Look, I Can’t Help It: They’re Hot

"Ok, yes he can be a little... Disarming but he pays good money!" Your voice rings out into the hallway as you shoulder your way into the apartment complex and head towards the mailboxes. The phone screen feels cool against the skin of your cheek as you reach your hand into your bag and start feeling around for your keys. You balance a cardboard cup holder in the other hand. The heat of the drinks creeping over your palm the longer you keep it there.

"I just don't understand why he needs you? It's not like he's a real celebrity, I'm pretty sure he can get his own coffee." Your friends voice comes through the other line, sounding annoyed as ever. "It surely isn't enough money to skip out on our hang out. Again."

"You know it's not like that, I need this money so I can do the stuff I actually want to do. I'll make it up to you I promise." Your finger finally grazes rigid metal and you pull the keys out, fiddling with them to find the right one.

"Mhm sure."

"I mean it!"

"Whatever you say."

There's a brief silence when you finally find the right key and go to unlock the mailbox.

"Well I gotta get back to the grind, don't wear yourself out and I'll promise to do the same, okay?" Your friend says with a sigh.

"... Okay, yeah sure."

"Cool, see you later."

"Alright I'll see you, bye."

You finally pull the door open as your friend hangs up, quickly taking the phone from your shoulder and dropping it in your bag. The box has a few letters, from the looks of it mostly bills and ads, but the thing that catches your eye is a small box. Beige with minimal postage and stamping. Strange, not never before seen, but never the less strange.

Your legs find their way to and up the ever familiar staircase, mail tucked under your arm with keys still in hand. When said disarmers apartment door comes into view, it takes everything in you not to sigh. Another day that will be the same as the day before. Work, classes, writing, repeat. Boring, but dependable.

You find yourself at the door and immediately give a quick knock before opening the door yourself.

"Good morning Mr. Molloy! How are you doing today?" You holler into the space as you scan the room for your employer. The faint rhythm of a basketball game being played on the radio fills the apartment as you knew it would be. As much as he hates it, Mr. Molloy is a creature of habit. You find him in the kitchen, puzzle splayed over the counter and he works yet another piece in to place with his fingers.

"I told you to call me Daniel. You're making me feel old." His voice comes out in a grumble as his eyes stay focused on the near-perfect picture in front of him.

"Well I hate to say it, but I think your ancient bones are doing most of the work when it comes to that. Got mail and coffee for you." You slide said items on to the counter in front of him, making quick work of the cup holder and taking a sip of your own drink. His eyes flick slightly towards the items as he huffs out some sort of laugh before going back to the puzzle. Slowly his hand makes its way to the paper cup, taking it in his grip and bring it to his lips.

The next hour goes as follows. Mr. Molloy stares at his puzzle, takes a sip of coffee, and goes back to staring. You settle on his couch, your laptop set up on his coffee table as you get to work. Responding to any loose ends regarding his master class, fielding congratulatory emails about said master class, noting notices from the clinic and his insurance company, and politely declining every single student journalists offer to interveiw him. Once you are all caught up you steal some "work time" to do your best to write one sentence, just one, of your thesis.

You pull your head away from your screen when you hear shuffling from Mr. Molloy. Looking over your shoulder you watch as he tears open the box, picking up a letter placed on top of the contents. And then there's a pause. A long pause, what it's filled with you're not sure, but Mr. Molloy knows.

"What is it?" Your voice comes out soft, that delicate type of voice one uses when they aren't sure if someone is going to react with something trivial or a full on breakdown.

"Uh, I've been invited to Dubai for an interview." Mr. Molloy puts down the letter, almost hastily going through the rest of the package.

"That's it? Talk about 'could have been an email'" You huff out as you swivel back to your laptop.

"Yeah this guy isn't really about... subtle." The clacking of plastic against plastic follows his response, his fingers fiddling with whatever is inside that box.

"Still, Dubai sounds nice. Who's this interviewee? Sounds like you know him, some Saudi Arabian dignitary you did coke with in the 70's?" The joking nature of your voice didn't seem to sit right with your employer, his brows furrow and you can tell by the slight, dull tapping that he's started bouncing his leg.

"Yeah, something like that."

Dismissive. Daniel Molloy is being dismissive. Daniel Molloy is never dismissive, at least not with you. He is a man that wants the facts, only the facts, and will dig for the facts until he gets them. He takes pride in being upfront and honest, even to the detrement of himself and others. He's lost and gained so much over this one part of his beleifs, and at some point in the time you've spent in his apartment today he has decided that it could go kick rocks. The look you give him is incredulous, the raise of your eyebrow and your pointed eyes bore into the back of his head until he finally turns to face you.

"What?"

His voice comes breathy, exasperated. Comfermation.

"Whats going on, you're being weird." You say, blunt and confrentational.

"Arent I always weird?" The small, half assed smile that makes its way onto his face comes as quickly as it goes.

"Yeah but you're being a different type of weird, which is weird in and of itself so something is wrong and you're not telling me."

"Please tell me how exactly you got that from the five sentences I've spoken to you all day."

"Deductive reasoning which of course I leared from the best," you say, vaugly gesturing towards his figure, "So please tell me what on earth has you acting so...like this." Another vauge gester, more pointed with the addition of the look on your face. A stareing contest insues. Your eyes fix themselves on Mr.Molloy's icy blue irises. In moments like this you know not to back down, you've learned very quickly that behind that stubborness is the path to your employer becoming a more vunreable and trusting person. You know it's not your job or place to guide him to this path. But when you see the opprotunity, you take it. He looks away first, opting to fix his gaze on the ground in front of him.

