brightyoungreporter

Entry tags:

armand

[armand]

Daniel, historically speaking, is terrible at this. He'd been a shitty boyfriend, and then a shitty husband; dates were either the standard dinner and a movie, or more likely, centered around whatever story he was chasing.

The only time in his life that he suspects he might have been any good at romance is the part of his life that's been erased, and no shortage of irony here, by the vampire he's trying to woo tonight.

(He's aware he should give more of a fuck about that, but he just doesn't.)

So he asks Armand to meet him at the Boardwalk, and he uses the power of technology and anonymous dating apps to arrange dinner later, and even though he's got Armand's blood in his veins, he's a little nervous. What memories he's recovered, his turning-- it's not just his health that's returned and sharpened. An emotional component exists, the return of feelings he thought he'd been too cold and truth focused to feel.

Turns out he was just missing most of his heart.

Leaning against the railing, listening to the ocean, he decides not to lead with that.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

And oh, isn't that what Armand wants so desperately to have proven. That someone wants him. That someone will go to unseen and unheard of lengths in order to secure his safety. If only Daniel had been around five centuries ago.

Perhaps Arun would have stood a chance.

"That's it," he praises instead of wallowing, hand in Daniel's hair as he drinks from his thigh, a delicately indelicate place that has Armand grinning with dark glee. "How do I tasted, beloved?"

Daniel looks up at him with a wild light in his eyes, blood on his lips and teeth. "You taste fuckin' incredible and you know it," he says, tonguing the punctures he'd made, lapping inelegantly. "Makes me wanna go back in time to pull Louis off your neck."

He indulges in another drink, pulling with the whole of his mouth until he's almost sated. Slicing his tongue on a fang, he takes the time to seal the holes before he turns his face, blood-hot lips against Armand's cock.

"I have to admit, I'm torn between whether I want to blow you or whether I want to eat you out so I can fuck you."

"Honey and pineapple?" is a lazy tease, a fond smile attached to those words as Daniel tidies him up -- a small kindness that has Armand genuinely adoring him even more. He's taken note that Armand likes to be tidy and put-together and is helping to ensure that he can be.

He's so terribly good for Armand, and Armand is going to fight viciously to keep it -- which will likely be his own downfall, but he won't acknowledge that.

"Why not be greedy?" he asks, gripping Daniel's chin as he holds him there, eyes wide as can be. "You always have been an overachiever, have you not?"

"That's definitely one word for it," Daniel says, ducking his head and opening his mouth to catch Armand's thumb. "Overachieve, over-indulge, overcompensate."

A black hole, always seeking more.

He drags his teeth along the pad of Armand's thumb, and returns to his thigh, this time pressing a reverent kiss there. "So I can have whatever I want," he muses, broad hand circled around Armand's cock, stroking slowly as he encourages his hips up. "Spread wider, baby, knees up."

He takes a moment to admire the tight right of muscle before he's dragging his tongue across, rumbling deep his chest with satisfaction.

Armand's gaze slides to Daniel's cock, lifting a brow with great respect. "My darling boy, you never had to overcompensate for that," is a pointed and smug reply, having been the one on the receiving end -- or simply being able to watch while Armand sent lovers to Daniel's bed to be pleasured.

Would he be willing to do that again? The thought is a tempting one, he can't lie.

He spreads, opens wide, and lifts his knees, humming softly, and it's lovely, it is, but: "I do believe you once said you could be on your knees for me in a second," is a pedantic reminder. "And while the bed is lovely, I do wonder what you would look like, worshipping a god."

It's a strange position to realize it, but Daniel understands, under Armand's praise, that he hadn't really been joking. Overcompensating for the black hole inside him, maybe, but on a level bigger than doing every drug off every dick he ever met. No, the overcompensation had been in the marriages, the family he hadn't taken seriously enough-- trying to make up for the fact that he'd never get what he'd really wanted.

It's not the time to bring it up, even if he knows it must play across his face for a second or two.

He's grateful when Armand gives him an order to follow, as lovely and arch as it is. "Yeah," he says, hoarse and happily overwhelmed, scrambling off the bed and onto his knees, folding up in a way that feels familiar-- even if he can't remember.

It's times like these that Armand viciously misses his ability to read Daniel's mind. Something clearly goes through it, but Armand can't tell what it is and he has no power to be able to soothe it or make it go away.

He's lost his control.

And yet, luckily, Daniel is quickly on his knees and all other thoughts flit away like migrating birds for Armand as he stands, smugly, and digs his fingers into Daniel's hair, looking down on him as he cocks his head to the side. "Would you have gone straight to sucking me?" he asks, calm and poised despite the dirty words. "I know what you did in the years after, but I wonder, what strategy a desperate man would have taken."

