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Daniel Molloy had a way with words. He knew that much about himself—it wasn’t arrogance, either, but a fact that many people had confirmed to him time and time again, whether by a drunken “you just get me” from a stranger an hour after meeting them at a crummy dive bar or by the fact he was pretty sure his ability to glean an angle from any story was the only reason he hadn’t been fired from his job. Yes, Daniel excelled at words, which made his current situation all the more distressing.
He paced the width of his apartment’s bedroom. He’d been at it for the past hour or so, during which time he’d finished off two cigarettes and was halfway through his third, twiddling it in his fingers between drags. It wasn’t doing much to calm his nerves, but the repetitive motion gave him something to focus on. He supposed.
This whole string of events, events to come—whatever—could be traced back to a few weeks ago? A few months ago? The beginning of his relationship with the vampire he was currently waiting on to stroll in through his door, or more likely, crawl in through his living room window? He checked his alarm clock for what felt like the hundredth time this evening. It was barely past seven. Armand wouldn’t be by for another hour at least. Daniel didn’t know whether he wished Armand would hurry up and get here or stay away another day entirely. Normally he was champing at the bit for Armand to arrive for the night—and it wasn’t like he wasn’t right now because he totally was and god this was confusing and now he had to take another drag of his cig—but he knew he had to talk to Armand once he did arrive and, for once in his like, was at a complete loss for words.
See, they didn’t really talk sex. Sure, the two of them could ramble on for hours about most topics, philosophy, movies, music, you name it, but sex wasn’t one of them. It wasn’t as if their sex life lacked—on the contrary, Armand was without a doubt the best he’d ever had, it was just that they had a tried and true rhythm: Armand dragging Daniel through an experience that Daniel never in a million years would have thought he’d be into but somehow making it, well, better than sex. Although Daniel had to begrudgingly admit that most of the things Armand "dragged" him through were just secret fantasies he'd plucked out of Daniel's head and elaborated upon. Extensively. Until last month.
Last month, they engaged in a semi-experiment semi-fantasy that even Armand deemed intense enough to warrant a discussion beforehand. Also against the norm, it was Armand who first expressed interest, though nonverbally, instead of picking up one of Daniel’s desires. After they played it out without a hitch, Daniel had begun wondering what else Armand would be interested in, because, and this was a little shameful, he only recently realized how skewed towards his initial fantasies their sex life was. Armand, having a natural flair for the dramatic, always added his own surprising elements in and always seemed to get off just as much as Daniel, but still, there had to be things he’d be into that he hadn’t divulged yet, right?
So a few days ago Daniel convinced himself he would work up the courage to ask Armand if there was anything he’d like to try out in the bedroom, which was crazy a year and a half into fucking and being in a full, albeit idiosyncratic, relationship. Equally crazy was Daniel's apparent lack of ability to figure out how exactly to phrase this query in the moment. For several days he’d spent similar hours pacing until Armand’s arrival, only to chicken out when faced with his lover. Armand didn’t scare him per se (or rather that these days when he did, it was mostly in a fun way), but any eloquence dried up at the back of Daniel’s throat before he could express that more than anything, he just really wanted to make his vampire feel good. He’d even tried writing it out yesterday, clacking out some feeble sentiments on his brand new, fancy-shmancy IBM Selectric (courtesy of Armand), before crumpling the paper up and throwing it away immediately upon finishing the draft.
Daniel checked the clock again. Still barely past seven. Jesus. He was almost done with the cigarette; at this rate his bedroom would smell like a bus depot and it would take forever to get it out of the walls. God. Daniel ground his palms into his temples.
He heard the living room window slide open. Shit. Armand was early. Wait, did he normally go out to meet Armand in the living room or stay in his room until Armand decided to come in? Why couldn’t Daniel remember the routine he’d had for the past year? He snubbed his cigarette out on the ashtray lying haphazardly on the edge of the bed.
He didn’t have to ponder whether or not to move for long before Armand came striding into the bedroom, dressed to the nines and holding a bag that Daniel suspected held similar clothing for himself. This was it.
“Hey,” Daniel blurted before he could think himself into circles, “can we talk about something?”
And that was probably the worst way to start, especially when talking to someone like Armand, who tended to catapult from one to a hundred on the catastrophizing pendulum. The second after the sentence left Daniel’s lips, Armand froze in place, eyes wide and face caught somewhere between deer-in-the-headlights and thousand-yard-stare.
Daniel rushed to meet him in the bedroom doorway. “No, no. God, I’m sorry,” he tried to sound soothing as he stroked his hands up and down Armand’s shoulders. “It’s nothing bad. I think. Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”
Armand didn’t loosen up, although he tracked his eyes to where Daniel touched him. Daniel kept it up. “I’m not breaking up with you. I love you.”
That seemed to mollify at least some of Armand’s concerns; he relaxed under Daniel’s touch and blinked once. But his voice still sounded vaguely stilted when he asked, “What did you want to talk about?”
“Us,” Daniel said, because he still couldn't say “sex,” apparently. He gestured for Armand to sit next to him on the bed, hurriedly scooting the ashtray up towards the pillows. A little ash fell over the side onto the sheets. Whatever, he’d deal with that later.
He wrapped his arm around Armand’s shoulders and held him close. That seemed to further relax Armand, who leaned into the touch.
“So, remember a few weeks ago when we did the, uh, lake thing?” Daniel thought that was a better way to start, probably.
“Yes,” Armand said with a nod.
“Well, I was just thinking, I think that was the first time we did something based on your idea.”
“You were the one to suggest it,” Armand countered.
“I mean, yeah, but it was a joke. I wasn’t really thinking of it, uh, in that way, until you reacted the way you did.”
