Chapter Text
It has been fifteen minutes since Armand felt loved for the first time in his life.
Marius had loved him... in a way. Maybe a way similar to how Armand loves Daniel. Like a precious pet, a favourite toy. But Armand was human then, and after, a fledgling, prevented from seeing the truth in his maker's mind. And yet, Marius didn't come back for him after his near second death experience. So maybe he was a replaceable toy.
He was told that Louis loved him, back in Paris, right before the trial that destroyed the part of Louis that could love. Armand has many regrets in his life, and that is maybe the biggest one. Not because he regrets Claudia's death - although he does wonder if she could have ceased to be a problem, if she really would have left them alone, happy with her new companion. But no, at the end of the night, he does not care for Claudia. He only cares for what her death did to Louis. To them. What he did to them.
You'd think he'd learn a lesson from it. But you can't teach an old dog new tricks, and Armand is a very, very, very old dog.
He lies next to Daniel, staring up at the ceiling with large, unblinking eyes, listening to the young man's deep breaths, the steady beat of his heart, the sluggish thoughts his his head. And he can feel Daniel's love.
And he is hungry.
Ravenous.
Daniel startles from his half sleep when Armand moves, his heart jumping into a race, his breath speeding up, then turning into a breathless laugh, then gasps, then moans as Armand opens his legs and buries his fangs in his inner thigh. His skin still tastes of sweat and cum, so his blood tastes of them, too, and Armand is four hundred and seventy years old, but not draining Daniel in this moment might be the hardest thing he's ever done.
He tears himself away before he takes too much, bites his tongue and licks the wounds closed. Daniel is weak as a kitten, limp in the sheets, blinking lazily at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, breathing shallowly.
And he still loves Armand.
He still loves Armand.
Daniel's blood is pulsing through Armand, colouring his cheeks, warming up his limbs, throbbing in his hard cock. Daniel is stretched and lubed from when he fucked himself on his fingers while Armand watched earlier, but his dick is soft, his body heavy, his thoughts so slow he might as well be dreaming. Armand sinks into him, takes his body like he's taken his mind, fucks him like a rag doll... and Daniel still loves him.
He has known humans like Daniel before. He's had slaves like him, back when having slaves was normal even by human standards, and long after, when humans started to pretend they were better than that while still enslaving each other in more subtle ways. He's known broken, twisted humans, humans who lacked the most primal of human instincts for self preservation, humans who revered vampires as gods, humans who would do anything for the promise of becoming gods themselves. Daniel is not the first. But he is special. He is strong, and he is smart, and he is Armand's.
Thirty minutes after Armand knew he was loved for the first time in his long, long, long, long, long life, as he spills blood-spent inside Daniel, he also knows that he doesn't want Daniel to die. Daniel is not expendable. He is irreplaceable. Because Daniel loves Armand.
What Armand loves is the hunt. He used to make Daniel forget about him, let him live his life while Armand was busy not thinking about him, then he'd hunt him down - slowly, patiently. He wanted Daniel to fear him. He'd turn up in his dreams at first, his eyes shining from the darkness of oblivion, so Daniel knew to be afraid, so he'd feel the danger of a predator at his heels. He'd let Daniel spot him at corners, in dark alleys, in the reflection of a shop window behind him. He'd stalk him until Daniel's fear was palpable in the air around him, and only then would he pounce. Sometimes, he'd leave him the same way, none the wiser. As time went on, he experimented, gave Daniel his memories back as he drank, or just before, monitoring Daniel's reactions in his mind. Daniel truly was fascinating. Because even when all he thought he knew was that a deadly predator was draining life from him, his fear was always, always tinged with arousal. And when Armand let him know him, that arousal grew despite his fear, despite the anger he mustered enough courage to have over the years, stronger and stronger every time. He learned to fight Armand. He learned to trust Armand. And then, he learned to love Armand.
Armand never let himself consider the reasons why he kept coming back to this one human, why he always let him live. Why, with time, he always let Daniel know it was him, because scaring him became... unpleasant. As time went on around Armand without touching him, periods between hunting Daniel grew shorter and shorter, until he no longer wished to be without him because he could no longer stop thinking about him.
