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A cold snap from Canada that manages to make its way far enough down south to reach Night Island has Daniel dreaming of matzah ball soup for 2 nights—days, really; Daniel rarely wakes up before 4 PM. This was a comfort thing. He doesn’t really like the dish. There was always too much matzah and too many vegetables for his picky child’s palate. It brings up fond memories from childhood anyways, the high holidays and presents for Hanukkah. A part of him wants a warm bowl of soup and to be back in his small family apartment in Modesto with parents who don’t love each other and a ragged journal filled with stories from around the neighborhood.
Daniel clings to Armand more than usual for those two days. He doesn’t want to go back home. When he fights back his nostalgia and memories of late-night drives back home from the Beth David Congregation in San Luis Obispo with his mother, Daniel remembers the pain on his cheek from his father’s hand after he found Daniel and another boy in bed together and his mother, who, despite her kind and accepting words, didn’t step in or intervene while her husband screamed loud enough to wake up the entire Modesto area proper.
There’s a plate full of baked ziti and garlic bread in front of him. Daniel joked earlier that Armand wouldn’t be able to kiss him on account of the garlic, and Armand laughed, saying if the sun can’t keep him away, then garlic stands nochance.
The garlic bread hasn’t been touched, and the baked ziti is growing cold.
Armand is staring at him, probably reading his mind. Daniel thinks, "Stay out of my head," and continues to look at the cooling ziti.
“Too much Italian food?” Armand asks from across the table. He’s dressed up like the weather affects him, in a thick blue turtleneck and black pants. Daniel’s eyes trail him up and down for a moment. He can think of something else he’d rather eat than the ziti. Armand raises an eyebrow.
“Can I say I want that Italian food instead?” Daniel gives Armand a wide-berth gesture.
“Flattery will get you nowhere when I can tell you are upset,” Armand says.
Devil.
Daniel shrugs, pushing some pasta around with his fork.
“Daniel,” Armand tries again. Daniel gives him a placating smile. “My love…”
“You know the way to my heart,” Daniel snorts. He adjusts in the plush chair to fight back the blush threatening to show. Armand is too romantic for his own good. Not that Daniel has much of a great test pool there. He only knows two vampires, and as far as he knows, they aren’t aware of each other. Can he try to arrange a meet-up? Armand says vampires can communicate across vast distances after all. And then Daniel can interview the two of them…
“Daniel,” Armand cuts off the train that is Daniel’s thoughts.
“I’m just feeling homesick.” Daniel answers as vaguely as he can. He can see the gears start to spin in Armand’s head. Solutions. A flight to Modesto. Any and all wishes that Daniel may have will be granted except, of course, the one Daniel really wants to be fulfilled, but that’s something for another time. “Or maybe that’s not the right word for it. I dunno, boss. It’s a human thing.”
Armand leans forward, amber eyes wide with curiosity. “Describe it.”
Armand is 500 years old and counting. All questions Daniel has asked about his past are answered in vague concepts rather than anything concrete. The weather, the smell of the air. Nothing important, like, you know, the politics of Venice 500 years ago. Describing that Daniel just wants to travel back to his mother’s sedan, stomach full from the oneg, falling asleep as the Pacific coastline falls from view, and freezing the moment to live in for eternity.
“Do you have any moments you would want to go back to?”
Armand’s eyes flash with a thousand and one emotions that Daniel could search countless dictionaries for to try and describe, just to end up failing. “I believe so, yes.”
Oh, what Daniel would give to be able to read his mind. Unfair. Who is going to start working on research for human telepathy?
“I’m kind of having one of those moments.” Daniel puts his fork down in defeat. “I don’t miss my home. My folks are….” He scoffs. “Yeah. Anyways. I just miss little moments. And some food.”
“The soup in your dreams,” Armand surmises.
“You can see inside my dreams?”
Armand smiles a little mischievously. “Nothing you dream about is anything I haven’t seen already.”
“One day I’ll figure out how to get inside of your head, and I’ll dissect all of your dreams too, boss,” Daniel sighs.
“I would love to see you try.” Armand says. He leans back into his chair. “I’m sure we could find the soup you wish to eat.”
