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The Vampire Armand is a staggering five-hundred and fourteen years old, and he has experienced many many things over the span of his lifetime. He has had a lot of sex. He has fed uncountable times, and the amount of times he has been fed on is steadily rising with every day that passes of his undead life.
And yet he will never get used to this. The dizzying contrast of that mess of white gray curls nestled against his own bronze thighs. The small, near pathetic whines—that he can more feel than hear—as his fledgling’s tongue hungrily laps over his soft, sensitive flesh.
His greedy boy. Never filled, never satisfied. Insatiable.
Armand has seen many different versions of Daniel Molloy with his head between a pair of thighs over the last five decades he has been with his boy. His own legs, the legs of lovers handpicked by him as a little gift for his boy, a game for them to play. Armand has seen the soft well-styled deep brown curls of the early 70s bobbing between his legs, the buzzcut he'll never forgive Daniel for back in ‘77, that god awful misguided attempt at a mullet in 1982, when Daniel wanted nothing more than to look like George Clooney. It didn't look any better than the buzzcut, but it was delightful to pull on, a tool for coaxing high keening sounds from his Daniel, so maybe Armand has to cut it some slack. It proved to be useful.
And even when Daniel’s head wasn't between his thighs anymore, he had still slowly watched Daniel's curls turn salt and pepper between the legs of wives and mistresses. Snow white with rare gray patches between the legs of meaningless women to keep him warm at night. Still just as pressing, eager, and hungry as he'd always been. Not that Daniel was privy to the fact that Armand had been a witness to any of this.
The Daniel kneeling at his feet now should be able to guess that Armand couldn’t keep away, even after he pushed Daniel out of his life. Gave him life! (No matter how Daniel sees it, Armand will remain of the firm opinion that that is what he did. He gave Daniel a life he would not have been able to live with the vampire by his side.) That he didn’t have it in him to move on, that he had to keep his eyes closely trained on Daniel—even if he couldn't have him, because he couldn't have him—and on the lovers Daniel surrounded himself with.
Armand of course noticed that even without Daniel's conscious input many of them shared his own deep skin tone, the big 'doe eyes' as Daniel loved to call them, and soft black curls that tickled Daniel’s face when he kissed these women. It made Armand sick, watching his beloved’s jaw work between the legs of soft women that should have been him. That were him in anything but physical body. That hungry black hole inside of Daniel never satisfied, his infidelity never quite scratching this longing itch that he just didn’t understand, couldn't explain, even to himself.
His first wife, Alice. A beautiful desi woman with strong features, swooping dark curls that reached her chin, and a love for tugging on Daniel's hair and forcing him to his knees for her. When Armand first laid eyes on her, his fingertips itched with the urge to rip her throat out. The need to sink his teeth into her birdlike neck and to drain her until she was cold and stiff was strong, and Daniel would taste her when Armand claimed his mouth. He wanted to take it back. Wanted to take him back. His Daniel. His fascinating boy. His beloved. Not hers.
But he didn’t pry her off Daniel. He swore himself that he would give Daniel this life, and he wouldn't interfere. So instead he stayed put, observing the pair through the window as she dug her sharp red manicured nails into Daniel's cheeks in the soft warm glow of candles and of the bedside table lamp, which was flickering despite it being a beautiful clear night. Armand watched her spit poison at him that he lapped up with that eager look in his eyes. Her stiletto digging into his crotch, his face nuzzling her thighs, hands slithering up under her skirt. The flickering bulb exploded, the flames rushed to life before extinguishing themselves. Brilliant green eyes met Armand’s own for just a split second without a hint of recognition.
The salty metallic taste of tears followed.
It didn't last long. Daniel and Alice married out of obligation, not love. Not that there wasn't love. It just wasn't enough. The daughter they shared wasn’t enough. There was a hole inside of Daniel. He was missing something fundamental.
After the disaster that had been Alice, Daniel’s second wife shared no similarities with Armand. She was an All American Beauty with long blonde hair, blue eyes, and skin that never tanned darker than a cream caramel colour. She was soft spoken, docile. After the birth of their shared daughter, Daniel started stepping out. She did not care. This marriage lasted much longer, but it too was doomed to fail.
The sharp pain of claws digging into his hips and Daniel grumbling “I can taste your bad mood, Boss.” is what pulls Armand out of his reminiscing, or maybe rather overthinking.
The point is, no matter how often Daniel’s mouth has been between his—or anyone elses—legs, nothing will ever compare to this. To the deep, aching intimacy of his first and only born greedily digging his beautiful fangs into Armand's inner thigh, savouring the very blood that flows through their veins, forever binding them together.
The fangs that make Armand a little dizzy to think about. At twice as big as Armand’s own, Daniel’s fangs are perfect for him, with the size of the teeth to match the fledgling’s ego and skill. You couldn't miss them, those deadly pearly whites. When his boy opens his mouth they're there, and they’re more often than not the last thing you will ever see.
