Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Here he is.  

Daniel enters the bar he frequents every Thursday night around 8:05, like clockwork. Armand straightens on his creaky barstool. He shows up early every time to claim the spot beneath the light that never gets fixed. ‘Faulty wiring’, that’s what the owners of the bar believe. A cozy blanket of darkness to settle into. It’s easier that way. 

Acidic jealousy burns through Armand. Daniel looks well. Today, he has an extra spring in his step. Perhaps he is not taking downers this time, not drunk enough yet to be unsteady on his feet? Maybe Daniel took a bump before he headed over. Armand tries to remind himself that sometimes people can just have a good day and be happy.

No, Armand clenches his fists, claws digging into his palms. Daniel looks freshly fucked. Those tousled curls, his flushed face, and bright eyes. He can smell it on him. Someone else made him feel this way. Someone else had their hands on his boy. 

Armand gets so caught up in the sudden blinding rage that he barely registers that Daniel has made eye contact with him from the opposite end of the bar. Before he can snap fully back to the moment, Armand’s almost face-to-face with his secret lover. The secret being that Daniel doesn’t know they are lovers. He doesn’t know how many nights they’ve spent together. Daniel doesn’t even know that he knows Armand. A slate wiped clean every time.

It happens like this nearly every Thursday, carefully orchestrated by Armand. Just to make sure his boy keeps coming back. No matter how much it hurts, the wound is healed every time Daniel returns. 

“Hmm. Sitting in the shadows all by yourself.” Daniel crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow with a little smirk at Armand. His perfect face is illuminated by one of the functional lights hanging from the ceiling above the bar. “What’s your deal? You a pervert or something?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you are asking me.” Armand has had this exact encounter with Daniel dozens of times. He’s learned what methods are most effective for luring him in. “Could you be more specific?”

“Ooh, the redirect. I like that.” Daniel smiles. It’s nearly the same routine he pulls during his amateur interviews. He shouldn’t be surprised that so many of his ‘journalistic experiences’ end up devolving into bruised knees and split lips. “Where’d you learn that trick?”

“I’d consider mastery of human interaction to be more of a skill than a trick, Mister Molloy.” Armand’s eyes flicker with intensity. “If you’ll allow me some of your time this evening, I could be convinced to show you some other skills I have acquired.” 

Daniel looks a bit freaked out beneath the cocky facade. How does he know my name?

“Would you like a drink first?” Armand asks, absentmindedly tracing his fingertips along his collarbones, which are visible beneath his shirt's deep cut. 

“First? Before what?” Daniel asks, unable to tear his eyes away from Armand’s exposed skin. He’s salivating.

Armand can tell Daniel is right on the precipice of giving into the impulse. Eager. Armand can smell the sex on him.

“I apologize,” Armand shakes his head and averts his eyes. All for show. “It seems I have misinterpreted the situation. Please forgive me if I have overstepped.”

“No!” Daniel flushes pink, his protest is louder than intended. “No, I mean. No, yeah. I would love a drink first. What do you have in mind for after that?”

“Come.” A command Daniel has followed many times before, in many contexts. Armand swiftly rises from his seat with Daniel’s wrist in a tight cold grip. 

“Hey, what about the drink, man?” Daniel pouts. He does not struggle against Armand’s grasp. He loves to surrender control, Armand has learned. 

“Mixing cocktails is a skill of mine.” Armand answers. They step out into the night. “You will come home with me, and I will make you whatever you like. No questions.”

“You’re kind of freaking me out,” Daniel says, but Armand can sense that it’s turning him on. “I don’t even know your name. I’m following the playbook of how to get murdered. Letting some guy from the bar drag me back to his lair to poison me or something.”

“I am sorry to have given that impression.” Armand releases Daniel’s wrist and takes a respectful step back. “You are free to do whatever you wish. Have a good night, Daniel.”

“No!” Daniel is back at his side, gripping Armand’s bony wrist with sweaty fingers. Desperate for his attention despite the unsettling way he just used his name again. “No, take me with you. I want to see your place. Show me some of your tricks and I’ll show you mine?”

“Skills.” Armand corrects him. “Can I trust you to keep secrets?

“Secrets? Yes.” Daniel answers obediently, the painfully curious and subservient boy. “You got a wife or something? I can keep things very discreet, man. It’s basically my specialty.”

“Discreet?” Armand laughs. Daniel has proven himself to be anything but discreet. He tries not to entertain the sordid memories as they present themselves. Daniel has been forcibly deprived of his memories.

“What?” Daniel looks pissy. “I can be sneaky. I can be quiet. Discreet.”

“I look forward to putting your claims to the test.” 

“ Fuck .” Daniel’s so easy to rile up. “Yeah, sure. Yes. Test me, any way you want.”

Despite the growing urge to tug Daniel around a corner and desecrate him in an alleyway, Armand maintains his cool indifference as they wind their way to his home. There is a look of confused recognition that crosses Daniel’s face as they stop in front of the door. There’s no way he remembers. Armand reassures himself. I have made sure of it.

In an instant, Daniel snaps back to normal, peeking around at the unfamiliar surroundings when Armand swings the door open. 

“Come.” Armand pulls Daniel inside by the wrists and latches the door behind them once they have entered. “Give me your jacket. Remove your shoes.”

“Um, okay.” Daniel squirms out of his dirty denim jacket and hands it to Armand. He kicks his shoes off in the general direction of the door.

“Shirt,” Armand says it so nonchalantly, not a firm order. As if it is a mere suggestion.

Daniel feels something tugging at his brain, as if it is out of his control, his fingers find the hem of his shirt, and he quickly removes it. 

“Good.” Armand crosses his arms and scans Daniel’s bare upper half with his unnervingly intense gaze. “You’ll do.”

“I’ll do what? Are you appraising me?”

“Something like that.” Armand turns away from Daniel and proceeds down a long, darkened hallway. He knows he does not need to ask the boy to follow, he always does on his own accord. Curiosity killed the cat.

“Nice place,” Daniel says. There is a dim light at the end of the hallway, he can make out the patterns of the carpet they are following. Ornate. Expensive. “Do you come from old money or something?”

“My financial situation is none of your concern, Mister Molloy. Please, come.”

