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Daniel Molloy is used to being a public figure, but until recently, his fame was relatively contained. People knew his face if they’d seen his Practicum commercial, or if they’d checked the back of his books, but he wasn’t exactly an A-lister. But ever since the publication of Interview, the whole world wants a piece of Daniel Molloy. And he fucking loves it.
He’s on television almost weekly, promoting the book and acting like a total jackass for his own amusement. Young people make TikTok edits of him with captions that say things like, “peepaw can get it”. He trends on Twitter every time someone with a decent following theorizes about whether the book is Daniel doing some kind of bizarre social experiment, or whether he has early-stage dementia. He’s used to it now, so he barely bats an eyelid when he’s trending. However, he is eternally nosy, so whenever he sees he’s a hot topic, he’s compelled to find out why.
“71-year-old Disgraced Author, Daniel Molloy, Spotted in Nightclub Getting Cozy with Hot Young Model!”
Oh shit.
He clicks the link to the article, and staring right at him is a series of three photos.
The first: him and the hot young model huddled together in the back of a club, away from prying eyes (or so they thought). Armand is pressed into Daniel’s side, his hand way too high on his thigh, his face buried in his curls like he’s whispering something in his ear. He was whispering something in his ear. Something real dirty. Daniel crosses his legs at the memory.
The second: taken moments later when they’d started making out real sloppy. One of Armand’s legs is hooked over Daniel’s lap, Daniel’s hand is sliding up Armand’s thigh.
And the third: they’re still making out, and about thirty seconds away from a public indecency charge. Armand is straddling him with his hands all tangled in Daniel’s hair. Daniel’s got one hand up the back of his shirt, and the other, halfway down the back of his trousers.
Daniel chuckles. Damn, that was a good night.
Wait, no! This is bad.
He keeps scrolling the hashtag, and yep, it’s blowing up.
Damn, I liked the book, but this is not it.
Kid’s in it for the money for sure.
Famous old white man turns out to be a creep. In other news, water is wet.
“Babe! Don’t go on Twitter!” Daniel calls out.
Armand appears in the doorway. “Why, what have you done now?”
“It’s not what I’ve done. More what we’ve done.”
Armand stomps over and snatches Daniel’s phone out of his hand. He stares at it for a few moments before saying something in a language Daniel doesn’t recognize, but from his tone, it sounds like it’s probably cursing.
“Hey, at least you’re not the one getting canceled for being a pervert,” Daniel says. “Even though you’re the real dirty old man here, and the biggest fucking pervert I know.”
Armand actually smiles proudly at that.
“We do look good though,” Armand says. “This was a fantastic night.”
Daniel ignores his dick’s cry for attention. “Yeah, it was great, but I think you’re missing the bigger picture here.”
Armand tilts his head like a wise old owl. “What?”
Daniel gives him a look. “What if Louis sees this?”
Armand passes the phone back. “Louis doesn’t have Twitter.”
“No,” Daniel says, taking the phone. “But you know who does?”
Bonjour, mes ami!
Ah fuck.
Daniel can literally hear the smug, shit-eating grin.
I hope I’m not interrupting anything, Lestat projects to them both. Daniel, is this why you wouldn’t let me suck you off on the tour bus last month?
Daniel feels heat bloom across his face.
Armand looks at him, eyes wide. “Did he really offer to suck you off on his tour bus?”
Daniel grimaces. “Among other things.”
Armand’s eyes blaze. “I’ll kill him.”
Oh, Armand, Lestat continues, does Louis know you took the journalist in the divorce?
“Well, Louis took the house, so it only seemed fair,” Daniel replies, earning him a smack on the arm.
I bet Louis would be very interested to know what his ex-husband was doing last Thursday night at the Velvet Underground, with the man who caused his divorce. It’s a good thing he insists on remaining unplugged.
“Are you blackmailing us right now?” Armand hisses. “I could kill you if I wanted to.”
Lestat laughs at that one.
Daniel raises an eyebrow. “Hang on, how do you know those photos were taken last Thursday at the Velvet Underground? There was no mention of the date or location in the article.”
Oh Daniel, you’re a journalist, Lestat says, his voice sickly sweet. Don’t you know you should always check your sources?
Daniel grabs his phone again, frantically flicking back to the article, looking for a source for the original photos.
“Provided by @tvlmsk69,” Daniel mutters. “The Vampire Lestat… music. Sixty-nine? Really? What are you, an immortal twelve-year-old?”
See you at the concert, lovers. I’ll tell Louis you said hello.
Daniel tosses the phone down on the coffee table.
“Well, it’s been swell, babe,” he says, grabbing Armand’s head and planting a kiss on it. “Thanks for the vampirism, the house, the island, all the sex. I’m gonna go fly into the sun.”
Armand grabs his arm. “You most certainly are not.”
“Well, when Louis finds out, he’s gonna kill me anyway.”
“Nonsense, I’d kill him first.”
“Damn baby, you know how it turns me on when you keep talking about killing our friends,” Daniel replies, only half-joking.
“I hid you enough the first time around,” Armand says. “I’m done. We’re going to that concert, we’re seeing Louis and Lestat, and we’re going to be the most sickeningly insufferable companions since… well… them.”
Daniel scratches his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I do love being a public menace.”
Armand smiles. “And you’re so very good at it, beloved.”
Daniel winks. “I learned from the best, babe.”