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Daniel looks at the monitor before him, watching the feed pan across the crowd to settle on the strange woman vampire. He’d flirted with her the day before, a farcical attempt at staving off his vampiric loneliness, if even just for a moment. She stares, dismayed at the scene, watching Lestat prance about the stage, shirtless as per his usual attire.
Her name is Sofia — Daniel overheard it while drying his balls. He’s not stupid; he’s already figured out it's some sort of ploy, a lie of omission that Daniel knows Lestat’s often inclined to do to keep his own perfectly sculptured narrative. He’d heard their tone, how odd it was when Lestat and Sofia spoke to each other on the tour bus. He could practically see the small smiles on their faces as they talked. And Daniel, internally programmed to sniff out the story, can tell there’s more to their relationship than what meets the eye. He will get to the bottom of it. There’s a reason Daniel asked who her maker is and, given the fact she danced around his question, he has only one guess.
Back to the loneliness; he understands what Louis means. He knows now how brutally honest Lestat was in Paris when he recounted that being a lonely vampire was a fate worse than death. Daniel’s never felt such a desire for companionship, to belong to someone. It doesn’t have to be long lasting anymore, because he’s done wishing for his maker to finally want the mistake he created. Now, all he wants is a temporary bandage on the bigger wound, just a moment of reprieve from the hurt that threatens to swallow him whole.
Even before Dubai, when all he did was stay cooped up as COVID hit New York, it hadn’t felt anything like this. He hadn’t felt a fraction of it when he divorced his first wife, nor his second; not even when his kids stopped talking to him. It’s the type that aches at his bones, pulls at his crumbling heart and old skin.
He’s so alone in his vampirism, in between Lestat’s singing and the rapture he sees when everyone blinks out of existence and only a mirage of his maker remains. He feels like he’s hanging on by a thread, genuine connection so out of reach now he’s cut the cord of every person who used to give a fuck about him. Sure, he talks to vampires, but that’s nothing compared to companionship, nor is a connection with human. Loneliness threatens to unravel him. And it might, if the pain goes on any longer. If that does happen, if everything does go to shit? He fears no one will be there to stitch him back together. Only a mere three years into his vampiric existence and he could very well be on the cusp of experiencing firsthand the vampire-induced madness that Armand had recounted to him all those years ago in Dubai.
Lestat screams on stage, loud enough it causes Daniel to remember where he is. He isn’t in Dubai, sitting near Armand as Daniel delivered the final blow that both shattered and reconstructed his entire existence. He’s at Lestat’s tour in Toledo, staring at Sofia as she raises an eyebrow in astonishment at the French blonde on stage. It’s enough to get Daniel to focus on the task at hand.
Lestat is singing and thrusting his hips, his skin sinking in the yells of his adoring fans. Lights dance across his body, his hair backlit in such a way that it appears to be on fire. It almost rivals the heat in his eyes as he looks at Louis. Lestat breaks eye contact, raises his arms in the air and rolls his body to the beat, head tipped back.
Louis is on the balcony, centre stage, eyes trained on the movement of Lestat’s muscles. His head is reclined, chin jutting out minutely as blue stage lights reflect against his eternally beautiful un-aged skin. Louis looks a picture there, untouchable and serene. The bite scar on his neck throbs for a moment, reminding Daniel of its existence, Louis' physical claim on his body, mind and soul.
All these vampires around him, and yet not the one he wants most. Or worse, none that want him at all.
The cameraman prattles away annoyingly in his ear.
“Yeah,” he replies, staring at Sofia one more time. “Okay, now go up from her to the balcony and get me a frame of pretty green eyes again.” He watches the camera move, human hands shaking, echoing his own. And yeah, that's right. Despite being turned, his Parkinson's still exists. It hasn't just disappeared magically. His hands still tremor. They're doing it now as he stares at the monitor, shaking uncontrollably just below his eye line. It's hard to ignore. It's almost constant now, along with his rigid muscles and horrible sleeping patterns. Armand told him that he'd fall asleep with the narcoleptic pull of the sun, so why, some nights, did he stay awake staring at the lid of his coffin until near 11 a.m.? Armand was wrong. The sun has no power over him; Parkinson's does.
