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Louis sits on the edge of the hotel bed, the cold barrel of the gun pressed firmly against his temple. His finger hovers over the trigger, trembling slightly in the dim lamplight that casts long shadows across the carpet.
The room smells of stale smoke, a fitting tomb for his endless despair.
Memories flood him — Claudia's lifeless eyes after the fire, Lestat's mocking laughter echoing in his mind, the centuries of blood and loss that have carved hollows into his soul.
He has failed them all, failed himself.
The weight of immortality presses down, suffocating, and this gun, pilfered from some forgotten human's drawer weeks ago and hidden from Armand's prying eyes, promises release.
His breath hitches.
The door clicks open just as his finger begins to tighten on the trigger. Armand strides in, his presence a sudden storm, eyes narrowing at the scene. Blood smears his lips from the hunt, but his focus locks on Louis like a predator scenting weakness.
"No." Armand says, voice low and commanding, crossing the room in a blur.
He wrenches the gun from Louis' grip before the shot can fire, his fingers iron around Louis's wrist.
"I won't allow it. How weak are you, really, Louis?"
Louis stares up at him, chest heaving, the void inside him yawning wider. Armand's gaze bores into him, unyielding, and Louis feels exposed, stripped bare under that ancient scrutiny.
Armand holds the gun loosely now, examining it as if it's a toy.
"Do you really wish to die?"
"Yes." Louis whispers, the word tasting like ash.
Armand's lips curve into a faint smile. "Then shall I do it for you?"
Confusion swirls in Louis' mind. Armand offering the end? But the misery pulls too hard, and he nods.
“Yes."
Armand steps back, levels the gun at Louis' chest, and pulls the trigger.
Click.
Nothing.
The empty chamber mocks them both. Louis' heart — such as it is — stutters in his undead chest. Armand drags the barrel slowly up Louis' body, from sternum to throat, then down again, tracing the lines of his shirt, pressing just enough to dimple the fabric.
"You wallow in a misery of your own making, Louis, always have. These failures you cling to, they're your chains, not mine."
The material of the gun chills Louis' skin through cloth, a reminder of how close oblivion hovers. He shivers, caught between fear and longing.
"Tell me again," Armand whispers, the gun lingering at Louis' jaw. "Do you really want to die?"
Louis hesitates this time, the weight of Armand's words sinking in, stirring doubt amid the despair. But the darkness wins.
"Yes."
Armand nods, satisfied, and brings the gun to Louis' mouth. The barrel nudges his lips apart, cold and unyielding.
"Open."
Louis parts his lips, and Armand thrusts the gun inside, fucking it in and out with slowly. The metal scrapes against his teeth, fills his mouth with the taste of oil and iron. Saliva builds, dripping from the corners as Armand works it deeper, making him gag softly.
He feels humiliated and exposed, yet a twisted thrill stirs beneath the fear. Armand's control wraps around him like ropes.
Armand pulls the trigger mid-thrust.
Click.
Nothing.
Louis' eyes widen, tears pricking hot at the corners.
Armand yanks the gun free, and Louis coughs, tears spilling now, confusion twisting his gut.
Why this game? Why not end it?
Armand pushes him back, guiding Louis until he sprawls across the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The gun hovers above him, another promise.
"Do you want to die, Louis?"
Louis can only nod, throat tight, body trembling.
Armand hums, a low, approving sound, and tugs at Louis' belt. The leather whispers free, pants yanked down in one motion, exposing him to the cool air.
Louis' hands twitch, instinct urging him to fight, to push Armand away, but that stare pins him, golden eyes gleaming with authority, and the gun's shadow looms. One wrong move, and it could end.
Resignation floods him; he lets Armand strip him bare, pants pooling at his ankles, shirt rucked up to bare his chest. Naked now and vulnerable, Louis watches as Armand trails the gun lower.
The barrel grazes his cock, cold metal kissing the soft length, making it twitch involuntarily. Then down to his balls, pressing lightly, rolling them under the tip. Louis bites his lip, a gasp escaping despite himself. Armand shifts, pressing the muzzle directly underneath his ballsac, right against the tender skin where thigh meets groin. He pulls the trigger.
