here have some fries 🍟

Your former boss and constant mentor had gotten a lot more brash since the vampire Armand jumped him and made him a bloodsucking creature of the night. He used to be straight up insufferable; at least until he allowed the cracks to show during a late night editing session several years ago, in which he revealed how much you reminded him of his daughters, how much he cared for you in a way that was deeper than just a writer and his assistant. He was still insufferable afterward, but you were bonded, considered him family; the pissy, dangerous uncle with a heart of gold you never had.

Which is why you didn’t appreciate him delving into your thoughts and witnessing the orgasm the vampire-turned-rockstar you’d been interviewing with him for the past month had given you just two nights prior.

“Okay, first of all, shut the hell up,” you snapped in a hiss-whisper. “Second of all, you promised not to read my mind, you freak.”

“Hey, that one wasn’t on me,” Daniel retorted gruffly, downing the rest of his whisky in one swig to clear his mind of the traumatic image of Lestat’s face contorted in ecstasy. “That one was so strong I had no choice but to see it. Now I won’t be able to think of anything but what Lestat’s cock feels like when I look at him for the rest of this project.”

You gagged. At least he hadn’t seen you naked. You liked him way too much, despite him being himself, and didn’t want any need to cut ties with him to arise.

“Seriously though, what have I told you about getting personally involved with a subject?” Daniel quipped. He’d recovered from the shock of it all, now glaring at you sternly over the rim of his frameless glasses.

“… To not do that,” you answered sheepishly.

There was a reason you never followed him into the journalism field, only helping on the Lestat project because he’d asked you to, offering to pay twice your annual salary for your assistance; you were way too empathetic, too loving to detach yourself from the people you encountered on personal interest projects like these. It had happened with much less disastrous results when he’d interviewed Louis and Armand, leading to an all-too-close friendship with Louis that persisted even after the project was over and the book published.

A friendship which, thinking of it now, was probably in serious jeopardy now that you’d knocked boots with his ex husband.

“Oh, he’s pissed,” Daniel answered the thought without it being voiced. You scowled, wanting to throw the nearest, heaviest object at him.

“Quit reading my thoughts!” you demanded. “Why is Louis even in your head right now anyway?”

I heard him say you fucked Lestat. That can happen, kind of a subconscious thing when vampires are socially connected like us.

Louis’ disembodied voice seethed in your head, but not with anger at you like you’d expected and feared; he was gunning for Lestat, ready to tear the balls from his scrotum for seducing you, a defenseless mortal, when you already had so much stake in vampire entanglements being Daniel’s protege and Louis’ platonic companion.

You groaned, standing abruptly, shaking the glassware on the table noisily as you did.

“I’m leaving,” you spat. “I need two seconds away from you overgrown mosquitos.”

You stormed out of the restaurant, not caring how much of a scene you made, red in the face that Daniel was trying to suppress laughter at your dig. You were thankful that he didn’t try to call you back, knowing your limits, always respectful of the cooling-off periods you took when you would inevitably butt heads.

The city was cool and peaceful as you exited the building and walked along the river, watching the skyline on the opposite bank and taking deep, heaving breaths.

You felt so stupid for falling for Lestat the way you did, letting him into your bed when you knew every red flag about him; least of them that he would eat you if you weren’t careful. It had been so long since you’d felt so wanted though, and fucking him had made you feel more than just desired; he’d romanced you, devoured you, made love to you in such a way that you felt like your soul had been touched, kissed, worshipped via the senses of your skin. Every second thought was a memory, of his soft laughter, his husky voice in your ear, his stubble scraping the insides of your thighs as his nails dug into your plush skin. You could still feel his lips, the tenderness of them, their ghosts making their way from your jaw to your neck to your breasts to your stomach and lower, lower, until he was playfully nipping at your ankle.

You sighed heavily. You wished he meant any of it.

At least you see he’s a liar.

Louis’ voice cut clear through your own internal monologue, making you grit your teeth.