Wasn't vampirism supposed to be the 'all cure'? Was it not supposed to take it away? And now, here he is, stuck with his disability, unable to escape it even in his death — a crueller fate than just letting him die.
The picture blurs, then re-centres on Louis. “Okay.” It zooms in quickly, capturing the slight smirk on the vampires face. “Got ‘em,” his cameraman says. “Who is this guy?
“He… is the story,” Daniel replies, watching as Louis looks down to the side. For a moment, he wonders what he’s looking at, until he feels the weight of a gaze on his face. Louis, Louis is looking at him. Daniel looks up slowly, readying himself to meet Louis’ watchful eye.
His eyebrows dart up quickly in slight shock when it catches, shock zipping through him. His body shivers visibly in the dancing spotlights. Louis' staring down at him from his seat, focusing his sole attention on Daniel while Lestat dances off to the side. He’s a much prettier picture, Daniel’s sure, yet Louis looks at him. He looks all-powerful, a vampire in his prime, one that could’ve easily cared for him if he weren’t such a selfish prick.
Mr. du Lac, Daniel speaks through the Mind Gift, hoping Louis has dropped the mental block on him, even just momentarily. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he missed Louis' voice in his head, missed his Louisiana accent filling the void carved out by Armand, missed him in his life. Daniel tilts his head, shoulders tensing slightly as the brute force of Louis’ intoxicating stare bears down on him. What brings you to Toledo?
There’s something on Louis’ face before he speaks, like he’s looking for something, searching inside Daniel, glancing through his soul. His eyes are narrow, intense and heated, then they open up. And finally, Daniel hears him, like a saint in his mind. You’re looking younger, Daniel, Louis shoots back at him, his voice ringing so intimately in his mind that it’s entirely maddening. Daniel is not naive enough to call Louis’ tone fondness. Just the fact alone he didn’t use ‘Danny’ is enough to cement that for him — though he deludes himself with the thought for a moment. He wonders what Louis sees, if he stares at the younger Daniel he met in 1970s San Francisco, or the older version of him now, haggard and stricken with aching loneliness. Does he like what he sees? Does he, just for a moment, see Daniel as someone worthy to have back in his life?
The corners of his lips raise into a lopsided smile. Monocytes and Mounjaro, Daniel says, shifting in place.
Louis blinks, then a smirk rises onto his lips. He turns back to Lestat, the left side of his face bronze from the orange lighting, while the other side appears to become touched with the rich turquoise of the Mediterranean Sea.
Despite breaking eye contact, Daniel remains staring at him, even as Louis doesn’t return the courtesy. He admires from a distance, as that’s all he’s been permitted to do. This could be the last time he’ll be this close to Louis for the next century. It’s fucked though, how the smirk on Louis' face confirms that he knows Daniel will linger even if Louis turns his back, or vows to kill him where he stands. Louis knows he is something to Daniel, even when they first met, when Daniel took his shirt off for him in lieu of starting the tape that kicked this shit show off. So that’s all he’s granted it seems, a measly twenty seconds in the life of Louis de Pointe du Lac, to be graced by God for a moment only to have it cruelly ripped aw—.
I’m still pissed, he says. Daniel falters, his brain blue screening for a moment as Louis’ voice continues to ring out in his head.
Daniel raises his eyebrows playfully, even as Louis’ eyes stay stuck on Lestat. He hopes it comes across in his voice though, the underlying want, the need for some sort of connection. Even just to chat with Louis would do it, like a salve over his gaping, throbbing wound. Wanna brawl it out in the alley after the show? He asks, tilts his head to the side, his lip quirking up.
