Archive of Our Own

In his fifty odd years as an investigative journalist, Daniel has dug into all the horrors the world harbors. Epidemics, murders, white collar crime, and, yeah, sexual assault. He knows that once upon a time, he had tapes upon tapes of survivors, ranging from personal interviews conducted as he was getting his career off the ground to high profile cases—some of them he was allowed to publish, a lot he wasn’t; the subject changed their mind about wanting it out there, his publishers found it too gauche, even shelving a few himself because he knew the predominant attitude of the public would be to doubt and blame. But he had a lot of tapes, heard a lot of stories. So, he knows that sometimes, after, wires get crossed: mimicries of what happened will become something enjoyed in a consensual situation, and there’s nothing wrong with that and it doesn’t change the fact the original event was horrific and traumatizing. 

But he also knows that sometimes it makes people want to do things they actually don't want to do—no, not want, compels them. They don’t enjoy it, it’s a learned response that they can’t break out of. 

He knows, without detail, what happened to Armand. He knows, with probably too much detail to publish, the kind of sex Armand has now. 

He just doesn't know if that’s because of genuine want or ingrained compulsion. 

So, after Louis leaves, after the blood has been drained from Daniel’s body, only to be filled back up again, after Daniel has drained the meal Armand summoned to the penthouse dining room, and after Armand, with no warning or hesitance, grabs Daniel and kisses his blood slick mouth with a force that would hurt like hell if he were still human, Daniel comes to a decision. 

If this is going to happen, he is going to treat Armand gently. 

Yeah, the fucker doesn’t really deserve it: it was only a night ago that Daniel revealed he murdered his husband’s daughter (sister? daughtersister? whatever they settled on in the end)  and lied about it for over seventy years, only a few more nights since Daniel remembered the six days of torture where Armand definitely did not treat him gently. If Daniel didn’t know, this would likely be nothing but brutal hate sex. 

But he does know, and whatever minimal shred of empathy exists within him decides to rear its head for once in his stupid life. 

(Sense should be the part of him taking center stage. That part would ask why he is doing this at all, why he is returning the kiss of a creature he knows is more than capable of unspeakable horrors, whose worst crime Daniel just exposed, and who just murdered him. Sense would also ask why Armand was doing this, getting up on some geriatric who just blew up his marriage.)

Daniel is glad it's empathy. 

Armand’s lips are relentless and his hands are rough in Daniel's hair. It feels so good. It takes all his human willpower and new, untested vampiric strength to disentangle them. Before he can think about what he’s doing, he takes one of Armand’s fluttering hands and presses his lips to the knuckles in a kiss. Gentle. 

“You want this, yeah?” Daniel asks. 

Armand looks wrecked, eyes wide and red as brimstone, body vibrating like a string plucked, chest heaving for air he doesn't need. He knows that, for whatever reason, Armand wants this. He still wants to ask. 

“I’ve had enough of your questions to last a lifetime, Mr. Molloy,” Armand sneers, regarding Daniel like he’s a bug that refuses to be squashed. Daniel's dick, hard with someone else’s blood, twitches in his pants. “I believe what I do want is rather clear.” Daniel can hear the unfinished question, so will you give it to me? 

Daniel hums against the knuckles still pressed to his mouth. “Take me to bed, boss.” 

He’s not sure where the nickname comes from, but it comes easily, so even if it’s maybe a little kinkier than he’s aiming for right now, he lets it lie between them.

Armand wastes no time, dragging Daniel by their conjoined hands to the room he’s been staying in—not the room Armand shared with Louis, thankfully. Even Daniel’s not gonna cross that line.  

The door closes behind them. Their lips meet again, and in the flurry of movement Armand places Daniel’s hands on him and leans back until he has manipulated Daniel into pushing him against the wall. Daniel takes a second to let himself enjoy it before instead leading them both backwards until they hit the bed. Armand shoves Daniel—who lands in a sitting position on the edge of the mattress—then straddles him. Attaches to his mouth with intent to devour. It isn't until the first grind of Armand’s crotch against his own that Daniel finds the bravery to say what he needs to. He pulls back from the kiss, and holds Armand by the waist to stop him following…which he could easily do anyway, could pin Daniel down and rip his throat out like he had hours and a lifetime ago, but he doesn’t. He lets himself be held in place, despite his own wants, and isn't that just the crux of the issue. 