Armand broke their eye contact to stare at his feet. Daniel brought his other hand to Armand’s face, cupping his cheek. “Don’t be embarrassed. I mean, you saw how much I liked that reaction. And you saw how into it I was. But I guess it got me thinking, like, what are you into?”
There it was. The grand question. Armand met his gaze again and furrowed his brow. “What?”
“You know, what are you into ?” Daniel nodded towards the head of the bed, praying that the combination of the nod plus the added emphasis on ‘into’ would make his question clear.
“I assure you, Daniel, I’m ‘into’ everything we’ve ever done.”
“Well, yeah, but there’s gotta be stuff that you’re into, like, separately, that you’re not telling me.” Daniel realized that might sound too accusatory, so he hurriedly added, “Not that I’m mad, no. If anything, you should be mad at me for not asking sooner, me being without, you know, mind reading skills.”
Armand didn’t say anything, so Daniel plowed on. “Really, I just wanna see if there’s anything else I can do to make you feel good. Hasn’t anyone ever asked you that before? How to make you feel good?”
As if reciting from a script, Armand responded, “People have told me they were going to make me feel good.”
“I, uh, don’t think that’s the same thing.” Daniel said. Because it most definitely wasn’t.
Armand leaned his head on Daniel’s shoulder and Daniel instinctually started carding a hand through the vampire’s hair. Armand leaned into it, closing his eyes. “You do make me feel good.”
It wasn’t a real answer to what Daniel just said, but his sparingly present good sense told him not to mention it. “Trust me, I know. I’ve seen you when we’re at it and it’s like—wow. In a good way. But I guess I’m more asking if you have any, uh, ideas? Yeah, ideas of your own.”
Armand raised his head to peer into Daniel’s eyes. Daniel hurriedly held his pointer finger up for emphasis and added, “Ideas that you don’t take from my head.”
Seconds crept by without a word. Armand kept staring at Daniel unblinkingly, and Daniel put the utmost effort into controlling his usually rambling thoughts to give Armand absolutely nothing to go off of in terms of his own fantasies. Instead, he let himself feel the coalescence of emotions he had towards Armand: a slurry of love, desire, a specific desire to please, sincerity. If Armand intended to poke around in Daniel’s mind to find what he was hoping he would respond with, all he’d find would be a brick wall of feeling.
Armand’s irises did that thing Daniel had only seen a few times now where they seemed to dance, like Armand was flitting them back and forth microscopically. Daniel thought he could see the beginning of bloody tears welling up in Armand’s eyes. He guided Armand’s head back to his shoulder. “You know what? You can get back to me on this. Think about it, then get back to me. How’s that sound?”
Daniel felt Armand’s nod against his shoulder. They stayed in that position for a good couple of minutes, not saying anything. Eventually, Armand raised his head, sat up a little straighter, and gave a more definite nod toward Daniel. Daniel nodded back. “Cool. So, yeah. Good talk, man.”
He held his hand up for a high five. Armand stared at the hand, furrowed his brow, then stared back at Daniel. The staring continued for a few moments before Armand’s eyes went wide. “Oh!”
He gave Daniel a somewhat stiff, jerky, high five, but looked so proud of himself for remembering the relatively recent trend that it was the best high five Daniel ever received.
“So, what’s in the bag?” Daniel asked.
Now he could see Armand fully relax. “Clothing for you. We’re going dancing at a traditional Spanish dancehall, so naturally I thought you could use a change of wardrobe.”
“Naturally.”
Of course, the outfit Armand picked out for Daniel was totally smoking and totally out of his budget, and of course, by the time they returned for the crack of dawn, Daniel felt more and more confident in his ongoing hypothesis that there wasn’t a style of dance Armand hadn’t mastered.
The next night, no sooner had Armand joined Daniel than he asked, “Are you still interested in pleasing me?” It was phrased with a certain amount of impassive bravado that, while admittedly hot, seemed to house a genuine question laced with anxiety. Perhaps Armand was consciously or unconsciously sending his feelings to Daniel as well.
Daniel sat up from the couch, threw the book he’d been reading to the side, and put both hands on Armand’s shoulders. “You bet.”
A half-smile tugged at Armand’s lips, eyes flitting down and then back up again. During these few seconds of silence, Daniel took stock of Armand’s wardrobe choices. In lieu of his typical haute couture-slash-fashionista-slash-effortlessly-jaw-dropping getups, Armand had opted for a pair of loose fitting black sweatpants and, yeah, that was definitely Daniel’s own oversized t-shirt he hadn’t seen since high school, cream colored and a little worn around the sleeves. He had to smile; it looked comfy. Armand looked comfy.
“Go to the bedroom, lie down, and wait for me,” Armand ordered. Daniel rushed to obey, slightly satisfied at the idea that even in a night tailored to Armand’s desires, he was still the one bossing Daniel around.
Once inside his bedroom, Daniel set the ashtray, which he hadn’t moved from last night, onto his bedside table and tried to brush the stray ash off the bed sheets. He got most of it, but the sweeping motion of his hand rubbed some of it into the sheets, leaving a gray stain. Hopefully Armand wouldn’t notice. He sat down and waited.
Armand stepped into the bedroom, holding a paper bag stamped with the Macy’s logo, somewhat worse for wear. Daniel gulped, memories from this past winter flooding his brain. “Is that…”
“Yes. I kept the bag,” Armand said as he set the bag that once held a heart shaped wooden spoon they’d used for decidedly unintended purposes at the foot of the bed and started rummaging through it, eventually producing a paisley scarf. He walked up beside Daniel, leaned one knee on the bed, and wound the fabric around Daniel’s eyes. The world turned to black as Armand secured the scarf with a quick knot at the back of Daniel’s head before drawing his hands away. Daniel felt the bed un-dip and when Armand next spoke, his voice wasn’t uttered out loud, but rather directly into Daniel’s mind: Shake your head.