Daniel opens up a world to Armand he has been firmly ignoring for most of his existence. When Lestat opened his mind that fateful year in Paris, when Armand scoured the world for knowledge he had closed himself to for hundreds of years, the forceful enlightenment hurt. But now, Daniel is his window to it, like to a garden in the morning, when all the flowers open up to the rising sun. Armand drinks in everything this era has to offer, and it doesn't feel as overwhelming as it should - and it should, it really should, this age is so swift, something new pops up before the old had the time to become old. Armand wants to explore, he has taste for life in him, and he truly doesn't know if he had ever known this taste in his entire existence, vampire or human. When did he ever have the luxury of craving a new day before now?
Daniel indulges him with growing exasperation, because his human mind doesn't have the time or capacity to fixate the way Armand's vampire mind does. As if there's a clock in Daniel's nature that stops him from watching the same film a hundred times in a row, reminds him that he has a life to live. He is becoming quite good at his job in the spaces that Armand lets him focus on it.
When Armand turns his focus on making money - obsessively, because Armand doesn't know how to do anything in any other way - Daniel surrenders to the flow of their life, but something is stirring inside him. More and more, when Armand looks into Daniel's mind, he gets the sense of a bird in a golden cage.
The first time Armand wakes up to an empty house, panic spikes in him until he finds a note on the dining room table that says “CATCH ME”.
He finds Daniel in Prague. The boy has lead him here, kept calling out to him in his mind, taunting him, lighting up beacons every time he crossed the border of a new country, gone by the time Armand's private jet touched down. Daniel is leaning over the stone wall of Charles Bridge, smoking a Petra, and even across half a bridge and the roaring of Vltava under their feet, Armand can hear his heart jump when he sees the vampire watching him. The end of his cigarette glows in the dark one last time before he lets it drop into the river and walks away.
Armand lets him reach a dark alley before he's there, to Daniel's senses seemingly out of nowhere, crowding him against the wall. Daniel's heart races, and Armand briefly imagines biting through his chest, feeling it spasm between his teeth, gushing out blood quicker than he can drink. He shivers with need and imagined pleasure. Daniel's mind is open and wanting, the thrill that always lives inside his fear singing to Armand. He smells like sweat and tobacco and weed and absinth and sex, clearly having enjoyed everything the city has to offer. Armand's fangs are out - he doesn't think he could hide them when in such proximity to Daniel's neck, no matter how hard he would try - and he hovers, enjoying the pull of the blood that is flowing through every inch of Daniel, everywhere that even the smallest capillary reaches to animate his beautiful, special boy. Life, oxygen, nutrients, everything the human body has that the vampire body needs and burns through in the matter of hours, killing all that life with its dead nature. He has caught his prey, he will take all that life to sate his hunger.
No. Not all the life. Because then there would be nothing left to LOVE ARMAND.
“Do it!” Daniel whispers with such desperation, such want. Armand presses in even more, feels the rising of Daniel's warm chest against his, the frantic beating of his fragile heart. “Please!”
His dinner begs to be eaten.
Armand brushes Daniel's skin with his lips. Feels a shiver run through both of them, like they're two prongs of a tuning fork, vibrating in sync. He opens his mouth wide, fitting that taut neck between his teeth. He doesn't want the hunt to end, but his body has a mind of its own.
He bites down, finally, exquisitely, deeply. Daniel lets out a loud moan and his brain lights up with pain and pleasure, in that particular way it does when he sates his drug addiction. Armand avoids the artery, hugs it with his deadly jaw, feels it throbbing between his fangs as blood spurts into his mouth from the smaller veins. He wants it to last. He wants to chew like a dog with a toy, a pit bull terrier that bites and shakes and doesn't let go until its victim is lying limp in its mouth. Daniel would let him. Would he still love him? Would Daniel's love last until the end, or would it crash on the cliffs of realization together with his trust? Armand doesn't want to find out.
He isn't sated yet when he lets Daniel go, thinks he could drink three Daniels, he could gorge on Daniels... but Daniel is weak, barely holding himself up, supported by the wall and Armand more than his muscles, so Armand bites his lip until they bleed, and kisses Daniel's wounds until the veins close and the skin knits again, not leaving even a scar behind. He is better at it then Louis. Oh, Louis. He forgot about Louis. Can forget again.
