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Paris, France
12:38 AM
"You just don't get it!" He screamed, cheeks flushed red, a snarl marring his face.
Armand was stunned to silence, his wide golden eyes trained on Daniel like a man whose dog was about to disobey him. A warning. An unspoken chastisement.
A condescending ass, in Daniel's opinion.
"Do tell me, beloved," he intoned, a hand sweeping over the abysmal space between them. "What do I not get?"
It was his tone, Daniel mulls, that made him tick and explode. It really wasn't his fault. He did try to communicate with his immortal lover. But Armand only listened when he wanted to.
"You get into my head, ransack it, turn it over, trash it," resentment soured his words. "You know everything about me, I'm naked and exposed with you, all the time, whether I like it or not."
Armand was aware he was unfair and greedy and selfish. He knew Daniel sought death beyond immortality and that most of his requests and demands came from a place of unacknowledged trauma. Armand knew he was placing a wall between them when he stopped himself from sharing things about his past or anything at all.
Daniel was pacing back and forth, limbs flying around him in his indignation. A pressure in his chest fueled the fire, the anger in his veins. "Oh, but the moment I ask for something in return, I'm demanding?" He spat the adjective with venom.
"I did not say demanding," Armand cut through his cursing, voice carefully flat, "I said that in due time I would..." he hesitated, mouth frowning in a most disarming manner. "Patience is what I told you to practice."
Daniel paused. He had heard that one too many times. When he was a boy and his mother shaved his head in a fit, and he cried and quietly asked when it would grow back. From his girlfriend in high school after he asked when they would fuck. And now, from the man he had foolishly fell in love with.
"So, I should wait until I am in my deathbed for you to fucking talk, is that it?"
Armand flinched back. And Daniel was delighted by it, happy he made a dent on his armour. Because he doesn't get to leave unhurt from this when Daniel has to stand his secrecy, his silence. After all the late mornings he stayed up and watched him sleep, thinking about all the faceless strangers that would come after he died.
Armand's face was blank, but he could feel the inner turmoil. Daniel would glimpse inside the creature and see a flash of the human hidden within. And then he would reach out, and Armand would disappear for a week. So, of course he holds his mortality over his lover's head to wave around like an ugly reminder.
If Daniel has to hurt, then so will Armand.
"You sound bitter," he sounded void, like the great beast inside of him had eaten his soul. Sucked it out, in a grotesque imitation of his own sins.
"I sound bitter!" Daniel would not meet his gaze, too preoccupied with hiding the sting of his lover's remark. Because he was bitter, and he blamed Armand for it. Because he wanted Armand to turn him, to choose him forever. But he would not do it.
Daniel went about the room, gathering his clothes and his passport. He was done. For the last time. It was over.
"What are you doing?" Armand looked tired under the pale incandescent light, not worried or sad, just utterly exhausted.
Of me? Daniel wondered hotly. Of course! Otherwise, he would've chosen him, he would've-
A dark hand circled his arm, halting his movements. "I would have what?" His voice held a weight that neither of them was ready to carry.
Armand was close, the lines of his body intertwined with Daniel's like their string of fate. And yet, there was an abyss separating them. A gaping, festering wound. Daniel wonders, from time to time, if Armand kept everyone at arm's length or if it was just him.
He was still high from the night's fix. He could still taste Armand's blood, dried up on the corner of his mouth. Both their curls were still damp with sweat from a quickie in the pub's filthy bathroom.
Daniel was quite exhausted, too. Of the push and pull. Of begging and pleading for something that would never be given to him. He was tired of waiting for Armand like an obedient dog. Exhausted of the pain that loving him was.
"I'm leaving, I don't want you to follow me," he said firmly, breath rattling around the knot in his throat. "We are over."
Armand was tight-lipped and looked more sombre than usual. His wide eyes resembled sharp shards of gold. And Daniel wanted to cry because he really, really didn't care, did he?
"It will never be over, love," he whispered, red-rimmed gaze lingering on his face. And then he let go of Daniel.
*
Athens, Greece
3:23 PM
Daniel was at the beach, a warm beer on his lap, a stolen pair of sunglasses sliding down his nose.
It had been less than a week since the fight with Armand. He had spent the first few days in a state of such inebriation that he couldn't remember what he did. Today was the first day that he got out of his hotel room for anything else other than drugs.
