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All things considered, there aren’t too many problems in Daniel Molloy’s life these days. Sure, many would argue that there are one or two issues. These matters have already done their due diligence in complicating his story, yet he’s reached an uneasy peace with them both. Therefore, gender and sexuality notwithstanding, he’s doing alright. He stakes his claim in San Francisco and can finally be considered middle-class, sporting a one-bedroom apartment that’s charming but humble. It’d be fighting words if anyone were to call him spoiled by his immortal benefactor, but he has to admit it’s completely true. With all of his needs and desires accounted for, one singular predicament — a silly, trivial, easily-solvable thing — is rearing its head with a vengeance.
Armand is going to kill him.
Well, back up. No, he’s not going to drain and dismember and god-knows-what-else him (not this time, at least), but Daniel feels like he’d deserve it right now. Ever since his birthday, this is the fourth time in as many weeks that their specific sex plans have fallen through. He’s running out of excuses and explanations that don’t require sessions with a shrink. Armand has become quietly withdrawn, avoiding most conversation on the topic as he tries his damndest to allow Daniel his space.
It’s understandable, Daniel thinks. Anyone would react this way to sex — as well as a related birthday gift — being seemingly rejected time and time again. In his defense, though, they’ve still been fucking in other ways. He hasn’t even rejected the new toy, per se; it’s just been… waiting in his drawer. For a month. Unused. Everyone has that bullet point on their to-do list that they avoid, and Daniel’s is his recent reluctance to fuck his partner.
None of it makes sense. He’s no stranger to the concept and the act: harness, dildo, hole, go for it. He wants to, Armand is more than willing, and they’ve treaded similar waters before. Hell, he’s well aware that Armand can take much larger than standard sex shop toys. So, what gives?
For one, it’s almost more disconcerting to initiate when he’s been with Armand for several months. It’s not the semi-anonymous one-night stands he had become accustomed to. If he can’t satisfy the man, he'll most likely stick around. Worse still, an unsatisfactory performance will remain in his mind for eternity. Armand is also always willing to spoil him, and who can blame Daniel for taking him up on the offer? Saying that he feels out of practice bending anyone over feels like an understatement.
For the other, the elephant in the room, there’s a handmade bespoke dick collecting dust in his bedroom now. Their earlier trial runs with Armand commissioning an “artist” had been largely successful, and it was only natural to upgrade his strap to something more visually appealing. The night of his 22nd, pleasantly buzzed, he nearly shredded the box apart to finally see it in the (synthetic) flesh. It was a thing of wonder: firm and delicately painted, the size average and proportional to his stature. He tumbled off the couch posthaste, scrambling to find the sewn harness left in his bathroom after a solid cleaning.
It was a miracle that he was able to successfully make it through the setup process, curses echoing off the walls’ patterned tiles as he drunkenly fumbled around with the toy. When it was finally affixed, when he had donned his boxer briefs again, as usual, and fed it through the fly, it clicked: this was his cock, in all its glory. He’d conquer the damn world with it, starting with… and it hit him. A stomach-churning, pseudo-nausea sent beads of sweat prickling across his brow.
Though unwelcome, the feeling was familiar. When Daniel first started his meds, the dick growth was great. His nurse at the clinic had avoided mentioning it, hush-hush as if acknowledging the effects would cause them to spread to her. He looked down at it one night, enraptured, until he realized that touching it directly felt like grabbing a live wire. This subsided eventually, but the memory remained tattooed into the ripples of his brain. Now, the pressing thought of that much pleasure, of watching his very own dick fuck Armand, would feel just as raw.
Looking down, it felt real— too real, too much, too good for him, circling back around to remind him of its synthetic nature. In a perfect world, this wouldn’t be such a novelty toy; it’d simply be…him. With a sigh, he tucked the shaft into his waistband and zipped up, forcing a grin back onto his face before returning to Armand.
The bastard saw straight through it. He began to pry until Daniel snapped, deflecting from the real issue as he admitted that he wanted Armand to fuck him instead. The lie seemed to satisfy, as Armand’s eyes lit up, agreeing to provide Daniel one last gift.