Daniel nods and picks up his pace. He’s always loved following orders. 

As they near the end of the hall, Armand instructs Daniel to enter the surprisingly large cavernous room at the heart center of the house and remove the rest of his clothes. 

“There is a bench just past the threshold. You may fold your clothing and place it there.” Armand tells him. “Give me a moment. When I return, I expect to find you fully nude. Kneel for me on the carpet and close your eyes.”

“This is pretty freaky,” Daniel says, as if he isn’t already half hard in his pants. 

“Go.” Armand’s eyes do that weird flickering thing again. 

Daniel doesn’t need to be told twice. He slowly enters the room, taking in his surroundings as he scrambles out of the rest of his clothing. Dark wooden panels line the walls, tall bookshelves filled from floor to ceiling. He takes off his socks and feels the plush dark red carpet beneath his feet. He hears footsteps approaching distantly and quickly folds his pants, placing them on a velvet bench before quickly following his orders and drops to his knees at the center of the room. He is thankful for the padding of the soft, meticulously clean carpet.

“Eyes closed.” Armand’s voice commands from the doorway. Daniel lets his eyelids fall shut. “Good.”

Without his sight, Daniel can only rely on his other senses. He hears Armand approaching from behind, breathes in the scent of him as he circles Daniel. Armand smells exotic. Expensive. Like amber, frankincense… smoke? 

“Incense,” Armand answers. He can read Daniel’s thoughts. “Considering your raging nicotine addiction, I assume the smoke does not bother you.”

Daniel shakes his head quickly. He doesn’t mind at all. He’s getting more confused and excited by the second. It’s disorienting. He has no idea what the fuck is going on, but he straightens his posture. On display, being circled like prey. He hears the gentle creaking of a chain, the thurible containing the smoldering incense.

“Perfect. You have improved your posture since our last meeting.” Armand’s voice seems to be coming from all directions. His undiscernible, vaguely European accent.

“Last meeting?” Daniel’s brows furrow with confusion, he keeps his eyes shut. “What are you talking about? And when are you gonna get me a drink?”

“Forget I said anything.” Armand whispers. Daniel forgets.

Daniel feels Armand’s presence above him and tilts his chin up, eager to see that beautiful stranger’s face again. 

“You may open your eyes now,” Armand says. 

“Wh-” Daniel looks up at him, frightened. Armand’s face is obscured behind the large black hood of a cloak. But it’s not quite his face. A bronze mask. Almost the same color of Armand’s skin. “What is going on?”

“Quiet, boy.” Armand commands. His voice is not muffled by the mask. It’s almost as if it is amplified. 

“This is getting a little too freaky for me, man.” Daniel’s voice is shaky, but the growing hardness between his legs has Armand assured he will not try to leave. 

“Freaky,” Armand says the word like he’s never heard it before. He continues to sway the thurible gently back and forth, engulfing Daniel with the intoxicating scent. Purifying him.

“Yeah, I mean. The robe thing? The creepy fucking mask ?” Daniel is squirming. His discomfort and fear seem to be having a paradoxical effect, making him more aroused. “Is this like, a cult?”

“A cult of one?” 

“A- yeah. Well, I mean, this is pretty cult-y. Without the… cult.”

“Daniel.” Armand gently places the incense holder beside him, careful not to let it tip and singe the pristine carpet. His chilly hand finds Daniel’s warm cheek, and their eyes meet. “You alone are not my cult. Consider yourself a sacrifice of sorts.”

“ What? ” Daniel panics and scrambles to get to his feet, but Armand orders him to rest . “You're going to actually kill me?”

“Not that type of sacrifice.” Armand rolls his eyes, as if some less alarming version of sacrifice should be painfully obvious. 

“What type of sacrifice then?” Tears prickle Daniel’s eyes. He is scared for his life, but cannot find the strength or will to move his limbs.

“You are so beautiful, my Daniel.” Armand’s choice of words frightens him even more, and he avoids answering the question. “Please, stay still for me.”

“Okay.” What other option does he have, anyway?

“Your only option is to surrender,” Armand says, reading Daniel’s thoughts. “You exhibit the perfect combination of fear and arousal. You are intoxicating.”

Daniel wishes the bizarre frightening praise didn’t go straight to his stupid traitorous dick. Jesus Christ.

“My immaculate, pliant immolation.” Armand sighs, affectionately. He lowers his hood and removes his mask. The dim lighting casts a glow on his dark, wavy hair. “No one compares to you.”

“Uhh, thank you?” Daniel places his hands on his thighs and gazes up at Armand, now more curious than afraid. 

“No, my sweet, fascinating boy. Thank you .” Armand kneels beside him and holds Daniel’s shoulder with a firm grip. He’s so gorgeous, Daniel is thankful to have that creepy mask out of his sight. He stifles a yelp as Armand pushes him, and he lands hard on his back.

“Such a pristine offering.” Armand sighs dreamily. 

“Are you gonna fuck me now, or…” 

“Something like that.” Armand crouches over him, taking in the gorgeous sight of his nude form. His eyes linger hungrily on Daniel’s erection, but they quickly dart to Daniel’s outstretched neck. “I will be as gentle as I can be. This will only hurt for a second.”

Daniel’s hips twitch, anticipating. He spreads his legs slightly and takes a deep breath, uttering a silent prayer that Armand’s freakishly long fingernails won’t tear his insides. 

“Fuck!” Daniel’s shout echoes through the room as Armand lunges, and razor-sharp teeth pierce the skin of his neck. He tries to scream, the pain is so intense, but as he feels the blood pooling from him into Armand’s desperate suckling mouth, his pain is replaced with intense pleasure. 

The sensation puts every horrid substance Daniel has abused and dirtied his bloodstream with to shame. It’s so overwhelming he can’t form a single coherent thought. He’s getting woozy from the blood loss, but it’s as if Armand is replacing every greedy drink of it with pure ecstasy. Daniel’s lost full control of his body, he can only focus on the suckling of the sensitive skin on his neck, the filthy gluttinous sounds coming from his captor(?), and the urgent, tense feeling he recognizes so well. 

“‘m gonna-” He manages to sputter. An unsaid warning that just has Armand nodding, still greedily draining his life force. 

