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In another lifetime, before the two marriages, two divorces, two kids, one and a half stints in rehab, and the Pulitzer, Daniel had been in bed with the most beautiful man he’d ever seen in real life, and he’d been crying.
“Oh, darling,” Armand said, his thumbs warm and gentle on Daniel’s cheeks, the muscles in his stomach and thighs flexing as he drew his body in and out of Daniel at a steady, relentless pace, “that’s so good, you’re doing so good for me. You feel so wonderful. What a good boy.”
A noise came from the back of Daniel’s throat, something he’d never heard from himself before. Sex with Armand wasn’t like sex with other people. Daniel was good at being desperate, on his knees, on his back, whatever. This was unlike any of that, it was like Armand could see parts of Daniel that he didn’t know himself. It was like afterward, when this all came to a brutal end, Daniel would have to live the rest of his life knowing that someone else in the world knew everything there was to know about him, and he would have no recourse. These were the thoughts that would have sent Daniel chasing a different kind of high when he was alone, but for now he pressed his heels hard against the dip of Armand’s back and tried to hang on, his nails in Armand’s shoulder blades as he clenched down where Armand was hot and deep inside him.
Armand swore, something in French or Italian, Daniel could hardly tell the difference when he wasn’t having the best sex of his life. “You feel like a dream,” said Armand, “like you were made for me.” He lowered his head to take Daniel’s nipple between his teeth, and Daniel’s eyes were rolling back and he was coming, the world was Armand, every one of his senses completely filled, overtaken, overcome.
Afterward, he could just lie there, letting Armand find his pleasure in him, watching Armand’s face. And how remarkable, how strange, that they’d done this enough that Daniel could tell from the shape of Armand’s mouth and the flicker in his eye when he would come, seconds before he did, and then his body was warm and heavy on Daniel’s. He lay his cheek on Daniel’s chest, tonguing at the sweat along his collarbone. Daniel wrapped one arm around Armand’s waist and tangled the other hand in his curls. This might have been his favorite part, with Armand still inside him, breathing the same air. The sound of his own pulse still throbbed in his ears, blocking out the outside world.
Armand pressed a lingering kiss to Daniel’s sternum. “Thank you, darling,” he said. “Enchanting.”
Daniel scratched against Armand’s scalp, and Armand’s eyelids flickered. “Mm, last time you said it was exquisite. Should I rank enchanting above or below that?” He felt Armand’s smile on his skin before he saw it.
“Every time with you is better than the last.” Daniel’s face felt feverish with his blush. Before sex, he could be witty and unaffected, playing a familiar game. But afterward, with the things he’d said and the noises he’d made still echoing, he didn’t know what to do with his face and voice, he couldn’t be anyone else. Armand tipped up his chin and Daniel leaned to meet him, his tongue dipping into all the familiar places in Armand’s mouth.
They kissed for a long time.
Daniel pulled back first, gasping. His lips were tingling, god. With Armand, sometimes he felt more like a teenager than he ever had in high school. Armand pressed three more kisses to his jaw and one to his temple before he shifted to his knees, slipping out of him. Daniel tried not to wince, but his face must have given something away because Armand laid his hand on Daniel’s forehead and kissed him again, light but lingering. He stood and walked to the bathroom. The sound of running water.
Daniel stretched out his legs and rolled his shoulders. He needed a moment to remember that this body was his, that he was in control of it. He turned his head from side to side.
Of the many things Daniel was learning in his life with Armand, one was the way that all expensive hotel rooms looked the same. There were certain unique features meant to remind you of what country you were in, but otherwise they all had the same sprawling floor plan, large windows, and inoffensive art pieces. The first time Armand brought him to a place like this, Daniel pocketed the shampoo and body wash, but when he’d used them in the cramped shower in his apartment, with the weak water pressure and mildewing liner, he’d felt cheap himself, grasping at trickles of luxury.
