Archive of Our Own

Prague.

“Why did you come to this city, Daniel?” Armand asked.

Daniel walked beside him, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his coat. He had been so afraid when Armand, impatient with his silence, had pulled him from his bed. It was nothing that two fingers of whiskey and a brisk walk through the city was unable to fix. Soon enough Daniel had shaken his initial tension and began to speak to Armand as if he were another young mortal man, and not the inescapable predator he knew him to be. He tucked his chin down against the frigid night wind and shrugged.

“I thought that by coming here I might figure out something about you. I mean, I don’t know where you’re from, but you’ve got a little bit of an accent,” Daniel explained. “Something eastern European, mixed with something else.”

Armand frowned. “I don’t have an accent.”

“Louis said the same thing. What is it with you guys insisting your English is just as flat as a news reporter’s?” Daniel asked. “That’s really all there is to it. It was a snap decision I made at the airport.”

“So you’re saying you hoped to see me here,” Armand said.

Daniel gave him a sidelong glance. “Yup, you got it. Nothing gives me a thrill like seeing your face coming around the corner,” he said and rolled his eyes.

Sarcastic, perhaps, but not a lie. Seeing Armand did give Daniel a thrill, though the type of thrill was slowly changing.

There was a curiosity there, under the swirl of his nervous thoughts and rabbiting heart. An attraction, perhaps, buried beneath fear and old fashioned Catholic repression; beneath the puritan American tradition Daniel had been raised with which strictly forbade indulgence. It was something Daniel was unable to put into words. Armand had only noticed it in the images that were locked up tight in his mind.

Armand’s fingers, long and alabaster white on the handle of a taxi cab door. His face, surrounded by the fur on the hood of his coat. The hint of fang as he bit his lip and considered how best to get Daniel to untie his tongue and speak to him.

All things Daniel had lingered on and then filed away, unable to speak on much less acknowledge. For someone like Armand, to whom men never failed to openly profess their objectification to, it was an odd and fascinating thing.

They came to a stop under the shadow of a great cathedral, Daniel shivering beside him. Armand mounted the steps and pushed the great bronze doors open.

The inside of the church was silent except for the echo of their footsteps on the marble aisle. Armand bypassed the great gilded altar with its marble saints and wandered into the transept, where the votive candles were. It had been so long since he’d been in a room lit entirely by candlelight. The modern world burned with such an unnatural ferocity, all neon and high powered incandescent bulbs. In the light of the candles Daniel’s windswept cheeks glowed.

“How many languages do you speak anyways?” Daniel asked.

“Enough to travel where I wish,” Armand said. “Light a candle, Daniel.”

Without hesitation, Daniel dropped a coin into the box and picked up a long, slim match. He lit the match on one of the candles that was already burning, and then transferred the flame to another. When he blew out the match he looked to Armand.

The flame crackled. Daniel’s heart was racing as he waited for Armand’s approval, though not with fear. There was a certain excited anticipation Armand recognized, and a rush of relief when he finally did nod. It was something Armand had once reveled in himself, when he was seventeen and took a strange pleasure in obedience.

What an interesting boy he was.

“Since you are so curious we will trade,” Armand offered. “Tell me something about yourself that no one else knows, and I will tell you something about me.”

Daniel rocked on his heels, searching his memories for one Armand would appreciate. One that would please him. He glanced at the narrow, carved box of the confessional booth.

“When I was a kid I was terrified of the idea of going to confession. Like so scared I actually puked in the car on the way over. I thought I had to tell the priest every secret thought I ever had, anything that was contradictory to the things we were taught in Sunday school. The nuns made such a big deal about how priests were conduits for God, I thought God could see me through him and would know if I left even one thing out,” Daniel said.

Armand turned toward him, ever so slightly. His lips were chapped from worrying at them. Daniel bit at his lower lip now as he considered how to go on, how much of himself to reveal.

“Well we got there and my mom told me that I could never have my first communion if I didn’t have my first confession. My soul wouldn’t be clean enough for the priest to allow me to take the eucharist,” he continued. “In the end I only went through with confession because I was so curious about how the host tasted that I couldn’t resist.”

An enlightening anecdote. Armand was warmed by how honest he had decided to be. “And what did you confess to the priest?”

“That I lied to my mom once and that another time I stole a piece of penny candy. Only one of those things was true, but I thought if I didn’t tell him more than one thing he wouldn’t be satisfied and I’d be stuck there all day,” Daniel admitted with a laugh. “That god would smite me or something.”

“So in the act of confessing you committed another sin,” Armand said, amused.

“I guess so. It wasn’t even worth it in the end. When I finally got to take communion I was disappointed by how the host tasted like the glue on the back of postage stamps. The wine was alright though,” Daniel said. “So what about you? Tell me something about yourself.”

Armand cocked his head. He reached out and with his fingertips, pinched the candle Daniel had lit and smothered out the light.

“I don’t recall ever having gone to confession in my life,” he said and then turned, and walked away.

…

On a train in Switzerland, Armand demanded Daniel hand over his book. He did, unflinchingly obedient (though not without a smart remark), and when their fingers brushed he jumped as if he’d received an electric shock. As Armand grilled him on the image on the cover and the story within he sifted through Daniel’s mind. He took note of his fixation on the way his hair fell across his forehead as he looked down at the book in his hands.

Later, in Paris, Armand accosted him in an alley, hair clipped short. When the terror wore off Daniel stared at his bared neck, eyes flicking back and forth between the curve of his jaw and the exposed shell of his ear until Armand stared back. Always delightfully easy to torment without saying a word, Daniel had blushed, face turning a florid red, and looked away, claiming Armand was the one who was being a “freak”.

Still, he never analyzed these feelings within himself. He never even acknowledged that the pounding of his heart stemmed from more than just fear. So brazen he was, and yet so oddly shy.