Mr. Molloy takes a moment, the valleys of his forehead get deeper and the tapping gets quicker. You sit and you wait, you give him that moment. To think or panic or whatever he needed to do. Then he sighs, looks up at the ceiling, runs his hands over his face, through his hair, picks up the package, and finally walks over to sit on the couch next to you.

As the new weight on the couch makes it shift beside you, you follow the angle of his arm until your eyes land on the package. For the first time you can see the inside of the small box. It is full of cassette tapes bound together by a single, clinging to life, rubber band.

"Ok, uh, this is gonna sound insane but you have to come along with me on this..." He tells you everything, at least everything he can remember. The bar, the man in the corner who turned out to be something more — something unatural — and Daniel Molloy learned, and recorded, it all. Then the attack, hazy at best and completely gone from memory at worst, mainly the memory of hurt and pain corsing through his body had stuck around but the specifics escape him.

Mr. Molloy cannot stay still during his confession. He fiddles with his fingers, then the rubber band holding the casettes, until finally he feels compelled to start pacing. Back and forth in his living room as you stare at him, letting his words settle into your body.

"You know what? Let me just," He makes a break into the hallway and starts digging through the closet. Miscellaneous objects come flying out behind him, some of which seemingly belonged to his daughters in their youth, as he digs into the space. You make a mental note to go through and organize that closet when you find the time. "Aha!" The exclamation comes with the uncovering of a boom box. Mr. Molloy quickly dusts off the device before making his way back to the couch, quickly plugging it in and placing the first casette into the speaker.

Voices make their way through the speaker, one young with a similar countenance to the man sitting in front of you. "Um, first question. You weren't always a vampire, were you?"

The other a smooth, unfamiliar voice follows. "No. I was a thirty-three year old man when I became a vampire"

A vampire. Vampires are real. Or at least this mystery man had convinced Mr. Molloy that they are. Or your employer is more mentally unhinged than you had taken him for. Probably all of the above.

The voices go back and forth before you lean forward and press pause. When you lean back you peek at Mr. Molloys face. His eyebrows have shot up, lips parted slightly as his eyes search for something.

"Okay." Your voice doesn’t come out the way you would like, it's clunky and unsure of itself. And yet you continue. "What are you going to do about it? How are you going to move forward with this invitation?" Your arm makes its way to the back of the couch, trying to exude casualty.

"Really, that's your question. You just learned that vampires are real and your first reaction is to question me about me?"

"Look, I am not paid to know anything and everything about these people. Believe me I want to know everything. But I am paid to handle your scheduale, coraspondence, and make sure that you don't send yourself to an early grave. So first things first I need to know whats going on in your brain. What are you going to do?"

"...I'm going."

"Okay. I don't think that is a very good idea but okay."

"You can't ask what my decision is and then judge me. You are not 'being paid' to judge me." Mr. Molloy scoffs.

"Whether I'm being paid for it or not, and believe me I am, I care about your wellbeing. You just told me a story of how this man almost killed you and you expect me to be enthusiastic about you interveiwing him again. What happens if he hurts you again? Or kills you? Especially when you would be on the otherside of the world presumably with only me knowing where you are. How does any of that sound like a good idea."

He goes to speak, but you give him no room for rebuttal.

"Also have you forgotten that your health isn't doing the greatest right now? Do you really want to put your life prolonging treatment on hold just to what, listen to this guy's sorrows for god knows how long. You won't even be able to finish the interveiw. By that point you will have forgotten what you have and haven't asked!"

"That's the point!" His aggression spooks you into silence, he continues. "I'm not going to be around much longer, at least with my mind intact. I have nothing to loose. I'm dead anyway, might as well close out that chapter of my life and learn as much as I can while I'm at it." A beat as his words linger. "Plus, Dubai does sound nice."

You stare at him. He stares back. You're both too stubborn to admit that the other may have a point. The two of you do this a lot.

"If it makes you feel better," Mr. Molloy says, "you can always join me to make sure I don't parish until you decide I should." An olive branch.

"...Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe."

With that you turn your body back to your laptop. Over your shoulder Mr. Molloy sees you pull up different international airline websites. You can sense a lazy smirk spread over his face, then you hear and feel Mr. Molloy let out a huff. Then he stands up, walks away, and comes back with a leather bound notebook and a pen. His arm reaches out and presses play on the speaker. Neither of you speak for the rest of your time in Mr. Molloy's apartment, just working next to eachother and ocassionally getting up to use the restroom or keep yourselves hydrated. Boring, dependable, just like any other day.

You wont have dependable after this day, at least not in the near future. Because when you really think about it, Dubai does sound nice.

• assistant! reader who probably has a degree in something very academic and hard to get jobs for and get funding for ( think anthropology or sociology)

• assistant! reader who is just trying to pay their way through grad school and the only option they found that was even slightly related to their field is assisting Daniel Molloy with research, first draft editing, appointments, etc.