Daniel begs for his blood with his mind more than his voice, but Armand doesn't want to risk it. He needs his human to stay human. Cannot even fathom losing him to the “gift”, to the curse. The curse of eternal loneliness. No, Daniel will stay human until... Armand doesn't let himself think of the “until”, either.
He picks Daniel up bridal-style and carries him through the city. Daniel directs him to his shitty accommodation, not even worthy of the word hotel, lets himself be laid on a creaky bed with floral bed sheets. Everything else is brown here - the carpet, the furniture, even the wallpaper, all in different pattern but all so very brown. Armand can't wait for the brown ear to end. It has to, at some point. All the eras have ended. Maybe this one will be replaced by something that doesn't look like shit.
He sits next to Daniel as the boy slips in and out of consciousness, and he watches the night outside the window. Where a human would probably see nothing but shades of darkness, he sees a life of colour and activity, every tiny insect that flies by reflecting the shine of the moon on its tiny wings, every spec of dust slowly sinking towards the ground... he sits for hours, not aware it is hours, until the sun starts to come out. He can stand it now, can survive in it, but it still isn't pleasant, so he gets up to close the blinds.
When he turns back, Daniel is watching him from the bed. “Hey, boss,” he smiles weakly.
“Hey, pet,” Armand smiles back. He sits in the same spot as before, and starts playing with Daniel's hair, feeling exactly like a master with his pet. It is a role he's assumed before, but this is the first time he's ever done it of his own volition. He used to be a coven leader, of course, but the first time, it was at the bid of his master, and the second, at the bid of Lestat, who Armand treated as master in his head. With Daniel, the role chafes at him sometimes, but it is what Daniel needs of him, and so Armand provides. In a way, Daniel is the cat lying around doing nothing, Armand the provider who spoils him. When seen in that light, the role doesn't chafe as much.
Daniel's mind is still sluggish, but now that he's awake, Armand can feel his need awaken as well. The boy curls towards him, nuzzles his side. Armand can feel the word echoing in his mind before he speaks it out loud: “Please!”
It's probably been long enough that he can. He's not really sure how it works. How could he? He's only seen the transformation second hand, always turning away in repulsion. Has no idea how much blood is needed, where the thresholds are. But it's been hours since he drank from Daniel, and didn't drink enough to endanger his life, so it should be alright now to sate his appetite.
The boy - he's almost thirty now, but will always be Armand's boy - pulls his shirt out of the way to bite at the hard skin of his hip, barely making an impression. Armand hasn't had the soft flesh of a human for over four hundred years, human teeth could never hurt him and they both know it. He laughs, amused, and Daniel laughs too, and keeps biting the way Armand wanted to bite into him, with abandon, pulling Armand's trousers down to get at more of his skin. Armand realizes what he wants, and... yes, as good a way as any, he supposes.
Daniel is still weak, holding himself up on a shaky elbow, so Armand shows him mercy by pressing him into the mattress and straddling his head. Daniel is looking up at him with hungry eyes. Armand pulls his trousers down the rest of the way, baring his rising cock. Daniel opens his mouth, his eyes still on Armand, so trusting, so open.
And as Armand slides into his mouth, he can't stop himself from wanting to be able to be in his position. Now that he's thought of Louis, the memory of him comes unbidden easily again. As much as Louis was cold and unyielding, never showing Armand more than surface level affection, he did use that streak of cruelty in him in a way Armand craves.
He lets a memory wash over him - not of Louis. Of stronger hands, artist's hands, so much larger than him. It is such an ancient memory that it barely holds shape, is more feeling than anything, but it is so comforting, like thinking of home. Because that was home. That was where he belonged, before the curse made him into what he is now. And Daniel, sweet, soft, human Daniel has no idea how lucky he is that he can enjoy that existence, can stay soft and pliant, can stay prey.
He takes care not to thrust, knowing that losing himself could end up in a disaster. When he comes, he fills Daniel's mouth with blood, and the young addict gets his fix. Armand watches him drift on a wave of different pleasure, nursing Armand's softening cock, suckling until Armand becomes oversensitive and withdraws. He lies with him, petting his hair, and thinks about golden cages.