There was an empty hole in his chest, an itch in his nose. He was going through withdrawals, Daniel knew. There was only so much cocaine and acids could do to supplant Armand's immortal, ancient blood.
He was still using Armand's credit card, so Daniel was sure the bastard knew where he was. Almost a week. And he was sitting alone at the beach with a shitty beer and a dwindling pack of cigarettes.
Daniel had been crying sporadically since he woke up. Regret was chewing his insides like a parasite. An inner battle had pitched his pride and critical thinking against his addiction and weak heart.
Daniel would rather run through a war ridden city, jump in front of blazing guns, and argue with dangerous political maniacs rather than try to make sense of Armand.
"Fucking asshole, he takes everything to heart," and he does! Daniel always says shit he doesn't mean when they argue. Armand knows, and he is still alone in fuckass Greece!
He can't be the one to give in, not again. Daniel won't call him, won't run back. He knows he isn't in the wrong. Daniel existed before Armand, and he can exist after him, too.
Independence came to him from a young age. An absent father and an emotionally unstable mother had led him to seek comfort elsewhere. Daniel had lived and felt and loved before an immortal creature came to him. He had laughed and cried, too.
Armand would not be the end of him.
"Damn it!" He curses loudly, the metal lid of his beer had cut his thumb because, of course! He hears a giggle behind him and a cough.
Daniel turns to curse a storm to whoever is mocking him but then stops short. A woman. A ghost. Tall, skinny, beautiful. She smiles indulgently.
"I've watched you struggle to open that beer for five minutes now," she says in a beautiful English accent, her black hair dances in the breeze, "I fear it's a losing battle..."
A beat.
Daniel breathes in the salty air. He trains his eyes not to linger on her purple swimsuit. He ignores the familiar skin tone, her curls that bring back the memory of somebody else.
He scrambles up to his feet, "Daniel." He offers and hopes he doesn't look too much like a junkie. The woman smiles, and Daniel suddenly misses Paris.
"I'm Alice," she stretches an elegant hand to him. He double takes from her face to her hand. Daniel feels haunted, so terribly cursed he wants to slap the hand away. He looks up again to her gummy smile and shakes her hand.
Conversation flowed easily. Alice had sat down beside him and opened his beer with grace. She seemed to notice he was very, very hangover because after the third cough as an answer to her flirting, she toned it down. Bless her. It wasn't the flirting, or not entirely. It was her hooked nose that he remembers on someone else. It was the accent that dragged on certain syllables and made him shake with longing. It was her intelligence and maybe even her body.
"Yes, I'm going to be a lawyer," she had said so happily, face radiant. Daniel had asked endless questions, getting high on her delight, on the shape of her wide eyes when she smiled.
Daniel had to catch himself several times. He realised, with horror, that he would neglect to answer her out loud. Or make jokes she failed to understand because they were not meant for her.
Alice was so lovely, he almost fell flat on his face when she asked him out. Of course, she would. Naturally, he said yes.
He watched her return to a large group, her friends waving excitedly at her.
Daniel turned back to the waves, the emptiness in his chest. He lit a cigarette, ignored the shadow cast over him, and blew away the shape of his silhouette from his mind.
Daniel wanted to cry.
*
Athens, Greece
11:46 PM
A week. Utter silence. Armand had not looked for him.
It was terribly contradictory of him to expect him to seek him out after telling him not to. But he couldn't handle it. He couldn't fucking breath.
Daniel had gone through several stages since fleeing away, again. As usual, he would hold his ground for the first few days until the itch for his lover's blood started to make his skin burn. And then his heart, his hands, his lips would start tingling with need for Armand.
Pale fingers twisted Armand's blood locket, light blue eyes stuck to the ceiling to not look at the woman sleeping in his bed.
Alice was so beautiful it made him feel stupid. She was refreshing, and new. There was a perpetual witty remark on the tip of her tongue. Her lips were curved in the perfect shape of a smile. Alice was fun, she was free, and delightful.
But she was not him. She wasn't the one he needed like oxygen. Her hands were long and thin but they were warm. It became blatantly obvious, right after she fell asleep, and the room echoed a graveyard that he missed Armand. And the hunger in his gut would not be satiated until he was back.