Watching Daniel hunt is a special kind of thrill. Witnessing his fangs sink into the pliant skin of his victims in a way that makes Armand’s skin itch with longing of being underneath his fledgling. Underneath those handsome, sizeable fangs.
His right leg is lazily thrown over Daniel’s shoulder, who is holding onto his thigh with both of his massive hands, arms slung around it as if he’s afraid that his maker will flee if he doesn’t hold him down with force.
Daniel's eyes mimic the unnatural burning amber colour of Armand's own, pupils blown out like they used to be when he got his hands on cocaine. Like a predator. A hungry cat ready to pounce on a small bird with its claws out, fangs bared. And maybe that is what this is. Armand caught in the merciless hold of his starving fledgling.
Armand had sensed Daniel’s presence before he even walked into the apartment. The air crackled with restless electricity as soon as he stepped into the building, the hair on Armand’s neck already rising. His beautiful boy, so strong on his blood, so obstinate, was coming home to him.
Soon Daniel was stumbling through the front door, and Armand put one of his fingers between the pages of his book, resting it against his chest before looking up at his fledgling. Daniel was vibrating with energy. Messy from his last feeding, face halfheartedly wiped clean with blood still streaking his skin, speckles still on his neck and T-shirt in a way that should upset Armand, but really just warms his chest with feelings of fondness. It wasn’t obvious enough that morals would have noticed anything, especially in the darkness of night, otherwise he would have scolded his boy. But not today.
He beckoned the young man with the weathered face over with a soft smile and an outstretched open palm, and Daniel shut the door behind him with a deafening thud, before crossing the room and promptly falling to his knees in front of his maker in a way that would most likely have sent him to the hospital before his turning.
He buried his face in Armand’s lap with a low whine, and shook his head.
“Remind me why I decided to do this again?” He asked Armand in this pitiful small voice, and Armand couldn’t help but chuckle. “My darling, was the reading really that bad?” He questioned as his hands found Daniel’s hair, and Daniel shuddered.
“Yes, absolutely. None of them asked any compelling questions, they just wanted to know more about Louis’ sex life. That’s not why we wrote this book! Why the fuck can’t they understand that it’s not a fucking romantasy erotica?”
His cheek was resting on Armand’s thigh, the glasses that he doesn’t need to wear anymore, but still does out of habit, skewed and digging into his cheek in a way that looked like it might be uncomfortable.
“And I‘m so hungry all the time.” He pouted. “I drained a jogger on the way here, but she did nothing to fill me up. Why am I always so hungry, babe?”
His fangs had dropped, and Daniel was slurring his words around the too big teeth in his mouth, nuzzling his face further into Armand’s covered legs. He could smell his maker's blood bubble under his skin, the sickly sweet aroma calling to him.
A cold finger prodded at his mouth, the pad of a thumb softly brushing over the sharp edge of a sensitive fang, pressing down in a way that send a chill down his spine, but to Daniel's dismay not enough to draw blood. Armand smiled at him with a somewhat prideful look as he stroked his fingertips over his boy’s fangs. 'I made these. I made you.' seem to be the words he wants to say.
“That’s what it means to be a fledgling, dear. It’s akin to a babe and a mother’s milk. You can feed the child all kinds of things, and it might help a little, but nothing will truly fill it up and make it grow strong quite like the warm nourishment of its creator. Does that make sense?”
Daniel couldn’t answer, Armand still had his fingers in his mouth, now resting heavy on his tongue. So he just nodded his head.
“Do you need to feed, beloved?” Armand asked sweetly, the question unnecessary with the answer kneeling right in front of him. He removed his fingers from Daniel’s maw and held his chin still with the spit wet fingers.
Daniel’s eyes shone pinkish red with tears.
“Please babe, please let me, you smell so good! I think I’ll die if I don’t get to taste you. Boss, please, I’m starving!”
And that is how they ended up here.
Daniel had ignored the wrist right next to his mouth, and instead frantically ripped a big hole along the inner seam of Armand’s bespoke pants. The older vampire will scold him for it later, but right now neither of them particularly care about the article of clothing.
He ran his nose along the soft skin of Armand’s inner thigh, deeply inhaling the intoxicating smell of his maker's blood before he brought out his tongue to lap at the sensitive spot. The quiet gasp above him and the tightening of the long fingers in his hair was what did him in. He sunk his fangs right into that enticing artery, groaning as Armand’s silky blood finally bubbled over his tongue.
“I can still taste your distraction.” Daniel repeats now, giving the puncture wounds small kitten licks so none of his maker’s nectar-like blood goes to waste, and Armand feels somewhat bad for his wandering thoughts. He should be fully here for his beautiful fledgling.
