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It begins, as most things did — to Daniel’s profound misery — with Armand reading his mind.
(It begins, of course, much earlier than that, when the first stars collapse, when the matter that made both of them is woven together and thrown down on earth to suffer and to find meaning in that suffering. For the purposes of storytelling, however, let us pretend it begins as told.)
Furthermore, for the sake of fairness and impartiality, both fundamental to the narrative, let it be said it was Daniel’s fault for thinking about anything but the fact Armand has three fingers inside his ass while Armand has three fingers inside his ass.
“Beloved,” Armand said, curling the aforementioned clever, teasing fingers. He holds himself above Daniel, one hand supporting him on the mattress, and the other— well. “If you were thinking about anything else, I would’ve been severely offended.”
“Glad to know I didn’t, ah, disappoint.” Daniel punches the words out of his chest between pitiful moans and broken gasps. It isn’t fair that Armand can make him lose control like this and still look picture-perfect, not a single hair out of place. “Now get out of my head.”
Armand’s fangs sit low on his gums, dragging against his lips when he smiles. It makes Daniel yearn to arch up and lick them, but that means moving away from Armand’s fingers, and that is something unacceptable and, frankly, inconceivable. “Why would I, when you paint me such an entertaining scene? Do you think, Daniel, that I could be reduced to the pathetic state you are in?”
Pathetic, yeah, the word suits him well. Covered in a thin layer of sweat, panting, arching his hips into Armand’s hand to take him deeper. Shame crawls through his body at Armand’s words, but it is replaced with desire in the blink of an eye, a furnace at the back of his throat, in the pit of his stomach, wherever Armand touches him.
“I don’t know. Maybe? Yeah, yeah.” Daniel isn’t so sure, to be honest, with Armand being a centuries-old creature who probably had more hours of sex than Daniel had of life. He has a good hunch, though, based on Armand’s little gasps and moans when Daniel licked a trail down his sternum and trailed his fingers through the insides of his thighs. “We’ll only know if you let me.”
To his defense, Daniel would not have touched the subject again, if not for Armand’s prodding. His fault, as most things are.
He’d acted on it for the first time four months ago, on a five-star hotel bed in Bali, six months after the game of cat and mouse ended, two months after he and Armand first had sex. He’d thought about it, however, much earlier—in Polynesian Mary’s, when Daniel looked at Louis, then Armand, then back at Louis, and prayed to God I hope they propose a threesome. He had stored that thought in a hidden corner of his mind, and there it sat for five years, until Bali: a room with carefully blacked-out windows, Armand’s sleeping body lax and lukewarm next to him, and Daniel waking up with his cock pressed against Armand’s naked ass, rock hard and leaking.
The last rays of sunshine were coming down towards earth, though Daniel couldn’t see it from their sunproof room. He rocked against the supple flesh of Armand’s ass with slow, measured movements, taking the utmost care not to wake the vampire up. Or so Daniel had planned to do. Arousal crawled up his body, fogging any rational thought, and soon he had his face pressed against Armand’s neck while his cock slipped into the crack of his ass, Daniel’s hand holding Armand’s hip, keeping him in place while Daniel’s cock drooled precum all over Armand’s hole.
A rustling of sheets alerted him of Armand’s waking up, but Daniel couldn’t care less, too lost in the feeling, too close to coming. One moment, he was pressed against Armand’s back, rubbing himself against him, feeling the vampire’s asshole twitch when his cock nudged it. On the other, he was lying back down and spread out on the mattress, Armand hovering above him, his hands clasping Daniel’s wrists, the orange of his eyes only a thin strip surrounding the dilated pupils.
“Armand, please,” Daniel begged, arching his pelvis upwards, searching for release, searching for the climax, searching for Armand’s skin against his. “I need to cum, please, please, let me.”
“Not like this.”
Daniel whined. If he could hear himself, after, he would swear not to be capable of making noises like those. “Anything, please. I just need—”
The rest of the incoherent babble he was about to say was lost between the long, drawn-out moan that punched out of him as soon as Armand slithered down his body and took his cock in his mouth in one long, hot swallow. Strong fingers pinned Daniel on the bed by his hip bones, and all he could do was tremble and cry for the few seconds it took for him to spill inside Armand’s welcoming mouth.