Daniel was high off his mind, whether Alice noticed or not he stopped caring after the third tequila shot. And several sneaky lines of coke in the bar's bathroom, and half a bottle of whisky later Daniel couldn't quiet the rattling of his bones begging for Armand.
He had spent the last few days with Alice, who had delighted in his boring stories about botched interviews. Daniel had tuned out the voice that screamed for his immortal lover and focused on the beautiful woman that resembled him instead.
But now he wanted him back, and with a fried brain and a weak spine he dragged the telephone to the balcony. He sat down on one of the chairs, an unbuttoned shirt and boxers protecting him against the chill of the night.
Daniel could survive without him. He had! But now his hands were shaking too much, and his lips were trembling, and there was this pull in his gut as if the red string that connected them both was taunting him to close the space between them.
A week was enough punishment, right? He wasn't being weak or spineless. He was just cutting the drama. Yeah.
Daniel suppressed a sob on the receiver.
A pounding in his brain. A hammer to his skull. A dagger twisting in his chest.
If he focused hard enough, he would be able to recall Armand's tone as he whispered honey on his ears and the ghost of his touch when he got overly affectionate. When he couldn't stop himself from reaching out. And what if Daniel reached out, too?
His face was wet, salt coating his tongue and anxiety eating his insides. Because he needed Armand, and he needed his blood, and his touch, and he couldn't fucking breath.
Daniel wanted to scream.
So, he dialled the number of their apartment in Paris and waited. And waited. He chewed on his nails aggressively.
It went to voicemail.
A sob rattled his body as he tried again. Daniel felt bereft. He wasn't in his hotel room anymore, waiting for Armand to answer him and soothe his hurt. He was nineteen, calling his dad from the police station. He was ten watching his teacher call his house because no one picked him up. Daniel was back in Modesto, calling a friend to ask if he could crash while his parents argued in the kitchen.
Voicemail.
No one answered him.
Armand didn't either.
He slammed the phone on the wooden table him. Again and again. Crying hysterically, he watched as he broke the only telephone in his hotel room.
And now he wouldn't be able to call him. Now, Daniel was unable to get to Armand.
He was alone. Again.
*
Athens, Greece
4:34 AM
Daniel wasn't sure where he was exactly. It was close to the beach alright but it was too dark. He only wanted drugs. And had gotten them.
He had pulled on some trousers and sandals and ditched Alice. Daniel had cried himself dry. And now he was lost? He could not be too sure because there were funny lights dancing around him, and he wanted to dance too.
There was an anvil attached to his head, surely, because he was tipping back. A giggle escaped him. Something pressed against his lower back.
Velvet under his fingers, a cool touch on his cheek. Daniel was floating, stepping on clouds, and the lights kept waltzing around him. And there was nothing but blissful ignorance for hours on end.
Soft, warm air hit his throat. Someone's hands on his waist kept him from slamming his butt on the floor. The taste and smell of blood seemed to cloud his already muddled senses.
Daniel still felt disoriented when he was plopped down a comfortable surface, still giggling quietly when he was made to drink something. A stranger's fingers dancing on his skin, goosebumps covering his body.
His eyes refused to focus on the face that took care of him. That washed him clean and murmured in his hair, intelligible words that warmed him from inside out.
Everything hurt. Daniel was used to waking up to the pain of too much alcohol, drugs, and too many bad decisions. Still, it hurt, and his first thought was burying his face in the cold throat of his beloved, as he was wont to do.
But his calls had gone to voicemail.
His bottom lip started to tremble. Daniel had no tears left to cry. But he still shook, from head to toe. With a bone rattling longing.
The bed dipped beside his hip, and a cool finger was placed on his lips.
"You have the most intriguing mood swings."
Daniel would have shot up from the bed if he had the strength, but he was left to flinch and look like a spooked pigeon at the sight of Armand looming over him.
It brought memories back, right from the beginning. Of waking up in the middle of the night to find him laying on his chest or sitting in a chair watching him sleep. Back when loving a vampire seemed fun and did not chip away at his sanity.
Am I driving you to madness, beloved?
"Yes," Daniel rasped, a cough wracking his body. Armand procured a glass of water and attentively made him drink it. He had a spark in his amber eyes, Daniel thought. An emotion peeking behind the mask.