Armand came out of the bathroom with a warm washcloth that he rubbed over Daniel’s stomach and between his legs. He was gentle. In public, Armand was stark lines and angles, always wearing at least one more layer of clothing than was necessary, a sardonic smile. Now, he brushed his thumb over a spot on Daniel’s hip that felt tender, a bruise there forming in the shape of Armand’s mouth. Daniel closed his eyes. Was Armand like this with Louis. The constant question, waiting to bob to the surface during moments like this.
But then Armand’s lips were on the side of Daniel’s neck, sucking, a hint of teeth. Daniel laughed, his hand found its familiar place in Armand’s hair. “Enough nibbling,” he said. “Let’s order room service if you’re hungry.”
Armand brought his mouth to Daniels’ ear. “Whatever you wish. I ran you a bath, if you’d like.” Daniel hummed low in his throat. Armand, sitting between his thighs, his skin slippery, letting Daniel wash his hair.
“Yes please,” he said. “Get in first? I’ll be right there.”
“Okay, darling,” said Armand. Another kiss. Not so long ago, when this all began, Daniel had counted their kisses, amazed every time, never thinking it might be possible to kiss this man so much that he would lose count.
After Armand returned to the bathroom and Daniel heard the soft splashing sounds of him submerging, he stood and raised his arms over his head. Their clothes were scattered throughout the hotel suite, marking their path from the elevator doors to the bed, but Armand’s pants were near Daniel’s feet. He picked them up. Something else he’d learned from Armand: what it felt like to touch pants that cost more than Daniel’s rent.
Daniel fished the slim leather wallet from the front pocket. He opened it. In the place where Armand’s ID should have been, there was a picture instead. Black and white, fading a bit around the edges, a square cut out from a photobooth strip. Daniel still didn’t know where it was taken, impossible to ask, impossible to picture Armand and Louis in a setting where they’d lift that thin curtain and cram into the plastic seat, but there they were. Louis half in Armand’s lap, one hand on Armand’s thigh, the other cupping his face. Armand smiling so wide his eyes were screwed up. Louis’s nose against Armand’s cheek, about to whisper to him or kiss him or both. He was smiling too. They really were beautiful together.
Daniel looked at the picture until his vision lost focus, then he folded up the wallet. It was good that he took this time to look, to remember. He was allowed to forget sometimes, but never for too long. Armand may care for Daniel, but Armand was married to Louis. Armand loved Louis. Armand would choose Louis. Daniel knew this. It was good that he knew about the picture, that he had the reminder. If he remembered how things stood, then when he and Armand reached their inevitable end, it wouldn’t hurt so much.
*
Daniel was wrong about that.
***
Daniel’s train is delayed because someone pulled the emergency brake on a different train as a joke, so he’s stuck between 14th and 23rd for fifteen minutes while a baby screams and the woman next to him elbows him repeatedly in the ribs while she searches for something in her bag. By the time he emerges from his stop, directly into a pack of high schoolers on a field trip wearing matching shirts, he can feel the beginnings of a headache behind his left eye that’s going to follow him through the day.
He’s only going into the office because his editor likes having weekly in-person meetings while he’s writing an article. Walking into the glass skyscraper that houses the offices of the publishing company that owns his magazine always makes him feel a bit like the kind of person whose job involves making obscene amounts of money ultimately traceable to someone else’s suffering.
He checks his email on the elevator. A message from Elise’s school about an upcoming Halloween party that he doesn’t read. A message from his agent that he does. He has a book coming out next month, which means he’s in the hellish stage of receiving daily emails about the media strategy. At least when he does the actual interviews he can have some fun by saying outlandish things.
Daniel’s office is north-facing and has a view of the city that looks like a screensaver. He almost never uses it; when he’s not writing at home, he’s out doing research and conducting interviews. Someone is sitting at his desk now, a woman with dark hair wearing a yellow blazer and reading something on her laptop.