After Armand had stroked himself to completion and painted Daniel’s face with blood, and Daniel was semi-coherent again, he’d only said do not do it again, lover. Daniel was smart enough not to ask, for once. There was a current running under Armand’s skin that told him to leave that stone unturned, at least for the moment.
And he did that. Daniel can pride himself on the fact that he didn’t press, didn’t ask, didn’t pick up the metaphorical shovel that he kept close at hand, and tried to dig out the dirty and the secret and the forbidden.
He had not breached the subject of fucking Armand again, but that didn’t mean he didn’t think of it. Often. With alarming frequency; a borderline obsession. You can’t fault a man for thinking. It serves Armand well, for messing inside his head. Take that, motherfucker etcetera.
This takes us back to where we left it: Armand taking his fingers out, Daniel whimpering at the loss. The unasked questions. Can you? Will you?
“I do not need to let you, Daniel. I know you.” Armand’s lubed fingers run a wet path up Daniel’s stomach, stopping at a nipple before twisting it. And Daniel— what can he do, if not try to bite back a moan? “And I know you don’t have what it takes to satisfy me in the manner you think of.”
It’s a good thing Daniel doesn’t bother — not to say the contrary — with a little humiliation. Otherwise, it wouldn’t feel as sweet when Armand enters him with a swift, punishing thrust, taking all the air out of his lungs.
There’s no feasible way to keep the discussion going, nor to do anything but fall into the rhythm of Armand, dragging in and out of him, one hand on Daniel’s hip and the other on his chest, feeling the rabbit beat of his heart. Daniel wants to pull himself upright, drag his lips on the length of Armand’s neck, and bite the bouncing flesh of his pectorals.
Armand presses down on him, pins him to the bed, and Daniel relents; wraps his arms around Armand’s shoulders, nails digging into the skin, and allows his body to sway with the vampire’s motions, in and out and in and out, until he’s but a black hole Armand can fuck into, a black hole that whines and moans and cries for him, that wants nothing but him in the whole world.
Daniel comes with his body wrapped around Armand’s like a vine, with his feet pressing down on the small of his back, telling him deeper and deeper and deeper. Armand fucks him through the orgasm, fucks him after it, while Daniel is crying and wheezing from overstimulation, fucks him until he comes inside Daniel, making a red mess of his ass and thighs.
Five minutes pass by before Daniel considers himself capable of forming a whole sentence without stumbling. He traces a finger on the inside of his thigh, gathering the blood there, before bringing it to his mouth. It tastes only slightly different from drinking from Armand’s veins, the acidity more pronounced. Daniel imagines what Armand will look like, with white seed trailing down his dark thighs.
“I could show you,” he mumbles against Armand's ribs, tasting the sweet blood-sweat, lapping at his skin like a dog. “You can teach me how to do it just as you like, boss, and I’ll do it. You’ll see. I can do it.”
I can be good to you, he doesn’t say, but it doesn’t matter. Armand knows it.
“I already gave you an answer, beloved. Leave the matter alone.”
“But I mean it—”
“So do I, Daniel.”
Daniel wants to fight, to press deeper. He deserves, at the very least, a reason. Any sort of explanation. But when Armand turns to face him, the bright orange of his eyes says everything Daniel needs to know. He’ll leave if Daniel keeps digging. He’ll be out of this room faster than Daniel can blink, and only God knows how long it’ll take for him to grace Daniel with his presence again.
One of the downsides of dating an ancient vampire. Something, you have to acquiesce, even if it leaves a bitter taste on the back of your mouth.
“Fine,” he grumbles, reaching for his pack with a few rolled-up joints. He tends not to use any drugs when Armand is near. His blood is enough, most of the time.
He’s not mad at the fact Armand won’t let himself be fucked. Well, he is, but he knows he has no right to. Daniel just thinks he deserves a reason, that’s all, something more solid and understandable than a simple no.
The first drag of the joint fills his chest with the familiar warmth, the haziness soon to follow. Daniel’s not getting the reason, and he knows it. As with all the things that really matter, it’s a choice Armand has made all on his own.