Acids never do agree with you, he comments lightly. And they don't. That's why Daniel does them.
"Where were you?" It's out of his lips before he could even stop himself. He wouldn't have been able to, anyway. Because Daniel called and Armand hadn't answered.
There is a lull in the air, charged with an unspoken emotion. Both searching an explanation, an excuse to wield against the accusations to come from the other.
Daniel bets he's getting a dressing down from Armand. Something about not taking too many drugs, hiding the worry and fear behind a frown and steady hands that put him back together after a rough night. But Armand looks oddly calm, forgiving in a way Daniel knows it has to be a trick of the light and the shape of his eyes. Because he would never be anything else but twisted and distant.
And yet, Armand looks softer under the waning sun. His curls neatly twisted out of his face, dressed in light colours. And his wide, beautiful eyes - they twinkled, Daniel observed. Or maybe it was the residue drugs playing a trick on him. Because surely a being that beautiful, that divine would never look at him with such devotion.
He smiles, fangs on display, "I was here." The bastard sounds smug, looks it too.
Daniel wants to kiss him.
His stomach chooses that very moment to growl embarrassingly loud. He groans, and Armand laughs.
*
Athens, Greece
7:37 PM
It was over a bite of lasagne that Daniel realised Alice was supposed to be sleeping in his now empty bed.
"Did you kill her?"
Armand is not enraptured enough with the Greek soap opera on the TV if the smirk that blooms on his face is anything to go by.
"You did, didn't you?" Daniel accuses, pointing at him with a sauce covered fork. Armand roams his wide eyes over him enough times to make him shiver.
I used the Mind Gift on her, he doesn't elaborate, but the message is clear: she's not dead. Which is good enough for Daniel.
"She is quite beautiful, Alice," Armand intones from the couch. An arm hooked on its back, legs spread in a distracting manner.
Daniel tries very hard not to choke on his drink and tries even harder to not think of every comparison he made about them both.
Come to me.
And Daniel goes, obediently. Sits himself on the armrest because they are still fighting. Thank you very much.
Armand places a hand on his naked thigh. Mouth hovering over his knee, phantom kisses making Daniel open his legs.
He smirks, batting his long eyelashes up to Daniel, a devilish glint in those golden eyes. You have tried to replace me, Armand declares. There was an edge to his words, hurt or amusement, Daniel wouldn't know. Because Armand was playing with his half-hard cock over his boxers.
"You're an idiot," Daniel replies, shimming his way down to his lover's lap. You were here, you said. Should've come over... creepy bastard. His pale hand closed on Armand's throat.
Sharp nails scratched his back, blood dripping down to the curve of his ass. Daniel groaned, his free hand pulling at Armand's shirt until the buttons fell off.
Her moans were delightful, and you were so responsive to her. His fangs scrapped his shoulders, hips undulating against Daniel's, clutching his body violently. Kissing her cunt so reverently, whimpering like a pup when she exclaimed 'oh yes, so good Daniel, right there', Armand imitated her voice.
Daniel felt feverish. The memories replaying in his mind, the press of Armand's cock on his own, the sting of the cuts provided by his lover. And then, Alice on her knees, lapping at his dick, but her eyes were golden, not brown. Her ass meeting his hips only her moans sounded like Armand's when Daniel hits that sweet spot.
"Shit, boss," he moaned, thrusting up into his lover's grip. Both their cocks weeping, hot against the other. Daniel wanted to cry, moan, ask for more.
"Beg," it was Armand's lips moving, but Alice's voice. Daniel vision was blurry with lust, mind scrambling to differentiate between past and present. Alice had jerked him off, too, and had a familiar sadism to her actions. Do you want me to bring her back? It would be delicious.
A sob wracked his body, making Armand hum in appreciation. His fingers found Daniel's greedy mouth, thrusting into it until his boy was gagging on them. Do you want me to wear lingerie, love? Armand taunted, Alice's lace panties coming to his mind, the image of his own teeth dragging them down over a brown thigh.
Daniel had fingered her just like Armand was doing it to him now. Fingers circling his hole, catching the pad of them and pressing in, making him squirm on his lover's lap. One finger wasn't enough, but he still held his tongue and let Armand do as he wished.
Another memory flashed. But it was Armand's point of view. Watching Daniel fuck Alice's throat, her tears and spit pooling on her chin alongside his cum. The sound of her gagging in the otherwise silent bedroom.