He truly was treated this time: sprawled out in bed as his ass was filled, stroking the dick strapped to him with the proper amount of lube. He came at least twice to the sounds of Armand whispering filthy things about the ways he wanted his cock. Still, he woke up the next day with the same lingering dread, cleaned the toy up, and tossed it in their nightstand.
This mental block has continued for weeks, much to his chagrin. Every other way they can fuck is above board, but the second Armand sweetly whispers, “Take me, Daniel,” it’s like being doused with cold water. His initial anxiety has morphed into an all-consuming beast, informing him that Armand has had dozens, hundreds, centuries of better lays.
Each time he has to call it off, Daniel apologizes profusely, scarcely able to meet his eyes. Armand claims that such an apology is unnecessary and that there’s always another time. Daniel’s starting to doubt such a time exists.
“I’m not sure I understand it, truthfully,” Armand says one evening after another anxious decline of sex. Daniel had barely succeeded in putting it into the harness before growing lightheaded and stuttering out a need for fresh air. Softly, gently, delicately, Armand had redressed them both and took him out onto the fire escape.
“Not sure it’s something worth understanding,” Daniel counters, hitting the joint he’d rolled with trembling hands. His body is still tense even as Armand lays his head in his lap, the soft hair splaying out across his sweatpants.
“You agonize so deeply over something you know you want.”
The statement is as heartbreaking as it is comforting. At least Armand knows he wants this, that he’s trying, that this isn’t out of a lack of desire. He wants him so bad it hurts, so bad it keeps him restless at night and chokes him up when he tries to discuss it. Armand knows about it all, and he’s still chosen to put up with him.
Usually, Daniel can hardly bear this genre of conversation, but the clouds in his head cause him to snicker. “Ain't that some shit?” He squints out towards the city lights as he rolls smoke over his tongue, the rhythmic patterns of flashing neon signs grounding his thoughts. “Alright, here, try this. You ran the theater, right? So, you’re the director, and you’re about to put on a show that’s gonna be great. Ask me what’s so great about it.”
“What makes it so special?” Armand asks, taking the joint from his fingers, letting their knuckles brush together.
“You know the audience will probably enjoy it, you know it’ll be given its best effort, and you know it’ll make you happy to put it on the stage. It’s sort of everything you’ve ever wanted, uh–” Daniel coughs into his elbow, clearing his throat. His cheeks feel warm, and he’ll can’t tell if it’s from the high or the nerves.
“I believe I’ve had several performances like that, debuting new shows. That rush of opening night…” Armand trails off, reveling in the memories of a job well done. It makes Daniel long to know this version of him, taking in the bittersweet reminder that Armand lived many lives before this one.
“Alright, exactly. You’re there. Now, how do you feel riiiight before the curtain first opens?” Daniel follows up, slowly spreading his hands apart to mimic his words.
“Oh, atrocious,” Armand replies instantly. The clarity seems to hit him in the face, the way he devolves into soft laughter.
“Come on, that’s what it’s like,” Daniel rolls his eyes as Armand sits up, grasping his cheek between a few fingers. He leans into the touch, muscles relaxing as another hand gently strokes his hair. “Except you can imagine I’m some keyed-up young actor, if that makes it hotter for you.”
“Stage fright,” Armand shakes his head, leaning in for a kiss.
While stuck in traffic on his ride home from work, Daniel realizes that his fears have always been few and far between. He realized early on that there was no point in running to his parents when frightened by insects or intense dreams. The comfort, reassurance, and safety commonly bestowed upon a scared child were never something provided to him out of fear of “coddling”. Sure, the life-threatening recklessness of his young adulthood could be a natural consequence of his relationship with fear. However, it’s the only reason Armand is waiting for him at home.
Thinking through the short list of things that keep him up at night, only two are somewhat tangible. Both reside in San Francisco. One is seriously impacting his sex life, and the other is… stupid, he’ll admit, sourced from a singular childhood memory gone awry. It quickly dawns on him that both could be encountered, perhaps even conquered, in the same night. He’s about to look like a damn fool in front of Armand regardless, but maybe that’s the sort of thing he needs.
