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The vampire Armand was an accomplished seductor. He’d been told on more than one occasion that his power to seduce was ‘almost beyond his control’; an exact quote, from multiple sources! ‘Irresistible,’ he’d been called by another. Praise was showered upon him effortlessly: “charming, passionate, brilliant!”
Which was why he found his immortal wisdom completely confounded when, whenever he attempted any romantic overture toward the mortal Daniel Molloy, he fumbled like a fawn on ice.
What was it about Daniel Molloy?
He was hardly a Casanova himself, disorganized at his best, slovenly at his worst. But passionate... yes, that he could claim. And brilliant... well, he was young... but he was certainly on his way.
Still, none of Daniel’s charms were any excuse for Armand’s behavior!
The first attempt had set an unfortunate precedent.
At the time it had seemed so simple.
Armand had been chasing Daniel for six months then, night after night, country to country. He felt it was time to take things to the next level.
He’d found Daniel staring through a restaurant window, as he’d often do in those days, starved thing that he was.
“I’d like to treat you for dinner,” he whispered, appearing suddenly at his side.
Daniel just about jumped out of his skin.
“Wh— WHAT?” he yelped, cringing away, face sunken. He was clearly on something.
Armand rolled his eyes.
“I said,” he crooned, taking Daniel by the arm. Daniel immediately relaxed into the touch. “I’d like to treat you for dinner.”
Then Daniel Molloy’s bloodshot eyes widened like saucers.
“YOU’D LIKE TO EAT ME FOR DINNER??” the man hollered.
Armand wasn’t aware enough blood had been currently coursing through his own body to produce the blush that flooded his cheeks. Daniel was already violently attempting to pull himself free of Armand’s grip. There was no time to think. This had quite literally never happened to him before.
“Rest,” he commanded, tapping the center of Daniel’s forehead and thrusting him into unconsciousness, his memory wiped entirely of the encounter simultaneously.
He caught Daniel Molloy gently in his arms in something of a dancer’s dip. Viewed through the window of the restaurant from the best seat in the house, they looked like lovers.
Armand should have ended it there, but that was only the start of the humiliation parade.
He should’ve been easy to ignore, statistically average in every way, but one thing Daniel Molloy was not was quiet, his mind a near constant cacophony of humming and dinging like that newfangled electric typewriter of his. His thoughts about vampirism were part of what made him such easy prey for the young ones; his frequent thoughts of Armand what made him so easy to track. Yet Armand revelled in hearing Daniel’s thoughts on him, even if they most often pertained to the subject of surviving him through the night.
Yes, they thought of one another often. He believed they would indeed make a good pair if perhaps Daniel did not spook so easily. Tricky thing.
Armand would take the blame for the second attempt. The nerves got to him. It could happen to anyone!
He caught Daniel between bus stops on a hot night in Madrid. It was crowded, even at the late hour, and the repetitive vehicle sounds echoing off so much stone architecture were already driving Armand to near madness. He herded Daniel onto the waiting bus and sat beside him all without Daniel ever looking up to notice it was him. Trusting little lamb.
Daniel finally startled, startling Armand in return.
“Hush!” Armand told Daniel, who hadn’t said anything.
Daniel surveyed his surroundings: men, women and children, a few babies. Surely Armand wouldn’t kill him here.
“I’ve not come to kill you, boy, just to talk,” Armand said, tucking a stray curl behind Daniel’s ear. He’d let it grow too long.
“To t—talk?” Daniel wriggled away, properly terrified. “What the hell have you and I got to talk about?”
“Lots of things. All the trouble you’ve been getting yourself into lately. Current events. Likes and dislikes,” Armand finished the checklist diligently.
“You want to talk about current events with me? On the bus?”
“Not on the bus. At a bar or restaurant of your choosing.”
Daniel blinked at him dumbly. “Armand, what is this?”
He did so love when Daniel called him by his name.
“Holy shit, dude, are you okay??”
“Whatever do you mean?” Armand said, but it came out more like, “Whabeber,” because Armand’s mouth was suddenly and humiliatingly flooded with his own blood.