It was in Venice that they didn’t speak at all. Daniel had checked in at the Hotel Danieli, a luxurious place constructed from three ancient palazzos joined together to form a grand hotel. His advance for his book, Interview with the Vampire it was meant to be called, had reached his account and he felt he deserved to indulge. Armand watched him from across the canal as he laid on his bed. A bed that sat in the hollowed out ruins of Bianca Solderini’s home, where a young Armand had finally shed the last vestiges of his innocence and pressed the beautiful Bianca down into her satin sheets.

What to do with Daniel? Certainly, Armand wouldn’t keep him. Not as a lover, not as a pet. The last remains of Armand’s heart had died the day he walked away from Louis in New Orleans, and he had no capacity to become attached to anyone, immortal or mortal, any longer. And yet the urge to unearth the depths of Daniel’s attraction to him remained. To pull at the threads of his obedient streak until all that defiance melted away and he was left a trembling mess.

Armand would give him death one day, yes. But death was a knife best sharpened by love. Better for Daniel to die in ecstasy, in the arms of one he thought he loved, than go to his end with so many tangled and unacknowledged feelings. If Daniel could give him a new connection to this modern world then that was the least Armand could give him in return.

The only question that remained was how.

…

The Copley Plaza. A seven story belle epoque hotel set in the heart of Boston, replete with a fine restaurant containing a carousel. Daniel had checked in late last night, as a treat to himself for his book bringing in such delightful reviews. Now he was upstairs, getting dressed for dinner as Armand followed the hostess to their table. He had no idea that there would be a plus one at his celebratory dinner. That would have spoiled all the fun. Armand was so looking forward to teasing him, to digging until he laid his secrets bare.

Armand toyed with the menu in his hands. Food. Such a foreign concept to him. What would Daniel like? All the times they had been together he had been too fraught with anxiety to eat.

Chicken would be safe. Or perhaps something with beef, Americans seemed so enamored with anything made from beef these days. Or-

Armand glanced toward the entrance. Coming through the lobby was Daniel, his glasses askew, running a hand through his eternally unruly hair. Armand smiled as he looked up at the waitress.

Everything. Yes, one of everything. That would suit Daniel well. Daniel, who wanted immortality so terribly.

When Armand had wanted immortality, his maker had first made him feast on mortal pleasures. Armand had no intention of giving Daniel the dark gift, but the urge to glut him on experiences Armand could never share was still there. To gorge this boy like a foie gras duck.

The table Armand had chosen was on the carousel in the center of the room. Someone had replaced the animal figures with black laquered tables, surrounding a slowly rotating bar. It was such a charming place, one of those modern marvels that married old world elegance with the childish need for novelty that was so pervasive in this age. By the time Daniel reached the entrance to the restaurant Armand’s back was to him. He waited, hands in his lap and a vicious smile on his face, as the thing rotated. The anticipation of Daniel’s reaction to his presence was unbearable.

The carousel completed its turn. Daniel’s face fell.

He wanted to run, but his body wouldn’t cooperate with his mind. He was rooted to the spot, held captive by the way Armand raised his hand and gave a little wave. Even from several feet away Armand could taste the sudden and overwhelming rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins. Experiencing his fear was a visceral experience every time.

“Please, Daniel. Sit down,” Armand said and gestured to the empty seat across from him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Daniel muttered as the hostess walked away.

“This is your celebratory dinner for the release of your book, is it not?” Armand asked. “It would be a shame to spend it alone.”

Jesus. Either this is my celebration dinner or my funeral dinner. I knew I should have gone into hiding the second the book came out. But no, go to the weird fucking hotel with the merry go round restaurant. Like that won’t be catnip to the weirdo that’s chasing me. Dad was right, sometimes I really am just asking for the shit that happens to me.

The nature of the carousel demanded Daniel either step on and join Armand or leave. He hesitated. “And if I don’t? If I just walk out of here you’ll follow me, won’t you, and torment me however you were planning to torment me here?”

“Yes. It’s raining outside, is it not?” Armand asked. “Surely you would be more comfortable here.”

Daniel sighed. He took a hesitant step, grabbed the silver pole beside the table, and climbed up. Armand had a glass of wine waiting for him, and the moment he sat down he took a deep gulp.

“Where’s the menu?” Daniel asked.

Armand ignored him. “Shall we discuss your book? It’s selling very well. The shop I passed had it placed on a special table, claiming it’s one of their best sellers,” he said. “And the reviews in the newspapers are fascinating. People seem to find me a polarizing character.”

Daniel snorted. “That’s a word for it,” he muttered as he furtively glanced around the room, as if someone might recognize Armand from the book. There was little chance of that. Curiously, Daniel had left out almost all description of him, aside from the color of his hair and his eyes. The intimate details of Armand’s appearance he had hoarded all for himself. “Are you offended by it?”

“No. There are very few beings whose opinions I care about. Besides, that’s Louis’ version of me, filtered through the lens of your pen,” Armand said. He leaned forward, as if about to share a secret. “I imagine the actual experience of me is quite different.”

Predictably, getting close had made Daniel’s heart rate jump. But then it had been racing ever since he sat down. The table was so narrow, meant for cocktails and finger foods, and designed in a time when men and women had all been smaller. It was never made to accommodate Daniel’s long legs, which bumped against Armand’s every time he shifted in his seat. Armand hardly registered the touch but Daniel clearly did. He kept trying to shift away and in doing so only made the problem worse.

Armand let his knees fall open, so that Daniel had no more room to move away and was forced to suffer the agonizing thrill of their knees pressed against each other. “You’re squirming like a child. Do I make you nervous, Daniel?” he asked as Daniel slumped down in his seat, desperately searching for some method of escape.

Immediately, Daniel went still. He scrubbed a hand over his face in a desperate attempt to hide the way he’d flushed right down to his chest. Even with his hand in the way Armand could feel the heat that radiated off him. Such a sudden change in temperment, all over a small and embarrassing remark.

Armand had to make an effort to keep his expression neutral and not betray how amused he was. That was a struggle sometimes with Daniel. Hiding his emotions made him nervous, but then he was so entertaining as a result.

