful, and you’re gonna leave me, and go back to Louis—”

Armand cuts him off with a kiss, then holds his face in his hands. Daniel is staring into those bright, molten amber eyes.

“I love you.”

“You love me.”

“That is why I cannot do it.”

“That is why you cannot do it.”

“I am always going to love you.”

“You are always going to love me.”

“You can rest knowing that whatever happens, no matter how long you live, or how grey you get, I will always love you.”

“Rest.”

“Yes, my love. Rest.”

“You erased it?” Daniel says.

“Yes,” Armand’s voice is tiny.

“Every time? Did you seriously erase it every time?” Daniel says.

“I thought if I did, then you might forget that you wanted it at all, and you’d stop asking.”

“But I never did.”

“No,” Armand says. “You would always, inevitably ask again.”

“I only wanted it because I wanted you,” Daniel says. “It wasn’t a matter of wanting immortality for the hell of it! Sure, I wanted immortality, but only so I could spend eternity with you. You erased the memory, but you couldn’t erase that.”

Armand doesn’t say anything. He just blinks silently, looking like a kicked puppy, or a child being reprimanded. This ancient creature whose idea of love is so fucked, his mind so warped by centuries of trauma, unable to believe that he could ever possibly be worthy.

“You were watching me fall in love with you over, and over, and over again,” Daniel says, his heart cracking, “and you still didn’t believe that I wanted it because I wanted you.”

“It should come as no surprise to you, Daniel that I have a rather… tenuous relationship with trust,” Armand says.

“But you could read my mind then,” Daniel says. “Couldn’t you see that I wanted you for you? That I wanted the gift so I could be with you?”

“It isn’t others that I have the most difficulty trusting, Daniel,” Armand says.

The thought punches Daniel square in the gut.

“Memory is a monster, beloved,” Armand says. “Often the mind is as well.”

“So, you managed to somehow gaslight yourself using my thoughts,” Daniel muses. “You really are something else.”

A long silence passes between them. It’s comfortable enough. Although Armand is clearly antsy.

Daniel fails to suppress a yawn.

“I really think you should sleep, Daniel,” Armand says. “Get some—”

“If you say ‘rest’ I’m gonna kill myself.”

It’s a joke. Of course it is. But Armand clearly doesn’t find it funny.

He claps his hand over his mouth and a sob rips through his body.

Daniel can’t sleep. He can only lay there—staring at the off-white popcorn ceiling of his shitty apartment—and cry. His bed tonight is particularly cold and empty. Sometimes he fucks Alice in this bed. Sometimes she stays over. But not tonight. They had another fight, and she went to stay at her friend’s place. The apartment is filled with nothing but the sound of the ceiling fan, the hum of traffic outside, and Daniel’s own quiet sobs. But he’s not thinking about Alice. Of course he’s not thinking about Alice. Even when he fucks Alice, he’s only ever thinking about Armand.

Armand had told him he should stay at the villa. Armand had to go back to the west coast. Louis was awake. He needed to make sure he was okay. That he’d healed properly. That he was getting back on his feet. Daniel had pressed his lips together and said that was fine. “Not a problem. It’s not like we’re married.” Armand had kissed him, and told him he loved him, and flew out the following day. But how the fuck was Daniel supposed to stay there alone? With no one for company except the figures depicted in the reproduction frescoes on the walls? The fucking wedding scene that reminded him of them. Or more accurately, what they would never be able to have. So, Daniel had flown out the day after. Commercial. Economy. Quite the step down from the private jet he’d become accustomed to. He’d arrived back in New York, and it hadn’t taken long for him to realize that this withdrawal was going to be the worst one he’d ever experienced.

Armand pops in from time to time and it only ever makes things worse; each visit a reminder of how much Daniel misses him when he’s gone. He’ll show up, bring Daniel more gifts, kiss him, fuck him, tell him he loves him. And then he’s gone again. The last time, he’d shown up at a journalism conference. The same one where Daniel had met Alice. And then he’d disappeared again.

Now he’s been gone for a month. The longest Daniel has been apart from him since they’d started up this little… companionship? Dalliance? Whatever the fuck it is. And yeah, Daniel’s been seeing Alice, and yeah, she’s pretty, and cool, and smart. But she isn’t Armand.

Daniel throws the ratty sheet off himself and climbs out of bed. He knows he’s got some stuff in a backpack somewhere. He starts rooting through his things.

A joint. Nah. Not enough.

A tiny baggie of coke. Cocaine is a fun boy’s drug. He’s not feeling very fun.

Then his hands land on it. Ah… that’s exactly what he needs.

“Armand, I need you.” If he thinks it loudly enough, maybe he’ll come back to him. “Armand, I love you.”

A needle in his arm. The substance sliding through his veins. It’s not Armand’s blood but it’s something maybe even better? Something to make him forget it all. Ah, yes, that’s it. That’s what he needs. To forget it all.

…

…

…

Someone is crying. He sounds like he’s miles away.

But no…

He’s holding him. Stroking his hair. Wrist pressed to his lips.

Daniel drinks, and drinks, and drinks…

“Daniel, my darling, whatever am I to do with you?”

“Armand?”

“I’m here.”

“Don’t leave me again, please.”

“Beloved, you hurt me so.”

“I didn’t do it to hurt you. I did it to forget. I want to forget.”

Lips on his forehead. He’s sweating. He’s sick. Everything is fuzzy around the edges.

But against all odds, he’s alive.

But what’s the point?

“Daniel, I’m scared,” Armand says, his voice trembling as he holds Daniel’s face between his hands.

Daniel’s heart cracks a little more, and he rubs his hands up and down Armand’s forearms. “Yeah. Me too.”

“You don’t… look well,” he says, blood tears welling in his eyes.

“I’m fine. I swear,” Daniel says. “It’s just a lot. And you’re right, I need to sleep.”

Armand leads him down to the rear of the cabin, through to the small bedroom. Daniel is grateful for it. His limbs feel like lead, his head is hazy, his heart is… well, it seems to break more with every fucking memory that comes back to him.

Armand turns down the bed for him. He’s back in good nurse mode, but not like how it was at the penthouse. He’s seeming a lot more fake Rashid than anything else. Clinical, perfunctory, like he doesn’t want to get too close. Like he doesn’t think he’s allowed to get too close.

Daniel climbs in the bed and gives him a look. Armand’s thumbs are working over his fingers again, and his eyes are the orange they get when he’s stressed.

“Sit down, would you?” Daniel says, nodding at the empty space beside him.

Armand does, but he doesn’t relax. He doesn’t get in the bed though. He just perches on the edge beside Daniel, like that’s all he thinks he’s permitted.

Daniel reaches out and places a hand on his knee.

“Look, none of this changes the fact that I still… I still want to… be with you,” he says, and he knows he means it; Armand looks up at him, hopeful. “I still want to make something of this… of us. Make the most of whatever time we’ve got left and try to salvage this thing.”

Armand seems to relax a little and he turns his body to face Daniel better.

“But you’ve gotta understand that this isn’t easy for me,” Daniel continues. “Like, I’m remembering all these things, and they’re coming back to me in fragments, and sometimes they’re beautiful and they make me want to say fuck it, let’s do this, I’m all in. But then other times they just remind me of all the shit that went wrong and…” Daniel trails off.

He can’t ignore all the ways in which Armand has hurt him, but on the other hand, he knows they could make it right… given enough time…

“I know,” Armand says, taking Daniel’s hand and mindlessly linking their fingers together; then he covers it with his other hand, cradling it between his palms. “Not a day has gone by in the last half a century where I haven’t wished that I’d handled things differently between us. Losing you will always remain my greatest regret. Finding you again, my greatest joy.”

Daniel’s stomach swoops.

“I get that,” Daniel says, “but hearing it doesn’t make things any easier either.”

“I’m sorry,” Armand says, letting go of his hand and placing it back on the mattress. “But I just… don’t want there to ever again be any doubt in your mind that I love you. That I still love you.”

Daniel’s heart beats a little quicker. He takes Armand’s hand back and gives it a little squeeze, hoping that it’s at least somewhat reassuring, even if his words can’t be… not yet anyway.

He fixes Armand with a look, raising an eyebrow and tipping his head towards him, just to make sure he’s really listening. “You realize I can’t say that back though, right?” he swallows hard. “Not yet anyway.”

Armand heaves a shaky sigh, the pad of his thumb rubbing metronomically against the back of Daniel’s hand. “Yes.”

“Okay,” Daniel says. “As long as we’re clear.”

Daniel settles down against the pillows with a sigh, pulling the comforter up over him. He lets his eyes finally slip closed.

Fuck, he’s exhausted.

“Daniel?”

He cracks an eye open. “Yeah?”

“You will… let me know when you… are able to say it back, won’t you?” Armand asks.

Daniel stares back at him, and he looks so fucking sad. So tortured…

Of course Daniel loves him, but it’s the principle! There’s still so much to process…

Daniel sits up again. He cups Armand’s cheek with his hand and kisses him. It’s brief, it’s chaste, just enough to allow him to hold onto hope until tomorrow.

“Yeah,” he says, “of course.”

Maybe after Daniel’s had some sleep, this whole thing won’t feel quite so fucked.

Chapter Text

“Shh, rest.”

The vampire is sitting before him—Armand, was it? —staring at him with his wild, firelight eyes. A gaze so piercing, so arresting that Daniel feels like an exposed nerve under it. And yet he cannot look away. Cannot tear his eyes off that face. That devastatingly beautiful face that has been tormenting him in this hellhole for the last four days… five days? …or is it six? Watching Armand pace, listening to Louis’ agonized screams, eating whatever stale repast Armand tosses to him like he’s a stray dog.

Now, at this table, Armand has pinned him in place with those siren-orange eyes. Terrified. Transfixed. It’s like Armand can see underneath his everything, inside his very soul. Hell, he probably can! He had no problem seeing inside Daniel’s mind; what’s stopping him from being able to see all the shit inside his soul?

If Daniel even has a soul.

Still, this is certainly better than having his body commandeered—being puppeteered around the room, bounced up and down like a yo-yo, tossed into walls, pushed to his knees. It sure beats the hell out of the sharp, hot press of the vampire forcing his way into Daniel’s brain, rooting about in there, digging around for his greatest shame and drawing it out, like pulling stitches from of a wound that hasn’t quite healed yet.

All while looking like that.

Tousled, disheveled jet-black curls, all wild around his face, a stray one occasionally falling into his eyes. Those eyes. So bright, and inhuman, and terrifying, and curious. Even in the midst of his fear, it’s impossible for Daniel to deny that Armand…

Well, he’s just so… fucking… beautiful. Like an angel or something. Face like a Renaissance painting.

Daniel had thought it the second he’d seen him in Polynesian Mary’s. His mouth dry and his palms damp as the vampire had looked him up and down, assessing him. Daniel had thought at the time that maybe there had been some kind of connection there. It had certainly felt like there had been. A curiosity, an allure. Armand was probably reading all of that in Daniel’s mind and laughing at the absurdity of it, thinking only about how in several hours, he was going to be disposing of his corpse.

Daniel is still pretty sure he’s going to die. Although, maybe at the hands of him it might not be so bad. Beats the hell out of an overdose in some drug den in the middle of nowhere. Even now, all that earlier intensity has dropped from Armand’s voice, and he’s settled into this soft, serene tone, telling Daniel to rest… to shh.

Maybe he’s taken pity on him. Maybe he’s going to make it nice for him.

Maybe he just got bored.

He’s so gently, so tenderly washing the dried blood from Daniel’s neck with a warm, damp towel. He’s got his other hand on Daniel’s forearm, and he’s sitting so close to him that their legs are slotted together. So close, so tight, Daniel can feel the brush of his knee against him.

Please, don’t dig into my brain right now.

“I’ve been calling to you for some time,” the vampire says in his soft, sweet voice, his thumb rubbing back and forth on Daniel’s arm. “From every bad fix, from the unnamed malaise you feel Sunday afternoons. And now I’m here and you can rest.”

“I don’t wanna rest,” Daniel says.

Real smart. Back talk the nightmare demon that’s been holding you hostage. Nice going, Molloy.

“I’m the quiet you’ve been longing for,” Armand says, with a little more intention, a wistful smile, leaning in a little closer, stroking Daniel’s arm a little more fervently.

His touch, his smile…

His fucking knee… fuck!

“After all the garishness of life, the jostling, the clawing—”

“I like my life.” Daniel hears himself say.

Fuck, he’s actually arguing with him.

I’m definitely getting killed, aren’t I.

The vampire keeps talking, and staring, and cradling Daniel’s face. His thumb gently caresses his cheek, rubs his earlobe, sending ill-advised shivers through Daniel’s body with his touch. But he’s saying all these awful things… rattling off a lowlight reel of Daniel’s worst moments that haven’t even happened yet.

“A woman in the mould of your mother, vacuuming on Valium. A genteel drinking problem like your father. Your wife counting down your thrusts.”

Daniel recoils, unable to keep looking him in the eye. He can’t handle it, sitting this close to this… this guy who’s beautiful and terrifying, and who’s cradling his face and pressing his knee into his crotch, reminding him of how he can’t satisfy a woman. Fuck!

But still, Armand pulls him back, forcing him to look at him.

“Until one day at a traffic light. The light turns green, horns honking. You don’t move. Horns honking. You don’t move.”

The way he says it. So sweetly, so poignantly. So… condescendingly.

No.

Despite the flood of emotions, the tears welling in his eyes, the lump forming in his throat, Daniel’s not going down without a fight. Fuck that.

“I have a thing happening in the city,” he murmurs, his voice choked and weary as he sniffles back his quiet sobs. “I’m a… bright young reporter with a point of view.”

The vampire shushes him again like he’s trying to put a baby down to sleep. Then he’s taking Daniel’s face between his hands. Telling him to rest. Telling him it’s okay.

Daniel’s losing it.

He’s succumbing.

No.

Fight it.

But Armand’s hands are so soft, and his voice is so kind, and he’s so beautiful, and he’s pulling him closer…

Yes.

“Come,” Armand says. “I’ll hold you… you rest now.”

And Daniel does.

He falls into Armand’s arms.

And Daniel… his arms are moving too.

And he holds him right back.

Then there’s the sting, the pain in his throat, two little pinpricks. But it’s not really painful. It’s not like when Louis did it—rough, angry, violent. This is different. This is…

Is it crazy if he calls it sensual?

Daniel’s breath hitches… then he relaxes into the vampire’s embrace.

And he holds him even tighter.

Daniel can feel the life being pulled from him, the heady swoon. But it’s not like being drained by Louis, it’s like being sipped from. Like he’s vampire fine wine or something.

Surely Daniel’s life should be flashing before his eyes right now. That’s what they say happens at the end, right? But instead, in his final moments, Daniel wonders what it would have been like to have met this one first. To have met under different circumstances. Perhaps Armand would have still killed him, but perhaps Daniel was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps if Armand hadn’t been so incensed about his boyfriend picking another guy up and spilling all his secrets, things would have been… different. Daniel wishes he could have known him. Interviewed him even. Daniel doesn’t know how old he is. Louis isn’t quite a hundred yet, but Armand seems… older? He speaks like he’s from a different age. His accent is indiscernible. Where is he from? How did he get here? Why is he the way that he is? And the power he wields? Louis had called him boring. How the fuck could any of that possibly be boring?!

Maybe in another universe, in another time… Armand could have been…

Fuck, this is the blood loss talking, isn’t it.

And in a flash, the pain is gone.

The vampire lifts his head with a gasp, like he’s breaking the surface of water for air. He grips Daniel by the shoulders and pulls him back, holding him at an arm’s length. He’s looking at him with his head tilted to the side. Studying him curiously like he’s a specimen.

“Hmm,” he says, contemplatively. “Perhaps that is what makes you fascinating.”

Daniel whimpers.

What is happening?

He swallows painfully and sniffs again, wiping his nose with his sleeve, and blinking up at the vampire with wet, bleary eyes.

There’s another long beat of silence and Armand remains unblinking.

He looks like a giant insect or something. A fucking devourer of a million human lives.

But God, is he pretty.

The vampire barely conceals another wistful little smile.

“I’m going to let you leave here, Daniel,” Armand finally says.

Daniel’s eyes go wide. Relief floods his body. He allows himself to breathe again.

“I want to follow you,” Armand continues. “Watch you, see where you go. As long as I find you… fascinating… I won’t kill you. And of course, I may lose interest altogether and not bother to kill you. Maybe with luck I’ll lose track of you.”

“What about Louis?” Daniel asks, his voice small, his throat all scratchy.

Armand releases a mildly amused huff. “Louis is currently… incapacitated. I imagine he will remain so for quite some time. I want to see what you can do. I want to know what you are.”

Daniel wets his lips with his tongue. He wipes his eyes with his sleeve. Is this a joke? A trap? A game? All he knows is he’s still alive and he’d love to keep it that way.

Armand leans in closer, his eyes wide and blazing, a single black curl falls across his forehead. Daniel wonders what it would be like to brush it away. To… kiss him or something.

Jeez that’s… not a normal thought to have.

Armand grins with his teeth like he just heard it, and fuck, he probably did.

“Go now!”  He says. “Start running, Daniel!”

And Daniel runs.

And that was how it had begun, their dance. Daniel running from city, to city, to city, all across the United States. Never sure exactly when Armand was going to show up. But show up he always did. Daniel would get in a cab; Armand would climb in the other side. Daniel would board a train; Armand would already be on it. His face—that terrifyingly beautiful face—popping up over, and over, and over again.

The first few months of this little game of cat and mouse had been a nightmare. Daniel hadn’t slept much, and when he did, he kept the light on—just waiting for the inevitable end, Armand growing bored and ending their dance. How the fuck was a dumb mortal kid supposed to keep a centuries-old vampire entertained? Although clearly Armand was entertained, because Daniel continued to live. At first Armand had kept his distance mostly, not really engaged him in any real conversation. Just watched him. Studied him. Slipped him a few hundred dollars so he could buy a train ticket, pay his bus fare, get a motel—whatever, as long as he kept running.

Eventually Armand started sticking around a little longer. Every so often, Daniel would hit a dive bar, hoping to drink to forget that he was a monster’s human plaything, only for Armand to slide up beside him and buy him his next round. Then he’d start chatting about history, or art, or philosophy. And the conversations were… well, pleasant actually. Armand was really smart. Well, of course he was, he was almost 500 years old. You don’t live that long without accruing some knowledge—or at least, you shouldn’t.

And he was interesting—again, as was to be expected—far more fascinating than Daniel could ever hope to be. And—perhaps more surprising—he was funny. Sometimes unintentionally, other times on purpose, always dry and sharp. And yeah, it was pretty unsettling, the way that Armand would break into his motel rooms, his hostels, wherever he was staying, and wake him up in the middle of the night to have these conversations. But Daniel had to admit, he’d started enjoying them. Started looking forward to the next little interruption to his life. Daniel hadn’t had a friend in a long time… and the company was… well it was nice. Until he’d realized that he’d been thinking of Armand as his friend and decided he needed to get his head read.

But by the time Armand finally caught up with him in Boston—and instead of making Daniel his dinner he made him his dinner date—Daniel realized that maybe Armand wasn’t planning to kill him after all.

The Copley Hotel. Armand had bought Daniel everything on the menu and laughed when Daniel ate it. And that fucking laugh had done things to Daniel. Lit up his nervous system. Ignited his blood. Made his skin tingle. Made his trousers tighter. Then Armand gave him ten grand in cash and told him to buy a plane ticket, anywhere in the world. The game had gotten too easy. Too boring. Yet Armand still hadn’t killed him.

So, Daniel got on a plane. London, Prague, Paris, Barcelona, Stockholm. Round, and around, and around. And Armand would catch him more frequently. But it was never to harm him. It was always to spend time with him, have more of these conversations, share a laugh even, and then top up his stipend and send him on his way.

And then Armand had shown up in Pompeii, the Villa of the Mysteries. It was there in the quiet dark of the ancient ruin where he’d kissed Daniel and told him that he loved him. And Daniel had realized that somehow… against all his better judgment… the feeling was mutual. Armand had drunk from his throat again, and yes… it was sensual. And then he’d fed Daniel his own ancient blood and that… that…

Well, that was life-altering.

And from that night, they were no longer playing cat and mouse. They were lovers. And in a shitty, musty motel room one stormy summer night, on some lonely forgotten highway, somewhere in the Midwest, they had consummated it. Daniel, who had been long in denial about his wants and needs, had finally surrendered to his desires and Armand had made love to him. Slow, and deep, and tender, and then hard, and rough, and animalistic.

And such became their entire love affair. The push and pull, walking the tightrope between love and fear, the domesticity and all the soaring highs and crushing lows that came with it.

The two of them. Secret lovers.

Until that fateful night in Paris. In 1985.

Rue Servandoni. They’re bumbling down the narrow, cobblestone street, hand in hand. It’s quiet, it’s not a particularly busy area, not mobbed by tourists like some other streets. It had been far too long since they’d last seen one another, that night when Armand revived him on the floor of his shitty apartment. He’d nursed him back to health and taken him to Paris. And they’ve been there for two months. Daniel, supposedly working on his latest manuscript, and Armand finding himself with some spare time, thanks to Louis’ latest fuck off and find me (Armand didn’t complain about those anymore).

And the last two months have been perfect. It was like being back on the island, before Louis woke up, before Armand had started leaving. Just the two of them together. The way they should be. And Daniel has never been happier. He’s got a little velvet box burning a hole in his pocket and a spring in his step as he and Armand walk together. It’s as though Armand’s fingers were created nearly half a millennium ago with the sole purpose of slotting into the gaps between Daniel’s.

Daniel pulls Armand into a sheltered alcove and presses him against a stone wall. There’s no one to see, no one to fear. Armand looks so beautiful in the lamplight. His eyes their warm honey shade, lined with kohl which looks so incredibly sexy on him. His hair is free of product, falling in loose curls across his forehead. Daniel brushes one out of his eyes, his other hand on Armand’s hip, fingers creeping under the soft purple fabric of his shirt and brushing over his smooth skin beneath.

Armand blinks at him, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Kiss me, Daniel, please, Armand whispers into his mind.

Daniel doesn’t need to be told a second time. He leans in and presses his mouth to Armand’s, his lips moving slowly as he tastes him. Daniel thinks he might have been put on this earth just to spend his life kissing Armand. How he’d love to spend an eternity doing it. Maybe… if he’s lucky…

Daniel’s tongue brushes against the seam of Armand’s lips and the vampire parts them, allowing Daniel to kiss him deeper, consume him, explore him, drink him in. Daniel feels his cock twitch, but he’s not about to just… frot filthily against a stone wall in a quiet, cobbled street, and have them both come in their trousers and then have to go home.

No, tonight is special. Romantic. And Armand deserves someone who will make love to him, which is exactly what Daniel plans to do after.

Daniel reluctantly pulls his lips off Armand’s, still so close that their noses brush together.

“Come on,” Daniel says. “Our reservation is at nine.”

He takes Armand’s hand again and pulls him back into the street, only for Armand to make a huffy little sound of disgust.

“What is it?” Daniel asks, stopping and turning to him.

Armand pulls a face. “I believe I’ve stepped in gum.”

“Here, I’ll get it,” Daniel says, pulling his wallet out of his pocket, careful not to pull the box out with it. He whips out his library card and gets down on one knee.

Huh… this feels right somehow.

Armand rests his hand on Daniel’s head for balance and lifts his foot. Daniel carefully scrapes the shoe clean and tosses the card to the side so that Armand can ignite it, the thing burning until it’s a small pile of soot on the cobbles.

“You’re so pretty when you’re on your knees for me,” Armand says, a devilish smirk on his face, then his expression softens, and he cards his fingers through Daniel’s hair. “My beautiful boy. Still as beautiful as the night we met. Perhaps even more.”

Daniel looks up at him, blinking through a haze of desire. God, he loves him. He could ask him right now. He’s already in the right position for it. But, no, he’s got a plan.

He stands to his feet, pretending to nuzzle at Armand’s crotch on his way up, and Armand chuckles.

“Later,” Daniel whispers with a cheeky little eyebrow pump.

He leans in for another quick kiss before taking Armand’s hand again and leading him further down the street.