You won’t make the same mistakes I did with him.

“Louis, I’d really like a moment alone,” you quipped out loud. “I don’t want you in my head right now.”

I’m just making sure you’re okay. It’s a lot, I know, but it’s all ‘cause we care about you.

“Maybe, but it’s also because you all hate Lestat,” you grumbled. “Daniel maybe not so much but you, you especially hate him. You’re going to hold my own stupidity against him when I’m just as to blame as he is for fucking my best friend’s ex.”

Lestat has supernatural powers of manipulation. He could have compelled you into sex and made you feel like it was all your idea.

What Louis didn’t know is that it was your idea. Much as he still loved to pretend that Lestat was this infallible supervillain, all superficial charm and evil intentions without any real substance, the truth was that somewhere, Lestat still cared for him, and in the years since their parting had learned to respect him. You noticed it throughout your friendship with Louis in the way he kept his distance, never pressing, never begging for forgiveness or for Louis to take him back as a lover; it became even more apparent when you met him for the first time and his eyes hardly strayed from you, his attraction to you as little-guarded as every other emotion he felt, but he never once did so much as even flirt with you. He knew what you meant to Louis, knew that acting on his desires would hurt him deeply; it was you who'd crossed the line, asking if he'd like to meet you for dinner after shooting under the guise of "getting to know him better, without lights and cameras in the way", you who invited him to your hotel room, you who told him it was okay, he could kiss you if he really wanted. None of it had been compulsion; you spent enough time around vampires to know when your thoughts had stopped being your own.

"Don't make me a victim," you snapped back at Louis. "You know me better than that."

I know Lestat better than that, too.

"So what, you think Lestat only fucked me to get on your nerves? Because I'll be honest, Lou, I've spent enough time with him to believe that he's not the same bitchy abuser he was when you were together. He's let a lot of it go."

Don't defend him.

"Don't belittle me!"

She's right, Louis. You're infantilizing her. You and I know well she is not some helpless damsel.

"Oh for fuck's sake, not you t-"

You stamped in an angry fit, turning as you tossed your bag onto the cobbled sidewalk in frustration, expecting the lane beside you to be empty but instead meeting the striking blue eyes of a lean, elegant man perched under a nearby streetlight. He grinned at you, amused, stubbing out his cigarette under a studded boot before sauntering towards you.

"... I didn't think you'd actually be here," you told Lestat, stating the obvious.

"I knew you and Daniel were dining nearby to exchange notes," he explained. "I was coming anyway, to offer to walk you back to your hotel, when I heard you arguing with my old paramour. Bonjour, mon cher."

You clenched your hands, focusing on the press of your nails into the lines of your palms, affectively blocking Louis from intruding on any more of your thoughts. It took effort, but it was possible.

"I don't want him to hear us. Please," you begged Lestat. "… I would really like it if you walked me home."

"Of course," he replied. "You have my word."

He bent and gathered your abused bag from the pavement, returning it to you before offering his arm. You took it in a tentative grasp, resting our fingertips in the crook of his elbow. Together, you made your way along the riverside.

The walk was silent for several minutes, time spent basking in the beautiful weather, the unusual serenity of the empty street. With every gentle breath of wind you could smell him, metallic under the musky sweetness of expensive cologne, the same scent you found on your sheets the morning after he'd spent the night. He raised his opposite hand to cover yours where it lay on his sleeve, giving your knuckles a gentle squeeze.

"I presume he found out about us," Lestat speculated, breaching the subject much more gracefully than you would have.

You nodded, a pit of shame opening in your stomach and starting to gnaw at you.

"Yeah. And even though I'm the one who started it, he's convinced you compelled me to get back at him."

Lestat tsk'ed, sucking on his teeth.

"Dégoûtant, those of our kind who do such things. The sex is no fun if your partner is an unwilling puppet. Louis remains certain I did the same to him."

"You stalked him and killed the priest he was confessing to."

"We fucked before that. No coercion necessary."

