theamazingdrunk-blog

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

“I’m almost hurt,” Daniel grins from underneath his fringe. “And I was gonna teach you how to pick up the words using spoooooky powers, too!” He added the requisite hand effects, in case she misplaced his point.

Jesus, your skinny. That had to have been unhealthy. Wait... Right, it was. Still makes me feel terrible that you weigh less than I do. And I'll never be able to go on a diet. Not fair.

Hang on, what does it matter how much anyone weighs?? Why would you want to go on a diet? 

It’s like you said. I had really unhealthy habits. Sometimes I’d go bourbon only, no gummi bears at all! Getting turned helped sand my rougher edges off, fill out a little, maybe bring back any early crow’s feet from being constantly hounded by a very single-minded little punk. You’ve seen it yourself—I don’t look like I’m wasting away all the time, so I had to have filled out some. 

Armand claims I weighed at most 100 pounds at the time, but unless he slung my dying alcoholic ass onto a scale, I don’t see how he would have been able to tell.

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

Just like that. And of course, what was Daniel Molloy to a creature like Armand? He probably thought everybody left like that, without any good-byes and always Somewhere Else That Wasn’t Near You. 

The pillow was plush against his cheek. For a moment, he had honestly thought Armand had pushed Daniel’s face into his lap for sex. That he was disappointed curled a cringeworthy twang inside him that made his groan echo into the now-empty living room.

Nevertheless. He was horizontal, and that itself was a miracle.

When he opened his eyes again, the afternoon sun was streaming in through the large windows. He told himself to sleep a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes, and then he would rise and cover as much ground before nightfall.

Hours later, like one of the condemned, Daniel picked through his dirty and neglected clothes, gave up, then decided—as he stepped into the hot, steaming shower with a mouthful of toothpaste—that it was too late to flee now, Armand would find him too soon, and if the vampire was going to go back on his word, Daniel might as well do it without morning breath. He closed his eyes and let the hot water unwind his tense shoulders, and took a momentary solace in how this moment had carved itself out for him, when he had entered this house afraid for his life.

Via Persa | Closed

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

The cheese was burning the roof of his mouth. He stilled, heartsick suddenly for something that would ease this deep loss. There was no one to laugh with. The immutable solidity of Armand’s form against him was an undeniable invitation for the bedraggled mortal to slump once more. He finished off his second slice, the first one inhaled without a thought. Was the Thirst really unquenchable? Surely it was satisfied like any addiction, Daniel reasoned.

“I don’t know why,” he said slowly, his words coming ponderously without passing through his mind. “But I’m sorry.” What do you see in me? Daniel wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to this plaintive cry that leapt from his mind. Unless your happy human time was running from bored immortal. His eyelids drooped. His stomach was busy and full.

“I’m a pretty average human.” If every human life is beautiful why won’t you prolong mine? “I can tell you it’s nothing compared to even the experience of being fed on.” A part of Daniel stretched at the shameful deliciousness of that peculiar disorientation, that prey-like trance that overtook him when Louis and Armand had pinned him beneath their jaws. 

The predatory instinct of it made Daniel shiver to be so close to those fangs, and with them, the prospect of losing his life in the only meaningful way left to him, he who was so divorced already from the natural cycles of social gesture.

Something caught the corner of his eye. Momentarily blinded by the food and Armand, Daniel hadn’t seen the figure slumped in the armchair. Now it was horrifyingly impossible to ignore. Was he dead? 

“Jesus Christ.” How long had he slumped there? Since Armand had gotten the pizza, no doubt. It was ludicrous to Daniel suddenly that the pizza should still smell good when the corpse before him had held it not minutes before.

A half-laugh escaped him and his exhausted nerves thrummed against one another in their febrile delirium. What were they going to do with the body? Would he make Daniel touch it, hold it, get rid of it? Like a test? Sometimes Daniel couldn’t fathom how Armand’s byzantine mind worked. The threat of violence and death had led Daniel to cut off ties to friends and family. Silence kept them safe from Armand’s inquisitive mind. But that left Daniel adrift, sitting alone in a stranger’s home, talking out loud to two dead boys.