He’s beautiful. Vampiric vision is still a fucking trip, so sharp it’s unsettling. Each individual strand that makes up his curls, every shade of honey and hibiscus in his eyes, his skin so smooth it doesn’t look real, if not for the presence of tiny scars that Daniel couldn't see before. He should look wrong , uncanny valley on crack that makes fear shoot through your spine. He does look wrong, and monstrous, and hollow boned delicate, and like everything right. He looks down at Daniel, expression half blank and half…not apocalyptic. Something Daniel isn't sure he’s ever seen on Armand’s face before. 

“Hey, So—” Daniel starts. 

“Is something the matter?” Armand says at the same time, sounding bored, but there’s an actual trace of what Daniel thinks might be concern, deep underneath. 

“Not exactly, uhhh,” Daniel isn't one for nervous tics, they're not a benefit in his line of work, but he has to subdue the desire to wring his hands together by clutching tighter to Armand’s waist. Bite the fucking bullet, Daniel; he’s already killed you. “If this is gonna happen, I’m not gonna be your fucking Maître, okay? I don’t want to”—hurt you, take advantage of you, become another notch in the bed post of a child who shouldn't even know what that term means—“do that shit,” he finishes weakly. 

Daniel watches Armand like a rabbit watches a fox, like a fox watches a rabbit, like an investigative reporter watches a suspicious member of staff. Seconds tick by, Daniel is still young enough to feel every one of them. Then, Armand smiles. 

It is not a smile Daniel trusts, which, okay, is true of Armand on principle. But this smile specifically, it’s pure poison and seduction—quirked, pretty lips and eyes gleaming with a desire for destruction. 

Armand leans in closer to whisper in his ear. “Do not worry, I know exactly what you want.”

He pins Daniel’s wrists to the bed, preternatural strength immobilizing his upper body, and digs his teeth under Daniel’s jaw, fangless but still painful. He trails similar bites down the column on his neck while Daniel’s head spins and his cock throbs in his jeans. 

“Keep your hands where they are, or I will tie you to the bed and leave you here all night,” Armand commands. Daniel can’t help but start humping against the thigh between his own for some relief. 

Armand was right. Daniel wants this. Daniel loves this. Being pushed around, told what to do, hurting at someone else’s whim. Has loved it since…well. He’s perfectly aware he has plenty of his own wires crossed, thanks. He finds it hard to give a fuck about the possible ‘why’s’ when it feels so good.  And surely this is okay, right? Armand is the one in charge. Daniel doesn’t have the power to do something he doesn’t like. 

Armand lets go of Daniel’s wrists to hold him by the throat and squeeze instead. Daniel keeps his hands on the bed, despite the pain making him let out a hiss, making him shudder all over…

“You are delectable when you’re hurting, my beautiful boy.”

…Making him realize that maybe a reversal of roles is just as much a way to re-enact the bullshit. 

“Stop,” Daniel bites, though it comes out as little more than a croaked whisper.

Armand does. In fact, he snatches his hands away from Daniel as if he’s been burned. “You do not want me.” His voice trembles. 

Jesus Christ. 

Daniel closes his eyes, just to reorient for a second, to stop himself from snapping at Armand for putting on his woe is me act over the idea someone might not want to fuck him every second of every day, and to stop himself from giving in to that act and letting himself be putty in Armand’s manipulative, damaging, damaged hands. 

“I want you,” Daniel says once he’s gotten his shit together. “But here’s the deal. I’m gonna need you to do two things for me, okay?” 

Armand is pouting, body curled small, thumb rubbing against his collarbone. He at least seems to perk up a bit with the confirmation that Daniel isn’t backing out of this, and responds to Daniel’s request with a desperate sounding “anything”. 

