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San Francisco, 1980
Glass hits the wood. A thunk in his ears, another chink in his armor. Fingers close around the sweating vessel that carries the answer to his current problem — and if not answer, then oblivion. The thump of the bass vibrates inside his bones, the vague sensation of shaking hands as he brings the lip of the tumbler to his mouth; it is bitter and it is delicious and it is not enough. He’s not wasted yet, though he is well on his way.
The new year should bring new life, resolutions and promises of other ways to walk through the world, but not for Daniel. He sits in a seedy bar, lost in a big city and misses his man — his monster. A cliche so tired he feels kind of embarrassed about it.
As the new decade approached, his fellow drunkards cheered and kissed stranger’s lips. He did as well. Kissed a girl who had thrown her arms around his waist and tasted like old vomit. These aren’t new experiences for him. No, the new year brings Daniel Molloy very, very old habits.
“Are you Daniel?” A deep voice inquires close to his ear.
Speaking of old habits…
“Who wants to know?” Doesn’t turn to the guy — doesn’t need to, it’s either a hook up or a shake down.
“Armand,” the guy answers, monotone.
Daniel’s head turns so fast that the beginnings of whiplash settle on his temples. The man has brown eyes and his skin is so pale he looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in weeks. His gaze has a distant quality to it, a film over his ocular globe. Daniel straightens in his seat, waves a hand in front of the guy’s face, watches his eyes follow the movement lethargically. Heart picks up speed in his chest.
The alcohol gives the world a dreamy quality, soft edges and muted color. He leans in to ask:
“Where is he?”
Find me, lover.
His favorite voice in the entire world whispers from between the creases in his brain, nestled there forever where he wants it, where he needs it.
“He wants to play a game,” the stranger states and Daniel wants to roll his eyes. Yeah. No shit.
His feet stumble out of the stool, body swaying as he makes his way outside. The cold air hits his face, stinging his cheeks and pinking the bridge of his nose. A deep breath freezes his lungs and he coughs into his palm. Closes his eyes to remove the distracting blur that is everything else in front of him.
A body collides with his own as he makes his way to a fountain he and Armand visited months ago, the last time he tried to get sober. Thinks of Armand’s long fingers barely touching the surface of the water, of his voice loud and animated as he told Daniel all about sculpting. How they did it back in his day, how he was never good at it, but still enjoyed assisting his maestro, if he was allowed. Doesn't truly believe Armand is there, but it’s a place to start.
Daniel walks around for what feels like hours before he finally stands in front of the lights surrounding the water, festive, blinking lights. Blurry lights. He sits on the stone, scoops up the dirty water and throws it on his face. Tries to think. The tips of his fingers tease the surface, making little waves.
Come get me, boss. He tries to project, his legs weak, hand sinking in the shallow water. His body slumps to the side, shoulder hits the bench. Green eyes follow the swirl of the stars in the sky.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been here or what day it is, or if it’s day or night. The thing in the bedroom keeps whimpering, absurdly loud in his ears, its pain ricocheting the walls and hitting Daniel where he himself hurts.
Body locked in position, sitting on the uncomfortable chair that’s been his home for what must be days now. It’s been too long, for sure, because piss drips from the bottom of the seat and his pants are soiled beyond repair. Too long because he hasn’t been able to feel his feet in a while and his hands are tingling and abstinence is taking hold of stomach and brain.
The other creature — the one not whimpering, the one who nurses and speaks and torments — walks about what would’ve been the living room, but now it’s just Daniel’s torture chamber. He tries not to look at its ass when it passes him by. Its face is the most beautiful thing Daniel’s ever seen, its body a work of art, its voice deep and soothing as it throws back in his face all the horrible things he’s done and thought about. Its eyes are luminous, firelight guiding him from perdition, as its mouth forms, is that what makes you fascinating?
It stops in front of him, studies his face. Daniel braces for the question again, for another round of misery at his expense, but this time the elegant hand attached to this beautiful monster raises itself to smack him right on the cheek. The sting of it makes him close his eyes and when he opens them again…
“Hey!” Loud, rough voice and cigarette smoke. “You gotta get up, kid. Can’t sleep here.”
The man’s round belly is the first thing Daniel perceives. Squints, trying to refocus his eyes on the cop’s frame. Doesn't know how long he’s been sleeping here.
“Wha–” He’s interrupted by a hand closing around his shoulder.
“C’mon, get up. I know you’re wasted, but you gotta go home, alright?”
