l'amour est un monstre

Daniel's mouth opened as if he was going to speak but nothing came out. All he could do was watch Armand. The way he moved closer to him sent shivers down his spine. But it wasn't out of fear. No, it was desire and excitement.

Now his heart was racing as he felt himself dropping to his knees without even thinking twice about it. His bright blue eyes looked up at Armand as he felt his heart skipping a beat.

" D----Don't... " Daniel started to say. Yes he wanted Armand's love and his blood. "Yes... " A simple answer yes but it got the point acrossed.

Heart racing now as he felt as if he was going to lose consciousness at any given time. "Who am I kidding? You have denied me all these years why would I ever think you would give me the very thing I long for? What makes it different now? Because I am old and you dont want to see me die? No that can't be right."

armand exhales sharply as daniel falls to his knees in front of him. chin lifts, elongating him further as he looks down his nose at him. the man who lit the fuse, who carried the detonator the whole time — he can hear his own blood pounding in his head, a reminder of the frustration building until he thinks he might explode into flames spontaneously. he could never be this angry at someone he loathed nor someone he was apathetic towards. those were the ones that could wrong him with little to no emotional weight. daniel mattered. years passed and daniel was still embedded inside of him.

( he can't dig him out. he had never been able to dig him out )

daniel's heartbeat is almost as loud as his voice. his fangs extract against his will, but he holds his jaw shut for a moment longer. he's not answering him. he's letting the seconds pass by when he says yes. to hear him ask for it pulls a shudder down his spine. he dragged him out of time and place with those words. he'd always said no. always. and now, he doesn't know if he wants to give it to him so he'll live or because he wants it to hurt. he's wavering in place.

❝ up! ❞ the command comes with a gesture of his hand, using the mind gift to pull daniel back to his feet, to close the distance and grab his chin with his hand. it's rough but his eyes are swimming with uncertainty, with desperation, fear, every emotion building inside of him to this moment. ❝ i denied you to save you. to let you have your life — i'm not the keeper of some great gift. ❞ he inhales a shaky breath, voice lowering to almost a whisper, ❝ i'll give it to you, daniel. i'll give it to you, but your promises won't last as long as you think. ❞

Daniel  held  Armand's  gaze  for  a  moment  longer  than  necessary.  That  smile  of  his  the  one  that  never  quite  reached  his  eyes  ,  made  him  want  to  laugh  and  roll  his  eyes  at  the  same  time.  Of  course  Armand  turned  it  into  a  philosophical  question.  His  fingers  tapped  once  against  the  arm  of  the  chair  before  going  still.  The  room  felt  smaller  whenever  Armand  started  talking  about  fear,  as  if  every  answer  came  with  a  trap  hidden  somewhere  inside  it.  "You  keep  acting  like  those  are  the  only  two  options."  Daniel  said.  His  voice  wasn't  sharp,  but  he  always  held  some  grudge  in  his  tongue.  Guess  it's  the  special  tone  he  reserves  for  all  these  vampires,  erupting  into  his  life  after  decades.  "You  keep  acting  like  those  are  the  only  two  options."  The  world  ending  or  the  vampire  sitting  across  from  him.  Daniel  leaned  forward  slightly.  "The  letter  didn't  scare  me."  That  wasn't  entirely  true.  The  letter  had  changed  everything.  It  had  reopened  doors  he  had  spent  years  convincing  himself  were  sealed,  he  could  had  died  happy  thinking  it  had  been  a  fever  dream  induced  by  his  intake  of  drugs  and  alcohol.  But  fear  wasn't  the  first  thing  he'd  felt  when  he  saw  Louis's  handwriting.  Curiosity  had  been.  "And  you  don't  scare  me  the  way  you  think  you  do."

it should have scared you, he wants to say. the fearlessness is admirable, but something he's experienced none of. he's never been fearless. even when he held the strings, he didn't play puppet master out of courage. he utilized his power over others out of obligation and like a safety protocol. he'd watched vampire after vampire heave themselves into the fire, the frail, the old, the mad. he'd learned that immortality increases their lifespan but doesn't always stave off death forever. when he'd finally submitted to the children of darkness, his determination to survive had never been clearer. when they prepared the pyre for his mentor outside of the paris cemetery, he vowed that it would never be him. and he was still here, alive. the vampire who took his fear and manipulated it into strength. ❝ 500 years, daniel. 500 years and i've seen less variety than you'd imagine. ❞ he doesn't see an array of options to be. for any of them to be.