“We’re goin’ out,” he announces to Armand as soon as he unlocks his door. The creature perks up from his seat on the couch, orange eyes flicking up from a thick novel. Daniel continues, “The Wharf. There’s fun shit there…mostly. C’mon, I haven’t taken you out in ages, you’ll love it.” He wants to add on a ‘let’s go, before I change my mind’, but Armand takes him up on the offer without a word. If there’s ever an inkling that Daniel has a surprise planned these days, he tunes out the rapid-fire stream of his mind and allows him to run the show.
The actual dread sets in the moment the two reach the main piers, and Daniel’s eyes focus on the large sign before them. He fidgets with the buttons on his jacket, grimacing. It might not be too late to turn back and change their plans.
“A museum! I wouldn’t have guessed,” Armand beams at him. “I’m familiar with the name Ripley, I believe.”
“Uh-huh,” Daniel replies curtly, leading them in. “It’s really… you’ll like it, for sure.”
He pays for the tickets with clammy hands, grateful that Armand is already distracted by the decorations in the lobby. It’s a funny thing, fear. He longs to grab onto Armand — the vampire, the killing machine, the undying — as they walk in, to shelter himself behind his long coat. The horrors of his young memories lurk just around the corner, waiting to find him vulnerable once again.
Once they’re immersed, it takes Daniel all of about five minutes to realize he’s not a ten-year-old being shoved by older cousins towards the ghoulish wax figures and shrunken heads. Instead, he’s being nearly dragged around by Armand, his eyes sparkling as he points at some multi-headed taxidermy. If anything, half of the stuff feels too normal, too human after his introduction to the preternatural. The mystical “artifacts” look faker and tackier this time around, but Armand’s laughter is genuine as they walk through a hall surrounded by centuries-old torture equipment.
“Marvelous, truly. They never used these in France,” Armand scoffs at an iron contraption that makes Daniel hiss in pain upon reading the placard’s description. “That would’ve been much more entertaining.”
In one instant, Daniel quickly pulls Armand away from a small wooden case, his mouth wide with a childlike wonder.
“This is perfect!!” he gasps, a finger tapping at the placard that reads ‘Genuine 19th Century Vampire Killing Kit’. Though Daniel’s not the biggest history buff about that era, he’s pretty sure he knows the pieces to be fake. “Do you think they’ll let me purchase it?”
The night is still young when they exit the “Odditorium” with a small bag of souvenirs. Daniel feels lighter, bumping elbows with Armand as they walk through the bustling docks. The Wharf is alive tonight, teeming with people and vendors. It’s not often he gets to surprise Armand, to see him captivated by the tourist trap shlock that he takes for granted.
“Is it normally this busy?”
“Yes and no,” Daniel starts. “I bet a lotta the vendors and games got transferred after they shut down Playland. I only ever made it there once, when my family scraped together enough money for me to visit some cousins. It’s the simple joys in life. You eat horrific fried food, go on some unsafe rides, and take home cheap little trinkets.”
As if summoning them, they round the block to a row of machines that Armand beelines towards. In no time flat, Armand holds a pressed penny and two fortune-telling cards, presenting one to Daniel. Taking the card in his hands, Daniel begins to read aloud and is promptly hushed by Armand, who simply says, “It’s your fortune.”
He never believes in these things, he thinks. If the only thing controlling his destiny is some far-off factory’s printer, he’ll take his chances. Still, as his eyes scan the lines, he snorts at the sentence: “Your clever ways of handling your domestic problems and your sincerity in dealing with others are pointing the way to their reward.” How charming. Though he presently feels that his problems are far from handled, the card might yet be prophetic. He slips the card into his wallet and, after gauging his surroundings, thanks Armand with a quick kiss to his cheek.
Armand, his attention quickly shifting gears, points down the pier to a young family. “Children are roaming around with painted skin. Halloween has passed. What’s the occasion?”
“Do you really need one?” Daniel shrugs. “People like this sorta thing year-round. It keeps the kids happy, and it gives an artist some easy cash. C’mon, let’s see what they can put on you.”
Armand follows Daniel through a winding path around clusters of families and groups of rowdy teens, coming to a halt before a small booth with vibrant signage. The starving young artist running the face painting stand is, well… Daniel locks eyes with him, and he immediately glances between the two men, giving a small polite nod.
