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1. arun
It’s not until Daniel’s pressing him down into the mattress that Armand panics.
It’s not the sex. Daniel’s mouth on him is – transcendent. Stumbling through Daniel’s cluttered apartment together, kissing and biting and pawing at each other's clothes, had been the greatest pleasure Armand had known in decades.
It’s just that–Armand has always known exactly what his partner (or partners) wanted. It was second nature to dip into their thoughts and become the man they had fantasised about.
Lestat had wanted a pliant doll to dress up and show off, proof that he had outwitted the old ways and established his dominance in the world of vampires.
Louis wanted Arun. That had been simple.
Santiago–Santiago had wanted to put his maître in his place. And if that place was on his knees, pretending to choke on a cock too small to reach the back of his throat, then so be it. (Armand doesn’t remember if it was before the trial or after. Or both.) (He tries not to remember it at all.)
Daniel’s mind, though, is closed to him, and Armand is utterly lost.
So he does what he did before he could read thoughts. He stretches out one arm over his head, arches his back, and forces a moan, breathy and loud. Men always liked that.
Except, it doesn’t quite go to plan.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Daniel says, rocking back onto his heels. “Cut it out.”
Armand blinks, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “I—What?”
“Moaning like a porn star. It’s fuckin’ weird.”
Armand flushes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I barely even touched you and you practically faked an orgasm.”
Armand cocks his head seductively. “Perhaps I enjoy the feeling of your hands on me, beloved.”
“I’m not doing this,” Daniel grunts, pushing himself away and off the mattress. Armand grabs for him and he sighs, sitting heavily on the bed just out of reach.
“I’ll stop,” Armand says quickly. “Don't go.”
No moaning, Armand thinks as Daniel sinks into him. He wants me quiet. I can do that.
2. amadeo
Daniel’s been hunched over his laptop for hours.
Something about the Salvation Army, apparently. An investigative piece about their continued prejudice towards queers, despite having publically changed their ways.
When Marius had been working long hours on a commission, he had always focused better with Amadeo’s company.
Daniel doesn’t notice as Armand slides delicately under his desk, settling on a cushion and folding his legs neatly underneath him. It’s only when he’s nosing against the fly of Daniel’s jeans that he jerks back, peering under the desk in confusion. His hand tangles in Armand’s hair, tugging him away, and tightens as Armand moans.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Armand blinks up at him through his eyelashes, tilting his head coyly. “I’m keeping you company.”
“Well, stop it.”
Armand frowns. “You’ve been working so hard, beloved, you deserve a reward.” He knocks his head into Daniel’s knee, lips brushing the inseam. “Get back to work. You won’t even know I’m here.”
“Yeah, I don’t know if that’s gonna fly.”
Armand’s hand finds his cock, fishing it out of Daniel’s boxers. It’s disappointingly soft. Armand kisses its head and Daniel jolts.
“Babe, I’ve gotta get this done before that appointment we’ve got with– fuck– ”
Armand pulls away from where he’s been mouthing at the shaft. “Consider me your pomodoro timer.”
“My what?”
Armand blinks. “Pomodoro timer. It’s a technique for focus pioneered in the 1980s in Italy. It breaks up a long period of work into manageable 25-minute chunks with alternating rest periods, allowing for the mind to focus for long periods of time without burnout.”
By the time he’s done explaining, Daniel’s cock is still soft, no writing has been accomplished, and now they’re both late to the meeting with Armand’s real estate agent.
3. rashid
The bookshop has been very accommodating of Daniel’s schedule.
Perks of a tour arranged by the Talamasca. He's not sure what excuse they gave for his awkward hours, or indeed how much money they offered for the inconvenience, but either one has gotten him cheery smiles from all the staff and a guided tour by the manager, a charming older woman who's probably been running the place since he was in nappies.
“Of course," she says with a knowing look, "your assistant has everything under control.”
“Assistant?” Daniel says, before she steps to the side to reveal—that motherfucker.
‘Rashid’ is wearing a dark loose shirt, collar plunging obscenely deep, tucked into equally obscenely tight pants. His hair is brushed back and carefully tousled, softening his face. His iPad’s tucked neatly in the crook of his elbow, every inch the picture of attentive professionalism.
‘Rashid’ smiles sweetly. “Mr Molloy.”
Daniel grits his teeth. “Rashid.”
Armand’s contact lenses flicker with amusement. “The table is set for you. Would you like to get seated for the signing?”
“Sure.”
Armand offers his arm. “Shall we?”
