There is something cutting to Daniel's observations. Precise and deep at the same time. He should pull the curtain back, let the sunlight in. He should wrench his wrist away and see if Daniel will ask him for more, too, if he could be able to hear a ring of truth to it beneath the hunger. It repulses him, this. He said that.
Ineffable connection, as ancient blood warms Daniel's arteries. They know at the same time that Madeleine felt nothing of the kind. She felt a ghost of something else, of someone else. How Armand knew this as he walked away.
It had been important, at the time, that Louis remember it differently.
No, Armand says. Agreeable. He can award Daniel the confirmation he scarcely needs, and then Armand leaves Daniel's mind as it closes off from him forever.
The drawing of his blood has always felt as pleasurable to him as its taking. His heart insistently beats and keeps its pace even as a powerful hunger pulls blood through his veins. It feels like silk sliding on his skin. The happy smile Daniel had caught as Louis drank from him had—been a show, yes, but sometimes true things are displayed to execute a purpose, as well as false.
The hand at Daniel's back slides up his spine, to the back of his neck, and holds fast. Removes his wrist. Daniel is stronger than he was but there is nothing he could do to shrug off Armand's grip, a rare show of strength that vanishes as soon as Armand is able to stand.
His wrist wound heals immediately.
He could chalk this up to evading Louis' command, finding a loophole, acting out of spite, but Armand can recognise when something is over. There is no satisfaction in knowing that Louis' hold over him is less than irrelevant. Louis can't kill him. Louis is no one. (His heart, battered, pumping affection out of itself and into his chest like poison.) This is something for himself.
"I'll be curious to know if the spark in you will stay," Armand says out loud, his hand lingering on Daniel's shoulder. "For what it's worth, Daniel, I hope so."
They can pretend together that this is a social experiment.
no subject
Ineffable connection, as ancient blood warms Daniel's arteries. They know at the same time that Madeleine felt nothing of the kind. She felt a ghost of something else, of someone else. How Armand knew this as he walked away.
It had been important, at the time, that Louis remember it differently.
No, Armand says. Agreeable. He can award Daniel the confirmation he scarcely needs, and then Armand leaves Daniel's mind as it closes off from him forever.
The drawing of his blood has always felt as pleasurable to him as its taking. His heart insistently beats and keeps its pace even as a powerful hunger pulls blood through his veins. It feels like silk sliding on his skin. The happy smile Daniel had caught as Louis drank from him had—been a show, yes, but sometimes true things are displayed to execute a purpose, as well as false.
The hand at Daniel's back slides up his spine, to the back of his neck, and holds fast. Removes his wrist. Daniel is stronger than he was but there is nothing he could do to shrug off Armand's grip, a rare show of strength that vanishes as soon as Armand is able to stand.
His wrist wound heals immediately.
He could chalk this up to evading Louis' command, finding a loophole, acting out of spite, but Armand can recognise when something is over. There is no satisfaction in knowing that Louis' hold over him is less than irrelevant. Louis can't kill him. Louis is no one. (His heart, battered, pumping affection out of itself and into his chest like poison.) This is something for himself.
"I'll be curious to know if the spark in you will stay," Armand says out loud, his hand lingering on Daniel's shoulder. "For what it's worth, Daniel, I hope so."
They can pretend together that this is a social experiment.