Daniel shook his head and the makeshift blindfold stayed in place. He couldn’t see anything, couldn’t see whether Armand was three feet or three miles away, and with Armand’s ability to project his voice into Daniel’s mind from seemingly any distance, he would have no way of telling. A chill ran through his body.
A cold hand grabbed his right wrist and Daniel jumped, sharply inhaling. God, with Armand’s mind gift plus his statue-still presence, the way he could move without being heard, could move with inhuman speed and precision…Daniel couldn’t let that train of thought meet its destination because Armand began tying his wrist to the bedpost with what felt like rope. Rough, scratchy, firm rope. Any attempt to move his hand would result in that rope digging into his wrist, rubbing it raw, and even if he remained perfectly still he would probably see pink indentations marking his skin once they were through. His heartbeat picked up.
When through with Daniel’s right wrist, Armand repeated the process with his left, stopping only when Daniel was thoroughly and securely bound to the bed, arms splayed out like the crucifixes he’d sometimes see over at friends’ houses growing up. He gave both wrists an experimental tug. Predictably, he did not burst free and was met by bristles of pain. He let himself relax, obviously having no need to keep his hands afloat on his own. What would Armand do to him? Daniel let his mind run wild, because, really, what else was there to do when he couldn’t see anything? Would Armand fuck him right away? Tease him with feather light touches? Maybe break out the wooden spoon?
None of those things happened. In fact, it was a few moments before Daniel heard the sound of footsteps—so Armand was choosing to be heard—walking away, back into the living room. Perhaps he was fetching something. But no, the sounds stopped for a good minute. Then, Daniel heard the unmistakable sound of the television switching on.
Huh? Was Armand watching TV? After another two minutes of listening to nothing but what sounded like commercials for Stouffer's frozen dinners, Broadway, deodorant, and something called Harlequin romance novels, Daniel concluded that yes, he was currently being ignored in favor of advertisements. He glowered to himself, and then, tragically, his dick twitched in interest. He wanted to scream at his traitorous appendage that being ignored was objectively the polar opposite of sexy, and plus it would be really embarrassing if Armand came back in and Daniel was hard from literally nothing. Neither of those things seemed to matter, however, as Daniel’s dick provided him with the mental comparison of his current situation and a damsel in distress tied to a set of railroad tracks, awaiting doom or rescue. In his case, however, doom and rescue might mean the same thing, brought on by the same hand.
Daniel couldn’t say exactly how long he remained bound and ignored, but it was long enough for Armand to watch the entirety of an hour hour long TV show. Around the halfway point, he’d realized that his hands had never gone to sleep, so either he’d gained Superman’s circulation or Armand was assisting him in that regard. By the end, Daniel started nodding off, dick still half hard. He resigned himself to a nap; maybe that’s what he needed to soften himself to a respectable level. He closed his eyes.
His eyes snapped back open to the sound of paper rustling. It took a few moments of groggy disorientation for him to place it as the Macy’s bag at the end of the bed. Armand must be back in the room. Regrettably, the nap had done nothing to quell Daniel’s intensifying arousal due to an ill-timed dream starring him and Armand. He got these, sometimes, but most of the time he could jerk off once he awoke and no one would be the wiser. Now…
The rustling stopped. Footsteps padded to the bed, and Daniel heard a light, metallic clank and a soft thud—two objects set on the bedside table. The bed dipped, and he felt Armand finally join him, not touch him, just join him. A singular finger hooked itself in his t-shirt’s collar, and he heard before processed a lightning quick rip. Armand had sliced a line down his shirt, tearing it open. Two similar rips along his sleeves, and the garment sloughed off of him. The tattered remnants were whisked away, and Daniel said goodbye to the shirt he honestly couldn’t remember the appearance of let alone care about at the moment.
Icy hands at his waist gripped his jeans, undoing the singular button and zipper, before dragging them down past his ankles. They were also whisked away, and Daniel was left in his boxers which, if his estimations were correct, featured a prominent tent and wet patch. Although he couldn’t see, he could practically feel Armand’s fiery eyes boring holes into him, and as if on cue, another bit of precum leaked out, dampening him further. Great.
A scraping sound from the bedside table—probably Armand retrieving whatever he placed there—and the bed dipped to his right, Armand settling beside him, again not quite touching.
Something cold prodded his shoulder and Daniel jumped again. It didn’t feel like skin, no, it was small and hard and metal, but making any other observation was difficult. Armand trailed whatever metal object he held down Daniel’s right arm, stopping in the center of his forearm, and—
“Gah!” Daniel cried as a few hairs were avulsed from his arm. Tweezers. Armand was using tweezers on him for some ungodly reason.
The moment the yell left Daniel’s lips, a hand smacked his thigh. Hard and unforgiving. His dick jumped. The tweezers returned to his body, this time trailing down his chest. They made a stop to pinch and prod at his nipple before reaching his side. Daniel felt his boxers being removed with Armand’s spare hand, and, yeah, he was fully erect. The tweezers circled his thigh right where he’d been slapped, and this time Daniel had the foresight to recognize the faint pinch before Armand plucked up several of his leg hairs.
And then the tweezers traveled to his pubic hair, right above his dick. Oh god. Oh no. Another cry of pain tore itself from his lips when Armand wrenched out a singular hair from his crotch.
Armand smacked his thigh again, and Daniel got the picture: make a noise, get slapped. He could play that game, although he pondered whether he should attempt to remain stone silent or immediately start blubbering.
Daniel was quite proud of how quiet he managed to remain through the next few tweezes; he took the ones from his ankle and knee like a champ, and only hitched his breath at the one from his wrist, which was actually surprisingly painful.
