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"Curiosity
One quick moment to crane the neck
I've always possessed the insatiable need
to see what happens inside
the room"
"In torture,
the world is reduced to a single room"
—The Body in Pain (1985)
"Heaven has forsaken the masturbator"
—Perverts by Ethel Cain
The room where it started, 1973.
"What's this," mused Armand, having caught Daniel in a prayer. "The damned trying to find God."
Daniel's torturer had left him collapsed on the floor after their last interrogation. All Daniel could hear during this moment of reprieve was his own wheezes, the woman singing prayer songs on the television being overrun by static, and the quiet click of a door being shut. He didn't know how long he spent curled up in fetal position before the shakes ceased and he dared to wobble onto his knees.
The room spun even as he moved at a snail's pace; low blood sugar. Low blood levels in general. It had all poured down his front. Now it was all dried up and cakey, flaking off his clothes whenever he dared to move a finger. What a waste, he had thought. Maybe if he thought like a vampire, he could survive one.
And then he was on his knees. A familiar position for him, but not like this. He looked around the room. The sofa, the television, the kitchen island. They all had a funny look to them, the edges of them obliterated, less dense than usual. Armand's chair was the only piece of furniture which held any weight to it at all.
Ignoring the body wrapped in cellophane at the corner of the room, Daniel hunched over and planted his elbows on the floor. Wound his fingers tightly together. Closed his eyes. He began to pray.
He stopped, now. Lowered his hands, and dared to look up at Armand through a sweat-slick brow.
While Daniel had only gotten filthier and paler by each day that went, Armand looked the same. No sweat rings around his armpits, no dark rings beneath his huge insect eyes. No body odour, either. No, it was Daniel's own stench stinking up the place, although the smell of Louis' burnt flesh lingered on the nose. So did their friend in the corner. All three of them were in some state of decay, and there was a fucked up sense of camaraderie in that.
Not Armand, though. Armand was unblinking, unmoving, unchanging. Static.
He looked down at Daniel as if he was nothing.
It was difficult to describe this specific look. Armand did not emote much. There was no snarl on his face. No furrow to the delicate brows. Sometimes when Daniel would simply look at him, shivers would crawl up and down his spine. It was unnatural for such a pretty face to be so emotionless. Armand surely could move his facial muscles, if he wanted to. Daniel wasn't afforded the luxury of being allowed to pretend to talk to a person.
Back in the day, when his old man wasn’t drunk off his ass or beating him with a belt, he liked to dish out fatherly advice. Molloy Senior had warned him once that a woman’s mouth was shaped so nicely so she could more easily deceive men. A broad can smile and laugh so sweet that she’ll rot your teeth, but don’t be fooled, he'd say. Look into her eyes, son, they never lie, he'd say. Those eyes in Armand’s sockets were vacant and filled with contempt at the same time. They were ancient and complicated. They made him feel small in a way only his father could.
Daniel opened his mouth; no words came out. His throat was too dry. He was starving.
The vampire's head cocked to the side. His curls moved with him. "Your mother and father fought often about God in your household. One believed in a different denomination than the other, but you believed in neither. Why the change of heart?"
Daniel was so fucking scared that he couldn't move. Couldn't think. He heaved a deep breath through his nose and tried anyway.
"I didn't believe in vampires, and here we are," he said, monotone. "Maybe I'd give God another try."
Armand was not amused. "He won't save you. He never does when it matters."
"Speaking from past experience?" he said without thinking.
That face did not move, but the look in his eyes changed.
"Which God did you pray to?"
"Aren't they all the same?"
"That is not my question, and you know it," Armand rebutted. "Which God would bother saving you?"
The static of the tv did not stop. It continued to crack like electricity in the air.
All of them, he could say. Religion is big on forgiveness, right? I know I'm an asshole, but at least I'm not a murderer like you. Which God would save you, huh?
The body was still in the corner of the room. When Daniel opened his mouth, no words came.
This time, Armand cracked a hint of a smile. It was a very small, yet pleased thing. Made the angular planes of his face a tad more gentle, even if his words were anything but. "Daniel, stop deluding yourself. None of them are coming to save you. God doesn’t save rotten boys like you."
