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Armand lies back, his elbows behind him to prop him up. He stretches out, all too aware of the way Louis’ eyes are drawn to him from the opposite side of the bed.
He tilts his head back slightly, just enough to expose the smooth skin of his neck. He can hear the hitch of Louis’ breath, and even without looking at him, he can tell exactly what expression Louis currently has on his face.
Armand knows what he must look like to Louis. Louis is a man, and he knows what men like to see. Armand is a performance artist — he knows exactly which angles and sides make him look more flattering. How to pose, how to position himself to appear so enticing, to be the very manifestation of cupidity itself. It’s an instinct he despises but is unable to stop.
Finally, he turns his head to look in Louis’ direction. Predictably, Louis’ pupils are blown wide with his desire, his gaze latched onto Armand’s throat like it’s perfectly shaped to fit Louis’ fangs. It’s a nice thought, the idea that he’s meant for Louis, that Louis might be the special one out of everyone Armand has been with. He’s thought similar things about a few others before, but it never lasted. Perhaps it’ll last with Louis.
He inclines his head, silently requesting for Louis to come closer. Louis crawls towards him, placing a hand on Armand’s chest and gently pushing so he’s flat on his back. Armand goes easily, not putting up any resistance in the slightest. Sometimes the it’s fun for the others, a little fight to prove their strength. But Louis wants this sweet tonight, so Armand will be sweet.
Louis’ fangs are already extending as he settles next to Armand. The sight of them causes Armand to shiver, and he has to hold back his own fangs when they threaten to drop.
Louis presses close, kissing Armand’s jaw and making his way across the expanse of his throat. It makes Armand writhe and arch his back, pushing up into Louis’ teasing kisses, which he continues until Armand is ready to beg. He opens his mouth to do so, but he doesn’t get the chance to get any words out because that’s when Louis bites.
This is one of his favorite parts, the first bite. The sting of fangs sinking in is always exquisite, when he’s claimed and marked as someone else’s. The wound will heal soon due to his vampiric nature, but for now, he belongs to Louis.
“Yes,” Armand says, a little breathy, like he can’t contain it. He goes pliant in Louis’ grasp, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss. Louis likes when he’s eager for it, when he’s desperate, but he doesn’t have to fake it that much. That isn’t anything new to Armand; it’s natural to him, who has been desperate for centuries.
Louis drinks his fill and pulls back, leaving Armand panting. His entire body is tingling with the blood loss, the knowledge that his blood has gone into Louis. He opens his eyes and looks up at him, and he must appear particularly appealing in this moment because Louis pauses to consider him.
“Wait,” Louis says, starting to pull from the embrace they’ve become wrapped in. “Stay there.”
“What are you doing?” Armand asks, getting his answer when he watches as Louis stands to get his camera. Armand realizes what Louis means to do so he remains where he is like he’d been told, lying perfectly still, not moving a muscle.
Louis holds the camera to his face and takes a snapshot. For a second, it almost feels like he’s back in Venice. He’d been someone else back then, a boy of a different world. And yet, with all of the differences, it still comes to him as easily as it used to.
He can remember how Marius used to paint him. He’d have to stand there for hours sometimes unclothed, sometimes not. It had been so difficult for him to remain in one place, but it was so nice to have his master’s attention on him.
Just like it’s so nice to have Louis’ attention on him as he looks at him through the camera. Louis has taken several photographs of him, immortalizing him the same way his master had. He’s never been shy about this kind of thing, but it makes him feel exposed in a way. Every time, he worries that Louis will suddenly see him differently, will see the truth about who he really is, and it’ll be the last photograph of Armand he ever takes. It hasn’t happened yet, which is almost worse because he’s left in a state of constant uncertainty of when Louis will figure it out.
“Perfect,” Louis says, and he puts his camera away off to the side. It isn’t the first time Armand has heard such a word used to describe it, and he doubts it’ll be the last. It’s difficult to be proud of one’s beauty when that’s the only thing people see in him. Anyone else would say it’s a blessing to have such a power, but only Armand knows it’s actually a curse. “Now, come here.”
Louis places the camera aside and returns to his spot next to Armand. He pulls him to him and leans in to kiss him, messy with the way his fangs are still out. Armand returns it with equal enthusiasm, matching Louis’ pace. He gasps when Louis bites his bottom lip, just enough to create a little cut, and he doesn’t make any attempt to hold back his moan when Louis licks up the blood.
When they part, Louis gets started on ridding himself of his clothes until Armand brushes his hands away to do it for him. They’ll have to be quick since curfew will be soon, but Armand can make it good for him. He’s learned what Louis likes and how to do it well, and he tells himself if he does it well enough, it’ll make Louis stay.