So Daniel relents. He tries not to think about bending Armand on his fours, about fucking him so good that Armand drops the European accent and goes back to talking in whatever language he learned first. Tries not to think of how sweet it would be, to be inside Armand as he came, feel the vampire’s trembling body tighten around him, hold him close as he spills red blood all over his stomach.
Daniel tries.
Daniel fails, miserably.
The woman that is writhing under Daniel on the cheap motel bed had been Armand’s pick.
Usually, Daniel chooses them—it’s only fair, Armand agrees, since he’ll be doing the fucking (or being fucked). This time, after seeing a week without seeing the vampire, Daniel was eager to let him choose, to let him do anything he wanted, as if Armand would stay longer if Daniel gave him as much of himself as he could.
She’s French, this one. A light-haired blue-eyed springy thing, traveling around the States all on her own before starting her master’s degree. Armand had but to twist a lock of her hair onto his finger she was lost. Daniel pities her like he pities all of them, detached as a snake owner placing live mice into a python’s cage.
Placed straight in front of the bed like a movie director, Armand watches them from the ratty couch. Watches him, for his eyes hadn’t left Daniel since they stumbled into the room, the girl’s lips — Elise? Eloise? — sucking a wet, purple spot on his neck, Armand’s hand on the small of his back, heavy as an anchor.
He’s fully clothed, while both Daniel and the girl are stark naked. She’s lying facedown, feet planted on the floor; Daniel fucks her from behind, his thrusts slow and measured, so it will last longer, so Armand will stay longer. It’s better this way. She doesn’t need to know he’s looking at Armand while holding her hips, thinking of Armand while driving inside her.
Because that is all Daniel can think of. With her, with every single person that entered a room alongside Armand and him, every body that served as a prop in their maelstrom of a romance. It had never been about them, the poor unfortunate souls; always had been Daniel and Armand and no one else, and so, even though Daniel is buried balls deep inside a graceful, eager woman lost in the throes of pleasure, Armand is all he can think of.
“Beloved,” Armand says. The low pitch of his voice is enough to make Daniel’s hips stutter. Oh, to be loved by something monstrous, to feel its sharp claws lulling you to sleep. “Might you share what is so all-consuming that you are doing such a sloppy job of fucking a perfectly willing young woman?”
It always thrills him to hear Armand say fuck, to savor how dirty it sounds on his tongue, how perfectly human.
“You can read my mind.”
“After the numerous occasions you asked me not to?” Armand shifts minutely in his seat. The movement is quick and discreet, but not enough that Daniel can’t see the outline of his cock straining against carefully pressed linen pants. “I want to hear you say it.”
This is torture, Daniel wants to complain. He knows no other word for what Armand asks — orders? — him to do. There is no world in which he fucks a woman while telling Armand all the ways he wants to be fucking him, and walks out of it with his sanity intact.
Considering, however, that Daniel’s sanity had taken a plunge into the great beyond in 1973, and that it had been Armand’s fault, he is forced to acknowledge the fact that Armand doesn’t care for his sanity at all. Much the contrary—he does his best to shatter it in as many pieces as he can.
Unfortunately for Daniel, and thanks to Armand again, likely, and the six days of psychological horror at Divisadero, the whole idea only makes Daniel harder inside Elise/Eloise or whatever her name is.
Daniel would pity her for that, too, but she will be dead before she suspects anything. Still, he looks at her for the first time since entering her, the freckled expanse of her back contorting in pleasure. Poor unfortunate soul, indeed.
Worry not, Armand says directly into Daniel’s head, bypassing the woman’s crescent moans as he waves a finger towards her. She cannot listen to what you say.
Well then, to the killing block with Daniel. Could dating — are they dating? — a vampire lead anywhere else? “I’m thinking of you; of fucking you. You know that.” He has enough dignity left to spit the words towards Armand with a modicum of anger. “You’ve known that since… a month ago? More. And you do nothing. It delights you, doesn’t it, to keep me wanting? Like a game; your little human plaything, that you can deny as long as you like.”
If Armand cares for Daniel's anger, he shows not an inch of it. If anything, Daniel’s words spur him on, harder than drugs, worse than blood.
“And how would you fuck me, lover?” Armand asks, his face blank, the full weight of his eyes bearing into Daniel’s soul like knives.