“You locked me up in a basement, threatened to kill me. Then you chased me through seven countries, how I don’t have a goddamn clue, by the way, all so that you could drag me out of bed and demand I play tour guide at 1 am. You ask weird, rude, and intrusive shit all the time. Half the time you don’t even blink,” Daniel said, some of his stubbornness coming back to try to cover up the embarrassment he felt. He poured himself another glass of wine. “Yeah, pal. You scare the hell out of me sometimes.”

Clearly the wine had given him the courage he needed to challenge him. Good. Armand was all too happy to order another bottle. He would need a glass of white as well, to go with the chicken and fish dishes that were about to appear. Pairing your wine to your dish was the correct way to eat now, he had noticed. He wanted things to be correct for Daniel. This experience was going to be important to the both of them.

“But only sometimes. How do you feel the other times, when I’m not scaring you?” Armand asked.

Beneath the table he shifted his foot over so that it pressed against Daniel’s. Daniel tensed.

Is he doing that on purpose? I don’t think he’s ever touched me on purpose before.

No. Armand hadn’t, and with good reason. Touching was for lovers and pets; that rule he had decided upon in Venice when he determined he would push Daniel over his cliff of repression. It was for the good of both of them. Touching led to attachment, which only led to pain. No matter how Daniel fetishized them, Armand would keep his hands to himself.

But pressing their feet together, still safely separated by the leather of their shoes, that was hardly touching. It was only an experiment, to see how Daniel would react. If he would pull away and start his squirming again, or if he would have the courage to remain still. He was wracked with indecision. A fine sheen of sweat had begun to collect on the back of his neck.

Armand let his knee rest heavier on Daniel’s. Daniel inhaled sharply but didn’t move.

“How do I make you feel, Daniel?” Armand repeated.

Daniel swallowed hard. “Terrified.”

“And? How else?”

Daniel opened his mouth to answer and then stopped. There was a sarcastic answer on the tip of his tongue, but there was another urge too. To be honest. To let Armand know that every time they met he left feeling mixed up, that he felt that way right now. That he didn’t know what Armand wanted of him, or what he wanted himself.

Armand leaned in further, tilted his head. Daniel was stopped short by the way the light caught his unnatural eyes. Unable to resist, Armand reached into his mind, determined to find what other thoughts lay beneath the war he was having with himself, but before he could get the answer the direction of Daniel’s thoughts changed entirely.

An array of plates had come to the table.

How unfortunate. But no matter. They would come back to this topic, Armand was sure. He was, if nothing else, a master at plotting the series of escalations that always got him exactly what he wanted.

There was a line of wait staff streaming from the kitchen, each with a plate in each hand. Daniel’s eyes went wide as they all made for their table and began to set the dishes down. There wasn’t nearly enough room on the table and Armand was all too happy to assist, taking what wouldn’t fit in front of Daniel and lining it up, all the way to the far end of the table and up onto the adjoining bar. Steak, lamb, coq au vin. Oysters rockefeller. An entire lobster. A half rack of ribs. The dishes were endless, dizzying in their richness and variety. Daniel dragged his hand through his hair in disbelief.

“What the hell did you order?” he asked.

Armand smiled. He let his lips part just enough that Daniel could see a hint of fang, sharp and predatory. “I was unsure what you liked. So I got you everything.”

“Everything,” Daniel repeated.

It was impossible to tell where the plates ended and the table began. He hardly had room for his two glasses of wine. Armand had to lift the plate before him so that he could find his silverware, which he unrolled with unsteady hands. Everyone in the restaurant was staring as the carousel continued to turn, even the bartender trapped on the ride with them.

Good. Let them be witness to this beautiful boy’s undoing.

Daniel’s hands were trembling as he cut into the meat in front of him, though not from fear. Shock had given way to something else, a frustration that creased his face with a frown. “A fucking army couldn’t eat all of this.”

Once, long ago, he and Marius had done this with Bianca. Taken her to a tavern and ordered a bit of everything, while Bianca laughed and laughed. She had happily tasted it all and then sent what remained to be shared amongst the other patrons. Marius had meant the experience to be a lesson in enjoying mortal pleasures via the mind; how by looking into her subconscious Armand could taste the food and get a form of secondhand pleasure.

But Daniel wasn’t laughing. Daniel had no idea what to do with himself.

As he took his first bite Armand looked into his mind for the taste, but found himself unable to focus on it. So many other things were swirling in his head.

Daniel was on the precipice of something. As he chewed he stole quick glances at Armand’s hands, at his mouth. He was hardly absorbing the flavor himself. So quickly he swallowed, as if he was worried that focusing on the texture might make him feel ill. Armand tapped his fingers on his own arm, observing the way Daniel’s eyes tracked the movement.

“Why do you do things like this?” he asked, even as he cut into another dish.

Armand smiled. If he couldn’t get Daniel to speak on his attraction he could still wind him up about this. “Whatever do you mean, Daniel?”

The feigned innocence sent Daniel over the edge. He railed at Armand, accused him of trying to drive him insane as he reached out with his fork and stabbed at the food. A little of this, a little of that. Daniel seemed determined to taste it all out of pure spite. He insisted that he was sane, that every time he saw Armand he was reminded that he was real, vampires were real. Armand pointed out that it sounded as if he was trying to convince himself of that fact and it only drove Daniel to further distraction. He was so stirred up he was shaking. Beneath them the carousel turned.

His reaction was beyond anything Armand could have hoped for. There was the defiance, the passion that had made Daniel so entertaining in his basement. Armand was delighted, all could do was fold his arms, clutching at himself as he laughed.

Daniel’s fork clattered to his plate.

Armand dabbed at his eyes with his napkin, careful to hide his blood tinged tears. What was the matter with this boy now, he couldn’t imagine. He was a mess, groping for his wine glass with such urgency he nearly knocked the entire thing over. Armaned reached out into his mind, peeling back the haze of alcohol and frazzled nerves to find the thought that was giving him such trouble he couldn’t eat.

Shit, he’s hot.