Despite European sensibilities, they let go of each other’s hands when they enter the restaurant. Well, Daniel lets go. He isn’t ashamed of Armand. Of course he isn’t. But he is… even though he doesn’t want to admit it… still ashamed of what he is. And all the sensibilities in all of Europe can’t change the fact that there’s a pandemic out there, and it seems to be disproportionately affecting guys just like him. And while Daniel knows that he can’t contract it from his undead lover, the world doesn’t know that. The world will still look at him differently. Which is why he’d specifically asked for the table in the corner. Far away from any prying eyes.

They order food, although Armand won’t eat it, and Daniel isn’t sure he will be able to, at least not until after he’s done what he needs to do. He has a glass of wine though, hoping it will settle the nerves, but all it does is make his face hot and no doubt blotchy.

“I don’t…” Daniel clears his throat. “I’m not exactly sure how to do this. Because like… it’s gonna look like I’m asking one thing… which I guess I kinda am… but not exactly… and like… ugh, this is stupid…” He mutters that last part under his breath.

Daniel’s hands are sweating like crazy. He pushes one into his coat pocket and feels for the velvet box. It’s still there.

Fuck. The weight of it. What is he doing?

Armand looks at him with a furrowed brow, like he’s trying to read him. But Daniel’s mind is such a mess right now, he figures his thoughts are probably incoherent, even to an ancient vampire.

“Daniel, what is it?” Armand asks, concerned.

Daniel glances around the restaurant, checking to make sure that no one is looking at them.

Of course, no one is.

“I know you’ve got Louis,” Daniel says, keeping his voice low. “And I know… technically, I’ve got Alice but… these last two months, everything has been so… amazing. It’s felt like how it was before, just you and me. And I know it’s asking a lot but like…” Daniel’s heart is pounding. “What if we… what if I… what if you…”

Armand’s eyes go wide.

Daniel pulls out the ring box.

Armand’s eyes go even wider.

“Now, I only got the ring because I know you love rings… it’s not like I’m asking you to… marry me or anything,” Daniel laughs nervously, like the concept is ridiculous, like he hasn’t wished for it every night for the last decade... “But—”

“Daniel—"

“I want to be with you,” Daniel says, reaching across the table and grabbing Armand’s arm, keeping his voice quiet. “I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone, and I want to be with you, forever.”

Armand’s jaw is twitching, and his eyes have turned orange, and his fingers are rubbing nervously against each other.

Still, Daniel barrels on.

“Forget Louis,” Daniel says, his voice accidentally rising a little. “Please. I know you said you owe him but fuck that. He keeps fucking off on you anyway. I would never do that.”

“What about Alice?” Armand asks.

Daniel bites the inside of his cheek. “She’d be better off without me.”

Daniel holds Armand’s arm tighter.

He’s begging now. He should be embarrassed, but he isn’t. He doesn’t care. There’s only one thing in the world that he wants and it’s an eternity of loving this creature who’s sitting opposite him.

“Please, Armand,” Daniel says, dropping his voice back down again, fingers clutching at Armand’s arm. “Make me like you, so we can be together forever. I don’t want to keep doing this. Meeting back up, remembering how much I need you, and then losing you again. I can’t keep losing you!”

Armand easily extricates his arm from Daniel’s grip.

He bites his lip; he blinks a few times.

“Daniel, I can’t.”

Daniel’s heart shatters in his chest.

And he remembers.

This isn’t the first time he’s asked this question. It isn’t the first time he’s been denied. Every memory of every rejection flashes in his mind like a highlight reel. Was it the drugs that had made him forget? He’d hit them pretty hard again the last time Armand had left. Had he really fucked up his own head that badly? Or had it been Armand? Fucking with him like he’d done all that time ago in that apartment on Divisadero?

“You’re never gonna say yes, are you?” Daniel says, the air deflating out of him like a broken balloon.

His shoulders sag, and he pulls his hands back in, folding his arms on the tabletop and hiding the ring box in his clenched fist.

God, he’s so stupid!

“Daniel,” Armand reaches across the table and places his hands on Daniel’s folded arms. His voice is so kind and soft it makes Daniel want to cry. “I’ve told you, time after time, that I won’t. That I can’t.”

“But I thought…” Daniel stops himself, glances around the restaurant, and lowers his voice further. “I thought you loved me.”

Armand smiles the saddest fucking smile Daniel has ever seen. “I do love you, Daniel.”

Daniel stares into those eyes. Those bright fucking eyes that have done nothing but torment him for twelve fucking years. And he sees nothing but red.

“Bullshit,” Daniel says, blinking back the tears that are threatening him. “You’re a fucking liar.”

Armand looks hurt, like Daniel just slapped him across the face. His brow furrowing, the skin between them pinched.

“I’m not,” Armand says, rubbing his thumb against the soft fabric of Daniel’s shirt. “Not about that.”

“All right, so you do love me,” Daniel says, with a shrug. “Just not enough to actually commit.”

Armand’s expression shifts. He takes his hands off Daniel’s arm and scoffs.

“What did you suppose, Daniel? That we marry?” He gestures at the hidden ring box. “In what country do you suggest?” Armand says, a little too loudly for Daniel’s liking.

“Would you keep your voice down?” Daniel whisper-growls as he leans across the table.

“Do you know of any priests who might conduct a marriage between two men,” Armand says haughtily. “One of whom is the devil?”

“Shut up, Armand!” Daniel hisses. “People can hear you!”

Armand raises an eyebrow. “What? Would you prefer we have this conversation in private? So much for commitment, Daniel.”

With that, Armand raises his hand with a flourish and the entire restaurant freezes. Every server, every diner, frozen. Except them.

Daniel can’t ignore the thrill that still zips through him when he gets to witness Armand’s power. It’s exhilarating. It’s hot. It’s…

Fuck, Daniel loves him so much it’s going to kill him.

He can’t keep doing this.

“So that’s it? You’re never gonna change your mind?” Daniel asks simply, like he’s waiting for confirmation and not begging for his life.

He thinks he might be done with begging.

“No,” Armand says quietly.

Daniel grinds his teeth. “So, you’re happy to just let me die.”

Armand reaches for his arms again. “Of course not, Daniel. I’d rather die than see you die.”

“Then do it!”

“I’d rather die than do that too!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Daniel huffs.

He pulls his arm away, pushes his chair backwards and stands up. He shoves the ring box in his pocket.

“I’m out of here,” he says, tossing his napkin on the still-full plate in front of him, and trying not to cry before he gets outside.

“Daniel!”

“Fuck you, Armand!” Daniel throws over his shoulder as he storms toward the door. When he gets to it, he turns on his heel, hot rage licking at his cheeks as he glares daggers at his lover. Former lover?

One more bomb? What the hell?

“Oh, and by the way, Alice is pregnant.”

Daniel pushes through the door and into the cold night air. He’s all of ten feet down the cobblestone street when he breaks. He collapses hard against a wall—not unlike the one he’s kissed Armand against a mere hour ago—and lets rip a pained, heart-wrenching sob.

He’s so stupid! So fucking stupid! What did he think was going to happen? Did he really think Armand—a beautiful, dangerous, powerful, 450-year-old vampire was actually going to want to say yes to him? That he would actually want Daniel forever? Daniel has been fucking delusional for twelve fucking years! Blinded by love… lust? … fucking whatever!

Louis might have been in and out of Armand’s life, but he was still a more stable choice for a vampire than Daniel. Pathetic, weak, mortal Daniel. How could he have ever let himself believe that he was anything more than a sidepiece? A bit of entertainment to an ancient vampire who was bored because his actual boyfriend was convalescing. Louis was young, and hot, and wasn’t ever going to die. And Daniel... He was already twelve years older than he was when they’d started their dance. He’d found a gray hair two weeks ago and he’d wanted to be sick. Sometimes in bed, Armand would touch the skin at the corner of his eyes and Daniel knew he was looking at the fine lines that had started to form there. Meanwhile Armand was still as young, and beautiful, and perfect as he’d ever been.

“Daniel!”

That fucking voice. Creeping up behind him on the dark street. Always following him. Always tormenting him.

Daniel rubs at his eyes with his sleeve, not particularly wanting Armand to see him this wrecked. Though it seems he has no choice.

“What do you want, Armand?” He wails as he turns around. “Can’t you ever just leave me the fuck alone?!”

Don’t. Please don’t leave me. I need you. I love you.

Armand stops in front of him, looking distraught, looking afraid. Thunder cracks overhead. It’s starting to rain. Perfect. As if this moment needed to be any more cinematically tragic.

Armand steps closer, pushing into his personal space, hands reaching for him.

“Daniel, I—”

“No! I hate you!” Daniel cries, tears starting to stream down his cheeks as he swats Armand’s hands away. “I hate you, I hate you!”

Fuck, he really is delusional.

He grabs Armand by the lapels of his coat, pulls him against him, and kisses him. It’s hard, and rough, and angry, and passionate, like he’s trying to consume him from the inside. Armand pushes his fingers into his curls and kisses him back, licking into his mouth. Daniel moans as the rain gets a little heavier and his heart cracks along with a lightning strike somewhere in the distance.

Daniel pulls his mouth off him, but only to catch his breath and spit out the words: “I hate you! I hate you!” as he pants desperately into Armand’s mouth. Then he surges back in to kiss him again.

No, Armand. I love you. I need you. Please don’t leave me.

Armand kisses him back, hands in his hair, hips pushing into him, pressing him harder against the stone wall.

Daniel pulls off his mouth, hands still clutching at his lapels. “Are you ever gonna stop following me for five fucking minutes?”

Armand is still holding his face. “Do you want me to?”

Daniel shakes him by his lapels. “No! You know that I don’t!”

“Then don’t run,” Armand says, stroking his cheek with his thumbs, his eyes searching Daniel’s face. “Come, let me take you home.”

Daniel can’t say no to that. He can’t say no to Armand at all.

Armand takes him by the hand and leads him back up Rue Servandoni, and back home. They climb the stairs to their apartment and by the time they push through the door, dinner is but a hazy memory. Armand’s hands are all over him, pushing him into the back of the apartment door, kissing him deep and soft. Pulling him by this belt through the apartment and into the bedroom they’ve been sharing for the last two months. They fall together onto the mattress, Armand’s body pressing Daniel’s into the soft sheets. He kisses his mouth, his jaw, his throat—his long fingers combing through his hair.

Daniel, I love you more than anything. I don’t know how you can possibly still doubt it.

Daniel wants to argue, but it’s difficult to gather his thoughts—to articulate them into sentences—when Armand pushes his thigh between Daniel’s legs and grinds against his growing hardness.

Daniel groans, rutting against Armand’s thigh, needing more, needing skin on skin.

Armand pulls the thought from his mind and begins to undress him, slowly, reverently. First straddling Daniel’s hips and unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it to the side before undoing his belt and trousers and casting them away too. Then he sheds his own clothes, Daniel watching him through a haze of sorrow and desire, his perfect smooth skin, his strong, forever young body. Then Armand crawls back up the bed, settling over Daniel, and kisses him again.

“Let me make love to you, darling,” Armand whispers against the shell of his ear.

“Yes,” Daniel says on an exhale. “I need you. Please.”

Armand kisses down his body, his lips leaving a burning trail down his chest, his stomach, over his hip and down his thigh. Daniel’s legs fall open on instinct and Armand pushes his knees up towards his chest, his cool hands pressed against the back of his thighs as he nuzzles into his most intimate of places. Daniel feels the warm, wet press of his tongue against him and he lets out a strangled groan as his cock kicks against his stomach. The sounds they both make are obscene as Armand opens him, his lips and tongue working him over, wet and messily as Daniel scrabbles for purchase against the sheets, relishing the burning hot pleasure flooding his body.

Then Armand wraps his fingers around Daniel’s cock, stroking the underside of the head with his thumb, before rubbing it across the dripping tip. Daniel almost loses himself, biting his lip so hard he draws blood. Then Armand is using the wetness he collected on his thumb to massage Daniel’s rim, slowly, gently pressing until he breaches him. Armand continues his ministrations, cutting into his own wrist and using the slick of the blood to open him up further, stretching him and stroking him from the inside, as Daniel arches and whines and squirms on the mattress.

After what feels like an eternity, Armand sits back on his heels. He uses the blood from his wrist to slick himself up, his lips parting and eyelids fluttering at the touch. Then he climbs back over Daniel, sinking into him with a sigh as his lips find Daniel’s once more.

Fuck, the feeling of him, his cock stretching him to perfection, the weight of his body pressing Daniel harder into the mattress on every thrust, the idea of him fucking his ancient blood so deep inside him, marking him in that way, owning him the way he wants to be owned… well, not quite.

All Daniel wants is that blood inside him, running through his veins, remaking him, sustaining him forever and ever and ever and ever…

Daniel clutches onto Armand’s shoulders with a sob, his hard, straining cock trapped and pulsing between their bodies.

Armand, I need you. Armand, I can’t live without you.

Armand dips down and sinks his teeth into Daniel’s throat, taking a long, deep pull as he continues rolling his hips, pressing in deeper, grinding against his prostate on every thrust, sending Daniel closer and closer to oblivion.

Daniel’s eyes roll back in his head as his pleasure crests.

Do it, yes…

But nothing has changed.

Armand licks the wound closed and nicks his own throat with a claw. He threads his fingers into Daniel’s hair and guides him up to his neck to drink. The second Daniel’s lips close over the wound, his pleasure hits him like waves crashing over and over, drowning him. He spills between their stomachs and clenches hard around Armand, who comes with a cry, marking Daniel deep. Daniel’s body trembles through his orgasm as he drinks until Armand’s wound has healed. Tears pricking his eyes at the overwhelm of it all.

He wraps his arms around Armand’s neck and pulls him closer, hugging him to his body as Armand buries his head in the crook of his neck. He holds him there for what feels like an age. Breathing him in, feeling Armand’s heart beat against his, relishing the way his body has been warmed by Daniel’s blood. Daniel feels a tear escape. He quickly brushes it away and sniffs. Armand lifts his head and looks down at him. He kisses the tears away, brushes another away with his thumb.

He extricates himself from Daniel’s arms, but only so he can dip to the bathroom and retrieve a warm towel to clean them both off. Then he climbs back into the bed and pulls Daniel close. The two of them on their sides, facing each other—their bodies pressed together, their legs entwined, their noses brushing. Armand cups his cheek and rubs it with his thumb.

“My beautiful boy,” he muses, pressing a kiss to one corner of Daniel’s mouth, then the other.

He trails his hand down Daniel’s throat and over his chest, coming to rest over his heart. Daniel blinks at him through his bleary, sleepy eyes. He’s so fucking beautiful. So painfully beautiful. It almost hurts to look at him. How is Daniel supposed to go on like this? Getting older and grayer with every passing year, while Armand remains the way he is, perfect. So perfect.

He’s not going to want him forever. There’s just no way.

Armand blinks back at him. His eyes are their warm honey color, the color they always settle back to after they’ve just made love.

“There’s nothing I can do to make you change your mind, is there?” Daniel whispers into the darkness, his voice so small and broken, he’s not sure if he actually said it out loud at all.

Armand gazes at him. Daniel wishes he could read his thoughts. It’s really not fair that he can’t.

“No, Daniel.” He smiles sadly. “There isn’t.”

Daniel sighs, his body shaking with it, almost like he’s finally resigned himself. Something about this feels… monumental. Like tying a bow on something. Like the chapter of a book coming to a close.

Call it a hunch, a premonition… Daniel isn’t sure. He just knows that it hurts.

“I should have known,” he says. “I’m not like you… or Louis… I’m just… some dumb, wannabe reporter. Some… inconsequential junkie you pass the time with.”

Armand places his finger across Daniel’s lips. “Shh. Don’t say that.”

“It’s true though. isn’t it?” Daniel mumbles against his finger.

Armand cups Daniel’s cheek in his hand again. “Daniel, I need you to look at me, and I need you to understand that I will love you for the rest of your life.”

Daniel can’t help but nuzzle into his palm.

“Just not the rest of yours,” he whispers, because if he says it any louder it will break him.

“That isn’t true,” Armand says, pulling his other hand up from where he’d been lying on it, so he can take Daniel’s face between both his palms. “It doesn’t matter whether I live for one more, single night, or whether I endure until the sun swallows the earth, I am never going to stop loving you. I need you to hear that. I need you to believe it. That you, Daniel Molloy, are the love of my life.”

Daniel can’t help it. He can’t take it. A sob bubbles out of him, and he can’t stop it.

Armand pulls him against his body, wrapping him up in his arms, and Daniel rests his head against Armand’s chest as he sobs his heart out.

And Armand holds him there, stroking his hair, his back.

“Shh…” he says. “I’ll hold you… you rest now.”

Armand holds Daniel like that for a long while, one hand rubbing up and down his back, the other stroking his hair, waiting until his frantic sobs have melted into soft sniffles, until finally his breathing settles into the metronomic rhythm that tells Armand that he is finally asleep. Then he lays him down carefully beside him, on his side, placing his head gently on the pillow.

Armand can feel tears of his own pricking in his eyes as his vision begins to turn a hazy shade of pink as he gazes at Daniel. Even in sleep, the boy looks exhausted, wrung out, emotionally ruined.

He looks the way Armand feels.

He is so, so beautiful.

Armand takes a moment to commit everything about him to memory. His dreamy sea foam eyes and the way they light up with joy when he looks at Armand, or when he finishes another chapter of his manuscript. The pink flush of his creamy white cheeks when he gets embarrassed or aroused or angry. The sound of his voice and his brash American accent, so loud, so boisterous. The delightful little pleasure sounds he makes when they make love. His big, calloused hands and how perfect they feel when they hold Armand’s. How they make Armand’s blood sing when they brush over his skin. His thick, but dexterous fingers, and how they feel when they curl inside Armand, or twist in his hair, or wrap possessively around his waist, or his neck, or his cock. The way Daniel feels—the tight, warm clutch of his body when Armand pushes inside him, swallowing him up and holding him close. The returned feeling of Daniel’s cock, large and perfect, pressing into Armand, filling him, stretching him so sweetly like it was designed to fit snuggly inside him. The sounds they make together, a beautiful symphony. The way Daniel makes him smile and laugh. The way he makes him feel like he doesn’t need to be anyone other than who he is. The only person who has ever loved him, not in spite of his monstrosity, but because of it.

Every word Armand uttered to him in those final waking moments was true. He is going to love this ridiculous mortal boy until the heat death of the universe.

But it needs to end now. It’s already gone on far too long. Perhaps it never should have begun at all. But Armand was selfish. Intrigued by the strange creature. Fascinated by him. And like everything Armand has ever loved in his long, long life, he had held him too close, too tight, and now Daniel is suffocating.

Armand knows he will have to break their bubble again sooner or later. Louis will return from his latest dalliance, and Armand will have to go to him. And it will break Daniel all over again. He’ll throw himself into his substances and his drink, and God knows what else. It will only be a matter of time before he needs Armand to pull him out again. He can’t keep needing Armand. He shouldn’t need Armand. Not when it was Armand who did this to him in the first place. The never-ending cycle, continuously revolving, spinning him closer and closer to oblivion.

And of course there is Alice. The girl that Daniel has been seeing. Pretty. Clever. With dark curls and a soft face. A nice girl. A mortal girl. And now she is with Daniel’s child…

Armand breathes a shuddering sigh.

Alice is who Daniel should be with. Someone he can build a life with, have a family with, grow old with. If only he is able to get himself together. He’s such a bright boy, such a curious boy. The brilliant reporter he could still be if only he wasn’t being constantly dragged down into hell with Armand every single night of his one short life.

Daniel’s eyelashes are fluttering a little as he sleeps. Armand reaches out to gently touch them with the tips of his fingers. He’s snoring very softly, not in a loud, irritating way, just enough to remind Armand that he is alive.

That he needs to stay alive.

And that the only way he will stay alive is if…

Armand nestles in even closer and cups Daniel’s cheeks again. He presses his forehead against Daniel’s and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Listen as though I'm the voice of God or an angel talking to you, telling you this room doesn't matter, this night doesn't matter,” Armand whispers into his mind. “You're not inconsequential... or a junkie. You're…” –he chokes back the sob that’s threatening him— “…a bright young reporter with a point of view.”

Armand feels a tear roll down his temple and onto the pillow.

“There are stories that need to be told,” he continues, his thumb softly stroking Daniel’s earlobe as he sleeps. “If things ever get bad again, these are the words you'll hear in your mind… like a tape playing over and over, like a song stuck in your brain. These words will hold you up and carry you. They are your lifeline.”

Armand’s voice cracks on the final word, and he pulls Daniel back into his arms. His shoulders tremble with his wracking sobs, his tears are streaking down his face and into Daniel’s hair. He kisses the top of his head over and over and over, until the tightness and the burning agony in his chest is too much for him to bear.

He knows what he’s done.

It doesn’t take much after that. Armand dresses Daniel, who is still very much at rest. He keeps him that way as he boards him onto his plane and flies him back to San Francisco.

The last twelve years never happened. At least they didn’t happen the way Armand knows that they did.

Armand never existed. Daniel Molloy never met him. Daniel Molloy never loved him.

Daniel Molloy met Louis de Pointe du Lac—and only Louis—in Polynesian Mary’s in 1973. Then he got bitten, blacked out, and woke up in a drug den.

Armand even includes a failsafe. Should—for some reason—Daniel remember him in San Francisco, he will think Armand had intended to kill him. Drain him completely. And Louis was the one to save his life.

Armand briefly considers wiping San Francisco in its entirety, but he is selfish.

He needs to leave a little thread there for Daniel to pull at. Just a little reminder that vampires exist.

Vampires are real, here’s almost the whole story.

Perhaps it will keep him curious. Just in case, one day, Daniel might come looking again.

Or Armand might come looking for him. Just to see him once more before he dies.

Just in case.

But for now, he’ll awaken in the drug den. He’ll get his shit together. He’ll give that ring to Alice.

And he will live.

Chapter Text

Daniel looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping. So serene and lovely.

He is lying on his side, curled up like a question mark—how apt for one so eternally curious. He lies facing Armand, his legs jutting out slightly in front of him. Armand arranges himself to mirror his position, so that their knees are touching. In the quiet dark of the airplane cabin, with no sound other than the gentle hum of the engine, it is almost as if no time has passed since that last night they lay in such a position.

The night Armand had committed Daniel to his memory before redacting himself from Daniel’s. The night he had taken Daniel’s face between his hands, pressed their foreheads together, and whispered into his mind the words he hoped would usher him down the path that he was supposed to traverse. Not the dark path, not the devil’s road, but Daniel’s path. His destiny. Perhaps in another universe, Armand could have been Daniel’s destiny—in a universe where they were both mortals; or a universe where they were both vampires. Any universe, really, other than the one they found themselves regrettably inhabiting.

That night had been so very fraught. Pain like nothing Armand had ever felt. A sadness that was all-consuming; the room reverberating with his sobs, the sounds echoing off the walls as Daniel lay sleeping in his arms, blissfully unaware of the horror that Armand had subjected him to, and then subsequently removed him from. He’s sleeping just as soundly now, blissfully unaware of the storm roiling inside Armand’s damaged heart, reminding him of the fact that Daniel is nearing the end. Whether it is the returning memories, or simply his own ill-health, he is not long for this world. And Armand is still certain that without him—and without any other form of companionship—he will not be able to gather the strength to continue enduring. But that is something he can face another day.

For now, Daniel is sleeping. And he looks peaceful.

Relaxed. Comfortable. Quiet.

Armand wonders if perhaps he should file that last thought away so he can unsheathe it when Daniel wakes. An amusing little jab about how the only time Daniel is ever quiet is when he is asleep. Of course, the sniping and verbal sparring—there is no vitriol in it. It’s all simply a part of their little dance. Arguing as foreplay, Daniel had called it. Once, back before he’d remembered his own little foray into such a delightful act, again more recently, because he never could resist a well-timed callback, his clever Daniel.