“It’s not that.” Daniel looks out the window to the streets of Night Island. Always busy. Hundreds of people passing by and not giving Daniel a second thought. Unless it’s one of those nights. “I just miss the feeling. Community, I guess. You had a coven, so you had a little vamp community. Don’t you ever miss it?”
“My coven was my responsibility. It was a job more than a choice.” Armand answers slowly as if he were not sure himself.
“Still, you had vampires to talk to about vampire stuff. Drinking blood and stuff.”
“We do things other than that.”
Daniel waves him off. “Tomato, tomahto. Religion had always been cliquey, so I wasn’t super into it.” By fourteen, Daniel had been spending less time at home. After fulfilling his coming-of-age ceremony and having his atheist awakening, he managed to snag a job at a poolside snack bar, and once he got his hands on a recorder and cassette tapes? Daniel’s mother was lucky if he came home for dinner ever. She had offered still to take him to services. Daniel rejected each offer, and she learned to stop offering after the incident with his father. “If we just stop into a deli or something, I should get my fix. Or drugs. Coke would be great too.”
A disappointed look is all the answer Daniel gets.
“I don't believe there is a deli on-island," Armand muses. “I would have to check my records back at the villa.”
“We could take one of your cars to the mainland.” The garage is full of them. Two have been disassembled by Armand’s own hands. He wants to make a “supercar.” Daniel doesn’t know what that entails or if it’s street legal, but Armand looks really hot driving both the car and the motorbike, and when he gets oil on his cheek, it’s cute, so Daniel listens to the long talks about the supercar progress with joy.
“That’s not convenient. If I am—“ Armand stops himself short and carefully rephrases his sentence. Gone, Daniel fills it in for him. His stomach twists. He wants Armand to stay with him always instead of doing whatever vampire business he does. Daniel would find a way to keep Armand on Night Island with a lock and chain if he could, but alas. “I would want you to be able to access the deli easily.”
“It’s all fancy, high-end stuff here. A deli would ruin the whole regal wealth aesthetic you got going on here.”
“This is your island; anything you wish to be here shall be here.”
That’s the worst part of this all, really. Daniel can’t be in a normal relationship after this. Even if Armand never decided to become rich (Daniel still isn’t 100% sure how. He would look at the financial records, but the amount of zeroes gives him a headache. Just Armand being his intense self and Daniel being the willing recipient has been more than enough to change his brain chemistry entirely. Just Armand by his side would be enough to ruin Daniel for eternity.
Now Armand, an apex predator who makes his coffee in the morning and giggles when he shaves Daniel’s beard in the morning, was sitting across from him saying that Daniel could request for Night Island to have a goddamn deli, and it would happen.
Anything and everything except for eternity.
Daniel bites his lip. He wants to be Armand’s. Wants Armand’s blood flowing inside of him beyond the little sips Armand gives him.
That won’t happen. Armand has made that clear. Fine.
“You would do that for me?” Just to see. To hear a confirmation. Yes, Daniel. That Daniel’s greed will be indulged and that nothing (except for one thing) is out of his reach while Armand is there. The amulet, cool against his skin and heavy on his neck with Armand’s blood safely inside, rings as a reminder. Daniel still wants more: to hear the words aloud.
Armand’s eyes are like a warm sun, and Daniel knows he would never miss the actual star because Armand is more than enough. “Say it, and it’s yours.”
ཐི^. ̞.^ཋྀ
News of shipwreck 15 miles off of Night Island’s shores end up taking up most of their next month. The ocean water is a little chilly, but the water is clear and calm. Armand naturally collects all the little trinkets and jewels. He speaks to Daniel telepathically as they swim underwater, talking about all the historical facts he knows about the various treasures.
The real treasure was a map. Barely held together after being subject to salt water for a century. Its only saving grace was the small air pocket it was in. Armand becomes fixated on figuring out the date the map was created. Daniel reads about speculations of a technology that could connect the world while Armand consults historical archives.
Daniel almost thinks Armand forgot about their conversation. Even if he knows this is Armand. He gets caught up. Once the spell breaks and Armand finds out the date of the map, Daniel interviews some weary travelers and goes night swimming with Armand in the Atlantic.
He gets sick from said night swimming. And probably the back-to-back library visits and the movie theater runs.
Two weeks of being sick was a bad record, a bad, bad record. Daniel used to get sick on a Friday and be well enough to go back to school on Monday. Armand is nothing short of an excellent caretaker. The bathroom cabinet is now filled with various medications and at least 4 types of thermometers.