You glanced over to find the man fixing you with a teasing smirk, another pulse of his fingers around yours.

"Ma cherie, I knew if I were to have you, you would have to come to me of your own volition," Lestat continued. "I knew you would not come willingly if I tried. You were 'off limits', for lack of a better term."

"Because of Louis," you finished his thought.

He sighed softly, tilting his head back as he searched for the correct words.

"... Not just because of Louis," he finally stated. "You are very protective of yourself. I do not think you are entirely aware of it, but you hold your knowledge of your worth like a shield. It is what drew me to you. Instead of fawning over me or outright hating me, you made me feel as though I had to prove myself worthy of you, gain your favor and acceptance to exist in your eyes, let alone seduce you. You demand your permission be given before others may lust after you. It is quite sexy, for a certain type of man."

"And you're that certain type of man?"

Lestat chuckled.

"Excessive eagerness bores me in a lover," he mused. "I enjoy a challenge, and yours is uniquely beautiful."

You considered his words, feeling yourself start to ease. He certainly didn’t sound like a jilted lover trying to get back at an ex, but an inherent distrust still tugged at you.

Something vibrated at your side, pulling you from your thoughts. Lestat huffed as he separated from you to remove his phone from his jacket pocket, laughing jadedly as he showed you the caller ID: Louis de Pointe du Lac. He flicked the call to voicemail, and a moment later turned up the speaker so you could hear the message Louis left.

“I know you’re with her, bitch. Pick up.”

Lestat chuckled, shaking his head as he pressed delete.

“He used to tell me I was melodramatic,” he joked. “I suppose there’s more of my blood within him than either of us realized.”

He took your arm again, pressing himself close into your side, keeping you near.

“… Truthfully I did not want Louis to ever know,” he confessed. “I can feel his adoration of you. He wishes only to protect you the way…”

He didn’t finish the thought, but you heard it as clearly as if you had your own telepathic abilities.

“I know I remind him of Claudia,” you responded. “And in his defense, you do have a habit of killing the women he cares about most.”

Lestat huffed out a soft laugh, jaded, guilty. Perhaps even remorseful.

“He was going to leave me no matter what,” he murmured. “I attempted to delay the inevitable and in so doing I destroyed us both. He does not want the same fate for you, but I cannot deny it, agneau; I want you badly.”

The admission chilled you, warmed you, sent currents through your core to your limbs to your head that made you dizzy. How exhilarating it was to be coveted by the man you desired most.

“I can’t be caged, Les,” you warned him despite the tender thrill of it all. “My willpower is much stronger than Louis’. I’ll only hurt you worse if you try to chain me up.”

“You make me want to be better, despite my propensity to… well, to not do that,” he replied. “Louis… his love for you, what happened between us… the value you know you have. You are a goddess to me. I lay myself at your feet and beg forgiveness. I will do everything to deserve it.”

“… Then you did mean it,” you noted after a beat. “When you said the other night that you want to be with me.”

“I always mean that when I say it,” Lestat replied. “I want forever with you if you will take it.”

“Forever is a big ask after one night together,” you relayed. “If we last… ten years together, I’ll consider it.”

Lestat chuckled, lifting your hand to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

“Ten years is nothing to an immortal life,” he said. “I would wait hundreds if you asked.”

As you came up to the entrance of your hotel, your phone began to ring. You sighed, digging through your bag until you found the offending device and checking the caller ID, though you knew you wouldn’t need to. You sent Louis to voicemail, opening up your messaging app to text him instead.

I’m fine, you told him. Les and I are just talking through some stuff.

It didn’t even take a few seconds before his reply came through.

You’re calling him “Les” now?

You rolled your eyes, typing furiously, quickly, before setting your phone to silent and shoving it back into your bag.

I called him Daddy the other night. Would you prefer that?

Lestat laughed as he read over your shoulder, cradling your head in one of his hands and pulling you close to kiss your temple. He let his lips linger, his nose buried in your hair, the act so loving you felt yourself wanting to melt into him, into eternity and oblivion with him. You knew better than to give in so easily.