The orgasm hits Daniel so hard he nearly blacks out. Surely, the rapid blood loss is a contributor, but it feels so fucking good he’s sure every single cell in his body is firing signals. Without so much as a fist around his cock or the brush of a hand, he is coming in hot uncontrolled spurts pooling on his stomach. In another situation, he might have the wits about him to marvel at the experience of coming untouched, or even feel a little embarrassed. Instead, he feels Armand detach from his neck and promptly loses consciousness.

Armand rises to his feet, disgusted with himself as he absentmindedly wipes the blood smeared across his face on the sleeve of his robe. He hovers over Daniel, overwhelmingly aroused by the sight beneath him. His beautiful boy, splayed out on the carpet, covered in his mess. A blissful smile on Daniel’s face, despite the fact that he is out cold. 

“Daniel.” Armand sighs. He wishes he had the strength to wait for Daniel to come back to his senses, to spend the night splayed beside him on the floor, running his long thin fingers through that perfect curly hair. 

He can’t allow himself to do that. Can’t afford the risk of Daniel waking up terrified, Armand’s face singed into his memory. Worse than the dangers of being remembered, the thought of Daniel leaving Armand on his own accord. Watching the boy walk away would hurt more than anything. 

Armand does what he feels he has to do, every time. He retrieves a warm washcloth and cleanses Daniel’s body, revives him just enough to have him in a stupor capable of putting his clothes back on, and ushers a dazed Daniel to the door. 

He presses a kiss to Daniel’s sweaty forehead, swipes his memory, and sends him on his way home.

Chapter Text

Armand promises himself every time ‘ once more, just once more ’.

However, every night when the sun falls and the sky returns to black beyond the bleeding light from the city streets, his mind is back to where it started. Curious, hungry, craving.

He is not an addict , not like the man he is now keeping tabs on more regularly than before. Armand has gained control of himself. He no longer meets up with his brainwashed lover every Thursday night to lure him away. The rush of seeing Daniel at all is enough to get his fix. Armand keeps his composure for months, merely introducing himself to Daniel with new scripts at the bar every other week before swiping his memory and sending him on his way. Something sickening is growing inside of Armand. He no longer only  Daniel’s presence but has begun to track his well-being. 

Eventually, Armand’s Thursday night visits to the bar return to a weekly habit.

On a good night, Daniel shows up tipsy or a tad coked-up, or both. However, lately, Armand has been noticing some more concerning behavior.

One night, just as the Thursday night rush starts to pick up, Daniel frantically enters through the creaky entrance of the bar and his eyes dart around the room. He hops up on his usual barstool, wringing his sweaty hands together before ordering a beer and reaching into his pocket to procure some loose pills. Armand taps his long nails against the glass of the drink he’s been pretending to sip, and watches from his dark seat as Daniel tosses three tablets into his mouth and starts to chew them. Why isn’t the boy swallowing them, like a normal person?

Armand taps in, notes the shift in Daniel’s bloodstream much quicker than it would take place if he had swallowed the pills with liquid. Fascinating. Concerning. 

Things become even more concerning when Daniel receives his drink and nearly downs it in one go. All substances in his body are working with and against each other, almost violently so. What is this man’s deal? His recklessness has only seemed to ramp up since their last encounter. As Armand is watching with a curious caution, he becomes very aware of Daniel’s plummeting blood pressure and swiftly rushes over him just as it peaks. 

Daniel’s eyes are rolling around in their sockets as the sweat begins to pour from him, and his face goes white. Armand is there, wrapping him in an embrace, just as he slips out of consciousness. 

It barely even catches the bartender’s attention, just a mere glance over and an eyeroll. Armand holds Daniel upright with an arm across his chest and decides against paying for Daniel’s drink as he hoists him up out of his seat and carries him gingerly out of the establishment. 

An overdose? Armand could easily drag Daniel to one of the nearby deserted alleyways and leave him there. Just another young man lost in his vices, he would be no more than a statistic in this drug-riddled city. No questions asked, no foul play. But, no. This is Daniel. This is Armand’s Daniel. He grimaces, rolls up his sleeves, and does what he has to do. 

Daniel finally comes to with a blinding headache and the stinging taste of vomit in his mouth. He takes note of his surroundings with what little faculties he has at the moment. Opening his eyes is out of the question, so he relies on his other dulled senses. He is lying on his side, splayed out like dead weight atop a very lush and comfortable surface. Daniel slides his arm across the blanket, noting how soft it is. His fingertips brush the edge of a mattress.

Okay, I’m in someone’s bed. Daniel notices he’s been stripped of his clothing, though his underwear remains. He smells incense, faintly. Must have gone home with some beatnik and got too drunk, or something. Nothing new. He manages to squint his eyes open slightly and if he had the energy in him, he’d be scared shitless that there is someone standing right next to the bed staring down at him with an intense amber glare. 

“Daniel?” The voice is soft, a vague English European accent. “Can you hear me?”

“Mmhh?” Daniel groans. His throat hurts like hell. Likely from throwing up, judging by the horrid taste in his mouth. He’s dehydrated to the point of feeling it in his bones, and wonders if he could even keep water down if he had any. What the fuck happened last night?

“You collapsed at the bar.” The faceless man answers, as if he read Daniel’s thoughts. “I suspect too many substances were flowing through your bloodstream. Daniel, you really must be more careful.”

“Huh?” Daniel’s brain is starting to slowly come back online. “Who… Where am I?”

“Do not worry,” The man kneels next to the bed, getting on Daniel’s level. “I brought you to my home after forcing you to empty the contents of your stomach outside the bar.”

He’s gorgeous. Just Daniel’s type. Suspiciously, exactly Daniel’s type. In a strange, uncanny way. Like a vision from a dream. 

“Wait, forced me to?” Daniel groans. He must have made quite the spectacle of himself right there on the sidewalk for everyone to see. Did this guy shove his fingers down his throat or what? “Doesn’t matter. Thanks, man.”

“You are very much welcome, Daniel.” The man smiles ever so slightly. A look of relief. “I could not just leave you there in such a state. Unfortunately, much of your clothing was not salvageable.”

Gross.

The man places an icy cold hand on Daniel’s cheek, and it feels great. Daniel closes his eyes again; he’s expended all the energy he had just in this small conversation. He feels like he could sleep for a week. Or, maybe, just die.