"Come on, I'm not that bad," he argued, even if the words rang true in between his ribs.
Armand hummed. "You're not much of anything."
And the truth in that stung. Here with his knees on the floor, hair unwashed and body wrecked with abstinence, Daniel didn't feel like much of anything, either.
Already bored, the vampire began to walk across the room. Daniel had to remind his treacherous eyes not to follow his figure, the graceful slope of his spine, his long legs. How his heels tapped against the creaky floorboards.
Armand went to retrieve his satchel. It was abandoned by the kitchen island, brown leather old and weary. Daniel had forgotten the thing existed.
"Are you robbing me?" Daniel asked, exasperated, as Armand began to loot through his belongings.
Daniel's American Spirits appeared from the satchel. The blue packaging was torn on the sides. Well loved. Armand took out two cigarettes and the one he placed between his lips. The second he threw on the floor. Then the lighter. Daniel scrambled on all fours to retrieve them both.
The cigarette had been dropped on the spot where he had bled out, but he didn't care. He put the filter to his mouth and the faint nicotine along the wetness of his lip made his lungs soar. Who needed food or a soft place to sleep when you could have a buzz? Then his hand went for the lighter, his holy grail. He held it under his cigarette but it wouldn't flick a flame no matter how many times he tried. Motherfucker, he grumbled, tilting his head to the side as if it was the angle which was at fault.
Frustration began to build, clouding his world until all he could see was salvation rolled in flammable paper. His hands began to shake. It was as if the presence of nicotine sharpened his awareness of how badly abstinence treated him to begin with. He hadn't noticed it when Armand had walked close and bent down on his haunches, making them eye level with each other.
The sudden proximity made him startle, then flinch away. But Armand's posture was relaxed. Shoulders slightly hunched, elbows supported by his knees, hands loose.
A small flame appeared on Armand's fingertip. He held it halfway to Daniel's cigarette, and wondrously, Daniel chased that flame, only for Armand to pull it away. Daniel followed. Armand pulled away again, his fingertip going this way and that way, teasing him.
And in the end Daniel didn't get it. Armand stood up and sat on his chair, leaning back on its spine as his legs spread apart. Sadistic amusement glowed in his eyes.
"Really mature," Daniel grumbled.
The vampire didn't respond right away. His cherry lit itself, the color not unlike the burning amber of his eyes. Armand inhaled the smoke, before taking the cigarette between his artfully arched pointer and middle finger, and breathed the cancer out. The air sweetened with its smell.
“Hey God, I know we haven’t talked in a while but I could really use a blessing right now,” said Armand, but it was not Armand's vague British accent that came out of his mouth. It was Daniel's lazy cadence, his Valley drawl. “If you get me out of this alive I’ll never suck another dick again. I’ll go to church or the synagogue or both. I'll marry a nice girl and we'll get three kids and I'll name'em Christianity, Judaism and Islam, just to cover all the bases. And if I’m really that much of a lost cause, please just get me a cigarette.”
Then, back to his own accent— if he even had his own accent to begin with, Armand mused, "You prayed for a cigarette, but not the flame. Shortsighted, no?"
"Let me guess, you're gonna ask if that's what makes me fascinating?" asked Daniel, chewing on the filter for reprieve.
His gut churned. Daniel could act as much as a smartass as he wanted, but at the end of the day he was the one on his knees, not Armand. He was the one begging for his life and a cigarette, too. Not Armand. Maybe that is why the vampire chanced another small, smug smile. There was no universe where he didn't have the upper hand, and they both knew it.
"Even within the safety of your own mind, your prayer was sardonic. As if you had already decided that no one was listening." Another drag. Another exhale. "This is where your atheism stems from, no? It has nothing to do with your belief. You already know He doesn't believe in whatever sliver of goodness is left in you, so why bother?"
"You listened."
"I am not God."
"So why do you get to decide whether I'm worth saving?"
"I am not deciding anything. It makes no difference to me whether you live or die. You are absolutely worthless to me." A pause. Then, a tilt to the head. "You are hard."