It spilled sluggishly down his chin and over his hands as he tried to hide the evidence, rolling his tongue around in his mouth to assess the damage: nearly severed. Fantastic.
“What the fuck, what the fuck,” was all thought the journalist Daniel Molloy could muster, though, to his credit, he was trying to provide some aid with a... dirty towel from his knapsack.
“Rest!”
Daniel slumped into Armand’s lap. The vampire donned his sunglasses and turned up his collar while he waited for the bus to come to its next stop, neatly removing the previous minutes from Daniel’s mind in the process. Petting the boy’s sleeping head wasn’t strictly necessary, but he felt he deserved it after all he’d put him through.
Daniel awoke confused as to how he could’ve gotten blood under his nails and a new haircut during his late night bus ride and not remember it.
Well, Armand once heard the key to a mortal man's heart was through his stomach, and while he thought the literal interpretation of that quote would be quite fun, he was considering a gentler approach.
Armand had never understood the correlation between chocolate and intimacy, but then of course he’d never tasted it as it existed now. He did, though, see the appeal of compact boxes with inserted trays for categorizing small items.
Perhaps Daniel would let him keep the box when he was done.
“Chocolates?” Daniel asked, quirking a brow. He took the box tentatively and turned it over in his hands. “You bought me chocolates?”
Technically, Armand had regifted them. He’d heard on good authority from a previous paramour they were extremely expensive and absolutely delicious, but Daniel didn’t need to know that, and said paramour was no longer alive to tell the tale.
“I want you to have them.” Armand smiled.
Daniel’s eyes lingered on the whites of his teeth.
“You haven't poisoned them?” Daniel asked, deadly serious.
Armand made a show of rolling his eyes.
“The packaging is still on, Daniel.”
“Hey, you’re the gadget guy. Wouldn’t put it past you to have one of those plastic wrap blow dryer thingies.”
Armand did own a heat gun. They were great for making gift baskets. Among other things. Daniel didn’t need to know that either.
“Are you going to invite me in?”
“Mmm, only because I’m stoned enough to need to eat these, like, right now,” Daniel said, widening the door to him. He stumbled a bit as Armand glided past. “Am I... dreaming?”
“Sit down, Daniel. Eat your chocolates.”
Daniel did just that.
Scanning his mind, which was even easier than usual, Armand discovered this apartment was Daniel’s charge while the owner was out of town, and he’d promptly smoked the entirety of his payment for the task shortly before Armand’s arrival.
30 minutes later Daniel was curled up on the bathroom floor batting Armand’s hands away as he hurled into the toilet. This was not helped by the fact he was rapidly hyperventilating.
“I knew it,” Daniel yelped into the bowl, followed by more pained wretching. ”Fucking poisoned chocolates! That’s gothic, even for you, man!”
“Daniel, please, I did not poison you!” Armand insisted.
Daniel turned, glared at him hard, then pointed toward the living room.
“Go bring me that box.”
Confused, Armand simply obeyed. Daniel scanned the box briefly, then chucked it squarely at Armand’s head. He dodged it artfully.
“ARMAND, THOSE EXPIRED IN NINETEEN THIRTY-SIX.”
“Oh, dear. I have poisoned you.”
“You mother—“
“Rest.”
Armand couldn’t very well have just left Daniel in such a vulnerable state. He’d cleaned him up and tucked him gently into bed. And if he’d used that time with Daniel under hypnosis to find out what sort of things he’d like to do for a date, well, no one need be the wiser.
The information gathered had been invaluable! Armand hadn’t been altogether offbase with his gastrointestinal approach. Daniel loved good food. He loved bad food. He loved rock music and driving very fast late at night. Simply put, he loved... living. These were all things he knew about Daniel, but seeing them through his eyes had been particularly arresting. He wanted very much to do it again.
This would be the last time, Armand decided, so he might as well go big. If things went wrong again, it simply wasn’t meant to be between Daniel and himself. He had no plans to leave Daniel alone, of course, but he would shift his expectations accordingly.
