Chapter Text
“I haven't given you what you need
You wanted me but couldn't reach me
So you went into your memory
Relive all the ways you still want me.”
— Mitski, Should’ve Been Me
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Daniel would like to say that immortal life has brought him comfort, that he’s been living a safe life in his rebirth. He’s done nothing of the sort, instead enjoying a second round of his youth, Lestat is partially to blame in that, however. The groupies that flock to the ostentatious man are often stuffed full of alcohol, or drugs, or both and Daniel is a young, impressionable vampire, after all. Louis says he should lay off of it, that it makes him more brash and unbearable, Daniel thinks he’s just unpleased with the newfound friendship — if it could even be called that — between himself and Louis’ ex husband number one.
Sometimes Daniel thinks if he does too much, if he stumbles home sick from how stuffed of drug laced blood he is, that Armand will be there waiting for him. That his deadbeat maker, and ex-lover, if the new memories were anything to go off of, would be standing in the corner of his room to put him back in his place. Disappointment blooming deep in his chest every time he’s greeted by an empty apartment, or hotel room.
Tonight is no different than most nights these days, Lestat had been a pompous asshole, circling the things Daniel wanted to know about, going into great detail of how he looked on a certain night — as if his looks were forever changing, as if he wasn’t locked into the same body for the rest of his miserable life — and avoiding the truth they were so close to. Daniel pushes back, negs until he can get under the older vampires skin. He’d done it with a confidence in Dubai of someone who knew he was about to die, a knock away from the grim reaper himself whisking him away, now he does it as an insolent child. That’s what he is, after all, a fledgling who doesn’t know his place. No daddy vampire to ground him, or whatever the fuck a maker was meant to do.
Louis did his best, at first, to step up in the place of Armand. He’d returned back to the penthouse a bit flummoxed at the scene, as if do not harm him meant anything to the gremlin. Daniel had cleaned himself up, looked presentable at least, when his old friend found him, now immortal, waiting in his living room. He’d taught him to hunt, and to clean up after himself, and every important detail that the fledgling hadn’t been given in the process of interviewing him. There wasn’t much, really, to go over but he did his best before gently telling him he should return to New York, clearly not wanting to upset his friend but wanting his space back.
Daniel got to fly back on Louis’ jet, and he had no qualms in going home to his empty apartment, the sky painted on his ceiling making more sense with these new memories.
“You’re thinking too loud, vieille beauté,” Lestat says beside him, pulling off the groupie he’s currently draining. Daniel has already finished his own, their body limp across his form, that all too familiar high settling deep in his bones.
“Then don’t poke around in there,” Daniel snarks back — when had they gone from fighting about how useless of an interviewee that Lestat was, to having a meal together? Maybe he should lay off of the drugs and alcohol laced blood. Maybe Louis is right. “Probably not,” he says aloud, because he can, because Lestat is probably listening anyway. None of them know how to stay out of his head.
“I, for one, think you’re so beautiful like this, tellement plein…” Lestat says, letting the body on his own lap fall to the ground unceremoniously. “Such a shame, to have a maker such as yours,” he sighs wistfully, pushing the body from Daniel’s lap as well, moving closer to him on the couch like a predator. The younger vampire makes no move to get away from him, letting the other man crowd into his space. He wishes he could see what Louis sees, could understand how someone so — so, Lestat, could have the other vampire dickmatized to the point of stupidity.
“You say as if you’re some maker of the year. Louis ever buy you an engraved mug?” Daniel asks, unamused.
“Such a thing exists?” Lestat asks, a genuineness to his question that Daniel wants to prod it deeper, to push Louis’ name further into the conversation, to say it over and over again until Armand is forgotten in the space of Lestat’s messy dressing room. It wouldn’t work, not with his makers name pounding in his head like a heartbeat, a tether in life — or, in death, might be the correct term there. He’s not too sure, hasn’t really thought too hard on the fact that he’s dead, not when he feels so alive.