At that, Daniel's head dropped.
He was. He'd tried to ignore it, but the smell of nicotine made him think of sex. Being on his knees for this long made him think of sex. He was not immune to the way Armand looked above him, either.
Daniel stared down at his own knees, ears burning bright red with shame. He didn't understand, even now, why his body reacted this way. Scared for his life, chewed on like an old toy, degraded down to nothing. But it was the degradation that made his core burn brighter. His fingers curled into the fabric of his pants. "Can I? Please?"
There were not enough psychiatrists in the world to figure out what was wrong with him. One stupid question away from being maimed to death, and he asked it anyway.
A part of Daniel expected to be punished for the transgression, just as he had been earlier. He expected to be accused of bartering with desire and being thrown onto the nearby wall as consequence, but that was not what happened.
Armand ashed his cigarette. "I don't see why not. Prudence won't save you."
Shellshocked, Daniel watched as the ashes floated down in front of him, softly landing on his knees and the back of his hands. Absent-mindedly, he imagined a dog getting to do its favorite things before being put down. He began to unbuckle his belt.
"All of it."
He stopped. Looked up.
There was a question on the tip of his tongue, but the look in Armand's eye made it wither. It was not arousal by any standards which Daniel knew, but something else entirely. Armand looked down at him as if he was peeling his skin away within his mind, peering through muscle and flesh until he got down to the very bone with a laser eye focus. Still not blinking. A shiver ran up his spine. The desire to run gripped him by the neck.
And yet, Daniel started to undress.
He started with his shirt. Pulled one sleeve out, and then peeled the rest off. It was sticky with sweat and blood, and a relief to remove from his body.
Then the boots. Then the socks. He stayed on the floor as he slithered out of his pants, feeling more like a writhing, dying snake than a hot young thing to be desired. His body trembled with exhaustion after being paralyzed and supine for so long. There was a specific ache in his ribs that he had never felt before that made him wonder if he had fractured something in there. A sweat bead dripped down from his dark hairs nestled in his armpit, and it travelled down his ribcage, his soft waist. It disappeared into his boxers.
With his thumbs sneaking past the hem of his boxers, Daniel found himself pausing. He'd expected to have them removed while inside this apartment, but not like this. He looked up at Armand, who hadn't done so much as breathe since the striptease started, and peeled them off anyway.
When Daniel sat down on his haunches again, utterly naked, his hands went instinctively to hide his groin, earning Armand sucking on his sharp teeth.
Don't shy away, now, a gentle voice slithered inside his head. Sensual. Hair raising. Let me see.
Goosebumps prickled his skin. That was new, the talking inside his head. It was also terrifying. But he did as he was told anyways. Daniel lifted his hands, and Armand raised his eyebrows the slightest inch.
"Mm," Armand hummed. He lifted the cigarette to his mouth again. "I see where that blown-up confidence stems from, now."
Daniel's fingers hovered over the length, hesitating for a moment before stroking his hot skin. He bit his lip at the first touch, at the slightest hint of praise, couldn't help it. Precome and the sweat of his palm was all he had to make the first touch at all pleasurable.
"Are you gonna watch?"
"How will you stop me?”
Belatedly, Daniel realized this was the first time he had seen Armand's chest rise and fall. The movement of the vampire's breathing only made Daniel more aware of the fine shape of him. A lithe, but sturdy waist, leading up to a broad chest and shoulders. His green blouse was rolled up to the sleeves, showing the pretty veins on the inside of his forearms. Daniel’s breath came in ragged tandems as he began to pump, thinking of how smooth his skin must be. His blood rushed when Armand continued to stray ash all over his naked, bruised knees.
With his free hand, Daniel went to pick up the flakes of ash with his finger tips. He smeared them on his gums. They stung, but not too much. Mostly, it tasted bitter. But it was the knowledge they once upon a time contained nicotine that was enough to make his skin hum.
It made Armand huff. "Spit on your hand. I am getting friction burns simply from watching you."
"Yeah," panted Daniel. But he did not spit. He brought the fingers rubbing his gums down to his tongue and lathered them well, before bringing them down to his cock.
