Chapter Text
It’s 8:34 pm when Armand ascends from the bowels of Night Island and seeks out Daniel. It’s a masterpiece of a house, even he has to admit. A modern palazzo with every amenity a mortal could ever crave, and all the newest fittings. Plush carpet floors muffle his footsteps as he takes a sweeping staircase up to the second floor, where he can feel the bright pulse of Daniel’s heart calling to him like a beacon.
Sometimes when he wakes Daniel is still lounging in bed, or in the pool. Or settled in the living room, asleep on the sofa with a glass of half drunk whiskey on the table. Tonight, though, Armand’s unnatural senses place him in the office. Which isn’t entirely unusual. It’s just that usually Daniel is in there during the day, leaving Armand to pluck the memory of what he’s accomplished from his mind.
And so it’s a rare treat to see him like this, seated behind the great oak desk Armand had imported from Europe. Dressed in his suit and pinching the bridge of his nose, Daniel could almost pass for a businessman.
But only almost. No self respecting businessman would be in a white linen suit, or have his shirt unbuttoned to expose the better part of his chest. Probably they wouldn’t have their bare feet kicked up on the desk either, but Armand is hardly going to reprimand him for that. He has entire regiments of actual business professionals working for him. He only has this one Daniel.
Armand leans against the door frame and takes in the way Daniel’s blond chest hair catches the light, the strands of it glowing as golden as the metal wrapped threads that had decorated Armand’s clothing in his youth. His mouth burns at the sight of it. He has the urge to go over, to bury his face in it and drink straight from Daniel’s beating heart.
Daniel pulls a lighter from his breast pocket and settles a cigarette between his lips. The acrid scent of smoke fills the room.
“Look, if you’re here to bitch at me about getting up and going over to the mainland for the opera or a movie or whatever it is I’m sure you’ve got tickets to, you’re gonna have to shelve it, okay?” Daniel says when he notices Armand at the door. “I have another call to make and it really can’t wait.”
Armand gives a dismissive wave. “I had no such intentions. The film will still be playing tomorrow.”
There’s a whole mess of items on the desk. Scattered papers, an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. The glass of whiskey that’s mostly empty now, the single ice cube in the center melted down so small it’s barely visible. Armand stacks some of the papers and puts them aside so that he can perch on the edge of the desk, right beside Daniel’s feet.
The tops of them have gone tan from Daniel spending time outside in the sun. Armand traces over a lighter strip of skin that runs from the space between Daniel’s toes, across the top of his arch. The pale shadow of where his sandals lie, painted on his skin by the daylight.
Armand’s fingers look monstrously white in comparison to Daniel’s living skin. He cocks his head and drags his nail over a lavender vein, and listens to Daniel’s heart race at his touch.
“I’m working,” Daniel warns. “I have to take this call.”
“Yes, you said so already. What does it pertain to?” Armand asks as he traces around the jut of Daniel’s ankle.
And then his fingers drift upwards, toward the hem of Daniel’s pants leg. The fabric is wrinkled from being worn all day, the starch melted away by the humidity of Miami, and so it’s nothing to push his pants leg up and drag his fingers through the fine hair on Daniel’s calf.
He massages at the thick muscle there. Against his will, Daniel lets out a quiet groan and melts into the great leather office chair.
God, I can’t get shit done with him around. I should really kick him out.
“Taxes. The guy who did our forms fucked up, not that I can blame him- our finances are a wreck,” Daniel mutters.
“We have plenty of money-“
“Yeah and that’s the problem, plenty of money with nowhere to trace it back to, no records for half the shit you’ve stolen and sold. And so I’m stuck here well past dinner time untangling this mess.”
Daniel ashes his cigarette and picks up the glass of whiskey, downing the thing in one swallow. When Armand pinches the back of his calf for his pertness he digs his heel into his thigh in a sort of half hearted kick.
Beneath Armand’s fingertips his pulse rushes. Armand wonders if perhaps he can overwhelm him, convince him to give up the call and let him sink his fangs into his sunkissed neck.
“And what’s the worst that could happen, should you do nothing? I can take care of anyone who comes here making demands of you,” Armand says.
Daniel barks out a laugh. “Take care of them? This isn’t the 19th century, you can’t just murder every IRS man who comes knocking. People will notice,” he says. “The best thing you can do is play secretary for me and get me another glass of whiskey, and then have a seat until I’m done here.”
It’s a dismissal if Armand ever heard one. He stands and lets Daniel’s foot go crashing toward the floor.
Fine. If Daniel wants a secretary then that’s what he’ll get.