The loneliness, sharp and sudden, pinned him to the sofa beside this perfect facscimile of a young man, a boy. There was something wrong in it, that someone like Armand should ever suffer the violent life of a vampire. And yet his anachronisms were so darkly comedic in exactly the way Daniel appreciated that he could not help but be forgiving and patient and secretly charmed by Armand’s innocent ignorance.

How long had he been minutely putrefying beside the threadbare vagabond and his unholy pursuer? How long had it been since Daniel had talked to anybody at length besides Armand? How long would it be until Daniel could hunt at Armand’s side and arrange his own macabre tableau?

Via Persa | Closed

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

“You’re telling me every vampire misses having to stand in line at the chemist’s and wiping his ass and having to—mmfr—stuff his face with the lives of other plants and animals just so he can move? I’m not buying it,” Armand’s mortal decided, resting comfortably now that his stomach had something to do. Daniel found himself sinking into a post-eating haze, and for a moment it felt like his old girlfriend Jessica, who had hair almost that same color, not as lustrous of course, but she’d lean against Daniel just like this while they watched trashy sci-fi television programs. 

But Daniel had never run away from Jessica. He stilled, suddenly keenly aware of this stone weight against him, like marble that was soft to the eye and hard to the touch, and all the more reassuring for its immobility. Its permanence. For a wanderer like Daniel, such a moveable statue offered an anchor he had never truly enjoyed before, one he could bear to see again and again so long as it was in a different city on a different street. Jesus, what’s wrong with me?

He swallowed, hard, dry, and reached for another slice.

“What other human things do you miss?” he asked, trying to sound casual, painfully aware Armand could read his every thought while also whole-heartedly enjoying the food warming him from the inside out.

Via Persa | Closed

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

“Something that will interest you,” Daniel echoed faintly, caught like startled, frozen prey at the gentle, surreal weight of Armand’s head on his shoulder. His gaze sidled downwards to outline the graceful curls of that hair, just out of the corner of his eye. He tried to imagine the Holy Grail beneath, past the impossible impervious cranium down the muscles into the heart. Where was the magic? More to the point, would he ever give it to Daniel?

“What about things that interest me?” he asked suddenly, acutely feeling the ponderous weight of Armand’s centuries, huddled so close to him while scalding cheese burned a hole in his thighs. Interesting things, like not being stalked across the world, and having a long-term zip code, and not having to do odd jobs for housing or food? Speaking of which... Automatically his hands reached down and nudged open the pizza box, then folded a slice for delivery into his mouth. 

“Does it smell good to you?” Daniel mumbled, though his body seemed to know what to do as it shoveled more food into his mouth. Do you miss eating? Daniel couldn’t imagine what a freedom that was, not to maintain a slowly decaying body, going through the rough vicissitudes of modern life, risking death with every pedestrian crossing. He was past caring what it tasted like. What was the point, if Armand wanted his transport to be healthy only because he needed entertainment?

"Do you miss any...human things?”

Via Persa | Closed

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

The soles of his feet throbbed, and nothing seemed heavier in that moment than his spine, weighing him down into the sofa. Sleep, it said. Sleep and pretend this isn’t real. The fear. The loneliness. The stress. A surge of emotion welled in his chest. He had been running for too long, running too thin. Armand had really kept close this time. Don’t you have anything better to do than micromanage me?

It was not a statement that made much sense to his hangry, sleep-addled brain. He resented the doorbell for pulling Armand’s attention away. The mirror held the only familiar face Daniel could recognize anymore. Well, aside from Armand, who moved like a living statue. Impossible to believe this creature made of stars, the same as Daniel, the same indifferent atoms. Did that make the two of them equal? 

The instinctive reflex to call out, to warn the pizza deliverer, to save a fellow human being from death, choked the answer in his throat. Would Armand do it after all? If Daniel rose from the couch, would he see Armand in the entryway, bent over a kneeling mortal like some Hammer horror flick? If I ever snuck a look at you feeding, would you kill me? 