Daniel is brought to his feet by another man’s strength. The entire galaxy spins with it, his stomach roils and drops like on a rollercoaster. He can’t throw up on a cop. He can’t. He can’t. He needs to find…
“Armand…” He mumbles, eyes rolling in its sockets. The cop lets go of him immediately.
“Go home, kid.” His tone is harsh. Pushes Daniel in the direction of the sidewalk and leaves him be.
The street sign says Divisadero. It’s not home, no. Home is coastal Florida, an island, a villa, a life he ran away from. A life he runs back to now — for travelling alone has lost its spark, for living without a spectre watching his every move has become lonely and dull.
Looks up at the building where, seven years ago, everything changed. The windows are dark, desolate, curtains closed over newspaper covered glass and he lets a smile stretch his lips. There were lively hours before the terror and the blood and the smell of burnt flesh. They laughed and snorted powdery pleasures together between diatribes and philosophical nonsense only two people high off their asses would understand.
It wasn’t an interview in any sense of the word, it felt like twin flames finding each other on a weird night. He’d almost died, has the scar to prove it, but he also was never more alive. Wonders where Louis is right now — if he’s well, if he’s still mourning his losses, if he knows how the fuck that night ended, ‘cause he sure doesn’t.
Brings his arms around his torso, the cold air seeping through his thin layers, clearing his head unbeknownst to him. He desperately wants a cigarette, and has the annoying sensation that he lost them in the fountain. Maybe that cop stole them, it wouldn’t have been the first time. Takes a few steps across the street to the edifice, stumbles a few times, but it’s late enough that there aren’t many cars around.
Maybe Armand would save him if he got run over, would take care of him, nurse him back to health, bathe him, feed him. A chill crawls up his spine to play with the hairs on his nape in response. Fuck, he misses him.
A shadow on the stoop of the building materializes as he approaches and Daniel wants to laugh in relief.
“Boss!” he calls.
As the man turns around to look at him, he expects firelight irises, incandescent and amused. He gets dull hazel eyes, surprised, nice eyebrows climbing up the guy’s forehead.
“Fuck, man… Sorry. Thought you were someone else.” Sighs as he turns to walk in the opposite direction of the building.
He has no money for a second cab, so he walks. Bright lights hurt his eyes, the ache growing on his temples speaks of exhaustion. Doesn’t know how long he’s been wandering, doesn’t know what time it is, but knows where he’s going.
The first time he and Armand came back to San Francisco, Daniel brought his honey to the theater. Armand loved movies, they quickly found out during their courtship, as Armand would call it. Round eyes huge and focused on the screen, his long fingers wrapped around Daniel’s the entire time, cold and malleable. After years, he still feels the secondhand joy of watching Armand watch something.
So, that’s where he goes.
The small corner cinema they went to is still open, running an Alfred Hitchcock double feature — Notorious and Psycho — on New Year's Day. The guy in front just gestures for him to get in, clearly too drunk to care at this point or, maybe, he finally found Armand.
It’s a dark, empty room. The big screen shows Ingrid Bergman, beautiful and dazzling in black and white, and Daniel stops for a few seconds to watch. Rows of chairs undisturbed by bodies stretch in front of him, considers idly taking another nap on the comfortable seats.
A breeze tickles the short hairs over his ear, like a bug buzzing too close. Hands rise to slap it away and that’s when he catches it: the form in the corner of his eye. His entire body breaks in goosebumps, skin reacting to a touch it hasn’t felt yet, and, finally, finally, his vision focuses on something. The world is staticky around the curls covering Armand’s face, his solid shape the only thing Daniel can perceive at this moment. Heartbeat thunders in his ears, the dizzy feeling compounded by the drink impedes the step he tries to take.
Armand doesn’t move. He is watching Notorious with the same unwavering attention with which he watches Daniel when they’re alone. It makes Daniel feel empty as gossamery heat drops on his gut. Just needs to be looked at, to be perceived once by this creature he loves more than he ever loved anything in his life. If Armand looks at him he’ll never run away again, he’ll never pick a fight, he’ll do anything he needs to make this man stay with him until the day he dies. He’ll even accept death if those fulgent eyes turn to him.
You should not lie.
Knees go weak and his hand closes around the back of the closest chair. Wants to plead, to get on his knees and serve his Master.
“Please…” he whispers, more to himself than anything else.
Armand’s head moves mechanically, entirely unnatural as he turns to let his eyes survey Daniel. There’s a micro expression that crosses his features, something pained, a divot between his eyebrows.