Armand ignores the way Daniel swears at his sudden movement. He takes the glass of whiskey to the bar cart in the corner and busies himself with making his drink. Not two fingers worth- closer to three, almost four. Daniel’s been drinking more since they arrived at the island but Armand ignores that too, pushes that worry to the back of his mind in favor of focusing on his more immediate desires.
By the time he delivers the drink Daniel is on the phone muttering formalities to a stranger. Apologies for calling at the late hour, gratitude for offering his services last minute. Armand tunes the details out as he tidies up the desk.
He knows how to do this. How to make a show of himself, how to bend over as he empties the ashtray into the garbage can. It’s the same tricks he played five hundred years ago to distract his master; only the accouterments involved have changed.
It had only been a movie Armand was intending on taking Daniel to see and so he’d dressed for the occasion. A soft, slightly worn t-shirt from Daniel’s drawer on top, on the bottom a pair of cut off jeans. Armand is aware of how short they are. He doesn’t need a mirror to know they ride up when he bends over because he has Daniel’s mind for that.
Daniel’s mind, which is now a jumble of thoughts. He’s half focused on what the man is saying about something called a W-2; the other half of his brain fixated on the bone white curve of Armand’s rear end, peeking out from beneath frayed denim.
Where did he get those? Does he have any idea how obscene they look on him?
Yes. Armand is well aware of how obscene they look, because judging by the way Daniel’s heart is hammering beneath his sternum he’s aroused despite Armand barely even touching him yet.
Armand pretends he’s missed the trash can, that he’s dropped a cigarette butt on the carpet. He gets to his knees on the floor and hunts around for a thing that doesn’t exist.
Daniel’s pen clicks on the desk over and over, following the rhythm of his heart. Armand reaches beneath the bar cart and feels around, spreads his knees wider so he can really reach and-
“I’m sorry sir, could you repeat that?” Daniel asks. His throat clicks as he swallows. “No, no, I can hear you just fine. It’s just that my secretary distracted me for a second.”
Armand smirks at the carpet. He gets up and rakes his hair back from where it’s fallen into his face, and watches Daniel’s eyes track the movement of his fingers as he drags them through his own hair.
He fluffs the flowers in their vase. Reaches high to push a book into place on its shelf and, via Daniel’s mind, sees the pale flash of his own stomach exposed by his t-shirt riding up. He straightens the paper in the fax machine and then, out of cleaning tasks to do, turns his attention back to Daniel himself.
Daniel, who’s chewing at his lower lip as he hums little sounds of acknowledgment to the man on the phone. He’s got a notepad out but all he’s managed to do is scribble a line over and over as his gaze lingers on Armand’s thighs.
Armand tugs on the arm of the chair until it spins and Daniel is no longer facing the desk. Before he can say anything, he drops himself straight into Daniel’s lap.
“I’m sorry, could you hold for just a moment?” Daniel asks and then puts his hand over the receiver on the phone to muffle his voice. “I said I’m working.”
Armand blinks at him innocently. “Yes, and you also said to take a seat. You neglected to say where.”
Daniel narrows his eyes. For a moment it looks as if he might argue, or try to shove Armand off. Before he can do either Armand reaches right down between his legs and squeezes.
The sound Daniel makes- it’s as if someone has punctured his lung. Between a groan and gasp, choked off so that the man on the phone doesn’t hear it. Armand strokes him through the thin linen fabric and Daniel has to bite the heel of his palm to keep from reacting again.
He’s hard- not completely, not just yet, but Armand can fix that. He doesn’t bother with teasing, with building up to make Daniel beg for it. He just grips his cock firmly through his pants, rubbing his thumb over the tip in little circles until Daniel is squirming in his chair.
“Daniel,” Armand leans into murmur directly into his ear. Goosebumps race over Daniel’s skin at the chill of his breath. “Continue your phone call. Taxes are rather important, I’d hate for our business venture to fail before it truly begins.”
Daniel sucks in a sharp breath when Armand unzips his pants and reaches his cold hand in. “You’re so full of shit.”
“And you have a man waiting for you to return the call. We’re paying him by the hour for his advice, are we not? Which means the more you fuck around the more of my money you’re wasting.”
Armand hardly ever swears. He only does it to get a reaction out of Daniel, and what a reaction it is. His heart leaps up into his throat, his pulse rushing impossibly fast at the swear word leaving his lips. It affects him almost as much as the feeling of Armand’s fingers curled around his cock. Almost as much as the touch of his lips on his neck.