And then Armand glided the tweezers to his neck, and Daniel knew he was in for it. When Armand yanked some of his stubble out, he made a strangled noise at the back of his throat. Armand pinched Daniel's chin and used the other hand to slap his cheek. And then because Daniel moaned at the contact, Armand slapped his face again with more force.
At the same time, Armand caught Daniel’s nipple, the same one he’d teased earlier, in the tweezers and tugged just past the point of what was comfortable. Daniel clenched his jaw and dug his teeth into his lower lip. Armand pressed the tweezers together so hard that Daniel wondered if Armand was set on closing them together completely even if it meant slicing his nipple off. His dick dripped. Before he could stop himself, he moved to hump the empty air in what was probably a pathetic display of desperation.
Armand immediately withdrew the tweezers and Daniel felt the icy flick of Armand’s fingers directly over the abused nipple. He only barely managed not to yell out. The unending blackness produced by the scarf rendered him unable to properly anticipate any physical sensation, unable to prepare himself properly. He made an active effort not to hump the air more.
Those icy hands latched onto his knees, and once again, Daniel jumped. Armand pushed his knees up his body until they were almost tucked under his armpits. Daniel then felt Armand make his way in front of him, and was Armand finally going to fuck him? He hadn’t been prepped at all, but maybe taking him totally dry was a fantasy of Armand’s, and honestly, Daniel could get on board with it, even if he’d need some of Armand’s blood afterwards to—
“Fuck! ” Because what else was there to say when a singular hair from the rim of one’s asshole was torn out? Predictably, Armand slapped him, this time on his ass which was conveniently taught and exposed.
And then any trace of Armand disappeared, could have levitated right off the bed for all Daniel knew. He shifted in place, trying to use his remaining senses to glean anything from his current environment. Faint city noises from the street below. The rough texture of the ropes that bound him. The emerging scent of…tobacco? Was Armand smoking? He hadn’t heard the click of a lighter, but then again Armand didn’t need to use those.
A smoky breeze wafted over his face, and Daniel suppressed a cough. Yup, definitely cigarette smoke, cigarette smoke that Armand had probably just blown in his face. That also meant he was within blowing distance of Daniel, probably standing right next to the bed, might have been the whole time Daniel was wondering where he’d gone off to.
“Did you just blow smoke in my—” Daniel was cut off by a firm slap to the face. Yeah, he should have seen that one coming. His cheek would probably feature a prominent red mark for the rest of the night from all the slapping, and also yeah, he probably wouldn’t ask Armand to heal it.
I’d like to tell you a story, Daniel. Those were the first words Armand had spoken, although not really spoken, since this game began. A lesser known tale, but poignant all the same.
A pause. Daniel nodded, not knowing what else to do.
The bed dipped to his right, but Daniel didn’t feel anything besides that, Armand not touching him nor making any noise. The only sign of his presence was the slight scent of cigarette smoke to the air immediately around him.
Once, long ago, there lived a princess named Psyche. She was beautiful, so beautiful that other mortals compared her beauty to that of Venus, the goddess of love and all things beautiful. Armand spoke into Daniel’s mind. Daniel was actually glad speaking was off limits for him at the moment, because otherwise he’d have no idea how to respond. What was this, a fairytale?
Armand continued. The comparisons between the human princess and the goddess caught Venus’s attention—and wrath.
Daniel felt a cold nail dig into his thigh. Thankfully, he didn’t jump this time, but his leg did tense for a split second before relaxing into the pain, the familiar jab of Armand’s claws. Armand’s nail traced a line along a small patch of Daniel’s thigh, pressing past the point of comfort but not yet breaking skin. He kept up this rhythmic back and forth motion as he resumed the story.
Always vengeful, Venus enlisted her son Cupid, god of desire, to pierce Psyche with his famed arrows and force her to become smitten with the most oafish mortal man he could find.
A swipe of the nail, a hot flash, and Daniel knew his thigh was bleeding. Not a lot, by the feeling of it, just a miniscule edge of fire over the line Armand had traced. Daniel stayed silent. The finger resumed its path over the cut, and that hurt more, though Daniel still kept his mouth shut. Then it was gone, and he thought he could hear a light sucking sound. The mental image of Armand licking his blood off his elegant finger had Daniel suppressing an entirely different sort of sound.
But, as Cupid readied himself to shoot, he accidentally grazed himself with his own arrow, beheld Psyche, and fell desperately in love with her.
On the word “love,” Daniel felt the pad of Armand’s finger return to his fresh cut, and a warm, deep tingle ran through its length: Armand’s blood. He must’ve bit his own finger. He caressed his finger into Daniel’s thigh, swirling a mixture of their blood into the wound until Daniel felt it suture shut, skin good as new.
Armand didn’t give him much reprieve before he resumed the abrasion to Daniel’s thigh with his claw, tracing over the same spot again and again.
And so, while her two sisters eventually found husbands, Psyche herself remained alone, unaware of her place in the little god’s heart. Her father, distressed at her lack of luck, asked the prophets for guidance.
Armand sliced into Daniel again, and this time left a twin incision parallel to the cut. They were deeper, longer than the first one had been. This time, Armand didn’t heal the cuts, instead continuing the scrape of his nail around the bloodied skin.
The prophets foretold that Psyche was destined to marry a fearsome monster, that her parents should abandon her to the winds at the top of a mountain. And so, adorned in her finest bridal wear, psyche was left by her parents for fate to claim.
And then Armand slapped his thigh, thankfully not over the cuts, but it was still jarring enough to make Daniel’s breath hitch. Okay, so Daniel would be slapped whenever he made a noise but apparently also just whenever Armand wanted? That tracked, actually.
It was not a monster that came to her, but a gentle wind that carried her to the top of the mountains, the realm of the gods. Now safely absconded to her new home, she found an opulent palace, and was visited at night by a prince, a prince whose face she never saw for it was too dark.