“Come on then sweet boy, make me unable to think about anything but your mouth on me.”
He expects Daniel to bring one of his big hands down to palm at Armand’s half hard dick. What he does not expect is what Daniel actually does. Because what his boy does is bring one of his hands down just like Armand imagined, but not to paw at his dick, but rather to dig one of his sharp nails into one of the small wounds in a way that makes Armand yelp, before slowly dragging it down, connecting the bite marks into one big gash with a concentrated look on his face—his brows knitted together, making the wrinkles on his face appear even deeper to Armand’s delight—and then pulling it a little bigger still.
The cut isn’t deep enough to sever Armand's artery lengthwise, the blood is still lazily trickling out of the small holes in a way that is borderline hypnotic for Daniel. But it is deep enough for the blood to pool, and for Daniel to greedily stick his tongue inside.
The muscles in Armand’s leg tense up at the unexpected blinding pain. He hisses and involuntarily kicks the heel of his loafer into Daniel’s back when the boy laves at the wound, which only pushes him deeper. He is pushing the flat of his tongue into the gash he made, lapping up Armand’s blood and stretching the ragged edges open around his tongue, before using his thumbs to pull the edges even further apart with a sickening squelch sound that makes Armand whine quietly.
If he didn’t know better he’d say that his fledgling took a peek inside of his mind. Of course that’s impossible, but this display is so unnerving, so perfect that he doesn’t know how else to explain it. His cock twitches when Daniel’s cold tongue pressing into the slit he made between Armand’s legs. All but eating him out.
The thought alone makes him dizzy, but maybe that is partially the pain. His hand tensed where it's nestled in Daniel's hair, fisting those beautiful soft curls, and the groan that pulls from his throat reverberates against the opening between Armand’s thighs, making him let out his own moan in return.
Oh his fascinating, sick boy. His first born, his only son. Bartering with desire. Taking what he wants.
His Daniel is acting like a man starved. Because that is because he is. Trying to fill himself up with other people, with strangers conveniently there for him. When all he needs, all he ever has needed, is Armand. His maker. His murderer. His lover. There is nothing else for Daniel. He doesn’t need anything but Armand’s cruel touch and sweet syrupy blood.
“That’s it, darling. Just take what you need.”
Armand’s voice is breathy and broken as the encouragement leaves his mouth. Daniel’s fangs are grazing along the sides of the cut, scratching his skin open with delicious friction, and Daniel is suckling at the folds, lapping up Armand’s wetness.
His hand tightens in his boy’s hair, pulling him even closer before lovingly petting him as if he is a particularly obedient dog, and the tip of Daniel's nose grinds into the top of the slit, rubbing it in a way that makes Armand mewl. The breaths he doesn’t need to take come out in short, heavy bursts between soft sighs.
As has been established, Daniel has had his head between Armand’s thighs in many ways throughout the years.
But never like this.
Never has he used his tongue to softly pet his insides, never has he run his thumb through Armand’s wet folds, digging it deeper, deeper, opening his maker up even further for him, so he can fuck his tongue inside, savouring his taste on his tongue.
Armand feels the tip of Daniel’s tongue prodding at the edges of the clean bite wound on his femoral artery, and the moan that is punched out of his throat is loud enough that if his mind was clearer, he might be worried about the neighbours. But his mind is occupied with nothing but a burning sensation of Daniel Daniel Daniel Daniel Daniel so he isn’t thinking about the volume of his cries.
Somewhere on the edge of consciousness he knows that his claws are digging into his beloved’s scalp, staining his gorgeous curls red. His grip tightens, he pulls Daniel impossibly closer with a high keen. The slick sounds of his boy’s tongue inside of him are driving him crazy with a need to touch himself, but Armand refrains, fighting against the urge.
“My darling boy,” He chokes out, but just then Daniel flicks his tongue in a small way that makes his toes curl, and forces the heel of his loafer deeper into Daniel’s back, who lets out a deep moan at the painful kick. It takes a second for the ancient vampire to gather himself.
“All mine. It is my blood that is flowing through your veins. That is nourishing you and keeping you alive. I can give you everything you’ll ever want or need, isn’t that right? We’ll find a way to keep you satisfied, beloved. Just you and me.”
The last of his words trail off into a slurred mess, but even if Daniel can’t understand his words, he tastes the love, the adoration, the possessiveness flowing through Armand’s blood, making it even sweeter. Daniel is Armand’s. Armand is his.
And Daniel whines, and the soft vibration causes Armand to curl his leg around Daniel’s neck, using his calf to trap him against his body. When Daniel glances up he can see that Armand has slid down on the sofa, the book he was reading when he came home now has fallen to the side, page number forgotten. Armand is sprawled out across the seat in an undignified manner, head thrown back and mouth open in a silent moan, one hand thrown over his eyes while the other one remains glued to his fledgling’s hair.