Ah, the quintessential question. If given the opportunity, if granted his greatest wish, how would Daniel do it? The boy himself had thought that over numerous times. He would imagine Armand bent in the most delectable positions, his vampiric flexibility allowing Daniel to try the Kama Sutra’s wildest pages. He would close his eyes come morning and dream of Armand on his fours, ass up high and face pressed against the mattress, or with Armand riding him, tits bouncing with the movement. Once, Daniel had dreamed he fucked Armand like a pile driver, making the vampire come blood all over his own face. That had been a good one.
In the end, he’d decided that he would do the simplest way possible at first. He would fuck Armand face to face, make the vampire look at him while Daniel sank into him, watch his poise and attitude melt away with every thrust until that perfect little face twisted in pleasure as he came from nothing else but the feeling of Daniel’s cock inside him.
Yes, that was what Daniel wanted, no matter if it was the corniest thing ever. He wanted front-row seats to Armand coming undone.
“I would eat you out first,” he says, slowing down his pace, lest he reach his orgasm before telling Armand all he wants to hear. “Open you up with my tongue until you are quivering, get you wet and ready for me.”
Armand is always so very throughout in his foreplay—it’s only fair Daniel does the same.
“I’m a vampire, Daniel, there is no need—”
“Well, I still would,” Daniel grunts. A sharp thrust, a precise change of the angle. Elise/Eloise gasps under him; Armand sighs, palming his cock over his pants with a light touch, almost nothing. Shit, Daniel thinks. Holy fucking shit. “I want to.”
Armand closes his eyes and throws his head back just an inch, a minuscule baring of his neck. Without the glowing orange staring Daniel down, he looks almost human, almost like something Daniel could bring to heel. His voice shakes. “Keep going.”
“I would do it until you were about to cum, pressing down on my head with your thighs, pulling my hair. Then I would fuck you.” Daniel can feel himself slipping through the cracks, getting lost in his fantasy. “I would, ah— Throw your legs over my shoulders, start real slow so you could come down a notch. Wouldn’t want you coming right away.”
“As if you could.”
“I can. You know I can.” Daniel feels the tension pulling his abdomen as he does his best to slow down his pace, making the next thrust into the woman’s body an excruciating ordeal. Her body moves upward on the bed as he sinks all the way, the force of the movement shoving her pliant body. Armand wouldn’t be so pliant—he would fight back, scratch and bite at Daniel, order him to go harder, to go faster, deeper. “You would have to beg.”
“You flatter yourself, Daniel.” Armand’s voice hitches at the end, higher than usual, less solid, crumbling.
He’s palming himself openly now, digging the heel of his hand along the length of his cock. Daniel whines. He wants so much, too much, not enough. “I would fuck you for real, then, make you cry your bloody tears and— Armand, please. Please, I want— I need.”
His body is alight with arousal, blazing like a torch in the dark. Armand is gasoline poured over him, toxic and all-consuming, making him hotter and brighter. Daniel wants him like no man has ever wanted anyone else.
Armand’s hand is inside his pants, and God, he’s jerking off and all Daniel can think of is how he wants to crawl towards him on his fours, to put his mouth on Armand’s cock, to be around him and inside him in every way known to humanity.
He feels like a truck rolling down a hill at high speed, ripped apart as if by a god’s lightning. His orgasm hits him with such strength that Daniel can only let himself fall against the woman’s shaking body, digging his fingers into the soft hips beneath him, imagining sharper angles and darker skin, arms that wrap possessively around him, teeth that tear into his skin.
Daniel doesn’t know if whatever-her-name-is came, nor does he care, to be honest. She’s pawing at him, twisting under his body, trying to— what, hug him? Kiss him? Daniel slips out of her in a hurry, cock hanging wet and sensitive between his legs; he shudders when her skin rubs against it in her movement, and is about to scramble away when a cold hand lands on the back of his head.
The woman falls quiet on the mattress again, her breathing even, her face lax.
“Easy, now,” Armand says, carding the small hairs on Daniel’s nape. He rolls to the side, eyes wide open so he can watch Armand hovering above, cock still hard inside his pants.