“Come,” he orders.
Daniel stumbles to him, as newborn fawn would, steps unsure and meandering. But he goes. Hesitates as he inches close, unsure if he should kneel or sit on the chair next to him, doesn’t know where they stand right now. Titian eyes follow his every move, a touch of a smile in the corner of his Master’s lips as he enjoys Daniel’s indecision. And then, his leg extends a tad, a graceful hand taps his knee once, twice. Daniel sighs as he sits on his lover’s thigh. Warm fingers — he must’ve fed — snake up under his shirt to rest on his waist, a welcome support as he sways.
“Sorry for leaving,” he mumbles, eyes on the screen.
“I wish you didn’t feel the need to do so.” He sounds so tired.
“I know.” Tries to look back, but fingers close on his chin to bring his attention forward. “You know how I get.”
“I do, yes. You should trust me to care for you.” Armand caresses his waist with the tips of his claws.
Daniel wonders if he’s being manipulated.
“I trust you to take care of me, it’s just–” He tries to look at him again, feels a pout take form on his mouth when Armand blocks him again. “I don’t wanna talk to the screen, boss,” he whines.
“You aren’t. You’re talking to me.” Armand’s breath teases the hair on his nape, a shudder rocks his body.
“Wanna see you,” slurs a bit.
“I know,” he whispers. “Continue your thought.”
Daniel exhales, pout firmly in place. “I just feel too cooped up at Night Island sometimes, like I need to breathe away from you for a second.”
“Why would you want that?” His fingers stop their movement under his shirt.
Daniel’s fist closes around the bird-like wrist that supports the hand on his chin, tugs it down a little bit.
“I don’t wanna say this to Cary Grant, c’mon,” he insists, the whining a hint at the end of the sentence. “Lemme look at you.”
“No.”
Armand’s nails sink on the skin of his stomach, where it gets soft and pliant. The good life on Night Island showing itself on the cellulite adorning his thighs and the pouch over his dick. Daniel takes a breath, closes his eyes. Lets his hand slide down Armand’s forever toned forearm to rest on the bend of his elbow, fits his fingers there, his thumb around the firm bicep.
“I can’t think when you’re around,” Daniel murmurs. “If you’re touching me, all I can feel is your hands; if you talk to me, all I can hear is your voice; if you look at me…” His words trail away, he feels unmoored. “I’ll never do what’s good for me if it goes against what you want. You're more important to me than I’ll ever be.”
A small sound leaves Armand’s lips and Daniel tenses. The hand on his chin slides to fit across his throat.
“I’ll always know what’s good for you, my beautiful boy,” Armand says.
The possessive pronoun spills down his spine, head spinning as the air in his lungs rush out in a heavy exhale. Pleasure coils in his gut, traversing his blood stream to sag his limbs. Armand allows his back to touch the firm chest behind it, embraces his body like he cares for it.
“That’s not always true,” Daniel retorts, voice a little airy.
His head rests on Armand’s shoulder, feels him nuzzle on the old scar on the side of his neck. Yeah, he’s being manipulated. An annoying little voice insists that he should reignite this argument, that Armand can’t get away with it like that.
The next time Armand speaks, his lips brush against soft skin, as close to a kiss as he’s gotten in months.
“I am not getting away with anything, Daniel. You’ve already punished me for my sins.”
“You haven’t seen punishment yet,” Daniel mumbles, letting his eyelids grow heavy.
Armand’s chuckle twinkles inside his brain like fairylights. “Oh?” His voice still sounds amused. “And how will you discipline me?”
“I could walk away, y’know? Leave you here alone.” He pauses before twisting the knife. “Again.”
Armand’s arm flexes to grip him harder, bring him closer to his body. Daniel’s ass slides on his thigh to sit flush with his pelvis, feels the erection poking his coccyx, zipper straining. His hips move before he can think about it, they grind on Armand’s lap, and both of them exhale at the same time. Relief echoes on the empty theater.
“Could you, Danny?” Whispers in his ear, rough and breathy.
The hand on his throat tilts his head to the side just a bit. Their lips brush, Daniel’s eyes are closed, he’s hot and flushed, body tingling in anticipation for a kiss that never comes. His eyelids separate so he can look at Armand, and there’s a smile in his eyes, the corners crinkled like paper. He is waiting. Daniel’s tongue slips out from between his parted lips to lick Armand’s full bottom lip. Watches as his eyes grow bright orange, pupils dilating like a cat’s. Has a second of satisfaction before fingers crush his larynx and he can’t breathe.