• assistant! reader who is a little overwhelmed in the beginning by Daniel being...well Daniel. However, overtime they learn to play off his odd energy and blunt remarks with things even odder and blunter

• assistant! reader who forms a tentative frenemies relationship with Daniel 

• assistant! reader who is easy sailing for the first year because of Daniels writers block, they are mainly just asked to schedule things and do a bit of research here and there

• assistant! reader who is the only person that Daniel tells about his Parkinson's diagnosis, not because they are super close but because they will probably be the only one effected

• assistant! reader who makes every single doctors appointment and always drives him home after his infusions

• assistant! reader who is the first to see the email requesting that Daniel fly to Dubai and redo his interview with the vampire Louis de Pointe du Lac 

• assistant! reader who is ready to delete the email, thinking that it's just someone messing with them

• assistant! reader who asks Daniel about it just in case

• assistant! reader who is equally appalled and fascinated as Daniel tells the story of how he met a vampire at a bar and interviewed him 

• assistant! reader who is adamant that Daniel not go, saying that not only is his health declining, but also his previous experience with this so called "vampire" lead to him being attacked

• assistant! reader who reluctantly goes with him anyway just to ensure his safety, totally not because they are curious or anything 

• assistant! reader who stays to themself at the beginning of their time in Dubai 

• assistant! reader who is taking constant notes during the sessions, not only of the major things discussed but also any particular mood changes that may be significant and follow up questions to speak to Daniel about later 

• assistant! reader who does not lift their head even when addressed directly so absorbed in notetaking

• assistant! reader who takes a sip of whatever drink they have to hide their smile whenever Daniel says anything particularly funny or snarky

• assistant! reader who notices Louis's little shadow focusing more on them then anyone else when he is in the room

• assistant! reader who tries to connect with "Rashid" afterward because he looks to be around their age and because of his position in the house they might be able to bond over stories

Moonlight streams in through the large window in you're bedroom. It's uncharacteristically early for you to have gone to bed, just past midnight, but you've felt off all day. Headaches and brain fog and a lack of appetite, resulting in your polite decline to the offer of sitting in on a session tonight. All three men had looked a bit stunned, you're never one to pass up an opportunity to further your research. But your dark circles have darkened to a worrying degree, and only become more deep set in your face. Even the way you walk has changed, no longer as sharp, but sluggish and laborious.

The duvet is simultaneously too heavy and too light, your skin covered in a feverish sweat. Exhaustion creeps at your mind but the pit in your stomach refuses to let you sleep.

Come to think of it, the pit in your stomach has shifted, it's more of a pain now than a sinking feeling, more stabbing than an ache.

Please god no.

But prayers so often fall on deaf ears, and the stabbing pain becomes sharper, more urgent, crawling up and up and up until something clicks in your brain and you are up and sprinting to your bathroom.

This is how it goes. Run to the nearest bathroom, dry heave or retch out whatever is left in your stomach, and then sit on the floor hugging the toilet until you pass out. Every few weeks, sometimes days, you'd complete this ritual. Stress certainly accelerates the process, and the lack of self care doesn't help either.

Doctors have said it's a mix of anxiety and gastrointestinal issues. What issues exactly? Jury is still out.

Maybe you can convince the doctor who tends to Daniel to give his opinion. What was his name? Fareed? You could convince him, surely.

The cool porcelain is nice against your forehead, a pleasant yet ineffective distraction from the roiling in your gut. You've only been able to empty your stomach once, but the nausea hasn't left yet. It sticks around like a lingering smell you can't get out of your house no matter how hard you try. It's resilient.

A knock at the door.

No. No, not now. Not again. He can't be here to dote on you again.

"Go away." It's weak and hoarse from the acid, and it hurts to speak.

The door opens anyway, and you don't bother to look, shame wrapping its tendrils around you. How can you face him like this? Weak and tired and ill and oh so terribly human. Completely and utterly exposed and vulnerable. You know he wouldn't actually hurt you; obviously, it's more like embarrassment. It's awful when anyone sees you like this, let alone him.

"I said go away."

"The door was unlocked." As if that negated your request.

A miserable little laugh breaks through, "I didn't want it to be hard to get to my corpse in the event of my untimely demise."

He frowns, though you can't see it. It shifts the air, and you can feel it. It can't be good how attuned you seem to be to him (and he to you).

Cool fingers gently sweep the hair from the nape of your neck, and the sigh of relief you let out is not voluntary, and you know you'll be replaying it in your head when you feel better, analyzing what that could have possibly meant.

Deft hands gather up the mass of hair and move it, "Stop joking about your death."

"It's my coping strategy."

"It's not a very healthy one."

You scoff, though the action sends burning waves down your throat, "Coping mechanisms aren't healthy or unhealthy. It matters how often they're used and if they're working for you." Even down for the count like this, you are armed to the teeth with psycho babble. He exhales, short and forceful, clearly annoyed with the fact that you're quipping whilst bent over the toilet.

A hair tie seems to have materialized from somewhere, or he had one when he walked in, because you can feel him wrapping it around your tangled, sweaty hair and securing it in a low bundle. Every lose piece of hair combed back by his fingers, pulling them away from your clammy face.

"Was it something you ate?" His cold hands return to the base of your neck and it helps you block out the sensation of whatever is happening in your stomach.

"No," you shake your head as much as you can, "I wish. Then it would be over and done with as soon as it was out of my system." God, what a perfect wish, for illness to come and pass, just like it does for most other people. No lingering malaise that, while not excruciating, is just awful enough to be the only thing you can think of. How wonderful that would be.