“I like the way you bite,” he confessed. “Feisty women used to irritate me, but I have come to appreciate them. I like the way you wear your spirit.”

Your expression softened as you looked in his eyes. You knew this change was because of Claudia, his guilt over the part he played in her death. You didn’t say as much, simply lacing your fingers with his and leading him through the sliding glass doors into the hotel lobby.

Daniel was waiting for you inside, leaned against one of the ugly chairs in the lounge by the reception desk, launching himself gracefully off it and striding towards you with purpose as you entered. You tried to remove your hand from Lestat’s, but he held firm.

“Louis’ about to get on a plane and use your severed head as a punching bag,” Daniel gruffed, looking at the fellow vampire. “Very vivid imagery I’m getting here.”

If you weren’t speaking to Louis, Daniel would be. He tried so hard to act detached but the truth was he cared just as deeply for Louis as he did for you. It was sweet, in a fucked up way. You tried not to remember the fact that Daniel was very disappointed about not fucking him, high off his ass, in a coffin when they first met in the 70s.

“Tell Louis I’m fine,” you told him. “I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.”

“You’re mortal,” Daniel rebuffed, “you’re practically a lamb in a lion’s den. Armand erased my memory and took my own agency away from me for fifty fuckin’ years and you think this asshat won’t do the same or worse to you?”

“Well for one thing I’m not tweaked out on twenty different kinds of heroin and ecstasy so I’ve got that working in my favor.”

It was a low blow, and you regretted it the moment you said it. You shrank back at the hurt in Daniel’s eyes, but you could feel something involuntarily within him, like he knew he deserved it. He sighed, glowering at Lestat.

“Lie to me and I’ll find out and feed you your own testicles,” Daniel warned. “Did you compel her?”

“No.”

An answer without hesitation, firm, paired with a gentle squeeze of your hand. Daniel sized him up for a moment before backing down, but only slightly.

“Call Louis,” he said to you. “Or he’ll kill your little concubine here.”

You smirked a little as he gestured to Lestat, the tension between the two of you broken.

You gonna be okay? Need me to keep watch tonight?

A slight shake of your head and the issue was dropped. Daniel nodded, placing a hand on your shoulder as he passed you and gripping you tightly, a silent acknowledgement of his care. You watched as he slid out the hotel doors, no doubt off to hunt now that the night’s drama was subsided.

“To be loved by some of the worst people living in this or any era,” Lestat mused, lighthearted. “How does it feel?”

You laughed softly, wrapping your arm around his sinfully tiny waist and folding into his side.

“Exhausting,” you replied. “It’s like I’m living in an episode of Real Housewives, except instead of a bunch of middle aged gold diggers I’m surrounded by disaster gays who have all fucked each other at least once.”

“Daniel’s not my type. At least you’re safe from that.”

You held each other in the elevator up to your floor, the walk to your room silent in a comfortable way. Lestat paused at the threshold after you slid your key in, standing close but not crossing into the room. His eyes traced your features, gentle, reverent.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked, barely a whisper.

You shook your head, your nose almost brushing his.

“It’ll only cause more problems if you’re here when I call Louis,” you regretfully explained. “I don’t want to drag up any of the bones that should stay buried.”

Lestat nodded, conceding despite how tense you could feel he was, every muscle contracted against the press of rejection, no matter how fleeting, how gentle. You leaned in and pressed your lips to his, palms laid on his chest, holding the kiss firm until you needed to breathe. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as you pulled away, stealing another kiss from your forehead.

“I will be listening if you need me, or want me,” he told you. “Bonne nuit… my sweetest love.”

You resisted parting from him as much as he did you. You wanted nothing more than to curl into your mattress like you did with him before, when your bodies were spent and still tangled in each other, his head on your chest and his hands tracing every curve they could reach. He was impossibly easy to submit to. It scared you. It thrilled you.