And that was much better. He sighed at the warm wetness surrounding him. Much, much better.
Armand adjusted in his seat.
"It is said in the holy books that mankind is the only species on earth that can commit atrocities, repent and go to heaven. Theft, murder, rape, it can all be forgiven come death," mused Armand. The laser focus in his eyes dimmed, then. His mind was elsewhere. “I’ve been a dark eyed angel. I’ve been an acolyte of Satan’s. I’ve been nothing at all. But one thing I’ve never been, all these long centuries I've walked on earth, is forgiven.”
For a while, all that could be heard was wet skin against wet skin, the leaky pipe, and Daniel's panting. He was close.
This brought Armand back from whatever stupor had trapped him. What had Louis called that facial expression of his? Half blank, half apocalyptic? He was fully apocalyptic, now. Eyes a blazing orange like hellfire upon mountains and nations, all-seeing, thus enraged.
Distantly, Daniel found himself thinking this was what angels must look like. And he spoke like one, too. Armand's crooning was gentle, even if his words were a flaming sword to his side. "Would you like to go to heaven, Daniel? Cock in hand, won't you repent to God?"
But Daniel only drooled onto the floorboards and shook his head, for he knew the moment Louis started to wail in pain and his pacing didn't even skip a beat that he was lost. This dingy apartment in Divisadero street had narrowed down to this specific room, to the perverted bond between torturer and prisoner. That was it. There was nothing else.
Wetness streamed down his face. The wetness went into his mouth and it tasted of salt. It wasn't until Armand let down a hand to stroke his cheek, and the back of his pointer finger came away glimmering and translucent, that Daniel realized he was crying.
Armand rubbed his wet fingers together while in thought. Then, he clicked his tongue.
"No, you must become deserving of Heaven. Of redemption." Armand leaned forward, resting his elbows on his spread knees. Daniel had no choice but to stare up at him, terrified, rapturous. "This is why I will bring you pain and humiliation, so that you may rise above it. And when the time comes, you will be worthy of asking God for forgiveness. Yes, it is what we all long for," Armand whispered to him, his breath so gently and cool against Daniel's face. "Forgiveness."
A wounded cry emitted from his throat as his muscles locked together. His teeth chattered and ground down on his gums, but then an impossible warmth enveloped him, and he soared, higher, higher. It came in waves of pleasure-pain. Daniel pumped himself through it, and Armand watched until the very last drop.
Then, silence. Daniel panted like a dog inside a warm vehicle, body spent and mind far away.
Armand's cigarette had burnt down to the filter. The vampire flickered it down between Daniel's naked knees, where he had soiled the floorboards with ejaculate. He leaned back in his seat, and his expression was cold again.
"Eat."
Daniel bowed his head down to the floor without another question. He swiped the flat of his tongue across the murky floorboards he had bled out on earlier, and curved the lithe, wet muscle beneath the cigarette butt and cum, bringing them inside his mouth with a whimper.
The texture was not unlike a wet, slimy sponge. Daniel imagined the wet sponge wiped across a busy night street, the grit beneath a thousand drunk strangers' shoes soaked up and shoved in his mouth. The tar and bitter tobacco ash of the used filter mixed with the saltiness of the semen. It created a foul, overpowering mixture from hell in his maw. He could even taste the dry, metallic particles of his own blood softening up against the tiny bumps of his tongue. Daniel gagged around his mouthful and cried even harder.
Snot dripped from his nose. Daniel had never felt such repulsion before in his life, and yet he could not not imagine himself spitting. This was Armand's gift to him. This was communion for a dead man.
So he chewed. With his head bowed close to the floor, Daniel swallowed. It took everything in him not to vomit.
At this, Armand laughed.
It was a very clear, bell-like sound. Velvety and light, due to how it came from the top of his lungs. It went on until the vampire doubled over, arms wrapped around his waist and a tear fell down the graceful line of his nose. Daniel simply watched the dimples in his rounded cheeks, half in awe and half in fear. Surely this was the face of evil itself. How could it be so beautiful?
Eventually Armand's laughing fit relented. The vampire told him, "I shall mourn you when you die." While wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.