Chapter Text
Chelsea arrived a few days later with several cardboard boxes and a sour look on her face.
The afternoon sun shone off the polished wood of Armand’s coffin, still smack dab in the middle of the living room and containing one Daniel Molloy, dead to the world.
“It's part of an art project,” Armand lied, leading her through the living room without offering to carry anything. “I'm a photographer.”
Chelsea ignored him.
“Where is everyone?” she asked. “Not that I expected my ex-husband to be any help, but I did think Lenora might carry a box or two.”
“It might have helped if you'd told anyone what time you were coming.”
Again, she ignored him.
“Since I have you here,” she said, bending down to place the box she'd been carrying on the floor of the guest room and then straightening up and carefully fixing her skirt, “I've been meaning to talk to you.”
“Have you,” Armand said, crossing his arms over his chest and drumming his fingers on his biceps. Chelsea’s eyes lingered on his muscled arms, peaking out from the sleeves of one of Daniel’s old Sonic Youth t-shirts.
When her eyes jumped up to meet his there was no sympathy or concern there for the exploited young man he’d endeavored to present to her. Her jaw tightened.
“I don't like this,” she said. “I don't pretend to know what's going on here, but I do know that this was a happy, whole family before you showed up.”
“Is that so?”
“Jeff and Lenora were doing better than ever. Daniel showed his face a few times a year, but he wasn’t involved. And everyone was better off for it. We were healing.”
“I don't believe Lenora would agree,” Armand said. “She seems to think—”
“Lenora is a sad, broken child who self-medicates with marijuana because her father abandoned her,” Chelsea said. “She has the romantic notion that her daughter should know her grandfather, and she's naive enough to think that he's changed for her.”
She looked him up and down.
“It's painfully clear to me that he hasn't.”
They were still standing on the threshold of the guest room, Chelsea inside the door and Armand outside in the hall. It unsettled him, though he thought she should have been the one unsettled, boxed in as she was by a predator.
“You don't approve,” he said, holding himself straight and tall. “Because of my age.”
“It’s not just that,” she corrected. “I don't like you. I don't trust you. I don't know what your game is with that man and I don't care, but I don't trust you around my children, and I especially don't trust you around my granddaughter.”
Armand tilted his head. His brow furrowed as he thumbed through her mind.
His stare unnerved her. Good.
“Fascinating,” he said. “The feeling’s still there, isn't it?”
“What?” Chelsea said.
“Yes, that's it,” Armand mused. “You don't know why you dislike me, do you?”
“I trust my gut,” Chelsea said. “There's something not right about you.”
Armand laughed.
“I don't deny it,” he said. “But I think it's up to Kate and Lenora to decide if they want me in their lives this time around.”
“I don’t—”
Armand took a step forward. To her credit, Chelsea didn't take a step back, though she swayed a little where she stood and looked down, fumbling with her purse.
“I'll pay you,” she said. “I brought two thousand dollars, cash, and I’ll wire you another five once you've left the state.”
Armand ignored this.
“Mere weeks ago you were running the show, and now you can't even convince your children to dislike me, let alone stop speaking to me. If I managed that in less than two months, what do you think this family will be like in a year?”
Chelsea ran her tongue over her teeth.
“Ten grand,” she said.
Armand laughed.
“Take him with you, I don't care,” she said. “In fact, I’d rather you did. I'll even throw in my engagement ring. Not that it's worth anything.”
The night sky, visible through the guest room windows, was growing dark.
“Danny,” Armand called over his shoulder. “May I eat her?”
Daniel appeared at his shoulder so fast it made Chelsea jump and clutch at her chest.
“Chelsea,” he said warily. “What are you doing in our apartment?”
“Your—” she waggled her hand in Armand’s general direction, “boyfriend let me in. Lenora asked me to bring some of her things. Trust me, I have no desire to linger.”
She glared at him.
“How is this my fault?” Daniel asked, affronted.
“Just a moment ago it was my fault, dear,” Armand said. “So I would take any accusations with a grain of salt.”
“As far as I can tell, you're both to blame,” Chelsea said. “Jeff and Lenora have been together since high school, and then you come waltzing in and just like that they're splitting up! I don't know what you did, or what you said to Lenora, but—”
“Chelsea,” Daniel said. “I just woke up. Can we not do this right n—”
“Just woke up? It's five o'clock in the evening!”
Armand looped a protective arm around Daniel’s waist.