Armand sliced a third line into Daniel’s thigh, prodding the skin once he was done. The stop-and-start nature of it, the way he’d been ignored earlier, the way Armand just expected him to take it silently, it all made him feel like a thing, like a test panel, like…
Like a toy.
He’d had thoughts like this in the heat of the moment, that he was Armand’s personal sex toy, Armand’s personal hole, but now he just felt like a toy-toy. Meant for entertainment and abandonment until the owner’s next fancy struck. Meant to bring joy, however fleeting, to someone’s life. Being a good toy for Armand suddenly felt paramount, like the most vital job in the universe, one that Daniel would proudly complete to the best of his abilities. He wanted Armand to cut him more, tweeze more random hair from his pores if he so desired, use him in any way at all. He yearned to be the conduit through which Armand could enact every sadistic desire, any unspoken fantasy he ever had.
Daniel was so lost in thought, and perhaps the beginning tendrils of that place he only sometimes got to go with Armand where everything was warm and fuzzy and perfect, he almost missed the next sentence even though Armand spoke it into his brain.
Although her every wish was granted in the palace, she longed to see her family, her sisters, and so the prince, ambivalent with wariness of their envy, allowed Psyche’s sisters visitation. Seethed with jealousy over Psyche’s lifestyle and stories of her mystery prince, her sisters convinced her that her husband must be a hideous creature, a beast that no one should love, would be better off dead. And so the next night, while her husband slept, Psyche fetched an oil lamp and a knife, and prepared herself to slay him.
Instead of a single finger, a clawed hand raked down Daniel’s thigh, no doubt leaving dainty lines of blood in their wake. Brain halfway to la-la-land, Daniel momentarily forgot about his speech restriction, and let out an appreciative moan. Armand gave his face a helpful slap to remind him, and Daniel quieted himself.
But when she raised the lamp to finally gaze upon the monster, she found Cupid. Shocked, she accidentally pierced herself with one of his arrows and she, too, fell madly in love with him. Unfortunately, she spilled some of the hot oil on Cupid, who awoke to find his identity uncovered. He fled from the palace, in terror of his mother’s retribution for disobeying her command of him, leaving a despondent Psyche alone.
Interestingly, now that Daniel was feeling Armand’s auteurist vision, he could also start feeling the story more. He felt for this Psyche character, how awful it was to be left by someone so beautiful and perfect.
Psyche, with nowhere else to turn, went to Venus to beg for mercy and forgiveness. And do you know what Venus and her handmaids did to Psyche when prostrated herself to them, Daniel?
Daniel almost didn’t register the question from the pleasant lull of Armand’s voice bathing his mind, but after a moment he nodded. Like an obedient toy should, he thought.
They whipped her.
Daniel felt the press of something whose texture he couldn’t quite place into his upper thigh, right above his series of cuts. Instantly, an unbearable burn shocked his core. The cigarette, the one Armand had been smoking this whole time. He tried to thrash his hands out, push himself away, but the ropes dug into his flesh. He felt Armand twist the snuffed out cigarette, mash it into his raw skin. Daniel couldn’t help it, he tried to be obedient and follow the rules, but the pain only grew, and he let out a low whine.
Armand slapped him, right over the cigarette burn and the edges of the cuts. And Daniel tried, really tried to be good and take his retribution in silence, but the combined pain of the cuts and the burn conjoined into a barely-audible whimper from the base of his throat. Armand slapped him again in the same location, and Daniel gritted his teeth together so hard he thought they might chip at the ends, but he remained quiet. His dick strained, almost flush against his own stomach, and there was almost certainly a growing pool of his own desperation below his abdomen.
And then Daniel felt fangs at his neck, sinking in, a hand fisting his hair, pulling his head back for convenient access. The familiar and perfect and soothing and stinging pull of blood from his veins, providing sustenance for his vampire. God, not making noise was the hardest thing he’d ever done. His thoughts were getting incoherent, muddling together and he really couldn’t tell whether he was voicing the sounds of pleasure he was thinking in his head. He was definitely panting, he could tell that much, panting like a dog.
He also registered a rustling sound, fabric maybe? And then a repetitive sound, skin on skin, but not his skin? Then he realized Armand was probably jerking himself off over Daniel, and Daniel had to suppress a groan with all his might.
Armand moaned into Daniel’s neck, digging his fangs in deeper if it were possible, and Daniel felt liquid—Armand’s cum—splattering against his cuts and cigarette burn. The feeling was indescribable, first searing pain, blood on blood and charred flesh, then the magical, aphrodisiac properties of the vampire’s blood taking effect, alleviating the worst of the injuries. Armand detached his fangs from Daniel’s throat.
A few seconds of silence passed, and then Daniel felt Armand’s head resting on his shoulder, which was conveniently still splayed out in its bound positioning. Yes, he could be a good headrest. Armand nuzzled the skin and Daniel started hearing a dry flipping sound every so often. A book. Armand was reading. At the beginning of the night this would have felt like a slap in the face (and not the fun kind) to Daniel, but now it felt right. He’d stay here silent and waiting until Armand wanted to play with him again. The occasional flip of a page served as a lulling comfort, a pleasant reminder of Armand at his side, or rather, himself at Armand’s side.
And wait he did. Daniel couldn’t guess how long it was, but after a while he heard the book snap shut and Armand getting out of bed. His dick, never having truly softened, twitched again at the thought that Armand might simply stand up to watch TV again, leaving Daniel tied down and horny.
But no, he heard Armand pad over to his left, and then he felt hands at his wrist, unbinding him. Daniel didn’t know whether that pleased or distressed him. He settled on pleased, because untying him was what Armand wanted at the moment.
