Daniel's eyebrows shot up in surprise before soft amusement came over his expression. "I remember everything between us now, remember? What you did to me tonight is tame compared to a couple of times you came to me," he reminded.

"I...wanted it," he added; a flush on his face would have been visible if his whole body wasn't already red from exertion and use. "Needed it, truth be told. From you."

That aching fondness welled up inside of him at the question. For Armand to ask if he could do something so tame and gentle, after the force he'd displayed tonight...it was endearing. A reminder that their relationship was deeper than what perhaps was visible on the surface.

"Obviously I have more than one pair, Armand, it's literally cheaper to order seven pairs for twenty-one dollars than, like, just the one." She hasn't actually done the math on that. The SHEIN website says it's the best deal, and she would trust them with her life.

There was a time he probably would have worn these. "If this is a joke, it ain't very funny."

Already wearing them, has been wearing them for three days, and refuses to take them off. Claims it's meant to be ironic.

armand's eyes are otherworldly, but their closest descriptor is topaz, daniel thinks. startling to anyone with anything remotely close to survival instinct or the uncanny valley, but not him. he can't look away, not from armand or the intensity of his gaze that warms him in a way that must turn him pink.

long fingers tighten around the highball glass in his hand, feels its perspiration wet his skin. his brow furrows. distantly, he knows this face, this beautiful face, is tucked somewhere in his memories, his cerebellum, in a way he can't name. a bath house? a bar? undignified as both are, for armand and for himself.

@sufferingdesires asked: mulberry (for benji pls 🫶)

he walks with purposeful weight, fond of the muffled sound his boots make on the dirt below. while benji's capable of vampire silence, he uses it strictly for hunting. he prefers sounding human, of being heard. too many years as a child, too many years, being seen and not heard except by those who liked him enough to listen. armand had delivered him and sybelle from their cage a long time ago, but still, to be forever small, he deserves to take up every space offered to him.

beside armand, wordlessness can be a comfort, and yet benji's been chewing his lip in an attempt to figure out what to say.

( sorry for your loss? sucks about louis? i liked him, but i'll go to dubai and vandalize the penthouse for you if you want. )

all of it's bad. and he hopes armand isn't listening in to the racing thoughts and variations of comfort he's rolling through. hopes, but doesn't bother trying to disguise his thoughts in any way. he never did around armand. hands shove into the pockets of his jacket, kicking a stone along the wooded trail. maybe he'd rather have a distraction. he looks over and up at the other vampire, tasting blood where he gnawed his lip too much.

he feels a little like a failure for not being able to read him as well as he usually did. benji looks back to the trail ahead, if it weren't the middle of the night, he thinks, maybe they'd find deer.

❝ you know what i hate about twilight? ❞ his voice breaks through, ❝ vegetarians. just eat shitty people, don't add another level to the food chain — ❞ benji stops suddenly, grabs the elder's arm, and drops his voice to a more hushed tone, ❝ — armand, look! ❞ a teasing grin spreads across his face as he points upward to an owl perched overhead. ❝ he kind of looks like you. ❞

PYOTR CAN BARELY UNDERSTAND ARMAND THROUGH GROGGY INDIGNATION, THROUGH THE SEARING PAIN.

He stares, wide-eyed and crazed, at the blistering burns that appear almost immediately on the pale, grooved skin of his fingertips. He cannot comprehend that what he's seeing is his own body, despite the obvious connection to the sensation made by his nerve endings and synaptic firings.

His wounded, strangled cries sound particularly pathetic with Armand on top of him. Finally, the older vampire relents; Pyotr breathes heavily, bucks once to test the extent of Armand's weight on top of him. He could shove Armand off, send him sailing through the air—perhaps into the direct spray of the sun's rays. But Pyotr cannot see well enough to know that for certain.

"Come on, baby."

She's a little on edge entering Daniel's apartment already. He isn't expecting her. She's acting as her own muscle, for once, instead of begging Harris for a helping hand; Daniel owes her a decent chunk of change, all because of her fucks-ups, her drunken stupidity and leniency.

When she sees some spindly little stranger all curled up and cozy in one of Daniel's chairs, she plays unperturbed and tough the only way she knows how to: by trying to flirt, it seems. In that sickly way of hers.

She leans against the wall, wraps her arms around herself.

"Daniel's my friend. I was supposed to come over; we had plans."

🦪... @sufferingdesires

❛ Killing is not my nature. If I happen to appetite for human ... I let them go after. ❜