In truth, Armand loves listening to Daniel’s voice. He always has. He loved it when Daniel was young and his voice was brash and lively, slightly higher pitched, and he possessed these amusing little idiosyncrasies such as punctuating every other sentence with ‘man’ or ‘yeah’. Armand might love Daniel’s voice even more now that he is older. It’s deeper and rougher, sometimes gravelly and most of the time a little bit sardonic. But it can still be kind, like the way it had been before they had left Dubai, when he’d held Armand in his arms and spoken those soft words to him. Asking him about his fears; telling him he wanted to make him feel good. When he’d told him he still wanted to be with him—even after all Armand had done—and had asked to be taken home. A shiver runs down Armand’s spine, his fingers tingling with the need to reach out and touch him. Hoping against hope that he might still get to hear those words in that voice. The words that Daniel told him he cannot say yet but promised he would.

I love you.

How Armand wishes he could press inside of Daniel’s brain like he was able to do when he was young. Peer inside for a moment, see if Daniel is able to at least think those words, see if in his dreams he allows himself to imagine those words. But alas, he cannot. And regardless, Armand thinks he would much rather hear them in that lovely voice.

For every way that Daniel has changed, there is a way that he has stayed exactly the same. He still punctuates sentences with ‘yeah’. He still adjusts his spectacles when he makes a particularly biting point—as he had begun doing in 1983 when he had first been prescribed readers. He is still brilliant. Of course, he has always been brilliant. His potential to be extraordinary had always been bubbling away there under the surface, no matter how much Armand had quashed it by keeping him for far too long. And Daniel is still beautiful, although the modern Western standard of equating beauty with youth has made it difficult for him to believe it. In fact, Armand thinks he is even more beautiful now than he has ever been. Mortals fear age. But in the eyes of one who cannot do it, one who has not changed physically in over half a millennium, age is a miracle—a full life is a gift, one that Armand was never granted. Both Armand and Daniel’s continued existence is the evidence of two lives which have endured and endured and endured—but in Daniel’s case, he is like a precious, beautiful stone, polished by decades of time and weather, and made all the more spectacular as a result.

While it is true that Armand wishes things could have been different between them, he has to admit that refusing to turn Daniel in 1985, releasing him to live his full, human life—no matter how painful it had been for Armand, no matter how painful it would eventually be for Daniel if he was ever to remember it—it had been the right decision. Because now, Daniel is simply astonishing.

Armand’s bright young reporter has blossomed into a truly magnificent man.

Armand cannot stop gazing at him as he lays by his side. His mess of pretty, silver curls are splayed across the pillow, framing his face like a halo. Armand reaches out his hand and gently pets it, enjoying the soft springy feeling under his fingers—the same as it had felt when it was brown. He lightly cards his fingers through it, careful not to get tangled, then he brushes a loose curl off Daniel’s forehead. Armand’s fingers brush against Daniel’s skin as he does so. His soft, papery, lined skin, etched with every year he’s lived of his full human life. Armand traces his index finger down Daniel’s lovely nose. He’s not wearing his spectacles to sleep of course, but Armand has always rather loved how they look on him. So distinguished and handsome. The way he pushes them up his nose when they slide down. Armand carefully touches the delicate skin under his eyes, adoring the gentle tickle as Daniel’s long lashes brush against his fingertips. The skin there is sunken and discolored now, both by his age and his illness. A tangible reminder of the inevitable, and it sends an echo of pain through Armand’s ribcage.

How Armand wishes he could see his eyes—his lovely, expressive eyes, the color of sea foam—but that would require waking him. Armand considers it for a moment, waking him just to see those eyes, or to hear that voice croak out: “What do you want?” all gravelly and irritable. He was always so irritable whenever Armand woke him. It was always so delightful. Especially when the irritability melted away and he would pull Armand into his arms and kiss him good evening. Classical conditioning. It had always made Armand want to do it again and again.

And those lips—so soft, and pink. Armand can’t quite believe that he had gotten the opportunity to kiss them again. It had been like a dream, the feeling of those lips moving once more against his mouth, pressing against his throat, brushing against his ear. Daniel’s lips had felt different from the last time that Armand had kissed them, of course. They were a little bit thinner and splendidly wrinkled now, made that way by the passage of time, but the kisses had felt exactly the same. Each one fueled by that same passion and intensity, that fury and love, that had fueled every single one of their kisses.

Armand runs his fingers along Daniel’s lips now. He’d very much like to kiss them again. And feel them once more on his neck. He’d especially like to feel them elsewhere too…

He shivers at the thought, at the memory of the last time he’d had Daniel in that way. Even now, thirty-seven years later, Armand’s blood and his body call out to him.

My Daniel. My beloved.

Oh, how he cannot wait to kiss him again. Perhaps when Daniel wakes.

He considers it once more. The thought is so very tempting. But no. Armand smiles, wistful.

No, he won’t wake him. He looks too peaceful. Too serene. Too comfortable.

Comfortable…

A chill runs through Armand’s body, like the old superstition about what happens when someone walks over your grave. His head feels a little light. His heartbeat a little less even.

“Daniel?”

Casual. Calm. Conversational.

No answer.

All right. That’s fine. Daniel is sleeping. He’s exhausted. They have both been through so much turmoil these last couple of days. Physically. Emotionally. If Armand were mortal, he too would be sleeping the sleep of the dead.

Daniel is merely resting—God knows he needed it—and it’s a deep sleep. That’s good.

He’s peaceful. He’s relaxed.

He’s comfortable.

Comfortable...

“I never pass a comfortable night.”

Armand’s vision is beginning to go a little hazy at the edges. This isn’t right. The silence.

No sound but the quiet drone of the plane’s engine.

Daniel has always snored, not in an irritating way, just enough to remind Armand that…

No.

All the blood running through Armand’s veins freezes at once. He sits bolt upright, every muscle in his body tensing, his head spinning a little more with the rush.

He looks down at Daniel.

“Daniel?” he asks, a little more urgently this time.

No.

This is wrong.

Armand should have felt Daniel’s breath on his fingers when he traced the line of his lips. Daniel should be snoring. Daniel should… he should… his chest, his shoulders… they should be moving with his breath… he… he…

Armand places his palm on Daniel’s cheek. He strokes the soft skin with his thumb.

“Daniel?” he says, trying his best to keep his voice even and measured. It betrays him with a wobble.

Daniel doesn’t stir.

Armand’s hand begins to tremble, so he gives it something to do. He pats Daniel on the cheek a few times. Slightly harder than he probably should.

“Daniel!” Less of a question now and more a demand as his heart rate ratchets higher.

Still nothing.

The plane is not currently banking. It is simply cruising at altitude, yet the cabin appears to be spinning. Armand’s entire world, entire existence is tilting off its axis as though it is. He is outside of his body. Floating somewhere above it. Watching a nightmare take place below him. He scrambles to his knees and grabs Daniel by the shoulders. He gives him a shake. First just a small one. Then a slightly more urgent one.

No.

No, no, no, no, no!

This is not happening! This cannot be happening! The two of them fell asleep watching Blade Runner together and now Armand is having a horrible, horrible nightmare. Or even more preferable, Armand fell asleep in 1973, and these last fifty years have been nothing but a dream, a fantasy. He never met this ridiculous boy, he never loved him, he never lost him… and he’s not losing him again now.

He cannot be losing him again now! Not after finally getting him back again! Not after glimpsing hope that, after all this time, even if only for a short while, he might once more be loved by his fascinating boy.

Armand isn’t ready. He isn’t ready to let him go again! He knew that it was inevitable—he’s known for half a century—but he is simply not ready! He needs to see those eyes again, those beautiful green eyes. He needs to feel those lips on him again, those soft, pink lips. How desperate he is to hear one more sarcastic comment, one more barb traded with him. There are so many things that Armand still has to say to him. So many things he still needs to hear Daniel say in that raspy, sardonic voice. Like his name, the way only he can say it.

Armand.

And those three words that Armand still needs to hear from him! He needs to hear them again!

I love you.

Daniel promised! He promised!

Armand’s vision is turning pink and blurring even further. His fingers are twisted so tightly in the fabric of Daniel’s shirt that his knuckles are turning white. There’s a lump in the pit of his stomach, something hard and massive, and it’s slowly working its way up through his ribcage. It’s crushing both of his lungs and choking them of any oxygen; it’s pushing against his heart and causing it to fracture, its’s coming up his throat and suffocating him… there’s nowhere else for it to go.

The sob rips out of him, and with it, the dam bursts, and he wails.

He hauls Daniel against himself, one arm wrapped around his middle, his other hand tangled in Daniel’s curls as he clutches his head to his chest, holding him as tightly as he possibly can without shattering his ribs and crushing his skull. He holds Daniel like he’s trying to push him inside his own body, crack open his own ribs and shove Daniel inside, cradled beside his heart where he belongs.

The sound Armand makes is not human. It’s not even vampiric. It is the blood-curdling scream of a wounded beast, ripped straight from the very depths of hell, and Armand barely even recognizes it as his own voice. The last time he had made a sound even remotely similar, he’d been covered in the blood and viscera of his dear dead friend, Riccardo. Now, almost half a millennium later, he’s holding Daniel in much the same way. And he’s just as lifeless.

The blood tears that are streaming down Armand’s cheeks are falling onto Daniel’s beautiful, silver hair—matting the hair and tarnishing the perfect white cloud of his curls. Armand doesn’t want to mar him like that! He doesn’t want to have to remember him this way! Lifeless and covered in Armand’s blood—the image will be forever burnt into Armand’s memory for as long as he lives!

Lives? Who is he trying to convince? He cannot live! Not like this! He is trembling, his shoulders are heaving with every choked-out sob, his entire body—every atom—is screaming for Daniel.

He is never going to let Daniel go! He is going to climb inside the pilot’s head and compel him to crash the plane! And he is going to hold Daniel in his arms until they are both engulfed in flames!

In hell together, after all.

He focuses his mind—at least he tries to, though his thoughts are frenzied and erratic. He clutches Daniel tighter as he reaches out telepathically. His mind stretching down the length of the airplane cabin, toward the cockpit, pressing through the door, zeroing in on the pilot…

And then Armand feels it. A thump against his body. It’s coming from Daniel. It’s faint. It’s irregular. But it’s undeniable. Armand’s outreached mind snaps back to him like a rubber band. Nothing in the universe matters at this moment except for the faint, irregular, but undeniable sound reverberating inside of Daniel.

A heartbeat.

It’s weak, but it’s there…

Daniel is alive!

Armand lifts Daniel’s head from his chest and cradles it in his hand as he stares down at him. His Daniel, his beloved… his…  fledgling? The thought sends a simultaneous thrill and a pang of horror through his body.

His stomach swoops and his heart skips. He wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his other arm, clearing his hazy, pink vision so he can see Daniel better.

Oh, he is so beautiful. And Armand has to see those eyes again. He can. He must. Even if they are different after.

And he has to hear that voice again. He has to hear those words again. If he doesn’t, he will die.

Armand’s hands are shaking more than Daniel’s used to; and his heart is pounding so hard it’s a wonder it isn’t causing turbulence. His mind is fluctuating between intense focus and floating somewhere above his body. He needs to gather his faculties! They are both running on borrowed time!

His fingers tremble as he pushes Daniel’s blood-matted hair off his forehead. He’s never done this before! He doesn’t even know if it will work! How long has it been since Daniel stopped breathing? How could Armand have been so thoughtless, so careless to have not noticed! Thirty-seven years sleeping beside a vampire and it is as though he had forgotten that mortals are supposed to breathe!

But Daniel still has a heartbeat—weak though it is. There is still blood moving through his body. And Armand has to try. He has to! He doesn’t care if he said he never would—that he had made a vow not to!

He is a liar! He has always been a liar! Everyone knows it! Everyone says it!

And he cannot lose Daniel! Not again.

Armand wraps his other arm back around Daniel’s body and pulls him closer. He rearranges his fingers in Daniel’s matted curls and tilts his head to the side. Then he leans in, brushing his nose along the soft, loose flesh around Daniel’s jaw as he nuzzles against his neck.

“I’m sorry, beloved,” he whispers into the skin of his throat, fresh tears pricking at his eyes again. “I’m… I’m a coward.”

And then he sinks in his fangs.

The tearing sound Daniel’s flesh makes as Armand’s fangs penetrate it, echoes through Armand’s skull. And the second Daniel’s blood touches Armand’s tongue, the flavor blooming on it for the first time in almost four decades, every single nerve, every single atom in Armand’s body ignites. The warmth of it on his lips, the sweet taste sliding along his tongue and down his throat… it has been made slightly bitter with illness and medicine, but it is still Daniel’s. And it still floods Armand’s body with a hot, fervent need, a desperate desire.

He pulls Daniel even tighter against his body, his nose crushed into the crook of Daniel’s neck as he drinks long and deep. How had Armand endured so many years without this? How had he managed to convince himself that this was something he would be able to go on living without ever having again? He wants to consume him entire. And he could, so very, very easily. The swoon is overtaking his body, blurring his vision, ratcheting up his heart rate. His head is spinning, his world tipping further off its axis. He wants to devour him and keep him and consume him and love him.

He wants to make him.

How difficult can it really be? Louis did it successfully and he wasn’t even a century old. Lord knows Lestat has done it multiple times. His fledglings had—for the most part—come out strong. Gabrielle was his first. Made out of desperation before he even knew what he was doing. Despite Armand’s personal opinions of Lestat’s mother, there was no doubt she was a strong and capable vampire. But then there was Nicolas…

Visions of the long-dead violinist flash as haunting memories in Armand’s mind; chaos, fire, death…

Vampirism healed Gabrielle of her physical ailment, but it drove Nicolas to madness. What would it do to Daniel’s body? To his mind? Louis said it would give him a still hand, but what did Louis know about it? What did any of them know about it? You aren’t supposed to turn the old and infirm! There surely must be a reason for that!

And it is rare for one to live to be as old as Armand is without ever having sired a fledgling. Could it even be done after such a long abstinence? How much blood does he even take? It would be so easy to take too much! Daniel’s heartbeat is already weak. What if it doesn’t work?

What if… after everything they’ve been through… what if Armand finally does kill him?

Armand is spiraling. A luxury he knows he cannot afford. This moment is crucial. Armand needs to maintain control. Never in his half-millennium of existence has anything ever been more vital.

He pulls off of Daniel’s throat with a gasp, surfacing for air he doesn’t strictly need. When he looks down at Daniel, he has to bite into the flesh on the inside of his own cheek to keep himself from screaming again. The face that has been etched into Armand’s brain for half a century now seems almost unrecognizable to him. His skin is gray and pallid, the flesh under his eyes sunken and dark. Closer to death than he has ever been before.

That lump has reformed in the pit of Armand’s stomach; that feral, inhuman roar is bubbling up his chest and threatening to crack his ribcage open and crush his heart. It reaches his throat, and he quells it, preventing it from bursting forth by muffling it with his own wrist. He rips into the flesh with his fangs, it’s imprecise and the wound is jagged and messy. Immediately, the blood begins to drool down his forearm.

He swallows the lump back down and sniffs.

He presses his bloodied wrist to Daniel’s lips, praying in some ancient language that he doesn’t really remember, to some ancient god he has long forgotten and isn’t sure he still believes in, that he can do this.

That it will work.

It has to work.

It has to.

He cradles Daniel’s head in his lap; his torn wrist pressed to his lips as he carefully strokes his throat with his other trembling hand. The blood is pooling in Daniel’s mouth, then trickling out the corner and down the side of his cheek.

And nothing’s happening.

“Come on, Beloved,” Armand begs, his vision turning pink again and that lump pushing back up his chest. “Come back to me.”

Armand’s heart is pounding. He strokes Daniel’s throat with a little more urgency. There’s sweat collecting all over Armand’s skin, his hair clinging to his forehead and to the back of his neck. Droplets of it begin to fall onto Daniel’s face.

Wait, that isn’t just sweat. He is crying again.

“Beloved, please,” Armand says, his lower lip quivering, his entire body shaking. “Please, Daniel. Please drink, please.”

He is not too proud to beg for this. He’ll do anything. Anything.

More blood trickles down the side of Daniel’s face and Armand lets loose a guttural, wordless scream.

He pats Daniel’s cheek—once again, harder than he probably should—and he growls.

“Wake up, Daniel, you insufferable man! Please! Don’t leave me!”

It’s not working! Why isn’t it working?! Why isn’t he waking up?! Just wake up! Even if it is only to rebuke Armand for cursing him, to throw him into another wall and tell him he hates him! He’d rather that, he thinks, the idea of Daniel hating him but still alive. It is far, far preferable to Daniel being dead.

Daniel cannot be dead.

No, no, no, no!

Armand puts his hand back on Daniel’s neck, stroking it again from under his chin down to hollow of his throat. If he stroked any harder, he would surely crush his windpipe.

He grits his teeth, more tears falling into Daniel’s hair.

“If you don’t wake up right now… I swear, Daniel, I will crash this plane!”

Then Armand feels it.

A slight movement under his hand. Almost imperceptible.

Daniel swallowed. He swallowed!

Yes!

Armand’s mouth falls open. There are words perched on the tip of his tongue, words of encouragement, both for himself and for Daniel. But before the words even have a chance to fall out, Daniel’s eyes fly open.

He’s staring back up at Armand, his eyes wide and uncanny, pupils enormous, like he’s possessed. His gaze is positively penetrative, spearing Armand through his very soul, and knocking a gasp out of his parted lips.

Then, Daniel’s hands shoot up from where they had previously been lying lifeless by his side. He grabs onto Armand’s wrist with both hands, with a grip far stronger than any mortal man of his age should hope to possess. Armand gasps again. Not in pain—Daniel could not hurt him if he tried—but the shock, the relief, the joy…

Daniel is drinking! He’s drinking! And with so much fervor and hunger that Armand feels he may collapse from the swoon and go gladly.

He is like a lost and dying wanderer who stumbled upon an oasis in the desert. He is like a child who has been deprived of his mother’s milk and has finally been permitted another taste.

He suckles at the wound fiercely, ravenously, taking the blood in deep, long pulls.

“Yes! That’s it,” Armand says, moving a hand to stroke Daniel’s hair.

His fingers only brush against his curls when Daniel sits bolt upright, his hands still grasping at Armand’s wrist.

“Ah!” another gasp is punched out of Armand as Daniel pulls his arm with his sudden movement, his strength already returning to him tenfold, as he drinks pull after pull after pull…

Armand puts his free hand between Daniel’s shoulder blades. He runs his palm up and down his spine.

“Take it, my love, take as much as you need,” Armand says, rubbing his back.

Then he feels it under his hand. A pounding.

And then there’s that sound. The one Louis had described. The two drums.

One is Armand’s heartbeat, the other Daniel’s.

After fifty years, they are finally beating together as one.

Daniel’s heartbeat is getting stronger and stronger under Armand’s palm. The sound is growing louder and louder in his ears. Armand is getting lightheaded. His eyelids flutter closed and he smiles, dizzy and drunk, completely intoxicated on the sensation of his blood making his boy anew. And his boy has always been insatiable. How easy it would be for Armand to surrender completely to him. He would gladly give it all to keep his Daniel alive, to ensure that he is strong. And how strong he already is. His heartbeat and his grip, both already inhuman.

Oh, he is going to be magnificent.

And as easy as it would be for Armand to simply let Daniel drain him—allow him to take from him all the things that Armand denied him for so long—he needs to see him. He needs to live.

He needs to be present to witness the world meeting the Vampire Daniel Molloy.

Armand wrenches his wrist away. It takes far more effort than he expected, and he gasps—surprised but delighted—as he is thrown backwards off the bed by his own force. He lands hard on his back on the floor of the cabin. It takes him a moment to register what is happening. The cabin is still spinning around him. There is still blood oozing from his wrist. He takes some of the blood on his finger and heals the wound, his chest rising and falling with exertion, his heart still pounding in his ears. It feels like an eternity before he has the energy, both physical and emotional, to right himself, though in reality it cannot have been longer than a minute. He sits up, resting back on his hands as his shoulders continue heaving with the adrenaline.

There are fresh blood bags in the refrigerator. When Armand finally has the capacity again, he will go and drink one. Perhaps two. That should help. But for now, all he can do is sit there on the floor and stare up at Daniel.

His fledgling.

Daniel is still sitting on the bed with his back to Armand. He is somehow both preternaturally still, and vibrating with the new life inside him. A pressure cooker, ready to have the lid blown off.

His heartbeat is strong, so strong! Armand can hear it from where he is sprawled on the floor. He can feel it as it pounds in perfect sync with his own. And the bond, the cord that is tying them together, that will tie them together now for all eternity. He can feel that too! Made all the more potent by the love that Armand already holds for him, the love that he prays Daniel can still return.

Slowly, fluidly, Daniel turns around.

Armand gasps.

Daniel’s pallid complexion is glowing once again, more so than ever before. He has blood on him— Armand’s blood—matted in his hair and smeared around his mouth.

And his eyes. His eyes.

They’re bright amber.

A perfect mirror of Armand’s as he stares down at him, his gaze raking hungrily over Armand’s body. He can feel it everywhere it lands, searing him, flooding his veins with molten desire.

Oh, he is spectacular.

A wicked grin spreads across Daniel’s beautiful face.

And there they are.

Two enormous, glorious fangs.

Armand’s breath hitches.

“Hey, boss,” Daniel says, his voice low and gravelly.

Armand’s chest rises and falls as arousal blooms low in his stomach and tents his sweatpants.

His lips are parted as he pants around his fangs, taking in the vision of his firstborn, his one and only…

Armand blinks up at him, licking his lips.

His Daniel.

“Come to me.”

Chapter Text

Sensation.

That’s the only word Daniel can think of to describe what he’s feeling. Every sense heightened in the extreme. He’s sitting on a bed, covered in blood. But it isn’t all his. He can smell that it isn’t all his. Apparently, he can differentiate between the smell of different peoples’ blood now?

He’s staring at a loose thread that’s poking out of the comforter. He hadn’t noticed it before. But now it seems to be moving, like a snake, charmed by music and rising from a basket. He’s on an airplane, he remembers that much. The sound of the engine is like a roar in his ears, not the quiet drone that you’d expect. But it doesn’t bother him. It feels… normal. His hands aren’t shaking. His vision is perfect. His skin feels like it’s been electrified. Every part of him tingling, and buzzing, and vibrating with… sensation.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Holy shitting fuck!

And then he hears it. The sound of his own heartbeat. And it’s loud as hell. So loud that… wait… yeah, there’s two.

And then he feels it. An invisible cord, something tied tight around his very soul, pulled out of his chest, dragging him towards where the other end is anchored.

Slowly, he turns around.

Holy shit.

There he is.

Armand. His maker.

He’s sprawled on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him, resting his weight back on his hands. Daniel’s eyes graze over him. His pupils are massive, and the ring of gold that’s still visible is blazing. His chest is heaving, up and down, his lips parted as he pants, staring hungrily at Daniel. There’s blood all over him. The scent is on him too. Both Armand and Daniel’s blood, mingled.

Fuck.

He looks… God, he’s always looked incredible, but now, through Daniel’s renewed vampire eyes… shit. Is this how he always looks to vampires? Or is this a them thing? Vampire bond and all that.

Speaking of.

The vibrations under Daniel’s skin, that tugging on his soul. Oh, he needs him. In every sense of the word. He needs to touch him, to taste him, to hold him, to fuck him… Daniel’s eyes move lower. Fuck, he’s tenting his sweatpants. He’s staring at Daniel like he wants to eat him—the two of them covered in each other’s blood—and he’s tenting his fucking sweatpants.

Daniel grins. He can feel his own fangs, large and unwieldy in his mouth. “Hey, boss.”

Armand licks his lips, then says on an exhale. “Come to me.”

And go to him, Daniel does.

He launches himself, moving way faster than he expected, tackling Armand down to the floor. He pushes his fingers into Armand’s curls, his knees bracketing his hips as he pins him under his body weight, and he kisses him. He kisses him so hard, holding his head so tight, that Armand makes a little whining sound and pulls his mouth away long enough to spit out a warning: “fledgling strength, Daniel” before diving back in to kiss him again.

Right. He’s strong as fuck now! And he’s pretty sure he couldn’t actually crush Armand’s skull, but just in case, he eases his grip.