Louis runs his tongue over his teeth, eyes almost closed as he weighs the decision in his mind. Daniel can see it play out; the question, followed by reasoning, concluded by resolution. Alright, Louis says as he adjusts himself in his seat, shifting, his eyebrows raising a fraction. He then leans back into the long, plush blue couch and swallows. Daniel’s eyes zoom into the movement, watching his Adam’s apple shifting beneath the skin.
His cameraman takes that moment to pipe up, asking for the next instruction. Daniel jumps at the opportunity to hide himself in the creation of the documentary. He looks back down at the monitor, staring at Louis a second more, admiring him from the different angle, then gets back to work.
꒷꒦
Daniel slips out into the alley. It smells of piss, and something scampers across his shoe. Daniel’s shoulders hike up, touching his ears as a chill passes over him. The door behind him slams shut, and Daniel passes his gaze over the area. Someone like Louis shouldn’t be surrounded by rubbish and mud, instead lavished at the finest dining restaurant Toledo has to offer and maybe a five star hotel. Meeting here definitely wasn’t his best idea.
“No, it wasn’t,” Louis says, standing at the entrance of the alley, leaning up against the wall. Louis is smoking a cigarette, blowing it out into the air with a casual nature Daniel has never possessed. He’s looking down the open street, not paying Daniel any mind as he begins to approach.
“Hey man, I—”
“Don’t speak Daniel, I didn’t come here for a conversation.” The finality in Louis’ voice shocks him for moment. He stops a couple meters away, feet stuck to the ground, unable to move. A chill passes through him. Louis drops his cigarette and crushes it under his foot, grinding it into the asphalt. He turns to look at him, his eyes glowing in the dark night like haunting green beacons. Louis tilts his head at Daniel, analysing him like someone would do their prey. For a moment he thinks of Dubai, Louis staring him down across the table while he sank his teeth into a Rüppell's fox, watching the blood spill out of his mouth and onto his chin. It’s that same harrowing stare, a dangerous one.
Then, Louis is in front of him, crossing the distance so fast Daniel can hardly track it. He doesn’t flinch back, though it’s a near thing. His eyes shudder for a moment, losing control of his facial expression, shock making his back pin straight. Louis is inches from his face, warm breath skirting over his lips, so close Daniel close can see all the blemishes in Louis’ skin and the blood pumping maddeningly behind his eyes, tempting Daniel and his eager fledgling appetite.
Louis’ chest heaves, gaze unwavering as he catalogues every micro-expression that flits over Daniel’s face; the shock, the slight excitement and the overarching sense of doom. Then, almost torturously slow, his mouth falls open, just enough that Daniel can see Louis’ fangs glinting in the minimal light. He gulps audibly, the hands by his side curling until nails dig into his skin. A sound echoes out into the alley, a cross between a hiss and a harsh breath as Louis opens his mouth a fraction wider.
“Are you scared, Daniel?” Louis questions. The way he asks is wholly predatory. An icy chill settles in Daniel’s bones, and bumps to break out across his arms and up his neck. He watches Louis track them with fascination as they rise from his collar, the heated stare weighing on the dip of his collarbone. Then his hand rises up to cup over the bite scar, the mark Louis personally left on him when he was so very impressionable and vulnerable. Daniel shivers, then turns his head away in submission, baring his neck, dead heart pounding under his ribcage. “Always so easy,” Louis spits, almost angry, snarling. His hand moves to curl around his neck, the pressure resting there for a moment before it intensifies. Louis chokes him hard, bordering on crushing his windpipe. A strangled noise punches out from deep within Daniel’s chest. On instinct, Daniel's hand rises to grip at Louis' wrist, nails digging into his flesh.
Then, his hand pushes against Daniel's chest, thudding against his sternum hard enough that he hears and feels the distinct snap of a bone breaking inside him. His back slams against the alley wall, Louis launching him into it with his spare hand.