Despite the tremor working its way down his spine at the visceral reminder of that night, Daniel feels his mouth tug up in a smirk. "Like a vacuum, baby. And I'm not going to pretend I wouldn't have liked it."

Greedily, he pushes his head into Armand's elegant fingers.

"Or that I haven't thought about it since I remembered that night." He scoots forward, thinking about what that dumb kid would have done. Reach into the slutty past, he tells himself, and leaning forward, he takes Armand's cock into his mouth, sucking in as much as he thinks he can take.

It's been a while since he had regular practice.

"I believe I'd broken at least two of your ribs," Armand muses, and yet, he still believes his beloved boy would do exactly that. Rest on his knees to prove his worth. And yet, Armand shouldn't push, but he wonders:

"What would you have told yourself after?" he asks, breathless already as he rocks his hips forward. "After you'd taken me deep, after I had come in your mouth," he's narrating at this point, "After we had disposed of you, after Louis had convinced me not to drain you, would you have returned home and thought of me? The taste on your lips? Perhaps I would have let you keep that memory."

His rambling isn't to say Daniel isn't doing a wonderful job. He's absolutely amazing, but Armand has extensive practice focusing.

"And who was it before me?" he murmurs. "Whose cock was last in my beloved boy's mouth?"

Daniel pulls off with a satisfying noise (at least to his ears), but it's a hell of question to consider in the middle of a blowjob.

It doesn't feel strange at all.

"If you'd let me remember any of it," he says, wrapping his hand around the base of Armand's cock, pumping slowly, "I would have taken about forty-eight hours to freak out, and then I would have come looking for you. You know my level of self-preservation."

It occurs to him that Armand does know, knows how he'd fought that sweet, numbing rest.

"I never got his name," he says, with complete honesty. "We didn't even leave the bar. And there wasn't anyone after you." Again, truth.

Daniel would have chased him for his own curiosity -- which is telling, because it had taken Armand only a week to do the same. True, he hadn't decided yet if he'd wanted Daniel dead, but his fascination had driven him to seek him out again.

And now, look where that's brought them. "Your level of self-preservation delivered you to me, as a gift," he praises. "You couldn't leave Louis' invitation alone, and now look at you, on your knees for me again."

His eyes flick over Daniel's face as he cradles his chin, gentle and fond. "There could be, if you'd like," he says. "One of my greatest enjoyments has been watching you in the pleasure of others."

"You know, I'm starting to question how much you actually want me to blow you," Daniel informs him, still stroking lazily. "Were you always this much of a talker?"

But Armand's hand is gentle on his face, and if he's any judge of his own expression, he's sure it's besotted.

"Honestly, babe, I just want you."

"You fascinate me. I always want to know more," is a truth that's been accurate as much in this moment as it had been fifty years ago. And yet, the slow pleasure is also a wonderful boon for him, as he leans his head back, allowing the pleasure waves to begin cresting.

"And you have me," he's happy to report, biting his lip as Daniel works him. "Now, if you're so fussed about talking, I'll save my questions for later, when your mouth isn't hard at work."

He tips his head forward, with an encouraging nod. "Go on."

They're both talkers, is maybe a fairer assessment, as Daniel opens his mouth for any number of replies:

You fascinate me too, the feeling's mutual.

My mouth is always at work.

He silences them all by doing exactly what he's told, some part of him grateful for the instruction posed as permission, or the permission posed as instruction. His open mouth sinks down, taking as much as he can without having to test if he redeveloped a gag reflex or not.

Once he's sure that Daniel is focused on his task, Armand allows that last vestige of a mask to fall away. He trusts his fledgling, and he adores him. He loves him desperately, and yet, there are layers of protection that Armand has in place that he's not sure he'll ever be able to truly do away with.

Not until he's convinced that he's safe, that someone could want him as he is.

Every day with Daniel, he feels it's getting closer. "That's it," he coaxes, voice soft and soothing. "Like honey on your tongue," he teases, unable to help himself. "And like a warm bath for me."

Some tiny part of Daniel considers pulling back off to snark about the teasing. It's easily overruled by the rest of him, the feeling of having done this before but without an accompanying memory, by the connection that's their bond. Armand might as well be honey on his tongue, his voice filling Daniel's head as his cock fills Daniel's mouth.

He looks up, wanting to see Armand's face, those preternaturally vivid eyes watching him-- wanting to be praised, wanting to be used, wanting to be loved.

It had to have been like that, before, because it's like that now, his hands coming up to hold Armand's hips for balance, to take more of him, just to touch more of him.