daniel leans forward and armand stops himself from leaning back further against the comfortable back of his chair. he's still, aside from the tap tap of his thumb against forefinger, middle, and down the line again and again. ❝ it shouldn't have lured you. ❞ before daniel's arrival, he'd sat in dubai, ruminating on what he wanted to happen. there was the side of him that had argued with louis not to hash out a new interview, to leave daniel be. and another that hoped he came. the side that wanted to be the first one to see him when he came through their door.

the smile fades as daniel delivers his honest blow. he isn't offended by it, necessarily. armand hadn't been acting in good faith when he made him. he was on an edge, headed straight for a vengeful, self-destructive spiral. he tells himself it would have always been daniel, if he'd made another, but it didn't leave him feeling better. just more bitter, more disgusted. at least he says it out loud. ❝ you get it now, the lie in the dark gift. ❞ for a moment, guilt seeps into his amber eyes, suddenly the conversation is a little more claustrophobic. luckily, there's something to divert to, ❝ how can you be so unafraid? do you not see the risk? this is no longer two vampires squabbling around a human. it's bigger than all of us. we could all die. ❞

"I ask it to show me what it wants and hope it doesn't make all my teeth fall out in the meantime." Coming across as superstitious to this visitor is of no concern to her. It's better to be cautious than rack up a big dental bill.

She looks up at a small portrait - its gold-leaf frame an antique in itself - with the same regard one might have while gazing at a long time friend. The painting's subject, by most accounts, is a stranger to her, but the hours she had spent gingerly repairing the minuscule tears in its canvas had familiarized her with the piece's essence in a way most others would never experience.

armand dips his head, breathing a chuckle at her response. he can't imagine that most museums have protocol in place for hauntings. no, superstition is far less fashionable in the modern day, despite hauntings being no less frequent. it's all willful ignorance, the same ignorance that leaves mortals dumbfounded when confronted with his fangs. in life, he'd felt he stood too close to the veil between life and death. while he'd been taught of jinn, he'd come to believe that human souls could also linger. there was never any other explanation for the things he saw.

being dead himself, there's little he wouldn't believe in the possibility of ( but spirits feel as real as he is ).

❝ how many new sets of teeth have you gone through? ❞ a joke, but one that comes with an understanding that what she says is true. the vampire's eyes follow hers to the painting, judging its age through style. portraiture always raises questions about who the person was and why the artist chose them. in some ways, he thinks they can be more revealing about their subject matter than photographs. armand lingers on the eyes of the subject as she speaks, narrowing his own in curiosity as he listens.

❝ the energy of the painter, a sliver of soul captured from the subject — i'm enjoying it, yes. ❞

the sunglasses come off and armand meets his gaze, stunned still by the way they mirrored each other. there's never a second of armand's existence where he forgets what he's done. but there are reminders that drive the point in a little deeper. the silence between their minds, the vampire eyes staring back at him — all of it real and tangible. he feels ready to spiral, but keeps the calm, poised posture that he's trained himself to maintain.

instead, he offers an amused smile, ❝ i was a child of the renaissance, daniel. i could spend hours waxing poetic on moral philosophy. ❞ and frankly, it was a good way to circumvent a conversation and avoid quick, revealing answers. he was always in control.❝ but if you require a direct answer, i want you to stay. ❞

do i drive you mad ? his vision is swimming , armand’s eyes the only anchor as the world around him turns to watercolor to static to tie dye to darkness. if there had been anything in his stomach , he’d throw up , but all he feels is the metallic rise of bile and the desperate hunger for what comes next. what always comes next. what brings him to his knees in worship of his malevolent and tender god. it is armand’s questions — his questions are madness ! surely his master dealer lover knows this. he’s inside him , the very electricity that runs through his neurons. the circuit that makes it all go boom !!