“Alright,” Daniel stops them, fishing out a handful of coins from his pocket. “Go tell the nice man what you want, sweetie,” he jokes.
“You’re ridiculous,” Armand replies, though he quickly takes a seat. He flips through a small booklet of options, tapping on one with a poorly suppressed grin. Minutes later, has a spiderweb curving from his left brow to his cheek. “Your turn.” Armand gestures to the seat, making Daniel roll his eyes. “You’re not getting out of this.”
“Fine, we’ll match,” Daniel says, pointing at a design that has green and blue stars tracing along the same line. The tempera paint is cool, smelling of preschool nostalgia, and the fine-tipped brush tickles his skin. Several times, he struggles to keep himself from laughing and creasing up the fine details. “Do I look sexy, now?” he asks as soon as he’s done, chuckling as both men nod.
The crowds begin to thin out as the night plunges further into darkness. Daniel walks along the now quiet piers, his fingers interlaced with Armand’s in a comfortable silence. It begins to dawn on him that he’s no better than a teenager, stumbling over himself to win the biggest plush for his potential prom date. Armand seems to display no complaints. Most of their dates are planned by him, but this was Daniel’s chance to show off and make the man feel properly “woo-ed”.
As they begin to exit the wharf, a small curtain-lined box allows him just the opportunity. “Photobooth?” Daniel nods over to the cubicle bearing a sign that proclaims: ‘You oughtta be in pictures!’
“Is the camera in your bag not enough?” Armand nods to the messenger bag on Daniel’s hip. Quite unlike him, he’s only snapped a few photos tonight, with most of them being the cluster of sea lions on some nearby rocks. There’s a distinct lack of Armand in his rolls of film, but even out of frame, his presence still fills each shot with warmth. Truth be told, with the way he looks at Daniel from time to time, it’d feel disruptive to preserve the moment.
“It’s the novelty, babe.” Daniel grins. “I mean, look, you oughtta, it says right there!”
It’s not the most comfortable squeeze in the world. Daniel elects to sit atop the worn leather barstool, pulling Armand into his lap as Armand inserts the change. A small mirror above the camera gives them a preview of the duo, and it’s exactly as stupid as he had hoped.
The first two photos go off without a hitch, with Daniel pulling Armand in by the jaw for a soft kiss on the second. For the third, his pulse picks up as he looks up at him, cocking his head before saying, “You know I’m gonna fuck you when we get home, right?”
“Wh–”
Click!
Armand’s stunned expression melts into a laugh once he sees Daniel’s shit-eating grin, a soft “I can’t believe you,” as he covers his mouth. Once the fourth photo is complete, Armand pauses mid-exit from the booth. “Are you really sure?”
“More than anything,” Daniel replies, kissing his nose before heading out alongside him.
It takes a few minutes for the photos to print and develop, but the two lunge for the identical strips once they’re complete. It’s exactly as he had hoped, capturing the metamorphosis of shock, awe, and unbridled affection displayed across the contours of Armand’s face.
The bus ride back to Daniel’s apartment makes a valiant attempt to put a damper on their mood — cramped, slow, and frequently lurching — but Daniel also doubts either of them would have survived behind the wheel like this. He needs no Mind Gift to recognize the arousal radiating out of Armand, though he’s not faring much better himself. Perhaps it’s convenient not to be sporting a massive erection on public transport, but he can still feel twinges of sensitivity whenever he shifts in his seat.
Though Daniel would swear the minutes stretched to hours, he finally finds himself at his apartment door with Armand standing behind him, pressed to his body as if he’s trying to meld to his skin. Daniel fumbles with the keys: first grabbing one for his mailbox, then the one for some office filing cabinets, then they’re dropped to the ground entirely. He snatches up the ring by the correct key, only to attempt to insert it upside-down.
“I hope this isn’t a preview of what you’re hoping to provide,” Armand chuckles, pressing a kiss onto Daniel’s shoulder.
“Shut your fucking–” Daniel snaps back, the loud click of the unlocking deadbolt cutting him off.