In most circumstances, Daniel would not reach for Armand’s cock like it’s water in the desert, but that is what he does now, quicker than Armand can move out of his reach. He, too, is barely coherent, falling into Daniel’s lap without the usual otherworldly grace, humping against his hip while Daniel pulls his pants and underwear down, until Daniel finally wraps a tight fist around him.
The blood that seeps from Armand in place of precum is slick enough, and Daniel finds no hardship in stroking Armand’s cock to his orgasm, not when Armand moans handsomely close to his ear, composure lost for one night.
His belly is smeared with blood, and so is his hand, but Daniel finds that it’s a small price to pay for the handful of vampire on his arms, worn out and placated for the moment.
(For someone who categorically refuses to be fucked, Armand seemed to like the whole step-by-step deal way too much.)
To spend the rest of the night lying beside Armand, tracing the high arch of his nose with the tip of a finger, would’ve been enough for Daniel. Alas, Elise/Eloise mumbles some unintelligible words in her sleep, reminding them of her existence.
“Are you going to eat her?” he asked, lips brushing against Armand’s own.
“In a minute, beloved.” Armand looks down at the mess between their bodies and up at Daniel again, and for the briefest moment before he catches himself Daniel can see apprehension take hold of his features, the orange shine of his eyes dulling for a moment. “You shouldn’t overexert yourself. It would be better if you—”
“Armand, don’t—”
“Rest, Daniel.”
He tries to fight it, but it’s useless. Armand pushes him into the land of the sleeping, and all Daniel can do is curse him with his last coherent thought before the room turns dark around him.
When he wakes up, twelve hours later, the sun is visible in the sky from the window of his rundown flat in New York, his body is clean and clothed in expensive fabric, and Armand is nowhere to be seen.
When one hundred sixty-six hours pass by without any trace, hint, or sign from Armand, Daniel is forced to assume whatever there was between them — not dating, but also not not-dating — is over.
Armand has never left him alone for so long, not since he started following Daniel around the world, the guinea pig of his new fucked-up experiment. I want to see what you do, I want to know what you are.
And now had seen enough, and Daniel wasn’t needed anymore; or so he feared.
And the worst was to know that there was still a small part of him, a stupid and fierce and pitiful piece of him that thought Hey! This is going to be a good thing. No more maniac vampire trailing around me. I can go back to normal.
Daniel has not gone back to normal. He is going fucking insane.
And the fact that he is filling the black hole of Armand’s absence by going on bender after bender doesn’t help in the slightest.
In retrospect, it’s likely because of the cocaine still swimming in his veins that Daniel doesn’t bother with the weight settled atop his groin. It’s all part of the dream for him, the dream where Armand is riding him like Daniel is a human-shaped dildo, head thrown back in ecstasy. The dream where Armand is here again, still wants him, will never ever ever leave him again.
He can feel Armand’s body on top of him, around him, and it’s so so so good Daniel can’t help but arch his hips into the tight heat of him and— He can’t.
Something is pinning him down, and not only in his dream.
When Daniel opens his bloodshot eyes, all he can see are Armand’s orange irises, his small fangs dropped low, and his hair curled like a halo around the head of Satan’s favorite demon.
“Beloved,” Armand says, and Daniel screams.
“Fuck, man!” He scrambles backward on the bed, and this time Armand allows him, falls back down on his ass on the bed while Daniel puts the maximum possible distance between them. “You scared me!”
Armand is smirking. It’s a bad sign. Terrible things have been done to Daniel’s body and mind after Armand smirked.
Daniel loves it when he smirks.
“You’re not scared, Daniel.” His eyes flicker down to Daniel’s boxers, where the bulge of his hard cock is painfully visible. “You’re excited.”
“I can be both scared and turned on, thanks.”
Armand’s fault, that is. And Armand knows it, which means he’s smiling openly now, teeth showing, and it’s the best sight Daniel had all week. God, he missed him. He’s so, so over. He’s never going back to normal again.
Daniel picks up the pillow and hits Armand with it. Anything so he won’t have to think about the terrifying, inescapable truth. “Fuck you. It’s been a week. A week! You could’ve sent me an email at least. Hell, you could’ve sent me a letter.”
“I was busy.”
Busy? Armand doesn’t work. Daniel has no idea how the fuck he’s rich enough to have a private jet, but Armand always deflects his questions. If he had a real job, he wouldn’t have time to run after Daniel like the plague.