“He gets drowsy after his treatments,” he said. Then, because he knew it would annoy her, he kissed Daniel on the cheek. Daniel smiled at him knowingly.
“There's something wrong with you,” Chelsea told Armand again. “And you,” she added, turning to Daniel.
“You gonna call me a faggot again, Chelsea?” Daniel asked.
“I never—!”
“She doesn't remember that,” Armand said.
Chelsea’s face reddened. She stuck a finger in Armand’s face.
“I would never use that word,” she said. “My own daughter is gay. But I will call you what you are, which is a whore!”
“Alright,” Daniel said, slipping out of Armand’s embrace. “Okay. That's enough. Time to go.”
Armand trailed along behind as Daniel herded her through the apartment and out the front door, just so that he could give her an irritating little wave as the door slammed in her face.
“Delightful woman,” he said. “I can see why you left me for her.”
“I didn't leave you for her,” Daniel said. “You wiped my memory and then periodically showed up to bang in my marriage bed before wiping my memory again.”
“Hmmm,” Armand said. “I suppose I did do that.”
Daniel laughed.
“Still, your taste in women is all your own.”
“What can I say. I'm a sucker for a tight little ass,” Daniel said, slapping Armand’s. “Where did Lenora and Sylvia go?”
“I got them tickets to see something called The Wiggles,” Armand said, leaning into Daniel’s side.
“That was generous of you.”
“They won't be home until 8.”
Daniel whistled.
“Three whole hours. You got a good book you wanna finish? Maybe a puzzle to work on?”
Armand shoved him gently with his hip.
“I want to have exactly the kind of sex Chelsea pictures every time she looks at us,” he said, “Professor.”
“Sounds good, kid,” Daniel said. “You can even break my hip if you want to.”
Armand considered this.
“Well, maybe not exactly what she pictures,” he said. “Best if you can walk when the girls get back. I don't think Lenora’s ready to know how rough I am with you.”
“Skinny little thing like you?” Daniel said, turning to face Armand and pulling him in by the hips. “You couldn't hurt me if you tried.”
“Joke’s on you,” Armand said, walking his fingers up Daniel’s arm. “I'm going to trick you into marrying me and then kill you for the life insurance money.”
“Sounds hot.”
“Oh it will be. I'm going to set you on fire.”
“I think you've put a little too much thought into this scenario.”
“Chelsea’s not the only one who spent the 80s fantasizing about murdering you.”
“Alright,” Daniel said. “That’s it. I can't take any more dirty talk.”
He scooped Armand up in his arms. Armand squealed happily.
“Professor!” he said. “What are you doing?”
“This is what you were angling for the whole time, isn't it?” Daniel said.
“No, I swear!” Armand said. “I only wanted help with my homework. I'm just naturally alluring!”
Daniel snorted. Armand glared at him.
“You are naturally alluring, babe,” Daniel told him. “You're also naturally ridiculous.”
When Daniel turned towards the bedroom, Armand squirmed, looking pointedly at the desk in the living room.
“Three hours,” he said, and hit Daniel with wide, hopeful eyes. Daniel groaned.
“Not fair.”
“What's not fair?”
Daniel dumped him unceremoniously back onto his feet.
“I assume you have costumes for this?”
Armand bit his lip and clasped his hands behind his back, already playing at being smaller than Daniel.
“Perhaps,” he said.
Ten minutes later, Armand was in the bedroom, examining himself in the full length mirror he'd purchased after moving in, having dressed Daniel in a brown three-piece tweed suit and an old pair of wire rim glasses he’d divested of their lenses and sent him out to the living room to wait.
“I feel old,” Daniel complained loudly.
“That's the point, beloved,” Armand called.
He could feel Daniel’s anxiety, presumably about the risk of being caught. He could also feel the way Daniel’s arousal increased with each pang of fear. He smiled at himself in the mirror. So predictable, his boy.
“What are you doing in there?” Daniel shouted.
“And so impatient,” Armand murmured under his breath, giving his curls a final little tousel.
When he emerged into the living room, carrying a black bookbag on one shoulder and fully prepared to be in character, he did not receive the reaction he'd been hoping for.
“Did you crop my Velvet Underground t-shirt?”
Armand frowned.
“They're a terrible band, Daniel.”
“I bought that at a show. In the 70s. Do you know how much I could have gotten for that on ebay?”
“You didn't buy it, you stole it.”
“That's not the point.”
Armand huffed.