“Impertinent, rotten boy,” Armand tuts. “Perhaps I have indulged you too much.”
Molten lava settles inside at the implication in Armand’s voice, the delicious torment yet to come his way, and the undivided attention of his Master. He whimpers out an incoherent word, arches his back to push his ass against Armand’s cock, grinds there for a few seconds before the firm hold on his belly stops him. He lunges forward, mouth meeting Armand’s with a force that could hurt the other person were they not a fucking vampire and stronger than any human alive or dead.
Armand’s soft exhale fans across his cheek as the hand on his throat moves to fit on the hinge of his jaw, to keep his mouth open so a tongue can slither inside him. He is unmoving as he is kissed violently. A fang tears at the skin of his bottom lip, his tongue is sucked into Armand’s mouth, invited in to play, but all he can do is keep up, all that is allowed of him is the moans he lets out with each sensation.
A canine rips the tissue of his tongue and Daniel’s eyes threaten to roll to the back of his head. His hands, uncoordinated, travel along Armand’s arm until one of them settles among the curls on his nape, holding on. A long, satisfied sound leaves Armand’s mouth to go down his throat and land in his stomach, leaving goosebumps on his skin, making him respond with one of his own. He feels long fingers snaking their way over his abdomen to his waist band, whole body squirming at the tickling sensation.
Daniel goes still when he realizes something’s wrong. Feels Armand’s hand on his skin, his taste on his tongue, the heat of arousal, but there is no—Oh, God. Tries to push away, to disentangle his limbs from Armand, but his efforts prove unfruitful as his Master’s fingers close around his soft cock. Armand, bizarrely, makes another noise of pleasure, moves his hand to get a firmer grip. Doesn’t stop kissing him for a second.
The beautiful sound becomes one of discontent when Daniel doesn’t stop squirming, doesn’t submit as he should.
“Boss… Please,” Daniel begs.
The tips of his ears burn, his blood pooling everywhere but where he wants it. Armand gives him a few milimeters of space, devilish eyes meet his clouded ones and Daniel can’t breathe. His fingers close around Armand’s wrist to try and push it away, but, again, is unsuccessful. Doesn’t understand the game that’s being played here.
It isn’t the first time this has happened. Daniel’s not one of those guys who play dumb and insist this is a new experience. He’s known for a while now that his dick won’t cooperate with him if he drinks too much. But it is the first time it’s happened with Armand. He didn’t even know it was possible to be in Armand’s presence and not sport at least a semi, but here he is. Here they are.
He makes to get up, needs space to think, to get away from this situation. Tears gather in his eyes and Daniel really fucking wishes he could die now.
“Beloved,” Armand’s soft voice calls his attention back to him. The hand previously on his chin, now moves along his curls, pulling them in different directions one by one. “Stay with me.”
And it’s because Armand is asking that he lets his body relax again, lets his back touch his lover’s chest. Armand is still holding him by the dick, and it makes things so much worse for him, because he should be so hard right now. The sight of his hand on his crotch should have Daniel struggling not to come.
“I’m sorry ‘bout this,” mumbles, avoiding eye contact.
“Why are you sorry, beloved?”
“Can’t get…” He struggles, moves in his seat, only to be reminded of Armand’s own erection poking him. “I can’t… You know.”
A soft chuckle. “Hm… Do I?” Armand’s hand moves to his zipper, brings it down. “What can’t you do?”
His pants are open, the blue of his underwear shows when the lighting of the movie gets bright enough. Fingers sink under the fabric, tangle on his pubes. Body tenses so hard something pops. Trembles as his hold on Armand’s wrist does nothing to impede his path.
“No… D–” Chokes when warm digits close around his dick.
Armand has manipulated him while soft before, of course. Mostly to prepare him for a second or fourth round, but never like this. He doesn’t remember the last time he was this soft while Armand touched his cock.
Watches in horror as Armand pushes his underwear out of the way and cold air kisses his skin. He must’ve made some kind of noise, because a shushing sound caresses his ear, lips so close he can feel them form around it. Armand touches him with his thumb and forefinger, testing the give of his dick, pulling on it and dropping it back against his balls.
“S-st-stop, boss,” he whimpers.
“This is what you can’t do, isn’t it?” Armand sounds amused. Daniel wants to die. “Can’t even get hard for me on our reunion.” Moves the foreskin out of this way to expose the squishy head. “Months away from you, my love, and this is how I find you: limp. What do I want this for, hm?”