“I have brought you one slice of white bread toast and a small glass of water.” Armand slides the plate along the surface of the blanket, timidly nudging it at Daniel like he is some kind of rescue animal or prisoner. “Take a few bites, at least. You must drink the water slowly, but it would be very wise to drink all of it before I let you rest again.”

Let me rest again?

Daniel is too close to unconsciousness and too lucky to think too hard about it, or ask snarky questions at the moment. He has no choice but to lie here, for now. It strikes him as odd and unsettling that a complete stranger would be taking such care of him instead of leaving him out on the sidewalk where he probably deserves to be after whatever he got up to last night. 

Whatever. Daniel weakly lifts his head to choke down a couple of bites of the toast, and the man holds the glass of water carefully in his own hand, gently guiding it to Daniel’s lips.

“Small sips, Daniel.” His voice is calming. “Just like that, I know you are very thirsty, but we cannot trust your stomach just yet.”

 He soothingly guides Daniel through the process as if he is nursing him. Well, Daniel supposes he technically is. 

“Good.” The man tilts the glass as Daniel finishes it off with a dangerously big gulp. He feels his stomach get wobbly, but the nausea doesn’t overtake him. 

“Thanks, man.” Daniel closes his eyes again and slumps back into the mattress. “For saving me. Jesus, I’m a wreck.”

“Yes, you are.” 

Daniel would roll his eyes in any other situation, but he’s resigned to the fact that the man’s words are true. There’s no denying or joking about it while he’s posted up half-dead on his bed.

“What’s your name?” Daniel asks. “Did we…”

“We did not.” The man answers curtly. He pauses for a moment, as though contemplating whether or not to share his identity. 

“Wouldn’t have been able to get it up anyway.” Daniel shrugs.

“Armand.” The voice says softly. He is so close to Daniel now, hovering over him. He smells amazing, like amber and… something smoky.

Something pings in Daniel’s reptile brain. A blurred association, a spike of something. The scent brings back a memory he can’t quite grab at. 

“My name is Armand.” Armand fills with dread. Should he swipe this from Daniel’s memory, or is his brain burnt out enough to forget as soon as he falls back asleep? There’s a chance he will remember him this time.

“Now, rest.”

Daniel goes completely limp, Armand double-checks his pulse and makes sure he is breathing sufficiently before rising to his feet again. He is fully prepared to wipe the slate clean, like he has every other time.

Instead, Armand decides to run his fingers through Daniel’s greasy curly hair and give himself a chance for once. 

Perhaps, this time, he has deserved space in Daniel’s memory. None of his usual manipulative tactics, none of the cult-leader tendencies to keep the man in his home. It feels terrifying. 

Armand decides against leaving Daniel’s side. Instead, he briefly leaves the room and strides back in a moment later with a musty leatherbound book from his library and settles on the bed next to his slumbering boy. He stays perched there for hours, oscillating between flipping through pages of the book and checking in on Daniel’s vitals, both excitedly awaiting and dreading the moment Daniel awakes.

Chapter Text

Nightfall usually soothes Armand’s nerves or excites him. He operates well within the comfort of shadows, whether he is out hunting for his next meal or just relaxing. This night is different.

Daniel has been out cold for hours longer than Armand anticipated. He’d sat for long enough, propped up against the headboard of the bed on which the boy slumbered, trying to convince himself he could focus on whatever uninteresting, outdated book he had grabbed from the library.

He should have expected this. Daniel was near death about 24 hours ago; his body was recalibrating. Armand returned to the room intermittently to check that Daniel was still breathing, performing a quick scan of his vitals. More importantly, he needed to check, just once more, that Daniel was still there. 

Armand spent hours losing hold of the self-held delusion that he could remain cool and collected. It took every fiber of his being to resist the nagging impulse to awaken Daniel. The boy was like a drug to him. Ironically.

What was he to do when Daniel woke up? This was different from the other times. The countless times he had lured Daniel to his home and manipulated him with the cult tactics so deeply ingrained in himself to keep anyone close. 

Without any outlet for his creative dramaticism and yearning for the stage, he enjoys the theatrics of it all. The floor-length hooded cloaks, the masks. Restricting the senses of his prey, taunting what remained with the mysteriously alluring scents of his incense. His circling steps on the carpet, the creaking metal, and his unplaceable voice. He was itching to do it again. The ritual of it all kept him from going completely mad. 

Now, with Daniel at his home, on his bed, incapacitated as an act of care and not an act of pure psychosexual manipulation… Armand is vulnerable. He has a choice to make.

Pacing up and down the halls with his hands clasped behind his back, Armand considers his options. He could drag Daniel out into the street at any minute, leaving him there. Daniel surely is used to waking up clueless and feeling like near death, it may not even phase him. Just a quick swipe of his memory and dump his body somewhere. 

Armand pauses in front of the closed door that conceals the vast closet filled with his finest suits, shirts, cloaks, and robes. If he should be abandoning an unconscious Daniel out in the cold, anonymous on some bench or sidewalk, why is his brain insisting he look his best?

Turning the doorknob is not just an action; it is a decision. 

The lights flicker on, and Armand stands surrounded by his impressive inventory of expensive clothing. Half of it paid for, half of it acquired by less savory means. He circles the closet, which is certainly large enough to be considered a room, and makes the strangely painful decision to wear a deep red silk shirt with some freshly pressed black dress pants. It takes entirely too long to decide upon which belt to wear, as they are all nearly identical. 

He checks in on Daniel’s slumbering form once more before bathing himself, applying his finest fragrant oils, and slipping into his chosen outfit. Armand feels an unusual panic as he is styling his hair. His brain screams for him to go grab a face covering. Something to hide his true self, to keep Daniel in fear and confusion when he comes to. He doubts Daniel had the mental presence to remember being woken up for water and food. Likely, he does not remember Armand at all.

Without their weekly ritual, without Daniel splayed out on the floor as a sexual sacrifice of sorts, Armand must confront him as his Self. That is terrifying. He wonders if Daniel will find him to be physically appealing, without any intoxication or mind trickery. That is a terrifying thought. 

Armand pauses in the long, dimly lit hallway and lights some incense to calm himself down. The rich, smoky scent soon fills his home, and he wills himself to just do it. He has waited long enough.

