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If there’s one thing Claudia knows about Louis, it’s that he hates being the center of attention. If there’s one thing Claudia knows about Armand, it’s that he loves it. And in Japan, wherever they go, all three of them have caught the wandering eyes—and cameras—of passersby. Claudia usually tries to lighten the mood and suggest that those passersby have never seen folks as pretty as they are before, but Louis has scoffed at her more than once for such a naive assumption.
“Don’t assume it’s because of our complexion, Lou,” she chides, while the three of them are out hunting one night along Lake Koyama. That is, two of them are hunting. Louis is holding himself back as is typical. “It’s 1987. I’m sure they’ve seen people that look like us at Disneyland in Tokyo.”
“I think we’re more than just a glimpse, Claud,” Louis replies, without an ounce of criticism in his voice. “I think we might be more of…an eyeful.”
“I’d wager that you, mon amour, are a mouthful,” Armand chimes in, and he shoots a pointed look at Claudia, whose eyes widen when she understands his words.
“Didn't ask for your commentary, darling.”
“It was necessary,” says Armand, “but if you insist, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“You know damn well you do most of the insisting in this companionship.”
Claudia can’t help but smile at this. Armand is notoriously demanding. Claudia has observed throughout their travels that Armand always lays out Louis’ clothes while he’s in the bath. By the time Louis gets out, Armand is usually sitting on the bed in a robe, with a heated towel and a tub of lotion waiting for Louis, Armand's hands itching to massage him. Louis hardly ever declines—he almost always has a sore back, neck, and shoulders when he gets into his coffin or Armand’s.
“I will not protest, cher,” Armand responds.
“All I’m trying to say is, don’t worry about their stares,” Claudia reassures Louis. “You’ve got your camera, you carry that thing everywhere like it’s your child or something. Just take a picture of them right back.”
Louis thinks this over a moment. “S’pose I do. What if they’re disturbed, or angry with me?”
“Then you’ve got an easy meal,” Claudia tells him, her tone matter-of-fact.
“Easy for you,” Louis says wearily. “I find rabbits much easier to come by and free of human entanglement.”
“Yes, but they don’t taste nearly as good, do they? Underfed, I suspect,” Armand notes with a hint of something troubling—is it disappointment? Louis is unsure—in his voice.
“I don’t care much for the taste, but it’s food. It’s nourishment.”
“Or lack thereof,” Claudia says.
At this, Louis shakes his head ever so slightly, but doesn’t even attempt to get the last word.
They’re approaching downtown, which is, in all respects, a sight to behold. Tottori City is framed by glorious sand dunes, grassy meadows, and a sprinkling of medium-sized buildings that grow smaller toward the center of the city.
There’s so much to take in, so much to smell that can’t be eaten, so many thoughts to eavesdrop on, so many of what Armand might call “dens of iniquity” and Louis would definitely call “a great time”. What catches Claudia’s eye first is a neon sign that flashes “Ongaku Tengoku - KARAOKE” in big red letters.
“Look, Lou!” She tugs on Louis’ sleeve. “You want to go in?”
“I’m tired—and hungry,” Louis says. “I hear the omakase here is fantastic, and it’s one of the only places they won’t mind me tearing into raw flesh right in front of them. As long as I remember my manners. You and Armand go ahead, and I’ll meet you back at the ryokan. The sun goes up at six hours. Promise me you’ll be back by then.”
“Still acting like Daddy Lou, I see,” says Claudia, with obvious amusement crinkling at the corners of her mouth. “ ‘Course we will, don’t worry. Come on, Armand, you’re my date for the karaoke box.”
It’s not often that the two of them spend time alone. Louis is a greedy lover, although he’d never admit that to himself or anyone else. He dominates Armand’s time without giving it a second thought. He must be feeling generous toward Claudia, to let her spend time with a man who, once her mentor and a master of tough love, has become one of her closest confidants, the latter fact of which has been hardly apparent to Louis.
As soon as Louis is out of sight, Armand takes her hand and crouches down to Claudia’s level, which she finds particularly insulting. Just because he’s got seven inches of height on her doesn’t mean he has the right to talk to her like she’s a child. “One song, all right? And one song only. We’ve just got a few hours.”
”We’ve got eight,” Claudia says impertinently, careful not to let her voice slip into a whine. “Is that a few to you?”