“Hi Joella,” he says, dropping his bag on the floor and taking a seat in the armchair that’s too modern to be comfortable. “Anything interesting happening in the world?”
She doesn’t look up from her screen. “Minor scandal in the governor’s office. That sanitation strike is looking more likely. Oh,” she watches him struggle to plug in his own laptop, “and some fun celebrity gossip.”
Daniel presses his computer’s power button. “If this is another story about how you saw a reality TV person at your gym, I still don’t know who any of those people are.”
He can hear Joella roll her eyes. “Yes, we’re all aware that you spend your free time reading essays about inflation and foreign elections, you’re so much better than the rest of us. But no, this is an actual story in the news, and if you don’t know who these people are, I’ll fall out of my chair.” She takes a sip from her coffee mug for dramatic effect. “Okay, so Louis de Pointe du Lac has been having an affair with Lestat. Like for real. Lestat. Someone filmed them at a club in Miami, and now Louis and Armand are getting a divorce.” Joella was grinning. “See? Genuinely major fucking gossip.” She takes another sip of coffee. “Come on, why are you looking at me like that. You must know Louis and Armand de Pointe du Lac, we ran a profile on them like what, two years ago? And if you try to tell me you don’t know who Lestat is, I will actually laugh in your face.”
Daniel unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth, coughs, swallows, coughs again. “Right, no, yeah, I do, um, I have heard of them. Yes. This stuff, the uh, affair and the. And all that. That’s um, rumors, or. Or what.”
“Oh, no, it’s all confirmed. I watched the video with Lestat, let me tell you, he and Louis are doing everything but actually having sex in that club. And Louis and Armand put out a statement on Instagram, hold on, lemme pull it up.” Joella tapped on her keyboard. “Here we go, let’s see . . . mutually came to the decision . . . great deal of love and respect . . . ask that you please respect our privacy . . . blah blah PR nonsense. And all the media has picked this up. The Times, and I was reading something from the Wall Street Journal about what Armand and Louis will have to do to untangle all their businesses and foundations and everything, it’s actually really interesting. And like half of my TikTok is about this, I’m telling you, you need to get on TikTok, you wouldn’t even be out of place, tons of people in their forties are on there now. Older too.”
She starts talking about an idea she has for an online piece about TikTok as a news source and Daniel nods a lot, makes affirmative noises, and says, right a couple times. The five minute notification for his meeting pops up on his computer, and he leaves Joella in his office. On the way to his editor, he stops in the bathroom. He washes his hands and uses too much paper towel drying them off. He takes out his phone, taps open a new search. He types the letter A. Deletes it. Types an L. Deletes that too.
He washes his hands again, and then he goes to meet his editor.
***
The water was a shade of blue that Daniel hadn’t known existed in nature. It extended in all directions, punctured by the jewel green islands that could have been the setting for a science fiction novel.
Daniel and Armand were staying in a villa where the master bedroom had no walls, just gauzy white curtains that billowed over the sea. Daniel sat on the floor, his feet dangling into the water, a book on the history of populism open in his lap. He turned a page and made a note in the margin. He felt Armand’s hand in his hair before he heard him, and he leaned into the touch.
“I wish you’d use the pool if you want to go in the water,” Armand said. He wore a black swimsuit that was clothing in only the most technical sense of the word.
“Of course, I’m surrounded by the most beautiful water I’ve ever seen, so I’m just going to go jump in a pool,” Daniel said, underlining a passage in his book. Armand began kneading his fingers on Daniel’s scalp, and Daniel leaned against his leg, a firm column of muscle.
“It’s beautiful until a shark bites off your foot,” Armand said.
Daniel tipped back his head to look up at him. “Just the foot? I’d take that, I think. As long as I have my hands I’m okay. I wouldn’t miss a foot.”
“I’d miss it,” said Armand.
“Ah, I knew you had a foot fetish,” said Daniel.