Armand kisses him in return, hissing, then moaning when his tongue catches on one of Daniel’s fangs. The taste of his blood bursts in Daniel’s mouth again and it’s almost enough to send him feral. Armand wraps his arms around Daniel’s back, his fingers clawing desperately at the fabric of his shirt. Daniel can hear the fabric shred, milliseconds before he feels those nails grazing up his skin. He hisses into the kiss, sweet pain and pleasure mingling. Armand’s hands continue on their way, and he slides them into Daniel’s hair, tugging it gently and scratching lightly against his scalp with his nails, sending shockwaves over Daniel’s skin and igniting his blood. Daniel kisses him like he’s trying to eat him, and fuck, he just might. He’s never letting him get away again. Never, never, never.

Armand lets out a desperate, needy moan between kisses and rocks his hips up against Daniel. And yeah, he’s rock hard.

Actually. Wait. So is Daniel.

Daniel groans into Armand’s mouth at the delectable friction. He rocks back down against Armand, grinding their erections together through their sweatpants, eliciting another moan out of them both.

Daniel lifts his head a little and glances down between their bodies. “Fuck, that hasn’t happened without pharmaceutical intervention since 2009.”

Then Armand laughs. He actually laughs. Wholeheartedly. So hard that he trembles with it, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut, a crinkle between his eyebrows, his nose adorably scrunched. It’s a full-bodied laugh that bubbles up out of him uncontrollably, like every emotion he’s ever felt in his 514 years just hit him all at once. The sound floods Daniel’s body with an almost unbearably fond warmth. It reverberates in his preternaturally renewed vampire ears, wriggles into his brain, zings down his spine, and jolts through his cock. Fuck, he wants nothing more than to dive back in for another kiss, but the sound is so sweet, so beautiful, that he can’t bring himself to muffle it. So instead, he dives at Armand’s exposed throat and sucks a hot, wet kiss into the soft, smooth skin over his pulse point. Armand’s laugh slowly dissolves into a long, sensual moan that sounds almost as good.

Daniel’s fangs are still out, and Armand is clearly into them, so he grazes them along the skin, not enough to break it, just enough to elicit a delicious hiss of pleasure from his maker beneath him.

Maker. Fuck.

Daniel is desperate to get another taste of him, but there is so much blood on them. How much blood does it take to make a vampire? Armand probably needs to feed. Also, Daniel isn’t sure how all of this works like… physiologically. How much blood can he drink from Armand before there isn’t enough left to fuel his boner?

He makes a mental note to ask later. Maybe test it out.

He alternates between kissing, and licking, and almost-biting as Armand writhes beneath him, whimpering and moaning, with his fingers still tangled in Daniel’s hair.

“Daniel, please…” he pants, sounding desperate and wanton.

Fuck yeah. Fledgling sex drive? Dannyboy Molloy is back, baby!

Daniel rolls his hips again and Armand moans at the friction. He pulls Daniel’s hair a little harder before dragging him back up to his mouth for another ravenous kiss. Then, in a flash, and without letting his lips leave Daniel’s, Armand flips them both over so he’s on top. Daniel grabs Armand by the waist to ground himself, and—you know—to get his hands on his waist. But they don’t stay there for long. He can’t help but run his hands all over him, starving with the need to touch every part of him—across the firm muscles of his back, up between his shoulder blades, down over his perfect tight ass. He takes two handfuls of the flesh and grinds Armand's hips down against him. Armand moans again.

“Insatiable fledgling,” he pants into Daniel’s mouth, his own fangs retracting.

“Only for you, maker,” Daniel says with a wicked smirk.

Oh, this is too fun. Way too fucking fun.

Look, so Daniel isn’t totally over the memory wipe thing. And that last memory he’d had come back? That fucking night in that fucking restaurant in fucking Paris? The last returned memory that came to him just before he felt the sting of fangs in his neck? Yeah, that one fucking hurt. Huh, no wonder that had been the memory that had killed him. Jesus. Is that what had happened? Whatever. The point is he’s still pissed about it. And he imagines he’ll probably be pissed about it for a while.

But fortunately for him, he’s now got an eternity to get over it.

A thrill zips down his spine.

Yeah, so he’s pissed, but he’s got plenty of time to be pissed. Right now, he’s got electricity zinging through his body; the hottest guy he’s ever seen (who also happens to be an ancient vampire), straddling him, kissing him, and hard as a rock for him; and his first non-pharmaceutically enhanced erection in decades.

Right now, all he wants—all he needs—is Armand.

His maker.

And then it happens. A shooting pain straight to his stomach, clenching deep in his gut, twisting, like the worst fucking food poisoning anyone could ever imagine having.

Oh, shit. That’s right.

“Ah, fuck!” Daniel’s entire body seizes up and he grabs Armand’s hips, stilling him, as he goes rigid underneath him, furrowing his brow and squeezing his eyes shut against the pain.

Armand sits up like a meerkat, his hands on Daniel’s chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.

“Daniel, are you all right?” his voice is panicked; his eyes bright orange and terrified.

Daniel gives Armand’s hip a squeeze with one hand; he rubs his other hand up and down Armand’s thigh, reassuring. “Yeah, I’m—fuck!"

Another jolt of agony hits him, and he digs his claws into Armand’s leg, his other hand flying up to clutch at his own stomach.

Armand’s hands move to Daniel’s face, cradling his head, nervously rubbing his cheeks with his thumbs. “Daniel, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Daniel groans again. “You’re gonna have to get off me.”

Armand grips his face harder. “What? Why?”

Daniel grabs his wrists. “Just trust me.”

Armand reluctantly climbs off him, looking more freaked out than Daniel has ever seen him look. Daniel books it to the bathroom, collapsing onto his hands and knees in front of the toilet—just in time for him to hurl his guts up.

Oh fuck, this is bad.

Armand appears by his side, dropping to his knees on the floor. He wraps one arm around Daniel’s back, rubbing it up and down, soothing, his fingers on his other hand carding through Daniel’s hair as he expels… well everything.

“Of course,” Armand mutters, his voice quiet and trembling. “How could I forget.”

Daniel lifts his head between wretches. “Yeah, this part isn’t so hot.” Then his head drops right back into the toilet.

Armand continues rubbing Daniel’s back and stroking his hair. Daniel can hear—can feel—his heartbeat, and his heart rate is through the roof. He’s still muttering something. Some of it Daniel can make out, like the frantic, panicked oh, god, oh gods, but other parts are definitely not English. He’s cycling through God knows how many languages and he’s trying to sooth Daniel with his hands, but it’s clearly just as much a self-soothing action as anything else.

“You had to turn me on a fucking airplane, didn’t you,” Daniel says when he gets a spare five seconds of not-hurling; perhaps injecting some humor into the situation might help. “Everyone knows the worst place to get sick is on an airplane.”

“You were going to die, Daniel!” Armand all but shrieks, his voice high and panicked, and nothing like Daniel has ever heard it before. “You were dead! Dead in my arms! I was going to crash the plane, but then I felt a heartbeat and—”

Okay, that didn’t help.

“I know, baby, I know,” Daniel says, head still in the toilet, but lifting one hand to give Armand’s thigh a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

“Why are you comforting me?” Armand says, but it’s not really a question. “I should be comforting you.” Without leaving Daniel’s side, he starts frantically glancing around the bathroom, looking for God knows what. He doesn’t even seem to know what. “I need… you need… I don’t know what you need! I’ve never done this before!”

Daniel strokes up and down Armand’s thigh. “I’ll be okay, yeah? I just gotta let it happen. Better out than in.” Then he pauses and looks up at Armand. “Wait, you were going to crash the plane?”

Armand blinks at him. His eyes red-rimmed, his face still streaked with dried tears. “I thought I’d made it perfectly clear, Daniel, that I do not wish to live without you.”

Fuck.

Daniel wants to say something—fuck, it could actually be a love confession at this point—but he’s interrupted by yet another retch, so he just squeezes Armand’s thigh a little tighter as he continues to endure the horrors.

Surely this has to be nearly over. It’s the worst feeling in the world. Like ten different strains of flu, and three different types of food poisoning have all ganged up to kick him repeatedly in the stomach.

But then Armand presses in to his side. He wraps one arm around Daniel, rubbing his hand up and down his upper arm and squeezing him close. He rests his head on Daniel’s shoulder and slips his other hand around his front to rub soothingly over his belly.

So not the worst feeling in the world.

“Not the first time you’ve held my hair back while I hurled up my guts,” Daniel says, once the cramping finally begins to subside enough for him to sit back on his heels.

He places his hand over Armand’s where it rests against his stomach. He takes a deep breath that he doesn’t strictly need. Okay, it’s… it’s fucking done.

Armand tentatively raises his head, and Daniel turns to look at him.

His maker.

Armand’s eyes are wide and round like saucers, and blazing orange, and more iridescent and beautiful than Daniel has ever seen them. In fact, everything about him is… indescribable. Sure, he’s always been a knockout but now… it must be the vampiric vision… the bond… something…

His hair is a mess of tangles, and his mouth is smeared with Daniel’s drying blood and he’s breathtaking.

And he still looks terrified.

“What have I done…” Armand says, his voice low, his body eerily statue-still.

“Hey,” Daniel says, reaching up to cup his face with his hand. “You saved my life, is what you did. Again. Seems like you just can’t help yourself.”

“I couldn’t do it, Daniel,” Armand says, twisting the fabric of Daniel’s shirt in his fist, his other arm still tight and possessive around his shoulders. “I prepared myself for half a century. I knew it was inevitable that one day you would die, and that I would lose you, and that the world would go on turning without you in it. But I couldn’t, Daniel… I couldn’t—”

Armand’s voice breaks off on the last word with a sob and Daniel pulls him into a hug. The biggest, warmest, and best fucking hug he’s ever had.

The hand Armand has twisting in Daniel’s shirt snakes around his back, and he holds him in return, the two of them clinging to one another, chest to chest, cheeks pressed together, faces buried in each other’s necks.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Daniel coos as he holds Armand even tighter, rubbing his back. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m more than okay.”

Armand lifts his head a little. He’s still attached to Daniel like a barnacle, but he lifts it enough so that he can look at his face, blinking at him with those firelight eyes. Fuck, Daniel really wants to kiss him but like… he’s still feeling pretty gross from all the… you know…

Point is, he should probably, at the very least, rinse his mouth out before he kisses him.

Armand tilts his head in a silent question, like he’s asking Daniel for some sort of proof that he really is okay.

“Look,” Daniel says, holding up his right hand; it’s as steady as a rock. “No shakes… And look,” he taps himself on the temple. “I don’t even need my glasses to see how diabolical you are”

Armand’s mask cracks a little and he smiles a tiny smile.

Then he gasps, eyes wide again. “Your eyes, Daniel!”

Oh right, his eyes will be… different now.

“What do they look like?” Daniel asks.

“They’re…” Armand cuts himself off, going still in Daniel’s arms again. He sits up as much as he can without actually letting Daniel go, and stares at him like he’s got three heads.

Daniel laughs nervously. “That bad, huh?”

“No, they…” Armand trails off, lifting one hand to trace the skin under Daniel’s eyes with his fingertips.

“Careful with the claws there, babe,” Daniel says, flinching a little.

“They’re… the most exquisite jade. They look just like your mortal eyes, but even more beautiful. Iridescent. Dreamy. But…”

“But what?”

“They… they weren’t like that before.” Armand furrows his brow. “Out there, when you first came around, when you were kissing me. They were… they were like mine.”

“Really?”

Is that normal? That’s kind of hot.

“Yes…” Armand sounds like he’s mesmerized as he continues touching Daniel’s face. “We shall have to see if it happens again. Perhaps if it does, we can deduce the reason for it.”

“Oh, another perk!” Daniel pipes up; he’s just had a brainwave. “I’ve been on my knees for like, thirty minutes without complaining once.”

“Hmm,” Armand says, a wicked smirk spreading across his face as he gazes up at Daniel and runs his finger down his nose. “I can think of plenty of reasons why that might be of benefit.”

Daniel’s dick twitches in his sweatpants.

Armand’s eyes go wide again. Then he pulls his lower lip between his teeth and fails to conceal another smile. “Beloved, I think I’ve just discovered what it is that makes your eyes change color.”

“Yeah?” Daniel smirks; he may have just figured it out too.

“Yeah,” Armand purrs, locking his blazing orange eyes onto Daniel’s matching ones, and running his hand up his thigh until it lands on the bulge in his sweatpants.

“Ah—fuck…” Daniel grits out. “You know I… I really want to kiss you, but… I gotta have a shower or something first.” He gestures at his own face. “This is… not pretty.”

“You are always pretty, Daniel,” Armand insists, cupping his cheek with the hand that isn’t currently fondling Daniel’s crotch.

“That’s sweet babe,” Daniel somehow manages to say, “but I just spent the last half-hour puking up everything I’ve ever put inside my body.”

“And?”

Daniel laughs. “You’re a freak, you do realize that?”

Armand just kind of pouts, like a petulant child who got told he can’t have a cookie before dinner.

“Hey, there is a way I can get clean, and I can kiss you.” He nods towards the small (but still ridiculously excessive for a fucking airplane) shower. “Two birds.”

Armand’s entire countenance perks up and he stands, smiling knowingly and offering Daniel both of his outstretched hands. Daniel takes them and lets him pull him to his feet. He doesn’t need the help; his joints move like they’re oiled with butter. There’s not a single ache, or pang, or creak. He hasn’t moved this smoothly in… well ever. But still, he is only human—wait… no he’s not. Old habits.

Anyway, how can he resist letting Armand take him by the hands?

When Daniel is standing, Armand cradles his face in his palms again, his gaze flickering from Daniel’s eyes to his lips and back again. It looks like he’s using every ounce of his centuries-old vampiric strength to not kiss him. Instead, he touches his forehead to Daniel’s and Daniel nearly melts onto the floor again. Armand’s hands slide down his neck, his chest, his body, blazing a trail until his fingers find the hem of Daniel’s shirt. He pulls the garment up over his head, then he casts it to the side before removing his own.

God, he’s so glorious. All firm hard muscle under smooth dark skin. The way he looks so delicate and fragile when he’s dressed, but the second the shirt comes off it’s like… Adonis.

Daniel kind of wants him to fold him in half.

Suddenly, Daniel feels really vulnerable and stupid. Momentarily embarrassed by his own aged body—wrinkly loose skin; paunchy stomach; white, wiry hair on his saggy chest. Man, now he kind of wants to put the shirt back on. But the way Armand is looking at him, eyes fixed to him, fingers dancing across his skin, marking out every line, every scar, every freckle. He looks positively spellbound. And super horny.

“If I’m not permitted to kiss your lips just yet, Daniel, may I at least kiss your body?” He asks, his gaze still glued to Daniel’s chest.

Daniel swallows hard and his dick stirs again. “Uh… yeah. Sure, you… yeah...”

Armand places his hands on Daniel’s waist, his fingers wrapping around his sides, his thumbs rubbing lovingly over what most would refer to as his love handles. Then he dips down and places a hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss over his right nipple, and pleasure shoots through Daniel’s body.

He laves his tongue over the skin and sucks the little bud into his mouth, until it’s standing at attention. Then he nips at it with his teeth and Daniel hisses, his fingers threading into Armand’s curls as he continues the ministrations over on the other side.

Daniel’s fingers tighten in Armand’s hair and Armand whines at the touch, the vibrations from his mouth zinging through Daniel’s body and causing his head to fall back with his moan. How had he gone 37 years without this? How could he ever have forgotten it?

Armand continues his way down Daniel’s body, trailing reverent, hungry kisses—all with just the right amount of teeth and tongue—down and across his soft, round stomach, leaving no inch of flesh untouched by his mouth. Daniel is quivering and achingly hard by the time Armand arrives at the top of his sweatpants. He undoes the little tie with his elegant fingers and slides the pants down Daniel’s legs so he can step out of them. Then Armand recommences his delicious torment, kissing his way back up Daniel’s legs. A kiss to the side of his calf. A kiss to his knee. A trail of kisses up his thigh, finishing with one on his hip like a signature. Then he nuzzles against the bulge in Daniel’s boxers.

Daniel hisses again, his fingers tightening in Armand’s hair. Daniel lifts his head to look down at Armand.

Then he’s hit with another wave of self-loathing guilt. Dirty old man, naked and hard, with what looks like a pretty little twenty-something on his knees in front of him?

Not the greatest optics.

“Oh, you don’t need to if you don’t want—” he says, only half-meaning it.

Armand reaches up with one hand to cover Daniel’s mouth. He can’t quite reach—only his fingertips make it—and Daniel feels the delicious sting of his claws against his lower lip.

“Shh… I want,” Armand purrs.

That’s good enough for Daniel.

Daniel throws up the briefest prayer for his publicist—God help them, going forward—and then he totally surrenders, head falling back again as Armand mouths messily at his cock through the fabric.

“Fucking fuck…” he mutters, head spinning more and more at every greedy movement of Armand’s lips and tongue. So much, and yet not nearly enough, with the material barrier still separating them. There’s no way this is actually happening. That this 514-year-old Renaissance muse cum eldritch horror is gnawing at his dick like it’s the best meal he’s had in years.

Wait, Daniel’s figured it out, he did die in his sleep. This is heaven… or hell? Who fucking cares… all he knows is he doesn’t want to leave it.

Daniel’s snapped back to reality when Armand slips his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and drags the garment—soaked with spit and precome—down his legs, freeing his angry, aching erection. It springs up and smears against his stomach, and Armand sort of bounces back like he just got startled by a jack-in-the-box. It’s adorable. Then he leans back in and presses a kiss on the underside of his cock, right near the base. That’s less adorable and more… fucking hot as hell.

Daniel sucks in a breath. He’s so tightly wound he has to force himself not to pull Armand’s hair out of his scalp. It only gets worse as Armand trails more and more open-mouthed kisses up the underside of his length until he reaches the painfully swollen head. Then he wraps those long, elegant fingers of his around Daniel and presses one last kiss, right on the tip, before sliding Daniel’s cock between his lips.

“Fucking Christ…” Daniel groans as his cock is swallowed up in the wet heat of Armand’s mouth.

He’s literally got his dick in the maw of a monster, and he’s never been harder in his life. Armand’s eyes flutter closed as he takes him deeper. Daniel’s never seen anyone give head with so much enthusiasm outside of porn. But this isn’t performative. At least it doesn’t feel that way. All Daniel is feeling zinging down the cord of their bond is love, desire, unapologetic passion. Armand is loving this, and it’s clear that it’s just as pleasurable for him as it is for Daniel. He wraps his hand around the base of him, the other hand back on his hip, his thumb rubbing softly over the skin. Daniel is going to fucking explode any second, and he’s not sure that he wants his first earth-shattering, post-vampirism orgasm to be like this. He wants… something more. This feels monumental for some reason.

“Babe, get up here,” Daniel somehow manages to say. “Why don’t we even the playing field?”

Armand pulls off, blinking up at him with those big eyes. “Don’t you wish to take your pleasure in my mouth?”

Fuck. It’s almost enough for Daniel to shoot all over his face.

“I mean, yeah, I do, but…” God, he feels so vulnerable and stupid. “But right now… I… really wanna hold you.”

A smile spreads across Armand’s face. A pure one—so genuine and warm—and he drops his head a little like he’s shy. Which… crazy work for someone who was just sucking dick like it was going to get him off.

Daniel holds his hands out for Armand to take. He helps him to his feet, which of course he doesn’t need. Then he pulls him against his body, wrapping him up in his arms and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Armand slips his arms around Daniel’s waist and squeezes him tight. Daniel’s cock is hard where it’s trapped between their bodies, and he’s so close to losing it, but right now… this feels so much better.

“I also really wanna kiss you,” Daniel mutters into his hair.

“Well, I already said I wanted to do that, and you wouldn’t let me!” Armand huffs with a chuckle.

“Shower. Now.” Daniel says, lifting his head from where it’s been buried in Armand’s curls.

Armand grins and untangles himself from Daniel’s arms so that Daniel can rid him of his sweatpants and boxer briefs.

Fuck, he really is a work of art.

Daniel’s mouth goes dry as he looks at him. All acres of smooth, dark skin; long, deceptively strong legs; the swell of his chest; his biteable neck; the softness of his tummy; the gorgeous, perfect cock that is hard and swelling where it juts out in from of him. All for Daniel.

But it’s Armand who totally can’t stop touching Daniel’s body. His fingers immediately reaching back out to dance circles across his chest. You’d think Daniel was the one who looked like he was sculpted by Michelangelo. It’s a hell of an ego boost.

“I… uh… I think you gotta stop touching me for two seconds if you want to turn the shower on,” Daniel says.

He really doesn’t want him to stop touching him (ever again for the rest of time, actually) but he also really wants to get clean so he can start kissing him and never, ever stop again.

Armand doesn’t stop touching him, of course. He simply takes one of Daniel’s hands in his and leads him toward the shower like he’s leading him to the dance floor. He turns on the tap and holds his free hand under the water until he’s satisfied that it’s the perfect temperature. Then he pulls Daniel into the tight space, under the stream.

He pumps some sweet-smelling shampoo into his palm and lathers it between his hands, then he pushes his fingers into Daniel’s curls, his eyes gazing hungrily over Daniel’s face as he reverently washes his hair. He tilts Daniel’s head back a little, so he doesn’t get any in his eyes—as if vampire’s need to worry about getting shampoo in their eyes. It’s so intimate, so erotic, no words between them, only the needy moans Daniel makes whenever Armand rubs over a particularly sensitive spot.

Daniel’s cock pulses between them, bumping against Armand’s, eliciting a gasp from the both of them. Daniel feels like he’s spinning out. His new vampire body totally overwhelmed with sensation. Everything feels amplified. Every touch, every sound, every smell. An eternity of this? God, he’s so fucking ready.

When Armand is satisfied, he turns Daniel around so he can rinse the suds from his hair, before he repeats the process with the conditioner. The pads of his fingers massaging Daniel’s scalp, his cock pressing hard against Daniel’s ass. Daniel is fucking floating. He tips his head back on a sigh and pushes his ass harder against him. Armand moans and leans in closer. He presses a kiss to the back of Daniel’s shoulder. Then he purrs in his ear: “So needy, beloved. Some things never change.”

Then he nips at Daniel’s earlobe before stepping away briefly to pump some soap into a washcloth.

Daniel whines at the loss of his touch, as fleeting as it is.

Yeah, he is needy. Sue him.

Armand’s hands return to his body, and to Daniel it feels like returning home. He glides the washcloth over Daniel’s skin, gently bathing him just like he did in the old days. Carefully rubbing soft circles across his back, then turning him around and washing his front. Daniel melts into every touch, quiet whimpers and moans dripping from his lips as he submits to the hands of the good nurse. When Armand is done, it’s Daniel’s turn, and he bathes him just as lovingly, just as reverently, enjoying the soundtrack of sighs as he runs his fingers through Armand’s soft curls and glides his hands over his skin.

When they’re both clean of all the blood and the viscera, Daniel sticks his face under the stream, filling his mouth and rinsing until the weird, sick-but-also-kinda-chalky taste is gone. When he turns back around, Armand is fixing him with another blazing stare.

“May I finally kiss you now?” He asks with an endearingly petulant tone in his voice.

Daniel laughs. “You may.”

Armand doesn’t need any more permission than that. He surges, tongue first, into a hot, ravenous kiss. His fingers thread into Daniel’s damp hair, and he pushes him backwards, pressing him up against the wall; their hot, wet bodies crushed together against the cool tile. Daniel grabs hold of Armand’s hips to steady himself. He might be a vampire now, and therefore unlikely to slip in the shower and break a hip. But that doesn’t make him impervious to slipping in the shower and breaking his ego.

Armand’s hands slide out of Daniel’s hair, down his face and his neck, over his shoulders, and across his chest, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he explores every inch of his torso with his fingertips. Daniel digs his fingers into Armand’s hips and pulls him closer against him; their cocks, hard and aching, grinding together. Armand moans into Daniel’s mouth at the sudden movement, breathy and surprised, as his hands shoot up to brace against the tiled wall behind Daniel as their chests crash together again. Daniel squeezes Armand’s ass a little harder, the sharp tips of his nails biting into the skin, and Armand makes another perfectly delectable sound before pushing his knee between Daniel’s legs. Daniel grinds against him and—

Oh god—this is ecstasy.