“What the f-fuck,” Daniel gasps, hand rising to his chest, pressing lightly at the tender skin. He can feel something unnatural poking against his palm. Daniel imagines that if he took his shirt off now, he’d see something grotesque aching to burst out of his chest. Still, despite it all, an aching lust begins to pool under his skin, distinct from the fire blooming from the broken bone. The fact Louis can damage him so easily turns him on immensely. It makes him feel like someone's using the Fire Gift on him, burning from the inside.
There’s an impact crater around him from where he collided with the wall, dust settling on his shoulders as Louis stares at him. He invades Daniel’s mind, slipping past his shoddy shields to delve under the surface. He’s met with the steady pattern of; hurts, fuck, Louis, hot, dick, fuck, burning. All the while, Daniel’s face slowly begins to burn, sweat brewing on his hairline. It’s a combination of both the steadily brewing lust and the stress of his body trying helplessly to mend a bone that’s clearly in the wrong place.
Louis is a statue before him, watching Daniel with poorly restrained curiosity, looking deep into the secrets of the fledgling's mind, piecing together what he’s gone through since they parted in Dubai. And Daniel, pressed up against the wall, feels completely at Louis' mercy, unable to shove the man out.
He'd never been taught the Mind Gift. He was loud as a human, yelling his thoughts into the void, so susceptible to vampires listening in, and Lestat’s told him he’s even louder now, like a siren announcing the arrival of a rain-wrapped tornado. He hasn't had anyone to teach him and doesn’t have the Fire Gift, the Flying Gift. Armand has been M.I.A. for more than three years now; Daniel is so grossly underqualified in being a vampire that there’s probably newer fledglings with weaker makers that have better grasps on their powers. It’s embarrassing. Daniel Molloy, the only fledgling of The Vampire Armand, can’t be a good vampire — can’t be good enough for him to come back. In the face of Louis, over 70 years his senior, he is undeniably weak. Maybe that’s what gets him, the way Louis is so clearly above him.
Daniel’s dick, against all odds, slowly starts filling out his jeans. He gulps, hands bracing against the wall in support as Louis smirks. “This is familiar,” he says, stalking closer, moving like water until he stands a couple inches from Daniel’s heaving chest. “San Francisco. When I told you I was a vampire, you pushed yourself up against the stove like this, hyperventilating. You never change, Daniel.”
Daniel shudders, the memory washing over him with a cold pang. It feels so eerily similar to the time in his youth, the impact of icy water as he cannon balled naked into a small lake with his high school friends in Modesto. The jolt in his stomach hits him the same way, punching at his gut with unforgiving ferocity.
“I’m pissed at you, Daniel. I don’t think you understand just how much. I want to make you regret it.” He pauses, then sighs. “But you’re clearly fucked in the head, so anything I do is just gonna turn you on,” he says, looking down his nose at the slowly growing bulge, then to the boy, crumpled weakly against the bricks. “So if you want to try and gain some standing with me, you’re going to take what I give you.”
Daniel’s eyes blow out, golden brown disappearing behind black corneas. “Yeah, alright,” he says breathlessly.
Louis grabs his shoulders and spins him around, shoving his broken chest into the wall with enough force to shake the building. There’s another crack from deep within, the dislodged bone finally settling back into place. Daniel howls like a wounded animal, obnoxiously large fangs slipping from his mouth with a slick sound. They graze at his bottom lip, almost digging into the brick, as he breathes in the dust he’s now intimately acquainted with.
Louis’ hand rises to his head, settling there, putting enough pressure that he struggles to exhale out his nose, the airway blocked. The other hand rests at his back, settling there for a moment. Daniel can feel Louis' heat through his flimsy shirt, the sign of a recent feeding.