"You've seen my medical records." It's not a question, it's obvious he'd taken a peak at some point. "Something chronic. Which may just be my whole chart at the point-" you're cut off by another retch, stomach contracting around nothing. Hands come up to grab at the rim, clenching like your life depended on being tethered to it. One of the hands on your neck migrates quickly to your forehead, icy coolness holding essentially the entire weight of your head while you dry heave around nothing. Not even bile. He holds your weight, the thumb at the back of your neck making little circles in the skin there.

It's a full minute before the feeling subsides.

Breathe. Just breathe. In through your nose and out through your mouth.

Except it's not you thinking that. A delirious little giggle is pulled from you, despite it all.

"You can just talk normal, my stomach hurts, not my ears." But you're not serious. He's trying to help. Which is still something that has you reeling, given how your relationship had started.

"It was less of a request than it was a command to your subconscious."

What?

"Huh?" You shift somewhat to turn back and look up at him.

He's pulled over the vanity stool, sitting behind you. The dim light of the bathroom frames him in a golden halo, making his hair seem like it's glowing from the inside. Light cascading out from behind him and somewhere in your addled brain, you think him an angel of salvation.

If you're viewing The Vampire Armand as your angel of salvation, there is something deeply wrong with you.

"I wasn't asking you. I wasn't reminding you of what to do, you're in no state to be receptive. Cutting out the middleman and instructing your body seemed like the better and more effective option." He says it so causally, it would be funny were you not currently where you are.

"And it worked, didn't it?" There's a hint of smugness in his voice, like that of a parent telling their child 'that wasn't so bad, now was it?'. He's right, of course. Your breathing has evened out, deep breaths helping to loosen the death grip on your stomach. Everything is a little clearer now that the fog of excruciating pain isn't clouding your vision.

"So it did." You relent, shifting your legs out form under you, sitting instead of kneeling. Armand never takes his hands off you, hand leaving your forehead in favor of raking his nails along your scalp, as if afraid to let you go for even a second. The sensation is a welcome one, and it's another distraction technique that's working perfectly; getting lost in the feeling of being held, tended to, letting that wrap you up in it's embrace. Either you move to rest your head on the toilet seat again, or Armand is guiding you there. Perhaps it's a bit of both.

There is silence for a good long while. He doesn't move, save for his hands continuing their little movements. You remain still too, eyes closed, breathing deep and even, finally feeling the knot in your stomach untangling. It's easy to exist like this, easy to be here with him. You never thought that something like this would be possible, letting your guard down in front of an apex predator, in front of him. It's like putting a bullseye on your forehead, or running with a bum leg, easy prey.

"Sorry." It's half mumbled since your cheek is currently smushed.

His confused blink is practically audible before he says, "What could you possibly be sorry for?"

Eyes crack open a sliver, and ever so slowly, you lift your head off of the seat. God what a pitiful sight it must be to him.

"You…having to deal with me. I know it's not…ideal or…I don't know."

He says your name in a way that conveys how truly dumbfounded he is, "I have seen filthier and more pitiful things than this, you have nothing to apologize for." You can hear the cogs turning in his head, you can see him put the dots together and the realization dawn on him.

"Are you…apologizing for being human?"

Yes. That's exactly what this is. How can you not? Surely Daniel might feel similarly, you'd have to ask him. Being human, having to deal with human processes, all the things that ailed you, every sniffle or smell or awkward thing you did just seemed so much bigger in comparison to the two vampires you now cohabited with. They were technically perfect, in the literal sense. They didn't have to deal with all of the gross and awful human things anymore. And here you were, throwing up, looking and smelling atrocious, unable to even take care of yourself and needing him to do it.

"Stop that." He chastises you again.

"Get out of my head, Armand." There's no bite to your words, but that's almost worse. They're sad, ashamed.

"Take your own advice."

His eyes find yours and he does not let them go, "Stop thinking so hard. Stop overthinking this. You have nothing to be embarrassed about."

"But-"

"That wasn't an invitation to speak. Cast the thought from your mind or I will pluck it out for you. I heard you and wanted to make sure you were alright. Seeing you like this does not diminish my opinion of you, nor aggravate me in any way, your psychoanalysis of me does that enough." He's half-smiling, and you guess that the latter half of his statement is a joke. Heat spreads over the back of your neck, and he must feel it, though he doesn't show that he does. The barest upward tilt of your own smile has him tilting his head affectionately.

His words fully catch up to your brain and even in your disheveled and decrepit state, you manage to say, "You heard me? Listening outside my door much?"

The smile leaves his face and is replaced by a long suffering look, which only makes you smile more.

"Feeling better then, are we?"

You nod once, "Dodging my question, as usual."

He heaves a great sigh that you're almost positive is hammed up for dramatic effect, ever the thespian that he is, "You were feeling off all day, and while I was not posted at your door, I kept an ear out just in case. Does this satisfy?"

The answer is so clear and succinct, not at all what you were expecting him to say. Usually he goes around in circles a few times to make you fight him for it. It must be because you're not feeling well, he's taking pity on you.

"Yes, it satisfies."

Amber eyes still have not let yours go, holding them fixed to his. Does he realize the effect he has on people? On you? The magnetic field that circles him and pulls you into his orbit like a moon, trapping you there, tethering you to him. He has to, right? He's a vampire, of course he knows.

