Archive of Our Own

He was surprised. Was this the sort of thing Daniel liked? 

There were, again, one after another and another, servers dressed up in suits and more canapés being paraded around in small silver trays with the tails of prawns arching up like worms, their skeletons so oddly shaped and pink and smelling of spice. He thought it might be interesting, to eat one. Everyone else was, maybe he should try one as well. 

Armand plucked one from an offered tray and put it on a napkin. The music was picking up. There was live music at this party, hired by Daniel’s assistant, not even half bad although some purists might disagree. The thing on the napkin looked worse up close. Dark ridges framed the individual parts of the creature’s skeleton. One of them was surely the anus.

Armand put it on his tongue and swallowed. The sharp edges scraped his throat as it went down. 

Revolting. 

Why would Daniel pick such disgusting hors d'oeuvres for his big party? And at over thirty thousand dollars in catering costs ($32,890 miscellaneous food costs, $621 transportation fees, $780 three-layer chocolate cake with Italian icing, $79 cake cutting fee, $9 allergy-friendly chocolate bar for Daniel’s niece— if one were to trust the emailed invoices) couldn’t they have afforded to take the shells off the carcasses at least? 

“I hear there will be oysters Rockefeller served soon, so don’t fill up yet, hun.” A charming middle-aged white woman spoke to him with a pink drink in her right hand and a strand of purple hair tucked behind her ear and Armand decided he would like her immediately. 

He smiled at her, turning his body to face her. She was very pretty, round soft cheeks and a big droopy nose. Her clothes proved her to be eccentric and wealthy enough to suggest a career in the arts and the existence of both a personal accountant and a housekeeper.

“Have you been enjoying the food, madam?” 

The woman smiled, liking the fact that he’d been polite in his reply, that there were still young men out there who knew how to talk to a lady. That she was, still, a lady to a stranger. 

These were the sort of friends Daniel had. Old eccentrics and artists and journalists who, at one point or other, had reported from frontlines and war torn countries or whose names had been enough to fill up galleries and sell books. Unique, recognisable names you could feed into a search engine and find full pages of information on their careers, their families, their political beliefs, the places where they chose to vacation. 

Like this woman, Daniel’s friend from his time at Macmillan. Another writer. Six books about Elizabethan England and four dogs and a summer in 02’ spent with Daniel and his second wife in Punta Cana. There were pictures still up on Facebook.

“Ah, the food is alright. The drinks are better.” She smiled now just as she did in those pictures and Armand could see why Daniel liked her. “Are you a friend of Daniel’s nephew?”

Daniel’s nephew was thirty-seven years old, lived in San Diego with his boyfriend, and liked to post pictures from the gym with men who looked wet from every angle. 

“No, Daniel invited me.” He lied smoothly, reaching for a passing drink in a coupe glass. 

But, of course, Daniel had not invited him. He would not, ever, invite Armand to a party. 

“Of course, it is his party.” The woman smiled a big gummy smile and sipped her drink and made little effort to conceal her curiosity. “I spotted you from the bar. You have the most gorgeous earrings on and I had to take a closer look…” 

They were gorgeous earrings. Dated to the Italian Renaissance, two hanging pieces of solid gold and twin pear pearls topped by a neatly tied bow of red velvet string, one for each earring. The pearls dropped low enough to tickle the underside of his ears. They’d lived inside a box for decades. 

Armand removed one and offered it to his new friend for a closer look. 

“Oh. Gorgeous, what a thing of beauty.“ She used the very tip of her finger to caress the juicy pearl, eyes shining with wonder. Armand thought to say thank you, but he didn’t want her to think him conceited. “It reminds me of— Giovanni Moroni is his name, I think. Portrait of a Young Woman. A gorgeous painting, small but very well preserved. These… They remind me so much of those earrings, the attention to detail is astounding.” 

She, of course, thought them a replica. Armand nodded politely, and held the glass up to his lips, displaying for her the bracelet around his right hand, “At the Frick, I believe it is? From a private collection?” He asked, a little shy with the information.

Her eyes twinkled with satisfaction then, happy to have found him worthy of conversation after all, “Exactly, I think you’re right, of course. At the Frick. My ex-husband and I used to visit often, I can hardly bring myself to think about the place these days. I don’t know why I remembered your earrings. I guess it’s hardly their fault they are so beautiful, not even the memory of that horrible marriage could outshine them. Such is the thing with many pretty things, isn’t it?”

She gave back the earring and laughed, sipping her drink in no hurry, no hurry at all. Armand enquired about the quality of it and she offered him a sip, leaning into his space. He wished to decline politely, but by then she was looking at his bracelet, gold and emerald pieces salvaged from a rotten aiguillette, linked by a round clasp where a carved cross was still perfectly intact, visible. 

“Gorgeous, I’ve never seen a thing like this,” She was a historian, a tipsy one, and Daniel’s old friend, so Armand could almost forgive the insolent press of a finger against his wrist as she played with the clasp. “You must be a curator, I didn’t even think to ask.” 

She had not, because he appeared young and out of place, even if only one of those things were true. That’s why her mind had hummed its disapproval when he’d said Daniel had invited him. And that stung, still; offended him.

It was, very offensive, this assumption.

This good old friend of Daniel’s thought Armand couldn't possibly know him. Not enough to be invited to a party for which three-hundred and fourteen invitations have been sent out. A party to which even Daniel’s dentist had been invited. 

“My friend Johanna, she’s somewhere around here, she’d love to see this ring,” She was pointing then, at the gold signet ring on his pinky finger, the Romanov ring he’d purchased in 1917, before the Americans had looted everything else. “The craftsmanship is magnificent.”

But she was right.

Why would have Daniel invited him?

Daniel hated him. He hated him more than he had ever hated anyone else in his entire human existence. And beyond. Even if he, by his own admission, did find Armand at least moderately physically attractive. 

It was all in the book, after all. 

Page 27, ‘quietly alluring domestic servant’; page 40, ‘doe eyed young man’; page 63, ‘pretty, deceitful eyes followed me’; page 103, ‘fine figure’; page 104, ‘clever mouth downturned in a sneer’; page 107, ‘diabolical housewife of someone’s dreams’; page 122, ‘exquisitely avoidant disposition’; page 187, ‘those deceitful eyes, calling me again’; page 201; ‘pretty wrists, powerful enough to turn bones to dust’; page 249, ‘a Renaissance profile framed by shadows’; page 269, ‘sweet smile, like a dog about to bite’; page 303, ‘gorgeous legs’; page 304, ‘strong shoulders on a willowy frame’, page 327, ‘a beautiful mouth that might one day bring the end of days’; page 340—

“Johanna, meet my new friend— Sorry, I have not even asked you for your name.” 

Johanna Lazar and her husband were old friend’s of Daniel’s. She, editor-in-chief of Vogue Australia for almost a decade, now retired, was vaguely cordial with Daniel while her husband, Carlos, had been art director of the New Yorker between 1997 and 2003, where he’d met Daniel who he’d loudly disliked initially on account of some small political dissent between the two. Daniel had made a point to mention it in one of his books. Both liked Daniel well enough now and had attended his eldest daughter’s wedding. The pictures were still up on Facebook. 

They were the sort of people who kissed your cheek to greet you. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Armand said, without offering a name, and allowed for the conversation to return to the matter of jewels and decorative art and good, superfluous investments. 

“I hear Daniel will be the one cutting the cake with a sable, if you can believe it.” The husband said, and nodded heavily, eyes fixed distantly on Daniel’s blurry figure near the corners of the ballroom.

Armand looked too, now that it appeared acceptable to acknowledge the existence of their absent host. 

At the edge of the ballroom, Daniel seemed busy; most of the food had yet to come out. Not the best catering service, Daniel’s assistant has been right when she’d email Daniel another offer from a bigger company, more suited to the size of the event. Daniel hadn’t even replied; they'd gone with his first choice.

“He’s flying off to Los Angeles next week for that documentary.” Armand’s new friend added unprompted, her fingers no longer around his wrist but still startlingly close. “More vampires, of course. Singing ones, this time. He seems to have found a new niche.”

A different waiter had brought over more drinks and Armand picked a different one this time, admiring the pink-orange glow of the glass. Someone else joined their small circle, a younger fifty-something man with thick, white glasses. William Lloyd, Daniel’s fiction editor for a few years back before he’d made the permanent move to non-fiction.

“He’s flying to Los Angeles alright. Miriam told me he bought a house in Malibu, sight unseen.” William added, although no one had asked him a thing.

“Doesn’t he look happy about it, you think?” Someone observed with an air of pride as Armand turned to face them, a tall woman with big, fake teeth now by his right side. Antonia Something, an ex-fling of Daniel’s. Another writer, a bad one at that. “A little pale, maybe. But he’s been taking good care of himself.”

“Twenty million copies sold of that book, can’t blame him for wanting to keep himself healthy long enough to enjoy it.”

Their small group had grown to almost ten and then twelve and, some time later, fifteen. Oysters came and went and so did salmon and chicken and imported French cheeses in delicate pieces of bread thin as paper. Armand did nothing remarkable but talk politely about all the small things Daniel’s friends found interesting: of the importance of good tailoring when it came to men’s trousers, about how lively Fort-de-France was during Carnival week, about decent books whose readers were often elusive and perhaps in hiding, about Daniel’s book —twenty million copies sold, what a number, what a success —, about the need for a good agent when it came to film rights.

