First sentence: Usually, Daniel liked to sleep in, not waking until long after the scent of coffee- thanks to Armand- filled the house.
Usually, Daniel liked to sleep in, not waking until long after the scent of coffee- thanks to Armand- filled the house. He would lie in bed, face buried in the pillow, stretching his legs beneath the sheets until Armand unceremoniously tugged the blankets off him.
There was none of that now.
Just the narrow confines of the coffin, lined in padded satin. As a mortal Daniel might have panicked in the tight, dark box with its impossibly heavy lid. But the death sleep released him slowly; awareness first coming to him in the sensation of his dead feet pointing and touching the bottom of the coffin. And then creeping into his limbs, wrapped around a weight that lay heavy on his chest. His dead lungs, which inhaled the dry, stuffy air trapped inside the coffin. His brain- wakefulness came upon that slowly as well, and then all at once as if a curtain had been pulled back and let in the rush of sounds and thoughts that filled the Night Island.
Somewhere in these crypts beneath the Villa was Lestat, Louis. Marius. Jesse and Maharet. Khayman. Daniel couldn't hear their thoughts but he could feel their presence in the way one feels the presence of an animal in the dark woods, invisible but very much there.
"You sleep late, lover. The sun has been down for nearly an hour now," Armand said.
Daniel squeezed his eyes tight. Then opened them and took in Armand's pale face. Even the darkness it seemed to glow, thanks to his vampire sight. He lifted his hand from Armand's bare shoulder (bare? ah, yes, they'd ended up sneaking into the coffin together bare well before dawn last night, he remembered, the little blood he had in him rushing to his cheeks) and tucked an auburn curl behind Armand's ear.
"And yet you're still in here with me, so you must not have anything to complain about," Daniel said, words slurred with sleep.
There was hardly room for the two of them in the coffin; Armand had no choice but to lie atop him, chest to chest, face tucked into Daniel's shoulder. But then they both liked that- Armand for the intimacy, Daniel for the way it left him unable to focus on anything but the sensation of silky smooth skin against his.
It was comforting. Grounding. A gentle way to start the night before the fascination with the sights and sounds of Miami overtook him and had him awash in the surrealism of it all. How hilarious it was that the staff who had known him as the disgruntled man who slept in the massive bedroom upstairs saw him now only at night, with no idea of how or why he'd changed!
"What's so funny, Daniel?" Armand murmured into his neck.
"Everything. Waking up in a coffin with you. Having everyone in the house," Daniel said. "Thinking about how I should get breakfast but now breakfast is an entire human life. It's surreal."
Armand kissed at his throat, right above his carotid. In life that kind of kiss had made him shudder, but in death- it was a full body experience, like an electric spark had passed through Armand's lips and gone shooting through his veins.
"It'll be less surreal when you've fed."
Armand sat up, pushing open the lid with his shoulders first, and then, once he had the space to dis-entangle himself from Daniel's arms, his hands. There was a light on in the room, a lamp in the corner on a timer that ensured they rose to bedroom awash in its incandescent glow. Armand's auburn hair seemed to shimmer like molten bronze as he tossed it back over his shoulder.
"Come, lover. We'll find you someone to feed from," Armand said and held out his hand to help Daniel up.
No more coffee, no more blankets. No more greasy breakfasts of bacon and scrambled eggs. Just a bed for the dead, and the metallic rush of blood over his tongue.
And Armand, forever his beacon beckoning him into the night.
Daniel took his hand (so cold! so bizarrely like marble that compressed and reformed itself beneath his palm!) and climbed out of the coffin, eager for the hunt.
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