That was when his tired brain finally caught up with the words. He would never last another ten years. Not at this pace. But more to the point, did this mean Armand was not going to kill Daniel for another decade?

"Do you mean to tell me,” he said slowly, knowing at this distance Armand could be on the sidewalk and still hear him, “I could have stopped for a break any time I wanted? That I didn’t have to binge-cram twenty travel books looking for something that would ‘interest’ you?” And now he was standing alone in a dark room, fists at his side, nearly screeching to someone who wasn’t there.

“This is how it starts,” he muttered to himself, folding back into the couch in hopes Armand would deliver a piping hot pizza box directly onto Daniel’s chest like a cardboard table of molten dairy. “Spoiled immortal children forgetting their mortals can’t read minds.” 

When did he become ‘Armand’s mortal’?

Via Persa | Closed

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

“Slow down, grasshopper!” Daniel laughed in the manner of bored people everywhere. “I’d rather set up somewhere than try to chase six different clubs all night. There’s an Eighties band performing at Amuse. We ought to go there. You up for it?”

Jesus, your skinny. That had to have been unhealthy. Wait... Right, it was. Still makes me feel terrible that you weigh less than I do. And I'll never be able to go on a diet. Not fair.

Hang on, what does it matter how much anyone weighs?? Why would you want to go on a diet? 

It’s like you said. I had really unhealthy habits. Sometimes I’d go bourbon only, no gummi bears at all! Getting turned helped sand my rougher edges off, fill out a little, maybe bring back any early crow’s feet from being constantly hounded by a very single-minded little punk. You’ve seen it yourself—I don’t look like I’m wasting away all the time, so I had to have filled out some. 

Armand claims I weighed at most 100 pounds at the time, but unless he slung my dying alcoholic ass onto a scale, I don’t see how he would have been able to tell.

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

"That’s how you know you’re getting old,” Daniel said, laughing. “You spend all your time talking about how old you are!”

Jesus, your skinny. That had to have been unhealthy. Wait... Right, it was. Still makes me feel terrible that you weigh less than I do. And I'll never be able to go on a diet. Not fair.

Hang on, what does it matter how much anyone weighs?? Why would you want to go on a diet? 

It’s like you said. I had really unhealthy habits. Sometimes I’d go bourbon only, no gummi bears at all! Getting turned helped sand my rougher edges off, fill out a little, maybe bring back any early crow’s feet from being constantly hounded by a very single-minded little punk. You’ve seen it yourself—I don’t look like I’m wasting away all the time, so I had to have filled out some. 

Armand claims I weighed at most 100 pounds at the time, but unless he slung my dying alcoholic ass onto a scale, I don’t see how he would have been able to tell.

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

“Boring’s boring,” Daniel shrugged, but without much rancor. 

“You can party with any kind of music, but classical doesn’t get the body moving. Not our ‘20th century bodies,’ anyway,” he added, chuckling to himself about Armand.

Jesus, your skinny. That had to have been unhealthy. Wait... Right, it was. Still makes me feel terrible that you weigh less than I do. And I'll never be able to go on a diet. Not fair.

Hang on, what does it matter how much anyone weighs?? Why would you want to go on a diet? 

It’s like you said. I had really unhealthy habits. Sometimes I’d go bourbon only, no gummi bears at all! Getting turned helped sand my rougher edges off, fill out a little, maybe bring back any early crow’s feet from being constantly hounded by a very single-minded little punk. You’ve seen it yourself—I don’t look like I’m wasting away all the time, so I had to have filled out some. 

Armand claims I weighed at most 100 pounds at the time, but unless he slung my dying alcoholic ass onto a scale, I don’t see how he would have been able to tell.

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

'So Armand does talk about me,” Daniel quipped, then continued, “Terrible taste in what? People? Clubs? Music? I object to all three accusations!”

Jesus, your skinny. That had to have been unhealthy. Wait... Right, it was. Still makes me feel terrible that you weigh less than I do. And I'll never be able to go on a diet. Not fair.