On his best behaviour, and Daniel hadn’t even invited him. Nonetheless, it was only a matter of time until Daniel found him, until he saw him, here, regardless.

It happened like this. Daniel had lifted a cup off a tray and heard a laugh, tipsy happy and loud, Armand’s new friend, resting her hand on the crook of his elbow as she showed him her shoes, the spot where a drunk man had, at a casino in Macau, spilled red wine on the gorgeous suede of the ocean blue heel, and Armand had been laughing with her because they were good friends by then, exchanging stories of past misfortunes as good friends do —Armand had almost felt tempted to mention the time Marius had painted his tongue that exact shade of blue for no other reason but to amuse himself, the paint tasting like corrosive acid and rotten milk. So he’d laughed and rested his own hand over hers and Daniel had heard it and he’d turned, chin jutted forward as if he were a hound on a scent, looking for the mouth that owned said laugh, looking, looking, looking until he’d found it. 

Armand didn’t need to be inside his mind to know he was not happy to see him. 

Daniel. 

Daniel, still some distance away from the group, stood frozen still with his head tilted and his eyes flashing yellow and then, for a brief, magical instant, red. Daniel had found him. Finally, after over an hour of this charade. He’d found him. 

Armand could guess how angry he was, the things that he would say if they were alone; or maybe even here, with all his friends and his daughters and his work acquaintances and even his dentist present, what he would like to do to Armand, now that he’d shown up to his big party uninvited, after all this time, like the cowardly critter Daniel thought him to be. 

After a brief, stunned pause, Daniel finally moved, made his way forward, assistant and daughter and some other friend in tow. He walked in a perfect straight line towards Armand and Armand, he could not help it, that he was curling his fingers just a little tighter around his new friend’s hand on his elbow, delighted to know Daniel would have to do something about him now. 

He would have to talk to him. To be polite, even; just as Armand had been with his friends.

A dozen steps and there he was. Daniel’s eyebrows lifted in that intimate way Armand had witnessed only on two occasions in Dubai –one time with him, one time with Rashid, none for Louis–, an exasperated smile on his lips. A smile. A smile? And he wasn’t pushing Armand to the floor or ripping his throat open; he was leaning forward, a hand at the nape of his neck, a slow, warm, pointed kiss on his cheek; slow enough for everyone else to stop what they were doing and look at them, at the unmistakable familiarity of their greeting, at the way Armand’s hand had found the cuff of Daniel’s suit, all of them witnesses to the wobbly shudder that had expanded his chest when Daniel said his name in that way of his, like it’d been him and not someone else, a million suns ago, who had named him Armand. 

“Armand,” 

So pointed was the way Daniel said it that Armand felt himself blush, bashful and a little embarrassed by his own reaction. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. This was the wrong reaction, the wrong greeting. Daniel was angry. Had to be angry. This other thing, it was making Armand feel strange. Inflated, like a helium balloon, chin involuntarily tilted forward for Daniel, blood pumping in his chest like he was a boy again and this was the day someone would kiss him on the lips for the very first time. 

Daniel hated him, he was sure, but maybe not enough to deny him a warm greeting.

“Jesus, dad,” Daniel’s daughter said then. 

“Darling, this is my friend Armand.” Daniel announced without moving his hand from its hold on Armand’s nape. 

There was no possibility of greeting her properly like this so Armand had to make do with a nod instead. It made for an odd feeling, getting to meet one of Daniel’s daughters after having seen enough of her life in broken memories inside Daniel’s mind and having searched for all the rest in her very public social media accounts. Daniel’s daughter liked to read, liked cheese but abstained from it, liked horror films when the gore was nauseating, liked the poet Jean Genet and Our Lady of The Flowers and had, for the longest time, fancied herself a poetess until a beautiful woman she’d met through an online dating site had made it sound like she was silly for dreaming of something that would never happen. Daniel’s daughter loved her father, was protective of him, regardless of his many flaws, she did not blame him for the ugliness in her life. 

“Sure, your friend. Why the hell not? Nice to meet you, Armand. I’m Cassie and this is so very weird.” There was in her that fire so reminiscent of who Daniel had been as a young man that Armand could not say anything in return, not even a small acknowledgement, suddenly pinned like a bug under her blue gaze and Daniel’s hand on his neck. 

Maybe she would like to be his friend, he thought. 

They were all connected now that Armand had stolen him from her. Rightfully, Daniel belonged to him now. And yet he was still a father. A friend. He was still human to these people. They could not see, would never see, the red thread of fate connecting him to Armand now. The way it would pull him away from humanity and into him until there was nothing left of who Daniel had once been.

“Daniel and I aren’t really friends. More like acquaintances.” Armand said, the words sounding as stupid and odd as he’d known they would.

“Oh, yeah, I know the type.” Daniel’s daughter replied without missing a beat, her mind picturing a version of events in which his father had made inappropriate use of his money around a young, impressionable liberal arts college student who was all too eager to be charmed. 

Human minds were often like that. Easily excitable.

‘If this is the man from the fucking book… Jesus Christ, non-fiction my ass’ and ‘There has to be something wrong with him, medically’ and ‘Of course Daniel Molloy would name a character after the boytoy he wants to fuck and would parade him about in front of everyone. Never had any shame, the old fuck’ and ‘Let’s hope he at least gets a prenup this time around’. 

Daniel leaned closer, his nose pressed against the bow of Armand’s gold earring, ruffling it, “You have some nerve showing up here, you demon. Now, don’t get offended by their thoughts and start planning anything stupid, okay?”

Daniel let go of his neck then, fingers leaving him one at a time and Armand felt their absence like a body trapped underwater, unable to get air into its lungs. His daughter tracked the movement with her eyes and so did others around them. Armand tried very hard not to care.

“I didn’t bring you a gift,” Armand said, loud enough for anyone to hear, gaze still chasing the green of Daniel’s eyes. I'm not actually hopeful, only waiting for the hatred to shine through, he thought. 

“It’s not that sort of party.” Daniel replied, his body still remained close by, like they were a unit, like he was happy to see him. “How did you like the food? Not too bland for you, I hope.”

Daniel was the only vampire in the world whose mind he could not access and the only one he wanted to crack open and examine until he’d sifted through every single thought and emotion. 

“It was good. I liked the prawns.” 

“I would have ordered something for you, I just wasn’t aware you were coming,” Daniel said, suave and ironic. To his assistant he added, “Marianne, did we mail an invite to Dubai? Or where are you now, babe? Singapore?” 

How would Daniel know—?

“We— we sent one to Mr. du Lac but—“ The poor thing was almost shaking and Daniel wouldn’t even look at her.

“Oh no, Marianne. He wouldn’t have come here with Mr. De Pointe du Lac. Would you now, Armand?” It was said with a smile, too. Like Daniel wasn’t really trying to be mean. It just came naturally to him. 

Armand was going to reply. Had almost made up his mind to be so kind as to not humiliate Daniel with his answer when they were interrupted, their small circle opening up to accommodate its intruder.

“Good to see you, Daniel. We were just discussing the book with your friend Armand.” From the crowd of onlookers, William the editor, with his ugly, plastic glasses, spoke again, his impertinent voice grating on Armand’s nerves. “So how much of it is actually true? Here’s your Armand alright, and there seems to be a Louis, or your assistant thinks there is. Beyond that, how did you come up with the idea of mixing vampires and Mississippian creoles?” 

Daniel’s hand was back on him again, a violent, all-too-familiar pressure on the back of his neck right where the half of his hair he hadn’t tied up in a twist had been allowed to hang loose. Easy, it seemed to say. No need to get angry now, we are all having a good time. 

It’s not like Armand would have actually done anything to a good friend of Daniel’s. 

Not here, at least. 

“I’ve said it a thousand times, William; it’s all true. You don’t believe me?” 

“Oh, don’t give us that. So you and young Armand here knew each other in the 70s? Way before Cassie was born?” William said, the fingers of his right hand spread out wide to trace the air around Armand’s body. “What year were you born, Armand?”

It would be so easy, that was the thing. Unscrewing him loose.

His mind had no door, the metaphorical space it ought to hold was so precariously put together around a key identifying trait —that wretched self-hate he’d held on to since he was six and his brother had told him, secretly, in darkness, that no one would ever love a smartass like him— that Armand wouldn’t even have to do anything. Daniel could have done it, gone inside his brain and fixed him. No experience needed, it would be good practice for Daniel and would bring empty, beautiful bliss for this man; a little gift, for his trouble. 

But Daniel did not want that. Compromises would have to be made. 

Armand lowered his eyes and spoke softly, “You want to know if what Daniel wrote about me is true?” 

“Yes, Armand; I would love to know.” Came the reply, a little condescending, but that was alright, Armand didn’t mind.

A quick gaze at Daniel proved him to be only mildly amused. How far would he allow Armand to go then? 

“When Daniel and I first met,” He started on a half lie, to ease the tension. This would have been a good time to slip into a Californian accent, to let the familiarity fill in the gaps; but he wished to unsettle, to allow a vague mysticism to colour his voice instead, “He was working on a piece and the topic of memory retrieval came up. He was very interested in learning more about those gaps in our memory. Things, big and small, we’ve lost to ourselves, to the passing of time. I have some training, not necessarily formal training—“

“I take it you’re not an EMDR licensed therapist?”