“What are you doing, Lestat?” Daniel finally asks, realizing the other had come to straddle his hips — too close, too hot with the blood he’s stolen. “I’ll tell Louis,”
“He would only care that he didn’t get his hands on you first, Danny.” Lestat counters, unwavering in, well, whatever the hell it is that he’s doing.
“Daniel,” he corrects, but it falls on deaf ears. All vampires are the same, pushing his limits, taking things that aren’t theirs to have. He’s struggling to care as much, hands landing on those built thighs, feeling how they flex under the leather pants Lestat is currently sporting. He looks good, much to Daniel’s chagrin, he thinks that has far more to do with confidence then the outfit he wears, however.
“Daniel,” Lestat repeats, frowns as if the consonants taste bad on his tongue, as if they don’t belong in his mouth, not French enough. “Daniel,” he repeats, his accent bleeding through heavier now, sounding closer to Danielle. Lestat smiles, a Cheshire grin, eyes with that very specific light the blond gets when he’s about to offer up something that Daniel will have a strong distaste for.
“Well, Daniel,” read, Danielle, his French accent still heavy around the word — perhaps Daniel should have just let him use the word Danny. “I have an idea for you, something to,” he waves a hand, looking for the correct word, Daniel is certain he does this to play up his persona, that he knows the words but loves dragging it out, dramatics and all. “Encourage your maker to pay you a little visit.” Daniel laughs, can’t stop the rough noise as it bubbles over, spilling deep from inside his chest.
“As if you have anything that could make him come back, I’ve tried.” Daniel presses his hands in Lestat’s thighs, his nails scratching the leather, not enough to rip, not yet at least. “I don’t need a visit by him,” he adds, trying to pull his cards back close to his chest, as if Lestat doesn’t know everything, as if the elder vampire hadn’t known everything the second he’d laid his eyes on Daniel. He’s not as good with his mind gift, not like Louis or Armand, but Daniel struggles to lock down his thoughts. He thinks all the time, and maybe some fucked up part of him misses being in front of Armand, knowing his mind was being devoured like a meal without ever being free of the stalking presence.
“Well, unlike you, I can still reach him.” Lestat says, bringing a hand up to quickly tap his index finger to Daniel’s nose — did he seriously just boop him? Daniel grimaces. “What a beautiful fledgling, left so lonesome,” The blond drops his hand to Daniel’s chest, the other catching his breath below him. He’s still not quite got a hang on phantom breathing, on the fact that he doesn’t need to breathe at all anymore.
Daniel’s biggest complaint with his turning, and he has quite a few complaints, is the age that he’d finally been gifted immortality. He’ll forever be stuck on the verge of his seventies, body molded in age, something that sticks in his mind every time Lestat — gorgeous, adonis, Lestat — calls him beautiful. Louis had said it too, just once, called him a beautiful boy when he’d been filled with fresh blood after teaching him to hunt, and it stuck in his mind then too. He’s not beautiful, not in the way he thinks he should be — the way a vampire ought to be.
“But you are,” the vampire in his lap speaks, picking through his mind so easily. Daniel could put up a mind shield, if he truly cared. He didn’t. “So few of us get to experience what you did, to age and wear that age. It suits you.”
“Yeah,” Daniel cuts him off, “Grumpy old man with the body to match.” He looks down at his hands, wrinkled fingers pressing into Lestat’s leather clad thighs still, if the other was a human he’d certainly be in discomfort from the strength of it, however shows little interest, if he can feel it at all.
“Non,” Lestat says with a tut, a dental click of disappointment. “I’ve a distaste in most of the things the gremlin does, but this — you, is probably one of the best decisions he’s ever made.” He says, earnest in a way that if Daniel hadn’t been sitting already, he’d most certainly have been knocked off his feet. Lestat drags his hand down lower, genuine appreciation in the touch as he feels Daniel through his band-tee.
“Let me show you,” he breathes, leaning in so he’s breath tickles Daniel’s ear, lips ghosting along the skin just below. “Let me show you how beautiful you are, then I’ll show him, show your maker everything he’s missing.”