“A well-loved test experiment.” Daniel had said, and Armand didn’t even try to quip back.
Spring was starting to arrive with hotter days. Daniel was in the middle of making blood popsicles when he heard the door to Armand’s office open. Normally, Armand is the one experimenting in the kitchen. Blenders, toasters, and the poor oven have fallen victim as well. Daniel took up the role in Armand’s most recent absence. A week, to be precise. Getting his own blood for the popsicles had been an ordeal, but Daniel managed. He was just pulling one out of the mold when Armand’s light tread stops at the doorway to the kitchen.
“Hey, come here,” Daniel requests with a light voice. The blood seemed to hold the shape of the mold. He stuck with the traditional mold, but he did see vampire fang molds at a specialty store the other day, and wouldn’t that be funny?
“Am I the test subject now?” Armand jokes but makes his way over nonetheless.
“Totally. I’m going to make millions off of the immortality serum that I get from your blood tears,” Daniel motions for Armand to open his mouth, and Armand does without question. “Tell me how it tastes.” The popsicle goes in.
It takes Armand a second, like he doesn’t know how to chew.
The number of years that it has been since I’ve had to chew food outnumbers your lifetime, Daniel. Armand gets the hang of it eventually. Is this your blood?
“Ethically sourced,” Daniel answers. He rocks back and forth on his heels. “Do you like it?”
Armand licks his lips, still a neat eater even with blood popsicles. “Yes. It has my favorite ingredient.”
“Hot,” Daniel grins back. “There’s a whole thing of them in the freezer for your convenience.”
Armand inclines his head in wonder. “Why would I not just drink straight from the source?”
Daniel fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “Sometimes I feel a little awkward being the only one eating. Besides, it’s getting hot out. This is an icy treat to cool you down…. Even though you tend to run cold.”
Armand breaks out into a laugh, a genuine, high-pitched laugh that makes his nose crinkle and his eyes close. The popsicle stick is discarded for the cleaners to find, and Armand pulls him close.
“My boy is a genius,” Armand praises, brushing back Daniel’s curls.
The touch is gentle, and Armand’s claws barely scratch his scalp. Daniel melts into the touch. “‘Course I am. You can even start selling them.”
“I’m not inclined to sharing that easily. However, I can offer something else,” Armand beams before he tries to fix up Daniel’s hair again. “We are going out.”
The sun was beginning to set, which always meant the start to something.
“Do I need to dress up?”
“What is the attire requirement for a deli?”
Daniel blinks. “A deli? Wait, you actually did it?”
“Granted, ensuring everything was done properly took me longer than expected. There are multiple types of delis, but I figured you’d wish for the Jewish variety going by your bar mitzvah photos—"
“When did you see those?”
“Then there was tracking down a worthy person who would cook up to your standards and then having the deli be set up,” Armand lets out a sigh as if he got winded. “I learned much about restaurant management along the way.”
Daniel shakes his head in amusement and disbelief. “Is that going to be the next thing? Armand opens up a restaurant?”
“Well, you’ve tried my cooking.” Armand glances at the blenders on the counter. “Perhaps a smoothie place would be better suited.”
Daniel shivers. “You would get arrested.”
“Then I will leave such things to the mortals,” Armand says. “Come on, we have a grand opening to get to. Is my attire appropriate?”
Armand was wearing a white button-up, pressed grey slacks, and a black jacket that could probably pay a year's rent in Manhattan.
Daniel thinks the most expensive thing he’s ever worn to a deli is the new sneakers he got for his birthday.
“Will you let me dress you up, boss?” Daniel asks, sweet and coy as he tugs Armand out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. There’s time for a quickie before, right?
ཐི^. ̞.^ཋྀ
The deli, a 5-minute car ride from the villa, looks like something straight out of New York. White-tile floors, bright red barstools, and brown and red booth seats.
Minka’s Deli and Store was written in bold out front. It’s empty, but Armand did say he wanted Daniel to have this place to himself at first.
An older man mans the cash register. He looks like an old Jewish guy. Someone Daniel would be forced to speak to before Shabbat service, someone his mom knew from her childhood.
“Should we order one of everything?” Armand is looking at the menu, eyes flitting over unfamiliar words like a hungry cat.
