Chapter Text
Arun sits with crusting blood tear tracks on his cheeks as Daniel putters around him. He feels like a dish rag, wrung out and lifeless, left for later. Armand had not had a reason to wash dishes for years but sometimes the monotony of a predictable pattern: soap, scrub, rinse, dry, repeat had been calming for his overwrought brain and he would take to the kitchen to wash unused plates until the thoughts swirled away like bubbles down the drain.
Daniel had kissed the top of his head in the way Arun had seen fathers kiss their children when his crying had finally subsided. He had left Armand on the couch but talked to him even as he puttered around in the bedroom, an inane story about some faux pas he had committed while working on a story in Belgium in his early 40s. Arun is interested because it's Daniel speaking but isn't truly listening, letting the words wash over him as he rubs his fingers rhythmically through the plush blanket draped over the couch. The drying blood makes his face feel stretched tight and uncomfortable and he reluctantly stops stroking the soft fabric, a preferred alternative to removing his thumb from his mouth, and reaches to scratch at it idly.
"Oh no you don't mister!" Daniel's voice surprises him as he uses sharp nails to pick flaky blood from his cheek, watching the red-black fall onto the leg of his borrowed sweatpants. He freezes and his heart rabbits, the shamefulness of being a chastised child crashes over him in an unwelcome wave. Is his body not his own to scratch if he feels an itch? He's scared he may have left the proverbial frying pan only to climb into a much more consuming fire.
"Sorry kid, didn't mean to scare you. I've seen what those nails can do, I just didn't want you to hurt yourself."
Oh. Was he scared? Was that this sick swimming feeling in his stomach?
Arun considers the possibilities of what a future with Daniel will entail as the feeling abates, already knowing he will make no alternative choice. He'll endure anything to be with his boy. Arun can understand his logic, although he thinks Daniel is being a little over protective. He could tell him all the real trouble he got up to in his original childhood, but he would have to take his thumb from his mouth and he can't think of any speech that would be more important than the soothing rhythm of sucking the wrinkled appendage. Besides, when he talked of the freedom and fun of his youthful years in Venice people tended to seem sad and pitying, which he had never quite understood. He doesn't want that reaction from Daniel. So often his wrinkled face seems creased with worry that's geared toward Armand, or the body of Armand, and it makes him feel small and powerless.
Daniel is holding out a wash cloth toward him, wet and steamy-hot, just the way Armand likes it. He's gesturing and speaking but Arun is caught up in his thoughts so he misses what Daniel says, although it seems to be a question. He nods yes. It doesn't matter what the question is, he trusts Daniel. Still, when he comes at his face with the warm rag and goes to scrub the tear stains from his face he can't help but to squirm and twist his head away from the ministrations. He doesn't know why he's doing it and he swears he can feel Armand in his brain chastising the ungrateful behavior. It's too hot for Arun and despite desperately wanting his face clean of the blood streaks being washed feels like a great insult that he can't help but to writhe away from.
For his part Daniel seems unphased, even amused, by Armand's attempts to escape the injustice of having his face scrubbed at like an unruly child. He smiles, talks about washing his daughters' sticky post-dinner faces while they put up the same protest. It's a happy memory and Arun enjoys hearing about it. Armand has always been so proud of Daniel's life, the zeal with which he lived his days and the achievements he had made which so many vampires had never gotten the chances to accomplish. That doesn't stop him from flashing his fangs and making a noise not unlike an angry cat when Daniel takes his wrist in thick, dexterous fingers and removes his thumb from his mouth to wipe around his lips.
Daniel leaves Armand sprawled across the bed with his cellphone while he finally takes a moment to himself to shower. The scalding water feels good on his shoulders, which are more tense than he's been since his turning, and he rests his forehead against the cool tile to breathe deeply even as he hears the repetitive music of whatever game Armand has downloaded onto his phone playing faintly from the bedroom.