Click.
Nothing.
Louis' breath catches, arousal and terror mingling in a sick haze.
Armand's eyes never leave his as he angles the gun lower, the slick barrel —still wet from Louis' mouth— nudging against his hole. He pushes, slow and insistent, the metal breaching him inch by inch. Louis tenses, the intrusion foreign and invasive, stretching him around the unyielding cylinder.
"Tell me," Armand says softly, voice laced with mockery. "Do you want to die?"
Louis doesn't respond, mind reeling from the pressure invading him. Armand begins to fuck the gun in and out, mimicking the rhythm he used on Louis' mouth. Shallow thrusts at first, then deeper, the barrel slick with spit easing the way.
Louis' body betrays him, hole clenching around the cold invader, a low whine building in his throat. Deeper now, Armand drives it in, twisting slightly, the tip probing sensitive walls.
"Do you want to die, Louis?"
Scared, the words tumble out. "Yes—"
The trigger pulls.
Bang.
The explosion rips through Louis in a white-hot blaze, searing from his core outward. The bullet tears into his insides, shredding flesh and tissue in a brutal burst. He feels every fragment: the initial punch like lightning striking his bowels, ripping through muscle and vein in a spray of blood. His senses amplify it all — there's no numbness, no mercy. Pain blooms, fiery and absolute, as the shot pulverizes his rectum, hot metal fragments embedding in his walls, blood gushing hot and thick, soaking the bed beneath him.
Intestines spasm, torn and mangled, the metallic tang of his own blood filling the air as it wells up, spilling from his hole around the embedded gun barrel. Agony radiates, white-hot waves pulsing through his pelvis, up his spine, making his vision blur with stars. He screams, body arching off the mattress, every nerve alight in exquisite torment. Chunks of ruptured tissue mixing with the blood pooling between his thighs.
Armand doesn't stop. He continues fucking him with the gun, the barrel now lodged deep amid the wreckage, pushing in and out through the ruined flesh. Blood squelches with each thrust, coating Armand's hand, the wet sounds obscene against Louis' ragged cries.
"If you really craved death, you would have gone and greeted the sun instead of waiting until you heard my footsteps to try." Armand starts calmly, voice cutting through the haze of pain, "Pathetic, Louis. What you crave is this: my hand in your destruction."
Louis writhes, tears streaming, the pain a relentless fire that consumes him, yet beneath it, Armand's words worm in, twisting doubt into desire. He clings to the edge, immortal body already knitting the edges of the wound, but the wreckage remains, a bloody testament to his fractured will.
Louis' body convulses, the white-hot agony a living thing that claws through his veins, every shredded nerve screaming in protest. Blood pulses from his hole in rhythmic spurts, warm and sticky, drenching the sheets and seeping into the cracks of the mattress.
He tastes copper on his tongue, his fangs cutting into his lip as he bites down to stifle another howl. The gun's barrel grinds against the mangled tissue inside him, each thrust from Armand sending fresh bursts of torment radiating outward—his hips buck involuntarily, torn muscles contracting around the invader in futile resistance. Gore squishes audibly, bits of ruptured flesh clinging to the metal as Armand drives it deeper, the chamber now slick with Louis' innards.
Armand's free hand pins Louis' thigh, nails digging into pale skin, holding him splayed open. His eyes, dark and unblinking, drink in Louis' suffering like fine wine.
"See how you heal already?" Armand whispers. He twists the gun slightly, eliciting a guttural grunt from Louis as the barrel scrapes against regenerating walls. "Your body fights for you, even when your mind begs for the end, you are weak Louis."
Louis gasps, vision swimming through tears and pain. The sensation overwhelms: the burn where bullet fragments lodge in his pelvis, slowly dissolving as his vampire flesh mends, but not fast enough to dull the raw edges.
He feels the bullet's path like a branded trail—through his rectum, splintering bone and sinew, a cavity of destruction that pulses with each heartbeat he shouldn't have. Blood trickles down his crack, pooling under his ass, the metallic scent thick in the air.
Armand pulls the gun out halfway, the withdrawal dragging more gore with it—a wet, sucking sound that makes Louis shudder. Then he slams it back in, fucking Louis's ruined hole with renewed vigor, the rhythm brutal and unyielding.