Armand purses his lips, but his fingers toy with the edges of the pillowcase. “I was busy thinking, Daniel.”
“Oh. That makes sense.” Daniel says, shifting on the bed so that his hard-on isn’t so apparent. One would think he would be softening by now, but no. Call it the Armand effect, the way his brain keeps pumping blood downwards. “Are you going to say it, or—”
“You said you would ‘eat me out.’” Armand draws quotes in the air with his fingers, something which gives him an almost juvenile aura and makes Daniel want to crawl into his lap and kiss him senseless. “That would mean anilingus.”
Daniel groans, hiding his face in his hands. Fuck this vampire. “Do you really need to talk like this? Yes, yes it would. Jesus.”
Armand nods. “Well then.”
“Well then what, exactly?”
“Eat me out, beloved.”
The gleam in Armand’s eyes is downright playful and Daniel wants— him, wants this creature with a visceral urge that seeps through his lips, his trembling voice when he asks. “Are you sure? I mean, before—”
Armand quiets him with a warm palm carefully placed over his mouth. Daniel can’t resist the habit of licking it. “I am always sure, Daniel.” Then it’s not Armand’s hand covering his mouth, but Armand’s lips, soft and blood-red; Armand’s tongue inside his mouth, tasting of the liquid venom that runs through his veins; Armand on his lap, his hands pushing against Daniel’s shoulders, making the boy fall against the shitty mattress.
For a second, he is seized by the impulse to grab the monster’s face between his hands and hold him in place for a moment, to take in every minor feature of his and burn it on his hippocampus so permanently that, when he dies, this will be the last face to pass by his fading mind. He wants to kiss him, yes, of course, but before that, he wants to tell him the most shameful and secret and romantic things that had ever been formed in his head. He wants to declare himself, like a stupid jock at prom, and he wants to say it in such a way that Armand will never forget, even if he were to live another five-hundred years. One thousand.
Later, however. What is in front of him is undoubtedly more urgent — though not more important — than allowing his mushy thoughts to come to light.
“Just to be clear,” Armand says, hovering above him like the lord of Daniel’s existence. “You are still nothing more than a boy, and you will obey me when I tell you to.”
Of course, of course, Daniel thinks, and Was this even on the table?
“Wait, is that the reason you haven’t let me fuck you all this time? Afraid you’d stop being the boss?”
“Daniel—”
“Hey, hey— don’t worry. I still very much want you to. Be the boss, I mean. You should sit on my face. You could. I would very much like you to.”
Armand rolls his eyes, but there is a small smile curling his lips. “Stop talking.”
Fine, Daniel thought. Absolutely fine and I will do this starting immediately. And then Armand starts unbuttoning his shirt, and Daniel would not be able to say a single word even if he wanted to.
He reaches for Armand’s waist, fitting his hands against kill-warm skin, receptive to the touch. Armand grinds down, his ass rubbing over Daniel’s cock, and does it again when they both moan at the feeling. All Daniel can think of is that perfect ass over his face, on the tip of his tongue, and the anticipation has his mouth watering, eager to please.
Their clothes end up in a pile at the corner of the room faster than Daniel can process the information, thanks to Armand’s vampiric speed. He’s excited too, Daniel knows it, and not only from the sight of his pretty cock standing half-hard between his legs. There’s a thrum under Armand’s skin that Daniel feels whenever he has said or done something that gets Armand worked up and almost dizzy, whenever Armand has to drag him into club bathrooms or the backseat of cars because he can’t wait to get his dick inside Daniel.
“I do remember you saying that you would get me quivering, beloved, before you fucked me.” The vampire crawls up Daniel’s body until his thighs are bracketing Daniel’s head, so well positioned that Daniel can’t help but shift his head and leave hot, wet kisses on the flesh, sucking and biting it to the melodic sound of Armand’s sighs.
This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Daniel knows he should be doing as Armand says before the vampire changes his mind, but it is impossible not to feast on the banquet that is served. He leaves purple spots on Armand’s skin that will be gone by sunrise, teeth-shaped indents carved into the place where thigh meets pelvis; licks a wide strip over Armand’s perineum up to his scrotum, sucking each of his balls lightly before popping them off his mouth.
