Chapter Text
The smell is awful.
The smell is infesting his every pore.
Armand pushes Louis off the boy and the smell continues to dance under his skin.
They fight. Because of course they fight, Louis drained a drug fiend (again), is acting erratic (again), and needs to hurt, needs to twist the knife on their entire relationship (again). Has Armand not done enough for his part in Paris? Didn’t his companion forgive him yet? And if he truly is so fucking boring—the embodiment of suffocation by the world’s softest, biege-este, pillow—then why does Louis stay? Why does Louis let him clean up his messes? (Oh, and there’s more than a couple every year.)
Why won’t Louis leave him if he’s truly so miserable?
Why is he still here—
The smell continues. Up, up, up his nostrils and down his throat and it won’t leave him.
It stenches of vermouth and cheap cigarettes and tape and ink and something burning, something all consuming—with the aftertaste of sweet cherries.
The smell. Where is it? Where is it coming from?
“Stop thinking about that fucking smell!” Louis shouts. “It doesn’t smell like anything. It smells like shit. This place smells like shit!”
“Because you never clean up your messes,” Armand hisses. “I have to clean it up, every time.”
“You said that already!”
“And you’ve said plenty!”
“Have I? Have I?” Louis giggles like a madman. “Let’s wake the boy up and let’s try you. Let’s see if you’re so fucking entertaining, uh?” He puts on an accent, a mockery of his own. “I’m the vampire Armand and my daddy vampire groomed me into a little bitch.”
It hurts. Because of course it hurts. Like the slithering of a blade down his back, cutting deeper as it goes. He can’t help himself. Armand’s rage boils over and it spills out of his mouth.
“My brother, he tossed himself off a roof!” He shouts, mocking Louis’ accent as well. “My sister buried me alive!”
His companion eggs him on. “The vampires that murdered my daddy made me pretend I didn’t have a dick for 240 years!”
He throws the same venom back. “My daughter was my sister was my throw pillow, when he wouldn’t look at me kindly.”
Armand mocks his obsession with Lestat, he mocks the name that was unuttered in their home for twenty three years, he mocks and he twists and he burns and he hopes Louis is hurt just as much as him. He hopes the pain snaps him in half!
Until it does.
Armand drags Louis' scorched body back to their apartment, settling him down gently on the bed, before fetching the man that saw the whole ordeal and draining him dry. He wraps him in cellophane. Puts it away next to the passed out boy.
He’s still bleeding. The blood flows slightly north. They should fix that before they sell.
When the vampire touches the boy his hand is hit with a shock. An infernal light up his arm.
Armand is stunned for a second, before he shakes it off, and pulls the boy back to the chair. The boy is dizzy. The boy is mumbling. Something about honey and cinnamon and warm water running down his limbs like a soothing embrace— When he tries to kiss Armand, he pushes him down. Settles his hands on his shoulders, gripping them in place. The boy continues to look at him in awe. Trying (and failing) to stand up on wobbly legs and kiss him.
“Enough, boy,” Armand snaps, and the boy listens, the boy lays still. “What is your name?”
“Daniel,” he sings. “My name’s Daniel, handsome. What’s yours?”
“Are the drugs still running through your system?” Armand asks, impatiently.
“No,” he whispers, gaze dancing from his hands, to his chest, to his eyes. “No, it’s something else. The… The smell. The smell coming from… you. It’s you. Oh, it is you, isn’t it?”
It irritates him. This eagerness. This ease which the so-called fascinating boy changes his interest. First it was Louis. Now it’s him? How predictable for a broken child such as Daniel. How infuriating. How it burns his veins.
Armand wants nothing more than to shake this fumbling boy out of his drugged out haze. Bring him back to reality in the cruelest way possible—let him hear Louis’ painful moans, see the body of an innocent bystander on the floor, realize the damage his companion has done to his neck. But. There’s still a mess to be cleaned. As usual.
“Armand,” he says, settling down the boy’s eagerness. “From Polynesian Mary’s. I was with Louis.”
“You were so pretty,” the omega sighs. “I wanted to go home with you, too.”
“Right,” Armand clips. “Well, Daniel, why don’t you stay right here, on this chair, don’t turn around, ever, and after I’m done throwing out the trash, we’ll talk, hmm? Would you like that?”
“Yeah, yeah.” And the boy has the gall to smile widely, as if Armand is this bright shining light and Daniel is the poor soul who has been deprived of warmth his whole life. What a deceitful disposition this boy has. “Whatever you say, boss.”