They stay in Prague for a few days while Daniel chases a story. This is a fascinating country, he insists, and Armand decides to find out for himself what is fascinating about it. It is definitely different than the States, still under the Soviets but free enough to be its own thing. He watches the TV, listens to the music, to the words people are using on the street. He remembers that it used to be an important country, back in his day, and he can see it on the architecture, but nowhere else. Oh, how the mighty can fall.
He orders a prostitute for Daniel, watches him fuck her, then drains her in an alley while Daniel is sleeping. When Daniel wakes up, he's there, warm with her blood, and rides him better than her, makes him come better than her. He knows because he reads Daniel's mind. He doesn't know what he would do if Daniel didn't prefer him.
Daniel runs away again, and Armand chases him again. And again. And again. It's always fun, but with every chase, a new bitterness seeps in through the cracks. Daniel's bitterness. Armand refuses him the one thing he wants above all, compensates by keeping him in a metaphorical bubble wrap, like a china doll. Daniel doesn't understand why Armand doesn't want him to have eternal life, and Armand doesn't have the words to express his horror at the mere idea of it. At the idea of being alone again. Because that's the fate of a maker, is it not? To be alone, to never hear his beloved's voice in his head again.
To never touch his mind again and know for sure that Daniel loves him.
Daniel runs away again, and Armand doesn't chase him as quickly anymore. Lets him stew in his choices. Lets him live out on the streets, alone, without Armand's money, his care, his blood. Leaves him out there until Daniel can't stand it anymore, until he craves him more than he craves food, and then, only then, does he catch him. Daniel welcomes him like a man lost in desert welcomes a sip of water, and Armand lets himself be drunk and be drunk on it.
Time doesn't touch Armand, but it does touch everything around him, including Daniel. His boy is thirty two now, and he hasn't lived the passage of time in twelve years. He has no family of his own, no friends, since all he does is run from Armand and collect stories as he goes. Never long enough anywhere to grow roots.
Armand finds him in London, stumbling on the street, skin clammy with sweat even though it's September, curls heavy with the ever present autumn drizzle, and he ushers him into his limousine. Daniel curls up in his arms, sighing deeply, shivering with the cold and his withdrawals. Armand holds him with his eyes closed, choked on regret.
He carries Daniel to the private jet, lays him on a bed in their cabin. Sits with him while he sleeps.
“You are dying,” he says when Daniel wakes up. “This life is killing you. I am killing you.”
Daniel wants to say something, but Armand stops him with a soft: “Rest.”
This hurts. He has spent years at Daniel's side yearning for humanity, just as Daniel was yearning for vampirism, and all it brought him are these feelings, this sickly empathy he can't stand. Humans were never supposed to be more than food. It was easier that way.
“I love you,” he says. “And that's why I have to let you go. So you can live. Have a real life, not this pale imitation. You deserve more than to be a familiar to a master that lets you run yourself into an early grave.”
Please, Daniel thinks. Please, don't do this. Let me be like you. Give it to me. I will stay with you forever.
“No,” Armand whispers. “You wouldn't.”
Daniel begs in his mind. Tears are streaming down his face. Armand can't look at him, but he can't make himself shut him out. He can feel a blood tear slipping out of his own eye.
“You have to let me go,” he says with more resolve than he feels. “Forget about me.”
But he doesn't make him. He doesn't think that would be possible. How could he take twelve years of memories from Daniel? That's not something a bender could explain, that's a whole alien abduction gone wrong.
He stands up. They have been stationary for almost an hour now, waiting in the airport. “Rachel will take you to your new apartment. I don't know where it is.”
He knows that that alone wouldn't prevent him from finding Daniel. That he has to do on his own, with his own resolve. Like a drug addict cutting himself off, afraid that a single taste would pull him back into the oblivion of addiction. With that resolve, he puts one foot in front of the other, and leaves the plane and Daniel's life.
Daniel does everything in his power to pull Armand back to him.
He searches for him by human means, as well as screaming for him in his mind. Daniel doesn't have the ability to connect with Armand, of course, not from his end. He only has his mind and his hope that Armand is listening, just like he was listening every time Daniel left before. But as weeks go and the blood Armand shared with him leaves his system completely, Armand stops sensing him, stops being able to hear him. It is a merciful end to his torture.