he's on the ground with astonishing speed, his perfect kneeling boy with eyes that look up at him with such a desperate devotion. he stands still as he grabs at his pant leg, already knowing this song and dance because they have erupted into it before. words from his mind, from his lips, they all sound the same, swirling together and all crying for the same thing. him. it isn't power he feels, but the exquisite servitude of a master. he would do anything for him. he would give him everything. even if that thing is a fight, even if it's dropping him to his knees and building him back up. he would hold him in the dark of his fears, slip his fingers through his hair, and whisper words of love and adoration. and they would spin and spin as the game continued.

daniel awakened something so dormant and terrifying within armand. he brought life to him, a bright, burning sun that hurt to touch. and when he left him, he felt its absence coldly. now, he's here again. home. still breathing. but armand's stuck on eternity. they wouldn't have eternity. he'd give him the blood and it would all fall to pieces. he's desperate to have him forever just as he's desperately afraid to give it to him.

❝ forgive you. love you. padlocks for your cage as the oxygen grows thin, ❞ he's searching daniel's eyes, knowing even if he peered into his head, he'd never quite see what he does when he looks up at him. can he see how overwhelming his love already is? even in anger and through their fights, armand would always come back for him. a sharp fingernail slices his thumb and he reaches down to take daniel's chin, holding his gaze steady as he brushes the bleeding thumb over his bottom lip and through to his mouth. ❝ i'm yours, love. you want madness, you'll have it. ❞

burdened to his bones--he winds up here.

always winds up here. when the fucking horrors he's seen day in and day out start wearing him down to the point he can't shoulder them anymore? a short drive to one of their meeting spots. or simply screaming the vampire's name in his head so loud armand can't ignore him (that does the trick too) and he can find company that gets it. doesn't judge. no expectations. no instant move on and get over it. nothing but conversation, understanding.. and, well, they've come a long way now with what they seek from one another--haven't they?

"i just don't know what to do.. he's my brother."

eyes clamp shut as pointer and thumb rub the bridge directly between them. those digits fall back into his lap when the movement of armand drawing nearer to his side catches his attention. coffee and liquor. brighten his eyes from lost and confused to grateful. a soft smile of thanks and he picks it up, cradling the porcelain in his palm before his left swings out to reach for armand while the other tips the mug against his lips and a long pull's taken. then another. before that lowers, too.

the burden of each other must have been so heavy that the brothers' bones should have been crushed. hunters chased death with alarming accuracy, so much that their familial connections seemed foolish, at best. they lived short little tragic lives for the sake of a few would-be victims and then the cycle continued without them. monsters would always wet their teeth with human blood and hunters would kill a few just to ultimately fall to one lucky creature. for years he observed the habits of hunters, but until dean none of them made him fret. none could call his name and have him appear.

( he has no regret, but what a strange pair they make )

if his words can't ease his anguish, the warm coffee and liquor might supply some comfort. dean reaches out to him and armand remains at his side, utilizing the mind gift to drag the other chair closer so he can sit next to him. ❝ what good are you? ❞ he asks the question like a man misunderstanding the very language he spoke. ❝ you are his brother, dean. i'm certain that your survival and your safety would be good to him. it's how you two operate. ❞

the concept of brotherhood feels so foreign now, but it wasn't always so. he'd had brothers once, he'd sat in a cell as the closest thing left to a brother rotted beside him.

❝ you are the support in his story, as he is yours. but that doesn't mean you can make the right choices for him. ❞

What's a mediocre star to a 514-year-old vampire?

this is not going to be how he dies; fionn is relatively certain that armand, for whatever reason, has more interest in fucking with him than he does killing him. and maybe that should be reassuring, but fionn's a first responder. he's gotten on the wrong side of dealers before. he grew up with parents who never failed to make him feel like a mistake. and so he knows that killing someone, while final, is not the worst kind of torture that can be inflicted. and every awful person he's ever known has been human; he dreads to think what a vampire might do.

and that is terrifying. fionn can't change that he's scared, even as he takes deep breaths meant to calm his heart, stop it acting like he's just run all the way home. maybe it's pointless bluster, his attempts to stay still, to keep his tongue filled with snark and not stutters, when a vampire has the ability to sense things—but fionn's not doing it to convince armand, not really. he's doing it for himself.

be scared. stand upright anyway.