Armand scoffs, but Daniel does as he’s told. He doesn’t move an inch. Not when he goes to get rid of the body. When he comes back to take care of Louis. Or when the vampire merely sits on the sofa, watching the boy as he gazes distractedly at the news, staying put, never turning his pretty little head. Like a good obedient dog. Now, that… That makes him curious.
The vampire approaches him after a few hours of this stillness. Picks up an extra chair and sits right in front of Daniel. The boy smiles, just as widely, just as with much reverence.
Armand’s curiosity, as he will soon learn, is his downfall.
“What do you smell exactly, dear boy?” He asks.
“Hmm, you, I guess,” he chuckles. “I can smell the detergent on your clothes, the lotion on your skin… I can also smell paint.”
“Paint?”
“Yes,” he says, frowning. “Though it’s not a good smell. Not exactly. It makes you sad.”
The realization starts to unravel inside Armand, it begins to loosen its strands, opening up eagerly before him, and the vampire is desperately trying not to see it.
“I’m a beta,” Armand says, as a last refuge.
Daniel shrugs. “So? I’ve fucked a lot of betas before.”
“That’s not—”
“Though, none of them were as beautiful or as horrifying as you.”
Armand’s breath hitches. His body is struck with a sudden fever.
He… No. It can’t be. It simply cannot be. Vampires cannot imprint on humans. It’s not— Such a case has never been recorded, in over five hundred years of his eternal existence, he’s never heard of a vampire/human bond. Thus, this must be a mistake. Yes. A mistake. Daniel inhaled too many drugs up his system and it’s fucked with his sense of smell. Yes. That must be it. Plus, this boy is an omega. His heat must be hitting him soon, if the spike in lust is anything to go by. This poor boy is just confused, is all.
“You’ve had a long day,” Armand explains. “You’ve seen too much. But do not fret, I’ll take it all away. You’ll forget this night. You’ll forget you saw Louis. You’ll forget you’ve seen me–”
“NO!” Daniel screams, jumping out of his chair and dropping to his knees. “No, please! Don’t take it away! Please. I thought you were just a myth but— You’re real. You’re real and you’re here and I’m yours. Please, don’t make me forget.”
His hands grip Armand’s legs, and the air around them shifts, it turns heavy and charged with emotion. The vampire whimpers at the desperate display in front of him.
“What do I smell like, uh?” Daniel asks, pleads. “It can’t just be me. It can’t just be me, goddamnit! Please, please, tell me what I smell like.”
“You…” Armand sighs, letting his own hands touch Daniel’s, gripping them with as much ferocity. “You smell like your tapes. The ink you use for your typewriter.”
“What else?” He says, calmer now; if only a bit.
“You smell of vermouth.”
“Martinis,” he chuckles. “That’s my favorite drink, when I can afford it. What’s yours?”
“Well—”
“Right. Blood. Silly to ask. But I mean, you must’ve had a favorite, before you were turned. Didn’t you?”
Armand goes still. “I don’t remember.”
“Oh,” he whispers, then more solemnly, “Oh. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.”
The vampire’s eyes narrow. “Why are you apologizing, boy?”
“You don’t remember much from before, do you?” He says, eyes tearing up. “They took everything from you, didn’t they?”
Armand lunches off the chair, pushing Daniel to the floor. The boy makes a pathetic sound and the vampire’s throat goes dry with want.
“How do you know that?” He hisses. “How can you possibly know what I’ve gone through?”
“I feel you, man,” the omega moans. “I feel you everywhere. I smell everything about you. I— I see it. God, I see it, Arun. I see it and I’m so so sorry.”
The boy starts whimpering on the floor, clear tears running down his lovely cheeks. He cries. Daniel cries for him. But how? How can he possibly know? He’s no vampire! He cannot enter his mind! Even in human bonds this is not possible. None of this is possible. It’s all a mistake, it has to be.
“No, no, no,” Daniel cries. “No, it’s true! We’re real, we’re fucking real, I promise, I promise—”
“Armand!” Louis shouts from the bedroom. “Armand, don’t hurt him!”
“Stay out of it!” He snaps. “This boy is no longer of your concern. There wasn’t much of it in the first place, was it? You were going to bleed the boy dry and then collapse on the floor. Then, then, I’d have to clean it up. Lick your wounds, your sorrows!”
“I’m sorry,” Louis moans. “I’m sorry. Please, let him go. Let him be, Armand!”
No, he thinks, resolves within himself. After this whole ordeal, I deserve something for myself. Something for my own amusement. Like Louis has done with the past one hundred and twenty eight boys.