Daniel had only run as far as New Jersey. Surely he would have run farther if he didn’t want Armand to catch him. He was walking E-Street fielding interview subjects when an impressive car pulled up alongside him.
Daniel whistled low and circled it like a hawk: a 1960 Chevy Corvette, top down, black with red interior. Quite literally the car of his dreams. Then a familiar voice pulled him from his reverie.
“Need a lift?” Armand said, peeking over his aviators.
Daniel’s face fell, but he couldn’t hide a huff of amusement. “You.”
But Daniel could never resist an opportunity like this. He hopped in without hesitation, fingering the perfect red stitching with reverence.
“So what is it this time? Need someone to teach you how to fill the tank?”
“The tank is full enough to get us where we’re going.”
“Ominous. Shouldn’t they have revoked your license at, say, one hundred, old man?”
Armand chose to ignore the barb. “Regardless, I’m taking you out.”
“What, behind the barn?” Daniel mocked, stretching out comfortably. “Taking Lassie for one last ride?”
“I don’t know her,” Armand said brusquely. “I’m taking us to see Mister Springsteen. He’s in town tonight.”
“Wait, really?? Bruce Springsteen? You listen to The Boss??”
Armand gripped the wheel a little tighter at Daniel’s term of endearment for the man.
“Put on your seatbelt, Daniel.”
Daniel’s mind was abuzz the whole drive over: Is this really happening? Will I get to meet The Boss? And have I ever seen Armand wear jeans before?
But his anticipation turned to confusion when the Corvette came to a stop not outside a venue, but a little blue house in the middle of a quiet suburb.
Daniel spotted a singular silhouette moving behind the curtained windows of the dimly lit home. He stared blankly as Armand cut the ignition.
“What’re we doing here?”
“We’re seeing Bruce Springsteen,” Armand replied simply.
“He’s here?”
“Of course he’s here. He lives here.”
Daniel’s hands sprang to his temples. He didn’t remember having so many migraines before meeting Armand.
“Christ’s sake, Armand! Why are we at Bruce Springsteen’s house?!”
Armand motioned to the home with a practiced flourish of the wrist. “This is the house where he wrote Born to Run. You love Born to Run. You think of Mister Springsteen often; about seeing him live.”
“Live in concert, you fucking Martian! We can’t go in there! He’ll call the cops!”
“If he attempts to I will simply persuade—“
Daniel cut him off by jabbing a finger into his chest. Brave, foolish boy. “If you alter a single cell of that brilliant man’s brain, I swear to God—“ Daniel’s expression suddenly crumpled into panic. “Oh, my god, you came here to kill Bruce Springsteen. You came here to make me watch you kill Bruce Springstee—“
“Rest!”
Once the slate of Daniel’s mind was clean of all mess, Armand released his vice grip on the steering wheel. White stuffing was beginning to poke out of the ten crescent-moon tears left behind in the leather. A pity. Armand had not intended to vandalize Mister Springsteen’s vehicle.
Armand did not return to Daniel so soon because he missed him. In the moment, his plight simply felt like an emergency:
“Beloved. WAKE UP, beloved. Look at this telephone. It has no wires and one long antenna. Like an insect! I want you to call Paris. Daniel, I want to see if it can really talk to Paris.”
Daniel threw his pillow at Armand and groaned.
“You’re the insect, goddamn it, do it yourself! Big bad 400 year old vampire and you can’t use a mobile phone? What are you, an immortal idiot??”
Armand, mouth agape, very briefly debated smothering Daniel with the pillow in his hands.
Here Armand was, the monster in Daniel’s bed, and the boy was goading him!
“And since when,” Daniel added, staring up at Armand with too-knowing green eyes, “did I upgrade from ‘boy’ to ‘beloved’?”
“Rest! Rest!” Armand shrieked.
Daniel rested.
Armand couldn’t bear to face Daniel’s judgement. It’d been two months since they’d last spoken, yet Armand still yearned for the boy like an itch he couldn’t scratch; still listened to his mad thoughts when he could catch them.