Long, biting nails dance across his skin, working their way down his spine, thumbing over the bumps until he reaches his ass. There’s something different about being touched by a vampire, something different than with a human. The hand on the back of his head is holding him with a strength not even ten men could possess. His body sings with the feeling, pushing back on instinct yet not being able to successfully move from the hold. Louis’ grip sizzles under his skin, like he’s burning from the inside out, a star blooming deep within his soul. It’s overwhelming on his fledgling senses, encompassing his mind as Louis continues, pushing him up against the wall, his frame moulding to his own.
“Louis, man, I—” Daniel starts, only to break off in a yelp. Louis’ claws shred the back of his jeans, exposing him to the frigid air, ass on display. He bodily jumps, both at the slash and then the pain that appears seconds later. He’s not wearing underwear, so it isn't surprising that Louis' nails catch on his skin and four distinct slashes appear. They pour blood, travelling over the curve of his cheeks and down his legs.
Louis slides his hand through the mess, wounds opening under the drag, spilling blood like a stream. The pain burns enough that Daniel can’t help but flinch away, shoving himself further into the wall in an attempt to get away from Louis’ prying hands. Louis lets out a sound, something between a scoff and a laugh, pulling pleasure from the fucked up situation. He can’t see it, but he hears it when Louis licks his hand clean of blood. He can feel it when Louis shudders behind him at the flavour on his tongue. “You taste like him,” he says, finally letting up on his head, pulling back enough to grab Daniel by his shirt.
The burning on his ass explodes tenfold as Louis, once again, turns and pushes him back against the wall, one hand on his neck to keep him still. He’s shoved up against the grime, forced to bear the weight of Louis as he jumps at Daniel’s neck, shoving himself into the scar, sniffing deeply. “Smell like him too,” he growls, nipping at the scar, teasing a bite, before pulling off. Daniel shudders, grabbing at Louis’ jacket, the veins in his neck pulsing at the threat of teeth. His hand tremors involuntarily, grip fumbling on the collar. He needs it so bad, needs Louis to sink into his skin and rip a chunk out of his flesh. He needs it more than he ever thought was possible. There’s something intoxicating about the way Louis dominates his control, holds his anger so tightly until it explodes like the trigger of a gun, shooting Daniel right in the dick.
Louis slips his thigh between Daniel’s then, knee dangerously close to brushing over his straining cock. There’s a wet patch on his jeans, slowly growing wider the more Louis makes him spill his blood all over the already soiled alley. Louis relishes in the way that Daniel quivers under his all-consuming gaze. He places his hands on either side of Daniel’s head, and he leans in close, heavy breathing warming the air between them. He watches Daniel’s eyes flicker, Armand’s orange colour slowly turning to a green.
Daniel can feel the change, his irises adapting like a chameleon, echoing Louis’ unique vampiric eye colour. Louis stares, intrigued as he skirts his gaze across eyes that are a complete replica of his own.
“My unique gift,” Daniel says with a smirk, unable to hide the smugness he feels, only half regretting it when Louis’ face tightens again. Louis inches his thigh further up between Daniel's legs, teasing.
“Always gotta say some shit,” Louis says with a sigh, disappointed — which makes him feel like shit, oddly enough. His face crumples and Louis watches it happen with restrained laughter, almost as if he were expecting that reaction. Daniel opens his mouth to speak, but Louis is then looking to the entrance of the alley. He spots something, grits his teeth, and turns back to the fledgling.
Louis grabs Daniel by the back of the neck, like a mother cat scolding her kitten, dragging him in the opposite direction. They go deeper into the darkness of the alley, shadows now reaching out to wrap around them. Then, he’s face down on top of a dumpster, hands pinned under his own chest as Louis focuses his attention back on his ass. It’s stopped bleeding now, but Daniel doesn’t think it’ll last, considering the way Louis’ claws skirt over the newly healed skin. His feet only just touch the ground, barely on his tiptoes, balancing all his weight on the thick soles of his shoes. Daniel feels his muscles go taut, seizing up under the angle, Parkinson's reminding him of its existence one more.