He slams the bedroom door shut with his mind. He commands the boy’s body, rises him up from the dirty floor and forces him to stand, faces inches apart.
“Alright, Daniel,” he says to the broken boy. “How about we have our own kind of interview, shall we?”
His expression eases, his foolish smile returns. “Sure. I need a tape, though.”
“No, no,” Armand whispers. “What we’re gonna do, sweet boy, requires none of that.”
“Oh?”
“No, what we’re gonna do is… a test of will.” And he touches Daniel’s cheek, makes him shiver with his cold caress. “And if you’re good, well, we’ll see what happens, won’t we.”
“Yes,” the boy moans. “Yes, yes, please.”
“Hmm, remember when I told you to sit still for me?”
He nods, frantically. “Yes.”
“Now, I want you to stand right here,” his lips brush against his, a quick touch, barely a kiss, but it makes Daniel whimper in lust. “Not move a muscle. You stand there and you do not move.”
He nods, licks his lips. “Till when?”
“Till I tell you to, dear boy,” Armand orders, almost sweetly. “Can you do that for me?”
“Yes.”
The vampire tilts his head, smiles his own perverse kind of smile. “Well, we’ll see.”
* * *
The boy stands perfectly still. Even when his left leg starts to cramp, his feet ache, his breathing quickens with overexertion—this boy continues to stay perfectly still.
Armand is enraptured by the display.
He checks the omega’s bag, flips the tapes in his hands.
Is this what makes him fascinating? He wonders. Is this what made Louis confess his innermost secrets?
“Vera? Who is she?” He asks the boy, and he remains silent. It makes him smile. “You may answer, boy.”
“S-She’s a single mother,” Daniel’s voice wobbles, but he does speak. “Works in a titty bar on Market Street.”
“Kevin.”
“Some V-Vietnam vet who lives in The Castro with his Vietnamese refugee boyfriend with no legs.”
Armand hums, throwing the tapes back to the bag. “You think in all these spools you’ve arrived at some ineffable truth?”
“No,” Daniel inhales. “It’s all bullshit.”
Oh, is that it?
“An instinct to self-efface,” Armand says, stepping closer. “Is that what makes you fascinating?”
“Okay,” Daniel breathes out. “Yes. I’m good at getting angles. Getting people to open up.”
“Is that what’s happening right now? Are you interviewing me, Mr. Molloy?”
“N-No, no,” the boy whimpers. “I-I’m doing what you want. I’m— I’m…”
“Shh, shh. None of that.” Armand whispers, finally reaching across the table and sitting down in front of Daniel. He scoots the chair closer. Holds his trembling hands in his. “You’re doing so well, boy. You’re doing everything right.”
“I-I am?” He asks, tears welling up in his soft eyes.
“Yes, yes, of course you are.” Armand kisses the top of his left hand, then his right, lets his lips rest atop his sweaty skin; resists the urge to lick it clean. “You are doing everything right, beautiful boy.”
Daniel pants above him, his heart beating faster and faster. “H-How did you know my last name?”
“Hmm,” Armand stares up at this trembling omega and offers him no mercy. “The same way I know you’re from Modesto, California. That in middle school, you stole your dad’s Playboy Magazines and sold them at recess. A little dirty, a little deceitful, but it’s enterprising. Is that what makes you fascinating?”
“Please—”
“In highschool, you told a girl you’d only do her if she had a paper bag over her head. She agreed and you did it even as she cried. A splinter of coldness in you—is that what makes you fascinating?”
“Armand,” the boy begs. “Please, it’s starting to hurt—”
“Can you look into my mind now, boy?” He asks, curious, maddeningly curious. “Can you see what I’ve only told a select few? Tell me, Daniel, do you see it now? The fire in the studio. The screams from my maker. My Marius. Do you remember what the coven did to me after? How alone I was, how terrified, how much I wanted to join him in the flames and live in hell together—”
“Stop!” Daniel screams, shrieks. His hands have left Armand’s and are now gripping his cheeks. The boy looks down at him with the same reverence from before, but it’s bolder now, burning, all consuming. “Don’t say such things, please. I can see it, okay? I see it all. I— I can’t stand it. I can’t stand watching you be hurt over and over… What the slavers did to you. The brothel. Your maker.” And Daniel spits on his name, spits on Marius’ very existence. “The one who was supposed to protect you, he— He kept hurting you over and over, too. I felt it. Every time he’d fucking donate you? What the fuck, Armand!? How can someone claim to love you and do that to you, uh? How can you still love him, even now, your love for him is—”
The vampire stands up, his fury dancing with Daniel’s.