His claw sinks its tip on Daniel’s glans and he groans in pain. A cruel stroke has him clutching the arm of their seat.
“Time I spent waiting for you, preparing myself to take this thick, beautiful cock,” Armand continues. “And now, all I have is a flabby excuse for a member.”
Rapid breath tickles the hair on the back of his neck as Armand adjusts him on his lap, so he’s sitting directly on his hard cock. They both moan at the sensation. Daniel’s eyes slip closed, rolls his hips along the line of heat, tries to fit it between his cheeks through their clothes.
“Can you feel it, Daniel?” A short thrust. “This is what a real man feels like.” The sob that wrenches itself out of Daniel catches even himself by surprise.
“I know, I know.” Tears roll down his cheeks and Armand brings his face closer to lick at them, humming in delight. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yes.” A derisive sound accompanies the agreement. “You should be.”
“Let me…” He starts, hesitant. “Let me have a little bit and then I can–”
“What? Do you truly believe I would let you fuck me after this deplorable display?” His grasp is still firm on Daniel’s dick, he plays with the fleshy head as he speaks. “No, lover, I would not let you fuck me after this.”
“Please, please, I can do something else, I can–” Another sob. “I can suck you off. Please, let me suck your dick, baby,” Daniel pleads.
He can practically hear the gears in Armand’s head turning.
“No.” It is said with a degree of satisfaction that confuses him. “If you are not a real man, then you will be my girl tonight.” Daniel goes still, thoughts screeching. “Get up.”
Panic sends Daniel’s head spinning. Finds Armand nearly smiling when he turns back to look, those little smile lines around his eyes that drive Daniel to madness are on full display. Swallows hard around the knot in his throat, heat engulfing his body. His knees tremble, weak legs supporting half his weight while both his hands hold onto the back of the seat in front of them. Armand takes advantage of his movement to pull down his pants and underwear.
“Armand!” The complaint is out before he can close his mouth.
The chill hits the clammy space between his ass cheeks, his hole clenches and releases with it. Looks up to the little window of the projectionist’s room, embarrassment traveling up his limbs to settle on the high points of his face, even his forehead is hot with it, sweat gathering there. Wonders if there’s anyone in, if they’re drunk, if they’re jerking off right now while watching Armand undress him.
Armand takes both his buttocks in his hands to expose him further. Daniel clutches at the chair, fingertips white with the force of his grip. His cock bounces against his balls when Armand delivers a slap to his rump. Moans leave his throat, estrangled, still looking at the little window.
“Are you worried we’re being watched, lover?” Armand teases. “Want me to find out if anyone else is here to witness your complete failure?”
No, he doesn’t.
“He’s there, Daniel,” he confirms. “He’s looking at you, wondering what I’m gonna do next. Cock in his hand.”
Humiliation settles heavy on Daniel, his whole body taut with it. Arousal joins as he feels a pulse to the base of his cock, valiantly trying to get hard. Wants to cry again, thinks he never stopped, feels ridiculous and cold, a butterfly pinned to a wall so it can be observed from all angles, spread open. Dead. Armand hums behind him, breath teasing the skin of Daniel’s ass. His body is pushed forward by nothing other than the will of his Master and a sob escapes as his chest hits the back of the chair.
Claws travel from his clothed lower back to his crack, teasing little whines out of him, the touch delicious and delicate, barely there. Finds himself deliriously wishing Armand would sink his nails in, perforate his body, penetrate him in any way he can. The caress doesn’t cease or strengthen, the consistent feeling allows his attention to wander, but not enough that he can escape here, not enough there he can be somewhere with Armand without anyone watching and he’s actually fucking hard, for Christ’s sake.
Feels Armand’s thumbs fit on either side of his hole and chokes on an unexpected gasp. Another hum travels the distance between them. Daniel would give his soul to know what Armand is thinking right now, what he sees, how he feels. Can’t stand existing in his own body at this moment. Opens his mouth to beg—
“You are so dry, my love,” Armand’s quiet voice interrupts. Daniel whimpers. “What shall we do about this, huh?”
For a second of pure bliss, he expects Armand to eat him out, expects to feel spit and tongue dancing alongside fingers against his hole. Instead, he gets a fingernail teasing his entrance, catching in the furls of his asshole. Clenches instinctively, feels the small cut start to throb as soon as it’s dealt. Warmth floods his nervous system, his vision blurs at the edges, he’s suddenly sweating.