Daniel shifts a little so that Armand can press in closer too, and they begin moving together, grinding wantonly on each other. The water isn’t a sufficient lubricant of course, but they’re both so desperate and leaking that it doesn’t take long for them to build up a delicious, slicked rhythm between the tight clutch of their bodies.

Armand’s fingers return to Daniel’s hair, and he cradles his face between his palms, turning his head this way and that way. Wherever he needs it to be so that he can kiss him best as they rut against each other, urgently seeking pleasure from one another. Pleasure that they have both been denied from each other for 37 years. Pleasure that a few days ago, Daniel hadn’t remembered ever feeling. Pleasure that at 69 years old he never thought he'd feel again. Their movements grow more urgent, less coordinated as they both climb higher towards their peak. The stream of water, which is irresponsibly running down the drain, is doing little to drown out the symphony of needy moans and whimpers, all slightly garbled and swallowed up by the press of the other’s mouth. 

Armand breaks the kiss, but only so he can press his forehead against Daniel’s, hands still cradling his face, lips parted, eyes fluttered closed.

“Ah—Daniel, I can’t—oh! I can’t believe—mhm—you’re real,” he pants. “Are you? Are you real?”

Daniel reaches up to touch one of Armand’s hands where it rests on his face, covering it with his own hand and stroking it with his thumb.

“Yeah—fuck… yeah, I’m real,” he manages to say as even more pleasure, more heat, pools deep in his stomach. “I’m here. I’m real.”

“I—ah,” Armand says, breathless. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Daniel somehow finds the mental wherewithal to say. “I didn’t e—even realize that I did but… yeah…ah—mmm… m’body remembers.”

With a couple more desperate rocks, Armand comes, hot and slick across their stomachs, his lips parted around a delicious stream of oh, oh, ohs. Then he grabs Daniel by the biceps to steady himself, and he drops his head to Daniel’s shoulder as he goes limp and loose against Daniel’s tightly wound body.

Daniel picks up his pace, chasing his pleasure and living for the delicious little whimpering noises Armand makes every time his oversensitive cock drags against Daniel’s still-hard one.

Ecstasy builds low in Daniel’s gut, careening him toward his release, and he cries out with a voice he barely recognizes when he comes. It’s like every drug he ever took in his life, combined. Intoxicating, blinding pleasure zinging throughout his body, lighting up his entire nervous system, and causing him to cling tighter to Armand and throw his head back to smack against the wall behind him. He hasn’t felt anything even remotely close to that good in… well… ever.

“Fuck,” he says, once enough blood has traveled back up to his brain, finally bringing it back online.

Armand huffs a laugh into the crook of his neck. First just one, light and almost disbelieving. Then it expands, bubbling up into a fit of giggles that make his shoulders bounce. They hold each other like that for an irresponsibly long time as the water keeps running, until Armand’s giggles peter out and he slowly lifts his head. God, he’s even more beautiful when he’s all drunk on his own pleasure. How could Daniel have ever forgotten that face?

Though he hadn’t really, had he? The second he’d laid eyes on “Rashid” he’d known there was something about that face. It had been maddening, and he’d lashed out at him because he’d hated himself for wanting this… kid.

He’d never forgotten. Not really.

Armand’s presence had always been engraved in his brain and in his heart, no matter how hard Armand had tried to scratch over it.

Daniel has no choice but to surge in for another kiss. He’s still got so much energy zipping through him, he almost feels like, given a minute, he’d be ready for round two. But Armand seems tired. Lethargic. His entire body weight still hanging off Daniel like he can barely hold himself up anymore, as he kisses him back languidly.

Daniel lifts his head to look at him again, caressing his cheek in his hand. Armand’s eyes are back to their honey brown color, and they’re half lidded. And he looks a little woozy and pale.

Of course. He just made his first fledgling ever. Five hundred and fourteen year “no fledglings” streak and he broke it for Daniel.

Fuck, the way that warms him. This is love. There’s no way around it.

“You’re exhausted,” Daniel says.

“I’m all right,” Armand replies, nuzzling into Daniel’s palm.

“Bullshit,” Daniel says, still as brash as ever. “You just had a kid.”

Another laugh bubbles up out of Armand. “Don’t say it like that, Daniel!”

“Well, I mean, you kinda did,” Daniel says, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “You went through about as much trauma and blood loss as if you had.”

Armand rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide the fact that he’s trying not to smile. “It’s insufferable the way you care for me, fledgling.”

“Yeah, well get used to it, maker,” Daniel volleys back before giving him a quick kiss on the nose; then he tilts his head to the side. “Come on, have a sip. You need to eat.”

“No, Daniel, I can’t possibly—”

“Come on,” Daniel says. “I haven’t seen you eat since the eighties.”

Armand gives him a look. “I ate Malik.”

“I didn’t see it,” Daniel says. “And everyone knows that if they die off-stage, they didn’t really die.”

Armand huffs and rolls his eyes again like a long-suffering wife.

“Come on,” Daniel says. “The happiest and liveliest you looked the whole two weeks I was in Dubai was after you got back from your entertaining lunch.”

“But what if…” Armand drops his head.

Oh.

Yeah, there’s a lot of trepidation thrumming down their bond right now.

Daniel strokes Armand’s cheek again. “Babe, it’s not gonna hurt me. I promise. Just a little drink. Un petit coup, if you will.”

Armand purses his lips and shakes his head, suppressing a smile as if he doesn’t think Daniel is the most hilarious man he’s ever known.

“Fine,” he concedes.

Armand carefully wraps his hand around the back of Daniel’s neck. His fingers threading into the hair at his nape, and he leans in. First, just kissing softly at the loose skin, and Daniel lets out a contented little sigh. Then there’s another kiss, and another. He’s just kissing, and licking, and nibbling with blunt teeth. It feels amazing and Daniel is halfway back to hard again, which is a fucking Christmas miracle, but Armand needs to feed. Even with the steam from the shower and Daniel’s post-turning drop in body temperature, he can still feel how cold Armand is.

“Babe, you’re not gonna break me, I swear. And you’re not gonna get any sustenance from licking me like that,” Daniel says, even as his dick twitches, once again very interested. “Although you are gonna make me hard again.”

Daniel feels Armand sigh shakily against his throat, moments before he feels the sweet sting of his fangs sinking into his neck. And holy fucking shit, this is so different to how he remembers it when he was human.

“Oh, fuck,” Daniel says, grabbing Armand’s hips, and grinding against him so he knows it’s an “oh fuck” of pleasure and not an “oh fuck” of pain.

Because yeah, the sex is phenomenal, what little of it they’ve had so far. And Daniel can’t wait to touch down in Florida (previously unsaid sentence in Daniel’s history) so they can get back to the villa and have a whole lot more of it. But this blood drinking stuff, man? It had always been good when he was mortal. But this, now that he’s a vampire too. It kinda makes the sex pale in comparison.

Okay, maybe that’s pushing it. But it’s still so fucking good.

Daniel tips his head back, lolling against the tile again as he loses himself to the sensation of his maker’s mouth on him, pulling blood from him, using him to regain his strength. He can feel Armand’s grip growing stronger on his neck. His other hand snakes down Daniel’s body and wraps around both their cocks.

“Fucking Christ,” Daniel grits out. “So good, babe. So good.”

Armand continues to drink as he strokes them both in tandem.

Apparently, Daniel’s gone from erectile dysfunction to multiple orgasms in the space of twenty-four hours.

Man, what a trip. This vampirism shit. It’s awesome.

Daniel grips Armand’s waist a little harder as his pleasure hits him like a wall, and he spills all over Armand’s fist with another cry. Armand isn’t far behind, and moans into Daniel’s neck before pulling off him with a gasp.

He looks at Daniel, panting around a smile.

“Feel better?” Daniel asks.

“Yes.”

He looks better too. Apparently, that’s possible. The glow is back in his cheeks; his eyes are sparkling.

Fuck, he’s beautiful.

Armand leans in to kiss Daniel again, slow and with intention, like he’s putting his signature on a work of art. He releases Daniel from the kiss and strokes his face again, looking all well-fucked, well-fed, and blissed-out.

“I think we… need to clean up again,” Daniel says, glancing down at their sticky stomachs.

Armand laughs. “Well, how fortunate that we’re in a shower, beloved.”

“Yeah, on that,” Daniel says. “It’s bad enough we’re using this carbon spewing fuck-palace in the sky, but we’ve had that water running for way too long.”

Chapter Text

They’re barely in the front door two seconds before Armand has Daniel pressed up against the wall by the entryway, his face buried in his neck, his hands gripping desperately at his waist. Daniel’s overwhelmed by it, of course. The heat of Armand’s lips, tongue, and teeth on his skin; the grounding touch of Armand’s hands as they loosen their grip and run possessively up and down his body; the press of Armand’s hips against Daniel’s, and the fact that both of them are hard again. Daniel’s head falls back against the wall behind him, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling.

Holy fuck.

But no matter how caught up Daniel is in all this… sensation, all this feeling, all of the desire that’s currently making his insides soft and his dick hard, there are just so many other things to take in, especially given his new vampirically heightened senses. His new eyes are seeing shit he’s never noticed before—they’re seeing shit that isn’t even there. He swears to God, he can see fucking sounds (speaking of, his ears were picking up the distant chatter of millions of voices all over Miami, which would have sent him straight into the sun if Armand hadn’t given him some advice on how to block it out). His new nose is like a bloodhound’s, and right now it’s flooded entirely with the delicious scent of his maker. His blood, his shampoo, his… him. Every touch feels amplified, his pleasure so dialed up, it’s almost overwhelming. This is the best fucking high Daniel’s ever had, and he’s been tweaking since the plane.

By the time they had washed up (the second time), dried each other off, and gotten dressed, the pilot was preparing the plane for landing. That pilot will of course never know just how close he came to death on that flight. Daniel feels kind of bad about it. But also, the idea of Armand being so overcome with grief at the thought of Daniel being dead, that he was willing to crash the fucking plane? It’s flattering. And kinda hot.

Daniel knows that’s an insane thing to think, but Daniel didn’t get to this stage of his life by being sensible in the face of vampires. If he had, he wouldn’t be one himself now.

The plane had landed in Miami, and the Florida humidity immediately sent his hair frizzing like crazy the second he stepped into the night air (file under: “things vampirism has no effect on”). They’d taken the ferry over from the Miami Docks, and Daniel felt like he’d been transported—like no time had passed between that first night he’d ridden those waters towards his new home, and now. He couldn’t help himself. He’d laughed into the balmy night air, the wind whipping through his frizzed curls. Armand had looped his arms around his neck and kissed him again. He’d then spent the rest of the journey hanging from Daniel’s neck like a baby sloth, alternating between more kisses and sharing random facts about the original construction of their villa, as well as ideas for new additions they could include for the modern era.

Daniel loves it of course—he always has—the way Armand lights up when he talks about the things that interest him, the way he’s already got all these ideas in place for their new shared home. It also makes Daniel wonder if, on some level, Armand had always known—or at least hoped—that Daniel was going to end up leaving that Dubai interview with him.

The second Daniel lay his eyes on the villa, he knew it. Of course he knew it. He’d lived there. They’d lived there in those last few tumultuous years. And sure, things had fallen apart for them there, but it was impossible to deny that the place held far more good memories than it did bad ones. And when they’d walked through the door, despite Armand immediately pinning Daniel to a wall and lavishing him in kisses, Daniel had managed to gather enough of his wits about him to glance around and remember.

This is his home. This is their home.

The ecstasy that zings through his body as Armand torments his throat with his lips, tongue, and blunt teeth… it’s overwhelming. As is the whole idea of him being here in this gorgeous villa, on a luxury island that he not only technically owns, but where he lived for years with his vampire boyfriend. His vampire boyfriend that he’s now got back. This entire thing is moving stupidly fast. Or is it? This has been 37 years in the making, after all. 

Daniel knows there are still plenty of things for him to be pissed at Armand about. Things that he really should hate him for. The lying, the manipulation, the murder, the mind-wipe… being an obnoxious theatre kid… but the thing is, Daniel could never hate Armand. He knows this now more than ever.

In fact, the thing that Daniel remembers the most about his past with Armand—and it definitely says more about Daniel than it says about Armand—is that Daniel has always loved that Armand was a monster.

He was never repulsed by the shit that he did, or horrified by the fact that he had to kill in order to survive. In fact, Daniel remembers now, asking him countless times if he could watch him hunt, desperate to see him in his element as he chased, and lulled, and took his victim, the very thought of it always causing Daniel to harden in his jeans. Armand had always told him no. He’d never killed in front of Daniel. He’d never wanted Daniel to see him like that.

But now, the fact that not only will Daniel get to see Armand hunt, but that they will get to hunt together… man, if Daniel wasn’t already as hard as a rock, that thought would do it.

Another horny little thrill shoots up Daniel’s spine, and he lets out a groan as Armand rocks his hips a little harder against him. No, Daniel has never been revolted by Armand, he has to admit. What he has always felt—what he still feels—was a ravening and hopeless desire.

Armand’s lips travel a little higher up Daniel’s neck until they brush against the shell of his ear.

“Welcome home, beloved,” he purrs. “Would you like me to give you the grand tour?”

Daniel groans again. “Only if the first stop is the bedroom.”

“Hmm…” Armand ponders; Daniel can hear the smirk on his face. “I think that’s something we can possibly arrange.”

“It better be. Otherwise, you’re just gonna have to fuck me right here in the foyer.”

Armand lets out an almost imperceptible gasp into Daniel’s ear, and his grip on his hips tightens—so much so, that Daniel feels the sting of his claws through his jeans, drawing blood.

“Is that what you want, Daniel?” He breathes into Daniel’s skin as he mouths hungrily at his neck. “For me to fuck you?”

Daniel swallows hard and rough. He hasn’t done it like that in decades. Well, not since Armand last time. He’d quickly stopped fooling around with guys in the late eighties and nineties for obvious reasons. He’d had a few hook ups in the 2000s, but nothing to write home about. Mostly drunken bathroom blow jobs in random bars while away on book tours and at conferences. But that’s it.

Flashbacks to that first night in seventy-seven.

Is that what you want, Daniel? For me to fuck you?

Daniel answers by grabbing two handfuls of Armand’s ass and grinding against him again. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well, I could always fuck you right here in the foyer…” Armand says, pressing a kiss to his pulse point. “Then in the dining room…” another kiss a little lower, “then in the kitchen…” Kiss. “The parlor…” Kiss. “The bathroom…” Kiss. “Out on the terrace…” Kiss.

“Fuck, that really is a grand tour,” Daniel says with a nervous chuckle. “But…”

Oh shit, he feels vulnerable.

“… what I really want is…”

Oh man, his face is fucking burning.

Armand lifts his head, the wicked grin is gone, replaced with almost painful sincerity. He cups Daniel’s cheek in his palm. “What is it, beloved? Tell me what it is you want. I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you anything you desire.”

Daniel smiles, a little uncharacteristically shy with it, as he draws circles against Armand’s hipbones with his thumbs. “You kinda already have, babe.”

Armand’s eyes turn warm and sweet, his plush lips stretching into a broad, beautiful smile—so big it causes the corners of his eyes to crinkle and his nose to scrunch. He’s overcome with a joy so pure it nearly makes Daniel collapse onto the floor. It’s so gorgeous, so real, that Daniel can’t help but pull him into another kiss. This one isn’t urgent and desperate like it might be their last chance, like some of the others have been, but it’s still more intense than any they’ve shared so far. It’s slow, and deep, and leisurely, and longing, like they have all the time in the world. Which they do now.

“Let me take you to our bed then, beloved,” Armand murmurs against Daniel’s lips. “And you can tell me whatever it is that you desire.”

“You,” Daniel says, into the kiss. “I want you. In our bed, in our home, and I want you to make love to me like you did in that shitty, musty motel in seventy-seven.”

This is what Armand does, man. He makes Daniel Molloy say shit like make love. But it’s not as though Daniel can find a better descriptor for it. Because it’s exactly what he wants.

Armand kisses him again, his hands sliding down Daniel’s neck and down his body, before he scoops him up bridal-style in his arms. Daniel giggles like a fucking schoolgirl—something which he can’t even bring himself to feel embarrassed about. Then he loops his arms around Armand’s neck, holding onto his maker as he carries him through the villa.

Daniel takes in as much as he can: the opulent furniture, the countless priceless artworks, the red frescoes that Daniel recognizes from the Villa of the Mysteries, where they’d first shared the blood and Armand had said “I love you”. He recognizes it and he remembers. And there will be plenty of time later for him to explore the place—Daniel Molloy, once again lord and master of his own fucking island—but for now, it’s impossible to think too hard about anything other than how safe and protected he feels, cradled in the strong, sure arms of his lover. His maker.

Armand carries him up the stairs and down a hall, until they arrive at the grand double doors that Daniel remembers, that the two of them have spent many a night making love behind. Armand opens the doors with his mind and carries Daniel over to the bed, placing him down carefully on the mattress like he’s something fragile, and not a recently transfigured creature of the night.

Armand leans over, placing his hand on Daniel’s heart, and gives him another deep, slow kiss before he stands up and begins undressing. His gaze is fixed on Daniel as he slowly pulls his shirt off over his head and casts it aside. Daniel’s breath hitches as his eyes drink him in, his body and his feline movements, all while Daniel lays back against the pillows, feeling like a fucking blushing bride on her wedding night. Armand is like a Renaissance wet dream. Daniel’s mouth practically waters at the sight of all that perfect, smooth skin over tight, glorious muscle. The gentle softness of his stomach, the biteable swell of his ridiculously delectable chest. Daniel wants to bite him all over, mark him up with his teeth, suck bruises into every inch of flesh, even though he knows the marks will fade before the night is through.

And sure, Daniel only just saw him naked like, a couple of hours ago, but Daniel’s pretty sure there’s never going to be a time in the rest of eternity, that he isn’t going to look at Armand and be rendered speechless; every time feeling like it’s the first.

He’s unfathomably beautiful; a masterpiece. And what is even more unfathomable is the fact that he actually wants Daniel.

Armand smiles, a little coy when he notices Daniel’s staring, and then his elegant fingers are deftly unbuttoning his trousers. He pushes the garment down his long, strong thighs and kicks his shoes and socks away with them. He leaves the black boxer briefs on for now.

The fabric is clearly being put through its paces as it strains to contain his bulging erection, which is leaking a wet spot in the front.

Fuck, it’s titillating.

Daniel licks his lips. It’s a wonder he hasn’t come in his jeans already, just from the mere sight of him.

Armand climbs onto the bed and crawls on top of Daniel, his knees straddling his hips and his forearms bracketing Daniel’s head, his obsidian curls falling loose around both of their faces like a curtain, like they’re the only two vampires who exist in the entire world. He dips down to kiss Daniel again, his tongue seeking entrance and sliding against Daniel’s, his lips and teeth nibbling at Daniel’s mouth like he means to eat him alive. He’s taking his sweet time, and Daniel is so hard he thinks he might black out. But he doesn’t want to rush this either. They have all the fucking time in the world. Literally.

“I’m going to undress you now,” Armand says, brushing his nose against Daniel’s, before sitting upright and running his palms across Daniel’s chest. “Unwrap you like a present. You are, you know. You are a gift to me from Louis.”

Daniel chuckles, his face burning again. “I’d… uh… really appreciate it if you didn’t say another guy’s name when you’re in bed with me.”

“Don’t worry, beloved,” Armand says, leaning back down, to plant a kiss at the corner of Daniel’s mouth. “I only have eyes for you.” He kisses the other corner. “You haven’t left my mind in half a century.” Armand surges in for another long, luxurious kiss on his lips, and Daniel wraps his arms around his body, capturing him in his embrace.

He runs his palms up and down the smooth planes of skin, over the hard muscle. Armand whines into the kiss, then he presses their foreheads together.

“Do you have any idea how many nights I was with Louis, when I had to expend my energy keeping my mind closed to him, so that he didn’t know I was thinking of you?” He says, rolling his hips against Daniel’s. “How many times that we were together when I imagined he was you?” He punctuates the thought with another kiss and roll of his hips. 

Daniel groans into his mouth. As much as he wants to get off the topic of Louis as pillow talk, he can’t help but think that it’s pretty fucking hot that he’s been living rent-free in Armand’s sexual fantasies for the past 49 years. Hot. But also, insane.

“Seriously?” Daniel says, because he just can’t help himself. “You were thinking about me when you were with someone who looked like Louis?”

Armand sits up, resting back on Daniel’s thighs and looking down at him with his head tilted to one side like a curious puppy.

Who even is this guy? Who let him be this fucking adorable?

“Do you find it difficult to believe that I would find you attractive?” Armand asks, blinking down at him, his fingers mindlessly skimming across the skin of Daniel’s stomach where his shirt has ridden up.

“Well, yeah… kinda?” Daniel says. “I mean, I was cute when I was young, I guess but—”

Armand removes one hand from Daniel’s body and places his first two fingers over Daniel’s lips.

“Hush,” he says. “You are beautiful, Daniel. More beautiful than you’ve ever been. And I told you I have never stopped wanting you. Why would that change over the course of time, simply because you have aged?”

“Uh, simply because I have aged?” Daniel says, like it’s kind of obvious; then he reaches up to cup Armand’s cheek in his hand. “I mean look at you.”

Armand smiles, a little coquettish.

“Look at me indeed,” he says, his lips twisting into a cheeky little half-smile-half-smirk as he reaches up to take Daniel’s hand from his face. He guides it down his body to the damp bulge in the front of his briefs.

Daniel’s dick is rock hard, and it twitches the second Armand lays their hands over his own still-clothed erection. Armand gasps, his lips parting in tortured ecstasy as his hips cant forward into their joint touch. Then another wicked smile begins to break through, his eyelids heavy, his pupils huge.

“If you won’t believe it,” Armand says breathlessly, as he uses their joined hands to give himself a squeeze. “Then perhaps you can feel how much I still want you. How much I have always wanted you.”

Daniel moans, his mouth going dry at the feeling of the pulsing hardness under his fingers, the dampness of Armand’s underwear, all his pent-up desire—kept only for Daniel—coming out now, desperately and wantonly, still only for Daniel.

Fuck, he surely must have died in that penthouse after all. The bookshelf must have fallen on top of him in the wake of Louis’ and Armand’s domestic dispute. Daniel must be dead—dead dead, traditionally dead, not vampirically dead—and now he’s in Heaven. Because how is any of this possibly real.

Armand lets go of his hand and reaches for the hem of Daniel’s shirt. He drags it up his body, his fingers skimming up his sides, making Daniel shiver. Daniel shifts a little to help Armand pull the shirt off him, then Armand tosses it to the floor on top of the pile of his own clothes. He places his palms on the front of Daniel’s shoulders, and then slowly runs his hands down his body, over the soft swell of his chest, down the curve of his stomach, around the sides of his waist, and over the small roll of flesh at the top of his jeans. Then his fingers wander back up again, dancing over every line, dip, and scar—nails gently scraping through the dusting of silver hair on his chest. It’s like he’s mapping out the topography of Daniel’s entire body with his fingertips, his eyes fixed to his own movements, his tongue darting out every so often to wet his lips as he looks at Daniel like he’s his next meal.

“I love your body,” Armand says, reverently, like a benediction.

Daniel is on fire under the scorching heat of both his blazing eyes and his deft, elegant fingers.

Daniel had pretty much given up hope of ever hearing anything like that again. And the idea that he’d ever hear it from someone who looks like Armand does, someone whose beauty would make fucking angels weep… well, not even in his most unhinged fantasies.

“This beautiful body,” Armand continues, sliding both his hands up Daniel’s chest, over his shoulders and down his arms, before catching Daniel’s hands in his own and lacing their fingers together. “It has carried you for nearly seven decades, housed all your vital organs, your heart…” He presses a kiss over it. “Your lungs…” two kisses, one for each lung. “Your stomach…” a kiss just above his bellybutton. “It’s a wonder, a masterpiece, an altar at which I mean to worship.”

Daniel is going to spontaneously combust, surely. He’s going to explode from all of… this, and he’s going to accidentally set the bed on fire, burn down the entire villa, the entire island.

Every atom in his body has ignited, but his heart… oh fuck, his heart…

Fuck, I love you. So fucking much I can’t stand it, Daniel thinks, even though he knows Armand can’t hear it.