Ah. There it was. The thing Daniel had tried so hard to repress within himself. Such a small thing to bury like some terrible secret and now it was free. And yet Daniel was in such turmoil over having realized it, he was desperate to get drunk. He was like a teenager attempting to drown the anguish that came with that first feeling of youthful lust.

He’s hot, how did I never notice he’s hot? Probably because I was too busy trying not to get murdered to consider whether or not I’d want him to fuck me. Jesus Christ, Molloy, what’s wrong with you? You can’t just find someone nice, settle down. You just have to start finding your psycho vampire stalker attractive.

Armand shifted in his seat. Let his leg press hot against Daniel’s beneath the table, so close they were thigh to burning thigh.

What is it you find attractive about me, Daniel?

He spoke the question straight into his brain. Daniel startled so badly his knee hit the underside of the table and made all of the plates jump. He slid down into his chair, hair falling into his face as he struggled to find something, anything to look at except Armand.

“Why bother asking when you can just dig through my brain without permission and find out for yourself?” he asked as he dragged his hand over his face.

“Because I would like to hear you say it,” Armand said. “It’s more honest when you choose the words yourself.”

“Honesty. Suddenly you care about that, when you’re hardly ever honest with me about anything,” Daniel muttered.

“I’m never dishonest with you, Daniel.”

“Lies by omission are still a thing. Half the time I do manage to ask you something you just say ‘perhaps’ and move on but I get put on the rack for answers.”

“You’re avoiding my question,” Armand said. “I know you are ashamed, but don’t be obstinate. You may take a moment and consider your answer if you’d like.”

Daniel chewed at his lip, eyes flicking back and forth between the plates before him. His mind was a tangle of confusion that even Armand couldn’t sort out. Ah, he’d whipped this boy into a frenzy. That was alright. Armand could find ways to soothe him too, to reward him for his struggle.

Armand glanced around the table. Before him was a half eaten plate of the coq au vin Daniel seemed to favor. Beside it, his own roll of silverware, unnecessary and untouched.

He picked it up. Unrolled the silverware slowly, and placed the napkin in his lap. Across from him Daniel had gone still. He was watching the way Armand delicately held the fork and knife in his hands. When he had been mortal forks hadn’t existed. Everything was eaten by hand. He had only learned how to use one on a dark and dreary night in Paris, when he’d gathered Denis into his lap and cut his food for him.

Daniel wasn’t a pet. Daniel would not become a pet. This was only a game.

He reached across the table, careful not to drag the sleeve of his suit jacket in any of the food as he cut off a slice of chicken. Slowly, he dipped it in the sauce that was on the plate, making sure it was adequately covered, aware of Daniel’s gaze the entire time. He turned, held it above Daniel’s plate. Stopped short of pushing it off his fork and giving it to him.

“What do you find attractive about me, Daniel?” Armand repeated.

Daniel looked at him through narrowed eyes and took another deep drink of his wine. What kind of game is he playing at now?

Armand waited. Probably he would say something banal. His innocent brown eyes, perhaps. His delicate hands. Mortal men were all the same in that way. They always fixated on the things that made Armand appear to be easy prey.

Daniel swirled his wine in his glass and then set it down. His heart was in his throat but he tried so hard to steady his nerves and look Armand in the eye.

“I don’t know how to articulate it. Your- I mean, it’s just who you are when you’re not trying to scare me. Which I know you do on purpose, by the way. It’s when you behave like you’re almost mortal,” Daniel said, fumbling for words. “You do these ridiculous things and never seem to feel self conscious about them. Sometimes it’s terrifying but mostly it reminds me that you’re powerful. There’s something attractive about that kind of power. The physical details are just…” he waved his hand. “They’re nice but they’re secondary.”

Such a fascinating thing he was. Such an unexpected and delightful answer.

The boy had confessed, and now he could have his holy host. Armand pushed the bite of chicken off his fork and onto Daniel’s plate.

“Eat.”

Daniel’s head jerked up at his command. “What?”

Armand gestured at the plate with his fork. “You enjoy this dish. Eat.”

Daniel looked up at him, then at his plate. Fork and knife suspended in the air, he hesitated.

I shouldn’t entertain this. He already gets away with so much shit around me.

It would be easy to exert his influence and compel him to eat. To dive into his mind and give him a push, or remind him of what a threat he was and use fear to get his way. Armand folded his arms and focused on the way Daniel’s carotid artery was pulsating in his throat. No mortal could have noticed it, it was such a fine detail, but every time swallowed he was keenly aware of the way it stood out, of the blood that rushed through it. Blood that Armand had caused to pound in and out of his heart with hardly any influence at all, just a few choice words and a painful question.

But he looks so nice when he’s pleased with me.

Daniel swallowed hard. Gripped his silverware tight. Looked at the way Armand nodded his approval.

Fuck it.

He took the bite.

Something went tight in Armand’s chest, something that hadn’t shifted in decades. He rested his elbow on the edge of the table, chin on his hand as he regarded Daniel.

Daniel, with his modern height and sandy blonde hair that fell into his eyes whenever Armand caught him reading. He was a handsome thing, Armand had admitted that to himself the day he’d found him huddled in Lestat’s Garden District house. He had that curious, excitable sort of energy that made him impossible not to toy with. But as he swung from defiance to obedience, Armand found himself feeling a surge of attraction too. Of thirst. The kind that could only be sated by little sips over the course of years.

Daniel glanced up, and flushed right down to his chest when he noticed Armand staring. “What?”

The wine was coursing through him, making it harder to hide his reactions. He was warmed from the inside, tingling right down to his fingertips. Armand turned to one of the plates that were lined up on the bar, out of Daniel’s reach, and transferred a spoonful of risotto onto his plate.

This time he didn’t hesitate to eat it, though the drum of his heart grew louder as he did. His blood had begun to rush, to pool low in his body under Armand’s scrutiny. There was shame there, confusion over bending to someone else’s will in such a public place. But there was anticipation too, the desire to know what Armand might do with him next. To be desired in turn.