“Yeah, I need you not to do that.” Daniel sighs through gritted teeth. “The first thing I need is, if you don't like anything I do, anything we’re doing, tell me.”

A pause in the self soothing motions. A crease in the flawless skin between Armand’s eyebrows. A minuscule tilt of the head. Confusion, plain and simple. 

“...Very well,” he speaks eventually, still sounding unsure, acquiescence rather than agreement, but they can work on it. “And your second term?” 

“I’m gonna try something you might not have much experience with. Will you follow my lead on this?” 

Armand laughs, short and sardonic. “Oh, Daniel, there is very little I do not have experience with. But yes, I will ‘follow your lead’” he says, placating, and clearly mimicking Daniel's speech patterns like he sometimes did during the interview. Daniel is just glad he doesn’t have to look at that genuine confusion again—disarming Armand, making the mask break, it had been his self appointed mission for a while now, but it’s not as fun when it's not actually Daniel’s doing. 

Daniel pulls Armand into another kiss. He presses his lips against Armand’s and goes slow, goes gentle. It’s depressing to realize that he doesn't know when he last kissed someone like this either. His second wife, probably, some time before the wedding. He wonders how it feels for Armand, languid seconds on a 514 year old’s scale of time, a month spent watching a ceiling. Then he forgets about thinking, focuses on the feeling of kissing Armand for the first time despite it being the third or fourth time. Armand makes no efforts to take it further than it is. He meets Daniel’s tender efforts in return. Steady, rhythmic movements stretching through their own little fragment of eternity. 

But Daniel is still hard, and impatient at his core, so he brings that eternity to an end and scoots up the bed—a move that probably isn’t sexy, but would have been a hundred times more embarrassing if he still had his stiff mortal joints and shaking hands.

“You’re welcome over here, y’know?” he tells Armand, patting the space beside him. Language and tone in tandem. A question Armand can say no to, but asked in a way that doesn’t leave Daniel aching from stretching out the long-atrophied muscle that is being, god forbid, nice. 

Armand does not say no. He doesn’t say anything as he glides across the length of the bed before shifting into lying down with ballerina grace. 

“You always been like that, or will I be doing Swan Lake by the time I’m half your age?” Daniel inquires with a raised eyebrow.

“Our vampiric grace grows with time, as do all our abilities. And I’m sure you'd look marvelous in a leotard.” Armand responds easily. 

Daniel isn't sure it's a joke, but he laughs anyway. Armand doesn’t seem to mind as he chuckles into his mouth, another kiss given on instinct that Daniel thought was reserved for people who have been kissing each other for longer than a night.

Armand had freshened up and gotten changed sometime when Daniel had been in the shower, miserably washing off all his human bodily fluids. When he’d bit into Armand’s arm, flakes of plaster had fallen into his mouth before the blood could start flowing. They’ve both cleansed themselves of some aspect of the past tonight.

And now they’re here, Daniel unbuttoning Armand’s clean, no doubt bullshit-expensive shirt.

He slides it off his shoulders, revealing a long expanse of smooth brown skin that he’s not too good to pretend he hasn't imagined. ‘Rashid’, sitting docile and pleased in Louis’ lap as his blood was taken; The Vampire Armand, glaring holes into Daniel’s soul and meeting every one of his barbs with one of his own; a torturer in a shithole apartment only touching Daniel on the rare occasions he deigns to shove enough water down his throat to keep him half alive. 

He’s enchanted by the sight. Relishing everything from the curve of his shoulders to the v of his hips, settling for a long moment on his defined chest and the smattering of hair there that he wants to feel under his fingers, between his teeth, between his fangs. He can feel them elongating in his mouth, the way they grind into his bottom canines until he has to part his lips to ease the discomfort.

He feels Armand’s cup his cheek and looks up to meet his gaze. Armand looks…his pupils are blown, his own mouth is parted, not from his fangs but from staggering, overwhelming emotion. He looks at Daniel like he's something awe-inspiring.

“It is hard for us to separate our hunger from sexual desire. I suppose you picked up on that from the interview.”