It doesn’t take long before Armand is squirming above him, his fingers tangling into Daniel’s curls. Half warning, half plea. “Daniel,” he stressed.
I’m on it, babe, he wants to say, but his tongue is too busy circling Armand’s rim.
It has been a considerable while since Daniel ate someone’s ass out. Months, at least, ever since Armand stopped haunting his steps and their whatever-this-it took form; even longer since he did it for pleasure and not for the promise of a pinch of coke after. For all that talk about getting Armand to quiver, Daniel graciously assumed he might be out of his league, at least at first. He knows Armand still runs back to Louis now and then, and imagines that an immortal vampire with decades of experience probably eats ass better than a twenty-six-year-old junkie from Modesto, California.
Though if the way that Armand is moaning above him says anything, it’s that Louis isn’t doing this enough.
Daniel has both hands around Armand’s ass, spreading his cheeks apart for easier access. He runs his tongue up and down against Armand’s hole, feeling the muscles twitch at every swipe, Armand’s hips jerking slightly—the barest tremor of his thighs. He uses the tip to trace small circles over the rim, teasing but not breaking in, sucking the soft flesh into his mouth until there’s saliva dribbling all over his chin, running down the cleft of Armand’s ass.
Daniel’s cock sits hard as a rock between his legs, aching and untouched but for the breeze that flows through the open window—Jesus, can his neighbors see them? Because they can definitely hear them. In Daniel’s opinion, they should consider themselves blessed, because Armand’s moans are not unlike a symphony, the notes climbing higher with each swipe of Daniel’s tongue, each time he teases the rim with the tip of it until he stops stalling and pushes his way inside.
The noise Armand makes is positively sinful. Daniel should’ve been recording it. Why didn’t he think about that before? Then he could hear it again and again, jerk himself off to the high-pitched moans escaping between Armand’s lips as he loses himself in earnest, wraps long fingers around Daniel’s hair to keep him in place, and starts riding him, grinding his hips down on Daniel’s face with abandon.
“Danny, oh— Danny,” Armand moans; not beloved or lover or dearest, but his name. Daniel arches his hips, thrusting against the air. He is going to cum untouched, and Daniel can’t have that, needs to finish inside Armand’s wet and welcoming hole or he’ll spontaneously combust or something equally shameful.
Blindly, he raises his arms, wrapping them around Armand’s hips and pulling him closer, until Daniel can’t breathe at all, can only lick and lap and fuck Armand’s hole. He hears the sound of skin running against skin and knows that Armand is jerking himself off, those pretty fingers wrapped around his heavy cock, the vampire’s thighs twitching with the effort not to let himself fall against Daniel’s face.
“Daniel”, he pants, again and again and Daniel Daniel Daniel, and then a sharp cry and oh— he’s coming, Daniel knows it, feels it, running like an electric current from Armand to him and back again. He cries, too, undiluted doses of desire running through his veins like fire as he keeps on licking around and inside Armand’s hole until the vampire manages to pry himself off Daniel’s gasp and fall beside him on the bed.
With his hair spilling deep brown against the pillows, Armand’s face is lax as Daniel has never seen it, a peaceful smile gracing his features like a painting, a study in pleasure. Daniel wants to crawl up his body and kiss it, kiss him until the world ends around them.
There are, however, more urgent matters.
“Armand, Armand—” he cries, pressing his sweaty body against the vampire, his cock rubbing against Armand’s blood-stained belly, his softening cock, making them both shiver. “Please, I need it so bad, please let me, please—”
Daniel doesn’t know what he’s expecting: for Armand to deny him again, for him to switch their positions and ride Daniel until tomorrow, for him to flee from the room faster than Daniel can follow. What he is not expecting is for Armand to wrap his legs around Daniel’s hips and look up at him like he is the eighth wonder of the world, for Armand to look at him with eyes so dark they are almost brown, and say, “Go on, my sweet boy. You deserve it.”
A high-pitched noise fills the room, and oh God that was him, Jesus fuck, but he doesn’t care. Daniel makes to suck his own fingers but Armand stops him, says there’s no need for this straight into his brain, and Daniel caves into the all-consuming force of his desire.