Everything was heavy food. Potatoes, meat, and bread. Daniel wants to be able to walk out of here by the end of the meal.
“Let me do the ordering this time.” Daniel walks towards the register.
“Welcome,” the man’s eyes go over to Armand. Sounds like an old Jewish guy too. Heavy Polish accent, plenty of those after all. “It’s good to know people in high places! Your friend over there said he wanted you to have the first taste. Eh, something about authenticity?”
“My mom is Jewish,” Daniel says in way of explanation.
“So it counts,” The man shrugs. “My name is Frederick; this place is named after my mother.”
“Congrats on Night Island’s first deli.” Daniel smells the food already. His stomach grumbles. Fuck, he’s hungry. He can almost hear Armand’s snicker.
Frederick smiles. “What can I get you, my son?”
One of everything is the usual procedure. Daniel settles for the safe foods instead. Matzo ball soup and a pastrami sandwich on homemade challah. “Do you have rugelach?”
“Do I have rugelach…” Frederick shakes his head in amusement. “Cinnamon, raspberry, and chocolate.”
“Chocolate, please.”
Daniel reaches for his wallet out of instinct. This whole interaction feels so normal, like he’s just a young guy living in San Francisco again, stumbling upon a new store that can give him a taste of idealized home again.
Armand is by his side, swiping a card, and Daniel’s heart skips a beat because, yeah, Armand is home now.
“He has a large black contraption in the back of the restaurant.” Armand’s hand is resting at the back of Daniel’s back. The booth is soft, and two worlds in Daniel’s head are colliding head-on. “It produces a lot of smoke.”
“A smoker. It’s for the pastrami,” Daniel explains.
“A smoker,” Armand repeats slowly. “We should get one for our home.”
“To get rid of bodies?”
Armand taps Daniel’s ankle with his own in a light scolding. “I’m not that brash. Although vampires have been known to use incinerators.” His expression becomes closed off for a moment. Daniel taps his ankle back, and bam! His wonderful devil is back again. Armand melts back into the present. “My old coven used the catacombs and sewers as a way to dispose of bodies.”
“An incinerator sounds more convenient,” Daniel points out.
“That’s an American way of thinking,” Armand teases back. He gives Daniel a soft smile. “You’ve been happier since we came in here.”
“I’m happy because you came back after upping and vanishing for a week, boss.” Daniel’s hands twist into each other. “I missed you.” He adds on, helplessly earnest.
Daniel had woken up to an empty bed. A written note and a credit card on the nightstand. That night Daniel took said credit card and found shady enough places where he could acquire nondescript pills and the good cocaine, since it’s Miami.
He had missed Armand; who could blame him?
Interviewed a woman who worked for a domestic violence shelter too. Daniel had worn a sweater whose sleeves didn’t go the full way down and well. Armand is a vampire that has lived centuries, and Daniel is a young man who quite enjoys having an adventurous sex life. Marks from said sex life are slow healing. Low iron—what can you do? Was it a little awkward having to gently explain away his bruises to concerned middle-aged women? Oh, these bruises? Yeah, they look pretty nasty, but rest assured I am not being abused; I just have a super strong vampire boyfriend. Yeah, yeah, men, what can you do?
Armand avoids his gaze. “I hope this place can serve as a comfort when I do need to be away.”
“You could take me with you. I’m good at keeping secrets, even vampire secrets,” Daniel suggests.
Armand lets out a huff. “Vampire business is… boring.”
Daniel’s hand comes up to cup over the bite mark Louis gave him. Louis had been slick, charming, and then loquacious. Those tapes are gone, but Daniel can remember bits and pieces. New Orleans, Lestat, Claudia, Lestat. Daniel never did get the whole story. He hates that.
And on the other end is Armand.
“Boring? You guys got a vampire family meeting you need to sit through?”
Armand snorts like he was caught off guard. “Vampires are solitary for the most part. For the few that crave companionship, it can be difficult to ascertain.”
For as much as Daniel clings to Armand, the energy always seems to be matched. Even when doubt crawls into Daniel’s mind. What if Armand grew bored of his human and decided to go for another vampire instead of just turning Daniel? All Daniel really has to do is think about Armand, and he will manifest.
“You have me,” he says.