❝ you think that's all there is to him? oh, you don't know him at all, ❞ he says, and he sounds pitying. yeah, lestat is arrogant and outrageous, always wanting to be the centre of attention. he's also sensitive and attentive, and he makes fionn feel listened to, even though there's no reason someone who's been around as long as he has should care about fionn's petty human issues. ❝ right. an old acquaintance.❞ and he's doing this? shit. fionn thought he had fucked up attachment issues. at least he's never stalked his acquaintances' new friends.

he sighs, looking down at the bag of food hanging half-forgotten, suddenly unimportant in face of whatever the fuck this is. ❝ i really don't imagine i'll be any more comfortable with you in my home. ❞ but armand clearly knows where he lives, and it'll stop the neighbours being nosy; all too aware of his shadow, he heads home. he even manages not to fumble the keys. ❝ shut the front door behind you, ❞ he requests as he toes off his boots inside, resigned to an evening in armand's presence. he'll freak out later. for now he heads through to the kitchen to sort out his dinner, as though a normal night can be reclaimed from this weirdness.

❝ do you make a habit out of doing this, then? ❞

i know him too well, he wants to say. he could expound on his history, those gnawing little traumas, and recite his fears like a monologue. but, what he wants is to speak on him like a reductionist. he wants to scrub his complexity away and leave him as simple, tasteless — without impact. what a contradiction when he also wants to be lost in his layers too. none of this is for lestat's human lover. the fact that the younger vampire still finds himself engaging in such poignant relationships with humans is surprising, but not unlike him. instead of feeding into what he was to lestat, however, he smiles,

❝ i know he's a brilliant actor. a storyteller. ❞ forget that he, too, is a storyteller. he can twist a narrative inside and out, pull meaning where there is none, and stamp out what he doesn't like. armand isn't blind to the hypocrisy, but he cares so little lately. he's following his impulses, letting himself breach the cusp of unhinged.

armand's proud of fionn for recognizing the futility of chasing him off. no, he doesn't expect him to be comfortable with him as a visitor, but as he's only just fled the shadows, he has no intention of disappearing quickly. he will, naturally, but he can't guarantee he won't be back. fionn, so far, held his curiosity enough that he doesn't know how short lived his new hobby will be. it wouldn't be any comfort for the human, but his discomfort and fear entertains for now. besides, he likes how despite that fear, he manages to stay upright.

everyone has their own limits and armand wasn't looking to test out fionn's tonight. if he tapped out so soon, he'd be a disappointment. ❝ more comfortable than a curb, ❞ he replies, because would it be better to be afraid in your own home or outside it? either way, there was no real solution. the only solution was removing armand from the situation and only he could decide that. the vampire follows him inside and closes the door behind him, as instructed.

❝ not a habit, no, ❞ armand says, watching him from the entryway to the kitchen. ❝ does that ease your mind or stress you out further? ❞

@tremaynes

❝ yes, as i said, like a thousand. ❞ it's old, anyway, old enough that nothing he'd have worn, when he was born, is still being manufactured now. how strange it must be, to watch your entire world crumble into ashes, and still keep going on. yelena will probably live longer than most humans, if she doesn't get murdered first—and that's a far likelier prospect. people like her don't live forever. there are too many wanting them dead.

it's okay; she's an assassin. she made her peace with making enemies years ago. she's really good at her job.

❝ do i have to take you shopping? which is a funny thought, yes? i only started buying things for myself a couple of years ago. didn't have much choice before that. ❞ the red room provided. they had everything they could possibly need...except freedom. ❝ how do you know what seafood boil is? ❞

armand scoffs, although he knows that five hundred and one thousand were equally unimaginable to someone as young as her. hyperbole or not, he sets the record straight on his age. ❝ five hundred years is long time, with a lot of change. a creature that has lived one thousand years would be as old to me as i am to you. ❞ internally, he's grateful that there are not many of them to be concerned about ( not that he's been made aware of ). in most rooms, he's the oldest.

he reaches for a hand towel to dry his hands, ❝ funny and concerning. i can't imagine where you might try to take me. ❞ but likewise strange to envision a modern human who hadn't spent her life shopping. it was such a cornerstone of the 21st century. he furrows his brow, drying his hands before he tosses the towel to the side. the shirt in the sink is also forgotten — it was past saving. ❝ i'm on the internet. and i travel. surely, you know about food you don't eat. ❞