Armand tuts. “Look what you made me do.”
“I didn’t—” Is interrupted by the sharp meeting of Armand’s palm and his cheek.
“Behave, Daniel.” His voice is firm, it leaves no room for argument.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, letting his head hang between his arms. “Please, boss—” he hesitates, takes a deep breath. “I need more.”
“What is it that you believe you need, lover?” Armand’s indicator rubs at his hole softly, like he doesn’t want to hurt him, like he hadn’t already.
“Your mouth.” His voice trembles around a moan. “Please.”
“No.”
Daniel exhales his disappointment, feels the throbbing in his asshole echoing the throb at the base of his cock. Arousal swirls in his blood with nowhere to go, makes him lightheaded and too present all at once. He can’t forget the projectionist watching, thoughts wandering up from time to time, even if he knows better than to actually look back.
Armand huffs out a low laugh, the exhale disturbing the hairs on his ass, and he missed the sound so much his chest lurches. Feels a kiss pressed there, tongue coming out to tease the patch of skin while his finger keeps the pressure on his hole soft. Lips traverse the surface of his buttock. Daniel’s entire body trembles every time he feels the tip of a fang touching him. Can see in his mind’s eye how Armand must look, eyes large and incandescent, lips parted to let his short fangs show, to tease Daniel with the possibility of the bite.
He rolls his hips against the forefinger tormenting him and senses the nail catching at his rim again. Another small cut. Closes his eyes, desperately tries to move away, but a hand wraps itself around his hip and holds him down. Distantly, he’s aware of the animal noise that he makes.
“Deep breath, darling,” Armand instructs.
Daniel struggles to comply, sweat gathering on his temple, all his extremities going numb at once. He inhales deeply, lungs full to capacity, and then—
“Oh my— Fuck, God, fuck, fuck!”
Armand’s teeth sink into the flesh of his backside, fangs going as deep as they can. The bite force of a fucking jaguar on his ass. His hand flies back to grab onto Armand’s head, to tangle his fingers on his perfect hair. Feels more than hears the moan he lets out, the pleasure taking over, but Armand doesn’t drink. He mouths at the wound, licks around it, tastes him without giving him the swoon.
There are these little mewling sounds in the back of his head, like a baby is crying, thinks maybe a small animal is hurt somewhere in the theater, surely. And as Armand pushes away, Daniel realizes that noise is him. He’s whimpering and crying in a movie theater with a finger up his ass and it’s New Year’s Day. A hysterical laugh leaves him.
“What the fuck, man?” He’s still laughing incredulously as he looks up at the screen.
Fingers press on the wound, he’s sure there’s blood running down his ass and thighs now, feels the viscous warmth of it. Armand gathers it on his hand and rubs it against his hole, around the finger he’s already inserted.
“There you go,” he murmurs. “Now, my girl is as wet as I want her.”
“Jesus Christ,” Daniel groans, eyes closing, whole body burning. “Don’t do that. Fuck.” Voice wobbles in what could be desperation or excitement, he doesn’t know anymore.
Armand gathers more blood every few seconds as he fingers him, but it’s not enough for it to be smooth. It burns and twinges. The tiny scrapes on his rim hurt with the stretch of it.
He doesn’t know how his dick remains soft through all of this, as his skin breaks into goosebumps and a fiery snake wanders about in his abdomen. Gets a dizzy, dangerous feeling every time claws tease his walls, threatening to break more delicate tissue.
Groans leave his throat unbidden, his knees weak with pain and the insanity-inducing beginnings of real pleasure as Armand avoids his prostate altogether.
“Look at your darling hole, love,” Armand says as a third finger teases at his entrance. “You bleed so beautifully for me. Is this your first time?” Doesn’t bother to hide the amusement in his voice.
“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck— Ah!”
Armand withdraws and pushes three digits in at once. His voice leaves him, mouth open on a silent scream. Hides his face on the back of the chair he’s holding, arches his back to give Armand more access to him. Drool trickles down the back of his hand as he bites into it, tries to muffle the wounded noises he’s letting out. His whole body moves with the rhythm of Armand’s thrusts.
When his Master is satisfied, he turns Daniel’s body back to face him. His expression is a revelation, a painting, a sculpture like those little angels on the fountain; mouth stained with blood, pupils dilated to the point that his sunset irises disappear into them, his breath is ragged. He looks at Daniel with such fervor that he has to resist the urge to avoid his eyes.