Lestat taking the little drink the first time he and Louis were together, Louis digging into his own arm with Jonah, what happened to Charlie. Even though Armand can no longer read his mind, it seems like he knows Daniel is going through the rolodex of corroborating evidence and nods, satisfied. 

“Drink from me,” Armand says, as if it is an inevitability instead of a question. He lies back, sinking deeper into the pillows and sheets. The arch of his back and the crane of his neck are a performance of pleasure, skin and tantalizing veins offered up on a silver platter. Daniel can hear the sluggish pounding of the heart in his chest, pumping ancient blood that felt like Black Tar Heroin and slipping into a warm bath all at once. 

Daniel got clean from heroin years ago. Heroin and cocaine and quaaludes and all the other shit he put into his body for so long. Sobriety is a fucking bitch, the remnants of addiction forever present. But he learnt every stupid fucking mechanism for self control on the block, and that's the only thing that lets him force out a “no”, muffled by the fangs he hasn’t managed to subdue despite his will.

Armand launches upwards into a sitting position and takes hold of Daniel by the scruff of his neck, all seduction forgotten as his patience snaps and he stops burying the monster beneath silk and lace. 

“No?” Frustration darkens his tone and clips his words. “Don’t be insolent, fledgling. My blood made you. It will help you grow strong.” Touch bruising, he drags Daniel’s head to the crook of his neck, mouth flush with the carotid artery.

A beat. The hanging sword of Damocles. Maker-fledgling bond humming, making his teeth shake. Animal lust begging for a taste. Daniel Molloy’s innate desire to dig until he’s satisfied.

Daniel stabs his claws into his own thigh. 

He presses a fangless kiss against Armand’s neck. 

“Daniel?” He hears Armand, shaken.

“Shhh,” Daniel soothes, and presses another kiss further up. He leaves a trail of them up Armand’s neck, following the artery, and starts to repeat the pattern in reverse once he reaches under his ear.

“Daniel, I,” Armand’s breath hitches, “I don’t understand—” 

“Does this feel good?” Daniel interrupts. 

He feels Armand’s nod more than sees it, lets the breathy, “Yes, it feels good,” travel straight to his dick. 

“You should drink, Daniel,” Armand insists, sounding petulant. 

Daniel sighs into his neck. He can’t pretend the blood isn’t still calling to him. 

“You really want me to?” He asks, knowing he’s already lost. 

“Yes.” 

Daniel supposes it's not really a thing. They’re vampires. They’d probably still be in this exact situation if they weren't in bed together. 

It’s food, that's what Claudia said, they need it.

(Daniel likes Claudia. Her diary entries were pointed, insightful, and oddly easy to identify with. Girl could have been a hell of a writer herself, if she’d ever had the chance. The fact he finds the whole blood drinking thing crazy erotic is apparently a point where they differ, though. Then again, Madeleine—maybe both of them only think so with the right person.) 

“Okay,” Daniel whispers. 

His fangs reemerge, and he doesn’t hesitate this time before sinking them into Armand’s slender neck.

It's no less euphoric than the first time. If anything, it’s better, Daniel’s body not distracted by its encroaching death. A free first hit to guarantee a new repeat customer—the scummiest types of drug dealers were really on to something there. Daniel could drink Armand down forever, live inside him, a 24/7 high for eternity, no sight but stray Botticelli angel curls, no sound but the whimpers falling from Armand’s throat.

He is wrenched away from the font by his hair. 

There is some never before present instinct in him to hiss. Nothing more than an animal resource hoarding its spoils. He doesn't remember if he does it, by the time he blinks back to himself and realizes it was Armand himself who tore him away. Daniel half-expects to find him pale and weak, but his skin is still flush and Daniel couldn't get out his hold even if he wanted to. The only evidence of Daniel’s coveting is the puncture marks in his neck, jagged from his fangs being yanked out, rivulets of blood beginning to stain the pillows.