It’s a miracle his walls remain undented. The door barely shuts behind them before he’s pulled Armand in, shoving him towards the nearest corner. Daniel connects their lips, his hands grasping at Armand’s jaw and soft curls. Armand gasps out a soft moan, leaning into the touch and taking Daniel’s tongue into his mouth.
A knee slots between Daniel’s legs, pressing right where he needs him. He rolls his hips along with Armand’s movement, grinding and chasing the friction on his dick. As he moves to tuck Armand’s hair behind his ear, he feels the dry, cracked texture atop his skin and pulls back. “Alright, you wanna wash all this off real quick?” Daniel asks, gesturing towards his face, still decorated with boardwalk face paint.
Armand looks positively scandalized at the suggestion. “I think we look perfectly fine. If anything, you should look like this more often, I’ll help you apply the designs before w–” he grins as Daniel shuts him up with a kiss.
“You want me to fuck you or not?” Daniel laughs, hoisting him up by the waist into his arms. He’s surprised Armand hasn’t been all over him since he found out he could carry the guy around. It doesn’t look like it should work; Armand’s all limbs and has several inches on him, but Daniel has found himself noticeably stronger (...if a bit stockier) as the months pass by. He keeps a hand wrapped along Armand’s lower back as he walks them to the bedroom, knocking the door open with his hip.
The dismount is far less graceful than the journey, as Armand allows himself to be thrown onto the bed. He wastes no time in undressing himself, eyes locked on Daniel as he follows suit. Their clothing discarded, he pulls Daniel onto the mattress by the arm, capturing him in another kiss. “Is everything still alright?” he asks, running a hand between his shoulder blades.
“Yeah, ‘s good,” Daniel nods, a smile creeping across his face. “I feel like I’m gonna fuckin’ die if I don’t, if I’m honest.” As much as he’d like to contribute this change to a recent shot of his meds or simply getting over himself, it’s more than that. It’s the reminder that Armand wants him like this; he wants to see Daniel happy as much as he desires to get fucked. It feels right — not rushing himself, not swallowing down his nerves, just showing his partner a good time.
“Is that so? I’ll spoil you, then. I won’t even make you beg for it.” Armand gives Daniel a quick swat on the ass. “Get set up.”
“C’mon, the begging’s half the fun,” Daniel replies, reaching into their nightstand.
It’s a strange feeling, handling your own disembodied dick — phallus, Armand called it once, the ancient word making it sound titanic, almost weapon-like. His fingers run down the shaft, feeling the flexibility: hard, with just enough give when squeezed. The light tone of the shaft feels human and looks just like the skin on his inner thighs, far from the plain beige toys he’d previously owned. Its tip is flushed a beautiful pink, and Daniel knows for a fact that the color is reflected on his cheeks as he feels the toy’s weight in his palm.
“You were pretty generous with me, babe,” Daniel remarks, pressing the toy through the harness. Once again, the sight of the cock between his legs makes his body thrum with energy, and he fights the urge to wiggle his hips to feel the thing move with him. Maybe later.
“Was I? Armand replies with a playful grin. “Your fantasies were what inspired the design. I believe it suits you.” With a beckoning gesture, he gets Daniel to crawl closer to him. After spitting into his palm, he wraps his hand around the length, slicking up the shaft with a twist of his wrist.
Daniel shudders at the sight, his teeth catching on his lip. He wants more, he wants to fuck his fist, he wants… “C-can you?” Daniel asks, the words escaping his brain. He nods down where his hips have straddled Armand’s, down at his dick lying untouched.
“How thoughtful of you. Here, this will be much better,” Armand chuckles. He reaches for the bottle of lube at their bedside, opting to pour a small line across his fingers before taking them both in hand.
Daniel can’t help the noise that escapes him when Armand presses their cocks together, running his hand from the base to the tip in one slow stroke. Armand’s not a poorly-endowed man, and Daniel’s new dick has about an inch on him. Further still, the width is something he’d certainly be nervous to take. Armand, on the other hand, seems positively delighted by this, his hips lifting to fuck into the tight channel of his palm and Daniel’s dick.
“Does it feel good?” Daniel asks. He won’t lie, he heavily prefers the sensation of Armand grinding against his slit, feeling the contact far more directly, but the visual is arousing enough on its own.