Armand laughed. “I’d like to bring you home in the same condition you arrived in. It would be nice if you shared that objective.”
Daniel wrapped his hand around Armand’s ankle, feeling the hard knob of bone. “Just the same condition? I think we can be a little more ambitious than that,” he said. Armand’s grip had shifted to the back of Daniel’s neck, his fingertips moving in small circles.
“Would you like to have an extra limb? I suppose with a third hand you could do more writing. One hand for the paper, one for the pen, and the third to open doors and such. You’d never have to stop writing.”
“You sound like you’ve thought about this,” Daniel said. “Have ideas for any other physical improvements? If you could change anything about my body, what would it be?” It’s not such an absurd question. For as long as Daniel had known him, Armand had had the kind of money that would have paid for any cosmetic procedure. More definition in his muscles, a face that never wrinkled. But in the past couple years, Armand’s and Louis’s investments had done very well, so well that Daniel had lost his usual reference points to understand their wealth. Armand used to be rich enough to fly Daniel in first class, to fuck him in the penthouse suites of hotels. Now he was rich enough that he and Daniel had flown on Armand’s private jet to the Thai island that Armand had rented for two weeks. He could have bought the island, but he wanted to see if Daniel liked it first. He’d told that to Daniel on the way there, while Daniel was riding him in the jet’s bedroom.
If Daniel wanted it, Armand would buy an island for him. His wealth was so extreme that he didn’t always seem human. Daniel was ten years older than Armand, but he felt childish in comparison, in his studio apartment filled with furniture that other people had left on various curbs. Armand had tried many times to pay for something bigger, in a building with a doorman and quiet neighbors. Armand would have bought Daniel a brownstone if Daniel had given the slightest indication that he’d accept it. Daniel allowed Armand to pay for whatever he wanted for Daniel when they were together, but he tried not to let those gifts spill over into his own life, the one he lived separately from the married man he was fucking. It was hard to maintain that boundary. Armand exerted his own gravity; the world bent around him.
But now Armand was quiet, his fingers still against Daniel’s neck. Maybe he was really considering it, what he’d like to change about Daniel’s body. The limit extended as far as the scientifically possible, which left a lot of room for imagination. Daniel felt a nauseous wave of anxiety that he pushed down with a smile. He tightened his grip on Armand’s ankle.
“I have an idea, you could give me another hole,” he said. “I’ll even let you pick where.”
Armand met his gaze and laughed. He brought his hand around to cup Daniel’s chin, rubbing his thumb along Daniel’s lower lip. “I think I like your holes as they are.”
Daniel sucked at the tip of Armand’s thumb. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re such a romantic.”
“For you, my love,” Armand said, “always.” Daniel wrapped his lips around Armand’s thumb, sucking it into his mouth. Armand made a low noise and stroked Daniel’s cheek with his fingers. The desire that always simmered between them when they were together surged forward, a hot spike in Daniel’s stomach. He tossed his book toward the bed and kicked his feet out of the water, rising to his knees.
Armand’s gaze went heavy and sweet as Daniel pulled down the scrap of fabric that covered him. He was already more than halfway hard, and Daniel took the head into his mouth, a familiar weight on his tongue. Armand tasted salty, even more than usual, like the sea, and Daniel tried to call him a hypocrite without letting him out of his mouth, which just resulted in some tongue movement that made Armand groan and grab Daniel’s head in both hands, pushing his dick down his throat. Daniel’s nose was against the delicate skin at the base of Armand’s cock and he basked in it, the smell and the taste, his eyes watering. When he’d learned how to give blowjobs, in filthy bathrooms and damp alleys, they had been something to endure, a means to an end. Here, hollowing his cheeks and bobbing his head, listening to the gasps above him, the experience was so different that it felt like a different kind of sex act entirely, something that he and Armand were dreaming up in the moment. Surely no one else had ever had sex like this before. If sex was like this for everyone, there would be no reason to do anything else.