Without thinking, he pierces his own wrist and presses it to the wound. When he pulls away, the wounds are already healing. He’s fascinated seeing the skin stitch back together, but Armand seems more concerned with watching the blood run down Daniel’s forearm, undisguised hunger visible in every pore of his face. 

Daniel holds his wrist in front of Armand’s mouth in offering. “Fair’s fair,” he says breezily. 

Armand’s eyes flicker up to meet Daniel’s and stay there, gaze unwavering, as he latches on to the punctures like a man starved, despite having drained every last drop of Daniel earlier. 

The Levodopa infusions were always cold when the medication rushed into his veins, and it felt like little hammers pounding the walls of his rope thick old-man veins. Being fed off of isn’t that different, really, except for the warmth that explodes in his gut and the half-mad mantra in his mind saying, “Yes. Drink me. Take me. Fill yourself up with me until we are one creature sharing the same circulatory system. Let me take care of you, like you did for me. Please. Please. Thank you. ThankyouThankyouThankyou.” 

Daniel thinks he might cry when Armand pulls away, and has the strange, haunting feeling that they wouldn’t be his tears. Thankfully, Armand, who unlike Daniel has not let a drop go to waste, immediately growls, “You are still wearing all your clothes,” like it is a great personal affront to him, and it snaps Daniel out of it and into a huff of laughter. 

“You can do something about that.” 

Armand peels off Daniel’s t-shirt—his sleep shirt, if he’s honest, he craved comfort after the ordeal of death—and in sync, they reach for the buttons of each other's pants and tug those off as well.

Armand’s legs really go on forever, but Daniel chooses to not to linger there due to the raised scars he can see in the flashes of the backs of his thighs—scars that would have to be from when he was human, every single one of them a portrait of only the first twenty seven years of his pain. Is it better or worse that way? Daniel isn't sure. 

He can see the outline of Armand’s cock through his skintight, soft-looking boxer briefs (probably from some Swedish brand that charges a hundred dollars per pair, but look, it’s all handmade!). The fabric cups his straining erection with care, and Daniel wants to trace the long, elegant line of it with his mouth, right after he does the same with the rest of him. 

He slots himself back between Armand’s thighs. Armand tentatively touches his shoulder.

“You can touch me,” Daniel confirms for him. “You can, wherever you want, whenever, you don’t have to ask.”

Armand rubs his thumb against Daniel’s collarbone. Daniel kisses his in turn. Smatters kisses on every inch of Armand’s chest, all the while feeling electrified from Armand’s hands fluttering along his shoulders, arms, ribcage, waist.

He takes one of Armand’s nipples in his mouth and hollows his cheeks. Armand moans above him, pretty and low. Intent on him making that sound again, Daniel swirls his tongue around the peak while thumbing its twin. Breathy ‘Ah, ah, ah’’s are punched out of Armand, a litany of pleasure.

Armand’s hips arch off the bed when Daniel dips his fingertips under the hem of his underwear in question. Daniel traces patterns on his hipbone for a few seconds before committing and peeling the soft silk off of Armand with both hands. He drops them on the floor before discarding his own—ten dollars for a three pack at Target—lest Armand complain again.

Armand’s cock is dripping red tinted pre-cum. Daniel’s fangs itch under his gums again. Armand shoots him a look, like he has some maker-based sixth sense for Daniel’s body.

“Fledglings,” he tuts, “always so greedy.” 

“Who says I don’t just want to suck your dick?” Daniel responds dryly.

“Do you?” Armand challenges, like he thinks he’s caught Daniel out in something.

“Yes.” He does. He really, really does. Sure, the blood is tempting, but nowhere near as much as the idea of bringing Armand pleasure. “Do you want me to?” 

Daniel can’t tell if he passed or failed whatever Armand’s little test was. If his expression betrays anything, it’s too fast for Daniel to catch, lightning in your peripheral vision. 

“By all means.” Even, with a tint of playfulness. 

Daniel hasn’t given a blowjob since he was still young and strung out enough to barter with desire. He should be worried, probably, about not being any good, but the only thing on his mind as his lips close around the head of Armand’s cock is an explosion of god, I missed this. He can please him, he’s sure of it. He wants it too bad not to.