“No, I am not,” He replied easily with a shy, humble smile, “But I could do a small demonstration. If you’re curious.”

The offer stood in the space between their bodies, deceitfully innocent, for a few seconds. Armand thought he might yet say no, no harm done after all. He thought Daniel might stop it, make him retract it. 

“Sure, why not. Let’s do a demonstration.” 

A demonstration then. The thread that connected him to Daniel pulling taught. It was a delicate thing, cruelty in public, he would attempt to measure himself. 

Armand rotated his body a few degrees to the right until he was facing William, his shoulders tense under his good suit, blood pumping wildly against the spot where he’d nicked himself shaving this morning. He truly was a pitiful sight.

Armand spoke kindly, shortening the space between his mind and the man’s, “Tell me, William, do you remember your first kiss?”

The crowd tittered, eyes on William and his silly glasses, watching the sweat gathering under his nose.

William huffed out a low laugh, “Yes, I do. I was fourteen and—“

“No, that was not your first kiss, William.” Armand retaliated, voice just as sweet as before. With little effort he reached out, placing himself inside the man’s mind, prodding lazily, causing some discomfort. 

William’s eyelids shuttered for a second, heartbeat picking up. Oh, something strange was happening to him. Or was he paranoid? Did people think he was a paranoid person? Neurotic? Did they think he was a fool? Did they think his glasses looked weird?

Nervous little bird, his mind stuttered a little, frozen in low-simmering panic.  

“It was. I was there, I—“

“Close your eyes for me, William.” Armand commanded.

There was some resistance then, Armand could see his shoulders curling in, a foot shifting as he widened his stance. There was the fear, the anger. Scene one, every actor obediently following their script. No one, in all his years doing this, had ever swayed, improvised a line. Well, no one except for Daniel, that beautiful boy on his knees begging for a taste of the terror.

“You asked for a demonstration, Will! Do as the boy says,” Armand’s friend, the historian with her grabby hands, said, an encouraging smile turned to Armand as if he were the one about to perform.

Inside William's mind, things were getting stressful. He was embarrassed, he wanted to take it back. Armand wondered if Daniel was paying close attention, if he would like what Armand was going to do to his friend, if he’d end up asking to have a go at it.

“Sure, why the hell not? My eyes are closed.”

Inside your mind there is a monster, William. Think of that for me now. 

“The sun is shining.” Armand said soothingly, voice soft and as pleasant as he could make it. At his side, Daniel’s presence thrummed, a steady beating. “You are a boy and it’s a beautiful spring day. Where are you?”

The memory was hazy, smoky under a thick layer of shame. An exceedingly warm spring, a boy so small his teeth had taken over most of his face.

“I’m— I’m behind the school, by the thorny bushes, I’m—“ His voice cracked and Armand loosened his grip a little, allowing him room to slide carefully into the memory. “I’m ten.”

“School is over for the day and your father—“ Armand supplied, allowing William to fill in the gaps. The ones he'd forgotten existed until now. 

“He will be angry that I’ve missed the bus.” William whispered, swaying slightly on his feet.

“You’re not alone.” Armand whispered back, “Who’s with you?”

“Jennifer, my neighbour, she’s eleven and—“ There went little William, his voice taking on a childish tilt. Petulance then; he didn’t like that, he didn’t like being little William at all. “Okay so it was spotty Jennifer Farris behind the school when I was ten, not a huge revelation—“

Armand quickly cut his insolence short, voice sharp as a butcher’s knife, “Don’t talk back to me, William. Who else is there?”  

Properly admonished, William obeyed, “Jenny’s sister Tammy. I— I don’t like her, she smells like pot roast.” 

“What a mean, mean thing to say, William.” Armand retorted and felt Daniel tensing at his side. Felt Daniel’s nails as they dug into the back of his neck. More docile, he added, “What do you see then? Tell me.”

“I’m looking down. I’m wearing my blue shoes with the yellowing stripes and my socks are up to my knees. I’m— I’m pinned to the wall, my feet dangle in the air. I can’t quite reach the floor, I’m trying but I— I can’t. Jenny and Tammy are holding me up and I just realised that girls can be scary too, even pretty girls. And I need to pee or maybe it’s not pee but I know my dad will be mad that I’ve missed the bus because we don’t have a car right now. I tell them this, I tell them that our car broke down and dad can’t afford to fix it, not yet, and I will have to walk home or my mum will have to pick me up and walk home with me but Tammy is right in my face, and she says that she’d like to ask me a question.” 

Armand felt it too; the sun on his face and the pot roast smell of Tammy’s blonde, stringy hair and the fear , the beginning of desire, the confusion of wanting to feel more of this monstrous thing that was happening to him. 

“What is the question, William?” Armand asked, leading him deeper into the memory. 

In the real world, the crowd was shocked still, eyes trained to William’s wrecked face. His downturned mouth, open on a pout. Armand moved an inch forward and Daniel’s hand followed. Not stopping him, not at all. They were a unit, it seemed, doing this together. Tethered together. He would have stopped if Daniel had asked. Of course he would, he could follow directions. He was good at it. But Daniel knew what he was, what he did to people’s heads, and he had yet to let go of him. He was the dangerous dog on a leash and Daniel was holding the handle but the rope was loose in his hands.

Out came Armand’s hand and touched the smooth skin of the man’s cheek, “What was the question, dear Willy?” 

The words came and William’s mind gave with them, fully submerged in the memory, “Did— Did your mummy ever teach you that you aren’t allowed to say no to a girl, dear Willy?” 

Armand removed his hand, removed himself, left the boy alone to experience it all over again. Slipped back into his own mind, Daniel’s thumb turned sweet on his skin. Armand couldn’t stop himself from looking then. Daniel, Daniel, his magnificent boy; Daniel was grinning.

His own voice shook just a little as he asked the boy, “Tell me, William, who was your first kiss?”

“I don’t know, I’ll never know which one did it. I keep my eyes screwed shut for so long my eyelids hurt but one of them kisses me on the lips and it feels—“ William swayed again, his body loose, proprioception completely wrecked, an unintended consequence of Armand’s sudden absence inside his head. “It feels electric . I am wide awake, it’s almost scary but I don’t know if I want to be scared, I am no longer a boy. I am me.” 

This was the thing William knew now. What Armand had taught him, his small gift to him. Monstrous things would happen to you and you might find yourself enjoying them, you might make yourself forget, might spend a thousand days trying to remember why exactly you chose to forget; but none of that would make them less monstrous. The pain won’t save you, won’t be enough, will be too much, will be yours forever, even when you forget. 

“You can open your eyes now, William.” 

For a second, no one seemed to know how to react. Armand had laid a man bare for everyone to feast on and the show was over and their guilty consciences could no longer be ignored. Armand’s new friend, the historian, was the first one to start clapping and it was enough, as it often was with live audiences, to set the mood. More applause followed and Armand could only smile shyly, retreating back to his human facade.

That had gone well. The humans liked a good show. 

“That was—“ Someone said and Armand registered the stares, the longing and horror and pain and hope in people’s minds. How hungry they all were for their own awakening. How wildly their hearts had started to pump, blood flowing, rushing up and down their veins, right under their fancy clothes and expensive knickknacks. 

“My daughter is going to want to hire a private detective to follow you everywhere after this, just so you know.” Daniel’s mouth was by his ear again, skin like fire on his. 

No one else mattered. 

Nothing else would ever matter. 

Daniel was warm and he was his. His magnificent, monstrous fledgling, unperturbed by the hundreds of hearts pumping all around him, looking only at him , at Armand, his maker, willingly complicit in his actions.

Armand leaned further into Daniel’s personal space, pressed his nose into Daniel’s earlobe, “I will start attending college. I will pretend to be getting my driver’s license. I will take a job at a coffee shop for minimum wage. I will horrify her with how young and vulnerable her father’s new friend is.”

There was no time to properly decode the shiver that ran down Daniel’s spine before he was moving away, bodies once again separated by what could almost be said to be an appropriate amount of space for the setting. Armand hated it immediately. A thought popped in his head; he could reach out again, drag Daniel back where he belonged by the neck. He could have him on his knees begging for it in a second. 

But he didn’t do that anymore. He was going to be good, good to Daniel, at least, and he was going to take what he was given and not a thing more. 

“Show’s over, let’s cut that cake.” Daniel said but the palm of his hand rested over the curve of Armand’s lower back as if he were saying don’t you dare fucking leave now and I’ll let you hold the knife if you behave and you are my secret to keep. 

They brought the cake out. It was a beautiful cake, after all. Daniel had chosen well. 

Outside the venue a cold wind was picking up, carrying the scent of the city and all the cars waiting for passengers who could not be rushed. 

“Get in the car, I have to say goodbye to—“

Almost as if he didn’t know who exactly he was talking to, Daniel had tried to push him into the back seat of his ostentatious car, with the tinted windows and the out-of-sight driver. The wind was in his face, Armand’s hair and the lightweight fabric of his shirt weren’t meant for this weather and yet, there was something more pressing: Daniel, turning his back on him. Leaving , after holding his hand for what felt like an eternity. That wasn’t a thing Armand could just accept without a fight.