They were bad enough when Daniel’s writer’s brain was prattling on about vampirism, but Armand’s vision began to tunnel down a deep red spiral when he heard those thoughts so clearly fixate upon one vampire in particular.
Armand had held out for as long as he could.
He found the boy in New Orleans outside 1132 Rue Royale, trying and failing to pick the courtyard gate’s rusted padlock.
Before Daniel even registered his company he had his shoulders digging into the iron bars, an arm at his throat, and a very unhappy vampire hissing in his face.
“You are never to contact Lestat de Lioncourt, do you understand? Never.” Armand’s teeth gnashed. “He would eat you alive, Daniel.”
“As I recall,” Daniel said hoarsely through the chokehold, “last time I was here, you were the one threatening to kill me.”
Well, that was true. It’d been their early days: the very start of the chase.
Daniel’s thirst for knowledge had set all of this into motion. Of course he would walk straight back into the lion’s den.
“I said I might kill you. That’s rather different.”
Daniel shoved Armand’s arm away. Armand allowed it to happen.
“You’re unbelievable! You know this is all your fault, right?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You think I wanted to come looking for that second rater? I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t blocked me out! WEEKS of nothing but radio silence!”
Armand blinked at him, genuinely stunned by Daniel’s potent rage.
“Well, that’s our game, isn’t it?”
Daniel huffed. “I think we both know the game has changed, Armand.”
Armand wordlessly lifted one hand. The padlock and chain clanked to the ground, sending the gate swinging open. He motioned Daniel inside.
Daniel sat on a dilapidated circle of stones that might once have been a fountain and hung his head in his hands.
“Listen. I know you’re doing something to me... I’ll wake up; not know where I’ve been— how I got there— just that you’re all I can think about. I can’t eat, can’t sleep, and—“ he trailed off, his head surging up to meet Armand’s eyes. “It’s you, damnit! Admit it!”
He looked like he might cry then.
“Why are you doing this?” he said weakly.
Armand crouched in the dirt and stroked Daniel’s cheek thoughtfully.
“My brilliant, passionate, fascinating boy. Let me show you.”
Armand pressed two fingers to the center of Daniel’s forehead, returning all that was stolen— a choice he immediately regretted when Daniel burst into laughter.
Armand’s blood boiled. He stood to tower over Daniel. “Cease at once!”
“You almost drove me insane?” Daniel’s voice squeaked. “Certifiable? Because you wanted to ask me on a date??”
Armand paused. It sounded so asinine coming from Daniel’s lips.
“You’ve proven... increasingly difficult to seduce,” he defended.
“Me? You’re serious? I’m easy.” Daniel shrugged, stood, and dusted himself off, oozing a newfound confidence. He stepped closer. Armand’s undead heart skipped a beat. “Did it ever occur to you that I might wanna take you out? That I might have a few ideas up my sleeve?”
Armand stared at him like a baby duck imprinting on the rescuer diving their hands into the oil.
“Y’ever heard of an arcade?”
Armand shook his head no.
“Look inside my mind.” Daniel grinned. “I’ll show you.”
Armand did. Daniel recognized the precise moment Armand saw the neon painted scene. It was written all over his glowing face.
“Yes. You will take me to this arcade,” Armand said, only to be interrupted by another round of raucous laughter from Daniel.
But it didn’t torment him like before. He reasoned he could get rather used to the sound.
“What is it, Daniel?”
“Armand, have you been holding flowers behind your back this whole time?” Daniel wheezed.
“They reminded me of your eyes!”
“It is not funny!” Armand pleaded with his fledgling as they looked over the New York cityscape from their rooftop table at the Rainbow Room sipping literal bloody marys.
“What? Your treacherous lack of game?” Daniel teased. Armand huffed indignantly. “Hey, it’s your own damn fault for giving me back these priceless memories not once but twice.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“And you still got the guy in the end,” Daniel said, leaning over the table and batting his white lashes, flashing the vibrant orange eyes they both now shared. “Just take the win.”