Daniel’s eyes slipped shut as he coaxed the muscles in his throat to relax, letting Armand fuck in and out at the pace he set, luxurious and relaxed, claiming what was his. Daniel’s hand scrabbled at the waistband of his own swimsuit and he held his cock in a firm grasp, moaning around Armand.
“Let me see,” Armand said, his voice as rough as if he were the one with a dick down his throat. Daniel pulled his shorts halfway down his thighs and opened his eyes to watch Armand watching him, the rhythm of his hand moving up and down. “That’s beautiful, baby, that’s so good,” said Armand. “You’re incredible, I’m so close and then I’ll take care of you, yes? I’ll make you feel so good.”
I feel good already, just like this, Daniel wanted to say, I would stay like this forever if you’d let me. You could use me like this, use my mouth and my throat, whenever you want. They’re yours. Armand began to thrust with more force, and water gathered at the bottom of Daniel’s eyes, dripping onto his cheeks.
“Perfect, Daniel,” Armand said, “perfect for me. Gorgeous for me, yes, just like that, exactly like,” and then he was coming down Daniel’s throat and Daniel swallowed around him, once, twice. Daniel licked at him as Armand pulled out, catching what wasn’t already inside him. A revelation, how much he liked the taste, how his eagerness to lap up every drop was genuine. Armand was moaning through his words, using every endearment he knew, only half of them in English. He knelt beside Daniel, their eyes suddenly at the same height. Armand kissed him, deeply, his hand replacing Daniel’s on his dick, and Daniel gasped. The different shape of Armand’s hand, the palm larger but the fingers more delicate, the expert flicks of his wrist as he pulled Daniel to the edge. Then he placed his other hand to the center of Daniel’s chest and pushed gently, guiding Daniel to his back and settling between his thighs. He lowered his head, his tongue flicking out, then looked up at Daniel through his lashes, predator and prey in one.
He smiled. “My turn.”
***
Daniel makes it through the meeting with his editor, a brief talk with the fact checker who worked on his last article, and the journey back down the elevator. The shadows are long with the late afternoon, and he’s shivering, goosebumps up his arms. He zips his jacket as high as it will go. If he concentrates, he imagines that he can feel his lungs inflating with his breaths. His body is a knowable object. He’s standing still, looking at his phone. He should call his daughters. It’s Tuesday, so Elise will be at ballet, but Natalie should be home from school now, he should call her, he should-
His phone lights up in his hand with an incoming call. A number that he hasn’t seen in a long time, a number that he shouldn’t have recognized.
He answers. “Hello Louis.”
“Daniel. Congratulations. The new book is excellent.” His voice, the same voice as the young man who’d first whispered in his ear at a bar in a city built at the edge of a different ocean. Daniel takes a left, starts walking toward the river.
“I would say thank you,” he says, “except of course it’s not coming out for another month, so unless you’ve become a book critic you really should have no idea if it’s any good or not.”
Louis’s laughter is like syrup. “Not quite,” he says. “How are you, Daniel?”
“I should be asking you. I’m the expert on divorce you know, although your marriage did manage to last longer than both of mine combined.”
There was a noise like a sigh. “I was wondering if you’d heard.”
“Yeah, well, it would seem that your relationship drama sets off seismic ripples in the universe. Or at the very least causes the Dow to drop a few points. Those tremors reach even my ears.” The river is rough today, the ferry rocking in the waves. “Getting filmed kissing your ex-boyfriend at a club, really? I’d ask what happened if I thought there was any chance of an honest answer.”
“I’d like to tell you the story,” Louis says, “but I think you should hear it from Armand first.”
“Armand.” Daniel didn’t mean to say his name. It hangs in the air, long enough for Daniel to know that Louis won’t say anything else until he does. “Does - Is he there now?”
“That’s what I’m calling about, actually,” Louis says. “I don’t suppose Armand is there? With you?”