The corner of his lip twitches upwards, though you're too engrossed in his eyes to really register it. Loud thoughts are not hard to read, he'd once told you. But you can't think clearly right now. Between the fatigue, the whole ordeal that just occurred, and him.

"I should…brush my teeth and try to go back to sleep."

"Can you stand?"

"Let's find out." His hands slide down your shoulder to gently hold your bicep as you begin the process of detaching from your spot on the floor. You can't think about how gentle his touch is, how he holds your arm tight enough to hold almost all your weight should you falter. If you allow yourself to dwell on it, who knows what will come out of your mouth as a result. Every muscle protests, every bone loudly creaking in anger as you unfold. Sweaty, clammy skin exposed the the air once again after having been trapped against itself. The world is only spinning a little bit, just around the fuzzy edges. The en suite bathroom attached to your bedroom thankfully kept the theme of the rest of the apartment; dark stone, warm lighting, and of course an art piece on the wall. The vibrant red of the sun painted in Claude Monets Sunrise stares back at you, a watchful eye surrounded by a sea of pale blues, greens, and yellows. All you can think of now is how those colors remind you of bile, and your nose scrunches in disgust.

Armand has shifted his grip to your forearms, gently leading you forward to the large granite sink. All of your toiletries are laid out haphazardly, right where you left them this morning; skin care and makeup on the left, toothbrush and mouthwash on the right. The mirror is something you avoid altogether, not wanting to even think about what your appearance is at the moment.

"Ok, I think I can stand on my own." You murmur, resting your hands against the counter as Armand lets you go. Silence hangs over you both as you stand there, head dropped and leaning on your hands, trying to muster up the willpower to do the simple task of brushing your teeth, and he stands beside you, still as a statue while he watches you as though you might collapse at any moment.

It's just as one hand reaches for your toothbrush that he says, "I'll have Doctor Fareed look you over." That grabs your attention enough to risk a glance in the mirror, finding his eyes in the reflection. His generosity is forceful, satiating his need to control the situation. It's no less genuine, but it commands rather than offers. It's not unpleasant.

"And when he finds nothing wrong and my labs come back normal?" Your hand only shakes a little when you lift the toothbrush to your teeth, "I've gone through this all before."

The way he tilts his head indicates he sees the hypothetical situation as a challenge. It's been a masterclass in body language and micro expressions with him, every little movement indicating something different, and it's been enlightening to learn them all. Everything about the way he's standing lets you know that he wouldn't stop at one test, he'd refuse to stop looking for some sort of answer.

"We know many doctors."

"I don't want you spending exorbitant amounts of money." On me. The toothpaste splatters into the sink when you spit, swirling down into the drain.

"Would you feel better if I took it out of your payment?" He's really asking, though there is a teasing edge to his tone, now that you're convalescent and not withering away to dust without his hold.

You sigh, placing your toothbrush back in its spot, and fix him with a hard stare, "You're not going to take no for an answer." The smile that spreads across his face makes your stomach whirl all over again, but it doesn't have you rushing back to the toilet.

"Haven't you profiled me enough to know that, my mirror?"

It started as a complete and utter joke. An offhanded remark about how you were only showing him himself. Only reflecting all that he is back into his view, and he'd called you his mirror. And it stuck, no matter how many times you rolled your eyes and protested.

"Enough to know how persistent you are, and that's answer enough." Warmth leaks into your voice without your say-so. It's easy to talk to him, to spar and banter. It's fun, even when you're feeling like shit, to push his buttons while he pushes yours.

Turning around triggers a wave of fatigue that has surely been waiting to make itself known for a few minutes at this point, staved off out of pure necessity to complete the task before you. He notices instantly and shifts a fraction of an inch closer, as if automatically.

"Will you need help falling asleep again?" He asks, following you out of the bathroom. Once he shuts the main bathroom light off, your entire room is plunged into darkness, only having been illuminated by the light spilling through the open door. There is a small salt lamp in the far corner giving off a pinkish glow. It's not dark enough that you can't see, but everything is obscured now. Armand is little more than a shadow and two glowing eyes. Huh…they do glow in the dark, if only slightly.

Sinking down onto your mattress, you shake your head, "No, I'm about to sleep for fourteen hours, if past trends continue to hold true, but thank you for offering." Thank God for the bed that's in here, it's like sleeping on a cool cloud every night, and immediately after laying down, you feel it start to work it's magic.

"You're welcome," He says in a tone you can't quite decipher, perhaps it would be easier when you're not half asleep.

"Thank you…for making sure I was ok." It's quiet and soft, so unlike your usual presence. It's too dark and you're too tired to see the way he truly stops and stares, taking in this rarely seen side of you with a kind of awe one might have when looking at a natural wonder.

He's close enough that his hand can brush over your forehead once, like ice cold velvet running across your skin. When you lean into it slightly, whether knowingly or not, he clenches his jaw so hard his teeth might snap.

"If I don't take care of you, who will?"

And in the late afternoon when you wake, feeling much better than the night before, you notice that the painting in the bathroom has been swapped out. Crisp blues and reds and dark greys in place of light greens and yellows and that harsh orange sun, The Meeting on the Turret Stairs waits for you when you rise. It's not surprising that he picked up on your distaste of the previous painting, but how thoroughly he has perceived you, to replace it with this is cause for later reflection, you think.