The poor, naive thing. He had no idea that Armand’s desire was a far more dangerous thing than any of his threats had ever been.

“Is this like...a thing of yours? Feeding people?” Daniel asked, pulling Armand out of his reverie. Does he get off on this?

An interesting question. Armand had never considered it.

He’d fed his pets, but it had never been about the act of consumption. The allure was the game of control, that in caring for another Armand let himself become a puppet to his lover’s desires.

“Perhaps.” Armand stared at him as he slid another bite onto his plate. “Does it arouse you to be fed, Daniel?”

Daniel’s cheeks flushed beautifully. He stabbed the piece of lamb harder than necessary, fork clinking against the bone china plate.

“You can’t just say shit like that out loud. This is a nice place,” he muttered just before shoving the fork into his mouth.

“Why? You meant it in a sexual manner, did you not?” Armand asked. “Eat what more you want of the steak. It’s growing cold.”

Armand watched as he sawed a piece off the steak. His knuckles were white with how tightly he gripped the handle of the knife, as if he were suddenly annoyed with himself for his obedience, though he seemed unable to stop. Armand wondered how far he would have to push to get him to accept a bite straight from his fork.

A foolish idea. That was intimacy. That would be a step too far.

It does arouse you, doesn’t it? I can hear your heart beat every time I place more food on your plate, Armand pressed.

Daniel’s knife slipped and made an awful sound against the plate. “I can’t deal with this, I need another drink,” he muttered.

“Perhaps I should order you one of each of those as well.”

Daniel shot him a dry look. Jesus, he’s never going to give me a break, is he? Is this his way of flirting with me?

Armand poured him another glass of wine. When Daniel accepted it his hands were trembling with an altogether different sort of fear than he’d been experiencing when he’d first arrived.

He watched the way Daniel’s lower lip pressed against the glass as he took a sip, the way it was stained red when he set the glass back down. Armand scooted forward, slipped his knee further between Daniel’s. He was so deliciously warm beneath his slacks, and had drunk enough wine that his nerves didn’t make him jerk away. As Daniel set his glass down he let the weight of his leg rest heavier against Armand’s.

Armand’s resolve not to escalate this further into some form of intimacy was crumbling. He should stop now, let him finish his meal and get out of his head.

I can’t believe I’m sitting on a fucking carousel thinking whether or not a dead guy is hitting on me. Does he even know what pickup lines are? Daniel thought as he ate the potatoes Armand placed on his plate. He’d either forgotten Armand could read his mind or he no longer cared. If I ask if it hurt when he fell from heaven he’ll probably just say some obtuse shit about how heaven is just a social construct and one can’t fall from something that can’t be proven to exist.

Armand turned to the bartender, signaled that he could tell the kitchen they were ready for dessert. Without asking Daniel if he was finished he began to pick up the plates, to stack them so that the staff would have an easier time clearing them away. Daniel’s eyes tracked his hands as he moved a half empty bowl from the table up onto the bar.

God, he’s got nice hands too. I wonder if I touched them if they’d be warm or cold.

Armand stacked one mostly empty plate atop another. It was all he could do to keep from reaching out, grabbing Daniel by the wrist and guiding his hand to his cheek so he could feel exactly how warm he was.

This was going awry. He had only meant to sit Daniel down and torment him a little about his book, make him confess his attraction. Possibly play with that streak of subservience that ran just below the surface of his stubbornness. Armand hadn’t intended to begin to care about him in the space of one meal.

But he’d been becoming attached for a while, hadn’t he? In all of the train rides and taxi cabs and late night meetings in damp alleyways. How could he help it? So few had ever hesitated to reach out and touch him, to take exactly what they wanted from him before. So few ever spoke to him as if he were an equal, not the innocent young man he appeared to be at first glance. He could name all of the others who had been so considerate of him. All of them had been great loves of his.

Armand sat back and folded his hands in his lap, out of Daniel’s view.

It would be fine. Daniel would sip his champagne and pick at dessert, and then Armand would ensure he got back to his hotel room safely without giving in to any baser desires. Things would be back on track, as he’d heard the man on the radio say. He would leave this hotel and lose this attachment, as quickly as it had come.

The waiter set a single plate of cake before them. Somewhere at Armand’s side the champagne bottle opened with a bang, but all he could hear was Daniel’s galloping pulse.

“Look, I know you haven’t eaten in like five hundred years but you know humans have a limit, right?” Daniel said and took a deep drink of champagne. “As tolerable as this fucked up night has become I’m walking out of here if more than one plate shows up at this table.”

Armand smiled. “I only ordered one thing.”

Daniel exhaled a sigh of relief. “Thank god. I was starting to worry you were trying to kill me with food,” he said. He’d reached that place where the alcohol was making all of the thoughts in his head come out of his mouth. “You’re not, are you? This isn’t just so my blood will taste different when you off me in some alley?”

What would Daniel taste like? All blood tasted of salt and iron. It was the mental connection that added something deeper, a burn that made the flavor all the victim’s own. Daniel’s blood, with all of his ecstatic and aroused thoughts, would be electrifying.

Armand said nothing. He ignored this own thirst. In his haste to clear the table he’d put all of Daniel’s silverware on the dirty plates and sent it away. All that remained was a handful of his own silverware, unused and untouched. He could simply hand it to Daniel. Or-

Daniel was wondering what he was going to do. He had seen a film, where one character had tenderly fed another from their own fork, and he was trying to picture what it would be like if Armand did that with him. If he’d allow it. If he’d like it. His mind was a blur of images of long, pale fingers balancing a silver fork, of the way he’d have to lean forward to take the little piece of cake if Armand offered it. Such a subservient act. It would be a shameful thing to do, and yet he couldn’t help but be curious.

In his alcohol soaked haze Daniel had forgotten that Armand was a dangerous thing, a predator that might take his life simply for the crime of boring him. When he looked at him it was with mortal eyes, seeing another mortal being. Unnatural, yes. But not terribly different from himself. He had the vague awareness that if Armand dropped the threats he might come to see him like that all the time, as just some being that he knew, and Jesus, isn’t that a funny idea?