“Brat,” Louis bites, accompanying the action with a blinding spank to his ass. Fuck. Daniel shudders, a moan choked in his throat. The pain simmers through him, shooting down to his toes and into his fingers, unable to dissipate. Louis must have read his mind, dipping beneath the surface to view the many sexual encounters of his youth. Or, did he already know? Was he just that predictable? “You are. You scream your desires into the void. It’s no wonder another vampire hasn’t come to shut you up.”
Daniel gulps. “And by ‘shut me up’ you mean kill me, right?”
“That, or… giving you what you’ve been begging for,” he says, his tone dangerous as he shoves Daniel’s shirt up until it bunches around his armpits, not bothering to take it off completely. He digs a nail in at the top of Daniel’s spine, drawing blood, slicing down until he meets his tailbone. “I guess that must have somethin’ to do with Armand. You stink of him, like he’s rubbed his body all over yours. It’s sickening.”
“I haven’t seen—”
Louis finger breaches Daniel’s hole, unforgiving. He’s slicked it up with the blood, which is nice of him, all things considered, easing the slide. Louis had let it drip down the divot of his spine and the dip of his cheeks, using the steady flow as a cheap attempt at lube. It doesn’t hurt though, his pain tolerance now high enough now as a vampire to have some pain with his sex. Louis nail nicks him as he begins thrusting in and out, catching his rim enough to cause a small rip. He doesn’t stop though, continuing to bury deep inside Daniel.
A second finger joins the first, drier, pushing up against the small cut. He tries to shift away from it, a whine slipping from between clenched teeth; but Louis only finds it amusing. He puts his forearm on his back and bears his weight against Daniel, keeping him still. Louis' thick cock presses up against his thigh through his trousers. Every small noise Daniel makes causes it to twitch against him. He should have guessed Louis was a sadist, pulling pleasure from positively ripping Daniel apart.
“You— you’re fucked up,” Daniel whispers into the surface, yanking his hands from his chest to dig his fingers into the metal. It gives away under his claws, like slicing into paper.
Louis spreads him open with his spare hand, watching Daniel swallow his fingers. A thumb rubs over the pucker of his hole, digging in to make a small cut where the old one had just healed itself. “And you’re a hypocrite Daniel. You’re getting off on this just as much as I am, maybe even more,” he says. A third finger enters him then, probably a punishment for his sass. It burns more than the second, his hole not prepared enough to take it. Louis thrusts his fingers in like he’s trying to kill him, bodily slamming into him, nails millimetres away from shredding up his insides and painting the ground with his organs.
“Are you tryna kill me? Fuck, I feel dizzy,” he says, breathless, blood sweat dripping profusely down his face, panting hard even as the wind chills his heated skin.
The fingers slip out of him. He hears a rustling, then a slick, wet sound, Louis likely pulling himself out and covering himself in blood. Daniel groans as a thumb pulls on his rim and opens him up to the alley. Cold air kisses at his hole, shocking enough that he clenches. He tries to, but Louis’ hold is unforgiving, not allowing him to.
The head of Louis’ dick kisses at his hole. He rubs it over the mess of blood still trickling from Daniel's spine, soaking himself in the smell he said he hated. Daniel trembles as it slides over, feeling the firm grip of Louis’ hand cup at the divot of his waist when he moves away on instinct. He clenches when it presses firmer, hole closing around the head before popping out. Louis groans, gripping him tighter.
“Not kill, just injure,” Louis finally replies, voice thick with lust. He can hear the grin in his voice, as if what he said wasn’t a little horrifying. Still, that just further exasperates Daniel; he isn't known for having all his screws tightened. If he was, he wouldn’t have ended up in this situation at all. He could take whatever ever Louis threw at him and some, and he’d probably enjoy it too. “So eager to take me in.”
“Whatever, man,” Daniel says limply, voice strained thin, pushing back to feel Louis against his ass. His hands are trembling again, their existence slamming back to the forefront of his mind.