He savors the taste of the liquid gathering there like he’s at a wine tasting, before pulling off to lavish the length of him in slow kisses and kitten licks, using his hands to stroke all over Armand’s hips and thighs. He wishes he had ten hands and a hundred mouths, was built like the monster he is now, so he could touch and kiss Armand all over, for hours, until he feels….

Daniel can’t think of a word that isn’t too heavy. 

He takes Armand into his mouth properly, finally. He keeps the pace slow, experimenting for what makes Armand gasp and whine and then repeating it with dedication, over and over. The tip of Armand’s dick leaks wave after wave of pre-cum into Daniel’s mouth, Daniel drinking it down each time in a way that makes them both moan.

“D-Daniel!” Armand gasps sharply. 

Daniel hums around his cock.

“Daniel,” he repeats, desperate. “Will you fuck me? Please. I need you to fuck me…” 

Daniel pulls off and is immediately gathered up in Armand’s arms, legs looping around his hips, and assaulted with a searing kiss. He’s been weaved into the spider's web, and he has no desire to escape.

“Please,” Armand gasps into his mouth. 

“That's what you want?” 

“Need,” Armand insists.

“Okay. Okay,” Daniel vows. 

He knows there’s lube in the top drawer of the bedside table. He’d found it the first morning he was left alone in the guest room, having obviously snooped around the place immediately. He’d raised an eyebrow but not thought too much of it, figuring someone had left it in there by mistake. Until “Rashid” had come with an announcement of breakfast, and Daniel had wanted to needle that placid mask. An insinuation about if the sheets had been cleaned before his arrival.

“Mr. De Pointe Du Lac wanted to make sure you had everything you may need to ensure a…pleasurable stay.”

Daniel doesn’t remember what he said after that. Something about vampire mind games, probably. 

He fishes the bottle out of the drawer now, one of Armand’s eyebrows arching when the bottle is placed on the bed.

“I can’t help but notice it’s already been opened.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. What am I supposed to do about these?” He holds up his hand, showing off his sharp new nails.

Armand engulfs Daniel’s wrist in his hand and brings Daniel’s fingers to his mouth, sucking three of them to the base at once. Daniel feels the light scrape of a fang and a strange pressure, then Armand is spitting the sharp tips of his nail on the ground, having apparently bit them off. 

“You don’t have nail clippers?”

“My way means you don’t have to leave the bed.” 

Daniel can’t complain about that. Nor Armand’s mouth wrapped around his fingers. Well, he can, and did, just to be a dick, but then Armand pulls his knees towards his chest and Daniel immediately shuts up for once in his life and uncaps the lube.

Armand makes a noise, a word aborted, when Daniel drizzles it on his fingers. Daniel looks to his face, where he’s biting his lip. 

Daniel pauses. “What’s up?” 

“These precautions are meaningless.” 

“Okaaay, and what precautions would those be?” 

“Your nails. The lube. The fact that, apparently, you intend to open me up with your fingers as if I cannot take you. You will not break me.” 

No, someone already broke you a long time ago. 

Glad that Armand can’t hear his thoughts anymore, because he’s pretty sure he’d end up broken for that one, Daniel scoffs. “What, so if I tore up your insides with my nails, or shoved myself inside you dry, it wouldn’t hurt at all?” 

“It would be nothing I could not heal from.” 

Daniel sighs. How the fuck does it keep getting worse. 

“Is that what you want?” He asks genuinely. If Armand can convince him he truly wants it, he’ll do it.

But Armand only bites his lip harder and says, “No. I will follow your lead.”

Daniel waits a moment in case he is going to stay something else, studying his form for a sign of trepidation. He can’t find one, and Armand doesn’t speak, so he leans into the body beneath him and circles Armand’s hole with the pad of his index finger. Armand inhales. Daniel repeats the motion a few times, pressing a kiss on the inside of his knee for each rotation. 