“Well, no thanks to me,” he says instead, because he’s insufferable. “I haven’t exactly treated it like a temple.”

Armand hums, lifting their joined hands up to his lips and kissing over Daniel’s knuckles.

“Well, I shall,” he says, between kisses, his lips brushing against Daniel’s fingers. “I shall worship it. Every atom, every inch, until the end of time, so there is not a moment that passes when you, Daniel Molloy, have any reason to doubt that you are beautiful.”

Fuck, Daniel’s actually going to cry. He’s going to fucking cry during foreplay.

Daniel blinks back the threat of tears he can feel welling in his eyes, and he swallows down the lump that’s formed in his throat. But he hasn’t got long to dwell on the fact that he’s about to crumble into an emotional mess, because Armand, still holding one of Daniel’s hands—his other hand bracing his bodyweight against the mattress—leans back down and places a hot, wet kiss on Daniel’s nipple. He sucks the nub into this mouth until it’s stiff and peaked, then he alternates between teasing it with his blunt teeth and licking it with the flat of his tongue.

The noises Daniel is making he barely recognizes as his own. He sounds fifty years younger as a string of little gasps, whimpers, and whines fall from his lips as Armand refuses to relent. He lets go of Daniel’s hand and grazes his thumb over the other nipple as he continues his ministrations, laving him with licks and kisses as Daniel moans and pants. Pleasure thrums down Daniel’s spine, his cock straining almost painfully in the confines of his jeans. Daniel’s hands find their way into Armand’s hair. Not to pull it or to move him—Daniel doesn’t want the control right now—he just wants to touch him, to feel his soft curls between his fingers as Daniel arches his back, pushing his chest harder against Armand’s mouth and into the sensation.

When Armand is satisfied, he pulls his lips off Daniel’s nipple with a little pop, and blows cool air across his wet, pink skin.

Daniel trembles, head rolling back. “Fucking Christ…”

If he wasn’t already dead, he’d probably have a heart attack.

Armand smiles like he knows a secret, then he kisses his way over to Daniel’s other nipple, repeating the ritual of lips, teeth, and tongue—pinching and rolling the other with his fingers. He keeps up his torment until Daniel is a whimpering, writhing mess on the mattress—his hands tightening in Armand’s curls, and his back bending into an even deeper arch. Daniel had no idea he could bend like that. He’s pretty sure that even when he was in his twenties he didn’t bend like that. What a trip.

The room is spinning around them, every touch of Armand’s lips and tongue on Daniel is sending him soaring. It’s so fucking much and yet not even remotely close to being enough. It only gets more maddening when Armand scoots back a little to give himself room to let his lips travel further south, blazing a trail of kisses, and licks, and bites, taking a leisurely stroll all across Daniel’s stomach, sides, hips...

Daniel is feeling a lot less insecure about that extra roll of flesh around his middle, because Armand just can’t seem to stop kissing it and biting at it, his eyes still blown out, his dick still straining in and leaking through his underwear. Then Armand is wriggling back even further and he’s unfastening Daniel’s jeans. Daniel’s breath is heavy, and his heart is pounding when those soft, graceful hands land so close to where he wants them, where he needs them.

Torturously slowly, Armand drags both Daniel’s jeans and his underwear down his legs—taking off his shoes and socks with them and casting it all to the floor. Daniel is completely laid bare under the solar heat of Armand’s gaze. Armand’s lips are slightly parted around his panting breaths, and Daniel can see that his fangs are out as he drinks Daniel in with his eyes. Then Armand stands and slides his own underwear down his legs and away. Daniel swallows hard as he watches Armand’s long, perfect cock bob in front of him, throbbing for Daniel and needy for his attention.

Fuck, Daniel needs it inside of him, like yesterday. Daniel’s chest rises and falls on his own shallow, desperate breaths, his own cock hard and heavy against his stomach. It’s like all of time has stopped, and all that exists in the universe is the two of them, maker and fledgling, lovers, companions…

Armand places one of his knees on the foot of the mattress and leans down to press a kiss to Daniel’s left ankle, then to the right. Then he slowly navigates his way up Daniel’s legs, leaving a trail of kisses behind as his fingers dance patterns everywhere his lips don’t. Daniel is a panting, heaving mess above him, his cock leaving a wet smear where it rests against his stomach.

Armand settles himself between Daniel’s open legs and turns his head to suck a bruise into his inner thigh.

“Ah, fuck…” Daniel gasps, hips jerking upwards, his cock leaking another pulse of precome onto his belly. “You’re such fucking a tease.”

Armand smiles with his teeth, looking up at Daniel, his curls falling into his eyes which are molten gold, but almost entirely eclipsed by huge, blown out pupils. He looks positively feral, gazing up at Daniel from between his legs, his fangs inches away from Daniel’s cock. It’s a wonder Daniel doesn’t come just from the sight of him.

“Not a tease, lover,” he says. “I have every intention of following through. I’m simply taking my time to savor you.” Then he pulls himself forward and licks a long, languid stripe up the underside of Daniel’s cock.

“Oh my god…” Daniel cries out, his hips canting again, seeking more of the heat of his mouth—but alas, Armand removes it with a laugh that is both evil and adorable.

Then he slowly runs one long finger down Daniel’s length—starting at the tip, sliding down the pulsing vein—his claw heart-stoppingly close to the sensitive skin.

“Would you like me to take you into my mouth, beloved?”—Fuck, Daniel is trembling— “Or would you like me to drink from you, right here?” He asks, punctuating the question with a kiss on Daniel’s inner thigh.

Fuck.

That’s a trick question, right? How the fuck is he supposed to choose just one?

“Ah—fuck,” Daniel gasps as Armand sucks another bruise into his skin. “Can I… fuck… be greedy as hell?”

Armand grins up at him like the devil he is. “Of course, beloved. You’re mine. And I shall grant you your every wish.”

Armand finally, blessedly, wraps his hand around the base of Daniel’s cock and holds it in front of his face, his breath ghosting over the wet tip as he stares at it and licks his lips. Daniel chokes out a sob when he rubs his thumb back and forth against the underside.

“Fuck, babe… this is… fuck… you’re so—ah…”

All coherent thoughts exit his brain as Armand leans forward and starts licking at his cock. Jolts of pleasure burst low in Daniel’s gut as he moans through it—first just little kitten licks, all over his length, starting at the base, traveling upwards until he reaches the tip and wriggles the point of his tongue into his slit.

Daniel cries out, his entire body shaking as his fingers clutch desperately at the sheets underneath him, his new vampire claws tearing the fabric to shreds. Armand hasn’t even gotten him in his mouth yet and Daniel already feels like he’s going to lose his god damn mind.

Then Armand looks up at him—and holy fuck, is that a sight for horny eyes. He opens his mouth. His fangs are still very much out. Daniel is half terrified and half turned on beyond belief, and honestly, that is exactly where Daniel Molloy has always thrived. Then, like sinking into a warm bath, Armand slides Daniel’s cock between his lips and into the heat of his mouth. Daniel lets out a long, whining groan that he’s only a little bit embarrassed by. He instinctively moves to buck his hips upwards, but Armand reflexively pins his forearm across his lower stomach, holding him down and chuckling around him, which only makes Daniel feel even crazier. Armand takes him deeper, slowly, slowly, with the faintest scrape of fangs—not hard enough to break any skin, but enough to add just the right amount of fear and pain that it makes Daniel see stars.

Daniel threads his fingers through Armand’s curls again, petting him as he starts to move his head, up and down, up and down; hollowing his cheeks; swallowing around him...

“Fuck, babe, you’re gonna kill me…” Daniel grits out, squeezing his eyes closed. “…again.”

Armand chuckles around his length once more, sending another wave of vibrations through his cock and—shit.

“Babe, babe, you’re gonna make me—” but before Daniel can finish the sentence, his body is spasming as he comes down Armand’s throat.

Then, quick and efficient, while Daniel is still trembling, Armand pulls his mouth off his cock—fingers still wrapped around it—and sinks his fangs into his femoral artery, drinking deep and hard as he continues to stroke him through it. And Daniel just keeps coming, back arching violently off the bed, eyes rolling back, crying out for Armand as he drowns in his own pleasure. He hasn’t felt this fucking alive in… well, ever.

Daniel’s moans tip over into whines of overwhelming oversensitivity and Armand pulls off him with a gasp. He laps at the wounds until they’ve healed, still lazily stroking Daniel’s softened cock as Daniel squirms and begins to feel the sting of tears in the corners of his eyes.

“Baby, please…” Daniel whines, sounding decades younger than he actually is, not really sure what exactly he’s asking for.

Armand lets him go and crawls back up his body, slinking like some sexy incubus horror—blood on his lips, hair all tousled. He settles his body weight on top of Daniel and nicks his tongue on his fang. He kisses him, open mouthed and messy, his tongue sliding against Daniel’s. When Daniel tastes his blood, all of his nerves ignite once more. The pleasure of the drink mingles with the pleasure of his orgasm, and it causes his dick to start twitching.

Fuck, it’s incredible.

They stay that way for a while, skin on skin, Armand pressing Daniel into the mattress, his hands caressing Daniel’s face and petting his hair; Daniel’s arms wrapped around Armand’s body as he holds him close, his palms rubbing over the muscles of his back, his fingers dancing up and down his spine. The two of them kissing, and moaning into each other’s mouths, Daniel sipping Armand’s ancient blood—the blood that made him—until the cut on Armand’s tongue has healed.

Somehow, Daniel’s dick is halfway to hard again. What a fucking trip.

With the wound closed and the blood gone, the kisses slow to a languorously passionate pace. Daniel is exactly where he wants to be, buried alive beneath his lover. But it’s still not enough. Daniel needs him so much closer. He wants to crack open his own rib cage so Armand can crawl inside him, and make a home right next to his heart, like a cat curled up by a fireplace. But if he can’t have that, then the next best thing would be having Armand inside of him. Stretching him, filling him, marking him, claiming him…

Fuck, he needs…

“Please,” he pants against Armand’s mouth. “Baby, please. I need you.”

“What do you need?” Armand asks in a whisper, lips brushing against Daniel’s. “Say the word, my love.”

“You. Armand,” Daniel breathes. “I need you inside me. Please.”

He sounds young when he begs. His voice wrecked and desperate, a nervous wobble to it.

Armand smiles and kisses him again. “Of course, my darling.”

Chapter Text

Blue skies.

Beautiful azure, adorned with white cotton-candy clouds.

Daniel won’t ever see a sky like this again, of course, not in real life anyway. Well, at least not until he too is five centuries old. But Daniel couldn’t give less of a shit if he tried. Who needs to look at real blue skies when he can see them like this. Painted all over the ceiling, above the bed where he’s currently laying amongst pillows and thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, getting his body worshiped by a five-hundred-year-old Renaissance muse and creature from his nightmares, and the goddamn love of his life.

Blue skies.

All over the ceiling. Exactly like the ones on his ceiling back in Brooklyn. Because of course they are.

Staring at these painted skies is all Daniel can do to keep himself from coming again, which he really wants to do, but he also doesn’t want to do until he’s got Armand buried inside him. Yeah, sure, he knows now that he can apparently rally pretty quickly. Vampirism grants you a preternaturally short refractory period as it turns out, but Daniel doesn’t want to chance it. He’s already pushed so much of his luck these last two weeks—fuck, his entire life!

In 1973, when he went home with a guy who claimed he was a vampire. Later that week when he backtalked the guy’s vampire boyfriend while he was actively trying to kill him. A few years later when he fell in love with said vampire boyfriend who tried to kill him. Years and years and years of chasing highs either from stories, or drugs, or the blood of the vampire boyfriend—now his vampire boyfriend.

Opening that unmarked package 49 years later. Traveling to Dubai, with a terminal illness, in the middle of a global pandemic. Antagonizing the help. Antagonizing him even more when he found out he wasn’t the help. Antagonizing him again after destroying his marriage, after realizing that, surprise! —It’s the vampire boyfriend!

And in 49 years he never stopped loving him.

Drinking with him, kissing him, falling into bed with him, getting on a plane with him… if Daniel had made any single one of those decisions differently in any way…

So yeah. Daniel Molloy’s long, long list of stupid, stupid things, and every single one of those stupid, stupid things led him here. Back home. Back into the arms of the love of his life. Because that’s what Armand is. What he’s always been. Not Louis’, like they’d tried to convince Daniel in Dubai. Louis clearly choking out the words like they tasted as bitter as the human food he still insisted on eating. But Daniel’s.

Daniel is overwhelmed. He’s been overwhelmed since the second his eyes flew open on that plane and he’d looked up into the glowing eyes of his maker as he held him and sobbed over him, blood tears streaking down his face, his bleeding wrist pressed to Daniel’s lips. Hell, he’s been overwhelmed since the second he cracked open that box of old cassette tapes over three weeks ago. But when that ancient blood, the blood that had never, in 514 years, been used to create another, slid down this throat, hot and sweet and sticky, it had awoken him, and not just physically. He hasn’t even been a vampire for a full 24 hours, and he hasn’t stopped feeling overwhelmed. And yes, partly that’s because of his heightened senses that are making every single little sight, sound, and smell a thousand times brighter, louder, and more potent than they’ve ever been before. But mostly, he’s overwhelmed because… fuck.

He’s so fucking in love he feels stupid.

So yeah, he’s not just looking at the blue sky ceiling because he’s trying to not prematurely blow his load. He’s looking at that blue sky ceiling because if he looks down to where Armand is currently pressing kisses over his heart, he’s going to start fucking crying.

Because fuck, he won!

He’s gotten everything he ever wanted, hasn’t he? And he’s going to have it for as long as Armand wants to keep him, which he hopes is forever. He can feel the tears stinging his eyes. He can feel the lump in his throat. He can feel every nerve in his body being electrified. And it’s all getting more and more intense with every press of Armand’s lips as he showers Daniel’s body in relentless kisses, worshiping him with his mouth, exactly as he said he would.

Fuck, Armand really is taking his sweet time. Daniel feels like he’s either going to cry or die, and seeing as he can’t easily do the latter anymore, he’s worried that he’s going to end up doing the former. And then he’s going to actually have to… be vulnerable. Maybe even talk about his feelings. Perish the thought.

But still, Daniel would have to be clinically insane to protest, to ask Armand to stop lavishing his body with licks, and kisses, and bites—as if it’s Daniel actually, whose beauty makes men, and women, and vampires, and angels alike weep.

Daniel’s fingers twist in the sheets and he tries not to melt as Armand continues his unhurried exploration of his body with his mouth—his chest, his stomach, his legs, his arms, his neck—every inch of it, nuzzling and pressing kisses into his soft, papery skin, leaving scorch marks behind with every touch. It’s like being branded. In a way, Daniel kind of has been, right? He’s a vampire now. After years of begging Armand in the past, only to be denied, he’s finally a vampire.

He’s finally Armand’s.

If any other vampire came near him—even just in the vicinity of him—they would be able to smell it on him, the fact that he’s Armand’s fledgling. Armand’s only fledgling. And that, he thinks, makes him pretty fucking special.

Who needs a blood vial amulet for protection when that very blood is now coursing through your veins? Daniel’s got a whole new life ahead of him. A still hand, joints like butter, the ability to pop four or five erections in one night. And to top it all off, he’s got the most devastatingly beautiful immortal beloved—a 514-year-old creature—climbing all over him, kissing all over his aged body, unable to get enough of him, because in over half a millennium this guy has never loved anyone the way he loves Daniel.

Daniel didn’t really ever consider himself to be someone who believed in soul mates, but there was a time he didn’t believe in vampires either and he’s struggling to find a better term to describe what they are to one another. What they have evidently always been to one another.

Daniel frantically blinks back the threat of tears as he writhes on the bed, a total mess, whimpering and making the sounds of a much younger man as Armand takes the scenic route down his body. When Armand finally settles back between his legs, Daniel finds the strength to drag his eyes away from the ceiling to look down at him and… oh fuck.

He looks positively disheveled; tormented by his own desire; wanton, and feral, and wild. His curls falling into his eyes, his pupils blown, his lashes heavy like they’re made of lead, his lips pink and swollen and wet. Daniel’s cock twitches against his stomach.

Fuck… maybe he should have kept his eyes on the ceiling.

On the other hand, who in their right mind could look away from him?

Armand slips his hands under the backs of Daniel’s knees and pushes his legs up towards his chest. Then he parts Daniel’s thighs.

Daniel whimpers, eyes immediately back on the ceiling. He’s exposed, and vulnerable, and so fucking turned on. Fuck, he feels like he’s going to pass out.

“Hold your legs up for me, darling,” Armand breathes the words into the inside of Daniel’s knee, and Daniel does as he’s told; Armand presses a kiss there. “Yes, that’s it. Good. You’re so good for me, beloved.”

“Oh my god…” Daniel whines.

Fuck! He’s going to die! He’s going to fucking die! Yeah, yeah, he knows that he can’t, but maybe he’ll find a way.

He mentally adds “pleasuring them to death” to his list of ways to kill a vampire, alongside burning and beheading.

Armand dips back down, showering the backs of Daniel’s thighs with the same relentless waterfall of kisses. Daniel twists one hand in the sheets beneath him, the other blindly groping around the mattress in search of Armand’s. Armand finds his wandering hand and holds it as he pushes Daniel’s thighs up even further to grant himself better access, lavishing the crease where his leg meets his ass with the same attention. The fact Daniel’s body can even get in this position is mind-boggling to him. Armand almost has him folded in half, and yet not a single joint or muscle is complaining.

Daniel feels like an exposed nerve as Armand stares at his target with those devastating eyes of his. God, it’s been so long.

“You know, I haven’t…” Daniel pants, “not since… well… eighty-five.”

“Was I your last, beloved?” Armand asks like he doesn’t already know the answer, his breath hot over Daniel’s hole.

“Yes,” Daniel sighs, his face burning. “My last. My first. My only.”

Armand hums, almost sounding amused, like he’s satisfied with the answer. Then he lowers his head, and Daniel lets out a whine.

Part of Daniel—a really fucking stupid part—almost protests. Embarrassed, shy, ashamed—a smattering of insecurities that he’s way too new in the blood to have gotten rid of yet, all bubbling up in his still habitually human brain. But he’s a vampire now. As a result, there are certain… preparations for this particular act which vampirism renders null and void.

Fuck yeah.

Any thoughts of protesting are wiped from Daniel’s mind when Armand uses the hand that isn’t holding Daniel’s to spread him open, so he can lick a stripe all the way through his center, from tail bone to taint.

“Oh fuck!”

Daniel moans, and his body shudders under the wet heat of Armand’s mouth. Then Armand is diving in, lips and tongue working Daniel over, the noises positively obscene as he kisses him in the most intimate of places. Daniel squirms on the bed as Armand’s tongue laps hungrily over his hole, gently coaxing the tight ring of muscle to relax until he can push it inside. Daniel’s hips would have bucked up off the bed and broken Armand’s nose if it weren’t for the inhuman strength holding them down. He can feel his own blood pooling under his fingernails, digging sharply into his knee as he holds his legs up, his other hand squeezing onto Armand’s like it’s a life preserver.

Armand continues to eat him like he’s the best meal he’s ever had, totally making out with his hole, messy and wet, his tongue spearing him open more and more with every thrust. 

Oh, god. This is… this is ecstasy.

“Oh fuck, oh god, oh baby, fuck, so good, so good, yes…”

Interspersed with the coherent words are more incoherent ramblings. Daniel has to gather as many of his mental faculties as possible to not accidentally blurt out the words “I love you” while he’s getting eaten out for the first time in decades. He does of course. Love him, that is. So fucking much. But he’s not going to say it like this—folded in half with his tongue up his ass. Armand deserves a little more of a dignified love declaration than that.

Daniel’s writhing and whimpering, and he thinks—given the time—he could probably come just from this alone, but he needs so much more.

“Come on, baby, please,” Daniel begs, trying to push himself harder against Armand’s busy mouth.

He can feel how wet he’s got him. Relaxed and dripping. And his cock is kicking on his stomach again.

Armand lifts his head and holy shit. His hair is even more disheveled than before, his lips and chin are all wet with his own saliva, and he looks like he’s positively drunk. Never in his life has Daniel ever seen anyone eat ass with such ravenous enthusiasm. Maybe it’s a vampire thing. Maybe eating people and eating ass isn’t all that different. Or maybe it’s just a them thing. Maybe Armand just loves him so much, wants him so badly, that any act that brings Daniel pleasure is going to bring him just as much.

Fuck.

Then Armand does that thing that Daniel remembers from so many of his returned memories. He glances at the nightstand, his irises vibrating for a moment, as he telekinetically opens the drawer and retrieves a bottle of lube. So he’s clearly restocked that recently. Another tally mark in the “yes” column of Daniel’s mental “Did he plan this all along?” chart. Daniel doesn’t have the wherewithal to dwell on it though. Who even fucking cares? Nothing matters to him in this moment except getting Armand’s cock inside him.

“Fuck, that’s still as hot as it was the first time you did it,” Daniel says as the bottle lands in Armand’s open palm.

“I’m certain you’ll be doing it yourself in no time.” Armand opens the bottle with his teeth. “I can’t wait to discover all the gifts I have no doubt you will have inherited.”

“Do you think I’ll be able to set shit on fire?” Daniel asks, lowering his feet back down to the mattress as Armand makes quick work of ripping off his fingernails and slicking his digits.

“I’m almost certain that you will,” Armand says, smiling down at him.

“What about flying?” Daniel says, half-joking as he squirms in the sheets, because he knows that’s more of an ancient thing, and like, Louis didn’t inherit it from Lestat. Surely, he’s not going to get that one. At least not for a century or two.

“My darling, it would not surprise me if you possessed every gift available to us and more,” Armand says, planting another kiss on the inside of Daniel’s knee. “Brilliant as you were as a human, I can only imagine how magnificent you will be as a vampire.”

Daniel feels the heat bloom across his cheeks. He has always had a thing for Armand telling him how wonderful he is. Still works a charm.

“Open your legs a little more for me, beloved.” Armand coos, stroking up and down the inside of Daniel’s thigh.

“Oh my god…”

Daniel does as he’s asked and swallows dry. Fuck, this is so fucking hot. His cock is drooling all over his stomach, his skin is sizzling with molten hot desire.

“Yes, that’s it,” Armand praises, pressing another kiss to his knee.

Daniel opens his mouth to respond with something smart-assed—you know, because in reality his insides are melting, and he feels both physically and emotionally vulnerable as fuck—but the words die on his tongue, because Armand gently brushes his slicked index finger over his sensitive hole.

Daniel gasps at the touch, so featherlight, Armand’s cold hands doing little to warm the lube. Then he begins to draw firm, tight circles against his rim. Daniel is already pretty relaxed from all the attention he’s received so far, so Armand’s single finger slides in effortlessly, and fuck if it doesn’t feel like returning home.

Christ on a bike, that’s cheesy.

Armand lets out a satisfied little gasp when he breaches him, his eyelashes fluttering like it feels just as good for him as it does for Daniel, who groans and throws his head back.

Armand bites his lower lip as he slowly drags the digit out before pressing back in again deeper, his eyes fixed on his own finger, fascinated by the movement of it sliding in and out of the clutch of Daniel’s body.

“Do you remember the first time I pleasured you like this?” Armand asks, like he’s asking Daniel what he had for breakfast last Tuesday.

Daniel is seeing stars. “Well, I do n—now.”

“I remember holding you in my lap. How nervous you were, trembling and whimpering,” he says, stroking Daniel’s inner walls with the pad of his finger, narrowly missing his prostate. “No one had ever touched you like that before.”

“Yeah…” Daniel manages to choke out as he tries with little success to fuck himself harder on Armand’s single, slender finger. “Hnng—only you.”

“Sometimes I look at your scar,” Armand muses, and for a minute Daniel wonders what the fuck he’s talking about, “and it saddens me because it reminds me of how Louis tasted you first.”

“Hey, you gave me the bite that counts,” Daniel somehow manages to articulate, even though he’s got a finger so far up his ass he’s worried it might actually stimulate his gag reflex from the other end.

“Hmm, that is true,” Armand says, with a wistful smile, pulling out and pushing back in, torturously slowly. “But I rather enjoy the fact that he’s never had you like this. That he will never have you like this. That I’m the only one who can have you like this.”