Hang on, what does it matter how much anyone weighs?? Why would you want to go on a diet? 

It’s like you said. I had really unhealthy habits. Sometimes I’d go bourbon only, no gummi bears at all! Getting turned helped sand my rougher edges off, fill out a little, maybe bring back any early crow’s feet from being constantly hounded by a very single-minded little punk. You’ve seen it yourself—I don’t look like I’m wasting away all the time, so I had to have filled out some. 

Armand claims I weighed at most 100 pounds at the time, but unless he slung my dying alcoholic ass onto a scale, I don’t see how he would have been able to tell.

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

“Bit much, even for you?” Daniel asked ruefully. And you’re probably older than that story. Giving up on the cigarette, he crumpled it into the pocket of his sad, unwashed jeans and took on some of the travel-weary burden his clothing always seemed to carry.

“Now waitaminute, buddy. You told me to keep you interested. That means this is my show, and on this show, Daniel gets alcohol and cigarettes, got it? You give me enough cigarettes and I can show you the world, baby.” Jesus, I really am tired, aren’t I? You ever smoke? He finally took a seat, daringly, on the sofa, in the darkness, feeling his long-delayed exhaustion sink in at last. Though he was fresh out of the bath, his feet ached and he was beginning to realize he had never been so aware of his knees before. Or his shins.

“So what is this, exactly?” he asked, taking out the crumpled cigarette on reflex. Daniel peered at Armand, luminous even in the darkness, an apparition just as he had always seemed. “An all-pizza-paid vacation? Does that make you my boss now? Instead of a pink slip it’s a pair of fangs?”

Via Persa | Closed

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

As he watched Armand give a pizza order his brain was too exhausted to decipher—better be grilled chicken and pesto—or even mushrooms—Daniel felt his muscles relax in slow, disbelieving measures. 

His throat would not let him forget that this was a predator before him, with a venom so sublime Daniel still could not recall whether Armand had ever broken skin. And yet Daniel had lain, discarded, neglected, stored until Armand re-emerged to issue his one missive, ‘Run’. It was as if he was a piece of merchandise, on—

“—layaway,” he muttered out loud to himself, rummaging through his pocket and coming up with a sad, crumpled, half-smoked cigarette. Good enough. His book of matches was wet, and he cast his eyes around the darkened room for a lighter of some kind. Didn’t Manolo smoke? Or what was his name? Pietro? No, Pietro was from...somewhere else.

With some frustration, Daniel raked his fingers fitfully through his hair while the world pitched around him as if at sea. He was absolutely famished, and it had finally caught him with a hook gouging at the walls of his empty stomach. I need a drink. He found himself thinking that more and more, though he rarely had any alcohol on hand whenever the occasion arose, and it wasn’t really a drink he needed, anyway.

He wasn’t so sure that excuse would hold out for much longer. In his family, you needed an excuse not to drink. 

“Can a guy get a light around here?” he asked the darkness without thinking, for providence at this point was as likely to deliver a fire as yet another frightening revelation about Daniel’s inevitable mortality.

“Is it private for you, the killing?” The murder? It was somehow less horrifying, to think it, even though Armand was still, as ever, the only one to hear. The vampire had made sure of that. A chill struck him suddenly. Their bodies could still be here, waiting for Daniel, like that old story about Bluebeard and his rooms of corpses. But my bridegroom has not claimed me yet... 

“Is that the real reason why you won’t show me?” What more do I have to fear from you? Crime scene photos, pulled hurriedly from Daniel’s memory, grisly affairs, the old smell of blood and grime—Surely Armand had seen worse, yes, done worse, yes, but Daniel was far from a stranger to such grand guignol. 

He raised the cigarette to his lips, if only for the comforting feel.

Via Persa | Closed

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

With relief, Daniel opens the door for Rose, the movement coming easily to him as he gestures inside. By the time the car gets rolling, the older vampire is thumbing through his smartphone contact list, putting out feelers for tonight’s revelry.