“Here?” Daniel looks over his shoulder, as if he might see anyone other than the stream of runners and parents with strollers. He shakes his head hard enough to shake lose his brain. It’s ridiculous, the way he’s acting right now. “I’m not sure what you’re saying. You thought Armand would be here, with me?”
“I thought he might be,” Louis says. Someone is laughing in the background, a child’s voice, a girl. “I guess this is obvious, but we don’t exactly know where he is.”
Daniel stops, sits on a bench facing the water. The sun is in his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“The last time I saw him was yesterday. We had,” Louis laughs, a painful sound, “we had a fight. And now he’s gone. He didn’t take any of the cars or the jet, he’s not at any of our homes, and he doesn’t have Michael or James with him.” His personal security. Daniel closes his eyes. He presses the side of his hand against his eyelids until green spots float through the black field of his vision.
“But you two issued a statement,” Daniel says. “Together I thought.”
“Yes, that statement has been drafted for weeks now. I know it looks like that stupid video is triggering the separation, but it was already in motion. I do want to explain all of this to you, Daniel, you deserve that.” The girl’s laughter is louder, closer. “Hold on a minute,” Louis says, and then the noises cut off as he puts the call on mute. Daniel listens to the sound of his own breathing, and the river beating against the pier. He should ask how Louis is doing, whether he’s in San Francisco or with Lestat. He’s had nine years to get over his resentment, and he’s almost fifty. He can be an adult about all of this. Louis’s voice returns. “Sorry about that, that was. Well look, I’ll explain everything. And I didn’t want to worry you, I don’t think there’s any reason to be alarmed, I just thought he might be with you. That’s all.”
Daniel tries to make a noise like a laugh. “He’s not. And I wouldn’t expect him to be. I can think of a couple thousand places he’ll go before he comes here. And even then, it’s not like he’s going to turn up at my door.”
“Yes. Well,” Louis says. “Regardless, you’ll call me if you do hear anything, yes?”
“Yeah, sure,” says Daniel, “but if I hear anything, it’ll probably be from you.” He inhales loud enough that Louis can probably hear it. “And you’re alright, Louis? Everything’s fine?”
“Yes,” says Louis. Daniel thinks he can hear a smile, but he can’t be sure. “Yes, I’m alright. Everything is - it’s all good. Thank you, Daniel.” Rustling noises, like paper or leaves. “I need to make another call, but let’s stay in touch. Armand will turn up soon enough.”
“Okay, right,” Daniel says. “Bye Louis.” He ends the call. His phone is hot in his hand. He stares at the screen as the seconds become minutes, but it stays dark. Before he returns his phone to his pocket, he turns on the volume.
***
“Would you ever write a story about yourself?” Armand asked.
“Hm, it depends. Like an article?” Daniel said. They were in the house in Stockholm, and Daniel had spent the day interviewing some of the victims of a massive Ponzi scheme orchestrated by a German financier based in New York. They were flying back to the United States the next day, so that Daniel could meet with him at a prison in Brooklyn. For the moment, Daniel was lying with his head in Armand’s lap, watching snow fall through the wall of windows.
“Yes, or a book. You know, autobiography. A memoir.”
Armand’s thighs are very warm beneath Daniel’s head. He could fall asleep like this. “I don’t know, I haven’t thought much about it. I might, but I’d have to know the story I wanted to tell. I can’t think of what that would be now. Or, it’s all a jumble of things, nothing remotely coherent enough to take on a narrative shape.”
“Do you think you could write a book about anyone?” Armand asked. His voice sounded far away, and his eyes were closed.
“Well everyone has a story,” Daniel said. “I only needed to interview ten or so people to figure that out. Having a story isn’t the same as being able to fill a book with that story, but there are other ways to do that. Broader themes to connect with, situating in context, time and place, things like that.” Armand’s hand was lying on Daniel’s stomach and Daniel threaded their fingers together, so they could both feel his breath move his body.