It feels weird to talk to Louis while he's naked in the shower so he doesn't reach out. Doesn't know what he would say anyway. Louis has made it clear he doesn't want to hear about Armand at the moment and even though he wishes he could talk through the fuckin' Twilight Zone episode he feels like he's living in he's not going to risk his relationship with Louis because he can't hack playing paternal figure for his deific maker who apparently moonlights as a miserable kid.
It would be a lot easier to be angry with the situation if Armand wasn't so goddamn pathetic like this. It's hard to reconcile the memories of the gorgeous, killing-machine lover of his youth with this sad, doe-eyed thing that seems trapped between fleeing and flinging himself at Daniel's feet in supplication. The fact that his looks haven't changed whatsoever is not doing any favors for Daniel's psyche either, making him feel like a lecherous old man every time that electric jolt of arousal asserts itself when memory connects this lithe body and countless sexual experiences only recently remembered. Despite the guilt that wells like bile at the thought of being turned on while Armand is so clearly not okay his cock is making its opinion known as it bumps against the paunch of his belly insistently.
He bites hard into his lip to muffle any errant noises as his hand works over his soap-slick dick perfunctorily. He keeps his eyes open and tries to think of anything but Armand: Pamela Anderson in Baywatch, a frankly too young guy who had wanted to call him 'daddy' in a bar bathroom after his first divorce, Sports Illustrated swimsuit issues, firefighter charity calendars, a porno he had watched in an adult video store in the 80s which had forever been burned into his mind as the hottest threesome he would ever hope to see. He sinks his teeth clean into the flesh of his lower lip as he comes and pictures a pair of perky tits on an imaginary woman and if she has Armand's liquid amber eyes its no one's business but his.
Daniel has never ridden in a private plane before so he's unsure if there's a policy for when the only two passengers are late. The pilot is a consummate professional though, and his mind is suspiciously empty, as if he's aware of the existence of mind readers, when Daniel shows up with Armand in tow nearly thirty minutes after they were scheduled to take off. The plane is still sat on the runway and they're ushered on without a mention of their timeliness, or lack thereof, although Daniel assumes they look frazzled enough to answer any questions.
He knows his own hair is out of place from where he had been nervously running his hands through it as he tried to keep Armand from jumping from their taxi every time the speed decreased for a turn, and Armand is oddly pale and bouncing on his toes like an over-energetic toddler. Armand is wringing his hands together, movements practically frantic as he eyes the plane they're being escorted onto like they're boarding the Hindenburg. Daniel makes a mental note to ask Louis and Armand about the Hindenburg for their accounts when he's not gripping Armand by the arm and trying to lead him in whatever way invites the least questions.
Getting out of the rental to make their flight had been a nightmare. Armand had been obstinate when Daniel tried to get him to take the last of their blood supply and swiped his first cup to the floor like an angry cat, splattering red across the kitchen and leaving Daniel to scrub O-negative from the baseboards and cabinets while the smell of bleach stung his vampiric sense of smell. Daniel couldn't get a feel for what headspace Armand was in as he packed his belongings, Armand having nothing to bring since he had been wasting away in a catacomb dressed in deteriorating rags when Daniel found him. He was intermittently verbal, throwing sharp barbs in his posh European accent and prickling when Daniel spoke to him in anything other than his gruff reporter voice, interspersed with chewing anxiously at the skin around his thumb nail and tugging at his curls with enough force to make his knuckles white.
He had wrinkled his nose in distaste at the basic outfit Daniel had procured from a local department store on a brief hunt and scoffed at the unassuming sneakers and pullover. Daniel had caught a muttered comment about 'off the rack nonsense' when he had snatched the articles from his hand and Daniel wanted to snipe back that if Armand preferred to be seen in oversized flannel pajama pants and the sweatshirt he had chewed the collar out of while playing on Daniel's phone that was his prerogative, but he bites his tongue. Five minutes later Armand seems small again, distraught and restless like he's crawling out of his skin as he desperately tries to avoid putting on shoes over his borrowed socks that wrinkle at the toe and make him moan like a dying animal. The collar of the pullover brushes against the nape of his neck and he looks so uncomfortable as he squirms in his attempts to escape the feeling that the taxi driver reminds Daniel several times that if his companion is ill there's an extra cleaning fee. Daniel presses his hand to the back of Armand's neck where the shirt is touching and that seems to do the trick as Armand breathes a sigh of relief and settles somewhat, rocking himself absentmindedly as he watches the city pass by.