“This ain’t my first rodeo,” he remarks with a raise of his eyebrows. “I know my way around all kinds of ass, jackasses and badasses included.”

Jesus, your skinny. That had to have been unhealthy. Wait... Right, it was. Still makes me feel terrible that you weigh less than I do. And I'll never be able to go on a diet. Not fair.

Hang on, what does it matter how much anyone weighs?? Why would you want to go on a diet? 

It’s like you said. I had really unhealthy habits. Sometimes I’d go bourbon only, no gummi bears at all! Getting turned helped sand my rougher edges off, fill out a little, maybe bring back any early crow’s feet from being constantly hounded by a very single-minded little punk. You’ve seen it yourself—I don’t look like I’m wasting away all the time, so I had to have filled out some. 

Armand claims I weighed at most 100 pounds at the time, but unless he slung my dying alcoholic ass onto a scale, I don’t see how he would have been able to tell.

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

His brain seemed determined to inform Daniel that a perfectly-formed teenager with a most arresting beauty was clutching with unfamiliar fingers the handle of a telephone as if in imitation of an unseen mentor. The anachronism of the tableau made Daniel realize he had been holding his breath from the moment Armand had stirred with such unnatural speed and grace. 

The faint dusting of nearly invisible hair on his arms was rising at the smile in the darkness, whose blinding beauty jumbled every thought Daniel’s weary brain could handle.

"Grilled chicken with spinach and pesto, cornmeal crust,” his mouth said, almost automatically, to those lips in the dimness of the room. The bath had warmed him and now he was hungry and drowsy. Are you listening to me all the time? Does it ever bore you to hear my endless thoughts? I’m giving a pizza order to a vampire in Italy. Is this even Italy? Am I still in Spain? The white apparition seemed to draw in every iota of light to illuminate the bloom of Armand’s beauty. Christ on a cracker, I am so fucked. Does he know that? Do you know that? 

There was one question he would never ask, he decided. Daniel would bury that deep inside. There would be no universe where he succeeded in evading Armand’s pursuit. He never wanted this strange dance to end. But he would not survive being captured, and Daniel had still not shaken that tight hold on self-preservation. He would not stop running, not until they were both ready.

"Would you let me watch?” I could eat while you did it. In the living room. Would you, could you, in this room? Would you, could you, show me doom? He was losing it, surely, ordering pizza and asking to witness the miracle of murder. This is my Body, this is my Blood. Dry wafer layers light and plain on the tongue, Daniel’s altar boy robe scuffed with dirt on the lamé hems. 

If he blinked, would Armand vanish? His eyes watered and he stumbled into the darkened room towards his beautiful doom. whathefuckamidoing—

“Would you let me hold him while he twitched and died in your arms, beneath your fangs?”

Via Persa | Closed

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

Daniel Molloy: Music Headcanon Masterpost (w/ Lyrics)

Daniel Molloy

Blind Curve (Marillion)

Can’t you stay away? Just leave me alone with my thoughts Just a runaway, just a runaway I’m saving myself

Strung out below a necklace of carnival lights Cold moan, held on the crest of the night I’m too tired to fight. So now we’re passing strangers, at single tables Still trying to get over…

Some of us go down in a blaze of obscurity Some of us go down in a haze of publicity The price of infamy, the edge of insanity

Another Holiday Inn, another temporary home And an interviewer threatened me with a microphone ‘Talk to me, won’t you tell me your stories.“

So I talked about conscience and I talked about pain And he looked out the window and it started to rain I thought maybe I’ve already gone crazy So I reached for a bottle and he reached for the door And I picked up the sleeping pills crushed on the floor Inviting me to a casual obscenity.

Music is the Victim (Scissor Sisters)

I left my heart in San Fransisco It’s at some motherfucking disco The people there were dancin’ on it 

Carnival

I’ve walked these streets In a spectacle of wealth & poverty In the diamond market, the scarlet welcome carpet That they just rolled out for me I’ve walked these streets In the mad house asylum they can be Where a wild eyed misfit prophet on a traffic island stopped And he raved of saving me 

Have I been blind / Have I been lost / Have I been wrong / Have I been wise / Have I been strong / Have I been Hypnotized Mesmerized By what my eyes have found In that great street carnival In that carnival?