Armand stared. Daniel’s eyes were glassy, his expression so open and honest. The silence was beginning to make him nervous, some self consciousness creeping back in. Normally Armand would enjoy that, would let him stew in his anxiety. But if he was going to cross this line and make his fantasy real he would have to do it now. He wouldn’t get this chance again tonight.

“Armand?”

Armand picked up his unused salad fork. The slice of cake was dripping in dark red sauce. He would have to be careful not to make a terrible mess of this.

He hesitated a moment longer. Toyed with the fork a bit and then sliced it through the cake. Held the fork out with his other hand beneath it to keep the sticky syrup from dripping onto the table.

Daniel swallowed hard, Adam's apple working in his throat. What Armand wanted was clear, he just wasn’t certain he had the courage to do it, even with all of the wine in him. He leaned forward an inch and then stopped. His cheeks had gone red, flushed from intoxication and embarrassment, but he was doing his best not to flinch away from Armand’s gaze. In his uncertainty he looked so enticingly innocent.

Armand wanted to wreck him.

“Eat it, Daniel,” he demanded.

This really is a thing for him, huh? I think it might be a thing for me too.

Daniel didn’t even lift a hand to help steady the fork. It was obscene the way he leaned in and wrapped his lips around it, hands clamped on the arms of the chair. His mind was such a jumble of arousal and humiliation even Armand couldn’t untangle it, not that he was able to try. His entire focus was on the way Daniel pulled back so slowly, their eyes meeting for an electric moment before he looked away. Beneath the table his knee was pressed hard against Armand’s thigh, as if he was trying to keep himself from trembling.

When he sat up there was syrup at the corner of his mouth, vibrant red against his pale skin. His heart hammered in his chest, panic rising in him as he reached for the champagne.

Fuck. What was that? Why did I do that?

Armand could have asked himself the same. In the space of an evening he’d lost so much of his restraint. He’d always been such a foolish thing.

“Daniel,” he began, interrupting his thoughts before they could spiral. He cut another piece of the cake. “Did you enjoy it?”

Daniel scrubbed a hand over his face. “No, I just let every weirdo I come into contact with feed me even though I hate it,” he said and rolled his eyes. “You know me, I love suffering.”

“Petulant isn’t a good look on you,” Armand said.

“What, and subservient is?”

Armand leveled him with a stern gaze. Fed him the image of himself, eyes bright and expression gone soft as he’d leaned in, exquisite in his acceptance of Armand’s command. For a moment it seemed as if he were about to argue, but then Daniel changed his mind, brought his hand to his mouth and chewed at his cuticle.

“Now tell me, did you enjoy it?”

Daniel hesitated. “Yes?”

Armand raised his brows, gave him a look as if he hadn’t heard him so that he would repeat himself.

It was an old trick Marius had loved, and Armand had hated. He’d always felt more ashamed saying things the second time around, but it also had the desired effect of making him affirm his response, to acknowledge that he’d meant what he’d said so that next time saying it would be easier.

Next time. Of course there would be a next time, no matter how dangerous Armand knew that was.

Daniel exhaled, slumped a little in his seat. Guess he gets off on embarrassing people too. That figures.

Armand considered telling him he clearly ‘got off’ on being embarrassed himself. With his unnatural senses he could smell the hormones in his sweat. But that might be too far. Armand could be cruel, but he could be merciful too.

“Yeah, I enjoyed it,” Daniel finally said.

Armand nodded. As he picked up the fork Daniel shifted in his seat, anticipating the offer of another bite and unsure of what to do. He’d started out so defiant, but all it had taken was a single command and the grounding brush of Armand’s knee against his to get him to acquiesce, even if only for a moment. Armand was captivated in a way he hadn’t been in centuries.

He dragged the tines of the fork through the raspberry sauce, gathering it up to pour it back over the cake. Daniel’s eyes tracked his every move, he couldn’t decide if he was excited or terrified. Beneath the table his foot crept over until their ankles were touching too.

Are people still staring? Does he know I’m staring? Daniel thought as he finished off his glass of champagne. It soothed his frayed nerves as soon as it hit his system. If only I could crawl under the table and hole in the ground would appear, and I could just disappear like I’m in a bugs bunny cartoon. But then that’ll just look like I’m giving him head, which objectively is worse than just eating the damned cake. Can vampires get head? Maybe I should ask him that, embarrass him too-

Armand glanced up at him. “Do you want more?”

Daniel startled at the sound of his voice. He nodded and then, with one look from Armand, said “Sure, I guess,” he said. “I mean, in for a penny, in for a pound, right?”

Armand cut off a bite of cake and idly dipped it in the puddle of syrup. In his mind he could hear Marius scolding him, telling him it was wrong to play with his food. He nearly laughed at the thought.

He held up the fork, and bumped his knee against Daniel’s when he began to nervously shift around again.

Daniel took a deep breath and went still. In his mind he was remembering a date with his first girlfriend, when she’d shared a bite of her ice cream with him in much the same way. Except that memory bore so little resemblance to what was going on his life right now, it feels different with him, why is it so different?

Daniel was so deep in his own head he didn’t notice when Armand turned the fork in his hand. He held it out, handle towards Daniel with the little piece of cake still clinging to the end and cleared his throat to get his attention.

“You’re not going to-” Daniel began and then cut himself off.

“Why, Daniel? Did you want me to?”

Armand could have gone into his mind to find the answer, but he hardly needed to. The way Daniel flushed right down to his chest gave it away beautifully. He was eyeing the fork with suspicion, as if Armand might change his mind about handing it over to him.

He could. But somehow not getting what he’d expected only made Daniel’s heart pound harder, and that was more interesting than getting him to screw up the courage to shift to the edge of his seat and lean in to fed. He was such a lovely mess of contradictions. Now that Armand had begun to push to find his limits he found it impossible to stop.

“Finish it,” Armand said.