“Incredible,” Armand answers, but then confusingly drops his grasp of their dicks. “Look at us.” His hand lies Daniel’s length out along his stomach, the implication clear as day.
“God, that’s… How do we wanna do this?” Daniel asks, kissing up Armand’s neck. He’d take him in any way, any location, any complicated contorted position, and he’s charged up with anticipation to see how Armand wants to get fucked.
Armand stays on his back, hooks a hand behind each of his knees, and spreads himself open for him. Sitting between his legs, Daniel knows he’s a lucky man.
“Christ…” Daniel murmurs, his cheeks flushed. “You look so fucking pretty like this,” He’s fixated on the soft contours of Armand’s body as his legs are pulled back towards his chest, thighs parted to show off his hole. His cock lies atop his stomach, leaving the skin beneath it damp.
Fingering Armand, at least, is no unfamiliar task. He begins the stretch with two slicked-up fingers, relishing in the way Armand moans his name. It didn’t take long for Daniel to discover that Armand liked to fuck with something inside him, often a thick plug that he could tighten around with each thrust. When he was truly lust-drunk, he’d babble about wanting all manner of things from double-ended dildos to things Daniel could only describe as “contraptions” to be shoved inside him. At first, he was baffled at Armand’s more adventurous tastes, and now he can’t deny that he sees the appeal of spreading him open and stuffing him full.
Daniel makes it his mission to curl his fingers inside of Armand until he gasps, pressing the pads of them right into his prostate. A shred of lingering envy makes itself known when Armand begs sweetly for him to continue, even though he knows Armand can fuck him well enough without a spot of his own. He massages the soft wall of skin inside him, eyes locked on the way Armand’s dick twitches and leaks at the pressure. Long, muscled thighs close around Daniel’s hips, with Armand’s legs crossing around him, holding him near.
The addition of a third finger is short-lived, as Armand breathes out a soft “I’m ready, Daniel.”
“Y’sure?” Daniel tilts his head. “This thing is…hefty.”
Armand’s face twists into a slight grimace, blinking rapidly. “Don’t call it– I want the stretch, I need to feel how you’ll spread me open.”
Any thoughts still residing in Daniel’s brain rapidly exit at that, and all he can do is nod. “Y-yeah. On it. Fuck…” He feels like he’s floating within his own body as he takes the cock in his hand, squeezing lube along the shaft. He works his hand over the length and stares down at it, unable to form words. It feels wrong to distract himself from the main goal, and yet he can feel the blood pulsing between his legs.
“Is that what you need?” Armand teases. “Can’t help but admire it, hm? You must be aching right now.”
As tempting as it is to continue stroking himself like this, he truly is desperate to fit himself inside. He presses the tip to Armand’s rim, gently pushing against the muscle’s resistance. Daniel holds his breath until the head slides in, the moan that escapes him deep and gravelly.
“You’re inside me,” Armand says, his voice light and airy. The statement's obviousness doesn’t detract from its power to make Daniel throb with pure want.
He wants, he thinks as he grabs one of Armand’s thighs, slowly fucking the first few inches into him. He wants to watch Armand take it all, he wants to pound into him until he sees his cock dripping, he wants more, more than he can hardly think, at the risk of being overheard. A pang of shame attempts to get the best of him, telling him he’s a hypocrite for wanting to fuck and fill him, to–
A heel kicks at Daniel’s side, and Armand clears his throat beneath him. “You can think about finishing inside me once you fuck me, Daniel,” he says, the needy strain in his voice audible.
Daniel has been grateful for his patience thus far, so he refrains from teasing him any further. He can hear Armand whine and feel him writhe slightly as he eases himself in, knowing the burn he’s feeling all too well. A soft exhale leaves Daniel’s lips as he bottoms out, his hips bumping against Armand’s ass. He looks down to where they’ve connected, his shaft enveloped by Armand’s stretched hole.
“Sink in further,” Armand instructs. “Like you’re riding my leg.”