“Don’t—“ 

His fingers gripped the pocket of Daniel’s suit jacket and they both heard it, above the wind and the traffic and the murmuring minds all around them, as it ripped. Daniel looked down and back up at him, there was no way of reading him when he was like this. 

“Yeah, okay.” There was that face again, closed off, not entirely happy or unhappy about anything. The sort of mild expression that had almost driven Armand to violence in Dubai. “I’ll just text. Let’s get you in the car before someone takes a picture of you looking like— Like this, and I end up getting cancelled on fucking twitter again.” 

This time, when Daniel pushed him inside the car with a hand on his lower back, Armand went willingly. 

“I don’t like the things they say about you online, Daniel.”

Daniel closed the car door with a thud and laid back on the seat like a man on a throne, “If someone should be avoiding social media’s so-called free speech, it’s you. Is that why you seemed seconds away from juicing William like a peach?”

Armand shot up straight on his seat, “On July the 26th he posted ‘Molloy is a demented old fart with a deceased sense of humour’, and just a few weeks ago, after you had already invited him to your party he wrote about you, again. October the 14th, ‘Daniel Molloy is the perfect example of why writers stop writing once they lose control of their bowels’, and yet he came—“

“Is this what you’ve been doing in Singapore for over a year then? Making a kill list of all the people who’ve ever wronged me?”

Over a year. It was true. He hadn’t seen Daniel in ‘over a year’.

457 days, he thought to reply. You’ve been mine for 457 days.

In the intimate space of the car with the tinted windows firmly closed and the few borrowed inches separating him from Daniel, hiding behind his usual tricks was proving more difficult than he had initially planned, “How— How do you know about Singapore?” 

“I got the hint after the third Google security alert.” Daniel said, eyebrows raised, “Would you like to talk about why you were so determined to hack into my email?” 

Armand would not care for that. 

“Ah, so now you’re quiet.”

Being alone with Daniel was a mistake. 

Armand had known that, way before Daniel had dragged him out of the party like a misbehaving child. He wasn’t good at being alone with Daniel. On three different occasions in Dubai he’d had to remove himself physically from the building, from his presence, clawing down the elevator shaft and into the bright sun of the desert; as far as that he’d gone to avoid Daniel’s thoughts. The questioning, the unfiltered suspicion. How much he’d liked Louis, even at his worst. How little he’d liked Armand, even at his best. 

How could Daniel like him? He’d seen through every deception, he’d followed every little hint down into the city of tunnels Armand had built around his ambitions, his petty desires. And yet often he would find, as he’d first attempted to see into Daniel’s thoughts, that it wasn’t his harebrained actions —the violence after losing control, the jejune impulsivity that often lead only to greater distance from what he’d initially wanted to achieve, the failure to grow up, to get over things,— that caused his dislike. No, above all, Daniel seemed to hate one key trait of who Armand was: he hated the mask of normalcy. 

I hate the way he stands there like a politician’s wife cutting roses in the garden, asinine, braindead; like he’s just found out his husband has been fucking his secretary behind his back but they’re going to try and make it work for little Claire and Johnny. 

Those had been Daniel’s thoughts exactly. Asinine. Boring. Down the elevator shaft again, running around the city in circles like a lost puppy, breaking things and digging holes in the sand. 

But he hadn’t done anything to Daniel. Armand had been so good in Dubai. So in control; until he, of course, wasn't. 

“Give me your hand.” 

Obedient, Armand offered up a hand, palm up with all his pretty rings glittering in the dim light. His hand was an apology, maybe, since he hadn’t really answered any of Daniel’s questions.

“Aren’t you going to tell me why you decided to show up now, after all this time? Or do I have to guess?” 

Daniel grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him closer until their thighs were pressed together and Armand’s fingertips were curled against his own palm. 

“You didn’t invite me.” Armand replied, chin jutting forward in defiance. 

“I didn’t invite you— To my work party? For a book you did everything in your power to stop me from writing?” Daniel’s hand was on his wrist and then on his knuckles, his thumb sliding in between them, slowly tracing the skin separating each finger. The sensation was indescribable and inappropriate and Armand ought to tell him, how much exactly Armand liked it, so he could stop. “That can’t be it.” 

“You didn't invite me.” Armand repeated but his voice was a little off, gaze unblinking, trained to the sight of Daniel’s thumb circling his ring finger. “You said— You emailed your assistant, you told her to invite ‘anyone I’ve ever met or who has ever been important, important being a loose term here’. You didn’t give her my name.” 

Daniel took off the Romanov ring from his pinky then, applying some force against his knuckle as he did so. Armand had forgotten to tell him how it felt to be touched like that and now it was too late. 

The sensation had come, electric and startlingly pleasant, and his body registered Daniel’s touch not only against his hands but, weirdly, also in his throat, his mouth, a mouth wet at the thought of Daniel’s thumb, broad, solid parting his lips open, pushing against his tongue with equal force as he’d used on the ring, splitting him open.

“This is pretty. I’ve never seen you this dressed up.” Daniel was saying, unaware or unconcerned about his effect on Armand. 

“I’m saying that— You didn’t give her my name, Daniel.” Armand’s eyes fluttered close, Daniel had made a circle around his ring finger, lightly digging his nails into the skin; Armand could not possibly imagine why, “I’m not important?”

This was not being good. This was not being in control. This was significantly worse than Dubai. 

“You knew where to find me, and you clearly did. Where was I supposed to send the invite? The Paris catacombs? The beautiful nation of Singapore? Or maybe you were in New Orleans chasing Louis around like a dog?”

He shouldn’t have been left alone with Daniel. 

Bad things happened when he was alone with Daniel. 

Like crawling, on his hands and knees, watching Daniel’s retreating back as he ran for the door. 

Over a year ago, 457 days. Today, before, now. Daniel was going to leave and he was going to die and he would die hating Armand. There would be no more sardonic thoughts, no more jokes, big and small and inappropriate and ill-timed. Daniel was going to leave the apartment and he was going to die. Armand never got to keep the things he wanted to himself. All his good jewellery hidden away, waiting for the right time to be worn, the right state of mind. All the good art sold and loaned and put into boxes with locks and plexiglass cases. Nice books up on shelves, far, far away from himself. Armand knew he couldn’t be trusted around nice things. 

And Daniel was leaving and he was going to die.

“I wasn’t supposed to hurt you,” Armand whispered. And he was here, now, in the car, with this other Daniel. He yanked his hand out of his grip, the memory of that other Daniel, human Daniel, as he was leaving him, flashing in his mind like it were happening here, again.

He was going to make the same mistake, again. 

Crawling, on his hands and knees, bloody and shaking and pathetic. Saying Daniel’s name, out loud, over and over again, like a plea, small and eerie voice thick like syrup. Human Daniel stopping still, not running but turning to answer his call. Not a hint of fear in his handsome face. 

‘Armand,’ 

‘You can’t leave, you’re going to die. You can’t go.’

Crawling, on his hands and knees, Daniel’s unsteady hands in his hair, petting his sticky cheek, wet with his own blood. 

Petting him, how cruel, after Armand had been so good for so long and this, this was the first time he’d touched him. How mean of human Daniel, to reward the worst of behaviours. 

‘Daniel,’ His voice cracking again, face pressed in between Daniel’s thighs, the sweet scent of his blood there. Thump, tap, thump, thump, tap. The muscles of Daniel’s heart giving out, day by day the arrhythmia becoming more noticeable until Armand could hear it in his sleep. Not a second where he couldn’t hear it, following him like a curse. You can’t be trusted around nice things, Amadeo. Thump, tap, tap, thump. ‘You can’t die, Daniel. I won’t let you, I won’t. You have to stay a little longer. You are mine.’

Finally, there, the fear. Too late. Armand had almost wanted to laugh –It’s  entirely too late now, Daniel. Don’t you get it? I’ve made up my mind.– because by then his teeth had already ripped through the fabric of Daniel’s trousers, found the wet, pulsing frame of an artery and sunk. 

“Can I see it?” Armand spoke again, unsure if Daniel had said a single word while he was locked inside his memory, but it did not matter. Or it did –He cared about Daniel, Armand was not an uncaring person, he was not–, but very little, still, compared with the need to see the scar he’d left on him. The one he’d claimed Daniel with. 

“See what, Armand?” Daniel did not seem angry, his mouth was pursed, but no, he was not angry. Something else then. His eyes were half-lidded, trained to the open gap in Armand’s shirt, but not angry. 

Why was he not angry? What else could he be feeling if not anger? Daniel hated him. 

“The scar, I want to see—” His throat felt itchy, clamped shut because of that horrid feeling of panic inside him. This wasn’t being in control. Bad things happened when he wasn’t in control. 

“Which one, babe?” Daniel was joking and Armand wanted him, wanted him desperate and afraid and gorgeous and his like he’d been in Dubai. He wanted to see again that spark in his eyes as he’d realised that Armand was not going to stop, that he was going to drain him until there was nothing left of him and then he was going to fill him back up with every terrible thing Armand was and had ever been. His, he had been about to make Daniel his, forever; and Daniel had only smiled like he was fucking excited for it. 

“Mine,” Armand replied as his hands creeped out, closer to Daniel’s thigh. 

“You’re gonna have to be more specific, babe.” 