Daniel blames Armand and the years of mind games the vampire had put him through for the way his dick all but jumps to life at that. The sick part of him knows there is no use in blaming anyone else, he’s built this side of himself from the ground up, worked hard at becoming a freak in his own rights. Armand just had taken advantage of that, had enjoyed the way Daniel gave in oh so willingly.
“Kid,” Daniel starts, getting another tut in response. “Old man,” he pivots, neither feels right — everything about this feels wrong. He thinks of Louis, tries to call out to him mentally, but gets no response. For the best, he guesses, what would he say if Louis did answer him? Hey man, sorry to bother you, but is it okay if I fuck your first ex husband so your second one will come fuck me in return? His skin crawls at the thought. Nothing about this is okay.
“Look,” he finally lands on, Lestat looking down at him earnestly, fingers still pressed into his sternum, “I still have my wits about me, weak blood maybe, and I know this is a bad idea.”
“I suppose,” Lestat sighs, dragging his hand back up, cupping the side of Daniel’s neck, nails pressing ever so softly against the scar engraved into the skin. A reminder of Louis, of Armand. “But aren’t bad ideas so,” he takes a breath, searching again, trying to find the English word he wants, “passionnant.” Daniel may not be fluent in French, but he knows that the other knew the English word for that and is just being overzealous at this point. He still isn’t sure what Louis, or Armand for that matter, saw in him.
“So what, you mentally record and broadcast a porn film to Armand?” Daniel questions, raising a brow. “Think he’ll take the bite so easily?”
“If he doesn’t then we’ll just have to send him more, I suppose.”
“Feels like a sorry excuse to feel up an old man.” Lestat just smiles in response to that, curling mischievously on his features. It goes straight to Daniel’s gut, burns a hole deep in him, his cock twitches.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Daniel groans as his face is pressed into the pillow on the couch, body bent in ways that it really shouldn’t be able to. His knees no longer ache, and his back is more flexible than it’s been in years, giving Lestat the perfect opportunity to put him into an ass up, face down position. He’d not really been sure, when the blond was in his lap, offering up his services, exactly how the night would go but he was surprised of the ease in which Lestat took control of the situation. It’s been decades since Daniel last bottomed, sometime in his early 40s, after Armand had left him, taking his memories with him. Even then, this position was forgone in favor for something softer on his aging body.
“Relax,” Lestat said, pressed the words into Daniel’s spine with a kiss, hot from the stolen blood. Everything is spinning, so hot and cold all at once, he’s not had sex at all since being turned. “A pity,” Lestat crooned from behind him, listening in so intently on his thoughts. It’s not like he hadn’t wanted to, nor had he not been presented the opportunity — groupies with Lestat, or even his own fans when he’d been doing his book tour — he’d just been stuck in his memories. Armand touching him, kissing him, pressing into him, fucking him until he was a babbling mess below him.
The grip on his thigh tightens, hard enough he feels nails biting into his skin, feels the weathered flesh give way, feels the blood begin to trickle down the length of his thigh. Lestat is in his mind still, looking through his thoughts, seeing the same flashes Daniel is, Armand fucking into a much younger version of himself, and by the blood spilling from him, is affected by it. It’s intoxicating, Daniel feels fucking powerful.
“I would have turned you,” Lestat says, another kiss to his spine, lower, just above his sacrum bone. “The first time you’d asked, I would have turned you,” there is a declaration there, something that goes beyond the lust, the heady exchanges of two people trying to get off, Daniel doesn’t think on it too hard.
“Ah,” the blond says, another kiss, “But then you wouldn’t be so beautiful, age belongs to you, bien-aimé.” Daniel knew that word, beloved. Now he’s certain the French man is mocking him, another kiss to his back keeps him from caring. He’ll deal with it later, for now he’s too hot, needs to feel something inside of him — anything.