“Love you boss.” Daniel drunkenly murmurs against Armand’s thigh, keeping his eyes trained on Armand’s face, studying his expression as he gives the opening beneath his fingers long, broad licks with the flat of his tongue, trying to gather as much blood as possible. “Love you so much, taste so good.”
A cold hand comes to rest on his face, and he melts into the touch. Armand’s thumb carefully wipes the delicate skin beneath his right eye, swiping away a bloody tear. The entire lower half of Daniel’s face is slick with crimson, and something tugs on Armand’s heart. His sweet fledgling has always been such a messy eater. So greedy.
“Is this what you needed dear? To get your mouth on my cunt?”
Their motions are sluggish, as if they’re submerged in a vat of coagulated syrupy blood. Daniel slowly nods, his pupils blown so big that Armand can see himself in the black depth of them. The hand cupping Daniel’s face is moved down, and slowly those slender elegant fingers breach his lips, and his maker presses down in his tongue, letting his fingertips glide over Daniel’s fangs because he can’t help himself. He doesn’t give him the chance to suck on the digits. Instead Armand drags them across his tongue, gathering some of the blood before he pulls them out again, and while holding eye contact with Daniel he brings his fingers, slick with Daniel’s saliva and his own blood up to his mouth and licks them clean with a savouring moan.
“God you’re perfect, Daniel Molloy.” He groans, and moves his free leg a little, until finally the tip of his Italian leather loafer is nudging his fledgling’s untouched erection. He’d been so well behaved, hadn’t even made a move to touch himself. “So good for me, aren’t you? Do you wanna be a good boy for me?”
Immediately Daniel whines, and his hips involuntarily grind down on the toe of Armand’s shoe. The plea for forgiveness on his tongue dies before it can see the light of day, because Armand lifts his foot to meet the boy’s stuttering hips.
“That’s it. Go one, you deserve it.” He murmurs and cards his fingers through the soft blood stained curls. Daniel’s jaw hangs slack, he is panting as as he helplessly grinds down on the expensive shoe, uncontrollable little moans leaving his bloody mouth, and Armand watches with wonderment while his free hand is playing with the buttons of the green silk shirt Daniel loves so so much because it reminds him of their first meeting. Slowly, one by one, he unbuttons it, until it opens up revealing his well toned chest.
His fledgling’s movement falters, and he frantically moves his hands upwards, one finding Armand’s chest, fingers mindlessly pulling and pinching his nipples, pulling weak moans from his maker’s throat. The other one is toying with Armand’s belt, just managing to open it up. The material matches the shoes Daniel is currently riding.
But when he reaches for the button of the pants, his merciless maker slaps his hand away with a tortured little smile.
“Ah, ah, ah. You started something young man. You’re going to finish it.”
His hand in Daniel’s curls tightens, and he forces his fledgling’s face back down between his legs. The first lick has his thighs trembling around Daniel’s head. The second has quiet little sobs falling from his mouth as he pushes his thigh up to meet Daniel’s cold tongue.
Daniel doesn’t halt his grinding against the loafer even once as he whines into Armand. He sucks and licks at the gash, dragging this tongue over those sensitive spots and fucking it into the opening with enthusiasm. The fucked out sounds his maker fills the room with are edging him on, and his hand moves from the wristband of Armand’s pants down between his legs. He dips two fingers into Armand, and when he curls them his face is pushed down, and he works his tongue until his maker is wailing,—and Daniel can be lucky that he doesn’t need to breathe anymore—before violently being ripped back by his hair, and his beautiful maker is cumming in his bespoke pants, his entire body trembling with it. Red tears are running down his face, falling onto his chest.
Armand falls slack like a marionette with its strings cut, and Daniel grinds down against the shoe between his legs with feverish urgency, wanting to follow his maker to peacefulness, pretty much humping his leg like a mutt in heat with pathetic little sounds.
It doesn’t take long for his vision to go white. Daniel yelps when small elegant hands hook under his arms, pulling him up into a lap. Armand unceremoniously rips the fabric of Daniel's pants and shoves a hand inside his fledgling’s jeans, working him through his orgasm with soft murmurs of encouragement.
“I do very much love you too, Daniel.” He finally whispers, his voice hoarse and thin. He licks a broad path over Daniel's bloodied face before he removes his hand from Daniel’s pants and rigorously licks the pink cum off it. But half of the sticky cold mess stays behind. For a second he glances down as if debating if he should clean his beautiful boy’s spend with his tongue, but he seems to decide against it.
Instead surprisingly strong arms worm around Daniel’s body, pulling him closer, and Armand hides his face into the crook of his neck, nuzzling him like a happy cat.
“I’ll run us a bath in a bit. But let’s just stay like this for a while, yeah?” He asks, and presses a soft kiss against Daniel’s throat. “I’m feeling a bit woozy.”