Daniel glares. Armand ignores it, waiting patiently. Daniel cracks first, letting Armand take his arm and guide him carefully to the signing table. He lets Armand pull out his chair, fuss with his jacket, and generally does not stop touching him. All innocent, benign and professional on their own, but working together are perfectly engineered to drive Daniel insane.
That seems inappropriate, the shop assistant thinks. Daniel grimaces. Armand’s innocent smile twitches into a smirk. That assistant of his is probably fresh out of college. Wait, isn’t he a lecturer? Might even be one of his students.
It doesn’t get better when the signing actually starts.
Jesus, look at that kid. I guess him being a perv explains the whole Amadeo-Arun schtick in the second half, thinks a nineteen year old Liberal Arts major who’s a little too proud of herself for reading the one chapter of Said’s Orientalism she’d been assigned in class.
Fuck, thinks the retired banker who’s not even trying to hide the fact that he’s leering. I should have been a writer.
It’s when he catches the guy working the shop’s tiny cafe think, if I make a good impression, he might pay my tuition, that he apologises to the woman whose book he’s about to sign, grabs Armand by the arm and bodily hauls him to the back of the shop.
He levels them both behind a shelf in the back corner and crowds in, furious. Armand, of fucking course, stretches out against the wall like the cat who got the cream.
“You’re making me look like a creep,” Daniel whispers.
“Remember that I could hear your thoughts in Dubai,” Armand says. “You are a creep.”
Daniel shoots him a flat glare.
“You thought about taking me in the back seat of the car from the airport,” he says. “You thought about bending me over that dining table before Louis arrived. You imagined I was perched in your lap instead of Louis’ with your teeth in my neck. You imagined that I was knelt in front of that sofa, warming your cock as the treatment wound its way through your veins—”
“Stop it,” Daniel hisses.
“I would do it,” Armand continues. “I’d do anything you wanted.”
“What I want is for you to leave my public reputation intact.” Armand shoots him an incredulous look. Daniel sighs. “Look, I know, vampire erotica. But let me have this.”
The following evening, Daniel wakes to a text from his youngest daughter that reads “dad what the fuck” with a blurry photo of him crowding Armand up against the bookshop’s back wall.
He chucks it across the room as Armand giggles into his shoulder.
4. alice
“Daniel.”
Daniel grinds to a halt halfway through the front door, hand still on the knob.
Armand has draped himself artfully against the doorway to the bedroom. Daniel’s eyes track upwards slowly, from the black stilettos, up his waxed legs, to the short purple skirt clinging to his hips. Daniel meets his eyes – kohl-lined, half-lidded – and he tilts his head back, alluring.
“Oh, fuck this,” Daniel says, turning on his heel.
The door slams shut behind him.
5. maître
Daniel doesn’t want Armand submissive. He doesn’t want him pretty. He doesn’t want him adoring.
Armand thinks back to the Divisadero apartment in 1973 – Daniel shivering and keening, leaning into his touch with a whine. Perhaps it was that he had been searching for all along.
He creeps into Daniel’s room, clinging to the light bleeding past the heavy curtains.
Daniel lies sprawled across the mattress, one arm wedged under the pillow, duvet tangled between his legs. His worn t-shirt has ridden up to show the soft swell of his stomach, the wiry hair of his happy trail.
Daniel stirs as Armand slinks his way to the mattress, squinting up at him as he crawls into his space.
“What the—”
He can’t finish the thought before Armand has swung a leg over his hips, settling heavily onto him and pinning him to the mattress.
Armand watches him with a cool expression. “Stay down.”
“Jesus Christ,” Daniel says. “Get off.”
“I plan to,” Armand says. Daniel rolls his eyes. “You, however—”
“—have shit to do tomorrow, so let me fucking sleep.” He tries to roll over, but is trapped in place by Armand’s weight. He sighs.
Armand leans over him, arm braced over his shoulder as he leans in close. “Are you disobeying me, fledgling?”
“Yeah,” Daniel says. “Looks like it.”
Armand arches one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Are you looking for punishment?” He punctuates the last word by circling his hips, grinding down onto the cock that lies frustratingly soft against Daniel’s hip.
“I’m looking for a fucking nap. Cut it out, I’m serious.”
Armand leans back, fighting to maintain the cold expression. “Fledgling—”
“I said no, Armand.” There’s no teasing edge to his voice.
Armand’s off of him in an instant. He sits hunched over the side of the bed, knees drawn up, worrying his lip with a fang.