Lestat, reading his mind no doubt, gives him what he wants a moment later. A finger, wet with something, his mind supplies that it must be blood — probably from the wound on his thigh — presses against him. Not enough to press in, not yet, just prodding, rubbing the pad over his ring of muscles. Daniel sighs, presses back against it.
“We have company,” Lestat says, suddenly, and Daniel can feel it. Something blooms in his chest, something dark, anger maybe, something that is not his to bare. “It’s the bond,” the other explains, filling in the gaps of what he’s feeling, before pressing the finger harder, finally pushing past his muscles. Daniel opens up easily, even out of practice, he assumes that’s another gift from his now improved body.
“He can feel it too, what you feel,” Lestat presses a kiss to his thigh, just below the line of his ass. Daniel shivers. The finger moves slowly, much slower than the fledgling likes, but Lestat keeps him from pressing back on it. He takes his time with the first finger, then a second, and it comes to Daniel, after a couple minutes of being fucked open on the blond’s fingers, that he’s putting on a show. He’s making Armand watch, and Daniel just about cums from that alone.
It wouldn’t be the first time Armand indulged in the act of cucking, not by a long shot with Daniel, he’d been fascinated with it in the 70s, and the human was hard pressed to refuse him. They’d both enjoyed it, even if Daniel was left disappointed some nights, wishing the hands on his body had been Armand’s instead, but a few kisses and perhaps a share of blood, left him satiated all the same.
This feels very similar to that. Lestat is good with his fingers, finding the bundle of nerves in him easily. Drawing moans from his lips, pushing him around like he’s a pliable toy, something for the blond to use as he pleases. It turns him on, has his cock leaking precum almost insistently. Knowing Armand is watching always got him going, when he was in the room Daniel would look at him during, would stare into those amber eyes until he got lost in them. He thinks if he closes his eyes hard enough, he can see them now.
A third finger stretches him open, there is no real burn but he feels full, can feel it in his throat even, as Lestat buries himself knuckles deep into him, rubbing his fingers over the bundle of nerves, dragging another moan from him. Daniel thinks, if Lestat kept at it long enough, he could come from this alone. That in a matter of minutes, really, he’d be spilling his red seed all over the couch below him.
“Garçon désordonné,” the blond says, sounding almost breathless behind him. “Oh, but you were always messy weren’t you?” Daniel can almost feel it as memories are pushed to the front of his mind. Cum painting his skin, Armand scolding him softly — insatiable boy, messy boy. He swallows hard, digs his nails into the pillow he’s buried into, not caring when he can hear the sound of fabric ripping.
“Lestat,” he moans, the name ripped from his chest with a rather rough thrust of the fingers.
“Go ahead, bien-aimé, make a mess.” The blond instructs, and the word alone does it for him, Daniel’s hips stutter and he cums — cock untouched. It’s a show, really, the way his body trembles, ripping harder at the pillow, stuffing spilling around his hands. His thighs press together, only making him feel more full, the fingers still as far deep as Lestat can get them, he can still feel them in his fucking throat. Daniel moans, loud and slutty, the type of noise he’d made when he was in his twenties, when shame was a word he only knew in theory.
“Ah, the gremlin thinks we should stop,” the words come in fuzzy, and Daniel has to really focus on being able to respond, putting effort into getting past the blinding white of cumming untouched at seventy-two. Vampire blood be damned, he should not be able to do that, nor should he already feel his cock kicking back to life.
“Please,” he says, and suddenly he feels a lot younger, the age in his skin melting away, at least from his mind as he strains his neck to look back at Lestat. “Ignore him, fuck me, please,” he pleads. It’s a bad idea, but if he was so worried about bad ideas, he wouldn’t be face down in the first place. That Cheshire grin is back on the other vampires face, eyes bright as their gazes meet.