Armand's drifting into a fantasy. He's in heaven, if a monster like him ever deserves eternal paradise. And if there is such a place, then it will be here, on the tip of Daniel's tongue, making him feel this bliss.

"Daniel," is a soft murmur, high praise as he strokes his long nails through his hair, wanting him to know just how much he cherishes him, for more than this -- and yet, in this moment, very much specifically for this.

"May I fuck your face harder?" he asks, ever the gentleman.

A broken, wanting keen escapes Daniel's chest before he can stop it, and even as it does, he finds he doesn't want stop it. It has to be his subconscious, remembering the feeling if not the event, reminding him how safe he is here, on his knees for Armand, apex predator that he is.

"Yeah," he rasps, when he pulls his mouth off just to say it. "Show me who I belong to, baby."

Armand's ego soars to hear sounds like that coming from Daniel -- proof that he hasn't quite lost his touch. His smug smile is evidence enough of that, and as he grabs Daniel's hair to position himself, he's not immune to the sounds he's making.

It stirs a need in him so fierce, so desperate, that little by little, his guard begins to slide downwards. "Me," is a growl, more animal than controlled gentleman, because for once, he can be possessive and claim someone and not worry about being too much. "You are mine, Daniel Molloy, I claimed you fifty years ago and you will never belong to anyone else," is a promise as he ensures Daniel's mouth is where it must be, before he thrusts his hips, aggressive as he fucks Daniel like an object.

For the few spare moments where he can still think, Daniel's grateful his mouth is full, and then his throat, and then he can't say any of the babbling thoughts that would come out as sheer fucking nonsense. He can give a punched-out sob or two, raising his eyes to Armand's.

And then thought leaves him entirely. He grips Armand's thighs to keep himself steady, and he lets the words flow over him as Armand fucks his mouth, lets his whole body speak in loud agreement. He is Armand's, body and soul.

God, he's missed it.

There's a feeling that comes over Armand that he thinks didn't exist five hundred years ago. Arun, Amadeo, they both didn't understand what it was to possess something, and even Armand had been a desperate owner, hurrying to try and hold on to whatever he could. And yet, Daniel makes him feel, in ways that he can hardly explain.

And the sounds he makes, the way he looks at him, it threatens to undo him. He's created his companion, his eternal partner, and he couldn't be more satisfied.

"That's it," he soothes, in contrast to the sharp and violent thrusts, not caring a thing for what damage he's doing (which he'll heal later). "Your tongue is as clever as your words," he praises, "and your mouth as welcoming as every black hole you've ever been."

He's close. He's so very close.

Daniel can feel his eyes welling up hotly, but he doesn't have to see them to know they have to be full of adoration. His grip on Armand's thighs only tightens, nails digging in until they draw blood.

They might not be able to communicate telepathically, but he doesn't think they need it. He whines again, needy, his throat working around Armand's cock, feeling the connection between them, the bond of their blood.

The more Armand seems to lose control, the more blissed out Daniel feels, pulling a hand from Armand's thigh to push between his own.

It's been decades since he felt this worshipped. In the early days with Louis, Armand had felt as if he could dominate the world, especially when he'd discovered Lestat's fondness for his companion, and yet, Daniel takes that and makes that flame look like a paltry candle. What is it about Daniel Molloy that makes Armand so uncontrolled? So utterly pulled in?

Whatever it is, he can no longer think on it as reaction consumes thought and he grabs at Daniel's curls to sharply haul him in, so that when he does come, there's no question about it -- Daniel will swallow, as much as he can, and will endure the mess of whatever he can't.

"Beloved," he praises, half-hitched and keening. "I l..." And the words are gone, swallowed by his orgasm.

Beloved.

It's not the first time he's heard it from Armand's lips, and here, as he kneels and gulps messily around Armand's twitching cock, he preens about it. In this moment, he can't find any doubt in him that it's meant, that Armand loves him.

Whether or not his throat has been too shredded to talk about it doesn't matter. He can give Armand something apparently no one else has, mind-bogglingly enough: his devotion.

So he swallows until he can't, and doesn't move, looking up at Armand with eyes that reflect the color of his own.

Armand's smile is half-dazed, but all pleasure as he reaches down to cup Daniel's face with a tender hand, careful that his nails don't scratch and slice away at delicate skin that he's been pleased to watch grow older with time.

His beloved, who is staring back at him with eyes that confirm his claim of ownership.

It's almost too much, and Armand is in a haze of pleasure, both from the orgasm and the delight of Daniel taking him so readily, so expertly. He takes care to brush at the mess he's made with his thumb, bringing it to his own mouth to suck. "Tell me, Daniel," he murmurs fondly, a tease in his eyes. "Were you always this good with your mouth? Or is this another skill you earned with age?"

[armand]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)