“Are you sulking?”
“No,” Armand pouts.
“C’mere.”
Armand lets himself get tugged into Daniel’s arms, head ducked to his chest, chest aching. “I don’t understand,” he whispers, words lost in Daniel’s shirt. “I don’t understand.”
“I know, baby,” Daniel rasps with a yawn.
Armand sniffs. Daniel doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand. Perhaps he doesn’t really want Armand at all. No one has never not wanted Armand before, he realises with mounting horror. Even at his darkest points, Louis had still been happy to take Arun from behind.
Boring, Louis shouts, you are so boring!
What does Armand have to offer Daniel, if sex is off the table? Why is Daniel here? Who is Armand outside of his partners’ sexual fantasies?
His fingers tangle in Daniel’s shirt, pulling him closer still. Don't leave me, he thinks. Daniel cannot hear him. I’ll do anything you want, anything. I love you. Don't leave me. I love you I love you I love you–
Daniel begins to snore.
Armand shudders out a sob, and tucks his face into Daniel’s throat to muffle it. Daniel’s too asleep to hear it, anyway.
+1. armand
Armand wakes slowly.
He rarely has good dreams, but now he’s floating in sensation, foggy with pleasure. He groans, chasing the warmth pooling in his gut.
His eyes flutter open, and it’s then that he realises that perhaps it wasn’t all a dream. He’s managed to pull Daniel half-on-top of him, trapping his thigh between Armand’s legs, and realises with horror that he’s been grinding down on it in tight, slow little circles.
He has to get out of here. He can't let Daniel know he’s been using him like some cheap–
His eyes shoot to the door only to find Daniel, awake and watching him, propped up on one elbow.
Armand freezes. But, before he can pull away, Daniel’s shifting, sliding his leg even further between his and catching his mouth in a kiss.
All thoughts of fleeing exit his brain in an instant.
Daniel’s cock slides against the crease of his hip, beading tip dragging through his boxers against his skin in slow, undulating movements. Armand’s fingers thread through his curls, scratching his nails against Daniel’s scalp in a way that makes him moan.
There’s a hint of something wet and slimy and Armand gags, recoiling from the sensation, from flashes of an unfamiliar weight and a probing tongue, but it’s gone in an instant. Daniel presses a chaste, apologetic peck to the corner of his mouth and Armand melts, winding his arms around Daniel’s broad shoulders and pulling him down into a long, closed mouth kiss.
“Daniel,” he gasps, breath catching on a whimper as his fledgling shifts so that their cocks slide together, damp cotton against silk. “Daniel, Daniel, amore mio—hah!”
Armand’s grip on Daniel’s shoulders tightens, his breath catching in panting little moans as arousal builds in his gut. Daniel’s pressing little kisses to his jaw and down his throat, fangs nipping at the delicate skin just hard enough to draw blood.
“Do it,” he pants, “do it, beloved, do it, do it– ”
Daniel’s fangs sink in deep, and Armand comes.
His climax washes over him, waves of pleasure that leave him shuddering and spasming against Daniel, high little moans escaping him almost involuntarily. Daniel follows almost immediately, hips stuttering into Armand’s belly as he grunts, low and long, before collapsing onto him with a sigh.
They lie there in the aftermath, exchanging lazy kisses and petting absently at each other's shoulders.
“That’s it, by the way,” Daniel says. Armand pulls back, blinking. “What I want from you. That’s what you’ve been trying to work out, right?”
Armand frowns. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t want Amadeo or Rashid or whoever the fuck else,” Daniel says, arms winding around Armand’s waist to pull him close. “I don’t want you tying yourself in knots over what I’m looking for out of you. This? This was good.” Armand bites his lip, sorting through his memories of the last few minutes and trying to remember what he had done that had finally pleased him. Daniel pinches his side. “Stop that. What I want is for you to enjoy yourself. You were doing what felt good—and you stopped me when something felt bad. That’s good, baby. Just keep doing that.”
The term of endearment makes his cheeks flush, and he ducks his head into Daniel’s shoulder. “I’ll try,” he whispers. “I’ll try.”
Daniel presses a kiss to his hair. “Speaking of feeling good or bad, I don’t think I’ve cum in my boxers since I was a teenager.” Armand snorts. “Bath?”
"Shower," Armand says instinctively before freezing. Daniel wants a bath, he wants intimacy and relaxation and—
"Sure," Daniel says, pecking his cheek.
And maybe, just maybe, it really is that simple.