“Two hours and 45 minutes,” he said, tugging at the thin, black studded choker fastened around his neck. “Do you want to spend it arguing about Andy Warhol or do you want to fuck me on your desk?”
It was a dangerous question. When Daniel seemed seriously to be considering his options, Armand turned around to show him the back of his very tight acid wash jeans. He glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him.
“You know, I expected, like, a little dress or something,” Daniel said, but his eyes were locked on Armand’s ass. “Maybe a schoolgirl uniform.”
“This is how college students dress,” Armand said. “If you want me in a dress you'll have to prove that you can make it worth my while.”
Daniel swallowed.
“Alright,” he said. “Just, uh. Let's try that again.”
Armand nodded and strode back out of the room.
This time, he knocked on the wall before entering.
“Come in,” Daniel called.
Armand was pleased to find him pretending to read some of the papers scattered on his desk. Daniel often lacked commitment to his roles, and Armand was determined to correct this failing.
“Professor,” he said, making his voice timid and small.
Daniel looked at him over his glasses. Armand shivered pleasantly.
“I've told you, Armand, my office hours are—”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Armand said, hiking his bookbag farther up his shoulder and sidling closer to the desk. “But since you're here, I thought I might as well ask…”
He trailed off, biting his lip. Daniel sighed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. Armand fidgeted with the strap of his bookbag.
“Ask what, Armand?”
Armand let his bookbag slide to the floor. He'd been so fixated on their costumes that he hadn't thought to bring a chair in from the kitchen to place opposite Daniel at the desk, so he had to hover, looking over Daniel and fidgeting with the raw edge of the shirt where it rolled above his navel.
“I've been getting a little bit lost with Lacan,” he said. “When he talks about jouissance—”
Daniel interrupted in a whisper, “Why are you making me a psych professor? I don't know shit about Lacan.”
Armand gave him a withering look.
“Jouissance,” he said, with the air of one having to explain that one plus one equals two, “refers to—”
Daniel waved a hand at him dismissively.
“Two and a half hours,” he reminded him.
“Right,” Armand said shifting his feet and finding his college student slouch again. “Well, anyway, Professor, I was hoping that you might find some time for private tutoring before our next exam.”
Daniel licked his lips.
“You were doing well before the last exam,” he said. “Shame about that D.”
“Yes,” Armand agreed, looking down at his shoes and telegraphing shame. “My father will be very disappointed if I don't bring my grade up by the end of the semester.”
“Is that right,” Daniel said, leering at him.
Armand glanced up at him and barely held back a grin.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “He’ll punish me terribly.”
“And how does he punish you when you don't get the grades he expects from you?”
Armand wished he could blush on command. He made due with biting his lip and glancing down in the direction of Daniel’s lap.
“He whips me with his belt,” he whispered.
“What was that?” Daniel asked. “I think you forgot a word at the end of that sentence.”
Armand swallowed.
“He whips me with his belt, sir,” he said, a little louder this time.
Daniel nodded thoughtfully, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers.
“How would you like a chance to earn a better grade on that last exam?” he asked, his voice at once kindly and lecherous.
“Really, sir?” Armand asked, finally looking up and holding his gaze. “You would do that for me?”
“Of course,” Daniel said. “Would you like to know a secret?”
Armand nodded. Daniel leaned forward.
“You're my favorite student,” he whispered, and winked.
Armand smiled shyly.
“You're my favorite professor,” he whispered back.
They stayed like that for a moment, and Armand wondered if Daniel was also fighting the urge to lean forward for a kiss.
Abruptly, Daniel stood, pushing his chair away from the desk.
“Come here, around the back of the desk,” Daniel said.
Armand hesitated.
“Come here,” Daniel said, a little more firmly.
Armand scurried around the desk, his brand new Doc Martens loud even on the rug. He faced Daniel, leaning slightly back against the desk.
Calmly, Daniel stepped forward into his space, hemming him in.
“Professor?” Armand said, voice breathy.
Daniel brushed their noses together and hummed. Armand’s heartbeat quickened in his chest.
“Oh,” he whispered, rocking forward to try to bring their lips together.
As soon as their lips brushed, Daniel pulled back, just out of reach. His voice was thick and raspy with lust as he stared at Armand’s mouth.
“Turn around,” he said quietly. “Forearms on the desk.”
“I didn't think— I mean, I thought—”
“Now, Armand.”