As the knight grasps the lady's arm, bringing it to his lips, you think of Armand's hand against your neck, his refusal to not be touching you in some way, and realize that they may be one and the same. Your knight in shining black, your angel of death, of salvation.

The fact that you've begun referring to him as 'yours' surely means nothing.

At least that's what you tell yourself.

-

-

-

"Do you derive fun from putting me in danger?" You asked with a certain level of exhaustion and self pity at this point from being stuck in this situation.

Jasper put an arm around you now, spinning you around to get you walking beside him. The claws on display on your shoulder reminding you or the weaponry that was his body, even if you somehow managed to defend yourself from being bitten.

It also had something to it bordering on ownership, at least in the eyes of those who were after you since mortals were either livestock roaming the streets, or in the possession of kin. In which case there was significantly more caution given in not accidentally causing deadly retribution if said Vampire took offense in having property destroyed.

"On the contrary. See, I'm even going to escort you home safely"

You looked up toward his smug expression, both pissed and embarrassed by the way he simply tugged you flush to his side. This was probably meant to be condescending, and the fact that you didn't hate the proximity sure felt as much.

Jasper led you to his car, which was parked very conveniently around the corner. So much for coincidence.

The light inside the car was dim, it made you wonder wether Jasper had become light sensitive after non being exposed to the sun in so long. His eyes were blue, unnaturally so, but only to those who managed to reciprocate eye contact for long enough to see. But it made you very much aware when he was looking at you, even when the lack of light should hinder you from doing so. You shifted in your seat, feeling a little bit relieved to have only one Vampire you needed to worry about now instead of four.

He only had to make a motion with his hand to get the driver to start the car and move, putting one leg over the other. You sunk back into the leather seat and closed your eyes for a bit, "I have a question" you heard the voice next to you respond, "go ahead" it sounded rich without the busy city noises distracting from it. "Do Vampires prefer the same blood group that they had themselves before they turned?"

You heard a low chuckle from the hollow of his chest, "Curious boy" you bit the inside of your cheek, desperately trying not to let his little pet names get to you.

"You're right about that. The body longs to reunite with what was once its own. Not easy for those who had a rare blood group. AB negative Vampires are pretty much fucked if they want to stick to the one that attracts then the most."

You hummed and raised your brows, allowing yourself for once to express that interest when you asked "And which was yours?"

When you heard his voice again, it was dangerously close and your eyes shot open to see him lean very close to you- "AB positive. The ultimate reciprient." His breath fanned over you, your gaze flickering over him and your face red with both terror and embarrassment, not unlike wide eyed prey. He could hear how fast your heart was beating now. You were only then released by the thunk of the door handle being pushed open.

Jasper hovered over you to open the door, his hand now leaving the handle to gesture you to get out first. You scrambled to get out on the sidewalk, he followed suit from the same door and closed it shut with a swift motion like nothing happened. Fuck

What you found yourself in was not your humble apartment complex now though.

"You took me to the Motherhouse??"

"That's what I meant when I said home, maybe I should have specified." You didn't buy for one second that this was anything but deliberate. "Why, do you want to test now if this is the drink you've been looking for?" You gestured to yourself with some level of frustration.

"Your treat?" He responded sarcastically and smiled, "Well I was thinking I'd hook you up with a cocktail to celebrate. I know you're more the fruity type." He waved a hand absent-mindedly. You pressed your lips together and almost choked on the breath that was now stuck in your airways at that mention. Was that supposed to sound this way???

You were glad to have him walk ahead so you could get your expression in order, trailing behind him until you reached your destination. Both your head and heart were racing, it was hard for you to quite shake the adrenaline off that being followed caused in you. Jasper finding a way to keep you on edge surely didn't help.

"Take a seat, make yourself comfortable." He walked into a nicely decorated living room space, expecting you to follow. You hesitantly draped your coat over the armrest of the couch and looked around. How much of this reflected Jaspers personal tastes and how much of it was just part of the Motherhouse before he took over?

The Vampire disappeared into another room for a few moments, when he came back he did actually hand you a cocktail. Self made, judging from the way his sleeves were rolled up- making your eyes linger a treacherous second too long on his forearms when you were supposed to be looking at the drink he made you. "Thanks"

You took a sip, he didn't move away from you at all though and stood right there in front of you, observing your reaction. A hum left your chest, your brows raising when the pleasant taste hit your tongue. "You're way too good at this for someone who can't even taste this" you said, turning your head up to find him already looking at you. "Of course I am"

"Should've never doubted you" you joked back and actually reciprocated his smile now, both of you coming to sit down now.

"So why am I actually here?" You asked and sipped some more. "Sorry to disappoint you if I didn't plan anythibg sinister, kid. It's like I said." He raised his hands in defiance a moment, his arms sprawled over the couch behind. "So you really just wanna.. celebrate my birthday?"

He nodded yes, "I don't know many people who still know their Birthday. It's fun." Well, that made sense considering how many hundreds of years he and the others must be alive by now. So he must consider Birthdays something special, something foreign to the world he lives in.

"Um" you took another sip, suddenly feeling a bit shy about the situation. You didn't expect him to care about something like that, up until now you absolutely thought he was being sarcastic. Turns out Jasper was doing something genuine for you right now.

The cocktail was strong but so pleasant tasting that you might have had few too generous sips. Your face was starting to flush with the warmth that spread in your body from the drink.