“Would you put my story in a book?” Armand asked. His fingers had tightened around Daniel’s, but his eyes were still closed. Daniel wondered if Armand realized that his whole body had wound tight, about to spring.
What was Armand’s story. A billionaire married to another billionaire, a former friend to the most famous musician in the world, a man who looked like he had walked out of an oil painting, curls gleaming under a constant sun. And all that money, where did it come from. Various investments and business interests, yes, but Armand had been wealthy for as long as he’d been an adult. He had no apparent family, and his mentions of his childhood were vague enough to be impossible to verify. As far as Daniel could tell, Armand hadn’t had a last name before he married Louis.
Daniel had contacts he could turn to for particularly difficult research, people who could find any information that was capable of being found. Daniel had been tempted, early on, to use those contacts to learn more about the man who had become a frequent companion in his bed and his life. But then there were the hints, glimpses of who Armand had been. The scars, neat and uniform, on the bottom of his feet, the backs of his knees, under his arms. The way that his face would lose all expression if Daniel said anything about his appearance in bed, if he called him beautiful at all. It was enough for Daniel to form suspicions, enough for him to know that Armand’s story was his to give, not Daniel’s to uncover.
And maybe this conversation was a sign that Armand was ready to begin giving him that story, but in that moment Armand had the posture of a man awaiting a death sentence, so Daniel brought his hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. “I could put your story in a book,” he said, “but I’d have to interview you. And my first question would be who is the sexy man you’ve been sleeping with for the last five nights.”
Armand smiled. He began to unbutton Daniel’s shirt with his other hand, his fingers trailing along the newly exposed skin. “Oh, him,” he said, “just some guy my husband picked up in a bar.”
Daniel’s mouth made a sour shape and he moved his jaw back and forth, focusing on the feeling of Armand’s fingers against his nipples. “Okay, second question. What are you planning to do with him tonight?” Armand flicked open the button on Daniel’s pants, then moved his hand lower, cupping him through the fabric.
“Who says I’m doing anything with him,” he said, taking his hand away and squeezing Daniel’s thigh. “I think I’ll have an early night tonight, I could use a little extra sleep.”
Daniel sat up and tried to turn his smile into a pout that he pressed against Armand’s neck, kissing him beneath his jaw. “Then third question,” he said, “isn’t the sex with this man the best you’ve ever had?”
Armand grabbed his chin and pulled him until their foreheads touched. “Looking for a compliment?” he asked.
Daniel grinned. “I just know how much you like giving them.”
Armand kissed him, quick and firm. “Let’s see what you have for me to compliment, then.”
Daniel finished tugging off his clothes while Armand dug into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of lube. Daniel laughed at the sight. “Always within reach,” he said.
Armand snapped open the cap, rubbed a bit between his fingers. “I knew once we got started I wouldn’t want to leave you.”
Daniel straddled Armand’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. They kissed and kissed and kissed. How did it never get old, this feeling. Once Daniel started kissing Armand, pulling away from him took physical effort. He had never felt anything like Armand’s lips. He had never tasted anything like his mouth.
Armand’s hand, running long strokes along Daniel’s spine, became more purposeful, dipping beneath his ass. At the feeling of the first finger inside him, Daniel took a long breath, his lips going slack beneath Armand’s. The second finger was quick to follow, and then Armand took his time, circling and pushing deeper and deeper, prodding and pulling away while Daniel shook in his lap, his moans turning to whimpers.
“Yes, sweetheart,” Armand said, kissing him, “let me hear you, I love those noises, yes, that’s so good.” He used a third finger, pressing right against the spot that made Daniel whine and bite Armand’s shoulder. “I know, I know,” Armand said. “Think you can come just like this, just on my fingers?” Daniel nodded against the side of Armand’s neck, wordless but it didn’t matter because Armand knew he could do it because they’d done it before, because Daniel would do anything that Armand asked of him, and so he let himself drift on the sensations, Armand’s fingers inside him, his lips on Daniel’s cheeks, in his hair.