Armand obeyed. When he bent down to place his forearms on the desk, his crop top rode up and his ass stuck up in the air.
Daniel slid a hand up his back under the shirt. Armand shivered.
“You're beautiful,” Daniel said, lightly scratching his nails against the back of Armand’s neck. “But you know that, don't you?”
Armand turned his head to look at him, hiding his smirk behind his arm. Daniel’s hand traveled slowly back down his body, fingers hooking into the back of his jeans.
“Coming in here all by yourself, when you know no one else will be here. Showing me your belly. Wearing a collar. What kind of man do you think I am?”
Armand arched his back, pressing his ass back towards Daniel even as he said, “I didn’t mean anything by it, I— I always dress like this, I’m—”
“A slut,” Daniel said. “ I know, baby.”
Armand whined.
“How many lashes would you get from your dad’s belt if he knew you’d gotten a D on your last exam?”
Armand bounced a little on the balls of his feet, and he heard Daniel stifle a laugh.
“Forty,” he said. “And he doesn’t hold back on any of them.”
“Bossy,” Daniel said under his breath. “Well, I’m a lot nicer than your dad, so we’ll call it twenty to get you to a B.”
Armand huffed.
“What if I want an A?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Daniel unhooked his fingers from the back of Armand’s pants to reach for his belt, but before he could unfasten it, Armand said in a stage whisper, “Bottom left drawer.”
“What?”
“Bottom left drawer!”
Daniel frowned at him, but he bent down and opened the drawer. Armand watched him with wide, hopeful eyes.
Daniel laughed.
“You’re unbelievable,” he said, holding up the wooden paddle and flipping it back and forth to examine the deep ridges on one side and the word, “SLUT” carved into the other. “Last time around I practically had to introduce you to the concept of pornography.”
“That’s not true,” Armand said, pouting. “Pornography is as old as humanity itself.”
“Yeah, sure, you could quote Verlaine, but you didn’t know about fucking the babysitter.”
Armand rolled his eyes.
“Louis and I had an extensive collection of floggers, but it was constrained by his aesthetic sensibilities,” he said. “I bought it with the primary intention of using it on you. I thought you would like that one. Was I wrong?”
“No,” Daniel said immediately.
“Well then stop breaking character.”
“Whatever you say, maitre.”
Armand opened his mouth to protest, but the words became a breathy, “Oh!” when the paddle connected with his ass.
“That one didn’t count, obviously,” Daniel said. “Barely a tap. Just getting a feel for the thing.”
Several more light blows fell against the tight denim of Armand’s jeans. He pressed back into them with a hum.
“Alright,” Daniel said. “Ready to earn your B?”
Armand nodded.
“What was that?”
“Yes, sir, I’m ready.”
“Good,” Daniel said. “Pull your jeans down for me.”
Armand hurried to obey, unfastening his jeans and pulling them down to just below his ass. He wished he could see Daniel’s face. He was probably drooling.
The drag of wood against his bare skin brought Armand back into his body. He stood very, very still, tense in anticipation.
Daniel didn’t hold back. The first blow, hard and stinging, shook the desk and sent several pens rolling off onto the floor.
Armand gasped as his fangs descended, feeling his cock jump but unable to provide himself any friction.
Daniel chuckled behind him, running a finger over the letters S L U T already disappearing from Armand’s skin.
“We’ll have to find a way to make these stay,” he said. “At least for a little while.”
“Next time,” Armand gasped. “Don’t stop.”
“You didn’t say what number that was.”
“You didn’t tell me to!”
Daniel hit him again, hard.
“I’m telling you now,” he said. “And that last one doesn’t count, that was for being a brat.”
Armand poked at one of his fangs with his tongue.
“One,” he said.
“Good boy,” Daniel told him, and he preened.
He tried not to shout as the blows landed, whimpering and grunting through lips pressed tightly together, pretending to be concerned about passing students and faculty hearing them in Daniel’s office despite his well-documented apathy towards noise complaints.
After ten, Daniel took a break to rub over his sore cheeks.
“You take a beating well,” he said, his thumbs pressing into the hot skin and making Armand whimper. “But I want to hear you.”
Armand gasped.
“Can you give that to me, baby? Can you let me hear you?”
“Yes,” Armand said. “Yes, sir, I can— I can be loud for you.”
Daniel made it easy for him. He switched over to the ridged side of the paddle and brought it down with a grunt on the back of Armand’s thighs.