You were rough with her.
He had been. A hand wound in her hair, pushing her face on the pillows while he pounded her pussy from behind. Alice had enough of his aggressiveness on their second round. She had hit him on the chest until he was flat on his back, riding him while she called him a toy, something to be used and discarded. Daniel had sobbed and asked her to keep going, to take her pleasure.
Three fingers, and it still wasn't enough. I want your cock, he thought loudly. Too busy mewling like a bitch in heat to use words. I want you, you, you. "Fuck," he thrusted back, seeking more of that friction to prostate.
Armand looked hungry, his pupils were blown wild, fangs peeking out. He smashed their mouths together, teeth clashing, a growl passing through their lips. Armand cut his tongue, letting Daniel suck at it with desperation. Letting him get high on his blood.
There was a time when Armand's possessiveness turned to dust everything it touched. And then Daniel came along. Now, freeing his aching cock and loving his boy from the inside out, he knows Daniel won't crumble. Not the man who searched for him in other bodies, in other people, longed for his blood while getting high on other drugs.
"Armand," punched out moans left his lips, moving up and down to meet his lover's thrusts. There was nothing but him, him, him. And his blood that tasted like life itself.
Strong hands encased his hips in a bruising grip, manhanding him to lay on his back. Armand hovered over him, a predator about to pounce on his prey, tear into him. Please, Daniel thought, and his love delivered. A pale leg on his shoulder, the tip of his cock teasing his rim before fucking him once more.
Armand bit down on Daniel's ankle, and then his wrist, and his chest. His boy looked delirious, panting, and moaning. Covered in blood and bruises, in tears and spit.
"Let go," Armand whispered in his ear before lunging for his neck. Daniel came with a pained whine, cum staining both their stomachs and chests. He clawed at Armand's clothed back, relishing in the sting of his own injuries while he rode the high.
Armand cursed in a language unknown to him, and warmth filled Daniel to the brim. Light blue eyes met golden ones. He let himself be kissed, allowed himself to be coddled, and fussed over.
Daniel still itched to tear his love apart. To unearth his secrets with a shovel, open the closet and let the bodies drop. But they would pick up their fight later. Maybe press his finger on that infected wound they shared, make sure Armand didn't forget that losing him was forever, no second chances.
"I love you," Daniel mumbles.
Armand hums, and doesn't answer.
*
London, England
9:55 AM
Alice was running late to work. Her alarm didn't go off, she had forgotten to buy more coffee, again. And she just realised there was a grease stain on her coat.
Great morning so far.
She figured she could grab a cuppa and a cinnamon roll on the way there, she was already late, anyway. Her boss could suck it.
Starting as a lawyer was always a humble affair, she had been warned. And she could take it. It didn't matter Mr. Carlisle was a pain on her behind or that she had been sexual harassed way too many times in the last two months. Because she was gonna fuck them all in the arse when she made a name for herself.
What's the saying? He that laughs last, laughs best. She, more like.
Her kitten heels clicked loudly on the cafe's floor. Alice thanked God there were only two people on the queue. Her patience could stand only so much this morning.
She turned a critical eye to the clientele. Mostly middle aged men reading the newspaper or old women gossiping. And then, a familiar mop of curls hunched over a cup of coffee.
Alice looked back at the bartender making her drink, and back at the man she met in Greece some years ago.
Fuck it.
"You ditched me," Alice points a finger at him. He straightens as if slapped. His blue eyes glance up to her, an odd shadow passing over them before his eyebrows shoot up in recognition.
"Did I?" He taunts.
The bastard had left in the middle of the night, and never returned. Alice had waited for him until lunch before leaving to tell her friends all the filthy things the handsome stranger had done to her.
His dark hair was littered with early grey hair for a guy his age. Those bag under his eyes were still there, only less pronounced. And that devilish smirk that never left his mouth still caused her stomach to flip, apparently.
"I can't say I remember your name," he glances at the chair in front of him in a silent invitation.
Alice ponders for a second if wasting more time would get her sacked. And then he tilts his head in a infuriatingly attractive way, and her arse is sat.
"I'm Alice," she replies with a smile.
The man is still looking at her oddly, "I'm Daniel."
He offers a hand. She takes it.