“What the fuck?” Daniel thrashes on the bed as Armand flicks the switch in his brain to wake him up. 

“Hush,” Armand offers a new glass of water, and this time Daniel downs it quickly in gulps of thirsty desperation.

Armand tries not to focus intently on the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he does so. Or the moans of relief as Daniel’s hydration levels slowly begin to return to a healthier state. Perhaps welcoming an aware Daniel was the right choice to make. 

“How long was I out for? Jesus.” Daniel’s voice is gravely, his throat scratchy with sleep, dehydration, and the acidic aftereffects of Armand saving his life. “More water?”

“Of course,” Armand says without emotion. He strides across the room to refill the glass from a crystal pitcher filled with filtered spring water and ice cubes. “You have been here recovering since last night.”

“What?” Daniel blinks dumbly. His eyes dart to the windows, where no sunlight seeps in through the gaps in the velvet curtains.

Armand gives Daniel the icy glass of water and bristles as the boy’s fingertips brush against his in the hand-off. 

“Thanks, man.” Daniel sits up, a bit too quickly. 

Armand rushes to his side to support his weight as the dizziness subsides. Daniel does not flinch away, just sighs and welcomes it as he downs the second glass of water. Before his stomach even begins with the grumbling noises, Armand is offering him a sufficiently bland meal. Plain jasmine rice, a slice of artisan bread with a home-made fig spread on it. 

“Stomach’s killing me.” Daniel groans. He can barely glance at the plate he now holds in his lap.

“You require sustenance,” Armand says. His arm is around Daniel, bracing his weight to keep him upright. “If you cannot handle it all right now, that is fine. However, you must eat something.”

“Well,” An unexpected smirk appears on Daniel’s face as he fully takes in the appearance of the handsome man propping him up. “If you insist.”

Armand can feel the slight uptick of blood pressure, and Daniel’s body temperature rises by half a degree fahrenheit. It fuels his ego. He sits next to Daniel and watches him begin to eat slowly, wincing between bites and small sips of water. By the time he has finished half of the toast, he seems more alert. 

“This stuff’s really good,” Daniel says with his mouth full of rice. “Or I’m just so hungry that anything tastes delicious to me.”

He doesn’t need to look at Armand to know he’s glaring. Daniel loves to tease this way. 

“Did I already ask if we banged?” Daniel asks so casually it takes Armand off guard.

“Yes.” Armand answered. “We did not engage in anything physical last night or today.”

Technically true. He doesn’t bring up the countless previous encounters. Daniel doesn’t remember them; they don’t exist. As Daniel straightens up suddenly and tilts his head with curiosity on his face, Armand feels he has jinxed himself with the thought.

“Is that incense?” Daniel looks perplexed, his brow furrowed. A look of vague recognition quickly replaces it. 

Oh, no.

“A popular fragrance, yes,” Armand answers curtly. 

“It reminds me of,” Daniel’s thoughts are quickly brought to a halt by Armand. “I dunno, something familiar.”

“Perhaps one of the drug dens you frequent?” Armand asks.

Daniel stares at him. Right in the face. Why would he know the places Daniel frequents? Armand feels Seen.

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” Daniel asks, point-blank.

“I am Armand.” He feels offended, though he has systematically worked hard to ensure Daniel doesn’t remember him. “Merely a good Samaritan. You required urgent assistance and a safe place to be.”

“And, uh, is this a safe place to be?” There is a playful tone in Daniel’s voice that stirs something in Armand. 

“As safe as you want it to be.” Armand says with a smile that is both harmless and suggestive.

“Wow. I would say buy a guy dinner first, but--” Daniel gestures down at the half-eaten plate of food.

“Bathing is a good idea.”

“Ha, yeah.” Daniel’s posture slumps a little. Self-conscious. “I probably smell like death, huh?”

“Not quite the same.” Armand’s unsettling gaze gives Daniel the feeling that the guy has a good idea what death smells like. “However, I think it might benefit both of us for you to take the clothes I have folded and set at the end of the bed, and exit the room to the left. You will find the bathroom at the very end, on the right.”

“Hint taken.” Daniel rolls his eyes with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Armand helps him rise to his feet, but Daniel insists he can do it on his own. Barely. 

“I will walk you there. Take the clothes with you.” Armand waits for Daniel to do as he is told. 

“Will you be requiring my assistance?” Armand stands in the doorway, watching Daniel undress as though there is not a strange man watching his every move.

“I think I’m good, man. I’ve taken showers before, y’know.” Daniel is squirming. “Now, if you don’t mind, I really gotta take a piss.”

“Of course.” Armand nods, glancing down to where Daniel is already positioning himself above the toilet. That familiar cock, Daniel’s own hand upon it. Armand slams the door shut with too much force. 

Armand hovers outside the door, humming to himself in an attempt to block out the sounds of urination and Daniel’s groans of relief. Too many wires are being crossed in Armand’s brain. He hears the toilet flush and Daniel’s feet padding across the marble tiles of the bathroom floor. Some awkward fumbling as Daniel figures out how to turn on the shower, then the steady spray of water. The sounds of Daniel stepping into the shower, and then another sigh of satisfaction as the stream of water is interrupted by the presence of Daniel’s nude body. 

All that stands between him and this fascinating, beautiful, reckless man is an inch and a half of wood. 

“You still there?” Daniel’s shout echoes. “C’mon, don’t be shy.”

The invitation both excites and concerns Armand. He sets aside the rush of pride, knowing that Daniel in fact, is attracted to him. 

What kind of person wakes up - completely disoriented from a half-dead state- and immediately defaults to attempted seduction? 

Someone who doesn’t want to be alone. Someone who doesn’t know how to keep people close without a transaction of sorts. Someone who doesn’t know what else they have to offer.

Someone like Armand. 

He hesitates for a moment, fingers poised on the doorknob. 

“I could actually use some help.” Daniel sounds less confident and seductive now. 

Armand rushes in. 

“Kinda…” Daniel’s face is void of any color, his body burns red from the stinging of the hot water. He is leaning against the cool tile of the wall with his face pressed against it.

