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In so many ways, Daniel reflects as he settles back on his couch in the apartment he actually has it in him to keep tidy now, being turned was the best thing that ever happened to him. Not only is he perfectly suited to it, not only has it granted him a brand new lease on life just as he was starting to give up on any liveable life at all, not only does it feel incredible, but it's done absolute wonders for his health. There's the odd tremor frozen in, sure. He's probably never going to be as flexible as a vampire turned younger, and there's no more distant hope of losing that spare tire. Fuck all that, though. He's strong in a way he hadn't even realised he'd lost, sharp like he hasn't truly been in decades, hungry in a way that feels good, rather than frustrating. He feels powerful like he never has and it is truly glorious.
Plus, after a few years of the kind of apathy about sex that Cialis couldn't do anything for, his libido has returned with a rabid vengeance. Which does, admittedly, have its cons as well as its pros; the lust is as insistent as the thirst. He's finding once again that there are plenty of sweet young things out there who actively like it when their date for the evening could pass for their grandpa; some of them, he even lets walk form those dates in one piece. Still, it's only an hour til sunrise, too early for anyone to be out and about. Unless he's willing to try and pass out with this itching burning fire under his skin, it's just going to be him and his hand and whatever he can come up with.
Settling properly into the well-worn curve of the couch, he grabs the lube from under the coffee table, pulls down his sweatpants and frees the already rock-hard length of his dick. Even just the feel of it slapping up against his stomach is damn good, makes him want to grind up against empty air. Makes him crave getting someone on it, honestly, but after having to make his peace with the idea of having to talk to a doctor and go on meds just to enjoy the simple pleasure of jacking it, he's not going to bitch too hard about a bit of self-care time.
No point getting up to find something to get him going. Modern porn sucks ass, and he'd thrown out his old collection once Parkinson's started to do for his cock and any desire to use it, after any benefit to keeping it around had been outweighed by the horror of his daughters coming across some of that shit if they lowered themselves to clearing out his apartment when he was gone. He'd banned himself from getting off to Alice or Rosh memories twenty years ago, when it got far too depressing, and other highlights of his mis-spent youth stopped having any appeal once he had to accept he wasn't that tight-assed, flat-stomached kid anymore and never would be again.
He's always had a great imagination, though, and never wanted for his own material when he couldn't be bothered to get up and fetch a skin mag. Always ran the risk of a few hours sick to his stomach when his mind got away from him and he'd blown his load to something even he couldn't conscience, but that's become less of a problem, these days. Human Daniel had ended up with his head down the toilet a few times, come still wet on his hands, after nutting to the thought of fucking a corpse; well, now he can confirm to his past self that it is in fact as hot as he'd imagined. Combined with whatever vampirism does to a human brain that makes everything feel so impossibly charged, immediate and vivid, the fantasies are wilder and hotter and better than ever.
This time, when he settles back and closes a lubed-up hand round himself, he finds his thoughts running down familiar lines. To be expected, maybe; he'd had a chat with Louis earlier that night, mind to mind. Daniel had gotten a couple of things confirmed from his research; Louis had tried once again to convince him not to publish. Good talk. There'd been a bad taste in his mouth long after they'd said their goodbyes, even once he'd filled up on the blood of a deadbeat disappointment who'd had been helpfully dwelling on how no-one would miss him as he wandered back from work.
It's the way Louis speaks to him, the not mad, just disappointed bullshit that rings clear in every word. The poor sweet baby fledgling if Daniel happens to let any little bit of vulnerability show. Pisses Daniel off like nothing else. Makes him want to get all up in that pretty face – and he's got enough height on Louis that now he's not closing in on the nursing home and Louis can't rip him to shreds like he's made of paper, he can maybe make his presence count for something – and see what he has to do to get Louis to finally, finally take him seriously. See, maybe – he gives his cock a gentle squeeze, a long, slow pull – what he has to do to get a taste of everything that makes bad men like Lestat, Armand and Daniel trip over themselves to get in Louis's bed.
Louis won't, though. Even if maybe, just maybe, he hadn't been making fun of the decrepit fuck so obviously, pathetically still hot for him with that Do you want to now? shit, that had all changed along with Daniel's species. When they'd clasped hands as Louis walked away from the lies Daniel had dragged into the light for him, Daniel had felt, for a moment, that they were equals; and then Louis had strode back into his penthouse to find a shivering, blood-smeared fledgling curled into his couch like a beaten stray puppy, and that moment had evaporated. When Louis looks at him now, the few times they've seen each other, it's with the blend of sickened guilt and endeared affection for something so much littler than himself that Claudia had probably had to endure. No lust in it, not even the superior, amused teasing that Daniel had used to have to pant after. No, Daniel's the baby, now.