Hands on his hips immobilize him as Armand leans forward to nuzzle at his pubic hairs, and Daniel’s hand goes back to his hair, pushing back wild curls that he himself mussed. A tongue slithers out to lick his droopy dick, sucking it into an unbearably warm mouth and he sobs, wrecked. Body bending over Armand’s like a protective shield, the overstimulation too much for him.
“Armand… baby, baby, please, baby…” His voice breaks open in another sob, pressure caging him in as his eyes roll back in their sockets.
It dissolves slowly. Small licks to his head, a lovely humming noise purring from Armand’s throat, his ass dripping blood on the dirty carpet, a shadow on the projection room’s window, his hand twisted in silky curls. He wants to run away. He missed this—missed him so much he feels like crying. Again. Nothing in the world can make him feel like this.
He straightens when Armand moves under him, pushing his body up, his eyes dark, almost brown, as they meet Daniel’s.
“Delicious,” Armand praises. “Come here.”
Armand pulls him down onto his lap. Daniel fits his knees on the side of his hips, a tight spot, snug, it won’t allow much movement.
“Open my trousers, Daniel.”
“Okay,” he whispers, more an exhale than actual sound, as he pulls Armand’s zipper down.
Pushes his hand inside soft underwear, hand touching Armand’s cock for the first time in months. A sigh of relief escapes his lips, echoed by a soft gasp, and his eyes shoot up to meet his lover’s half lidded gaze.
“Yeah?” Daniel allows the smirk to form on his lips, eyebrows raising.
The motion of Armand’s head is infinitesimal as he shakes it, a curl on the edges of his lips as he says, “Yes, beloved.”
His eyes are warm caramel, blood stained hands fitting on the sides of his face to drag him into a devastating kiss. Tastes his blood on his lips, seeks it out with his tongue, ravenous. Does his best to take Armand’s dick out, jerks him off the way he enjoys it, like it’s second nature to him at this point. Moans with him when his thumb rubs against the swollen head, the lack of foreskin facilitating his movements. Slinks down slowly to rest more comfortably on his lap, the bite on his ass cheek stinging as it connects with the fabric of expensive trousers, his blood certainly staining them. A shiver runs through his body at the thought and he relaxes more.
“What now, boss?” He whispers against Armand’s lips, sharing breaths.
Of course he doesn’t get a straight answer, only hands on the backs of his thighs, pushing him up and forward. Armand positions him over his cock, long and dark, and the sight of it makes Daniel’s mouth water. Has only a second to think about how his soft dick looks small in comparison.
His entire world disappears again when Armand enters him. Explodes in millions of shards of glass, the pain searing, thundering through his body. He must’ve screamed, there’s no way he didn’t. This is too much, he feels it everywhere, feels Armand everywhere. He’s in his head, slithering, whispering, his voice a distant noise inside. Shushes Daniel in low murmurs, petting his flank like he’s a wild horse.
He’s definitely crying again because there are kisses deposited on his cheeks, his eyes, a tongue licking his skin faintly. Feels the deep pulse of Armand’s cock inside his body, like it has its own heartbeat, feels it twitch with each sob he lets out. His head falls forward, rests on a strong shoulder, when big hands encircle his hips to move him. Just a short thrust, barely there, but his fingers clutch at Armand like someone is trying to kill him.
Whimpers accompany the pattern Armand sets for them, their hips moving in tandem. Daniel’s thighs shake, his fingers clench and unclench around Armand’s hair, and his hole burns each time a thrust is a bit more powerful than he can handle. Hides his face on an elegant neck, buries himself there, breathing in Armand’s scent.
Blood stains trousers, face, hands; he’s everywhere on Armand. Fucking looks like a crime scene, looks like Daniel is a victim. He is all too willing to be.
Props his hands on Armand’s shoulder to push his body up. The length of him rubs on his insides, in his gut, and a loud noise crawls its way up Armand’s throat when he drops back down. Nails biting his skin, bruises begin to form on his rump.
Open his eyes to look at him and does it again.
This time Armand’s more contained, more prepared, but he still reacts. So, Daniel grits his teeth and sets the rhythm fast and hard, his cock bouncing with it, slapping against his balls limply as Armand watches.
Realizes distantly that Armand must be leaking inside him, red tinted pre-come painting his sphincter. There’s a laugh stuck in his throat as he feels it, the levity in his head that he couldn’t achieve with alcohol, new energy thrumming in his limbs. His cock gets hard so fast he goes still with it, moaning like a well paid whore as he comes untouched on Armand’s expensive shirt.