Until one night, Armand hears him, loud and clear.
Armand. Armand, if you hear me... you bastard. I will slit my wrist with the broken amulet if you don't come to me. You have twelve hours.
Armand wastes seven minutes marching up and down his room on Night Island, furiously debating himself on whether or not Daniel would go through with it. In the end, he cannot take the uncertainty. He charters a plane to Paris. Why Paris? Why give him twelve hours to get to another continent? Why can't Daniel be having a mental breakdown somewhere closer, like his brand new apartment in New York City? Or Florida? He knows Armand is in Florida, even though he locked him out of the compound, barred him from all private spaces. Daniel did try to get in a few times, threw a few fits. Why did he have to throw the biggest one in fucking Paris?
He finds him in a dump in Mortmartre. It's the middle of the day and Daniel is slumped in a bed bug ridden bed (Armand can hear them crawl). He isn't sleeping, but he's not really awake, either. He's staring at the wall. Doesn't stir when Armand flies in through the window. There are wine bottles and used syringes lying around, little empty bags, lighters, filters from joints. He is closer to death than when Armand last saw him. Armand's amulet, the one that housed the vial of his blood, is held loosely in Daniel's palm, and blood has scabbed over where the jagged edges of the glass pierced his skin as he, presumably, clutched it.
“You're not killing yourself,” Armand says, and it's a confirmation and a question and a prayer and an order and a thank god all wrapped in one.
“I was high,” Daniel says in lieu of explanation. His voice is monotone, dead. “I fucking hate you.”
The words stab Armand where it hurts most, and he has to, he has to check if Daniel means it... yes, yes, he does, but he hates him because he loves him, he still loves him...
Daniel doesn't have the energy to scream, but he wants to. Armand does, too, but he's afraid of what he might do if he lets himself go. He searches Daniel's mind for more - sees what makes sense, that Daniel overdosed, broke the amulet to save his own life. Just to threaten to end it if Armand doesn't come back to him. Such a jamble of emotions, so much desperation, so much will to live and to die at the same time. The blood wasn't enough, just a few drops, really, just enough to help him cling to life. This time.
Armand moves, and suddenly he's sitting on Daniel's thighs, slicing his wrist open with his nail and wrenching Daniel's head back to pour blood into his mouth. Forcing him to drink, forcing him to live.
When he lets him go, Daniel looks better. Has the energy to argue. Armand doesn't let him, presses his shoulders into the wall, stares into his eyes.
He cannot make Daniel forget twelve years of his life, but he can twist them into something else. He can save Daniel from himself.
“Armand is Alice,” he says out loud and in Daniel's mind, meaning every single word, convincing them both of this absolute truth.
“Armand is Alice,” Daniel says, his tone even more dead than before, completely devoid of emotion, of agency, of humanity.
“Alice is human.”
“Alice is human.”
“Alice left you.”
“Alice left me.”
“Armand is Alice.”
“Armand is Alice.
“Alice is human.”
“Alice is human.”
“Alice left you.”
“Alice left me.”
Over and over and over again. If you repeat something enough times, it becomes true. The rest - that, Daniel's brain will fill in itself. Human brains are good at that. This way, Daniel will mourn a normal human woman who can't hear his thoughts from across the world and won't be swayed by attempts at suicide.
The sun sets. When Armand straightens up and searches Daniel's mind for himself, he only finds Alice. She is already taking shape - his shape, just softer around the angles of his body and face. Daniel is exhausted, so Armand tucks him in and lets him sleep. It's for the best. He cleans up the vial's remains. Hesitates, then licks Daniel's palm clean. There are no wounds, they all healed when he fed Daniel his blood. Just the few scabbed drops of his blood, the last Armand is ever to taste.
He sits there for a few more hours. Watches Daniel breathe. Wishes he could do more. Wishes he could make Daniel go to rehab, clean up his act, will himself to have a proper life. Daniel doesn't love him anymore, he loves Alice now, but oh, how much he loves Alice. How much he hates her.
He is not a god. He is just a cursed demon, and demons can't fix lives. He slithers from Daniel's room before the sun can rise again, flies away like the wretched creature he is. Leaves behind the ruins of a promising young reporter.
He goes to Louis. Expects to be met with derision. Hopes for abuse.