Louis slips in, unforgiving, punishing in the thrusts he instantly begins to utilise. His hands wrap around Daniel's forearms to pin him to the surface, keeping him immobile and pliant as he uses him. There’s something about being used that turns Daniel on so heavily that he believes himself insane for it. His dick throbs from where it’s trapped between the fabric of his skin and jeans, only just holding on from Louis’ earlier tearing.
“There we go,” Louis says as ass meets hips. His voice is strained, and Daniel imagines him looking to the stars with his head thrown back. “Should have stayed doing what you were good at, Daniel, not being a reporter — or a director.”
“What? Y’mean like—”
“—Young bright reporter with a point of view; he gets on his knees for coke and dick,” Louis clarifies.
“Yeah, and you’re gonna be what, exactly? Ah! M-my pimp?” Daniel hisses, then yelps when Louis brings him up by the neck, thin fingers wrapping around his throat. He pulls him off-axis and Daniel flails in alarm. Louis drags him a couple feet away and slams him headfirst into the wall, hard enough to leave a second impact next to the first. “Fuck, give it to me, Louis,” he says, panting against the brick, nails digging in enough to cause deep gouges in the side of the building.
“Masochist,” Louis concludes, as if that hadn’t been painfully obvious the entire time, just like the fact Louis was an insane sadist. They were two sides of the same coin. He starts thrusting brutally, driving in and out of Daniel’s body with no regard for the boy, taking his pleasure in its entirety, enjoying the clench around his dick. “Makes me think you were asking for this to happen, published that book to see what I’d do to you.”
“Uh-huh, and what if it was?”
“That ain’t gonna land the way you think it is, Daniel. I’d think you’d say just about anything if it meant I might look at you with a fraction of the amount of fondness I did in Dubai.”
Daniel shudders as Louis angles his hips to drive deeper. “What? You want me to apologise?” He asks, trying to roll his eyes, but they fall behind his eyelids as pleasure shoots up his spine. He trembles as Louis leans in closer, breath on his neck once more, teasing. He licks over the scar, relishing in the way Daniel freezes up against him, locking around his cock like a vice.
“Wouldn’t really mean much coming from you,” he says, leaning back up, hips colliding with the boys torn ass. His hand settles on Daniel's soft stomach. “But, I guess you can have a chance to explain yourself.”
The words fall from his tongue like they're practiced. “Have you ever stopped to think why I did it?” Daniel asked, spitting the blood out of his mouth when Louis yanks his head back from the wall to hear him better. There's a crater where his forehead was, blood splattered around the impact. Louis stares at it, and Daniel feels the cock inside him throb in desire. “You and— fuck! Armand. You got your roots in me and fucked around in my head until the only thing left was chasing the story. I can’t stop chasing the fucking story, Louis.” Louis growls, the nails on his stomach digging into Daniel’s flesh, cutting him open. Blood splatters against the floor in audible waves. “Shit, ah! Come— on,” Daniel goads him on, panting. “You— you programmed this into me. Whoever the fuck I was before we met, he’s long gone— ah! Re-replaced by suggestions from the both of you.” Louis’ hand becomes tighter in his hair, yanking him up until his neck is pressed close to with Louis' mouth. His thrusts slowly shove Daniel back into the wall, his legs like jelly. “And I’m sorry about the fuh— fucking book, alright?”
“I don’t think you are, Daniel,” Louis hisses, grip becoming excruciating, pulling his neck taut. “I think this is how you always were, digging your claws where they weren’t wanted, fucking things up till you ended up miles from your hometown, sucking strangers’ dicks in San Francisco for cheap cocaine.” Louis thrusts into him brutally, carving a space inside him. “You’re blaming it all on me, when you did this to yourself, way before Armand and I came into your life. Any suggestion I had on your mind only strengthened what we already knew you were: a reporter whore who can’t keep a steady relationship because he’s too addicted to ruining his own life with substances. You’re still doing it now. Actually, you’re even worse.”