“He doesn’t like that,” Daniel is informed. He doesn’t give a fuck what Armand likes, he thinks bitterly, he can come tell his fledgling himself if he has something to say. His stomach twists at the idea, he pushes it to the back of his mind, now is not the time. Lestat stands beside the couch, and Daniel — now empty — can see the red tint to the fingers that were in him, certain in the fact the other had used blood now. It didn’t disgust him, even prior to his turning, Armand had loved doing as much, and Daniel loved any chance to taste, smell, or even just see his lovers blood.
The rockstar finally peels off those leather pants, making a show of getting them down his body. He’s not wearing anything under them, not that it surprised him at all. What did surprise Daniel was the size of the thing on Lestat. No fucking wonder he carried himself with the confidence of a God.
“Oh, so you do know how to be kind,” Lestat mocked, Daniel doesn’t care.
“If you don’t get that in me right now,” he warned, trailing off, no real threat to go with the words. The other listens, though he’s unsure how much he’s actually listening to his words, and how much he’s pushing forward to piss off their audience of one.
For the first time that night, Daniel feels the faintest of burns when the older vampire presses into him, slick with what he’s certain is more blood. It’s barely there, the ache of the stretch, and before Daniel can dwell on it too much, the cock is deep in him. If he thought he could feel the fingers in his throat, then he’s certain he can feel Lestat’s cock on his fucking tongue. It’s so deep, filling him up in a way he’s not known since —
“Keep your mind on me, chérie.” The voice comes from behind him, so he does. He focuses on the way Lestat moves his hips, pulling out slowly, until he head catches on the muscles, then pushes in swift and deep. It’s addicting, and Daniel feels his mind swimming with countless things, but in the center of all of it was just, Lestat, Lestat, Lestat. The thrusts become quicker, more demanding the longer they go on, a brutal pace being set behind him and all Daniel can do is kneel there and take it. Hands grip his ass, nails, claws slicing through flesh with the ease of a hot knife in butter. He feels like butter, left out in the sun, melting under every thrust in.
“Oh god,” Daniel moans, earning a slap to his ass in response. His cock twitches, precum spluttering. A hand trials up his body, slips into his grey curls, and tugs. He’s pushing up, higher onto his knees, feeling the way the cock inside him hits at different angles as he moves, never stopping its onslaught until Daniel is pressed back to Lestat’s front. He turns his head, catches the blond’s lips in a kiss, messy and hungry, all fangs and spit, and after not too long, all blood too.
“Gonna fill you up,” Lestat pants into his mouth, Daniel moans in response, presses his hips back, encouraging. The hand in his hair drops, instead wrapping around his middle — his other hand still firmly gripping his ass — sliding down until it can wrap around Daniel’s cock. One stroke, two, that’s all it takes for Daniel to spill again, a sob falling from his lips into the kiss, blood, his or Lestat’s, he’s not sure, spilling down his chin. The blond thrusts into him a few more times, fucking him through his orgasm before he’s spilling over, both of them falling forward with the action. His weight is heavy on Daniel’s back, but not impossible to withstand, as he grinds his hips in deep, keeping him full.
They stay like that for a few minutes, post coital bliss. I get it now, Louis, he thinks into the void, feels a smirk pressed into his skin, right over that scar on his neck, paired with a kiss.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Daniel doesn’t expect anything to truly come from Lestat’s idea. The drugs in the blood had worn off rather fast, either weak in the first place, or the adrenaline from sex with the rockstar had knocked them out of his system. Either way, he’s painfully sober as he makes it back to his hotel just prior to sunrise. A bit too close for comfort, but he’s in one piece when he steps into his dark room, so he can’t complain too much. Lestat had offered for him to stay, but then it felt like lines were blurring, less a hook up and more… something. Not a relationship, not that far, but still something he wouldn’t touch with a six foot pole. Not with Lestat, at least.
He slips off his jacket, tossing it on the chair in the corner of the room before turning towards his bed. He hadn’t bothered in flicking on a light, he can see well enough in the dark, especially with the dull light of the alarm clock on the bedside table. He regrets it, however, when he notices a form perched beside his bed, standing there unmoving, dark amber eyes meeting his own.
“Get out,” Daniel says before he can stop himself.