Louis answered your call after the first ring, going on a minutes-long tirade about the dangers of being alone with Lestat the moment he picked up. You laid back on the pillows on the bed and just listened, letting him release his rage to make way for more civilized conversation.

“You remember we already had sex, right?” you drawled once he quieted. “And that I’m neither dead nor undead and he has in fact called me.”

“That isn’t my point,” Louis snapped.

“Lou, please,” you begged, exasperated, exhausted. “I don’t want to fight. If you’re upset with me for sleeping with Lestat because he’s your ex and that’s a shitty thing for a friend to do, I can accept that. I’ll walk away from him forever if that’s the reason you’re doing all of this because the last thing I want is to hurt you. But if it’s still about what happened between you two, with Claudia, I don’t want to be dragged into that. That’s for the two of you to resent each other over for eternity. The Lestat I know has grown from that and I want to give him the chance to show me as much.”

Louis was silent for several moments, no doubt considering the very uncomfortable truth that he actually didn’t care what you did with Lestat so long as the man treated you well. He was likely pacing, prowling back and forth along the pit of his living room, shoulders tense and teeth slightly bared. You simply waited, allowing him to work it through and come to you with his own conclusion.

“You’re sure he didn’t compel you?” Louis asked after ages, his voice resigned.

“You and I both know Lestat only wants a lover who’s willing. He’s an asshole but he’s not that big of an asshole that he’d rape someone.”

“… Yeah, unfortunately he does have a heart somewhere inside him,” Louis surrendered. “He likes it when people doubt he does but he does have one.”

“Nobody doubts he does,” you said with a slight smile. “He’s very bad at keeping it hidden.”

Louis chuckled softly, and you could practically feel the weight lifting from his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he told you. “I just can’t see another person I love get hurt by what’s between Lestat and me.”

“You won’t,” you promised. “If he does anything even a little bit out of line he’ll have hell to pay from all of us. And honestly I think he’s just… tired. Tired of the pain of it all. You hurt him too, you know.”

“I know,” Louis murmured. “I also know that if anyone’s got enough love and strength in their heart to handle him, it’s you. You’re good at dealing with toxic men.”

“I know,” you deadpanned. “It’s literally the only thing I ever do.”

Louis laughed, genuinely laughed, the sound rolling from his stomach and into the atmosphere, cracking your heart wide open. You didn’t hear him laugh nearly enough, and he deserved to.

“I miss you,” he confessed, mirroring your own emotions. “Come to Dubai when you and Daniel are done blowing smoke up Lestat’s ass. We can drink coffee and do yoga and catch up on all the trash TV we missed watching together because of the time zones.”

You smiled, wishing he were in the room so you could pull him into your arms. There was nothing better than to hold him, to know you were loved for yourself and nothing else; no ulterior motives, just affection between two souls.

“I’ll be there,” you replied. “I’m gonna need a fucking vacation after this anyway.”

Another laugh, refreshing and reviving as the first birdsong in spring. You would never not be thankful for these men, you realized, surrounded not only by their problems but by their love in all its varying forms. It was humbling.

“I love you, Louis,” you said, not thinking, just feeling.

“I love you, too,” he echoed. “You should get some sleep.”

“I should,” you conceded with a sigh. “I’ll text you tomorrow. Let you know if Lestat’s back on his old bullshit.”

“He won’t be,” Louis stated, quiet, firm. “He knows what good he has with you.”

Your chest tightened, fluttered. There was no way you could be as good as that, but you would always allow Louis to let you believe it.

“Goodnight, Lou.”

“Goodnight, lamb.”

You stood and tossed your phone on the bed, sighing heavily, rolling your shoulders to release some of the tightness in them. Your head felt light in a good way, clear like coming out of a bad migraine. You crossed the room to the balcony doors and slid them open, stepping into the night and just allowing yourself to breathe.

“Is he over his little tempter tantrum?”