Armand leaned over Daniel’s body to untie the other wrist, and upon completion held Daniel’s wrists in his hands, thumbs trailing over the painful indentations. He guided Daniel to the foot of the bed, facing the pillows. Daniel was still blindfolded, and normally he would have felt awkward and ungainly crawling around the bed blindly, but right now he didn’t care. Armand could’ve guided him right off the side of the bed and let Daniel crash to the hard floorboards if he so desired.
Daniel sat still until further instruction. Luckily, further instruction came relatively quickly in the form of Armand’s now warm hands pulling him forward to where Armand lay at the center of the bed. From the feeling of it, he had disrobed.
Kiss me. All over. Armand ordered.
Easy enough. Daniel let Armand position him where he wished Daniel to start—Armand’s neck—and began gently suckling at the skin, peppering kisses to the spot under Armand’s ear and down his neck. He kept his lips slightly parted, tongue massaging slick patterns down by the clavicle. Armand kept his hands in Daniel’s hair, not tugging or pushing, but nails digging in slightly as if to anchor himself.
Where did we leave off? Armand mused. Daniel felt a small amount of pride at the fact that even telepathically, Armand’s voice still sounded a bit breathy. Ah, yes. After tormenting Psyche, Venus gave her a series of four trials, each meant to be impossible, in order to prove herself worthy of Cupid.
Armand gave the tiniest of nudges to Daniel’s head. Lower. Daniel shifted his efforts and sucked down Armand’s chest, feeling his way to the nipples. He began by wetting each one with his mouth and tongue, slowly sucking, then finally kissing, only letting his teeth graze them for fleeting moments. Somewhere around slowly sucking, Armand’s fingers had begun tracing his own patterns into Daniel’s hair. During normal times, he might gripe about being expected to lavish such worshipful attention on Armand given Armand’s less-than-gentle handling of Daniel’s own nipples earlier, but right now the discrepancy of treatment only served to fan the flames of Daniel’s aching body, coiling in his pelvis and leaking out of his dick. He tried to arrange himself such that he wouldn’t drip onto Armand; it took a bit of contorting and raising his ass into the air more than was comfortable, but it was unquestionably worth it if he could prove himself worthy of being Armand’s toy.
Daniel felt his head pushed again and kissed down to Armand’s navel, leaving an arc of kisses from one hip to the other.. When Armand next “spoke,” the words took on a slower, languid quality, as if Armand was basking. The first three trials proved achievable by the good will of the nature and animals surrounding Psyche, magic aiding her along the way. Mmh.
At the next push, Daniel fully prepared himself to take Armand into his mouth, but when he went to, Armand tugged his hair. No. Lower. He guided Daniel’s head to his right thigh instead. Daniel nodded against the thigh, and continued his path down his lover’s body. Not being able to see made him feel like a newborn puppy, blind to anything but his immediate surroundings and external guidance. His whole world was Armand, and he appreciated every expanse of skin, every joint and curve waiting to be worshiped.
The fourth trial was by far the most treacherous, for Psyche was tasked with journeying to the underworld to retrieve a chest containing a sliver of queen of the underworld Proserpina’s own beauty.
Daniel continued his kiss-filled descent down Armand’s leg until he reached his ankle, then paused. He wasn’t sure if Armand wanted him to go further than that, but then Armand’s foot flexed, almost cupping his cheek, and positioned one of its toes at Daniel’s lips. Daniel sucked it into his mouth, peppered kisses to each of Armand’s toes, then licked down the arc of the foot. He turned his head to get a better angle, and some of his hair tickled Armand’s ankle.
Armand giggled. Boyish and sing-song and perfect. But then he stopped, cutting himself off mid-laugh. His foot tensed. His leg tensed. He didn’t have to project his thoughts to Daniel for Daniel to know that feeling of shame at one’s reactions, one’s desires.
And, no, that was unacceptable. Armand shouldn’t be feeling any shame at any of this. Shame was for Daniel to bask in at Armand’s will, by Armand’s hand, not for Armand to feel under any circumstance ever. Still caught somewhere in the space between cogency and delirium, Daniel cast a mishmash of thoughts and feelings towards Armand: please do whatever you want, and just wanna be good for you, and I love you, and you have such a nice laugh.
A few seconds passed, and Daniel felt Armand deflate a little, relaxing back into the bed. He then felt the bed move, Armand shifting forward, and Armand’s hand was in his hair again, motionless, almost steadying, although Daniel couldn’t tell if Armand was steadying Daniel or himself. Perhaps both. Armand moved his hand to Daniel’s cheek and held his face, and although Daniel couldn’t see, he could practically feel the reverence seeping from that hand.
Armand drew his hand away, and another shift in the bed indicated he had returned to lying down. Continue.
A wave of gratitude poured over Daniel, and he kissed a line up Armand’s foot, one more line up and down his ankle, and was graced with another giggle. It was music to his ears.
Other foot, Armand ordered. Daniel obeyed. Armand’s legs were splayed out a bit apart, so Daniel had to paw around at the bedsheets to find his way over. Once he did, he showered the same attention onto Armand’s left foot, kissing and sucking and licking. Occasionally Armand would make a noise, a titter or a breathy moan or a contented sigh, and Daniel would smile into whatever kiss he was giving.
Psyche followed the instructions of an enchanted tower and managed to venture to the underworld and procure the chest, but curiosity overcame her and she opened the box to behold the goddess’ beauty. Armand’s mind-voice had taken on a still breathy, but also lighter tone.
Daniel was just adorning Armand’s left ankle with a string of kisses when Armand’s next order slid into his mind. Take me in your mouth.
Daniel licked his lips. He kissed his way back up Armand’s leg, hoping the additional contact would be appreciated, and finally found the base of Armand’s cock. He nuzzled it, inhaled deeply, savoring the scent, then licked a stripe up its underside. Armand was completely erect to match Daniel’s own neediness. When he reached the tip, he sucked the already slick head into his mouth, tongue moving in slow circles. Armand let out a drawn out sigh, placing one hand back in Daniel’s hair.