“Holy shit…” Daniel groans again, fingers clutching at the sheets.

That level of possessiveness should not be that hot, but still Daniel’s cock pulses on his stomach again. Who is he kidding? This is the kind of shit he’s always craved.

“Does that feel good, beloved?” Armand asks, smug.

Daniel makes a noise that is somewhere between a moan and a snort-laugh of disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Armand chuckles. “I’ll take that to mean yes.”

Then he withdraws his finger to the sounds of Daniel’s pathetic whines of protest, before pushing back in with two.

Oh yeah, that’s…

“Fuck…” is all Daniel’s brain can handle saying as Armand pushes in deeper, slowly prizing him apart in preparation.

His eyes are fixed on Daniel’s expression now, as he goes about his work, gauging Daniel’s reactions like he’s making mental notes for later. Which, knowing Armand, he probably is.

Suddenly Daniel feels like a shy twenty-something again. He throws one hand up to cover his face as another whine is pulled out of him against his will.

“Come now, beloved,” Armand says, taking Daniel’s hand and pulling it away, twining their fingers together as he keeps slowly fucking Daniel with his first two fingers. “I want to see your beautiful face as you take your pleasure. I don’t want to miss a single moment. You’re always so especially beautiful when you’re in raptures.”

“God… Fuck! Armand…” Daniel chokes out as he squeezes his hand, a little too tightly.

Armand gasps. “Ah, Daniel, be careful! Fledgling strength.”

Daniel tries to laugh, but it’s all blended up with his moans. “As if I could—ah, fuck—hurt you, babe. You’re the biggest, strongest, baddest vamp I know.”

Armand laughs. “You’re ridiculous, Daniel. And if you’re still this coherent while I have my fingers inside you then I’m clearly not doing my job properly.”

And then he finally—blessedly—nudges Daniel’s prostate.

“Ah! Fuck!” Daniel arches off the bed and his cock drools across his stomach.

What a fucking feeling. Unlike anything else. He hasn’t felt it in so long and he needs more; he needs so much fucking more.

Armand lines up a third finger and gives Daniel’s hand a gentle squeeze as he does.

“Relax, beloved,” he says, and he kisses his knee again before easing in with three. “Bear down for me. Yes. That’s it. Good. You’re doing so well.”

Daniel is a whimpering, writhing mess, babbling things like: “hnnngg… so good, baby—fuck—so good” as he squirms on Armand’s fingers. Fuck, he’s so fucking full. It’s been so fucking long since he’s been taken like this. His head is spinning, his eyes clamped closed. But he’s still so empty. And Armand is too far away from him. He needs him on top of him again, right fucking now.

He reaches out with the hand Armand isn’t currently holding and makes grabby hands at him.

“Please, baby” he begs. “Please, I need you. I’m ready. Please. Need you. Kiss me.”

Armand smiles so warmly at him, as he slowly withdraws his fingers. Daniel whines at the loss, cock kicking against his stomach, hole clenching down around nothing. Armand crawls back up his body, settling his hips between Daniel’s spread thighs. He leans over him, pressing their bodies flush, and kisses him at last. Daniel pushes his fingers into his curls and clings on, kissing back harder.

“Please,” Daniel pants into the kiss. “I’m ready. Armand, I need you. Please.”

Armand kisses him again, then pushes up to brace his body weight on one of his hands planted by Daniel’s head. Then he reaches down between them to take his cock in hand, and Daniel whimpers. Daniel feels the blunt press of the tip of his cock at his entrance, and his lips part in a gasp.

“Relax, my darling,” Armand purrs, the softest, warmest smile on his lips. And then he begins to enter him.

“Oh, fuck…” Daniel groans, clutching at Armand’s shoulder with one hand and his hip with the other, as his body finally gives way, and Armand breaches him.

God, he’s so fucking tight. It’s been so long since he’s done this. And sure, he’s a vampire now, so he figures he’s probably a bit impervious to sex injuries (although he makes a mental note to ask about that later), but there’s still a sweet, delicious burn mingling alongside delirious pleasure, building low in his stomach.

Armand slowly pushes in deeper, Daniel’s body adjusting to accommodate him inch by glorious inch. He’s only halfway when he gasps and stills for a moment. Daniel can feel him throbbing inside him. He’s squeezing his eyes shut and working his jaw as he fights to fend off both his fangs coming out and his orgasm hitting him too soon.

“You okay?” Daniel asks, because he’s incapable of shutting up for longer than five minutes.

“Yes,” Armand breathes, eyes still closed. “It’s just… it’s been… just as long since I’ve done it this way as it has been for you.”

“Fuck.”

“Hmm,” Armand hums, “and you feel… exquisite.”

“Fuck.”

With a deep breath, Armand moves again, pressing in deeper, and Daniel lets out a long, choked out moan that resounds until Armand has bottomed out, fully seated inside him.

“Oh, my god,” Daniel whines, unable to say anything more.

His ears are flooded with the sounds of high-pitched, desperate whimpering, and then he realizes that it’s him making those noises. Totally strung out and incoherent at the overwhelming sensation of being filled like this, his hole clamping down on Armand’s length.

Armand bites into his lower lip and blood beads there. He stills deep inside Daniel, stroking soothingly over his hip as he waits for him to settle. He lowers himself to prop his weight on his elbow and dips down to kiss him again, feeding him his blood from his cut lip like a mother bird feeding her fledgling.

Daniel whines into the kiss as the shift in position pushes Armand somehow deeper, causing the head of his cock to grind against his prostate. White hot pleasure floods his entire being as he kisses and licks at the cut, drinking the blood and starting to squirm a little on Armand’s cock.

His entire body is electrified. His blood is singing. There’s a faint buzzing all over his skin. He’s so full, stretched so fucking sweetly. And it feels so fucking perfect, the way Armand fits inside his body like it was designed to receive him. Like it remembers exactly how to mold itself to take him.

Armand presses their foreheads and noses together, his lips open as he breathes heavily around his words. “You feel like home, beloved,” he says, his voice low and husky. “Just as I remembered, just as I dreamed.”

“You dreamed about this?” Daniel asks, circling his hips slightly, seeking more.

“All the time,” Armand says. “Of this. Of being inside you. Of you inside me. Of the two of us sharing each other’s bodies in every way imaginable for the rest of time. Then I’d wake weeping because you were not there.”

Fuck.

A big, fat lump of emotion is forming in Daniel’s throat, his entire body vibrating with anticipation as Armand remains motionless inside him.

“I had dreams too” Daniel chokes out. “No face, no voice… thought it was just… me repressing the hell out of everything… but I always woke up feeling… like I’d lost something. Now I know it was you.”

Armand closes his eyes, his expression tortured. “I will never stop being sorry for what I did to you, Daniel. I’ll spend the rest of eternity trying to make up for it.”

“Nuh uh,” Daniel says, taking his face between his hands. “Look at me.”

Armand opens his eyes, blinking down at him all sad and wet, like a kicked puppy.

“No self-flagellation bullshit. No making up for shit. Not anymore. Not with me. You don’t have to make up for anything. And I’m exactly where I want to be.” Then he pulls Armand down into another kiss.

Armand whines into it and kisses him back. He takes one of Daniel's hands from his face and laces their fingers together. Then he presses their joined hands to the pillow beside Daniel’s head.

God… Their mouths working together, their hands entwined, Armand’s cock so deep and unmoving inside of him.

“So, uh… you gonna fuck me now, or what?” Daniel says so he doesn’t fucking cry.

And then Armand laughs, and it’s so beautiful that Daniel nearly cries anyway. “You’re an insufferable fledgling.”

Daniel smirks. “Yeah, well that’s kinda your fault isn’t it.”

Armand laughs even harder. “What, that you’re insufferable?”

“That I’m a fledgling,” Daniel says.

He immediately regrets it, because the smile drops off Armand’s face.

God, he hopes and prays that his stupid fucking use of the word ‘fault’ isn’t about to cause Armand to pull out, leap up, and fly out the window.

But he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes get all dark and intense, and he pins Daniel's other hand to the pillow by his head, diving back in for another kiss, this one even more ravenous than the last.

“You like that, huh? Being my maker?” Daniel mumbles against his mouth.

“Shut up, Daniel.” Armand growls, punctuating the order by dragging his cock halfway out, and driving back in again with a roll of his hips that causes Daniel to do just that.

Daniel feels tears prick in the corners of his eyes as Armand grinds against his prostate, his own hard and leaking cock trapped between their stomachs. Armand rolls his hips again, this time with even more purpose, and Daniel can’t shut up anymore—although any coherent sentences are pretty much done for.

Armand continues kissing him, building a maddening pace that has Daniel freeing one of his hands so he can clutch at his shoulder as he kisses him back, moans and pleas spilling from his mouth and into Armand’s. Armand slips his now-free hand under Daniel’s knee and hitches his leg up a little higher, which allows him to push in a little deeper, changing the angle slightly so he’s hitting Daniel’s prostate head on with every thrust.

“Oh, fuck!” Daniel cries out.

He wraps his other leg around Armand’s perfect waist and digs his heel into the small of his back, pulling him closer. Armand presses their foreheads and noses together again as he sets his pace, eyes closed, panting heavily around his fangs.

There’s no chatter anymore. Daniel certainly doesn’t have the capacity for it—the textbook definition of having your brains fucked out. All he has the ability to do right now is feel. And he’s burning everywhere Armand’s skin touches his, his pleasure is ratcheting higher and higher as he pants into Armand’s mouth. He’s got his arm wrapped around Armand’s neck now, and he’s clinging onto him, using his heel for leverage so he can rock his hips to meet his thrusts, which are becoming more urgent and less precise with every second.

Thank fuck for the curtain of Armand’s curls that are currently hiding their faces from the world, because Daniel can feel the tears in the corners of his eyes again.

“Ah—baby, I’m so c—close,” he whines, pleasure coiling tight in his stomach, his trapped cock painfully swollen and pulsing between them. “I need you… need to feel you…”

Armand gasps when Daniel’s hole starts fluttering around his length. “Yes, my darling. Let go. Take your pleasure. Come for me.”

Then he thrusts in one final time, deep, and hard, and grinding against Daniel’s sweet spot.

Daniel cries out Armand’s name when he comes, and fuck, does he come. Harder than he’s ever come in his fucking life. His face contorts and his body shakes with it, his legs clamping tighter around Armand’s hips, the claws of one hand digging into Armand’s shoulder, his other hand squeezing Armand’s so tight on the pillow it’s a wonder the bones don’t shatter. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over him. The best he’s ever had. What was it Louis said? Something about the rings of Saturn and back?

Armand continues to fuck him through it, and Daniel feels like he’s about to black out. But then his hips stutter and his lips part on a gasp, his face tormented with desire, and his cock pulsing deep inside of Daniel.

“You are mine, beautiful boy,” he growls, then he captures Daniel’s mouth in another kiss as he spills deep, deep inside him.

Daniel whines into the kiss, and squirms under him, wrapping his legs around him even tighter to keep him inside.

Fuck it’s so good. So fucking good.

The feeling of being filled like that, being marked like that, being once again owned like that.

Armand drops his head into the crook of Daniel’s neck as the last tremors of his pleasure sizzle away. Daniel cards his fingers through Armand’s hair, his hand settling on the back of his head, his other hand still tangled with Armand’s on the pillow. He frees it so he can wrap his arm around Armand’s body, pressing his hand into the small of his back, so he can hold him close. So close. Their hearts are perfectly synced up. Even as they slow from their heightened pace, back to their normal rhythm, they stay locked in step.

The weight of Armand on top of him is grounding and perfect, and Daniel wants to live like this, crushed under his body. Armand is breathing heavily, his shoulders trembling as he strokes Daniel’s arm with his freed hand. Daniel rubs soothing gentle circles into his back, the fingers of his other hand tangling in and petting over his hair. The silence is so safe, so companionable. Daniel wouldn’t half mind staying that way forever.

And ever, and ever, and ever.

Oh god, the lump in Daniel’s chest is back again; the sob sitting at the base of his throat. He blinks a few times in rapid succession but it’s too late; he can feel the tears have escaped and they’re starting to slide down his temples, down his cheeks, into his hair.

Daniel is kind of hoping they can stay like this at least a little longer, at least until he stops crying.

But then he hears a little sniffle coming from Armand. Then a little sob. Maybe the trembling shoulders aren’t so much to do with the orgasm comedown and more to do with…

Daniel gives Armand’s hair a gentle ruffle and Armand lifts his head. Suspicion confirmed. His face is streaked with blood tears, his lips swollen and parted as he sobs. And the very sight of it dislodges something inside Daniel, and there’s nothing he can do other than surrender as another, deeper sob is ripped from his chest and he loses it completely.

Armand rolls them onto their sides and pulls Daniel closer to his body. And the pair—maker and fledgling, long lost lovers reunited once more at last—lie there in each other’s tight embrace, sobbing into each other’s shoulders.

Man, Daniel hasn’t cried this hard in years. He feels completely wrung out, 50 years of repression have just clobbered him over the head, 37 years of being apart from his lover… his soul mate… have all compounded and left him a trembling wreck. He didn’t even know what he was missing, but fuck, was he missing it. So fucking much.

How is it possible he’s got Armand back in his arms again? How is it possible that Armand still wants to be in his arms? But he does. He so fucking does.

Armand lifts his face from Daniel’s shoulder and looks at him, his sobs finally starting to subside. Daniel’s absolutely have not. Daniel knows his crying face, and it’s not attractive. Armand still looks annoyingly pretty, if not a little tortured, so Daniel lifts one of his hands to hide his face, pushing his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes and almost gouging them out in the process. Armand gently wraps his fingers around Daniel’s wrist and coaxes his hand away.

“Please, don’t hide from me, my darling,” he coos, stroking Daniel’s cheek with his thumb. “Here, let me.”

Then he leans in and starts kissing the tears away from his cheeks. All that does is make Daniel cry harder and hold Armand tighter. And all that does is make Armand start crying again.

They kiss and nuzzle at each other’s cheeks without sharing another word until all the tears are dried up. Then they stay wrapped up together until they’ve both settled in their breathing and heartbeats. Which is, unfortunately for other reasons, an ill-advisedly long time. They’re both sticky and gross, but how can either of them move? Daniel knows he sure as fuck doesn’t want to.

Armand rolls Daniel onto his back, then he folds his hands on Daniel’s chest so he can rest his chin on top and gaze down at him. Daniel runs his palms mindlessly over his body, up and down his back, his sides, his hips, his arms, his face, his hair. Just feeling him, while relishing being crushed to the mattress by the grounding weight of his body. A reminder that he’s here, and he’s real, and once again, after 37 years, he’s Daniel’s.

“Sorry, I…” Daniel sniffs. “…got a little emotional back there.”

Armand laughs a watery laugh, brushing an errant tear from his own cheek. “You got emotional? My darling, I feel as though my heart is too large for my chest.”

“And you have such an ample chest,” Daniel says, giving one of his pectorals a cheeky squeeze for emphasis.

With the last of the tears gone, Armand laughs. And then he just can’t seem to stop.

Daniel strokes his cheek. It’s so warm, and soft, and flushed, and pretty under his fingers.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” Daniel says.

“Yes, I do,” Armand says simply.

Now it’s Daniel’s turn to laugh.

“And modest too,” he says. “But you aren’t just beautiful. You’re like… a creature… like a giant insect…”

Armand drops his head, trying and failing to hide the fact that he’s laughing even harder now.

“You’re like a devourer of a million human souls,” Daniel barrels on, giving his ass a squeeze. “Like if a Lovecraftian monster decided to become an underwear model.”

Armand laughs so hard this time he actually snorts, and it’s so fucking endearing—hearing him, seeing him do something so beautifully and unapologetically human…

Daniel really does love this guy, doesn’t he? Who the fuck is he kidding? Of course he does. He never stopped.

“Daniel Molloy, you are a truly ridiculous man,” Armand says, brushing away another tear of pure joy.

“And you love me for it,” Daniel says, bumping their noses together. “I think that makes you pretty ridiculous too.”

Daniel pulls him back down into another kiss. It’s lazy and unhurried and so, so perfect.

God, he’s going to cry again. The last 72 hours have been insane. He feels like he’s lived a million lifetimes. And now he’s here, and his heart also feels like it’s too big for his chest, and he’s going to fucking cry again, and…

What is even the point in denying it anymore? In gate keeping the words for himself? Daniel Molloy has devoted his entire career to finding the truth, and over the course of the last two weeks he’s uncovered one hell of a truth. And right now, it’s the only truth he really cares about. One truth that he knows will remain, long after everything else he’s ever known is gone from this world. One truth that he knows will remain until the heat death of the universe.

“I love you,” he murmurs against Armand’s lips.

Armand jolts upright, doing the meerkat thing again, his hands on Daniel’s chest as he stares down at him like he just spoke one of the few remaining languages Armand doesn’t know.

“What?”

Daniel chuckles, but it’s a nervous one. With any luck, it will mask how fucking vulnerable he’s currently feeling. Thanks to some certain returned memories about a certain motel in seventy-seven, he remembers the last time he made a monumental, post-coital declaration of love after getting his cherry popped. It hadn’t gone well.

Daniel covers Armand’s hands with his own; he gives them a little squeeze as he looks up into those warm-honey eyes.

“I said, I love you.”

Armand tilts his head to the side. “Are you certain?”

Daniel laughs again as the weight lifts off his shoulders. But Armand doesn’t look like he finds it amusing at all. He still looks as serious as the stroke Daniel may or may not have had only 48 hours ago.

So, Daniel reaches up with one hand and strokes Armand’s cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“Yeah. Yes,” he says, tucking a loose curl behind his ear. “More certain than anything. I am. I do. I love you. I love you so fucking much it makes me feel stupid, and sick, and stoked all at the same time. And I don’t think I ever stopped.” He strokes his thumb over his cheekbone. “I think it was always buried there in my subconscious. I couldn’t ever give myself to anyone else because I always belonged to you. And now… if you want me… I get to be yours forever.”

Armand dives back down, grabbing his face and kissing him again. Daniel’s never going to get sick of this. Two dead things. Kissing, and snuggling, and fucking until their bodies have melted into the mattress.

“Of course I want you. I’ve never stopped wanting you,” Armand whispers against his lips. “And I’ve never stopped loving you. And I was such a fool to not do something about it thirty-seven years ago.”

“Babe, if you’d made me thirty-seven years ago who’s to say we wouldn’t have been a total disaster?” Daniel says. “Me, thirty-two forever? I would have annoyed the shit out of you. I was a fucking moron.”

“Oh shush,” Armand says, silencing him with another kiss. “You’ve never been a moron. You were a bright young reporter with a point of view.”

“—bright young reporter with a point of view,” they say in sync and Armand laughs.

“Trust me, babe,” Daniel says. “We’re both a lot better off with me having a fully developed pre-frontal cortex. Even if I’m not as cute as I used to be.”

“Stop that, nonsense!” Armand says with a playful swat to Daniel’s thigh. “How many times do I have to prove it to you that you are still beautiful? That I still desire you? That I still think you’re the most ravishingly insufferable man.”

Daniel smirks and gives Armand’s ass another squeeze. “I dunno, but maybe we should find out.”

Armand smiles with a hint of fang. “Insatiable fledgling.”

“I thought I was insufferable.”

“You’re that too. Two things can be true at once.”

Daniel growls, and grabs Armand’s hips, flipping their positions, and pinning Armand under his body weight.

Armand lets out a little squeal of delight, that devolves into giggles when Daniel dives in to his throat and kisses over his pulse point. He pats Daniel on the back of the head in invitation, and Daniel sinks his teeth in. The giggles melt into moans when Daniel takes a little drink. How is Daniel getting hard again? Someone needs to bottle vampirism or something. Sell it to the over sixties. Daniel makes a mental note to contact Doctor Bhansali. Maybe that guy’s not so bad after all.

Daniel heals Armand’s wounds with his tongue, and lifts his head to see his maker, gazing up at him like he hung the fucking moon.

“Look at you, beloved,” he says, stroking Daniel’s forearm. “You’re so strong, so brilliant, so beautiful. I can’t wait to hunt with you. To teach you every gift that I know. To discover all that you can do. You’re going to be a magnificent fledgling, I can tell.”

Daniel’s body heats with pride. Fuck, his praise kink really is back in full force. Either that or it’s the fact that it’s coming from Armand, the love of his life.

“So, you’re happy then?” Daniel asks, his voice only wobbling a tiny bit. “Is it all right then? The way I turned out?”

Armand reaches up and cradles his cheek in his palm. “My darling, I love you. And I love it so very much, the way you turned out.”

He reaches up for a gentle, tender kiss.

“Yeah?” Daniel whispers against his lips.

“Yeah.”

Chapter Text

TWO YEARS LATER

@LeonardMichael: Tonight on the show, two-time Pulitzer Prize winner and bestselling author Daniel Molloy drops by to talk about his new novel “Interview with the Vampire”. What does this experimental hard right turn into genre fiction mean for the former journalist? #WYZL_ATL #InterviewWithTheVampire

“Former journalist!” Daniel shouts at his phone. “Are you fucking kidding me!”

“Daniel, what is it?”

“Leonard fucking Michael, that’s what! The motherfucker I’m on with tonight. Former journalist. Man, that asshole only got his job because his father owned the fucking station in the eighties.” Daniel glances up from his phone. “Hey, babe, can I eat him for—holy shit.”

Yeah.

Daniel’s brain has just malfunctioned. Every single coherent, ranting thought about that fucker has flown out of his head. Because standing on the other side of the kitchen island is Armand. A jet black halo of curls, warm amber eyes, and a sinfully knowing smile.

Because he’s wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and Daniel’s old AC/DC shirt.

Yeah… that old AC/DC shirt.

Daniel swallows hard and puts the phone down, his cock springing to attention at the sight of Armand. He’s got one elegant hand resting on the counter, one hip popped, the thin, aged fabric draped over his deceptively muscular frame.

Daniel’s gaze slides down those long, lean legs that go on for days and days. “Oh, hey.”

Armand smirks. He knows exactly what he’s done, the fucker.

“Hello,” he says, voice low and seductive.

Like he needs to seduce Daniel. As if he doesn’t successfully seduce Daniel every time he simply exists in his line of sight. Daniel stalks around the counter towards him, eyes roaming up those strong thighs that the hem of the shirt is only just brushing the tops of.

“Apologies for interrupting your ravings,” Armand says as Daniel steps into his personal space. “You were complaining about Leonard Micheal?”

“Who?” Daniel says, sliding his hands up those glorious thighs, dipping under the shirt, thumbs rubbing over his hipbones and brushing against the waistband of his underwear.

Daniel digs his fingers in and tugs him closer. Armand lets out a little gasp. That seems to be his habit these nights, every time Daniel touches him. It’s like he can’t believe he actually is. Like he can’t believe that after all these years he’s finally got him back.

“This my shirt?” Daniel asks.

Armand loops his arms around Daniel’s neck. “You know that it is.”

Daniel growls and slides his hands up further, under the shirt and rucking it up, over the planes of his back. He pulls Armand against his body, kissing him rough and messy, licking into his mouth and enjoying the needy little sounds Armand makes as he kisses him back with just as much hunger.

It’s been roughly two years since the Vampire Daniel Molloy entered the world, sired on a jet over the Atlantic Ocean, by the Vampire Armand. His first fledgling in over five hundred years of existence. His only fledgling. Armand has made it perfectly clear that he will never, ever do it again. It’s a vow he only broke for Daniel, because he had his hand forced. Because his beloved, his beautiful boy, was going to die.

So Daniel feels pretty special. And vampirism really fucking suits him. For someone who had once claimed to be partial to the non-wriggling items, Daniel had taken to killing surprisingly easily. Turns out when you get turned by an ancient who’s never done it before, who is crazy good with the mind gift, your own mind gift is pretty good too. It didn’t take long for Daniel to be able to weasel his way into people’s heads to pick out his victims. Evildoers mostly. A cop always went down smooth after a long night.

No, Daniel didn’t end up having those same mortal hang ups that Louis held onto for so long. Maybe that splinter of coldness helped—although pre-vampirism Louis was no angel either.

Ah, who fucking cares.