If he could ever put their story into words, Daniel thought, he would be able to fill a book. He would be able to fill an entire library.
***
When Daniel exits the subway, the sky is the deep blue of nighttime in the city. He picks up takeout on his way home. When he gets to his building, he checks his mail before climbing the stairs to his third floor apartment. A one bedroom now, he’s really made it. It’s dark inside. The kitchen sink is still dripping water every few seconds.
He switches on the television and sits in front of it with his laptop and food. The local news is playing the usual highlights: nightmarish crime, incompetent governments, weather forecast for the weekend.
Daniel turns on his computer and opens the document of collected notes for his latest article, a piece on the landlords bending housing laws to evict tenants in rent-controlled apartments. He moves a few lines around, highlights the quotes he wants to include verbatim, and then begins writing. He starts on the scene of a young family in Mott Haven, three kids under the age of five, parents working two jobs each, then shifts to housing court, the public interest attorney who uses a wheeled suitcase to carry all the case files she needs that day.
Daniel’s best writing is done in a sort of fugue state. No drugs involved, not anymore, but still his fingers seem to detach from the circuitry connecting them to his brain, and he writes without seeing, without really thinking about the words. He’s not writing like a journalist, or an editor, or a reader. He’s just writing, letting the story tell itself, and when he reads it back later he’ll start to make sense of what’s on the page.
And then, after ten minutes of writing, thirty, more, he pulls himself up from under the surface. He reads over his last paragraph.
And of course I begged for it because that was all I knew how to do with you. Do you remember that, me on my knees, asking you to leave him. Or does it blur into all the other times I was on my knees for you, asking you to put your cock in my throat, my ass. Asking you to take everything I was and use me up. Before you, I thought I had no interest in monogamy. It was boring, constricting, limiting. I never wanted marriage. I just wanted to know that when you went home, it wasn’t to someone else. And yes, that was too much to ask for, and I asked for it anyways, and you said no until I guess you got tired of saying anything to me. And now look what happened. You stayed with him and still he left you. So if you come back now I can live forever knowing that I was your second choice and you
Daniel blinks. He puts his hand on his throat. His skin is hot; his pulse jumping under his fingers. A gameshow is playing on the TV, something with a glossy set and ominous music. The cursor blinks on his screen. Daniel highlights everything he’s just written and presses the delete key.
Armand is at a resort in Brazil, a ski lodge in Switzerland, a casino in Singapore. He is not in New York. He is not thinking about Daniel. There is no reason to suspect that Armand has thought of Daniel once in the past nine years. It’s been a long time since Armand made Daniel feel like a teenager going through his first crush, but here he is, brain buzzing with static and the crescent moon impressions of his fingernails deep in his palms. Stupid. Armand is singular in many ways, including in his ability to make of Daniel a complete fool.
Daniel turns off the TV. He washes the dishes, and then he cleans the sink, the citrus scent of the cleaning fluid bright in the air. He puts on a load of laundry. He picks up the stack of mail on the counter, sorts out the junk mail for the trash, stashes the rest of it in a drawer to handle later. He flosses, brushes his teeth, spends some time prodding the lines around his eyes and examining his hairline for signs of retreat. He straightens the duvet, hangs up a sweatshirt lying on the floor. He sits on his bed, looks through the half-finished books piled on the nightstand.
The buzzer sounds.
Daniel walks to the door. The green numbers on the oven read 12:04. Daniel is outside of his body, he’s watching his hand drift up to the intercom, he’s thinking of the morning the Pulitzers were announced, of what he felt when he saw Louis’s number on his phone screen hours ago.
He presses the button. “Hello?”
And it’s the end of a romance movie, it’s the notes of an orchestra tuning, it’s the smell of rain about to fall.
It’s Armand’s voice.
“Hello Daniel. I’ve missed you.”