Under the sudden weight of Armand’s body, the floor mat in Daniel’s car made a crunching, almost wet sound. On his knees, again; the before and the now coming together in a blur of movement. Armand looked up at Daniel and his face showed that he was, at the very least, shocked to see him kneeling for him. He shouldn’t have been. 

“Let me see it, Daniel.” Armand knew how to do this, even with someone as difficult as Daniel. He looked up at Daniel through his eyelashes, eyebrows curved into the very picture of docility. “ Please,”

For a second it looked as if it was going to work.

“No,” Daniel’s voice was low, pinched like it bothered him, the sight of Armand as he’d been when he’d drained him dry. His face was doing that queer thing again, like he was angry, frustrated, a million unreadable emotions twisted together. “I said no, Armand.”

That was a very bad habit of his, Armand thought, always up for a fight. Never one to take the easy way out. 

“You—” Deep breaths, his nails digging into the fabric of Daniel’s trousers, not enough to break the skin yet. His face contorting into something else. Goodbye to the little lamb, he thought sadly, his fangs were coming out of his gums and it hurt, it always hurt. A warning, the pain. Another deep breath, that grim, closed off expression on Daniel’s face and the need to say something, “You don’t get to say no to me. I made you. You are– You are mine.”

A fang came down and nicked his lower lip and his body was moving forward, hands on Daniel’s thighs and then his belt; cool metal, warm leather. He would be nice with Daniel’s clothes, it wasn’t their fault Daniel was being difficult. Acting out. 

“And if I don’t let you see it; what will you do then, Armand?”

It was— It was a trick question. Another one of Daniel’s games. He needed to get an answer.

Always. He needed to be right. His fangs were out and it wasn’t his fault, it was Daniel’s fault. His jaw hurt with the effort to keep his mouth shut, to not bite him again. And Daniel had asked him, ‘what will you do, Armand?’; had he not seen him at his worst already?

He looked up, eyes flashing, dancing in their sockets. He saw Daniel doubled, tripled, as the projection of his face inside Armand’s body shook in chorus with the movement of his irises. There were three and then four Daniels, and Armand thought, for a brief second, that they might have been smiling, almost. 

“My blood. My boy. I made you.” He repeated it but his mouth hurt, his teeth were aching and his gums felt swollen and full of his own blood, like maybe his mouth remembered the sweet, almost tart taste of Daniel’s blood. “I—”

Daniel grabbed him then and it wasn’t like before at all, it wasn’t the hand that had held the back of his neck at the party –intimate, complicit– or the one that had pushed him inside the car –determined, a little mean. No, this was the hand of an animal.

Nails dug into his scalp, fingers tangled in his hair and Daniel spoke, dark and steady, like he’d been waiting for a while to say this, “But you didn’t even want a fledgling. Did you, honey? You made a mistake. You were angry and lost control. Ah, that impulsivity in you messing everything up again. You wanted to hurt me for ruining your shitty fucking relationship. Your pretty fantasy with the nice apartment and the rituals, the boys running around like things you could buy, the little foxes all laid out on the table, your pretty art on the walls like a respectable gentleman. And here comes this man you don’t even like, and he ruins everything, and you’re mad, and you want to ruin something in return. Is that right, honey? Is that how it happened?”

It was hard to speak then, as Daniel held him up by the hair, neck bowed back, causing some pain, some significant discomfort. Distracting.

“No, no, no.” His mouth made a wet sound as he said it, words coming out all weird. “I didn’t make a mistake, I was good, the whole time, I was so good, and then you—”

“You call the way you behaved in Dubai good, honey?”

His fingers ripped into the waistband of Daniel’s trousers. There was nothing Daniel could have done to stop him. Last time he’d done this Daniel had already been bleeding, blood pouring down his leg. Yes, he’d made a big mess, last time. That was true. But he would do better this time. 

“Ah, fuck, Armand—”

Armand raked his nails up Daniel’s thighs, nosed his way up between them like an animal on a scent, above him, Daniel gasped and he didn’t even care. The tip of his nose found it first and, when he opened his eyes, it was right there, like the most beautiful piece of art he’d ever owned. A gross, painful scar, the skin all mangled and raised. It had healed unevenly. How horrible it must have been for Daniel. Armand looked and looked, transfixed by the sight. 

He’d done that to Daniel.

“At sundown, every day, for twenty years, I thought of turning you. I pictured it, in my mind, a million different ways. My fangs would come out and I would have to bite into something. Any object I could find. I chewed through the wall of an apartment, I ate wood and felt the splinters inside the roof of my mouth for months.” He spoke to the scar and was rewarded by the vision of Daniel’s pulse as it quickened, full and alive underneath his skin. He rested his forehead on it, felt it, his own blood there. “And then in Dubai. I pictured it every night, every morning. Sun down, sun up, it did not matter, I was picturing it. I went into your room and watched you sleep and thought, ‘What would he do, if I cut him open with a knife and told him that was the only way to save him? Would he thank me for it then?’. I thought about it as I chased that human boy around Dubai, as I watched you smile at Louis, coddle him. You never thought of coddling me.”  

The scar was warm under his forehead and he nuzzled it, used his nose to trace the imprint of his teeth on Daniel’s pale skin, “I did not want a fledgling. I did not care about the Dark Gift, about my bloodline or my power. I didn't even care about what you wanted, I only wanted to keep you. Just this once, I wanted to keep something nice for myself, Daniel. You weren’t nice to me, but I still wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted anything else. And you would hate me forever, would walk this Earth despising me every second of every day for taking your life away from you, for making you against your wishes. But you would always, always be mine. It… It was not a mistake, turning you. I got exactly what I wanted out of it, and I don’t regret it. You can’t make me regret it and try as you might you can never get rid of me, Daniel.”

He kissed the scar, felt Daniel’s thigh tense under his lips and, as he looked back up again, he imagined what Daniel must be thinking of him. He didn’t care much. It was unimportant. 

Daniel’s face, it was the face of the Old Masters. The men of his childhood who walked Venice like they could walk on water. The keepers of beauty, who had treated him kindly, when kindness could be offered. Not a vampire face, frozen in youth, beauty tainted by the uncanny maturity of the eyes around perfectly cherubic cheeks. Daniel’s was a face of someone who had lived, who could reach into a basket of oranges at the market and pluck one out and inspect it, take his time with it. Offer it to a child, a gift, because he could, was allowed to enter any room, touch any object, be who he wanted to be, never to be questioned or ridiculed. And his eyes, they were just so green.

Armand nipped him, tasted the skin of his inner thigh, red and swollen with blood. 

“Finally, there you fucking are.” Daniel said and his satisfied smile took over his whole face, “There’s the little creature who drunk me dry.”

Did Daniel… Why wasn’t he horrified? Why would he smile? Like he wanted this, was happy, finally, to see Armand break the act. 

“Daniel, what’s wrong with you?” He asked, but could not stop himself from rubbing his cheek against the scar. 

Daniel’s eyelids fluttered closed and he seemed to remember then that his hand was still tangled in Armand’s hair so he pulled, a little rough, rude, until all contact between Armand’s face and his skin was lost. 

That would not do. 

Armand’s tongue came out of his mouth and licked broadly up Daniel’s inner thigh, wetting the skin he could reach from Daniel’s hold, marking it with his scent. 

“Fuck, Armand,” But his fangs were also out and he struggled to keep his mouth closed around them. 

Armand sucked the skin he could reach into his mouth and Daniel’s thighs trembled, muscles tight and solid under Armand’s cheek. Like this, so close to him, Armand could smell his blood as it was heating up, flowing through Daniel’s arteries, down into the lower half of his body. 

“Daniel, you like this.” He said it not to embarrass him but because he, too, was surprised by the fact. 

“Yeah, I… Gorgeous boy on his knees with his mouth on me?  Yeah, I do like it, Armand. That doesn’t mean you can just—” Daniel’s voice was different, deep, gruff, a little breathless, he didn’t seem to be taking in enough air into his lungs. “I can smell you from here it’s… It’s freaky as hell. Jesus, don’t look at me like that.” 

“What do I smell like then?” Armand blinked, attempted to tilt his head a little, thankful that Daniel’s hold on his hair was loose enough to allow as much. He blinked up again, eyes half lidded as he tried to read Daniel’s thoughts from the way his body was reacting. 

“You don’t want to know.”

Armand blinked again in an attempt to focus his eyes on one single spot, “I do, I want to know.” 

Daniel’s free hand came off the seat, reaching towards Armand’s cheek. His thumb found a mole near Armand’s eye and stopped there, caressing the skin, careful and sweet, lingering for far too long. 

Armand blinked again, pictured in his mind’s eye the image he must have made. His hair now wild, curls mussed up and ruined, cheeks flushed and mouth half parted as a result of his fangs coming down, his shirt hanging from his frame, revealing a shoulder that ought to be covered. All the things he’d lost control of. Messy and unkempt, a ridiculous vision of desperation. Not the maker anyone would wish for. Not the sort of lover Daniel would ever seek. 

“God, you smell like fucking flowers like, like heat like… Warm and good, and like sunshine almost. It makes me want to put my mouth on your neck, on your—“ Daniel’s eyes had turned yellowish red, those big fangs splitting his mouth open. “Is this a fucking vampire thing? This… Jesus, look at you,”

A vampire thing? Ah, well. It was, mostly, yes. It wasn’t desire, not for Armand, never for him. Daniel hated him. 