Sliding a finger into him awakens something inside Daniel. A hit of heady reality, of pressure, both Armand tight around him and the contrasting desires to bury his whole being inside Armand, become one with his makermakermaker, and to do this right. Armand swallows the digit up and Daniel works him open for more, it takes time to slide a second finger in with the first, and Daniel tries to put Armand’s offer-assistance-implication that they skip this step out of his mind. Once he has two fingers snug inside Armand’s borrowed heat, he gently scissors his fingers, stroking against Armand’s walls for—

Armand’s shocked, fractured moan and his hands scrabbling at Daniel’s shoulders for purchase.

Daniel kisses him, can’t help it. Armand’s arms stay wrapped tight around Daniel as their mouths slot together and Daniel hits his prostate with each thrust and stretch of his fingers until it's less kissing and more Armand gasping into Daniel’s mouth, a feedback loop. 

Once he’s stretched around three fingers and Daniel’s cock is leaking in desperation, he asks if Armand is ready and as soon as he feels him nod from where his face is buried in the crook of Daniel’s neck, he can’t wait a second to start inching his dick inside him.

He can’t remember the last time anything felt this good. Years of stiff muscles and creaking bones and never passing a comfortable night, deprived of the pleasures of his youth, because sobriety was the only thing that kept his daughters even occasionally speaking to him and sex was hard to come by and harder to go through with. Years alone, more alone than he wanted to admit, estranged ex-family and long-dead or dying friends, editors and publishers first on his speed dial even though in the years between the diagnosis and the interview it was rare for him to string a satisfactory story together. 

But now? Now his body is an instrument perfectly in tune with him, stalwart and well cared for and thrumming with electric possibility. Now, he’s never been less alone, because Armand is as much a part of him as any limb or organ, and he knows he’s part of Armand too, can feel it, how the bond goes both ways and can never be severed, which should be terrifying, but Daniel fucking revels in the comfort and cruelty of it all. 

And, yeah, maybe it would be even better with blood and pain and Armand pinning him down and unraveling him in whatever way he desires. But this is good. This is unfathomably, unprecedentedly good, even the seemingly unending pause between Daniel bottoming out, finally at home inside Armand, and Armand moving, tight heat riding up his cock and back down. 

“Let me take care of you,” Daniel whispers into his ear. 

The world around them flows into meaninglessness, the universe narrowing down to a single focal point: Armand. Daniel. DanielandArmand. his hole that welcomes the slow, deep thrusting of Daniel’s cock. His mouth, wet and sweet with the aftertaste of iron when Daniel kisses him. His skin, covered in a light sheen of sweat that Daniel licks up adoringly. His delicate, long fingers that intertwine with Daniel’s own when Daniel clasps their hands together, wanting to hold on to him, be close, be an anchor, be anchored. His cock, hard and beautiful and so responsive when Daniel strokes it in time with his thrusts until he spills over both of them. 

The feedback loop continues, and seconds later Daniel is coming inside him, toe-curling, mind-blowing pleasure he never wants to end. 

Finally and regretfully pulling out of Armand, he collapses next to him. He’s not as worn out as he would have been as a mortal, but his heart is still beating a little faster, and he wants to enjoy the afterglow.

A quiet murmur of a voice that it takes his pleasure fogged mind too long to parse, “What do you want from me?” 

Tongue uncooperative, he lets out a confused hum. 

In a split second, he is being pinned down by a lapful of vampire at full-strength. A mirror of an earlier position, but there’s no lust in it this time. Armand’s muscles are tense, coiled like a predator about to strike. His eyes are filled with blazing, hellfire fury. Despite everything, fear still coils in Daniel’s gut at being immobilized and completely at the mercy of a creature who is radiating danger. 

“What. Do. You. Want. From. Me?” Armand snarls, claws digging painfully deep into Daniel’s chest. 

That’s a big question that Daniel doesn’t know the answer to—Armand causes so many conflicting emotions and desires in Daniel that, with how many things have happened these past couple of weeks and his undiverting focus on Louis’ story, he hasn’t had time to dissect. But Daniel doesn’t handle not knowing well, and he certainly doesn't handle being backed into a corner well, and he doesn't know why Armand is suddenly backing him into a corner. So he snarks. 