"Well, I wish we could drink to that and get tipsy together without you having to kill someone over it" you thought out loud and set down your glass for a moment to turn to him. "Don't you miss getting drunk?"

Jasper seemed amused by your sudden courage to just say and ask more what you were thinking. Your tongue really seemed to get loose when you started drinking, he noted. "Sometimes. But it's not entirely impossible."

You raised your brows in inquiry, he continued.

"If I drink the blood of someone who drank alcohol then I can get tipsy as well. But you never know wether alcohol is the only thing a person took that night so I usually refrain from it."

You hummed in response, head swimming with tipsyness courting your thoughts. Imagines of Jasper towering over you on the couch, tilting your head back by gently tugging your hair. His breath fanning over your skin before he bit, head nestled in while he fed on you. Maybe his knee would press up against all the right spots so you could rut your hips against him. You imagined yourself in quiet ecstacy over the feeling, lips parting while you felt him sharing in on the alcohol in your bloodstream. How good it could feel to experience someone getting drunk on you.

You heard Jasper shift closer next to you, and the hand that formerly sat on the couch behind you now went to brush a strand of hair out of your face. You turned your head slightly and felt his fingers comb back further into your hair, making your surprised gaze soften and mellow for a moment. A change the older Vampire saw cross over your face in every detail. "What.."

That was when he gently yanked your hair, making you tilt back your head and grasp at his arm. "Mh!!" Your eyes flickered over the ceiling, unable to look at him now that he had your head steadily in place. Your breath quickened like prey, it was embarrassing how it made you feel fucking scared and yet you felt yourself growing hard from it. It made you want to shift, cross your legs maybe but you didn't dare move with the hold he had on you.

"I'm not hearing you moan and gasp quite as much yet. You were much more vocal in your head." his voice was low and a hint of Texan, and you could tell exactly how close he was from the sound of it. Blood shot into your face. How you wished to hide your face now.

You wanted to go all lawyer now and deny deny deny- but the alcohol didn't quite allow you to so. Your fingers slightly dug into his arm from embarrassment, the muscle underneath was unyielding though. "That was taken out of context..!!" you ended up saying, attempting a glare before he released you and let go.

Part of you felt disappointment at the loss of his hand- just positioning your head as he pleased. Shit. You were caught between lust and embarrassment and shame. The latter came from knowing that he didn't know, he couldn't, right? Even if this went all the way you imagined it to go, at some point the realization would set in and it would all get ruined. Better not to even try.

Jasper was about to reply something teasing, feeling amused by this terrible attempt at a lie. One he could tolerate, because it was cute to witness. But he saw the pleasure and embarrassment from having his hand in your hair shift- "What are you scared of, kid?"

He crossed one leg over the other, leaning his head against his hand, elbow propped over back of the couch. "I stand by what I said, I wouldn't hurt you." You gazed at him. "Unless you ask me to, of course." Again he effortlessly made your mind swim with desire, present and pulsating and very distracting in your groin, while the worry locked the rest of your body in place instead of having you climb on his lap and meet his lips with yours.

"I.. fuck" you stuttered and took another big sip of your drink in attempt to calm yourself. "this is seriously good" you muttered. You stayed quiet for a moment, heart racing with Lust and fear. How fucking primal of a moment that was for you.

After a while you spoke, and when the words left your lips with such unprecedented vulnerability, you who showcased so much sarcasm and doubt toward him since you knew each other, Jaspers eyes softened the slightest bit. "Are you trying to make fun of me?"

He uncrossed his legs and put the hand his face rested on down. Steady eye contact, not decipherable to you which also meant you couldn't detect immediate disdain. You held his gaze.

"Hey. I'm not messing with you."

Jasper wasn't one to coddle, but he also wasn't one to lie. You knew that he disliked misunderstandings so if he sensed turmoil, which you have had a lot of due to the whole Talamasca ordeal, he tended to choose his words deliberately clear.

He meant it. But he meant that in the context he was aware of. And that probably didn't include the parts of yourself that were so painfully desperate for him now, drenching your Boxers all despite your anxiety.

"How about you come sit here for a bit." Jasper spread his legs, inviting you to take a seat in the space in-between that was freed up now. Your mouth was watering at the sight. Ughhh.. you would probably bark something passive aggressive at him and leave now in embarrassment if it wasn't for.. all of this. The assurance just now, the horniness and that good cocktail nearing its end.

You moved toward him, knees weak for all the reasons listed above. Back facing him when you moved in front of him, and if wasn't for Jaspers hands firmly catching your hips you might have lost your footing from how much pressure your arousal was putting on any grace you had left in the way you moved. You wanted him to press his fingers into the flesh of your hips so bad, even if you realistically knew it would hurt.

You sat down between his legs, and Jasper put an arm around your middle. Your back slowly, hesitantly leaning into his chest. This felt nice. You hummed.

Whatever this was, it made you a bit bold. Because you slightly turned your head, gazing at his other hand resting on his leg. And you grabbed it, leading him to put it on your thigh instead. You heard a chuckle vibrate through his chest behind you, he didn't need even need Vampiric vision to see your ears burning red right in front of him. Jaspers hand covered a whole lot of your thigh, the sight made you wonder how he compared to you in size otherwise. He then squeezed you, making you sigh and melt a little bit further into his back.