Lestat was there waiting for you, perched on the railing like a stray cat, his eyes just as bright as he watched you come toward him. You laughed, shaking your head, but moving no more hesitantly into his open arms.

“You’re ridiculous,” you chided. “Please don’t make this a habit.”

Lestat grinned, showing his teeth, hooking his arms low on your waist and letting you lean on him as he stole a peck from your lips.

“Take me as I am, cherie,” he playfully begged. “When I love, I love viciously, and for always.”

You held his face in your hands, your thumbs smoothing over the high points of his sharp cheeks, watching the way his lashes drooped with longing as he looked back at you. He still had a lot of proving himself to do, but you would hold him close to your heart until he earned the key to it.

“Stay with me tonight,” you whispered. “No sex. Just hold me while I sleep.”

“I will always,” he breathed. “As long as you want me, I am yours.”

You took Lestat’s hand and led him inside, shutting the doors and the world along with them. You slept cradled on his chest that night, his eyes glowing in the darkness of your room as he watched the hours creep on into blushing dawn through the cracks in the tightly drawn curtains. Your soft snores were like gentle melodies to him, every little imperfection a gift, a new beauty for him to unravel and cherish. When you finally woke and were quietly surprised to find him still at your side, he ached, his love for you solidifying itself in his long dead heart in that very moment. Daniel and Louis thought themselves your protectors, but he would maim himself, stand in open sunlight, drive the stake through his own chest if it meant ensuring your safety, your trust in him.

His words seem a bit too pointed, too specific to be a mere idle interpretation of the painting. You think that maybe he’s the curator of the museum who happens to be really good at profiling his patrons, or that maybe he’s some kind of art historian or scholar. Or maybe he’s simply one of the few people who actually follows you on social media. Whatever the case may be, you turn to face him as he continues staring at the painting, his golden eyes surveying every inch of it as if it were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life.

“Do I know you?” You ask, taking in the soft curl of his onyx locks as they fall past his ears, resting just above his shoulders. There’s something different about him that you can’t quite place, something unnerving that forces your eyes to narrow. He looks as if he belongs here in this exhibit, akin to one of the ancient Roman statues proudly displayed in the other room, his prominent features just as much a work of art as the painting before you.

He pauses, looking you up and down as if you should already know the answer before taking a step forward, stopping halfway between you and the wall.

“Dracula, Loki, Hades and the Phantom were merely cheap substitutes for what she truly longs for, what she already knows is hers,” he starts again, still speaking to you even though he looks onward. “An endless love with enough fire behind it to keep her warm while still threatening to engulf her in flames at any given moment.”

“Excuse me?” You ask with a tilt of your head, wondering if he’s been looking through your personal library, hacking into your search history, or if this was all some sort of sick joke, a prank set up by one of your friends that would only seem funny when you told the story a few days later. But something in your gut told you that his presence here was anything but a joke.

“You always come back to this specific painting, mon coeur. It doesn’t matter how many times it crosses the ocean or exchanges hands, you always know to follow. You’ve somehow managed to find it in Paris, New York and finally… right here in Chicago.” He glances back at you for a brief moment, his hands buried within the pockets of his suit as he allows his words to sink in.

How did he know that? How did he know any of this?!

“Always?” His suggestion cuts deep into your psyche, like a knife to your spinal cord, fraying each and every one of your nerves until they spread out over the expanse of your skin, prickling it with goosebumps in even the darkest of places. “I don’t remember you… I… I would have remembered you.”

You take a step forward, wanting to find out more about this beautiful stranger who knew a hell of a lot more about you than you did about him.

“You always wonder the same thing when you look at her. ‘Who could have possibly disturbed her? A lover? A parent? A child? A mentor?’” He laughs under his breath. “‘Didn’t they know what they had just interrupted? What paradise lay within the pages beneath her fingertips?”