Confused, Daniel rocks his hips to test the waters, only to feel a spike of pleasure surge through him. “Fuck, that’s good, it’s pressing on my dick,” he gasps out, grinding against him. He’s glad that Armand seems to understand the clarification between his dick and his dick, giving him a pleased look that borders on smug. The wide base of the silicone against him is delightfully textured with ridges that rub right up against his cock. When he first opened the box, he thought there were defects in the toy's crafting, but now he understands quite well.
“I thought you’d enjoy the extra sensation,” Armand replies. “I bet your poor cock’s going to be raw by the time we’re finished.”
It’s a risk Daniel’s willing to take. He thrusts inside him, and the feeling is right, the feeling is more than familiar. Armand has taken note of the most intimate details of Daniel’s transition, and this is one of his guilty pleasures. His orgasms used to wash over him, tingling through his veins. Now, he always struggles to keep his hips still, his body arching off the bed as his dick pulses. Armand once told him it was a sign his body was built to fuck. Though the pressure got the best of him for a while, Daniel’s starting to suspect that he was correct all along.
“C’mere,” Daniel says, his voice low as he grabs a hold of Armand’s legs. In one swift movement, he tugs them over his shoulders, still keeping Armand nearly folded in half as he fucks him.
“You’re so deep, fuck, Daniel…” Armand’s face screws up, biting his lip. Daniel can see the soft flesh of Armand’s stomach and chest shake with each thrust. He wonders if he can render Armand truly speechless, hitting his prostate until he’s stuck letting out pathetic whines. “I can feel how hard you are, how beautiful you sound fucking a man.”
Once Daniel angles himself further upwards, Armand reaches a breaking point, and his hand flies down to his own cock with a gasp of Daniel’s name. His long fingers wrap around his dick in a firm squeeze, causing more precum to leak from his slit. Still, he keeps himself from stroking, as much as Daniel can tell that it pains him to do so.
“You getting there, baby?” Daniel asks, unable to suppress a smirk. There’s something so satisfying about watching Armand cum, the way it makes Daniel see both the charming young man and the insatiable creature inside of him. It’s vulnerable, terrifying, delicious, and he always loves being able to take credit for it.
Piercing orange eyes narrow in his direction, and Armand spits out, “If you don’t make me cum like this, I’ll push you over and do the work myself, you smug little faggot.”
The words go straight to Daniel’s dick, reassuring that Armand knows exactly who Daniel is and what he needs. He pulls him into a rough kiss that’s more teeth than tongue as he pounds into him, nails digging deep into the muscle of Armand’s thighs.
As he hears Armand’s moans reaching their peak, he leans down, sinking his teeth into the flesh of his neck. It’s not enough to break the skin; he’s not there yet, but the pain is still enough to push Armand over the edge. He hears the harsh hiss of Armand’s fangs dropping as he cums, shooting across his stomach and chest.
Daniel’s gentle as he guides himself out of Armand, slowly pulling away as Armand shudders through the aftershocks. Color flushes his cheeks when he discovers that Armand’s hole remains slightly spread. Armand locks eyes with him and reaches a hand down to gently touch his rim. Daniel must be nearly drooling, because Armand simply asks, “Can I help you, beloved?”
“Need you, need to, however…” Daniel pants out, his chest heaving. He’s eternally grateful for the vampire’s stamina, as he needs no moment of rest before grabbing Daniel by the hips, pulling him up to straddle his face.
With deft, quick hands, Armand takes Daniel out of the harness, exposing the hard dick beneath it. Slick strands glisten against his skin from where he had been rubbing up against the silicone.
“You’re so eager for me,” Armand says, gently running a finger through the mess. He doesn’t say anything further, doesn’t call him ‘wet’ because he knows Daniel viscerally hates it. “I know I said I wouldn’t make you beg, but you might still do it anyway.”
Daniel licks his dry lips, bracing a hand on either side of the pillow beneath Armand’s head. “Need you to suck me off, need to fuck your face until I cum or piss or fuckin die, just— please, come on, baby.”
Armand grabs him by the hips and tugs him down to close the distance between them, dragging his tongue up to taste his cum. His hands slide down lower, squeezing the soft flesh of his Daniel’s ass and guiding him to grind against his mouth. He can feel the firm ridge of Armand’s nose pressing against his dick, and his eyes roll back in his skull as he fucks himself against it.