Daniel takes a deep breath in. He closes his eyes and tries to count to ten in his mind. He fails miserably at five when Armand licks over the stubble at the edge of his jaw.
“You’re a pitiful businessman, Daniel. You’re lucky I love you well enough to keep you working for me,” Armand teases, delighted by how easily distracted he is. “Now finish your call before I take the phone from your hand and do it myself. I’ll simply hang up on him.”
Daniel rolls his eyes, and whether it’s meant to be sarcastic or just a reaction to Armand’s thumb swiping across the leaking tip of his cock, Armand doesn’t know. “You wouldn’t be so rude.”
“Try me, lover.”
For a second they sit there and take the measure of each other. Daniel contemplates ending the call himself. It would be easy enough to fake an emergency, to call the man back during normal business hours and yet-
It would be kinda hot, having him jerk me off while I’m on the phone. This guy would never know what’s going on.
“Yes, so long as you keep quiet,” Armand says. “If you can I’ll give you a reward. I’ll let you drink from me for as long as you wish.”
Daniel jumps at the reminder that Armand is in his head. “And if I can’t?”
“Then I get to taste you first.”
Daniel mulls it over. He opens his mouth and then realizes nothing he can say could change the trajectory of this conversation or keep Armand in line and so he thinks better of it. He drops his hand from the phone receiver and turns his attention back to his call.
“I’m so sorry for that,” Daniel says and clears his throat, covering up the groan threatening to escape him when Armand resumes stroking him. “Anyways, as you were saying about our employee forms-“
Armand doesn’t listen to anything he says after that. He lets Daniel’s voice become a low rumble, just a tangle of noises that cause his chest cavity to vibrate pleasantly beneath Armand’s palm. He rests his free hand over his heart, absently toying with his chest hair as he strokes him slow and determined.
Daniel is such an all encompassing experience. He has no idea what being close to him is like, especially not when he’s aroused. It’s not just that his cock is hard and easy for Armand to touch. It’s the way the sweat begins to collect on his skin, smelling of salt and pheromones, something unique to his chemical make up; that only exists in Daniel’s cells.
Armand runs the tip of his nose over his throat and then follows it with his tongue. He gets the scent of him and the taste all at once and this time it’s him that nearly moans and alerts the man on the phone. He bites the sound back, though, and bites his own tongue instead.
A taste of his own blood. Not nearly as good as tasting Daniel’s but enough for now, enough to distract the thirst; to send the urge to bite Daniel into the back of his mind so that he can concentrate on distracting him instead.
Not that it’s difficult. Armand tugs at Daniel’s chest hair and Daniel has to put his hand over his mouth to keep from letting out a shocked gasp. He’s not even looking at anything anymore. His eyes are closed, head pushed back into the deep, plush leather as he mumbles something about assets or income or some other financial term Armand has never had to care about even once in his life. Daniel isn’t even certain he knows what he’s talking about anymore.
He’s unraveling quickly. Which is fine with Armand, who’s been burning with the thirst since he first saw this man in his suit, with his heart shamelessly exposed by his open shirt. It puts them on even ground, makes the challenge more enjoyable.
Enjoyable for Armand, at least. Daniel looks tormented when he lifts his head and catches a glimpse of his face. His expression is drawn tight enough to crack, and it quite nearly does when Armand twists his wrist and lavishes attention on the head of his cock.
He’s gorgeous like this. Like a saint in anguish, with his mouth dropped open and his eyes shut tight. Armand ignores the protest of his zipper and sneaks his other hand down his pants to fondle at his sack. It’s a light touch, Armand makes sure to be gentle, but it still has Daniel digging his heels into the carpet hard enough the chair rolls back from the desk.
‘Slow down,’ Daniel mouths at him silently. Armand furrows his brow, pretends not to understand, and strokes him faster.
It’s no longer like the touch of a mortal. It’s too precise, too methodical for a human hand and that’s the kind of thing that drives Daniel right to the edge. He’s thinking about it, jumbled words like unnatural and monstrous and jesus fuck it’s like being jacked off by a machine-
Lucky for him the man on the other line is busy explaining something- monologuing, really, so all Daniel has to do is make noises of acknowledgment. But he’s barely able to do that. When Armand tightens his cold hand around him his casual ‘uh huh’ becomes something closer to a ‘hngh’ and Armand can’t help but bite back a smirk.