Daniel hasn’t seen Louis since he abandoned him in the penthouse, alone and vulnerable, with the guy whose life he’d just imploded. Lucky for all of them, that guy never had any intention of hurting Daniel. But Louis wasn’t to know that.

Louis had found out about Daniel’s new vampire status by accident. And well… it was kind of a funny story. Daniel may be great with the mind gift now, but there were a few wrinkles to iron out in the early nights. Let’s just say, Daniel wasn’t as great at blocking his thoughts then as he is now. In fact, he did the opposite of blocking them. He projected them. And on that first night Armand had taken him back to the Night Island and fucked his brains out, Daniel may or may not have… accidentally projected some of it a couple states over.

Luckily it wasn’t totally incriminating. Mostly just him saying Armand’s name followed by a whole lot of crying. But Louis had picked it up among the voices and tapped in immediately, ranting and raving about how he never should have left Daniel alone in the penthouse, and how if he ever gets his hands on Armand he’s going to kill him… all while Daniel had Armand tucked under his arm, curled into his side, pressing kisses and whispering I love yous into his neck.

Daniel just let Louis go at it. Knowing him, he’d put it out of his mind the second they dropped the “call”, and he’d forget about it entirely the first time he and Lestat entered another “off-again” period in their relationship.

So Louis is under the impression that Daniel’s turning happened in a flash of blinding rage, and it was all spite, because of course he thinks that. Because that’s what Louis would have done. Louis who holds everything in until he detonates. Louis who stayed with Armand for 77 years to spite Lestat. Louis, who still has no idea that for twelve years of those 77, Armand was seeing Daniel. And for 49 years of those 77, he was in love with him.

“Beloved, what time do you need to leave?” Armand pants against Daniel’s mouth, their foreheads and noses pressed together, still clinging to each other

“I’ll cancel,” Daniel says before diving back in for another kiss.

Armand pulls back and laughs when Daniel chases his lips. “Nonsense. You’re going. We’ll just need to be quick about it.”

“I need to be there by nine. I was gonna grab someone to eat on the way there, but” —Daniel slides his hands down over the curve of Armand’s ass, and man, what a great ass it is— “I could always eat right here.”

Armand works his jaw, a salacious grin spreading across his face. “Crass.”

“You complaining?” Daniel asks with a smirk.

“Absolutely not.”

Armand pulls him back in for another kiss, this one even more ravenous than the last.

Daniel digs his fingers into the firm flesh of Armand’s ass. He grinds their cocks together, both of them hard and needy. Armand groans into the kiss. Oh yeah, those briefs are fighting for their life.

“Can I take these off?” Daniel growls against his lips as he gives Armand’s ass another squeeze.

“Please,” Armand breathes.

It’s been two years of this—not to mention the twelve that Daniel now remembers—and Daniel can’t get enough. Every time he undresses Armand, unwraps him like a present, he’s reminded of how much he fucking won. 516-year-old vampire. Hottest vampire to ever vampire. And he chose Daniel.

Daniel drops to his knees—which he can do so easily these days—and he hooks his fingers into the waistband of Armand’s briefs. Daniel’s fingers brush over smooth, blood-warmed skin as he slowly drags the fabric down Armand’s thighs. His mouth waters when Armand’s perfect cock springs free. Daniel’s hands continue to skate over Armand’s lean calves as he slides the garment the rest of the way down.

Armand puts his hand on Daniel’s head for balance as he steps out of his briefs. He doesn’t really need to, but it’s such a simple, human thing to do, that it warms Daniel up from the inside. Daniel gazes up at him from his knees, caressing the backs of his thighs with his hands. He can feel Armand trembling under his touch, and holy shit, the fact he can make that happen drives Daniel crazy. Armand looks down at him with his pupils blown out, his gaze warm and overflowing with love. He cards his fingers through Daniel’s curls and Daniel shivers at the light scrape of nails against his scalp.

“My love, sometimes I think you haven’t changed one bit since the day I met you,” Armand says.

Daniel’s cheeks heat. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“I mean it,” Armand says, moving his hand to caress Daniel’s cheek, then crooking his finger under his chin to lift it a little more. “Still so beautiful and…” —a sly grin— “eager.”

“Yeah, well, I like to think I’ve improved in some areas,” Daniel says, gripping the backs of Armand’s thighs and leaning in to lick a stripe up the underside of his cock.

Armand’s thigh muscles tense under Daniel’s hands and he gasps, hands flying to Daniel’s shoulders, claws digging into the leather of his jacket. “Ah—Daniel!”

Daniel grins. What a fucking sound.

So he does it again. And again.

Armand’s grip on Daniel’s shoulders tightens as Daniel torments him with his tongue a little longer, until he eventually opens his mouth and swallows him down in one go. Armand cries out and grabs onto the kitchen island behind him, which Daniel is grateful for, because he likes this jacket, and he’d really prefer it didn’t get torn to shreds.

Usually Daniel likes to take his time with Armand. He has so much of it now. He likes to lavish his maker’s cock with licks and kisses, worshiping him before taking him torturously slowly, inch by inch, until he’s got his nose crushed against his pubic bone and his throat fluttering around him (not having to breathe really has its perks). But if he’s going to make it to the television studio by nine, then he’s got to get his priorities in check, and right now his number one priority is getting Armand off at least twice before he has to leave. Still, he does like to mix things up, and while he could get Armand off quickly and efficiently like this, his number two priority is getting himself off too.

Oh yeah. Daniel’s hungry.

When he pulls his mouth off Armand’s cock, Armand whines, petulant and bratty, like someone just took his favorite toy away. Daniel stands to his feet, his hands still wrapped around the backs of Armand’s thighs, and he hoists him up to sit on the kitchen island. Armand squeals with delight and grabs onto Daniel’s shoulders again, pulling him in and kissing him once more. Daniel’s discovered over the last two years just how much it gets Armand going, being manhandled and tossed around by his fledgling. He loves Daniel’s new found strength and vitality, and fuck, so does Daniel.

Daniel runs his palms down Armand’s thighs. Then he pushes his hands under his knees and pulls him forward, so his ass is right at the edge of the counter. He slides one hand up underneath the shirt, pushing at his chest, coaxing him to lie back—which Armand does with another blissed out giggle that quickly turns to moans when Daniel gropes at the hard muscle and rolls a nipple between his fingers. Then Daniel takes him by the ankles and bends him at his knees, opening his legs and setting his heels on the edge of the counter.

Daniel looks down at him from between his thighs, all laid out like a banquet on the kitchen island. His hair tousled and contrasting with the white marble under him. His irises blazing around blown out pupils. His lips parted and turned upwards in a delirious panting smile. His shirt bunched up around his middle. His long legs spread, his ass on display, his cock heavy and drooling all over his stomach.

Fuck, he looks so deliciously debauched. Daniel is about to eat him for breakfast.

Daniel looks over his shoulder at the sofa on the other side of the open plan suite. It’s a hell of a task, because it means dragging his eyes away from where Armand is writhing on the kitchen island, but he knows what he’s about to do will be worth it.

He stares at the sofa. He can feel his irises vibrating, just like his maker’s do, and he summons two of the cushions from across the room. They land beside him, and Armand lets out one of the horniest sounds he’s made so far.

“Your mind, beloved,” he pants, wrapping his hand around his own cock. “So strong… such a—ah—prodigious fledgling.”

Daniel allows Armand to stroke himself a couple of times while he puts the cushions in place at his feet and kneels on them (for the height, not the cushioning, thank you very much), because who is he to stop him when he looks like that. Daniel looks up Armand’s body from where he’s kneeling, watching his face contort with pleasure as that elegant hand moves over that perfect swollen cock.

Daniel’s jeans are suffocating.

“That’s enough of that,” he growls, grabbing Armand’s wrist and pulling his hand off his cock to a whine of protest.

He pins the offending hand to Armand’s hip.

“Knees up,” he says, slipping his hands back under Armand’s thighs and pushing them up towards his chest.

Armand grips his knees and holds them in place, whining again as he bares all to Daniel.

And holy shit, if he isn’t perfect like this.

They’ve spent a lot of time over these last two years learning each other again. Of course, they already knew so much from their first round, but a lot has changed since 1985. Daniel is older, meaner, and more commanding than he used to be. And as it turns out, that little bit of character development really does it for Armand.

“Oh, so that’s the real reason you didn’t turn me in 1985,” Daniel had joked the first time Armand had asked him to tie him up and pin him down, “because you needed me to percolate until I was mature enough to be able to dom you right?”

Armand had laughed. Obviously, that wasn’t the reason, but it was admittedly a fun perk.

So sometimes they like to play that way. They’re immortal. Obviously, they’re going to change things up from time to time. Sometimes Daniel wants to be his big, bad maker’s beautiful boy, whining and whimpering and being put in situations. Sometimes Armand wants his strong, ravenous fledgling to go feral and overpower him—absolutely ravage him. And sometimes they just want to simply exist together in the quiet dark. Kissing, and snuggling, and making love until the sun crests on the horizon. However they choose to do it, it’s incredible every time.

Daniel leans in and grazes his fangs along the crease where Armand’s thigh meets his ass, and Armand hisses. Blood beads along the thin cut and Daniel runs his tongue over it, lapping it up, flavor bursting on his taste buds, igniting his own blood as Armand whimpers above him.

“Fuck, babe, you always taste so good,” Daniel grumbles against Armand’s flesh as he showers hungry, nibbling kisses over the now-healed skin, one hand on each cheek, big, calloused fingers massaging him.

Armand’s retort is a nonsensical whine.

Daniel spreads him open and eyes his target, that tight little ring of muscle that Daniel knows gets so sensitive. Fuck, Daniel loves doing this for him. It’s become somewhat of a manifesto for Daniel, since his turning, that vampires should eat more ass. He likes to lead by example. And Armand is so fucking responsive when he does it. It always makes Daniel as hard as a rock.

He can already hear Armand’s heavy, panting breaths; can feel his quickened heartbeat racing in time with Daniel’s. It all ratchets up to eleven when Daniel leans in and brushes his tongue over his hole. Daniel hears Armand’s breath hitch and feels his muscles tightening under his hands again, so he rubs soothing circles with his thumbs as he starts his work. His eyes flutter closed like he’s drunk on it (which he totally is) as he lavishes his hole with hot, open-mouthed kisses—wet, messy, the noises obscene. His lips closing over the puckered ring, gently suckling at it. His tongue sliding over it, swirling around it, easing its way inside, deeper and deeper with every moment. All the while Armand is trembling and moaning above him, back arching on the counter, the scent of his ancient blood blooming in Daniel’s nostrils as his claws break the skin where he’s clinging onto his own knees.

Daniel knows if he had the time, he could get Armand to come from just this—he’s done it before, and he’ll do it again. But he is kind of on a deadline here. Maybe later he can come back for seconds, lay him out again and eat him for hours and hours. Maybe even days. What is time to a vampire and all that shit?

Daniel rests one hand on Armand’s hip and reaches the other one between Armand’s legs, wrapping it around his cock.

“Ah!” Armand cries out, head and shoulders crunching up off the counter. He lets go of one of his knees and fumbles around for Daniel’s hand on his hip.

He’s already wet as hell, having leaked all over himself, so the glide is perfect as Daniel strokes him, slow and tight from root to tip, at the same time stiffening his tongue and spearing him on it.

Armand finally finds Daniel’s hand and clutches onto it, nails digging in hard. “Yes… more… ah… Daniel…”

His body is shaking, he’s practically crushing the bones in Daniel’s hand, his hole is fluttering and clenching around Daniel’s tongue, his cock is pulsing and drooling over Daniel’s fingers.

Fuck, Daniel is in heaven.

“Daniel… oh beloved… yes… yes!”

Armand cries out when he comes, back arching violently off the counter, toes curling where he’s got his feet in the air, spilling all over Daniel’s fist and over his own exposed stomach.

Daniel doesn’t relent. He just keeps eating and stroking him through his orgasm, until Armand takes his hand properly, lacing their fingers together, and tugs on his arm, coaxing him up. Daniel obliges of course, standing effortlessly to his feet and kicking the cushions away.

Armand sits up and drags Daniel in close, wrapping his legs around his hips, his arms around his neck, and pulling him into a kiss. It’s decadent and slow and filthy.

“Beloved,” Armand breathes heavily against his mouth, “do you have time to fuck me before you go?”

Daniel groans. “Fuck, if I ever answer no to that question you’ll know I’ve been body snatched.”

Daniel’s still painfully hard, and there’s no way he’s going to be able to get through that interview without biting someone unless he takes care of business. Also, his goal was to get Armand off twice.

Fucking him on the kitchen island sounds like a great way to kill two birds.

Armand slides his hands down Daniel’s body, grabbing at his belt and hurriedly working it open. He pops the button and unzips him, fishing Daniel’s cock out of his underwear. He scoops some of his own come off his stomach and wraps his slicked hand around Daniel’s cock, using a combination of that and the copious amount of precome Daniel is leaking, to create a perfect glide.

Daniel has to sink his teeth into the inside of his cheek to stop from coming on the spot. That might be the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen in his life.

It’s still not enough though, in Daniel’s opinion, so he summons a bottle of lube off an end table, left there from last night’s tryst when Armand had bent him over the back of the sofa and railed him until he was a sobbing wreck.

Of course, the little telekinetic foreplay once again awakens Armand’s recently acquired fledgling kink, and he pulls Daniel into another kiss, moaning into his mouth.

Daniel opens the lube and slicks up two fingers, never taking his mouth off Armand’s for a second. Then he pushes two fingers inside of him and rubs over his prostate with no further preamble. Armand squeals into the kiss, his heels kicking into the small of Daniel’s back in an attempt to pull him closer. His cock twitches between them and he’s halfway back to hardness already.

It’s never not going to rock Daniel’s world, the way he can make an ancient vampire make noises like that. The way he has the ability to make Armand feel like that, to bring him pleasure like that. Of all the sex Armand has had over half a millennium of existence, he still tells Daniel that it’s never been better than it is with him, which is terrible for Daniel’s ego (or great for it, depending on which way you look at it).

And you know what? Daniel believes him. Because, contrary to some people’s opinions, Armand doesn’t lie about everything. And Daniel’s got a new vampire power that Armand says he’s never seen before. An infallible bullshit detector. Armand literally can’t lie to him, not anymore. So when Armand tells Daniel that he loves him, and that he’s the best sex he’s ever had, Daniel knows, Armand is telling the truth.

“Dan-iel…” Armand whines into his mouth, squirming on the edge of the counter, desperately trying to fuck himself harder on Daniel’s fingers.

Daniel chuckles. “God, you’re so impatient.”

“I’m impatient?!” Armand huffs, affronted. “Haven’t I waited long enough for you?”

“What’s thirty-seven years to a vampire?”

“Hmpf, thirty-seven… try five hundred and fourteen,” Armand mutters under his heavy panting breath.

Armand clearly decides it’s time to take matters, quite literally, into his own hands, and he fumbles around on the counter for the lube bottle. When he finds it, he opens it and slicks up his palm. He pushes his hand down between their bodies again and grabs Daniel’s cock, stroking him firm and slow.

“Fuck,” Daniel grunts, hips bucking into his fist.

All right, two can play that game.

He rubs against Armand’s prostate a little harder.

“Ah!” Armand cries out, the movement of his hand stuttering and his cock kicking. “Daniel, please.”

Daniel smirks. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Daniel pulls his fingers out of Armand slowly, deliberately brushing against his prostate again on the way. Armand whines and huffs at that too.

“Well, babe, I gotta take my fingers out if you want me to put my cock in,” Daniel says.

“Hmmm, not necessarily,” Armand says, his eyelashes fluttering as he strokes Daniel again. “I want to be filled with you. Consumed by you.”

“Fuck.”

Armand rests his forehead against Daniel’s and lifts himself up a little and, using his arm around Daniel’s neck for leverage, he lines Daniel’s cock up at his hole. He presses the tip against himself and circles his hips trying to push down onto it.

“Please, Daniel,” he whines. “I need you.”

Daniel groans, his cock leaking another pulse of precome. He takes it from Armand’s hand and takes over, his other hand pressed to the small of Armand’s back as he works in the head, unable to take his eyes off Armand’s face as it twists in delicious torment.

Armand’s eyes go wide, and he gasps when Daniel’s cock breaches him. He digs his nails into the back of Daniel’s neck, moaning and trembling as he sinks slowly down onto his length, hissing in pleasure-pain when it’s a bit difficult, but not relenting until he’s fully seated on him.

Daniel groans again, biting into his own lip as he tries to stave off prematurely blowing his load. Armand’s so fucking hot and tight, it’s incredible.

What’s also incredible—and won’t ever stop being incredible—is the fact that Daniel’s holding him up. He’s got both hands under his ass now, with Armand’s legs clamped around his hips and his arms around his neck. And there isn’t a single muscle or joint in Daniel’s body complaining. The only part of his body that’s fighting for its life is his dick, which is currently being squeezed to death in the hot, wet clutch of Armand’s perfect ass as he stills for a moment, eyelids fluttering closed, lips parting around heavy, heaving breaths.

“You good?” Daniel asks, his voice a little more strangled than he’d like.

“Yes,” Armand breathes, using the leverage of Daniel’s neck to pull himself up again, before dropping back down onto his cock with a grunt.

Daniel’s claws dig into his ass, and he hisses. “Fuck!”

“Yes,” Armand says again, panting. “Please. Daniel. Please…”

Daniel grips his ass a little tighter and rests him on the kitchen island, right against the edge of it. He leans him backwards slightly so he can get the angle right, and he rolls his hips.

“Fuck!” Armand cries out, one of his hands flying to grip the edge of the counter by his hip, the other twisting in the hair at the nape of Daniel’s neck.

Daniel covers Armand’s hand on the counter with his own; the other he slides under Armand’s thigh so he can hitch his leg up a little higher, open him up a little wider, and he thrusts into him again, harder and more precise now he’s got more leverage.

Armand throws his head back and cries out again. “Ah… Daniel… yes… more…”

Daniel dives face-first into his now exposed throat and nuzzles at the skin with his nose and lips as he sets his pace, slamming into him, eliciting a series of cries and moans and squeaks every time he hits his prostate head on. He sounds amazing, he feels amazing, he’s digging his claws into the back of Daniel’s neck and there’s totally blood beading there. There’s no way Daniel’s going to last long like this. He sucks a bruise into the skin of Armand’s throat, drawing the blood to the surface as Armand whines and pants and begs for more, and he wraps his hand around Armand’s cock.

Armand lets out a sob.

Thank god they’re in the penthouse suite. Although RIP the downstairs neighbors.

“Yes, beloved, yes,” Armand whines into Daniel’s hair. “Ah—you’re so go—od to me. So good. The thi—ings you make me feel. Don’t stop, Daniel… please… bite me… drink from me… I need you… please.”

Daniel keeps up his rhythm (because his hips are fucking perfect these nights), and he bares his teeth, first just scraping along the smooth skin with his fangs while Armand whimpers and trembles.

Then he sinks them in, deep and hard and Armand cries out.

His fist tightens in Daniel’s hair; his legs lock around his hips, his heels digging into his back; his hole clamps down around his cock; the marble counter-top cracks under his other hand.

Well, there goes the security deposit.

Fuck it. Worth it.

Daniel grinds in hard once more as he takes a deeper pull of blood, and Armand comes with a full-bodied, trembling orgasm—sobbing and gasping and shaking through it as Daniel continues chasing his own release, which really isn’t far away at all.

“Oh, fuck,” Daniel grunts as his pleasure, coiled painfully tight in his stomach, finally snaps, and he comes so hard he nearly blacks out, hips stuttering, filling Armand with his release.

Armand drops his head to Daniel’s shoulder, still trembling, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath as Daniel licks his wound closed. Even when the wound heals, Daniel continues to kiss and lick over it, the two of them locked together until enough of Daniel’s brain comes back online for him to be able to pick Armand up off the counter. He carries him into the adjoining bedroom—his softened cock still buried deep inside him—and gently lays him down on the bed like he’s made of glass. He showers his face and neck with kisses, before slowly pulling out of him with a groan.

Daniel quickly retreats to the bathroom for a warm, damp cloth, and when he returns and tenderly cleans him up, Daniel kisses him some more, Armand’s fingers tangling in his curls as he cradles his face.

Daniel stands back up and cleans himself, then he tucks his dick back into his jeans, his eyes still fixed on Armand who is looking all ravished, and blissed out, and thoroughly well-fucked on the bed, wearing nothing but that old shirt.

Fuck, he’s gorgeous.

Daniel must really be the strongest vampire in the world, because he drags his eyes away from Armand so he can check himself in the mirror.

“Fuck, I can’t go out like this,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “I’ve got come all over my fucking shirt.”

“Here, you can borrow mine,” Armand says, crossing his arms and pulling the AC/DC tee up over his head. Now he’s just laying there on the bed naked. How the fuck is Daniel supposed to leave now?

Armand tosses the shirt at Daniel, and he catches it in one hand.

“This is also my shirt,” Daniel says, then he looks at it a little closer. “And it also has come on it.”

“Not as much,” Armand says, his pupils blown wide again; he grins a wicked grin. “This way you can take a little piece of me with you.”

Daniel groans, his cock twitching in his jeans again. “You’re a freak, you know that?”

“A freak whom you love,” Armand says, reaching up and making grabby hands at him.

Maybe Daniel isn’t so strong after all.

He goes back to the bed, kneeling one knee on the edge, and leans down to kiss him. Armand’s arms loop around his neck once more, and he kisses Daniel back again and again.

“You really should be off, beloved,” Armand finally says, with a pout, his arms still locked around Daniel’s neck. “It’s almost nine.”

“You know, I wouldn’t have to keep leaving you behind in hotels if you just told Louis we were together,” Daniel says, not making the slightest effort to move.

Armand offers up a half-hearted harrumph as an answer.

“You’ve been hiding out for two years.”

“And haven’t they been a wonderful two years?” Armand says. “No one bothering us, no one judging us, just you and me, and our long overdue second honeymoon.”

“Babe, they’ve been incredible,” Daniel says, running his hand over Armand’s hip, carefully avoiding his cock, because if he touches that again, he’ll never get out the door. “But Louis still thinks you turned me out of spite, and Lestat’s tour is kicking off in three months. If I’m going to be spending any extended period of time with him, he’s going to pull it out of my head, I just know it. I’m really bad at keeping my thoughts about you quiet, and I’m sick of lying to Louis.”

Armand huffs again and rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’ll tell him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Armand replies pulling him down into another kiss.

Now Daniel knows Armand doesn’t lie about everything, but…

“Go now, beloved,” Armand says, patting Daniel’s chest. “You’re going to be late.”

Daniel reluctantly stands up. “Ugh, fine!”

Armand smacks him on the ass when he turns to leave.

“Behave yourself!” Armand calls behind him.

“You know I won’t,” Daniel replies, turning on his heel to get one last look at him before walking out the door.

Aaaand he’s lying there with his legs spread and his hand around his cock.

“Hurry back,” Armand says, batting his eyelashes at him and pouting again, because he knows when he pulls that face Daniel will let him get away with fucking murder. “I’ll be right here, thinking about you.” He pulls his lower lip between his teeth.

Daniel groans, fighting off both a laugh and another erection. “Fuck, I hate you so much.”

“You do not.”

“Call Louis.”

“I will!”

He won’t.

“Oh, and Daniel?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Nah, Daniel’s weak as hell.

He shoots back over to the bed with vamp speed, pouncing on his maker and pinning him with a knee on either side of him. He’s never letting him get away again. He runs his fingers up Armand’s sides and Armand laughs, and squirms, and wriggles beneath him. Daniel effectively shuts him up with a kiss that starts off filthy, but melts into something warm, and tender, and slow.

Daniel presses his forehead to Armand’s and breathes him in deep, Armand’s fingers curling in his shirt at his waist. Fuck Leonard Michael. Fuck the interview. It can wait another ten minutes.

What’s time to a vampire? All Daniel knows, is he’s got an unlimited supply of it. Still, he’d like to spend every second of it right here with the Vampire Armand, the love of his life.

He cups Armand’s face in his hands, his thumbs rubbing over the sharp cut of his cheekbones, and he kisses him again.

“You’re the devil,” Daniel mumbles against his lips. “And I love you more.”