Whatever trepidation Armand is feeling towards the plane, leaving Europe, or airline travel in general seems to be assuaged by the time they reach cruising altitude. The flight attendant has made herself scarce and Armand is curled up like a pretzel in one of the large plush armchairs closest to the window, thumb back in his mouth and eyes fixated on the clouds that dot the sky below them. Daniel is up and wandering the cabin curiously, opening storage containers and examining reading materials left behind. He finds several magazines with their covers graced by The Vampire Lestat and scoffs even as he picks one to flip through. He takes the seat across from Armand, who's removed his shoes and pulled his feet onto the seat, but doesn't turn his focus from the view. His forehead is resting against the window and Daniel thinks the vibration could give even a vampire a headache, but what does he know.
He's halfway through an article about several young pop stars (not Lestat, he doesn't need any more information about that guy) touring together, who he keeps getting confused due to the fact that they all look nearly identical in every picture, when Armand's head lolls sideways with a quiet thunk as it bumps against the cabin wall, startling him out of his underwhelming in-flight entertainment. Daniel glances up to see that Armand has fallen asleep, even though it's several hours before sunrise, his chin dropping to rest against the collar of his shirt. His dark curls fall into his eyes but Daniel can just see the way his long lashes brush his cheeks when his eyes are closed.
Daniel abandons his magazine open on the seat and slides to sit next to Armand, shifting the older vampire's head to rest against his shoulder. Armand doesn't wake, but nuzzles into his shirt, and lets out a soft sigh before going eerily still again. Daniel rests his cheek against Armand's head and breathes in the scent of generic shampoo, new clothes, blood, and the soft, uniquely Armand smell that always manages to make him feel at ease. Daniel closes his eyes but doesn't sleep, content to listen to the soft, rhythmic sound of Armand sucking his thumb and let his mind wander.
Armand wakes without prompting as soon as they begin to descend, head popping up off Daniel's shoulder so fast he would've cracked Daniel's jaw if his preternatural instincts hadn't allowed him to avoid the bump. His eyes dart around briefly and Daniel hears his heart rate ratchet up before he seems to remember where he is and it returns to its slow, steady brag. Armand pulls his thumb from his mouth and Daniel instinctively pulls a handkerchief from his pocket for Armand to wipe blood saliva onto. Armand gives a wry smile and Daniel knows its truly Armand when he smirks and calls him 'granddad' as he hands the worn handkerchief back.
Daniel would've bristled at the name in his humanity, when Armand was an obnoxious little bedwarmer for the vampire Louis Du Pointe Du Lac, but now it only warms his chest and he huffs out a quiet laugh. The flight attendant, who they haven't seen since takeoff, re-emerges from wherever she's been hiding to collect trash and offer assistance with getting ready to deplane as they touch down on a small airstrip that Daniel had no idea was so close to the city. He and Armand have no candy wrappers, empty water bottles, or half-finished crossword puzzles to get rid of which she seems entirely unsurprised by and Daniel wishes he had more time to dig into what the hell kind of airline Louis and Lestat are involved with but sunrise is coming and he desperately wants to return to his quiet townhome and his own bed so he just flashes her a white, fangless smile and gives an affected old man's stretch as he makes his way off the plane.
Armand is quiet as they emerge onto the runway and make their way toward the car which Louis has taken the initiative to have waiting for them. As they slide onto the leather bench seat and the driver begins to make his way toward home Armand laces his slim fingers through Daniel's and squeezes once.
"Thank you, Daniel" he says quietly, not turning to look Daniel in the eye.
Daniel squeezes his hand back. Just once, enjoying the feel of Armand's cool palm against his.
"Any time, Armand."