Armand, who had been prepared not to hold himself back and who hadn’t expected the escalation, wailed. Daniel didn’t give him time to recover, nor did he wait to hear him count.
“Fuck!” Armand shouted, as the ridged side of the paddle came down again and again. “Ah! Ah! Ah! Fuck! Daniel, that’s — Daniel, that’s twenty f— Ah! Twenty six!”
Daniel stopped abruptly.
“Oh, sorry,” he said. “I lost count.”
Armand let his forehead fall to the desk. He heard a loud thunk and then the snap of a bottle cap.
“It’s a good thing I keep lube in my desk,” Daniel said. “Is it because I fuck all my students or do I just use it to jerk off on my lunch break?”
Armand felt a cold, slick finger against his hole and pressed back onto it, gasping as it breached him.
“Such an eager little thing,” Daniel said.
“Don’t need you to open me up,” Armand told him. “Just fuck me already.”
Daniel clicked his tongue.
“Impatient,” he said, working that one finger in and out maddeningly. “I want you wet and open for me, kid. You’ll wait as long as I want you to.”
Armand whined in frustration. Daniel just laughed.
“All those times you edged me for days…” he said. “And you’re complaining about me taking the time to open you up.”
“You’re just so cute when you’re desperate,” Armand said. “I couldn’t help myself.”
Daniel grunted.
“Fortunately for you,” he said, “I’m feeling a little desperate right now, so I’ll have to hold off on taking my revenge.”
He slid a second finger in, scissoring them quickly before almost immediately shoving in a third.
“Ah!” Armand cried out at the burn.
“Scooch forward,” Daniel said, fucking him roughly on his fingers. “That’s it, as far as you can go, hips flush with the desk.”
A few papers fluttered to the floor as Armand slid forward, trapping his cock between his belly and the desk.
“Okay, that’s good enough,” Daniel said, pulling his fingers out. Armand heard the blessed click of a belt buckle and sighed in anticipated relief. “Ready to earn that A?”
Armand tried to spread his legs but found them tightly bound by his jeans. He moved to push them down further, but Daniel stopped him with a hand on his lower back.
“Just like this,” he said. “I want you helpless under me for once.”
It wasn’t the same, of course; they both knew that Armand could be in control again in an instant. Still, the thought thrilled him. He wanted to be at the mercy of his fledgling.
“You’re a filthy old man,” he said, pretending to struggle with the jeans and the hand pressing down on his back.
“Yeah,” Daniel said, breathless, and Armand felt the head of his cock press against his hole. “Say it again, baby.”
“You’re a filthy old— ah!”
Daniel had grabbed Armand’s hips and slammed into him, immediately fucking him brutally hard, and it was all Armand could do to grab hold of the edge of the desk and let himself be ravished.
“Ah! Ah! Ah!” he gasped, momentarily at a loss for words.
Why had he denied himself this for all these long weeks since their reunion? He couldn’t for the life of him remember.
A hand worked its way into his curls and tugged. He whined at the pain.
“Who’s a stupid little slut who has to fuck his teacher to pass his exams?”
“M-me,” Armand gasped. “I am.”
“You’re a what?” Daniel said, stopping suddenly, leaving Armand nearly empty. Armand sobbed. Daniel tugged on his hair.
“You’re a what, Armand?”
“I’m a stupid little slut who has to— to fuck his teacher to pass his exams, sir!”
Daniel laughed and thrust roughly into him again, fingers tightening in his hair.
“Dress like a punk but as soon as you're in my office it's all shy glances and yes sirs. I should make you lick my boots.”
Armand moaned.
“Please,” he said. “Please, I'll be so good, I'll be so—”
His words fell apart into a whiny, broken moan as his cock spurted all over Daniel’s interview notes.
“Fuck,” Daniel panted. “That was quick. You like that, huh, baby? You like letting a bratty little fledgling make you his bitch?”
“Yes,” Armand sobbed, his oversensitive cock dragging against wet, crumpled paper on every brutal thrust.
“What do you need, baby?”
“Come in me, please, please, come inside me, want to feel it, want to— fuck, Chelsea’s right, I’m your whore, I’ll do whatever you like, just keep me, keep me, keep me…”
Daniel thrust into him over and over, rattling the desk drawers and making Armand feel as if something warm and dangerous were about to spill out from his chest and his belly, the pressure building ecstatically and unbearably until finally Daniel came with an undignified whine.