Armand pauses to carefully roll the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows and reaches in to turn off the water. It takes a shameful amount of self-control to ignore the naked body that has been seared so deeply into his memory. The image that intrusively, vividly, and frequently appears in his thoughts.

“Easy, Daniel.” Armand soothes. He grabs the towel folded on the shelf next to the shower and wraps it around his boy. “Let me take you back to bed.”

“Yeah, but don’t you want to…” Daniel is too woozy to finish his sentence, but Armand dismisses the words he knows remain unsaid.

“What I want, Mr. Molloy.” Armand grips Daniel by the bicep, perhaps a bit too tightly. Daniel winces at the sharp claws pressed against his skin. “Is for you to not lose consciousness, yet again.”

Armand considers how ironic this is. How many times has he forcibly initiated Daniel’s loss of consciousness? 

“Fine,” Daniel grumbles. He lets Armand essentially carry him back to rest on the bed.

He sits with his back against the headboard, slumped forward, and wrapped in a towel while Armand encourages him to drink more water. 

“Ugh, thanks.” Daniel burps.

Armand is only mildly disgusted.

“Can I stay here again tonight?” Daniel dips his head, like he is embarrassed to ask. “I don’t know if I can even stand up right now. I can stay out of your way. Is this your bed?”

“More than anywhere else.”

What the fuck does that mean? Daniel wonders.

“Um, okay. Well, you can just kick me out. Got a couch I can crash on?”

“No.”

“You’re telling me you live in this huge fucking mansion of a place, and you don’t own a single fucking couch?” Daniel levels him with a look. “Very suspicious, by the way. Old money?”

“The bed is more comfortable.” Armand answers. He has multiple couches, settees, even a spare bedroom. Daniel doesn’t need to know. “You can rest here.”

“Well, who am I to resist such a handsome stranger keeping me in his bedroom?”

Daniel gives what Armand assumes he thinks is a seductive look. It’s close. 

As much as Armand desires Daniel and his body, it would be wrong. What a twisted, perverted, and selective sense of morality he has. He stands next to the bed with his arms crossed, appearing unaffected.

“Oh, c’mon, man.” Daniel says. “Not even going to let me get you off?”

“You don’t have the energy.” Armand answers. 

“Try me.” Daniel challenges. Always so brazen.

Armand considers the offer. He considers how disturbing it is that Daniel has managed to turn the power dynamic against him, even in this state. 

“The towel is making the sheets damp,” Armand says.

“Ugh, yeah.” Daniel strips it off and carelessly tosses it on the floor.

Armand hovers over him, paralyzed with the overwhelming urge to devour Daniel. His freshly-clean skin, his flushed chest. The tantalizing trail of hair around his navel that draws Armand’s gaze south. Every inch of him.

“So, you’re just gonna look?” Daniel asks.

“I like to watch you,” Armand says. Daniel doesn’t understand the depth of truth behind the statement.

“Alright, man. Whatever gets you off, I guess.” Daniel shrugs.

“You require more rest.” Armand clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms. He wants to touch.

“Yeah, maybe.” 

“Rest.”

Daniel’s eyes flutter shut in an instant, his body goes limp, and Armand repositions him on the bed. Flat on his back, head resting on the plush pillow. As beautiful an offering as always.

Armand pulls the chain on the lamp next to the bed, plunging the spacious bedroom into comfortable darkness. He settles into the deep, creaking leather chair in the corner and Watches Daniel until the sun begins to rise.

Chapter Text

From the corner of the darkened bedroom, Armand watches.

A sliver of warm light from a streetlamp slices through the small gap in the velvet drapes and illuminates Daniel’s bare chest. Armand can tell by the way he is breathing that he has fallen deep enough into his slumber for an easy intrusion. 

Armand keeps his eyes locked on his beloved prey as he eases his way in and finds Daniel’s subconscious to be disappointingly boring this night. In his dream, Daniel is walking through a house. The home is familiar to Daniel, and Armand follows him up the stairs as he hums a tune Armand does not recognize. When they reach the top, Daniel freezes for a second and swings around to look behind him. He does not see Armand, but he can feel his unsettling presence. This is enough of a shift for Daniel’s subconscious to flip the script. 

The door Daniel was seeking to open is now locked. When the knob does not turn, Daniel’s amygdala fires a spark of adrenaline. He has stopped humming his happy tune; he can sense something is off.

Armand decides to have some fun. To remind Daniel, if even for a faint and startling moment, who he is. If there is anything left to be remembered of their past encounters. 

Now, every door is slammed shut. Daniel freezes in a panic and considers whether or not to try to open any of them. Why did they all slam shut? Will he find fear or comfort if he manages to find a loose knob and enters a vaguely familiar room?

Armand takes the opportunity to post up in one of the hidden rooms, seemingly a spare room. Aside from the dingy orange carpet, there is little else. A bare mattress on the floor, some scattered records, and a turntable, two worn-out speakers.

Out in the hallway, Daniel crosses his arms and leans back against the wall. Armand quickly transforms the room, knowing Daniel expects to find it the way it had been before, but this room will house an unexpected memory instead.

The mattress and carpet are gone, replaced by a deep red plush rug like the one in Armand’s home. The one he had Daniel blindfolded and knelt down on so many unremembered times. The walls are stripped of their faded peeling wallpaper and instead lined with flowing black velvet curtains from floor to ceiling. A semi-circle of pillar candles on the floor in the center of the room flicker to life. Then, Armand adds the familiar scent of incense, knowing it will call to something deep within Daniel’s subconscious he can’t quite place, but will intrigue him to follow the smell to the door and try to enter. 

Armand sees Daniel tilt his head slightly in the hall as he smells the smoke gently filtering from the crack beneath the door. As Daniel begins to move in his direction, Armand dons a long hooded cloak and puts on a mask he has worn for Daniel many times in the past. However, this time will be different. 

The turntable, now in the corner with its speakers, begins to spin slowly, playing a slightly warped version of Joe Stubbs’ What’s My Destiny.

Daniel can’t quite place the muffled tune, and now he is there, turning the knob and slowly opening the door of the dimly lit room. He enters willingly, fascinated and frightened. It is clear, in this moment, deep inside Daniel’s subconscious. He remembers.

Look into my eyes

What do you see?