Now more confident, Daniel took Armand in his mouth as far as he could without gagging, which honestly wasn’t very far, but Armand never seemed to mind. What he lacked in throat capacity he hopefully made up with sheer enthusiasm, and god was he enthusiastic, could probably suck off Armand for hours if Armand wanted. Every so often, Armand gave another internal command, slower, or more tongue, or sometimes simply good, keep going and Daniel would revel in his own obedience, mourning the seconds between Armand deciding he wanted something enacted differently and voicing that decision to Daniel. Armand should have his way the moment he desired anything and not a millisecond later, Daniel thought.
Unfortunately for Psyche, the chest didn’t hold Proserpina’s beauty, but rather a physical embodiment of sleep, a sleep which overtook Psyche. She fell to the ground, oblivious to the world around her.
Abruptly, Armand tugged Daniel off his cock by the hair. A few moments of silence passed, where Daniel tried but failed to think if there was something he should’ve been doing. Armand turned Daniel’s head in his hands, pushed his head back down until his cheek rested against Armand’s thigh.
Armand’s next words came firm and absolute. I’m not going to finish you off.
Sucking in a breath, Daniel nodded against Armand’s thigh. Armand continued. And I don’t want you to touch yourself either. Daniel nodded again, though the proclamation further inflamed his painful erection, aching and dripping with need, a need that would not be met tonight. He felt his heartbeat pounding through his pelvis, serving as a further reminder of what he wouldn’t experience.
With that, Armand guided Daniel’s mouth back to his cock, which, by Daniel’s estimations, had somehow gotten even harder in the interim. His lips closed around the head and he suckled on it before resuming his lick, suck, bob pattern. After a particularly sloppy kiss planted directly to the slit of Armand’s cock, Armand moaned, rolling onto his side and taking Daniel with him. Daniel loved the comforting entrapment between Armand’s thighs, the way the bed shifted and Armand curled up, probably in a fetal position, with Daniel servicing his cock. He wanted to serve Armand completely, all the time. Armand should never have to lift a finger. God, Daniel’s brain was mush. He’d surely turn red thinking back to this in a week’s time, but for now all he could comprehend was the overwhelming need to make Armand come. He wondered if he should speed up.
But Armand gave no indication of wanting anything other than the slow, steady, caressing pace he was currently going. Just to make sure, Daniel projected a general questioning sentiment towards Armand, an invitation for whatever else he could want. Armand gave no direct response, but took one of Daniel’s hands and placed it on his hip, he guided the hand in a back and forth motion, then let go. Daniel kept it up, stroking down from Armand’s hip to the top of his thigh, then back up, savoring the skin still warmed by Daniel’s blood. He felt his other hand being grabbed by Armand, and Armand laced their fingers together.
Daniel couldn’t say how long they stayed like that, only that his world was reduced to the fulfillment of the few commands to keep sucking Armand off, keep rubbing his thigh, and avoid his own orgasm. That last one didn’t seem unfair anymore; it seemed correct and obvious. After all, why should a toy get any relief when its owner’s pleasure was far more paramount?
Cupid, having recovered from his wounds, took to the sky to locate Psyche. When he found her lying by the underworld unconscious, he rushed…to re-box the sleep. He awoke her and took her in his arms, scolding her for her relentless curiosity…yet proclaiming his love for her all the same. Even internally, Armand paused every few seconds, as if lost in the sensation. At the mention of simultaneous scolding and comforting, Daniel was reminded of his own arousal. He let out a heavy breath through his nose, as his mouth was otherwise occupied, and Armand giggled again at the tickle of breath on skin. It took everything Daniel had not to moan himself, as he didn’t want to make Armand have to stop and slap him. Not right now.
Daniel could feel the signs of Armand approaching orgasm: the way his hips started gently rocking in time with Daniel’s bobs, the way his cock dripped more coppery precum, the way his soft verbalized noises grew higher in pitch and shorter in length. Daniel didn’t change anything in his own motions, letting Armand pick the pace, how long he wanted to draw this out. It seemed Armand had long forgotten any thought of finishing the story, too focused on his own pleasure. Daniel counted that as a win.
There wasn’t some grand buildup to Armand’s orgasm, not besides the signs most probably wouldn't even perceive if they didn’t know him so intimately. One moment Daniel was caught in the bliss of the rhythmic motions of pleasuring his lover, and the next Daniel was caught in the bliss of Armand finishing into his waiting mouth. He removed his cock from Daniel’s mouth. Keep your mouth open. I want to see my spend inside of you. Don’t spill.
And that was so hot Daniel almost gulped, but quickly realized that would be counterproductive. He kept his mouth open. He couldn’t see Armand but knew Armand was probably regarding him intently, inspecting his own cum in Daniel’s mouth. Daniel would keep his mouth open until his jaw ached if Armand wanted.
Swallow. Daniel swallowed.
He waited for Armand to do something, say something. He felt and heard Armand get off the bed, rustle around. The bed dipped, and hands cupped Daniel’s face, made their way to the back of his head and untied the blindfold. His first vision upon fully re-entering the world was Armand, now reclothed, gazing into his eyes. With the brief disorientation from being deprived of sight for so long, the lights of the room seemed amplified, backlighting Armand like a savior angel descended from above.
He stared at Daniel, face blank. Daniel’s first instinct was to tackle Armand into the bed, tell him how much he loved him and every moment they got to spend together, but something in Armand’s expression told him otherwise. This was one of those times Daniel needed to sit and let Armand riffle through his mind to convince himself Daniel still loved him. He thought it was a bit ridiculous, as if he could ever not love Armand, but he would stay as long as necessary, staring back into those gorgeous eyes.