“Please, please, please,” he’s begging as Armand holds him still and fucks him.
Hands slide back into dark curls and he holds on for dear life. His body quakes each time their hips meet, Armand’s fingers feel like a brand on his skin. His lover is growling against his ear, sinking his claws in, pulling Daniel close. His cock practically stabs Daniel’s prostate with each thrust, unrelenting, violent. He’s moved like a ragdoll.
He’s hard again, he thinks.
Remains useless in Armand’s arms, drooling on his shoulder as he’s careening fast to a second orgasm. Moves to bury his face on Armand’s neck, breathing him in, pressing wet open mouthed kisses to his smooth skin. Enjoys the sounds of pleasure delivered straight into his ear. He sinks his teeth in his flesh when he comes, tries to muffle what would’ve surely been a scream.
And everything stops.
The body under him goes tense, a punched out sound fills the spaces inside his head that aren’t Armand yet.
He drifts, suckling on the skin between his teeth. Hears distant words, a language he doesn’t speak yet, along with nails scratching meaningless patterns on his skull. Mind swims in color and he tastes the moon on his tongue. He’s in someone’s arms, someone warm who holds him close and whispers to him while his world is made of cotton.
When he returns to his own body, Armand is humming a little tune he doesn’t recognize.
“Wha’s tha?” His words slur together.
“Welcome back, Daniel.” Armand uses his hand on his hair to pull head up, looks at him intently.
His eyes are a warmer color still, almost brown. His face is covered in blood and Daniel allows his fingers to trace the stains.
“You look like a crime scene.” Daniel laughs.
“Hm, yes,” he agrees. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”
“Hey, I didn’t ask you to bite my ass!” He protests, still a little lightheaded.
Leans down a little to kiss Armand. It’s soft and unhurried this time, lips locking and releasing with the fluidity that comes from time and familiarity. Daniel lets his mouth slip to Armand’s cheek, licking up his own blood, cleaning him. The soft sigh he gets in response warms his stomach, reminds him that there’s still a dick in his ass.
He makes a little wanton noise, nearly a whimper. Hips move on their own accord as he tastes blood and Armand’s skin. Is dragged back to plush lips, teases small fangs with the tip of his tongue, tugs on the bottom lip that traps itself between his own.
Daniel’s dick is getting hard again and so is Armand’s, he notices with no small amount of satisfaction. A hand closes around his cock and strokes once.
“I want you inside me next time, beloved.”
A sound punches out of Daniel with the next exhale. “Yeah, please, please.” He ruts on Armand's lap.
“I will not have you in a movie theater, Daniel.”
“You’ve already had me in a movie theater.”
“Let me take you home, darling,” Armand cajoles. “You can fuck me on a mattress, hm? Spread my legs wide as you fill me, make me take it. Don't you want that?”
Daniel whines. “Yeah.” His hips buck and roll on a down stroke. “I really want that.”
“Then be a good boy and stop.” Armand doesn’t move his hands, waits patiently for Daniel to obey him, like a dog trainer withholding a treat.
And like a dog, Daniel does exactly what is asked of him.
Armand helps him get redressed. He pulls up his jeans gingerly, expecting the wound on his ass to be sore and scrape painfully against the material. But of course, that doesn’t happen. Vampire blood is in his system now, he’s pretty sure there isn’t even a bruise there anymore.
“Can you do that again?”
Armand raises an eyebrow at him. “Do what?”
Daniel huffs. “Can you bite my ass again?”
A smile spreads itself on Armand’s face like sunlight. His gums on display, adorable bunny teeth appearing. It’s the most beautiful thing Daniel’s ever seen in his life, and he knows he’ll never get used to it.
“Whatever you want, beloved,” he promises, the lines around his eyes prominent.
Daniel looks back at the screen to hide the flush on his cheeks. The movie is almost done, there’ll be a short intermission until the next one starts.
“Are you gonna kill that guy?” He turns back. “The projectionist?”
“Do you want me to?” His eyes are bright orange. Monster again.
“Kinda.” Daniel shrugs. “I know you already ate today, but he saw us.”
Armand’s eyes glimmer in the low light as he pulls Daniel to him.
“My fascinating boy,” he whispers against his lips.
It’s only when they’re in the cab, on the way to Armand’s hotel, when he watches Armand mindfuck the driver into ignoring that he’s covered in blood that he realizes he could’ve just asked for the guy’s memory to be erased.