“I do have you.” Armand nods. “The only mortal who can dream of keeping up with me.”
“Don’t give me all the credit.” No, please continue. “2 cups of coffee a day with a little splash of blood helps too.”
Frederick comes out with a bowl of steaming hot soup and two plates balanced precariously on his arms.
Armand eyes the food with mild curiosity while Daniel hears his own stomach growl again.
“Thanks, everything looks great,” Daniel says.
“Eat up, get some meat on these bones, yeah?” Frederick gives Daniel a few hearty slaps on the shoulder and goes back behind the counter.
Daniel catches a glimpse of the family portrait on the wall. In front of a lit menorah are a younger Frederick, an older man who really looks like Daniel’s father, which isn’t that surprising all things considered, and a woman wearing a tichel. With religion trickling down, usually the younger generations start losing traditions. His mother never covered her head after marriage, and Daniel thinks she never went back to a mikvah after the marriage as well.
He can see himself in that life just for a moment. Marrying a Jewish girl like his mom always wanted him to. Probably having 2 kids, maybe 3 if Daniel really hated himself. Working as a reporter but not doing the stories he really wanted to do because his wife would want him to host Shabbos dinner every Friday, and you can’t go across the world when you have a dinner to prepare every week—
Daniel hears a sound.
Armand is dissecting his sandwich.
Daniel looks down at the taken-apart challah and pastrami. “What are you doing?”
Armand blinks at him, insect-like. “The meat appears to be charred on the outside, but it’s almost raw on the inside.”
Or, Daniel could follow around an ancient vampire around the world. Picking up stories as he goes, being pampered and doted on, all while Armand abuses various household appliances and holds up the wreckage for Daniel’s approval.
“That would be the work of the slow cooker,” Daniel confirms.
Armand stabs a piece of pastrami with the fork, the perfectly polished silver looking dainty in his hands. Daniel swallows. “I think I’ve been sold on the idea of acquiring a slow cooker for our villa, beloved.”
Daniel opens his mouth expectantly. Well, let me taste-test the food before you make any purchases.
“Ah, the smart mind of a journalist.” Armand obliges. The pastrami is tender and flavorful, and wow, Daniel was really hungry.
“Would you like a menorah for our home?” Armand asks.
Daniel shakes his head as he chews.
“Would you like to go to a synagogue?”
Daniel swallows. “God no. That pastrami is good though, buy the slow cooker.” He digs into the matzah ball soup next. Light and a little salty, the actual matzah is better than Daniel expected. He never liked forgoing bread during Passover and eventually stopped doing it, but if it was this matzah, maybe things would be different. “The owner hasn’t asked about you.”
“His mind is occupied courtesy of vampiric powers and human tendencies.” Armand explains easily.
“It’s so hot when you manipulate minds, boss.” Daniel sighs.
“He is thinking of you. You remind him of what he could have had if his son didn’t pass away in childbirth.” Armand continues on. “And his daughter. She is nearing 25 and not yet married, he worries. He’s debating on if he could set you two up. He doesn’t know what to think of me yet.”
There is a hint of displeasure in Armand’s tone. Possessiveness, maybe, and Daniel’s stomach grows warm with a non-food source.
He reaches for his necklace. Pulls it to the front of his shirt and leather jacket. “I know this is supposed to ward off other vampires, but maybe it’ll send a message to humans too.” If the vial of blood wasn’t enough, the neatly engraved A will have to be.
The tiniest hint of Armand’s fangs peeks out. Daniel can’t finish the rest of his food fast enough.
ཐི^. ̞.^ཋྀ
Being with Armand makes Daniel giggly. Think schoolgirl with a crush-level giggly.
It’s hard not to be. Armand is a little ridiculous. And then too handsome to be so ridiculous. Daniel loves him more than he ever could love a human being.
Especially when Armand lets Daniel pin him against the entrance to their home. The ultimate show of love. Armand could throw him off, snap his neck, and drain him dry, but he doesn’t. He lets Daniel kiss at his lips, nip at his jaw, and worship the merciless devil with everything Daniel has, and god—does Daniel want to worship him.
Armand sounds pleased. Little hitched breaths and soft moans. His skin and lips are cold to the touch, but Daniel never minded. Loves it actually. That Armand is cold and smooth underneath his hands, that Armand hasn’t fed on anyone else, and that Daniel’s blood could make him grow warm.