Armand truly looks breathtaking in the glow of the neon lights. He’s wearing a shirt made of light blue linen, with the top buttons unbuttoned, his amber eyes are slightly rimmed with kohl eyeliner, and he’s wearing extremely tight blue jeans. Claudia is in a cherry-blossom-pink silk dress and Mary Janes, somewhat reminiscent of a special St. Valentine’s Day performance of Mon Bebe aime Les Fenêtres. She meets Armand’s gaze expectantly, waiting for his answer.
“It’s certainly not enough time for what I’ve got in mind,” Armand says flatly. He squeezes her hand. “Let’s get inside.”
***
Within ten minutes, Armand is stretching his long legs on the too-small sofa the karaoke room provides, and Claudia is dutifully flipping through the catalogue of cassettes on the other side of the room.
“Find anything interesting, ma puce?” Armand calls.
“Yeah, maitre, a few things. Some Eydie, some Etta, some Ella, some of the Rat Pack. Even a few more modern ones. I think I spotted Madonna and Stevie in there.”
“You must take after your maker, then,” Armand teases. “He could always name so many of them. It drove me a bit crazy,” he admits.
“No comment,” she says. “How do you feel about a little bit of…Frank and Nancy?”
“Weren’t they father and daughter?” Armand asks, unable to hide the slight hesitation in his voice.
“Sure, but what does it matter? It’s just a duet. You can sing, right? And it’s just us in this room.” Claudia’s eyes seem to bore a hole into him.
Just, just, just. And Armand supposes it’s just a coincidence that Louis let him have Claudia all to himself, but that supposition is debatable. He clears his throat. “All right. Put it on.”
Claudia obliges, picking up her microphone and motioning for Armand to do the same. “Want to switch off for the verses? I can start.”
The music sweeps in. Claudia croons, I know I stand in line until you think you have the time to spend an evening with me…
She maintains intense eye contact with Armand, dragging the cord attached to her microphone as she inches closer and closer to the sofa Armand is reclining on. It’s almost as if time stops in that little room.
Of course Claudia’s making him sing the longer verse—Armand would expect no less. He’s got her patterns down to a science. By the time he gets to the first The time is right, your perfume fills my head…his nose is in fact filled with Claudia’s unique scent. Gardenia, cinnamon, something else tangy that Armand can’t quite put his finger on. The only word that comes to mind is seductive.
They’re now standing chest to chest—if they were the same height, that is, so they’re more like Claudia’s (modest) chest to Armand’s (slim) waist. Armand gently sets down his microphone for the interlude, and Claudia follows suit. He sits on the sofa, with an open posture. Claudia seems to think a moment, the thought dashing across her face like a comet, and then she practically leaps onto his lap.
Armand’s hands are surprisingly soft. Must be all those massages that you give Louis, she tells him telepathically.
I don’t give him them as often as you think.
Sure. At least not on his back. Armand’s nails are digging into the small of Claudia’s back, a sensation which she doesn’t mind in the slightest. His other hand cups the side of her face, and he uses it to pull her closer to him.
This is precisely when they realize they still have the ending part of the song, and hurriedly pick up their mics to finish.
They chirp the last I love you together, not daring to look at one another, and Claudia, still straddling Armand’s lap, pulls him into a kiss that can only be described as filthy. She bites his bottom lip, just barely, not enough for Armand to yelp in pain but enough to elicit a little shiver down his spine. In return, he allows her a little bit of her tongue in his mouth, and their kisses become more frantic.
She tugs at the hem of his shirt. “Off.”
“Is that how you ask, puce?” Armand can’t help but be partial to their old terms of coven endearment. In a way, it makes him feel more at home in unfamiliar places.
“Off, please. Maitre.” She adds the last part under her breath. While Claudia doesn’t enjoy calling him that particular term, she can’t think of what else to call him in a moment like this. A moment she’s only dreamed of having about a thousand times over the course of decades. Armand, laid bare in body and in mind. Armand, hers only, for the night.
He concedes, unbuttoning the linen shirt with haste and slipping it over his head. Claudia barely suppresses her gasp, drinking in the glow of his chest in the dim light of the karaoke room. His pectoral muscles are defined, and they frame an athletic torso. She strains, trying to lift her dress over her head, and Armand reaches over and tugs it upward with as much ease as if he’s unfolding a paper napkin.
All she’s got underneath is a lived-in pair of striped brief underwear. Armand just enjoys the sight of her for a few brief moments: her delicate shoulders, her small but proportional chest, her doll-like hands with light-pink painted nails.
You are tres magnifique, Armand thinks, and Claudia shoots back with, I can feel your lust.
Can you?