Armand/Daniel

I Only Love You When I’m Drunk

And I may be a little bit drunk But I know what I’ve got to do ‘Cause when I get a little more sober I know I’ll be over you

Keep reading

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

"You get to stalk me all over the world and I don’t get to call you a creep?” Daniel muttered under his breath as he watched Armand disappear from view. Don’tyouturnyourbackonmenooo—As much as he craved the thrill of the vampire’s presence, his body still knew to relax in increments, as if some restless instinct still fought against Armand’s spell. Two years, three years, Daniel had thought of nothing but Armand and the chase. Jet lag was so constant now that he could scarcely claim it to be an affliction.

This was supposed to be a breather. A way to get his bearings while Armand trailed after him through three countries, four train transfers, and 3 adventurous hitchhikes. Daniel rummaged through his pack of forlorn clothes. He packed light on instinct as a reporter—they had probably fired him by now—and a wanderer even before that fateful night in San Francisco. 

A quick inventory. Two white tee shirts (functional though a bit thick as undershirts) worn twice on both sides, inside and out. Two collared shirts shockingly wrinkled and stained with wine from the back of a generous winemaker’s truck who had picked Daniel up somewhere on the A36 outside Besançon. A dirty pair of jeans, still damp, from the night before, worn for who knows how long, unwashed for how much longer, relying mostly on the rain and Daniel’s all-American grin to excuse any smell. 

The black pair he wore now did not stink as much, though perhaps that was because they were still dry and cold. Once Daniel’s body heat warmed them up, they’d probably smell like wet dog. Socks, darned once and then abandoned, also damp. He pulled on the only other ones he had, a shockingly yellow pair that at least did not smell. 

Armand will say something about it anyway, he thought resentfully. Was Armand reading his mind now? Was Armand always reading his mind? How far apart did they have to be? He tried to ignore the growing realization that he was asking not to know how far he would have to run, but how closely he would have to journey so Armand did not lose his trail. 

"You are so fucked, buddy,” he mumbled to himself, finally picking one of the shirts at random and shoving his only grey sweatshirt over his head. There was an old mustard stain on the elbow he had become fond of, and whenever he wore it, his thumb would pass over the dried scab of food there as if to ground himself. It felt messy and imperfect, like him, as opposed to the immaculate creature waiting below. 

A quick rake of fingers through his hair settled the worst of his uncut fringe, and the warm water had made the ends curl just slightly against his skin and stick there. Daniel rubbed the nape of his neck, then shoved his wallet and passport in his front pocket. He had every right to be offended. Who did Armand think he was?, asked his growling stomach. The lethal threat now removed, Daniel’s body began to remind him of the necessary rituals for maintaining a steadily decaying—dying—human body.

But he suddenly felt a little sorry too, for calling Armand a creep, because it was petty and true and entirely wrong. Under any culture’s visual aesthetic, Armand was beautiful. His physical perfections would have conjured divine ecstasy within Daniel if sheer terror did not blanket everything in his presence. And Daniel would sometimes feel triumph when he looked upon Armand’s deceptively yielding form. Like an angelic vessel for a viewer’s desires, it promised everything, when at its heart, Armand was the one far more deadly and powerful and cruel. And he had triumphed over all others over the centuries. As far as Daniel knew, he had captured the attention of the most formidable vampire there ever was.

And even if Armand behaved like a total creep, he thought a little vindictively, Daniel still loved the electric, throbbing allure of this secret inside a shell that had endured whilst the world rose and fell around it. The secret of Armand was all Daniel’s, wasn’t it, now? The simple hubris of it surprised him. From time to time, Daniel would try to keep Armand out of his thoughts, to plan beyond the desperate randomness of a last-minute change in plans, to throw off the scent. But Armand was inside him all along. 