And he’s not unaffected himself. His throat is burning with the thirst as he wracks his memory for something, anything that will break Daniel’s resolve and get him to moan outright. Armand can hardly hear the man on the phone for the sound of Daniel’s heart jack hammering beneath his sternum.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine, whatever you think is best,” Daniel rambles, unsure of what he’s even agreeing to. “You can-“
When Armand slips his other hand back his words cut off. The stitching on the fly of his trousers pops as he gets his hand back, back until his thumb is rubbing up against the hot flesh of his perineum, his fingertip is pressing up against Daniel’s hole and-
Daniel’s pulse jumps. He spreads his thighs wide without thinking and before he can stop himself a low groan escapes his throat.
It’s unmistakable. A sound of pleasure, the trigger Armand had been waiting for. The thirst is so strong he barely takes a second to take in Daniel’s blushing cheeks, his expression wracked with embarrassment, because he’s too busy darting in toward the thick artery that stands out on his neck.
“Fuck, fuck, Armand,” Daniel chokes out when his fangs pierce his flesh.
The blood spills over Armand’s tongue like liquid fire. Sharp and metallic and tasting of something that’s entirely Daniel, the flavor of his hormones and the sweat on his skin; more sumptuous than any of the fruit Armand had tasted in his master’s home. He swallows a great mouthful of him, and groans with relief when Daniel’s heart pulls back and fights against the draw of his mouth.
The phone clatters to the floor. Daniel’s hands fist themselves in his hair just as he spills, hot and wet down the backs of Armand’s fingers and that-
It’s like Armand can taste his orgasm too. The shudders pass through Daniel, into his blood and down Armand’s throat so that he shudders too. Daniel’s hips roll up and out of instinct Armand grinds back down against him.
And he should lift his head. He should stop drinking but Daniel is curled around him, gone limp in the leather chair, and his heart- every time Armand swallows it pounds harder. Daniel is a fighter; even as his body goes slack as a willing victim, his organs war against the pull of Armand’s mouth. It seems to take an age before the drumbeat of Daniel’s pulse matches his. His heart struggles, it sends blood rushing thick over Armand’s tongue and then begins to slow.
It would be easy to drag him down now. Armand is so caught up in the taste of him that nothing else seems to exist; not the leather chair beneath his knees, nor Daniel’s hands on his back. His fingers had been twisted in his shirt but they’re beginning to go slack as he goes weak with blood loss. All Armand feels is a vague stroking over his shoulder blades and then a distant tap as he drinks another mouthful of this boy down.
“Armand. Armand, I think I’m gonna pass out,” Daniel slurs.
He should stop now. He should really pull away while Daniel is conscious and able to speak but Armand can’t.
One more swallow, another taste, he tells himself- Armand is as addicted to Daniel as Daniel is to his blood, and this boy has no idea. He’d take that last beat from his heart. It would be so delicious, swallowing the last spark of his life but this is Daniel. There’s only one of him. No one else would be such a willing and conscious victim, no other would love the monster in his lap and so Armand lifts his head.
He licks the wound closed but makes a sloppy job of it, addled as he is. A drop of blood mars the white linen suit collar in brilliant red.
“Jesus,” Daniel huffs. He’s pale, his pupils are blown. He looks as though his eyes might roll back at any second, and so Armand cradles his blond head in his hand; fingers warmed now by his lover’s blood. “I guess we won’t be doing any more business with that guy.”
The phone is on the floor, dial tone screeching from the receiver. The man had hung up on them.
As Daniel reaches for the cord he laughs. His fingers are shaking too badly to get ahold of it, and so Armand picks it up for him. He sets the phone on the receiver with a dull click and then turns his attention back to Daniel, dragging his fingers through his feathered hair.
“You know, Daniel, you weren’t wrong,” he murmurs.
Daniel’s eyelids flutter, blond lashes casting shadows on the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Wrong about what?”
“That I was a terrible secretary.” Armand says, words slipping out between the kisses he presses to each of Daniel’s eyelids. The bridge of his nose. His cheeks, which have gone unnaturally pale. “And so I think you should gather what strength you have and put me on that desk to teach me a lesson, don’t you?”
Daniel swallows thickly. Armand hears the click of his throat. He feels the tremble in his fingers as he reaches down, grabs hold of his backside and hauls him up onto the desk.
The desk is wide but Armand still has to wrap his legs around Daniel’s waist to keep from slipping off the edge. His auburn curls spill in a waterfall over the other side of the thing, beveled wood digging into the back of his skull as Daniel leans over him to kiss his neck.
“I guess work can wait after all,” Daniel murmurs, lips tickling Armand’s throat. “You know one day you’re not going to just get your way with me so easily.”
Armand smirks up at the ceiling while Daniel can’t see. “Yes, beloved. Whatever you say.”
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