“You can’t be serious. All of that?” Daniel scoffed even as he reached out for the fork.

Their fingers brushed when he took it, Daniel’s breath catching in his chest when he took notice of how warm Armand was.

Armand sat back, folded his arms and watched Daniel bring the fork to his mouth. It was a generous slice of cake, perhaps the staff had assumed they’d be sharing. Well, they were, weren't they, in their own way? Armand dug deep below the tangle of confusion and arousal to find other sensations. The taste of something rich, decadent. Daniel would have been satisfied with just a taste but then Armand had said finish it, hadn’t he? He was so determined to try. God only knew what would happen if he didn’t.

And if he did- Daniel stopped himself just before his thoughts became obscene. Attraction was one thing, he couldn’t help but like to look at something as handsome as Armand, but he was afraid to cross that line into fantasy. Daniel was hardly a religious man, but if he let himself think about doing that with such a monstrous being he would be damned for sure.

Well. Certainly Armand could find a way to fix that. It wouldn’t do to leave Daniel struggling with himself, not after he’d come so far.

When Daniel finished there were only crumbs left on the plate and a vibrant smear of raspberry sauce that Armand eyed. Daniel caught his look, suddenly worried that perhaps he’d make him eat that too. Armand considered it. It would be gratifying, holding the plate out and making him lick it clean. In front of all of these people, Daniel would feel such shame.

Instead Armand dragged his finger through it.

The syrup was thick, sticky as it ran down the side of his finger and threatened to drip on the table. Just before it did Armand put it in his mouth. Hollowed his cheeks and sucked it clean, eyes locked on Daniel’s face as he ever so slowly dragged his finger out from between his lips.

The torrent of images that poured through Daniel’s mind was pure filth.

He picked up his napkin, pretended to dab at his mouth when really he was spitting the sickly substance out. It was worth the indignity. Daniel had begun to imagine Armand on his knees, cheeks hollow and eyes wide as he swallowed him whole. Armand bending him over a table with those long, white fingers inside him. Armand torturing him until he begged, until he sobbed for something, what he didn’t know. Now that he had started thinking about it he couldn’t stop.

Armand’s thirst was unbearable. He wanted to launch himself across the table. He wanted to drain Daniel dry.

The bill hadn’t come but Armand placed a stack of cash on the table and stood. The carousel turned so slowly it was almost imperceptible but Daniel was drunk, his mind adrift in the fantasy of Armand shoving him to his knees. He could hardly get to his feet.

Look but don’t touch, Armand thought. There are rules. He’d made them for himself.

Well, it wouldn’t be fair to let him fall to his face.

He reached out and took Daniel’s hand.

Daniel’s hand was broad, his palm damp with nervous sweat. Armand tucked it neatly into the crook of his elbow, held it there as he guided Daniel to step down off the carousel and onto the carpeted restaurant floor. It burned like a brand through the fine wool of his suit jacket. Daniel was so overwhelmed he’d forgotten to be afraid to grip Armand tight and use him for balance as he stumbled his way between the tables and toward the door.

He’s so strong. He could do anything he wanted to me and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

With his heightened senses, having Daniel this close to him was an all encompassing experience. As they drifted through the crowd in the lobby Armand could smell the salty tang of his skin, the hint of hotel soap he’d used in the shower that morning. The alcohol had warmed him, made him throw off heat like a radiator, and if Armand had been a weaker being he might have leaned into it. As it was he made himself focus on calling the elevator, on keeping his eyes forward so he wouldn’t see the steady throb of Daniel’s blood beneath his skin.

The elevator arrived with a ding. Armand pressed the round button to close the doors before anyone else could get on.

Inside, the elevator was as dim and oppressive as the confessional box. It was silent except for the quiet hum of the machinery, Daniel’s heavy breathing. The low drum of his pulse, racing from the simple fact his hand was in the crook of Armand’s elbow, that Armand’s slowly cooling fingers were on top of his holding it there. In the eerie glow of the antique lightbulb above them Daniel’s carotid artery stood out in sharp relief on his neck.

There were three floors to go. Enough time for Armand to shove him against the wall and press his teeth into his throat. He wouldn’t even have to kill him. He had self control. All he’d have to do was take a little drink. Daniel would probably curl around him. He would probably moan with it.

Armand tightened his grip on his hand. Daniel looked down at him.

Beside him Daniel wouldn’t let himself dare to imagine what might happen next. Perhaps for the best. His expression was so open and innocent when Armand met his gaze, he would have struggled not to give him anything he wanted. In controlling Daniel he’d given up almost all control of himself.

All of his resolve, shattered in one evening. Armand had gotten what he’d wanted. He’d uncovered Daniel’s little secret, dragged him through a game of obedience that he’d played just as beautifully as any of Armand’s pets. As beautifully as Armand himself once had. But all of this could never be undone.

The elevator doors slid open.

Daniel’s room was at the end of the hall. He didn’t let go of Armand until he had the door open and could safely stumble from the support of his arm to that of the door frame. He leaned in the half open doorway and stared down at Armand, glasses askew on his nose and cheeks flushed a lusty pink.

“You’re exhausted, Daniel. You must sleep,” Armand said. He put his hands behind his back before he did anything foolish. Daniel was slumped over, too intoxicated to stand up straight. It would have been nothing to lean up toward his mouth.

No, Armand would not do that. He wouldn’t touch this boy any further, and when- no, if he did, Daniel would be sober. It would be better if Daniel had nothing in him to influence his already dangerous decisions. Let the boy dig his grave all on his own.

Daniel nodded. “Um. Thanks. For dinner,” he mumbled. He kept shifting from foot to foot, as if unsure whether he should step aside and make way for Armand to come in with him.

“Of course. Have some water before you go to bed,” Armand said.

Armand took a step back, looked him up and down. His jacket had come unbuttoned, revealing the hard, unmistakable line of arousal beneath his slacks. That was hardly a surprise. Armand had been vaguely aware of the direction of his blood flow all evening. He let his gaze linger on it until Daniel’s champagne soaked mind caught up and he instinctively adjusted his jacket, stomach dropping within him.