“You know nothing,” he spits in his face, in his boy’s beautiful haunting face. “You have no idea what Marius meant to me! He saved me, boy. Out of everyone in the brothel, he chose me! Me.” He laughs, because it was a miracle, it was an act of mercy, it was everything to the poor fifteen-year-old boy who died before he was ever turned, and Daniel will never ever understand. “My maker did not even turn me till I begged and begged… He did not wish to make me a monster. That’s how much he loved me! He only gave me the dark gift after a decade of pleading.”
“After you were getting too old,” Daniel snaps back. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know where his tastes lay. Don’t tell me you didn’t look in the mirror and worried you were showing your age. A new wrinkle here, a new wrinkle there. Would he love me if I was old and gray? You thought that. You thought it and you wept because you knew he wouldn’t.”
Armand grips him by his hair, pulls him back. Daniel whimpers, but his hands don’t leave his cheeks, they stay gripping his skin as hard as Armand holds his curls. They stare into each other’s eyes; memories and memories of two distinct lives blending with every ragged breath.
“You know nothing,” Armand sneers, as a last attempt at control.
“I know everything,” Daniel moans, smiling that reverent smile.
The vampire stares at the wound on Daniel’s neck, the deep marks still red and puffy. He feels his fangs come out, feels the want to bite, to mark—to make sure everyone knows who this boy belongs to.
“I’d let you,” the boy begs. “I’d let you so please… Please make me yours.”
Armand steps closer, scents his boy’s neck, runs his tongue over the wound and the glands and oh so very close to his whimpering lips.
I could do it and he’d be thankful, he realizes. He’d thank me on his knees with his mouth stuffed full of my cock and he’d beg me to do it again. Oh, my beautiful boy. Where have you been?
“Right here,” Daniel whispers, thumbs caressing Armand’s crumbling features. “I’ve been right here. Waiting for you.”
The vampire blinks. He feels the love surging through his boy and into his mind, and back again, back and forth, back and forth, till Armand’s own eyes swell up. A single bloody tear runs down his cheek. Daniel smears it with his thumb.
“Please,” he begs, lips so very close to his. “Please, Armand. Let me love you.”
Armand opens his lips, fangs still out, his tongue running over his lower lip.
Daniel growls as he smashes their mouths together.
His fangs nick his boy’s tongue but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters when he has this beautiful boy putty in his hands, whimpering into his mouth, his blood mixing with Armand’s saliva, as their tongues dance with each other, as Daniel pulls on his lower lip and Armand pulls on his hair.
“Open your mouth,” he orders, and his boy does so without question. “Tongue out.”
His tongue is pink and red. Wet and slick. He presses his clawed finger down on it, and spits into the back of Daniel’s mouth. His boy moans beautifully.
“Drink it up,” he whispers to his boy. Daniel does, all while sucking on his thumb.
Oh.
Oh.
He will never let this boy go. Never, ever, ever—
“Armand!” Louis shouts in pain, in desperation. “Please, the pain, the pain! I can’t take it, please!”
Right.
Louis.
His precious Louis needs help.
Daniel looks at him with complete understanding, he lets go of his thumb, slumps down on the nearest chair and shifts his gaze back to the still functioning TV.
“I—”
“I know,” the boy says. “I know you love him, too. I know he needs help.”
“Daniel,” Armand whispers, tilting his head up by the tip of his chin. “I need you to wait. Can you do that for me?”
He nods, eyes wrinkling with mirth. “I’ll wait forever for you.”
The vampire’s breath hitches. His fingers grip his boy harder. His mouth, somehow, someway, travels downwards and rests right against Daniel’s lips. It’s a gentle caress. Nothing like their previous first kiss. But the emotion is there, the hunger is there. It is with great difficulty that Armand lets go of that sweet bloody mouth and takes a step back. Daniel stays exactly where he is; staring at him with love.
“Be good, Daniel,” he instructs.
“For you? Always,” his boy answers.
He’s mine, he realizes. He’s mine, mine, mine mine—forever mine.
Oh, what a gift.
Oh, what a curse for Armand to only find him now.
The vampire walks to the other side of the room, into the despairing bed, and gives Louis his arm for him to feast on, for him to heal. He gazes down at his companion, watches him drink. He loves Louis. He loves Louis. He…
But will he ever love me back just as fiercely? He ponders. Will he ever love me more than Lestat?
Armand has much to think about, now that he knows that fascinating boy outside belongs to him.