Which is bullshit. Armed with all this power, with eternity stretching out before him, Daniel's never been more of a fit partner for Louis.
Louis thinks he wants his boy, Danny, his sweet soft mortal who'll listen to his wisdom and make big awed eyes up at him. Daniel knows better. He hasn't met Lestat yet, but fuck knows he's heard enough about him, and he's sure as hell met Armand. Maybe Louis likes to screw his cute, unthreatening boys, but when it comes to partners, companions, he goes straight for the most dangerous, evil motherfucker in the room. And Daniel's maybe not reaching the heights of his maker just yet, but he's already finding himself very, very well-suited indeed to the new life the bastard had forced on him.
Louis doesn't need Lestat, doesn't need Armand, doesn't need to be languishing in an empty bed. Daniel's got everything he needs right here, if he just bothered to come look.
If he wants a dog, Daniel's happy to bark and wag his tail if it gets him a sniff. Still, after seventy years of playing the big, bad maître, maybe Louis is getting a bit sick of the same old, same old. Of always having to be in command, calling the shots, never getting to let his hair down. Daniel had gotten glimpses of that in the penthouse, the moments when all that elegance and poise cracked open, the beautiful, fucking intoxicating vulnerability that welled up beneath. So yeah, maybe Louis would let him–
Maybe, just maybe, Louis wouldn't have to let him.
How much of vampiric strength comes with age, and how much is the blood that made you and the diet you keep to? Daniel might be a little baby vampire, but the power that Armand had passed on to him is so horribly, intoxicatingly vast that it frankly scares the shit out of him half the time. And he's eating well, well enough that he should probably think of doing some travelling soon, before the humans start getting antsy about all the bodies he's dropping. He wasn't nearly stronger than Louis when he was freshly turned; Louis had had to put him on his ass often enough to prove that. But it's been a year since, with Daniel feasting whenever he can get away with it and Louis… well. He won't ever cop to it when Daniel probes, but he knows the guy's been struggling over the last few months. He'd never once owned up to his obvious vampire eating disorder, and without his good nurse at his shoulder to keep him fed and watered, Daniel's been feeling the hollow edge of denied thirst in his mental presence. So he won't be as strong as he had been, while Daniel's only gotten stronger. So yeah, it's entirely possible that Daniel actually could–
'Cause he knows Louis, maybe better than anyone in the world at this point. Louis is proud, and horribly wounded, and still a good Catholic boy; he's not just going to let himself have what he needs, not when it means baring his throat to a guy he barely respects as is. No, no, he's going to need persuading, isn't he? Gonna need a big strong brute of a man to wrestle him down and give him all the things he can't admit to craving.
He hadn't seen Louis crying many times, but he has seen it enough for the vision to be burned into his skull. It's goddamn beautiful – how does Louis make crying look so hot? So easy to call up the sight of those bright jade-green eyes all big and wide and hazy with blood, those maddeningly soft-looking lips parted, his whole pretty body trembling in Daniel's grasp. Daniel, we should– We should stop. Danny, please, I don't– Oh, God, please… The moment his resistance would falter and fall away. The moment he realises Daniel isn't listening to his protestations, knows what he wants and is going to give it to him no matter what he says–
Sounds bad, even in his head. The way his dick twitches in his hand, the little kick of his hips up into his grip, that probably doesn't make it look much better. But it's not– It isn't like that. He wouldn't, he wouldn't ever. Sure, he's crossed a few lines in his day, done some shit that would get him roundly cancelled nowadays if it ever had come to light. Sure, he's finding fewer and fewer moral lines that he cares to hold now that he literally is a blood-sucking parasite. But still, still, there are lines. He knows there are. He's not going to be one more selfish cunt to ruin Louis's life because he couldn't keep his dick in his pants for long enough for Louis to come to him willingly.
That isn't what this is. The opposite – he wants to take care of Louis, that's all. Louis, who is clearly floundering on his own. Louis, who is so tantalisingly, heartbreakingly fragile. Louis, who'd needed him once then needed him again and still needs him now. Louis, who doesn't yet realise that everything he needs is right here, who maybe, yeah, does need to be shown before he'll believe it.
He's speeding up without even realising it, sweet slick friction up and down his cock. Feels good, feels really good, but it can't hold a candle to what he's sure Louis feels like inside. Daniel would stake his life that Mr du Lac, Liberty Street entrepreneur and paranoid closet case, had been turned before anyone had gotten anything up his plush, perfect ass. So maybe he'd still be virgin tight, yeah, the kind of tight where they're so hungry for it that they just can't loosen up. Kind of tight where the pussy is clinging to your dick like it can't bear to let it go. Cold, probably – even to another vampire, Louis is cold as anything, probably worse if he's having trouble eating – but that's hardly going to put Daniel off, is it? Matter of fact, he has to squeeze himself just on the edge of too tight at how maddeningly hot the thought is.