Armand lay very still while Daniel panted with his forehead pressed to Armand’s shoulder. Then, Daniel pressed a trail of slow kisses up his shoulder to his neck, finally tugging on the collar with his teeth.
“Mmmm,” Armand hummed.
Daniel wrapped his arms around Armand’s chest and began to grind into him, slow and deep. Armand gasped.
“Round two?” Daniel asked hopefully.
When Lenora and Sylvia returned from The Wiggles, Armand was sprawled on the living room carpet with his feet up in Daniel’s lap while Daniel read in his favorite armchair and idly rubbed Armand’s feet with his free hand.
“This would be cuter if you weren’t showing quite so much leg,” Lenora said, sounding tired.
Armand smoothed out the hem of his robe.
“It’s alright, you can call me a slut,” he said. “Your mother’s already called me a whore today.”
“Whore!” Sylvia echoed enthusiastically. Lenora groaned.
“Sometimes I think I birthed a parrot instead of a human child,” she said.
“Ca-caw! Ca-caw!” Sylvia squawked, squirming until her mother put her down and then running in circles around the coffin. “Running in circles! Yay! Running in circles! Yay!” she chanted.
“There’s no use trying to put her to bed now,” Lenora said. “She’s all hyped up on candy and bright lights and thousands of screaming toddlers. Is it alright if I set her trains up in here?”
“Trains?” Armand asked, interested. Daniel snorted quietly.
“I gave her— Sylvia, babe, please, please be quiet— I gave her my old set of Thomas the Tank Engine trains. She was disappointed at first that they don’t go on their own but now she wants to play with them all the time, don’t you, Sylly?”
“Choo choo!” Sylvia agreed.
“You still have those?” Daniel asked.
Armand looked up at him. His voice had sounded a little thick, and sure enough his eyes looked misty.
“Yeah, dad,” Lenora said, giving him a tired little smile. “I’ve still got ‘em.”
Sylvia started jumping up and down in place and shouting, “CHOO CHOO CHOO CHOO.”
“I could calm her down,” Armand said to Daniel. “Just a little.”
Daniel started to say, “I don’t think—” but Lenora interrupted.
“Please,” she said. “I beg you. Make her stop.”
Armand turned all his attention to the little blur of blonde hair. She was upside down from his vantage point on the floor.
“Sylvia, dear,” he said. “Come here.”
Obediently, she skipped over to him, still making train noises. He caught her gaze and held it, then raised his finger to his lips.
“Shhhhhhh,” he said.
Sylvia immediately quieted.
“Wow,” Lenora said. “You should start a cult or something.”
“No, he absolutely should not,” Daniel said, at the same time that Armand said, “Been there, done that,” waving his hand as if the idea bored him.
Lenora nodded.
“Checks out,” she said. “I’ll go get the trains. Oh and, uh, dad? Is it okay if I vape in here?”
“Fine by me,” he said. “There’s some beer in the fridge, too.”
“I figured you’d need it after The Wiggles,” Armand told her.
“Thank you,” Lenora said. To Daniel, she added, “Is it weird that your boyfriend is my best friend?”
“Yes,” Daniel said, turning his attention back to his book. “It is weird.”
Armand turned huge, wet, earnest eyes on her.
“Oh shut up,” Lenora said. “Don’t make it a thing.”
When she returned with the trains and a beer, Armand slid his feet off Daniel’s lap and crouched beside the box, handing pieces of track to Sylvia and spinning the wheels on several trains in turn.
For a long time, Lenora sat nearby while Sylvia and Armand set up the train tracks beside the coffin and then ran long trains over the tracks, giggling at every derailment. Daniel mostly appeared to be reading his book, but Armand caught him glancing up at them over and over with a look of disbelief on his face.
After a while, Daniel got up and went into the kitchen. He came back with a beer and resettled himself on the couch, closer to the action.
“Does that do anything for you?” Lenora asked.
“Not really,” Daniel said. “Doesn’t even taste very good. Old habits though, right?”
Lenora lifted her beer in a silent toast.
“Mommy,” Sylvia said. “Play with me.”
“Okay, sweetie,” Lenora said, scooching closer. Armand handed her a train. He watched mother and daughter for a moment, then got up and stretched.
“Pssst,” Daniel said. When Armand looked over at him, he nodded towards the seat on the couch beside him.
Armand settled in against his side, watching Lenora run her little engine over the wooden tracks. Sylvia clapped in delight.
“You know,” Armand said, “I think we should stay in New York for a while.”