 Ever the eager sacrifice, Daniel removes his shirt, folds it, and places it on the floor next to the door. He stares right through the mask at the glowing embers of Armand’s eyes. Armand can’t tell if he recognizes him or is just familiar with the situation. 

You see

All the memories

I have

Daniel enters the semicircle of candles and kneels. The warm light sparks in the reflection of his eyes.

“Show me,” Daniel says, looking up at him. “I’ll do anything you want. Just show me.”

His hands quickly move to the fly of his jeans, and he strips out of the rest of his clothing, folds it just as he has dozens of times before, and sets them outside the circle of flames. 

Tell me tell me tell me

Tell me

What’s my destiny?

Armand takes a step forward, and the hem of his cloak tickles the tops of Daniel’s thighs while he remains on his knees. Daniel knows what he’s doing. He remembers. He wants this. He misses this. He’s already hard.

The music continues, lulling Daniel into an almost hypnotic state. He recognizes this song; it calls to him in this candlelit room like a dream within a dream.

“Do you remember?” Armand asks.

“I- I do now.” Daniel’s eyes open wider. 

The incense, the carpet, the cloak, the mask. It was all coming together in fragments. And now, with the voice to match.

“Armand,” Daniel says, dazed. “Show me. Please, show me.”

If anyone should be feeling vulnerable, it’s Daniel. His sleeping brain has been penetrated, and Armand has carefully crafted this dream trap. However, Armand finds his hands shaking as they reach up to the bottom edge of his mask.

“Armand, please.” Daniel grabs a fistful of his velvet cloak and tugs. Needy. “C’mon man, I know you’re in there.”

“Touch yourself for me, Daniel.”

Daniel’s eyes glaze over. He obeys. The hand that is not grabbing at Armand’s cloak moves to his now half-hard cock, and he gives himself a little squeeze as he starts to stroke himself slowly. 

“Good.” Armand reaches down to stroke his hair, and Daniel looks almost pained as he continues at such a slow pace that Armand has set his own hand in.

“Let me see you.” Daniel begs. Armand loves to watch him beg. “Please?”

Armand switches his attention back to the bedroom, where he sits watching Daniel sleep. Daniel moans and writhes on the bed, his hand wrapped around his hardness. Leaking for him. The same slow strokes Armand has set in his dream. This pleases him, and he slips his attention back to dream Daniel.

“Faster.” Armand commands. 

Daniel nods frantically and obeys. He works himself up with his fist until he is gasping and panting, curls of his hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. He never looks away from Armand.

“You are nearing your climax.” Armand notices. His tone cool and indifferent. 

“Y-yeah.” Daniel whines. “Really fucking close.”

“You’ve done well for me, Daniel.” Armand praises him, knowing this will put him over the edge.

Armand lifts the mask away from his face and lowers his hood just as Daniel reaches the precipice. Daniel’s eyes dart across Armand’s sharp features, softened by the candlelight.The record skips, playing a gentle instrumental loop. 

“It’s always been you?” Daniel gasps and comes with a shuddering groan.

Armand steps back, letting it pool on the floor before him in spurts like an offering. It seeps into the blood-red carpet.

“Every time, my love.” Armand reaches down to cup dream Daniel’s cheek.

“What?”  

Armand jumps, abruptly ripped from his role in the uncanny memories of Daniel’s dream. He is back in his leather chair. Daniel is no longer asleep. The bed is empty, and Daniel stands before him, towering over him in the darkness.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Armand is frozen in his chair as the shadow of Daniel stands over him, unwavering.

“I knew there was- was something about you,” Daniel says, his voice shaking a bit. “What the fuck did you do to me, man?”

Armand’s eyes are drawn to the unmistakable tackiness of drying semen on the boy’s stomach. He smirks, amused at the absurdity of the situation. Aroused.

“I haven’t a clue what you are referring to, Mister Molloy.” Armand crosses his arms and shoots a defiant look in the dark. “Perhaps you should clean yourself up.”

Daniel brings his hands to cover his stomach, his shame.

“I saw you. You- I remember now.” Daniel says.

“You saw me?” Armand plays dumb.

“In my dream!” Daniel knows how crazy he sounds. “You were there with the- the fucking robe and candles. I know, I remember. It’s all… Is this real?”

“Is what real?” Armand asks. His eyes flicker. “The semen on your stomach? Yes, that is very real. Don’t be ashamed, Daniel. You put on quite the show. I enjoyed myself.”

“Who the fuck jerks off in their sleep?!” Daniel asks.

“Some humans have curious somnambulatory habits.”

“You know what I mean. You have to know what I mean.” Daniel is getting frustrated. “How did you do that? The dream?”

Daniel is shaken up enough for Armand’s liking. 

“I have my ways,” Armand answers casually. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with do you?”

‘What are you, some kind of succubus? Why do I have these memories of you?”

“I believe the term you are looking for is ‘incubus’. And, no.”

“Fuck you,” Daniel mutters under his breath. He rolls his eyes. “That room. I remember it. The carpet. I remember. Blindfolds? Were those all dreams?”

Armand sighs. “I’m afraid not.”

“What, have you been drugging me or something? Is that how you get your rocks off?” Daniel doesn’t sound angry at the thought, as maybe he should be. 

“Given your proclivities, I am surprised you would find the thought troubling.” Armand tilts his head. Daniel can see him in the low light. “Would that upset you?”

Daniel pauses for a beat. Not because he is considering the notion, but because he knows it would not upset him. He contemplates for a moment what the fuck is wrong with himself, and his mind sets down a spiral of self-deprecation.

“None of that,” Armand says softly. Fondly.

It gives Daniel goosebumps. It’s as though Armand is reading his thoughts. 

“Only the loud ones,” Armand responds.

“This isn’t real.” Daniel’s blood runs cold.

“I care for you deeply. I have not once ‘drugged you’, as you put it. Not exactly.” 

Daniel doesn’t know what the fuck that means. He doesn’t want to know what it means. This is already freaky enough to have him on the precipice of a mental breakdown.

Armand places an icy hand on Daniel’s shoulder to comfort him. Not without a little psychic nudge in a calmer direction. “This is real. We are real.”

“Fine, then. Show me.” Daniel demands. “Show me. Prove it.”