Pushing these rambling thoughts away, Daniel wandered through the house, pausing at closed doors like Bluebeard’s freshly betrothed. Had Armand disposed of the corpses already? If Daniel opened any of these doors, would he find a rotting pile of host and maid and backpackers? The horror of it was diminishing the longer he dwelt upon the feel of the doorknob in his grasp. Did Armand want him to find them?

He backed away abruptly, shoving aside the reflex to call the police, shoving aside the delicious feel of the gorge rising in his throat at the imagined smell of putrefaction, shoving aside everything but to see Armand again. 

“Definitely fucked,” he said again to himself in the empty hallway.

It was the family photographs on the staircase that hurt. Daniel tried not to look at them as he approached the snug living room. There, that head of hair, that perfect stillness. The hurt inside somehow deepened as Daniel approached. You’re real. You’re real. I’m not crazy. And you won’t kill me tonight. Will you? When it’s time, will you do it yourself, or will you let something else take me? I’d rather it be you. It’s not fair, if it isn’t you.

Instead, he folded his arms and scratched the old mustard stain on his elbow. What time was it? Was anything still open? How long did he have, really? When would he have to run again? The exhaustion was setting in again even though the sleep had done wonders. Daniel hadn’t eaten a full meal in weeks. He had other priorities.

“I am not ordering you a delivery boy. Do your own damn hunting.”

Via Persa | Closed

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

Daniel secretly loved it when Armand spoke in his head, the cool touch with the undercurrent of rot, and a blush of excitement spread across his weary features.  And it was so much easier to understand, somehow, than clumsily uttered words through a travel-gross tongue. His vampire was close enough to touch. If he reached out of the water and brushed his fingers over that hair and that infuriatingly perfect twitch of that corner of his lips, Daniel might feel real at last, and the nightmare would end. 

No. Not nightmare. Didn’t he want this thrill, this adrenaline running through him when he caught sight of that ghostly face across a marketplace stall? The sudden jump inside that sank an anchor straight down to his groin. The last time he’d tried to flirt with someone he couldn’t even get Armand off his mind. If I’m so goddamned preciousnaïvebeautiful why wouldn’t you want this to last? 

But something was pulling Daniel’s furious gaze from the soap bubbles to Armand. He felt himself memorizing those features as if quenching an endless thirst for his presence. Once Daniel ceased to entertain, to be preciousnaïvebeautiful, once all Daniel reminded Armand of was mortality and age and decay, the Dance would end, wouldn’t it? 

He did not think himself a particularly vain man. Others had said he was good-looking before, and he would have been blind not to understand his eyes were an unusual color. But it had been two years? Three years? If not for this momentary détente, Daniel would have collapsed at last, out of food, time, sleep, and options. He was pretty sure his sanity was already depleted.

Had Armand been this perfectly-formed when he was mortal? Daniel strained to imagine him as a child or a baby, a concept so incongruous that he failed to notice the pounding in his ears. There was that irresistible pull again towards Armand’s gaze, the feeling of a millisecond before a fall compounded and stretched out between them, drawing Daniel in. He felt himself tilting—and abruptly the coldness of the tub reached him, and the moment had passed.

Something had distracted Armand, and Daniel searched every inch of his stance to decipher the threat, but then yanked down a nearby bath towel, wrapping it around his waist as he stood up. His brain chose to review that crucial bit in the conversation Daniel was likely to roll over and over in his head to glean some understanding of Armand’s desires.

"You can be a real creep, you know that?” he asked while he stepped out of the tub. Water sluiced off his hair and over his bare chest and shoulders and kissed the cooling air around him. Daniel shivered and glanced towards his clothes. With his eyes on Armand, his hand groped in his pack for his only other pair of jeans and quickly slipped them on under the towel. With automatic gestures, he roughly ruffled his hair dry and rested the towel around his neck to catch any remaining water.

"Word of advice? Don’t go around telling people you can smell them. It makes you sound like...well, a serial killer.” Which you are.

Via Persa | Closed