Armand turned as if to leave, paused, and looked back at him.

“Oh, and Daniel?” Armand began. Take care of that before you go to sleep.

The reminder that Armand could slip into his mind, had been able to read his thoughts all night got a choked, horrified sound from Daniel. How easy it was to make a mess of him. Armand didn’t let himself smile until he’d turned his back and started for the elevator.

It was possible that by saying that Armand had pushed too far, that Daniel would be too overcome by fear and self consciousness to keep playing the game now that he was gone. Armand stepped out into the cold night air and found a bench near the front of the hotel. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts. He would put himself back together and stay just long enough to listen in and ensure Daniel had gotten himself safely to bed.

Armand had found it so easy to walk away from him before. Now he was checking that he ate, that he drank enough water not to get sick, that he slept. That he could keep up with Armand’s favorite sort of torment without falling to pieces. That he wanted to play these sorts of games. When had he cared about these things at all?

He tuned out the rumble of traffic, the click of ladies’ heels upon the pavement. Listened for the sound of Daniel, alone in his luxurious fourth floor room.

The flavor of toothpaste was still on his lips as he slid between the sheets. Can’t believe he saw me standing around with a hard-on. All that over what, a fucking bite of cake? Daniel thought. He’d shucked all of his clothes, left them in a heap on the floor. The sheets were cool against his skin but he was warm, too warm. He kicked them down to the end of the bed and rolled onto his back.

There. He was safe in bed. Armand could go. Should go, should find himself a willing victim and work off some of this energy.

The way he told me to do it was just so hot though. Nobody should be able to make something like that so filthy, hell he could probably demand I read the phone book to him and I’d get hot under the collar over it.

Upstairs Daniel’s hands wandered down his chest, over the soft plane of his stomach. He was imagining Armand’s hands on him. How unnaturally firm they’d be, how if he tried to arch up they would grip his hips so tight he’d bruise. He’d been half hard when he’d crawled into bed but just that little thought got him all the way back into gear. He grabbed at his own hips, tried to press his thumbs into the tender skin the way he imagined Armand would do it, nails digging into his flesh.

It would be easy to touch himself now but Daniel skipped further down. He raked his nails over the sensitive insides of his thighs and tried to spin the fantasy out further. He was trying to get himself off the way he imagined Armand would get him off. The accuracy of it was stunning. He was far more perceptive than Armand had originally thought.

Armand gripped the arm of the bench tight, overcome by thirst. By the enormity of what Daniel was doing. It was such an intimate moment, and Armand was held captive by it.

Daniel pinched hard at his nipples, reached up and tugged at his own hair. He wanted the edge of pain, it wasn’t the same when he did it himself but imagining Armand roughing him up helped enough that he was gasping and desperate by the time he touched himself in earnest.

He tried so hard to keep his hips still even though he wanted to thrust up into his hand. Daniel pictured Armand sat atop his thighs, trapping him against the bed as he rubbed his thumb over the tip of his dick and smeared the wetness there. He would look at him with such cold and imperious eyes, like Daniel was an insect he had pinned to a board, whose comfort he didn’t care about at all.

He twisted his wrist. Let out a gasp at the sensation, the way it made his toes curl against the sheets. Downstairs the metal armrest on the bench creaked in Armand’s grasp.

Armand would ask him the most embarrassing things about his fantasies, in that flat detached voice of his. He would still his hand and wait until Daniel begged for it, until he accepted his fate and spilled all of the secret things he desired, things he’d never told anyone. Daniel stroked himself from root to tip. Stopped. Waited until he couldn’t take any more and then did it again.

What secrets could something as innocent as him have? Certainly nothing Armand hadn’t experienced himself. He tried to dig further into his mind but Daniel was a jumble of sensation, there was nothing to be found. Oh well. Armand would find a way to wring them out of him in the end.

Daniel was close. He couldn’t hold back the sounds coming from him. If only Armand wasn’t hearing them secondhand, how delicious they would be. All of those gasps, the little wet groans when he swiped his thumb over the tip. Daniel kept searching for the right image to push him over the edge but everything he could imagine paled to the reality of being near Armand in person.

Armand could send him an image. Could plant something perfectly obscene in his brain that would get him there. But then he was so curious what Daniel would come up with himself.

Daniel moved his hand faster, sifted back through his memories of dinner. Armand cutting meat and putting it on his plate. Armand’s cold brown eyes watching him drink his wine. He worked his palm over the sensitive spot right below the tip and returned to the memory of the cake, of Armand feeding him.

Fuck. Fuck, please please please.

Except this time it wasn’t a fork in his hand. This time Armand picked up the cake with his bare fingers and held it out, leveled Daniel with that heady gaze and demanded he eat. Daniel stroked himself roughly and imagined the heat of Armand’s fingers against his lips, the sticky sweetness of the cake.

In front of the entire restaurant Armand slipped his finger into Daniel’s mouth, pressed down on his tongue and made him suck it clean. Daniel came with a choked off sob.

Armand looked down in surprise at the piece of wrought iron filigree in his hand. He hadn’t even realized he’d broken it off the arm of the bench.

Upstairs Daniel was fumbling for his shirt so he could use it to clean the mess off his chest. When he shifted onto his side the amount of alcohol he’d drank hit him hard and the room began to spin, so violently he pressed his face into the pillow and whined. Content in knowing that he was incapable of getting up and getting into danger, Armand stood.

Once upon a time he had turned to his master and said that in yielding to him, he had turned the tables and made his master into his slave. He’d never understood how correct he had been about that.

He turned and wandered down a dimly lit street. Daniel wouldn’t stay in Boston long, that was certain. He had money in his account and there was still their game of hide and seek to play. Somewhere he would find him. Somewhere he would back Daniel into a corner and make him confess to all of the things that made his lustful heart race.

Nearby was a church. Within it a man cried out to God, begging for death or absolution for his sins.

Armand turned. He put his hands in his pockets and crossed the street.