“As you wish.” Armand effortlessly, gracefully rises from his seat.

Daniel is again very aware of the fact that he’s covered in his own dried cum. It’s humiliating. He’s cold and naked, in the most vulnerable situation possible. 

“There is a robe, draped across the foot of the bed,” Armand tells him. “Perhaps you will feel more… decent, if you put it on.”

Daniel stumbles toward the bed and does as he is told. He puts on the silken robe and ties it at the waist. It’s something, at least. He follows Armand out through the bedroom door, into the candlelit hallway. 

“Trying to save on your electric bill?” Daniel deadpans. 

Armand ignores him and continues to stroll down the long hallway. He pauses at the heavy doors that stand between Daniel and the flood of memories. It scares Armand just as much as it scares Daniel. What if he flees? He is seeing Armand for who he truly is; he is seeing proof of his vague memories. They are entering the unknown together.

The doors creak open, and Daniel’s jaw drops. Yes. This is the place. This is it. He remembers. He remembers everything, all at once. It’s concrete; it’s all of his cryptic, terrifying, and erotic dreams materialized. 

“Would you like to enter? Have a look for yourself.” Armand gestures with his arm outstretched, ushering him inside. He follows closely behind. “Tell me, Daniel. What do you remember?”

“Fuck.” Daniel croaks. 

His eyes dart around the cavernous room. The carpet, the walls lined with dark wooden shelves. The lingering scent of incense, embedded in the wood and the blood-red cushioning beneath his bare feet. Daniel shakes his head in disbelief and slowly walks to the center of the room. He drops to his knees and places his palms on his thighs. It’s muscle memory. It’s well-rehearsed. It’s ritual. 

“Everything.” Daniel’s pupils are blown wide in the dim light. “I remember everything.”

“Details, please?” Armand stands above him, pleased at the sight of his beloved prey offering himself again. Not in a dream. This time, in the flesh. 

“You.”

“Hm?”

“Me.”

“Yes?” Armand is quite nervous, anticipating Daniel’s next words.

“How many times?” Daniel asks. 

“Dozens?” Armand shrugs. “You have a penchant for subservience. An unwavering, juvenile need to prove yourself.”

“You brought me here,” Daniel says, dazed as the memories come flooding back to him. “From the bar.”

“You are highly suggestible, Mister Molloy.”

“What’s with the theatrics?” Daniel asks. “A hood? Masks?”

“I get bored.” Armand offers. “I’ve spent a long time waiting for someone like you, again.”

“Again? What the hell happened to the last guy? Are you gonna kill me?”

Armand sighs, exasperated. “Why must you keep asking me that?”

“Did you–” Daniel’s face contorts with confusion and disgust. He reaches for the side of his neck, running his fingertips along the scars he attributed to getting too fucked up in the presence of some violent dope fiends or something he can’t be bothered to think too hard about. “Fucking… Bite me?

All Daniel gets in response is a salacious grin from Armand, his fangs visible now. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Evil prick. 

“You know, I never once laid a hand on that beautiful cock of yours.”

Daniel squirms. He hates how much of an effect praise and flattery from a pretty man has on him. It’s his downfall. 

“Really?” Daniel asks defiantly. “Because I am now very vividly remembering things that suggest otherwise.”

“I assure you, Daniel.” Armand gazes down at him with some bizarre mixture of soft affection and predation. “Would you like proof of that, as well?”

“How’re you gonna prove that?” Daniel laughs. “You got cameras in here? Roll the tapes!”

“Stay still for me, boy.” Armand crouches down to meet Daniel’s eyes. 

Daniel simply nods. Armand’s eyes are like sweet, hypnotic honey. A calming warmth spreads through Daniel’s body, almost like a drug. 

“Do you remember this?” Armand cups Daniel’s cheek with his palm. Daniel nuzzles his face against it and nods meekly. “Do not be afraid, Daniel.”

He is paralyzed by the onset of overwhelming sedation. Daniel is not afraid. If anything, he is euphoric. The touch- Armand’s touch- is so unsettlingly familiar and comforting. 

“Now, this seems to be your favorite part.” Armand strokes Daniel’s cheek with his thumb, a look of adoration on his face. Daniel smiles, and Armand feels weak in the knees.

“Hold still, beloved.” Armand whispers in Daniel’s ear as he begins to place kisses on his neck, lips ghosting over the scars. 

Daniel’s so turned on he can’t see straight. He whimpers and his body begins to tremble against Armand’s, as he pulls him closer.

“Perhaps this will jog your memory.” Armand purrs.

The blinding pain takes Daniel off guard, if only for a second. He yelps and writhes as Armand holds him still. The adrenaline spike jolts every nerve in Daniel’s body, and then comes the rush. 

“Fuuuck.” Daniel’s voice is distorted in his own ears. He gasps as Armand drinks from him, his limbs go limp, and he succumbs to the mind-blowing pleasure. 

Armand knows when to stop. He always knows when to stop; he is well-practiced in such matters. He slows his intake, relishing in the delicious sounds of Daniel’s undoing. The way Daniels moans and sobs echoes through the large room. He loves the press of Daniel’s erection against his leg, the way he feels every throb and pulse as Daniel’s body fights with all its strength to keep its dwindling blood supply focused on his pleasure. Just as Daniel begins to twitch and tense in the way Armand has become so acquainted with as a warning, he heals the punctures and pulls away.

“C-come back.” Daniel’s hips stutter as he pleads. If he had any control of his limbs, he’d be grabbing for any part of Armand he could reach. More, more, more. His cock is throbbing so hard it hurts. He was so close. He is so close. 

“Do you remember now?” Armand’s face is smeared with Daniel’s blood. His eyes wild and hungry with a manic euphoria.

“Yes.” Daniel whines. “Fuck, yes. Armand.”

“Daniel,” Armand says his name with such sincere fondness that it’s almost comical in contrast with his blood still dripping down his chin.

Daniel writhes on the floor, squirming in anguish. He needs more. Needs touch. Needs to get off. Needs that soothing voice in his ear, hands on his body.

Needs Armand.

“I want– unhh-” Daniel’s chest is heaving with heavy breaths. The desperate look in his eyes has Armand swooning. 

“Hm?” Armand tilts his head. 

“Need you.”

Perfect.