"There it is. So my boy is capable of showing me what he wants after all." He was almost purring the beginning of that sentence, none the less calm and in control of everything. "What else do you need?"

A need it was indeed, he was right about that.

"I.." your breathing was heavy but silent, you were still stiff in a way. Out of breath. "I want you to get drunk on me. I want to see what you're like, when you're tipsy like me right now."

"I see"

The arm around your waist trailed upwards now. His hand finding its way to pop open the first button of your shirt, and then the next. You swallowed, he opened all of them gradually to the bottom until the shirt hung open, giving his hand access to the soft skin underneath. His fingertips went over your stomach, all the while Jaspers head now nestled itself in the crook of your neck and shoulder. He was.. smelling you? His breath fanned over your skin while he took in your scent carefully.

It gave you goosebumps, but you didn't hate it. His hand pressed down a little on your thigh when he found your pulse, and his warm tongue went over it's racing beat as if to have a taste for the bloodstream and the drumming noise if he bit down right there. But he left it be, pressing a kiss on your skin instead. It made you bite back a moan, and you tilted your head to the side for him to have more. You felt the smile on his lips when he kissed a bit down from there again, understanding perfectly well what made you so willing to give him more.

Jaspers hand came up to flick off the cloth on your shoulder, making the shirt fall down and expose your bare shoulder to him. Your dick was straining against your Boxers, feeling the proximity of his hand on your thigh so painfully.

"You will need to sit still for me now, can you do that?"

You nodded, maybe a bit too eagerly, and shifted closer to him. Feeling where exactly he hovered over your shoulder, not wanting to break your neck and cause that delicate area harm just yet. Jasper bit down, causing your head to fall back against him in a jolt. His hand squeezing your thigh as a reminder to sit still, it was all too much and you couldn't help your moan anymore. That felt all so fucking good.

You loved the feeling, he was drinking from you slowly as not to overwhelm your system with the blood loss. Your face was all warm with tipsiness, his chest against your back gave you stability. It almost felt like an embrace in a way, you rarely felt so fucking horny and comfortable because of one and the same thing. Your eyes closed momentarily, you had butterflies in your stomach.

You rubbed together your thighs in search for friction, it was so bad at this point that your own hand went down to your groin to press down and fondle with the parts of yourself that were aching for contact. You felt tingly and the pain in your shoulder was just right.

Greedy boy

His voice rang through your head, you got goosebumps in the best way. Jaspers hand went away from your stomach and snaked its way under yours. Decisively taking the place where you wanted it the most right now. You panicked- but what his fingers found through the fabric of your pants didn't seem to deter him one bit.

He quickly found where you wanted him to go simply by the way your hips jolted forward when he found it. Fuck how much you wanted to know what he was thinking- but the feeling of his fingers rubbing circles and palming you so skillfully despite not looking down rendered the panic almost incoherent. Did he know? Did he not care?

He let go of your shoulder with a satisfied groan, licking his lips clean of your blood. "You were right" he purred in your ear, "That drink sure is good." The alcohol seemed to actually take an effect on him, you could tell. Even if you didn't believe it caused him to loose control as much, the Texan drawl was more audible in his voice than usual.

Your boxers were drenched, feeling his fingers palm and rub your dick through them felt heavenly. How ironic coming from a Vampire, something considered unholy.

"That feel good?" You moaned again in response, nodding your head. You felt him pressing himself against you from the back and you could feel that he felt quite good himself. It made you wriggle a bit against him, making him groan quietly in return. "That feel good?" You asked back, out of breath but nonetheless cocky.

"Cheeky." He pressed himself further against you. "How is it to be tipsy again?" You asked. "Perfect. I've fed, so I can actually feel this tipsy warmth from your blood in my body too. Fucking amazing."

You couldn't help but imagine Jasper in a Bar, tipsy from actual whiskey and staggering over to the bathrooms. Maybe you would have bumped into each other then. Hit it off. He was older looking, handsome. Would you have ended up in some way like now?

He continued his movements, deliberate and now with a bit more pressure. Your legs were starting to feel shaky, you were still absolutely in bliss over feeling him feed on you, and now the arousal was making a mess of you. There were almost tears forming in your eyes from how close you felt to release, despite his hands working this magic over your pants. The hand on your thigh went forward to fetch your cocktail, then Jasper offered the rim of the glass to your parted lips. He was completely taking over now, seeing no issue with taking care of your tipsy horny self.

Your eyes met momentarily, you tilted back your head a little to signal that you were ready and he lets you have a sip. It was cool and refreshing while you were burning up inside. For him it must be vice versa now. He set the glass down again

Soon after, all these sensations finally mixed with pleasure washing over you. Your hand buried itself in Jaspers pants, your body urging itself further into his chest when moans errupted from your release. "There it is. There you are, so good." He cooed, holding your hip in place so you didn't squirm away and just let it wash over you.

Your body relaxed, stretching your legs, sprawling against him like a cat now. It's been long since you felt this good. But.. Jasper probably didn't like to have you stay in his arms for so long, so you went to hurriedly stand up.

You were promptly pulled back down by your hips, plopping down only for him to lift your legs and made you lie down while he stood up. "No running away. I saw a menu liying around somewhere. Maybe we'll find you something you'll enjoy hm?"

When he set down your legs his hand went to comb back your hair for a moment, holding your eyes with his own before leaving the room. God you were blushing.

This.. birthday turned out much different than you anticipated.