One week before, Armand had asked how Daniel would fuck him if given the chance. Daniel vividly remembers himself saying I would make you beg and wants to laugh at himself, because this… relationship only has a place for one beggar, and it’ll always be him. He can say that without a shadow of a doubt, as he sinks inside Armand, feels the vampire’s legs tightening around his waist, his breath hitching; yes, he would beg for it until the end of his days.
There’s blood dripping from Armand’s hips where Daniel’s nails have broken the skin; blood dripping from Daniel’s nape, where Armand’s claws have done the same. Daniel doesn’t stop moving until he can feel the backs of Armand’s thighs against his hips, every inch of him inside the vampire’s body—warm, so warm, how could he, a dead thing, be like this, make himself like this, just for Daniel?
“Armand,” he gasps, almost out of breath. It’s the only word he remembers, and a wonder that his brain can still form the necessary synapsis for Daniel to say it, between the barrage of sensation coming from his every nerve and the effort necessary for him to keep still.
Armand pulls Daniel’s head away from his neck so that they’re eye to eye with each other, bright amber and aquamarine blue. Daniel thinks, while he’s balls deep inside Armand and shaking with the urge to fuck into him, that this is the most romantic moment of his life.
“Go on, Danny,” he says, like a vision from God, like a knife. “We have already waited long enough, haven’t we?”
Daniel doesn’t answer. Nothing remains on his mind besides the feverish need to thrust inside Armand’s heat, to feel the muscles tightening around him, his cock dragging against Armand’s walls with each stroke.
It is not beautiful, or neat, nor is there any finesse in Daniel’s movements. He has become half an animal, filled with something primal and unspeakable, an unknown force inside his body snapping his hips forward as fast as he can.
If he could’ve read Armand’s mind, he would know it is not to his disservice. Armand craves it: the loss of control, the absolute dominion he has over Daniel, to the point of driving him to the brink of madness and back.
It’s sloppy, and desperate, and noisy, both from the slapping of skin against skin and from Daniel's groans, head thrown back, veins bulging. His blood is singing, a litany of Armand Armand Armand, and under him Armand is trembling, repeating Danny Danny Danny, until he pulls Daniel’s neck down with a firm grip, and these are his teeth against Daniel’s skin, grazing, sucking, and these are his fangs, burying into the flesh like it’s butter and that’s it— that’s it that’s it that’s it, the string pulling him is cut.
Daniel thrusts into Armand a deep, final time and comes inside him, shaking and drooling and babbling his name, and Armand arches his hips and comes for the second time, his cock untouched and his mouth filled with Daniel’s blood, running down his chin.
He collapses on top of Armand, riding the aftershocks as the vampire keeps feeding on him until the fangs in his neck are gone and Armand’s arms wrap around him in a hug, cradling Daniel through his orgasm. His lips are cool water against Daniel’s sweaty temple, his tongue a balm against Daniel’s cheeks.
A minute later, when Daniel can breathe normally, he moves to the side, lying back down on the mattress, trying to remember his name and where he is at.
When he opens his eyes again, Armand is turned towards him, utterly spent and glowing, from the blood and — Daniel wants to think — the sex too. It was damn good sex, the best he’s ever had. He can only hope it was the same for Armand, even though he knows it’s hard to compete against five hundred years of experience.
Armand is reading his mind, because he chuckles, clicks his tongue, and says, with eyes rimmed red from bloody tears. “It was… adequate.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Fine, it was good. It was great. But you still have much to learn.”
Daniel crawls onto his chest, thumb pressing against the pearl of Armand’s nipple. It should be illegal for a man to have a chest like this. Daniel wants to fuck it too, and wonders how he would ask that.
“Teach me, then,” he says, mouth pressed against Armand’s chest. “I’m a good student.”
Armand hums, cradling Daniel’s hair with light, careful fingers. Daniel can hear the beating of his heart, slow and content. “And I’m a very strict teacher.”
“Don’t worry. I promise you I’ll give you my utmost attention.”
“I’ll hold on to it. After all, you said you would make me beg.”
“Just you watch me,” Daniel says, like a promise. He isn’t kidding—he is a good student, and he doesn’t think he was so interested in a subject before.
It’s only a matter of time, and they still have plenty—or so he’s hoping for.