He was hungry. 

Daniel was only hungry, was feeling the effects of being locked in the back of a car with another vampire whose blood he recognised as his. Simply a biological response, probably. It wasn’t Armand specifically that he liked, it had nothing to do with him. No. But Daniel couldn’t know that. Armand couldn’t tell him. He would drop Armand off by the road without hesitation and go search for a better partner to drink from. And he would find them willing, all the others would want to keep him for themselves. Daniel was going to find a companion and he was going to forget about him and Armand was going to have to kill, again. 

“It’s not, a vampire thing. You just like it…” Armand tried to bite his lip, coy, honest. Daniel, this is the truth, believe me, but Daniel caught him straight away, his thumb forcing its way between his lower lip and teeth, making a wet mess of his own hand. 

“You’re a fucking liar. Thank fuck you never made any fledglings before me, you—“

Daniel’s thumb was in his mouth and the scent of him had grown heady, honeyed like a summer feast. He licked it, sucked it right into his mouth and ran his tongue all around a knuckle until the skin was soaked in his spit. 

“You’re my only one. I’ll never make another.” Armand said then, somewhere halfway between honest and deceitful. The words were true, of course, he wouldn’t even think of making another; but he was preening, using his tongue to lick Daniel the way he seemed to like, his wet, open eyes, helpless, locked on Daniel’s like he was trying to make him believe something. That he could be good, maybe. That he could be better. “Do you want to feed, Daniel? You can, we can—” 

Daniel’s eyes closed and his head hit the headrest with a low sound. 

“No, I don’t want to feed right now.” He huffed the words out, frustrated, “Does it look like food is what’s currently on my list of top needs?”  

Ah. 

But,

But he did look hungry. His eyes were red rimmed and he didn’t seem capable of stopping himself from running his thumb against Armand’s gums. He was holding him, touching him, and what other reason could Daniel want to be this close to him?

“I’m not hungry, Armand. I want to get my cock in you, there’s a difference.”

It felt almost like a horsewhip to the face. Daniel wanted sex. Wanted sex with him.

Under his palms, tucked neatly inside Daniel’s trousers, Daniel was hard. His cock, it was actually hard and pulsing, a solid, full weight against his hip. 

“But you don’t like me. You don’t want me.” 

“You’ve never had sex with someone you don’t like?” 

It was, of course, the entirely wrong thing to say and Daniel knew it even before the words had finished leaving his mouth. He looked horrified, which was a bit funny as far as Armand was concerned. 

Immediately, he spoke as if he couldn’t get the words out fast enough, sheer panic clouding his voice, “I’m sorry, fuck… Jesus fuck, why did I fucking say that? I’m an ass, I haven’t done this since way before you turned me and I think I’m drunk on your scent, the blood is— distracting. I’m stupid when I get like this, I’m… And I’m— Fuck, I’m sorry, honey. Listen, I…” 

“Daniel,” Armand liked him like this, off-kilter, that lost puppy look he’d had in San Francisco. It was very attractive, like he was only a few words away from losing himself. “You can fuck me, even if you hate me. I don’t mind.” 

Understanding what took over Daniel then proved difficult. He stuttered first, words trapped in his throat like he didn’t have enough air to say them, and then his fingers tightened their grip on Armand’s body and his face broke, fell like a house of cards and he looked sad, and angry, and lost like he couldn’t decide what emotion should take center stage. Next he was bending himself in half, face to face with Armand, still kneeling between his legs. 

“I don’t hate you. Please, look at me. I don’t hate you, okay? Armand…” His eyes were so soft, so perfectly green, lush, like a precious stone, the emerald gloss of his favourite ring, his white hair caressing Armand’s forehead as he leaned over him. Why would he lie? Daniel wouldn’t lie, that wasn’t like him, not like his Daniel at all— “Sweetheart, I don’t hate you.”

His lips pressed down, right into Armand’s parted mouth. His mouth, it was open. Straight into the deep end, that was Daniel’s style. Rude and obscene like this was romance to him, the tip of his tongue tracing Armand’s lower lip, his fingers touching his ear. Taking what he wanted, as if he had decided they would not be hiding a thing from one another any longer. 

Daniel’s fangs were perhaps too big, in the way, difficult to ignore when they nicked Armand’s lip not once but twice. Nothing about kissing Daniel was artful or delicate and yet Armand felt good, felt wonderful, felt it in his bones, the wet pleasure washing over him like a wave, wet heat, wet air against his face and nose. Armand tried to kiss him back, to adapt. He was very adaptable, usually. But this was different, Daniel was a different beast altogether. Armand tried to follow his lead, tried to be less coy, less polite. To do what felt best seemed almost a question of survival with someone like Daniel, selfish as he was. 

Armand ran his tongue over Daniel’s and sucked it right between his teeth, nibbled on it, used the tip of a tooth to force Daniel’s mouth to open for him. He could be difficult too, could be demanding,  could keep Daniel on his toes.  He used his nose and his chin and felt the spit soak the corners of his mouth and heard Daniel’s low groan and his fingers yanking on his curls, forcing his upper body back right against the car door. 

“I like you very much, in case you were still under the impression—“ Daniel said, soft, private. It was unbearable to see him being so sweet. 

Armand kissed him again, put his hand under Daniel’s jawbone and cut him, just a little. Blood bloomed under his nail and he dragged his mouth down Daniel’s chin and over the open wound until he was sucking on it. Above him, Daniel grunted in pleasure, sounding overwhelmed. 

The taste was almost insignificant, compared with anything else that was happening. Still, Daniel tasted just as he remembered. His boy. He was going to be his boy, forever. 

“Daniel, you’re very messy.” Armand said as Daniel bowed closer to him involuntarily. Armand used the expensive cuff of his shirt to clean the spit off this chin. 

It was a compliment, although Daniel couldn’t know that yet.

His scalp had started to hurt under Daniel’s hand but he moved forward, found Daniel’s cock again where it laid hard in his briefs. Licked the fabric first, fought the irritating sensation of wet cloth in his mouth, felt Daniel shaking, his knee bouncing up and down right by Armand’s right arm. When he tried to grab it he found that his hand was shaking, that he was shaking. Found, too, that he’d stopped breathing at some point, way too focused on Daniel, on touching him, to remember anything else. 

“You’re so hard, Daniel.” He whispered, reverent, awed. His cock was pulsing in his fist and the head was so hard, swollen with blood. Poor Daniel, why had he let it get this bad? “Can I—?”

“Yes, you can, you can do whatever you—“ Daniel sounded pathetic and breathless. So so beautiful. Armand was going to ruin him, to do anything he wanted to him. 

He put the head of Daniel’s cock against his lips, suckling gently, a hand on Daniel’s hip. He could hear Daniel, the noise he was making, the way his heart was pounding in his chest. In return, Armand felt like a drunk, stupid with how much he wanted this. 

Armand kissed the head and opened up his jaw to welcome Daniel inside him. His tongue circled the head and he used the back of his mouth to squeeze it, wet and tight and warm for him. Just like Daniel deserved. It took no time to have him shaking, pleading a little. Of course he tried to pull him off, pushing Armand’s forehead not too gently, asking him to slow down, to wait, to give him a second. This was a difficult thing for Daniel to handle, Armand thought hazily, he had a bad history when it came to pacing himself when things felt too good.

Well, it’s not like swallowing his cock down his throat would really hurt him, if Armand refused to give him the break he so clearly wanted. He lightly dragged a fang down the side of Daniel’s cock, took the head into his throat and heard him gasp and reach for Armand’s shirt, attempting, quite seriously this time, to get him to slow down. He was shaking like a boy. 

Pulling back, he kept his fist around the base of Daniel’s cock and said, “Daniel, do you not like it when I hurt you?” 

“Christ, where the fuck have you been all my life,”

There was no evidence that Daniel had meant to say that, that he meant anything by it. And yet Armand, drank in the words, felt them take root somewhere at the back of his mind. He doubled down on his efforts to please him. Swallowed him down down down, as far as he would go, petted his hip, his thighs, used a nail to trace the outline of Daniel’s scar and felt him shake, close, so close. Daniel would not regret wanting to do this with him, no matter his feelings on him as a maker, as a person. His blood was pumping in earnest by then, the scent lingering on the roof of Armand’s mouth. He was going to find a way to do this to Daniel every day. He was going to have him, one way or another, every single day until the Sun swallowed the Earth whole. 

“Okay, okay. Enough, Armand, enough—“ Daniel grunted the words, hands turning rough on Armand’s scalp. But he was so close, pleasure and desire fizzling out through the shared bond that vaguely connected his emotions to Armand’s. He liked it, liked doing this so much, Armand was pleasing him and he wanted more of him and that was enough, more than he could have ever imagined— “Come here, you little demon.” 

Daniel was, after all, stronger than he looked. He pulled him off his cock, off his knees and face up over the seats in one swift movement. 