You open your mouth to speak, but find yourself suddenly forgetting how to, the thoughts in your head swirling around like a cauldron bubbling over with a deadly mixture of shock and utter disbelief. So you stare in silence as he turns toward you, pulling his hand out of his pocket to gently touch the pendant dangling around your neck, those infernal eyes of his drifting toward your pulse.

“I’ve been calling to you for some time now.” He starts again, his voice low and soft, meant only for you. “In every piece of poetry, every work of art, every dream that leaves you breathless. In the dark corner of every room, every chill that runs down your spine when you think that someone is watching you, especially when you secretly hope that they are. I was there. When your darkest desires bred contempt for your mortal lovers, too afraid to give you what you wanted, what you craved, what you knew you deserved, I was there.” His fingers drop the pendant onto your chest before slowly smoothing them over your collarbone and around your neck, his thumb softly pressing into your pulse. “But you’ve mistaken all that for fiction.”

“That’s not true, it can’t be… I didn’t see you in Paris or New York.” You try to rationalize his words as they brew up feelings of both fear and excitement, the unexpected muscle memory of his touch keeping you still where you stand.

“Didn’t you?” He grips your throat a little tighter, pulling you close enough to whisper into your ear. “I saw you in Paris when you were just a student at university with bright eyes and a saccharine sense of innocence fueling those bouncy little veins of yours. I know you hate that haircut when you look back on it now, but I quite enjoyed the way it framed your face back then.”

Holy shit. This was real.

“In New York you were far too bitter, too jaded from a recent breakup. I could practically taste your discontent and sorrow, scent how blocked off you were from the rest of the world, how angry you still were. I could tell you weren’t ready then, either.”

“I wasn’t?” You shake your head as you begin searching through your memories, frantically sifting through images of taxi cabs, airplanes and trains, of cafes and museums all in an attempt to try and see if you could spot him in the background of any of them. But you come up short.

“But now…” he leans in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his thumb massages the length of your vein. “You’re perfect now, not too sweet, not too bitter. Just right. You’ve grown so tired of this mortal life that even those fictional lovers in your precious books can’t scratch that itch, can’t give you what you know you need. But I can.”

“You can?” You ask in a shaky whisper as your breath begins to shallow, his cold lips on your chin making you shiver.

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, his nose gently brushing against yours as he gives you a knowing smirk. ‘You know I can. I always do,’ he says without opening his mouth, without moving those perfect lips of his.

There’s that word again: Always.

“Armand?” The name comes to you from far across the hazy recesses of your mind, as if he somehow managed to melt through your barriers that you can’t quite remember placing.

Memories begin to trickle down into the forefront of your mind, like molten wax racing down a taper candle, one drop collecting on top of the other until it creates its own unique design. You can remember him now, flames that seemed to burn hotter than you ever thought possible, your hands in his hair clutching at his curls as his teeth… no, his fangs sank into your flesh. You moan out loud as your body recalls the sensation of his mouth on your neck, the bliss that flowed through you as he drank your blood like a man starved.

He HAD been with you all those years ago, in more ways than one. Watching. Waiting. Drinking.

“You remember now.” He presses his thumbnail into the delicate skin of your neck, piercing just deep enough to draw blood as those fiery eyes darken. “I knew you would.”

You hiss as the pain stings each layer of your skin, throbbing shortly after as your blood begins dripping down your neck. Part of you is still frightened, still wants to run away, but you can’t make your body listen to your brain, not anymore. You can’t send the signals down to your arms or legs to push him off or kick him in the groin to put some distance between you. You’re stuck. Like in some terrible nightmare, you’re paralyzed within the confines of his grasp, unable to stop him from leaning in and licking the blood off your neck right here in front of God and the painting.

But you’ll be damned if it doesn’t feel like heaven, if his tongue on your skin doesn’t ignite that fire in your core that everyone else before him had failed to spark alight. Still unable to move, you decide to surrender and close your eyes, relishing in the sparkling bursts of bliss each lap of his tongue sends into your skin, through your muscles and down your spine, making you moan once more as he drank you down.