Then finally, finally, his lips wrap around Daniel’s cock and suck, nearly causing Daniel to double over. His hand fumbles for the headboard and grips until the old wood creaks, wondering if this will finally be the night his bed gets broken.
“Grab my hair instead, if that’s a concern of yours,” Armand suggests before returning to his task, his tongue circling around the head of his dick.
He takes the advice, reaching down to hold the back of his head. Armand’s eyes predictably light up, taking in his guilty pleasure of being used as a tool to get Daniel off. It’s only slightly startling when he feels Armand’s fingers move further in, the pads of his fingers pressing against the tight entrance of his asshole. He’s glad that he’s conditioned Armand to keep a few fingers consistently filed down, because it allows him to quickly nod and ask for what he needs.
“You can stick them in, Jesus Christ, I need to cum so bad…” Daniel begs.
Goosebumps rise on his arms when he feels Armand use his arousal to slick up his fingers, but it’s still a stretch when he presses both inside at once. He supposes it’s a fair payback for splitting him open earlier. They’ll likely take a lazy day in bed tomorrow after leaving each other pleasantly sore.
When Armand begins to whisper praises in the back of his mind, he knows he’s a goner. It’s overwhelming getting fingered with his cock between Armand’s lips, and he begins to believe Armand might be making good on his request to kill him.
“Is this how you think you’ll go?” Armand chuckles in his mind. “And so soon, when I could have a perfect little fucktoy to pump me full whenever I need?”
“Y’don’t have to…get into that,” Daniel stammers out. That’s something he’ll need to unpack when he isn’t about to black out.
“Don’t I? When I can feel how it makes your cock throb on my tongue? Like how it pulses when I call you… Oh, you need to hear it, don’t you?”
“Sh-shut up, shut the fuck up, I’m gonna cum–” Daniel warns, his hand flying up to cover his mouth.
“Good boy, such a perfect faggot for me…”
Daniel’s thighs tense up around Armand’s head as he climaxes, the fluid hitting Armand’s mouth and chin. His hips jerk as Armand lets him fuck his way through it. It’s too much when he feels his tongue begin to clean him up after, and he gently pushes his head away.
With a groan, Daniel crawls back to straddle his waist, sitting back atop his feet. “Shit, I’ve made a mess of you, huh?” Daniel remarks, taking in the damage he’s done, from Armand’s drenched face to his frizzed-up hair. The face paint, however, miraculously remains unscathed.
“Is that supposed to be a problem?” Armand chuckles, looking incredibly satisfied with his current state. He simply lies before Daniel, arms folded neatly behind his head, and fuck, how could he have kept himself away from this? Daniel’s eyes scan over the sight of soft, squishy skin covering toned muscles, the dark hair decorating his underarms, his chest, his groin. Red-tinged sweat coats him all over, and the contours of his body shine in the low lamplight of their bedroom. He looks like artwork— from the smooth marble statues in museums that Daniel longs to see to the grainy photographs he’s found being passed around in gay bars. If this figure had been an idol to pray to, he would have become devout long ago.
Daniel’s muscles tremble as he moves to lie down beside him, the tension in his body releasing in one crashing wave. The scent of Armand’s skin is intoxicating, soothing, telling him he’s right where he should be. “Fuck, it’s been…I missed you,” Daniel breathes out, his forehead pressed against Armand’s chest. His voice is soft, on the verge of breaking as he melts into his arms. “I’ve wasted so much time being all–”
Armand hushes him gently, the sharpened points of his nails grazing his scalp. “Darling boy, I would’ve waited far longer. I would have stopped waiting altogether if you had ever asked. You’re too hard on yourself.”
“Don’t you know it,” Daniel replies with a wink, reaching an arm out to fumble for the pack of cigarettes by his bedside light. “I gotta ask,” Daniel begins a moment later, his speech slightly slurred from where his teeth rest on the filter. “Did your little fortune card predict all of this was gonna happen?”
“The card foretold that I would partake in a new business adventure and become quite prosperous,” Armand says with a shrug, reaching out to run a hand through Daniel’s hair. “So, no. But I think I’ll take this turn of events any day.”