Armand, looking up at him from a different angle, Daniel’s neck pulsing, his hands on Armand’s cheeks tenderly petting his skin, almost touching the corners of his mouth; it was a nice development, he could admit that much. He liked being manhandled, that much was true. Still, Daniel had been so close and now—

“Look at me, this isn’t the fucking Olympics, babe. I—” Daniel was panting, sweat gathered at the sides of his mouth and Armand arched up to lick it, desperate and annoyed in a way he hadn’t been in— Ever, maybe. He felt like a boy, like he’d been so very close to proving his worth and now it was never going to happen. At least Daniel let him arch his back off the seat and run his tongue over his parted lips, a small consolation prize. “You’re very good at this, and you’re gorgeous, and impulsive and I can’t believe this is something you actually fucking want to do with me. I thought maybe we’d build up to it over time. That you might want to, at some point… I had this whole fucking speech planned and I can hardly say it after I’ve come in your mouth, you know?”

Daniel talked a lot, which shouldn’t have been a surprise. And yet this felt different from his usual sardonic babbling. He looked, for the first time since they’ve found each other again, as lost as Armand felt around him. He was still panting and his gaze kept coming back to Armand’s mouth after every blink. 

“I got you something, after Dubai.”

And from the inner pocket of his suit jacket came a box, black velvet that smelled of old drawers. Armand didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Daniel had to put it in his lax hand, guiding his fingers closed around the lid.

But they were going to have sex. Daniel wanted to have sex. And this was… What could be in a box. In a box Daniel had gotten for him. 

What could Daniel want to give him that was more important than having Armand’s body?

“You got me something? Why?” Armand’s voice was so small he could barely hear himself over the ringing echo in his ears. 

A gift. From Daniel.

A gift. 

From Daniel.

“Open it. Go on.” Daniel said and kissed him on the forehead, settling himself comfortably in between Armand’s thighs.

There was a ring in the box.

“This is a ring.” Armand said out loud and fought valiantly to peel his eyes away from the solid gold of the simple band. 

“I don’t know the vampire etiquette for this sort of thing but I know you. What you want. And… You and I, fucked up as that might be, there’s nothing in you that I wouldn’t recognise in myself. We were one, one mind, one body, your voice ringing inside my head like the call of the wild, the unmeasurable euphoria of feeling whole for the first time in my life. I had that, for five days in 1973, I had that; and I’m afraid I have been chasing that high every single day since. I don’t care that you’ve done every horrible, repulsive thing that can ever be done. I know that you’ve killed, that you’ve lied, that you’ve manipulated every person that has ever been close enough to be manipulated. Just do it with me, stay with me and fucking unscrew my mind and lock me up in a room for a month for daring to do something you don’t like, bite me and punish me and be angry at me and cut my fingers off for caring about anything that isn’t you. We can go live in the sewers and start a fucking cult for all I care but stay and do all those things with me and I will never make you doubt that that is what I want.”

Armand looked at Daniel and yes, there he was, his Daniel. His Daniel, with his wild boy eyes and his racing heart. But this couldn’t really be Daniel, could it? Saying… Saying everything to him. Promising forever. Seeing him. Maybe he was a boy, again. Being tricked. He was a boy again and someone wanted to stay. To go down to the gutter with him.

“So I don’t know how vampires do this sort of thing, but I know how humans do it and… And I hope you like the fucking ring because I think it might just be the wrong size after all. You have surprisingly elegant fingers and I did not have any pictures to use for reference.”

Hopeful, open. Daniel’s smile was so small and so very close. Armand could see every wrinkle, every eyelash, the bright green water surface of Daniel’s eyes, green like some small lakes up in the Dolomites where the fish were so trusting they would eat right off your hand if you let them. God, but what if Daniel really wanted this? He would chase it, the way he’d chased every other thing in his life. Head first, unrestrained, full throttle. 

“Daniel, you want to be my companion?” He said in a little voice, airy and wrecked, coloured by some strange accent he could hardly recognise. He sounded like a boy who’d never seen the sea. Had never been on a boat. Had never known fear. 

“Sure, companion. Let’s start there.”

And it was the way he said it. Like there was more. As if somewhere in the last century or so mortals had invented something better, bigger, than companionship. 

From his mouth he felt the words bursting out, asking for more, “Diabolical housewife of someone’s dreams. You said that, in the book.”

Daniel huffed, buried his nose against Armand’s cheek and just rested it there.

“I did, didn’t I? And that was before I even knew you weren’t just a beautiful boy with a weird job and some sort of vampire fetish.” 

“Daniel, you are describing yourself again.” Armand couldn’t help but reply, hands still clutching the open box against his chest. 

A kiss was pressed right over his upper lip then, a quick thing, over in less than a second, still filling his chest with bubbling heat. 

“Listen. This is maybe the part where you say yes.” Daniel said, putting his hand over Armand’s and the box. “Do you… do you want to say yes?”

“You are my first born.” Armand could only reply, frozen still, in the static of what Daniel was asking of him. 

“I’m your only one.” Daniel was serious, primitive human anger taking over his face. “Companion, fledgling, or otherwise. I don’t share and I don’t care if you lot do. We aren’t going to start a coven and we aren’t going to start a fucking polycule, there’s one ring in that box and it’s for you and you only. Alright?”

“You don’t want to share.” He was parroting Daniel’s words like an idiot and could not seem to stop himself from doing so. 

Daniel was young. He would change his mind, someday. He would want another. Younger than him. He would want to be the maker. He would want to hold that power over someone. He would leave. He would blame him for everything that had gone wrong, and he would be right. 

“Hey, give me your hand, c’mon.”

The ring did fit. Armand watched from somewhere beyond himself as the small wedding band slipped into place. It was a gorgeous piece, traditional in the style that had become popular when Daniel’s grandparents were still young, somewhere around the dawn of the twentieth century. Solid gold with small, delicate engravings of rudimentary, almost invisible petals. It wasn’t a ring bought in a moment of panic. 

“Daniel, I didn’t get you anything.”

“I know, you’re more of a turning you into a vampire the first time we’re left alone in a room sort of person. That’s alright.”

Armand kissed him to shut him up and Daniel went willingly into his embrace, perhaps happy to be silenced for once in his life. Armand tried, thought that it could be quite romantic if they kissed politely for some time but it was an impossible task when it came to Daniel for he was pulling his hair again and using his thumb and his chest to press Armand flat against the car seat and he was still hard and every time his chest expanded with air the muscles of his belly would rub against Armand’s and he would open his mouth just a little wider, letting all the air in his lungs caress Armand’s tongue. 

“You can’t get a divorce this time. I won’t give you a divorce. I will kill you, Daniel.” He was saying and Daniel was kissing him. Kissing his loose mouth and his cheek and the path down the side of his neck where his artery could be found. 

“Good, remember that when I forget our anniversary and tell you I don’t like the concrete tiles in the guest bathroom.”

Daniel kissed his chest where the thin fabric of his shirt could be easily moved aside and forgotten. It took almost no time, lying chest to chest with Daniel, letting him do as he pleased with him, his big hands struggling around the delicate buttons of Armand’s shirt.

“You didn’t like it when I sucked your cock?” Armand whispered sweetly, arching his back just the way Daniel’s hands under his lower back seemed to demand of him. 

“Fuck,” Daniel fought valiantly to focus on the task at hand: dropping Armand’s clothes and shoes carelessly on the floor. A determined, almost manic look had taken over his face and Armand had no intention of stopping him. “I was trying to be romantic, you demon.”

Naked, with his back pressed against the warm leather of the seats and his fingers tangled in the open collar of Daniel’s shirt he could do very little to fight the pleasure of the moment. To have been bad, to have done everything wrong, to be the most selfish creature on Earth and to still get what he wanted? To feel Daniel’s hands on him like he owned him, like Armand’s hips were his to squeeze, his waist his to push down, his thighs created only for his own body to lay between. 

Daniel put his tongue to his right breast and, without breaking eye contact, sucked, the action as vulgar as the sound it created. And down he went, over the swooping heat in Armand’s belly and right over his hard cock. 

Armand arched further into him, pulling him closer by the neck until he heard the fabric rip, “Are you going to fuck me?”

“Is that what you want?” Daniel’s chest was wet and each bead of sweat was making its way down to Armand’s body. 

Yes, it was a question but Daniel seemed to care very little for the answer as two of his fingers were nudging Armand’s thighs apart, a fist warm and blissfully tight around the base of his cock where it laid hard and painfully neglected by his hip. He was wet already, had been wet for hours, it felt like; a big mess of precome soaking the head and most of the length of him. 

“Jesus, you’re– How are you this wet?” Daniel’s voice was wrecked, full of wonder and his eyes would not leave the wet head of Armand’s cock as it glistened in his fist. 

“Are you going to fuck me like I’m your wife?” Armand replied, sweet as anything, nose nuzzling the underside of Daniel’s jaw. 

Daniel shuddered as Armand knew he would, two fingers, previously exploratorily gentle against the tight rim of his ass suddenly pressing in. Just the tip but enough to hurt, to bring forth a wave of fire, of heat, seeping through his veins, up through his spine and right into the wet emptiness that was his mouth.

“Armand, I’m trying to be good with you, I’m trying to—”

Daniel was so close to breaking. Inches away from not caring at all about being gentle, which was precisely the point here. If someone should be rewarded for misbehaving it was him and not Armand. Daniel deserved it, deserved to be praised and spoiled and given every comfort and that included the comfort of being his usual rude self. Armand would break him, he decided. It would be his wedding gift to him, instead of a ring. 