“I love you,” Daniel gasps against the skin of Armand’s jaw. He thinks it too, a million times over, and hopes the words get seared into Armand’s brain and skin.
Armand reaches to trace over Daniel’s cheek, bright, crazy eyes alight. “I love you too.”
The landline cuts through the air, and Daniel nearly jumps out of his skin. Armand pouts, and Daniel thinks the poor thing is going to go up in flames for a second.
“Is it for you?” Daniel asks with a racing heart.
“Most of my calls go towards the office.” Armand says, and he traces over Daniel’s cheek again. “Calm down, beloved; you will wear your heart out.”
“You’ll save me,” Daniel replies back, sticking out his tongue a little as he walks towards the receiver. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this the residence of Mr. Daniel Molloy?” A woman’s voice rings through.
“Uh, yeah, this is him. Who is this?” Daniel looks back at Armand, who was now sitting at their dining room table with a raised eyebrow. Sorry, Daniel thinks. Armand shakes his head dismissively and crosses his legs with ramrod posture like the prince he is.
“This is Joyce Navarro from the Miami Herald; we spoke last week regarding your piece on sex work in Hialeah.”
“Oh.” Daniel says with all of his journalistic eloquence. “Oh, yeah.”
“This was the number on file on how to contact you.”
“Yeah, no, uh, it is. Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting—what did you call for?”
A bright young reporter with a point of view, huh? Armand grins from his seat at the table. Daniel flips him off.
“We’ve enjoyed your piece, and we would like to publish it as a feature. I called to request a formal headshot from you at your earliest convenience. As long as there is a meeting with an editor, all minor changes, I assure you.”
Grammar. English was Daniel’s best subject in school, but god was grammar a bitch.
“Thank you, really. I’m flattered, um—” He grabs a notepad as she delivers instructions and a pen that takes a few tries to get the ink flowing again. “10, I remember the address on Biscayne—and ask for George Camren, got it. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Goodbye.”
He hangs up, a little woozy, and looks back up at Armand, who hasn’t moved.
Daniel can’t sense anything from him. He fiddles with the phone cord. “The meeting is in the morning, boss, so it’s not like it’s eating into your Daniel time.”
“We spend time together in the day too.” Armand says.
That…
Yeah.
Honestly, they don’t spend much time apart except for the lows or Armand’s dubious vampire business. It’s probably not healthy. Oh well. Daniel doesn’t want to spend any time apart from Armand at all.
“I’m proud of you, my Daniel.” Armand’s voice is like velvet, settling into each crevice of Daniel’s brain. His skin tingles, and Daniel just wants more, more, more. Somehow he’s found a handsome vampire willing to give him that. Christ.
Daniel shuffles his feet. “Today is full of ups, I guess. The deli, this, you.” Daniel looks down, then looks back up through his eyelashes. “Do you think I could get a reward then? You know, for getting a feature in the Herald.”
“A reward?” Armand sounds clueless on purpose, batting those large, pretty eyes of his as his lips part in faux curiosity.
Daniel walks towards the chair before tugging Armand to his feet by the collar of his button-up. It’s short-sleeved, white, and made with 100% linen from the Netherlands or something. Armand doesn’t have anything casual in his wardrobe. Everything is opulent and extravagant, and naturally, Daniel loves him for it. The two top buttons are left undone courtesy of Daniel, leaving him a nice view of Armand’s chest, which really passes up for the reward itself. Armand dresses him to show off, and it’s a nice mutual thing they’ve got going on.
If Daniel has to choose, though, between warm-toned delis, men who look like a kinder version of his father, a proper journalistic career, and… Armand, Armand dragging him across Night Island and the world with a guiding hand and a mind racing with stories and questions? The answer is Armand.
Maybe both on the journalist front. Being the first vampire journalist sounds fucking awesome. He just has to get Armand on board with the idea. But, you know, if he has to choose one, it’s Armand, no question.
“Can I have dessert, boss?” Daniel kisses Armand’s neck. He can almost smell the sweet blood from here.
Armand bares his neck, dark curls falling with the motion. “Of course, my beautiful boy.” A clawed fingertip opens up a small gash. The smell of iron causes Daniel to swoon just a little.
Daniel makes his choice and sinks his teeth in.