"You waited for me, because deep down, you need this. My permission, my touch in your ruin." Armand continues, leaning down until his breath ghosts over Louis' ear, lips stained with another vampire's life.
The barrel bottoms out, pressing against something vital, and Louis arches, a sob tearing free. Pain blurs his mind, his body clenching around the cold steel, prostate bruised and throbbing from the assault.
Tears carve paths down Louis' cheeks, mixing with the drool still drying on his chin.
Confusion wars with the despair. Why does Armand toy with him like this?
The guns weight inside feels obscene, a phallic destroyer that stretches him wide, the blood easing its glide now. His hands fist the bloodied sheets, knuckles white, as waves of heat crash through him. Healing accelerates, flesh knitting around the intrusion, but the agony lingers, a exquisite torment that pins him to the moment.
Armand slows his thrusts, the gun now pumping lazily, stirring the healing wound into fresh sensitivity. He trails his fingers up Louis' chest, smearing blood across nipples that harden under the touch.
"Say it." He demands. "Beg for the end again, if you dare."
The barrel shifts, angling to press against Louis' inner walls, threatening another discharge.
Louis' mind fractures under the onslaught, memories flashing behind his eyes like lightning, the sun's promise always just out of reach. But Armand's presence anchors him, a lifeline in the storm. His lips part, voice hoarse.
"Please... kill me."
The words come out broken, laced with the fear that coils in his gut, his hole spasming around the gun.
Armand laughs, withdrawing the barrel completely at last. It emerges coated in red and pink shreds, dripping onto Louis' thigh.
He sets it aside on the nightstand with a clink, then climbs onto the bed, straddling Louis' hips. His own arousal strains against his pants, evident in the bulge pressing down.
"Not yet, you have not earned it." He says, grinding against Louis' blood-slick cock.
His hands roam, possessive, one wrapping around Louis' throat while the other strokes his length, mixing blood with pre-cum in slick pumps.
Louis whimpers, body alight with conflicting fires—the wound in his ass throbbing dully now, healing but leaving a hollow ache that begs to be filled again. Armand's weight pins him, the dominance absolute, and for the first time in centuries, the suicidal fog lifts just enough to reveal the hunger beneath: not for death, but for this, for sweet surrender. He bucks up, seeking friction, as Armand unzips and frees his own cock. Thick and veined, curving toward Louis's mouth.
"Suck.” Armand orders, guiding it between Louis' lips.
The taste of salt and skin grounds him, a counterpoint to what's still leaking from his body. Louis obeys, tongue swirling around the head, hollowing his cheeks as Armand thrusts shallowly. The pain in his core fades to a simmer, replaced by the building heat of submission, his own cock weeping under Armand's occasional strokes.
Armand fucks his mouth with controlled snaps, eyes locked on Louis', reading every flicker of emotion.
"This is your misery's cure, not a bullet but me; inside you, owning you." He speaks between grunts, hand tightening on Louis' hair.
He pulls out abruptly, slick with saliva, and shifts down, aligning himself with Louis' ass.
The push in is merciless. Armand's cock breaches the healing ring of muscle, sliding through residual blood and tenderness. Louis cries out around nothing, the stretch burning anew, fuller than the gun, alive and pulsing. Armand seats himself deep, hips flush, then begins to pound, each thrust jolting Louis' body, reigniting sparks of pain amid the pleasure.
Louis claws at Armand's back, nails drawing blood that heals instantly, lost in the rhythm. The room fills with the slap of skin, wet and fervent, his despair fracturing under the onslaught. Armand's hand finds the gun again, pressing the unloaded barrel to Louis' temple as he fucks him harder, a reminder of the edge they dance on.
"Live for this,'"Armand hisses, teeth grazing Louis' neck, fangs pricking but not piercing. "Or die trying."
The words sear, and Louis shatters, orgasm ripping through him. Cum spills hot across his stomach, body clenching around Armand's cock in waves.
Louis' mind quiets, the urges within him dulled for just a moment, replaced by the weight of Armand's body—a heavy chain he no longer fights.