When Armand’s face softened a little, lips curving up ever so slightly, Daniel took the opportunity to half jokingly but actually completely seriously mouth I love you to Armand while grinning. At that, Armand’s face split into a grin of his own, and he shuffled forward to pull Daniel into a hug, or rather, drape himself against Daniel, burying his face into Daniel’s neck. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard Armand sniffing at his neck. Right, he hadn’t healed the spot he drank from earlier.
“You can take some more,” Daniel said, voice still slowed with the remnants of his fuzzy mental state. “You can always take more. ‘Specially if it would make you happy. I mean, everyone likes snacks, right?”
Armand sat up long enough to stare at Daniel again, as if double checking, before nuzzling back into Daniel’s neck and languidly biting down. He only took a few pulls, a snack, like Daniel had said. Despite the tiny extra amount taken, Daniel soon felt that lovely swoon wash over him, and as he sipped Armand guided them both to lie down, still joined tooth to neck. When they broke apart, Armand planted a series of chaste kisses from the side of his forehead to jaw.
And then Armand was pulling away from him, climbing over him and off the bed, and Daniel groggily tried to reach out and follow, but Armand took both of Daniel’s hands in his. He rubbed soothing circles with his thumbs. I won’t be long, Beloved.
Temporarily sated by the touch and the term of endearment, Daniel let his eyelids close, enjoying the way Armand gently re-clothed him in his best pajamas, gathered the covers over him, tight like a cocoon. Both pillows were arranged on either side of his body, doming him in. He soaked in this oasis constructed for him while faintly recognizing kitchen sounds from afar. He let himself doze, slipping in and out of consciousness.
He only opened his eyes again when a hand brushed his cheek tenderly. Armand stood by the bed holding out a steaming mug. “Swiss Miss.”
Daniel took it and gingerly sipped. It was actually pretty well made, no super crazy additions. Although he thought he could detect some extra spices—cinnamon, maybe cardamom—he knew he didn’t have lying around his apartment. As Armand crawled back into bed, Daniel noted the cocoa mix tub in the vampire’s grip. Armand noticed him noticing and raised it as if giving a presentation. “The container appears to include Swiss Alpine iconography, although you should know that having traveled there myself, the beverage’s authenticity leaves something to be desired. Still,” he looped an arm around Daniel’s shoulders, “a treat for my treat.”
Daniel meant to say, “You’re a dweeb,” while secretly projecting his affections toward Armand. Unfortunately, given his loosened and loopy state, all that came out of his mouth was, “God, you’re the best.”
Armand obviously preened, eyes flickering down momentarily, the way he did when eye contact became a bit too much for him. They fell into a steady silence while Daniel finished the cocoa, Armand keeping his arm softly wrapped around Daniel the whole time. When the mug was empty, Armand took it from his grasp and placed it on the bedside table. He then nudged both of them into a cuddling position, Armand’s front to Daniel’s back, arms wrapped around him, forehead against his shoulder.
“Hey, you never finished the story,” Daniel said once he was feeling about three-quarters back to his usual intelligence, “how’s it end?”
"Oh. With a wedding. Cupid and Psyche marry. And eventually produce a daughter Voluptas, Latin for pleasure." Daniel could hear the smile in Armand’s voice. Daniel didn’t know why, but he got a flash of a memory, one he produced without Armand, of himself years ago sitting in a high school English class, the teacher droning on about Shakespeare, how comedies always ended in a wedding and tragedies in death. Of course, the teacher had said, there were moments of despair within the comedies and moments of levity within the tragedies.
Either way, that answered the ending of the story, but didn’t answer the other burning question Daniel had, which was why Armand told it to him in the first place. He had to say, though, he felt for this Psyche character, it was actually pretty easy to put himself in the protagonist’s shoes, especially with a love interest as beautiful and godly and—huh.
He rolled his eyes, but once again, with affection. “This wasn’t a trial.”
Armand shifted. “What would you call it, then?”
Daniel pondered for a moment, but couldn’t think of anything profound, so he just turned around and gave Armand a lopsided smile. “Good times. With you.”
Armand let out a singular, breathy laugh, but it didn’t sound mocking. More disbelieving. “Good times. Despite my experiencing two climaxes and you none?”
Daniel shrugged. “Actually, I kinda liked that part. Wouldn’t mind doing that again, doing all of it again.” Armand raised both eyebrows, but it was true. Although he was still a little hard, and a part of him ached for release, a larger part of him was completely satisfied at the fact that Armand got to experience double the pleasure as usual with no expectations of reciprocation.
He cast those feelings to Armand, pecked Armand’s lips, then turned back to his pillow and settled down. He could feel Armand nestle deeper into him and start to rub his cheek back and forth against the crook of Daniel’s neck. It felt good.
Armand breathed out a small, “I love you,” and projected an equally small I love you to Daniel at the same time, as if he couldn’t decide by which avenue he wanted to proclaim his adoration. Daniel had to grin; Armand typically let Daniel initiate the “I love you’s.” Daniel suspected Armand was afraid of being left high and dry, which, again, was ridiculous. Daniel would always say it back.
And he did. “I love you too. I’ll always love you too.” While he said it he found one of Armand’s hands and rubbed circles into it, back and forth. Armand liked back-and-forths.
On cue, Armand practically started vibrating. Daniel got the sense that had vampire biology allowed it, his lover would be purring right now. Come to think of it, Armand possessed many feline-like qualities. Maybe he’d bring it up at some point, really get himself in trouble by comparing Armand to a kitten. That was trouble for future Daniel to waltz into, though, because for now the only thing he wanted to do was stay here, plastered to his other half and pretending time didn’t exist and the sun wouldn’t come up.