Would Daniel take him gentle, or rough? Or both, best of both worlds, both sound fucking incredible. Tearing Louis's soft designer clothes off that gorgeous body, getting him by the hips and pounding him, yanking him back into his thrusts, putting all his weight and all this new insane inhuman strength behind it and having him, just, just fucking ruining him. Louis with his eyes gone huge and his mouth fallen wide open, unable to speak, barely managing to breathe, crying and gasping and moaning. Louis dick-drunk and fucked right out of his head, body bouncing boneless and limp as Daniel uses him, wrecks him. That whole clever arrogant mind reduced to nothing more than feeling just how completely Daniel owns his ass, his whole body, him. Flipped over, gorgeous ass tilted up to be grabbed at and spanked as Daniel ruins it, face crushed into the sheets where his no, no, please, stop is muffled by the pillows, just one more sound in the mix of bedframe creaking and flesh slapping obscenely together and Daniel panting and groaning as he gives them both what they need.
The shit he could say to him – slut, gorgeous little bitch, walking around looking so fucking tempting cause you needed someone to put you in your place, huh? Gonna keep trying to tease, pull that ice queen shit like I'm only good to lick your boots? Yeah, thought not, princess. Yeah, that's it, take it – and Louis wouldn't have one single smart goddamn thing to say back. Maybe he'd be too full of cock to hear him; maybe, even better, he'd hear and he'd like it, make noises like he's dying of it. All that sadness, loneliness, anger and slow-burning hurt at having to rebuild his life all over again, all of it pounded right out his head. Til he shuts up and goes totally slack, hole yielding to Daniel, completely conquered.
With his body temperature, if Daniel can pound him so good that he stops breathing, it would be exactly like fucking a corpse. Most beautiful corpse ever made, eternally frozen in perfection, all his to defile. Every thrust jerking it around on the bed, head lolling, dick hanging all delicate and soft between his legs after Daniel drilled an orgasm out of him. This gorgeous, incredible, maddeningly frustrating and impossibly compelling man who's haunted Daniel his whole life, defined him and pushed him and showed him a new world, now just a broken-in fleshlight. A helpless, empty, doll-like sheath for Daniel's cock.
Then next time, once Daniel's made his point, then he can be nice. Get Louis pinned, gorgeous legs up to his ears, wrists tight in Daniel's grip, Daniel's whole weight dropped down on him. Face up so that Daniel can see his beautiful face when Louis realises he can't get away, that Daniel has him. Face up so that when the first tear falls, Daniel can kiss it away, nuzzle into that pretty smattering of stubble, drink all his helpless objections right out his mouth.
Mating press, yeah, that's the word he wants. Gonna breed you, he imagines saying, crooning right in Louis's ear, gonna put a baby in you, sweetheart, make you mine, and listening to Louis's punched-out whimpers. Yeah, Daniel just bets that's the kind of shit Louis would like.
Christ, actually, he hadn't thought that would be the shit he liked, but the pulse of lust that just went through him is like a lightning bolt straight to the cock. It's just– the kind of thing he'd felt fucking Alice with her baby bump, once the mindless rush of sex had dampened all his stress and misgivings. The thought that he could give Louis something nobody ever has. Stuff him full. Stake his claim in flesh and blood. Tie the two of them together forever.
He'd make it good for him, make it so good. Long, heavy strokes, filling his sweet ass up to bursting again and again, rocking Louis through orgasm after orgasm all while pressed up so close, til Louis can't remember how he'd ever thought Daniel wasn't everything he'd ever needed. Til Louis is just a limp, well-used puddle, cried out, coming dry, overwhelmed and broken open for Daniel to crawl inside and make his home. Til there's no more no left him him and the only word in his mouth is Daniel, whispered, moaned, wailed as Daniel gets his hands under his hips, holds him tight as he can and slams in one last time to come in that beautiful pussy, fill him up like he should always be full of Daniel and only Daniel–
He doesn't realise he's coming until it hits, so hard he doubles over, doesn't even manage to get his hand cupped in time. He can hardly hear himself as he milks his cock through the aftershocks, but he can feel the almost-agonised groan vibrating his throat. Pleasure like the warmth of the midday sun, like a hit of the good stuff the moment it enters the bloodstream, like Louis's rare real smile.
Then it ebbs away, all those good chemicals seeping out of him, and Daniel's left alone in an empty apartment. Silence all around him, bloody come staining his shirt, hollow in his chest welling up with the inescapable, undeniable fact that he did, actually, just bust to the thought of taking the guy he's in love with and raping him.
He hadn't realised vampires could throw up, without the help of something nasty in whatever they'd drunk. Good to know, he supposes.