“I wanted a book and to get out of this penthouse alive. Guess only one of those is an option now, since you killed me.” 

Armand slides off of him, leaving behind a sharp motion-sick pain as his claws are ripped haphazardly out of Daniel's flesh. The blanket tangles around his feet, but Armand gathers it up faultlessly and covers himself with it . Daniel follows him with his gaze, tracking the monster in his enclosure, and realizes alarmingly that Armand’s rage has faded from his eyes and left behind…nothing. An all-consuming, bone deep nothing, like the thing inhabiting this body has left to go walkabout and discarded its flesh without a thought. The only indication he is feeling anything at all is the way he is shaking—a tremulous, frightened thing that makes a stone sink in Daniel’s gut.

“Ah, I understand.” Armand says blankly. “Of course.” 

Then he starts laughing—a horrid, wet, manic sound. 

“I understand,” he repeats, still laughing, like he can’t stop even if he wanted to. “The splinter of coldness in you, only grown sharper with age.” 

Daniel pushes himself into a sitting position. He still doesn't understand what’s happening, but he moves slowly, telegraphing his intent in a way that says I am no danger to you, and isn't that funny. But if he wants to get to the bottom of this sudden shift, it feels like the correct thing to do. 

“Armand, I don’t understand what you're talking about,” he says carefully. 

He isn’t sure Armand hears him. "You know, Louis could be cruel, but even he never pretended to touch me with care when in truth he hated almost everything that I was. Oh, how you must despise me, beloved."

Armand sinks to the ground, still shaking, still laughing. A hand reaches up and yanks at his hair, rough and violent. 

“Stop,” the word bursts out of his throat, and despite himself speeds across the room to grab Armand’s wrist. 

Armand tears himself out of Daniel’s hold and throws himself backwards to the other side of the room, back slamming into the wall so hard the paint chips. Another mirror, and Daniel is starting to get the churning, awful feeling it’s his fault again. 

“D-don’t…” Armand stammers, voice small, “don’t touch me. Not again…”

“You promised you'd tell me if you didn't like it, asshole. You fucking promised!” Daniel explodes. 

Daniel wonders what he missed and when. A body held a little too still under Daniel's hand, a moan that didn't line up quite right, eyes that weren't in the room with them, a fucking finger twitch that if Daniel had just noticed, like he's supposed to be good at, could have let them salvage this. 

“I lied.”

Of course he did. Of fucking course Armand lied. He’s a liar. A damn good one. Fuck. Daniel blew up one lie and convinced himself that meant he was too good to fall for them. A bright young reporter with a point of view, still as cocky and amateurish as he was in '73. 

And then what? 

And then Louis walked out into the sun. 

And then Daniel got turned into a vampire. 

And then Armand...and then Armand... 

Armand says, "It's dawn."

“What?” Daniel asks, not really hearing. He’s formulating and discarding ideas for his next angle. He could keep being angry at Armand, is still angry at Armand. But isn’t this Daniel’s fault? Armand lied, scorpion and the frog, it’s in his nature. The scorpion never would have drowned if the frog hadn’t tried to be kind to him.

"It's dawn." Armand repeats, Rashid voice. "I imagine you will be asleep in moments. You will be safe from the sun here, of course." 

The meaning sinks in. Fuck Armand. Fuck his business-like inflection. Fuck the sun. Fuck Daniel. Fuck these vampires. 

"No!" Daniel insists. "I am not going to sleep. Not until we talk about this." 

Armand's smile is perfectly pitying and perfectly fake. "You can not resist it." 

Daniel's vision swims. His eyelids are being weighed down by fish hooks attached to the earth's molten core. 

"Fuck. You," Daniel grits out, blood from a stone, so exhausted his metaphors are infuriatingly cliche. 

The last thing Daniel sees before he is forced to sleep is Armand looming over him, a devil and an angel, both broken children desperate for god to tell them what it all means. 

When Daniel wakes up, he is alone.