And if that doesn't hit Daniel in the gut.
A pathetic sound is punched out of him with Louis’ next thrust, head pressing sinfully up against his prostate. Lust and sadness mix together to make a mind-shattering combination, his toes curling in his boots as Louis jackhammers into of him, anger bleeding into the grip in his hair. His thrusts speed up, slamming against his bloodied ass hard enough to bruise even his vampire skin. Louis’ reaching his peak, heavy, deep moans rumbling from his chest as if he were purring. His claws drop and shred into Daniel’s hips, slicing through flesh and muscle, settling at bone. Daniel can’t help but howl, his whole body shattering, pain enveloping around every vein under his skin and pleasure pulling at the ones dancing around his dick. He sobs at the contrast, thick trails of blood-laced tears sliding down his face.
That’s what finally pushes Louis over the edge, witnessing Daniel’s breaking point. He cums deep in his ass, blood coating his walls with enough force that he can feel every spurt inside him. Daniel trembles. Something about the blood inside him settles the loneliness deep within his soul, filling the hole that’s begun to carve him bare. He falls into the wall holding himself up, panting, pleasure overwhelming him. He can’t help but cum around Louis’ dick, trembling as he cries into his hands. He feels like he’s dead, floating in between the pleasure and pain, pulled taut on strings. In the quiet, he's no longer weighed down by doom, no longer wanting to fill the void with drugs and alcohol. It's bliss.
Louis continues thrusting lazily in and out of him as Daniel clenches rhythmically around his dick, enjoying the sensation of the trembling fledgling.
Then he pulls out and turns Daniel around softly. “Alright, stop crying, you’re good,” he says, wiping at Daniel’s ruined face with his sleeve, blood staining the red fabric. “Deep breaths,” Louis reminds him, even as he sounds bored, not exactly wanting to deal with whatever emotional outburst just hit Daniel. He pushes his face into Louis’ hand, nuzzling against it, his brain fuzzy and warm, betraying him in a moment of weakness.
An undisclosed amount of time later, Daniel grounds himself and clears his throat. “I’m good,” he whispers, pulling his face from Louis’ cradle.
“You got spare clothes?”
Daniel nods. In the bus, he says into Louis’ mind, not feeling up to speaking.
Louis nods and grabs his arm. He begins pulling him out the alley, and Daniel, if he had any shred of self respect, would have stopped Louis then and not let him drag him out into the open, but he hasn’t had any, and probably never will — he suspects Louis knows that. It’s not a long walk to the tour bus anyway, Daniel can suck up a couple minutes of walking in public with his ass out. It’s late enough that he doesn’t think he’ll be spotted. It'll be fine.
As the bus comes into view, Daniel feels a little bad about what’s going to happen next. He and Louis are certainly not on the mend, in fact, what will transpire in the next hour will probably worsen his standing in Louis’ eyes. Raglan and Rashid are going to invade their conversation and bring up Killer, and Louis is going to wish he never spoke to Daniel at all.
Still, Daniel just got dicked down within an inch of his life, which always feels great, even if it was certainly more bloody than what he was used to. So he doesn’t feel as bad as he should, especially with all the damage Louis has just done to his body. It'll take draining a handful of bodies to heal the damage. His sternum still throbs, somehow; maybe he should ask Fareed to check that out when the nights closing up.
So, as Louis pushes him into the tour bus — only to be met with the sight of everyone in Lestat’s band sitting on the couch, who gasp and gape as he walks past, bones visible from Louis gouging, shredded and sluggishly bleeding out onto the floor — he doesn’t feel quite alone. Especially when Louis follows behind him, smug, sparing a petty glance at Lestat before he walks up the stairs to the top floor of the bus with Daniel.
He gets it. If Armand were there, he would have done the same.