You’re joking, right? It’s so plain, I’m almost afraid someone else could sense it from outside this place.
Armand can feel himself getting hard, his already tight pants becoming more of a burden to wear. And as much as he’d like to have his way with Claudia, he feels himself becoming totally bent to her.
“What do you want,” she says out loud, a glimmer of impatience turning her question into a demand.
He’s suddenly shy. “I want you to ri-“ he begins and then clears his throat again. “I’d like you to ride my face.”
“And then?”
”I’d like you to ride me—erm—properly.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Maitre. Making me do all the work?”
“I meant it. And come off it, I’ll help.”
She sighs in mock disapproval, tugs off her panties and good god, Armand can hardly breathe when her pretty, wet cunt reaches his lips. She pulls back, making him growl in frustration. “Getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?”
“Can you blame a man for being enthusiastic when there’s a gorgeous nude woman on top of him?” He counters. Two can play at this game, if it is a game at all.
“So I’m a woman now? And to think, just yesterday, I was a silly girl, getting in yours and Louis’ way at the bathhouse.”
“You are quite a woman, cheri. Despite your negligible faults.”
“If you say so. Thighs, Maitre.”
He bends his head toward her knee, kissing from each kneecap all the way up to each of her hips, then dragging his tongue down to just above her mons pubis. She shudders, then adjusts herself so she’s almost lowered onto his mouth. “Ready?”
Oh, god, yes.
The first proper taste of Claudia is like the first time Armand drained someone who’d been peaking on acid. He’s filled with the same mix of bewilderment and profound joy that he’d felt then. That was more than ten years ago.
He fucks into her with his tongue, licking and sucking like she’s the last meal he’ll ever have. He sticks a finger into his mouth to wet it, then plunges it into her pussy, so that she starts to buck her hips and grind into his jaw. Claudia cums with a jolt, a low moan erupting from her as she leans back into her orgasm. She sits back onto the edge of the sofa, her eyes devouring the sight of Armand, pussy-drunk, eyes full of a combination of pleasure and pride.
“You’re staring,” Armand says.
“Can’t help it,” Claudia replies. “You need help with those jeans?” She smirks, eyes darting to the front of his pants.
“No, puce. I can manage just fine.” He tugs the zipper down, slips the pants down over his (rather pert) ass and is about to pull his dark green boxer briefs off when Claudia puts her hand over his. “Let me, okay?” she says, and her voice is so sweet that Armand simply can’t resist, just nods.
She takes the waistband in her teeth, and slowly uncovers him. A small gasp escapes her lips when she notices that not only is Armand incredibly hard, but he’s leaking a bit of pre as well. She’s eager to taste it, and is all but disappointed when she tastes only salt. Straightening up, Claudia positions herself so she’s straddling him once more and Armand lays back onto the worn-down sofa. Armand reaches up to steady her. “Are you ready for me, ma coeur?”
“Sure I am, Maitre.” Claudia sinks down onto his cock, and when all six inches of him bottom out, she has a full-body tremor.
“Something wrong?” Armand asks, still inside her. Surely she hasn’t cum already.
“No,” she breathes. “Keep going.”
Armand does as told, his moans getting more guttural as he thrusts slow and deep into Claudia.
I can’t believe you thought you’d break me, she thinks, as she emits pleasured gasps and her cheeks tinge almost as pink as her dress.
When did I think that? Armand counters, moving a hand up to her hips to steady her as she rides him.
You think I can’t hear when you touch yourself? When Louis is out rabbit hunting and I’m in the other room?
Ah, so you’ve been intruding, puce. Typical. I’m close, you know.
Come inside, then. Not like you can put a baby in me or anything.
He does as told, Claudia throwing back her head in ecstasy, their moans in sync as Claudia feels him dripping down her thigh.
Armand looks down at the stain forming on the sofa. Good thing it’s old.
***
Afterwards, they lay in each other’s arms, Armand trailing kisses down Claudia’s face and neck.
“That was wonderful,” she says, bringing his knuckles up to her lips to kiss them, which tickles Armand so much that he barely suppresses a chuckle.
“I have to agree. Exquisite, even.”
”How much time do we have left?” She fishes his pocket-watch out of the back pocket of his jeans.
“Six and a half more hours.”
”So…all the time in the world.” Claudia smiles. “Come on then. I’d love to see more of this city.” She’s already pulling her dress back over her head, the impatient thing.
”And we are in no rush,” Armand says. “Let me enjoy you a little longer, while I can.”
That’s the one thing Claudia can’t bring herself to refuse.