He hooked his ankles behind Daniels back, opening himself up further. For a second, Daniel’s fingers left him empty, jostled by the movement. And then they were back inside his ass, just an inch further in, the dry, torturous drag impossible to blame on anything but Daniel’s eagerness. 

“If you make me bleed it will be easier. Or you can just use what’s on my cock. It’s only going to get worse. I’m— It’s so good… Daniel, so good. I really like the way your fingers feel inside me. Can you feel it? How much I want it?”

A bead of sweat soaked Daniel’s brow, his fingers gentle again, politely trying to open him up like Armand was a little present and Daniel intended to remove the wrapping paper all in one piece. God he was difficult, always a challenge with him. Armand arched his back and licked Daniel’s neck in small, delicate licks and felt his hands shake, eyes fluttering close in desperation. 

“You are so good to me, Daniel. Will you spit in my mouth, please?” And then, syrupy soft, cheek pressed against his heartbeat, Armand whispered, “Give yourself to me, Daniel. I am yours. Always.” 

Daniel’s eyes were shaking, how sweet— “I can’t… I can’t look at you. You are impossible, you are…” 

It was over for Daniel. His mouth opened up and he bent down to kiss Armand’s nose, only to follow up by using the hand previously fisted around Armand’s cock to force his chin back. All the way back, a big gaping hole for him. Mouth open, lips almost touching Armand’s in some lewd imitation of a kiss, he let his spit drip into Armand’s mouth. 

God, It was the taste of him what really could have driven Armand to the brink of death. In his best moments he’d dreamt of a hunger like this, good and uncomplicated and so he arched up with his thighs spread open for Daniel and felt more than just those fingertips inside him. Had to be two inches, at least, that felt like three as soon as Daniel moved with him; his tongue and his hand working him, dipping in and out of Armand’s body like waves on sand. 

“Your cock is drenching my hand, I’ve never seen someone so desperate in my entire life.” Daniel was saying and, in his voice, it sounded like an insult but felt like a compliment. 

Daniel used the wetness of Armand’s cock and his own spit to make way inside him but it was not enough, could not ever be enough for a cock like Daniel’s. Armand bit him, breaking the skin until blood bloomed at the tip of Daniel’s ring finger. Clumsily, shaking like a virgin, he manoeuvred around Daniel’s body by touch only, eyes still trained to Daniel’s cloudy gaze. He guided Daniel’s hand to the stretched rim of his own ass and pushed in in in until Daniel was able to react and take over for him.

“Look at me then, I want you looking at me when I fuck your ass open. You want to be my wife? That’s what you said?”

Armand hiccuped struggled to make his mouth form the words, “Yes, yes, like your whore—“ 

“No, I would never call my wife a whore, never— Never treat you like a whore. Do you understand?” Daniel, too, was frantic, aggressive in the way he was holding him, using his shoulders to cage Armand against the seat. Nowhere to go but right into the deep, wild green of his eyes. “So shut up, lay there, and take it like the good little creature that you are, okay?”

The heavy scent of his blood mingled with Daniel’s sweat, with his spit and the precome, and it was finally enough. Daniel crooked his fingers inside him, making way, splitting him open, like he’d promised. The soreness almost unbearably exquisite.

“Jesus fuck,” Daniel was saying but if he truly was scandalised, his was hardly the way to show it. Two fingers turned to three and he kept going, settling into him, fire igniting inside Armand’s spine, his socked feet sliding uselessly over the leather seats, trying to get closer, closer to Daniel, any way he could. 

“Daniel, I’m— I’m going to…” He couldn’t speak, his gums hurt too much. Everything hurt but didn’t. It was good and bad and dirty and lovely. 

He felt a spark, like a burn, inside his chest, throat constricting around nothing, mouth flooded with saliva, salty, sticky scent of blood filling his nostrils. Daniel’s thighs rubbed against his inner thighs and he was going to protest, to ask Daniel to wait, to give him a break, no, to go ahead, to go faster, to fuck him before it was over. But Daniel must have known, must have felt it in the tension of his neck, in the way he was squeezing Daniel’s fingers, because he let go of the base of his cock, his hold going from punishing to absent, gone, just like that, and, in less than an instant, blood was flowing again, a rush of sensation up into the wet, sticky head, and Daniel’s free hand was cupping his mouth, covering it. Stopping him from speaking, from begging, from saying some other inappropriate thing. 

Lay there and take it, enjoy yourself, that’s all I need from you. 

Armand could hardly breathe, and his ears were ringing and he was, finally, coming, just a few fingers in his ass and a hand over his mouth and the endless blue green glass of Daniel’s gaze in his.

Time became elastic, he could feel his toes inside his socks, the ones Daniel had forgotten to remove. He could feel Daniel turning him around, his softening cock soaking the leather of the seats. His tongue came out to taste it, suddenly curious, something animal about it. And maybe he’d turned human again, he thought for a long, delirious moment. He felt like the wildness was back in him, like they might have been taken back in time. The leather of the seats and him both, and he might want to eat, to bite into a juicy piece of steak. To walk in the sun. To wash his face in cool water and feel the sting, the human fear of anything too cold or too hot returning to him like a long lost limb. 

“Armand, are you with me?”

He might have nodded. He thought he did, reaching back, shaky fingers finding Daniel’s hand and seeing that his bleeding finger made its way inside his mouth. He sucked on it as he felt the first inch of Daniel’s cock thrust inside him. Unbearable, like being put together, made whole again. 

“Does it hurt?” Daniel was asking, so polite, his Daniel. 

“Yes, thank you, go– Go on, please, I like it.” 

Daniel’s hips against his ass, body sliding against the seats. Daniel inside him, fully this time. Clinging to the torn fabric of Daniel’s open shirt, his chest so solid against Armand’s back, how nice, how wonderful. The whole thing, so fucking wonderful he thought he might come again, it would take no time at all. And he had time, they both did. 

Armand found, among the noise, the sound of his own voice, the panting, almost desperate sounds coming from own mouth that could only be described as pathetic. Daniel was good at this. At using his body, his hands and his tongue and the very angle of his hips to milk whatever reaction he wanted from Armand. Nothing sweet about him now, except for the damp, almost absentminded kisses he kept leaving against Armand’s back. 

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He said, his Daniel. And soon after that, his thumb was leaving a finger-sized bruise on Armand’s lower back, and he just kept talking, “Gorgeous, gorgeous boy. Terrifying too. Even now, getting fucked like this, your mouth could tear me apart. But you take it so well, it’s worth it. Ah, stop that, you’re going to break my fucking finger, honey. Fuck. What were you going to do to me if I didn’t give in, babe? Tell me.”

The words stung, pleasantly painful, like fingering a bruise. Like Daniel would not, not even with his cock up his ass and his teeth marking his skin, let him forget who he was. How much Daniel wanted him just the way he was. 

“I— Ah, was gonna kill you.” He whimpered, eyes screwed shut as Daniel thrusted again and again inside him, deep and messy, the head of his cock hitting just right, just where it ought to be. Armand was close again, and, no, he didn’t want that, he wanted Daniel to come first, to pay him back and serve him and— Daniel punctured his skin, a single fang piercing his nape. A fucking warning. Reading him, like a damn open book. And yes, alright, Armand could listen, maybe. Just this once, as long as Daniel kept doing exactly what he was doing. “Was gonna kill every other vampire out there so you’d— Ah, ah, so you’d— God, so you’d have no choice. But me. Nothing else, but me.”

Daniel rewarded him for it. Upping the pace, holding him just a bit closer. Good, his body was better. He liked it more than anything else in the world. Or maybe they were one body. One blood, made one, somehow. Daniel had gotten him a ring, he thought, as he laid there, spread thin like air by the pleasure of the moment, anything was possible.

“Fuck, good. That’s so good. Let me—”

It took almost no time. In the end, he came with his mouth around Daniel’s fingers and his eyes shut, a blinding flash of light dancing behind his eyelids as Daniel ground his cock into him, kissed him and held him and whispered every filthy, unnatural thing that came to his mind. Daniel came too, his nose buried in the mess of curls at the back of Armand’s hair, heartbeat as wild as that first night in San Francisco, when he thought death was coming for him. 

He hadn’t even bothered to pull out. So Armand would be feeling it, for hours, still, Daniel’s come inside him. His hole sore and wet from being used, undeniable proof of Daniel’s love for him. For it had to be love, if a ring was involved, Armand thought happily, with his nose buried in the crook of his elbow.

Later, beyond time’s unreliable flow, it was Daniel who dressed him back up. Rubbed his knuckles against the corners of Armand’s mouth, used the wrinkled hem of his shirt to clean away the mess. Put him back together slowly, like being gently awoken from a dream. That too, proof of something. The details adding up, painting a pretty picture, just for Armand’s eyes.

“Daniel, where are you taking me?” Armand whispered the question some time later, fragile like something might still break if he dared to make a single loud sound, that red, immortal thread thin between them.

Daniel’s eyes were green again, his usual green, “I told the driver to drive us to Connecticut, I have a place—”

“Yes,” Was Armand’s dreamy reply, “I’ve seen the pictures. Do you think it’ll be snowing? When we get there?”

Daniel gathered him in his arms and nodded, “Maybe, we’ll have to wait and see.”

And there was nothing else to be said. There might or might not be snow. It was true. There might or might not be anything, really.

Still, the thread held.